# JollyDoc's Rise of the Runelords...Updated 12/22



## JollyDoc

One door closes so that another may open.  Come with us once more, loyal friends and readers, as we meet a new band of heroes, the Sandpoint Seven, in a brave, and dangerous new world...

*DRAMATIS PERSONAE*

_Luther Asclepius:_  a young priest originally cloistered at Windsong Abbey, Luther was sent to assist pastor Abstalar Zantus with the details leading up to the dedication of the new Sandpoint cathedral during the upcoming Swallowtail Festival.  During his stay in Sandpoint, Luther has made the acquaintance of Hannah Velerin, and has helped the healer in her ministrations to the sick and needy.  It is the young priest’s ambition to someday found a true hospital in the town to care for the indigent.

_Dexter St. Jacques:_  originally from Magnimar, his father was an armorer of some repute, while his mother was a seamstress.  Alas, his mother died while he was still a boy, yet within just a few months, his father had moved a new woman into their home…a woman already with child.  Angered by his father’s betrayal and infidelity, Dexter left home in disgust.  He made his way on the city streets as so many other children did, by slight of hand and petty thievery.  In time, with his full growth, he grew weary of living hand-to-mouth and sought out more honest work as a caravan guard, making the run from Magnimar up the Lost Coast Road numerous times.  It was during this tenure that he perfected his skills with the bow, lacking the sheer size and mass of the swordsmen within the ranks.  There were times, however, when he sorely missed those aptitudes, such as the night he found himself on the bad side of the jilted lover of a barmaid whose acquaintance he’d made.  That was how he’d first met Skud…

_Skud:_  born from the tragic rape of a Shoanti woman by a marauding orc band, the half-breed was cast out from his mother’s tribe when his heritage became apparent.  He was never even given a name, since he was to be abandoned in the wilds and not expected to live.  Yet survive he did, by instinct, strength, and ultimately, savagery.  He called himself Skud, and through the years, he found that, though obviously repulsed by him, there were those willing to pay for his services, namely his sword arm.  It was while drinking heavily in a bar in Magnimar, that he became involved in a brawl when a local tough bumped his arm, causing him to spill his tankard of rot gut.  Several seconds later, with the thug battered and bleeding on the floor, Skud experienced the first act of kindness he’d ever known.  A scrawny human who been the original object of the bully’s ire, shook his hand, thanked him, and bought him another drink.  Thus, a friendship was formed.

_Wesh Baltar:_  Varisian, and a native of Sandpoint, Wesh came early to the attention of Niska Mvashti, an old and respected seer among the traveling folk.  It was the boy’s aptitude for magic that first attracted Madame Mvashti, and she took him under her tutelage as both teacher and mentor.  Yet the world of books and scrolls could not hold Wesh’s full attention, and he would ditch his studies whenever possible to wander the hills and woods around Sandpoint, miming the skills he’d seen the rangers use to make their way in the wilds.  Despite these urges, Wesh ultimately had no real ability for the martial arts, though he was better than average with a blade.  Thus, he was thrilled, and found renewed interest in his arcane studies when he realized that he could use magic to accomplish the same thing as the warriors.  Though Madame Mvashti attempted to school him in all the elements of magic, Wesh had little interest in anything beyond the ability to summon spectacular and destructive spells.  Ultimately, he left the seer’s tutelage, and set himself up as Sandpoint’s only taxidermist, since his skill with force magic allowed him to hunt and kill animals without leaving a mark.

_Rico Leaflair_:  a half-elven druid and self-appointed guardian of Mosswood, until events beyond his control forcef him to take on a larger world view and leave his beloved home in order to save it.

_Randall Deschaine_:  one-time member of Sandpoint's town guard, until, while drunk, he got into an altercation with his superior officer, Belor Hemlock, and struck him.  Stripped of his rank, he was banished from the town in disgrace.  Now he seeks only to redeem his honor, even if he has to die doing it.

_Brother Adso_:  a half-orc of unknown parentage, he was abandoned on the steps of Windsong Abbey as an infant.  He was raised with a strict hand, the priests determined to break the orc in him, bring him up in the faith of the noble gods and turn the tragedy of his conception into the the triumph of reason over violence.  However, Adso was somewhat typical of his kind, strong of arm, yet weak of tongue; quick of foot but slow of thought.  His most primal instincts warred with the priests' restrictions, until finally, one of his mentors tried a different approach...enlightening Adso in the ways of the monastic.  In this he proved a quick study, allowing the physical rigors of training to serve as an outlet for his natural aggression.  He finally achieved balance in his life and found his true calling.

_The Reaper_:  A mysterious servant of Pharasma who lurks in the shadows behind the shadows.  His duty is to root out the evils with which the church cannot sully their hands.  It is a lonely road, but he has found companions to walk it with him.  Will he be their savior, or their doom?

_Maximillian Grobaras_:  The illegitimate son of a Magnimarian nobleman and a Varisian dancer, Max's heritage could not be denied by his father, but it could be kept in the closet with the other family skeletons.  Unwelcome by his father's people, and scorned by his mother's, Max now shuns the life he always thought he wanted, and instead seeks solace and purpose in exile.


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## EroGaki

Yay!! I'm looking forward to seeing how you all handle this first module. Me and mine are almost finished with the first one.


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## Quartz

A *Jollydoc* story hour?! Yay!


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## Zanticor

I got hooked on the Jollydoc train way back when you were running the Age of Worm and still can't leave your treads alone. Praise and thanks from a long time fan. Keep up the good work so I can continue to use your stories as an inspiration for my own games (I recently beheaded one of my players dwarfs with a TC clone).

Greeting,
Zanticor


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## GilaMonster

Zanticor said:
			
		

> I got hooked on the Jollydoc train way back when you were running the Age of Worm and still can't leave your treads alone.




Likewise.

Is there any possibility of seeing the character sheets?


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## Abciximab

Could you tell us who is playing who or do we get to figure that out as things progress?   

For some reason I was expecting a Halfling mage who had just finished an apprenticeship.


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## carborundum

Hurrah!


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## JollyDoc

Abciximab said:
			
		

> Could you tell us who is playing who or do we get to figure that out as things progress?
> 
> For some reason I was expecting a Halfling mage who had just finished an apprenticeship.




Thank you all for your kind words.  Believe it or not, though I was becoming a bit burned out since completing Savage Tide, in just the few short weeks since, I have found myself missing this process, and was positively eager to start in on the next installment.  I hope you all find it entertaining, and the guys are mixing it up a bit with their choices of characters this time around....

Luther, a cleric who will eventually go Apostle of Peace, is being played by Joachim...not a stretch for him, but a long way from Mandi.

Dexter is being played by a new player to our group, Greg, but some of you may remember a certain feral human by the name of Sabertooth way back in the early days of AoW.  Welcome back Greg!

Skud is being played by Minkster, Sepoto's player.  No Book of Nine Swords this time.  Just good, old-fashioned barbarian crunch!

Wesh, an aspiring force-missile mage, is being played by, wait for it, Tower Cleaver's player!!  Quite a departure there!

Three of our players were absent this past week, but their players will be introduced this coming weekend...I won't spoil it, but Daelric's player is not playing a cleric, Marius's character is not playing a mage, and Octurus's player is not playing a warrior...


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## LordVyreth

So how is Pathfinder?  Obviously you like it more than 4th ed, but how do you think it is compared to 3.5?  That is, if Paizo released two story paths, one for Pathfinder and one for 3.5, assuming the adventures' quality were the same, which would you be playing?  What are the big differences you've found so far?


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## Minkster

LordVyreth said:
			
		

> So how is Pathfinder?  Obviously you like it more than 4th ed, but how do you think it is compared to 3.5?  That is, if Paizo released two story paths, one for Pathfinder and one for 3.5, assuming the adventures' quality were the same, which would you be playing?  What are the big differences you've found so far?





Well I like Pathfinder for the simple fact For the first time in a long time I want to play a Core Race and a Core Class. We would probally Do Pathfinder atleast I think that is the general consensus around the table
anyway.


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## WarEagleDex

*Finally Back in the game*

Great intro JollyDoc.  I Finally got around to joining the forum.  Hopefully everyone will be seeing more of me (and of Dexter.)


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## Joachim

WarEagleDex said:
			
		

> Great intro JollyDoc.  I Finally got around to joining the forum.  Hopefully everyone will be seeing more of me (and of Dexter.)




So...Bryant is WarEagleMage, now we have WarEagleDex...should I change my name to WarEagleCleric?

(For our international readers...Bryant, Greg, and I are all Auburn University grads...our school battlecry/cheer is War Eagle)


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## JollyDoc

LordVyreth said:
			
		

> So how is Pathfinder?  Obviously you like it more than 4th ed, but how do you think it is compared to 3.5?  That is, if Paizo released two story paths, one for Pathfinder and one for 3.5, assuming the adventures' quality were the same, which would you be playing?  What are the big differences you've found so far?




I would definately be playing Pathfinder.  Several chronic problem areas with 3.5 have been addressed, ie...easy/frequent character death, grappling, negative levels, polymorph, and turning undead...and, at first glance, fixed.  The core races/classes have been updated and made more playable.  There is an optional rule that we are employing, which is that no PC may have more than three spells/SLA's running at a time (as long as they have a duration greater than 1 minute), so no more buffing to the max and then going and laying waste to the bad guys.  I think this benefits both DM and PC's.  Now the spellcasters don't have to worry about saving all of their spells for buffing, and they are more free to get in the thick of things.

We'll have to see how things play out, but at least for now, we are excited.  Pathfinder stills has the D&D feel...more than ever, if you ask me, which is something that 4th ed, at least for us, definately did not.  The example we use around the table is that if every player chose to play a mage in Pathfinder/3.5, you would get seven very different , unique characters.  If you gave the same task in 4th ed, you'd get seven practically identical characters.  That's the core of the problem we had with 4th...it felt nothing like "our" Dungeons and Dragons.  It was a table-top MMORPG.  You could accomplish the same thing by playing a game of D&D minis.  Pathfinder, and the world Paizo has created, is a rich tapestry with an endless supply of options for adventure.  There is nothing generic about it.  No matter what your personal take on the 3.5/4th war, you owe it to yourselves to take a look at the pdf for Pathfinder Alpha.


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## Supar

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> There is an optional rule that we are employing, which is that no PC may have more than three spells/SLA's running at a time (as long as they have a duration greater than 1 minute), so no more buffing to the max and then going and laying waste to the bad guys.  I think this benefits both DM and PC's.  Now the spellcasters don't have to worry about saving all of their spells for buffing, and they are more free to get in the thick of things.




I cried but got over it Daelrics only purpose is TC says"Buff me!!!" Daelric says "Yes sir would u like a heal to?" TC Says: "Yes loin cloth getting itchy"

But seriously i enjoyed playing both Daelric and Grubber Spell casting supporters chars ftw. But I will be playing something a little more front line and less back line after the verbal abuse of the table
 "U ARE NOT PLAYING ANOTHER CLERIC!"


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## SolitonMan

I'm very happy to see this story hour at this time, since my group just started Rise of the Runelords using PFRPG alpha 3 at our last session.  Because we're a bit short (3 players) for the summer, I've included a DMPC cleric to provide the healing and buffing.  With only one major combat session, it was already obvious that the healing capabilities of channeling positive energy will have a major effect on the flow of adventuring.  All the players seem very positive about the game so far, and are taking great pleasure in exploring the cool new options.

A question, JollyDoc...have you converted the stats for the NPCs/monsters to use the PF rules, and if so how much time did it take?

Thanks, and have a great time!


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## JollyDoc

SolitonMan said:
			
		

> I'm very happy to see this story hour at this time, since my group just started Rise of the Runelords using PFRPG alpha 3 at our last session.  Because we're a bit short (3 players) for the summer, I've included a DMPC cleric to provide the healing and buffing.  With only one major combat session, it was already obvious that the healing capabilities of channeling positive energy will have a major effect on the flow of adventuring.  All the players seem very positive about the game so far, and are taking great pleasure in exploring the cool new options.
> 
> A question, JollyDoc...have you converted the stats for the NPCs/monsters to use the PF rules, and if so how much time did it take?
> 
> Thanks, and have a great time!




With three players absent last week, the character of Luther made good use of the channeling ability as well.  I think it's a great improvement to standard turning of undead.  It really frees the cleric up to be more than just the party healer.

I did update the major NPC's, and honestly, it didn't take that long.  Not too many changes.  One caution...the goblin warchanter is a Bard 1, and in PFRPG, Bards get first level spells at first level.  With spells such as Sleep and Tasha's Uncontrollable Hideous Laughter available, this could really change the outcome of that encounter.


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## JollyDoc

BURNT OFFERINGS

It was the first day of Autumn, and a time for celebration.  The traditional time for the Swallowtail Festival, but this year the annual rite commemorating the anniversary of the goddess Desna’s fall to earth and subsequent rejuvenation at the hands of a child, held special meaning for the town of Sandpoint.  Five years earlier, a time referred to as “the late unpleasantness” by the locals, tragedy had struck Sandpoint, not once, but twice.  First had been a series of grisly murders, attributed to a boogeyman known as the Chopper.  Ultimately, however, Chopper had been revealed to be one of Sandpoint’s own, a woodcarver named Jervis Stoot, whose bird sculptures had been widely sought after prior to the killings.  Stoot had taken his own life in the end, but not before killing twenty-five of Sandpoint’s citizens, including the sheriff.  Now his house on “Chopper’s Isle” was abandoned and avoided, especially in light of the grisly altar to a bird-like demon that was found in his basement, and all of the buildings which had once born his beautiful carvings now sported ragged scars where their owners had taken hatchets to the images that were a constant reminder of the wolf in their midst.

Yet, for all the horror and sadness caused by Chopper, a second tragedy soon befell the people of Sandpoint, one that eclipsed even that horrible business.  One month to the day after Stoot was found dead, a terrible fire erupted at the town chapel and spread quickly from there.  As the town rallied to save the church, the flames grew, consuming the stables, an inn and three homes.  The church burned to the ground, and left the town’s beloved priest, Ezakien Tobyn, dead.  That was five years past.  During that time the faithful had attended services in smaller wooden structures, and while their new pastor, Abstalar Zantus, was helpful, kind and wise, church just wasn’t the same.  But Autumn had come, and the new cathedral was finally complete.  All that remained was for the Swallowtail Festival to renew the site’s blessings from the gods, and it would be as if the fire had never occurred…
__________________________________________________

Wesh Baltar was definitely enjoying the day.  The turnout for the festival was more than the town could have hoped for.  The square in front of the church was crowded with locals and travelers alike, and several merchant tents featuring food, clothes, local crafts and souvenirs were there to greet them all.  

The four keynote speakers had each delivered short but well-received welcomes.  Mayor Deverin’s friendly attitude and excitement had proven contagious as she welcomed visitors to town and joked about how even Larz Rovanky, the local tanner and notorious workaholic, had managed to tear himself away from his shop to attend, much to everyone’s but Larz’s amusement.  Sheriff Hemlock had brought the crowd down a bit with his dour mood, his reminders to be safe around the evening’s bonfire, and his request for a moment of silence to remember those who had lost their lives in the fire five years ago.  Fortunately, Cyrdak Drokkus was more than up to the challenge of bringing the crowd’s mood back up with his rousing anecdotes as he delivered a not-completely-irreverent recap of the long process the town had gone through to finance and construct the new cathedral.  He threw in a bit of self-promotion at the end, as was his wont, inviting everyone to stop by the Sandpoint Theater the following evening to check out his new production of ‘The Harpy’s Curse,’ revealing that the lead role of Avisera the harpy queen would be played by none other than the famous Magnimarian diva Allishandra!  Finally, Father Zantus had stepped up to give a short speech thanking everyone for coming before declaring the Swallowtail Festival underway.

At noon, Father Zantus and his acolytes, along with a visiting young priest from Windsong Abbey, had wheeled a large covered wagon into the square, and after recounting the short parable of how Desna first fell to earth and was nursed back to health by a blind child who she transformed into an immortal butterfly as a reward, they had pulled aside the wagon’s cover, releasing the thousand children of Desna…a furious storm of one-thousand swallowtail butterflies that swarmed into the air in a spiraling riot of color to a great cheer from the crowd.  Throughout the rest of the day, children futilely chased butterflies, never quite quick enough to catch them.

Wesh’s favorite part of the day, however, had been lunch.  First, and best, it had been provided free, at the expense of Sandpoint’s taverns.  Each brought its best dishes, the event being a marketing push as much to win new customers as it was to feed a hungry crowd.  It soon became readily apparent, however, that the darling of the lunch was once again Ameiko Kaijitsu, whose remarkable curry-spiced salmon and early winterdrop mead easily overshadowed the other offerings, such as the Hagfish’s lobster chowder or the White Deer’s peppercorn venison.  In fact, by sunset Wesh was tucking into his third helping of the dish as Father Zantus took the central platform again, and used a thunderstone to attract everyone’s attention.

A sharp retort, like the crack of distant thunder, sliced through the excited crowd as the sun’s setting rays painted the western sky.  A stray dog that had crawled under a nearby wagon to sleep started awake, and the buzz of two dozen conversations quickly hushed as all heads turned towards the podium where the beaming priest stood.  He cleared his throat, took a breath to speak…and suddenly a woman’s scream sliced through the air.  A few moment’s later, another scream rose, then another.  Beyond them, a sudden surge of strange new voices rose…high-pitched, tittering shrieks that sounded not quite human.  The crowd parted and something low to the ground raced by, giggling with disturbing glee as the stray cur gave a pained yelp and then collapsed with a gurgle, its throat cut from ear to ear.  As blood pooled around its head, the raucous sound of a strange song began, chanted from shrill, scratchy voices.

Goblins chew and goblins bite.
Goblins cut and goblins fight.  
Stab the dog and cut the horse,
Goblins eat and take by force!

Goblins race and goblins jump.
Goblins slash and goblins bump.
Burn the skin and mash the head, 
Goblins here and you be dead!

Chase the baby, catch the pup.
Bonk the head to shut it up.
Bones be cracked, flesh be stewed, 
We be goblins, you be food!

Wesh was looking around frantically for the source of the singing, when suddenly a small form leaped atop the table where he sat.  It was a goblin alright. The large, pointed ears, beady eyes and tooth-filled mouth were quite distinctive.  It was dressed in cast-off leathers, and it wielded a length of junk metal tied to a handle with holes punched in the blade.  
“Ha ha!!” it shrieked, raising its vicious weapon over Wesh’s head, but then its eyes fell upon the plate of salmon at its feet.
“Yum!” it growled, as it licked its lips, and reached down to snatch up the salmon just as its blade fell, missing Wesh by mere inches.  Hastily, he jumped to his feet, knocking over his chair as he did so, and tried to put some distance between himself and the goblin.  With only a moment’s though, he called the words to his favorite spell to his lips, and a second later, a glowing missile of crimson force sprang from his hand and struck the goblin unerringly, knocking the salmon from its grip.  Shrieking again, the little beast leaped for Wesh, but its feet got tangled in the crockery on the table, and it ended up landing face first in the dirt.  Wesh backed up a few more paces, then took a moment to catch his breath and try and assess the situation around him.

Directly across the square, a second goblin charged towards a pair of caravan guards, one hulking and heavily muscled, the other wiry and holding a bow in his hands.  The goblin almost made it to them, but stopped abruptly to begin stuffing its pockets with rolls from a bread vendor’s cart.  Meanwhile, near the central podium, yet a third goblin terrorized the folk there before fixings its evil gaze upon the visiting priest…Luther-something was his name?  Incredibly, it looked to Wesh as if the young cleric was trying to reason with goblin, holding his hands up to show he was unarmed.  His entreaty was answered by a vicious slash from the goblin’s blade, neatly severing the Achilles tendon of Luther’s left foot.  Wesh’s eyes grew wide as he saw, that despite the injury, the priest began somersaulting away from the goblin, headed towards the relative safety-in-numbers of the caravan guards, since they were the only two armed individuals in the square at that moment.  

Wesh continued to stare in amazement as the archer drew a bead on the bread-stealing goblin, and then put an arrow directly into its eye, dropping it where it stood.  By this time, however, the third goblin had crossed the square in pursuit of its fleeing prey.  Seeing a new target, it lowered its head and rammed hard into the archer’s midsection, knocking the man back several yards.  Laughing gleefully, its face suddenly went slack as a shadow fell over it.  Looking up, the last thing it saw was the hulking swordsman bearing down on it, a sword twice as big as it was lifted over his head.

It was at that moment that the goblin at Wesh’s feet regained its own footing.  It howled a moment later, however, as a green-fletched arrow sprouted out of its leg.  Wesh took the opportunity to draw the sword he carried with him at all times, which most people assumed was simply an affectation.  In point of fact, the blade was a powerful focus for his magic.  The goblin recovered a split-second faster than the wizard, and its cobbled-together weapon slashed deeply into Wesh’s leg.  In response, Wesh brought his own blade down in a vicious chop, removing the goblin’s head cleanly from its shoulders.

By the time the skirmish was over, total chaos had erupted in the square.  Goblins were everywhere, shrieking, leaping, racing and cackling, taking great joy in the panic and fear they spread.  Some waved torches and lit tents on fire, while others chased children and pets with ill intent.  All the while, their wretched song continued to echo through the streets, further spurring the vermin into murderous frenzy.  They tore through merchant stalls, menaced the bystanders with their blades, hurled rocks through windows, and overall made terrors of themselves.  Wesh made his way quickly across the square to where the two guards and the priest still stood with their backs to each other.  At that moment, they seemed the only island of safety in the sea of anarchy.  

“Wesh Baltar,” the wizard huffed as he joined the trio.  “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I thank you for you well-timed shot.”  He bowed to the archer.
“Guess that means you owe me a drink,” the young man smirked.  “I’m Dex.   This here’s my partner, Skud.”
The half-orc merely grunted, not taking his eyes off of the goblins.
“I’m Luther,” the priest said, eyes wide, the whites standing out.  “What do you think they want?” he asked no one in particular.  “Surely there must be some way to negotiate with them and bring this violence to an end!”
Wesh looked at the man as if he’d just grown a third eye.  
“Negotiate?”  he laughed.  “With goblins?  What rock did you climb out from under?  Goblins are one step up from sewer rats, and twice as nasty!  They’d soon cut your throat as look at you, and…”
Before he could finish, a sudden bloom of fire drew all of their attentions.  Just south of the festival grounds, a cart full of fuel for the evening’s bonfire had been parked.  A group of goblins surrounded it, dancing madly as it went up in flames.
“Look,” Wesh said to the other three, “we can debate this in committee later.  Right now, if we don’t do something, the entire town’s going to be torched!  Are you with me?”
Dex and Skud nodded, and Luther followed suit after a moment’s hesitation.
“Good,” Wesh said.  “Let’s go!”

Four goblin warriors cavorted around the conflagration, while a fifth, a female at that, stood to one side, bellowing out her war chant at the top of her lungs.  When she saw the quartet of longshanks approaching, she screamed at her kin, drawing their attention towards the new threat.  Her warning came too late.  Roaring like a wild beast, Skud raised his sword and charged head-long at the female goblin.  As all three-hundred pounds of him crashed into her, the sound of cracking bones could be heard even over the general mayhem.  When the dust cleared, only the half-orc was still standing.

The four goblin warriors shrieked in rage as their warchanter was mowed down, and they rushed to surround Skud.  One of them thrust a torch at the big warrior, setting the sleeve of his jerkin ablaze.  The half-orc shouted incoherently, waving his burning arm around like a mad man.  
“We’ve got to get him clear!”  Wesh hissed at Dex.
“I’m on it,” the archer said calmly as he drew his bowstring taught, the kiss ring just touching his lips.  In rapid succession, he let fly two arrows, and incredibly, each took a goblin dead in the throat, dropping them in an instant.  Wesh was suitably impressed, but not to be outdone, he pushed the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows.
“Watch this!” he grinned as he barked out several guttural words.  A small sphere of liquid appeared in his hand, and he drew his arm back and hurled it with all his strength.  To Dexter’s stunned surprise, however,  no sooner had the wizard released his projectile than he vanished, only to reappear a moment later right next to Skud.  At that same moment, the acid ball struck one of the goblins in the face and rapidly ate through flesh and sinew to the bone below.  Screaming, the goblin fell twitching to the ground.

For his part, Wesh was just as surprised at his transposition as Dex was, and possibly even as much as the goblin that he had reappeared in front of.  The creature shrieked, dropping its torch in shock.  Silently, Wesh cursed himself, wishing not for the first time that he’d paid a bit more attention to Madame Mvashti’s lessons.  Perhaps then his magic wouldn’t be so unpredictable.  Meanwhile, Skud took advantage of the last goblin’s disorientation, and quickly dispatched it.  He then dropped to the ground, and began rolling in the dirt, smothering his still smoldering shirt.

‘Not bad,’ Wesh thought to himself as he surveyed the scene.  He and his new-found friends had managed to fight off over half a dozen goblins and were still relatively unscathed.  Here and there, the sounds of battle, clanging swords, calls of support by the town guard, and shrieking and singing goblins echoed through the streets, but at the festival itself, most of the citizens had fled.  One or two goblins still scavenged about for food, but many more lay dead, along with a few unfortunate citizens.  The fight seemed to have momentarily moved away.   Suddenly, however, a scream sounded from the north side of the chapel, accompanied by a frantic barking.  
“Can’t rest yet, boys,” Wesh said, shaking his head.  Then his eyes fell upon Luther, who was going from goblin to goblin feeling for signs of life.
“Damn it, man!” the wizard hissed.  “If you’re looking for someone to save, why don’t you start with your own kind?”
Luther looked up, startled by the older man’s tone.
“S…sorry,” he said softly.  “There’s just been so much death already.”
“Yeah, and there’s bound to be more if we keep standing here,” Wesh snapped as he set off at a brisk trot back towards the church.

When they reached the White Deer inn, the foursome came to an abrupt stop, not believing what they were seeing.  A well-dressed man cowered behind a rain barrel, shouting loudly for help, while a large dog stood in front of him, growling and bristling at the group of goblins closing in.  What drew their attention most, however, was another goblin behind the others, mounted on what looked to be a mangy canine with the flat nose, beady eyes and protruding teeth of a rat grown grotesquely large.  Tiny, clawed forelimbs and a long, hairless pink tail added to its verminous appearance, and the smell of sun-baked sewage practically steamed off its patchy fur.  As the four would-be heroes looked on in horror, the mounted goblin, wielding a wickedly curved pole-arm of some sort, killed the dog with one chop.  As the poor beast crashed to the ground, the other goblins threw up a cheer and advanced on the frightened nobleman once more.

So engrossed were the goblins with their prey, that they failed to notice Wesh and his companions.  Dexter didn’t waste the opportunity.  Once more, he brought his deadly skill with his bow to bear, first shooting the goblin dog in the spine, sending it sprawling, yelping to the ground, and then, as its rider struggled to his feet from where he’d been thrown, the archer planted a second arrow in his thigh.  The commando howled in pain, but his cry was cut short as Skud cut him down with a sweeping slash from his greatsword a moment later.  

The four remaining goblin warriors gibbered and snarled as they scattered, closing in on the longshanks from all sides.  One darted towards Luther, slashing low at the priest’s already wounded leg.  A second ran at Skud, but as it swung its rusty blade, the half-orc’s own came round to parry, breaking the goblin’s weapon off at the haft.  For a moment, the little beast just stared stupidly at the useless piece of wood in its hand, and in the next, it stared at the gigantic sword dropping towards its skull.

The last three goblins fell just as quickly to Dexter’s arrows and another crimson arcane bolt from Wesh.  As they did, the beleaguered nobleman crept from his hiding place.  As he approached, Luther recognized the heraldry embroidered on his tunic as belonging to a minor house in Magnimar, House Foxglove.
“I…I can’t believe what I just saw!” the man exclaimed.  “Such skill!  Such bravery!  I owe you my life!”  He seized one of Skud’s hands in both of his, and the half-orc’s mouth dropped open a bit, his eyes blinking in confusion.  Besides Dexter, no other human had ever deigned to touch him.  The nobleman glanced around nervously, as if expecting more goblins to climb out of the woodwork.  
“Look,” he said, “it doesn’t seem quite safe to stay around here.  My name is Aldern Foxglove.  I’ll be in town a few more days.  I’m staying at the Rusty Dragon.  When you get a chance, I’d love to talk with you all again and perhaps reward you properly.  Thank you again!”
With that, he darted quickly down the street.
________________________________________________

It wasn’t long after that the battle was decided.  The surviving goblins fled north out of town in droves, in some cases preferring to leap to their certain deaths off cliffs rather than be captured.  The guardsmen finished the mopping up process while all other able-bodied citizens helped put out fires or tend to the wounded.  Wesh and his three companions tarried a bit longer, still somewhat numbed by their ordeal.
“Well,” the wizard said at length.  “I guess this is goodbye then.  I can’t say it’s been a pleasure, but I want to thank you lot for everything.  We made quite a team.”
Dexter nodded.  “That we did, and it looks like we might get a bit of coin for our troubles.  What say we meet up in a day or so and have a drink together at the Rusty Dragon?  Celebrate our reward and all that?”
Luther looked dubious.  “I shall meet with you,” he said at length, “but I have no interest in financial gain.  I would, however, like to have a word with Lord Foxglove about a possible charitable contribution in lieu of reward.”
“Speak for yourself, father!” Dexter laughed, clapping the priest on the shoulder.  “Come on, Skud.  Time to get back to the caravan and see how much damage was done.”
The pair headed down the street, Dexter still shaking his head and laughing under his breath, “Charitable contribution!”
Wesh just sighed and smiled.  He never would understand holy men, not even if he lived to be a hundred.  He shook Luther’s hand and promised to meet again in a few days, then he headed back to his shop to assess his own damages, little knowing that he had just stumbled upon three individuals who would change his life forever.


----------



## Zurai

A great start! Looks like the Warchanter didn't cause toooo much trouble even with the slight power increase


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## JollyDoc

Zurai said:
			
		

> A great start! Looks like the Warchanter didn't cause toooo much trouble even with the slight power increase




Yes, a charging barbarian with initiative on his side can quickly level the playing field.


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## LordVyreth

Those were some interesting goblins.  I guess all the "so, what do you do with orc/goblin/kobold babies" debates have numbed me to the idea of them as aggressive attackers.  The only named goblin in my campaign was evil but clever, not only willing to negotiate with the party but inviting him to try out his sauna afterward!  (Long story.)  Or did the Pathfinder book make goblins dumber and/or more steps towards always evil?


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## JollyDoc

LordVyreth said:
			
		

> Those were some interesting goblins.  I guess all the "so, what do you do with orc/goblin/kobold babies" debates have numbed me to the idea of them as aggressive attackers.  The only named goblin in my campaign was evil but clever, not only willing to negotiate with the party but inviting him to try out his sauna afterward!  (Long story.)  Or did the Pathfinder book make goblins dumber and/or more steps towards always evil?




Pathfinder actually came out with a supplement which put a whole new spin on several old monsters, such as goblins, bugbears, gnolls, orcs, ogres and trolls.  They go into a lot of great detail, and basically are saying they want monsters to be monsters, not just misunderstood misanthropes.  I've only posted about half of our session so far, and hope to get the rest up in the next few days.  You have yet to see how nasty goblins can be...


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## Dr Simon

I really like the Pathfinder goblins - they're something like the original Gremlins, with a visual touch of evil child's toy about them.

I shall follow this path with interest - I got too far behind with the Savage Tide to keep up.


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## JollyDoc

The following day, the cathedral’s consecration was completed, albeit with a much more subdued, indoor ceremony.  Luther assisted Father Zantus as best he could, and then pitched in to deliver the final rites to the (thankfully few) dead.  Father Zantus was grateful for the help, but was still shocked and subdued by the previous day’s tragedy.  After the most pressing duties were attended to, Luther decided to give the older priest some time alone and planned on paying a visit to Hannah Velerin to see if he might be of further use there.

By nature, Luther was a quiet and reserved young man, having spent the bulk of his life cloistered within Windsong Abbey.  He was devout and pious to a fault, but because of that he tended to also be a bit naïve about more worldly matters.  Thus, he had already walked several blocks before he began to notice the feeling that he was being watched.  He looked around and saw that not just one person, but several were staring after him, pointing and whispering.  Most of them gave him a broad grin and a friendly wave when he caught their eye, and at one point the local baker, Alma Avertin hustled out into the street as he passed her store and pressed a fresh-baked loaf into his arms.
“Look at you!” she chided.  “You’re skin and bones!  Eat, padre, eat!”
Before he could politely decline her gift, he felt a tug on his sleeve from behind.  Turning, he found himself face-to-face with an attractive young woman who blinked prettily at him.  Behind her, a group of girls giggled and whispered behind their hands.
“Hello, father,” the woman said smiling brightly.  “I’m Shayliss Vinder.”
“Ven’s daughter?”  Luther asked, recognizing the surname.  “The proprietor of the general store?”
“Yes, that’s me,” Shayliss sighed, “though you’d hardly know I was his daughter by the way he ignores me, so distracted is he by my sister Katrine these days.”
Luther thought he’d heard some rumor or other about the merchant’s older daughter being involved in a scandal surrounding one of the young men who worked at the lumber mill.  The young priest tried to avoid such gossip and paid it little heed.
“Yes, well…” he stammered, clearing his throat.  “What is it that I can do for you?”
At that, the gaggle of girls began giggling even more loudly.
Shayliss batted her eyes again.  “You see,” she said, a pretty pout on her face, “my father’s been so caught up that he hasn’t been able to stay on top of our store’s pest problem.  We have rats.  Big ones.  Why just yesterday, I’m sure I saw one the size of a goblin hiding behind a barrel at the far end of the basement.  But then, you’re used to dealing with goblins from what I heard.  My father doesn’t believe me, so I thought maybe you could come back with me and help me with my…problem.”
More giggling from the girls.  Luther’s face flushed and his collar suddenly felt too tight.  
“I…I’m sure I’m not the right person for such a task,” he answered.  “Surely you know others more adept at dealing with vermin.”
“Oh I don’t know,” Shayliss said coyly, twisting one dark ringlet around her finger.  “You seemed quite…capable yesterday.”
“I’m afraid than any tales of my heroics have been greatly exaggerated,” Luther said quietly.  “I regret that I can’t be of greater help to you, but I’m certain if you explain the situation to your father, he’ll understand.”
Shayliss rolled her eyes and threw up her hands.
“Honestly!  How can men be so dense?” she snapped. “ Never mind, I’ll take care of my ‘problem’ some other way!”
She turned on her heel and walked off in a huff, casting a last baleful glance over her shoulder as she rejoined her friends.
_________________________________________________

Luther wasn’t the only one who found himself the center of notoriety.  Wesh found his shop filled with potential clients the day after the attack, and a line forming out the door.  Some enterprising individuals had actually brought along several goblin carcasses as well as the corpse of one of the foul dog-like creatures, and practically begged the taxidermist/mage to create a diorama for them, one bearing his personal seal.  The price offered was more than generous.  Later, as he took his daily constitutional around town, it seemed everyone he came across fancied themselves his closest friend, rushing up to shake his hand, or offering him outlandish discounts to patronize their stores, and perhaps sign an endorsement for them.  Word had spread fast of the exploits of four ‘heroes of Sandpoint,’ and Wesh was thoroughly enjoying his newfound fame, fleeting though he knew it might be.

The following evening, when the wizard walked into the common room of the Rusty Dragon, he saw Dex and Skud…well…mostly Dex, holding court in the center of the bar, telling the tale of their daring to a rapt audience.  Several empty tankards stood on the bar near at hand, and each time another was drained, one of the crowd was quick to buy them a refill.  Near the edge of the gathering stood Lord Foxglove, nodding enthusiastically at Dex’s words, and occasionally embellishing the story with a few details of his own.
“What’s going on?”  Luther said, causing Wesh to momentarily start.  He’d not heard the young priest come in.
“The price of fame, my friend,” Wesh smiled.  “Best get used to it.”

By the time the story had been told a third time, the number of goblins slain had risen to the dozens, and there might have even been orcs or hobgoblins among them.
“Alright, gents,” Ameiko Kaijitsu chided as she cleared the tower of glasses that was accumulating on her bar.  “That’s enough tall tales for now.  These boys have business to tend to.”  A chorus of moans and grumbles greeted her proclamation.  “Now, now,” she said, raising her voice, “you’ll all have plenty of time to buy the heroes another round.  After all, they’ll be staying here as my personal guests for as long as they like!”
Cheers erupted, and the crowed slowly dispersed, with many backslaps for Dex and Skud (along with the occasional barmaid’s name and address).  Ameiko then led them and Lord Foxglove, along with Wesh and Luther, to a private table near the back of the hall, already set with trays of steaming food.  Skud felt as if he’d died and moved on to the hereafter.  He’d never even slept under a roof before, much less partaken of fair such as was laid in front of him.
“Eat,” Aldern encouraged them.  “There’s more where that came from.”
They all set too with enthusiasm, although Luther was a bit more reserved than his companions, only taking small portions of the food, and not indulging in the ale at all.  After they’d had their fill, Aldern lit up a small pipe and nodded appreciatively.
“Nothing like a good smoke after a fine meal,” he said, reclining.  “I owe you four my life, and the meal is just a token of my gratitude.  As promised, you shall also receive a more…tangible reward.”  
He reached inside his tunic and drew out a heavy bag that jingled enticingly as he laid it on the table.  
“I’ll be returning to Magnimar in a few more days,” he continued, “but I was hoping to get in some boar hunting in the Tickwood before I leave.  I would be honored if you would accompany me as my guests.”
Wesh nodded enthusiastically.  After all, he was a taxidermist, and he hadn’t had a good boar specimen in quite some time.  Dex and Skud were just as eager.  Only Luther looked…less than overjoyed.
“My lord,” the young priest said quietly, “though I appreciate your offer, I find the killing of innocent creatures for sport repugnant.  I must also decline your monetary offer, though I would be happy to distribute my portion among the town’s needy.”
Aldern looked momentarily taken aback, and Wesh rolled his eyes, but the nobleman’s face quickly broke into a smile.
“A man of principle,” he grinned.  “I admire that!  Tell you what…if you accompany us tomorrow, I promise to take the bulk of our kills and have the meat prepared as a feast for your town’s poor.  Will that suffice?”
Luther was caught off-guard by the generosity of Lord Foxglove, and nodded quickly.  The priest was nothing if not driven, however, and he made another request while the noble was in such a giving frame of mind.
“The needs of the people here run deep, my Lord,” he began.  “It is my dearest hope to one day be able to provide a proper hospital for them, one where they would not have to worry about having enough coin to pay for good health.  Perhaps my Lord, or his peers in Magnimar might see fit to make a donation to such a cause?”
Aldern laughed out loud.  “You are quite deceptive, father!  You’re not as reserved as you would have us believe, are you?  Very well then.  I shall take your request back to Magnimar.  I’m sure I can find a few kind-hearted philanthropists.”
“Thank you, my Lord,” Luther bowed.

Just then, there was a commotion near the front door.  A woman had entered, clutching a baby to her chest with one hand and clinging to the back of a young boy’s shirt with another.  Tears streaked her face.  Wesh recognized her as Amele Barett, the wife of Alergast, a local farmer.  He rose from the table and pushed his way through the crowd.  When Amele saw him, a look of fearful hope came to her eyes.
“Master Baltar,” she said, “please, you must help me!  You and your friends!”
“What is it, Amele?”  Wesh asked, soothingly.  “Tell me what’s happened?”
“It’s Aeren,” she said, nodding to the boy.  “We were at the festival when the…the attack came.  Poor Aeren saw one of those brutes light a cat on fire and then caper around its burning remains.  He hasn’t been himself since.  For the past two nights, his howls of terror have sent our dog, Petal, into a barking fit, and when Alergast and I came to see, he told us he’d seen a goblin in his closet!  Well, Alergast checked, of course, and found nothing, yet Aeren has continued to insist.  Finally, last night, Alergast threatened to make the boy sleep in the woodshed if he couldn’t learn to be a man and sleep through, yet tonight, it happened again, only this time we heard poor Petal cry out in pain, and then Aeren’s screams turned shrill.”
She turned the boy around and pushed up his shirt sleeve, revealing fresh bite marks, made by pointed teeth.  The crowd gasped.
“When Alergast burst into the room,” Amele continued tearfully, “he found a goblin crouched on Aeren’s chest!  Petal was dead, a knife deep in her ear, and the foul creature was trying to chew off my boy’s arm!  Alergast went mad, attacking the goblin and chasing it back into the closet, where it disappeared down a hole in the floor boards.  Aleregast began tearing apart the closet looking for it, and I panicked.  I took the children and came here.  I’d heard you might be here.  Can you help us?  Please?”
Wesh’s face darkened in anger.  “Of course we will,” he said, and then turned towards his friends.  “Are you with me?”
The others nodded quickly, and several of the bar patrons volunteered to come along as well, but Wesh shook his head.
“Go and fetch the sheriff.  Tell him to bring as many of the guard as possible.  There may be more than one goblin loose, and there may be others hiding in other buildings.  Hurry now!”
_____________________________________________

The foursome followed Amele back to her home, several stragglers from the bar following along behind to rubberneck, despite Wesh’s admonishment.  When they reached the house, all was dark and quiet.
“Stay out here,” Wesh instructed Amele.  Then he and his companions went inside.  The interior of the house was dimmer still, and they heard not a sound as they made their way towards the back bedroom.  When they pushed open the door, they saw Alergast Barett lying on his stomach half-in and half-out of the closet.  Wesh and Dex moved quickly to him and pulled him out.  It was immediately obvious that he was dead, the flesh of his face and upper torso eaten away.  Suddenly, a shriek came from inside the closet, and a feral, rabid-looking goblin leaped out, a kitchen knife clutched in one fist.  Howling, it plunged the blade through Skud’s boot and into his foot.  The half-orc bellowed in pain and then raised his sword above his head and impaled the goblin through the chest, pinning it to the floor like a bug.  It squirmed for a moment, then went limp.

By the time they came back out of the house, Skud limping on his injured foot, Sheriff Hemlock had arrived with several men in tow.  
“What happened here?” he asked roughly.
Wesh flicked his eyes towards Amele and her children, then jerked his head subtly to one side.  Hemlock nodded slightly and walked several paces away with the mage.  Wesh quickly explained the situation and Hemlock shook his head wearily.
“Very well,” he said when Wesh finished.  “I thank you again for your service.  My men will handle the details and conduct house-to-house searches.  I’ll speak to the widow.  I’ve know her family for years.  I believe she has a sister in Magnimar.  I’ll send word to her tomorrow.”
“I had heard you captured some of the goblins,” Wesh said.  “Did you get any information out of them as to what provoked the attack?”
“Not much,” Hemlock replied.  “Only that they were given orders to kill everyone in town and burn down the place.  None of them could even remember the name of their leader, only that he was a ‘longshanks,’ which is even more disturbing.  They said he was on a secret mission to the boneyard during the attack.”
“The boneyard?”  Wesh asked.  “Did you find anything there?”
“Honestly,” Hemlock shook his head, “my men have been spread thin.  I haven’t had time to investigate yet, and now with this, our resources are going to be strained further still.”
Wesh thought for a moment.  “We could go,” he suggested, nodding towards his companions.  “Tonight, if you like.”
Hemlock considered the offer and then nodded.  “Very well.  It’s obvious you boys are capable of taking care of yourselves, but be careful.  If you find anything suspicious, I want you to report it to me immediately.”
________________________________________________

The Sandpoint boneyard was set in the shadow of the cathedral and overlooked the Turandarok River.  Stone vaults owned by affluent members of the town stood near the edges or at the center, while dozens of humble plots, each marked with a simple gravestone, sat amid trees and shrubberies.  The caretaker was a hunchbacked fellow named Naffer Vosk, and when four visitors showed up at the door to his shack near midnight, he was understandably put out.
“What d’yer want?” he asked, squinting as he raised a lantern.  
“Mr. Vosk,” Luther called out, “it’s me, Luther Asclepius.  We’re here on official business.  The sheriff informed us that the main goblin attack might have been a distraction for someone who came to the cemetery.  Have you noticed anything unusual?”
The old man wrinkled his forehead.
“Can’t say’s I have,” he said.  “Yer welcome t’look around if y’like.”

Naffer led them along the trails of the cemetery, shining his light across the plots.  It was not until he reached the outer vaults, those nearest the river, that he paused.
“’Ere now!” he said.  “What’s all this then?”  He raised his lantern, its light falling on one of the vaults, the door of which was ajar.
“Wait here,” Wesh told the old man.  “If we’re not out in a few minutes, go for the sheriff.  Whose vault is this, by the way?”
Here, the caretaker’s face grew ashen.  “It’s Father Tobyn’s.  Him what took me in and gave an old thief a second chance so many years ago.  Only true friend ever I had till the fire took’im.”
Wesh nodded, then motioned for Skud to lead the way.  The big warrior cautiously pushed the door all the way open and stepped inside, the others following.  Within, a stone sarcophagus stood in the center of the vault.  Closer inspection revealed that its lid was also ajar, fresh scrape marks on the stone.  Skud shoved the heavy lid back all the way and Wesh peered in.  The body of Father Ezakien Tobyn was gone.


----------



## lucasbaltasar

Nice start Jollydoc.  I am enjoying the story and character interaction so far.


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## JollyDoc

Sheriff Hemlock received the news of the grave robbery with grim resignation, while Father Zantus was apoplectic.  How could so much have gone wrong so quickly?  The sheriff thanked the four young men for their assistance, but asked them to keep the matter quiet for the time being, not wanting to further distress the townsfolk until he’d done further investigating.  He promised to contact them if he had new information.

Despite the events of the previous evening and their general grey mood, the group met Lord Foxglove the next morning as planned.  The nobleman had three manservants with him, and had purchased a fine riding horse for each of his guests.  The Tickwood was not far, only a few miles north of the upthrust limestone escarpment known as the Devil’s Platter, but it would have taken hours to reach on foot.  Despite its ominous name, Lord Foxglove assured them that the Tickwood was actually a relatively safe woodland, one well known to be the home of wild boar, deer and perhaps one or two firepelt cougars.  No goblin tribes were known to dwell within its boundaries.

The ride was a pleasant and uneventful one, and Aldern was a charming conversationalist, well-read and with a seemingly endless cache of stories about the high life in Magnimar.  Overall, however, he was far more interested in his saviors, wondering who they really were, where were they from, how long had they been fighting goblins and did they have other harrowing tales of their adventures.  He was particularly taken with Skud, especially when the big half-orc told of his childhood in stark, simple terms.
“That’s positively awful!” the nobleman exclaimed.  From that point on, even throughout the hunt, which was, in Luther’s mind at least, wonderfully unadventurous, with several large boar bagged, Aldern continued to bombard Skud with questions, at times seeming almost desperate to learn how to be a ‘hero.’  By the time they returned to Sandpoint in the late afternoon, delivering the bulk of the meet to Father Zantus for distribution to the poor as promised, Skud had become noticeably irritated by the nobleman’s endless barrage, and Dex though it a good time to say their goodbyes before his friend’s short temper got the better of him.
_________________________________________________

The following day, all four of the men received a summons by one of Hemlock’s deputies, asking them to join him at the town hall, explaining that he had news that might interest them.  As Luther walked the short distance from the cathedral, he passed Amele Barett’s home and saw that her sister had arrived, and the family’s belongings were being loaded onto a large wagon.  To his dismay, Shayliss Vinder was standing out front speaking with the woman.  When she saw Luther, her eyes narrowed, and she bent to whisper conspiratorially in the older lady’s ear.  As he passed, Amele’s sister spat on the ground in front of him, and shot him a cold glare.
“Too bad you heroes weren’t a bit more thorough in your ‘heroing,’” she sneered.
Luther blanched, but said nothing.  He lowered his head and kept walking.  Apparently, Shayliss was not a girl whose advances were to be spurned lightly.

When he reached the town hall, he was escorted to a comfortable office on the second floor where his friends were waiting, along with Sheriff Hemlock, the mayor, Kendra Deverin, and an elven woman dressed as a forester that Luther had never seen before.
“I’d like to introduce you all to Shalelu Andosana,” Hemlock began, “an…unofficial member of Sandpoint’s town guard.  Shalelu, here are the town’s newest crop of heroes.”  He grinned as he said this, and the elf smirked faintly.
“Shalelu has been a thorn in the side of the local goblin tribes for years,” Hemlock continued, “and few in the region know more about them than she.  She has informed me that Sandpoint hasn’t been the only place in the region that’s had goblin troubles.  There has been an alarming increase in goblin-related raids along the Lost Coast Road, particularly in the dale between Nettlewood and Mosswood.  Only a day ago, a farm south of Mosswood was burnt to the ground by a group of goblins.  Thankfully, Shalelu was nearby, and while the farm couldn’t be saved, she did rescue the family and drove off the goblins.  The family is staying at a nearby farm for now, but the goblin problem is obviously not going away.  Shalelu?”
The elf woman leaned casually against a desk, arms folded.
“Belor’s told me of your work against the goblins,” she said in a voice deeper than her slim form implied.  “Well done.  I’ve dedicated the last several years of my life to keeping them from causing too much trouble around these parts, but they’re tenacious and fecund little runts.  Like weeds that bite.  Anyway, there’re five major goblin tribes in the region, and, traditionally they’re pretty good at keeping each other in line with intertribal squabbles and the like.  Yet from what I’ve been able to piece together, members of all five tribes were involved in the raid on Sandpoint.  A fair amount of the Mosswood tribe goblins I dealt with yesterday were already pretty beat up, and there was a lot of chatter about the ‘longshanks’ who killed so many of them.  Now that I’ve met you, it seems obvious from their descriptions who they were talking about.  Seems like you’ve made an impression.  In any event, the fact that the five tribes are working together disturbs me.  Goblin tribes don’t get along unless they’ve got something big planned, and big plans require big bosses.  I’m afraid that someone’s moved in on the goblins and organized them.  And judging by these recent raids, what they’re organizing seems like bad news for all of us.”

When she’d finished, Hemlock spoke again.  “I’m taking a few of my men south to Magnimar to see about securing additional soldiers to station at Sandpoint for a few weeks, at least until the extent of the goblin threat can be determined.  While I’m away, I’ve asked Shalelu to sniff around Shank’s Wood, Devil’s Platter and other places where the tribes live to see if she can discover anything else about what’s going on.  I would also like to ask the four of you for a favor.  I’d like to make you special deputies for the duration of the crisis, and I would ask you to maintain a public presence in town over the next few days.  The locals seem to have taken to you, and seeing you around town will do a lot for keeping worries down over the next few days.  What say you?”
The foursome looked at each other for a few moments.
“I can’t speak for all,” Wesh spoke first, “after all, we only met a few days past, and under…unusual circumstances, but Sandpoint is my home, and I would do anything to protect her.  I’m in.”
Dexter looked to Skud, a silent question in his eyes.  The half-orc shrugged.
“What’s the pay?” the archer asked, turning to Hemlock.
“Standard,” the sheriff replied, “plus certain fringe benefits that go along with being part of local law-enforcement.”
Dexter nodded thoughtfully at this.  “We’re in too,” he said.  “The caravan work’s been a good gig, but it’s feast or famine sometimes, and if there’s more trouble on the roads coming, that means fewer trains traveling, which means fewer paydays for us.  Steady work suits us fine.”
Luther remained silent a bit longer.
“I was sent here by my order to assist Father Zantus,” he said at length.  “Now I feel compelled to stay to ease some of the suffering these past few days have wrought.  I’m no warrior, but if my presence gives some small measure of comfort to those without hope, then I am morally bound to serve.  I accept.”
Hemlock beamed, and with mayor Deverin as a witness, he swore his four new deputies in.  
“Congratulations,” Shalelu said, offering her hand.  “I would ask you to join me later for dinner at the Rusty Dragon.  I’d like to hear more about the raid, and I think I may have some more information you might be interested in.”
______________________________________________

Later that evening, after they had told the toned down version of the raid to Shalelu, she nodded appreciatively.  
“It would seem you gave a good accounting of yourselves,” she said, “just as Belor indicated.  Since he trusts you enough to have deputized you, then I suppose you should be brought up to speed on the local goblin tribes.  As I mentioned earlier, there are five major groups in the region.  The closest to Sandpoint are the Birdcrunchers.  They live in caves along the western edge of Devil’s Platter, although traditionally, they have always been the least aggressive of the five.  To the south are the Licktoads of the Brinestump Marsh, pests that are excellent swimmers.  East are the Seven Tooths of Shank’s Wood, a tribe that’s secured a place for itself by raiding Sandpoint’s junkyard and rebuilding stolen refuse into armor and weapons.  Further east are the Mosswood goblins, likely the largest tribe, but one traditionally held back by feuding families within their own ranks.  Finally, there are the Thistletop goblins, who live on the Nettlewood coast atop a small island that some say holds a passing resemblance to a decapitated head.”
“As you may know,” she continued after taking a long pull from her tankard, “goblins generally live short, violent lives.  It’s unusual for a single goblin to achieve any real measure of notoriety, but when one does, it’s well-earned.  Currently, five goblins enjoy the status of ‘hero.’  Big Gugmut is an unusually muscular and tall goblin from Mosswoods who, it’s said, had a hobgoblin for a mother and a wild boar for a father.  Koruvus was a champion of the Seven Tooth tribe, who was as well known for his short temper as he was for his prized possession, a magic longsword.  He vanished several months ago after he supposedly discovered a ‘secret hideout’ in a cave along the cliffs, but the Seven Tooth goblins remain convinced that he’s out there still, a ghost or worse, waiting to murder any goblin who tries to discover his hideout.  Vorka is a notorious goblin cannibal who lives in the Brinestump marsh, a ‘hero’ mostly to goblins other than the Licktoad tribe.  Ripnugget is the current leader of the Thistletop goblins and controls what the five tribes agree is the best lair.  And then there’s Bruthazmus, an infamous bugbear ranger who lives in northern Nettlewood and often visits the five tribes to trade things he’s stolen from caravans for alcohol, news or magic arrows.  He has a particular hatred of elves, and we have fought on several occasions.  So far, neither of us has managed to get the upper hand, but I swear to you, I won’t be the first to fall!  In any event, that should let you know what you might be up against.”
She rose to go, extending her hand as she did.  She paused for a moment as she started to leave.
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I might just have someone I want to introduce you to next time I’m in town.”


----------



## JollyDoc

Sheriff Hemlock left town quietly the next day, taking a handful of soldiers with him.  Things in town had returned mostly back to normal, with people trying to put the events of the past few days behind them.  Memories of goblins accidentally lighting themselves on fire, getting stepped on by horses, or drowning in rain barrels that were only half full in the first place rendered memories of the raid in an almost comical light.  Wesh, Luther, Dex and Skud made a point of letting themselves been seen often in public places, and the townsfolk did indeed seem reassured by their presence.  Most of them, anyway.  It seemed that Shayliss Vinder’s sharp tongue had continued to spread slander about the heroes, calling into question the veracity of their efforts during the raid.  Fortunately, only a few malcontents paid heed to the gossip, and they were quickly silenced by the true believers.

Late one afternoon, as Dexter and Skud occupied their usual places at the bar of the Rusty Dragon, they were approached by a timid, elderly halfling woman, who introduced herself as Bethana Corwin, a maid in the employ of Ameiko Kaijitsu.
“I’m sore sorry to bother you, masters,” she said, eyes downcast, hands bunched in her apron, “but might I trouble you for a word in private?”
Dexter sighed quietly.  “This is getting to be a habit,” he muttered aside to his big friend.  The half-orc grunted noncommittally, but they followed the old woman nonetheless.  When they reached the now-familiar corner booth, Bethana began to speak quickly.
“It’s about mistress Ameiko,” she began.  
“What about her?”  Dexter asked, realizing that he hadn’t seen the young woman all day, a rarity for the innkeeper.  
“Well,” Bethana said, “when I woke earlier this morning, I saw that my lady hadn’t started breakfast for the first time that I can ever remember.  I knocked on her door, but I didn’t get an answer.  Against my better judgment, I let myself in, only to find it empty and her bed un-slept in.  Worse, I found this…”
She held out a crumpled piece of paper.  Dexter unfolded it and saw that it was a letter, written in flowing script:

_Hello, sis!
	I hope this letter finds you well, and with some free time on your hands, because we’ve got something of a problem.  It’s to do with father.  Seems that he might have had something to do with Sandpoint’s recent troubles with the goblins, and I didn’t want to bring the matter to the authorities because we both know he’d just weasel his way out of it.  You’ve got some pull here in town, though.  If you can meet me at the Glassworks at midnight tonight, maybe we can figure out how to make sure he faces the punishment he deserves.  Knock twice and then three times more and then once more at the delivery entrance and I’ll let you in.
	In any case, I don’t have to impress upon you the delicate nature of this request.  If news got out, you know these local rubes would assume that you and I were in on the whole thing too, don’t you?  They’ve got no honor at all around these parts.  I still don’t understand how you can stand to stay here.
	Anyway, don’t tell anyone about this.  There are other complications as well, ones I’d rather talk to you in person about tonight.  Don’t be late.

						Tsuto_

“I assume Tsuto’s her brother?”  Dexter asked when he’d finished reading.  
“Yes,” Bethana nodded, “but he was something of a scandal when he was born twenty-one years ago, since he’s half-elven.”
She paused for a moment, her eyes wide and knowing.
“Neither of Ameiko’s parents are elves,” she noted.  “It was obvious that old Lonjiku wasn’t the boy’s father, and his rage at the discovery of his wife’s… indiscretion was the talk of the town for months.  Lonjiku’s wife, Atsuii, never revealed who the father was, and it’s a testament to Lonjiku’s stubbornness that they remained married.  Tsuto was handed over to the Turandarok Academy to be raised outside of the Kaijitsu family, ignored by his father and forbidden visits from his mother.  Mistress Ameiko visited him in secret a few times a month to keep him company, bring him some food, and to promise him that someday things would get all sorted out.  That all changed six years ago, when they had a terrible argument in which Tsuto struck her!  I don’t know what the argument was about, but whatever it was sent my lady away from Sandpoint for a year, during which time she apparently made a living as one of those adventurer types.  She returned to Sandpoint five years ago to attend her mother’s funeral.  Tsuto was quite public in his opinion that his father had pushed Atsuii off a cliff to her death, and during the funeral there was a confrontation.  Lonjiku nearly broke Tsuto’s jaw with his cane, after which Tsuto cursed him and left Sandpoint.  Ameiko has tried to reestablish contact with him ever since, but she was never able to track him down.  Now he’s back, out of thin air!  I’m worried he’s up to no good.  Since the sheriff’s gone, you and your friends are the only ones I can turn to.  Please, I beg you, could you go to the Glassworks and find out what’s happened to my mistress?”
Dexter nodded, assuring her that they would.  After all, that’s what heroes did.
_________________________________________________

“So this is the place?”  Dexter asked as they stood on the street across from the large factory.
“Yep,” Wesh replied.  “The Kaijitsu family was one of the original members of the Sandpoint Mercantile League, and they got into the glassmaking business early on and have managed to turn a tidy profit over the past four decades.  From that note, though, it sounds like their days may be numbered.  I’d always heard the stories about Tsuto’s questionable paternity, and there were rumors and speculation surrounding his mother’s death, but all that took place during ‘the Late Unpleasantness,’ and paranoia was rampant.  Seems like there might be some truth to the gossip after all.”

It was still daylight, but the large building that housed the Kaijitsu Glassworks was curiously silent.  On a normal day, workers should still be there, coming and going.  The furnace chimney still plumed, however, which indicated that someone must be inside, but when the four companions walked around the perimeter, peering into windows, they found them all with curtains drawn on the inside, and all the outer doors were locked.  They made their way around to the delivery entrance that Tsuto had spoken of in his note, but it to was locked.
“If I may?”  Dex asked, pulling an intricate set of lock picks from a belt pouch.  At Luther’s raised eyebrows, he merely shrugged.  “I wasn’t always the fine, upstanding deputy you see before you.”
He got to work on the lock, but as he did so, a few passersby on the road took notice of the ‘Sandpoint Heroes’ gathered round a service door to the glassworks, and paused to gawk.
“What’s goin’ on there?” one man asked.  “You fellas fixin’ to do some more heroin’?  Can we watch?”
“I’ll handle this,” Luther said.  “Despite living a somewhat sheltered life up until know, I do know something about public speaking.”
He walked over to the pedestrians with a disarming smile on his face.
“Now, now, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, shaking his head, “there’s nothing very exciting going on here.  Seems old Lonjiku has a rat problem,” he explained, borrowing a page from Shayliss’s book, “and he asked us to come and see if we could help him out.  After all, after a horde of goblins, a few overgrown mice should be no problem, right?”
The onlookers laughed and nodded appreciatively.
“Unfortunately,” the priest continued, warming to his crowd, “Lonjiku sent all the workers home so we could get our work done without interruption, but he forgot to leave the back door open like he promised, so we’re having to improvise.  So please, go on about your business.  The less attention this attracts, the happier Lonjiku will be.  If we catch any real big ones, I’m sure they’ll be on display at Wesh’s shop.”
The townsfolk seemed to find this explanation plausible, and after wishing him good hunting, they began to disperse.

By the time Luther made it back to the others, Dex had the lock opened.  They slipped quickly inside and pulled the door shut behind them.  They found themselves in a loading room.  A wheelbarrow sat against one wall, and shelves on the walls looked to contain reagents used to create glass of different colors.  There was a safe sitting on the floor, and its door was open.  Nothing was inside.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” Wesh said, stroking his chin.
Three single doors opened off the room, but a larger pair of double doors led to the north.  It was this pair that the group chose.

The chamber beyond the doors was the glassworking room, but the sight that they beheld when the door opened brought the quartet to a stunned halt.  A long furnace burned along the southeast wall of the room, and marble tables, used to work raw glass into usable shapes, sat throughout the chamber, with nearby wooden tables cluttered with various tools of the trade.  The furnace rumbled loudly, but not loud enough to drown out the sounds of breaking glass and high-pitched giggles.  Eight goblins scurried about the place, breaking things at random, but this was not what had so shocked the companions.  Rather it was the bodies of the glassworks staffers lying in various stages of dismemberment, including appendages that were half stuffed into the furnace, and other unidentifiable pieces that had been covered in molten glass.  Seated in a central alcove on one side of the room was the body of Lonjiku Kaijitsu, completely encased in thick, runny sheets of hardened glass.

It took a moment for the goblins to notice the intruders, but when they did, they all stopped in the midst of what they were doing, the look of disbelief on their faces almost comical.  Then, as one, they shrieked and came scurrying among the workbenches, some of them armed with their cobbled-together blades, others with pieces of glassware or tongs containing red-hot, molten glass.  Dexter dropped to one knee as they came, an arrow knocked to his bow quicker than the eye could follow.  He drew and released, taking the foremost goblin in the throat.  Meanwhile, Skud drew his blade and lunged forward to meet the vermin head-on, but as he skirted a table, he struck his elbow hard on one corner, causing him to lose his grip on his sword, sending it clattering to the floor.  Luther cursed in a very un-priestly fashion and dashed forward to grab the half-orc’s weapon before one of the goblins could.  Skud grunted his thanks as he retrieved the blade, still rubbing his swollen elbow.

Wesh was just preparing to mouth the words to a spell, when a thrown bottle creased his forehead, ruining his concentration.  Blood poured into his eyes, momentarily blinding him, but he still heard the snap of Dex’s bowstring and the gurgling cry that followed.

As Skud turned back towards the goblins, one leaped at him, hoping to take him while his back was still turned. Instead, its blade ricocheted off the wall and struck the goblin in the middle of his forehead, snapping the blade in half as it did.  As the stunned beast staggered around, a crashing blow from Skud sent it flying into the furnace.  By this time, however, the five remaining goblins had closed the distance.  Three of them surrounded Skud, while their companions dashed past, heading for the rest of the group.  All three of the little terrors hacked and slashed at the half-orc, opening several small, but bloody wounds.  Wesh and Dex quickly found themselves in hand-to-hand combat, trying desperately to fend off the rusty blades chopping at them.  Dex rolled over the top of a table, coming to his feet on the other side and put an arrow through one goblin’s eye at point-blank range.  As it dropped, the archer got off a second shot, taking another goblin who’d been harassing Skud in the center of its chest.  

Wesh finally managed to clear his vision, just in time to dodge a blow that would have taken off his ear.  Desperately, he spoke the words to a minor spell, and hurled a small globe of acid at his attacker.  The goblin shrieked as its skin burned, and it turned and fled towards the loading room.  At the same time, in rapid succession, Skud dropped one of his remaining assailants, while Dexter did for the other.  
“One’s getting away!”  Wesh shouted, and when Skud looked to where the mage was pointing, he leaped over a table and gave chase.  One-by-one, his companions quickly followed.  

By the time the barbarian reached the store room, the goblin had already disappeared through a far door, beyond which was a flight of stairs.  When Skud thundered down them, he found himself in an underground storage room, and caught sight of his fleeing quarry just as the goblin darted around a corner.  Howling in rage, the half-orc charged down the hall, and when he turned the corner, he saw the goblin standing before a door, pounding on it and shouting.  Skud quickly silenced the little monster.  As the goblin fell, however, the door it had been pounding on suddenly opened, and a tall young man dressed in traveling clothes stepped out.  He looked human, but his slightly pointed ears and arching eyebrows betrayed his true heritage.  His eyes widened when he saw the rabid half-orc standing before him with a dripping blade.  Like a cat, he dropped into a fighting stance, though he carried no obvious weapon.  If he had any real fighting skills, Tsuto Kaijitsu never got a chance to demonstrate them before Skud’s sword caved in his chest.


----------



## JollyDoc

Wesh identified Tsuto definitively when he and the others finally caught up, but there was no sign of Ameiko in the room the half-elf had come out of.  A quick search of the other basement rooms, however, found the young woman unconscious and bound hand-and-foot.  Dexter quickly cut her binds as Luther knelt to tend her wounds.  After a few moments, her eyes fluttered open and she gasped.  
“It’s ok,” Luther soothed.  “You’re safe now.  We’ve dispatched all the goblins.”
“What about my father?”  Ameiko asked, desperately.  “Tsuto?”
Luther lowered his eyes and shook his head slowly.  Tears filled Ameiko’s eyes.
“How could he?” she sobbed.  “He lured me here under false pretenses, and tried to convince me to join him.  He said that he and several mercenaries, led by Nualia Tobyn, had big plans for Sandpoint’s future.”
“Nualia Tobyn?”  Wesh interrupted.  “But…she’s dead!  She died in the church fire with her father!”
“Apparently not,” Ameiko said quietly.  “Tsuto warned me that I didn’t want to be in town when her plans came through.  When I declined his offer and struck him, he unleashed his goblins upon me.  They left me down here.”
“Did he say where to find Nualia?”  Wesh asked.  Ameiko shook her head.
“Perhaps this can shed some light on things,” Dexter said, holding up a small journal.  “I found it in Tsuto’s room.”
The leather-bound booklet contained two dozen parchment pages, most of which were filled with maps of Sandpoint or erotic drawings of a woman, presumably Nualia.  One of the last of these depicted her with demonic hands, bat wings, horns, a forked tail and fangs.  The maps each showed different attack plans.  The first set illustrated the plan for a group of thirty goblins, and one of these battle maps was circled…the recent attack on Sandpoint.  A short passage was written beneath this map:

_The raid went about as planned.  Few Thistletop goblins perished, and we were able to secure Tobyn’s casket with ease while the rubes were distracted by the rest.  I can’t wait until the real raid.  This town deserves a burning, that’s for sure._

The next several pages of the journal showed an assault on Sandpoint by a force of what appeared to be two-hundred goblins.  None of these maps were circled, and while many were scratched out as if they’d been rejected, the implications were ominous nonetheless.  After the last of these maps was another note:

_Ripnugget seems to favor the overwhelming land approach, but I don’t think it’s the best plan.  We should get the quasit’s aid.  Send her freaks up from below via the smuggling tunnel in my father’s Glassworks, and then invade from the river and from the Glassworks in smaller but more focused strikes.  The rest except Bruthazmus agree, and I’m pretty sure the bugbear’s just being contrary to annoy me.  My love’s to distracted with the lower chambers to make a decision.  Says that once Malfeshnekor’s released and under her command, we won’t need to worry about being subtle.  I hope she’s right._

There was one final note written before the last illustration depicting Nualia:

_My love seems bent on going through with it…nothing I can say convinces her of her beauty.  She remains obsessed with removing what she calls her ‘celestial taint’ and replacing it with her Mother’s grace.  Burning her father’s remains at the Thistletop shrine seems to have started the transformation, but I can’t say her new hand is pleasing to me.  Hopefully when she offers Sandpoint to Lamashtu’s fires, her new body won’t be as hideous.  Maybe I’ll luck out.  Succubi are demons too, aren’t they?_

“This explains much,” Wesh said, tucking the journal inside his tunic.  “The raid was merely a ruse to cover the theft of Tobyn’s body, which in turn, it seems, was used in some vile sacrifice to begin Nualia’s transformation into some-sort of Abyss-spawn.  It would seem the Thistletop goblin tribe that Shalelu spoke of is instrumental in the next planned raid, and didn’t she also mention their chieftain, Ripnugget, and a bugbear as well?”
Dexter nodded.  “But what about these smuggler’s tunnels your brother described?” he asked Ameiko.  “And what’s a quasit?”
“I can answer that,” Luther interjected.  “Quasits are minor demons, usually in service to more powerful demons, or occasionally to evil-minded mortal wizards.”
“As for the tunnels,” Ameiko added, “I know of these.  They lead down to the beach, but I’ve never heard of anything living down there.”
“I would seem that Tsuto discovered differently,” Wesh mused.  “I think we have some further investigating to do…”


----------



## LordVyreth

Heh, "succubi are demons, right?" made me laugh.  

So, how detailed were the town and the NPCs in the original setting?  Were ones like the gossipy girl part of the original plot?  It's interesting to have such an obviously non-European family in the setting as well; most tend towards western or Ye Olde Fantasy style names.


----------



## Zurai

Yes, Shayliss is in the original plot pretty much exactly as written. So far as I can tell, everything that's happened so far is straight from the module except Shalelu's parting comment. Paizo did a great job with Sandpoint. There's a lot more information in the back of Burnt Offerings about the town, too, that isn't in the general plot line.


----------



## demiurge1138

Sandpoint is ridiculously well-detailed, and Shayliss Vinder is decidedly a part of the original module.

In my game, Tsuto got captured, not killed. Not that this did him any good. As a sidequest, I introduced an attic whisperer searching for Tsuto, the restless spirit of a kid he'd accidentally killed during his dark past. The party did not, in fact, destroy the attic whisperer--instead, they smuggled it into the prison. And were very surprised the next day when Tsuto's corpse was found in his cell, with the throat torn out.

In the words of one of my players, in the most guileless voice imaginable, "I didn't think it was going to kill him. I only thought it would torture him forever!"


----------



## JollyDoc

LordVyreth said:
			
		

> Heh, "succubi are demons, right?" made me laugh.
> 
> So, how detailed were the town and the NPCs in the original setting?  Were ones like the gossipy girl part of the original plot?  It's interesting to have such an obviously non-European family in the setting as well; most tend towards western or Ye Olde Fantasy style names.




There are three distinct human races in Pathfinder:  Chelaxians, which probably best fit the Eurpoean type; Varisians, which more resemble gypsies; and the Shoanti, which I imagine as Maori tribesmen.


----------



## LordVyreth

What an odd choice for them to make.  Why only three?  I thought it would be better to ignore race entirely and let people imagine their heroes as they desire or make sure there enough races to cover all real-world bases.

So what of the three is Tsuto's family?  Also, what would've happened had Luther gotten on Shayliss' good side?


----------



## Zurai

There's more than that, actually. Those are just the three human "races" common in the Varisian subcontinent. Tsuto's family is another race that is from a country on a distant continent; they're a Chinese-inspired nation that hasn't been detailed much yet.


----------



## JollyDoc

LordVyreth said:
			
		

> What an odd choice for them to make.  Why only three?  I thought it would be better to ignore race entirely and let people imagine their heroes as they desire or make sure there enough races to cover all real-world bases.
> 
> So what of the three is Tsuto's family?  Also, what would've happened had Luther gotten on Shayliss' good side?




Yes, I should have been more clear.  These are the three main human races.  All of the demi-humans are represented as well.  There are other countries detailed in the Gazeteer, but these haven't been too as yet in RotRL.  

If Luther had accepted Shayliss's proposition, not only would he have had some 'splainin' to do to her dad, but so much for  that whole Vow of Purity thing...or is it Chastity?  Abstinence?  Anyway, the no-sex one.  Ick!


----------



## Hammerhead

Technically, no sex is "vow of celibacy."


----------



## Joachim

Hammerhead said:
			
		

> Technically, no sex is "vow of celibacy."




But in D&D, its a Vow of Chastity.


----------



## Tony Vargas

Actually 

Chastity = no sex

Celibacy = can't get married.


In rellgioun that forbid sex outside of wedlock, Celibacy would effectively include chastity.


----------



## Joachim

Tony Vargas said:
			
		

> Actually
> 
> Chastity = no sex
> 
> Celibacy = can't get married.




Thus the reason they called them 'Chastity Belts' and not 'Celibacy Belts'.


----------



## Cerulean_Wings

JollyDoc, I've just read the first recounting of the story and I have to say it's got me intrigued. Hopefully I'll be able to continue reading and catching up to the tale 

Say, would you mind divulging some info on the changes done to classes in the Pathfinder rpg? For instance, what's with Wesh's sword being useful to him as a wizard?


----------



## Dr Simon

The Alpha playtest version of Pathfinder is *free* on Paizo's site and is pretty neat. My favourite elements so far - Rangers get a mix of favoured enemy and favoured environment and, excellent flavoursome crunch, the different bloodlines for sorcerers. Dunno about wizards and weapon proficiency, haven't read it all in depth yet.


----------



## Zurai

Humans get training with one Simple or Martial weapon of their choice, and Wizards can choose an "Arcane Focus" instead of a familiar. Their arcane focus can be a variety of things, one of which is a weapon. It allows them to cast an extra spell per day, plus it can be enchanted for half cost without needing the appropriate crafting feats. My guess is the sword is his Arcane Focus and we'll be seeing a _lot_ more of it in the future.


----------



## Cerulean_Wings

Zurai - Awesome, just what I wanted to know, thanks 



			
				Dr Simon said:
			
		

> The Alpha playtest version of Pathfinder is *free* on Paizo's site and is pretty neat. My favourite elements so far - Rangers get a mix of favoured enemy and favoured environment and, excellent flavoursome crunch, the different bloodlines for sorcerers. Dunno about wizards and weapon proficiency, haven't read it all in depth yet.




Huh, I was under the impression it had restricted access. Thanks for passing the info


----------



## LordVyreth

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Yes, I should have been more clear.  These are the three main human races.  All of the demi-humans are represented as well.  There are other countries detailed in the Gazeteer, but these haven't been too as yet in RotRL.
> 
> If Luther had accepted Shayliss's proposition, not only would he have had some 'splainin' to do to her dad, but so much for  that whole Vow of Purity thing...or is it Chastity?  Abstinence?  Anyway, the no-sex one.  Ick!




He has that already?  I assumed that if you get the feat, it means no more sex any more, so he'd be fine until then.    

But my point was more for plot reasons.  Let's say Shayliss set her eyes on Dex, for example, and he went with it.  Would that change the campaign from hereon?


----------



## Joachim

LordVyreth said:
			
		

> He has that already?  I assumed that if you get the feat, it means no more sex any more, so he'd be fine until then.




Well...the way that I am playing it is that Luther has taken all of the vows that he plans on gaining and will play according to those restrictions...the benefits (in the form of feats) are to be granted later.

So far, the only Vow feats that I have are Sacred Vow, Vow of Poverty, and Vow of Nonviolence.  The ones that I will live by even though I have not taken the feats yet are Vow of Peace, Vow of Purity, Vow of Obedience, Vow of Abstinence, and (finally) Vow of Chastity.

Probably around 3rd or 4th level (should I make it that far), I will post Luther's character sheet.


----------



## JollyDoc

NEW RECRUITS

When the five companions emerged from the Glassworks, it was full night, which was a blessing since the darkness would obscure Ameiko’s battered condition from prying eyes.  
“What will you do now?”  Wesh asked the young woman gently.
“I don’t know,” she sighed.  “I suppose the Glassworks is my responsibility now, but what am I going to tell the families of all those people?  How on earth am I going to explain all this?”
“We’ll help you,” Wesh replied.  “For now, obviously your going to have to temporarily close the factory.  Perhaps we can arrange for the mayor to gather together the families of the workers for a private meeting where the news can be broken as softly as possible.”
“And I will make reparations to them all,” Ameiko nodded, “though I’m sure that coin will be small comfort.”
“Justice might be more satisfactory,” Wesh said, an edge to his voice.  “We’re going back in tomorrow to investigate those tunnels.  When we’re done there, I think Thistletop is next on our agenda.  Nualia Tobyn has much to answer for, and as the sheriff’s duly appointed deputies, in his absence, I’d say it falls to us to make sure she does.  Gentlemen?”
The others nodded silently, even Luther.  He could already feel the pain and suffering of the families of the Kaijitsu’s employees as a physical thing.  
“Right then,” Wesh continued, “then we’ll meet back here in the morning.  Dexter, if you and Skud wouldn’t mind escorting Ameiko back to the inn.”
“My pleasure,” the rogue smiled charmingly, then offered her his arm to lean on.
___________________________________________

When they reached the Rusty Dragon, Ameiko had them go round to a back door, so as not to cause alarm in the common room.  Nevertheless, Bethana Corwin, as if she’d been expecting them, bustled around a corner just as they entered the back hall.  Her hands flew to her mouth and her face drained of color as she saw her mistress’s condition.
“Mistress Ameiko!” she shrieked.  “What’d that monster do to you?”
“It’s okay, Bethana,” Ameiko soothed.  “It looks worse than it is, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d love a hot bath, food and a warm bed, in that order.  I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow.  See to any needs these gentlemen have as well, if you don’t mind.”
The old halfling woman nodded and took Ameiko’s hand to lead her up a service stair, but then she turned quickly back, as if just remembering something.
“There’s a stranger in the common room who asked after you gents,” she said to Dex and Skud.  “Sort of raggedy-looking, like a drifter or woodsman, but he didn’t strike me as sinister or nothing.  I told him I weren’t sure when you’d be back, but he said he’d wait.  I put him in your usual booth.”
“Did we leave a forwarding address somewhere?”  Dex asked Skud, shaking his head.  The big half-orc gave his usual grunt.
“Well,” Dex sighed, “let’s not keep our guest waiting.”

At first glance, Dexter thought that Tsuto had returned from the dead to pay them a visit from beyond the grave, but when the half-elf drew back the hood of his cloak, his reddish-blonde hair quickly dispelled the illusion.  He was dressed in forest garb that covered a tanned hide chest piece, which only added to the man’s already fragrant aroma.  A gleaming sickle hung at his belt, but otherwise, he bore no weapons.
“You must be Dexter and…ah…Skud, is it?”  the half-elf asked, bowing slightly.
“Yes, that’s right,” Dex answered, “and you have us at a disadvantage.  I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”
“Rico,” the traveler replied, extending his hand.  “Rico Leaflair.  I’m a friend of Shalelu’s.  She told me where to find you and whom to ask for.”
“Ah, yes,” Dex nodded.  “I remember her saying something about bringing an acquaintance back with her, which begs the question…where is she?”
“She got wind of Bruthazmus being sighted a few miles from here, so she sent me ahead.  I normally hail from Mosswood, and don’t usually come this far south, but I’ve been having some trouble with the local goblins myself, and when Shalelu told me what had happened here, and her other suspicions, I thought it might be in my best interest to…get involved, you might say.”
“Well, we’ve already told Shalelu all there is to tell about the raid…,” Dex replied, “but there have been a few more developments since she left.  By ‘get involved,’ do you mean you’re willing to get your hands dirty?”
Rico held up his heavily callused hands.  “I’m a druid, my friend.  I wouldn’t know what to do with clean hands.  Shalelu vouched for you.  If you want my help, I’m offering it…mine and Garm’s”
“Garm?”  Dex asked.  
A low growl sounded from under the table, and Skud took a quick step back, his hand going for his sword.  The large, shaggy form of a wolf crept quietly out of the shadows and sat at Rico’s feet, its cold eyes glimmering with a feral intelligence.
“Garm, I presume?”  Dex smiled.  “Well, we’d best bring you up to par.  We’ve got an early day tomorrow.”
_____________________________________________

Wesh had just reached the door to his shop, and was putting the key in the lock, when a sharp hiss caused him to jerk his head towards a nearby alley.
“Who’s there?”  the wizard demanded, a faint crackle of energy snapping at his fingertips.
“No need for that, now,” a deep voice replied.  Then a tall, burly figure stepped out of the gloom.  When he came into the light of Wesh’s lantern, it revealed that he was a young, bald, dark-skinned man.  He was dressed in farmer’s clothes, but a metallic gleam from beneath his tunic showed that he was something more, as did the large sword strapped to his back.
“Randall?”  Wesh asked, surprise in his voice.  “It is you, isn’t it?”
“I’m surprised you remember,” the big man said.
“How could I forget?”  Wesh laughed.  “How could anyone, for that matter?  You’ve got a lot of guts showing your face around here.  Last I heard you were persona non grata.  It’s not everyday one of the town guardsmen strikes his commanding officer and is allowed to walk free.”
“That was a long time ago,” Randall said, “and I wouldn’t exactly say I was given clemency.  Barred from ever returning to the guard, forced to return to the life I swore I would never look back on, shunned by anyone I’ve ever been close to.”
“So why come back now?”  Wesh asked.
“Because deep inside, I’m still a soldier,” Randall snapped.  “I never stopped being one, and I still have a sense of duty.  My town’s in need, and I’m here to discharge that duty.”
“I notice you waited to answer that call until after Hemlock was gone,” Wesh said wryly.
Randall cleared his throat.  “Yes…well, I didn’t see any sense in causing more trouble than I already had.  I heard he’d be gone for a few days, and I also heard what you and your friends did during the raid.  Local heroes, deputies, the works.  I want in.”
Wesh looked dubious.  “What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” Randall said.  “I’ll do what I’m told.  I bow to your command, just let me do what I was born to do.  Let me serve.”
Wesh tapped his finger against his chin for several long moments before he answered.
“Well, it’s not just up to me.  I have three other deputies to answer to.  We’re meeting in the morning at the Glassworks.  Be there, and I’ll let you plead your case.  No promises, though.”
A look of relief crossed Randall’s sunburned face.  “You’ve given me more than I could have imagined.  You’ve given me hope.”
___________________________________________

Luther entered the darkened church and made his way through the back halls to his quarters.  When he opened the door to his room, however, he nearly fainted dead-away.  A robed figure stood in the middle of the small chamber, his back turned to the door.  He turned upon hearing Luther’s sharp intake of breath, revealing a face only a mother could love.  His head was shaved except for a topknot, making his somewhat tapered ears stand out that much more.  He had a heavy brow, making his eyes seem that much more beady.  His nose was flattened, and squashed-looking, as if he’d been on the receiving end of one-too-many punches, and his lower jaw was protuberant, causing his lower incisors to show above his lips like the tusks of a boar.  Still, all of this was somewhat offset by the look of pure calm and intelligence behind his eyes.
“Brother Adso?”  Luther gasped when he could find his breath to speak again.  
“You seem surprised to see me,” the half-orc smiled. 
“Well…yes,” Luther replied, a look of puzzlement on his face.  The monk was one of the finest apprentices at Windsong Abbey, but his talents lay more to the martial rather than the diplomatic.
“Don’t be,” Adso said.  “The elders at the abbey heard of the attack here…and the role you played.”  At this a slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth.  Luther frowned.
“I spilled not a single drop of blood,” he said defensively.
“I do not doubt you,” Adso said, placatingly, “though I’m sure your other talents were of service.  In any event, the elders sent me to escort you home, what with this area growing more dangerous by the day.”
Luther entered the room, and set his gear down.  “While I appreciate the offer,” he said, “I had not planned on returning to the abbey just yet.  These people still need me, and the sheriff has asked for my assistance in these matters.”
Adso considered this for a moment, and then nodded again.  “Very well.  Then I shall stay on to ensure your safety.”  His tone seemed to brook no argument.  “Perhaps you should tell me exactly what it is that you are involved in here…”
________________________________________________

In the pre-dawn hours of the following morning, a group of shadowy figures congregated in the courtyard of the Kaijitsu Glassworks.  
“It would seem our ranks have swelled,” Wesh remarked dryly.
Luther cleared his throat.
“This is brother Adso, a monk from my order.  He has graciously offered to join us on our investigation.  I can vouch that he is an honorable man, and imminently trustworthy.”
The expression on Skud’s face as he eyed the other half-orc seemed to say that he felt differently.  Adso returned his gaze with a cool, slightly haughty stare.  The young monk had been raised around humans all his life, and looked upon his orcish heritage as one would a birth-defect…it couldn’t be helped, but that didn’t mean it had to be a handicap.  Skud read this in the other’s eyes, knew instinctively, from years of experience, when he was being looked down upon and patronized.  A low growl began low in his throat, and Luther felt rather than saw Adso’s stance suddenly tense.  At that moment, Dexter stepped in front of his friend and gestured towards Rico.
“Well, I can’t vouch for anything about our new acquaintance, except that he claims Shalelu sent him, so I suppose that’s good enough.”
Rico nodded to the others.
“Rest assured,” the druid said, “I have no love of goblins or their kin.  If Shalelu has put her faith in you, then that is all the assurance I need…and it seems Garm trusts you as well.”
The shaggy wolf had moved to sit at Skud’s feet, and it looked up at him, mouth open and tongue lolling, its tail thumping happily on the ground.  Skud looked down, and a small smile appeared on his face.  Dex had never seen the half-orc smile unless he was killing something.  He didn’t know the big lug had it in him.  Absently, the barbarian reached down and scratched the wolf behind the ears.
“Well, I can tell you for a fact that I don’t trust Randall here any further than I could throw him,” Wesh said, jerking his thumb at the big warrior behind him.  “He’s got guts, I’ll give him that, and he can swing a sword with the best of them.  He’s also a bit desperate, at this point, which means that it’s in his best interest to stay on our good side, right Randall?”
The warrior nodded begrudgingly.
“I’ve made some mistakes in my time,” he said, “but I’d like to think a person can change.  Sandpoint’s my home, and even if I’ve been on the wrong side of the law on occasion, a man’s home is still his castle.  I’d defend it with my life.” 
“Excellent!”  Wesh said, clapping his hands.  “The at least we’re all on the same side for the time being.  Now, before we attract any more attention, what say we get on about this business?”


----------



## JollyDoc

They found the tunnel Ameiko had told them about leading off from one of the unused basement storerooms.  It was carved from the bedrock beneath Sandpoint, and wound several hundred feet beneath the sleeping town above.  At one point, two side tunnels branched from it, one of them leading to a collapse, while the other led to a point that seemed to have been bricked up until recently.  Beyond the demolished wall, it continued on into darkness.  With Dexter in the lead, moving as stealthily as a shadow, the seven companions started down.  Another hundred feet or so passed before Dex saw what looked like an opening on the right side of the tunnel.  Ahead, it turned a corner and appeared to continue on.  Motioning for the others to stay back, he crept silently ahead and peered around the opening.  What he saw almost drew a scream from his throat.  Only his mouth suddenly going dry prevented it.  Two figures stood stock still in the darkness of a small, barren cave.  They were horribly deformed, hairless and emaciated, with unnaturally long arms that ended in three-fingered talons.  Their legs bent like those of a dog, and a writhing network of bulging veins formed dark blue patterns across their pallid skin.  Worst of all, however, where their faces…their noses were little more than a pair of slits, and their eyes were bulging and red.  Their lower jaws split in half at the chin into two wretched arms that terminated in three-fingered hands to either side of  open gullets with writhing tongues.

Before the rogue could move, both of the creatures locked their eyes upon him.  Only then did his momentary paralysis leave him and he backed quickly away.  Skud was the closest behind him, and when the half-orc saw the look of fear on his friend’s face, he rushed forward, blade rasping free of its sheath.  He met the first creature just as it cleared the opening, slamming his sword into its forehead.  The beast reeled from the blow, shrieking in an inhuman voice.  A moment later, an arrow sprouted from its shoulder.  Skud glanced behind him and saw that Dex had regained enough composure to line up a shot with his bow.  Just then, the second creature elbowed its way past its brother, and Skud slashed viciously across its abdomen.  To his shock and surprise, the wound quickly began to knit itself back together, and he saw that the first monster’s wounds were closing as well.  Suddenly, Skud found himself jostled aside, and when he looked to where this new attack was coming from, he saw Adso roll himself into a ball and somersault behind the second creature.  Coming to his feet behind the brute, the monk quickly grabbed its head with both hands and gave a quick twist, snapping its neck with an audible crack.  As it dropped, a great gout of blood burst from the first creature’s chest as Randall’s sword tip erupted through.  

“What…in the name…of all that’s holy…were those?”  Dex rasped in between ragged breaths.  Wesh moved up and knelt beside one of the corpses.
“They’re called sinspawn,” the mage said.  “I’ve heard of them in tales that Madame Mvashti told me, but I always thought they were just the spinnings of an old woman.  Guess I was wrong.”
“Yes, but what are they?”  Luther asked, revulsion on his face.
“I can’t remember exactly,” Wesh shook his head.  “All I recall is that they were supposedly common in ancient Thassilon, but again, I always halfway believed the stories of that empire were myth as well.”
“Well, these things were real enough,” Dexter said.  “I’d say we stumbled upon something a bit more than smuggler’s tunnels.”
“Tsuto’s journal did mention a quasit and her ‘freaks,’” Wesh reminded him.  “I guess these would qualify.”
_______________________________________________

The tunnel continued on for a distance before branching again.  This time, it ended at a room of worked stone.  The original purpose of the chamber was unclear, but large mounds of rubble lay strewn on the floor, and a single closed door stood on its far side.  Beyond this, they found another passage, this one also of worked stone.  It twisted back on itself several times before opening into a small antechamber.  A red marble statue of a strikingly beautiful, but at the same time, monstrously enraged human woman stood in the middle of the room, her stony expression twisted in fury.  She wore flowing robes, and her long hair was held back from her face by an intricate headdress of hooks and blades.  In her left hand she carried a large book, the face of which was inscribed with a seven-pointed star.  Her right hand held a glittering metal and ivory ranseur.
“What do you make of this?” Luther asked Wesh as he walked around the statue.
“I’m not sure,” the wizard replied distractedly.  “Again, it’s a feeling like I should know, but the memory’s just out of reach.  I think this place is old, though.  Certainly it was here long before Sandpoint, and sure enough goblins didn’t build it.  I’m starting to think we’re on to something much larger than we imagined.”

Continuing on, the group came to a point where the passage widened into what appeared to have once been a small shrine, for to the northeast, steps led up to a platform of gray stone.  Sitting atop the platform was an ancient altar, little more than a jagged block of black marble with a shallow concavity on top of it.  This basin was filled with what appeared to be filthy water.  A pair of large, double doors stood closed on the far side of the area.  Wes paused in front of the altar and closed his eyes in concentration.
“There’s magic here,” he said.  “Strong.  We’d best be cautious.”  
When he opened his eyes again, however, they widened in dismay.
“Skud, no!”
But it was too late.  The burly half-orc stood before the altar and scooped a double handful of the liquid into his mouth.
“What?” he snarled, turning towards the mage.  “Skud thirs…”
His voice trailed off as a sickly green pallor washed over him.  Doubling over as he fell to his knees, he began retching violently…and continuously.
“Stand back!”  Luther said in a commanding voice that seemed to surprise even himself.  Moving quickly, he knelt beside the barbarian and laid his hands on Skud’s back.  He closed his eyes and his lips moved silently in prayer.  Gradually, Skud’s heaves grew weaker, until finally he could catch his breath again.  Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he climbed slowly to his feet.
“I guess that’s a mistake you won’t be repeating,” Wesh said smugly.
“Leave be,” Dex snapped as he allowed his friend to lean against him.  “He was thirsty.  He didn’t know.”
“He does now,” Wesh answered.  “So do the rest of you.  Don’t take anything in here for granted.  This is an ancient place, with ancient secrets.  We disturb them at our peril.”

Once Skud had recovered sufficiently, the group approached the doors.  After Dex made sure there were no hidden traps waiting to be sprung, Skud and Randall put their shoulders to the portals and pushed them open.  The huge room revealed beyond looked like nothing so much as an immense, underground cathedral.  The walls were carved with strange, spiky runes.  In the center of the chamber was a large pool, a ring of polished human skulls balanced on stone spikes arranged in a circle around the deeper midsection.  At the fare end of the room, a pair of stone stairways led up to a pulpit on which sat a second pool, triangular in shape and filled with churning, bubbling water that looked almost like translucent lava.  Yet, while wisps of what looked like heat and steam rose from the strange, orange liquid, the room itself was deathly cold.  Hovering above the second pool was an odd little creature.  It appeared to be female, as evidenced by the black, silk gown it wore, and the jeweled tiara on its head, but beyond that, there was nothing remotely human about it.  Its skin was green, and thickly scaled, and black, greasy hair hung lankly about its face.  Tiny, bat-like wings on its back beat the air like that of a hummingbird, and small curved horns protruded from its head.  When it spoke, its voice was raspy and heavy with phlegm.
“How dare you intrude upon the Mother’s sanctum?” she shrieked.  “I am empress here, I, Erylium, and you shall not despoil my empire further!”
Quick as a flash, a small dagger appeared in her hand, and she made two swift cuts across her other wrist.  Drops of blood dribbled from the wounds into the pool below, and when they did, the orange glow dimmed noticeably.  Just for a moment, a look of worry crossed Erylium’s face.  Then the pool began to churn even more angrily, and from its depths crawled two sinspawn.  

“Quasit?”  Dex asked, raising an eyebrow at Wesh.
“Quasit,” the mage replied.
Dex nodded and knocked an arrow, letting fly an instant later, striking one of the sinspawn as it hauled itself out of the pool.  
“Hie, Garm!”  Rico’s voice suddenly called out, and at his command the wolf darted forward, moving low to the ground.  The second sinspawn had just reached the bottom of one of the flights of stairs when Garm struck.  The sheer momentum of the animal bowled the monster off of its feet, and as it fell, the wolf’s jaws fastened on one of its arms and Garm began shaking his head violently back and forth.  
Meanwhile, Skud started forward, but Wesh grabbed him by the shoulder.
“If you want to keep hand, let go!”  the barbarian growled.
“I’m not trying to stop you, friend,” the wizard replied.  “Just trying to level the playing field.”
He began speaking arcane words, and as he did, Skud’s body began to expand.  By the time Wesh’s spell was complete, the half-orc stood twice his normal height, and his sword had grown proportionately as well.  Skud looked down at himself, then at his sword and grinned wickedly at Wesh.
“Good trick!” he laughed, and then waded into the room.  As he advanced, the first sinspawn, Dex’s arrow still stuck in its chest, came to meet him.  Barely checking his stride, the enormous barbarian swept his six-foot blade before him, neatly separating the sinspawn’s head from its shoulders.  

Erylium cursed a blue streak as she saw the first of her minions fall.  She screeched louder still as a cerulean bolt from Wesh’s outstretched hand struck her, scorching her thick hide.  Her wails took on a cadence as she began the workings of her own spell.  As she spat out the last word, the air before her shimmered, and from thin air, a large, coiled serpent appeared.  Its eyes glowed red, and vicious-looking spikes covered its scaly skin.  With unnerving speed, it coiled to strike at Garm as the wolf continued to worry at the prone sinspawn.  Before it could, however, Adso was there, moving with the fluidity and grace of a zephyr.  He caught the viper under its jaw with a vicious uppercut just as it lunged.  It hissed madly, and almost faster than the eye could follow, it whirled on the monk and sank its needle-like fangs into his thigh.  Adso winced, but did not cry out.  Instead, he seized the snake’s upper and lower jaws in both hands and began to pry its mouth open.  A moment later, the viper vanished as quickly as it had appeared as another arrow from Dexter’s bow pierced its eye, sending it back to whatever Abyssal plane it was summoned from.

By this time, Randall had entered the fray.  The last sinspawn was struggling to regain its feet, tearing at Garm with its free hand as it rose.  Before it cold pull itself completely upright, however, the big soldier’s sword cut it down in a flurry of flashing steel.  Erylium hissed in rage, but as another volley of Wesh’s magic missiles struck her, she vanished into thin air.
“Beware!”  Wesh cried out.  “This demon-spawn can render herself invisible!  She’s still here!”
No sooner had he spoken, than Erylium reappeared across the room as a wave of magic emanated from her.  All of the company felt its effect briefly…a cold, sickening fear.  For most, it passed as quickly as it had come, but for Dex and Garm, the terror took root.  It was a race to see who would reach the doors faster, with Dex beating the wolf by a fraction of a second.  Both then darted towards opposite corners of the antechamber, where they hunched down against the walls, panic-stricken.

Skud saw his friend flee, but bloodlust was upon him, and he paid Dex no heed.  Instead, he ran across the chamber, his long legs carrying him there in three steps.  His heavy sword chopped down, opening a great gash down one of Erylium’s arms.  
“How dare you lay hands upon me, animal?” she shrieked.  Then, black power gathered around her upraised fist, and she reached out and slapped the half-orc.  As she did so, the dark energy exploded and Skud reeled back, but not before slashing at her once more.  Erylium flew after him, gathering more magic about her.  Before she could strike again, however, a sizzling volley of energy bolts from Wesh knocked her out of the air.  Slowly, she spiraled towards the floor below, landing unmoving upon the stone.


----------



## JollyDoc

“So…,” Randall said, his eyes narrowed, “what exactly was that, and what was it doing down here?”
“That, my friend, was a quasit,” Wesh explained.  “As for what she was doing down here, I have no idea, but it seems that Nualia Tobyn has made her acquaintance in the past, and that puts her firmly in the column of Sandpoint’s enemies…or rather, she was in that column.  But this…this is what truly sparks my curiosity…”
He made his way up one of the short stairs to the glowing orange pool.
“This seems to be the source of her sinspawn, which according to Tsuto’s journal, she was planning on using to assist Nualia’s invasion.  If we could somehow shut it down…”
He stared intently into the pool for several minutes, before standing abruptly and snapping his fingers.
“Randall!” he called.  “Come here.  Skud, Adso, you come too.”
When the three had joined him, he began explaining his hypothesis, pacing back and forth eagerly.  
“Did you see her face when she summoned the sinspawn?  She was concerned, and the pool dimmed after her summoning.  This means that it can only create more a finite number of times!  All we have to do to drain its power is keep summoning sinspawn until its empty!”
The others looked dubious.
“So…,” Randall started again, “you want us to stand here and fight some unknown number of those things, right?  Oh, and someone has to donate the blood, right?”
“Yes, yes,” Wesh waved off his sarcasm, “but we won’t summon them all at once, just one at a time.  You three strapping youths should have no trouble with just one!  If it will make you more comfortable, Dex and I will be ready behind you to provide support.”
“No, it doesn’t make me more comfortable, but you’re calling the shots,” Randall said morosely.  “Alright, here goes nothing.”
Adso and Skud, standing on opposite sides of the pool, tensed as Randall drew his blade across one palm and let a single drop of blood fall into the churning liquid below.  Immediately, the orange broth began to seethe and froth as another sinspawn heaved its way to the surface.  Dexter’s bow string twanged, and magic flashed from Wesh’s fingertips.  Simultaneously, Randall and Skud’s swords fell, and Adso lashed out with a powerful mule kick.  The sinspawn collapsed back into the murk as quickly as it had appeared.  Once more, the pool dimmed.
“Now just a minute!”  Luther called from the floor below.  “This has gone far enough!  I object to you creating life, no matter how repulsive that life may be, just so you can then slaughter it!  That is an abomination!”
Wesh cut his eyes at the priest.  
“Your objection is duly noted, father,” he said coolly, “but do you want to know what I would call an abomination?  Letting more of these things loose into the world so that they can then crawl to the surface and kill the townspeople we’ve sworn to protect…people like Alergast Barrett, in case you’ve forgotten.”
He turned back to Randall and nodded.  The big warrior squeezed another drop of blood into the pool, calling forth another sinspawn.  This one fared no better than its mate, and as it fell, the glowing pool went dark.  Wesh smirked at Luther, but the priest did not look chastened.  Instead, Wesh saw defiance in his eyes, and he knew the holy man was going to be trouble down the road.
____________________________________________

There was no way out of the cathedral, and so the group back-tracked to the room where the strange, red statue stood.  There was a single door leading out of it.  Once more Dexter examined it, pronouncing it safe a moment later.  Skud and Randall formed up, and at a nod from the warrior, the half-orc shoved the portal open.  The large chamber revealed beyond had obviously once served as a prison, as testified by the nearly two dozen cells that lined its perimeter.  A rickety wooden platform overlooked the room, and it was upon this that the door had opened.  Two flights of stairs descended to the prison floor, while a narrow wooden walkway ran from the northern edge of the platform to a passageway to the east.  As Randall and Skud stepped onto the platform, they saw to their right, at the bottom of one of the stairs, a group of four sinspawn bickering among themselves over a yellowed skull.  As one, they turned their heads to look at the intruders, dropping the skull to the floor, forgotten.  Their lower jaws split as they hissed in unison and started up the stairs…

The battle was short and brutal.  Randall, Skud and Adso quickly formed a wall between the slavering horrors and their comrades, but the sinspawn were wily.  Two of them occupied the three warriors, while the other two moved to the other set of stairs.  Wesh and Dex loosed a barrage of arrows, and small acid balls, but the brutes reached the platform despite their best efforts.  At that point, the melee became a bloody hand-to-hand exchange, but despite several vicious wounds suffered by the companions, the sinspawn were beaten back and destroyed, one-by-one.  Luther immediately set about tending the various slashes and bites, going about his work in stoic silence.  The violence sickened him, though he knew it was probably unavoidable.  Not for the last time, he wondered if he should have accepted Adso’s offer to return to Windsong.
_____________________________________________

Following the passage from the prison, the seven friends passed through what seemed to have been an ancient interrogation chamber, full of bizarre torture devices whose functions could only be guessed at, as well as the ruined remains of a study of some sort.  This latter room, strangely enough, also contained three cell-like rooms leading off of it.  Each of these contained skeletal remains of horribly deformed humanoids.  One had three arms, while another had an enormous misshapen skull, and the third had a ribcage the extended all the way down to its pelvis…a pelvis with stunted leg bones strewn below its strangely flat girth.  Another passage led from the study and ascended a long flight of stairs.  At the top, it opened onto a strangely cold chamber, its ceiling arching to a vaulted height of twenty feet.  The floor contained eleven wooden lids strewn haphazardly over eleven small pits in the ground.  From the darkness within them echoed up strange shuffling sounds and, every so often, a low moan.  Standing in the midst of the pit covers was what appeared to be a horribly mutated goblin.  It was big, easily the size of Skud, and its flesh hung off of it in loose rolls.  It bore a gleaming sword in one hand, and a bloody handaxe in the other.  In addition, and much more disturbing, there was a silver dagger clutched in the hand of a third arm that sprouted from the creature’s neck.  Its face looked like melted wax, and its eyes were white and pupiless.  Strange runes and sigils covered its exposed skin.  

“Mistress says Koruvus to kill all he sees,” the goblin-creature said in a gurgling voice, “and Koruvus sees you.”
“Koruvus?”  Wesh said.  “Haven’t we heard that name before?”
“Yes,” Rico answered.  “Shalelu would have mentioned him.  He was a champion of the Seven Tooth tribe, but he vanished several months ago.  I guess we know now what happened to him.”
“I’m not as concerned with what happened to him,” Randall growled, “as I am with what’s going to happen to him.  Here he comes!”
Koruvus leaped nimbly over the covered pits and closed the distance to the stairwell rapidly.  Just before he reached it, however, he paused, drew in a deep breath, and spewed out a vile stream of foul-smelling blood.  It sprayed across Skud, Randall and Adso, and where it touched bare flesh, it burned like acid.  Dex managed to roll nimbly aside, but as he came to his feet behind the goblin, Koruvus slashed at the archer with the glowing longsword.  Dex screamed as the blade cut deep into his arm, like a hot knife through butter.  He fumbled for his bow as the brute advanced on him, but his arm was numb, and he couldn’t grip the string.  Ultimately, he desperately raised the bow over his head to ward off what he was sure would be his death blow, but then a barrage of flashing energy bolts pelted the side of Koruvus’s head.  Grunting, the goblin turned towards the source of the new attack, only to see Randall charging straight at him.  Koruvus raised all three weapons, accidentally nicking himself in the eye with his dagger as it came up, but Randall’s sword dropped like a felled tree, cleaving through the goblin’s head, and almost all the way to his neck.  Koruvus dropped heavily to his knees, then toppled sideways onto one of the wooden lids, which promptly gave way to his weight, dropping him into the pit below.  A moment later, wet, nasty gobbling sounds could be heard echoing up from the darkness.  Luther stepped forward to peer into the abattoir, and covered his mouth, sickened.  A desiccated, shambling corpse knelt over Koruvus’s body, gorging itself.  When the priest kicked aside the other lids, he saw that each pit held another mindless zombie.  He walked slowly to stand in the middle of all the pits, then raised his amulet above his head and closed his eyes.
“I release you,” he called, “so that you may find eternal peace in the hereafter.”
His medallion glowed with the light of a small sun, illuminating the darkness within each pit like daylight.  As each zombie looked towards the light, they were instantly burned to ash.
________________________________________________

They found only one last room beyond Koruvus’s lair, a strange chamber that consisted of a fifteen-foot diameter sphere.  Several objects floated in the room, spinning lazily in space…a ragged book, a scroll, a bottle of wine, a dead raven surrounded by a halo of floating and writhing maggots, and a twisted iron wand with a forked tip.  Perhaps the most unnerving aspect of the chamber, however, were the walls, for they were plated in sheets of strange red metal that rippled every once in a while with silent black electricity that seemed to coalesce into strange runes or even words far too often for the effect to be chance.  Wesh stood at the door and extended his hand, bowing his head in concentration.  Suddenly, a disembodied, transparent hand rose from his own and floated into the room, where it grabbed the book and returned to its master.  Wesh quickly flipped through the pages, and then closed it, shaking his head.
“I can’t make any sense of it,” he said.  “I don’t recognize the language.” 
“May I?”  Luther asked, and Wesh passed the book to him.
“Just as I thought,” the priest said.  “It’s Thassilonian, as are the runes on the walls.”
“Thassilonian?”  Wesh asked.  “As in ancient Thassilon?”
“Yes,” Luther replied.  “It’s a dead language, but we were required to learn it as acolytes.  Many of the high masses are still performed using it.”
“What does it say?”  Adso asked.
“The words on the wall make no sense.  Most of them have something to do with anger, wrath…a need for revenge.  Nothing coherent, though.  As for this,” he held up the book, “it’s a prayer book.  A prayer book for Lamashtu, Mother of Monsters…”


----------



## JollyDoc

LordVyreth said:
			
		

> He has that already?  I assumed that if you get the feat, it means no more sex any more, so he'd be fine until then.
> 
> But my point was more for plot reasons.  Let's say Shayliss set her eyes on Dex, for example, and he went with it.  Would that change the campaign from hereon?





I'm not sure that it would have changed the direction of the campaign itself, but it certainly would have had repercussions for Luther, which in turn would have made him into an entirely different person than he is currently, which, possibly, may have had far reaching consequences.


----------



## Cerulean_Wings

The moment I read the section about the priest's body being taken away during the goblin raid I got _hooked_ to the story hour. Badly. The adventure path is definitely creative and well thought, can't wait for the next installments, JollyDoc


----------



## Aracase

I'm one of the players in this campaign and I just now found this tread, how awful is that?   

Wesh is shaping up to be a pretty good character.  With the new Pathfinder rules he has enough hit points at first level to get in and mix it up with the sword and help a little.  The magic item creation rules are nice too, such that he can scribe scrolls with no loss of xp and have magic utility/offense even after he's out of normal spells.  However, now that we have a few levels, the roles in the party are starting to define themselves and I find myself hiding behind the barbarian more.

Wesh is human so he gets a proficiency with a martial weapon and it is also his arcane focus, and yes he has plans for that sword.   

The whole group seams to really be enjoying this new campaign with the new Pathfinder rules.  There are some things we have to work through so as to make older 3.5 stuff fit the new rules.  Such as feats not working the same way, Extra Rage comes to mind right of the top of my head.   

As a group, we seem to be taking this one a little more light hearted than the STAP and so far I'm having a lot of fun.  

As for a character sheet, I'll try to get Wesh's up later this week.



			
				Zanticor said:
			
		

> (I recently beheaded one of my players dwarfs with a TC clone).



  It's nice to see TC continues to made a difference.


----------



## carborundum

I read bits and pieces piecemeal over the last few weeks and kept getting muddled up with all the names. The problem was being too busy at work and taking too much work home. Today I finally got the chance to catch up on the story and, having read it all the way through in one glorious, coffee-filled hour, I'm totally hooked and back in the JDZone!

I'm so looking forward to getting back into the routine of waking up, checking for a new chapter, cheering on a Monday or Tuesday, printing it out, and taking it to work!

JD - You've done it again!


----------



## Dr Simon

So, I've been catching up on the old Savage Tide story hour and loving it to bits (up to Divided's Ire at the mo', Mandi reminding me of Avon from Blakes 7).

Anyhoo, question for JD and the players - it's clear from the STAP story hour that you're all into maxing out characters with as much supplement use as possible and finding those killer combos. How does it feel returning to basics, as it were, using only the Pathfinder playtest rules? Or are you mixing in other stuff?


----------



## Aracase

Dr Simon said:
			
		

> Anyhoo, question for JD and the players - it's clear from the STAP story hour that you're all into maxing out characters with as much supplement use as possible and finding those killer combos. How does it feel returning to basics, as it were, using only the Pathfinder playtest rules? Or are you mixing in other stuff?



As you may have seen in another thread, any thing from WoTC was fair game in SATP.  We've since agreed that the power creep was a bit much, so we have a house rule that we use Pathfinder RPG, the SRD, plus the Spell Compendium and Magic Item Compendium these are the base books and each player is allowed 3 other books of his choice.

We can only buy pre-made magic items from the DMG/Pathfinder and anything from the MIC would either be treasure or have to be crafted.  At least that's what I think we agreed on.


----------



## JollyDoc

Dr Simon said:
			
		

> So, I've been catching up on the old Savage Tide story hour and loving it to bits (up to Divided's Ire at the mo', Mandi reminding me of Avon from Blakes 7).
> 
> Anyhoo, question for JD and the players - it's clear from the STAP story hour that you're all into maxing out characters with as much supplement use as possible and finding those killer combos. How does it feel returning to basics, as it were, using only the Pathfinder playtest rules? Or are you mixing in other stuff?




Plus, we'll be using the three buff optional rule from PFRPG as well, although that hasn't come into play yet.  I think the guys are enjoying having to sweat just a bit.  As you'll see in this week's post, they ran into a couple of tough encounters that took resources, team work and ingenuity to defeat.  So far, I haven't seen one single shining star among the PC's.  Instead, they all seem to have roles to play and are contributing equally, which is as it should be.


----------



## JollyDoc

carborundum said:
			
		

> I read bits and pieces piecemeal over the last few weeks and kept getting muddled up with all the names. The problem was being too busy at work and taking too much work home. Today I finally got the chance to catch up on the story and, having read it all the way through in one glorious, coffee-filled hour, I'm totally hooked and back in the JDZone!
> 
> I'm so looking forward to getting back into the routine of waking up, checking for a new chapter, cheering on a Monday or Tuesday, printing it out, and taking it to work!
> 
> JD - You've done it again!




And welcome back sir!  I'm going to be trying a slightly different narrative style this time.  I found in STAP that I enjoyed writing the character interaction parts more, and got quickly bored with detailing combat, which can be a bit tedious to read as well.  So this time, I'm trying to keep more focus on the characters, and paint more the feel of the combats and the high points, without making it so detailed that you can hear dice rolling while you read.


----------



## LordVyreth

On the other hand, weren't the last three adventure paths ludicroously hard.  I mean, despite your groups skill at the power gaming, the party effectively lost two of the last three campaigns.  I know you had to make some changes to scale based on level and party numbers, but still.  Do you worry that this adventure will eventually get as tough?


----------



## JollyDoc

LordVyreth said:
			
		

> On the other hand, weren't the last three adventure paths ludicroously hard.  I mean, despite your groups skill at the power gaming, the party effectively lost two of the last three campaigns.  I know you had to make some changes to scale based on level and party numbers, but still.  Do you worry that this adventure will eventually get as tough?




This is always the fine line, but this time they have seven PC's on an AP (theoretically) meant for four.  At this point, I'm only scaling the grunts, and even then I'm only increasing numbers of them, not increasing CR.  I'm leaving main NPC's/monsters as written, though they will be subject to the 3 buff rule as well.  Leveling up might be an issue, as the first installment of RotRL is meant to take the PC's from level 1 to level 4.  Right now, Wesh, Dex, Skud and Luther just reached 3rd level, with the other three not far behind at 2nd.  I'm hoping all can be 4th or at least close by the end of the adventure.  I'm using the 'fast' xp progression so that things can stay in line.


----------



## gfunk

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Plus, we'll be using the three buff optional rule . . .




This sounds like an awesome rule.  It will really ramp up the tension at higher levels.


----------



## Zurai

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Leveling up might be an issue, as the first installment of RotRL is meant to take the PC's from level 1 to level 4.  Right now, Wesh, Dex, Skud and Luther just reached 3rd level, with the other three not far behind at 2nd.  I'm hoping all can be 4th or at least close by the end of the adventure.  I'm using the 'fast' xp progression so that things can stay in line.



As someone who has run Rise of the Runelords (my group is on module 5 now), I wouldn't be too worried about leveling at the wrong speed. I have actually skipped several sections of the modules so far and it really hasn't hurt my players much.


----------



## JollyDoc

gfunk said:
			
		

> This sounds like an awesome rule.  It will really ramp up the tension at higher levels.




Always a pleasure to hear from the G-Man!!


----------



## JollyDoc

THISTLETOP

“This is…unbelievable…,” Mayor Kendra Deverin said as she sat open-mouthed, listening to Wesh’s tale of what he and his companions had stumbled upon in the catacombs beneath the Glassworks.
“I would say the same thing if I hadn’t seen it for myself,” the wizard nodded.  “Nevertheless, the fact remains that this is still a potentially dangerous and volatile situation.  I don’t think it would be wise to leave those tunnels unsecured.”
“I agree,” the mayor replied, “but how best to do that, that is the question.”
“I suggest collapsing the entrance altogether,” Wesh shrugged.  
Mayor Deverin shook her head uncertainly.  “I’m not sure that’s the best solution.  If what you have described is true, then we are looking at a remarkable archaeological and historical find.  Who knows what we may learn by studying it?  At the very least, I’m sure the Pathfinder Society would be keenly interested.”
“Yes,” Wesh snorted, “I’m sure those overblown grave robbers would indeed.  So what do you propose, Your Honor?”
The mayor sat back in her chair, and steepled her fingers.  “We’ll wall up the entrance and post round-the-clock guards.  That way we can maintain security and still have access at a later date if needed.”
Wesh sighed and rose from his chair.  “I’m not sure I agree, but I have faith in your judgment.”
“And what of you and your comrades?” she asked.
“While I know that Sheriff Hemlock requested that we remain in town,” he replied, “circumstances have changed.  We know, or have strong reason to believe, that Nualia Tobyn and her companions are with the goblins of Thistletop.  I propose that our group make a preemptive strike against her, and perhaps we can derail her invasion plans before they ever get started.  I think a small group such as ours has a better chance of infiltrating the tribe than a company of soldiers would.”
Mayor Deverin seemed to ponder this for several moments, and then she slowly nodded.  
“I concur,” she said quietly, “though I’m fearful for you and your friends.  You have become symbols for the townsfolk.  Your loss would be a tragic blow to them.”
“Not to mention us,” Wesh smiled.  “Don’t worry, Madame.  If we see that we’re in over our heads, we’ll retreat.  None of us wants to be a martyr…well, except perhaps for Luther.”
The mayor smiled wanly, then rose from behind her desk and extended her hand.
“Good luck, Master Baltar.  My prayers go with you.”
Wesh nodded, then turned to go.
___________________________________________

“Father Luther, Brother Adso,” the lithe woman bowed slightly.  “To what do I owe this honor?”
“We come bearing a gift,” Luther answered, “and to request your assistance.”
“My house is yours,” Sabyl Sorn replied.  “You may avail yourselves of anything you need.”
The young monk was the custodian of the House of Blue Stones, a monastery established ten years after the founding of Sandpoint by her father, Enderaki.  After his death seven years prior, if fell to Sabyl to maintain the large collection of old books and scrolls that her father had amassed over the years.  It was the largest private library in Sandpoint, and normally those who wished access to it had to convince Sabyl of their good intentions.  For Luther and Adso, both of whom paid homage to Sabyl’s patron, Irori, there was no question.
“We thank you,” the priest bowed, then withdrew from his robe the prayer book they had taken from Erylium’s catacombs.  “You would do well to keep this in a safe place,” he warned.  “It is a thing of evil, though its knowledge may assist those of us dedicated to combating such things.”
Sabyl took the book with a grave nod.  
“Now, what is it you seek?” she asked.
Luther told her an abbreviated version of what they had found beneath the Glassworks, emphasizing the Thassilonian writings, the sinspawn and the strange glowing well.
“Well,” Sabyl said when Luther had finished, “I can tell you that ancient Thassilon was no myth.  It was founded thousands of years ago by a wise king who sought to create a paradise of civilization within his own lifetime.  Yet, like many visionaries, it would seem he was ultimately short-sighted.  He entrusted his greatest advisors to oversee various aspects of his empire, yet they were not satisfied with this.  Each sought greater individual power.  These advisors became known as Runelords, and their constant warring against one another inevitably led to Thassilon’s ruin.  It is said that the Runelords practiced magic based upon what are today considered to be the seven cardinal sins:  wrath, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy and gluttony.  These sinspawn you describe…it is possible that these creatures were created as minions to serve the Runelords, each one associated with a particular sin.
“Which means there could be six more types of these creatures?”  Adso asked.
Sabyl shrugged.  “In theory.”
“Do you know anything of this well which seemed to spawn the creatures?”  Luther asked.
Sabyl shook her head, “No, but my knowledge of these things is sketchy at best.  As I said, you are more than welcome to use the library.  Perhaps it will help you uncover some of the answers that you seek.”


----------



## JollyDoc

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?”  Wesh asked, not for the first time since they’d set out from Sandpoint the following morning.  They’d traveled some two hours along the Lost Coast Road and finally reached the Thistle River ford when Rico had them turn aside from the highway and head straight into the Nettlewood.  Now the druid, crouched in front of a seemingly impenetrable wall of thorns and briars, turned an annoyed look at the wizard.
“Perhaps I haven’t quite explained the nature of my profession,” Rico snapped.  “I’m…a…druid!  You stick to your books and scrolls and let me handle the practical stuff, ok?”
Wesh rolled his eyes and mopped his brow with his handkerchief as he slapped with his other hand at the stinging insects which seemed intent on draining every ounce of blood from his body.  The briars and thistles that grew so rampantly in the rest of the wood grew even more dense and tangled as the party had neared the coast.  Although not quite dense enough to block the sound of waves crashing on the unseen shores to the west, the undergrowth was certainly thick enough to block sight and access to them.  Few trees grew that close to the edge of the sea, but the briars themselves often reached heights to rival them.  The wall in front of them was nearly twenty feet!  
“Aha!”  Rico said triumphantly as he stood up.  He reached both hands into the briars in front of him, not suffering the slightest nick from the inch-ling thorns, and then pulled.  To the shock of his companions, a whole section of the briar wall came free, almost like a hidden door.  Beyond it, a four-foot high tunnel wound through the dense nettles, the floor of which was hard-packed earth with patches of wiry plants growing stubbornly here and there.
“Goblin warrens,” the druid explained.  “It’s going to be a tight fit, but it seems we’re on the right path.”

Single-file, the seven companions began crab-walking along the low tunnel, cursing and muttering to themselves as clothing or skin snagged on the ubiquitous thorns.  Only Rico and Garm seemed to have no problem navigating the passage.  The druid seemed almost content, humming a tuneless song to himself.  After a couple of dozen yards, the tunnel opened up into a large cave-like chamber.  Above, the thorny canopy grew thin enough that tiny slivers of the sky could be seen, while below, the ground consisted of trampled dirt.  To the west, the distant sound of sloshing waves echoed up from a hole.  Rico immediately went to the hole and knelt beside it, brushing his fingers across the dirt at its lip.
“What is it?”  Wesh asked.
“I think there’s some sort of sea cave beneath here,” the druid answered, “and I think the goblins use it to execute their own kind.  There are fingernail marks here, small ones, and there’s blood as well.  Some of it’s relatively fresh.”
“Well, if they’re killing each other off,” Dex said, “then that just makes our job easier.”
“Our job,” Luther interrupted, “is not wholesale slaughter.  We’re here to prevent further loss of life, not perpetuate it.”
Dexter shrugged.  “Six of one, half-dozen of another.  If goblins need to die so that humans can live, and I get a steady paycheck to boot, suits us fine, right Skudder?”
The half-orc gave his customary grunt of agreement…or indifference…if was difficult to distinguish.
“In any case,” Rico continued, standing and dusting off his hands, “there’ve been a lot of goblins through here recently.  Tracks go all different directions.  Whether we choose east,” he gestured to a tunnel exiting the right side of the cave, “or west,” he indicated the opposite side, “we’re bound to run into some.  Both choices have seen equal traffic.  I can’t say which one might lead out of this warren.”
“Like my old man used to tell me,” Dex said, “evil always lies to the left.  Lead on Skud!”

Skud did indeed take the lead again, Adso and Randall behind him.  Crouching once more, they continued through the maze-like tunnels.  The light was dim, and the constant switchbacks of the passage made it impossible to see what lay ahead.  Thus, when Skud abruptly stood up to his full height and came to a sudden stop, Adso was caught off guard and walked right into the barbarian.
“Clumsy oaf!” the monk snapped.  “What are you stopping for?”  
He pushed past Skud and found a wide, low-ceilinged chamber that stank of smoke.  A shallow fire pit smoldered in the center of the floor, while tangled reed and leaf nests lined the walls.  However, Adso was sure it was not the décor that had brought his fellow half-breed up short, but rather the twenty pairs of beady eyes that stared back at them out of the gloom.  Goblins…a lot of them.  Before the stunned monk could open his mouth to warn the others, Skud’s sword slid free of its sheath and the burly warrior simply waded in.  Adso curse roundly, then shouted over his shoulder, “We’ve got company!”  He signed himself with Irori’s sigil and followed the barbarian.

Chaos exploded like a kicked over ant hill.  One moment the goblins simply stared, seemingly as shocked to see the longshanks as the intruders were to see them.  The next, they swarmed like rats.  In the space between seconds, Adso and Skud were completely surrounded, with more of the vermin surging past them towards their companions still trapped in the cramped tunnel.  Skud began laying about him with his sword, and wherever he struck, a goblin screamed in mortal agony, but he couldn’t swing fast enough to keep the horde back.  Then, as he raised his sword for another blow, several of the little beasts seized his arm and drug it down, wrenching the blade from his grasp.  He stood alone in their midst, unarmed.  Adso struggled to reach him, snapping small, goblin bones with stunning blows from his hands and feet, yet finding only more goblins filled the gaps left by those who fell.

Randall was caught totally flat-footed when the goblins came screaming out of the darkness towards him.  He tried to draw his weapon, but his elbow smashed into the low ceiling.  Then they were upon him, hacking and slashing with their dogslicers, shrieking in their high-pitched voices.  He went to one knee, their weight bearing him down.  He knew that if he went prone, it would be all over for him.  Suddenly, bright light pierced the shadows as streaking bolts of fire filled the air.  Goblins went flying as they were struck by the missiles, and Randall found himself momentarily clear.  Pulling his hammer free, he braced himself against the wall of the tunnel and rammed the head of the maul in front of him, crushing in the chest of an oncoming goblin.  He knew he’d owe Wesh big for that one, and he knew as well that the wizard would never let him forget it.

Adso watched in horror as Skud sank beneath the mass of goblin bodies.  Snarling in rage, the savagery of his orcish blood barely held in check, the monk seized a goblin by the throat and smashed its head into the briars.  His hands were a blur as he blocked and countered quicker than the eye could follow.  Still, he made no progress.  Then, an ear-splitting roar filled the air, and he saw goblins flung in all directions as Skud heaved himself to his feet, sword once again firmly in hand.  The barbarian was bleeding freely from multiple wounds, but he seemed to feel no pain.  His own blood began to mingle with that of his victims as he cut a swath through the enemies surrounding him.

“They can’t hold out up there alone!”  Luther cried.
“I’m doing what I can!”  Wesh spat, blue fire sizzling from his outstretched hands.  “Dexter!  Can you get a shot?”
The archer cursed.  “No!  Too many bodies up there!  I can’t tell who I’m shooting at!”
“There’re too many of them!”  Luther shouted.  “I have to help Skud and Adso!”
“Wait!”  Wesh yelled.  “If you’re planning on doing what I think you are, won’t it hit the goblins as well?”
“It can’t be helped!”  Luther countered.  “Irori’s will be done!”  
The priest clasped the amulet around his neck tightly and golden light spilled thru his fingers.  A wave of power channeled through him, washing over both friends and foes, healing the wounds of all indiscriminately.  
Wesh spat and cursed.  “Rico!  If you’ve got any tricks up your sleeve, druid, now would be the time!”
When he turned to look for the druid, however, Rico was nowhere in sight.

The tide had slowed somewhat, but Adso and Skud still found themselves bogged down in goblin bodies, and Randall still could not free himself from the close confines of the tunnel.  Suddenly, Adso heard a scream from behind him.  When he turned, he saw a goblin get pulled bodily into the wall of thorns, followed a moment layer by a large spray of blood.  Before his disbelieving eyes, Rico simply stepped out of the wall.  He bore no weapon, but his hands had transformed into the savage claws of some sort of beast.  A feral gleam in his eyes, he lashed out at the nearby goblins, ripping out throats or disemboweling seemingly at will.  In that moment, the goblins’ resolve broke.  They began to scatter, but it was too late.  Randall, finally with room to maneuver, fought his way to Skud and stood back-to-back with the half-orc.  With the tunnel clear, Dexter dashed into the chamber as well, his rapier in hand, and with Garm hot on his heels.  It still took several minutes, but the outcome of the battle had already been decided.  When it was done, not a single goblin stood, and the seven companions, though battered and bloodied, where all still among the living.

“Is that it then?”  Dex asked, his breath still coming in ragged gasps.  “Was that the whole tribe?  What about this Nualia woman?  Where is she?”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Rico replied.  He knelt beside one of the goblins.  “These are not even Thistletop goblins.  They look like members of various tribes.  Plus, look at this place.  Even for goblins these quarters are cramped and squalid.  No, if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say this group was comprised of refugees.  Goblins don’t tend to be very humanitarian.  I wouldn’t doubt that this group had originally been significantly larger, but several of them probably wound up in that pit we saw.  In any event, the intelligence I’ve received on the Thistletop tribe was that they laired on an island off the coast.  This warren is most likely a defensive measure.  We’ve still got the entire Thistletop band ahead of us.  This was just a welcoming committee.”


----------



## JollyDoc

There was no exit from the refugee cave, so the companions were forced to backtrack to the chamber where they had found the sea cave hole.  From there, the small tunnel branching east was their only option.  This time Dexter took point, being somewhat subtler in his approach than Skud.  No sooner had he rounded the first turn in the constricting tunnel, however, than he was brought up short.  Ahead, the tunnel widened, though the ceiling of thorns above remained low.  Filling the passage was a snarling pack of the mangy, disease-ridden goblin dogs Dex had first encountered during the Sandpoint raid.  Their eyes gleamed in the semi-dark, and their lips peeled away from their ragged, yellow teeth.  Their naked, rat-like tails twitched in anticipation of the kill.  Slowly, they began to advance.  Dex quickly began to crab-walk backwards, sliding his rapier from its sheath as he went.  The others had remained in the small chamber behind, waiting for him to signal them forward.  As they saw him reemerge from the tunnel, all of them tensed.

“What is it?”  Wesh asked, but then he heard the low growls and snarls of the approaching pack.  Suddenly, before Dex realized what was happening, Luther shoved him roughly aside and blocked the tunnel with his own body.
“Get ready!” the priest shouted to his allies.  “I won’t be able to hold them for long!”
“Ware!”  Rico abruptly shouted, and in that moment the attention of the heroes was divided.  To the east, Luther stood alone before the advancing pack, while to the south, Rico stared at a spot on the wall of briars, Garm snarling and bristling at his feet.  Suddenly, something moved furtively within the briars, a small, skulking figure.  It spoke, but the words were in a language none of them were familiar with…none except Rico.  The words were in the secret language of the druids, and he knew what they portended.  
“Get back!” he shouted, but it was too late.  The vines and brambles that comprised the walls and ceiling of the room began to writhe.  Tendrils shot out from all directions, wrapping around the feet and legs of the companions.  Several jerked free before the plants could completely entangle them, but others were rooted to the spot, including Wesh and Luther.  At that moment, the goblin dogs attacked.

Though most people who encountered Skud immediately assumed him to be dimwitted, the hulking barbarian’s mind worked just fine when it came to killing and self-preservation.  He judged the situation in an instant, and he knew Luther would be dead in a matter of seconds.  Like a charging bull, he slammed into the priest, ripping him free from the grasping vines and hurling him into the nearby wall.  In the process, though Luther would not realize it until he had time to reflect, the half-orc no doubt saved his life, interposing his own bulk before the goblin dogs.  The cramped quarters did not allow Skud to bring his greatsword fully to bear, but a vicious jab stopped the first of the curs in its tracks, and its pack mates instinctively fell upon it in a feeding frenzy.

Meanwhile, Adso and Randall were in motion as well, rushing towards the place where they saw the figure crouching.  Ignoring the sharp thorns which tore at his flesh, Adso reached into the briars and felt his fist connect solidly with flesh.  A high-pitched yelp and a sharp bite to the hand confirmed the fact the he had guessed rightly about the location of their hidden enemy.  Randall, following the monk’s lead, brought his hammer crashing down into briar wall, and the creature screamed in pain and began hustling back deeper into the foliage.  Just before it vanished from sight, however, Wesh, though still struggling with the vines, sent a barrage of streaking missiles after it.  Then, before anyone could stop him, Rico disappeared into the brambles in pursuit.

Skud had only a moment to catch his breath before the rabid pack remembered their true prey and rushed forward en masse.  The barbarian struck again, felling another of the beasts before the rest were upon him.  Snarling and howling, Skud flung the beasts from him, but no sooner did they hit the ground than they sprang again.  Then, a long, low howl filled the air and the savage dogs paused, heads turning and ears lifting.  A shaggy, gray blur hurtled through the air towards them as Garm bowled into the mass.  He landed atop one of the dogs and savagely ripped its throat out.  Though he momentarily surprised the vermin dogs, they were quick to respond, ripping and mauling at the wolf with abandon.  In seconds, Garm was buried beneath a mass of yapping bodies.  
“Noooo!”  The cry was not Rico’s, for the druid was nowhere to be seen.  Instead Skud, a look of anguish on his face, lunged into the dog pile, hurling bodies left and right.  When he caught a glimpse of Garm’s fur, he reached in, ignoring the numerous bites he suffered and grabbed the wolf, lifting him clear of the pile.  
“Help him!” he bellowed, tossing Garm towards Luther.  Then, using both blade and his ham-sized fist, he waded into the fray once more.

As Luther bent to tend to the dying wolf, Adso and Randall rushed to Skud’s aid.  The ex-soldier stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the half-orc, while the monk took a running dive, clearing the melee and rolling to his feet on the far side.  He turned, ready to attack the dogs from the rear, when he heard a low, coughing growl from behind him.  Turning his head, he saw two figures emerge from the gloom of the tunnel.  The first was a great cat, like a cougar, except its pelt was deep red with black stripes.  Behind the animal stood a goblin.  He was dressed in worn leathers and wore a headdress and necklace of fetishes.  At first, Adso thought he held a torch in his right hand, but when he looked closer he saw that it appeared to be a sword made entirely of fire.  It was the druid.  The wizened creature gestured sharply and the cougar leapt into motion, its claws churning up clods of dirt as it accelerated towards the monk.  While it was still several yards away, it launched itself into the air, hurtling into Adso with its full weight, its claws ripping and raking at his flesh.  The half-orc rolled with the impact, allowing the cat’s momentum to carry them both to the ground.  As he hit, he gathered his feet to his chest and thrust upward, kicking the cougar over his head.  It landed gracefully and turned to charge again, but by that time, Adso to was on his feet, pelting down the cramped tunnel on all-fours towards the druid.  The creature barked something in its native tongue, and a pair of the goblin dogs broke from the main pack, pursuing Adso, the cougar leading them.  As the monk reached the goblin, he planted his hands on the ground, swinging his legs around in a circle in front of him, sweeping the druid from his feet.  Before he could follow-up on his attack, however, the dogs were on him.  One bit deeply into his shoulder, and as it did so a cloud of dander from its mangy hide filled the air around his face.  He coughed and sneezed violently, then began scratching madly at his skin where it had broken out in an angry red rash.  Above him, the goblin druid climbed to his feet, drew back his fiery blade and thrust it deep into Adso’s belly.

Skud and Randall fought like a well-oiled machine.  The half-orc’s brutality, coupled with the warrior’s precision made them a viciously effective killing team.  One after another, the dogs fell beneath sword and hammer, and gradually the pair pushed forward, driving the curs back into the tunnel.  Dexter came behind them, having abandoned his rapier for his bow once more.  Once inside the passage, he saw Adso’s plight.  Drawing his string to his ear, he let fly one of his deadly shafts, catching the cougar in the flank as it leaped again.  Yowling and spitting it hit the floor well short of the monk, biting and tearing at the arrow protruding from its leg.  Still, Adso was surrounded, and sorely wounded.  The two dogs continued to snap and bite at him, as the goblin raised his blade to strike again.  Suddenly, a large shape erupted from the briars behind the goblin.  It was Rico, his hands once more transformed into those of some wild beast, both of them wreathed in fire.  He cursed the goblin in the Druidic tongue and the creature hissed as he realized he faced one of his own.  Charging at Rico, the little druid slashed with his flaming blade, driving the larger druid back.  Both of them vanished into the briars once more.

Skud and Randall continued to hew through the goblin dogs, until finally they cut their way clear to Adso only to find the cougar crouched over the bleeding monk.  Its ears back, it spat at the pair, its claws resting on Adso’s throat.  Suddenly, something whickered past Skud’s head, and he drew back reflexively.  When he turned back again, he saw the cougar slumped across Adso, one of Dex’s shafts through its throat.  Adso moaned weakly, dragging himself from beneath the big cat’s weight.  In an instant, Luther was by his side, holding his hands over the monk’s hideous wound and murmuring a prayer.  Luther’s hands glowed and the blood flow stopped, the cauterized hole slowly shrinking closed.  For a moment, the area was strangely quiet.  All of the goblin dogs were dead or dying, but the two druids were nowhere to be found.  Then, from the briars several yards further down the tunnel, the pair exploded, locked in mortal combat.  The goblin slashed violently with his blade while Rico fought back with equal ferocity, his fire-shrouded claws matching the goblin blow for blow.  Yet even from that distance, Luther could see that his comrade was overmatched.  Apparently his companions knew it too, for Skud, Randall and Dex quickly started down the tunnel.  Before Luther could stop him, Adso was on his feet as well, giving chase.  

Rico saw his friends coming and knew that he just had to hold the goblin off a moment longer, but at that moment, his opponent saw the oncoming longshanks as well.  Breaking off the attack, the goblin druid turned and fled up the tunnel.  In the distance, Rico could just make out an opening and sunlight beyond.  Shouting for his companions to follow, he began to run.  Unhindered by the briars, he quickly gained ground on his quarry, and broke free of the nettles only a few paces behind the goblin.  He found himself on a high cliff overlooking the sea.  A rope bridge spanned the gulf between the ledge and a roundish, flat-topped island to the north.  Thick patches of nettles and briars grew atop the island, but its most impressive feature was a wooden one-story stockade.  Two tall watchtowers guarded the fort’s southern façade.  The rope bridge itself was made of hairy rope and thick wooden planks.  The whole thing creaked and swayed in the wind above the churning surf below.  On the far side of the bridge, Rico could see eight goblins mounted on goblin dogs patrolling the open area before the stockade.  When they saw pursuer and pursued exit the briar warren, they began to scream and hoot hysterically, motioning their shaman towards them.  Rico put on a last burst of speed, and skidded to a halt in front of the bridge, blocking the goblin’s way.  Snarling, the vile creature swung its fiery sword, opening a vicious wound across Rico’s belly.  His vision swam and darkness threatened to engulf him.  He felt the ground rush up to meet him.  The little goblin danced triumphantly around him, and then started for the bridge.  At that moment, however, both Adso and Skud exited the tunnel, and when Adso saw the druid’s imminent escape, he sprang.  As his feet left the ground, however, he felt one of them catch on something.  Glancing down, he saw Skud’s boot.  The barbarian had intentionally tripped him!  As he tried to regain his balance, he slammed into the goblin druid from behind.  The creature shrieked as he was shoved off the edge of the cliff, his arms pinwheeling helplessly as he plummeted towards the churning sea and the rocks below.
Adso looked up at Skud, spitting dirt out of his mouth.
“That for calling Skud oaf,” the barbarian said calmly, folding his arms across his chest.


----------



## Cerulean_Wings

That was an intense fight! Who'd known that goblin dogs + goblin shaman would be so devastating? 

Say, JollyDoc, assuming you're the DM in the game, was the encounter ran like the module decrees or was it modified?

Skud's last words are hilarious


----------



## JollyDoc

Cerulean_Wings said:
			
		

> That was an intense fight! Who'd known that goblin dogs + goblin shaman would be so devastating?
> 
> Say, JollyDoc, assuming you're the DM in the game, was the encounter ran like the module decrees or was it modified?
> 
> Skud's last words are hilarious




The fight was pretty much along the lines outlined in the module, except I doubled the number of goblin dogs present (8 instead of 4) to account for the larger number of PC's.  The druid used tactics described in the adventure, especially the free movement through the briars.  Of course, the players had a druid as well.  How often does a druid PC get to shine, after all?

Oh, btw, at the table, that last attack by Adso was the result of a "Critical Fumble" on the monk's part, using the Critical Fumble Deck from Game Mastery.  I believe the result was something like, "your attack still hits, but you end up prone at your target's feet."  Dumb, blind luck if you ask me!


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Wait a minute - a JollyDoc story hour that I'm not reading? There's no such thing! 

Now that I'm caught up: Great stuff, JollyDoc! Interesting characters all of them. Luther seems the only innocent among them. Kind of reminds me of an early Daelric. 

Looking forward to more, of course.  Even though you've simplified the rules, I bet it won't take the group long to minmax the new environment to their favor. Poor bad guys.

PS: Regarding the comments about the group's loss of two of the three adventure paths: If JollyDoc hadn't pimped Kyuss as agreed upon with the group before the final match, we all know how fast and anticlimatic Age of Worms would have ended. Adimarchus was a little over the top, I'll give you that.


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> Wait a minute - a JollyDoc story hour that I'm not reading? There's no such thing!




I was wondering where you were, young man!!  What kept you?

SUNDAY NIGHT TEASER

The assault on Thistletop continues, but the goblins prove a bit more wiley than the heroes gave them credit for...

1)  A "shoulda seen it comin' but didn't" trap proves troublesome

2)  One of the PeaceMakers suffers a tragic loss, while another nearly loses his life in a selfless act of heroism...

3)  Occasionally, even the lowliest of goblin's get lucky, and one of our heroes is permanently maimed when he finds himself on the receiving end of some goblin smack down...

4)  A new ally is gained, and it only takes one ruptured spleen to gain his confidence...


----------



## Supar

a note from our table I have never seen so many nat 20s and nat 1s at our table in my 3years playing with the JD company. The instant everyone agreed to join the crit/fumble deck it seems every encounter there has to be 1 of each at least sometimes 3 or 4.

JD what devil did u make a pact with!?


----------



## JollyDoc

Supar said:
			
		

> a note from our table I have never seen so many nat 20s and nat 1s at our table in my 3years playing with the JD company. The instant everyone agreed to join the crit/fumble deck it seems every encounter there has to be 1 of each at least sometimes 3 or 4.
> 
> JD what devil did u make a pact with!?




It was Critmodeus, the Arch-duke of Wup Ass...


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> I was wondering where you were, young man!!  What kept you?



Well, my new employer blocks enworld and I'm abroad a lot. That and the European Football Championship is on (the real football, that you call soccor for some reason  ). 

Critmodeus? Sounds a hell of a lot more dangerous than Demogorgon.  You sure it's not a nickname for Tower Cleaver?


----------



## carborundum

Neverwinter Knight said:
			
		

> Well, my new employer blocks enworld and




That's a weird choice of sites to block, or have they experience with addicted rpg chaps? I guess hitting a proxy would just get them thinking you're looking at something worse. You could always subscribe to a daily thread update and read it in gmail or whatever...


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## Neverwinter Knight

They block gaming websites and count enworld as part of that. I had found another workaround, but have just followed your suggestion with the subscription. I didn't know you could do this...thanks for the hint!


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## carborundum

It doesn't always work if you just select it in the thread options, but if you click it in the additional options during a reply it does the trick!

With the coming of enworld 2, all will be better


----------



## JollyDoc

And thus, the Word of JollyDoc was passed on as a beacon of light to the rest of the world, and JollyDoc gazed upon this and pronounced it...Good!!


----------



## JollyDoc

BLIND MAN’S BLUFF

The goblins on the far side of the rope bridge had stood in stunned silence after their shaman’s death for several minutes, and then started wailing incoherently, throwing themselves on the ground and pulling at their hair.  They’d made threatening gestures, brandishing their dogslicers and javelins, but none had made any attempt to cross the bridge.  Ultimately, the Sandpoint deputies had elected to pull back into the briar warrens and regroup, nurse their wounds, and plan their next approach.  They had posted a watch at the exit, just to make sure the goblins didn’t find their backbones during the night.  Skud and Adso alternated this duty, neither caring to spend much time in the other’s presence.  In time, the goblins became bored with their grief and, convinced the invaders were not coming over the bridge, went back to their half-hearted patrol before the gates.  After an hour or two of this, they even abandoned that effort, instead taking sadistic pleasure in a game in which they caught a seagull, tied one of its legs to a piece of rope, and took turns pelting it with rocks as it tried vainly to flap away.  When it became obvious the goblins were not going to mount any sort of sortie into the warrens, the seven companions settled in for the night.
_______________________________________________

“So what’s our move?”  Dex asked.  The group was congregated in the exit tunnel, still far enough into the shadows not to be seen by the bored-looking goblins across the bridge.
“I’ve been giving that some thought,” Wesh replied.  “The bridge is going to be risky.  There’s nothing to stop them from cutting the ropes on their side once we start across.  We need something to distract them, and I think I have just the thing.”
He turned to Randall.
“Ready to do your part?” he asked the big soldier.  “This is your chance to finally be a hero!”
Randall looked at him dubiously.
“What exactly do you have in mind?”

What Wesh had in mind became readily apparent to all, especially to the stunned goblins, a few minutes later.  Exploding from the tunnel came a giant.  He was dressed in battle armor and carried an enormous hammer, and worst of all…he was flying!!
Randall roared as he soared across the gulf between the cliff and the island.  He was practically giddy with power, both the strength he felt flowing through his arms due to his increased size, and his ability to fly, thanks to the potion Wesh had given him.  In truth, however, the whole flying thing was less than graceful.  He had thought it would be a simple thing…just move in a straight line in the direction you wanted to go, but it proved much more awkward.  He wasn’t used to not having solid ground beneath his feet, and he kept careening from one side to the other.  His appearance still had the desired effect on the goblins, though.  Horror-stricken, they watched him approach, his companions and the bridge momentarily forgotten.  

As Randall charged, Rico concealed himself within the briars just enough so that he could see the goblins while he, himself, remained hidden.  When he judged the time was right, the druid began to work his magic.  The grass and bushes on the far side of the bridge began to writhe.  The branches of the trees twisted and dipped low to the ground. Before the goblins and their mounts knew what was happening, they were engulfed.  Vegetation wrapped around their legs like rope, entangling them completely and rooting them in place.  
“Now!”  Wesh cried, and Dexter darted out onto the bridge, knelt and put an arrow cleanly through the eye of one of the goblins.  Quickly, Adso and Luther darted past him onto the bridge, Garm following.  No sooner had the wolf began to cross, however, than the all of them heard a snapping sound.  The two western most supports of the bridge gave way beneath the accumulated weight of the four.  The bridge canted suddenly, still spanning the gulf, but now a vertical structure instead of a horizontal one.  Dexter and Luther lunged for the hand rope, just managing to grab it and keep themselves from falling.  Adso and Garm were not so fortunate.  Luther watched in dismay as the monk and the wolf plunged eighty feet into the churning sea below.

The goblins momentarily forgot their plight and began to laugh uproariously as the stupid longshanks blundered right into their trap.  Their joy was cut short a moment later, however, when Randall finally reached them, swinging his hammer like a tree trunk and snapping the neck of one of the goblin dogs.  He drew back to swing again, but the weight of the hammer overbalanced him, and he veered sharply away from the ledge, struggling to remain airborne.  By the time he had regained control and flew back to the cliff, several of the goblins and dogs had managed to tear themselves free of the vines and limbs, and were waiting on him.  Their dogslicers slashed at him, but he barely felt the pinpricks.  Instead, he brought his own weapon to bear once more, smashing two of his attackers who got too close.

Luther and Dexter began climbing hand over hand back towards the cliff, where Wesh and Skud quickly pulled them up.  Nearby, Rico was hurling small balls of fire across the chasm at the goblins, trying to keep them occupied and thus not inclined to start chucking the javelins they carried at his vulnerable friends.  As soon as they were clear, Wesh lent his support to the druid, loosing barrages of his arcane missiles at the horde.  Under the combined artillery, another of the goblins fell screaming from his mount.  

Adso broke the surface of the water sputtering and thrashing.  The fall had not been pleasant, but he’d been fortunate enough to miss any of the deadly rocks below the cliff.  Still, swimming had never been his forte, and the surf was rough.  It took all he had just to tread water.  He looked around to see if any of his companions had fallen with him, and then spotted Garm several yards to his left.  The wolf was swimming, and doing quite well, heading for the dark opening of a sea cave in the nearby cliff wall.  
‘Smart dog,’ the monk thought, and he summoned what fortitude he had and began stroking against the current after the wolf.

“Uh-oh,” Wesh said, squinting against the sunlight.  “Looks like we woke the neighbors.”
Atop the eastern watch tower of the stockade, four more goblins had appeared, each brandishing javelins which they promptly began to throw at the giant still battering at their brethren.  
“Alright, boys,” Wesh said, cracking his knuckles, “since Skud here can’t fly, and Adso’s in the drink, looks like Randall’s going to have to stay on point.  So, we’d best back him up as best we can or this little plan of ours is heading south in a hurry.”
Skud snarled in impotent frustration, and began pacing back and forth, his fists clenching and unclenching.  Luther did his best to calm the barbarian down, while Wesh, Rico and Dexter began an artillery barrage that would have made any army commander proud.  Flame, arrows and mystic bolts hurtled through the air, and the goblins began dropping like flies.  One by one the tower guards fell, while the western tower stayed blessedly unmanned.  

Adso’s clothes dragged at him.  His gear felt like a lead weight.  The waves pounded him, and time and again his head dipped beneath them, only to reemerge coughing and gasping a moment later.  He rapidly lost ground on Garm, and he saw the wolf disappear into the mouth of the cave before he went under one last time.

“Randall!!”  Luther shouted.  “Adso needs help!  Now!”
“I’m…a little…busy!” the soldier shouted in between hammer blows, each of which pulped another goblin.  
“We’ll hold’em!”  Wesh called.  “Go get the monk!”
Randall cursed, and pushed himself away from the cliff.  Descending down to the water proved much easier than flying in a straight line, and much faster, but he still ended up half-submerged before he managed to stop himself.  By sheer luck, he hit the water only a few yards from where Adso had gone under, and after a few desperate moments of searching, his hand closed on the back of the monk’s tunic and he hauled the half-orc to the surface.
“Thanks!”  Adso gasped once he could breathe again.  “I owe you one!”
“Yeah,” Randall growled as he struggled to gain altitude while carrying the additional weight, “you can pay me back by cracking a few goblin skulls.”
_________________________________________________

Garm continued to paddle through the semi-darkness of the sea cave.  The surf was not so rough within, so the going was a bit easier for him.  His keen eyes could just make out a narrow beach of dry land on the far side of the grotto, and he made for it.  He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew his friend was on land, not water, so that was where his instinct told him to go.  His mind pictured Rico’s face.  His friend needed him.  So all-consuming was that drive that he never noticed the tall dorsal fin that broke the water behind him.  Only when the powerful jaws closed around him and dragged him beneath the waves, did the image of Rico leave him.
_________________________________________________

When Randall reached the top of the small, round island once more, Adso climbed onto his shoulders and then somersaulted through the air, landing nimbly on his feet behind the few remaining goblins and their mounts.  
“Miss me?”  He grinned when the goblins turned towards him with stupid looks of surprise on their faces.  After that it was only a matter of cleaning up the mess.  Between him and Randall, the stragglers never stood a chance.  After, they hauled up the collapsed section of bridge on their side, while Skud and Luther did the same on the opposite.  Single file, and one at a time, their companions crossed the rickety span, and finally all of them stood together once more…all save one.
“Did you see Garm?”  Rico asked.
“Garm?”  Randall said, confused.
“He fell with me,” Adso said.  “Last I saw him, he swam into that sea cave.”  He nodded towards the dark hole.  “He’s probably waiting inside.”
Rico turned back to Randall.  “Would you mind?”
The soldier sighed.  “Alright, but I’m not so sure I’m cut out for this flying thing.  I like to feel earth beneath my feet.”

Randall dove towards the sea a second time, heading for the large opening to the sea cave.
“Garm!” he called as he entered the artificial twilight of the grotto.  “Here boy!”
His eyes gradually adjusted to the gloom, but he saw no sign of the wolf.  On the far side of the cave was a narrow strip of sand.   Assuming the animal would have headed for dry land, he flew in that direction, oblivious to the dark shadow that passed beneath the surface just below him.
“Garm!” he called again, only this time a deep, growling snarl from directly behind him answered his call.  “Garm, that y…?”
Randall turned and found himself face-to-face with a nightmare.  A creature that looked like a cross between a seal and a shark reared out of the water and sank its teeth into his back as he turned.  He felt his body go numb from the waist down and he couldn’t seem to make his arms move either.  The beast lunged again, ripping into his belly and shoving him back several feet with the force of its impact.  The sudden flash of pain from the second bite seemed to shock his nervous system awake again.  He found he could move, and he let the momentum of the monster’s charge carry him back towards the cave’s entrance.  He whirled and willed himself to fly as fast as the magic would carry him.  He could hear the predator right behind him until he finally reached daylight and fought for altitude.


----------



## JollyDoc

Rico hung his head as Luther tended Randall’s wounds.  There was little doubt that his friend was dead.  He’d found the wolf as a pup and raised him by hand.  Now he was gone, and Rico felt an emptiness in the pit of his stomach.
“We need to keep moving,” Wesh said quietly, placing a hand on the druid’s shoulder.  “The goblins know we’re here, and they’ll probably be organizing some sort of defense before much longer.”
Rico nodded silently and moved to rejoin his companions…his new friends.  As he did Skud walked past him and awkwardly patted his back.
“Skud like wolf,” the half-orc mumbled and then walked on.

Miraculously, the front doors were unbarred and swung open easily.  The floor of the large room beyond was hard-packed soil, as if the builders either ran out of lumber after building the walls and roof, or as if they simply never thought about building a floor.  A number of poorly preserved horse and dog heads were mounted along the eastern wall, while along the southern one hung a pair of large bat-like wings tacked to the wall with daggers.  The deputies had little time to peruse the room’s contents, however, as a loud battle cry went up from the dozen goblins gathered within the room as soon as the doors opened.

The company was hardly caught off guard, and as the goblins swarmed to attack, they were ready.  Fire erupted behind the horde as a sphere of flames appeared out of thin air at Wesh’s command.  The ball of fire began rolling towards the shrieking goblins at the rear, and they pushed forward, driving their comrades towards the waiting arms of Skud, Adso and Randall.  Rico sowed further confusion among the vermin by indiscriminately tossing smaller balls of flame among them, snarling savagely as he did so.  The battle was a foregone conclusion, and would have been a flawless victory if not for dumb luck…of the worst kind.  Randall and Skud stood side by side, meting out death to any goblin that got too near, yet there were just too many to watch all of them at once.  For the briefest of moments, Randall turned his attention away from his own foes to make sure none had gotten past him.  When he turned back, he saw a whicker of steel as one of the goblins stepped onto the back of another and leaped.  The next thing he felt was a sharp, stabbing pain in his eyes, followed by pitch blackness.  The goblin’s blade had struck with deadly accuracy, slicing both of Randall’s corneas.  He was blind.  

Luther saw it happen as if time had slowed.  He saw Randall rear back from the attack, and when the big soldier opened his eyes, they were a bloody, ruined mess.  Desperately, Randall struck out around him with his hammer, managing only by pure chance to strike down one or two advancing goblins, but the other little devils knew that he was helpless, and they started circling him purposefully, careful to stay clear of Skud’s blade.  Fear gripped Luther’s chest as he saw the goblins preparing to strike, and he rushed forward with no idea of what he was going to do.  Without thinking, he struck out with his bare hands.  Adso had been teaching him the basics of self defense so that he might not present such an easy target.  Now, it was as if instinct guided his hands.  At the last moment, he opened his fist, striking the nearest goblin with a meaty slap of his palm.  So strong was the blow that the goblin collapsed to the ground, stunned, but still breathing.  
“What have I done?”  Luther gasped.  
“Saved Randall’s life,” Dex snapped as he drew his bow string again and again.  It wasn’t long before the last of the goblin’s fell, with only a few more minor wounds suffered by the deputies.  Luther rushed to the side of the goblin he’d struck, feeling for a pulse.  He sighed in relief when he found one, strong and steady.  
“He’ll live,” the priest announced.
“Not if I can help it,” Dex said, drawing his dagger.
“No!”  Luther shouted, interposing himself between the rogue and the goblin.  “He can’t harm us and he’ll be out for hours.  There is no need for the slaughter of a defenseless foe.”
“Do you think he’d do the same for you?”  Dex sneered.
“No, but that is what separates us from them,” Luther said calmly.  
Dexter shook his head and sheathed his blade with a dismissive wave at the priest.  Luther quickly rose and went to Randall.
“I can’t see,” the soldier said calmly.  
“I know,” Luther said softly.  “I’m afraid my magic can’t heal this”
“So…I’m blind?  Forever?”  Randall asked quietly.
“I…I don’t know,” Luther replied.  “I know there are prayers capable of removing such maladies, but they are beyond me.  It’s possible that Father Zantus may know of them when we return.”
“But what good am I to you in the meantime?”  The big warrior shouted.
“Easy, soldier,” Wesh said.  “You can still swing that hammer.  You’ll just have to trust us and let your other senses help you until we can make it back to Sandpoint.  We can’t turn back now, and we can’t leave you by yourself.”
Randall remained silent, but nodded after a few moments.
“Good,” Wesh said, patting his shoulder.  “Adso can guide you for now.”
The monk stepped forward, placing Randall’s hand on his shoulder.  
“Trust me,” he said.  “When I say where and when to swing, you just do it.  Everything will be fine, you’ll see…er, you’ll find out.”
Randall snorted.  “Guess I’ll have to get used to it.  Lead on.”
_______________________________________________

The fort was strangely silent after the melee in the entrance hall.  The company had thought that the battle, coupled with the one at the front gates, would have brought every goblin in the place down on them.  Room after room was empty of anything living, just storage space and the stairwell to the second watchtower, where no sentries had appeared during the fight for the gate.  Beyond that area, however, Dexter pressed his ear against a door and motioned for his companions to stay quiet.  After several moments, he drew back.
“More goblin dogs,” he whispered.  “I’m pretty sure.  Sounds like a good size pack on the other side.”
Wesh sighed.  “SOP then, gents.  Skud, Adso, you take point.  Randall, are you up for this?”
“Just tell me what to kill,” the soldier smiled grimly.  

Skud started to count three, but only made it to two before he yanked the door open.  The large courtyard beyond was open to the sky.  Tenacious clumps of partially trampled grass grew fitfully here and there in the hard-packed earth, in places stained with blood or scratched with furrows.  To the north, what looked to be two dead goblins lay slumped at the entrance to an outbuilding.  Eight of the rat-tailed dogs frolicked and scampered about the yard like a litter of overgrown pups.  When they heard the door open, they all paused and turned towards it, tilting their heads comically to one side, ears perked.  When they saw no goblins entering the court, however, their ears lay flat and their lips lifted back from their teeth in rabid snarls.  Yowling and growling they bolted across the yard like hounds after a fox.  Skud and Adso darted out to meet the rush, Randall hustling along behind the monk, still gripping his shoulder.  Wesh and Rico positioned themselves on either side of the door, while Dexter knelt in front of it, bow in hand.  The seven deputies of Sandpoint were all starting to feel a bit like veterans by this time.  They had learned to anticipate one another and work cooperatively.  Each had his role, and carried it out skillfully.  Fists and steel flew with deadly accuracy from Skud and Adso, while Randall’s hammer, though a bit more clumsy, still managed to strike its target more often than not with the monk’s guidance.  Dexter’s arrows struck unerringly, while fire and force from Wesh and Rico wreaked  havoc among the dogs.  In less than two minutes, the battle was over, with most of the companions having suffered only minor wounds that Luther quickly tended.  

Dexter meandered across the yard to get a better look at the goblin corpses while Luther was busy with the others.  
“Hey Luth!”  He called.  “Come see what you make of this.”
The priest crossed the distance quickly and bent to examine the bodies.  
“No dog did this,” he said.  “Their skulls were crushed by something very heavy.”
“Get a load of this door,” Dexter said, running his hands over the wooden portal of the outbuilding.  It had been nailed shut from the outside, and additional boards had been nailed over the nails.  Nevertheless, the door was cracked and splintered in several places.  
“Looks like someone wanted to make sure whatever’s behind here stayed put,” the rogue observed, and then placed his ear against it.  “Sounds like something big’s moving around in there.”
“Can you get the door open?”  Wesh asked.
“Sure,” Dex shrugged.  “It’ll take a little time, but why would you want to?  Whatever’s in there doesn’t seem too nice.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Wesh replied.  “It kills goblins, and you know what they say about the enemy of my enemy.”
“Yeah,” Dex smirked.  “He might still wanna kill me once my enemy’s dead.”
He opened his belt pouch, nonetheless and took out several small tools as he went to work on the door.  Several minutes later, he removed the final nail.
“There you go,” he said, stepping to what he judged to be a safe distance.
“Skud?”  Wesh nodded towards the door.
The half-orc grunted and pulled the door open with one hand, his sword gripped in the other.  A high-pitched whinny came from the gloom within, and then a solid black stallion, easily a head taller than Skud, lunged forward, rearing on its back legs and pawing the air.  Froth foamed around its mouth and its eyes rolled hugely in its head.  Though large, and powerfully built, it was obvious that the beast was in bad shape.  Its ribs could be easily seen protruding through its dull hide.  Skud raised his sword, but Luther quickly stopped him, stepping in front of the barbarian.
“Easy!  Easy boy!” he soothed to the horse, hands upraised as he slowly approached.  The horse dropped to all fours again, but pawed the earth angrily.  Cautiously, Luther drew closer, voice low and calm as he advanced.  His hands were within inches of the stallion’s muzzle when suddenly, it reared again, one iron-shod hoof kicking out towards the priest, striking him squarely in the belly.  Luther doubled over, all the air forced from his lungs along with a spray of blood from his nose and mouth.  He collapsed to the ground, and the horse advanced, rearing again to stomp the life out of him.  Desperately, Luther clasped his holy symbol to his chest, calling on the power of Irori.  Golden light poured from between his fingers, and he felt his pain abate immediately.  At the same time, the stallion dropped its fore hooves to the ground on either side of his head, and it stood over him, snorting.  The soft light washed over it as well, and though it still looked emaciated, its coat regained some of its luster.  Slowly, it backed away, eyes still large, breath still coming in violent rasps.
“Let me try,” Rico said.  The druid stepped forward, his hand dipping into his belt pouch and producing a green apple, which he held out to the stallion.  His eyes locked with those of the horse, and something passed between them.  Cautiously, the stallion stretched its neck out and took the apple from Rico’s hand.  
“He says his name is Shadowmist,” the druid said calmly.


----------



## Quartz

Horses? Apples? Never fails.


----------



## WarEagleMage

Though it's not always fun to be on the receiving end of these critical hits and fumbles, it sure makes for some story hour gold.


----------



## JollyDoc

Sunday Night Teaser:

1)  Rico gets a new animal companion after his brief (1 day) period of mourning.

2)  The group meets the goblin king and gets schooled in goblin diplomacy

3)  Randall finds his affliction the butt of unending abuse at the hands of the very un-politically correct Skud

4)  Rico discovers that not all dogs want to play nice 

5)  Luther finds inner peace...much to the consternation of his companions.


----------



## carborundum

Awesome writeup, JD! It sounds like they're having a pretty rough time so far - nice one!

As for Luthar - is that a Vow of Peace coming up? I almost begged a player not to go that route in the Savage Tide  I had no idea how to run it properly - it felt like everyone in the area became some sort of hippy! And I didn't have time to rewrite the whole thing


----------



## LordVyreth

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Sunday Night Teaser:
> 
> 1)  Rico gets a new animal companion after his brief (1 day) period of mourning.
> 
> 2)  The group meets the goblin king and gets schooled in goblin diplomacy
> 
> 3)  Randall finds his affliction the butt of unending abuse at the hands of the very un-politically correct Skud
> 
> 4)  Rico discovers that not all dogs want to play nice
> 
> 5)  Luther finds inner peace...much to the consternation of his companions.




Huh, I had guessed the horse would be his companion.  He showed up in a way that just felt like the animal version of "Oh, we just lost a party member and we're in the middle of a dungeon, so he can't just show up in town...I know, the party finds a prisoner!"


----------



## Abciximab

Boy those Critical Fumble cards are rough. How do you handle the fumble? Do they have to confirm a miss (like confirming a crit) or do they get some kind of save (+BAB)? Or is it roll a one, pick a card?


----------



## JollyDoc

carborundum said:
			
		

> Awesome writeup, JD! It sounds like they're having a pretty rough time so far - nice one!
> 
> As for Luthar - is that a Vow of Peace coming up? I almost begged a player not to go that route in the Savage Tide  I had no idea how to run it properly - it felt like everyone in the area became some sort of hippy! And I didn't have time to rewrite the whole thing




Yes, Vow of Peace reared its ugly head.  I'm still toying with how to describe its effects, especially around Skud, since barbarians aren't allowed to rage within its radius.  To be fair, though, the first time it came into play very likely saved the whole party, as you will see.


----------



## JollyDoc

LordVyreth said:
			
		

> Huh, I had guessed the horse would be his companion.  He showed up in a way that just felt like the animal version of "Oh, we just lost a party member and we're in the middle of a dungeon, so he can't just show up in town...I know, the party finds a prisoner!"




It was a fortunate coincidence, although Shadowmist was actually in teh adventure as written.  The coincidence was that a) there was a druid in the party and b) his animal companion just happened to but it at the right time.  

Actually, Rico has decided to go with the Nature's Bond druid ability now (as outlined in PFRPG), but taking the Animal domain allows him to still have an animal companion, it just advances more slowly.


----------



## JollyDoc

Abciximab said:
			
		

> Boy those Critical Fumble cards are rough. How do you handle the fumble? Do they have to confirm a miss (like confirming a crit) or do they get some kind of save (+BAB)? Or is it roll a one, pick a card?




The deck actually comes with rulels.  You do have to "confirm" the miss, by missing again after you roll the nat. 1.  Also, you can only crit fumble once per encounter, unlike crit hit, which can happen repeatedly (much to any DM's delight!).


----------



## JollyDoc

Just a brief note to say there will not be a regular update this weekend, as the group will not be meeting this Sunday, so I'll be taking a bit longer to get the latest update posted.  Thanks for your patience.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:


> Just a brief note to say there will not be a regular update this weekend, as the group will not be meeting this Sunday, so I'll be taking a bit longer to get the latest update posted.  Thanks for your patience.



That's cool. 

BTW: _Randall Deschaine_? I'm surprised you allowed a PC by that name, JollyDoc. Sounds like Dark Tower blasphemy to me


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> That's cool.
> 
> BTW: _Randall Deschaine_? I'm surprised you allowed a PC by that name, JollyDoc. Sounds like Dark Tower blasphemy to me




Yeah, I know.  My Kingisms are showing.  If you like that one, though, comb your brain and see if you know where Dexter St. Jacques came from...


----------



## WarEagleMage

Randall is not the only name in the group with a literary nod.  See if you can spot the other...


----------



## SolitonMan

*TPK by druid*

Well, our own group didn't fare quite so well in RotRL.  We had four characters (wizard, fighter, rogue and cleric) and so played the module as written using the Pathfinder RPG rules.

While the group was happy with the new rules and used them quite well for the most part, they let their egos get the best of them.  After defeatiing Tsuto in the glassworks, finding Erylium's lair and eventually beating her (by having the fighter pin her and everyone else beat on her) and tracking the plotters to Thistletop, they completely underestimated the goblin druid Gogmurt.  They encountered the refugee goblins initially, and managed to kill eight of the ten there before the noise attracted the druid.  Entangle followed, after which it was a bit of a cat and mouse game to find who had started the entangle.  Once melee was engaged, Gogmurt's superior mobility, coupled with the -4 to hit and AC the players received, tipped the battle mostly in his favor.  Although the players could have retreated several times, they all expressed a desire to finish off the pesky druid and therefore remained in the tactically unsound situation, waiting with readied actions instead of fleeing and regrouping in better terrain.

So, TPK for this crew...although the wizard's raven familiar DID survive, and might be able to return to Sandpoint and enlist help from Quink (a friend of the wizard) or Hemlock.  But for now we're going to let it lie, and try out the 4e rules.  I'm not 100% for or against them yet, but I want to give them an honest try and see what I think.

I will keep following along here, in any case, since I'm sure it'll be a blast!  Good luck to everyone involved!!


----------



## JollyDoc

Bummer...I'll have to admit, Gogmurt was a tougher fight than he looked on paper, but his superior mobility was an added advantage.  The group almost lost Luther and Rico in that one.  So far, RotRL has proven to have more potential for death than I had anticipated, but that just adds to the excitment!!


----------



## Joachim

JollyDoc said:


> The group almost lost Luther and Rico in that one.




Uhh...not Luther...I think you may be thinking about Adso maybe...he got beat up pretty good.


----------



## R-Hero

I knew you couldn't stay away, Joe.

Glad to see the new Story Hour since I fell behind Savage Tides.

I'll try to keep up this time...


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

I've been away far too long.  I was happy to find this, and look forward to seeing how you play with the Pathfinder rules.  Are they a ruleset unto their own, or are they using SRD or 3.5 and using that as a framework?

Great updates, I look forward to being a regular reader again.

GW


----------



## JollyDoc

R-Hero said:


> I knew you couldn't stay away, Joe.
> 
> Glad to see the new Story Hour since I fell behind Savage Tides.
> 
> I'll try to keep up this time...




Speaking of staying away, my man, there's always room still at the table.  For those of you who don't know, R-Hero played Hawk, the greatest shield-bashing paladin of all time, in our Age of Worms campaign.


----------



## JollyDoc

HAIL TO THE CHIEF

Shadowmist told Rico of how he’d come to be a captive of the goblins.  His former master had been a merchant whose train was attacked by the ‘two-legged rats,’ as the stallion referred to his captors.  His master had managed to escape on one of Shadowmist’s lighter and speedier brethren, while Shadowmist himself had held off the goblins, bringing four of them down before they had overwhelmed him.  They had bound his legs and loaded him onto one of the wagons.  As Rico knew, horses tended to become quiescent when forced to lie for long periods of time, and during his transport to Thistletop, Shadowmist’s captors had mistakenly thought him gentled.  When they brought him before their chieftain and cut his bonds, however, he had shown them the price of assumption.  The goblins had fled before his fury, all save the chieftain, who sought to bring him down single-handedly.  That was how the foul creature had left, however, when Shadowmist had shattered one of his arms with a powerful kick.  Enraged, but unwilling to continue the fight, the cowardly chief had instead sent his minions against the stallion.  They had ultimately managed to trap him within the shed, but not before losing three more of their kinsmen.  
‘Where would you go now?’ Rico asked the magnificent beast, communicating with him in his own language.  ‘We will not be leaving this place until we have cleansed it of the vermin.  The bridge is treacherous, and the briar warren equally dangerous.’
‘Then I will await you here,’ Shadowmist replied.  ‘If you do not return, then my death is assured, but if any of your enemies come, I will not go to the Great Plains alone.’

“Sounds like the horse’d be more use to us than the blind soldier, eh Skud?” Dexter whispered to his friend.  The half-orc chuckled and nodded.  
“I’m glad you’ve made a new friend,” Wesh said impatiently to the druid, “but we need to get going.  The goblin chief is still here somewhere, not to mention Nualia.”
Several doors led off the small courtyard, but most of them gave onto only storerooms or privies.  One, however, led to a narrow hallway that ended in a stair leading down, presumably into the bedrock beneath Thistletop.
Wesh sighed.  “Why can’t things ever be simple?  There’s no telling how deep this goes.  I suggest we continue our investigation of the fort for now.  I’d rather not leave any enemies behind us.”
__________________________________________________

The company retraced their steps to the entry hall, where a set of double doors still stood closed against the north wall.  Beyond this, a short hall ended at a second pair of doors.  These, it turned out, were locked.  Dexter stepped past his comrades and went to work on the tumblers as he pressed his ear to the wood.  After a few moments, he turned his picks one last time, and the twin portals swung open.  The large room beyond was decorated with hanging furs along its walls, mostly black and red-striped firepelt skins, various dog pelts, and is some cases, what looked like horse hides.  Four square timbers supported the ceiling, their faces studded with dozens of iron spikes, with the lower reaches decorated with dozens of impaled and severed hands in various stages of decay.  In the northeast corner of the chamber, a wooden platform supported a throne heaped with dog pelts and horse hides.  Dog skulls adorned the armrests and a horse skull leered over its back.  A burly goblin sat hunched upon the throne, a hammered steel breastplate on his chest, and a dented crown upon his head, which would have been comical, if not for the look of pure evil and malice upon the creature’s face.  What appeared to be a large gecko, approximately the size of a pony, crouched on the floor at the goblin’s feet. 

“Parley!” the goblin shouted in Common as soon as the door opened.  “Me Ripnugget!  Me Chief of Thistletop!  You!” he pointed one bony finger at Luther.  “You look smart.  No armor.  No weapons you have.  Must use brain…like me!  You come forward!”
Luther glanced at his companions, shrugged, and started forward.  Before he could take more than a step, however, Adso’s hand clamped down firmly on his shoulder.
“What?” the priest said, irritation in his voice.  “We finally have a chance to solve a problem without bloodshed.  Let me go.”
Dexter stepped up next to Luther, and bent to whisper in his ear.  “I think you’d best take your friend’s advice, or can’t you see the half-dozen or so goblins hanging on to those pillars, not to mention the one ducking behind the throne?”
Luther’s eyes narrowed and he turned back towards the throne room.  Sure enough, shadowy figures clung to the tops of the pillars, holding on to the spikes.  They were attempting to hide, obviously, and doing a very poor job of it, though apparently good enough to have fooled his eyes.  Silently he cursed himself and his naiveté.  Perhaps Adso had been right.  Perhaps he should have returned to the monastery.  He always wanted to see the good in others, but the more evil he saw, the more he feared his own good intentions would be the death of him.
“Come! Now!”  Ripnugget bellowed, his hands gripping the armrests of his throne.
Luther shook his head and stepped back behind his friends.  Ripnugget growled deep in his chest, then began barking out commands in his own harsh tongue.  

In an instant, the throne room was hip-deep in goblins.  As the warriors scrambled down from their perches, and the female hiding behind the throne began to warble an ear-splitting tune, Ripnugget vaulted from his throne onto the back of the gecko.  The reptile lurched into motion at the chief’s urging, as Ripnugget drew a long ‘horsechopper’ polearm from a sheath lashed to the beast’s side.  The big goblin leaned forward in the saddle and dug his heels into the gecko’s flanks as the beast nimbly dodged the other scrambling goblins, sometimes scaling a nearby wall to do so.  As Ripnugget closed on the seven companions, Skud bulled his way to the front, bracing himself.  Ripnugget struck him at full speed, the horsechopper tearing a large gash across the half-orc’s chest.  As Skud was knocked to the side, the goblin warriors swarmed into his companions.

Luther raised his hands defensively, a prayer on his lips to ward his comrades, but a vicious slash from a dogslicer cut his chant abruptly short.  Randall turned his head this way and that, straining to pinpoint any of their assailants, but the clamor of the melee was too much.  It was only when he started feeling the stinging pain of multiple nicks and cuts that he realized he was a sitting duck.  Wesh struggled to bring his magic to bear, but the press of bodies around him was too much of a distraction.  Rico tried in vain to clear some breathing room for them all, swiping and slashing about him with his curved sickle, but the goblins were fast…faster and better armed than the rag-tags they’d encountered in the briar maze.  Abruptly, however, the battle shifted.  The goblins began to fall back, cursing and squealing, several bleeding from deep punctures.  Rico looked up and was amazed to see that it was Dexter who was causing such a commotion.  The wily rogue practically danced among the goblins, twisting and whirling like a performer on a stage, and for every step he took, his rapier darted out.  In rapid succession, four of the warriors fell, and the remaining two quickly withdrew to Ripnugget’s side.

Meanwhile, Adso was nowhere to be seen in the confusion.  The monk had astutely noted that much of the goblins’ ferocity seemed to derive from the song the female was still singing.  Though painful to his ears, it was whipping the other vermin into a frenzy.  Moving with a speed that belied his size, he dodged among the combatants, avoiding swinging blades on all sides.  Before the warchanter realized it, the half-orc was upon her.  She yelped in surprise once before a lightning-fast chop from Adso’s hand crushed her windpipe.  

Skud was having Asmodeus’-own-time with Ripnugget.  The chieftain’s superior height and reach with his polearm from atop the gecko foiled every attempt the howling barbarian made to reach him.  Time and again Skud charged, and each time he paid for it in blood, either from Ripnugget’s blade, or from the sharp teeth of the goblin’s mount.  Worse yet, the remaining two goblin warriors had moved to flank the half-orc, and Skud quickly found himself surrounded and bleeding heavily.  Suddenly, three fiery, blue bolts streaked over the barbarian’s head, and struck Ripnugget head on.  The goblin chief reeled in his saddle, but managed to keep his perch.  Still, the assault momentarily distracted his henchmen, and when they turned to look for the source of the attack, a silvery dagger appeared, as if by magic, in the neck of one, flicked from Dexter’s hand.  As the second stared wide-eyed at his falling comrade, another fusillade of Wesh’s missiles struck him in the head, killing him instantly.

Ripnugget snarled in fury as he saw his minions cut down around him, but still the chief did not falter in his attack…until a flying sidekick from Adso knocked him completely out of the saddle.  He landed sprawled at Skud’s feet, and the half-orc’s blade raised above him in an overhand chop was the last thing he ever saw.  Adso dropped nimbly to his feet right beside the giant gecko’s head.  Wrapping both hands around the beast’s sinuous neck, he twisted with all his strength, snapping it sharply.  Ripnugget’s mount collapsed into a heap beside its dead master.
__________________________________________________

A cursory search of Ripnugget’s throne room turned up no clues as to Nualia’s whereabouts, but did reveal a strange, silver amulet hung about the chief’s neck.  It looked like a three-eyed, fanged jackal head with tiny garnets for eyes.  Luther recognized it instantly:  a holy symbol to the goddess of monsters, Lamashtu.
“So let me get this straight,” Wesh said.  “The quasit was a follower of Lamashtu, and we believe Nualia is one as well, now the goblins are worshipers to?”
Luther tapped one finger against his chin in thought.  “I think we might be missing something here,” he said.  “Let’s look at the facts:  the quasit was in a previously hidden catacomb beneath the factory of Nualia’s lover’s father, and we don’t know how long it had been down there; that same catacomb had been walled off some time in the past, and recently reopened; it’s possible that Nualia had something to do with the death of her own father, and it’s a fact that she arranged for his body to be stolen; Nualia is now here, somewhere, leading the Thistletop goblins.”
“So what are you getting at?”  Wesh asked.
“I’m saying,” Luther answered, “that perhaps Nualia came to Lamashtu by happenstance.  Maybe she stumbled onto the quasit’s lair by accident and somehow became enthralled by the demon.  Now she too worships Lamashtu, and by all appearances, is seeking to make herself over in the image of her dark goddess.  This may be what’s behind the raids.  She’s founding a cult, for which she needs followers and sacrifices.”
Dexter shook his head and chuckled.  
“You know, as I’ve said before, the motives of these people really don’t concern me.  Once they’re dead, it’s a moot point.”
“That’s just it!”  Luther exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation.  “This might just be the tip of the ice berg.  Who knows who, or what, might be pulling Nualia’s strings?”
“Well, I’ll be sure and have Skud ask her before he rips her arms off,” Dexter shrugged, and headed towards the doors.

The remainder of the keep was empty.  The remaining goblins had either fled, or waited below ground.  The company had no choice but to proceed deeper into Thistletop.  Unlike the crude, wooden walls and dirt floors of the palisade above, the surfaces below were well-worked stone.  The stairwell gave onto a small room.  A large table surrounded by chairs filled much of it.  A slateboard on one wall was covered with scribblings in chalk, but the map of Sandpoint that had been carefully inscribed on it left no doubt as to the purpose of the chamber…it was where the raid had been planned.  The writing confirmed this fact, but also contained a more cryptic message…
“ ‘Once the whispering beast is tamed.’  What does that mean?”  Adso asked.
“I’m not sure,” Wesh replied, “but look here.  It says that once this occurs, the second raid will begin, and this time it will bring even more goblin tribes together, even some from as far as the Fogscar Mountains, and it also mentions the sinspawn invading from below.”
“Looks like we got here just in time then,” Dex said.

Beyond the war room was another empty chamber, its walls covered with crude drawings in mud, blood and paint.  Most of these showed goblins engaged in some sort of violence against humans, horses or dogs.  One picture, however, was at least three times the size and complexity of the other scrawlings.  It showed Thistletop from the side, the goblin stockade perched atop it like a crown.  A cave had been drawn into the center of the image, and looming inside was what appeared to be an immense, muscular goblin with snake-like eyes and a dogslicer in each taloned hand.  If the scale compared to the rest of the drawing was to be believed, the goblin must have been at least thirty feet tall.”
“I hope that’s just an example of goblin fancy,” Wesh commented, “or I suppose Ripnugget just thought an awful lot of himself.”
“Little Man Syndrome,” Dex laughed as he elbowed Skud.  The half-orc laughed harder as he showed a very small distance between his thumb and forefinger.

A short hall led from the art gallery onto a larger one.  This one came to a four-way intersection, the western branch of which held two large, stone doors.  Their faces were carved with images of horrific, deformed monsters clawing their way out of pregnant women of all races.
“Careful,” Luther warned as Skud and Dex approached the doors.  “Those carvings are common in places sacred to Lamashtu.”
Dex waved dismissively, and bent to examine the portals.
“Clear,” he said as he straightened.  Skud grasped the handles and heaved the doors open.  Stone fonts containing frothy dark water sat to the north and south of the entrance inside the massive chamber beyond, and twin banks of stone pillars ran the length of it.  At the western end, shallow stairs rose to a platform about two feet off the ground.  The walls surrounding the platform were lit by hanging braziers that emitted glowing red smoke that gave the place an unnerving crimson lighting which threw the bas-relief carvings of countless monsters feasting on fleeing humans into lurid display.  A black marble altar stone, its surface heaped with ashes and bone fragments, squatted before a ten-foot-tall statue.  The sculpture depicted a very pregnant, but otherwise shapely naked woman who wielded a kukri in each clawed hand and had a long reptilian tail, bird-like taloned feet, and the snarling head of a three-eyed jackal with a forked tongue.  Its left kukri flickered with fiery orange light, while the right one glowed with a cold, blue radiance.

Luther saw the creatures first, while his companions were still taking in the eerie surroundings.  It was their eyes that first drew his attention…smoking red, peering down at him and his comrades from the deep shadows near the top of the pillars.  Then they began to move, literally running through the air, four jackal-like hounds, completely black, even down to their fangs.  As they came they began to bay loudly, the sound piercing the spines of the group as they all looked up.  The mind-scraping howl threatened to drive all who heard it mad with terror.  Each of the team gripped their ears reflexively, trying in vain to drown out the noise…all save Luther.  At first, he felt the same blind panic grip him as it had his friends, but in the next moment, all fear was gone.  Instead, he felt a blissful blanket of calm and peace wrap about him, as if Irori herself had placed her hands upon his shoulders.  Within seconds, each of his companions opened their squeezed eyes and slowly dropped their hands, looking about them in bewilderment.  The hounds rushed on, their vicious call still filling the air, but to the seven from Sandpoint, the clamor was distant, muffled, almost a background noise, like the buzzing of a fly.  Then the hounds were upon them, snarling and snapping, black tongues lolling.

Skud stared down at the snarling beast in front of him, his sword dangling at his side.
“Good dog,” the half-orc said, a bemused expression on his face.  
“Yeah,” Dex said as he rested his hand on his friend’s shoulder.  “Kind of reminds me of Garm.”
Luther was perplexed.  His friends should have been knee-deep in bloodshed at that point, yet all of them were simply standing idly by as the demonic dogs slavered and snarled just a few feet away.  Wesh had actually pulled a book of spells from his pack and was casually reading.  Adso sat cross-legged in the lotus position on the floor, meditating.  Rico was preoccupied with comparing various leaves he had taken from his belt pouch, and Randall tilted his head this way and that, as if listening to music only he could hear.  What was going on?  Then he realized that he himself still felt strangely calm, even though he could smell the fetid breath of the hounds.  Whatever it was that was happening, it was originating from him.  Cautiously, he began to back away from his companions, stepping back out the doors and into the hallway.  It was as if a switch went on.  The others visibly shook themselves and blinked in momentary confusion.  Then Skud’s snarling battle cry broke the effect completely as he gripped his sword in both hands, raised it above his head, and brought it down in a vicious chop to the dog crouched before him.

The fight was on.  Dex dove into a forward tumble, coming up behind the dogs, his rapier in one hand and his dagger in the other.  He jabbed and slashed at one of the beasts, but it was if the creature’s hide was made of stone, and his blades were turned aside jarringly.  As he involuntarily stepped back, the hound leaped at him and sank its fangs into his hand.  He yelped and sprang away.  The dog charged after him, but a crushing blow from Randall’s hammer brought it yipping and snapping to the floor.  The big soldier stood, his head cocked to one side, listening for the direction of his foe’s movement.  The attack should have crushed the thing’s spine, yet Dex’s eyes widened as it slunk towards Randall, only a slight limp betraying any injury.

Adso leaped to his feet as soon as Luther left the room.  He quickly assessed the situation, seeing that Randall’s blow and Skud’s mightiest swing seemed to have merely angered the animals.  Though the monk could kill with his bare hands, he had no illusion that his kicks and strikes would help him here, so he turned to another of the martial arts:  grappling.  He quickly side-stepped the lunge of one of the hounds and then fell upon it, wrapping his arms tightly around the beast’s body.  It struggled like a fiend, straining to gets its jaws upon him, but the nimble half-orc managed to grab its muzzle with one hand as he pushed its head towards the floor.  At that moment, however, he felt something heavy strike him behind his knees, and he tumbled to the floor.  Still he kept his grip and wrapped his legs around his opponent as well.
“Kill it!”  He shouted.
Foam slinging from his mouth, Skud did his best to oblige.  He drove his sword down like a spike, impaling the thrashing beast to the floor.  Then Dex appeared beside his big friend and shoved both of his blades into the dog’s throat.  Finally, its struggles ceased.

Meanwhile, Wesh and Rico had not been idle.  Between them, through a combination of flaming balls and arcane bolts, they had managed to bring down another of the hounds.  Then they turned their attention to the remaining two, harrying the creatures with their continued bombardment while Skud hacked and slashed, his face twisted with rage.  Finally, the last of the hounds fell and silence returned to the blood-red temple, broken only by the labored breathing of the survivors.
“Would you care to explain what happened just here?”  Wesh asked with a grimace as Luther reentered the chamber. 
“I think I can answer that,” Adso interrupted.  “My spiritual brother has long sought the peaceful solution to conflict, to the point of even risking his own life.  That is why my order sent me to watch over him, knowing he would not lift a hand to defend himself.  My superiors told me to be prepared for something such as this.  It is said that the most devout and spiritually pure will, on occasion, receive the blessing of the gods for their sacrifice.  Think of it as if the gods were providing the armor Luther will not wear, the sword he will not wield.  They have made it so that none, save the strongest of willed, can even contemplate violence in his presence.  Thus, his enemies will not attack him, though they may not be inclined to listen to his entreaties.  Less fortunate for us, however, is that our own…passions are equally cooled.”
“Are you saying we won’t be able to defend ourselves either as long as he’s around?”  Dexter asked incredulously.
“Yes and no,” Adso see-sawed his hand.  “If violence is committed, then the spell is broken.  So if your are yourself attacked, you will be able to respond, or, if your intent and purpose is singularly strong, it is possible you may be able to act first, but your own violence will again negate the effect.”
Dexter stalked up to Luther pointing his finger beneath the priest’s nose.  “You stay clear of us, understood?”  He hooked his thumb towards Skud.  “We’ve been through a lot together, and we’re not gonna get killed just because you want to negotiate!”
Luther held up his hands helplessly.  
“I didn’t ask for this!”
“Yet it is a fact, nonetheless,” Wesh sighed.  “We don’t fault you, Luther, but it may be that your continued presence among us might be more hindrance than benefit.  We shall see.  I only hope it doesn’t cost one of us our life to make that determination.”
___________________________________________________

After another series of empty rooms, the Sandpoint deputies were beginning to wonder if there truly was anyone left in Thistletop.  Perhaps Nualia and her cohorts had fled prior to their arrival?  But when they opened a door that led off of what seemed to be an abandoned feast hall, they got more than they bargained for.  At least eight goblin females, dressed comically in cast-off harem girl ensembles, stood gathered around a larger, more heavily muscled male goblinoid…a bugbear.  He was in the midst of pulling up his trousers when Skud burst open the door.  A surprised gasp was heard from both camps, then Rico pushed his way to the fore of his companions.
“Bruthazmus?” he hissed.
“Elf-lover!” the bugbear snarled back as one hand went to a necklace of suspiciously pointed ears that he wore around his neck.  “Your girlfriend’s not here to fight your battles for you this time, eh?”
Ironically, as he spoke, the female goblins formed a protective wall between him and the intruders.
“No,” Wesh said, stepping beside the druid, his sword bare in his hand.  “He’s got me to do that for him!”
The wizard uttered a word and the blade burst into flames.  Wesh leaned forward and blew gently on them, at which point they fanned out into a raging conflagration that filled the room.  When the fires abated a moment later, only Bruthazmus still stood, smoke drifting off his charred fur.  His harem lay crisped at his feet.  Calmly, Rico moved into the room, stepping carefully around the corpses.  As he went, his fingers lengthened into hooked talons and a growl more animal than human came from deep in his chest as he proceeded to rip the bugbear’s throat out, tearing the grisly necklace free as he did so.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:


> “Bruthazmus?” he hissed.
> “Elf-lover!” the bugbear snarled back as one hand went to a necklace of suspiciously pointed ears that he wore around his neck.  “Your girlfriend’s not here to fight your battles for you this time, eh?”
> Ironically, as he spoke, the female goblins formed a protective wall between him and the intruders.
> “No,” Wesh said, stepping beside the druid, his sword bare in his hand.  “He’s got me to do that for him!”
> The wizard uttered a word and the blade burst into flames.  Wesh leaned forward and blew gently on them, at which point they fanned out into a raging conflagration that filled the room.  When the fires abated a moment later, only Bruthazmus still stood, smoke drifting off his charred fur.  His harem lay crisped at his feet.  Calmly, Rico moved into the room, stepping carefully around the corpses.  As he went, his fingers lengthened into hooked talons and a growl more animal than human came from deep in his chest as he proceeded to rip the bugbear’s throat out, tearing the grisly necklace free as he did so.



Wow, what a _grisley _ending.  In my opinion one of your finest works so far !!! More !!!


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## JollyDoc

*SUNDAY TEASER*

1)  After Bruthazmus's icky demise, the group encounters another of Nualia's flunkie's, who, after being humiliated by Luther, decides that discretion is the better part of valor.

2)  Yet another of Nualia's lieutenant's proves a more credible threat, especially when Skud takes himself out of the fight in the opening salvo.

3)  The final level of Thistletop is breached, and Nulia herself is bearded in her lair.  It's a battle royal, with crit. fun galore, broken bones, near-deaths, and...victory?


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

The zone of non-violence.  Great update.  

Thanks,

GW


----------



## JollyDoc

Graywolf-ELM said:


> The zone of non-violence.  Great update.
> 
> Thanks,
> 
> GW




It especially chaps Skud, since the big boy can't rage within it, no matter if he makes his Will save or not...


----------



## Cerulean_Wings

I second that! Zone of non-violence was artfully described in-game, with a nice explanation by Adso to boot. 

Loved the ending, really awesome mixture of magic and steel from Wesh combined with Rico's bestial tactics


----------



## JollyDoc

MOTHER OF MONSTERS

Orik Vancaskerkin stood in a corner of his room furthest from the door.  His shield was positioned defensively before him and his sword was gripped tightly in his right hand.  They were coming.  He’d heard them kill Bruthazmus, and now they were coming for him.  He knew he should have left when he’d had the chance, right after the raid on Sandpoint, in fact.  He had felt then that his decision to accept Nualia’s employment ‘opportunity’ had just been the latest in a long string of bad choices, starting with that incident in Riddleport involving the alchemist and the love potion.  Now, however, it looked as if this decision may well have been his last.

The door slammed open and Orik saw a hulking half-orc standing there, a monstrously huge blade in his hands and a savage snarl on his face.  Yep, he was dead alright, it was just a matter of how painful that death would be.
“Ahem,” Orik began, clearing his throat.  “You’re trespassing here.  I recommend you turn around and leave the way you came.”
The half-orc began to growl, but at that moment a slight young man dressed in the garb of a traveling priest pushed his way past the brute.
“And whom would we be trespassing against?” the young man asked calmly.  Strangely enough, Orik found himself feeling quite a bit calmer as well.  He still knew he would probably be dead at any second, but the thought didn’t seem to bother him that much.
“My employer,” he answered.
“And that would be?”  asked the priest.
“I’m not at liberty to say,” Orik replied.
“Would that be Nualia Tobyn?”  the priest pressed.  “Because if it is, we’re here to arrest her and bring her to justice for murder and grave-robbing.  My name is Luther Asclepius, and I am a duly appointed deputy from the town of Sandpoint, as are my colleagues.  You would be doing yourself a favor if you simply put down your weapon and surrendered now.”
Orik swallowed.  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
Luther sighed and turned to the half-orc.  “Skud, you and the others keep searching.  I’m going to stay here and try and talk some sense into this gentleman.”
The half-orc’s eyes blazed with anger, and his sloped brow furrowed deeply.  To Orik he seemed to be waging some sort of internal struggle, which apparently resolved a moment later when he snarled viciously and shoved the priest to one side as he stalked towards Orik, murder evident upon his face.  Orik steeled himself and raised his shield as he drew his sword back to strike.  What happened next was almost too fast, and too far-fetched to be believed.  The young priest darted between him and the half-orc, seizing Orik’s wrist in his hands and twisting.  With a cry of pain, Orik felt his hand go numb.  An instant later, Luther stood before him holding his own sword on him.  Somehow, incredibly, the priest had managed to disarm him!
“Skud,” Luther said in a low, yet commanding voice, “leave him alone.  He’s defenseless, and you are well aware how I feel about such things.”
To Orik’s amazement and relief, the half-orc paused.
“I give up!” Orik said quickly, dropping his shield and raising his hands above his head.
“You see?”  Luther said.  “People can be reasonable if given the chance.  Now, Mr.…?”
“Vancaskerkin…Orik Vancaskerkin.”
“Orik then,” Luther continued.  “Would you like to reconsider telling us about Nualia?”
Orik sighed and nodded.  “I’m afraid I don’t have much to tell.  She hired me in Magnimar to be her bodyguard.  I was down on my luck and she was paying in platinum, so the choice was pretty simple.  Truth to tell, there hasn’t been much guarding to do of late.  She’s stayed put here at Thistletop for some time.  She’s searching for something in the chambers below, but I don’t know what that is.  In all honesty, I’d been considering leaving for awhile now.  That deal at Sandpoint…I feel bad about it.  I passed through there once, and I thought the folks were pretty charming.”
“Aren’t you the compassionate one?”  Another half-orc had entered the room, but this one was dressed in loose-fitting clothes and was unarmed.  He seemed more…civilized than the other one, Skud.
“You’ll have ample opportunity to atone for your crimes,” Luther said.  “We’re taking you back to Sandpoint once we’ve dealt with Nualia.  Does she have others like you?  Bodyguards?”
Orik nodded.  “There’s Tsuto.  His father owned the Glassworks.  I haven’t seen him since after the raid, though.  Bruthazmus you already met.  The only other one is Lyrie, Nualia’s pet wizard.  She’s a dangerous one.”
“And you say there are more chambers beneath these?”  Luther asked.
“Yeah,” Orik said.  “There’s a door off Lyrie’s lab, beyond the war room.  It leads to the stairs down.”
“Excellent,” Luther said.  “Thank you for your help.  I will be sure and put in a good word for you with the sheriff in Sandpoint.”
“And what shall we do with him until then?”  the second half-orc asked.
“I have an idea.”  This from a figure in a hooded forest cloak.  Orik couldn’t see his face, but his hands almost looked like claws…
_____________________________________________________

“Guard him well, my friend,” Rico said.  “If he tries anything, crush his skull.”
Shadowmist tossed his head and pawed the ground, snorting.  Orik looked up in trepidation from the place where he sat bound upon the ground of the courtyard.  He was starting to believe that his lot with Nualia might not have been so bad after all.
_______________________________________________________

“What, exactly, are we looking at here?”  Dex asked in disgust.
“Children,” Rico answered.  “Goblin children.”
The small room they’d entered in their continued exploration had walls that were lined with small, wooden cages.  Inside of each was a dirty mound of straw, and several of them contained feral-looking miniature goblins, all teeth and wild eyes, that alternately hissed at the onlookers and mewled pathetically.
“Goblins treat their offspring as little better than pets,” the druid continued.  “They feel that coddling and protecting their young simply results in adults who can’t defend themselves.  This is the result.”
“We can’t just leave them like this,” Luther said, his face a mixture of pity and revulsion.
“They would be better off dying of starvation than being allowed to mature into creatures as vile as their parents,” Rico replied.  
“Who are we to decide such things?”  Luther asked, appalled.  “They’re children!”
“The offspring of vermin are vermin,” Rico said flatly.
“I don’t know that I necessarily agree with that,” Wesh chimed in, “but Rico does make a point.  What do you propose we do, Luther?  Open a goblin orphanage?  Raise them like stray pups?”
“I…I don’t know,” Luther shook his head.  “But I know that I won’t abandon them here to starve like rats!”
Rico sighed.  “Fine.  When we leave this place, we’ll release them into the wild.”  He raised his hands at Luther’s protestation.  “Trust me, they’ll stand as much of a chance out there, if not better, than they would if left to the tender mercies of their parents.  Goblins mature very rapidly.  They’ll adapt.”
Luther looked dubious but nodded reluctantly.  He wasn’t sure he agreed with that logic, but he couldn’t come up with anything better at that moment.
_________________________________________________

Orik had told them that the stairs down to the lowest levels, where Nualia could be found, lay beyond the war room they had passed through earlier.  Returning there, they opened the door on the far side of the chamber, but instead of an empty lab on the other side, they found a rude surprise.  A large wooden worktable sat in the middle of the room, its surface cluttered with scrolls, books, stone tablets covered with dense, spiky runes, and fragments of carvings that appeared to have been chipped off of statues or bas-reliefs.  On the far side of the room, a floor-to-ceiling set of wooden shelves sagged with picks, shovels, brushes, lanterns, and other equipment typical of an archaeological site.  A young woman stood in the room.  She appeared to be in her early twenties, with dark skin and long hair braided tightly into cornrows.  She held a slender, bone wand in one hand, and, oddly enough, a pair of flickering images, mirrors of herself, danced around her, making it difficult to tell which was real and which illusion.  

“You’re too late,” Lyrie Akenja said.  “Nualia’s already found what she’s looking for.  You can’t save Sandpoint now, nor yourselves.”
“Perhaps,” Luther said, “but you should know that every goblin in this place is dead, as are Bruthazmus and Tsuto.”  Lyrie’s face visibly blanched at this.  “And we’ve taken Orik safely into custody,” the priest continued.
“You lie!”  Lyrie hissed.  “Tsuto’s not dead!”  
She raised her wand threateningly, and in that moment Skud was in motion.  He charged across the room, but halfway there, his boot caught on some of the jumble on the floor and he lost his balance.  His head struck the stone wall with an audible crack, and he fell, stunned, to the floor.
“Skud?”  Dex called as he hurried to his friend’s side.  “What did you do to him, witch?” he spat.  Drawing his blades, he sprang towards the mage, but when he struck, his steel passed harmlessly through one of the shimmering images, causing it to wink out of existence.  Snarling in frustration, he struck again, and that time he felt solid flesh give way beneath his weapons, and Lyrie squealed in pain.

At that moment, Randall blundered into the room, waving his hammer dangerously before him.
“What’s happening?” the blind warrior called.  “Dex, where is she?”
“Right in front of me!” the rogue called, and Randall turned that way.  When he swung his maul, he felt it strike something solid, but he heard no grunt or cry.
“Not there, you idiot!”  Dex shrieked.  “You hit Skud!”
“Out of the way!”  Rico snapped from behind Randall.  The druid leaned down and grabbed the unconscious half-orc under his arms, and began dragging him towards the door.  Before he could get his friend clear, however, Lyrie shouted out several arcane words, fanning her fingers before her.  Fire erupted from her hands, filling the entire room.  Dexter managed to press himself against the wall, narrowly avoiding the flames, but Randall, Rico, and the unfortunate Skud were caught in the conflagration.  As the fire faded, Lyrie began casting another spell, but Dex lunged at her again, slicing through the remaining illusory image, then pressing his attack against her.
“She’s right here!” he screamed to Randall, and that time, the big soldier turned in the correct direction and smashed the head of his hammer directly atop Lyrie’s head.  Her eyes stared blank and wide as she collapsed dead to the floor.
_________________________________________________

 Dexter’s hands danced nimbly over the plain stone wall in Lyrie’s room.  
“Aha!” he said as he found the hidden catch he was sure was there.  When he flipped it, the section of wall swung inward, revealing a dark stone stair beyond.  For just an instant, Dex swore he saw a small, feline shape dart away into the shadows at the bottom of the stairs, but it was gone a moment later.  Perhaps it had just been a trick of the light.  Behind him, Skud sat against another wall, rubbing his head while Luther tended his bruised ribs.  The barbarian was still vehement that the wizard had used some sort of trickery to cause him to trip, and Dexter had advised the others that it was probably best not to argue, and it was certainly best not to tell him how his ribs had really been fractured by Randall’s hammer.

When Skud was back on his feet, the seven companions gathered their gear and started down the stairs, at once anxious and expectant about what they would find in the catacombs below.  When they reached the base of the stairs, they found themselves in a spacious, low-ceilinged chamber.  Two pillars supported the roof, and in many places the stone walls, floor and ceiling were caked with ancient grime and soot.  Alcoves along the walls contained partially damaged statues of a man in robes clutching a book and a glaive.  The entire room was canted upward, towards the east, and whatever ancient upheaval had caused the complex to tilt, knocked the statues from their bases so that they currently leaned against the back walls of their alcoves.  The chamber was otherwise bare and an archway on the far side gave onto a short hallway that rose in a slope.  A few yards down the hall, the floor was polished and shiny, unlike the dusty surfaces elsewhere.  A pair of stone statues depicting stern men wielding glaives stood in alcoves on either side of that section.  At the far end of the hall stood two stone doors facing each other, their surfaces carved with strange runes.  Between the doors was a third alcove in which a partially collapsed statue sat.  The top half of the statue was missing, leaving behind only a ragged stump of a torso.

“There something fishy about this,” Dex said as he peered down the hall.  “Skud, why don’t you let me take point?”
The half-orc nodded.  He never second-guessed his friend.  He’d seen too many of Dexter’s hunches bear fruit to question them.  Dexter moved cautiously down the corridor, and paused before the polished spot.  He leaned over it and peered closely at the statues.  Just as he’d suspected, not all was as it seemed.  The arms bearing the glaives on each statue were hinged.  
“Hang back,” he called to his companions as he knelt in front of the odd section of floor.  Passing his hands carefully over it, he discovered that the entire piece was some sort of pressure plate.  With painstaking slowness, he worked one of his many picks into the narrow crack separating the plate from the rest of the floor.  When he felt the trigger underneath, he held his breath and pushed it forward with the pick.  Several things happened at once.  The glaives of each statue slashed down, and though Dex had known that was a possibility, he was still a fraction of a second too slow, and both blades bit deeply into his flesh.  He was, however, able to push himself clear of the falling portcullis that slammed down in front of him.  A second one dropped on the far side of the pressure plate.  Again and again, the statues hacked at the empty space enclosed by the gates, and then the plate itself fell away into a dark pit before closing again, at which point the gates rose and the statues returned to their former position.
“Was that supposed to happen?”  Wesh asked sarcastically.
“Not quite that way, no,” Dex answered, blowing out his breath.  “But it could have been worse.  I could have been stuck inside there.  I’m going to have one more try.”
Despite the protestations of Skud, he went to work on the trap again, and that time when he flipped the switch, nothing happened.  Nodding in satisfaction, he tested the plate and pronounced it safe.
__________________________________________________

The Sandpoint Seven paused at the end of the short hall.  There was no particular reason they chose the door on the northern side of the passage, but when they opened it, they knew immediately that they had chosen wisely…or very, very poorly.

A wide, stone ledge of red marble lined the curving walls of the room beyond, which was well lit by burning skulls that sat in each corner.  Comfortable chairs rested on the floor, and the ledges were covered with books, scrolls, teeth, bones, scrimshaw artwork, jars of deformed creatures soaked in brine, taxidermied animals and limbs, and other strange objects.  Near the far side of the chamber, a large round fountain filled with frothy blue water filled the room with the gentle sound of bubbling.  A woman knelt before the fountain.  She wore a partial breast plate on her upper torso, and lush, silver hair spilled down her back.  She rose calmly and silently, and turned slowly towards her visitors.  Her face had an unearthly beauty, with large violet eyes  that captured the highlights in her silvery mane.  Yet when she turned fully towards the company, her beauty was marred by two things.  Her bare midriff bore several ugly scars, as if her belly had been torn open by a clawed hand.  As if to accentuate that mark, her left arm below the elbow was made of red-scaled, leathery skin, ending in a taloned, bestial hand.  In her right hand, she clutched a viciously serrated sword.  

“You should have stayed in Sandpoint and awaited your fate like the rest of the cattle,” Nualia Tobyn said, her voice incongruously melodic.  “Now you have delivered yourselves to me, and you shall become sacrifices on Lamashtu’s altar, as was my father before you.”
As she spoke, two canine shapes materialized from the shadows behind her…yeth hounds, their baleful eyes glowing red.  Nualia touched an amulet that hung around her neck, and the medallion flared with scarlet light.  At the same time, the hounds bounded forward, slavering and howling as they came.

The first hound plowed straight into Dexter, who stood at the front of his companions in the narrow hall outside the door.  As it struck, its jaws locked around his lower leg, and he both felt and heard the bone snap in its vicious grip.  He screamed in agony as Skud quickly dragged him away from the door and shoved him back down the corridor.
“Skud, no!”  Adso shouted as the barbarian prepared to charge into the chamber.  “The quarters are too close here!  They’ll pick us off one by one!”
Skud snarled, but reluctantly nodded his head and began to back down the hallway, his friends behind him, heading back for the entry chamber.  

The two yeth hounds slunk into the hallway, skimming just above the floor as they pursued their prey.  They spilled into the entry hall hot on the heels of the company, and the foremost lunged towards Adso.  The monk tried to dodge aside, but the hound was too close and tangled itself in his legs.  Adso felt himself going down, but as he fell, he twisted his body and wrapped his arms around the dog’s neck, pulling it to the ground with him.  The second hound pounced, sensing easy prey, biting savagely at the monk, yet Adso held on tightly to the first, circling his legs around its body and then rolling, putting it between himself and its brother.

Nualia entered the chamber, and for a moment, all eyes turned to her.  Her savage beauty was entrancing, yet her face was an impassive mask save for her violet eyes, which blazed with inchoate rage.  Skud broke the spell first, his own face twisting in fury as he hurled himself at her.  His blade raked across her shoulder, but instead of withdrawing, she stepped towards him, seizing his sword in her demonic claw.  She began to chant, and as she did so, Skud saw a web of fine cracks begin to appear up and down the length of the steel.  The spell was abruptly cut short, however, and Nualia’s eyes widened as Adso, still wrestling on the floor behind her, freed one of his legs and delivered a vicious kick to her left knee.  She sagged briefly to the floor, releasing Skud’s weapon, but then quickly recovered, and turned slowly towards the monk, murder in her eyes.

Skud, momentarily shaken at the potential loss of his blade, an extension of himself, moved towards Nualia once more, but found his path blocked by the second yeth hound, which, at its mistress’s silent command, had turned its savagery upon him.  Suddenly, a small puff of flame struck the hound’s flank, setting the fur there alight.  It yelped, turning its head and snapping at the fire, and as it did so, Skud struck, raising his sword in a mighty overhand chop and bringing it down squarely on the hound’s neck.  The dog moaned horribly, its head lolling limply from its mostly severed neck, yet terribly, it still lived.  Rico hurled a second ball of flame, this time striking the thing in the face.  Whining and howling, it collapsed to the floor, its head wreathed in fire.

Nualia didn’t seem to notice the death of one of her pets.  Her attention was focused on Adso, who’d had the audacity to lay hands upon her.  Raising her sword, she rammed the tip through the prone monk’s shoulder.  Hissing in pain, Adso’s grip on the yeth hound faltered and the creature wrenched itself free, sinking its teeth into his other shoulder as it escaped.  Adso quickly rolled backwards and then kick-flipped himself to his feet, but as he did, the hound was on him, rearing on its back legs and grappling furiously with him, its teeth seeking his throat.  As he struggled to throw the dog off, Nualia moved in with the closeness of a lover, sliding her blade beneath the monk’s ribs and twisting it.  Adso’s eyes widened for a moment, then closed as he sank to the floor.  Nualia stood over him for a moment, her head cocked to one side, and then she raised her demonic hand and slashed one final time at his neck.

Skud saw Adso go down, and though he had no love for his pompous kinsman, the barbarian valued loyalty above all things.  He hacked at the remaining hound as it stood licking Adso’s blood from its chops, and then, as it turned towards him, his blade sliced both its ears from its head.  The look on its face was almost comical.  It didn’t realize it was already dead.  Nualia focused her attention squarely on Skud, her face still blank, but as she raised her sword to strike, a cry sounded from behind her, and she felt a silver pain go through her shoulder as Dex drove his dagger deep into her back.  Almost casually, the dark priestess backhanded the rogue with her claw and sent him reeling into a nearby wall.

In the confusion, Luther moved to Adso’s side.  Placing his fingers on the monk’s bleeding throat, he closed his eyes briefly in gratitude as he felt a thready pulse still beating there.  Channeling his divine power, he let it flow into his friend’s body, stopping the loss of precious life blood.  Adso’s weak breathing slowed and strengthened and his eyes flickered open.
“Move!”  Luther whispered.  “You are still much to weak to fight!”
Though the monk railed at the thought of leaving his charge, he knew the priest was right.  He wouldn’t do any of them any good if he was dead.  As Adso stumbled to his feet and withdrew, Luther looked up as he felt Nualia’s eyes upon him.  Ignoring Skud for the moment, she walked slowly towards the young priest.  Luther drew himself up, and a soft nimbus of light surrounded him, the armor of his faith.  Unimpressed, Nualia raised her sword, but just as he’d done with Orik, Luther seized the hilt in his hand.  Nualia’s strength, however, was considerably greater than her hireling’s, and she in turn seized the priest by the throat with her demon-spawned talons.  She began to squeeze.  

 Then Skud was there.  His sword dropped like a hammer on Nualia’s transformed arm, severing it at the elbow.  Luther quickly backed away, his breath ragged as he clutched at his wind pipe.  Never uttering a sound, Nualia slashed at Skud with her own blade, ripping into his abdomen like butter.  The big half-orc grunted, doubling over, exposing his neck to the priestess.  Though blood poured from her stump like a fountain, she raised her sword again.  Suddenly, like a cat, Dexter leaped from the shadows, his broken leg trailing uselessly behind him.  He twined his fingers in Nualia’s silvery hair, snapping her head back, and as her own throat was bared, he buried his dagger in it.
________________________________________________

The seven companions gathered in the chamber where they’d found Nualia, the worst of their injuries mended by Luther, though Dexter’s leg could only be splinted, the break to grievous for the priest’s power.  Wesh poured over the scrolls and texts on the shelves, while Luther examined the strange medallion Nualia had been wearing around her neck.  It was a silver disc hung on a leather cord.  On its face was inscribed a seven-pointed star.  Luther recognized the rune as being Thassilonian, but he wasn’t certain of its significance.
“Seven points…,” he said, almost to himself.  “For seven schools?  Seven sins?”
Again, the tantalizing reference to the ancient Rune Lords of Thassilon.  What could it mean?

“Well this is a sorry tale, and that’s for sure,” Wesh said, shaking his head as he looked at an open journal.  “Nualia’s diary…”
It seemed Nualia had been a foundling.  Raised by Ezakien Tobyn, her childhood was lonely and sad.  Her unearthly beauty had made other children either jealous or shy, and many played cruel jokes upon her.  The adults weren’t much better, as many of the superstitious Varisians viewed her as blessed by Desna.  Rumors abounded that her touch or proximity could cure warts and rashes, or that locks of her hair brewed into tea could increase fertility, and her voice was thought to be able to drive out evil spirits.  This led to endless awkward and humiliating requests over the years.  Nualia felt more like a freak than a young girl by the time she came of age, and when a local Varisian youth by the name of Delek Viskanta began to court her, she practically fell into his arms in gratitude.
	Knowing that her adoptive father would never approve of a relationship with a Varisian (he wanted her to remain pure so that she could join one of the prestigious Windsong Abbey convents), she kept the affair a secret.  They met many times in hidden places, a favorite being an abandoned smuggler’s tunnel under town that Delek had discovered as a child.  Before long, Nualia realized she was pregnant.  When she told Delek, he revealed his true colors and, after calling her a slut and a harlot, he fled Sandpoint rather than face her father’s wrath.  Nualia’s shock quickly turned to rage, yet she had nowhere to vent her anger.  She bottled it up, and when her father discovered her delicate condition, his reaction to her indiscretions only furthered her shame and anger.  He forbade her to leave the church, lectured her nightly, and made her pray to Desna for forgiveness.  In so doing, he unknowingly nurtured her growing hate.
	One night, seven months pregnant, Nualia miscarried her baby, a child whose monstrously deformed shape she only glimpsed before blanching midwives stole it away to burn it in secret.  The double shock of losing her child and the realization that she had been carrying a fiend in her belly was too much.  Nualia fell into a coma.  As she slept, she dreamed unhealthy dreams, filled with images of the cruel demon goddess Lamashtu.  Her mind became obsessed with the conviction that her wretched life had been inflicted upon her by those around her.  She saw her angelic heritage as a curse, and the dreams showed her how she could expunge its taint from her body and soul.  When she finally awoke, Nualia was someone new, someone who didn’t flinch at what Lamashtu asked of her.  She jammed her father’s door shut as he slept, lit the church on fire, and fled Sandpoint.
	The locals assumed Nualia had burned in the fire, a tragedy made all the worse by the death of Father Tobyn as well.  Yet Nualia lived.  She fled to Magnimar, where she enlisted the aid of a group of killers known as the Skinsaw Men.  With their aid, she tracked down Delek and murdered him.  Yet his death did not fill her need for revenge.  Sandpoint and its hated citizens still lived.
	Sensing a kindred spirit in the tortured woman, the mysterious leader of the Skinsaw Men gave Nualia a medallion bearing a carving of a seven-pointed star, which he called a Sihedron medallion.  Nualia learned that she had a larger role to play, and that her dreams were a map to her destiny.  She returned to Sandpoint and found herself drawn to the brick wall in the smuggler’s tunnels where she and Delek had conceived her deformed child.  She bashed down the wall, and in so doing, discovered the Catacombs of Wrath and the quasit Erylium, also a follower of Lamashtu.  For many months, Nualia studied under Erylium’s tutelage.  During this time, she received another vision from her goddess…a vision of a monstrous goblin-wolf imprisoned in a tiny room.  In the dream, she learned that this creature, named Malfeshnekor, was also one of Lamashtu’s chosen.  If she could find him and free him, he would not only help her achieve her vengeance against Sandpoint, but he would be the key in cleansing her body of her celestial taint.  Nualia wanted to be one of Lamashtu’s children.  She wanted to become a monster herself…


----------



## JollyDoc

*SUNDAY TEASER*

1)  The whispering beast is discovered, yielding even more questions about the connection between Thistletop and ancient Thassilon

2)  The company returns to Sandpoint as heroes, and even some old grudges are forgiven.  

3)  Life returns to a semblance of normal:  Wesh gets a girlfriend; Adso gets a training partner;  Rico opens a still; Skud and Dex get drunk...

4)  Ah, but peace rarely lasts, and a new crisis strikes Sandpoint in the form of a serial killer.  Once again, the Sandpoint Seven are called on to serve...


----------



## Schmoe

JollyDoc said:


> <snip>
> 4)  Ah, but peace rarely lasts, and a new crisis strikes Sandpoint in the form of a serial killer.  Once again, the Sandpoint Seven are called on to serve...




The Sandpoint Seven... how very appropriate.  Love the story so far!  It's nice to read about characters with somewhat redeeming qualities, after the bleak Savage Tide.  I'm definitely looking forward to more.


----------



## LordVyreth

Schmoe said:


> The Sandpoint Seven... how very appropriate.  Love the story so far!  It's nice to read about characters with somewhat redeeming qualities, after the bleak Savage Tide.  I'm definitely looking forward to more.




Well, I think most of them weren't too bad; it's just that the bad guys tended to dominate, planning-wise, and showed up more in the Story Hour.  Except for Anwar and Mandi, they weren't all thaaat bad.  

Speaking of morality issues, it's neat that we already got to the "baby goblin" question so popular over on these very message boards.  Was there a lot of in-table debate about that one?

Oh, and have you worked out how things like blindness, broken legs, etc. will be handled when out of the adventure?  Are they cheap to fix at this point?


----------



## Cerulean_Wings

Still lovin' it, awesome story. Nualya's fight was quite intense, and her reasons for becoming a villain quite convincing 

Can't wait for the next installment!


----------



## JollyDoc

Schmoe said:


> The Sandpoint Seven... how very appropriate.  Love the story so far!  It's nice to read about characters with somewhat redeeming qualities, after the bleak Savage Tide.  I'm definitely looking forward to more.




Yeah, I sort of came up with that name on the fly here on the SH.  The group was originally thinking of calling themselves the Peacemakers.  Also thrown around, in contrast to Savage Tide's Legion, was the Magnanimous Seven


----------



## JollyDoc

LordVyreth said:


> Speaking of morality issues, it's neat that we already got to the "baby goblin" question so popular over on these very message boards.  Was there a lot of in-table debate about that one?
> 
> Oh, and have you worked out how things like blindness, broken legs, etc. will be handled when out of the adventure?  Are they cheap to fix at this point?





The baby goblin question was actually sort of a hot topic.  Rico's player was all for doing in the little 'vermin' while Dexter's player, of all people, felt most strongly about saving them.  Joachim, in stark contrast to Luther's personality , wanted to just leave them in their cages...to starve... (must be Mandi's residual influence).

The broken leg got healed the next day via a lesser restoration.  As for the blindness, you will see in this week's installment how that was resolved...


----------



## JollyDoc

Cerulean_Wings said:


> Still lovin' it, awesome story. Nualya's fight was quite intense, and her reasons for becoming a villain quite convincing
> 
> Can't wait for the next installment!




Yeah, Nualia was sort of a sympathetic villian...in a patricidal, mass-murdering sort of way.  I'm extremely excited about this next installment of the AP.  The Skinsaw Murders, for me, is quite a deviation from standard D&D fare.  The players got their first taste of it this weekend, and seem to be hooked already.  It'll be a nice diversion from the dungeon crawl.


----------



## Joachim

JollyDoc said:


> Joachim, in stark contrast to Luther's personality , wanted to just leave them in their cages...to starve... (must be Mandi's residual influence).




In the interest of full disclosure, I did not want to leave them in their cages 'to starve', but rather to leave them to whatever surviving goblins might have been left.  When it was pointed out that only the females would have taken care of them, and they all likely died with the bugbear, then I adjusted my stance.

Luther took care of that situation just fine.


----------



## WarEagleMage

I just thought of something guys...I wonder if any of those little critters' daddy was the bugbear... would that makes them "buglins"?  I smell future pack lords...


----------



## JollyDoc

WHAT LIES BENEATH

“Malfeshnekor?”  Luther asked once Wesh had completed Nualia’s tragic tale.
“Perhaps the name of the so-called ‘whispering beast,’” Wesh offered.
“But the wizard said we were too late,” Dex interrupted.  “She said Nualia’d already found what she was looking for.”
“And perhaps she has,” Wesh replied, “as it is also likely that if this being was imprisoned, and she found a way to free it, then it’s already loose in the world.  Still, I think we’re obligated to continue our search.  I want to be able to return to Sandpoint and reassure its people that we did all that we could to insure their safety.

They left Nualia’s lair and followed a short hall beyond the door across the passage.  This, in turn, led them to a large, L-shaped chamber.  A pair of doors, their faces carved with depictions of two skeletons reaching out to clutch a skull between them, stood at the end of the southern leg of the room, while to the east, the area narrowed down to frame a circular carving of what seemed to be an immense stack of gold coins that rose from floor to ceiling.  The edges of the coins were carved with tiny, spiky, Thassilonian runes.
“Odd,” Wesh said absently.
“What?”  Luther asked.
“There’s magic here.”  The mage held out one hand, as if feeling unseen tremors in the air.  “It’s the carving.  Something’s not as it seems.”
“I’ll check it,” Dex said.  
“Just remember what happened last time!”  Wesh called after him.  The rogue shot him a withering look before turning his attention to the strange carving.  Several long moments passed as he scrutinized every detail, reaching out his hand now and again to touch a particular spot.  
“What’s this now?”  He whispered.  His fingers traced a pair of slots, one on each side of the bas-relief, that would have been easily missed by someone lacking his keen powers of perception.  Each slot seemed large enough to accommodate something the size of a coin.  Reaching into his pouch, Dex withdrew a pair of gold crowns.  Kissing them for luck, he placed one in each slot.  As soon as he did so, the entire carving ground noisily down into the floor, revealing another chamber on the opposite side.  Dex turned and smiled smugly at Wesh before stepping through the opening. 

The area beyond was empty of any furnishing or décor, but three pairs of doors opened from it, one each on the north, east and south walls.  The doors to the south were odd.  They were made of stone, yet bore no handles.  An indented outline of a seven-pointed star, its shape covered by hollows and slits, graced the spot where the handles should have been.  Instantly, Dex though of the medallion Luther had taken from Nualia and that he now wore around his own neck, but then the rogue quickly realized the shape and size were wrong.  Though the medallion bore a carving of the same seven-pointed symbol, it was itself round.  
“There must be another key somewhere,” he sighed after several more minutes convinced him there was no way to bypass the strange locking mechanism.  
“Maybe in one of the other rooms,” Adso offered.  Dex shrugged.  He didn’t have any better ideas.

The doors to the north opened easily enough.  A barren room on the other side contained an upraised dais on which sat a marble throne.  To either side stood statues of a man clutching a book and a glaive.  A ghostly figure seemed to be seated in the throne, an image of the same man who appeared in the statues.  He looked to be addressing an audience as he moved his hands about, fingers decorated with hooked rings, but the words issuing from his phantom mouth were difficult to make out and in a strange language.
“It’s an illusion,” Wesh announced, testing the aura once more.  “It seems to be malfunctioning though, like it’s caught in some sort of repetitive loop.  I can’t make out the words.”
“I can,” Luther said.  “They’re Thassilonian.  He’s saying, ‘…is upon us, but I command you remain.  Witness my power, how Alaznist’s petty wrath is but a flash compared to my strength.  Take my final work to your graves, and let its memory be the last thing you…’”
“Do you recognize him, or that name?  Alaznist?”  Adso asked.  
Luther shook his head.  “No.  I didn’t come across such a name in any of our research.  Perhaps when we are next at Windsong, we can research it further.”

The eastern chamber was even more disturbing.  It contained three low tables, their tops covered with a strange and chilling selection of tools, saws, long-bladed knives, and objects whose purpose was not readily apparent.  A strange collection of bones lay near one of the tables…too many to be one skeleton, but too few to be two.
“Fascinating,” Wesh exclaimed as he bent to examine the odd remains.  “It seems to have been a two-headed man, with what appears to an additional partial skeleton of a smaller man growing from the small of his back.  I know of certain unscrupulous taxidermy colleagues of mine who have attempted to pass off such amalgams as genuine natural oddities of nature.  One in particular comes to mind…supposedly a cross between a deer and a rabbit…a jackalope I think they called it.  Still, this smacks of the real thing.  What sort of horrible experiments went on here?”
“Look at this!”  Dex shouted from across the room.  He was looking at the assortment of tools, but the one he held in his hand looked very different from the rest.  It was a silver and gold seven-pointed star, one surface studded with nodules and blades, and the other featuring a thin, curved handle.  “I think I found our missing key!”
_________________________________________________

The time was now.  Malfeshnekor scarcely dared believe it.  Almost fifteen-thousand years.  That was how long he’d waited, trapped since he was captured by Karzoug’s minions, then forgotten after the great Cataclysm.  Oh, he’d had hope before, to be sure.  The cultists of Lamashtu had seemed very promising, indeed, but that damnable hellcat had slaughtered them all before he could guide them too him.  Then came the goblins.  Fragile and stupid creatures by nature, he’d drawn them to this place, but they were unable to find the sealed entrance.  He’d begun to despair again, but then his mistress had sent him a vision…a sign.  Another of the chosen was coming for him, or rather had been coming.  None of the voices he now heard outside his prison belonged to Nualia.  That probably meant she had failed and was dead.  And yet her killers had succeeded where she had not.  Malfeshnekor would still be free.  If he had to devour a few souls before realizing that freedom, well…it was amazing how much one’s hunger could fester after nearly fifteen-thousand years…
___________________________________________________

The key fit seamlessly into the lock and Dexter stepped back as the doors swung silently open, revealing a room lit by a large pit of flickering fire that filled the chamber with a strange, humid heat and the smell of burning hair.  In two corners of the room, wooden risers each held several dozen golden candles that burned without melting, while the far wall bore an immense carving of a seven-pointed star.
“Is anyone else starting to detect a theme here?”  Wesh commented, but a moment later, the wizard’s head snapped back and blood flew from his mouth and nose as several deep slashes appeared from nowhere down the left side of his face.  
“What the…?”  Dexter began, but his exclamation died on his lips as he saw what stood in the chamber, where before there had been nothing.  The creature was big, well over eight-feet tall as it reared on its lupine back legs.  The rest of its body bore more than a passing resemblance to a wolf as well, save for its face, which had a distinctly goblinoid cast to it.  Black fur rippled across it, and when it snarled, its lower jaw seemed to stretch farther than should have been physically possible.  As it stalked forward, it seemed to flicker rapidly in and out of view.

“What is it?”  Dex shouted to no one in particular as he fumbled for his rapier.  Skud didn’t bother to wait for an answer as he stepped into the room to meet the creature.  With incredible speed, the beast brought one paw around in a swooping arc, raking it across the half-orc’s breastplate and tearing through it as if it were rice paper.  Skud grunted as he was driven back.
“Watch out!”  Dex warned as his large friend bowled into him, knocking his sword from his hand.  It skittered several yards across the floor, but it might as well have been a mile away.  The fiend stepped forward, placing itself between the rogue and his weapon.

“A barghest!”  Luther hissed.  “I should have known!  ‘Goblin-wolf’ indeed!  It is Abyss-spawned, and it feeds off the souls of the living!”
Adso nodded brusquely.  He had heard of such creatures during his studies, and he knew that they were highly impervious to mortal weapons.  Closing his eyes, he focused his ki, gathering it to him like a physical force.  A silver nimbus formed around his clenched fists, and when he opened his eyes again, his hands flared like lightning.  Silently, he moved, leopard-quick to close the distance with the barghest.  He ducked beneath its swinging arms and struck, focusing all of his ki into the one-inch span of his knuckles.  When his flesh struck the fiend’s, bright light flared again, and the beast howled as its skin was scorched black by the monk’s touch.  Malfeshnekor hesitated for the briefest of moments, taken aback that one of the soft creatures had actually managed to cause him pain.  Then, savagely, he struck back, sinking his teeth into Adso’s shoulder and shaking him like a rag-doll.  

“It’s blinking,” Wesh said.
“What?”  Rico asked.
“The barghest.  It’s blinking,” the mage repeated.  “It’s an enchantment, one which shunts the recipient constantly between the Ethereal plane and our own.  Bottom line…it’ll make it damn hard to land a blow…unless you know what I do.”
“What’s that?” the druid asked.
“Force magic transcends the Ethereal boundary,” Wesh smiled evilly.  Then, calling his magic to his lips, he unleashed a barrage of azure bolts at the barghest, and each one struck unerringly true.  Malfeshnekor hissed and yowled, pawing frantically at the spots where the missiles had seared him.  He locked his baleful eyes on the still-bloodied face of Wesh, and he began working his own spell, intending to subvert the human’s mind to his own indomitable will.  At the last second, however, the half-orc he’d first struck dashed inside his defenses and sank his blade deep into the barghest’s side.  Though Malfeshnekor’s dense hide shed the worst of the blow, the terrible gash was still such that the pain drove his spell from his mind.  Snarling viciously, he rounded on Skud, but then saw Dexter standing behind the barbarian, a gleaming, silver dagger in his upraised hand.  Shoving the half-orc aside like a small child, the barghest lunged at Dex, snapping his jaws closed on the rogue’s wrist and crushing it like a twig.  Dexter’s dagger fell from his nerveless grasp.

Malfeshnekor spun like a snake back to Skud, and in rapid succession, the fiend savagely bit and clawed at the half-orc, driving Skud to his knees.  Unhinging his lower jaw like a python, the barghest leaned over the barbarian.  Suddenly, he screamed as the accursed silver dagger flew through the air and impaled the roof of his mouth.  Bloodied, and with his right arm hanging loosely at his side, Dexter smiled grimly and waved with his left hand.  Malfeshnekor clawed at the burning metal in his mouth, but then another volley of arcane missiles struck him about the head.  Reeling, he stumbled back, and as he struggled to regain his balance, Adso leaped straight up, landing a flying side-kick to the fiend’s temple.  The bone beneath imploded like an egg shell, and Malfeshnekor, chosen of Lamashtu, at last gained his freedom from his earthly imprisonment.
__________________________________________________

Thistletop was a tomb.  Nothing living remained.  The Sandpoint deputies stood on the far side of the repaired rope bridge, staring back at the fortress.  Orik Vancaskerkin and the lone goblin they’d taken captive sat bound astride Shadowmist, both looking very sullen.  Luther had taken the liberty of freeing the goblin children before the company departed, and the vicious infants had promptly scurried for the front doors, across the bridge, and disappeared into the briar patch.  As Rico had said, they faced better odds alone in the wild than they ever would have with their parents.  The companions felt satisfied by the work they’d done, but troubled as well.  Nualia and her minions had been neutralized, hopefully averting any further immediate threat for Sandpoint, but many questions still remained.  What was the significance of the Sihedron rune?  Where had Malfeshnekor come from and what role had he truly played in the events?  What of the mysterious Skinsaw Men Nualia had sought aid from in Magnimar?  Ultimately, these questions were, for the moment, unanswerable and perhaps always would be.  One-by-one, the seven turned away from Thistletop and back towards home…
_____________________________________________________

Many curious onlookers gathered as the company rode back into town early the next morning.  Many more joined them as word spread that the heroes had returned and had brought captives with them.  By the time they reached the garrison, Mayor Deverin herself was waiting for them, as well as Sheriff Hemlock.
“Boys,” the sheriff nodded, a look of pride on his face.  “I see you brought guests.”
Then, his eyes fell upon Randall, a blindfold still wrapped around the ex-soldier’s damaged eyes.  Hemlock misunderstood.
“Him??” he said, his voice becoming louder.  “He was involved in this to??  Why am I not surprised?”
Randall turned towards the sound of Hemlock’s voice, his mouth opening to snap back a retort.
“It’s not what you think,” Wesh quickly interrupted.  “He’s with us.”
Hemlock looked dubious.
“It’s true.  He came to me and offered his service.  I admit, I was skeptical to at first, given his…undistinguished military career.”
“Hmph!”  Hemlock snorted.  “If you can call it that.”
“Nevertheless, he gave an excellent accounting of himself,” Wesh continued.  “He suffered a grievous injury at the hands of the goblins, and it cost him his eyesight.”
Hemlock’s expression softened subtly.  As a soldier, he understood full well the consequences of such an injury on a fighting man.
“Then we shall see what can be done about having it restored,” Mayor Deverin said, stepping forward.  “If I’m not mistaken, Wesh, your old mentor, Madame Mvashti has experience with such matters.  We owe all of you much, more than can ever be repaid.  For now, however, you will rest, recuperate, and when you’ve done so, you will tells us all of your adventures.”
________________________________________________

In the days that followed, the exploits of the so-called Sandpoint Seven spread rapidly through the town, and once again, they were hailed as heroes and saviors.  The townsfolk were shocked and appalled that two of their own, Nualia and Tsuto, were responsible for such tragedy and terror, yet many were also ashamed at the possible role their own treatment of Father Tobyn’s adopted daughter may have played in the final analysis.  Hemlock and Mayor Deverin were relieved to know that the rumored goblin attack seemed unlikely without Nualia’s leadership, even more so since the sheriff had only managed to convince the rulers of Magnimar to provide him with a dozen soldiers, most of those green.  All seven of the company were invited, and strongly encouraged to stay on as permanent deputies.  Hemlock even pinned Randall’s badge on his chest himself.  The big soldier, his brown eyes gleaming brightly once more thanks to Madame Mvashti’s ministrations, gripped his commander’s hand in gratitude, and the sheriff nodded stoically in approval.  Within a few days of the company’s return, trials were held for both Orik and Mongo, the captive goblin.  They were perfunctory events, but Orik was shown mercy for both his remorse at his actions, as well as his lack of actual participation in the raid.  He was sentenced to two years of hard labor, and accepted it without comment.  Mongo was not so fortunate, and though Luther pleaded for leniency, the goblin was sentenced to death by hanging, which was carried out immediately.

In time though, the furor of the recent events wore down, and life in Sandpoint began gradually to return to normal.  There wasn’t actually much deputy work to be done by the seven friends, so each of them turned to their own endeavors.  Dexter and Skud, in between marathon sessions of free drinks at the Rusty Dragon, hired on with the occasional caravan bound for Magnimar, only to return a week later to resume their ‘official’ duties.  Wesh reopened his shop, having brought back several interesting specimens from Thistletop that drew great interests from passersby when they saw the unique displays in his window.  Rico left town shortly after the group returned from Thistletop, saying that he needed to contact Shalelu and bring her up to date, but promising to return every fortnight or so to check in.  As for Luther and Adso, the priest sent word to his superiors at Windsong Abbey, outlining everything that had transpired, and requesting leave to continue his ministry in Sandpoint as well as asking advice on any of the larger issues uncovered at Thistletop.  For the former, his request was granted, and Adso was instructed to remain with him as his guardian .  As for the latter, the high priests did not make much of Luther’s concerns.  They suggested that there were probably any number of obscure cults with ties to ancient Thassilonian mythology, and though Nualia’s had been dangerous, it probably was only an isolated occurrence.  Luther accepted their response, but it did little to ease his mind.  He filled his days with assisting Father Zantus and Hannah Velerin.  He and his companions had come across quite a bit of wealth on their journey to Thistletop, and while Luther’s vows prohibited him from keeping any of the money, they did not keep him from making an anonymous purchase of a small house, which he signed over into Hannah’s name so that she might expand her services to the poor and needy.
___________________________________________________

“So what have you decided?”  Wesh asked.  He was seated in a secluded corner booth of the Rusty Dragon, comfortably close to the inn’s proprietress, Ameiko Kaijitsu.  The wizard had become quite infatuated with the young woman since his return, and she, in turn, welcomed his support in her recent ordeals…the death of her father and brother, the realization of several dark secrets long hidden by her family, and the aftermath of the slaughter at her father’s glassworks.  
“I’m putting the glassworks up for sale,” she said as she stared down into her tankard.  “I’m letting Jasper Korvaski over at the Mercantile League handle the details.  The three other noble families will all contribute equally to the sale, and therefore no one family will have an upper hand in the town’s industry.”
“A wise decision,” Wesh nodded, patting her hand.  
“I’ve also set up several trusts for the families of the workers,” she said.  “Money alone can never give them back their loved ones, but perhaps it can ease their hardships.”
“No one blames you,” Wesh said softly.  
“Tsuto was my brother,” Ameiko sighed.  “Blood cries to blood, or at least many of the locals believe so.  Already I’ve noticed a drop off in business at the inn.  It may be time for me to go away again.”
“Don’t say that,” Wesh shook his head.  “Not that I sought it, but my word seems to have some pull around here these days.  This will pass, you’ll see, and with a ‘prominent’ citizen like myself as one of your star patrons,” he grinned broadly, “it will only be a matter of time before your establishment becomes THE place to see and be seen.”
Ameiko smiled slightly and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Ahem, I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
Wesh looked up and saw Sheriff Hemlock standing nearby, a chagrined expression on his face.
The wizard sighed.  “I’m sure you wouldn’t be if it wasn’t important.  What can I do for you sheriff?”
“I need to speak with you…privately,” the big man replied grimly.  “Sorry, Ameiko.”
“No problem, Belor,” the inn keeper as she slid out of the booth, kissing Wesh on the cheek before she left.
“What’s this about?”  Wesh asked.
“Not here,” Hemlock replied in a low voice.  “I’d like you to gather the others and come to the garrison.  Are they all around?”
“Dex and Skud just came in yesterday,” Wesh nodded, “and I saw Rico riding in just this morning.  His saddlebags were loaded, and I heard the distinct sound of clinking bottles.  I think he brought in another supply from his little distillery.”
Hemlock managed a half smile.  “Good things it’s only herbals and such that he’s dealing in, otherwise I might have to lock him up.”
“I’ll round them all up and meet you within the hour,” Wesh said.
__________________________________________________

The seven deputies sat in Hemlock’s office, the first time they’d all been together in several weeks.  The sheriff paced restlessly before leaning heavily against his desk.
“First, let me thank you again or all you’ve done for Sandpoint,” he began.  “It’s fortunate that you’ve proven yourselves so capable, because we’ve got a problem that I think you can help us with…a problem that I wish I didn’t have to involve anyone with, but one that needs dealing with now before the situation gets worse.”
	“Put simply, we have a murderer in our midst…one who, I fear, has only begun his work.  Some of you doubtless remember the Late Unpleasantness and how this town nearly tore itself apart in fear as Chopper’s slayings went on unanswered.  I’m afraid we might have something similar brewing now.”
	“Last night, the murderer struck at the sawmill.  There are two victims, and they’re…they’re in pretty gruesome shape.  The bodies were discovered by one of the mill workers, a man named Ibor Thorn, and by the time my men and I arrived on the scene, a crowd of curious gawkers had already sprung up.  I’ve got my men stationed there now, keeping the mill locked down, but the thing that bothers me isn’t the fact that we have two dead bodies inside.  It’s that this is actually the second set of murders we’ve had in the last few days.”
	“I come to you for help in this matter…my men are good, but they are also green.  They were barely able to handle themselves against the goblins, and what we’re facing now is an evil far worse than goblins.  I need the help, but I’m afraid you’ll need the help too.  You see, it seems that this particular murderer knows one of you as well.”

At that point, Hemlock removed a piece of blood-stained parchment from his desk.
“This was found pinned to the sleeve of one of the victims.”
He passed the parchment to Skud.  The half-orc took it, and then stared blankly at the writing there.
“Ahem, if I may?”  Dexter said, clearing his throat as he took the paper from his friend’s hand.  Skud’s illiteracy was a sore point with the half-orc, and Dex wanted to spare him any embarrassment.  
“It’s got your name on the outside, Skud,” he said, and then he unfolded the parchment.
“‘_I do as you command, master!_’ is all it says, and it’s signed, _‘Your Lordship.’ _ What’s this supposed to mean?”
“I’m not sure,” Hemlock replied, “but don’t worry, I believe the note was left to purposely cast suspicion on Skud.  He’s not a suspect in any way, but if word of this got out, I’m worried that the reaction of the townsfolk might not be as understanding.  For this reason, and because I don’t’ want to start a general panic, I would like to keep the news of the murders as quiet as possible.”
“Who are the victims?”  Luther asked quietly.
Hemlock dropped his gaze.  “Banny Harker,” he said.
“Harker?”  Wesh asked.  “He’s one of the mill workers, right?”
“Yes,” Hemlock nodded, “and so is Ibor Thorn.  I’ve got him in custody downstairs in case you want to question him, thought I don’t suspect him.”
“Who was the other?”  Luther pushed.
“Katrine Vinder,” Hemlock said quietly.  
Luther was stunned.  Katrine was the sister of Shayliss Vinder, the young woman who had first tried to seduce the priest, and then later slandered him when he’d rebuffed her advances.
“It seems that Katrine and Harker were having an affair,” Hemlock continued.  “The mill was apparently their rendezvous of choice.  You might be thinking that would make her father, Ven, an obvious suspect, since everyone in town is well aware of how protective he is of his daughters, but when I broke the news to him, he was so distraught that he flew into a rage.  I took him into custody as well, but more for his own safety than anything else.  You may question him as well if you like.”
“You said this was the second set of murders,” Wesh said.  “What about the first?”
“Ah yes,” Hemlock sighed heavily again.  “Two days ago, a patrol along the Lost Coast Road was assaulted by a deranged man near an abandoned barn south of town, along the banks of Cougar Creek.  He was obviously sick and insane, his flesh fevered, eyes wild, mouth frothing, and his clothes were caked with blood.  The guards subdued him, but when they checked inside the barn, they found the mutilated bodies of three men.  Although they were too disfigured to identify, one of them carried this piece of parchment.”
Hemlock passed another folded note to Dex.
“ _‘Messrs. Mortwell, Hask and Tabe’,” Dex read.  “ ‘A deal has come about that I need capital in.  It involves property and gold, and though I am not at liberty to tell you the exact details, it will make us all rich.  Come to Bradley’s Barn on Cougar Creek tonight.  We can meet there to discuss our futures.’  It’s signed, ‘Your Lordship.’”_“Again with the ‘Lordship,’” Wesh said.  “Who were these men?”
“Tarch Mortwell, Lener Hask, and Gedwin Tabe,” Hemlock replied.  “Con men and swindlers that I’ve had run-ins with in the past.  Last time I hauled them in, I forbade them from operating their con games and barely legal operations within Sandpoint.  I must admit, I wasn’t particularly surprised to find them murdered.  It was only a matter of time before they tried to swindle someone worse than them, but in light of last night’s murders, and the fact that all three of the men had the same symbol carved into their chests as Harker, convinces me that there’s something worse than revenge going on.”
“Symbol?”  Luther asked quietly, his blood going cold.
“You’ll see it,” Hemlock answered, “when you go to the mill.  You can also examine the bodies of the first three.  I’ve got them in a cool room down in the basement.  As for the man who attacked the guards, he’s been identified as Grasyt Sevilla, a local Varisian thug.  I turned him over to Erin Habe, the caretaker of the Saintly Haven of Respite.  So that’s it then, gentlemen.  That’s all I can tell you.  I suggest, if you’re willing, you begin your investigation.”
________________________________________________________

Ibor Thorn was still in a state of shock when Luther approached him in his holding cell, both sullen and traumatized.
“I already told the sheriff everything,” he muttered.  “I don’t know nothin’ else.”
“I understand,” the priest said kindly.  “I just want to make sure there is nothing we’re overlooking.  We need to do everything we can to prevent more murders.”
Thorn hesitated, his eyes shifting nervously.  When he spoke again, his voice was uncertain.
“Well…ah Hades, what harm can it do to tell ya now?  Banny’d been cookin’ the books for awhile now.  I never wanted any part of it, mind ya, but Banny might’ve stashed away quite a little nest egg by his skimmin’ over the years.  The Scarnettis, they own the mill ya know, they got a reputation for bein’ pretty ruthless.  Word on the street’s that they had several competin’ mills in the area burned down.  I wouldn’t put it past’em to hire somebody to kill poor Banny if they found out what he’d been doin’.  Poor Banny…”

Katrine’s father, Ven, was far less forthcoming.  Such was his rage and grief that he was barely coherent.  Though Luther tried for some time to get through to the man, in the end he was forced to give up, convinced that the merchant was just what he appeared…a heartbroken father. 
_____________________________________________________

When the deputies arrived at the lumber mill, a sizeable crowd was gathered outside, and groups of nervous-looking town guards stood at the entrances.  A murmur ran through the onlookers as they saw the arrival of the Sandpoint Seven.  Their suspicions that something important was afoot was only confirmed by the presence of the local heroes.  The guards stepped aside at Hemlock’s word, and the company stepped into the dim interior of the lumber mill.  

The mill was a well-built wooden structure with very thick walls.  The roof was made of wooden shingles, and the doors were simple timber, and all usually were kept unlocked, according to Hemlock.  The machinery had been disengaged, and the silence inside the usually noisy structure was eerie.  The floor of the main room was coated with sawdust, and the first thing that was readily apparent was that a desperate struggle had recently taken place there.  The dust was churned with footprints, and stained with several large splashes of blood.  Rico knelt down and examined the prints more closely.
“Boots, slippers…and bare feet,” the druid noted, pointing out the different sets of prints.  Then he bent even closer to the bare prints and sniffed.  “Ugh!  Smells like rotten meat!”
In fact, the lingering scent of decay filled the entire interior of the mill, almost as if a small animal had died somewhere in the room and its remains had been allowed to ripen.

“Over here,” Hemlock called from where he stood beside the log splitter.  “Brace yourselves.”
A pale-faced, obviously upset guard stood at attention nearby.  When the deputies approached, they got their first look at what was left of Katrine Vinder.  It was instantly apparent how she’d died…she been pushed head-first into the splitter, and now her mangled, ruined remains lay on the floor amid heaps of bloodstained firewood.  Luther’s face looked stricken, while Wesh’s expression showed revulsion and nausea.  Dexter turned away and coughed into his hand, while Rico just shook his head.  Skud and Randall remained stoic, though both of their eyes narrowed.  They were warriors, and had seen death in many forms, but the senseless brutality of what had occurred only a few short hours before still unnerved them.  Adso remained calm and self-possessed, but a look of deep sadness passed briefly across the monk’s face, and he could only wonder about the capacity for man’s inhumanity towards his own kind.
“We found this nearby,” Hemlock said.  A handaxe was embedded in the floor near the splitter, as if it had been dropped there.  The handle was covered with bloody finger marks.  Randall reached down and pulled it from the planks.
“Looks like bits of flesh and bone on the blade,” he said, then he sniffed and his nose wrinkled.
“Let me see it,” Luther said, and Randall passed him the weapon.  Though his face contorted in disgust, the young priest leaned in close to the blade.
“This corruption is beyond that which a dead body can normally produce,” he said.  “This was very likely used against some sort of corporeal undead creature.”
For a moment, his companions and Hemlock looked shocked at the implication, then Randall chuckled slightly. 
“Looks like our little lady there didn’t go down without a fight.”

Banny Harker’s body had been horribly desecrated.  The poor man had been affixed to the wall by several hooks normally used to hang machinery.  He had been mutilated, his face carved away and his lower jaw missing entirely.  In addition, there were several small gashes visible in many places, that almost seemed to have been made by a claw…a five-fingered human-hand-sized claw.  Last, and most disturbing of all, however, was the strange rune that had been carved into his bare chest.  There was no doubt at all as to what the seven-pointed figure represented…the Sihedron Rune…


----------



## Cerulean_Wings

Next time, on the _Sandpoint Seven_...

_A killer on the loose, with nothing to lose!
The locals are in a panic, as another tragedy strikes the town!
Will the Sandpoint Seven find out who the undead killer is before it strikes again?!_

Stay tuned for the next installment of Jolly Doc's _Sandpoint Seven! 

_Whew, that was the longest update so far, but really good. I like the character's personalities and their stories 

A murder investigation? I saw it coming, but that being said, the adventure path seems promising in terms of a cool investigation.


----------



## JollyDoc

Cerulean_Wings said:


> Next time, on the _Sandpoint Seven_...
> 
> _A killer on the loose, with nothing to lose!
> The locals are in a panic, as another tragedy strikes the town!
> Will the Sandpoint Seven find out who the undead killer is before it strikes again?!_
> 
> Stay tuned for the next installment of Jolly Doc's _Sandpoint Seven!
> 
> _Whew, that was the longest update so far, but really good. I like the character's personalities and their stories
> 
> A murder investigation? I saw it coming, but that being said, the adventure path seems promising in terms of a cool investigation.





I love it!  Sounds like a hit new series to me!

So far, the investigation is VERY interesting, and we ramped up the creep factor big time tonight.  Which brings us to...

*SUNDAY NIGHT TEASER*

1)  The investigation of the Sandpoint murders continues with a visit to the sanitarium.  Can Ze Doctor be trusted?  What about the poor, tortured soul he has locked away upstairs?  Is everything really as it appears?  Of course not!

2)  As if grisly murders in the town itself weren't enough, reports start coming in of scarecrows coming to life and terrorizing the rural farmers of Sandpoint's hinterlands.  An investigation by the Seven puts everyone in mind of Jeepers Creepers.

3)  The trail grows hotter, leading the Sandpoint Seven to a bonafide haunted house on the edge of civilization.  The heroes are faced with the grim reality that you can't fight what's only in your mind...or is it?  Dark family secrets are revealed.  Break out the Mystery Machine and the Scooby Snacks!  Those meddling deputies are on the case!


----------



## Supar

Danm JD and his creepy house..... IF I CANT HIT IT I DONT WANNA FIGHT IT


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:


> 3)  The trail grows hotter, leading the Sandpoint Seven to a bonafide haunted house on the edge of civilization.  The heroes are faced with the grim reality that you can't fight what's only in your mind...or is it?  Dark family secrets are revealed.  Break out the Mystery Machine and the Scooby Snacks!  Those meddling deputies are on the case!



Skuddy, duddy, dooooo...

Great story, great characters, great timing for the next update?


----------



## JollyDoc

MISGIVINGS

Luther did not say anything aloud when he saw the symbol, though a quick glance at his companions told him that they all recognized it as well.  He did not want to voice anything of his suspicions to the sheriff…at least not until he had some idea as to what those suspicions were.
“I think we need to pay a visit to the sanatorium,” he said aloud.  “Sheriff, I recommend you have your people clean up the scene and remove the evidence.  I also suggest that the mill remain closed until we have more information.”
“The Scarnettis aren’t going to like that,” Hemlock said.
“The Scarnettis may have some questions to answer themselves before all is said and done,” Wesh replied.
“They might at that,” Hemlock nodded.  “In fact, while you boys are away, I think I’ll pay a visit to Lord Scarnetti in person.”
__________________________________________________

The Saintly Haven of Respite, or as the locals called it, Habe’s Sanatorium, was located in a remote dale a few miles south of Sandpoint.  It had been founded by a wealthy doctor from Magnimar, Erin Habe, who was said to be an expert on various diseases and mental derangements.  He was also said to be a bit eccentric.  The Haven itself was a squat, stone building with three floors under a stout, stone-flagged roof, built in the lee of the limestone escarpment known as Ashen Rise.  When the deputies knocked on the front door, it was answered by a burly, bald man dressed all in white.
“Yes?” he asked in a thickly accented voice.
“We are here to see Dr. Habe,” Wesh said.
“Ze Doctor is a very busy man,” the orderly stated flatly.
“Well, he’d best unbusy himself then,” the wizard replied as he unfurled a letter of introduction given to them by Hemlock.  “We are duly appointed deputies from Sandpoint, and we’re here investigating a murder.”

The orderly ushered them to a small parlor, and a few minutes later, a middle-aged gentleman with white hair, a bristling mustache and thick spectacles stormed in.
“What’s this all about, then?”  Dr Habe asked impatiently.  “I’m in the middle of some frightfully important work, and I do not like being disturbed!”
“Settle down, Doctor,” Wesh said, rising from his seat.  “We won’t take much of your time.  You’re holding a man here named Grayst Sevilla.  I believe Sheriff Hemlock delivered him to you a few days ago.  We need to speak with him about the murders he witnessed.”
Habe looked dubious.
“Mr. Sevilla is a very sick man,” the doctor said curtly.  “He shouldn’t be put under undo stress.”
“We’re not here to brow-beat him,” Wesh said.  “We just want to ask a few questions.  You have my word, we’ll be brief.”

Dr. Habe, accompanied by a pair of orderlies, led the deputies up to the third floor of the sanatorium.  He unlocked a sturdy door and pushed it open before stepping aside.  Grayst Sevilla crouched, sobbing in a corner of the small, plain room beyond.  His skin was pale and looked gangrenous.  His hair was wild and his eyes were milky white.  He was wrapped in a straitjacket and muttered incoherently to himself in between sobs.
“What in the…?”  Luther whispered as he stepped into the room and stooped down beside Grayst, reaching one hand out to feel the other man’s forehead.  He then turned and shot a fiery look at Habe.
“This man is near death!” the priest snapped.  “Worse, he’s dying of ghoul fever!”
“Ghoul fever?”  Wesh asked.  “What is that?”
“A disease transmitted to the living by the bite of a ghoul,” Luther explained.  “It kills slowly, driving the victim inexorably insane.  When he finally dies, he will rise as a ghoul on the following midnight.  Were you aware of this, Doctor?”
Habe’s face was pale as he stammered something noncommittal.  Luther turned back to Grayst in disgust.
“Mr. Sevilla?” he said gently.  “Can you hear me?  My name is Luther Asclepius.  I’m a priest from Sandpoint.  I’m here to help you, but I need to ask you a few questions first.”
“Razors…,” Grayst whispered.  “Too many teeth…!  The Skinsaw Man is coming!”
Luther’s eyes widened at the reference, but suddenly Grayst’s eyes bulged to as he stared at something behind Luther.  The priest turned, but all he saw was Skud leaning in the doorway.
“He said,” Grayst whispered excitedly.  “He said you would visit me!  His Lordship!  The one that unmade me so!  He has a place for you!  A precious place!  I’m so jealous!  He has a message for you!  He made me remember it!  I hope I haven’t forgotten.  The master wouldn’t approve if I forgot.  Let me see…let…me…see…He said that the bodies you are finding are signs and portents; that when he is done, you shall be remembered forever and the Misgivings shall be your throne!”
Grayst then collapsed to the floor and began a low moan, which rose a moment later to a shriek as he lurched back to his feet and began straining at his straitjacket, the fabric pulling and tearing.
“Be at peace,” Luther said as he rose with the deranged man.  He placed his hand on Grayst’s head again and the other sighed deeply before dropping to the floor once more and folding himself into a fetal position.  Cautiously, Luther moved away, pulling the door shut behind him.  One of Habe’s orderlies hastily locked it back.  Luther quickly rounded on Habe.
“You have something to say?” the priest demanded. 
“Please,” the doctor begged.  “Please forgive me!  I had no idea that he would react in such a manner.  Yes, yes I knew that he had ghoul fever, and I should have turned him over to Father Zantus immediately for treatment, but I thought he would be a valuable research subject.  I hoped his transformation would give me some insight into the disease itself.  Please, I beg you, don’t report me!  It would mean the end of my studies!”
“You’re a monster!”  Luther snarled.  “You will take Mr. Sevilla into Sandpoint tomorrow and give him to Father Zantus.  Rest assured, Sheriff Hemlock and the mayor will find out about your so-called research, and then they can decide what should be done with you!”

The seven departed the sanatorium, and as they left, Wesh patted Luther on the shoulder.
“I didn’t think you had it in you!  You were an animal!”
“No,” Luther replied despondently.  “That doctor is the animal, and I’m not much better, losing control like that.  I should be better than that.  Still, this trip was not wasted.  We will be able to get Grayst the help he needs, but further, did any of you pick up on the phrase he used?”
“He’s crazy,” Skud grumbled.  “Nothing he said made sense.”
“One thing did,” Luther replied.  “He specifically said, ‘the Misgivings shall be your throne.’  Do you recognize the name, Wesh?”
The wizard thought for a moment, and then understanding dawned on his face.  “Yes!  That’s the name the locals call that old, abandoned estate south of here…Foxglove Manor!”
“Foxglove?”  Dex asked.  “Wasn’t that the name of that dandy we rescued from the goblins?  The one that was so taken with…Skud?”  Comprehension came quickly to the rogue as well.
“We need to get back to town!”  Luther said.  “Then we need to find out if our old benefactor has been seen around lately.”
_____________________________________________

“The old Foxglove place?”  Hemlock asked dubiously.  “Are you sure?”
“He said the Misgivings,” Luther replied.  “Isn’t that what the townsfolk call the estate?”
“Yeah,” Hemlock acknowledged, “especially the Varisians.  Place has a bad reputation.  All sorts of rumors about it, from lights in the attic windows, muffled screams from inside, even to sightings of some sort of giant bat-creature, if you believe the tall tales.”
“Why’s the place abandoned?”  Dex asked.  “Where’s Foxglove’s family?”
“The family lived there as recently as twenty years ago,” the sheriff replied, “but then a fire burned down the servant’s quarters.  Cyralie Foxglove, Aldern’s mother, was found dead…burned and dashed on the rocks below the cliffs behind the house.  Traver, her husband, was found in his bedroom, dead by his own hand.  The children, Aldern and his two sisters, were sent away to be raised in Korvosa by distant relatives.”
“He told me he’d speak to his father about helping to sponsor a hospital in Sandpoint,” Luther said softly. 
“Well, all I know is that Aldern returned to the area about five years ago,” Hemlock shrugged.  “He moved to Magnimar, but pretty quickly he set about trying to reclaim his family’s estate.  He ran into some problems, though, finding skilled laborers and servants.  The manor’s reputation was hard to overcome.  Word is, he finally hired some desperate, down-on-their-luck sorts, but even then, the job was a huge one.  The place was in pretty bad shape.  Then, a year or so back, Aldern up and got married…to a Varisian girl, no less.  Talk about marrying below your station!  She was a beauty, though.  Aldern moved her into the mansion during the renovation.  She left a few months later, however.  Went to Absalom to visit friends, or so I heard.  Aldern left shortly after.  Went back to Magnimar.  I heard he ran out of funds to finish the repairs, so he went back to maybe borrow some more money from his rich friends.  The Swallowtail Festival was the first time he’d been seen around here since he left…and the last.  Haven’t seen or heard of him since.”
“I think the next obvious choice for our investigation is that house,” Wesh observed.
“Well…,” Hemlock rubbed his head absently, “I’m glad you boys came back here first.  See, something’s come up.  I’m not sure if it’s related to the murders or not.  Some of my men picked up one of the local farmers this morning.  Fellow by the name of Grump.  He ran into the middle of town screaming about walking scarecrows or some such.  His breath smelled like a distillery, but I’m afraid the booze may have actually dulled his memory, and what he’s saying may actually be worse than he tells it.”
 _____________________________________________________________

Hemlock led them down to the holding cells, where Ven Vinder and Ibor Thorn had now been joined by a bearded, red-faced man with wild eyes, covered in mud and sweat.  He sat on a bench in his cell, rocking back and forth and reciting some sort of sing-song rhyme:
“Mumble Mumble Scarecrow,
Alone in the maize.
Sleeping in the daytime, 
A stitched man he stays.
But when the moon she rises,
Up Mumble gets.
He shakes his hands at first
And he moves his feet the next.
And when the dog is snoring,
And when you’re fast asleep,
Mumble, Mumble Scarecrow
Will find you good to eat.”
“Grump!”  Hemlock called.  “Knock off that foolishness!  I already warned you once.  You’ve got visitors.”
Slowly, the old man looked up, terror still in his eyes.
“I want you to tell these fellows what you told me,” Hemlock said, more kindly.
Farmer Grump wrung his hands for several moments before stammering out his tale.  
“For a while now, there’s been tales around the farmsteads of scarecrows comin’ out of the fields at night to feed.  Nobody ever saw anythin’, but we sure heard it.  Screams in the dark…dark shapes chasin’ people across the moors in the moonlight.  When we visited the farms the next mornin’, they was empty.  At first, we thought we could deal with it ourselves, but yesterday, it just got to be too much.  We all knew that the problems were comin’ from the old Hambley place, so a bunch of us took up torches and pitchforks and headed over there last evenin’. When…,” he paused, gulping violently for several seconds.  “When we got there, we was attacked by folks that looked like corpses, but ate like starving animals!  They even ate the dogs!”
At that point, Grump dissolved into hysterical sobbing before resuming his haunting rhyme once again.
“You want us to check it out?” Wesh asked Hemlock.
“Walking corpses seems to fit the pattern of what we’ve been seeing,” the sheriff shrugged.  “The Hambley place is on your way to Foxglove Manor anyway.”
__________________________________________________

Over three dozen farmsteads dotted the fields and vales southeast of Sandpoint, the furthest being some six mile from the town.  As the Sandpoint Seven rode across the farmlands, they found the normally friendly locals unwilling to chat with visitors.  The first farms they came upon, the most north and easterly, had heard stories of the trouble further south, but it was not until the company had moved south of the Ashen Rise and approached the Soggy River that the rumors turned into firsthand accounts.  Footpaths, dusty tracks hemmed in by fields of corn and other crops, connected the farmsteads.  By farmer Grump’s report, the Hambley farm was nestled at the western edge of the Whisperwood, a forest said by locals to be home to capricious gnomes, pixies, and other fey.  The five farms the deputies passed south of the Soggy River were all deserted.  The transition from the final one to the Hambley farm was no different from the countless other steads they had passed through.  Fields of tall-stalked plants transformed the paths between them into oppressive tunnels.  Several scarecrows were visible among the crops, but they looked the same as all the other scarecrows they’d seen.  Yet somehow, the atmosphere was oppressive, as if a storm were on the horizon.

Rico was on point of the column, mounted high on Shadowmist’s back.  He peered down at the track, periodically taking another branching path that looked more heavily traveled.  It was at one such intersection, guarded by yet another of the ubiquitous scarecrows, that he felt a sudden chill on his spine…as if he were being watched.  He drew Shadowmist to a halt and raised his hand for the others to stop as well.  As he looked about in all directions, he thought for the briefest moment that he had caught movement out of the corner of his eye.  When he looked again, the scarecrow looked subtly different, as if its head had turned just slightly.  A moment later, there was no doubt.  It began surging against the ropes that bound it to its pole, snarling savagely through its sewn burlap mouth.  With a final heave, the ropes snapped and the thing leaped to the ground, landing in a crouch before Shadowmist.  The big stallion reared, its fore hooves pawing the air.  Rico fought to bring the warhorse around, while at the same time slashing down at the ghastly creature with a curved sickle he drew from his belt.
“Rico, down!”  Dexter’s voice came from behind him.  Instinctively, the druid ducked, plastering himself against Shadowmist’s neck as an arrow whizzed past his ear and sank to the fletchings in the scarecrow’s throat.  The creature gurgled as it clawed at the arrow, but an instant later several flashing, blue bolts arced from Wesh’s outstretched hand and slammed into its head.  With a final growl, it collapsed to the ground.  

By that time, the other horses, less disciplined than Shadowmist, were in a panic.  One-by-one the deputies dismounted.  Rico whispered hastily in the stallion’s ear, and the warhorse’s shrill whinny brought the other mounts up short.
“Go, my friend,” Rico said.  “Lead them to safety, then return to me.”
The stallion jerked his head, then wheeled and trotted back down the path, the riding horses hurrying to follow.  Luther, meanwhile, knelt next to the scarecrow and carefully pulled the burlap sack from its head.  He drew back in disgust as he saw the emaciated corpse beneath, its flesh sickly yellow, and its teeth filed to crooked, jagged points.
“A ghoul,” he said.  “Just as we suspected.”
“No telling how many more of them are out here,” Dexter said, looking around nervously.  “We must have passed a dozen or more scarecrows already.  Where’s the blasted farmhouse?”
“I think I can help,” Rico said.  He stepped away from his companions and raised his face to the sky.  As they looked on in disbelief, his body began to melt and change, until a large, golden eagle stood where the druid had been but a moment before.  With a shriek, the great bird took wing, soaring on the thermals high above the fields.  Within a few minutes, it returned again, once more changing form, until Rico stood exactly where he had previously.
“We continue south down this path,” the druid said simply, ignoring the incredulous stares of his friends.  “It’s not more than a hundred yards from here.”

The first building they reached was the barn, an L-shaped building that had been constructed around a unique feature…a twelve-foot high stone head, canted slightly to the left, depicting a helmed warrior, his face a stern model of placid determination.  Moss had grown over much of the weathered figure, making his features hard to discern.  Luther recognized it as Thassilonian, one of the numerous relics of the ancient empire that could still be found dotting the landscape.  The barn doors were ajar, swinging slowly back and forth on their creaking hinges.  Cautiously, the seven deputies approached and peered into the deeper gloom of the cavernous building.  Immediately, they were struck by the powerful stench of rot and decay.  The interior was a macabre tangle of bones and partially eaten carcasses, though it was difficult to determine exactly what kind of animals the corpses were.  Slowly, they moved inside, Randall hanging back at the door to watch the farmhouse.  They had barely gone more than a dozen paces, when Adso suddenly hissed for them to stop.  Several shapes had detached themselves from the shadows and were moving, crouched and scuttling towards the companions, odd, gibbering grunts issuing from them as they approached.  Abruptly, the interior of the barn filled with bright light as Rico flung one hand into the air.  A glowing sphere of flame appeared in the center of the floor, immediately setting the loose straw there ablaze.  Half a dozen creatures were revealed in the light, all hissing and shielding their sensitive eyes.  They all bore the same resemblance to the emaciated ghoul the company had met in the corn field, save that all were dressed in the rags of farm clothes, and some obviously had been female in life.  Shrieking, they loped forward on all fours, like a pack of mad dogs.  One of them latched on to Skud’s boot with its teeth, worrying at it like a cur with a bone.  The big half-orc quickly brought his blade down on the creature’s skull, splitting it open like an overripe melon.  A second one leaped from the shadows near Randall, but the soldier turned at the last instant and crushed its chest with a mighty swing of his maul.  He then whirled and pulped a third that was capering about madly, trying in vain to put out its clothes that had been set alight by Rico’s flaming sphere.  Dexter yelped in pain as another of the savage horrors nipped his hand.  Disgusted, he drove his silver-bladed dagger into its eye, and then thrust his rapier up through its lower jaw and straight into its worm-eaten brain.  The rogue then flipped the dagger blade-first into his hand, and flicked it as straight as an arrow into the base of the neck of a ghoul struggling with Adso.  The final fiend dissolved into a pile of ash when Luther stopped it in its tracks with his upraised holy symbol, which flared with golden light.

No sooner had the last ghoul fallen, than several low growls sounded from the open barn doors.  The companions turned and beheld another pack of the undead predators crouched, snarling in the doorway.  Behind them stood another figure, obviously just as dead as they, yet upright, and with a wicked gleam of intelligence in his eyes.  He was dressed a bit more nicely as well, though this was a relative thing.  He wore trousers and boots, as well as a white cotton shirt.  Around his neck hung a large, iron key which bore a heraldic symbol of a curious flower surrounded by thorns.  He looked at the living souls and nodded once.  At his silent command, the ghouls attacked.  The first three went down quickly beneath the weapons of Skud and Randall, as well as Adso’s fists, though Skud suffered a nasty bite before dispatching his foe.  When the remaining three charged, Luther raised his amulet again, and this time the light shown like a small sun, incinerating the ghouls, as well as their leader, in holy fire.  Silently, Luther walked over to the pile of ash and plucked the key from inside.

The farmhouse was in a terrible state.  The mutilated body of farmer Hambley lay in the kitchen.  Although decaying and swarming with flies, the Sihedron Rune was still plainly visible upon his chest, and a single scrap of parchment was pinned to the shreds of his tunic.  Skud’s name was scrawled on the front.
“You and you alone have brought this fearful harvest,” Dexter read.  “They are dead because of you, and more shall join them soon.”
“Should have left him as goblin food,” the half-orc snarled, regretting having ever bothered to save the life of Aldern Foxglove.
“Don’t worry, my large friend,” Wesh said.  “Someone is going to pay, and pay dearly for this, and if Aldern Foxglove is responsible, he’ll wish we had given him to the goblins before I’m done!”

A search of the house revealed no other survivors, but Dexter noted a loose floorboard in the master bedroom.  When he pried it up, he found a stout wooden coffer.  Inside, were thirty-four meticulously organized leather pouches, each containing one-hundred silver coins.  
“Undoubtedly the farmer’s life’s savings,” Luther said.
“Which he has no use for now,” Dexter observed.  
“It should be returned to his family,” Luther said indignantly.
“I’m pretty sure we just destroyed what was left of his family,” the rogue said tightly.  “What do you suggest, we put up a sign  in town to see if any distant cousins want to claim it?”
“We should turn it over to the sheriff then,” Luther replied calmly.  “He can decide what best to do with it.”
“Well, I know what’s best to do with my share,” Dex shrugged, and he reached down and picked up five of the bags and deposited them into his pocket.  Skud followed suit.  After a moment, so did Rico.  Luther scowled darkly at them, then slammed the lid shut on the strongbox and picked it up before he stalked out of the house.  Dexter smirked at Skud as they followed the priest into the yard.  Skud grinned back, absently scratching at the bite mark on the back of his hand, which was starting to redden and itch…
_______________________________________________________

Foxglove Manor lay scarcely three miles from the Hambley farm, down along a narrow path that followed the Foxglove River from the covered bridge where it flowed under the Lost Coast Road to the dark sea cliffs overlooking the Varisian Gulf.  The company decided that, since it lay so close, they would continue their investigation before returning to Sandpoint.  As they drew near the Misgivings however, it almost seemed as if nature herself had become sick and twisted.  Nettles and thorns grew more prominent, trees were leafless and bent, and the wind was unnaturally cold and shrill as it whistled through the cliffside crags.  The path slowly rose, turned a steep corner at the cliffs, and then Foxglove Manor itself loomed at the edge of the world.  The place had certainly earned its nickname well, for it almost appeared to loathe its perch high above the ocean, as if the entire house was poised for a suicide leap.  The roof sagged in many places, and mold and mildew caked the crumbling walls.  Vines of diseased-looking gray wisteria strangled the structure in several places, hanging down over the precipitous cliff edge almost like tangled braids of hair.  The house was crooked, its gables angled sharply and breached in at least three places, hastily repaired by planks of sodden wood.  Chimneys rose from various points among the rooftops, leaning like old men in a storm, and grinning gargoyle faces leered from under the eaves.  That the manor still clung to the cliff was remarkable, as the whole far side was nothing more than a sheer drop down to the ocean below, a fall of over three-hundred feet.  Out front, the foundation stones of a long-burnt outbuilding stood sentinel astride the weed-choked approach; a low stone well squatted morosely amid the ruins.  It was impossible to tell how many floors the outbuilding once had.  The foundation stones still bore scorches and cracks from the fire that destroyed it long ago.  A murder of sickly looking ravens perched atop the stones, but they took wing and flew clumsily away as the company approached.

“I don’t know that I believe in haunted houses,” Wesh observed as they mounted the rickety porch, “but this certainly fits the bill.”
“Just be prepared for anything,” Luther said.  “If Aldern Foxglove is inside, he’s certainly nothing like the man we met in Sandpoint a few weeks ago.”
Using the large key taken from the ghoul at the Hambley farm, Dexter unlocked the front door.  An entry hall lay just inside, and the sound of the house straining and creaking gave the long, high-ceilinged room an additional sense of age and decay.  The place smelled damp, the unpleasant tinge of mold laced the air as surely as it stained the wooden floor, walls and furniture in pallid patches.  A curving flight of stairs to the south wound towards the upper floor, while a pair of large, stone fireplaces brooded to the north and south.  Heavy, dark blue curtains hung over the windows, and the frames above each of the two doors along the hall were carved with dancing gargoyles and skeletons.  Trophies hung on the wall to the northeast:  a boar, a bear, a firepelt cougar, and a stag, their glassy eyes stared from fur crusted with mold and cobwebs, yet they paled in comparison to the monster on display in the center of the room.  There crouched a twelve-foot long creature with the body of a lion, a scorpion’s tail fitted with dozens of razor barbs, huge bat-like wings, and a deformed humanoid face.  The stuffed beast’s poorly maintained fur had fallen away in places, allowing the sawdust filling it to sift out into tiny mounds on the platform below.”
“Now that’s a damn shame!”  Wesh observed as he moved closer to the stuffed manticore.  “This was a fine piece of work once.  I’d have been proud to display it in my shop.  Some people don’t have any respect for art,” he shook his head wistfully.
“Did you hear that?”  Adso abruptly asked, his head tilted towards the ceiling.
“What?”  Luther asked.
Adso cocked his head.  “For a moment, I thought I heard a woman crying.  It sounded like it came from upstairs.”
“I didn’t hear anything, but I smell something,” Wesh wrinkled his nose, and leaned down to sniff the manticore.  “Phew!  Smells like burnt hair and meat!”
“Let’s keep to this floor for now,” Luther suggested.  “It may have only been the wind or the seabirds you heard, Adso.”

A short hall connected the entry to the dining room.  A rather gruesome antique…what appeared to be a mummified monkey head…hung on the northern wall.  A bell pull extended from the monkey’s gaping mouth, while beneath it on the floor, a ratty throw rug partially obscured a foul stain of dark-colored mold.  Dexter paused, and kicked aside the rug, then knelt down to examine the stain more closely.
“What are you looking at?”  Wesh asked.
“I’m…not sure,” the rogue replied distractedly.  “For a second there, I saw something.  It almost looked like a picture of some kind of spiraling staircase going down.  The steps looked like they had bones and skulls on them…ah!  Just a trick of the light I suppose.”
An instant later, a shrill, simian shriek sounded throughout the hall, and the deputies instinctively reached for their weapons…all except Skud.  The half-orc stood grinning like a fool, one hand still holding the bell pull.
“Monkey!”  the barbarian smiled.
“Oaf,” Adso muttered as the group continued down the corridor.

The dining room was dominated by a large mahogany table surrounded by high-backed chairs.  It was covered by a moldy white cloth, and a cobweb-choked chandelier hung from the ceiling above.  Twin fireplaces loomed to the west, while to the east, a bank of stained glass windows obscured what could have been a breathtaking view of the Lost Coast.  Each of the windows depicted a stylized monster rising out of smoke pouring from an intricate seven-sided box covered with spiky runes.  From north to south were shown a gnarled and tangled tree with an enraged face, an immense hook-beaked bird with sky-blue and gold plumage, a winged centaur-like creature with a lion’s lower body and a snarling woman’s upper torso, and a deep blue squid-like creature with evil red eyes.
“This is a very odd design choice,” Luther observed.  Before he had began his studies at the abbey, he had half-aspired to be an architect as a young boy.  “Blocking arguably the best view with windows you can’t see through.”
Wesh smirked at the young priest.  “I don’t think that whoever designed these windows had aesthetics in mind.  Those runes are necromantic, and those monsters aren’t coming out of that box, they’re being drawn in.  And look at their faces; that’s not rage, I think.  Looks more like fear.  Somebody in Aldern’s family tree was into some bad mojo.”

A small parlor gave off the dining room, containing only a ruined piano that must once have been grand.  Through a door on the opposite side, the group found themselves in a simple washroom.  An ancient metal washtub stood against one wall, and a ring of mildew crusted its inner surface.  A strange, furtive scratching came from inside the tub.  Cautiously, Dexter crept over and peered inside.  What he saw was both horrific and pitiful, a rodent the size of a cat, whose face and back were a dripping, pulsing mass of raw tumors and sores.  It was obviously blind, the tumors having grown over its eyes, but it seemed to sense Dexter’s proximity, and it began shrieking and squeaking in a frenzy as it struggled to scale the slick side of the tub.  With a look of disgust, Dex flicked his dagger at the thing, ending its struggles for good.  When he retrieved his blade, he made sure to wipe it down thoroughly before resheathing it.

Down a narrow hall from the parlor and the washroom was a dusty parlor, which featured a long couch, its cushions caked with white sheets of wispy fungus.  The sofa faced a stone fireplace with capering imps and birds carved along its mantle.  Eddies of dust skittered along the warped floorboards as if caught up by a slight breeze, yet no wind was noticeable in the air.  Adso walked over to the eddy, where it almost seemed as if the dust was being disturbed by someone pacing violently back and forth before the fireplace, though obviously no one was there.  He even imagined he saw footprints appearing momentarily with each step before fading from view.  Suddenly, the monk’s mind was filled with a brief flash of memory that was not his own.  It was that of a woman, filled with worry about what her husband might be doing on the late nights he spent in the basement.  An instant later, Adso became convinced that Luther was his child…the woman’s child, and a powerful urge seized him to escape the house with the child before something horrible happened.  A moment later, it was gone.
“Are you ok?”  Luther asked.  Adso’s face had gone as pale as a sheet.  
“I…,” the monk hesitated.  “I saw…experienced something.  There is evil slumbering in this place, and I think it is much older than Aldern Foxglove.”

Back in the dining room, another door on the opposite side led into a large library, which featured a pair of chairs, one of which lay on its side, set before a stone fireplace.  Every available inch of wall space held floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with books, their spines riddled with mold.  A brightly colored scarf, its reds and golds contrasting sharply with the drab, moldy palette of the room, was draped over the side of the fallen chair.  A single book, open and face-down, sat on the floor between the chairs.  A stone bookend, carved to look like a praying angel with butterfly wings, lay on its side in the fireplace itself.  Luther moved closer to the odd scene and noted a splash of dried blood stained the back of the northernmost chair, and the bookend showed even more blood, as well as clots of hair and bits of skull and flesh.  In addition, part of one wing was broken off the statue and was nowhere to be seen.  Just then, Luther caught a faint flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye.  Turning, he saw the scarf fluttering softly.  Suddenly, a horrific shriek filled the room as the scarf flew into the air and wrapped itself around the priest’s throat.  Before Luther’s eyes, a ghostly image of Aldern Foxglove manifested, his hands wrapped around the scarf that was choking the life from the cleric.  For a moment, Luther lost all sense of himself, instead believing himself to be a woman named Iesha…Aldern’s wife!  Desperately Luther struggled to get his fingers beneath the strangling scarf, and an instant before he lost consciousness, he succeeded.  The scarf became inanimate once more, and the image of Aldern vanished, leaving the priest gasping and clutching his throat on the floor.
“What was that?  What was that?”  Randall babbled, his eyes wild, looking all directions at once.
“Luther,” Adso said, cradling his friend’s head.  “Can you speak?”
“Did…did you see him?” the priest rasped.
“Who?”  Adso asked.
“Foxglove…,” Luther coughed.  “Aldern…,” 
“There was no one here,” Adso replied quietly.  “We saw only you struggling with the scarf.”
“He killed her,” Luther explained as he climbed to his feet with Adso’s aid.  “Aldern killed his wife in this room.  I saw it.  He used her own scarf to strangle her.”  
Cautiously, he reached out to pick up the scarf and tucked it into his pocket.
“What are you doing?”  Wesh asked.  “That thing just tried to kill you!”
“No,” Luther shook his head, angry bruises already appearing on his throat.  “It was a haunting…an afterimage of a violent act or strong emotion.  It’s passed now.  Let’s move on.”

The library gave on to another small corridor, which in turn opened back into the entry hall.  No sooner had Wesh entered the hall, than his eyes widened as they fell upon the stuffed manticore.  The creature was stuffed no more!  It lurched to sudden life, its face shifting to resemble that of a distraught woman, while its fur erupted into flame.  Its tail whipped forward, and as it touched Wesh’s clothes, they burst into flames.  To his stunned companions, all they knew was that one moment everything was ok, but the next, Wesh was being immolated.  They never witnessed any transformation of the large, trophy monster.  Randall quickly whipped off his cloak and wrapped it around the wizard, shoving him to the floor and rolling him back and forth.  Soon enough, the flames were extinguished, but Wesh’s skin was scorched and blistered.  Luther quickly began tending the worst of them.
“This place is a death trap!”  Wesh shouted.  “Haunts, or whatever you call them be damned!  We’re not wanted here, so we find Foxglove fast and get the Abyss out of here!”
________________________________________________

The spiral staircase led to a landing from which several doors opened, most single, but there were also two doubled pairs, which faced each other from across the hall. Choosing one of the nearby single doors first, the company entered a small bedroom which held a child-sized bed, a chair next to a toy box and a looming stone fire place big enough for a child to get lost in.  As Skud peered in, he heard the soft sound of a child’s cry coming from the large stone hearth.
“Baby crying,” the half-orc mumbled, and he started across the room.  As he drew nearer, his vision began to blur, and he suddenly knew that his parents were trying to kill each other.  Worse, whichever of them survived would be coming to kill him next.  He saw his mother, wielding a torch, and his father, festering with tumors and brandishing a long knife, both struggling to murder the other.  When his sight cleared again, tears streamed down Skud’s face and he simply stood for a moment in bewilderment.  When Dex put a comforting hand on his shoulder, the half-orc shrugged it angrily away and stalked out of the room.

Behind the first set of double doors was what appeared to be an art gallery.  A stone fireplace sat in the northwestern portion of the chamber, and paintings hung on the walls to the north and south, each covered over with a thick sheet of dusty cobwebs that obscured the subject from view.  Wesh slowly began moving from picture to picture, muttering under his breath and passing one hand over each.  As he did so, the cobwebs were swept clean, revealing the portraits beneath.  The first painting on the northern wall was of a tall, middle-aged man with long, dark hair, a clean-shaven face and dark blue noble’s clothes.  A plaque beneath identified him as Vorel Foxglove.  Next to him hung a painting of a stern-faced brunette woman with wisps of gray in her short hair, and a flowing blue dress.  This was Kasanda Foxglove.  A young girl with her mother’s dark hair and eyes was named as Lorey Foxglove in the final picture on the wall.  To the south were  five portraits.  The first was of a man who, like Vorel, was tall and thin, but with an even narrower face and a thin mustache.  His name was Traver Foxglove.  His wife Cyralie, in the next picture, was a young woman with long, red hair and an impish smile.  Next came portraits of three children, a boy and two girls:  Aldern, Sendeli and Zeeva.  No sooner had the last painting been cleared, than the temperature in the room began to drop dramatically.  The seven companions looked around them, their breath frosting in the air, while fingers of rime slithered across the walls.  Suddenly, the figures depicted in the portraits shifted from paintings of living people to those of dead folk.  Kasanda and Lorey slumped into misshapen, tumor-ridden corpses.  Traver grew pale as a long cut opened in his throat and blood washed down over his chest.  Cyralie blackened and charred, and her arms, legs and back twisted as if broken in dozens of places.  Aldern’s flesh darkened with rot, his hair fell out, and he deformed into a ghoul-like creature.  Both Sendeli’s and Zeeva’s portraits frosted over, but otherwise remained unchanged.  Lastly, Vorel’s entire painting, frame and all, erupted into a sudden explosion of fungus and tumorous growth.  The wave of fungus and disease washed over the entire room in seconds before the room abruptly reverted to normal.  As it did so, both Dexter and Luther saw tiny splotches of mold and tender, red bumps on their flesh.
“What is this?”  Luther whispered.
“You see it too?”  Dex asked anxiously.
“See what?”  Adso asked.  “What else is here?”
Luther held out his arms, but the monk shook his head in confusion.  The skin looked pink and healthy to him, as did Dexter’s.  
“I’m starting to become afraid of this place,” Luther said.  “Something has awakened here, and it’s feeding on our fear.”
“Starting?”  Dex asked incredulously.  “I’ve been ready to piss myself since we walked in the front door!”

The room opposite the art gallery turned out to be a musician’s chamber of some sort.  It featured two padded chairs and a long couch that faced a wide alcove line with stained-glass windows.  The room lay directly above the dining room.  Several music stands leaned against the southern wall next to a violin, two flutes, and a large harp, all of the instruments in poor condition.  The windows themselves depicted a diverse array of animals and plants…from north to south were a large pale and ghostly scorpion, a gaunt man holding out his arms as a dozen bats hung from him, a moth with a strange skull-like pattern on its wings, a tangle of dull green plants with bell-shaped flowers, and a young maiden sitting astride a well in a forest while a spindly spider the size of a dog descended along a string of webbing above her.  
“Interesting,” Wesh said as he stroked his chin.  “All of these depictions represent classic spell components for necromantic magic…scorpion venom, vampire’s breath, the tongues of deathwing moths, belladonna, and the heart of a maiden slain by poison.  This obviously ties with the windows we saw below, but I still can’t tell exactly what spell or ritual is being represented.”
“Maybe you can ask Aldern when we find him,” Dex said sulkily as he scratched at his arms, “although personally, I don’t give a rat’s spit about his creepy family history.”

A small bedchamber lay further down the hall, every inch of it caked with a thick, spongy layer of dark green, blue and black mold.
“Don’t touch anything,” Wesh warned.  “There are several strains of mold which can be deadly.”
“Yes, but this isn’t one of them,” Rico said, stepping casually into the room.  No sooner had he gone two paces, however, than he stopped dead still, head cocked as if listening.  Absently, he began scratching at his face.
‘What’s on your face, mommy?” a child’s voice whispered into the druid’s ear.
“Aaah…ahhhggg!”  Rico began to scream as it seemed to him as if his entire face had erupted into a tangled mess of tumors and boils.  Horrified, he dug his fingers into his flesh, struggling to remove the offending mass.  To his shocked companions, however, he was merely tearing his nails into his own skin, gouging out deep rents.  Randall lunged for him and seized both of his wrists, screaming into his face to shock him back to his senses.  A moment later, Rico stood open-mouthed and confused, blood running in rivulets down his cheeks.  Luther took him by the shoulder and led him into the hall, only to see Dexter come shrieking out of what looked to be the master bedroom across the corridor.  The once-fine chamber had been destroyed.  The bed was smashed, the mattress torn apart, the walls gouged as if by knives, the chairs hacked apart, and paintings on the walls torn to pieces…with one exception.  A portrait hung on one wall was untouched, that of a beautiful, dark-haired woman in a thoughtful pose.  If Luther had had a chance to examine it more closely, he would have recognized Iesha Foxglove, but as it was, he was too distracted by the sight of Dexter driving his own dagger into his arms and chest again and again, screaming, “Die, you bitch!  Die”
Skud flew across the hall and body-tackled his friend, wrestling him to the floor and dashing the knife from his hand.  Dexter’s eyes closed and his breathing was slow and ragged.  Luther hurried to tend his wounds, but as he knelt he, and everyone else in the corridor heard muffled sobbing coming from directly above them…the attic.


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## Gli'jar

Deleted. Double post.


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## Gli'jar

Although all of your storytelling is great and I greatly enjoy every read, this was an excellent chapter!!


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## JollyDoc

Gli'jar said:


> Although all of your storytelling is great and I greatly enjoy every read, this was an excellent chapter!!




Thank you!  I'm really enjoying this chapter of RotRL.  It's challenging in a unique way.  Which brings us to...

SUNDAY NIGHT TEASER

1:  Who or what is crying in the Foxglove attic?  The Seven find out, and the answer is quite surprising.

2)  The company is led on a merry chase through bowels and catacombs of the mansion, where they run afoul of diseased rats, ghouls, and gooblins( goblin ghouls).  And how can you add more fun to a frantic fight with the undead?  Add a slip n slide!!  Merriment and mayhem ensue.

3)  The Skinsaw Man himself is bearded in his lair, but the outcome of the confrontation is anything but predictable.  In the aftermath, Skud finds some deeply unsettling "mementos" left for him.

4)  The next leg of the journey is revealed, but there is still the matter of escaping Foxglove Manor.


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## darkhall-nestor

This story hour is just as entertaining as you last one.

By the way who has the magic long sword that the goblin/monster thingy had

And has the party purloined any other notable booty


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## JollyDoc

darkhall-nestor said:


> This story hour is just as entertaining as you last one.
> 
> By the way who has the magic long sword that the goblin/monster thingy had
> 
> And has the party purloined any other notable booty




Thanks for your readership!  

I believe the longsword was actually...ahem...sold.  No one in the party uses one, except Wesh, and his is special...magic focus.

Let's see, other notable booty...Randall has magical armor, so his AC is thru the roof for 5th level.  Think of him as Daelric with a maul
Dexter has a returning dagger, which he likes to use with impunity.  Rico uses a wand of Produce Flame pretty regularly, and likewise, Wesh has one of Magic Missile.  Adso just got a ring of Jump, which puts his jump check somewhere around +40 (as will be heroically demonstrated in the next update).  Various rings of protections/cloaks of resisitance floating about.  Luther, to his credit, still has nothing to his name.


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## JollyDoc

A WOMAN SCORNED

Single file, the Sandpoint Seven crept through the cramped attic corridor, passing several cluttered storerooms as they went.  When they rounded another corner in the twisting hall, a sudden, unmistakable shriek of pain echoed throughout the attic.  It obviously came from a door at the far end of the hall.  Cautiously, they moved forward until they stood before the stout, wooden portal, which was securely locked.  The sound of a woman sobbing could be heard clearly on the far side.  

Dexter tried the manor key, but it would not fit the lock.  Resorting to his usual methods, he thumbed through his lock picks until he found one that suited him, and then went to work.  In moments, the tumblers clicked and the door opened.  The room beyond was cold and damp.  A few crates sat near the north wall.  The ceiling sloped down to only four-feet to the northeast, leaving little room for a small window, while to the southeast, a mold-encrusted pillar of brick marked the passage of a chimney.  A full-size mirror in a dark, wooden frame of coiling roses leaned against the bricks, angled towards the tiny window.  A woman knelt before the mirror, her face in her hands, long black hair obscuring her features.  Luther motioned for the others to remain in the corridor while he stepped slowly inside. 

“Hello?”  he called, but the woman made no sign that she had heard him.  Instead, she raised her face towards the mirror, and when she did, Luther knew immediately that she was not alive.  There was malevolence in her hate-filled eyes, her body wasted and emaciated, her fingers tapering into long, hooked claws, and yet the priest knew her immediately…Iesha Foxglove.  After all, he had experienced her murder.
“Iesha,” he said softly.  “How may I give you peace?”
She still showed no reaction, save to continue her pitiful wailing as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror.  Suddenly, an idea came to him, and he drew the red, silk scarf from his tunic.
“I have something that belongs to you,” he said as he laid it on the floor near her.  
Instantly, Iesha’s eyes shifted to the scarf, and a mixture of hatred and loathing contorted her features.  With a shriek, she seized the scarf and began ripping it to shreds with her talons.  As the tatters drifted to the floor, her eyes cleared, and she screamed aloud.
“Aldern!  I can smell your fear!  I’ll be in your arms soon!”
She lurched across the room, and Luther motioned quickly for his companions to step aside.  She brushed past them and moved down the hallway towards the stairs.
“What do we do now?”  Wesh asked.
Luther shrugged.  “We follow her.”
_______________________________________________________

Iesha moved with malign purpose, hastening down the attic stairs, and then down the spiral stair to the ground floor.  Crossing the entry hall, she opened a side door, revealing another flight of stairs that descended into darkness.  When the seven companions followed her, they found themselves in a large kitchen.  A massive oak table, its surface covered with moldy stains and rat droppings, sat in the center of the room.  Shelves lined the walls, and an oversized fireplace dominated the northeast portion.  The shelves on the southwest wall were in a much greater state of disarray, and two large cracks in the wall near the floor led into the earth beyond the basement itself.  As she exited the stairwell, Iesha turned south and moved quickly down another corridor.  The deputies hurried to catch up, but as they neared the entrance to the hall, a strange susurrus filled the air, emanating from the cracks in the wall.  It grew increasingly louder, and was soon accompanied by a cacophony of high-pitched squeaks.  Within moments, hundreds of horrifying, diseased rats, of the same type Dexter had dispatched in the washroom upstairs, began pouring out of the wall.

As if they could read each other’s minds, Dex and Skud turned to face the oncoming swarm, placing themselves between the tide and their companions.
“Go!”  Dexter shouted over his shoulder.  “Don’t lose her!”
Iesha had already disappeared around a far corner.  Luther hesitated, but Adso seized him roughly by the shoulder and shoved him forward.
“Don’t be a fool!” the monk snapped.  “You know they are right!  She will lead us to Foxglove, and he is the reason we are here.  If he escapes, we may never find him again!”
Luther sighed, but didn’t resist.  Behind them, Wesh and Rico followed, with Randall covering the rear.  

With a thunderous roar that rivaled the cacophony of the oncoming vermin, Skud swung his sword like a scythe, slashing through a dozen or more rats at once.  Beside him, Dexter impaled and sliced one after another, his rapier and dagger moving in a dizzying blur.  Yet despite their valiant efforts, there were simply too many.  The rats flowed over and past them, delivering dozens of tiny bites as they did so.  They seemed intent on following after the route Iesha had taken, almost as if they sensed that the Lord of the Manor was in danger.  Knee-deep in rat bodies, Dexter and Skud turned to follow the swarm, hacking and slashing as they went.

“They’re coming!”  Randall shouted as he reached the corner.  Luther and Adso had already turned another corner, but Wesh and Rico were still in hall.  Then the rats were upon the big soldier.  He swung his huge maul, but the vermin scattered around its head as it slammed into the floor.  Within seconds, Randall was overwhelmed, his body hidden by the mass of vermin.  Wesh turned, cursed and fanned his fingers in front of him.  A gout of fire shot forth from his fingertips, crisping dozens of the vile creatures, and momentarily freeing Randall, yet it was still not enough.  The swarm soon washed over him as well, and then quickly overtook Rico.

Adso and Luther turned the last corner only to be brought up short.  Iesha stood in front of them before a large, iron door.  Screaming in impotent rage, she scratched and clawed at its surface, to no avail.  They were trapped.  They could hear the rats behind them, and the way forward was blocked.  Pushing Luther behind him, Adso turned to face the inevitable.  Around the corner came the swarm, all teeth and tumorous flesh.  Adso’s hands blurred, so rapidly did they strike, but still the rats got by him.  Luther plastered himself against one wall, but the creature’s all but ignored him.  Instead, they leaped, squealing at Iesha, slithering over her like a living gown.  Her ear-splitting shriek filled the corridor, and then, before Luther’s disbelieving eyes, the dead woman struck out all around her, her deadly claws like threshers.  Like a dervish, she whirled and danced, cutting the vermin to ribbons.  On and on the rats came, but she never faltered, not until the last one fell, at which point she immediately turned back to the impassable door.  As she raised her fist to pound again, however, the iron portal simply opened.  Iesha never glanced back as she passed through.  Behind her, Wesh surreptitiously slipped a slender wand back into the sleeve of his tunic.
“Alohamora, indeed,” he murmured.
____________________________________________________________

The room they found themselves in looked to have once been some sort of arcane workshop, although little remained but broken glassware, shattered jars of pottery that contained dust and mold, and several rusty instruments and tools.  A row of soggy books sat on one end of a workbench along one wall.  At the other end, what looked like three iron birdcages rested, each containing a dead, diseased rat.  On the far side of the room, two stained-glass windows loomed.  One depicted a thin man with gaunt features drinking a foul-looking brew of green fluid, while the other showed the same man, but in an advanced state of decay, as if he had been dead for several weeks.  His arms were raised and his head was thrown back in triumph, while his rotting body turned to smoke and spiraled into a seven-sided box.

Iesha ignored all of this as she headed straight for another door on the wall opposite the windows.  Intrigued as the deputies were at the contents of the room, they didn’t dare tarry for fear of losing sight of the revenant.  As Dexter entered the chamber, however he paused, his gaze drawn towards the row of books on the workbench.  Slowly, as if in a trance, he walked over to them.
“Dex,” Skud grunted.  “Watch’oo doin’?  No time for readin’.”
Dexter didn’t seem to hear him.  Instead, he placed a hand on the cover of one of the books, and then froze in place, his eyes glazed over.  In his mind, a series of visions coalesced, all of them taking place as if in a realm of animated stained-glass windows.  He saw Vorel Foxglove researching the works of previous wizards who had made the transition from life to the unlife of lichedom.  Next he saw the elder Foxglove gathering the components for the elixir which would trigger his own transformation, and then building the strange, seven-sided box which would contain his eternal soul.  The final vision culminated with Vorel consuming the potion and then doubling over in agony as his body began to rot away.  As this happened, Dexter’s mind was filled with blinding shame that a loved one would do such a thing, followed by a burning rage that Vorel must be stopped before he finished his ritual.  As quickly as they came, the visions passed, leaving Dexter in a cold sweat, knowing that he had just saw through the eyes of Kasanda Foxglove as she had witnessed the horror of what her husband had done.  Though it seemed as if an eternity had passed, it had in fact been only seconds.  
“Dex?”  Skud called again.  “You comin’?”
“Sure, buddy,” Dexter answered shakily as he hurried to catch up to his friends.

Iesha had arrived in a room in which piles of broken stone, dirt, and a few ruined pickaxes lined the edges.  The floor in the middle had been torn up to reveal an ancient set of stone, spiral stairs, obviously of much older construction than the surrounding basement, which wound deep into the bedrock below.  A foul stink, like that of rotten meat, wafted up on a cold breeze from the darkness.  When Dexter saw the stairs, he knew instinctively they were the same ones he had imagined in the mold pattern on the main floor above.  When Skud saw them, however, he was granted knowledge of a different kind.  A vision of Aldern Foxglove, sweaty, filthy and wild-eyed, filled his head.  The young nobleman was digging away at the stone floor of the room with a pickaxe, and with each swing he grunted out two words, ‘For you!’  Skud knew that Aldern was referring to him.  As the vision began to fade, Aldern broke through into the room beyond, and a horde of shrieking ghouls rose up to pull him into the darkness below.
“Hmph,” Skud grunted.  “Serves you right.”
Iesha didn’t pause, but instead started down the stairs, he dress rustling behind her like a shroud.

The stairs ended in a limestone cavern.  The walls dripped with moisture, and swaths of black and dark blue mold grew in spiraling, tangled patterns on the floor, ceiling, and walls.  Bits of rubble and broken bones cluttered the floor, and a rhythmic sound…as of the breathing of some immense creature…echoed through the cave from three tunnels, one to the north, and two to the west.  Of the two western tunnels, the southernmost one seemed to be a relatively new creation, but Iesha chose the older one instead.  As the Seven continued to follow in her wake, they entered another, nondescript cavern, but as they began moving across, they saw several shadowy forms detach themselves from the gloom….ghouls, a half-dozen or more.  Iesha appeared not to notice them, even as four moved to block her path while the other two darted towards the companions.  Luther barely noticed as Dexter and Skud quickly dispatched the pair, tension pouring from him as he waited to see what the revenant would do.  If she joined with the ghouls, or commanded them to attack, things would get bad very quickly.  As it was, the ghouls lunged at her, biting and clawing at her pale flesh with the savagery of the grave.  For a moment, Iesha looked confused, but to Luther’s amazement and horrified awe, her wounds immediately began to heal, and once again, a terrible clarity filled Lady Foxglove’s eyes.  Her animalistic snarl filled the cave, and she moved with the speed of a striking serpent as she ripped the throat from the nearest ghoul.  She disemboweled the next before decapitating the third and then literally tore the final ghoul limb from limb.  Gore still covering her hands and dress, she resumed her search once more.

The cramped tunnel soon opened once more, this time into a vertiginous gulf, a cathedral like cavern whose roof arched high overhead, and then dropped into a sloshing pool of foamy seawater fifty feet below.  A steep stone ledge wound down to those surging depths, its slope glistening with moisture and mold.  Narrow fissures bored into the rock face, and rivulets of water dripped down from them across the sloping ledge into the pool below.  A stone door stood in the northern wall of the cavern, about halfway down the slope.  As Iesha and the company entered, eight creatures stood up all along the ramp from where they’d been hunkering on their haunches.  To all appearances, they were ghouls, yet smaller in stature than the ones they’d previously encountered…almost, goblin-like.
“Unless I miss my guess,” Rico observed, curiously, “those were once Toadlick goblins.  You can tell by the remnants of their fetishes.”
“Ghoublins,” Skud growled.  “Hate ghoublins.”
Dexter looked stunned for a moment, and then burst out laughing.  “Skud!  You made a joke!  I didn’t even know you had a sense of humor!”

Iesha never slowed her pace, but no sooner did her feet touch the slippery slope than they flew out from under her and she landed heavily on her back.  Immediately, she began to slide, hissing and snarling as she went, her jagged claws leaving deep gouges in the stone as she struggled to find purchase.  The goblin ghouls darted quickly to the side as she passed, and her slide picked up speed alarmingly, carrying her all the way to the bottom of the ramp and dumping her in the pool.  Silently, she sank beneath its surface.
“Crap!”  Dexter spat.  “How we gonna find Foxglove now?”  
As he groused, he side-armed his dagger at the nearest ghoublin, taking it neatly in the throat, and sending it flailing over the side of the ledge.  
“I think she was headed for that door,” Adso said as he moved nimbly down the treacherous slope and took down a second ghoublin with a knife-chop to the back of its neck.  A third darted past him, however, reaching Dexter in three steps and sinking its teeth into his hand.  Before he was fully aware of what was happening, Dex saw a flurry of movement out of the corner of his eyes.  The next thing he knew, the ghoublin was down, and Luther stood over it, his fists clenched.
“Isn’t that against your religion, or something?” the rogue asked, grinning.
“It was already dead,” Luther said matter-of-factly.  “I just released its soul to journey on to its final respite.”

Suddenly, a commotion sounded on the ledge directly below them.  Looking down, they saw another group of ghouls, the usual kind, emerge from a crevice in the wall.
“I’ll handle this,” Luther said, and then with a running leap, he jumped, landing in a crouch right in the midst of the undead.  As he rose, he brought his holy symbol from his tunic, and as its light shone forth, fully half of the ghouls burned to ash.  A moment later, Skud landed heavily beside the priest, bringing his sword down as he came.  The weighty blade crashed through the chest of another ghoul, and as yet another backed away from the swing, it fell and began sliding.  Skud impaled it as it passed.

“Impressive,” Wesh nodded.
“You think that’s impressive?”  Adso asked, his eyebrows raised.  “Any monkey can jump off a ledge.  Watch this!”
The monk backed up to the wall, took two long strides and then launched himself into the air…and leaped completely across the cavern, fully forty feet!  As he landed, he swung one of his legs around in a circle-kick, taking the feet from under a ghoublin and sending it plummeting into the pool below. 
“I stand corrected!”  Wesh called.  “THAT was impressive!”
Adso acknowledged the accolade with a slight nod, and then quickly dispatched another pair of ghoublins as they attempted to flank him.
“Looks like there’s not much to do except the mopping up,” Wesh said to Rico as he loosed a small volley of arcane missiles, killing another ghoublin in the process.
“I’ll take what I can get,” the druid chuckled as he sent a small sphere of flame at another, setting it ablaze and stumbling until it slipped over the edge as well.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Dex sighed, knocking an arrow to his bowstring, and then sending it through the eye of the last ghoul standing.
“What say you, Randall?” the rogue jibed.  “You didn’t even have a dog in this hunt!”
The big soldier still stood in the tunnel mouth at the top of the ramp.
“I don’t swim,” he said simply.

“Look!”  Luther suddenly called from below, pointing at the pool.  
The water frothed and splashed, and Iesha slowly emerged, pulling herself up onto the ledge nearby.  She got to her feet and began walking slowly, methodically up the steep slope, heading for the stone door.
“Come on!”  Luther called.  “We’ve got to follow her!”
Since they were above her, Skud, Adso and Luther made it to the door ahead of Iesha, but did not open it, waiting to see what she would do.  Above, Dexter began moving down the ramp, but when Randall moved to follow, his first step was his last.  His foot slid from under him, and he crashed heavily to the ground.  He began to slide immediately, gathering momentum with every yard.  By the time he reached Luther and the others, he was moving too fast for them to stop him.  Iesha stepped deftly aside as he passed.  With a huge splash, he crashed into the pool and immediately began to flounder, the weight of his armor pulling him under.  
“Skud, rope!”  Luther shouted.  
Quickly, the barbarian stripped off his knapsack and uncoiled a length of hemp from it.  He tossed one end over the side, and then wrapped several lengths around his wrist, bracing himself.  Just as his head sank below the surface, Randall managed to grab the lifeline.  Skud began to haul on his end, but as he did so, Iesha stalked slowly past him.  She passed Luther and Adso as well, pausing before the stone door for a moment, as if gathering herself, before pulling it open and stepping inside.
“Follow her,” Luther told Adso tightly.  “Randall’s hurt and needs my attention.  I’ll send the others after you when they get down, but we can’t lose Iesha.”
The monk nodded, understanding the truth of Luther’s words.  Turning abruptly, he disappeared through the door after Iesha. 

A short passage led from the doorway and appeared to open up into a chamber ahead.  Before Adso had gone two steps, however, he heard a blood-curdling shriek from Iesha, followed by a male’s voice, guttural and bubbly.
“My love!  No!”
Adso ran.  When he turned the corner, he found himself in a damp, dimly lit cavern.  A rickety table sat in the middle of the cave, its damp surface cluttered with all manner of what looked to be garbage…empty bottles, bits of clothing, crumpled pieces of paper, and more, lying in neatly organized rows.  A painting leaned against the far side of the table, facing a large, leather chair that sat nearby.  The chair’s high back and cushions were horribly stained by smears of rotten meat and its arms were sticky with blood.  A smaller table sat against another wall, its surface heaped with silver platters, fine porcelain plates, and crystal ware.  The ‘food’ on those plates and platters was rotten meat, in some cases humanoid in source, and in all cases writhing with maggots.  Thick, rotting blood gelled in the crystal.  Yet, the horrific stench of the room seemed somehow even thicker and more overwhelming than that gruesome display could account for on its own.  The smell seemed to emanate from the far side of the room, where the cave’s wall had been overtaken by a horrific growth of dark green mold and dripping fungi.  At the center, a patch of black tumescent fungus grew, its horny ridges and tumor-like bulbs forming what could almost have been taken to be a humanoid outline.  What appeared to have once been an exquisite puzzle box the size of a man’s fist lay smashed on the ground at the fungoid shape’s feet.  Yet all these things drew Adso’s attention only for a moment, for two figures struggled in the center of the room.  One was obviously Iesha, but the other looked much like the other ghouls they had encountered throughout the haunted manor, but he was dressed in the stained finery of nobility and his eyes were alive with intelligence and madness.  He wielded a straight-razor the size of a small sword in one hand, and with it, he fended off Iesha’s frenzied attack, while at the same time slicing deeply into her alabaster skin, the wounds healing as soon as they were inflicted.  Adso hesitated for only the barest of moments before steeling himself and leaping to Iesha’s side.

Dexter reached Skud and began to help him haul the wounded soldier up.
“No!”  Skud barked, his face grimacing with strain.  “Kill Skinsaw Man for me!”
Dexter hesitated, then cursed and released the rope as he dashed past Luther through the door.  Meanwhile, above, Wesh had conjured up a glowing disc of force upon which he and Rico glided slowly down towards their companions, avoiding the treacherously slippery ramp.  Below, Randall still clung to consciousness, pulling himself hand-over-hand along the rope as Skud continued to haul him up.  It was a slow, arduous process.  Luther was torn.  He could hear the sounds of battle from within the room, yet he knew Randall needed him.  Silently, he prayed for Adso.

When Dexter entered the room, he saw the terrible struggle ensuing.  Adso slammed his fist into the side of Aldern Foxglove’s head, but the Skinsaw Man shook off the blow and seized the monk’s fist, sinking his fangs into it.  As he did so, Adso went rigid, his muscles becoming paralyzed with tetany.  Hissing evilly, Foxglove turned back to ward off another blow from Iesha, shoving her roughly backwards as he did.  Iesha’s feet tangled in her gowns and she fell to the floor.  Like a panther, Aldern pounced, slashing at her again and again with his razor.  
“You should have stayed dead, my love!” he cackled.  "But no, once again, you’ve forced me to hurt you, and you know how I always hated having to hurt you!”
Dexter started into the room, but as he did so, the overwhelming stench caused his stomach to suddenly cramp, and he thought for a moment that he might vomit right there.  Swallowing several times, he forced himself into motion once more.  Gripping his dagger in both hands, he plunged it into Aldern’s exposed neck.  Aldern howled in pain as he fell back, grabbing feebly at the protruding blade.  In a flash, Iesha was on her feet again.
“No, my love!” she spat.  “This time it is I that shall hurt you!”  
She seemed to move in a blur, her taloned hands ripping and tearing faster than Dexter could follow.  Aldern’s features soon became unrecognizable, so brutal was her assault.  Finally, she took her husband’s face in her hands, almost lovingly…and then ripped his head from his shoulders.  As the Skinsaw Man’s body fell to the floor, Iesha sighed deeply.  She turned her eyes upon Dexter and whispered, “Thank you,” before her own body began crumbling to dust.
__________________________________________________

By the time Skud finally managed to pull Randall up, and Luther had tended the soldier’s wounds, Adso’s paralysis had already worn off.  When the others entered, the battle was long over, and they could only observe the horrible aftermath.  Upon closer inspection, the collection of odds and ends on the table turned out to be an assortment of relics belonging to Skud.  They ranged from mundane items, such as discarded potion flasks, to more personal ones, such as a lock of the half-orc’s hair carefully folded into an envelope.  There was also a stack of charcoal drawings on water-damaged parchment that depicted Skud in various heroic poses.  When Wesh examined the portrait that leaned against the table, he saw that whomever the original subject had been, it had been painted over using blood and bits of runny rotten flesh into a caricature of Skud.  Foxglove even wore an antique cameo which contained another small portrait of the half-orc inside.  The more of these things Skud saw, the angrier he became.  Finally, snarling in rage, he smashed both fists down on the table, breaking it in two.  He seized the drawings and tore them into shreds, before slamming the painting over and over again across his knee, and then ultimately grinding the locket under his boot heel.  The source of his fury forever beyond his reach, he settled for driving his sword repeatedly into Aldern Foxglove’s body.

As the debris from Skud’s rampage settled to the floor, Wesh plucked another envelope from the rubble.  Inside was a letter, written in a graceful hand that was not Foxglove’s.

_Aldern,
	You have served us quite well.  The delivery you harvested from the caverns far exceeds what I had hoped for.  You may consider your dept to the Brotherhood paid in full.  Yet I still have need of you, and when you awaken from your death, you should find your mind clear and able to understand this task more than in the state you lie in as I write this.
	You shall remember the workings of the Sihedron ritual, I trust.  You seemed quite lucid at the time, but if you find after your rebirth that you have forgotten, return to your townhouse in Magnimar.  My agents shall contact you there soon…no need for you to bother the Brotherhood further.  I will provide the list of proper victims for the Sihedron ritual in two days’ time.  Commit that list to memory and then destroy it before you begin your work.  The ones I have selected must be marked before they die, otherwise they do my master no good and the greed in their souls will go to waste.
	If others get in your way, though, you may do with them as you please.  Eat them, savage them, or turn them into pawns…it matters not to me.

					Your Mistress, Wanton of Nature’s Pagan Forms_

Luther’s heart grew cold as he heard the words.  Greed.  It had been what tied all of the Skinsaw Man’s targets to each other.  Banny Harker, skimming money off the top of the mill’s profits.  The three notorious con men.  Even Farmer Hambley, with his carefully horded stash of silver.  The other victims had just been incidental.  They had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Greed.  And again the Sihedron Rune…first in a shrine devoted to wrath, and now used in a ritual devoted to greed.  Two of the seven sins associated with the ancient Rune Lords.  Luther was certain there were no coincidences here, and there never had been.


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## Cerulean_Wings

Wow. I tip my hat to both you, JollyDoc, and Pathfinder, for the recounting and creating of this adventure respectively. I mean, I've seen my fair share of haunted houses, but this one scared the living Abyss out of me by merely reading what happened to someone else's characters. Really cool foreshadowing near the end, as well.

Quick question, hopefully you can answer it without spoiling too much of the module: how do the haunts work in-game? Some seemed like simple scary descriptions, yet others involved potential death to the victim. 

I guess the group now has a rule for Skud after this mansion: no more monkey business


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## JollyDoc

Cerulean_Wings said:


> Wow. I tip my hat to both you, JollyDoc, and Pathfinder, for the recounting and creating of this adventure respectively. I mean, I've seen my fair share of haunted houses, but this one scared the living Abyss out of me by merely reading what happened to someone else's characters. Really cool foreshadowing near the end, as well.
> 
> Quick question, hopefully you can answer it without spoiling too much of the module: how do the haunts work in-game? Some seemed like simple scary descriptions, yet others involved potential death to the victim.
> 
> I guess the group now has a rule for Skud after this mansion: no more monkey business




Give most of the credit to Paizo.  They've really outdone themselves on this AP so far, and this is only the second adventure.  It blows my mind that, not only do we have four more adventures in this AP, but there are two more AP's waiting in the wings!

The haunts were sort of like traps.  Each of the PC's was assigned a "Haunt Type" in secret by me before they entered the house.  When they entered a room with a haunt, it was triggered by a particular PC.  The PC would have a chance to notice something...ie, a chill in the air, etc, and possibly react, but then the haunt would manifest, at which point they were allowed a saving throw.  If they made it, they experienced the haunt, but no ill effects.  If they failed, well, they got to REALLY experience the haunt.  Each haunt had a CR assigned to it as well, much like a trap.


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## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc, could the Sanpoint Seven taken on the Skinsaw Man without the help?


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## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> JollyDoc, could the Sanpoint Seven taken on the Skinsaw Man without the help?




Yes, I think they could have, especially when you consider both of their big fighters and both of their main spellcasters never entered the room.  Skinsaw's biggest advantage was his ability to paralyze, after which he could have delivered a coup de grace.  He had a decent AC (21) and good hp (91), but he didn't inflict a lot of damage with his hits, so the paralysis would probably have been the only way he was going to take anyone down.  

Now, bear in mind, despite the title of this adventure (the Skinsaw Murders), Skinsaw himself, as you read at the end of my post, is not the BBEG...someone else is pulling his strings...and even that someone seems to have someone ELSE pulling their strings!!  Wheels within wheels...


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## JollyDoc

SUNDAY NIGHT TEASER

1)  All paths lead to Magnimar as the Sandpoint Seven takes it on the road, without jurisdiction, to continue their investigation.

2)  It seems that the City of Monuments is not without its own problems, as rumors abound of a spate of ritualistic murders terrorizing the merchant class.

3)  An unexpected surprise greets the heroes as they pay a visit to Foxglove's townhouse:  the Lord and Lady of the house are actually in residence!!

4)  What is it about murderer's and lumbermills?  The trail leads to yet another one, but the local millworker's union is none too happy about the surprise inspection from the home office...


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## LordVyreth

So why was he so intereted in Skud?  I might have missed a plot point there.  Was that decision random or based on character backstory?  Is the lack of female characters one of the things that affected this?

Actually, a quick recap of the whole Foxglove family could be nice.  How did the family portraits factor in, for example?  Did all of the relatives really die horrible deaths, and if so, why?  What's with all the tumors?


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## JollyDoc

LordVyreth said:


> So why was he so intereted in Skud?  I might have missed a plot point there.  Was that decision random or based on character backstory?  Is the lack of female characters one of the things that affected this?
> 
> Actually, a quick recap of the whole Foxglove family could be nice.  How did the family portraits factor in, for example?  Did all of the relatives really die horrible deaths, and if so, why?  What's with all the tumors?




I actually replied quite eloquently, and at length to this two days ago, but my reply seems to have vanished into the ether, so this is a test, before I post a more succinct synopsis.


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## JollyDoc

LordVyreth said:


> So why was he so intereted in Skud?  I might have missed a plot point there.  Was that decision random or based on character backstory?  Is the lack of female characters one of the things that affected this?
> 
> Actually, a quick recap of the whole Foxglove family could be nice.  How did the family portraits factor in, for example?  Did all of the relatives really die horrible deaths, and if so, why?  What's with all the tumors?




Ok, the short version.  Aldern was obsessed with Skud, because Skud epitomized heroism to him, ie, the strong fighter.  Aldern envied Skud because of this, and in his subconscious, had aspirations of attaining similar greatness.  In his undeath, this obsession turned to hatred of something that he could never be, so he thought to destroy Skud by implicating him in the murders.

Vorel Foxglove built Foxglove Manor 80 years ago.  He was a powerful merchant from Magnimar, but he was also a necromancer, and sought the secrets of lichdom.  His wife grew increasingly suspicious through the years, and when she finally confronted him on the eve of his ascension, she destroyed his phylactery.  When she did, Vorel was destroyed in a necromantic backlash, but when this happened, a horrible disease was also created, and all the occupents of the manor were infected, including his wife and daughter.  They all died horribly.

The house sat empty for over 20 years until Traver Foxglove moved in with his wife, seeking to restory the manor to its former glory.  However, Vorel's spirit still dwelt in the house, treating the manor itself as its phylactery.  In time, it corrupted Traver.  His wife sensed that the house was the cause, and she burned down the servant's quarters.  When she tried to do the same to the manor, Traver killed her.  When he did so, the shame shocked him back to his senses, and he then took his own life.  Their children, Aldern and his two sisters, were sent to an orphanage in Magnimar, before being taken in by distant cousins in Korvosa.

Aldern returned to Magnimar several years ago, and then he too sought to reclaim Foxglove Manor.  It was during the renovations that he met his Varisian wife, Iesha.  Aldern had a jealous, paranoid streak, however, and he took to locking Iesha in the manor when he was away.  One night he returned to find her in the library with a carpenter.  He jumped to the wrong conclusion and killed the carpenter with a stone book end.  Iesha flew into a frenzy, and he killed her too by strangling her with her own scarf.


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## LordVyreth

JollyDoc said:


> Ok, the short version.  Aldern was obsessed with Skud, because Skud epitomized heroism to him, ie, the strong fighter.  Aldern envied Skud because of this, and in his subconscious, had aspirations of attaining similar greatness.  In his undeath, this obsession turned to hatred of something that he could never be, so he thought to destroy Skud by implicating him in the murders.
> 
> Vorel Foxglove built Foxglove Manor 80 years ago.  He was a powerful merchant from Magnimar, but he was also a necromancer, and sought the secrets of lichdom.  His wife grew increasingly suspicious through the years, and when she finally confronted him on the eve of his ascension, she destroyed his phylactery.  When she did, Vorel was destroyed in a necromantic backlash, but when this happened, a horrible disease was also created, and all the occupents of the manor were infected, including his wife and daughter.  They all died horribly.
> 
> The house sat empty for over 20 years until Traver Foxglove moved in with his wife, seeking to restory the manor to its former glory.  However, Vorel's spirit still dwelt in the house, treating the manor itself as its phylactery.  In time, it corrupted Traver.  His wife sensed that the house was the cause, and she burned down the servant's quarters.  When she tried to do the same to the manor, Traver killed her.  When he did so, the shame shocked him back to his senses, and he then took his own life.  Their children, Aldern and his two sisters, were sent to an orphanage in Magnimar, before being taken in by distant cousins in Korvosa.
> 
> Aldern returned to Magnimar several years ago, and then he too sought to reclaim Foxglove Manor.  It was during the renovations that he met his Varisian wife, Iesha.  Aldern had a jealous, paranoid streak, however, and he took to locking Iesha in the manor when he was away.  One night he returned to find her in the library with a carpenter.  He jumped to the wrong conclusion and killed the carpenter with a stone book end.  Iesha flew into a frenzy, and he killed her too by strangling her with her own scarf.




Ah.  So when did Aldern himself die and/or become the Skinsaw Man?  If I remember right, Skud was still a level 1 schmuck just a month or two ago.  What of all this happened by then?  Did he even kill his wife yet?


----------



## JollyDoc

LordVyreth said:


> Ah.  So when did Aldern himself die and/or become the Skinsaw Man?  If I remember right, Skud was still a level 1 schmuck just a month or two ago.  What of all this happened by then?  Did he even kill his wife yet?




Aldern had, in fact, already killed Iesha when he first met the PC's.  He was on his way back from a meeting with his nefarious contacts in Magnimar when the trouble at the Swallowtail Festival occurred, so at that point, he was already well on his road to Perdition.  It was shortly thereafter that he set about excavating the hidden labyrinth below the basement, and unwittingly released the ghouls.


----------



## JollyDoc

CITY OF MONUMENTS

“So let me get this straight,” Hemlock said, leaning forward and resting his arms on his desk.  “Aldern Foxglove was the murderer, this so-called Skinsaw Man, but he’d been turned into some sort of ghoul after he dug up a hidden stairway in his basement.”
Wesh nodded.
“And it turns out that his wife didn’t really go to Absalom,” Hemlock continued, “but that instead, he murdered her too.  All that I can deal with, I suppose, but now you’re telling me that this whole affair might somehow be connected to Nualia Tobyn as well?”
“Not directly,” Luther answered, “but there are certainly some related elements, namely the Sihedron Rune, and perhaps the Skinsaw Men.”
“And who are they again?”  Hemlock asked.
“Professional assassins,” Luther replied.  “They work out of Magnimar, apparently.  Nualia hired them to hunt down and kill the father of her child.  We suspect this Brotherhood mentioned in the letter may be the same organization, and their use of the same Thassilonian rune we found at Thistletop creates many more questions…ones we may find the answer to in Magnimar.”
“Magnimar’s outside our jurisdiction,” Hemlock said.  “And don’t forget, when I went there looking for help with our goblin problem, I wasn’t exactly given a warm welcome.  If you go, you won’t have any legal authority to back you up.”
“We understand that,” Wesh interjected, “but with any luck, we’ll be able to dig up enough concrete evidence against the assassins so that the local government won’t have any choice but to take action.”
Hemlock shrugged.  “Well, you have my blessing and my best wishes.  Sounds like you’re gonna need all the luck you can get.  Now, about Foxglove Manor…you say you think it might still be haunted?”
“There’s something there,” Wesh replied.  “Something that’s been there a lot longer than Aldern Foxglove.  Something evil.”
“Well, I’ll take a patrol out there tomorrow,” Hemlock stated.  “We’ll go through the place with a fine-tooth comb, and when we’re done, we’ll burn the place to the ground.”
_________________________________________________

The journey along the Lost Coast Road to Magnimar was not a particularly dangerous one.  After all, the route was a major trade passage and was reasonably well patrolled, but it still took the Sandpoint Seven the better part of a week on horseback and pulling a supply wagon, to make the trip.  The City of Monuments, as Magnimar was known, was the second largest city in Varisia, and it waged an open war of coins and lies with its rival to the east, Korvosa.  Both city states vied for control over vassal communities, natural resources, and trade with the more cosmopolitan south.  The rivalry stretched back to a time even before Magnimar’s founding, as droves of Korvosan dissenters, unwilling to blindly kowtow to foreign despots after the fall of the Chelaxian Empire, departed for the Lost Coast.  Ever since, Magnimar had welcomed those who would shape their own fates by the sweat of their brows and the keenness of their wits, regardless of race or beliefs.  To that end, the city opened its gates and harbor to all comers, encouraging traders from many lands to discover the wonders of Varisia away from the excessive taxes and regulations of Korvosa, yet in greater safety than that offered by pirate havens like Riddleport.  Currently, more than 16,000 people made their homes in Magnimar, with the majority of the population consisting of humans of Chelish descent, but also boasting the largest semi-settled population of Varisians in the world.  

Magnimar was built in the shadows of megaliths, remnants of ancient Thassilon.  Two such architectural marvels dominated the landscape:  the ancient Irespan, and the modern Arvensoar.  The former was a broken fragment of an enormous basalt bridge that was visible for miles out to sea.  Over three-hundred feet high, it completely eclipsed one large neighborhood of the city, giving it the name the Shadow.  The latter monument was the tallest structure in Magnimar, standing approximately four-hundred feet, and climbing the entire length of the Seacleft, the great cliff which separated the prosperous Summit district from the more working-class Shore.  The great tower itself was garrison for the city’s watch and small military, but it was also a symbol of the city’s unity, ambition and history.  

When the seven companions rode into the great city, for three of them at least, it was a homecoming.  Both Dexter and Luther had been born in Magnimar, though under very different circumstances, and Skud had adopted the city as his home when he’d first come there out of the wilderness and been accepted despite his mixed heritage.  They took pride in pointing out various landmarks to their companions as they threaded their way through town towards the Bazaar of Sails, the largest free market in Varisia.  The adventurers had amassed a fair amount of loot in their travels, and Sandpoint’s economy was far too limited to sell most of it, so their first stop before searching out Foxglove’s townhouse was the Bazaar.  It didn’t take very long among the merchants and tradesmen before the group began hearing disturbing, and somewhat familiar rumors:  a spate of murders had been plaguing the city of late.  Stories of merchants, politicians, crooked guards, and moneylenders showing up dead, their bodies mutilated, faces missing and chests carved with seven-pointed stars, seemed to be on everyone’s lips.  The deputies knew their hunch had been right, and something more than mere chance had brought them there.

They had no trouble discovering where Aldern Foxglove lived.  A few well-placed coins revealed that he owned a townhouse in the Grand Arch District upon the Summit.  When they reached the small, three-story building, its façade facing a small courtyard in which stood a fountain of four pools, each fed by a long-necked, iron wyvern’s head, they found all of the windows on the ground floor, as well as the back door, boarded up from the outside.  Dexter discovered that one of the key’s he’d taken off Aldern’s body fit the front door, however, and they let themselves quickly inside before nosey neighbors could begin to pry.  Just inside, they found themselves in a small entry way with stairs leading up to the second story, as well as a door off one side.  Oddly, dried mud covered the floor.  The door gave onto a trophy hall, but all of the trophies, primarily elk, boar and bear, had been ripped from the walls and lay scattered on the floor.  Someone had been in the house, and quite recently from the look of things.  Beyond the hall was a cozy dining room, with a small covered kitchen overlooking an overgrown garden.  No sooner had they entered the room, than a voice called out from a closed door on the opposite side.
“Hello?  Is someone there?  We’re in the parlor!”
The voice was unmistakably that of Aldern Foxglove.

Skud began to growl low in his throat, and he threw open the far door.  Inside was a study, just as ransacked as the other rooms they’d seen.  Another door stood closed in the opposite wall, and the big half-orc made a beeline for it.
“Skud, wait!”  Luther called, hurrying after.
With a snarl, the barbarian slammed the second door open, revealing a parlor.  The comfortable-looking chairs and sofa had been slashed to ribbons, yet four people were gathered there.  The two who were sitting were dressed in the casual finery of the minor nobility, while behind them stood a butler and maid.  The seated couple was Aldern and Iesha.
“My friends?”  Aldern said disbelievingly as he rose from his chair.  “What an unexpected surprise!  You’ll forgive our rude dress,” he gestured to a sword he had belted around his waist.  The deputies could see that Iesha, and even the servants, were similarly armed.  “As you can see, we’ve recently been the victims of vandals.  We thought you might be them returning.  To what do I owe the pleasure?  I so wish I’d known you were coming!”
Before Luther could answer, Skud bellowed in rage and flung the slightly-built priest aside, reaching for his sword as he moved.  
“I see you’re not as stupid as you look,” Aldern said in a bubbly voice, and as he spoke, his form, and that of his companions, began to change.  Within moments, they had been replaced by things of skin and dislocation and horror.  They were featureless humanoid shapes with hairless, scaly flesh like dark, crimson snakes, their long, stretching fingers twitching and writhing.  Their forms were horrifically human, and yet at the same time frightfully pliant, evident when their boneless arms stretched out unnaturally, grasping for what should have been out of reach.

As Skud charged in, the nearest creature stretched its gangly arms towards him, slashing viciously with the sword it still held.  Dexter and Adso followed quickly behind their comrade, both acrobats rolling and tumbling to try and position themselves behind their opponents.  Unfortunately, the shapeshifters were faster than their awkward forms appeared, and their rubbery arms swatted the rogue and monk away like flies, sending them slamming into nearby walls.  By that point, however, Skud had managed to close the gap, and Randall was right on his heels.  The two warriors hammered into the foremost of the shifters in titanic unison, sending it reeling from the impact.  As it staggered to regain its balance, a flurry of Wesh’s mystic bolts put it down for good.  

Dex bounded to his feet and darted forward again, dodging past the flailing limbs that swung at him.  He went in low, his dagger slashing across the hamstring of one of the creatures and sending it crashing to the floor.  As it levered itself onto one knee, Skud met it, plunging his blade through its chest.  The remaining two creatures began to back towards one corner, their swords held protectively before them.  Their breath came in ragged gasps, and they looked about for a means of escape, but found only boarded up windows.  Adso had also regained his feet, and he, Dex, Skud and Randall advanced on the pair.  In a frenzied panic, the creature’s hacked and slashed, and though the deputies suffered a few minor cuts, they gave worse than they received, and in short order all four of the monsters lay dead.
_________________________________________________

A thorough search of the remainder of the townhouse only revealed more signs of some person or persons having done a desperate search.  Room after room lay in ruins, but in the master bedroom, Dexter paused in his rummaging as something about the fireplace caught his eye.  The mantel was decorated with two roaring lion heads, one at either end.  They looked familiar to the rogue, and after a moment, he had it…the second key he’d taken off Aldern.  The head of it bore the same image of a roaring lion.  Quickly, Dex moved to the mantle, and when he looked inside the mouth of one of the carvings, he saw a small keyhole within.  He placed the key and turned it.  When he did so, the opposite carving sprung open on a hidden hinge, revealing a small bag, a shallow wooden case, and a thin black ledger.  The bag contained a number of platinum coins, a small fortune in fact.  Inside the case were several legal documents pertaining to the townhouse, as well as the original deed to Foxglove Manor.  Luther skimmed quickly over the latter, his brow wrinkling in confusion.
“Look at this,” he said, as he showed it to Wesh.  “This indicates that Vorel Foxglove only financed two-thirds of the construction costs.  The remainder was paid by a group called ‘the Brothers of the Seven.’  Furthermore, this clause at the end states that after one-hundred years, ownership of the manor, as well as the lands within one mile ‘around and below’ reverts back to the Brothers.”
“You think this is the same brotherhood referred to in that letter we found on Aldern?”  the wizard asked.
“This would seem to bear that out,” Adso said, holding up the ledger.  “Most of the entries here are pretty mundane, but there are several interesting ones near the end.  It seems that over the past three months, Aldern made nearly a dozen payments of two-hundred gold crowns to someone called ‘B.7’ for ‘Iesha’s Trip to Absalom.’  It states that he dropped off these payments every Oathday at midnight at a place called ‘the Seven’s Sawmill.’”
“Iesha never made that trip to Absalom,” Luther said quietly.
“You’re from here,” Wesh said.  “Do you know of such a mill?”  
Luther shrugged.  “Kyver’s Islet is where most of the mills are,” he said.  “There are over a dozen of them.  I’m not certain of their names.”
“Then I think we should make a point of finding out,” Wesh replied.
_________________________________________________

The small island known as Kyver’s Islet sat at the mouth of the Yondabakari River, and was given over almost completely to lumber mills, shipwrights and other noisy workshops best situated away from homes and quieter businesses.  On the northernmost point of the isle rose the Floodfire, a small lighthouse that warned ships away from the shallow waters and half-submerged sandbars of the river.  As the Sandpoint deputies walked along the main thoroughfare, they were brought to a stunned halt before a rather nondescript mill.
“Well I’ll be hanged,” Randall said.
A large sign swung from the front of the building, proclaiming in bold letters, ‘The Seven’s Sawmill.’
“Don’t you just love it when the bad guys advertise?”  Wesh chuckled.  
What’s our approach strategy?”  Luther asked.
From where they stood, the mill looked exactly like all the others nearby, and they occasionally saw deliverymen going around to the main riverside doors.  
Wesh shrugged.  “I’ve always found that the direct approach is best,” he said.  “Adso, do you still have that medallion we took from Nualia?”
The monk nodded, fingering a length of chain around his neck that disappeared beneath the collar of his tunic.
“Take it out, “the wizard instructed.  “Let’s see if we can’t stir up an ant hill.”

The group made their way down a flight of stairs to a smaller door at river level, but when Dex tried the knob, it was locked.  Politely, Wesh rapped on the wood with his knuckles.  A few moments passed, and the door was opened by a mill worker dressed in coveralls.
“Help you gentlemen?”  he asked, eyeing the assortment of weapons and armor on display suspiciously.
“We’re looking for a group called the Brotherhood,” Wesh announced without preamble.  “Or perhaps you’ve heard of the Skinsaw Men?”
The man’s face remained impassive.
“I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong place.  This is a lumber mill, not a guildhall.”
Luther stepped up beside Wesh, and cleared his throat.
“We’re conducting an investigation regarding the recent murders,” he said.  “We have reason to believe that there’s something amiss at your establishment here.  Do you mind if we have a look around?”
The man looked dubious.  “Do you have some sort of a warrant or something?  It’s a dangerous place to be poking around in…lots of machinery and such.”
“We don’t have a warrant,” Adso said, fingering the Sihedron medallion.  “We just want to make sure everything is safe.”
The worker hesitated a moment longer, then shrugged and stepped aside.  
“Suit yourself, but mind where you walk.  Wouldn’t want you to get pulled into any of the gears.”

The undermill was a place of mist and noise.  Four immense waterwheels churned steadily in the northern part of the large room, while to the south, whirring belts of leather, gears, pulleys, and thick ropes spun and churned, using the eternal motion of the river below to power pistons that rumbled along the southern wall.  A narrow catwalk ran around the perimeter of the room, and five additional workers were busy at various tasks there.  None of them seemed to take much notice of the visitors, past a casual glance.  Dexter, Adso and Rico began to fan out around the room, inspecting the various machinery as well as the workers.  Luther remained near the door where he could keep an eye on everyone.  As his friends continued their search, he began to notice that the workers were no longer tinkering with their tools, though they were making efforts to appear as if they were.  Several of them coughed casually, and then one-by-one, Luther saw them bow their heads as if they were merely massaging their temples, but when they raised there faces again, each of them had donned some sort of mask.  The hideous things resembled a patchwork, deformed face with one bulbous eye, a grimacing mouth of long teeth, and no noticeable nose.  Slowly, each of the men rose to their feet, and as they did, they drew long, straight-edged razors from their sleeves.

“Watch out!”  Luther shouted, but his voice was all but drowned out by the rumbling waterwheels.  Adso hadn’t needed to hear him, however.  The quick-eyed monk saw what the worker nearest him was doing, and he launched himself into the air, landing a powerful side kick to the man’s chest.  As his assailant fell back, a second killer approached from behind, seeking to slash Adso’s Achilles’ tendon, but the wily half-orc was too quick for that.  Dropping to the ground, he swung his leg in a full circle, sweeping the man’s legs from under him.  Meanwhile, Dexter was not one to be caught flat-footed either.  The rogue had expected an ambush of some kind, and when he saw Adso moving out of the corner of his eye, Dex had palmed his dagger.  Now, as one of the assassins bobbed and weaved towards him, he let fly with the blade, impaling it in the man’s shoulder.  

“Hit the deck!”  Wesh suddenly cried.
“What are you doing?”  Luther asked in alarm.
“A new trick I learned,” the wizard grinned like a schoolboy.  “I’ve been waiting to try it!”
Weaving his hands in an intricate pattern, Wesh began to chant.  A tiny, quite unimpressive, pea-sized ball of flame formed between his palms, but at his command, it shot forward into the middle of the room, where it detonated into a massive cloud of fire that engulfed most of the chamber.  Three of the assassins were caught by the brunt of the blaze, badly scorched, though not killed outright, but even Randall, Skud and Luther bore singed eyebrows and smoldering clothing when the flames cleared.
“Wooden…building…,” Luther gasped.
Wesh shrugged, and looked around.
“It’s still standing, isn’t it?”
At that moment, however, Wesh went rigid, his eyes round with terror.
“Flee,” came the muffled voice of one of the killers from beneath his mask, and at his command, Wesh turned and did just that.

Adso’s second opponent struggled to his feet, but as he did so, the monk seized him by his coveralls and hurled him over the railing into the churning waterwheels.  His cry was drowned out by the rush of water and machinery.  He turned, looking for his other foe, only to find that the man had moved into the mashing gears that powered the waterwheels.  The assassin raised one finger and beckoned to Skud.
“Come,” he intoned, and a look of blank obedience fell over the barbarian.  Slack jawed, he lumbered into the murderous gears, but fortune apparently favored the weak-willed, for though Adso held his breath, waiting for his companion’s legs to be shredded to ribbons, Skud threaded a path through the twisted metal without a scratch.  When he reached the assassin, his eyes suddenly cleared and he grabbed the man by his clothing, lifted him bodily into the air, and threw him into the machinery.

A moment later, Wesh’s own mind cleared, just as he was headed for the door.  Angry at being manipulated by so base an enchantment, he turned and saw his tormentor slash viciously at Rico with his razor.  Snarling the words to his spell, Wesh hurled arcane missiles at the man’s back, sending him sprawling to the floor.  The wizard then unleashed a second volley at another of the Skinsaw Men, laying him out just as cleanly.  Across the room, he saw Randall dispatch yet another, leaving only one of the assassins still standing.  That one apparently thought discretion the better part of valor, as he bolted for the door.  Unfortunately, Luther stood between him and escape, and as he raised his razor to savage his unarmed opponent, the priest cold-cocked the man with a wicked upper-cut, then made the sign of his god in the air as the murderer fell to the floor unconscious.
_____________________________________________________

“You think they know we’re here?”  Wesh asked.
“Not likely,” Luther replied.  “Even with you blowing up everything in sight, I think the noise down here covered it up.  Still, if we’re going to maintain the element of surprise, I suggest we move quickly…and decisively.”
“We flushed them out once,” Wesh chuckled.  “I think we can do it again.”
Skud grunted, and picked up one of the odd masks from the floor.
“Cutters like masks.  See if they like me in one.”
He placed the mask over his face, turning his already fierce visage into something truly nightmarish.  As he fixed the mask in place, his mind became filled with hideous whispers and images of murder and violence.  He could smell the sweat of his comrades and sense their tension.  He could hear the thundering beat of their hearts.  When he looked at them, he could see the shimmering traceries of their circulatory systems pumping away beneath their skin.  Skud found he liked the feeling….he liked it a lot.

When the deputies moved up to the main level of the mill, they found the entirety of the first floor consisted of a loading area.  An opening in the ceiling into the floor above was filled with a tangle of ropes and slings for lowering timber.  Nearby, a flight of stairs ascended to the next story.  Two sturdy wagons sat to the south, next to a bank of machinery accessed by four low doors.  The grinding and creaking of the machines filled the room.  No one was present in the loading bay, so the group moved quickly for the stairs.  They came out onto a landing with another set of stairs leading up, and a single door.  Skud moved to the door and kicked it in unceremoniously.  Beyond was what appeared to be a large storeroom filled with stacks of timber, firewood and other finished lumber products awaiting shipment.  A network of pulleys on tracks covered the ceiling, ropes dangling here and there to aid in the shifting of inventory as needed.  Machinery churned along the south wall, while nearby two chutes fitted with winches allowed lumber to be hauled up from the holding pools below.  Four openings in the ceiling led to the upper floor; chutes extended through each of those from the log splitters in the room above.  Beneath each opening was a collection bin.  Eight men worked busily around the room, but when the door opened and they saw Skud standing there in his mask, each of them quickly pulled his own mask from concealment, as well as his war razor.

Skud roared, his bellow momentarily rising above the din of the machinery.  From behind him, Adso and Dexter darted into the room.  Dexter’s arm flickered and his dagger appeared as if by magic, protruding from the thigh of the nearest assassin.  Without ever slowing his movement, he pierced another with the point of his rapier, the blade ventilating the man’s lung.  Gasping and gurgling, he collapsed.  Adso struck at another, the heel of his foot forcing the air from his opponent as it drove into his midsection.  Then, a second roar filled the room.  Skud glanced behind him and did a double-take.  Rico stepped into the room, and as he did so, something bulged beneath his tunic.  Suddenly, a pair of white-furred, razor-clawed arms burst from his side, and he howled in animalistic fury.  His feral eyes fell upon one of the Skinsaw Men, and before the killer could react, the druid latched onto him, lifting from the floor and rending him savagely with his new appendages.  

And so it went.  The Skinsaw killers moved skillfully and well, but it became abundantly clear that they were creatures of stealth and cunning.  They were not accustomed to prey who fought back.  The Sandpoint Seven took them down, one after the other, with brutal efficiency.  At one point, when no more than two were left standing, a thundering of footsteps sounded from the stairs leading to the next level, and another half-dozen assassins appeared, all wearing masks and wielding their wicked razors.  The reinforcements didn’t help.  More bodies joined their comrades, until finally, the last two bolted for the stairs and disappeared back up them.  
“This place has two more levels,” Randall said, breathing hard.  
“And I think the real Skinsaw Man has yet to reveal himself,” Wesh nodded.  “If it’s killing and murder these fellows are after, then it’s time we gave them a taste of their own medicine.”


----------



## JollyDoc

SUNDAY NIGHT TEASER

1)  The Skinsaw Men are cornered in their lair and dealt with with brutal efficiency, including their surprising leader...

2)  Yet this leads to only more questions...who is Wanton of Nature's Pagan Forms?

3)  The investigation leads deep into Magnimar's Shadow District, to an abandoned clock tower known as the Shadow Clock

4)  What's creepier than an abandoned clock tower?  Try large, scythe wielding scarecrows; rickety, unsafe stairs spiraling up a dizzying 180 feet; and falling bells...

5)  Ultimately, the Lady herself is met...and the results are the makings of a Summer action flick, complete with exploding buildings, narrow escapes, and alas...the heroic death of one of the Sandpoint Seven...


----------



## Schmoe

JD, first I'd like to say that I've been reading your story hours since the beginning of the Age of Worms.  It's always been entertaining, but your writing has steadily improved to where I'm now truly impressed by the quality and style.  Thanks a ton for the time and effort you've put into this.

Second, I'm really looking forward to the next update.  I almost posted here before your game last night wishing the players good luck, but then I thought that might be slightly spoilerish of the rough times ahead 



JollyDoc said:


> ... and alas...the heroic death of one of the Sandpoint Seven...




And this last is truly unsurprising.  I do believe that the Shadow Clock has been the site of more than one TPK in Rise of the Runelords campaigns around the world.  Exciting!


----------



## JollyDoc

Schmoe said:


> JD, first I'd like to say that I've been reading your story hours since the beginning of the Age of Worms.  It's always been entertaining, but your writing has steadily improved to where I'm now truly impressed by the quality and style.  Thanks a ton for the time and effort you've put into this.
> 
> Second, I'm really looking forward to the next update.  I almost posted here before your game last night wishing the players good luck, but then I thought that might be slightly spoilerish of the rough times ahead
> 
> 
> 
> And this last is truly unsurprising.  I do believe that the Shadow Clock has been the site of more than one TPK in Rise of the Runelords campaigns around the world.  Exciting!




Thanks, my friend.  Your opinion and commentary have been noted and appreciated greatly throughout these SH's.

Yeah...the Shadow Clock...what can I say?  When I first read this encounter I was extremely dubious.  When I saw how the SS had handled themselves before, though, I had hope, but when push came to shove...well...you'll see.  This one definately does not go down in the WIN column for our band, and truthfully, the fact that they suffered only one casualty is testament to the quality of the players (and their every man for himself mentality )

I'm looking forward to writing this one...there were many heroic and swashbucklingly epic moments from start to finish.  The face of the Sandpoint Seven has been forever changed after this encounter.


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## WarEagleMage

I just wanted to chime in from a player perspective that we are all having a blast playing this Paizo AP and using the new Pathfinder rules.  Also, for all of you faithful readers who aren't aware, the Pathfinder RPG Beta will be available as a free PDF download on Thursday, August 14th.  Even if you've gone over to the dark si... er, 4E, you might want to check out Pathfinder to see how they've improved on 3.5.


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## Neverwinter Knight

Thanks for the update and sneak preview, JollyDoc. It's really amazing to see you and your players spin your story and I must agree with Schmoe that your writing has steadily improved over your past story hours. With this one, I think you have found the perfect quantity of combat description - not too much to divert from the story, but enough to let your DnD versed readers know what happend. 

Can't wait for the next update. Very, very exciting adventure, this one.


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Thanks for the update and sneak preview, JollyDoc. It's really amazing to see you and your players spin your story and I must agree with Schmoe that your writing has steadily improved over your past story hours. With this one, I think you have found the perfect quantity of combat description - not too much to divert from the story, but enough to let your DnD versed readers know what happend.
> 
> Can't wait for the next update. Very, very exciting adventure, this one.




Thanks NWK!  I found myself disliking the whole combat description thing more and more during the other SH's, so I'm attempting to strike a balance between descriptive action and tedious, round-by-round narrative.  Especially with RotRL, story is so imperative that I don't want to detract from the overarcing plot with two many action sequences.

Sorry for the lateness of the update.  With any luck, I'll have it up tomorrow.  It's been a hectic weekend, and we gamed tonight actually rather than our usual Sunday.


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## JollyDoc

WANTON OF NATURE’S PAGAN FORMS

Taking the stairs running, the Sandpoint Seven bolted after the fleeing Skinsaw Men.  When they came out on the landing at the very top of the lumber mill, they found themselves in a large, open workshop.  A thick layer of sawdust covered the floor, mounded nearly a foot deep in places.  Workbenches sat here and there in the room, their surfaces cluttered with saws, hand drills, planers and other woodworking tools.  A door to a small office stood open on the far side of the shop.  Positioned around the room were seven assassins, all wearing the horrid, one-eyed Skinsaw masks, as well as robes the color of old blood.  Each of them held a wicked looking war razor at the ready.

The deputies advanced.  The time for diplomacy or parley, if there had ever been such a time, was long past.  Only one side would leave the chamber alive.  The killers moved as well, zigzagging across the floor in an effort to place themselves in front of and behind their opponents.  One of them slashed his blade across Dexter’s knee as the rogue tried to dance out of reach, but as a second came at Dex’s flank, the canny thief shoved his dagger into the assassin’s heart.  Randall caught another in the midsection with the head of his hammer, doubling the man over in agony.  Adso ended his suffering with an uppercut with the heel of his palm to the nose.  Yet another fell beneath Skud’s savage, hacking blade.  The four remaining Skinsaw Men began a slow retreat.

Wesh was preparing to let his arcane bolts pursue their foes when he heard a muffled chanting coming from somewhere near the open office door.  Aborting his spell, he quickly chose another, and as he finished the incantation, a silvery aura fell over his vision, and he saw another figure standing at the back of the room.  He was cloaked in invisibility.  To all appearances, he was dressed and armed as the other assassins, yet the mask that he wore was unique.  It appeared to be made of a single long strip of pliant human skin, stitched into a widening spiral by black thread.  Gaps between the stitching apparently allowed the wearer to see and breathe through the unsettling thing.  As Wesh watched, the man turned towards Skud, the spirals of the mask seeming to swirl.  Slowly, he materialized for all to see, and when Skud looked in his direction, he paused, his jaw growing slack, his eyes wide as he watched the spiral pattern.  A moment later, however, Luther was at the half-orc’s side.  The mere presence of the priest, the aura of calmed assurance that he radiated, snapped the barbarian immediately back to reality.

“Him!”  Wesh gestured to the leader of the assassins.  “He’s the one we need!  Stop him!”
His comrades did not need further prodding.  They pushed forward with a roaring battle cry.  Randall crushed the skull of one of the intervening cultists, and then caved in the chest of a second.  Meanwhile, Dexter darted past the last two and came face-to-face with their boss.  Snarling, the rogue slashed across the man’s belly with his rapier.  The cultist stepped backwards, and then stumbled into the wall as a barrage of bolts from Wesh swarmed about him like stinging hornets.  Skud hacked his way past another cultist, and then he too stood before the leader.  Images of murder and rage filled his mind from the mask that he wore…images of Aldern Foxglove and the vengeance he was denied.  The man before him commanded Aldern, controlled him.  His death would serve the same purpose.  With a deafening roar, Skud raised his sword high above his head and brought it down like a sledgehammer.  The Skinsaw Man never knew what hit him.

The final cultist looked around at his fallen comrades and leader, and his blade dropped to his side.  From the far side of the room, Wesh knew what was coming.  The killer was about to surrender.  Thanks to Luther, they already had two prisoners tied up in the rooms below.  To Wesh’s way of thinking, that was two too many.  Before the last assassin could speak, the wizard released another volley of mystic energy, and the man fell dead before a word could pass his lips.
_____________________________________________________

Luther reached down to remove the mask from the leader of the Skinsaw Men, but when he did so, he drew back as if scalded, his breath drawing in with a sharp hiss.
“What?”  Wesh asked.  When he looked down, he saw that the man beneath the mask was an elf.  Somewhat surprising, he thought, as the high folk didn’t usually sully their hands with such human sins as murder, but certainly not deserving of the shock he saw on the young priest’s face.
“I…I know him,” Luther said.  “His name is Ironbriar.  He’s a judge on Magnimar’s Justice Council!”
“What?”  Wesh asked again, this time incredulousness creeping into his own voice.  “A member of the city government?  What have we gotten ourselves into?”
“Search the office!”  Luther commanded.  “Quickly!”

A few moments later, Dexter returned, a leather-bound journal in his hand.  Luther snatched it from him and began leafing rapidly through the pages.  The information that it held would have been more than enough to have sent Ironbriar to the gallows.  It told how the elf, along with six other merchants, among them, Vorel Foxglove, had established the secret Brothers of the Seven as a cover for a cult of Norgorber, the god of murder, secrets, greed and poison.  They referred to their patron as Father Skinsaw, and they killed, not for wealth, but for the sick joy of it.  They held that all of their murders served a greater cause, their leaders receiving visions of victims which they believed to be divine messages.  With each murder, society was shaped…deeds the victim might have accomplished went unrealized and the lives of those who knew the dead shifted and changed in subtle ways.  Over the course of years, or even centuries, murders could shape nations and write the future’s history.  Then, when the Final Blooding occurred, Father Skinsaw would reveal to his flock the purpose of that shaping of society by death.  Ironbriar had taken over the Magnimar cult when Vorel Foxglove disappeared.  His subsequent appointment to the Justice Council only strengthened the cult’s security.  In the more recent journal entries, Ironbriar spoke of someone who had ‘stolen his heart,’ someone he referred to as the ‘Wanton of Nature’s Pagan Forms.’  It seemed that whomever she was, Ironbriar had begun answering to her, and he saw her as some sort of divine prophet of Father Skinsaw, guiding his hand in the most recent series of murders.  The only other thing mentioned about her was that Ironbriar had visited her frequently at a place he called the Shadow Clock.

“I know of it,” Dexter said.  “It’s in Underbridge.  It’s an old, abandoned clock tower.  Barkeeps for years have been taking bets on when it’s going to fall, and how many people it’ll crush when it does.”
“We still have a situation here,” Wesh pointed out.  “We’ve got a mill full of dead men, a city judge among them.  I’m not sure the local authorities are just going to take our word for what was going on.”
“But we have the journal,” Luther said.  “We can prove it!”
“And then they’ll head right to this Shadow Clock, and we’ll be locked out of any further investigation,” Wesh pointed out.
“Not to mention what’ll happen if the Hell Knights get involved,” Dexter added.
“We don’t go to the authorities,” Adso said.  
“You have a better idea?”  Luther shot back.
“In fact, I do,” the monk replied.  “You know me.  I’m as much a stickler for abiding by the law of the land as anyone, yet I agree with Wesh.  If the local authorities go to Underbridge, there will only be more deaths.  We have to handle this.  I say we leave the prisoners here, with the dead, and then we send an anonymous tip to the watch.  Leave the journal here, but take the pages that mention the Shadow Clock.  I think the scene, and the evidence will speak for itself.”
_________________________________________________

Hidden beneath the grimy, blackened goliath that was the Irespan, the lesser works of men huddled like weeds at the foot of the great trees that were the ruined bridge’s stone supports.  Near one of these leaned a decrepit and sagging clock tower, a dying structure of weathered stone, wood, and rusted metal supports that teetered to an unlikely height of nearly two-hundred feet.  High above, near the tower’s roof and barely fifty feet from the Irespan’s stony belly, a tangle of scaffolding sat near a section of the structure that had fallen away.  The tower’s clock face was frozen in time, defiantly (and falsely) proclaiming it to be three o’clock, while above, a stone statue of an angel, her wings crumbling, leaned precariously, almost as if she were preparing a final leap from her decaying perch.

The streets of Underbridge were far from deserted, but it was not the sort of neighborhood were passers-by took much note of the business of others.  Such intrusiveness could be dangerous and deadly, and so it was that no one paid much heed to the seven cloaked figures as they made their way through the shadows that wreathed the base of the tower, and quickly entered through its only door.  The air inside was dusty and dry.  Swaths of rubble and mounds of plaster lay in heaps on the stone floor.  A single wagon sat to one side, and six partially collapsed offices lined the northern and eastern walls, their doors hanging askew and their ceilings caved in.  A wooden staircase wound up into the cavernous space above.  Well over two-hundred feet overhead, four immense bronze bells hung from sturdy crossbeams.  The stairway itself was supported by an intricate network of wooden beams, but lacked, at many stretches, a handrail or other enclosure.  In certain places, two or even three stairs at a time were partially missing or gone altogether.  

“Well, someone’s been here,” Rico said as he crouched in the dust examining several sets of footprints.  Most were those of man-sized, booted feet, but one set looked to have been made by something enormous and misshapen, that defied classification.  
“Not a surprise,” Wesh said.  “Spread out, and let’s have a look around. Everyone stay within sight of one another, though.”
The seven companions paced and looked cautiously around the area, but nothing save ruin and rubble drew their attention.  Finally, they gathered before the stair, resigned to the fact that their prey was not going to be found so easily, and that they would have to go to her.  Skud led, followed by Dexter, but no sooner had the pair set foot on the risers, than the whole affair began to sway alarmingly.  Quickly, they stepped back.
“Let me try it alone,” Dex said.  “Skud, you follow behind me a dozen paces or so.”
The rogue stepped up again, and that time, though the wood groaned and creaked, it remained stable, and he began to mount the staircase.  Skud followed, and then one-by-one the others fell in line, spacing themselves safely apart.  Rico brought up the rear.

The druid had only taken the first step, when a shuffling sound drew his attention to a darkened corner of the lower chamber.  Something huge and monstrous shambled out of the shadows before his widened eyes.  It was a thing of horror, straight from a child’s nightmares.  A jumbled mass of body parts incorporating as much cow and horse as man, its considerable girth was topped by an idiot head that leered and drooled like a grotesque baby.  Its face was cruelly stitched, the lips sewn together.  It was dressed in straw and dung-covered rags which gave off the sickly sweet smell of decay.  A trio of what appeared to be carved pumpkins hung from cords on its belt, but a second glance revealed them to be horribly bloated human heads with a sick, yellow tinge.  It gripped a massive, wickedly curved scythe in its mitten-like hands.  Rico barely had time to cry out as the deadly blade cleaved towards him.  Purely on instinct, the druid ducked, and the scythe passed millimeters above his head, tearing loose a great chunk of wood from the stair rail.
“Help!” he yelped.

Randall was closest and he turned and rushed back down the stairs, ignoring the dangerous popping sounds the risers made beneath his boots.  As he drew near the bottom, however, the murderous scarecrow spun towards him, whirling its scythe as if it were threshing wheat.  The massive blade peeled the big soldier’s armor as if it were paper and nearly disemboweled him in the process.  Yet somehow, clutching his innards to keep them from spilling onto the floor, Randall managed to counter with his maul, the blow causing the monstrosity to take a half-step back.  Meanwhile, higher up the stairs, Skud grabbed the handrail and vaulted over the side, hitting the floor twenty-feet below in a crouch.  A moment later, Dex joined him, the rogue rolling nimbly with the impact and coming to his feet.  The scarecrow gripped its scythe and began moving warily towards them.  As its attention was diverted, Rico’s body shifted into an ephemeral whirlwind, drawing on power from the elemental planes themselves, and he spun quickly away to safety.

Wesh, still high above on the stair, summoned his magic and hurled transparent bolts at the hulking brute below.  To his utter dismay, the missiles bounced harmlessly off the creature, ricocheting into the darkness.  
“I think it’s some sort of construct!” he shouted.  “A golem!  My spells won’t affect it!”
“Then you’d better pray that steel does!”  Luther snapped.  “In the mean time, we’ve got to make sure they survive long enough to put their weapons to use!”  
The priest then leaped from the stairs himself, using techniques Adso had taught him to slow his fall by repeatedly touching the wall on the way down.  As he landed, he drew his holy amulet from his tunic and held it aloft, channeling divine power into his allies, healing their wounds as best he could.  A moment later, however, much of his work was undone as the scarecrow reaved Randall twice more.  Skud launched himself at the golem, his blade ripping through its clothing and deep into the amalgam of flesh beneath.  At the same time, Dexter flicked his silvery dagger at the giant, but it couldn’t penetrate the monster’s thick hide, and merely clanged to the floor at its feet.  Again, Luther channeled his power, drawing Randall back from death’s door.  Then, to the priest’s horror, the golem turned its eyes upon him, a sinister intelligence gleaming in the black orbs.  Methodically, it lumbered towards him, the scythe blade gleaming in the moonlight.  Abruptly, however, it stopped in its tracks, tilting its head in confusion.  Luther understood immediately what had happened.  The holy aura which surrounded him had somehow penetrated the creature’s dim, rotten brain, at least long enough to give it pause.  That was all the time Skud and Randall needed.  The two warriors struck like twin battering rams, and beneath the force of their blows, the scarecrow exploded into a viscous mass.
___________________________________________________

Once again, the deputies resumed their climb, their eyes constantly scanning the darkness for more unseen dangers.  Higher and higher they went, the winding stair seeming to go on forever.  They were almost one-hundred feet above the floor when they heard the sudden sounds of ropes snapping and timbers splintering above them.  As they all looked up reflexively, they saw one of the immense, bronze bells tumbling towards them, its clapper sounding for the first time in years.  It tumbled and smashed along the walls before it smashed through the section of stairs right in the middle of the company.  Dexter, Skud, Adso and Wesh were thrown into the air amidst shards of lumber and masonry.  Dexter leaped, grabbing the stair riser on the far side of the gap, while Skud tumbled several feet back down the near stairs.  Adso jumped nimbly away, landing deftly above Dexter and then pulling the rogue to safety.  Alas, Wesh was not so fortunate.  He scrabbled and grabbed at the falling timbers, but his hands could not gain purchase.  Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, he tumbled away into the darkness, and struck the floor one-hundred feet below.  His companions could only stare down in horror at his unmoving form below them.  Without thinking, Luther leaped after him, once more attempting to use his skills to slow his descent.  Unfortunately, the distance was much greater that time, and though the fall did not kill him, the priest felt something in his leg snap.  He paid it no heed, instead summoning his faith for a third time, praying desperately that he wasn’t too late.  He felt his own injury knit immediately, then watched breathless to see if Wesh would move.  Slowly, the wizard’s eyes flickered open, and Luther released a huge sigh.  
“I…don’t feel so good,” Wesh muttered.

Luther tended the rest of his friend’s wounds, then helped him back up the stairs to their companions.  Once there, Wesh placed a hand on Adso’s shoulder and muttered an incantation.  To the monk’s amazement, his feet lifted off the stairs as he took flight.
“I’m done walking,” Wesh snapped.  “We’re taking the express route the rest of the way.”
________________________________________________________

Almost two-hundred feet above the tower floor, three of the immense, brass bells still hung from the timbers, affixed by rusting lengths of chain and thick ropes.  Above the bells were immense gears and clockworks, although they seemed rusted and scavenged, as if many of the smaller components were missing entirely.  The rickety wooden stairs wound up and around them, but didn’t quite reach the ceiling above, coming to an end at an opening in the wall.  There, the stairs continued up the exterior of the tower to a room that must have lain just beyond the ceiling directly above the bells.  As the companions made their way past the bells, walking on the stairs again after Adso had ferried them up, they could see where the fourth bell had hung.  Its bindings looked to have been deliberately cut.  As if to confirm that fact, six figures stepped from the shadows of the stairs above them.  As they came into the moonlight, there could be no doubt that they were the same sort of beings that had attacked them at Aldern’s townhouse…faceless stalkers.

Adso, bringing up the rear of the group, was in motion as soon as he saw the first assailant appear.  Still bearing Wesh’s flight charm, the monk leaped into the air and crossed the gulf between him and one of the stalkers on the far stairs.  Before the creature could raise its weapon in defense, Adso wrapped his arms around it in a bear-hug.  The stalker writhed and twisted, as if its malleable skin was made of jelly, yet it could not escape the monk’s embrace.  Face straining and biceps bulging, Adso lifted the thing into the air and then stepped off the stair with it into the abyss.  As soon as they were airborne, the half-orc released his foe, and watched it plummet to its death two-hundred feet below.

What followed was a circus high wire equivalent of a frenzied melee.  The stalkers, with their long, rubbery arms, lashed out with their blades at the deputies below them, but the Sandpoint Seven, though they were forced to be single-file on the precipitous stair, still managed to acquit themselves admirably.  Rico and Wesh, combining their magic, pelted the stalkers with flaming balls and arcane bolts.  Skud, at the head of his band, rushed headlong up the stairs, heedless of the whirling steel around him.  As an opponent fell before him, the barbarian heaved its corpse aside and pressed on.  Once again, Adso performed his grappling trick, hurling another stalker to join its brother on the stones below.  Dexter’s dagger joined the missile attack of Rico and Wesh, the magic blade reappearing in his hand after every throw.  The stalkers gave ground, but not far enough, nor fast enough.  By the time the last one fell, the deputies had reached the breach in the tower’s outer wall.  Far below, the lights of Underbridge glimmered, while above, the hulking mass of the Irespan pressed down on them like a tangible weight.
_____________________________________________________

The stair wound around the outer tower, past another breech in the wall, which seemed to hold only an empty rookery, before it reached the peeked roof of the Shadow Clock.  The smoky, filthy rooftops of the Shadow sprawled below the dizzying perch.  The conical roof supported an onyx statue of an angel.  Towering like a god, her weathered features were caked with grime, making her seem almost demonic in countenance.  At the far end of the hollow space under the roof, in the angel’s shadow, was a nest of cushions, silk sheets, and other incongruously fine bits of décor.  It was Dexter who first noticed it as he stepped around the last corner of the tower to peer into the space.  He couldn’t hear the wind any longer.  In fact, he couldn’t hear anything, not even the creak of his own armor.  The air around them had gone unnaturally silent.  Suddenly, something moved within the shadows beneath the eaves.  Before Dexter’s disbelieving eyes, a creature unlike anything he’d ever beheld or heard of slithered into the starlight.  From the waist up, she had the sculpted body of a harem queen, her torso clad in a skintight, snakeskin tunic, and the unmistakable shape of a Sihedron medallion hung from her neck.  Her wavy, black hair billowed in the night air, but her face was hidden behind an intricate mask of gold-plated iron.  The eyes were two, dark lenses of crystal, while surrounding these were the writhing tails of snakes radiating up from the mask itself, almost as if they were hair.  Below her waist, however, all hint of woman vanished, morphing into the powerful, deadly sleekness and iridescent black scales of a coiled asp.  In her hands she held a spear-like weapon whose shaft was made of darkwood, while its head was a thorn-like, wide-bladed barb.  This was Xanesha, Wanton of Nature’s Pagan Forms.

As Dexter’s mouth hung open, the crystals of her mask flared with emerald light.  For a brief moment, the rogue felt his limbs and joints stiffen up, immovable, but the sensation passed as quickly as it came, and Dex felt certain he’d just avoided a truly horrible fate.  A moment later, he was elbowed aside as Skud charged past him, mouth open and spittle spraying.  Dexter was certain his friend was bellowing his war cry, though he could still hear nothing.  The effect was unsettling.  More disturbing, however, was the way the snake woman caught Skud’s slashing blade on the end of her spear, and turned it easily aside.  Almost quicker then Dexter’s eye could follow, she brought the tip back around and jammed it three times in rapid succession into the half-orc’s belly.  Skud’s back arched for a split second before he doubled over in agony, bile heaving from his throat as he retched violently again and again.  Staggering back, the barbarian’s sword blade dropped to the floor, his numb fingers barely holding onto the grip.  Dex was stunned.  Never in the time he had known Skud had he seen his friend so…neutered.

Wesh came round the corner next, realizing immediately that the silence was magical in nature, meant to prevent spellcasters like himself, from uttering the words to their enchantments.  Without his spells, he was powerless, and when he saw what it was they faced, and what she’d apparently done to Skud in less than thirty seconds, the mage knew instinctively that they were in way over their heads.  They’d become so confident with their many successes, that they had never stopped to think that somewhere out there, watching them, waiting for them, the mastermind behind the murders might just be the greatest monster of them all.  Desperately, Wesh turned towards Rico behind him and frantically motioned for the druid to go back and take the others with him.  Misunderstanding, Rico instead transformed his body once more into its elemental form and took flight beyond the platform so that he could see their foe.  He noted when he was a few dozen feet away, he could hear the sounds of the city below him again.  He thought that this was what Wesh had meant, that he should get clear of the silenced area so that he could bring his own magic to bear.  He was gravely mistaken.  

When Rico moved, Randall closed the gap, quickly rushing past Wesh, despite the wizard’s frantic gesticulations.  The soldier saw Skud dragging himself slowly towards the platform, still holding his bleeding torso, still vomiting uncontrollably.  Worse, the monstrosity that had done that to him was following after.  Quickly, Randall moved to put himself between the barbarian and the snake woman, but as he did so, Xanesha slashed her spear horizontally, laying open the man’s flesh in a ragged, bleeding wound.  At the moment the blade struck, Randall felt a pain like a thousand hot needles driving into his brain.  His thoughts became momentarily muddled, and he couldn’t think straight.  He couldn’t even think to raise his weapon and defend himself as Xanesha came for him.  Again she struck, and again a vice gripped Randall’s head.  Blinded by the pain, he stumbled incoherently for the platform, throwing himself around the relative safety of the building’s corner.  Xanesha followed.

Wesh panicked, and who could blame him?  Two of the toughest men he’d ever met had just been beaten nearly senseless before his eyes, and now the perpetrator of that beating was coming for him.  In utter desperation, he stepped off the platform and tumbled out into the night air above Underbridge, praying his hunch had been correct.  Within seconds, sound returned to him, and seconds later, he screamed out the words to a spell.  As the magic took him, his fall slowed then stopped, the flight charm holding him aloft.  He quickly descended, all the way to the base of the tower, where he crouched in the darkness and gazed upward towards the battle that still raged.

Randall, still nearly insensate, shoved Dexter before him as he staggered onto the stairwell, but before he could make for the opening back inside the tower, Xanesha’s blade drove deep into his back, taking him to his knees.  She raised the spear to impale him a final time, but then the air around her flared and shimmered.  A barrage of blue fire had come from the ground at the base of the tower, but the bolts impacted harmlessly on the invisible shield she had woven about her.  Glancing over the edge, she saw the craven wizard who’d thought to escape her, far below.  An instant later, a blazing bolt of electricity arced up at her, and struck her fully in the chest.  With a cry, she was hurled back against the stone of the tower.  Though her skin burned, the damage had been minimal, and what she felt most was pure, unadulterated rage.

Adso and Luther witnessed all of this, and in a split-second, the monk knew what he had to do.  His charge from his superiors was clear…protect the priest at all costs.  Ignoring Luther’s struggles of protest, Adso wrapped his arms around the man’s waist and leaped off the stair, taking flight into the dark night and disappearing into the deeper shadows of the neighborhood below.  Wesh saw them flee, and a moment later, he did the same as he saw Xanesha hurl herself from the platform, streaking towards him, her weapon raised above her like a spike.  

Dexter, Skud and Randall ducked quickly back inside the clock tower and began making their way as quickly as possible down the long descent towards the floor below.  Dexter hoped and prayed that his comrades had managed to lead the horror away and that he would have time to help his two wounded friends make their own escape.  His hopes where shattered a moment later when he heard and saw the doors of the tower blow open.  To his utter dismay, the snake woman slithered into view below, and then looked up directly towards them.  
“Run!” he hissed at Skud and Randall.  “I’ll be fine!”
He slid Skud’s arm from around his shoulder and then, like a shadow, he melted into the darkness.  Skud and Randall saw Xanesha begin ascending towards them, whirling and circling around the perimeter of the tower like a bat in a belfry.  Though still nauseated and weak, Skud raised his sword and brought it down with all the strength he could muster upon the bindings holding one of the bells.  Randall saw his friend’s tactic, and added his own muscle, slamming the head of his maul onto the timbers as well.  With a crack and a snap, the ropes gave way, and the bell tumbled free, crashing into the walls on the way down.  It never came close to Xanesha.  Moving with an uncanny speed that mimicked her form,she deftly avoided the projectile and continued her frenzied charge towards her prey.

Rico didn’t know how things had gone so wrong so fast.  Everyone had scattered, and he didn’t know the status of any of his friends.  He wanted to go back and look for them, but at the same time, a fear he’d never experienced gripped him at the prospect of meeting that…thing face-to-face.  Speaking the words to a spell, he transformed back into his own form, while at the same time, metamorphosing his arms into wings of pure flame.  Like a phoenix, he flapped back towards the tower platform.  Once there, he saw no sign of either friends nor foe, and indecision seized him.  Finally, looking into the enclosure where the snake-woman had come from, he had an idea.  If she was, in fact, directing the Skinsaw Men, then perhaps there was something in her lair that would reveal why.  Flying into the chamber, the druid set about ransacking the place, setting the silk cushions ablaze with his wings.  Then, he saw it…a long, narrow, metallic scroll tube.  He leaned down and took the case in his mouth, dropping it into his shoulder bag as he took flight once more.

‘They’re not coming out,’ Wesh thought to himself.  He stood in a darkened alley across the street from the clock tower.  Guilt at abandoning his friends had dragged him back, though every instinct told him to flee.  ‘They’re all dead,’ he thought, ‘and I just left them.’  Then, something made of steel that he had not known he possessed, gripped the wizard’s heart.  It that was true, and his friends had perished, then he would make their killer pay, and pay dearly.  He began chanting, and as he did so, fire swirled around his hands.

Skud looked at Randall as the snake-woman closed on them.  Randall met his gaze levelly, and the barbarian saw no sign of fear there.
“Go,” the soldier said quietly.  “I’ll hold her here for as long as I can.  Get clear.  Find the others.  Get word back to Sandpoint and Hemlock.  Tell him what happened here, and you tell him one more thing for me.  Tell him that now we’re even.”
Skud nodded and reached out a hand to grip the warrior’s.  A shadow fell over them, and Xanesha rose out of the darkness behind them like a great bird of prey.  As Skud turned, Randall was already moving.  The ex-soldier raised his hammer and leaped.  A moment later, Skud did the same, except that he let himself go into a free fall and plummet towards the floor below.  When he hit, the impact was so great that he was momentarily knocked unconscious.  It was miraculous, and a testament to his vast strength, that he wasn’t killed outright.  He never saw Randall’s fate.  He never saw Xanesha catch the leaping warrior on the end of her spear, skewering him cleanly through, and then pitching his body aside like a rag doll.  He landed and slid down the wall mere feet from where Dex stood quietly shaking in the deep shadows.  Xanesha looked about one last time, then turned her head towards the roof, where smoke was starting to drift through the beams and the crackle of flames could be heard.  Hissing, she vanished through the hole in the wall.  

As Wesh’s spell coalesced, he saw a figure hobbling out of the shattered door of the tower.  To his disbelief, it was Skud, one arm hanging crooked, blood streaking his face like a grisly mask.  
“Move!” the wizard shouted. 
Skud raised his head and saw the roaring ball of flame headed towards him.  He threw himself quickly aside as it passed over him and into the tower, where it detonated with a deafening thunder.  The entire tower rocked, and several windows in the surrounding buildings were blown out.  Skud hauled himself to his feet and limped quickly towards Wesh.
“Is anyone else in there?” the wizard asked.
“Not alive,” the half-orc answered.

From his vantage above the tower, Rico saw Xanesha emerge once more.  A moment later, an explosion rocked the base of the tower, and the snake-woman grabbed a wall to steady herself.  Rico knew he’d never have a better chance.  Shouting his plea to the heavens, he summoned the pure fury of nature herself.  Clouds rolled in the sky above, and thunder boomed in the distance.  The druid raised his flame-shrouded arms above him, and at his command, lightning bolts stabbed down from the thunderheads, each one striking the top of the Shadow Clock unerringly.  The roof shattered beneath the onslaught, and Rico saw Xanesha leap clear… just before the entire structure began to collapse.  With a roar that echoed throughout Magnimar, the huge clock tower folded in on itself, raining debris and ash for several blocks around.  People poured into the street, panic-stricken, many of them rudely awakened from their sleep.  Most stood gawking at the destruction, the immense, burning pile of rubble.  One, however, staggered drunkenly into the darkness.  Dexter didn’t know if he was incredibly lucky to have escaped the collapse at the last minute, or cursed, and at that moment, he found he didn’t care.  He needed a drink…several in fact, to try and erase the horror he’d just witnessed.  From another darkened niche, a second figure detached itself from the shadows as he passed, falling into pace unseen behind the rogue.
________________________________________________________

Xanesha cursed and spat to herself as she soared high above Magnimar.  She still could not believe how utterly, terribly wrong things had gone so quickly.  She had been indolent and lazy, enjoying her role as leader of the Skinsaw Men so much that she had neglected her original duty, and now it had cost her dearly.  Mokmurian would never forgive her.  She had to find some way to redeem herself in her master’s eyes.  Perhaps it was time to pay Lucrecia a visit…


----------



## Schmoe

WarEagleMage said:


> I just wanted to chime in from a player perspective that we are all having a blast playing this Paizo AP and using the new Pathfinder rules.  Also, for all of you faithful readers who aren't aware, the Pathfinder RPG Beta will be available as a free PDF download on Thursday, August 14th.  Even if you've gone over to the dark si... er, 4E, you might want to check out Pathfinder to see how they've improved on 3.5.




That's great to hear.  I'm seriously considering going with Pathfinder instead of 4e.  What parts of PF do you think are improved over 3.5e?


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## demiurge1138

Very nice! I always wanted to make Xanesha into a recurring villain, but the party put an end to that. After she beat seven shades of Hell out of the party's knight and threw her out of the Shadow Clock (good news -> the cleric could fly! bad news -> she missed her catch), Xanesha tried to flee. The hobgoblin bard picked up his bow for the first time all combat and fired true. Critical hit, effect "heart shot". X4 damage + Con bleed = dead matriarch thrashing as she slowly spiraled towards the ground.


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## carborundum

Good grief, JD, that was just plain awesome!


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## Graywolf-ELM

carborundum said:


> Good grief, JD, that was just plain awesome!




Ditto on that.

GW


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## JollyDoc

carborundum said:


> Good grief, JD, that was just plain awesome!




Thank you Sir (s)!  It was fun running it, though it was a nail biter and very touch and go.  I truly feared a TPK was in the offing.

Sunday Night Teaser

1)  What's left of the Sandpoint Seven reunites, but the reunion is brief and bittersweet as one member decides it's time to retire from the adventuring life.

2)  Though Xanesha escaped, her plans are still revealed, and the revelation leads to instant fame and glory for our intrepid heroes.

3)  Dexter meets a new friend who's even more comfortable in the shadows than he is!

4)  The group is given a new assignment, just a 'routine' visit to a border fort...oh, and they are required to take a goverment liason along with them...

5)  An old friend is met on the road

6)  The boonies of Varisia are far from welcoming, and the deputies learn the true meaning of the word 'hillbilly.'

7)  Skud learns that Bear Huntin' can be dangerous to your health.

8)  A daring rescue is pulled off, but not without having to deal with a critter simply known as Big'un!


----------



## Hammerhead

Finally caught up. Good stuff, JD and company!


----------



## Schmoe

Boy, you got a real purdy mouth.


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## WarEagleMage

Schmoe said:


> That's great to hear. I'm seriously considering going with Pathfinder instead of 4e. What parts of PF do you think are improved over 3.5e?




While they have streamlined some things like grapples, disarms, trips, and other 3.X bugaboos, my personal opinion is that they have taken a hard look at classes and tried to make every class more defined, yet at the same time offering more diversity within the class.  I hope that makes sense.  I do agree with most that there is a slight PC power creep at lower levels, but that's okay with me.  Nobody wants to play a wizard with 4 hp, anyway.  For me, it sort of re-energized me about D&D.  I could play a class I've played before and I would have all sorts of new directions to go.  Also, the Pathfinder adventures are just so incredible.  They are without a doubt the best in the industry right now.  

I'm playing Adso the monk and having a blast with some of the new feats and the Acrobatics skill combo.  You guys ain't seen nothing yet!


----------



## Dr Simon

A couple of the neat things about Pathfinder RPG is that they have added greater flexibility to some of the class abilities. Barbarians, for instance, get to choose from an array of things that can happen when they rage. Sorcerers get a nifty selection of different bloodline backgrounds. Rangers get a mix and match of favoured enemy and favoured environment.  I still prefer Arcana Evolved for my fantasy d20 engine of choice for a number of reasons, but PFRPG does a pretty good job of "fixing" 3.5 without changing things as drastically as 4th Ed.


----------



## LordVyreth

Dr Simon said:


> A couple of the neat things about Pathfinder RPG is that they have added greater flexibility to some of the class abilities. Barbarians, for instance, get to choose from an array of things that can happen when they rage. Sorcerers get a nifty selection of different bloodline backgrounds. Rangers get a mix and match of favoured enemy and favoured environment.  I still prefer Arcana Evolved for my fantasy d20 engine of choice for a number of reasons, but PFRPG does a pretty good job of "fixing" 3.5 without changing things as drastically as 4th Ed.




How many books make up Pathfinder at this point?  I got the soft-cover beta rules at Gen Con, but I 'm not sure what else I would need.  How crunchy is the campaign setting book?


----------



## JollyDoc

LordVyreth said:


> How many books make up Pathfinder at this point?  I got the soft-cover beta rules at Gen Con, but I 'm not sure what else I would need.  How crunchy is the campaign setting book?




So far, I have the gazeteer, campaign setting, classic monsters revisited, and guide to Korvosa.  By and large, not especially cruncy, but richly detailed, and excellent reads.  The campaign setting does have some new prestige classes and feats specific to Pathfinder.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Wow, that was close. With Xanesha that powerful and the sourroundings adding to her favour like that, your players avoided a TPK, while still winning the day, ahem Xanesha's ledger & stuff. 

Having wittnessed how your players learn from their defeats, I'm sure that the outcome of the next encounter will be very different, as with the advanced eyrines from SCAP, Dyr'ryd, Kelvos, etc. 
Joachim, WarEagleMage & Co: Any plans for revenge, yet?


----------



## Cerulean_Wings

Pelor almighty, that boss battle was intense. I'm surprised only one character fell to that deadly lady. Darkness + Silence spell + deadly monster = tpk material. A well built encounter, but I don't know if I'd use it as written.

Loved the update, JollyDoc, can't wait for Xanesha's return (and I guess the group can't, either. Payback time!).


----------



## Hammerhead

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Wow, that was close. With Xanesha that powerful and the sourroundings adding to her favour like that, your players avoided a TPK, while still winning the day, ahem Xanesha's ledger & stuff.
> 
> Having wittnessed how your players learn from their defeats, I'm sure that the outcome of the next encounter will be very different, as with the advanced eyrines from SCAP, Dyr'ryd, Kelvos, etc.
> Joachim, WarEagleMage & Co: Any plans for revenge, yet?




And that stupid wastrlith. Project image-using pansy.


----------



## JollyDoc

Hammerhead said:


> And that stupid wastrlith. Project image-using pansy.




Funny you should mention him.  His name was indeed brought up this past weekend as a comparison...


----------



## JollyDoc

KEEP ON THE BORDERLANDS

“We just…left him…,” Luther said, as he sat on a ripped sofa in Foxglove’s townhouse, his hands clasped between his knees.
“We did not just leave him!”  Wesh snapped, exasperated by the priest’s maudlin self-recrimination.  “You were right there with us, Luther.  You saw what happened as well as any of us.  If we’d stayed, we’d all be dead right now.  And you heard what Skud said.  Randall chose to stay behind.  He sacrificed himself, and I don’t think he’d want that sacrifice to be remembered like this.”
Luther remained silent.  They were all still shell-shocked after their flight from the Shadow Clock, but the cleric seemed the most deeply affected.  Wesh attributed it to the naiveté inherent in the life of a cloistered priest.  The deputies had been facing death constantly since they’d met, but it had all seemed…impersonal until now.  Like they were untouchable.  On some level, Wesh had known this moment would come.  After all, no one lived forever, but now that it had arrived, it was more of a blow than he’d anticipated.  He could only imagine what it was like for Luther.
“Well, what do we do now?”  Dexter asked.  The rogue leaned against the wall across the parlor, or rather, slumped against it.  Of them all, Dex looked the worst for wear.  Wesh hadn’t known he was still in the tower as it was coming down.  It was a minor miracle that he hadn’t been killed as well.
“I mean, I don’t think we’ll exactly be welcomed with open arms by the authorities,” the rogue continued.  “So far we’ve succeeded in killing a couple of dozen mill workers, as well as a court justice, and now we’ve managed to collapse an entire building in the heart of a heavily populated neighborhood.  You think they’ll just take our word that we did it all with the best of intentions?”
“We’ve already given them Ironbriar’s journal,” Adso commented.  “That should clear us of the mill matter.”
“Assuming they believe it,” Dex snorted.  “Which I think is highly unlikely once they learn of our part in the clock tower.  I’d say it’s a good guess someone saw us well enough to identify us.”
“Ahem,” Rico interrupted.  “If I may.  I think you’re all forgetting something, aren’t you?”  The druid held up the slender scroll tube he’d taken from Xanesha’s aerie.
Wesh’s eyes widened. “Where did you get that?”
Rico shrugged.  “Just because I’m not from the big city doesn’t mean I’m a complete bumpkin.”
Wesh chuckled and held out his hand.  “Let’s have a look.”

Wesh was speechless as he read and reread the document inside the case.  It was an extensive list of names and professions, many of which had been crossed out.  It bore the heading, ‘Sihedron Sacrifices.’  Some of the names were recognizable to Wesh as citizens of Sandpoint, but the majority where people who lived in Magnimar, all of them merchants, moneylenders, gamblers, adventurers and thieves.  The one name that drew the wizard’s eye over and over again, however, was the last on the list:  Haldmeer Grobaras, Lord-Mayor of Magnimar!  In addition, there were extensive notes on the mayor’s habits, including when he took his meals, who he visited, his favorite taverns, even the hours he slept.  
“This is it!”  Wesh said triumphantly.  “This is our ticket!  We take this directly to the mayor’s office.  Forget the constables.  With this evidence, there can be no doubt about our innocence!”
Dexter looked dubious.  
“That paper has a lot of personal info about the mayor,” he said.  “Like where he sleeps…and who he sleeps with.  Do you really think he’s going to appreciate us having that sort of goods on him?”
“I think it will secure our position even more,” Wesh said, grinning.  “Nothing inspires gratitude like a little dirt.”
______________________________________________________________

The next morning, as the group gathered in the courtyard, Luther was the last to arrive, and when he did, he was wearing his backpack and travelling clothes.
“You’re dressed a little informally to meet a city official, aren’t you?”  Wesh asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I’m not going with you,” the priest said.  “In fact…I’ve decided I’m going home…to Windsong.”
“What??”  several of the companions asked in unison.  
“I’m done,” Luther nodded slowly.  “I’ve come to realize this is not the life for me.  I’m not cut out for it.  I thought I was, but I see now that I was mistaken.  I need some time to…sort through some things.  I’m sorry I’ve let you all down, but as things stand, I wouldn’t be any good to you anyway.”
He raised his eyes and looked at each of his friends in turn, seeing in their faces a mixture of sadness, disappointment and anger.
“We each have to travel our own road,” Wesh said at last.  “I hope you’re making the right decision.  You’ll be missed.”
Adso stared at his friend for a long moment before he spoke.
“If you ask me, I’ll accompany you, but I feel that my place is here.  My duty is here.”
Luther nodded.  “I know you were charged with my safety, but that was not my decision, and as far as I’m concerned, you’ve discharged your duty admirably.  I will report such to the elders.  I will also stop in Sandpoint on my way home and tell Sheriff Hemlock of all that transpired here.  I hope and pray our paths cross again some day, my friends.  My hopes go with you all.”
One by one, each of them came forward to take his hand and wish him well…all save Skud.  The half-orc turned away in disgust and walked out the door.
___________________________________________________

“May I help you?”  the pasty-faced nobleman asked, looking down his narrow nose at the five companions gathered in the lobby of the mayor’s office.  After much cajoling, Wesh had convinced the clerk that they indeed had important business to discuss with the Lord-Mayor, but that had only gotten them and audience with the man before them, one Valanni Krinst, assistant to the mayor.
“As I already explained to your underling,” Wesh said, exasperated.  “We must speak with Mayor Grobaras.  It is a matter of life and death!”
“I’m sure,” Krinst said in a bored tone.  “The Lord-Mayor is a very busy man, and doesn’t have time to entertain every vagrant off the street.”
Wesh’s face turned a dangerous shade of umber, but he visibly calmed himself, reached into his belt pouch and drew out five gold crowns which he folded into Krinst’s hand.  The nobleman looked at the coins as if the wizard had just spat in his palm.
“Busier than that,” he said.

One-hundred crowns later, the deputies were escorted into Mayor Grobaras’s office.  The mayor was a paunchy, middle-aged man, who looked up in obvious annoyance as his visitors were escorted in and not offered seats.
“Yes, yes,” he flipped his hand.  “I’m told you have something that you think is important to tell me.  Get on with it then.”
Rather than speak, Wesh silently laid Xanesha’s list on the desk in front of Grobaras.  Impatiently, the mayor picked it up and began reading.  After a few moments, his eyes grew wide, just before all the blood drained from his face and he fainted dead away.

A few moments later, Wesh slapped Grobaras awake, and none too gently, then helped him back into his chair.  
“Now,” Wesh said, pulling up a chair for himself.  “I believe some explanations are in order.”
He recounted and synopsized their tale, starting with the goblin raid in Sandpoint, and finishing with the demise of the Shadow Clock.  All the while, Grobaras listened raptly.
“Justice Ironbriar?”  the man asked incredulously once Wesh had finished.  “I…I can’t believe this.  You…you saved my life!  Possibly even Magnimar!  I…don’t know how I can repay you, but please know that you have my eternal gratitude.  In fact, you will all join me tomorrow night at my home, Defiant’s Garden, for a feast in your honor.  I’ll not take no for an answer, and tonight, you will stay in Magnimar’s most exclusive hotel as my guests.  Krinst!  We have VIP’s in our midst!”
_________________________________________________________

The Hotel Magnimar was indeed luxurious, and Skud did not hesitate to avail himself of its services, and those of several of its maids.  Wesh secluded himself in his suite, stating that he needed time to study his books, and Adso refused his own suite entirely, opting for the lowliest room available (which was still grand in comparison to any of the other hotels in town).  Rico (much to the hotelier’s chagrin) chose to sleep in the stable with Shadowmist, claiming claustrophobia.  Dexter shared Skud’s room, but while his friend was…occupied, the rogue headed outside to stretch his legs around the district and clear his mind of the cobwebs from the previous night’s events.

Dexter had been born and raised in Magnimar, and knew its streets like the back of his hand, so he knew that even the opulent Alabaster District where they were staying still had its share of dangers for the unwary or unwise.  He was neither, and when he noted the cloaked figure trailing him as soon as he left the hotel, he kept one hand on the hilt of his rapier, and the other on his purse.  Finally, he ducked into a narrow side street, little more than an alley really, and waited.  As soon as his tail turned the corner, the rogue seized him by his cowl, shoved him against a wall, and had his dagger blade at the man’s throat before he could react.
“I don’t know you, stranger,” Dex hissed, “and it makes a man like me nervous when people I don’t know take an interest in me.”
“Peace, friend,” the other man said, raising his empty hands.  “I’m not looking for trouble.  In fact, I believe we have something in common…the Skinsaw Men.”
Dexter’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he gauged whether or not the man had just made a subtle threat.  After a moment, he made up his mind and resheathed his dagger, though he didn’t take his hand from its grip.  The man straightened his tunic, then pulled back the hood of his cloak.  He was human, perhaps a few years older than Dex, bald, with a carefully trimmed goatee and mustache.  From head to toe, he was dressed in black.  He wore a silver medallion around his neck which bore a strange, spiraling symbol.
“I’m called Reaper,” the man said, “though it’s more title than name.  I am a servant of Pharasma, the Lady of Graves, and I was tasked by my order to investigate the murders that had been plaguing the city of late.  It is my job to…root out such evils.  My investigation apparently led me on the same path as yours, for I arrived at the lumber mill shortly after you and your friends left, and discovered your…handiwork.  Well done.  I also witnessed your unfortunate encounter at the Shadow Clock and regret I was unable to lend my assistance.  You have my condolences for your loss, though I suspect my Mistress judged your companion favorably within her Boneyard.  It would seem our paths have intersected for a reason, and I would offer you and your comrades my services.  I think you’ll need them in the days to come, for I believe you have stumbled across something larger than you can imagine.”
_______________________________________________________

Later that evening, Dexter introduced Reaper to the others, who listened to his tale with interest.
“So it is as I explained,” he finished.  “The Church does not take an…overt role in these sorts of things, and that is where such as I come in.  I am the black hand of Pharasma.  I mete out Her will where Her other servants may not, and I believe that the bearers of the Sihedron Rune are not done yet with their foul goals.  With you, or without you, I will continue my search.”
Wesh nodded.
“I’m sure you are aware that we have lost two of our number in as many days, and so we do in fact find ourselves disposed to accept your offer at face value, but might I ask where your talents lie?  You do not strike me as a priest.”
“Indeed I am not,” Reaper chuckled.  “I…dabble in the arcane, with a particular interest in the field of negative energy.”
“So you’re a necromancer,” Wesh observed wryly.
Reaper tsked.  “Such a vulgar term.  I prefer to think of myself as a practitioner of the shadow arts.  I’m no voodoo shaman who trucks in making the dead walk.  I teach those that oppose me a healthy respect for the parts of the Weave that absorb the Light rather than reflect it.”
Wesh shrugged.  “Just so long as you don’t animate me or my friends, we’ll get along swimmingly.”
___________________________________________________

The feast at Defiant’s Garden was an opulent affair with a veritable who’s who of Magnimar’s elite in attendance, including many members of the Council of Ushers, the remaining Justices, as well as select representatives of the Varisian Council.  All present were suitably impressed by Grobaras’s ringing accolades of the ‘Heroes of Sandpoint and now Magnimar!’  The liquor flowed, and the women danced, and there was much glad-handing and offers of minor political appointments, all politely declined.  At the conclusion of the festivities, the Lord-Mayor presented each of the deputies with the Order of Indros, Magnimar’s highest honor, named after the city’s heroic founder, Alcaydian Indros.  A much more tangible award came in the form of six-thousand gold crowns given to each member of the company, a king’s ransom in coin, as well as the deed to Aldern Foxglove’s townhouse.  It was a jovial, intoxicated band that made their way back to the Hotel Magnimar that night, the pains of their recent losses temporarily put aside.

It seemed, however, that being dubbed a ‘Hero of Magnimar’ did not come without obligation.  Within the week, Valanni Krinst appeared on the doorstep of the townhouse.
“The Lord-Mayor requests your presence,” he said simply, and then motioned to two coaches that were drawn up on the curb.  When the deputies arrived at Grobaras’s office, the Lord-Mayor greeted them happily, pumping each of their hands in turn as he rose to meet them.  
“Ah, my saviors!” he gushed.  “Thank you so much for coming.  You will forgive my abrupt summons, but I have a bit of a situation on my hands, and of course, you were the first people that came to mind!  Perhaps you’ve heard of Fort Rannick?.  No?  No matter.  Fifty odd years ago, one of my predecessors made an arrangement with a small village many miles east of here called Turtleback Ferry.  It seems the town was having ogre problems, and they appealed to Magnimar for assistance.  In exchange for the town becoming a protectorate of the city, the Lord-Mayor at the time agreed to station a band of rangers there, the Order of the Black Arrows.  They handily defeated the ogres and subsequently established Fort Rannick near the base of Hook Mountain, the ogre’s ancestral hunting grounds.  The problem is this:  there’s been no contact with Fort Rannick for some time now.  Granted, the rangers have traditionally been isolationists, but such a long silence is uncharacteristic, even for them.  You see, I’ve been trying to convince the Council of Ushers to send a patrol to investigate, but you know how bureaucrats can be.  Well, with your recent exploits still fresh in their minds, I’ve convinced them to allow me to ask you to be my agents in this.  The city is willing to pay for any expenses you might incur, of course.  Say…three-hundred gold each?”
Wesh glanced at his companions and then nodded.
“I’d say that’s a fair price, Your Honor.  When would you like us to leave?”
“As soon as you can make preparations,” Grobaras replied.  “Oh…I almost forgot.  There’s one more small detail.  You see, politics in Magnimar being what they are, no one branch of the government quite trusts the other, and in this matter, the Council wishes to be certain that the interests of their constituents are served.  Towards this end, they have requested that I send a…liason of their choosing along with you.  Understand, no insult towards you is intended by this.  Rather, take it as their way of asserting their own petty authority over me.”
Wesh looked dubious.
“Do you know this…liason?”  the wizard asked.
“Personally,” Grobaras grinned broadly.  “You may come in!” he called, and a side door to the office opened.  A young man entered, dressed in full body armor, with twin swords crossed on his back.  The family resemblance to Grobaras was obvious, though he also had a distinctive Varisian cast about him as well.
“Allow me to introduce my…nephew, Maximillian,” Grobaras said, the grin on his face looking stiff and forced.  “Say something,” he hissed through his teeth at the youth after he’d remained silent for longer than was polite.
“Hello,” Maximillian said sullenly.  
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Maximillian,” Wesh said.
“It’s just Max,” the other replied.
“Yes…well…,” Grobaras said quickly.  “I’m sure you’ll all become well acquainted on the road.  Safe journey then!”

______________________________________________________________

The following morning dawned cold and grey.  Winter had come upon Varisia, and the rains were coming.  The Sandpoint company, now seven in number once more, rode out of Magnimar at first light.  The four-hundred fifty mile trek would take them along the Yondabakari River, due east for much of the way, until they reached the town of Wartle, at which point they would strike northeast through the Sanos Forest.  The Old Sanos Trail would take them through the swamp known as the Shimmerglens, to the trading post of Bitter Hollow, and then southeast to Turtleback Ferry, on the northern shore of Claybottom Lake. The road along the Yondabakari was lightly patrolled, and they passed the occasional traveler along the way.  They were barely a day out of Magnimar when one such traveler pulled up on horseback along side them.  The mounted figure was slight and heavily cloaked against the weather, their face not visible in the folds of the cowl.  A well-made bow was hung across the saddle horn.  
“Well met,” came a lilting, musical voice from within the hood.  “And what would you band of vagabonds be doing so far from home?”
Rico turned abruptly, recognizing the owner of the voice immediately.
“Shalelu?” he asked in disbelief.
“In the flesh,” the elven woman laughed as she threw back her hood revealing her tapered ears and emerald green hair.  
“What are you doing here?” the druid gaped.  
“A little bird told me that you might be headed towards Hook Mountain,” she replied.  “I have friends among the Black Arrows, and they’ve been out of touch of late.  I thought you might could use some company on the road.”
“Indeed we could,” Wesh smiled.  “You’re a point of light in this wilderness, my dear!”

The road was a long one, the entire journey taking the better part of nine days, mounted a-horse as they were.  Along the way, the Sandpoint deputies took the opportunity to try and get to know their new travelling companions better.  Reaper was fairly tight-lipped, revealing little more than he already had, but seeming earnest about his desire to help.  Max was another matter…
“You don’t seem very happy to be along on this job,” Dexter remarked one afternoon as they paused for a brief lunch.  Max glanced cautiously at him, then went back to his rations.
“As a matter of fact,” the young man said, “I’m thrilled beyond words.”
“You have a funny way of showing it,” Dex smirked.  
“I don’t make friends easily,” Max shrugged.  “I’ve never had many, and not much family to speak of.”
“What do you mean?”  the rogue asked.  “Your uncle is the Lord-Mayor of Magnimar!”
“Hmph,” Max snorted.  “That and a copper would buy me a cup of coffee.  I’m not exactly welcomed with open arms by the Grobaras’s.  My mother was Varisian.”
He said no more, and didn’t need to.  Dex understood.  Max was illegitimate.  Chelaxian nobleman did not openly dally with Varisian women, though the many half-Varisian children roaming the streets of Magnimar told a different story.  Dex decided to let the matter rest for the time being.
________________________________________________

Turtleback Ferry, so named for its three distinctive ferries crafted from the shells of giant turtles, was a village of perhaps four-hundred souls, though when the delegates from Magnimar arrived, there were very few folk on the streets.  This was due in part to the increasingly bitter cold of the high country, but also to the torrential rains that had not ceased since the seven companions had entered Sanos Forest.  The town streets were mud-choked bogs laden with ice-covered puddles just waiting for the unwary to submerge a boot into.  The town was the central trading area for the region, and thus functional rather than picturesque.  It sat on the northern shore of Claybottom Lake, renowned for its fishing, but equally notorious for its nightbelly boas, ravenous giant gars and deadly giant snapping turtles.  The Skull River emptied into Claybottom Lake as it made its way south from the Storval Deep on the opposite side of the Wyvern Mountains, where Hook Mountain and Fort Rannick lay.  

The company wasted little time with sight-seeing, and instead made their way immediately to the town hall which also doubled as the sheriff’s office.  As they entered, shaking the rain from their cloaks and stamping their boots clean, a middle-aged, kindly-faced man looked up from a ledger on the desk at which he sat.
“Can I help you folks?” he asked.  
“We’re looking for the mayor,” Wesh said.
“You’ve found him,” the man said smiling.  “Father Maelin Shreed, at your service.” 
Wesh nodded, impressed by a man that handled his own business rather than rely on functionaries.  
“I’m Wesh Baltar,” he said, extending his hand.  “My companions and I are here on official business from Magnimar.  We’ve been sent as envoys to investigate a recent lapse in communication with the rangers of Fort Rannick.  You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Baltar,” Shreed replied.  “No, can’t say as I do, though I admit, we’ve not had any contact with the Black Arrows for several weeks now.  Normally, one or two of them will come into town every few days for supplies and such, but since the rains started, nothing.”
“I see,” Wesh said.  “Have there been any unusual happenings around here of late?”
“Now that you mention it,” Shreed answered, “the hunters and trappers have reported a sizeable increase in the number of big predators they normally see in the Kreegwood; bears, firepelts, boars and so forth.  You know, I sent one of our own patrols up to Rannick earlier in the week, but I haven’t heard from them since.  They haven’t been gone long enough to worry me yet, but I’m glad your heading up there just the same.”
“If we see them, we’ll send word,” Wesh replied.  “Thank you for your help, mayor.  We’ll be staying overnight in town and leaving at first light.”
“Glad to have you,” said Shreed.  “You’ll find rooms at the Turtle’s Parlor.  Just tell them I sent you.”
___________________________________________________

The next day was just as gloomy and sodden as the several previous.  The eight companions set out on horseback once again, following an old logging road north along the banks of the Skull River.  The road crossed an old wooden bridge to the western shore some three miles north of Turtleback Ferry.  As they made their way single file across, Rico abruptly brought Shadowmist to a halt and turned his head to and froe, listening. 
“Did any of you hear that?” he asked.
“Hear what?”  Wesh replied.  “My ears are too full of water to hear much of anything.”
“An animal,” the druid said.  “Can’t tell what kind, but it sounded large, and in pain.  It came from the woods ahead.”
“So?” the wizard asked.  “I’m sure animals get hurt around here all the time.  Probably one hunting another.  That’s what animals do, but I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”
“This sounded different,” Rico said calmly.  “I want to check it out.”
Wesh rolled his eyes, and was about to explain that they didn’t have time to pull kittens out of trees when Shalelu spoke up.
“I agree with Rico,” the ranger said.  “The mayor said the predators have been acting strange.  I think we should investigate.”
Wesh threw up his hands in exasperation, but nonetheless motioned for the tree-huggers to lead on.

Rico lead the group into the woods along a game trail.  They had gone no more than a hundred yards when they rode into a clearing.  In the middle of the clearing stood a large, black bear, its left hind foot caught in a cruel trap.  When it saw the riders, the animal became quite agitated, moving towards them until the trap brought it up short.
“There’s something odd about its behavior,” Shalelu observed.
Rico nodded.  “It seems…acclimated.  Wait here, all of you.”
The druid dismounted Shadowmist and approached the bear cautiously.  Behind him, his companions watched tensely, hands on weapons.  Rico stopped several feet beyond the bear’s reach and began making an odd assortment of grunting and growling noises.  To the amazement of the others, the bear responded in kind, alternately shaking and nodding its head.
“It’s as I thought,” Rico called back.  “His name is Kibb.  He is a bonded companion.  He says that his human companion was captured by what he calls ‘monster-men.’  He says that he escaped but that these creatures have been hunting him for the last few weeks.  He says that he can lead us to where he last saw his companion.”
At that moment, the ears of the horses all pricked forward as the baying of hounds sounded from somewhere close by.  Kibb grew restive, growling and turning to nip at the trap which held him.
“Dexter!” Rico called.  “Help me free him!  Quickly!”

Dexter rushed forward, wary of the bear’s razor-sharp talons, but the animal offered no resistance as the rogue deftly unhinged the trap.  No sooner was Kibb freed, than the howling of the approaching pack reached a crescendo and no fewer than ten shaggy, black dogs raced into the clearing.  As they crouched and snarled and yipped, the sound of off-key singing came from the woods behind them.

“Ohhhhh, I’m gonna git some bare!
But I don’t like all that hair!
When he sees my mug,
He’s gonna be my rug.
Yeah, I’m gonna git some bare!!”

At that moment, a grotesque creature strode confidently out of the trees.  He was as tall as a man, but half-again as broad, with a savage looking visage and teeth filed to jagged points filling his wide mouth.  He clutched a long spear in his left hand, while his right was malformed, tapering into one huge, misshapen finger.  When he saw the company assembled before him, he came to an abrupt halt, and anger filled his red eyes.
“I’s Rukus, and I’s huntin’ bare!” he bellowed.  “No concern o’you’s less you’s wanna be hunted too!”
“Skud,” Dex said, backing up behind his big friend.  “I do believe that big fella’s calling you out.”
Skud growled low in his throat and drew his sword, ignoring the snarling dogs as he advanced on Rukus.  When he was still several yards away, he began to jog, building momentum until, when he was only feet away, he leaped into the air and brought his blade down solidly on Rukus’s shoulder.  The creature grunted and yelped, but despite his size, he moved with amazing speed.  Gripping his spear one-handed, he stepped a pace back from the half-orc and then drove the tip of the weapon home solidly into Skud’s side.  Ripping it loose, he slashed horizontally with it, slashing viciously across the barbarian’s face.  
“You’s back off now, ya heah?” Rukus snarled.  “I’ll sic my dogs on you’s!”
For a moment, Skud did back off.  He was bleeding profusely from his wounds, and the power behind the creature’s attacks had taken him by surprise.  There was more to the simpleton than met the eye.  

“Skud, down!”  Wesh’s familiar command suddenly echoed across the clearing, but the barbarian was moving too slow from his wounds to avoid the deafenin explosion of the wizard’s fireball.  The flames totally consumed six of the dogs, and thoroughly scorched both Skud and Rukus.
“You’s killed my dogs!”  Rukus bawled.
“Yes, and you’re next!”  Adso hissed as he vaulted past Skud.  The monk’s hands flashed as he brought them together on either side of Rukus’s head, feeling the skull crack beneath his blows.  Like a pole-axed steer, Rukus sank to his knees, eyes still open as blood poured from his ears.  Then he simply slumped over, dead.  The remaining dogs, panicked by the flames and their master’s abrupt demise, turned tail and disappeared back into the woods.

“What…was that?”  Dexter asked, toeing Rukus’s body in disgust.
“Ogre-kin,” Shalelu answered.  “The offspring of an ogre’s vile mating with a human.”
Rico turned to Kibb and spoke to the bear again in his growling language.  The bear bobbed his head up and down.
“He says these are the creatures that attacked him and his companion,” the druid reported.
“I would say this is incontrovertible proof as well,” Wesh said.  He held up a ratty blanket that Rukus had tucked into the back of his loincloth.  Sewn on it in several places were insignias of the Black Arrows.
___________________________________________________

Following Kibb’s lead, the company headed deeper into the Kreeg woods.  As they traveled, they began to find cornhusk-and-leather humanoid-shaped fetishes hanging from the trees.  When they plucked one down and cut it open, it was stuffed with a mix of dirt and human hair.  The woods soon came to end at a tangled field of corn and other diseased-looking plants.  Across the field slumped two sagging buildings…a barn and a farmhouse.  Both appeared to have their windows boarded over, and moss and fungus grew heavy on the shaded sides of the decrepit structures.  Cautiously, the group made their way through the field, coming out near the closed front doors of the barn.  No sooner had they stepped out of the corn, than an awful scream came from around the far side of the building.  Emerging around the corner was an eight-foot tall creature with a horribly deformed head that resembled a pumpkin on the right side…a huge, puffy mass of tumors and overgrown bone gave it a lopsided look.  Gripped in both hands was a large, rusty iron hook.

“I’ve got him!”  Wesh called as the half-ogre charged, and he loosed a spray of blue energy.  To his dismay, however, all of the bolts ricocheted off some invisible barrier in front of the monster.
“What the…?” the wizard gaped, open-mouthed.  
Still wailing his disturbing cry, the creature rushed forward and slashed down with his vicious hook, opening an ugly gash down Rico’s chest from his neck to his navel.  Blood bubbling from his mouth, the druid staggered backwards.  As the brute prepared to finish him off, however, Skud, Dexter and Adso hurled themselves at him, and the misanthropic half-breed went down beneath their fists and blades.  Reaper, meanwhile, knelt beside the wounded druid and held his hands over him.  Black energy coalesced around the necromancer’s hands, and slowly but surely, the terrible rent began to knit itself back together.  With a minute, all that was left was an ugly scar.
“You see?” he said as he helped Rico to his feet.  “The power of death doesn’t always equate with grave robbing and zombie making.”
“So I noticed,” Rico said, massaging his puckered skin.  “Luther was a bit neater about it, but I still owe you one.  Thank you.”

Kibb sniffed restlessly around the barn doors, whuffing quietly and pausing to scratch occasionally.  
“Seems like that’s where we need to go,” Wesh observed.
Rico sighed.  “Yes, I suppose.  I only hope that we’re not too late.  These ogre-kin don’t seem to the sort to keep prisoners around for long.”
The doors opened with protest on squealing hinges.  Inside, the building housed several mounds of molding hay, grain stores, and even a large but crude still.  Two catwalks rose up along the walls, leading to doors near the ceiling in the opposite wall.  Lower, a pair of massive doors, boarded over with thick timbers, allowed ground access to the room beyond.  Several dingy kennels were built into the walls under the catwalks.  Three figures stood in the sunlight-pierced gloom of the barn.  One was a hulking brute with a vestigial arm growing from his left elbow, and a no-necked, dented head.  The second was almost normal in his appearance, save that his eyes were huge and milky white, and his skin was as pale as the full moon.  The last one was the shortest, standing barely more than five-feet, with crooked, stumpy legs and constantly twitching skin.  None of the three appeared armed, but that didn’t prevent them from lumbering forward, giggling stupidly.

The creature with the vestigial arm, Hograth Graul by name, didn’t get more than three steps before an arrow loosed from Shalelu’s bow sank deep into his thigh.  He howled like a child as he yanked at the shaft, but a moment later, he had more urgent matters to worry about when his clothes caught fire, triggered by the small ball of flame Rico lobbed his way.   As he squealed and rolled on the floor attempting to extinguish the flames, Wesh silenced him permanently with a volley of magic bolts.  Meanwhile, Hograth’s brother Sugar, he of the crooked legs, fared little better as a dark, disembodied hand drifted across the barn, guided by Reaper.  When it touched the half-ogre, he screamed as his skin began to blacken.  His wails were cut short by Adso’s foot subsequently crushing his windpipe.  Jeppo Graul was the only one left, and was too stupid to realize it.  He reached Skud and smacked the half-orc with one meaty fist, but as he did, he overbalanced and struck his head on a support beam, which sent him staggering and reeling like a drunkard.  Dexter used the distraction to drive his rapier point through the brute’s lung.  He wheezed and coughed up blood, but a moment later he was set ablaze by Rico much like his brother before him.  Reaper’s ethereal hand ended his misery as it seized him by the neck, leaving a gaunt, blackened husk behind.

The lower doors were impossible to open, even with the combined efforts of Skud, Max and Adso, so the companions split into two groups of four, each heading to an opposite catwalk.  The upper doors opened easily enough.  The majority of the large, stuffy room beyond was covered with filthy webs that formed a funnel which dipped down into the ground.  The catwalk continued on both sides around the rim of the room near the ceiling.  In each of the opposite corners, the walkways expanded into ten-foot square platforms that were fenced in by wooden beams, forming cages.  The walls within each cage were hung with iron manacles.  Most of the manacles, while bloody, were empty, but three in the southeast cage imprisoned emaciated men.  Cautiously, the two groups began moving forward, but as they proceeded, Dexter and Rico both spotted movement in the webs below.  Scuttling up through the funnel was a truly enormous spider, easily fifteen-feet in diameter.  Before they could warn their companions, however, the arachnid has swarmed up the webs with amazing speed.  Skud saw it coming for him, but was too slow to move.  The spider sank its mandible’s into the half-orcs leg, and Skud could feel the fiery burn of its venom coursing through his blood, instantly making him feel weak, nauseated and fatigued.  Dexter, following behind his friend, whipped his dagger at the beast, scoring a minor wound before it returned to his hand.  He tried to move around Skud in order to offer his partner some protection, but as he did so, the spider lunged at him as well, and he too felt the stinging fire of its bite.  Grunting with the agonizing pain, the rogue sank his silver blade deep into one of the beast’s compound eyes.  With an inhuman shriek, the spider released him, dark green ichor dripping from its wound.  

Across the room, on the opposite catwalk, Reaper concentrated, closing his eyes as he sent his spectral hand flying through the intervening webs.  When it reached the spider, it laid its palm gently on the creature’s carapace, but one would have thought the beast had been struck by lightning.  It leaped into the air and landed facing in the opposite direction, smoke drifting lazily from the hand-shaped impression on its back.  It lunged towards the necromancer, but Adso threw himself into its path, leaping nimbly over its clumsy charge and planting the heel of his foot into its already wounded eye.  It shrieked in agony again, and then a final time as both Skud and Max struck simultaneously and from opposite sides.  The monstrous vermin tumbled down the webs and back into its pit.
___________________________________________________

Dexter worked quickly to unlock the cage and then the manacles holding the three prisoners.  Each slumped to the floor, still alive, but only just.  Rico knelt next to each in turn and popped plump, red berries into their mouths as he moved their jaws and massaged their throats to get them to swallow.  Gradually, the men began to come to.  
“You gents are lucky to be alive,” Wesh said, smiling.  “Would you happen to be members of the Black Arrows?”
The oldest of the men, a scarred veteran with an eye patch nodded once.
“The last of them, in point of fact,” he said morosely.  “I’m Jakardros Sovark, formerly second-in-command of the Order.  My companions are Vale Temros,” he indicated a tall, well-muscled dark-skinned and bald man, “and Kaven Windstrike.”  The latter was a rakishly handsome young man, but fear and distrust were in his eyes.  “We owe you are lives, and are truly grateful.”
“Thank your bear,” Rico said.  “He led us here.”
“Kibb?”  Jakardros asked, hope in his voice.  “He still lives?”
“Indeed,” smiled Rico.  “He’s waiting outside.”
“Can you tell us how you came to be here?”  Wesh asked.
“It’s a sorry tale,” Jakardros replied, glum once more.  “I had actually been away from Fort Rannick on patrol when the attack came.  By the time we returned, it was too late.  Ogres had overrun the fort, and I saw them carrying off Captain Bayden as we arrived.  I lost a third of my men attempting to retake the fort, but we were ultimately forced to flee into the Kreegwood.”
“Are the creature’s we’ve encountered here the same ones that attacked Rannick?”  Rico asked.
Jakardros snorted.  “Not likely.  These here are the Grauls, an inbred, incestuous clan of ogre-kin bastards.  In the state we were in, my men and I were easy targets for them.  There were twelve of us when we were captured.  We three are all that remain.”
“Then who attacked the fort?”  Wesh asked.
“Kreegs,” the ranger answered.  “A powerful ogre clan that we’ve managed to hold at bay for over four decades…until now.  I don’t know what could have happened.  The Kreegs were always as vicious as they were stupid, but I’ve never known them to be so determined or organized.”
“Well, we were sent here by the Lord-Mayor of Magnimar to ascertain what happened at the fort,” Wesh explained.  “And that is still our mission.  It is our intent to continue on to Rannick, after we’ve dealt with any more of these Grauls that are lurking around here.  We’d appreciate any help you could offer.”
As Wesh spoke, he noticed that Jakardros had become distracted.  He was staring at something over the wizard’s shoulder.  When Wesh turned, he saw Shalelu standing there, gazing down at the older man intently.  Jakardros’s eyes suddenly widened, and then abruptly, he buried his face in hands and dissolved into tears.  Vale Temros looked at him in disbelief, obvious discomfort on his face, while Kaven Windstrike just snickered silently.  Shalelu turned away and walked out of the barn.  Rico followed her and caught her elbow.
“What was that about?”  he asked.  “Do you know him?”
“Yes,” the ranger answered.  “He’s my stepfather.”


----------



## Hammerhead

I'll be the first to admit my ignorance about most of the Pathfinder rules, but just what classes are Max and Reaper? Max seems to be some kind of Rogue, just like Dex.


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## JollyDoc

Hammerhead said:


> I'll be the first to admit my ignorance about most of the Pathfinder rules, but just what classes are Max and Reaper? Max seems to be some kind of Rogue, just like Dex.




Max is actually a straight fighter, just like Randall was.  Reaper is a Dread Necromancer, which is an alternate class from...I think Complete Arcane.


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## Joachim

Hammerhead said:


> I'll be the first to admit my ignorance about most of the Pathfinder rules, but just what classes are Max and Reaper? Max seems to be some kind of Rogue, just like Dex.




Max is a straight fighter played by Courtney (Randall / Daelric's player).  

Reaper is a Dread Necromancer from Heroes of Horror (Mine - formerly Luther / Mandi's player).  

If you were wondering, Reaper's healing ability comes from the feat Healing Devotion from Complete Champion (Healing is, actually, one of Pharasma's domains as she is the goddess of life and death).  Due to the Dread Necromancer class Rebuke ability, Reaper's high Charisma, and Extra Turning feat, Reaper had 10 rebukes, which were all traded in for extra uses of Healing Devotion.  At this level, that lets me give fast healing 2 for 10 rounds per use, or a total healing ability of 220 points per day (which will continue to increase with level as the fast healing scales up and my Cha increases, resulting in additional rebukes to be dumped into uses of Healing Devotion).  I figured that this, when supplemented with Rico using a 'cleric-on-a-stick' (aka wand of _cure light wounds_) will make up for the loss of Luther's healing.

BTW, your eloquence in describing Reaper discussion with Wesh while trying to join the party was impressive, there, Joe.


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## JollyDoc

A Monk’s Tale

Adso watched the Shadow Clock fall from a shadowy storefront a block away.  He had seen Wesh’s fireball and the druid’s lightning strikes, and he had witnessed the incredible escape of Skud and Dexter from the main door.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the monster fly off into the night, and he hung his head with shame.  

He had been true to his charge of protecting Luther.  The situation at the top of the tower was hopeless, and his magical ability to fly was their only way of escape.  Had he not fled, they both would surely be dead.  Still, Adso felt shame in abandoning his new friends.  Was he letting new allegiances cloud his judgment?  Why did he feel so conflicted?

Later that night, the Sandpoint…now Six, gathered back at Foxglove’s townhouse to lick their wounds.  The exhausted companions said little, and retired to their rooms, too tired even to consider setting a watch.  

Adso lay on the floor of Luther’s darkened room.  Some of the others called him Luther’s Hound, but he didn’t care.  His monastic training under Master Xaolin was hard and harsh.  Adso had never slept on a soft bed.  The floor was all he had ever known.  

He could sense Luther’s fear, and the priest’s breathing – usually so calm and measured, was ragged and unsteady.  “Peace, my brother,” whispered Adso.  “We live to fight on.  We live to fight on so that others may have peace.”

“I’m just not much of a fighter, I guess,” the young priest replied, his voice quavering with despair.

Adso leaned up, and said more strongly, “You have faced down terrible evils.  You have stood your ground against your own companions.  No one questions your bravery or your compassion.  You are a fighter, Luther.”

Silence met Adso’s words.  He knew that Luther was not asleep, but the priest did not respond.  After a time, even the stubborn monk succumbed to sleep.

He awoke to Luther packing bags.  Adso arched a scarred eyebrow at his friend.

“I’m leaving,” said Luther.  “I completed my mission in Sandpoint, and I aim to return there to begin work on a real hospital.”

“So we are leaving today,” asked Adso?

“I am leaving today.  You are staying here with the others.”  Adso leapt to his feet in objection but Luther cut him off, “They need you.  Our work is not done.  This is no longer a local problem in a tiny town.  Someone is after the power of the Runelords.  A great and ancient evil is at work, and it is your job to fight it.”

“My job is to protect you,” protested the monk.

“And you have.  We would all have died last night if you hadn’t saved me.  But you have completed your duty to me and to Windsong Abbey”, said Luther.

The priest continued, “Last night I prayed for direction – for you.”  He paused, looked Adso in the eyes, and said, “You are to seek out Irori.  Go his temple for guidance and for a boon from the Master of Masters.”

Adso returned his friend’s heartfelt look, and bowed low to the young priest.  “Thank you.”  But the monk’s heart was still conflicted, and his thoughts and emotions were in turmoil as he bade his friend farewell.

                               ******************

The next day, after the meeting with Lord-Mayor Grobaras, Adso began walking the streets of Magnimar.  He barely knew anything about the great city, but he trusted his faith, and eventually found what he sought.  Before him stood a low brick building with no windows and a simple but sturdy wooden door.  Upon the door was a faded blue handprint – the symbol of Irori.  He knocked at the door, using a special sequence known only to initiates of his order.  Almost instantly, the door swung inward, and a young student in white training robes bowed before the monk.  “Welcome brother.  Please come inside.”

After a brief introduction, and only a barely noticeable glance at the half-orc’s distinctive racial features, the student escorted Adso down a short hallway.  In rooms to either side, the monk noticed the usual trappings of Irori’s faith.  One room was obviously a small library and classroom.  Another contained padded leather mats on the floor and exercise equipment.  At the end of the hall, a simple white curtain bearing the blue handprint of Irori blocked an archway.  The student pulled the curtain aside and motioned for Adso to enter.

The monk found himself in a small circular shrine.  The smoke of spicy incense hung in the air, and candles glowed faintly in the haze.  As was the custom of Irori’s faithful, the shrine was sparsely furnished and there were no representations of the Master of Masters.  A single blue handprint over a low stone altar gave the only indication that this was indeed a temple of Irori.

A man knelt at the altar, a long gray braid down his back, which was turned to the monk.  After a moment, he rose and turned to Adso.    He was of medium height for a human, and he wore a simple blue robe with an amulet of a blue fist on a chain around his neck.  The man’s face was weathered, but strong.  His dark eyes were impossible to fathom, but a small smile showed white teeth against his swarthy skin.  

“Master,” said the young student,  “this is Brother Adso from Windsong Abbey.”  

The master reached out and embraced the half-orc in ritual greeting.  Adso returned the greeting, and then both men sat down facing each other on the floor before the altar.  The student bowed again to both and retreated behind the white curtain. 

Adso began, “Master, I have traveled a long path and faced many dangerous foes without fear or hesitation.  Yet now I find myself both fearful and unsure of my next step.”  He briefly related his original charge to protect the young priest, and told of his further adventures with the Sandpoint Seven.  

The older man listened intently to the monk’s tale.  Finally, Adso related his last conversation with Luther, and the master’s expression turned serious.  “Brother Adso, I trust that you are aware that the Master of Masters claims the domain of Runes as his own, yes?”

Adso frowned and thought for a moment.  He was not very studious - it was just one of his many imperfections and failings as a servant of Irori.  Of course he knew that!  Suddenly many things became clear to the monk.  How stupid of him not to think that Irori would be keenly interested in the Runelords and those who sought to emulate them.  “I have been a blind, stupid fool,” sighed the half-orc.

The master smiled gently at the monk’s sudden comprehension.  “Do not punish yourself my son.  Only the Master of Masters is perfect.  The rest of us can only hope to strive towards enlightenment and to help each other along the path of wisdom.”

He continued, “I have had a vision from Irori that dark times are upon us.  Your friend is right.  His duty now lies elsewhere.  Your duty is to continue the fight against this darkness with your other companions.”  

“This will aid you in your fight,” the master removed the amulet from around his neck and pressed it into Adso’s huge palm.  “It will imbue your fists and your body with Irori’s holy power so that you may vanquish His enemies.”

“Thank you, Master,” said the monk, bowing his head to the floor.  “I will wear it with reverence.”

The master rose and escorted Adso to the door of the building.  The monk bowed low to the him, and they embraced again.  “Go with Irori’s blessing, my son,” said the master.
The young student opened the door, and bowed to Adso.  The monk returned the bow and with one last grateful look at the master, took his leave.

The door closed behind him, and Adso looked down at the amulet still in his hand.  He reverently slipped the silver chain around his neck, feeling the cool weight of the amulet on his chest.  Adso began walking back to find his friends.  With a new sense of power, and a renewed sense of purpose, the monk knew that he was again on the right path.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Just plain awesome! It's like two updates in one. 

Have fun in tonights session - we're looking forward to the Sunday Night Teaser!


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## Cerulean_Wings

Good stuff, JollyDoc, can't wait for the rest of the tale to develop 

I'm a bit mystified by Adso's tale, however; why mention the monk's private matter in one update, rather than having him tell his companions of this on his own?


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## JollyDoc

Cerulean_Wings said:


> Good stuff, JollyDoc, can't wait for the rest of the tale to develop
> 
> I'm a bit mystified by Adso's tale, however; why mention the monk's private matter in one update, rather than having him tell his companions of this on his own?




Adso's tale was composed separately by Adso's player, WarEagle Mage.  Since his and Luther's fates were so closely tied, he wanted to give a more in depth perspective of why Adso made the choice that he did.

SUNDAY NIGHT TEASER

1)  The company invades Casa de Graul, and find that not only are the hillbillies depraved, but they're also darned clever with all things mechanical.

2)  The Graul Matriarch is confronted in her "lair" along with a trio of her favorite offspring.  Things are definately going against Mammy Graul until she makes a quick escape...only to show up where the deputies least expect it...
A frantic race against time to save four lives ensues.

3)  More Graul offspring are encountered, in all their morbid glory, and Adso makes a surprising discovery about one of the rescued rangers.


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## WarEagleMage

So you want to get your game on with JollyDoc?  If you happen to make it to DragonCon in Atlanta, GA for the Labor Day weekend, come find us on Saturday in the gaming area for JollyDoc's Battle Royal.  Of course, the the mad doctor himself will be there as well as Joachim (Mandi/Luther), Towercleaver/Wesh's player, and myself (Marius/Adso).   We would love to meet you guys if you find yourself in the ATL this weekend.


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## JollyDoc

Hello all!  Obviously, there's been no update this weekend.  That's because, as WarEagle Mage mentioned, several of us were at DragonCon in Atlanta.  Back now, but not gaming tonight.  I will have the update up some time in the coming week.  Thanks for your patience.


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## Neverwinter Knight

How was JollyDoc's Battle Royal? Any TPKs or other highlights you'd like to share?


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## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> How was JollyDoc's Battle Royal? Any TPKs or other highlights you'd like to share?




It was a lot of fun!  We had ten contestants, I believe, one of which was our very own Tower Cleaver (powered down to 12th level)!  Other builds included a druid, rogue, warmage, two clerics, three wizard/sorcerer types, and the winner, an abomination with no fewer than six classes!!  

Our TC gave a good accounting of himself, drawing first blood by completely obliterating a halfling sorcerer.  Alas, everybody's favorite minotaur then became harrassed by a string of summoned beasties courtesy of the druids.  None of them lasted long, but by the time TC waded through them, a couple of the other spellcasters had time to whittle him down until the ultimate winner finished him off.  

There are always lessons to be learned from these events, and this year, it was that we allowed too much prebuff time (5 rounds).  The winner used it to encase himself in a prismatic sphere and use Time Stops.  How, you might ask?  With scrolls.  Granted, he had a 30% chance of failure (which he did a time or two), but he used his scroll collection to devastating effect.  For a moment, it looked like one of the clerics might give him a run for his money by summoning an elemental monolith, but when Mordenkainen's Disjunction got busted out, it was scratch one cleric.  Believe it or not, when it came down to the final three, the druid and rogue were still in the hunt.  Still even more unbelievable, the rogue ended up taking second place!  

We had a great time, and plan to run again, probably at GenCon, next year.


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## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:


> ...and the winner, an abomination with no fewer than six classes!!



Was this one of the group, as well? If not, are you sure it wasn't a disguised gfunk?


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Was this one of the group, as well? If not, are you sure it wasn't a disguised gfunk?




Nope, not one of the group, but I had Gfunk flashbacks as well, especially at the Time Stops and Prismatic Spheres.


----------



## JollyDoc

FAMILY VALUES

“Your stepfather?”  Rico asked, taken aback.
“It’s a long story,” Shalelu sighed.  “One I’d rather not go into right now.  I’d heard he was at Fort Rannick, and when I heard that contact had been lost, I didn’t know if I was relieved or terrified.  I had to know for myself if he was alive or dead.  Now that I do, I don’t know how I feel about that.”
“I see,” the druid replied.  
“No, I don’t imagine that you do,” Shalelu said, “but I thank you for respecting my privacy.  In any event, if you and the others intend on checking out the house, I’ll stay out here and watch over the Black Arrows.  They’re in no shape to fight right now.” 
“And I appreciate that,” Wesh said as he came out of the barn, the rest of the company in tow.  “Hopefully, we won’t be long, but if there’s trouble, take the rangers and get back to Turtleback Ferry as fast as you can.”
Shalelu nodded.  She was a veteran and knew the hard realities of the life they led.  She wasted no words on maudlin sentiment.

The giant, decaying farmhouse covered in moss, slumped drunkenly at the edge of the damp forest clearing.  Rickety stairs crawled up to a porch covered by a huge eave held aloft by thick pillars of pine.  The timbers were decorated with crude carvings of manticores impaling children with their tail spikes, and women being ripped apart by wolves.  The carvings looked like a child’s work, but the subject matter grew more gruesome and depraved from one depiction to the next.  An unsettlingly large rocking chair of lashed wood and bone swayed erratically in the breeze at the far end of the porch under a vast menagerie of wind chimes composed of decidedly humanoid bones.  The house’s windows had all been boarded up with thick timbers, although it was unclear if that was done to keep intruders out or imprison whatever unspeakable things made their home within.  Cautiously, the deputies mounted the porch, Dexter taking point.  A host of ants marched happily away here and there, many the size of a grown man’s thumb nail.  A moth the size of a shovel head clung to the porch ceiling, watching them with alien eyes.  The scent of bad meat, urine, sweat and decay wafted now and then from between the cracks in the boarded-up windows, promising worse to those who sought to go inside.   When they reached the front door, the rogue motioned the others back while he checked the portal for any unexpected surprises. 
“Clear,” he said after a moment, and then reached out and turned the knob. 
Almost immediately, the squeal of rusted metal sounded from Dexter’s left.  Glancing that way, he saw a hinged rack studded with bone spurs, that had been concealed within the wind chimes, was swinging towards his face.  Only his phenomenal reflexes saved him from permanent disfigurement.  As it was, the razor-sharp spurs left several deep furrows across his cheek.  Immediately on the heels of this, an ominous rumbling came from beneath the floorboards of the porch.  From between the slats rose several rusty saw blades, which began shearing rapidly down the length of the stoop.  None of the companions had time to react as the blades whirred past, tearing through boots and footwear alike.  Once they’d sank beneath the boards once more, six pairs of eyes glared balefully at the rogue.  
“Whoops,” Dex shrugged.

A dingy sitting room lay beyond the deadly door.  A mangy bearskin rug covered the floor before a tremendous hearth set into the wall, its pained visage still snarled at whatever cruel hunter took its life.  A huge couch, haphazardly upholstered in animal hide and human flesh, replete with a collection of talons, monstrous hairy spider’s legs, fox heads, and human hands and feet, sat against another wall.  
“So Wesh,” Dex asked, “what do you think of the taxidermy?”
“I’ve had less frightening nightmares,” the wizard replied dryly.
The room held little else of note, and the group proceeded across to a door on the far side.  As Skud passed near the ghoulish sofa, however, the floor beneath him creaked dangerously.  With a quickness that belied his size, the big half-orc stepped away just as the wood gave way, revealing a dark shoot lined with sharpened stakes.
“What is this place?”  Wesh asked.
“Well, it sure ain’t grandma’s,” Dex chuckled.

Beyond the parlor, a dim hallway branched towards the back and front of the house.  Several closed doors led off it, and a set of stairs climbed to what must have been an attic.  The group made their way slowly towards the rear.  Dex pushed open the door at the end of the hall as quietly as possible.  He needn’t have bothered.  The cloying stink of the room was nearly overwhelming.  Buckets of filth were stacked against the walls, and fat, ravenous flies lazily circled their rims.  The room itself was dominated by an immense bed, its ratty sheets stained beyond hope.  A huge easel sat next to the bed with a palette of various shades of brown and red paint.  The source of those morbid pigments…several crushed organs and ragged stumps of flesh…sat in receptacles next to the easel.  A set of human-hair brushes jutted from a broken skull by the easel, while a comb made from a human mandible sat on a small oak bedside table nearby, its teeth clotted with thick strands of greasy black hair.  The bodies of three horribly deformed men dressed in ragged finery were propped up in huge, open coffins against the far wall, their mouths sewn tightly shut with lengths of hair.  The first had a third leg protruding from his hip, and a small, pin head.  Three arrows protruded from his chest.  The second had an extra nose jutting from his right cheek and a hunched back, his head split by an axe.  The last corpse’s deformities were hard to determine exactly, as his body looked to have been trampled and was little more than a bag of broken bones and mashed features.  Yet, horrific as all of these things were, they paled in comparison to the creature that sprawled upon the bed.  She was an incredibly corpulent monster with stringy hair and bald patches, and she wore a huge, red curtain as a shroud.  Her bed creaked out in anguish as she shifted her massive form to regard the intruders to her home.
“Goddammit, ya good-fer-nothins!”  Mammy Graul cursed, but seemed to be speaking to someone else besides the deputies.  “Cain’t ya git nothin’ right!  I’ll skin all yer worthless hides afore I’m done!  Benk, Kunkel, Hadge!  See if you’s can do what yer brudders ‘parently couldna!  Kill’em!”
To the horror of the companions, the three corpses lurched into shambling motion, ripping themselves from their coffins and moving to obey their mother’s command.

As the zombies advanced, Rico and Wesh summoned their magic, pummeling the undead with fire and force.  Still, the horrors came on, the pin-headed one swinging its arms like clubs, catching Adso broadside with a clumsy blow.  Max leaped to the monk’s defense, his twin swords sliding deftly from their sheaths and biting into the putrefied flesh of the undead.  Dexter dove into the room, folding himself into a somersault and then rolling to his feet right beside the sagging bed.  Before Mammy could react, the rogue plunged both his rapier and his dagger deep into her fleshy folds.  An instant later, Reaper hurled bolts of force at the ogress, slamming her massive bulk against the headboard.  Mammy Graul shrieked in pain and outrage.  She gurgled a brief spell and vanished in a flash of light.  The Reaper cursed, then turned to the hunchbacked zombie and bellowed a command.

Instantly, the corpse paused in its mayhem and turned towards him.
“Destroy that one!”  Reaper pointed towards the shambling bag of bones that was the third zombie.  Hunchback turned abruptly and slammed his brother against a wall.  As the zombie reeled, Dexter leaped upon it and jammed his blades through its sagging flesh again and again until it collapsed in a heap.  In the meantime, Max continued his assault on pin head, battering at the corpse until it was barely recognizable as ever having been humanoid.  
“Where’d she go?”  Wesh asked as the room quieted.  Abruptly, his question was answered by a loud scream from the barn.
_________________________________________________

Shalelu stared in stunned disbelief as the corpulent half-ogress circled in the air above her, alternately cackling and then screaming profanities, all as blood dripped steadily from several gaping wounds in her doughy gut.
“It’s Mammy Graul herself!”  Jakardros shouted.  “Beware!  She’s a sorceress!”
As if to confirm this, a cloud of roiling red smoke appeared before the four rangers, and from its depths, two baleful yellow eyes gleamed.  As the fog cleared, they beheld a giant serpent coiled on the floor, horns and spikes sprouting from its red-scaled hide.  Hissing, the viper struck, its needle-like fangs sinking into Shalelu’s arm.  The ranger hissed through her teeth as the wound turned instantly red and angry.  

Shalelu next found herself shouldered roughly aside as Jakardros moved between her and the serpent.  The snake struck again, catching the older man on the thigh.  He growled in pain, but as the viper recoiled, he stepped after it, landing a solid punch to its jaw.  
“Fa…Jakardros, no!”  Shalelu shouted.  “You’ll get yourself killed!”
The old ranger ignored her, landing another blow, but suffering a second bite for his effort.  Suddenly, Vale rushed past her as well, moving to support Jakardros.
“You’ve got the bow, girl!” the burly man shouted.  “Shoot the witch!”
Shalelu’s face reddened, but she nevertheless drew her bowstring taught, and in rapid succession, sent two arrows flying at Mammy Graul.  The wizardess shrieked as the missiles punched home.

At that moment, the Sandpoint deputies burst into the barn.  Reaper was first, his shambling, hunch-backed servant in tow.  When he saw the fiendish serpent harrying the two rangers, he sent a ghostly image of his hand flying towards the beast.  As the black hand touched the snake, the creature dissolved once more into red smoke as it was banished back to the Abyss from which Mammy Graul had summoned it.  Mammy snarled and began hurling blue bolts of fire at her assailants, but her salvo was returned three-fold as Dexter’s arrows, Rico’s fire, and Wesh’s own bolts were sent back at her.  The barrage knocked the morbidly obese wizard out of the air and sent her crashing into one of the stalls, where she lay unmoving.  The remaining deputies filed into the barn, Maximillian bringing up the rear, hauling Kaven Windstrike by the scruff of his neck.
“Look who I found making a run for it,” he sneered.
As the others turned to regard the coward, Adso’s eyes went wide.  He saw something he hadn’t noticed when they’d first rescued the rangers.  A small tattoo on Kaven’s shoulder.  A tattoo of the Sihedron Rune…
________________________________________________

“Care to explain this?”  Dexter asked, tapping Kaven’s tattoo with the tip of his dagger.  Skud was holding the ranger tightly by both arms, his short tusks inches from Kaven’s ear as he breathed his fetid breath down the man’s neck.  
“It…it’s just a tattoo,” Kaven stammered.  “It’s no big deal!  I just liked the design!”
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Jakardros interrupted.  
“This,” Adso explained as he pulled the Sihedron Rune medallion from under his tunic.  “It’s a symbol of the ancient Rune Lords.  We’ve spent weeks uncovering why it keeps turning up, especially at scenes of great violence and evil.  Now, by coincidence, your friend here just happens to have it tattooed on his body.”
“I’ve known Kaven for years,” Jakardros said.  “Granted, when he came to us, it wasn’t exactly of his own free will, but he’s since proven himself in battle time and time again.  I can’t believe he’s tied to any of these events.”
“We’ll see,” Reaper said quietly.  He turned to Kaven, dark energy gathering around his fist.  “We want to know where you got that mark.   I’m only going to ask you once.”
“Now just a…!”  Jakardros protested, but Shalelu placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.
“I trust these people,” she said softly.  “Just wait.”
Fear widened Kaven’s eyes, especially when a low growl began in Skud’s throat.
“Ok, ok!” he shouted.  “I’ll tell you!  I got it back in Turtleback Ferry at Paradise, a floating barge converted into a gambling and drinking hall.  Lady Lucrecia, the owner, offered me the mark since I was one of her best customers.  By showing it, I could avoid paying the cover charge, as well as getting additional gambling chits and other…perks.”
“Where’s this ‘Paradise’ located?”  Reaper asked, his hand still wreathed in black fire.
“It…it sank about a month ago after a fire broke out,” Kaven replied.
“Convenient,” Reaper sniffed.  “And Lucrecia?”
“She died in the fire, presumably,” Kaven said.
“A month ago?”  Adso asked.  “When did the ogres attack the fort?”
“One month ago,” Jakardros answered quietly.
“Another lucky coincidence,” Reaper said sarcastically.  He then turned to Jakardros.  “This man remains under suspicion.  We’re going back to the house to finish searching.  Until we get back, you’ll remain here with Shalelu.  Under no circumstances is Kaven allowed to leave.”
__________________________________________________

The Graul home was truly a house of horrors.  Room after room revealed greater and greater depths of depravity.  In a filth-stained privy, they discovered one of the pits filled with the bones of what appeared to be misshapen children.  In a dining room that stank of putrefying flesh, they found chairs carved from bone and a tablecloth made from human skin.  The centerpiece was a rotting head that served as a gathering place for a host of buzzing, bloated flies.  In the kitchen, which smelled of week-old meat, and where thumb-sized cockroaches danced along the wall, a thick butcher’s block sat under three cruel-looking cleavers that hung on a rack above.  Bloodstained smocks of thick leather, one that still dripped fresh gore, hung on bone-spur hooks by the door.  A crockery platter of severed fingers and toes sat on an old, rickety table next to a dried, sinew basket that overflowed with hacked-off hands and feet, all of which sported stubs of congealed blood where their digits had once been.  A family of rats gorged itself on the red stumps.  

As they neared the back of the house, they heard a meaty smack followed by degenerate laughter coming from behind a closed door.  Quietly, Reaper commanded his zombie minion to open the door.  The simple room was strewn with ‘toys,’ some of carved wood or bone, while others appeared to be little more than partial animal carcasses.  Old bloodstains marked the walls, some in patterns that resembled crude, child-like paintings that featured images of dismembered horses, a ridiculous, grinning horned devil that tossed children off a cliff, and a big lake with a black reptilian monster that sprouted tentacles from its back.  Bookshelves rested on the wall, but instead of tomes, they held skulls of all shapes and sizes.  Two male Grauls occupied the room.  The first had an oversized mouth filled with sharp teeth, and stunted, useless legs.  He dragged himself across the floor on his hands.  The second had limbs that seemed almost triple-jointed.  The latter Graul held a skull in his hand, and capered wildly about his crippled sibling.
“Yer so stupid, Maulgro!” he laughed.  “Mammy ain’t never gonna find you a priest-man ta fix yer laigs!  You ain’t never gonna do the skull jig!”
“You shuddup, Lucky Graul,”  Maulgro shouted, taking a clumsy strike at Lucky, who danced nimbly out of the way.  At that moment, both of the brothers noticed the open door, and the walking corpse standing in the middle of the doorway.
“Brudder Krunkel?”  Lucky asked stupidly.  “You ain’t s’posed to be outta Mammy’s room.  She’s gonna be awful pissed at’choo!”
“Oh, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about your ‘Mammy’ anymore,” Max said as he entered the room, his blades held before him.  Maulgrym’s mouth gaped idiotically as the young noble lopped his head from its shoulders.  At this, Lucky began to laugh uproariously.
“Ya big idgit, Maul!” he guffawed.  “Ya done gone and lost yer haid!  Now ya got gimpy legs anna gimpy haid!”
His laughter ended a moment later as Max shoved the tip of his sword through the half-wit’s throat.

If the main level of the house was a nightmare, then the basement was a little glimpse into Hell.  The stairs descended into a dark, recessed corner room that smelled of rot and old blood.  Piles of gore-spattered skin lay heaped on the floor.  A horrid, rubbery face robbed of its supporting skull and muscle rested on top, its toothless mouth agape and empty eyes revealed only the layer of tan, flayed skin resting beneath.  Beyond this torture chamber was a low-ceilinged room that featured a floor of hard-packed earth stained in many places by blood and mold.  A lumpy mattress lay heaped against one corner, and what appeared to be several half-finished chairs made of flesh and bone lay against a far wall.  Four rats the size of ponies gnawed on these, but when Krunkel shambled into the room ahead of the others, they quickly forgot their scraps and launched themselves at the zombie.  

“Not that I have any emotional attachments to that particular meatbag,” Reaper said as he turned to Adso, “but he has proven useful, and it would be a waste to see him become rat food.  Do you think you might be of assistance?”
Adso shrugged indifferently and stepped into the room.  A whistling sound was his only warning of his mistake, and he ducked a moment before the ogre hook would have decapitated him.  The monk dropped into a crouch and spun to face his attacker.  A large man stood in the shadows, moving with a pronounced limp as he shuffled forward.  His hair grew lopsided from the right side of his head and face rather than atop his brow, and a vestigial twin that grunted and gasped protruded from the back of his neck.  As the brute struggled to free his hook from the wall, Adso kicked out with his foot, shattering the Graul’s knee.  

Dexter ran into the room and slid to a halt as one of the giant rats turned towards him, snarling.  Dex thrust his dagger into the vermin’s eye, sending it squealing into the dark.  Behind the rogue came Reaper and Wesh.  The wizards began their spells as soon as they saw the burly half-ogre still lumbering towards Adso.  From Wesh’s hand came a rippling lance of pure sound, impaling the Graul against the wall.  An instant later, Reaper’s spectral hand latched onto his throat, causing the skin to smoke and crisp.  Unbelievably, the half-ogre began surging forward again, but as he came, Reaper gestured to Krunkel, and the zombie moved to intercept its kinsman, but a savage swing of the ogre hook sent the hunchback to the grave once more.  Unfortunately, the victory was short-lived as Dexter thrust his dagger beneath the half-ogre’s sternum and into his heart.  The remaining rats scrambled off into the shadows.
 ________________________________________________

The last room they visited in the Graul house was perhaps the most disturbing, if solely for its occupant.  The damp, steamy chamber reeked of rotting vegetable matter.  Pools of mud and stagnant water dotted the mossy floor, and the walls were caked with thick swaths of puffy fungus and mold.  As Dexter opened the door, the mass of vegetation in the rooms center began to rise up into a vaguely spherical shape sporting two, long tentacles.  A gaping, thorn-filled maw opened in its center.  Unknown to the deputies, this unfortunate monstrosity was Muck Graul, who, once upon a time, was one of Mammy’s handsomest boys.  However, after he caught and tortured a nymph princess for days on end, she spat a foul curse upon him with her dying breath.  Muck began a slow, painful transformation, his flesh showing strange greenish sores and moss growing from his orifices.  His limbs grew spongy and insubstantial until he collapsed into a shuddering mass of plant matter.  Mammy consigned him to the basement to keep him from ‘mussing up the house.’  Muck grew day after day, nurtured by his brothers even as they ridiculed him for his new hideous appearance.  Muck barely remembered his life before, and though he still recognized his family, he knew instinctively when outsiders were present.

Reaper knew none of this tragic tale, and even if he had, he would not have cared.  Muck was simply the last in a long line of depravity that needed to be erased from existence.  As soon as he saw the abomination, he unleashed a powerful spell, instantly sapping Muck of much of his strength.  In the wake of this, Dexter, Skud, Adso and Max rushed in, and like a well-oiled machine, put an end to Muck Graul.  In so doing, they also put an end to the Graul line once and for all.
____________________________________________________

“We’ll take you back to Turtleback Ferry to reequip yourselves,” Wesh said to Jakardros as they rejoined the rangers, “and we appreciate your offer to accompany us to Fort Rannick, but he is not welcome.”
He nodded towards Kaven.  
“I don’t care where he goes, but it will not be with us.  You’ll understand our reticence.”
Jakardros nodded solemnly, and Kaven kept his eyes downcast.  
“We’ll abide by your wishes,” the leader of the Black Arrows said.  “Just so long as we get to kill some ogres!”


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

One of your most gruesome updates of all times. Even if they should perish against the upcoming foes, they got rid of the most disgusting creatures in RotRL...


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## JollyDoc

SUNDAY NIGHT TEASER

My oh my, ladies and gentlemen!!  I'm afraid I have some rather tragic news to report...

1)  The Sandpoint Seven invade Fort Rannick with the aid of the Black Arrows.  

2)  After a rather quiet and undetected insertion, our heroes come face-to-face with none other than Xanesha's sister, Lucrecia.  The battle is fierce, but the deputies get their revenge.

3)  Moving deeper into the bailey, the company encounters limited resistance, and begins to think the Kreeg ogres not so tough after all

4)  In the fortress tower, however, they meet Pappy Kreeg himself, who, though brutal, has somewhat of a glass jaw.  Not so his son and daughter however...

5)  It's a battle for the ages, as not one, not two, not three, but FOUR of our heroes go down...permanently!!


----------



## Hammerhead

Four deaths? Damn, that's quite the battle...what's more amazing is that the PCs came through with half their number dead. Assuming, of course, they avoided a total party kill, but I think you would have mentioned it otherwise. 

I hope they managed to get raised. I don't want to learn the names of four new PCs.


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## Schmoe

JollyDoc said:


> SUNDAY NIGHT TEASER
> 
> My oh my, ladies and gentlemen!!  I'm afraid I have some rather tragic news to report...
> 
> 1)  The Sandpoint Seven invade Fort Rannick with the aid of the Black Arrows.
> 
> 2)  After a rather quiet and undetected insertion, our heroes come face-to-face with none other than Xanesha's sister, Lucrecia.  The battle is fierce, but the deputies get their revenge.
> 
> 3)  Moving deeper into the bailey, the company encounters limited resistance, and begins to think the Kreeg ogres not so tough after all
> 
> 4)  In the fortress tower, however, they meet Pappy Kreeg himself, who, though brutal, has somewhat of a glass jaw.  Not so his son and daughter however...
> 
> 5)  It's a battle for the ages, as not one, not two, not three, but FOUR of our heroes go down...permanently!!




Oh my indeed!  That's definitely a bad turn of luck.  I suppose I'll probably have to wait until the write-up (aargh), but what contributed to this tragedy?  Was it overconfidence?  Over-extending?  Bad luck?  Bad tactics?

Yikes, I can't wait for the next update (sadistic bastard that I am).


----------



## carborundum

Oh lordy! I haven't had that tough a fight ... ever! I can't wait to read the story!

What's that like to DM? Okay, one goes down it's a pity, but with such a story building, great characters and a looming TPK I can imagine the urge to 'go easy' or fluff a few rolls must be leaping to the forefront. I suppose it diminishes from the accomplishment of the survivors if you do, and isn't fair, but how do you handle it?


----------



## Cerulean_Wings

4 deaths?! 

Aw, maaaaan, I hope it isn't Skud, Dex or Wesh... they happen to be my favorites. Can't wait for the update, though, now I'm curious as to how the heck this happens.

Do the 4 die in another famous TPK encounter?


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## WarEagleDex

I don't want to give away who lived or who died last night because even having played last night I enjoy reading Jolly Doc's write up, I imagine it's that much better for someone who didn't LIVE through it.


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## Schmoe

WarEagleDex said:


> I don't want to give away who lived or who died last night because even having played last night I enjoy reading Jolly Doc's write up, I imagine it's that much better for someone who didn't LIVE through it.




Tease.


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## JollyDoc

Schmoe said:


> Oh my indeed!  That's definitely a bad turn of luck.  I suppose I'll probably have to wait until the write-up (aargh), but what contributed to this tragedy?  Was it overconfidence?  Over-extending?  Bad luck?  Bad tactics?
> 
> Yikes, I can't wait for the next update (sadistic bastard that I am).




I think you'll find that the one thing that ultimately doomed the group was...terrain...nuff said.


----------



## JollyDoc

carborundum said:


> Oh lordy! I haven't had that tough a fight ... ever! I can't wait to read the story!
> 
> What's that like to DM? Okay, one goes down it's a pity, but with such a story building, great characters and a looming TPK I can imagine the urge to 'go easy' or fluff a few rolls must be leaping to the forefront. I suppose it diminishes from the accomplishment of the survivors if you do, and isn't fair, but how do you handle it?




Like I've always said, I do not set out to kill my PC's.  What would be the point?  Who is that fun for?  As things started going south last night, and they did so very rapidly, I got a sinking feeling.  I knew it wouldn't be a complete TPK, because there are always a couple of cockroaches who are excellent at surviving  Yet, I also know that my players neither want nor expect me to pull punches.  That's the excitement of the game...you never know when the dice will suddenly turn against you with a vengeance!  Several times last night, I would struggle with a tactic, and my players would say, "Just do it!  Bring it on!"  So don't feel too bad for the guys...these are the moments when the adrenaline flows and the gamers are separated from the boys!


----------



## JollyDoc

Cerulean_Wings said:


> 4 deaths?!
> 
> Aw, maaaaan, I hope it isn't Skud, Dex or Wesh... they happen to be my favorites. Can't wait for the update, though, now I'm curious as to how the heck this happens.
> 
> Do the 4 die in another famous TPK encounter?




Don't want to give anything away.  I think all will be surprised at who lived and who died...


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Even if they should perish against the upcoming foes...




I blame YOU for this tragedy, NWK!!!


----------



## Schmoe

JollyDoc said:


> Like I've always said, I do not set out to kill my PC's.  What would be the point?  Who is that fun for?  As things started going south last night, and they did so very rapidly, I got a sinking feeling.  I knew it wouldn't be a complete TPK, because there are always a couple of cockroaches who are excellent at surviving  Yet, I also know that my players neither want nor expect me to pull punches.  That's the excitement of the game...you never know when the dice will suddenly turn against you with a vengeance!  Several times last night, I would struggle with a tactic, and my players would say, "Just do it!  Bring it on!"  So don't feel too bad for the guys...these are the moments when the adrenaline flows and the gamers are separated from the boys!




That's awesome.  You are very lucky to have players who truly enjoy the tactical challenges and can have fun even when the tide turns against them.  Kudos to all the players in the game - you'd be welcome at my table any time!


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## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:


> I blame YOU for this tragedy, NWK!!!




Sorry... : .-(


----------



## Joachim

JollyDoc said:


> Several times last night, I would struggle with a tactic, and my players would say, "Just do it!  Bring it on!"




I can honestly say that we as players don't want to feel like Joe had to 'fudge' for us to win.  From time to time that results in the ol' "ass meet foot" scenario, but that's what you get when you run any AP by Paizo.  

The old saying that you 'learn more from you failures than you do from your successes' is true to D&D.


----------



## gfunk

Joachim said:


> I can honestly say that we as players don't want to feel like Joe had to 'fudge' for us to win.




True, true.

However, at the same time we as players don't want to feel like Joe had to 'fudge' for us to lose.  *cough*Kyuss*cough*


----------



## Joachim

True dat.


----------



## JollyDoc

gfunk said:


> True, true.
> 
> However, at the same time we as players don't want to feel like Joe had to 'fudge' for us to lose.  *cough*Kyuss*cough*




Sour grapes...bitterness does not become you Dr. Funk...


----------



## JollyDoc

THE HOOK MOUNTAIN MASSACRE 

A thunderbolt shook the stone and earth underfoot, and its low growl echoed through the valley.  Talons of lightning clawed at the sky and cast pale light on the mountainside below.  The lightning storm revealed a grim fortress of dark gray stone that stood sentinel over the valley, huddled desperately at the base of two sheer cliff sides.  Crumbling, fifteen-foot high walls rang the citadel, the stone pitted and cratered from hurled boulders and ogre hooks.  Like the face of a veteran with decades of winters under his belt, the fort’s craters, cracks, and scars were testament to its battle-weary history.  A stone keep, a stubborn shadow against the mountainside, rose from behind the worn walls, a single tower jutting up from its ramparts like an ugly broken tooth.  Nearby, a rushing curtain of white water  cascaded down the mountainside into a large pool of water just outside the fort’s walls.  

“That’s it,” Jakardros said, solemnly.  “Fort Rannick, or what’s left of it.”
It was early evening, and already pitch dark.  The journey from Turtleback Ferry had taken the better part of the day, but the two Black Arrow rangers had led them unerringly through the wilderness.
“The waterfall there is the one I told you about,” the older man continued.  “Behind it’s a cave and a series of hidden tunnels where we keep emergency supplies.  I’m pretty sure the ogres haven’t found the tunnels.  They're too small for those brutes to negotiate.  The tunnels lead into some natural caves underneath the bedrock, but there you’ll have to be careful.  Those holes are full of shocker lizards.  Normally they’re pretty docile, but they can be deadly when they’re defending egg clutches.  Once you’re past’em, there’s a secret door leading into the brig.  From there, you can sneak up into the main keep.”
“Sounds simple,” Max said dryly, “except for the keep full of ogres that wiped out your whole order waiting for us on the other side.”
Jakardros glared at the young noble.  “If luck is with you, you’ll make it inside undetected, and will have the element of surprise on your side…the same thing that led to the slaughter of my friends.”
“We’ll await you here,” Shalelu said, interrupting diplomatically.  “Should you find yourselves in over your heads, signal from the battlements.  We’ll take such a sign as an indication that we should go and try to procure further help…to avenge you as well as the Black Arrows.”
______________________________________________________

What once might have been a crystal-clear mountain lake had become an abattoir.  Partially butchered and mutilated bodies, some human, some horse, some giant eagle, lay sprawled along the shore.  The waterfall plummeted from the cliffs to the west into the pool, which kept much of the water clean save for near the shores where the dead lay thick.  Carefully, under the cover of the moonless night, the Magnimarian investigators climbed the slick rock wall behind the fall.  The floor of the cave hidden beneath the water was dotted with puddles.  Patches of pale moss and fungus grew in sheets on the wall, while to the north, a narrow passageway angled up into the darkness.  A walkway of soggy planks led from that opening down to the waterfall itself.  The tunnel gave onto another damp cave the walls, the floor and ceiling of which were coated from top to bottom in soft, dark gray fungus.  Several crates were stacked in a nook to one side.

As Dexter led the group into the second cave, sudden movement caught his eye.  From behind the crates emerged four blue-skinned lizards, electric sparks sizzling across their glossy hides.  
“Hey!” the rogue shouted as he drew his dagger from its sheath and flicked it deftly at one the reptiles, impaling it between the eyes.  “It’s those little critters the ranger told us about!  I got one!”
“No!  Wait!”  Adso said, but Skud was already in the room, hacking through another of the lizards with one swing of his scythe.  The monk was about to remind his friends of Jakardros’s other warning.  A moment later, it became self-evident as the two remaining reptiles emitted a blinding burst of electricity that completely engulfed Skud and Dexter.  The rogue managed to leap clear just in time, but when the ozone-smelling smoke cleared, steam rose from Skud’s skin.  The shocker lizards quickly turned and scuttled away down a far tunnel.
“Come on!”  Adso cried in exasperation.  “Let’s try and catch them before they stir up the whole colony!”
______________________________________________________

The narrow passage gave onto a series of dark caves of dirt and stone that wound and bent dizzyingly, narrowing to as small as three-feet wide at points.  In places, claws of exposed tree roots hung from the ceiling.  Dexter skidded to a sudden halt as he reached a wider area.  Around the perimeter of the cave were several clutches of small, light blue leathery eggs.  Clustered throughout were perhaps two-dozen shocker lizards, all standing upright on their back legs, their neck-fins flared.  Electricity popped and sizzled in the air, causing the hair of the companions to stand on end.

“Careful…,” Adso whispered.  “No one do anything sudden.  Move slowly and deliberately.  Stay away from the eggs at all costs.”
Cautiously, the seven companions began threading their way through the lizards, watching each step as if they were walking over trip-wires.  The lizards watched them with unblinking eyes, but none of them made any threatening moves.  After what seemed like hours, but was only a few minutes, the group made it to the far side of the room and into the tunnel beyond.  The short passage reached a dead-end, but the clear outline of a door could be seen there.

The simple room beyond the door was something of a surprise.  It might once have been a jailer’s den, or perhaps even a torture chamber, but someone had gone through great pains to repurpose it.  The air smelled of sweet, exotic incense, and veils of multi-colored silk draped from floor to ceiling throughout.  Between the rustlings of the veils, glimpses of giant cushions were revealed.  The floor was strewn with luxuriant soft red throw rugs and sheets.  An aristocratic-looking woman with fire-red hair and alabaster skin stood in the center of the room.  Her face was pure elegance…high cheekbones, demure, lust-stirring green eyes, and perfectly shaped eyebrows to accent them.  She turned towards Dexter as the door opened with a slight look of surprise on her face.
“Oh…,” she said, placing her fingers to her lips.  “Oh my!  Now this is unexpected.  I mean, I did expect you, or rather I expected someone, just not at this precise moment, or from that direction.  I really should have searched this room more thoroughly.  Anyway, my sister Xanesha told me you’d be coming, or that someone would be coming, and now here you are!  But where are my manners?  I am Lucrecia, and I am truly glad that you have come.  I would like to offer you the chance to join me.  My master, Mokmurian, would be ever so pleased to meet you.”
“Lady,” Dexter said, still taken aback by the odd room and its strange occupant, “I think I speak for all of us when I say that if you are in any way associated with that snake-bitch, then you’ve said all you need to say.”
“Hmm,” Lucrecia mused.  “Pity.  Xanesha said you’d be unreasonable, but I’d so hoped you might be pragmatic.  So be it then!”

Before Dexter’s shocked eyes, Lucrecia’s form began to shift, the lower half of her body transforming into that of a large serpent, while her upper half remained as beautiful as before.  From beneath her gown she drew a slim rapier.  Before Dex could react, before any of the others could push past him out of the narrow hall, the lamia raised her other hand and unleashed a glaring bolt of lightning down the tunnel.  The seven companions were momentarily backlit against the darkness as the electricity surged through their bodies, leaving them shaking and jittering in its aftermath.  Dexter was the first to recover, and he didn’t hesitate as he rushed headlong towards Lucrecia.  As he went, his dagger flashed into his hand, gleaming a brilliant emerald.  The rogue had spent his time in Magnimar not among the elite, but instead in the back alleys and ghettoes of Underbridge.  There he had begun learning of a secret order that dabbled in the art of Shadow.  Dex had picked up a trick or two from a few more desperate practitioners who valued gold over trade secrets.  His little dagger trick was one of the more dramatic ones.  The blade momentarily became translucent as it slipped past Lucrecia’s flesh as if it didn’t even exist.  The lamia screamed in agony as the dagger blade rematerialized inside her body.  

A moment later Adso was by Dexter’s side.  The young monk had not been idle in his downtime either.  After seeing what Xanesha and her magic had done to him and his companions, the half-orc had vowed never to be caught off-guard in such a way again.  Among his order, there were those who specialized in combating the magical with the physical.  They were called mage slayers.  Adso had taken the first steps down that path, and as he closed with Lucrecia, the lamia quickly learned to respect his chosen discipline.  As the monk feinted and darted around her, she found herself unable to concentrate on her spellcasting, unable to bring her magic to bear.  In desperation, she lashed out at him, and when her hand touched his bare flesh, pain seized Adso’s mind like a metal spike.  Despite the agony, the monk continued his maneuvers, knowing that they were the only things that might keep his companions alive.

By that time Max and Skud had cleared the hall, and the two warriors struck viciously at the lamia, their blades tearing into her flesh again and again.  Still Lucrecia ignored them, focusing all of her efforts on Adso, knowing that her only hope was to slay the monk by draining his mind until he was a shriveled husk.  Skud and Max did not relent, and Wesh and Rico added their own fire power, hurling ice and force at the lamia.  In the end, however, it was the Reaper who, with a casual wave of his hand, struck Lucrecia blind, leaving her vulnerable to the tender mercies of his allies.

“So that was Xanesha’s sister?”  Reaper mused as he stood over the lamia’s corpse.  “I’d expected more.  Hmm…perhaps there is still more that she can give…”
The necromancer leaned over the corpse and placed his palm upon it, murmuring dark words as his hand glowed with black energy.  Suddenly, the body of the lamia lurched upright, and then shook itself like a wet dog, divesting itself of all its flesh until only its skeleton remained.  The leering, undead thing bowed low to its new master.
“Ah, I think I like her better this way,” Reaper smiled.
__________________________________________________

Lucrecia’s skeleton pushed open the door to the storeroom where the steps from her lair led up to.  A wide, empty hall lay beyond… the main level of Fort Rannick’s bailey.  In the distance, oafish laughter and beefy smacks could be heard.  Cautiously, the others moved past Reaper’s automaton and down the hall to the nearest door.  When he pressed his ear to the door, Dexter thought he could make out a low muttering coming from the other side.  He signaled his companions and then shoved the door open.  Once apparently used to house the wounded and sick, the chamber was currently a slice of some blood-drenched nightmare.  Hacked pieces of bodies littered the sick beds.  The floor was slick with gore, strewn with mangled organs and heaps of entrails.  A dead fat man sat at one of the operating tables, arranged as if he were merrily spooning chunks of his own disembodied organs out of a brown bowl.  His guts spilled out of a large gaping slash in his midsection.  A burly ogre, easily ten-feet tall, with the entire right side of his face missing and revealing a pulped ruin with skull showing through, cocked his head at the tableau, then bent to make a minor adjustment to the corpse as a sculptor might his clay.  

As the door opened, the ogre began to turn, but Dexter was faster.  He darted behind the giant and quickly slashed his dagger across its Achilles tendon.  The ogre roared and sank to one knee, but as he did so he swung his wicked hook in a wide arc, catching Adso across the ribs as the monk moved to join Dexter.  Adso rolled with the blow, throwing two snap punches at the ogre’s face, rocking him back.  Dexter pounced, and drove his blade through the brutes exposed throat.  With a gurgle, the would-be artist collapsed among his masterpieces.
________________________________________________

Most of the rooms the deputies checked were empty, having been thoroughly ransacked and looted.  Outside the door of one chamber, however, they heard the sounds of loud arguing.  At Reaper’s instruction, Lucrecia threw open the door and slithered inside.  The once-well-appointed barracks that lay beyond was currently filled with nothing but splintered bunks and tables.  The west wall was completely demolished with bits of its masonry scattered about.  Four ogres sat hunkered in a circle in the middle of the room.  Strangely, one of them wore a hollowed-out horse head over his own, and it was this odd hat that seemed to be the bone of contention.  One of the other ogres made a grab for it.
“It Mug’s turn to wear horsey now!” the brute shouted.
“No!” the current wearer snapped, batting Mug’s hand away.  “Mig horse-chieftain!”
At that moment, the group noticed Lucrecia’s entrance, and all four stood, momentarily taken aback by the apparition.  The serpentine skeleton had no such hesitations, and it slashed at the horse-head wearing ogre with its talon-like claws.  This jolted the giants from their stupor, and two of them hefted their war clubs and began hammering at the undead skeleton, while the other two bolted for a door at the far end of the room which opened onto another corridor.

“Damn it!”  Dexter cursed as he ran down the near corridor and rounded the corner.  “They’re going for help!”
Sure enough, as he turned the corner, he saw the two escapees at the far end of a connecting hall.  One of them paused at a door there and pounded on it, bellowing loudly.  
“Eat this!” the rogue hissed as he flipped his dagger through the air.  It whistled with deadly accuracy and pierced the leading ogre through the shoulder.  
“Nice shot,” Max said as he appeared at Dexter’s shoulder.  “Looks like these two are ours…along with whatever comes out of that door!”

Meanwhile, Skud charged into the ruined barracks as Lucrecia continued to spar with her two would-be suitors.  The half-orc swung his scythe like a thresher, and tore into the nearest giant.  Standing in the door, Reaper sent his spectral hand floating into the melee, and where it touched ogre skin, ogre skin burned.

Max  rushed down the corridor and met a charging ogre head-on.  The giant’s club smashed into the young warrior’s arm, hurling him across the hall and into the wall.  At that moment, the door at the far end of the hallway opened, and another ogre emerged, only to be engulfed a moment later in a great gout of flame that flowed out into the hallway to reduce Max’s opponent to ash.  Wesh chuckled to himself from his vantage at the corner.
“Bet you didn’t see that coming!”
Suddenly, a second door opened, directly across from the wizard, and a burly ogre carrying an ogre hook in one hand and a severed human head in the other emerged with a roar.  He hurled the head at Wesh, laughing uproariously as he did so.  When Wesh ducked, the giant caught him with a vicious uppercut from his hook.  
“Oh crap!”  Dexter cried, and then darted forward to interpose himself between the raging ogre and his friend.  The rogue rolled beneath a backswing from the cruel hook, and then came to his feet and drove his rapier straight through the protruding tongue of the still-laughing giant.  
“Hit the deck!”  Rico’s voice called from behind Dex, and instinctively, the rogue dropped to the floor just as a lance of pure ice flashed over his head and impaled the big ogre, knocking him several paces back into room from which he’d emerged.

Skud whipped his scythe around in a large circle, lifting two heads from the ogre’s body…his own, and the horse one he wore atop it.
“Skud horse chief now!” the half-orc snarled.
A half-second later, the second ogre fell as Adso snapped his neck with two well-placed kicks.  

Max regained his footing and continued down the hall, where he met the second ogre as the giant dodged around the smoldering remains of its kinsman.  The young noble’s twin blades flashed wickedly in the torch light, quickly disemboweling the brute.  To his dismay, however, two more ogres exited the side room, one of them badly burned from Wesh’s fireball.  His dismay turned to bemusement a moment later as the slithering skeleton of Lucrecia came around the corner behind the pair.  One of them shrieked as it saw the ghoulish creature, and it immediately began swinging its club violently, trying to ward her away.  It was little use.  The dead lamia’s claws tore the frightened ogre’s throat out before he knew what hit him.  Max quickly dispatched the scorched second ogre as it tried to comprehend what had just happened to its friend.

As the burly ogre picked himself up from the floor, brushing ice from his clothes as he did so, Reaper hurled an emerald bolt of arcane energy at him.  As it struck, the ogre felt his strength ebb, but not so much that he couldn’t still swing his hook at the scrawny little human who thought to humiliate him.  The metal spike drove the wind from the Reaper as it struck, and then the giant quickly reversed it, and sank it deep into the necromancer’s thigh.  Reaper wheezed, trying to gather himself and bring his magic to his defense before he was killed outright.  He needn’t have worried.  As the ogre raised his hook one last time, Dexter hit him low, stabbing his rapier into the space between knee cap and shin bone, while Skud went high, slicing his scythe across the ogre’s throat.  The muscle-bound brute was already toppling when a gout of flame from Rico’s hand set his face on fire.
____________________________________________________

The remainder of the main level proved to be uninhabited, and when the company found a stairwell leading to the bailey tower, they ascended.  They found themselves in a long corridor with double doors on one side and also at the far end, and a single door on the opposite side.  They chose the first set of double doors, Lucrecia once again leading the way.  The walls within the enormous chamber on the other side were mounted with dozens of trophy antlers, some taken from stags that must have stood as tall as dire bears.  Most of the antlers were draped with bits of rotten flesh, strips of skin, or coils of viscera.  On the far side, a marble altar had been heaped with the mangled remains of at least a half-dozen dead men and women.  A crude image of what might have been a three-eyed jackal had been painted in blood on the wall above the altar’s alcove.  Sitting in the middle of the room was a  truly massive ogre, fifteen-feet tall if he was a foot.  His arms rippled with muscles, and a pair of black horns sprouted from his forehead.  He was busy sewing the head of a giant eagle onto the decapitated body of a man.  This, then was Jaagrath Kreeg, pappy to the Kreeg clan of ogres.

Skud stepped to the front of the group, his scythe gripped in both hands.  Pappy Kreeg rose casually to his feet, chuckling.  He pointed at Skud and then pointed at a blank space on the wall, between  the body of a man with antlers sewn onto his head and the corpse of a horse with a woman’s face stretched screaming over its own. 
“Is that so?”  Skud snarled.  “We see who stuffs who!”
Skud charged, Max, Adso and Dex trailing in his wake.  The half-orc struck a massive blow, but Jaagrath laughed, shaking his head to clear it, and then he raised his iron hook high.  But instead of striking at Skud, he instead swung it sidearm, opening Dex from shoulder to hip.  Dexter staggered back, once more calling upon the new talents he learned and stepping into the shadows, only to reappear back in the hallway.  Max and Adso both leaped at Jaagrath, their combined weight and force carrying him back a step or two.  The huge ogre continued to laugh, blood frothing from his lips by that point, and kept on laughing right up until the moment that Skud’s scythe tip pierced his heart, sending him crashing spread-eagle onto the altar beneath the image of his hateful goddess.

“That…wasn’t so…tough…”  Dexter wheezed between coughing up plugs of blood-tinged phlegm.  No sooner had the words left his mouth, however, than the double doors at the end of the corridor, and the single door across the hall both opened.  From the double doors came a hulking ogre whose lower jaw was missing, replaced by the bottom half of a bear trap.  Behind him was a female ogre, who was considered comely by ogre standards, despite the obvious indentation in one side of her head.  This pair was Hookmaw and Dorella Kreeg, two of Jaagrath’s favorite offspring.  From the smaller door across the hall came four more Kreeg ogres, each carrying a spiked war club.
“They done kilt Pappy!”  Dorella shrieked when she saw her father’s body.  She raised her hands above her head and began spouting a string of what at first sounded like curses.  Only too late did Reaper and Wesh recognize them for what they were…arcane words.  In an instant, a forest of rubbery, black tentacles sprouted from the floor of the corridor and the chapel, completely encompassing the Magnimar deputies.  Immediately, the tentacles wrapped and twined themselves around the company and began to squeeze with horrible strength.

“You ought not’a done that ta Pappy!”  Hookmaw shouted, his voice oddly metallic.  He swung his hook into the tentacles, catching Max through his left bicep.  Simultaneously, one of the other ogres hammered the young noble across the back with his club.  
“Forget them!”  Wesh cried, his face blood red from the strain of being constricted by the tentacles that held him.  “Try and reach the female!  She’ll kill us all!”
As he spoke, he managed to free one hand, and as he did so, he coughed the words to a spell and sent a flurry of blue bolts hurtling at Dorella.  Reaper knew that what Wesh said was true.  The males were just brute muscle.  If the female was allowed to hurl spells at them unchecked, they stood no chance.  The necromancer concentrated on the gold anklet he wore on his left leg, and he felt it grow warm.  A moment later, he vanished, reappearing on the far side of the forest of tentacles.

Other members of the company began to free themselves as well.  Dexter, having escaped the shackles of many guardsmen in his time, turned and twisted until he managed to wriggle free.  Meanwhile, at Reaper’s command, Lucrecia’s skeleton just bulled her way through the mass of appendages until she emerged on the near side, right next to Hookmaw.  The big ogre swung at her as she emerged, crushing several of her ribs.  Max, for his part, was unable to completely free himself, but he got enough slack to bring his swords to bear, and as he spun and swung, the ogre who’d struck him from behind went down.  

Dorella Kreeg wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but she’d survived years of abuse at the hands of her brothers and father, and self-preservation had become second nature to her.  In fact, it was the near-fatal head wound inflicted on her by one of her brothers when she’d been younger that had unlocked her strange gift with magic.  So it was that she understood immediately who her true enemies were…the clever human who’d spelled himself free of her trap, and the other one who’d burned her with his magic missiles. She was sure he’d try that trick again, and she had just the thing to keep him from it.  As she began to cast, however, Reaper loosed his own barrage of mystic bolts, driving Dorella’s own spell from her lips.  A heartbeat later, and Wesh repeated the favor.  Quickly she ducked back into her room and began her spell again, cursing at the silly humans who thought they could undo everything her pappy had worked so hard for.

Dexter finally made his way to Reaper’s side.
“Some mess, huh?” he gasped.
“That’s an understatement,” the necromancer grimaced.  “Anything you can do to even the odds?”
“We’ll see,” the rogue said as he unlimbered his bow.  When he went to knock an arrow, however, one of the grasping tentacles suddenly batted at his arm, upending his quiver and sending all of his arrows scattering to the floor amidst the rubbery appendages.  
“I guess not,” Reaper snorted.  

Skud was seeing red.  He wanted blood, and he was being prevented from spilling it by the black tentacles that held him.  Howling in rage he surged against his bonds and broke free.  As he did so, however, Hookmaw was ready for him, and slashed his hook hard into the half-orc, opening up the barbarian’s defenses for one of the other ogres to batter at him from behind.  So deep in his fury was Skud, that he barely felt the blows.  He came on, scythe held high, completely ignoring any idea of self-defense.  He slammed into Hookmaw like a battering ram, and the big ogre gave ground.  As he went, however, he chopped down with his hook again and again.  Finally, with one mighty blow, he drove the hook into Skud’s spine, severing it with one blow.  The half-orc went from enraged madness to utter stillness in the span of one breath.  Limp and lifeless he slid to the ground at Max’s feet.

Things happened quickly after that.  Both Reaper and Wesh saw Skud fall and both knew that things were souring fast.  Reaper quickly sent his ghostly hand at Hookmaw’s throat, where it drew a shrill scream from the ogre as it drained his life-force.  On the heels of that, Wesh tossed a pea-sized speck of flame into the room behind Hookmaw where it exploded into an expanding ball, searing both the ogre and his cowering sister.  Max, still stunned by the death of a man he had though unkillable, seized the opportunity and tore free of the tentacles, burying both of his blades in Hookmaw’s chest, and bearing the ogre to the ground where he twisted and turned the swords until the giant no longer moved beneath him.  As he stood however, another ogre stepped behind him and brought its club down heavily on the back of the nobleman’s skull.  Max slumped over Hookmaw’s body, unconscious.  Unfortunately, that proved only temporary as Dorella emerged from her hiding place and sent a searing bolt of lightning screaming down the hall.  The electricity roasted Max from the inside out as it passed through his body.  Likewise, Wesh and Rico, already weak and bleeding from the unrelenting pressure of the tentacles, were burned alive as the lightning coursed through them.  
“No, godsdammit!”  Reaper shrieked, and loosed his spectral hand from around Hookmaw’s lifeless throat to seize upon Dorella.  The sorceress screeched at its touch, and sent a barrage of magic missiles hurtling back towards the necromancer.  Her aim was off, however, distracted as she was, and the bolts instead struck Dexter as he knelt gathering his arrows.  The rogue was blown backwards into a wall, where he lay, still as death.  

In a matter of seconds, the Sandpoint Seven had been reduced to two…Reaper and Adso.  With a vicious chop of her hand, Dorella Kreeg dismissed her summoned tentacles, and in rapid succession sent another bolt of lightning hurtling at the Reaper, followed by a second volley of missiles.  The wizard dove for cover within the stairwell.  Meanwhile, with the writhing tentacles no longer between them and Adso, the three remaining ogres charged.  The foremost drew back his club as he came, and as he reached Lucrecia, he swung for the hills, obliterating the skeleton with one blow.  His momentum carried him on towards Adso, and he struck the monk like a charging elephant.  Adso had readied himself, however, and he rolled with the blow.  As he came to his feet, he swept the legs from under his attacker by using his own mass and speed against him.  When the ogre hit the ground, Adso crushed his windpipe with one chop of his hand.  
“Kill’em!”  Dorella shrieked at the other two, but as she did so, Reaper reappeared at the far end of the hall, and one last time he swept his phantom hand at the ogress.  It clutched her face, and black fire raced across her head, causing the flesh to blacken and shrivel.  Dorella’s high-pitched scream was abruptly cut short as her body rapidly crumbled to dust.  The two ogres gaped open-mouthed as they watched their sister die.  When they turned to look at her killer, however, their eyes grew even wider.  Reaper seemed to grow, his features darkening.  In their minds, he became the embodiment of all that they feared most.  In abject terror, they turned and fled into Dorella’s room, where they cowered in a corner behind her bed.

“Get down here!”  Reaper shouted at Adso and the monk wasted no time in obeying.  
“Help me with him!”  Reaper ordered as he knelt down next to Dex.  “He’s not dead!”
Adso saw that this was true, and he quickly fished several healing draughts from the rogue’s pack and began forcing them down his friend’s throat.  Within moments, Dexter opened his eyes.
“Don’t ask questions,” Reaper hissed, “just do as I say and get your bow, now!”
Dexter nodded and Adso helped him to his feet.  At that moment, Reaper’s spell wore off and the two ogres emerged from Dorella’s room, enraged all the more by the wizard’s mind trick.  They charged, but before they could even make it halfway down the hall, Dexter put an arrow through one’s eye.  Adso met the other one, leaping high into the air and driving the heel of his foot into the giant’s nose, sending the small sliver of bone there into its brain.  It dropped heavily to the floor.

The three stood gasping and heaving amid the carnage.  The leaders of the Kreegs were dead, but so were four of their friends.  To make matters worse, an unknown number of ogres still remained in the courtyard below.  They were beaten, bloodied and alone…and very, very far from home and help…


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## Hammerhead

Ouch. You know, Rico didn't seem up to his usual level of badassery...was the player not there?


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## carborundum

Ouch indeed!

Fantastic write-up JD, I'm already looking forward to the next one! I'm especially curious as to the next step - find a cleric/ druid for raise and reincarnate action or introduce new guys. 

And how to keep 4 out of 7 players involved until they can get their characters introduced 

I suppose in a fortress like this there could be a few prisoners left... (Old school but serviceable  )


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## Neverwinter Knight

Wow, that hurt all the way across the atlantic... Nice accent for the ogress - reminds me of the folks from Pioneer Village from South Park's Super Fun Time.

I was sure that Adso had kicked the bucket. I'm glad he didn't, though, especially with his new mage slayer template. 



Hammerhead said:


> Ouch. You know, Rico didn't seem up to his usual level of badassery...was the player not there?




In the past, I believe the character from a player that wasn't playing was also not present in the session (e.g. Grim vs. Dragotha).


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## JollyDoc

Hammerhead said:


> Ouch. You know, Rico didn't seem up to his usual level of badassery...was the player not there?




Rico was indeed present, but unfortunately, the Black Tentacles kept him, literally, wrapped up and were inflicting damage to him every round.  He spent most of the combate trying, unsuccessfully, to free himself.  On the round that Dorella cast the lightning bolt, the tentacles took him to 0 hp, and then the lightning bolt struck.


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## carborundum

That sounds like one of those moments you mentioned last week - where you were hesitant to use a 'certain tactic'...


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## Dax Thura

That seemed intense. Why can't my games be that dramatic? Though not so deadly.


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## Leinart

I thought lightning bold didnt hit prone ppl...Dunno Im a huge max fan so im grasping at straws......


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## Supar

Dax Thura said:


> That seemed intense. Why can't my games be that dramatic? Though not so deadly.




Because they are not as deadly they will lack the dramatics. Jd pulls no punches and wouldnt have it anyother way. Although bitter it would be a insult and unfair if he let up. Plus I LIVE FOR THIS STUFF! Shaking at the table not knowing whats coming trying to telapathically send what u want someone else to do across the table, hoping somenoe has a trick left in their pocket in hopes u can turn bad to good and of course sitting on that one crit that makes or breaks battle.............. NOTHING LIKE IT


I actually made my save and died by like 6 or 7 hitpoints that last hit from the ogre did the trick plus i was grappled at the time my last 2 hits that killed him were from the tentacles


----------



## Cerulean_Wings

Gah. It all happened so quickly! How did the players react to this massacre? What went wrong, other than lucky/unlucky rolls? 

Man, I'm gonna miss Skud and Wesh...


----------



## JollyDoc

Leinart said:


> I thought lightning bold didnt hit prone ppl...Dunno Im a huge max fan so im grasping at straws......




Well, technically, LB fills the 5' square it passes through...so...


----------



## JollyDoc

Cerulean_Wings said:


> Gah. It all happened so quickly! How did the players react to this massacre? What went wrong, other than lucky/unlucky rolls?
> 
> Man, I'm gonna miss Skud and Wesh...





It happened very fast.  Once Skud went down, the others fell like dominoes.  The reaction at the table was stunned shock.  Black Tentacles was the killer in this scenario.  It held the spellcasters in place, plus dealt damage, and hindered movement for those who were not grappled.  It was payback for all those times Havoc used those damn things at will!!

And now, for the...SUNDAY NIGHT TEASER!

1)  Decimated, the three surviving members of the Sandpoint Seven limp back to the two surviving Black Arrows.  One of the rangers volunteers to go back to Turtleback Ferry for help while the deputies and Shalelu hunker down.

2)  Vale makes it back to Turtleback Ferry with his tale of woe.  Just his luck, there's a tent revival in town with a couple of overzealous priests more than willing to spread the Word to the heathen ogres!

3)  The Sandpoint Three meet their new allies, and prepare to wring some vengeance from the surviving Kreegs...only to be bitterly disappointed.

4)  The return trip to Turtleback Ferry is interrupted by a new crisis as flood waters threaten to drown the small town!

5)  The townsfolk are in trouble, and the companions are tasked to rescue a boat full of small school children, which they do (almost) flawlessly.

6)  Their pride in their accomplishment is short-lived as the mythic Storval Deep Monster appears in the middle of town.  Will the tenure of the newbies be cut short??  It certainly appears to be a distinct possiblity...

7)  But what caused the flood?  Speculations abound that something is amiss at the ancient Thassilonian dam called Skull's Crossing, rumored to be occupied by a tribe of vicious trolls.

8)  The company travels north once more to check out the dam.  When they arrive, it's not trolls they first encounter, but Kreegs...lots of them!  It's a battle royal atop the dam, in the midst of a torrential downpour.  Heads will roll!


----------



## carborundum

Yee-haw! Battle Royale!

Make those Kreegs squeal like piggies, guys!


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

They done kilt Pappy's Kreegs !!!


----------



## Schmoe

Awesome battle!  I'm beginning to think that Dex has made a deal with the Devil.  That's twice he's managed to escape from within an inch of his life.  Go Dex!


----------



## WarEagleDex

I was sure I was going to die once I dropped to -7 hp, but Reapers fear saved the day for me.  I honestly had no idea what kind of character I was going to create to take his place if he died.  I think I would have ended up with another rogue with close to the exact same build except for a few tweaks to my secondary stats.


----------



## JollyDoc

Schmoe said:


> Awesome battle!  I'm beginning to think that Dex has made a deal with the Devil.  That's twice he's managed to escape from within an inch of his life.  Go Dex!




Make that three times...wait till you read this week's update!!


----------



## LordVyreth

So the Pathfinder version of Evard's isn't much different than the 3.x version?  I'm a little surprised.  I'm going over the beta rules I got at Gen Con right now, and it looked different at least based on a cursory examination.  Of course, having been a player of the guy who wrote those rules, I can't say I'm surprised about lethal player deahts.  

As for Lucrecia, that's the first noble lamia I've seen in 3rd edition so far!  Do you know where they got the rules for her?  And was anyone in the party less than pleased with the animated dead body thing?  I don't know if Luther would've stood for it.


----------



## JollyDoc

LordVyreth said:


> So the Pathfinder version of Evard's isn't much different than the 3.x version?  I'm a little surprised.  I'm going over the beta rules I got at Gen Con right now, and it looked different at least based on a cursory examination.  Of course, having been a player of the guy who wrote those rules, I can't say I'm surprised about lethal player deahts.
> 
> As for Lucrecia, that's the first noble lamia I've seen in 3rd edition so far!  Do you know where they got the rules for her?  And was anyone in the party less than pleased with the animated dead body thing?  I don't know if Luther would've stood for it.




The rules are a bit different, since they use the Pathfinder grapple rules, which incorporates Combat Maneuver Bonus.  The problem was that the CMB of the tentacles was pretty high, and almost impossible for the weaker PC's to overcome.

Lamia matriarchs (not nobles...misprint on my part) are from a third party publisher....the name escapes me at the moment, but I have the book at home.  I'll let you know later.  Remember, Xanesha was also a lamia matriarch, and she toasted our heroes.

No one in that particular group had a problem with the animated corpse...but the new party makeup is distinctly different...


----------



## Aracase

JollyDoc said:


> Lamia matriarchs (not nobles...misprint on my part) are from a third party publisher....the name escapes me at the moment, but I have the book at home.  I'll let you know later.  Remember, Xanesha was also a lamia matriarch, and she toasted our heroes.



Paizo reprinted their own version in Pathfinder Rise Of The Runelords, Chapter2, The Skinsaw Murders


----------



## WarEagleMage

LordVyreth said:


> was anyone in the party less than pleased with the animated dead body thing? I don't know if Luther would've stood for it.




We did discuss this around the table as players, and also had our PCs deal with the issue a bit in-game.  Joachim can elaborate, but the big difference in Reaper's necromancy vs the usual stuff has to do with the Pathfinder deity he worships.  Pharasma is a True Neutral goddess of death, healing, knowledge, repose, and water.


----------



## Joachim

WarEagleMage said:


> We did discuss this around the table as players, and also had our PCs deal with the issue a bit in-game.  Joachim can elaborate, but the big difference in Reaper's necromancy vs the usual stuff has to do with the Pathfinder deity he worships.  Pharasma is a True Neutral goddess of death, healing, knowledge, repose, and water.




Well...technically, followers of Pharasma don't like undead, but we found a scroll with _animate dead_ on it and I thought that turning Lucrecia into a skeleton was a karmic, if not amusing, form of punishment...and it helped us to get rid of the body, too.  Reaper's shtick is that he has been given dispensation from the church to do 'whatever is necessary' to maintain the Balance...kind of like the guy from the game Assassin's Creed.  I don't plan on doing that sort of thing frequently, because doing so would jeopardize my Neutral alignment.

Considering the current makeup of the party, that tactic will be even less likely to be used except in the most dire of circumstances.


----------



## Aracase

> Draton had just come back from Underbridge and was curious who had finally destroyed the Shadow Clock.  He was glad really, he had known something evil lived in the tower, but he wasn't powerful enough to face it—yet.  Now with the tower destroyed he hoped the evil that resided there was destroyed.  He had been in Underbridge healing the sick, curing the diseased and helping out where he could.  He understood that as one man he could never solve all the problems of Magnimar, but Sarenrae told him he had to try.
> 
> Draton entered his room and had just lain down for the night when the morning bells rang for the call to worship.  He quickly rose and made his way to the morning service—the most important part of the day for worshipers of Sarenrae.
> 
> Draton usually ran the weekly morning service and this morning was no different.  His associate, Duerten, met him before he went to the pulpit.  Duerten could tell Draton had been out all night healing the sick, and he quickly gave Draton a spell to remove his fatigue thus allowing him to concentrate on the message.
> 
> The service went off with out a hitch, as usual, but before Draton could retire to the "Tower of Sun" for some quiet meditation, he was called before his superiors.  He was surprised to meet Duerten and several of his other friends headed in the same direction and they all wondered why they were being called.
> 
> The meeting started with a quick prayer to Sarenrae and then down to business.  Draton and Duerten were being asked to go to Turtleback Ferry to host a 'tent revival'.  Others in the church would be headed to similarly far away places to spread the 'light of the sun' into the dark corners of Varisia.
> 
> Draton and Duerten set off from Magnimar with their equipment and few caravan guards for company.  After a few weeks of travel, Turtleback Ferry came into sight and that night the tent was set up ready to receive worshipers for the next morning.
> 
> For several days the revival went better and better as more and more worshipers attended to see what was so special.  The connection between Draton and Sarenrae is his ability to use his own life force to heal the sick.  After taping into his own soul for healing, Sarenrae would manifest a bleeding sunburn on Draton’s body--physical proof that She is working in the world.
> 
> After a few weeks in Turtleback Ferry, they received a message that a ranger from Fort Rannick was in town looking for help.  Apparently, the previous group looking to remove the ogres was in trouble……





I apologize I'm not as eloquent as JollyDoc, but this does get some of the new characters into the right geographic location.

Neither cleric has Selective Channeling; thus any undead, friend or foe, will be toast if the party needs healing.


----------



## LordVyreth

JollyDoc said:


> The rules are a bit different, since they use the Pathfinder grapple rules, which incorporates Combat Maneuver Bonus.  The problem was that the CMB of the tentacles was pretty high, and almost impossible for the weaker PC's to overcome.
> 
> Lamia matriarchs (not nobles...misprint on my part) are from a third party publisher....the name escapes me at the moment, but I have the book at home.  I'll let you know later.  Remember, Xanesha was also a lamia matriarch, and she toasted our heroes.
> 
> No one in that particular group had a problem with the animated corpse...but the new party makeup is distinctly different...




Ah, for some reason, I assumed Xanesha was just a greater medusa who was hiding the fact behind the mask mentioned.  Seemed like an odd tactic for her, but obviously she didn't need the gaze attack, and the anti-magic field would have rendered the tactic moot anyway.

As for Lucrecia, how tough was she compared to her sister?  Was she weaker?  Or was she just as tough or tougher, and the party just leveled enough to compensate for it, or at least had a much better tactical position?


----------



## JollyDoc

LordVyreth said:


> Ah, for some reason, I assumed Xanesha was just a greater medusa who was hiding the fact behind the mask mentioned.  Seemed like an odd tactic for her, but obviously she didn't need the gaze attack, and the anti-magic field would have rendered the tactic moot anyway.
> 
> As for Lucrecia, how tough was she compared to her sister?  Was she weaker?  Or was she just as tough or tougher, and the party just leveled enough to compensate for it, or at least had a much better tactical position?





To be technical, Xanesha was not in an antim-magic field, but in a Silence zone.  Her spells were SLA, so it didn't hinder her.

Lucrecia was tough as well, though in a worse tactical position.  She wasn't expecting the party, so did not have time to prebuff.  The party was fresh, not having to fight there way to here.  Last, the mage slayer feat that Adso had severely crippled her, and she had nowhere to maneuver away from him.

Let us not forget, however, that Xanesha is still out there...somewhere...


----------



## Leinart

So there are the surviving three and two new clerics....Who are the other two?


----------



## JollyDoc

Leinart said:


> So there are the surviving three and two new clerics....Who are the other two?




All will be revealed...well, most will be revealed.  Rico's player wasn't with us last Sunday, so his new character will show up this week.


----------



## Schmoe

JollyDoc said:


> All will be revealed...well, most will be revealed.  Rico's player wasn't with us last Sunday, so his new character will show up this week.




1 Monk
1 Dread Necromancer
1 Rogue
2 Clerics
+
1 ???
1 ???

Very interesting party there.  Somebody's going to have to be the meatbag.  Looking forward to finding out who


----------



## JollyDoc

Schmoe said:


> Very interesting party there.  Somebody's going to have to be the meatbag.  Looking forward to finding out who




Ah, c'mon man!  If you haven't figured out who the meatbag is by now, I'm disappointed in you!!


----------



## JollyDoc

LET THERE BE LIGHT!

“Wha…what happened?”  Shalelu cried when she saw the ragged trio enter the cave, the bodies of their companions over their shoulders.  
“Ri…Rico…?”  the ranger sobbed.
Dexter, Adso and Reaper gently laid the bodies on the floor.  Jakardros stepped forward and placed a comforting arm around his step-daughter’s shoulders.  He knew all-to-well what had happened.  He’d seen it all before with his own men.
“We have destroyed most of the ogre commanders,” Adso explained stoically, “but the cost was…high.”
“You’re godsdamned right it was!”  Dexter snarled.  “And your buddy Kaven lied to us!”
“What’re you talkin’ about?”  Vale snapped.
“We found Lucrecia,” Reaper answered.  “She wasn’t killed in that fire that sank the Paradise, and she wasn’t a simple gambling hall madam.  She was a lamia, just like her sister…Xanesha.”
“What??”  Jakardros exclaimed.
“She mentioned her master, someone named Mokmurian,” the necromancer explained.  “Does that name mean anything to you?”
“No,” Jakardros replied.  “It doesn’t sound like an ogre name.”
“Creatures like Lucrecia don’t work for ogres,” Reaper grimaced.  “Ogres work for them, and so, apparently, does the occasional ranger.”
Jakardros shook his head.  “It just doesn’t seem possible.  Kaven would never betray us.”
“You’ll be able to ask him yourself when I haul him to you in chains!”  Dexter spat.
Reaper stepped between the two men.  “We have larger problems at the moment.  Namely, there are only the three of us now, and there are still some two dozen ogres in the courtyard of the keep.”
“Six of us,” Jakardros said.  “There are six of us.”
“No offense,” Reaper said placatingly, “but you are barely recovered from your own ordeal, and inadequately equipped for such a fight.  We need help, and the closest place is Turtleback Ferry, but I don’t want to leave the fort unattended, in case the ogres call for reinforcements.”
“I’ll go,” Vale said.
“Alone?”  Adso asked.
“I know this country better than anyone,” the ranger replied.  “I’ll make better time alone.  Besides, I’ve got a few questions for Kaven myself…”
___________________________________________________

“Ah, another beautiful morning, wouldn’t you agree Brother Duerten?”  Draton beamed, his white teeth sparkling.
“Hmph,” the dwarf grunted.  “T’aint seen th’sun since we left Magnimar.”
“Yes, but we know that it still shines above, even on such an overcast day as this!” the priest shouted.  “Such is the glory of Sarenrae!”
“I’d still like just one day without me boots full of mud,” Duerten grumped.
“Ah, little Brother,” Draton laughed, slapping the dwarf on the shoulder, “you must find solace in the spiritual if it is denied to you in the physical.  Just think of all the souls we’ve reached during our time here in Turtleback Ferry.  The tent’s been full almost daily! And now, ah now…just look at the opportunity we’ve been given!”
“Hmph!”  Duerten snorted again.  “Some opportunity!  Goin’ t’rescue a bunch’a half-pagan rangers from the Lady-knows-how-many heathenous ogres!”
“All deserve a chance at salvation,” Draton chided, “even if that salvation must come in the hereafter.  Now, run along and fetch Cruemann.  He should be up by now.”
“Hah!” the dwarf laughed.  “That layabout?  He’s probably still in his bedroll, and not alone I’ll wager.”
“Now, now,” Draton waggled a finger, “that’s no way to talk about a new convert.  Though he is new to the Faith, his soul is pure, even is his body is not.  We shall work on that.  Hurry back!”

As the dwarf slogged grumpily down the mud-sodden street, Draton turned and headed towards the Turtle’s Parlor, Turtleback Ferry’s only inn.  He’d heard the rumor just that morning that one of the Black Arrow rangers who’d left with the representatives from Magnimar a few days earlier had returned the previous night with a bitter tale.  Most of their company had been slain by ogres that had overrun Fort Rannick.  The word was that he was recruiting volunteers to return with him and help route the blackguards.  Draton saw it as his Holy duty to do so.  Sarenrae’s Word must be carried into even the darkest corners of the world, not just to the civilized.  The blonde-haired, deeply tanned man fairly glowed with the conviction of his faith, and wherever he went to deliver his message, people would gather raptly to listen, so powerful was his presence.  

The Parlor was full when the priest entered, but the excited buzz of conversation died immediately when the crowd saw him.  They parted to let him pass, many bowing deferentially, murmuring, ‘Father’ as he passed.  At the center of throng sat the ranger, a tall, dark-skinned man named Vale Temros.  
“I have heard of your plight,” Draton announced, “and I am here to offer my services, and those of my associates.”
Vale looked appraisingly at the handsome preacher.  
“I appreciate the offer, Father,” the ranger said, “but I’m not proposing going to a revival.  These ogres are vicious butchers, and I don’t think they’ll be much for sermonizing.”
Draton’s infectious smile broadened.  “Do not mistake my optimism for weakness, brother.  Sarenrae is my ally, and there is no place that Her light cannot shine.  I strive to spread her teachings through example, but sometimes that example must be set by the Sword as well as the Word.”
Vale chuckled.  “Father, I think you just might be what I’m looking for after all.”
______________________________________________________

“Get up, ye lout!” 
Cruemann groaned as the dwarf kicked him squarely in the slats.  The merc had been up late the previous night…make that early this morning…at the Turtle’s Parlor.  His intentions had been honorable…spreading the Word to the common man…but as the night wore on and the ale began to flow, his ministry had become a bit…muddled.  The young guardsman had signed on with the pilgrimage in Magnimar.  It sounded like easy money…ride herd on a bunch of holy-rollers while they traipsed around backwaters like Turtleback Ferry, but when he’d first started listening to the sermons out of boredom, he’d gradually begun to actually hear the words being spoken.  Father Draton was truly inspired, Cruemann had come to believe, and over the weeks he’d begun to reexamine his life and his purpose.  He now considered it his destiny to watch over and protect Father Draton, and his surly deacon Duerten to, he supposed, so that when he finally passed on to the Afterlife, he might have something to show Sarenrae that would prove his worth.  Meanwhile, he was really trying his damndest to practice what Father preached, but there were just too many distractions…tests, he supposed, set to task his resolve.  Sighing, he realized he still had much to learn.
“I’m up, I’m up, you hairy little gnome!” he grumbled.
“Yeah, I can see that,” Duerten snorted.  “Father needs ye, though fer what reason I can’t imagine, so git yer sorry hide dressed’n lookin’ proper, and head down t’the Parlor.  I’m sure ye can find yer way.”

Cruemann dressed as rapidly as his pounding head and bleary eyes would allow and stepped out into the endless rain.  Usually when Father called, it was for some mundane task, like setting up the tent, or putting out more chairs.  Not that he minded such work, but sometimes Cruemann wished for something a little more exciting…
__________________________________________________

Cruemann’s face blanched as he saw the bodies hanging impaled from the trees in the woods surrounding Fort Rannick.  He thought he’d been around, seen something of the world, but now he realized there was a whole other side that he wasn’t even aware of…a very dark, evil side.
“Something’s not right,” Vale said, drawing them to a halt still well within the tree line.  The ranger had kept them at a grueling pace throughout the cold, rain-swept day, urging their horses to the point of exhaustion.  The sun was setting, though the only way to tell it was by a gradual darkening of the gloom.
“The front gates weren’t open when I left,” Vale continued, “and I don’t see any movement on the battlements.  Wait here.”
The ranger slipped into the shadows and melded with them, disappearing from view completely after he’d only gone a few feet.  Cruemann looked from Draton to Duerten.  The priest looked serene, though his usual casual grin was gone, replaced by a deep furrow in his brow as he surveyed the carnage around the fort.  As for the dwarven deacon, he looked positively murderous, his fist tightening around the haft of his axe.  After several long minutes, Vale reappeared.
“It’s ok,” he said, a strange expression on his face, “though I’m afraid I may have brought you all this way for nothing.”

To Cruemann’s surprise, the ranger stepped out into the open and headed straight for the front gates.  Gradually, the mercenary began to relax when he realized a horde of ogres was not going to rush out and tear them limb-from-limb.  When they entered the courtyard, it was in incredible disarray, but only occupied by five individuals.  Two of them were dressed in forester’s garb like Vale.  One of them was an older human man, while the other was a stern-faced elven woman.  Standing nearby was a bald man with a goatee, dressed all in black.  Next to him was a younger man clad in leathers, casually flipping a silver dagger in his hand.  Last was a large fellow, obviously with some orc-blood in his past.  He wore only a simple tunic and leggings and carried no weapons that Cruemann could see.
“Here they are,” Vale said to the five, indicating Cruemann and the priests, “the ones I told you about.”
Surprisingly, it was not the older ranger who stepped forward, but the black-clad man instead.
“I’m Reaper,” he said in way of introduction.
“Reaper?”  Father Draton asked, quirking an eyebrow.  “Is that the name your mother gave you?”
“No,” the man replied.  “Think of it as a title.  These are my associates, Dexter St. Jacques” he indicated the dagger-man, “and Brother Adso of Windsong Abbey,” the half-orc.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Draton replied, extending his hand.  “Though I wish it were under better circumstances.  I’m Father Draton, of Sarenrae.  This is my deacon, Brother Duerten, and this gentleman is an aspirant to the Faith, Cruemann Jones.  We are originally from Magnimar.”
“Magnimar?”  Reaper asked.  “I’m sure you are aware that were sent here by the Lord Mayor.  In fact, his nephew accompanied us.  Unfortunately, he did not survive.”
“You must have some clout then,” Draton said.  “You move in very powerful circles.”
“We saved the mayor’s life,” Dexter interjected.  “You might have heard about it.  He was targeted for assassination by a group of serial killers called the Skinsaw Men.”
“The Shadow Clock affair?”  the priest asked, incredulous.  “I was always suspicious of that place, and I wondered what had happened there.”
“It’s a long story,” Dex replied.  “I’ll have to tell you about it someday.”
“You’ll pardon my directness,” Draton said, “but I was under the impression that you gentlemen…and lady….were in some sort of peril from ogres.”
“We were,” Reaper replied, “but after Vale left, we ventured out to scout the situation only to find that the remaining ogres had just…left.  I suppose without their leadership they reverted to their wild ways and headed for the hills.”
“So is that it then?” the priest sounded disappointed.  “Do you know which direction they went?”
“Oh I’m sure they headed back to their lair on the Hook,” the older ranger, Jakardros answered.  “Trouble is, we can’t track them in all this rain, and the Hook’s not the sort of place you want to go wandering around on blind with winter coming on.”
“Fortunately, we have another lead to follow,” Reaper added.  “Perhaps you’ve heard of the Paradise, a floating gambling hall in Turtleback Ferry.”
“Yes,” a look of distaste crossed Draton’s face.  “I heard it burned.  Good riddance.”
“Yes, well, be that as it may,” Reaper continued, “its former proprietress, Lucrecia, did not die in that fire as was rumored.  It turns out she was a lamia, a half-snake creature whose sister was behind the Skinsaw murders in Magnimar.  We met, and killed Lucrecia here in Fort Rannick, but we found out that she was marking patrons of the Paradise with a tattoo known as the Sihedron rune.  My companions have come across this symbol quite often of late…in the Sandpoint goblin raid, on the victims of the Skinsaw Men, and now here in Turtleback Ferry.  Quite the coincidence.”
“Speaking of,” Dex interrupted, and turned to Vale, “where’s Kaven?”
“Gone,” the big ranger rumbled.  “He’d left town a day before I got there.”
“Hate to say I told you so,” the rogue sneered.
“Who’s Kaven?”  Draton asked.
“Another of the Black Arrows,” Reaper replied, “except we found Lucrecia’s mark on him, and became suspicious.  We believe he might have been involved with the ogre attack.  In any event, since we can’t follow the ogres, our only choice is to head back to Turtleback Ferry and see if we can find any others similarly marked.  Perhaps then we can see where else this road leads.”
“And we’ll stay here,” Jakardros said.  “We have a lot to rebuild here, and we can keep watch in case the ogre’s return.  If so, we’ll escape into the wilderness and warn you.”
_________________________________________________


As Winter’s cold breath prepared to descend upon the lands below Hook Mountain, the skies began to darken like blood-muddied water, and ominous clouds writhed on the horizon, bringing the near-constant rain to new heights of torrential downpours.  The storms went on for days without the sun so much as peeking from behind her cloudy veil.  Pure misery reigned as cold and wet became the order of every day, and mud seemed to befoul every square foot of the region.

As the company from Fort Rannick made their way along the swollen banks of the Skull River, they spotted a rider galloping towards them out of the downpour.  When he reined up and threw back his hood, they saw it was Bran Fered, a local hunter from Turtleback Ferry.
“They are drowning, my lords!” he shouted in a panicked voice.  “The Skull surges along its banks!  Even the waters of Claybottom invade the shore and spill across the land!  Turtleback Ferry will be gone by morning!  The people are doing their best to evacuate, but many are trapped in their attics watching the floodwaters rise!  Father Shreed is holed up in the cathedral with the sick, and they can’t be moved easily, and what’s worse, that old church could collapse any  minute!  You must help us!”
Draton turned grimly to Reaper.
“It would seem our investigation will have to wait, brother.  Sarenrae calls to us.  Her light has been absent from the sky for many days, and now we know why.  It was a warning of this moment.  Fear not for your mission.  I am able to Send a message over long distance to my superiors in Magnimar.  I will ask them to inform the Lord Mayor of what transpired at Fort Rannick, and request that he send aid as soon as possible, but for now our duty is clear.  Let us ride!”
__________________________________________________

The village of Turtleback Ferry was indeed drowning.  The muddy, surging waters of the Skull River tore through the center of the community to fill Claybottom Lake with a terrible fury.  Many of the buildings that once sat comfortably on the river’s banks were already flooding and in danger of collapsing from the rushing water.  A group of children and a woman huddled aboard one of the old turtle shell ferryboats, the tiny, flood-bashed vessel lodged up against the general store and threatening to capsize at any moment.  Beyond, the town’s church stood solid, its foundations three-feet deep in floodwaters.  Frantic movement was visible in the upstairs windows as townsfolk trapped inside rushed about in a desperate attempt to save scriptures, comfort the sick, and pray for deliverance.

The six companions reined up alongside the main street, which had become a raging stream.  
“Cruemann!”  Draton shouted over the storm.  “Rope!  We have to help those children!”
As the guardsman rushed to obey, Dexter suddenly gasped and shouted.
“Look there!”
To their utter horror, and huge shape had lifted itself out of the water right beside the ferryboat.  It was a monstrously big nightbelly boa constrictor, one of the more dangerous predators that plied the Skull River.  No doubt it had been dislodged by the flood waters and been carried by the current all the way to the village.  Now it was simply enraged and ravenous.  The children began to scream in terror, as did their school marm, Tillia Henkenson.  She struggled desperately to put herself between the snake and the children, but she was off balance by the rocking of the boat.  The boa struck, grabbing little Tabitha Kramm in its mouth, pigtails, freckles and all.  In the space of a heartbeat, the serpent swallowed the child whole.
“No!”  Draton screamed.  
Dexter was already in motion, snapping his bowstring back to his ear.  Next to him, Cruemann had also unslung a bow, a massive thing nearly as tall as the guardsman himself.  Both archers loosed, their arrows striking true, yet the giant snake didn’t relent.  It drew back and prepared to strike again.  Suddenly, Adso was there.  To the amazement of all the onlookers, the monk leaped fully twenty feet to land in the middle of the boat.  When the boa struck, the half-orc caught its jaws with his bare hands.  Muscles bulging, he heaved, and snapped the snake’s mandible from its skull.  Then, with a huge effort, he shoved the dead behemoth into the river.
Ignoring the cheers of the bystanders, the monk grabbed two children, one in each arm, and leaped back to the shore.  Back and forth he went, his companions only staring in stunned silence as he ferried the children and their teacher to safety.  When the last ones were ashore, he turned to Draton.
“What about the church?” he asked.  
Draton shook himself out of his disbelief and nodded.
“Yes, brother, you are exactly right.  We must get those people out of there.”
“Yeah, and we’d better make it quick!”  Dexter added.  “When it rains it pours!”
The others turned to follow his gaze and saw what appeared to be a huge, black tree being swept downriver on a collision course with the church.  Moments before it hit, however, it submerged.  A few moments later, the floodwaters surged violently, and with a thunderous roar, a thing out of pure nightmare rose from the flood.  It was a monstrous, undulating tangle of barbed tentacles.  Its form spurned definable anatomy, a horror of prehistory atop a writhing mass of rubbery tentacles, some crowned with glaring, infernal eyes.  Its only recognizable feature was the black, reptilian head that rose above the morass of tentacles, a maw of flesh-sheering teeth that gaped wide before two piercing eyes that smoldered with alien intelligence.

As the townsfolk ran screaming in terror, the nightmare creature opened wide its jaws and spewed forth a noxious cloud of black mist that washed over the would-be heroes on the stream bank.  As the fog rolled over them, each man’s mind grew dim and unhinged as chaotic visions and maddening whispers filled their heads.  Dexter, bow still in hand, mechanically knocked an arrow to the string and then fired it directly into his own foot.  Draton, Reaper and Cruemann began gibbering and babbling incoherently, struggling to give voice to the terrifying confusion that consumed their psyches.  Duerten, feeling as if his flesh were crawling with insects, began to carve at it with the blade of his axe.  Meanwhile, Adso stood mute, staring blankly up at the behemoth towering above him.  He watched it swim towards the bank with malevolent purpose, but felt no emotion.  Even when it attacked, tree-trunk sized tentacles flailing and teeth gnashing, it barely registered.  As his flesh was torn and his body mangled, he slipped into blissful darkness and oblivion.

As quickly as the madness had fallen over him, Draton’s mind abruptly cleared.  He looked about blinking rapidly, and then gaped in horror at what he saw.  Adso lay bloody and broken on the ground, the monstrous creature hovering over him.  Dexter knocked an arrow to his bow, oblivious of the one protruding from his foot, and as Draton stared, the rogue calmly turned and fired the bow into Cruemann’s back.  The guardsman shrieked incoherently and then whirled, knocking his own enormous bow and firing point-blank into Dexter’s chest.  As the rogue spun completely around from the impact, Cruemann reloaded and fired again.  Duerten stood nearby, his arms bleeding from strips of skin that hung raggedly down.  He stared at nothing, mouthing nonsense words that seemed a pidgin dialect of dwarven.  Reaper also babbled, reciting what might have been arcane rituals, or simply insane nursery rhymes, and above them all, the beast was poised, preparing to strike again.  Draton had no idea how to stop the creature, but he knew that if he didn’t do something, his friends were dead, either by their own hands, or by the behemoth’s.  His faith never wavering, he called to Sarenrae, beseeching Her aid that he might continue Her work.  The sun symbol he wore around his neck flared with holy light.  As it washed over his companions, their wounds began to heal.  To his intense gratitude, Adso’s eyes flickered open.  The monk was not dead, but as he sat up, Draton knew that his mind was still not his own.  The half-orc turned his head to watch Dexter put another arrow into Cruemann’s thigh, and the guardsman in turn put two more into the rogue’s shoulder.  Faster than Draton would have thought possible, the monk flipped to his feet and then kicked Cruemann’s from beneath him, sending the warrior crashing to the ground.  Suddenly, a shadow fell over the priest, and when he looked up, he saw the creature bending towards Duerten.  The deacon never made a move to defend himself, not even when he was lifted bodily from the ground by the beast’s terrible blows and flung a dozen feet into a nearby building.  He lay slumped there, unmoving.  In desperation, Draton channeled Sarenrae’s power again, healing his companions a second time, and blessedly snatching Duerten back from the jaws of death.  
“My Lady!” the priest cried as his companions continued to inflict harm upon themselves and each other.  “Hear your servant!  These men are your instruments!  Do not take them before their time!  They will serve you, I will see to it!  The innocents of this town have done no wrong!  Deliver them from this Evil, and I will see your Will and your Light spread from one corner of this world to the other!  Hear me!”

At that precise moment, each of his companions ceased their maddened attacks and stood, rubbing their temples and shaking their heads.  The behemoth, as suddenly as it had arrived, sank beneath the water and vanished once more.  Furthermore, as Draton looked around, he saw that the rain had stopped and the flood waters were already receding.  Slowly, the villagers came out of their hiding places.  As they beheld the six companions still alive on the river bank, a great cheer went up from the crowd, and throngs of the grateful folk closed in around them, many of them with Sarenrae’s name on their lips.  After several moments, the town mayor, Maelin Shreed, managed to push his way through the crowd.
“On behalf of Turtleback Ferry,” he shouted to be heard over the cacophony, “I proclaim you heroes of the town, and I further proclaim this a holy day dedicated to the Lady of the Sun!”
The crowd erupted again, and that time it took much longer to quiet them down.
“In addition,” the mayor announced, “as you were all instrumental in routing the Kreeg ogres from Fort Rannick, by the authority vested in me by the state of Magnimar, I decree stewardship of the fort to you, if you will accept it!”
Again the crowd roared, many hands thumping the heroes heartily on their backs.  
“And now, my people,” the mayor said when the din had subsided, “please allow our saviors to take their rest.  They have fought and bled for us, and we owe them our every hospitality.”

Reluctantly, the crowd dispersed.  There were still many sick and injured to tend to, and damage assessments to be done.  Maelin led the heroes through the town to his office, where he ushered them in and closed the door behind them.  Motioning for them to be seated, he brought out a bottle of wine and several glasses, filling each of them and passing them around himself.
“Now, gentlemen,” he began as he took his own chair, “with the formalities over, allow me to say that you do indeed have my sincere gratitude.  I don’t know what exactly it was that you did out there, but it worked.”
“I’m afraid…,” Draton began, but the mayor forestalled him.
“No need to explain,” he said.  “What’s done is done, but this whole turn of events concerns me deeply.  Though the rains have been intense these past weeks, that alone does not explain this disastrous flood.  Always in the past, when the waters have risen, the floodgates of Skull’s Crossing have automatically opened to release the pressure in a controlled flow.”
“Skull’s Crossing?”  Reaper asked.
“It’s a dam north of here, at the mouth of the Skull River where it arises from Storval Deep.  No one knows who built it, or how long ago.  It’s just always been there, and it’s always prevented the town from flooding before…until now.  Then there’s Black Magga.”
At the questioning looks from the group, he explained:
“The monster you fought.  She was always more of a legend than anything, but most legends have some basis in fact.  Black Magga has always been thought to live in the darkest depths of Storval Deep.  If she was brought here by the flood waters, then something must have happened to breach Skull’s Crossing.  It can’t have failed completely, or the whole town’d be washed away by now.  All this points to something very wrong at that dam.  I was wondering if you fellows might do us one more favor and head up there to take a look.”
“That would seem the logical choice,” Draton replied.
“However,” Reaper interjected, “there’s still the matter of the town’s safety.  The floods may have passed, but if the dam fails completely before we get there, the results would still be catastrophic.  Furthermore, we have reason to believe that Lucrecia, the ‘woman’ who owned the Paradise, was up to something much more nefarious.”
“What do you mean?” the mayor asked, concern in his voice.
“It’s difficult to explain, but I suggest that you begin evacuating the townsfolk to Fort Rannick.  There’s not much room there, but it will be safer than here, at least temporarily.  Also, I would advise you to keep an eye out for people bearing a tattoo in the shape of a seven-pointed star.”
“This is all very cryptic,” Maelin said, “but I have to trust you at this point.  I’ll do what you ask.  Does this mean you’ll be accepting my offer of stewardship?”
“That is something we will have to consider,” Reaper replied.  “There’s still the matter of the Kreegs, and we await word from Magnimar.  We can discuss it further when we return.”
Maelin nodded.  “Oh…I almost forgot.  The reason we don’t know much about Skull’s Crossing, is because there’s a tribe of trolls living there called the Skull Takers…”
__________________________________________________

“So,” Dex asked casually as he rode along at Cruemann’s side on the road to Skull’s Crossing, “do you really buy all that ‘miracle’ stuff that your bossman’s been spouting?”
The young guardsman smiled as he glanced askance at the rogue.  
“What do you think?” he asked.  “You saw what happened as well as I did.”
“Technically,” Dex said, raising an eyebrow, “mostly what I saw was you making a pincushion out of me.  I also saw us all getting our asses handed to us by some…thing that just decided we weren’t worth it’s time for some reason.”
“ ‘Some reason,’” Cruemann nodded, pursing his lips.  “Riiiight.”
Dexter rolled his eyes.
“There’s no greater zealot than a convert,” he muttered, reining his horse aside.

It was getting towards evening by the time the company reached the gorge that held the dam.  Spanning the great breadth of the gorge was Skull’s Crossing itself.  The massive wall of stone held back the waters of the Storval Deep…but only just.  Thousands of skulls had been carved into the dam’s face, while five larger ones decorated the middle length.  The easternmost of those immense skulls was all but hidden by a steady flow of cascading water that poured through what appeared to be a recent break in the dam.  For the moment, the ancient dam seemed to be holding its own against the Deep, but unless the rains, which had started again, though not as forcefully, ended soon, the recent flood looked to be but a minor precursor to a fantastic disaster.  The eastern slopes of the gorge were sheer and slick with rain, but to the west, a narrow, stone stairway, its edges decorated with hundreds of poles bearing the skulls of as many different creatures, wound up to a cave mouth near the western rim of the dam itself.

The seven-foot wide , winding stairway of stone climbed the cliff face before reaching a height of nearly two-hundred feet before it ended at a cave mouth above.  Hundreds of stakes lined the edges of the stairway, many of them decorated with skulls…some animal, some humanoid, all marked with a strange skull-shaped rune on the brow that none of the companions recognized.  Within the cave itself was a short passageway that ended at a fifteen-foot high ledge, which provided access to another cave beyond.  The air in that forty-foot high cavern was thankfully fresh as a brisk breeze whistled through from the north, yet still, the dozens of mostly eaten firepelt cougars, deer, and even a few humans heaped along the walls fill the room with a stomach-churning stink.  Dexter was the first onto the ledge, and so consequently was the first to see the two-headed giant that stood on the floor below looking up at him.

“Gorger!” one of the heads screamed.  “You see what I see?”
The second head whipped around, brow furrowed.
“I see, Chaw!”  it screeched.  “You no bribe us!  We smash you for Skulltakers!”
The ettin then raised its twin spiked clubs and ran towards the ledge.  Dexter wasted no time, and leaped the fifteen-feet to the floor.  When he landed, he rolled nimbly between the giant’s legs, slashing at the brute’s Achilles’ as he vaulted to his feet.  The ettin howled, and spun around to find the wily rogue, but as it did so, Adso vaulted from the ledge and landed a solid kick to the giant’s back before landing deftly on the floor.  Again Gorger and Chaw roared, swinging wildly about.  One of the clubs struck Adso a glancing blow, but that was the last act the ettin would ever perform.  Adso kicked out and shattered one of its knee caps, and as it collapsed, Dexter lunged, plunging his blades into the necks of both Gorger and Chaw.  The giant died, choking on its own blood.  
“I’d heard that trolls sometimes allied themselves with giants,” Reaper said to Draton as they looked down on the carnage.  “I guess this proves the theory.  What do you suppose it meant by bribe, though?”
The priest shrugged.  “Who knows what madness possesses the minds of such evil creatures?  We can only pray they find salvation in the hereafter.”
Reaper turned his head slightly to avoid the cleric seeing him roll his eyes.


The ettin’s cave lead to another tunnel which gave onto the upper walk of Skull’s Crossing itself.  The wide walk was relatively clear of rubble, though a three-inch layer of water had pooled across much of its surface.  In places, sections of the dam’s surface had crumbled away, although that damage appeared relatively old.  A tower of skull-shaped domes sat at the center of the dam’s walk.  To the north surged the choppy waters of the Storval Deep, while to the south, the slope of the dam’s face dropped away to a muddy lake nearly three-hundred feet below.  Some three-hundred feet away on the walk, a crew of at least two-dozen ogres hacked and hewed at the stone of the dam with massive, iron hooks.  Their intentions were obvious…they were attempting to create a second breach.

“Well, well,” Reaper said.  “What have we here?  Some of those boys look familiar.  I think a few might be some of our runaways from Fort Rannick.  Cruemann, you look pretty handy with that bow.  What say you and Dexter get their attention?”
The guardsman nodded, smiling, and then he and Dex unlimbered their bows, knelt, took careful aim and loosed.  As their shafts fell among the ogres, taking two in the leg and buttocks, three burly giants who appeared to be leading the work crew, mostly by barking orders, turned and saw the humans.  They began howling and raging, beating the workers around them and urging them forward.  Gradually, the bulk of the crew realized they were under attack and got themselves in motion.  As they moved en masse, however, pushing and jostling each other, three of them lost their footing on the slick stones, and toppled over the side into the Deep, where they bobbed and thrashed in the churning waves.  Two more slipped off the opposite side of the walk, and fell screaming to their deaths hundreds of feet below.  After that, the others closed ranks, staying well away from the sides.  Still, the distance was great, and so was the combined accuracy of Dex and Cruemann.  They put three arrows into the lead crew boss, dropping him like a charging musk ox.  The second brute fell under their volley as well, aided by a swarm of magic missiles courtesy of Reaper.  

Finally, the lead rank drew within charging distance, but at the last moment, Draton stepped forward and held forth his medallion.  It flared brilliantly, and as it did so, a curtain of pure radiance sprung up across the walk.  The ogres couldn’t stop their momentum, and all of them ran straight thru.  When they emerged on the other side, they rubbed and pawed at their eyes, vainly trying to dash the dazzling motes from their vision.  All throughout the ogres’ approach, Adso had been calmly wrapping his hands in clean, white bindings.
“What are ye doin’?”  Duerten demanded.  “We’ve got a bit o’a situation here!”
“Your goddess is not the only one who grants power to her devoted,” the monk answered calmly.  “Behold the blessings of Irori.”
The half-orc leaped forward while the last of the ogre leaders still scrubbed at his eyes.  In a flurry of motion too quick to follow, Adso delivered a devastating combination of punches and kicks to the brute, and as each blow struck, a pulse of white-hot energy surged from the bindings he wore.  The ogre wailed in agony as each strike left a deep festering burn.  By the time he fell twitching to the stones, his skin smoldered in half-a-dozen places.
“Not bad, boy!” the dwarf grinned, “but Sarenrae ain’t all about sweetness and light!  The Bright Lady can lead by th’ sword…or th’axe…is She needs ta!”
With that, the priest roared his own battle cry and waded in among the ogres, his axe hewing and cleaving all about him.  Simultaneously, Cruemann kept up his devastating barrage of arrows, constantly stepping back and reloading as the ogres drew nearer.  His shots were deadly accurate, taking one ogre through the eye, and another through the throat.  Meanwhile, Dexter abandoned his own bow, instead dodging and tumbling around the ogres, hacking and slashing at knees and ankles as he went.  Reaper and Draton added their own kind of support, with the necromancer summoning swarms of rabid rats to harry and distract the giants, while the priest hurled bolts of white fire among them.  One-by-one the ogres fell, none of them delivering a telling blow.  With their leaders dead, and the exhaustion of their labor having already taken its toll, their hearts were simply not in the fight, though none of them gave ground or even thought of surrender.  To a man, they died, leaving twenty corpses lying on the cold, wet walk of Skull’s Crossing.

As the last one fell, Reaper walked calmly to the lake edge of the dam and looked over at the three ogres still floundering there.  Calmly, coldly, he reached out his hand and sent a spectral image of it floating towards each of them.  As it gently caressed each in turn, the ogre’s face shriveled and blackened and it sank beneath the waves, until the surface was empty once more.
“Brother Reaper!”  Draton shouted as he strode up behind the necromancer.  “I do not approve of your methods!  Those creatures were helpless!  They could have been saved!”
Reaper shrugged.  “They were.  I saved them from drowning.  And I’m not your brother.”


----------



## carborundum

Nice big update again - Sunday's rule!

Weird that enworld didn't notify me of the update but still, I've got it printed out and now I'm off to enjoy.

Cheers JD!


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## Neverwinter Knight

I always read online, but always look forward to Sundays for JD's awesome updates, too.  Not forgetting the Sunday Night Teasers! 

That confusion breath was deadlier than I had expected. What did Darton do to end it or did the effect just expire?


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## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> I always read online, but always look forward to Sundays for JD's awesome updates, too.  Not forgetting the Sunday Night Teasers!
> 
> That confusion breath was deadlier than I had expected. What did Darton do to end it or did the effect just expire?




Draton didn't end it, it had a four round duration, and Black Magga was also only scheduled to hang around for three rounds, fortunately for our heroes.  Draton was just lucky enough to have rolled "act normally" two rounds in a row on the Confusion table.  Perhaps Sarenrae really was watching over him
 Black Magga was not meant to be defeated...this time...


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## JollyDoc

SUNDAY NIGHT TEASER

1)  The heroes come face-to-face with the remnants of the Skulltakers, and find them not such push-overs as the ogres...but still nothing our guys can't handle.

2)  In the bowels of the dam, the company finds the leader of the trolls...Papa Grazuul!

3)  Further exploration of Skull's Crossing reveals a...diabolical mechanism for opening the flood gates.

4)  Draton and Reaper have words over a moral and ethical dilemma.

5)  Unexpected visitors arrive at the dam, and our heroes find themselves with yet another crisis on their to-do list, as well as a new member of their band.

6)  Cruemann has a crisis of faith as Reaper makes a deal with the devil...literally!!


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## LordVyreth

So what are the new guys, class-wise?  You seem to have formed a really cleric-heavy party.

Also, have any of your guys considered getting raised?  You're nearing that point where you can afford to, and Pathfinder's much nicer about the consequences compared to 3.5.


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## SolitonMan

JollyDoc said:


> Not that he minded such work, but sometimes Cruemann wished for something a little more exciting…
> __________________________________________________
> 
> Cruemann’s face blanched as he saw the bodies hanging impaled from the trees in the woods surrounding Fort Rannick.




I laughed out loud when I read that.    Well written JD!!


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## JollyDoc

LordVyreth said:


> So what are the new guys, class-wise?  You seem to have formed a really cleric-heavy party.
> 
> Also, have any of your guys considered getting raised?  You're nearing that point where you can afford to, and Pathfinder's much nicer about the consequences compared to 3.5.




Draton and Duerten are both clerics, with the alternate Holy Warrior option offered from Pathfinder Campaign setting, ie...Fighter BAB and d10 HD, but they sacrifice Domain powers.

Cruemann is straight fighter, but his weapon of choice is the greatbow, with which he is deadly.

Our newest addition this week will be a sorcerer.

As for Raising...yes, the question has been bantered about.  The problem at this point is that no one is high enough to cast it, and the nearest place where such a caster would be availabe would be Magnimar...three weeks travel away.  Still, don't be surprised that if some of the newbies have short-lived careers, some old faces may just resurface...


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## JollyDoc

SolitonMan said:


> I laughed out loud when I read that.    Well written JD!!




Thank you sir!  Cruemann is destined for the role of comic relief, especially with this weeks entry


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## Leinart

Guess that means im temporarily pulling for the ogres....Just until whoever played max and skud.....well you know..


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## WarEagleMage

Well, since Cruemann (# 6) and Max were run by the same player (who also ran Randall - and Daelric in Savage Tide), and all were pretty much comic relief, you should be happy.  Cruemann is deadly with that bow of his, so with him staying out of melee range he might actually survive a while.  

Incidentally, is it _possible_ for a party to have too many clerics?  Especially with the warrior priest option in Pathfinder, you could almost make a party entirely of clerics with different concentrations (melee, ranged, buffer, blaster, healer) and you would kick major ass.  Hmmm, that's an idea we'll have to keep in mind.


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## Supar

Leinart said:


> Guess that means im temporarily pulling for the ogres....Just until whoever played max and skud.....well you know..




DUDE!!! U have no idea how bitter it was reading ur post about liking Max my chars tend to not have fans. It only added to the taste of defeat from that faithfull evening.

Crueman AKA Redshirt I hope to be around for a while I have enjoyed using the combination of deadly aim, manyshot and rapidshot, Combine all the feats to hit and dmg that fighters have..... this week i think i was (dont have my stuff wit me) 11/11/6 2d8+13 and the first shot has 2 arrows

Hopefully my wonderfull tanks will keep me out of trouble


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## Hammerhead

I liked Daelric. Perfect support.


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## JollyDoc

THE PRICE OF SALVATION

Skull’s Watch, the large structure in the center of Skull’s Crossing, had a facade composed completely of carvings of different sized skulls.  Two doors stood on the face that fronted the western walk of the dam, one on each side of an enormous skull, the eyes and nose of which were actually large windows some ten feet off the ground.  The lakeside door looked to have been repeatedly smashed and hastily repaired, while the southern doors appeared secure.  Though the northern doors seemed easily opened, Adso and Duerten found them stuck fast.  Straining, the dwarf and the half-orc heaved at the massive portals, muscles straining, until they gave way with a groan.  Piles of rubble dominated the large room revealed beyond, along with bits of flesh, broken weapons, splashes of blood, and a few dead ogres that had been torn limb from limb.  Wind and rain howled through circular openings to the north that looked out over Storval Deep, and puddles of water had collected on the floor.  Thick sheets of ropy green fungus grew along the walls, winding in through both the windows and through numerous cracks in the domed ceiling above.  Behind the fungal vines, the walls were decorated with hundreds of skull-shaped carvings.  As the monk and priest peered into the gloom, they saw eight hulking shapes detach themselves from the shadowy vines…trolls.

“Down!”  Cruemann shouted, and his two companions quickly obliged.  With blinding speed, the guardsman knocked two arrows simultaneously and loosed, then followed with two more in rapid succession.  All four shafts struck true, taking the foremost troll in the chest within inches of each other.  With a strangled growl, the giant collapsed in a heap.  For a moment, the other trolls just stood in stunned silence, and the next, they exploded into motion.  As they charged, Adso, Dexter and Duerten moved to meet them.  The chamber erupted in violence.  The trolls were formidable creatures, with their filthy, slashing talons and curved, tusk-like fangs, but Adso and Dexter were fast, like quicksilver, dodging and weaving among the trolls, striking like cobras before whirling away again.  Duerten, for his part, was more akin to a boulder standing in the midst of a storm-tossed sea.  Shield held before him like a totem, he brushed aside the savage swipes of the trolls, while at the same time striking out with vicious chops of his axe.  Devastating as the offensive of the trio was, it was Cruemann’s arrows, each one striking with surgical precision, that ultimately took the toll.  Troll after troll fell beneath the unending flight of shafts, leaving the mopping up to the others.  Before he died, Rico had once spoken of trolls to Dexter, Reaper and Adso.  He told them that conventional weapons and even magic could not permanently kill them.  The horrible creatures regenerated, and as the last of the giants fell, it was obvious to all of the companions that their wounds were slowly closing and knitting back together.  Fortunately, Rico had also mentioned their one weakness…fire.  Draton stepped into the room and gripped his holy symbol in his fist.  
“Sarenrae!” he prayed.  “Bright lady!  Hear the words of your most humble servant!  Have mercy on the souls of these depraved heathens, but take them now into your embrace, and burn their sins from their hearts with Holy fire!”
The sun symbol in his hand flared to life, and flames poured out of it, engulfing the bodies of the trolls and burning them to ash.  It was a much more eloquent way of solving the problem than the ogres had arrived at, though their way had been just as effective.  The Kreegs had simply tossed the torporous trolls into the lake.  It turned out that trolls didn’t breathe water so well…
_______________________________________________________

The remainder of Skull’s Watch was devoid of life, consisting only of empty, fungus-encrusted rooms that the trolls had apparently used as dens.  However, in one chamber, which appeared to have once been some sort of observation deck, the companions discovered a pair of massive stone double-doors, their smooth surfaces smeared with graffiti written in dried blood.  The letters were runic, similar to the alphabet used by the dwarves, but Duerten confirmed that the writing was not Dwarven, and that giants and their kin incorporated the same symbols into their language, though it was indecipherable to him.

The ancient doors were exceptionally heavy, their hinges old and gritty.  Adso and Duerten hauled them open, revealing a wide, stone stair that descended into darkness.  They ended at a second set of doors, beyond which was a cold, damp chamber that featured a large pool in the floor, the edges of which were caked with pale yellow slime and fungus.  The surface of the pool bore a similar film.  Additional carvings of skulls decorated the walls, and on the far side of the room, an impressive mound of skulls…mostly from humanoids…lay heaped against the wall, where they partially blocked another pair of stone, double-doors.

“There’s magic in the pool,” Draton said, his medallion glowing as he concentrated on the water.
“It can’t be very deep,” Adso replied as he moved closer to the edge and placed his bo staff in, feeling for the bottom.  Suddenly, the staff was ripped from his hands and disappeared beneath the surface.  A moment later, a huge shape erupted from the pool, towering above the monk.  The creature looked like a troll, but its skin was more like that of a fish than leather, and a large fin ran down its spine.  In one massive hand it carried a gleaming military fork.  It was from the weapon that Draton detected the magical emanation.  Once again, it was Cruemann who was prepared.  He drew and fired as easily as he breathed, and three arrows sprouted from the troll’s glistening hide.  Dexter darted in, with Duerten right behind him, but as they drew near, the giant troll blurred into motion, the fork slashing across Dexter’s chest.  Rather than a clean cut, the razor-sharp tines opened ragged, vicious wounds in the rogue’s flesh.  Simultaneously, a jagged laceration appeared on the troll’s chest as well.  Incredibly, the brute appeared to take pleasure from the wound, laughing loudly as its blood flowed briskly then slowed as the skin began to heal itself.  Dexter hissed in pain, but still he struck, his silver dagger burning into the troll’s hide.  Duerten’s axe struck true as well, the combined efforts of the warriors leaving more wounds than the giant could rapidly heal.

As the rogue and the deacon occupied the troll, Adso did what he did best…took a foolish risk.  Leaping straight up, he seized the giant brute around the waist, pinning one of its arms to its side as he grappled with it.  Suddenly, a flash of green light from Reaper’s outstretched hand struck the troll, sapping its massive strength with its fell energy.  
“Now!”  Adso shouted, anticipating what Draton would do, and struggling to hold the troll in place so that the priest could.  Draton hurled a bolt of liquid fire, catching the monster full in the face.  As it reeled, another volley of arrows from Cruemann’s massive bow simultaneously ripped the military fork from its hand as they pierced its forearm, and sent the troll crashing to the floor beside the pool as it lost consciousness.  Draton hurried quickly over and prepared to immolate the creature before it could regenerate, but as he stood over it, he realized that its wounds weren’t closing.
“It’s th’water, Father,” Duerten said.  “He ain’t innit no more.  Can’t heal without it.  We heard tell o’this kind’o beastie back home.  Called’em scrags.  Never met one till now.  Hope its th’last.”
__________________________________________________

Two other doors, aside from the one hidden behind the skull pile, led from the troll chief’s chamber.  One gave onto a long, bare room with another pool, that one blessedly empty.  The second revealed a similar room, but opposite the pool in that chamber, there was an alcove in which rose a fantastically detailed scale model of Skull’s Crossing.  The five skulls along its face seemed to be actual human skulls, the bone polished to a gleaming sheen.  Though Draton determined that the device radiated a strong magical aura, manipulating the model produced no noticeable effects.  The jaws of the skulls were hinged, and could be pulled down like levers, which revealed tubes that led into the wall.  If the replica were somehow responsible for operating the flood gates, it no longer seemed to function in that capacity.

That left only the blocked door.  Duerten, Adso and Cruemann made quick work of the pile of skulls barring the way, and then hauled open the portals.  The narrow room on the other side ended at curved alcoves on the east and west sides.  Each alcove was enclosed by a dull, iron portcullis.  A nearby winch next to each seemed to provide a way to raise and lower the gates.  Beyond each portcullis a circle of runes glowed with a faint orange light on the floor.  Inside the western circle was a pile of crimson ash, while inside the eastern one was curled what appeared to be a long-dead demonic looking creature, its flesh taut and dry on its bones.  
“What on earth…?”  Draton asked as he peered at the creature.
“I doubt that,” Reaper said absently as he moved closer to the portcullis and crouched down to get a closer look.  Suddenly, the thing moved!  Its arm flopped out to land inches away from Reaper’s foot, and with the creaking of ancient sinew, it turned its head towards the necromancer.
“F…free…me,” it rasped in a language no one understood…except Reaper.  In his line of work, knowing the infernal tongue of the Pit was something of a necessity.  
“Who…who are you?”  Reaper asked, using the same language.
“I…was once called…Avaxial,” the fiend hissed softly.
“How did you come to be imprisoned here?”
“A…mage…Karzoug…”
Reaper pondered this.  The name seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it.
“Why were you bound?”  he asked at length.
“To…to power this…dam,” said Avaxial.
Reaper’s eyes widened, and he glanced at his companions, who looked at him questioningly.
“How?” he whispered.
The infernal creature coughed in an attempt at laughter.
“Perhaps…I will tell you…when you release me…,”
“What…are you?”  Reaper asked quietly.
“Mortals would name me…pit fiend…,” Avaxial chuckled dryly.  “On my home plane…I was once a…general.  Look at me now...,”
“And over there…?”  Reaper nodded towards the second alcove.
“Another of my…brethren…,” sighed Avaxial.  “Weakling!” he spat.
“I demand to know what’s going on here!”  Draton interrupted.  “What is that…thing…saying?”
Reaper partially turned, irritation on his face.
“Stand down!  This is some sort of extraplanar being…a pit fiend,” he explained.  “It says that it was imprisoned here to power the dam.”
Draton hissed as he drew his breath in sharply.  
“Pit…fiend?” he spat, but Reaper had already turned back to Avaxial.
“How long ago did your…companion…die?” he asked.
Avaxial hesitated, his eyes unfocusing as if searching for a memory.
“Fifty-four years,” he said finally.
Reaper bowed his head in thought.
“I must consult with my companions in regards to your offer,” he said.
“Do…not…take too long…,” Avaxial chuckled again.

Reaper rose to his feet and turned to his companions as he heaved a sigh.
“This being calls itself Avaxial.  It says that it can tell us how to open the flood gates…”
“But…?”  Draton prodded angrily.
“But,” Reaper continued, “it requires that we free it first.”
“Absolutely not!”  the priest exploded, and Duerten nodded his head vigorously in agreement, his arms folded defiantly across his chest.  “We do not truck with Evil!  There will be no bargains!”
“Who are you to make such decisions?”  Reaper’s eyes narrowed dangerously.  “The lives of hundreds of people in Turtleback Ferry are at stake here, not to mention the other low-lying hamlets.  You would decide their fates unilaterally?”
“The ends do not justify the means!”  Draton fumed.  “One soul outweighs ten-thousand lives!  Despite what you might think, there is no ‘greater good.’  There is only right and wrong.  Pit fiends are generals among their kind.  What do you think will happen when this one returns to Hell?  Tens of thousands…hundreds of thousands might suffer if it is restored to its former rank.  No!  I shall not condone this!”
“Father…,” Cruemann interrupted timidly.  Draton looked sharply at him.  “You know I would never go against you,” the guardsman continued, his eyes downcast, “but we gave our word to the town that we would do our best to help save them.  Is it not possible that Sarenrae has put this creature in our path to serve that purpose?”
“You are young,” Draton replied, his words tight and clipped, “and…inexperienced, my son, so I will forgive your naiveté.  We are not talking merely about the lives of the townsfolk, but their immortal souls.  It is a hard path we have chosen for ourselves, and often unforgiving and unyielding, but such is the price of Faith.  You should consider your own more carefully before you speak further.”
Cruemann retreated into a chagrined silence while Draton turned back to Reaper.
“This much I will grant you,” he said.  “We will stay here until dawn.  At that time I will Commune with my Lady.  I will ask her guidance in this, but I feel sure of what the answer will be.  Then you will see that one’s morals can never be compromised.”
He turned on his heel and left the room.  Duerten moved to follow, but stopped to raise a questioning eyebrow at Cruemann.  When the young man stayed where he was, the dwarf’s face turned beet red and he snorted dismissively as he followed Draton.
_____________________________________________________

 “What d’ye hope t’find up here, Father?”  Duerten asked as he and Draton stood upon the eastern walk of the dam, overlooking the breach through which the waters of Storval Deep flowed.
“I’m not sure,” the priest replied, “but there must be some other way to open the floodgates.  We must present the others with an option other than a deal with a devil.  We must show them that there is another way.”
“Bah!” the deacon snorted.  “If they can’t see that fer themselves, then they deserve what they get!”
“Now, now, Brother,” Draton chided.  “That is not what Sarenrae teaches us.  We must show them the Path.  Whether or not they follow it is their own choice, but we, as shepherds, must guide them…vigorously if need be.”
Draton turned towards his deacon, but saw that the dwarf was no longer paying attention.  He was gazing down into the gorge below Skull’s Crossing.
“What is it?”  the priest asked.
“We’ve got visitors,” the dwarf said absently.
Draton walked to the edge and followed the deacon’s gaze.  Far below, ascending the stairs they had come up earlier in the day, two figures could be made out.  One was small, certainly smaller than Duerten in stature, but the other was smaller still, and flitted about like a bird of some sort.
“I think we should go and greet our guests,” the priest said.

By the time the two clerics reached the far side of the dam, the two figures were just emerging from Gorger and Chaw’s cave.  The larger of the two was obviously a gnome dressed in traveling robes, his cherubic features set off by his bright purple hair.  Around his head fluttered a tiny, waifish little creature that looked like a diminutive elf with gossamer, butterfly-like wings.  When they saw the dwarf and human facing them, they paused.
“Hello,” the gnome waved cheerfully.  “Are you, by chance, the liberators of Fort Rannick?”
“Who’s askin’?” Duerten snapped.
“Sinclair Sneed,” the gnome bowed, “at your service, and my pixie companion is Yap.  It is he who led me to you.”
“For what purpose?”  Draton asked, not unkindly.
“I’ll allow him to explain,” Sinclair replied, and gestured to the pixie.
“My mistress,” the little fey began chattering rapidly, his high-pitched words almost too fast to follow, “she is…ill.  Very ill.  Death would have been a kindness.  The land sickens with her heart, and it cannot be cleansed until her misery is purged.  I cannot do this myself.  Please, you must help her!  You are friends with her human lover, yes?  He wouldn’t leave her like this!  I can take you to her…maybe you can do something.  I have tried everything to cure her forlorn heart, but to no avail.  She wails and moans in Whitewillow, and the trees and plants and nixies and frogs and everything are dying or worse!  I can take you there!  Please!”
“Who is your mistress’s lover?”  Draton asked, confused.
“He is called Lamatar Bayden,” Yap replied.
“I’m sorry, but we don’t know that name,” Draton said, “but perhaps our companions do.  We have only recently joined them.”
“An’ what’s yer story, purple-hair?”  Duerten asked the gnome.
“I come from Sanos Forest,” Sinclair replied, “and I can attest that what Yap says is true.  The Shimmerglens swamp, which borders the forest and the human lands, has long been said to lie close to the First World of the Fey, and some of the more capricious or malicious of those creatures have long been known to harass travelers in that area.  It was for this reason that the Wicker Walk was built between the human outpost of Bitterhollow and Sanos Forest, to promote safe trade between our two peoples.  Yet recently, the trappers and hunters have been reporting more frequent encounters with nixies, sprites and other fey creatures, almost as if something deeper in the swamp were pushing them outward.  Indeed, some of my people who ventured into the Shimmerglens told tales of the deeper parts of the swamp having become polluted and corrupted.  Our trade routes have been endangered, so the elders of my village chose me to investigate these happenings more closely.  As I began my trek into the Shimmerglens, I met Yap, and he told me the same tale you have just heard.  I agreed to journey with him to Fort Rannick to seek out this human, Lamatar Bayden, which is where he was last known to dwell.  When we got there, however, we found almost the entire town of Turtleback Ferry in residence.  We heard the story of the ogre attack and the defeat of the Black Arrows.  Further, we heard of the heroes from Magnimar who liberated the fort from the ogres in turn, then saved Turtleback Ferry from Black Magga.  We were told where to find you, and so here we are, hoping you can direct us to Lamatar.”
“I see,” Draton replied.  “As I said, we do not know this man, but come with us and we shall see if the others do.”
__________________________________________________

“Lamatar Bayden?”  Reaper asked.  “Yes, I know that name.  Adso, Dexter, you remember as well.  Jakardros told us of him.  He was the commander of Fort Rannick when the ogres attacked.  I’m sorry,” he said as he turned back to Yap and Sinclair, “but as far as we know, Captain Bayden is dead.  He was carried away by the ogres, and that is the last anyone saw of him.”
“Noooooo!”  Yap wailed.  “When my mistress learns of this, her anger will only grow!  Her heart will be broken!  What will become of us?”
Sinclair tried to soothe the pixie, and then turned to the others.  “Is there nothing you can do to help?  My home is threatened, and so is the way of life of your people.”
“We’re kind of busy here right now,” Reaper said sharply.  “If we don’t get this dam up and running, you won’t have to worry about some lovelorn fey.  The Shimmerglens and your forest will all be completely underwater.”
A look of concern crossed the gnome’s face.
“Have you discovered any way to solve this problem?” he asked.
“You bring up an excellent point!”  Reaper said as he shot a look at Draton.  “In fact, we have, but it entails freeing that creature you see there, who happens to be an imprisoned devil.  He has promised to show us how to open the floodgates if we release him, but my esteemed companion here,” he gestured towards Draton, “takes moral issue with this.  What is your opinion?”
Sinclair looked aghast.
“Why of course you should free the creature!” he said.  “You can’t allow this disaster to happen!  You’re supposed to be heroes!”
“My point exactly,” Reaper said in satisfaction.
“My companion oversimplifies the issue,” Draton said calmly.  “There is more at issue here, and I am not advocating simply allowing the denizens of the Skull River valley to be destroyed.  I would like to explore all of our options first, which was what Duerten and I were doing atop the dam when we saw you.  In fact, I would like your help, and that of Yap, in this.  I promise you both, when we deal with the matter of the floodgates, then we will accompany you back to the Shimmerglens and see what we can do about your problem.”
Yap nodded enthusiastically, wiping his dripping nose with his sleeve.
“Yes!  Yes!” he squealed.  “Yap help!  Then you come help my mistress!”
__________________________________________________

Reaper watched the two priests leave with the gnome and the pixie.  When he was sure they were out of earshot, he went over to Avaxial’s circle and sat down cross-legged beside it.
“Quite…the dilemma…,” the pit fiend said.  “What will you…do?”
Reaper shook his head.  “I haven’t decided yet.  I will at least wait to see what Draton discovers, and to hear what words his goddess has for him.”
Avaxial stared unblinking at the necromancer for a moment, and then he spoke again:
“Perhaps I can make…your decision…easier…”

Several minutes later, Reaper rose and walked over to Dexter.  Glancing at Cruemann, he pulled the rogue aside.
“A new wrinkle has been added,” he whispered.  “In addition to aiding us in operating the floodgates, Avaxial has made one more concession…”
Dexter raised one eyebrow.  “And?”
“It seems that his kind have great power at their call…even the power to grant wishes…”
Dexter’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped.  Reaper only nodded, a small smile on his lips.  Abruptly, Dexter turned away and went over to their gear, where he drew out the gleaming fork they had taken from the scrag.  
“What are you doing?”  Cruemann asked alarmed.  Adso only looked on curiously.
“Mind your own business,” Dexter growled as he approached the portcullis and threw the lever, causing the gate to rise.  
“Stop!”  Cruemann shouted, but as he moved forward, Reaper stepped in front of him.  Raw power radiated from the necromancer, and before it, Cruemann’s heart quailed.  He felt pure terror grip him, and before he knew what he was doing, he was fleeing as if his life depended on it.

“Lest you forget,” Reaper chided as he took the fork from Dexter’s hand, “when the scrag used this, it opened wounds in his own body as well.  You don’t regenerate, my friend.  Allow me.”
He stood before the circle of runes and began chanting.  As he did so, Avaxial rose painfully to his feet, expectation on his face.  As the last words of Reapers incantation fell, the runes dimmed and faded, and for the first time in ten-thousand years, Avaxial stepped free.  For a moment, time seemed to stand still as no one breathed, all tensed for betrayal.
“Have no fear, my friend,” Avaxial smiled toothily.  “I keep my word.  When the waters of the lake beyond rise above a certain level, an event that has happened only one-hundred-fifty times during my imprisonment, the dam attempts to draw the life force from two individuals within the circles.  It only requires a small amount, but both circles must be occupied.  If so, the floodgates will open.”
“So…two of us must step within the circles?” he asked.
“That is one option,” Avaxial smiled again.  “But any life force will do.  You are a wizard of some sort, I presume?  Then certainly you are capable of a basic summoning spell…”
“I see…,” Reaper said, nodding in comprehension.  “What will you do now?  What of our other agreement?”
“As I said,” Avaxial replied, “I keep my word.  For the moment, however, I am far too weak to call upon my full powers.  Give me time, and I assure you, I will return to fulfill my promise.  For now, however, I must recover my strength and attempt to return to my home.”
Reaper nodded.  “I will hold you to your promise, Avaxial.” He spoke the fiend’s name with emphasis.  The devil knew well the power such knowledge held.  “Take your leave then, but avoid my colleagues when you go.  I’m afraid they would not be very understanding.”
Avaxial nodded and extended his hand to grip Reaper’s before slipping quickly out the door.  When Reaper looked down at his palm he saw the symbol of Asmodeus emblazoned there…
__________________________________________________

It was sometime later when Draton and the others returned.  He had asked Yap to investigate the pipes behind the mock-up of Skull’s Crossing, and the pixie had discovered that they led to the lake, but that no water entered into them.  The four had then gone topside, where Draton and Duerten had stripped off their armor and lowered themselves into the water in hopes of finding some means to unblock the pipes from the outside, theorizing that if water flowed into the pipes, the model’s floodgates might open, which in turn would open the true gates.  Their efforts were in vain.  They could find no way to open the tubes.

“Ah!  You’re back!”  Reaper said jubilantly.  “I think I may have deduced how to open the gates without the aid of the pit fiend.  In fact, as you can see, we need no longer concern ourselves with him.”
Draton’s eyes narrowed, but when he looked into the circle, he saw no sign of Avaxial, only another pile of red ash sitting within the glowing circle of runes identical to the one in the opposite alcove.  
“What happened?” he asked suspiciously.
Reaper shrugged.  “I’m not sure.  One moment he was laying there, and the next he screamed and dissolved into ash…which led me to my deduction.  I believe that the dam operates off of life force, and that over the centuries, it has been draining that from the pit fiends to power the flood gates.  So, all we have to do is provide that life energy.”
“And how do you propose we do that?”  Draton asked.
“Quite easily, actually,” the necromancer shrugged as he pulled a scroll from his belt and unfurled it.  He read aloud, and as he did so, two large spiders with spike-laden carapaces appeared from thin air, one in each alcove.  As they did so, the runes flared once and the arachnids were instantly reduced to ash, but as this occurred, a deep rumble filled the entire interior of the dam.  Draton nodded grudgingly to Reaper.
“Well done.  Well done indeed.”
Unnoticed in the corner, Cruemann looked on, shamefaced.  By the time his fear had left him, the deed had been done.  He didn’t know if Reaper’s story was true, but he doubted it strongly.  Worse, he found that, deep down, he did not disagree with the necromancer’s methods, and this was what scared him the most…all the way down to his soul…


----------



## Hammerhead

Sounds like Cruemann really kicked ass. 

It seems to be that all of your group's clerics or paladins end up as these incredibly inflexible, 'kill anything evil' crusaders that enter the group and immediately start telling the group what to do (with the exception of Daelric, who was a little weasel). I suppose I'm mainly thinking of that Kelemvor inquisitor in AoW. Or is this group conflict just added in to add flavor to the story?


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## JollyDoc

Hammerhead said:


> Sounds like Cruemann really kicked ass.
> 
> It seems to be that all of your group's clerics or paladins end up as these incredibly inflexible, 'kill anything evil' crusaders that enter the group and immediately start telling the group what to do (with the exception of Daelric, who was a little weasel). I suppose I'm mainly thinking of that Kelemvor inquisitor in AoW. Or is this group conflict just added in to add flavor to the story?




No, the conflict was really there, and it comes to ahead this week again...possibly for the last time...!


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## Neverwinter Knight

Great update, JollyDoc. I'm looking forward to Draton's face, when Avaxial comes back. Or should Reaper die, he might find Avaxial waiting for him in the beyond...kind of what Marius experienced in STAP.


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## Joachim

Hammerhead said:


> Sounds like Cruemann really kicked ass.




Cruemann follows the old maxim, "Do one thing.  Do it well."  Stress is on the 'one' in the first sentence.



Hammerhead said:


> It seems to be that all of your group's clerics or paladins end up as these incredibly inflexible, 'kill anything evil' crusaders that enter the group and immediately start telling the group what to do (with the exception of Daelric, who was a little weasel). I suppose I'm mainly thinking of that Kelemvor inquisitor in AoW. Or is this group conflict just added in to add flavor to the story?




Actually, the flip side of the exalted coin showed up this week.  As far as the post above is concerned, it is a good thing that I went ahead and decided to max out Bluff with my high Charisma.


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## Joachim

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Great update, JollyDoc. I'm looking forward to Draton's face, when Avaxial comes back. Or should Reaper die, he might find Avaxial waiting for him in the beyond...kind of what Marius experienced in STAP.




The Avaxial chapter will be concluded very soon, but Reaper has no inclination to do anything selfish with his _wish_.  In fact, Reaper's wish may end up indirectly taking care of his little 'exalted problem'.

EDIT:  I just noticed this in the Alignment description for the Dread Necromancer, and thought it most appropriate in describing Reaper's worldview, and his stance in the discussions that occurred last night [emphasis mine]:

"Not all dread necromancers are evil, although the best of them could easily be described them as _evil tolerant_.  No dread necromancer can have a good alignment.  Performing evil acts is a basic feature of the class, but some dread necromancers manage to _balance evil acts with good intentions_, remaining solidly neutral (most PC dread necromancers fall into this category)."


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## JollyDoc

SUNDAY TEASER

Why so early, you ask?  It's because we actually gamed last night, and had a rather lengthy session...

1)  The heroes return triumphantly to Fort Rannick to deliver the good news about Skull's Crossing...leaving out the whole deal-with-a-devil part...

2)  Yap's quest still remains, and so the companions accompany the little pixie to the Shimmerglens and Whitewillow

3)  The fey wasn't kidding when he said the place had gone to pot...spooky trees, ghostly sprites, and a familiar blast from the past all greet them as they row their little boats deeper into the swamp

4)  Lamatar's lover  is not happy with those she blames for his death, and she shows her displeasure in a 'blinding' fashion, prompting the heroes to do some fast-talking and make some binding promises.

5)  Fortunately, vengeance for the lovesick nymph translates to vengeance on the Kreegs, and so the heroes return once more to Hook Mountain.

6)  The ogres are not the disorganized mob they seem to be, however, and wave-after-wave of the brutes hurl themselves against the unbreakable wall of the Heroes of Sandpoint/Magnimar/Turtleback Ferry/Fort Rannick...or as we like to say it...Sandimarbackrannick.

7)  Ah, but who could orchestrate such a coordinated effort by a bunch of unruly ogres?  The truth is revealed when Barl Breakbones and his minions are bearded in their lair.

8)  Tragically, another heroe falls beneath the hammer of Barl, yet astonishingly, the battle does not end in total annihilation, but in unconditional surrender!

9)  Not all are pleased with this turn of events, and morale quandaries aplenty rear their ugly heads...hilarity ensues!

10)  The bargain with Myriana, Lamatar's lover, is fulfilled...and a quite unexpected benefit is gained.


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## carborundum

OLO - I've just got through reading this week's update and there's a new teaser. Sorry JD, you'll have to take a few days off work to write the next update!

Nice work by Reaper - did you play it out at the table or go into another room for five minutes? Those things are always tricky!

Anythanks again for a bangup job on the update Mr Doc - brilliant!


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## JollyDoc

carborundum said:


> OLO - I've just got through reading this week's update and there's a new teaser. Sorry JD, you'll have to take a few days off work to write the next update!
> 
> Nice work by Reaper - did you play it out at the table or go into another room for five minutes? Those things are always tricky!
> 
> Anythanks again for a bangup job on the update Mr Doc - brilliant!




We actually did it all at the table, which was very cool.  My players are very good about keeping player info out of character info.


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## carborundum

Sweet!

I have another little question - I'm DM-ing this at the weekend for 6 players. The characters are from another adventure and 3rd level, so I'm starting with them saving Aldern from some goblins (and making an impression), and skipping straight to Thistletop. How much did you pump up the numbers or add levels to bad guys for your group?


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## JollyDoc

carborundum said:


> Sweet!
> 
> I have another little question - I'm DM-ing this at the weekend for 6 players. The characters are from another adventure and 3rd level, so I'm starting with them saving Aldern from some goblins (and making an impression), and skipping straight to Thistletop. How much did you pump up the numbers or add levels to bad guys for your group?




I actually did not add any levels to named NPC's.  I learned my lesson about that in previous AP's.  Instead, I have, in general, been doubling the number of mooks, ie goblins, ogres, etc.  Mooks with levels, or tougher monsters, I increase their number by about 1.5, so if there are 2, then I put three, etc.  It's worked pretty well, but we found this week that at the end of Hookmountain, all of the PC's are about 10k xp shy of 10th level, which they need to be to start the next adventure, so we're going to be running a linker.


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## carborundum

Thanks a million, JD - that's a simple guideline. Cheers! 

We're playing for about 18 hours so should get a ways into the Skinsaw chapter. Then it'll be six months before the next session, but still...I'm really looking forward to it


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## Virtue

*Great Story Hour*

This is great 

I have never read your stuff before I really enjoy this

Ill be running this once our Masque of Red Death Camp ends 

I will have to read some of your old story hours

Is there any Prestige classes or are these guys strait core classes


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## carborundum

Sorry, JD, another question - did you increase the size of any of the areas to accomodate all those extra mooks? I'm thinking of the now 20 goblin refugees...


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## Neverwinter Knight

Virtue said:


> This is great
> 
> I have never read your stuff before I really enjoy this
> 
> I will have to read some of your old story hours




Careful, soon you won't be able to stop untill you've read them all...


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## JollyDoc

Virtue said:


> This is great
> 
> I have never read your stuff before I really enjoy this
> 
> Ill be running this once our Masque of Red Death Camp ends
> 
> I will have to read some of your old story hours
> 
> Is there any Prestige classes or are these guys strait core classes




Welcome!  We're always glad to have new readers!  Let's see...Reaper is straight Dread Necromancer, Draton is pure cleric, Duerten is the Pathfinder Holy Warrior variant of cleric, Dexter is a rogue, but, and he'll have to correct me on this, I believe he has taken a level or two from Book of Nine Swords, but I can't remember in what.  Adso is pure monk, Sinclair is warmage, and Cruemann is a fighter, albeit specialized in the bow.


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## JollyDoc

carborundum said:


> Sorry, JD, another question - did you increase the size of any of the areas to accomodate all those extra mooks? I'm thinking of the now 20 goblin refugees...




No, I didn't.  The goblin mooks all fit, although tightly.  I did have a slight issue with the ogres in Fort Rannick, because some of the internal rooms were not large enough, so I just left those numbers as written.


----------



## Virtue

Have you made any changes for Pathfinder with the new classes? 

How are you doing 0 level spells for the Dread Necro we have a house rule i took from Pathfinder for the 0 level spells


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## JollyDoc

Virtue said:


> Have you made any changes for Pathfinder with the new classes?
> 
> How are you doing 0 level spells for the Dread Necro we have a house rule i took from Pathfinder for the 0 level spells




Not really.  So far, the classes outside Pathfinder have meshed well.  We've made cosmetic changes, like d6 for warmage instead of d4, etc.  Same for 0 level spells for Dread Necromancer...treated like wizards.


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## WarEagleDex

Dexter (me) has two levels in swordsage.

And I believe sinclaire is a Sorcerer with draconic bloodline, not warmage.


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## Virtue

JollyDoc said:


> Not really.  So far, the classes outside Pathfinder have meshed well.  We've made cosmetic changes, like d6 for warmage instead of d4, etc.  Same for 0 level spells for Dread Necromancer...treated like wizards.




What did you do for the Dread Necros spell list?


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## Joachim

Virtue said:


> What did you do for the Dread Necros spell list?




Sadly, the Dread Necros spell list does not include 0 level spells....so that did not require any change.


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## JollyDoc

STONE COLD

Twisted black trees rose wretchedly from shallow pools, seeming to have lurched from the land, their arthritic branches curled into miserable tortured claws.  The sun seemed to scorn that place, and a cold dark mist loomed within the canopy of bone-bare branches above.  Evil murmurs rode an unnatural wind that flowed forth from the glens, and shadows danced in the dark mists within.  The part of the Shimmerglens known as Whitewillow was as different from the rest of the swamp as Turtleback Ferry was from Magnimar.

It was still early morning as the seven companions and Yap paddled two flat-bottomed rowboats through the fetid murk, but with the wan light that filtered through the thick canopy and mist, it might have been dusk.  On Yap’s advice, they had stayed the night in Turtleback Ferry, avoiding travelling into the marsh at night, yet the pale daylight wasn’t much better.  The trees of Whitewillow, once beautiful and mystic with drooping boughs of sparkling ivory leaves, had gone dark and twisted.  They shifted and moved when they should not.  Shadows played cruel tricks on the sharpest eyes, and sanity-shredding whispers would have caused even the canniest woodsman to lose his way.  The deeper into its depths that Yap led them, the more the corruption grew.  Spiders, fat and languid on poison, hung from trees.  Dying birds twitched in the shallows.  Slithering things with too many eyes squirted away through the water.

Aside from the horrific landscape, and the perversion of the natural world there, there were things in Whitewillow that went beyond the mere natural.  Nothing but chill silence surrounded the travelers, though on occasion they would glimpse tall, dark-robed figures in their peripheral vision.  The creatures’ enlarged, skeletal claws extended from their outstretched arms as if reaching for the companions, but when they turned to look, they saw nothing more than horribly twisted black trees.  At one point, in frustration, Duerten hacked at one of them with his axe, and as his blade bit into the dark bark, it wept blood and seemed to cackle in the wind.  Another time, ghostly translucent forms emerged from the trees all about the heroes.  Fey of all sorts…spectral satyrs, ghostly grigs, phantom nixies, and sprightly spirits floated gently from the swamp, followed by a parade of phantom animals.
“My friends…,” Yap whispered.  
The spirits caressed, danced through, and embraced the onlookers before passing on, the unfathomable business of the dead drawing them elsewhere.  Still deeper, in the darkest corner of Whitewillow, a derelict ship emerged out of the gloom, inexplicably located hundreds of miles from the Varisian shore.  The vessel was badly worn and covered in thick, dark green moss, but it was otherwise completely intact.  The nameplate was missing, but the figurehead could still be made out…a wyvern in flight.  As their boats floated silently past, they saw a white dog sitting on the deck, watching them with milky, blind eyes.
“Death…,” Yap whispered again.

Eventually, the tangled swamp gave way to a relatively large clearing, a calm pool of unnaturally still water ringed by twisted, decayed willow trees.  Wind blew, but the trees did not sway.  It was as if the very land had died.  Yap quailed at the edge of the clearing.
“We’re here,” he said quietly.  “My lady waits for you within.  I dare not go any closer…,”
The terrified pixie stepped back, then cowered behind a gnarled tree.  With no other choice apparent, the seven companions climbed from their boats and waded out into the middle of the clearing.  Suddenly, with a howl, a ghostly figure rose from the waters.  Once soul-shakingly beautiful, the nymph princess Myriana was now a haggard, ghostly horror.  Her disembodied arms floated at her sides, exposed bone and sinew stretching towards her torso but ever too far out of reach.  Her lower body faded away to smoke, whatever damage done to her in life too cruel for even her insane spirit to keep.  Perhaps her most terrifying features, however, were her eyes…wells of hellish horror that cried out silently in an agony beyond anything a mortal creature could ever know.  They threatened to reduce those who tried to hold her gaze to gibbering children.  She was beauty undone, and torment incarnate.  As her terrible gaze fell upon each of the seven, they were each struck blind and plunged into blackness, yet they could all hear her voice, hate-filled and shrieking.
“You!  Why have you come here?  You who failed Lamatar!  You who failed to protect Fort Rannick!  You who allowed the ogres to take my love to their lair high on Hook Mountain!”
It was Reaper who responded.
“Lady, we beg your pardon, but we did not know Lamatar.  The attack and his capture occurred before we had even heard of Fort Rannick.  But know this…we have since exacted vengeance on the Kreegs.  Those who were not killed outright have been routed from the fort and forced back to Hook Mountain.”
“So still Kreegs live!” she wailed.  “While my love has perished!  You think the slaughter of a few ogres will assuage my grief?”
For a moment Reaper was speechless.
“Then I don’t understand, Lady,” he said at last.  “What may be done to give you peace?”
She moaned horribly.
“I have no part of my heart’s love to return to life.  All I need is a fragment, a single finger, a lock of hair, anything!  Climb Hook Mountain, avenge his death, and return to me with a relic from Lamatar’s body.  I shall take care of the rest.  Return my beloved to me!  Return my commander to my heart, or I shall find him with my vines and my dark trees will eat the land and churn your people to bone and misery!  Return Lamatar to my embrace!”
With that, her shade faded back into the waters, and as her blinding beauty retreated, sight was restored to the heroes, and they found themselves alone and in silence once more.
_________________________________________________

The trip back to Hook Mountain was nothing compared to climbing the mountain itself.  Following well-worn game trails, the seven companions, all bundled into heavy furs and cloaks, trudged through driving snow as winter came with a fury upon the Hook.  Autumn was a forgotten dream as cutting wind lanced through wool and leather, and treacherous ice crawled along the mountainside.  It was obvious that life could be cruel and short on the mountainside, and more so than ever as Winter sank her teeth into its crags.  

After more than three hours of bone-numbing climbing, the heroes finally crested the last craggy outcrop about a half-mile from Hook Mountain’s 10,000-foot-high peak.  There the constant flurries of wind-borne snow and frost lashed at a gaping hole in side of the mountain that looked out over a wide ledge of windswept stone.  Smoke poured forth from the cave entrance, only to be instantly dispersed by the wind.  Standing in the mouth of the cave, swathed in furs and leathers, were four burly Kreegs, each clutching an ice-rimed iron hook.  When they spotted the companions climbing over the ridge, they wasted no time in advancing across the shelf.  Likewise, Draton wasted no time in causing a wall of brilliant, white light to spring up between the oncoming giants and his allies.  To everyone except the priest, friends and enemies alike, the coruscating curtain was opaque.  So it was that Draton was the only one to see the four ogres pause before the wall, poised and waiting for the first enemy to show their face on the other side.  

Before Draton could warn him, Adso moved quickly to the near corner of the light wall and peered cautiously around.  Peering right back at him was Minktuck, a particularly large Kreeg who was missing his lower jaw, instead having several whole, dead minks sewn to his face, which bounced and jiggled as he grinned evilly at the monk.  He stepped halfway around the wall, closely followed by one of his brethren.  Very quickly, they had the half-orc hedged in, and when they began swinging their hooks, Adso knew he wouldn’t last long against them.  Meanwhile, on the far edge of the wall, the other two Kreegs quickly came round, seeking to flank their prey.  Cruemann quickly gave them pause by placing two shafts in the first one’s thigh, and Dexter drove the lesson home as he darted forward and plunged his dagger through its foot.  The big Kreeg howled and raised its hook high as it prepared to cut the rogue down like an errant blade of grass.  The hook never fell, however, as Reaper stepped boldly in front of the two ogres, his black cloak billowing out behind him in the savage wind.  To onlookers, he almost seemed to swell with dark power, and the giants quailed before him, backpedalling and stumbling over themselves as they plunged through the wall in their effort to escape the dread necromancer.

Adso somersaulted nimbly away from Minktuck and his brother just as Duerten ambled up to them, the dwarf looking like nothing so much as a compact armadillo encased in his heavy armor and hunkered down behind his large shield.  The ogres hammered at the deacon again and again, none of their blows penetrating his stout carapace.  As they were distracted, Cruemann shot round after round at them, targeting Minktuck in particular.  Finally, the big Kreeg began to sway from blood loss and then, as Dexter’s dagger sprouted from between his eyes, he crashed heavily to the stone.  His kinsman fared little better as Sinclair, his purple hair flying, hurled fiery bursts of magical energy at him again and again.  The ogre was able to shrug off the first few, but as he reeled, Duerten hewed with his axe, and Adso sprang back in, delivering devastating flurries of kicks and strikes until he joined his brother in the snow.
___________________________________________________

At the mouth of darkness leading into the Hook, jagged spurs of bone protruded from the stone on either side of the cave entrance, each towering twenty-feet in height, apparently the ribs of some monstrous behemoth.  They bore crude scrimshaw carvings, many of which incorporated the seven-pointed Sihedron Rune.  Beyond the ribs, an enormous statue stood in frozen vigil…a forty-foot tall giant with black skin covered by fissures and cracks, like the bed of a dried river.  It wore majestic armor gilt and encrusted with gems, and gripped a towering glaive in its armored fists.  The giant’s face was hidden by a ferocious full helm forged into the sneering grimace of a fanged devil.  Around the giant’s neck hung a medallion…a seven-pointed star.

Past the statue of the rune-bound king, the tunnel reached a choke point.  Three passages branched from it, and eight ogres stood poised between them, including the two big Kreegs that had fled before Reaper.  This time, however, there was nowhere to run.  As the six smaller ogres moved forward, however, it was not Cruemann’s bow, nor Adso’s fists, nor Dexter’s steel that met them, but instead Sinclair…alone and unarmed.  As the giants closed, no fear showed on the gnome’s face, just pure, unadulterated glee.  Arcane energy crackled around him, and his indigo hair stood on end.  Blue fire coalesced around his hand, and when the giants were no more than five paces away, he loosed it.  The fire moved like a living thing, leaping from one ogre to the next and the next, immolating each of them in turn.  In a matter of seconds, all six of them had been reduced to piles of smoking ash.  Stunned, the two Kreegs backed up several paces, drawing their bows from their backs.  Their hesitation was their undoing.  Adso sprang forward as Cruemann’s bow began to sing.  Added to that were Draton’s fiery bolts of holy power and Reaper’s black, spectral hand.  The two Kreegs fell before the onslaught before they could ever knock a single arrow.  The silence and stillness after the combat lasted only a brief moment, however.  A ground-shaking roar suddenly filled the tunnel as, from a wider tunnel to the south, over two dozen ogres surged out of the darkness.

“Plug the hole!”  Draton shouted, and Adso, Dexter and Duerten rushed forward, but it was obvious they wouldn’t make it before the first wave of ogres was upon them.
“I’ve got this,” Reaper said with a crooked smile.  “A little trick I picked up in Fort Rannick.”
The necromancer stepped forward and thrust his hands into the air, black power gathering to his call.  Then, from the tunnel floor in the middle of ogre horde sprang a forest of familiar-looking black tentacles.  They writhed and twined about the giants, tripping them up and stopping their charge.  The ogres were strong and powerful, and many of them broke free from the grasping appendages, but as they did, they were cut down by their enemies who stood waiting for them on the other side.  After that, it was simply a matter of time.  The Kreegs did not stop their suicidal advance, much more afraid of what would befall them if they failed to defend their home and still lived to tell about it.  By the time the slaughter was done, the dead lay stacked like cordwood in the tunnels, and the heroes of Magnimar stood gore-spattered and panting.  Was that it, they wondered?  Could it be?  How many more ogres could there still be in the tunnels?  More importantly, who, or what was leading them?
_____________________________________________________


Beyond the confluence of tunnels, the seven companions found themselves in a gigantic chamber that extended into darkness as it sloped upward between two wide ledges on which loomed statues of angular faces, strong brows, and fixed jaw lines.  Above, the ceiling opened up to the slate-gray sky.  The ramp led up in tiers before finally coming to an end before an immense, stone throne.  Seated upon that throne was what could only be described as a giant.  For a moment, he appeared to be a statue himself, his gray, stony skin blending perfectly with the rock around him, but then his eyes opened, and he turned to peer down at his visitors.  He spoke in a rumbling voice that sounded like rocks being crushed.  As he did, two more giants, leaner and more muscular, detached themselves from the shadows to either side of his throne.  Each carried a large, stone club in one hand.  Barl Breakbones, right-hand of Mokmurian, chuckled to himself as he saw the pitiful force arrayed against him.  True, they had bested the ogres, but that was no great feat.  Now, they were spent, exhausted, and presenting themselves before him.
“Crush them,” he ordered his guards in his native tongue.
In response, each of the younger giants bent to retrieve a large rock, boulders really, and hefted them over their heads.

“You will surrender yourselves now!”  Draton called out.  “You will do so, or face the justice of Sarenrae!”
“I don’t think they’re listening,” Dexter said.  Proof of that came when the two boulders smashed to the ground before and behind them, spraying them all with needle-like slivers of stone.  Dexter rolled away and then darted up the rest of the slope and began climbing rapidly towards the higher ledge.  Adso ran quickly behind the rogue, but instead of climbing, he leaped easily to the second tier, and then again to the highest.  As he landed, an explosion engulfed the three stone giants, a fireball hurled by Sinclair.  The flames passed, merely leaving scorch marks on the rough hide of the giants.  In response, Barl stood to his full height and raised his hands, chanting harsh words as he called his own magic to his bidding.  A salvo of crimson missiles streaked from his fingers, finding the little gnome unerringly and hurling him several feet backwards.
“A sorcerer!”  Reaper cried.  “Adso!  He’s yours!”

Duerten huffed and puffed as he scuttled up the ramp and reached the base of the lower ledge.  Sighing to himself, he looked up and began climbing, like a large, steel beetle.  Behind him, Cruemann knelt and knocked his bow.  Swiftly, he loosed three arrows, and all pierced the hide of the nearest giant easily, despite the density of the creature’s skin.  Adso used the distraction to dart past the reeling giant and closed the distance to Barl rapidly.  Smiling to himself, the half-orc imagined the surprise on the sorcerer’s face when he realized he would no longer be able to bring his magic to bear.  As it turned out, it was Adso who was surprised, for as he drew near, Barl reached down beside his throne and drew out an enormous earth breaker maul.  He swung it like a battering ram, slamming it into the monk and sending him sprawling.  
“You little people never learn,” the giant rumbled in Common.
As Adso struggled to rise, Barl gripped the maul in both hands and brought it down squarely on the half-orc’s back.  The sound of bone breaking could be heard clearly by Dexter thirty feet away.  Blood sprayed from Adso’s mouth as he screamed in silent agony.  A moment later, his pain turned to oblivion as Barl swung his maul again.

“No!”  Dexter shouted, and he ran full out towards the giants.  Rays of scorching fire and a lance of pure sound raced past him from Sinclair and Draton, hammering the nearest giant out of his path.  Dexter spared a glance down at his companions and began to raise his hand in thanks, but as he looked, he saw four figures emerge from the gloom behind his friends.
“Ware!” he shouted. 
Reaper turned at Dexter’s warning, and felt his mouth go instantly dry.  Three female creatures, as tall as ogres, though nowhere near as burly, shambled out of the darkness.  The first was a humpbacked hag with oversized talons sprouting from her stumpy arms.  Next to her, her sister was tall and thin, like a skeleton wrapped in ugly purple flesh and a sagging white robe.  The last had a face that was a mass of pustules, warts the size of coins, and craters that wept ooze.  She was squat and fat with bulbous breasts that hung almost to her knees.  Walking before them was a man-sized creature.  Superficially, he appeared human, though his skin bore the black, bloated color of a frost-bitten corpse.  His entire body was caked with ice.  His left hand looked almost to be a claw made of icicles, and his brow was decorated with a crown of the same.
“Gnome, if you’ve got any more special talents up those sleeves of yours, now would be the time to show all your cards,” Reaper hissed, and then quickly began his own spell.
Once more, black tentacles sprang from the stone, but though the hags cursed and spat as they swatted and clawed at the arms, they were no more than inconvenienced.  Not so their undead escort.  Him the tentacles held fast, lifting him into the air as they twined about him and squeezed.  Sinclair stepped beside Reaper and twitched the sleeves of his robes back from his hands.  Clasping his fingers together, he muttered and chanted, summoning fire between his palms.  He flung his hands forward and lobbed the flaming ball towards the forest of tentacles, where it exploded with a muffled whumph.  The hags shrieked, though more in anger than in real pain, but the undead creature burned to ash.  

Dexter turned towards the giant sorcerer, murder in his eyes, but as he started forward again, one of Barl’s guards moved to block his path.  A moment later, however, the stone giant howled and pitched head-first over the side of the ledge as one of Cruemann’s black-fletched arrows pierced his throat.  Dexter started to run, but before he’d even crossed half the distance to the throne, Barl held up one hand, and from it, a spectral copy, very similar to the one Reaper was so fond of manifesting, darted towards the rogue.  The large hand, almost half as tall as Dexter, casually brushed against him, but as it did, he felt a searing cold lance through his body, taking his breath completely away for a moment.  The hesitation was all that was needed for Barl’s second minion to close quickly to the rogue.  Swinging his cudgel, the giant slammed Dex hard to the stone floor, but the wily rogue’s instincts allowed him to roll with the blow at the last second, and he came quickly back to his feet, sword and dagger in hand.  Before the giant could move, Dex lunged, and sank both blades into the knees of the brute.  As it collapsed, the giant swung again, clipping Dex across the scalp, momentarily dazing him as bright light exploded behind his eyes.  When his vision cleared again, he saw that Duerten had managed to reach the top of the ledge and was harrying the giant relentlessly, his axe hewing and cleaving at its flesh.  The giant held up both hands defensively, but suffered only worse wounds for the effort.  Dexter leaped onto the creature’s back and stabbed repeatedly at its neck until it fell heavily onto its side and moved now more.
“Impressive,” Barl sneered, “but how will you fare against a more…familiar foe?”
Dex and Duerten turned towards the sorcerer and saw a new, smaller figure standing in front of the giant.  To their dawning horror, they realized exactly who and what it was that they were seeing…it was Adso, or rather, what was left of his corpse, obscenely animated and shambling towards them.

“There’s plenty more where that came from!”  Sinclair giggled maniacally as he hurled another fireball at the trapped hags.  This time, one of the sisters went down, screaming and wailing as she beat more and more feebly at the flames that engulfed her. 
“Need some help, little fella?”  Cruemann asked as he stepped up beside the gnome.  
Sinclair glared in irritation at the human, but said nothing, instead bowing and motioning for him to proceed.  One of the remaining hags was just emerging from the tentacles when Cruemann planted three arrows into her chest, causing her to fall back into the nest, where the rubbery arms quickly crushed the remaining life from her.  An ugly, hateful glare passed over the face of her sister, and she hissed once before turning and pushing her way back through the tentacles to the opposite side, and then disappearing into the darkness of the tunnel.

“You go too far, monster!”  Draton’s voice boomed as the priest suddenly appeared in a flash of light upon the high shelf.  His holy medallion was grasped firmly before him, and power flowed through it like white fire.  The pure light burned into the thing that had been Adso, searing the flesh from its bones.  It collapsed into a smoldering heap at the cleric’s feet.  
“I haven’t even gotten started!”  Barl laughed, and he seized his hammer and thundered across the floor, straight at Draton.  The maul fell like a thunderclap, lifting the priest from his feet.  He hit the ground ten feet away with bone-jarring force, but incredibly, he climbed to his knees, spitting blood, one eye blackened and swollen shut.  With a huge effort of will, he pushed himself to his feet once more.
“Still some fight in you?”  Barl chortled, and raised his maul again.  
Suddenly, a blast of green fire surrounded the giant, and the hammer fell from his hands when he abruptly found its weight too much to bear.
“I’d say that about evens the field,” Reaper said.
“Wha…?”  the sorcerer gasped, but his words were cut short by a cry of pain as Dexter fired a shot directly into his gut.  Sinclair added his own contribution in the form of two rays of scorching fire.  Finally, Barl collapsed completely as a flash of Dexter’s silver dagger severed one of his hamstrings.  The giant lay panting on the floor in a growing pool of his own blood.
“Please!” he pleaded.  “I surrender!  I’ll do anything, but only spare my life!”
“All you’ll do is die!”  Dexter shouted as he raised his blade for the killing blow.
“Stay your weapon!”  Draton commanded.  “I would have words with this…thing before we decide his fate.”
“Oh, his fate’s already decided,” the rogue sneered, “but you can go ahead and speak to him.  He’d best choose his words wisely, for they’ll surely decide exactly what sort of death awaits him.”
“If you have anything useful to say, giant,” Draton warned, “you would do well to speak hastily.  What is your purpose here?”
Barl struggled to sit, clutching one hand against his bleeding wounds.
“I was sent by my lord, Mokmurian.  He is a great and powerful mage among my people.  He is gathering a great army of giants to his banner, preparing to make war on this land and its people.  I was sent as an envoy to the Kreeg ogres, to subjugate them and prepare them for assimilation into my lord Mokmurian’s army.”
“For what reason would your master go to war against Varisia?”  Draton asked, perplexed.
“To reclaim our birthright,” Barl said proudly, drawing himself up.  “Thousands of years past, all of these lands belonged to us and our kin.  Our ancestors were betrayed and enslaved by your kind, and now your pathetic race holds all that was once ours!”
“Hold your tongue,” Dexter hissed, “before I slice it out and hold it for you!”
Barl’s belligerence seemed to subside for the moment.
“What of Fort Rannick?”  Draton questioned further.  “Why did you see fit to send the Kreegs against it?”
Barl shrugged.  “The rangers found our lair here on Hook Mountain.  They sent their spies here and discovered my presence.  They could not be allowed to warn anyone.  Their…elimination was simple strategy.”
“Strategy!?”  Reaper shouted.  “You call those atrocities strategy?”
Barl shrugged again.  “Such are the fortunes of war.  Collateral damage is often…unavoidable.”
Draton could see the look on the faces of Dexter and Reaper, and he quickly pressed on.
“Where can we find Mokmurian?”
“His fortress, Jorgenfist, is in the Iron Peaks, atop the Storval Plateau,” Barl replied.  “I have seen it, though I have never been inside.  It is truly a sight to behold,” he said wistfully.
“What of those creatures that attacked us?  And the undead thing that was with them?”  Draton asked.
“Ah,” Barl chuckled.  “The Sisters of the Hook.  They were a hag covey who served as allies and consorts of the Kreegs.  I don’t think they were very pleased when I took over from the previous chieftain here.  I sought to appease them somewhat by providing them with a plaything…the reanimated body of the leader of the Black Arrows.  I gave him to them once I’d finished questioning him.”
Now it was Draton’s turn to flush with anger.  “That…was Lamatar?”  he asked dangerously.
“Yes, now that you mention it,” Barl said pensively, “I think that was his name.”
“Now he dies, right?”  Dexter spat bitterly.  Barl’s face blanched.
“Wait,” this time it was Reaper who spoke.  He had knelt beside one of the dead stone giants, and turned its head so that his companions could see the tattoo on the back of its scalp…the Sihedron Rune.  “What is this?”
“Mokmurian’s mark,” Barl said.  “He required all of his people to bear it.”
“Then why was Lucrecia marking the people of Turtleback Ferry with it?”  Reaper demanded.
“The lamia?”  Barl asked, surprised.  “I wasn’t aware that she was.  She was sent with me by Mokmurian, but she was not under my command.  We were…equals.  She said she had business in the town on behalf of Mokmurian, but she didn’t tell me the details.”
Reaper nodded to Dexter.  The rogue raised his dagger again.
“No!”  Barl shouted.  “You said you’d spare me!  I’ve told you everything!  I swear!”
“And your honesty is duly noted,” Dexter said.  “I’ll make sure and write it on your tombstone!”
It was Draton again who stayed his hand.
“No,” the priest said.  “He has indeed given us valuable information.  You say you will do anything, giant.  Do you truly mean what you say?”
“Yes!”  Barl nodded eagerly.  
“Then you should have no problem accepting Sarenrae as your new Mistress, and returning with us to Magnimar to stand trial.”
“What??”  Dexter shouted.  “Are you insane?  He’s admitted everything!  He ordered the slaughter at Fort Rannick!  He tortured and murdered Lamatar, and then defiled his corpse!  He killed Adso right in front of us and then committed this atrocity against him!  Now you talk of trials and redemption??”
“Father,” Duerten interrupted, “I hate t’say it, but I kinda agree with th’rogue.”
Draton shook his head.  “These things are not for us to decide.  Sarenrae has placed this creature in our road for a purpose.  We do not question Her will in such things.”
“Well I sure as Hell do!”  Reaper said.  “Your high morals aside, this is the real world!  He’s a mass murderer, and is complicit in plotting war against Varisia!  That’s treason at the least!”
“More reason to allow the proper authorities to decide his fate,” Draton said calmly.  “I am firm in this decision.  I will not allow his life to be taken while I draw breath.”
Reaper was quiet, but his mind worked feverishly.  Perhaps the usefulness of this alliance had come to an end…”
_________________________________________________

Before their road could take them back to Magnimar, the six companions had unfinished business.  First, they visited Fort Rannick, bearing news of their victory over the Kreegs and of the fate of Lamatar.  Shalelu elected to travel with them, bidding her step-father farewell, and promising that she would return.  Reaper also promised to return, for he had considered the offer of stewardship over the fort, and he thought that such an endeavor might just suit his purposes well.  From Fort Rannick, they journeyed to Turtleback Ferry, and the people there were both frightened and angered when they beheld the shackled figure of Barl Breakbones.  The companions were again hailed as heroes, and a feast day was proclaimed in their honor.  During their brief respite, Barl was put to work repairing some of the damage caused by the flood.  Soon, however, it was time to move on.  They still had a promise to fulfill.

They found Whitewillow much as they had left it, and Yap was beside himself with joy at seeing them again, though the sight of the stone giant caused him to quiver so with fright that Sinclair feared his wings might shake off.  When Myriana appeared once more, it was only Barl that she struck blind with her terrible power.  
“Well?” she demanded.  “Have you returned what I have lost?”
Draton nodded silently, and drew from his belt pouch a lock of Lamatar’s hair.
“My beloved,” Myriana whispered, her face softening.  “You have my gratitude,” she said, not unkindly.
“Then perhaps you would grant us one final boon,” Dexter said, stepping boldly forward.
“Dexter, what are you doing?”  Reaper hissed.
In answer, the rogue reached into his own pouch and pulled out what appeared to be a finger bone.
“You said that you could restore Lamatar to life,” Dex began.  “One of our own died so that we might return your lover to you.  Can you do the same for him?”
Myriana looked pensive.  “What I offer is not resurrection as you might know it,” she said at length.  “I can do what you ask, but be warned, your companion may not be as you remember him.”
“Then do it,” Dex said, throwing Draton a caustic look before the priest could protest.
Myriana instructed Dexter to place the bone on the ground.  When he complied, she began whispering, gathering power to her as a strong wind began blowing through the willow trees.  To the stunned amazement of the onlookers, the small bone began to grow flesh, and then more bone, until, within moments, an intact hand lay there.  The process continued, and an arm followed.  Slowly, the nymph’s magic constructed an entirely new body for Adso.
“Ah,” she murmured, “blood calls to blood.”
After what seemed like hours, the companions stood staring in disbelief as Adso slowly blinked open his eyes.
“What are you all looking at?” the now-full-blooded orc asked suspiciously…


----------



## Virtue

Joachim said:


> Sadly, the Dread Necros spell list does not include 0 level spells....so that did not require any change.




Yeah I know he doesnt have 0 level spells i was wondering if you guys changed it or not


----------



## Hammerhead

He also seems to have magic missile. What gives? The Expanded Learning ACF from the Warmage spilling over to the Necromancer? Or does he have those cheesy magic gloves?


----------



## Joachim

Hammerhead said:


> He also seems to have magic missile. What gives? The Expanded Learning ACF from the Warmage spilling over to the Necromancer? Or does he have those cheesy magic gloves?




Yes, I have the gloves from the Raiment of the Four...as a matter of fact, I now have a full set of the Raiment of the Four, so it effectively adds some spells to my list a few times a day.


----------



## WarEagleDex

Hammerhead said:


> He also seems to have magic missile. What gives? The Expanded Learning ACF from the Warmage spilling over to the Necromancer? Or does he have those cheesy magic gloves?




Come on, I'm sure nobody in this game uses anything that is kinda cheesy..  Book of nine what?


----------



## Supar

Guesse i will get a template going for u guys
Crueman Jones (Human) aka PC number 6
8Fighter 1exotic wpns master
90HP
16str
18dex
16con
11wis
8int
7cha
Saves: Fort 13  Ref 8 Will 7
AC 21
Skills: Craft Wpn +11 acrobatics +11
Init +8
Base attack: +2 Large Great bow +20/15 Dmg 2d8+10
*Feats:   *
Iron Will ,Country born, Exotic Wpn profiency(GreatBow),PointBlankshot, Rapid shot, Manyshot, Deadly aim, Precise shot, Deadly aim, Improved init, Wpn focus(GreatBow),Wpn Specilization(GreatBow), Greater wpns focus(GreatBow), Ranged wpn mastery (piercing)
*Class Features:*
Bravery +2 vs fear
Armor training +2
Wpn Training +1 (Bows)
*Equipment:*
Boots of dimension step, Hewards Haversac, Effienct quiver, Strong arm bracer,400 arrows, 100cold iron arrows, 100 silver arrows, MW Longsword, Cloak of res +2, Breast plate, Mw tools, 2xoil of bless wpn
*What Makes Me Special:*(Thought i add this)
Full out attack is Manyshot, Rapid shot, Deadly aim.(non pointblank) 14/9/14  2d8+14 Many shot adds an extra arrow to the first shot. All hits will add up to 8d8+56 
avg dmg=88


----------



## Abciximab

Supar said:


> *snip*
> Full out attack is Manyshot, Rapid shot, Deadly aim.(non pointblank) 14/9/14  2d8+14 Many shot adds an extra arrow to the first shot. All hits will add up to 8d8+56
> avg dmg=88




I was wondering what was up with manyshot/full attack, since I'm used to 3.5. I have the pathfinder Beta, but haven't delved too deeply. I think I like the pathfinder way better. 

Hmmm... I had a question about something else, but it seems to have left me...

Oh, now I remember, Where is the Battle Cleric build found?

Guess I'll go back to re-reading JD & crew's Shackled City SH until the next update.

Enjoying the tale.


----------



## Minkster

The battle Cleric is from the Pathfinder campaign setting it gives you d10 HD and cleric level BAB but you give up domains powers and domain spells.


----------



## Dr Simon

This is a good read, and it inspired me to start the Crimson Throne AP. I also had a bit of an archive binge with JD's STAP write-up.

I have one niggling note of criticism, however. The action of putting an arrow to a bow is "to nock". Not "knock". When you're married to a technical writer spotting this kind of thing rubs off.


----------



## JollyDoc

Dr Simon said:


> This is a good read, and it inspired me to start the Crimson Throne AP. I also had a bit of an archive binge with JD's STAP write-up.
> 
> I have one niggling note of criticism, however. The action of putting an arrow to a bow is "to nock". Not "knock". When you're married to a technical writer spotting this kind of thing rubs off.





Duly noted, sir and thank you!  I'm kind of obsessive about being grammatically correct, whenever possible, so I appreciate any editing advice.

We gamed last night, but won't be gaming this coming week because I will be visiting Bean Town, so I'm going to take a little extra time with the update.  However, I will be putting up an "Interlude" this week, in which I will be detailing the actions of our heroes upon returning to Magnimar.  One teaser...an old friend makes a surprise appearance...


----------



## Virtue

Well I hope some of the characters who died at Fort Rannick make it back from the dead 

I cant wait for the rest of the story to unfold


----------



## Leinart

You and me both. Although im becoming a fan of draton.


----------



## Virtue

I need to get more of a fix of your writing can you give me links to your other story hours


----------



## JollyDoc

Virtue said:


> I need to get more of a fix of your writing can you give me links to your other story hours




Here are the ones I can find...

http://www.enworld.org/forum/story-hour/181237-jollydocs-savage-tide-updated-10-8-a.html

http://www.enworld.org/forum/story-hour/85618-jollydocs-shackled-city-final-post-updated-11-2-a.html


----------



## Hammerhead

I have the PDFs of Gfunk's original CotSQ/BoBS/LQ, and JD's Shackled City, Age of Worms, and Savage Tide. The SC AP PDF was compiled by someone not me, so it actually looks pretty decent. 

They lack the learned and erudite comments by such distinguished individuals as myself and other posters. If you post your address, I can send them to you or something.


----------



## Virtue

Deleted cause you guys dont need my email LOL


----------



## AlamoMelt

Hey, long time reader, first time poster here 

I've been telling a friend of mine that occasionally DMs for a small group about how entertaining your Story Hours are, and how much you guys accomplish each session. I've been a part of (too many) games (like last Saturday) that I could sum up as: equipped party, landed on beach, killed T-Rex, killed 3 Terror Birds, wandered through jungle, Orlangu taunted party, session over. It doesn't seem like a rewarding way to spend 6 hours on Saturday sometimes.

There appears to be a remarkable efficiency to both the combats and the role play encounters. Each entry is an entertaining and event filled recount of your previous game sesison, that rarely seems to include a session like "spent hours buying equipment." This led us to wonder, does the story-telling make the sessions seem so full, does your group "narrate" a lot of the role-play encounters, or are you all just a bunch of finely tuned machines that won't allow any time to be wasted? Any tips you could pass on?

Thanks, and I'm looking forward to the next installment.


----------



## Hammerhead

Virtue said:


> Deleted cause you guys dont need my email LOL




Hey, if any spammers want his email address, I can sell it to you.


----------



## JollyDoc

AlamoMelt said:


> Hey, long time reader, first time poster here
> 
> I've been telling a friend of mine that occasionally DMs for a small group about how entertaining your Story Hours are, and how much you guys accomplish each session. I've been a part of (too many) games (like last Saturday) that I could sum up as: equipped party, landed on beach, killed T-Rex, killed 3 Terror Birds, wandered through jungle, Orlangu taunted party, session over. It doesn't seem like a rewarding way to spend 6 hours on Saturday sometimes.
> 
> There appears to be a remarkable efficiency to both the combats and the role play encounters. Each entry is an entertaining and event filled recount of your previous game sesison, that rarely seems to include a session like "spent hours buying equipment." This led us to wonder, does the story-telling make the sessions seem so full, does your group "narrate" a lot of the role-play encounters, or are you all just a bunch of finely tuned machines that won't allow any time to be wasted? Any tips you could pass on?
> 
> Thanks, and I'm looking forward to the next installment.





Well, I'd like to say we are the latter, but we've had our share of action-lite sessions.  I try to keep the action rolling by encouraging equipping of characters, doling out gold, etc be done during the week, outside game time, so that when the players show up on Sunday they can just tell me, "I bought so and so while we were in town," or "When I leveled I took such and such feat."  
Granted, my group is not heavy on role-players.  That's not to say they don't enjoy non-combat interactions, but they don't want to act out every scenario at the market place or the inn, nor every cross-country journey.  There have been many times when I say, "The two-week trip from Turtleback Ferry to Magnimar was uneventful."  When role-playing does come up, it's usually directly related to the adventure plot, in which case it's interesting, and the group gets into it...such as the scenarios with the pit fiend and Barl Breakbones.  Bear in mind, I do embellish and add a fair amount of artistic license to these updates, but everything is based on real events in the game.  
I guess the bottom line depends on what kind of group and DM you have.  If they are detail oriented, then you may very well bog down in the tedium.  Us?  We like action.  If our fingers aren't rolling dice for prolonged periods, we get twitchy.  So, that being said, I run my game to suit me and my players, and our style is not for everyone, but we have fun, and we focus on the aspects of the game that we enjoy most.


----------



## Dr Simon

Was the appearance of the Sea Wyvern in the swamp something you put in, or a little Paizo easter egg?  There are a few Runelords easter eggs in Crimson Throne, so I wondered (even though Runelords and STAP are officially set in two different universes).


----------



## Schmoe

Supar said:


> Guesse i will get a template going for u guys
> Crueman Jones (Human) aka PC number 6
> 8Fighter 1exotic wpns master
> 90HP
> 16str
> 18dex
> 16con
> 11wis
> 8int
> 7cha
> Saves: Fort 13  Ref 8 Will 7
> AC 21
> Skills: Craft Wpn +11 acrobatics +11
> Init +8
> Base attack: +2 Large Great bow +20/15 Dmg 2d8+10
> *Feats:   *
> Iron Will ,Country born, Exotic Wpn profiency(GreatBow),PointBlankshot, Rapid shot, Manyshot, Deadly aim, Precise shot, Deadly aim, Improved init, Wpn focus(GreatBow),Wpn Specilization(GreatBow), Greater wpns focus(GreatBow), Ranged wpn mastery (piercing)
> *Class Features:*
> Bravery +2 vs fear
> Armor training +2
> Wpn Training +1 (Bows)
> *Equipment:*
> Boots of dimension step, Hewards Haversac, Effienct quiver, Strong arm bracer,400 arrows, 100cold iron arrows, 100 silver arrows, MW Longsword, Cloak of res +2, Breast plate, Mw tools, 2xoil of bless wpn
> *What Makes Me Special:*(Thought i add this)
> Full out attack is Manyshot, Rapid shot, Deadly aim.(non pointblank) 14/9/14  2d8+14 Many shot adds an extra arrow to the first shot. All hits will add up to 8d8+56
> avg dmg=88




Yikes, that's pretty scary.  I assume the Strong Arm bracers allow the larger-than-normal Great Bow?  Anyway, as soon as you are possibly able, take the Vital Strike feat.  With the pre-req of BAB +11, using Vital Strike means with Many Shot and Rapid Shot you'll have 3 attacks per round, with 2 arrows for the first attack, and each arrow will have a base damage of 4d8.  Assuming nothing else changes for your bonuses (though I'm sure it will), that gives you a damage potential of 16d8+56, or about 128 damage.  Tasty!


----------



## JollyDoc

Dr Simon said:


> Was the appearance of the Sea Wyvern in the swamp something you put in, or a little Paizo easter egg?  There are a few Runelords easter eggs in Crimson Throne, so I wondered (even though Runelords and STAP are officially set in two different universes).




Well, the ship was actually in the adventure, and it did mention that inside were strange maps of no known seas, and sheet music of indecipherable origin.  I added the actual sea wyvern part myself.  Afterall, Mandi is living in Korvosa, last we heard, and she had to get to Golarion somehow...


----------



## JollyDoc

Schmoe said:


> Yikes, that's pretty scary.  I assume the Strong Arm bracers allow the larger-than-normal Great Bow?  Anyway, as soon as you are possibly able, take the Vital Strike feat.  With the pre-req of BAB +11, using Vital Strike means with Many Shot and Rapid Shot you'll have 3 attacks per round, with 2 arrows for the first attack, and each arrow will have a base damage of 4d8.  Assuming nothing else changes for your bonuses (though I'm sure it will), that gives you a damage potential of 16d8+56, or about 128 damage.  Tasty!




Don't worry.  This travesty is already in the works...at least until I sunder his bow!!!


----------



## Supar

Schmoe said:


> Yikes, that's pretty scary. I assume the Strong Arm bracers allow the larger-than-normal Great Bow? Anyway, as soon as you are possibly able, take the Vital Strike feat. With the pre-req of BAB +11, using Vital Strike means with Many Shot and Rapid Shot you'll have 3 attacks per round, with 2 arrows for the first attack, and each arrow will have a base damage of 4d8. Assuming nothing else changes for your bonuses (though I'm sure it will), that gives you a damage potential of 16d8+56, or about 128 damage. Tasty!




YES! SOMEONE ELSE THAT HAS SEEN THE VISION. Way ahead of u man I got that planed and a lil more nasty to bring about as well. The only crutch of this build is the to hit rolls not only do the dice gods hate mine but with all the -to hit being consistant can be tough, but i have a remedy planed out.


----------



## JollyDoc

MAGNIMAR

Wesh drifted, a feeling of infinite peace suffusing his mind.  He at felt at once alone and a part of the Infinite.  He understood everything now.  All of his questions had finally been answered, and now there was only eternity to ponder the previously unfathomable.
‘Wesh.’
That voice…familiar on some level, yet remote, distant.
‘Wesh, can you hear me?’
He didn’t want to answer.  To answer would mean acknowledging an end to his sojourn.  Yet, he also knew that to not answer would be…wrong.  How, or why, he wasn’t sure, but he simply knew it as fact.
‘I hear you,’ he answered.
‘Then you must listen,’ said the increasingly familiar voice.  ‘Soon, you will be called.  You need not come, but I think that you might want to.  You are needed.  Now more than ever.  Know this, however… the one who will call you will be unknown to you.  He will also seem…sinister.  Do not trouble yourself with this.  He calls you on my behalf, and my word you can trust.  Do you know me now?’
Wesh thought on this for what seemed like a nanosecond, but also millennia.
‘Yes, I know you,’ he replied at length.  ‘You are the Reaper…’
________________________________________________________

“So that’s my report, Lord-Mayor,” Dexter finished, folding his hands on his lap as he sat in Grobaras’s office.  
“I see,” the Lord-Mayor said solemnly.  “Ogres, you say.  Led by a stone giant?  Did you find a connection?”
“It’s still under investigation,” Dex said diplomatically.
Grobaras nodded.  “So, in the meantime, will the people of Turtleback Ferry be garrisoning Fort Rannick?”
“Not exactly,” Dexter replied.  “Stewardship was granted to us by Mayor Maelin.  We will make arrangements for its garrisoning.”
Grobaras nodded again, this time with a small smile.  Frankly, he was glad to have responsibility for the rural fort taken off his hands.  Then, just as quickly as the smile appeared, it vanished, replaced by another solemn frown.  This one, however, Dexter felt was especially forced.
“There’s the matter of my nephew,” he said.
“Yes,” Dexter sighed.  “As I said, he died heroically.  I owe him my life.  I hope you understand our decision to inter him at Fort Rannick.  It seemed appropriate that he should be buried where he fell.”
“Of course, of course,” Grobaras said.  “My brother will understand.  Still, his sacrifice cannot go unheralded.  I know!  I will erect a statue of him!  I will commission the finest sculptors, and the most exotic materials.  To be sure, you and your companions will be guests-of-honor at its unveiling.”
Dexter nodded once.  “I’m sure Max would have been…honored.”
“It’s settled then,” Grobaras said, rising from behind his desk.  Dexter rose as well, the implication that the meeting was concluded obvious.  “Well, thank you again for your service to our city, and please express my gratitude to your companions as well.  Rest assured, should we find ourselves in dire straits again, you will be the first we call upon.”
Dexter paused at the door, and turned back to the Lord-Mayor.
“Your Honor, there is one more small thing…the matter of our fee…”
______________________________________________________

Sinclair loved Magnimar.  He’d never seen anything like it.  To be sure, he’d heard stories about the human cities, but he always thought they were embellishments perpetrated by his more boastful cousins.  Yet here he was.  His mother would never believe it.  It would be impossible for any gnome to succumb to the Fading in such a place!  He would never be able to see or do everything in his whole lifetime!  Still, he had to try and remain focused on the reason he’d come in the first place.  His mother had always said he was a hot-head, never thinking before he acted, and easily distracted.  This time would be different, he vowed.  This time the stakes were much, much higher.  If what he’d learned about the giants preparing for war was true, then it was not only the humans who were in danger, but his own people as well.  He had to help his new friends stop the war before it started, and that was exactly what he intended to do, but first…perhaps just a little sightseeing wouldn’t hurt…
_______________________________________________________

Duerten silently fumed.  He stood in the church courtyard overseeing the drilling of the new recruits, though truthfully, his underlings could handle it.  No, the real reason he was out there was so that he could keep an eye on the Father.  Frankly, he was worried about Draton.  The priest had taken on the rehabilitation of Barl Breakbones with religious fervor, and Duerten didn’t like it one bit.  It was bad enough they’d spared the murdering giant in the first place, but now here he was, living in relative luxury, getting three meals a day and a soft place to lay his bald head at night.  Worse, he was being taught the Word!  What was the world coming to?  For all they knew, more giants were even now on the march towards Varisia, and here they were sitting on their hands and trying to convert one of them, when there were hundreds more on the way!  Yes, Duerten knew that the Lady taught that everyone deserved a chance of redemption, but the dwarf believed that particular teaching was open to interpretation.  For example, he personally believed that salvation could be had in the hereafter, when the evildoers of the world stood before Judgement.  Duerten sighed.  When Reaper and his friends decided to pull out of Magnimar and head to the Iron Peaks, he didn’t know what he was going to do.  Where did his loyalty lie, with his friend or to his Faith?  Bah, he thought.  Time to think about that later.  For now he’d work out his frustrations on Cruemann.  As usual, the layabout hadn’t shown up for drill…
_____________________________________________________

Speaking of crises of faith…Cruemann was rapidly finding himself reverting to old habits.  Ever since his return to Magnimar, he’d spent less and less time at the temple.  He knew his duty, but more and more frequently, he’d felt the siren call of the city’s entertainment districts pulling more strongly at him.  Worse, he found he felt little guilt about it.  In truth, he found his moral compass deviating further and further from the teachings of Father Draton.  First with the pit fiend, and then with the giant.  If the Father’s decisions had been the right ones, why did Cruemann feel so conflicted about them?  He sighed and ordered another tankard.  Why couldn’t there be a god who just espoused drinking and having a good time…?
______________________________________________________

Adso waited.  He was no longer comfortable in the company of so-called civilized people.  He was no longer one of them.  Inside, he was still who he’d always been, but others couldn’t see inside.  They didn’t want to…not when the first thing they saw was what was on the outside.  He’d taken to walking about with his cowl drawn close around his face, especially during daylight hours.  The sun hurt his eyes.  All he wanted was to leave this place and be on with their mission, but Reaper said he needed time.  Something to do with Fort Rannick.  So in the interim, the monk kept to himself, alone and aloof, waiting.  He was starting to understand why Luther had returned to the monastery…
______________________________________________________

“So that’s it?”  Avaxial asked.  The pit fiend looked much more…impressive than the last time Reaper had seen him.  He towered above the necromancer, and beneath his crimson flesh, muscle rippled.  A sword of crackling energy hung at one side, while a coiled whip of flame hung on the other.  
“You seem surprised,” Reaper replied, cocking one eyebrow.
“I…expected more of you,” the devil rumbled.  “You struck me as more…ambitious.”
“Not everything is as it seems,” the mage shrugged.  “I did not come to this decision lightly.  Rest assured, this request is not being made for totally unself-serving reasons.”
Avaxial chuckled.  “That’s more like it.”
“There is one more small thing, though,” Reaper said.  Avaxial looked expectant.  “Could you…ah…do something about this?”
He held up his hand, which still displayed Asmodeus’s brand on the palm.
“What?” the fiend asked.  “You don’t like it?  It’s all the rage in Cheliax.”
“Yes, that’s the problem,” Reaper grimaced.  “We’re not in Cheliax.”
Avaxial sighed.  “As you wish.  Now, our business is complete…for the time being, but I suspect we may meet again, mortal.  I look forward to it.”
In a column of flame, the pit fiend vanished.  Reaper released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  

Finally, everything was in place, and his plans were beginning to show fruit.  Upon returning to Magnimar, he had made his report to his handler within the Church.  During the debriefing, he had spoken of his intent to move his personal base of operations to Fort Rannick.  To this end, he had requested, and been granted permission to recruit from the Faithful in order to properly garrison the fort, which would be renamed the Citadel at Journey’s End.  It was his assertion that this move would position him more centrally within Varisia, and would allow him to extend the arm of Pharasma even further outside the walls of Magnimar.  Specifically among Reaper’s request for conscripts was a young priest named Thufir, an old associate who had proven invaluable to the necromancer on numerous occasions.  It was to Thufir that he gave the task of rounding up other volunteers, and his faith in the cleric proved to be well-placed.  Within a matter of two weeks, Thufir had recruited over thirty guardsman, three skilled artisans, another trio of acolytes, and one seneschal as well as a seasoned guard captain.  Once all was in readiness, Reaper instructed Thufir to lead the contingent east to the fort, saying that he would join them soon.  Once there, Thufir was to raise Pharasma’s banner above the battlements.  Of course, Reaper would reassure his own travelling companions that the fort was their home as well, but until they were willing to expend their own resources to keep it manned, the necromancer would surreptitiously refer to it in possessive terms, and would encourage his followers to only call by its ‘true name.’  Over time, the name would change by force of will, if nothing else, and likewise, true ownership would change by force of perception as well…


----------



## Virtue

As the side story develops this is getting more and more interesting


----------



## Virtue

I need more of this adventure this stuff is very addictive 

Was it this last Sunday or the Sunday before that you guys didnt play?


----------



## JollyDoc

Virtue said:


> I need more of this adventure this stuff is very addictive
> 
> Was it this last Sunday or the Sunday before that you guys didnt play?




It was this last Sunday.  However, I still have part two of the previous weeks game to post, which I'm almost done with.  I hope to have it up by tomorrow or Saturday at the latest.


----------



## JollyDoc

MURDER IN UNDERBRIDGE

Dexter read the short note again.  It was a request for a meeting…a job request.  No details, just an address in Underbridge.  It’d been passed to him by one of his usual contacts.  He sighed.  As if he didn’t already have enough on his plate.  On one hand, the quest to the Iron Peaks was imminent, but on the other, Reaper had announced plans to accompany a contingent back to Fort Rannick first to see to its garrisoning.  Now this.  Still, Dex was getting bored.  Two weeks of down time in Magnimar had been a welcome respite, but he was growing restless.  Something to pass the time might be just the ticket.  He pushed back from the bar and headed for the door of the inn, wrapping his cloak about him.  He supposed he ought to go see Reaper and Adso first.
________________________________________________________

“I don’t see any harm in at least investigating,” Reaper shrugged when Dexter showed him the note, “but we don’t have the luxury of being hirelings these days.  We’ve got bigger fish on our plate.”
Adso stood silently in the corner, arms crossed and hood pulled low.  The monk hadn’t had much to say on the few occasions Dex had seen him since their return.
“I’d like to go and have a talk with Duerten first, though,” Reaper continued.  “I’ve been meaning to have a little chat.  He’s good in a fight, and Cruemann’s proven useful as well.  I’d like them with us when we head for Jorgenfist.”
“I notice you didn’t mention Draton,” Dex said wryly.
“I don’t think his services will be needed,” Reaper replied.  “Besides, I’ve already recruited someone far more…useful.”
Dexter raised a questioning eyebrow, and Reaper smiled knowingly.  He reached over and rapped on the door leading to an adjoining bedroom.  When the door opened and Wesh walked in, even Adso’s morose composure slipped.  Dexter’s mouth simply fell open.
“You see?”  Reaper said.   “Our little act of kindness at Skull’s Crossing just keeps paying dividends.”
_______________________________________________________

Duerten sat glowering and silent while Cruemann nodded enthusiastically at Reaper’s proposal.  Finally, the dwarf spoke up.
“I ain’t heard ye mention th’Father’s part in this little adventure.  Somethin’ I’m missin’?”
“No, I think you get the point precisely,” Reaper said.  “I admire the man’s convictions, but let’s be honest…I know you didn’t agree with how the whole affair with the stone giant went down.  Draton’s judgment is questionable, and potentially dangerous.  I’m not putting the fate of Varisia at risk because he won’t compromise.  Despite what he says, there is a greater good here, and all of our problems are not going to have black and white answers.  I’m not asking for your answer right now.  Think about it, but while you’re doing that, Dex has a line on something brewing down in Underbridge.  If you’re interested, we’d appreciate your help while we investigate.”
____________________________________________________

The address in Underbridge was an alchemist’s shop located in a particularly seedy section of an already seedy neighborhood.  The sign above the door read ‘Refrum’s.’  The man who opened the door was middle-aged, slight and bent.  He was dressed in simple gray clothing, and a bent pair of spectacles perched on the end of his nose.  Around his neck he wore a simple amulet.  To Reaper’s surprise, the symbol engraved upon it was that of Aroden…the dead god.  
“Is one of you Dexter?” the man asked in a short, excited gasp.
“That’s me,” Dex answered, stepping forward.  “I brought a few associates.  I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, not at all!” the man said enthusiastically.  “I’m just glad that you’ve come in the first place.  I feared you might not.  I’m Refrum, and this is my shop.  Please, come in!”

Refrum’s establishment was humble and cluttered with half-finished clockwork inventions, and the air was thick with the smell of grease and metal.  Hundreds of books lined every available inch of shelf-space.  When the company entered the main room, they found a young woman standing there, dressed in plain clothing, her hands clutched tensely in her skirts.
“Ah,” Refrum said, “this is Eleanor Loveage.  She is a close, personal friend, and it was she that sent you the note.”
Silence followed, and when no further explanation seemed forthcoming, Dexter cleared his throat.
“Well, now that you have us here, what’s this all about?”
“Ah, yes!”  Refrum nodded.  “Well, obviously the exploits of you and your friends, Master Dexter, are common knowledge.  Your solving of the Skinsaw Murders was nothing short of miraculous!  That’s why I thought of you when Eleanor came to me for help.  Perhaps you are aware that a man was hanged in the quarter yesterday by the constabulary?”
At this, Wesh stepped forward.
“Yes, I believe I read something about that in the paper.  A murderer, if I recall.  Someone the local press referred to as the Lantern Man?”
Refrum nodded.
“His name was Jarme…Jarme Loveage.  He was Eleanor’s brother, and I believe he was innocent of the crimes that he was accused of.  You see, the murders started several months ago, but they were all confined to Underbridge, so they really didn’t get much attention outside of the quarter.  In each case, the victim was brutally slain with a knife, and witnesses reported seeing a figure carrying a lantern fleeing the scenes on various occasions.  Thus the colorful moniker attributed to the killer.  Well, last week, Jarme was captured at the scene of the last murder with a bloody knife in his hand.  He was arrested immediately, but never put on trial.  I realize that the circumstances of his arrest seem incriminating, but you must believe me:  I’ve known Jarme and Eleanor for years, and I cannot believe that he was capable of such heinous acts.  He was a fisherman, and spent much of his time alone, which, unfortunately, gave him no alibi in his defense.  But I tell you, the man I knew was kind and honest without a cruel bone in his body.”
“That’s all well and good,” Reaper said, “but the evidence seems to speak for itself.  I’ve known many a man who was thought well of his by his friends and family, but was guilty of horrendous crimes just the same.  What do you have to back up your claim?”
Refrum shook his head.
“Well first, as I mentioned, he received no trial.  I tried to meet with him in his cell at Hopene’er Asylum, but I was forbidden by a group of thugs employed by one of the local councilmen, Mr. Dory.  After that, I decided to start my own investigation.  While it’s likely that Jarme’s body did in fact kill the latest Lantern Man victim, he went to the gallows professing to have no memory of any of the slayings.  I offered my services to the constables, particularly my ability to commune with the dead, but I was told that those interrogations had already been performed.  When I protested, I was threatened with incarceration myself.  Now, however, I’ve heard rumors of another murder that has occurred since Jarme’s incarceration.  According to my sources, the victim was a young fisherman named Raif.  The authorities were strangely quick to ship his body to the mortuary for cremation and tried to cover up the events.  So, I ask you, if the Lantern Man is still killing, how could Jarme have possibly been the killer?”
“It sounds like you have a theory?”  Dex asked.
“I do indeed,” Refrum smiled knowingly.  “I suspect a sinister conspiracy here in the Shadow, and it is ultimately responsible for the murders.  I think the agents of this plot used some sort of enchantment magic to control Jarme and forced him to commit some of the murders.  When he was caught, they used their influence to have him executed quickly.  Now I fear that they are not only free to continue their work, but that they know I’m on to them!”
“Those are a lot of assumptions you’re making,” Reaper said, “but there is something…familiar about what you’re implying.”  
He turned to Wesh, Dex and Adso.
“Don’t you think the similarities between these killings and the Skinsaw murders is a little too convenient?”
Wesh nodded.  “I was going to say as much myself.”
Refrum nodded as well.
“Yes, yes!  Exactly!  My thoughts precisely!  Now, if I may suggest, I would start with Hopene’er Asylum, where Jarme was incarcerated.  Perhaps one of the caretakers there noticed something unusual about during that time.  Also, you might seek out Constable Jute, the guard who found Jarme and his victim.”
“Please.”  It was Eleanor, tears in her eyes as she clutched at Dexter’s cloak.  “I beg you, please clear the name of my brother, that he might know peace in the afterlife.  You are a good man.  I’ve heard that about you.  I beg you!”
Dex patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.
“We will do our best.  You have our word.”
“It’s settled then!”  Refrum exclaimed.  “You will understand when I tell you that I plan to take my leave of Magnimar for a few weeks.  It is my intent to lay low for awhile and hide out from ‘them’ before ‘they’ find me.”
______________________________________________________________

Lamplicker’s Way, a narrow, winding street that was really more of an alley, was home to Hopene’er Asylum, once a former prison that still bore the bare walls and barred windows of its former role.  A faded sign above the door bore the words, ‘Welcome Home.’  The seven companions were greeted by a simple-looking young man when they rapped on the door.  He stared vacantly at them, silent.
“Um, we are here to see the director,” Reaper said after the silence stretched out for too long.
“’Rector?”  the youth said after another long pause.
Reaper sighed.  “Your boss.  We’re here to see your boss.”
The boy was silent.  Instead, he turned and entered the building, leaving the door open behind him.
“I guess that means we’re supposed to follow,” Dex shrugged.

The foyer was bare, without even a chair to sit in.  After several long minutes, a door on the opposite side opened, and a stooped man with a worried brow and ashen skin stepped through.  
“I’m Dr. Emil Trantor,” he said, a touch of irritation in his voice.  “What can I do for you?”
“We’re investigating the Lantern Man murders,” Reaper said.  “We understand that you had Jarme Loveage under your care for a time.”
“Are you constables?”  Trantor asked.  
“We’re private investigators,” Reaper replied.  “We won’t take much of your time.  We just wanted to find out if Mr. Loveage had any visitors during his incarceration.”
“I’m afraid that’s privileged information,” Dr. Trantor answered.  “I can tell you that Mr. Loveage was a quiet man who was resolute in his claims of innocence, thought I must say that most of the criminals housed here plead their innocence.  Since Mr. Loveage was caught over a body with a bloody knife in his hands, I would say the circumstances speak for themselves.  Now, if there’s nothing else, I’m a very busy man.”
Reaper seized the physician’s sleeve as he turned to go.
“I’m afraid there is more,” the necromancer said, a sinister tone in his voice.  “Perhaps you are aware of the recent Skinsaw Murders and how their perpetrators were brought to justice?  I’m sure you are equally aware of the Lord Mayor’s gratitude towards the individuals who accomplished that task.  We, sir, are those individuals.  If you need proof of that, then I recommend you contact the Lord Mayor’s office, and then, when he discovers that you have impeded our efforts in our current investigation, your replacement, I’m certain, will prove much more accommodating.”
Dr. Trantor’s face visibly paled.
“I…see,” he stammered.  “I apologize.  I was not aware of your…credentials.  Of course I’ll offer whatever assistance I may.”
“Any visitors?”  Reaper asked again.
Trantor sighed.  “During his short stay here, Mr. Loveage received only one visitor…Councilman Dory.”
“I see,” Reaper nodded.  
“Would you be interested in seeing Mr. Loveage’s cell?”  Trantor asked quickly.  “He spent quite a lot of time drawing on his walls.  I saw no harm in supplying him with some charcoal, but I must say that the nature of his scribbling was somewhat unsettling.  I would appreciate a second opinion on them, in truth.”
“Lead on,” Reaper gestured.

The journey into the asylum’s nether regions was not pleasant.  The constant screaming and cursing of the inmates combined with an almost unbearable stench to crush the spirit of any idle visitors.  Eventually, Trantor came to a heavily locked door at which he turned and cautioned his guests, “This wing is where the worst of our cases are kept.  I beg you not to look into any of the other cells.  We’ve given succor to many folk over the years, but still, those within these cells are truly forsaken by the gods.”
So saying, he unlocked the door to reveal a long corridor with iron doors to either side.  Small viewing hatches were firmly shut on the face of each door.  An inhuman gurgle churned up from a cell to the right, and was horrifically joined by a second, identical voice within the same cell, and exact echo of the first, as if both voices came from the same body.  Suddenly, the other cells began to spring to life.  The iron doors shuddered under great blows, a woman’s garbled and shrill voice screamed for death, and, most unsettlingly , a baby began to cry.  Trantor ignored the sounds and moved to the end of the hall, where one door hung open.  The walls of the cell beyond were covered with crude, charcoal pictures that depicted some colossus of the sea.  Several pictures of the tentacled sea beast showed it shackled in a collar that was held by a vile creature akin to a great fish.  Another showed the larger creature devouring a city, whose skyline looked suspiciously like Magnimar’s.  A final depiction showed the creature trapped in a deep, black well, its tentacles rising up to suck the life from humanoid bodies.  As Wesh entered the cell, he bent close to examine the scrawlings.  
“Do you see something?”  Reaper asked.
The mage nodded, distracted.  “This,” he pointed to the smaller, fish-like creature.  “It looks like a drawing of an aboleth.”
He straightened.  “They are a race of beings known for their ability to mentally enslave others to their will…”
________________________________________________________

Constable Jute was on patrol when they found him.  He seemed a gruff and no-nonsense man, but was forthcoming when they told him about their investigation, especially when they mentioned their previous credentials.  
“’Course I remember it,” he said when they asked him about Jarme’s arrest.  “Hard to forget something like that.  Happened over in an alley off Hemlock Pit.  Strange thing…for the amount of damage he inflicted on that poor soul, Jarme was pretty well-behaved and calm when I took him into custody.”
“What sort of damage, exactly?”  Reaper asked.
“Hmph,” Jute snorted.  “Some kind of symbol he carved into the body.  Looked like a star or something.”
The companions looked meaningfully at each other.  It seemed there were no such things as coincidences.  
“Do you know anything about Councilman Dory visiting Jarme during his incarceration?”  Dexter asked.
Jute’s eyes narrowed and he shifted his gaze.  
“I’m not at liberty to discuss such things,” he said shortly, “but if I were, I’d tell you that there have been a lot of closed door meetings at the garrison lately, and they’ve involved the commander and a certain councilman.”
“I see,” Reaper nodded.  “Can you tell us anything about the recent murder of a man named Raif?”
“I can tell you where the murder took place,” he said wryly, “and I can tell you that the circumstances were awfully…familiar.”
“Thank you Constable Jute,” Reaper said, extending his hand.  “One final question…do you know where we might find Councilman Dory?”
______________________________________________________

Raif’s murder scene was still spattered with blood and bits of stray tissue.  The rats and gulls hadn’t quite taken care of the clean-up detail yet.  As the group scanned the area, Duerten abruptly leaned down and touched his fingers to the film of slime on the cobblestones.  
“Well looky’ere,” the dwarf said.  
When the others drew close, they saw what had captured the deacon’s attention…footprints, though like none they had ever seen.  They were not made by boots nor bare human feet.  Instead, they seemed to have been made by some sort of clawed, three-toed appendage.  When Duerten followed the tracks, no one was really surprised to find that they eventually led to a large warehouse on the docks…the same warehouse Jute had told them was owned by Mr. Dory.

The vertical, stone building rose from the street, three stories high and dotted with iron-barred windows.  The warehouse’s slate roof soared dizzily some sixty-feet above, and in places its walls and roof seemed to be coated with a bitumen black gruel with the viscosity of phlegm.  Behind the building was a gray-green pit of mud.  A huge, rickety crane protruded from the far wall of the warehouse, its limbs rusted arthritically.  Dangling from it was a dripping ship hulk, hanging some fifty-feet above the greasy mud below.  A crude bridge attached the crane to the ship’s deck, but it looked to be an arduous climb.  A trough also connected the ship to a nearby water tower, and steam rose from places just as rivulets of water drained from the hull into the mud below.

It was well after dark by the time the companions arrived at Mr. Dory’s warehouse, and the streets around it, as well as the building itself, appeared deserted.  The ground floor door was locked, but that did not deter Wesh.  Drawing a slim wand from his sleeve, he rapped it once against the portals and they swung silently open.  The interior of the warehouse was piled high with crates, boxes, and packages, most marked with company symbols and ‘FRAGILE’ or ‘HANDLE WITH CARE.’  A pair of iron, spiral staircases rose from opposing corners of the room.  More details were not forthcoming, however, as the darkness inside became filled with low rumbling…the unmistakable growling of what sounded like very large beasts.  From the deep shadows between the crates stalked four bulky shapes.  As they stepped into the moonlight spilling in from the open doors, they were seen to have lithe, muscular leonine bodies, but large, bat-like wings sprouted from their shoulders, and twitching, spike-tipped tails arched over their backs.  Worst of all, however, where their faces, which were almost human in appearance.  Wesh recognized the creatures, after all he’d seen one stuffed and mounted in Vanderboren manor.  They were manticores, and if given a chance they would turn him and his companions into living pin-cushions in a matter of seconds.  Fortunately, his friends didn’t need to be told the obvious.  Dexter darted forward, weaving among the boxes and crates, using them as cover, until he managed to surface behind the nearest beast.  Silent and deadly, he lunged, thrusting his sword deftly between the manticore’s ribs.  It howled in agony and reared up on its hind legs, leaving its belly unprotected.  Dex rammed his blades home again, and the creature fell heavily among the storage units, unmoving.  After that, the rest of the team fell into place like a well-oiled machine.  Wesh and Reaper focused their magic on a single target, combining force bolts and necromantic energy.  Cruemann followed up with deadly, precise shots, felling two more of the animals in rapid succession.  The final one succumbed to a deadly amalgam of stunningly fast strikes from Adso, meaty chops from Duerten, and a coup-de-grace of eldritch fire from Sinclair.
“Quite the guard dogs our councilman employs,” Wesh commented.
“The bad guys always have the best toys,” Reaper smiled.
________________________________________________________

The upper floor was empty of further guardians, but another level could be viewed above, little more than a catwalk really.  The companions ascended, finding nothing there save for a locked, iron door in the rear of the building.  Dexter worked quickly on the lock, snapping it open in a matter of seconds.  When the door opened, Dex found himself outside again, only this time he was sixty-feet above the mudflat below.  A dangerous walkway, its edge open and unprotected by a railing, surrounded the rusting bulk of the ancient crane.  The crane’s arm extended out over open space, the large iron and wood ship dangling from its end.  

In the moment before he was about to turn back and give his friends the all-clear, Dexter caught a flicker of movement from behind the far corner of the crane.  
“Show yourself!” he called.
From out of the shadows stepped a stooped figure in a dark cloak and hood.  When the hood slipped back from its face, it became obvious that the creature was anything but human.  It looked like some sort of fish-man, its skin scaled and moist, its fingers and toes webbed.  It spoke, but its words were guttural and incomprehensible.  As it spoke, its hands began to weave in the air.  Dex was no wizard, but he recognized spell-casting when he saw it.  Palming his dagger, he whipped it end-over-end at the fish man.  It struck true, but not fast enough.  As the creature completed its spell, a layer of oily grease materialized on the interior catwalk behind Dex, directly beneath the feet of his companions.  Immediately, Duerten went down, his feet slipping out from under him on the slick floor.  Snarling, Dexter rushed forward, intent on keeping the fish man from casting again.  Suddenly, from the shadows to his left, another figure appeared, running towards him.  It struck him like a battering ram, and Dex found himself flying through the air, pushed beyond the edge of the walkway.  Then he was falling…and falling…

As Duerten flopped about on his back like an overturned turtle, Reaper reached out a glowing hand and touched the dwarf.  One disorienting flash of light later, and Duerten found himself standing on the outside walkway directly in front of the spellcasting assassin.  The priest didn’t question what had happened, he just acted, hacking with his axe like a lumberjack.  His opponent fell back before his furious assault, and toppled off the edge of the catwalk.  

Adso was next out, moving swiftly up behind Dexter’s assailant.  The monk quickly locked his arms about the creature, pinning its own limbs to its sides.  The fish man struggled like a dervish, but only until Adso maneuvered it into position for Cruemann to plant two arrows into its chest at point-blank range.  The monk tossed its dead body over the side to join its companions.  

Duerten peered over the edge, looking for any sign of Dexter.  As he did so, he failed to see a third and fourth assassin detach themselves from the crane.  One of them ran at him, brandishing a wicked trident and stabbing it into his exposed flank.  Cursing, the dwarf turned towards his new assailant, but just as he did so, the darkness behind the fish man flickered, and Dexter stepped out of it as if it were a doorway.  Flicking his dagger casually into his hand, the rogue plunged it into the assassin’s neck.  An instant later, four arrows sprouted from the back of the last fish man, and it died twitching on the catwalk.  It would seem that Councilman Dory had been expecting company…


----------



## Virtue

Good Stuff 

I want your notes on this part because its new so I dont know what is going on


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## JollyDoc

Virtue said:


> Good Stuff
> 
> I want your notes on this part because its new so I dont know what is going on





This part is actually not a piece of the adventure path.  It is an adventure from Dragon magazine called the Styes, but its plot weaves so well into Rise of the Runelords that I had to use it.


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## Virtue

Great stuff I went out and found this issue of Dungeon I cant wait to see what you all took and how it will effect the adventure path


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## Neverwinter Knight

Great stuff! Since I don't get Dragon, I'm looking forward to some unknown adventuring and, as it seems, politics.


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## Virtue

Hope we get a spoiler of the events after tonight


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## JollyDoc

Virtue said:


> Hope we get a spoiler of the events after tonight




Ask and ye shall receive...

SUNDAY NIGHT TEASER

1)  The group investigates Mr. Dory's 'yacht', only to find more fishy henchmen, as well as the mysterious councilman himself.

2)  In the aftermath, several interesting clues are discovered, which only serve to deepen the mystery of what really lies behind the Lantern Man Murders.

3)  Ships continue to be a theme as the trail leads to another rotting hulk, only this time, the occupants are a bit more insistent in their displeasure...


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## Schmoe

JollyDoc said:


> ... the Styes ...




Awesome.  I've heard a lot of good things about this adventure over on the Paizo boards, but never had the opportunity to look it over or play it.  I'm definitely looking forward to the rest of this chapter.


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## primemover003

Hmmm...  Aboleth's are certainly Rune users, maybe our villain is a long lost ally of Alaznist???  I definitely enjoyed the Styes though I mixed it in with Prince of Redhand for my own homebrew Seafaring campaign.

Using this to level the Party up JD?


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## JollyDoc

primemover003 said:


> Hmmm...  Aboleth's are certainly Rune users, maybe our villain is a long lost ally of Alaznist???  I definitely enjoyed the Styes though I mixed it in with Prince of Redhand for my own homebrew Seafaring campaign.
> 
> Using this to level the Party up JD?




Yes, aboleth's are indeed rune users, and occasionally some of them are guilty of abhorrent crimes even among their own kind...such as finding religion...

I am indeed using this to bring the group up to level 10, in preparation for taking on Barl's home boys!!


----------



## JollyDoc

SHIP OF FOOLS

The ancient hulk of the suspended caravel creaked and groaned ominously as the companions stepped from the catwalk onto its deck.  Nothing moved on the bare planks, and only one entrance could be seen leading to the interior of the boat, a single door near the bow on the port side.  Their adrenaline high, the group spread out on both sides of the door as Dexter worked his magic on the lock and then swung the door inward as he ducked behind the jamb and cautiously peeked around.  The air that spilled out of the room beyond was hot and humid.  Clouds of steam rose from a pair of roaring boilers toward the bow, bolted to the floors and wall on either side of a large, round pool of steaming water.  The walls, floor, and even ceiling of the chamber were thick with condensation and mildew, and shone with moisture.
As Dexter’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, his sharp gaze caught a flicker of movement, both from behind the boilers and from the pool itself.  Dark cloaked figures moved in the steam, and two more were submerged to their eyeballs in the misty water.  
“Company!” he cried.
Wesh stepped around the corner, a spell on his lips as he unleashed a blind barrage of azure bolts of energy.  One of the figures behind the boiler cried out as the missiles struck, and he stumbled into view, his hood falling away to reveal another of the fish-like skum they had faced on the crane.  The assassin grunted again as Cruemann sprang next to Wesh and loosed a shaft into its gut.  At that moment, a second figure emerged from the steam, while another pair rose from the pool.  At the same instant, however, Reaper entered the cramped chamber, and a palpable aura of menace seemed to radiate from him as he pinned the skum with his baleful gaze.  The four assassins quailed before the necromancer, and two of them leaped back into the pool, disappearing beneath its surface.  The other pair ran for a door on the far side of the room and hastily pulled it open.  One darted through, but Adso leaped forward before the other could follow, snapping his neck in the blink of an eye.

Dexter moved quickly to the door through which the skum had vanished.  He glimpsed another open room beyond, but the air was just as cloyingly hot and damp.  Two swirling pools of dark water took up most of the flooring, but a narrow wooden bridge crossed toward the stern and another door in the wall.  Condensation from the steaming pools collected on the walls and ceiling to drip back down in a constant rain of warm water.  Four skum stood arrayed on the far side of the bridge, drawn bows in their hands.  Dexter didn’t pause, and ran nimbly over the plank before the nearest assassin could loose, deftly slashing with his sword.  He then danced quickly among the confused fish-men, plunging his dagger into the throat of another and watching it tumble into the water.  Dex turned as he heard heavy footsteps on the plank behind him.  Duerten trundled across like an armadillo, his shield shedding arrows like water.   He raised the edge of the shield higher as he reached the far side of the bridge, catching the skum Dex had already wounded beneath the chin.  As the assassin rocked back, the dwarf brought his axe to bear, hacking viciously.  He raised the weapon again to finish off the unfortunate fish-man, when an arrow suddenly sprouted from its eye.
“Dam ye, boy!” the priest snarled at Cruemann.  “That one was mine!  I’ll nigh have ye’ stealin’ me glory!”
“Then you’ll have to be faster than that, old man!” the archer grinned.
At that moment, Adso burst into the room, his momentum carrying him right into one of the pools…where he, miraculously, continued to run upon the surface of the water!  The monk had had quite enough of swimming over the course of their last few adventures, and had commissioned a very special set of footwear for just such an occasion.  The last two skum never knew what hit them as they died in a flurry of feet and fists.

Duerten hustled across the room to the opposite door, determined not to give any other enemies further time to prepare for their arrival.  He kicked in the door with one iron-shod boot.  Like the other rooms, the final chamber was thick with clouds of steam, though it was scented with cloves, cinnamon, and ginger.  Strange, large plants hung entwined from the ceiling, fronds of thick yellow vines of great size tangled around unsettlingly enormous bulbs and flowers.  Two huge iron stoves belted out great heat into the room, which was dominated by a large, greenish pool.  From the look of its steamy surface, the waters must have been very warm indeed.  A rickety desk sat against the edge of the pool, its surface cluttered with papers, a wicker plate of strange-looking fish, and a locked mahogany box.  A figure sat behind the desk, his features concealed by the swirling mist.  He looked up from his papers as the door burst open.
“I don’t know who you are,” he said in a thick, phlegmy voice, “but you’ve made a grave mistake in coming here.  You’re meddling in matters that don’t concern you, and you’ve inconvenienced me greatly, both unforgiveable sins.”
He waved his hand absently, and then went back to his paperwork.  As he did so, the water in the pool began to churn and two large shapes lifted themselves from the water.  They were hulking figures that appeared to have been stitched together from a variety of fish, monstrous lobsters, sharks, and octopi, though, most horribly, they each bore the head of a beautiful woman.  The creatures began lurching from the pool, and Duerten started moving as well, ducking his head behind his shield and he rushed across the chamber.  Both of the constructs reached for him, but then suddenly, Adso was there, appearing like an apparition and swift as a snake.  Ignoring the pain from the sharp protrusions of the nearest golem’s skin, the monk chopped and punched with his bare hands, each strike knocking pieces from the hulking brute.  Again and again he struck, and finally, large cracks began to appear in the golem’s carapace until, ultimately, it shattered into hundreds of pieces.

At that point, the figure behind the desk stood, just as Duerten came up short on the opposite side.  The dwarf could now clearly see the man’s features, though in hindsight, he wished he hadn’t.  His face was that of a drowned corpse, bloated and pallid.  One eye rolled blindly in its socket, while the other stared unblinking at the priest.  As Duerten stared in disgust, a maggot crawled out of an open sore on the creature’s face, only to be quickly snapped up by his lolling tongue.  He smiled a toothless grin, and raised a black medallion that he wore about his neck.  Suddenly, Duerten felt himself buffeted by dark power, and pain wracked his body.  Clutching his chest, the dwarf forced himself upright and lunged at the dead thing, axe swinging.

Meanwhile, Reaper made his way cautiously across the plank in the other room, hurrying as quickly as he dared to join his companions.  However, as soon as he stepped onto the opposite side of the pool, the water beside him exploded upward in a geyser.  A figure emerged from the deluge, clothed all in black.  He looked human, but his skin was translucent and slimy.  He gripped a black-bladed dagger in one hand, and before Reaper could move, he plunged it deep in the necromancer’s chest.  Reaper felt his breath leave him in a rush, followed by a sharp burning sensation that raced through his limbs…poison.  Despite this, the wizard felt no fear…only rage at the temerity of the assassin.  Pushing aside his pain, he began uttering the guttural words to his most deadly spell.  Dark power bored into the killer’s mind, ripping out his most primal fear and causing it to manifest before his eyes.  His face grew several shades paler, and his mouth dropped open in a soundless scream.
“No…Whisperer…!” he wheezed, then grabbed at his heart as he tumbled backwards into the pool.

Adso leaped at the second golem, which turned to meet him head-on.  The monk grappled desperately with the construct as its massive claws snapped at his throat.   Out of the corner of his eye, Adso saw Dexter dart to his side.  The orc thought there was little chance that the rogue’s blades would be of any use, probably not even capable of piercing the thing’s bony hide, yet he was astounded when Dexter’s steel found cracks in the golem’s carapace that he had been unable to see.  The brute released its grip on him, stumbling as one leg collapsed beneath it.  Adso brought his hands down in a double-fist on the creature’s head, crushing it like an eggshell.

Duerten found himself hurled backwards again as the living corpse channeled its dark energy once more.  The dwarf struggled to regain his feet, but couldn’t find the strength.  The undead thing loomed over him, chuckling darkly, but suddenly, he jerked his head up, gazing across the room.  Wesh stood there, hands raised, blue fire crackling from his fingertips.  The corpse creature laughed again as he raised his hand absently, conjuring a glowing, transparent shield in the air between him and the mage.  His laugh faded, however, as Wesh’s missiles punched through the shield as if it were rice paper and hammered into his chest.  His one good eye rolled up into his skull as he sagged to the floor right next to Duerten.
____________________________________________________________

“So that was Mr. Dory?”  Dex asked as he stood over the remains of the corpse.  “What was he?”
“A corpse creature,” Reaper answered absently as he and Wesh riffled through the councilman’s papers.  “He must have died at some point and then his body was reanimated, and not by a very nice person.  He would have retained his memories and personality, but he had literally become the living dead.”
Dexter shivered unconsciously.  “Find anything there?”
“Well, there’s some pretty vile erotic poetry,” Reaper said in disgust, “and several letters that implicate Dory in crimes ranging from slavery to murder.  Too bad he’ll never see the inside of a courtroom.  I also found a few drawings which look an awful lot like those scribblings in Jarme’s cell.”
“Aha!”  Wesh cried triumphantly, holding up a crumpled piece of speckled parchment in one hand, and a tattered book bound in greasy, black leather in the other.  “These are interesting…mainly because they are written in a combination of Abyssal and Infernal.”
He unfolded the note and read aloud:  ‘Once again the catch indicates disturbances beneath us.  We cannot locate the cause, but fear THEY may be in the waters near your city.  Praise Lamashtu!  The Whisperer wants to begin the Lantern Man harvests again soon.  The young one must be fed.  You will help us.  The harvest must be greater, for the young one grows beyond our expectations.  His appetite is huge.  You will help sate it until the Whisperer finds a new Lantern Man.  If you have one that would work, bring him to the temple and we shall appraise his worth.’
The mage then flipped open the book, and another folded slip of paper fluttered out.  He picked it up and began to read again:  ‘This book contains all of the invocations and prayers you’ll need to learn the truth, Mr. Dory.  The Dark Goddess’s faithful are wary of new converts, but learn the words and they should accept you soon enough.  Seek their pulpit in the evening shadow of Frother’s Lamp.  Praise Lamashtu!”

“Lamashtu again!”  Dex threw up his hands.  “Does every petty villain pay homage to that bitch now?”
“Frother’s Lamp…,” Reaper mused absently.  “Does that ring any bells with anyone?”
“I’ve heard of it,” Cruemann replied.  “It’s an old, abandoned lighthouse down near the wharfs.”
“It would seem that’s our next destination,” the necromancer said.
“Why?”  Dex asked.  “We’ve got our answers.  Dory was behind the Lantern Man killings all along.  We can clear Jarme’s name with this evidence.”
Wesh shook his head.  “Dory was a pawn.  It’s obvious that someone, or something is behind all of this, and the murders were a means to an end, namely to somehow provide power to this ‘young one.’  Which brings us back to the matter of the Sihedron Rune carved into the bodies of the victims.  When Vanderboren did it, it was only to particularly greedy individuals.  There’s no such connection here, and besides, the stone giants had the symbol tattooed on them as well.  And what about the people in Turtleback Ferry and their tattoos?  No, I think we need to go check out this lighthouse and find out exactly what’s going on here.”
______________________________________________________

Frother’s Lamp was located in a section of Underbridge affectionately known as Flotsam, arguably the most depressing section of an already morbidly depressed district.  A tangled wall of apartments, partially ruined and abandoned store fronts, and other buildings rose up on either side of a thickly shuddering inlet of tainted sea water.  Those down near the water line were empty and desolate, while the ramshackle additions built over their roofs looked progressively more inhabitable as they rose up into the polluted sky.  The overall effect was that of a canyon, its walls made of a cross-section of a dying slum rather than stone.  A narrow timber bridge sagged across the inlet, leading from the back of a crooked alleyway across to what appeared to be a partially sunken slave galley that had been incorporated into the ruined wall of buildings.  

“So…is tha’ it?”  Duerten asked as he looked dubiously at the dilapidated lighthouse.  
“Didn’t the note say that the pulpit would be found in the _shadow_ of Frother’s Lamp?”  Reaper replied.  
“No…,” Dexter said, but when everyone turned to look at him they saw that he was peering up at the top of the lighthouse.  “It can’t be that obvious…”  He pointed, and the others followed his gaze.  As the evening sun set behind the lighthouse, its shadow stretched out like a long finger, and it pointed directly at the wrecked ship’s hull across the inlet.  
Wesh shrugged.  “It’s always helpful when evil cultists don’t go out of their way to be too cryptic.”

The main deck of the partially ruined slave galley was buckled and cluttered with trash, driftwood and other refuse washed up from the high tide.  To the east, the galley’s prow rose up like a jagged fang and to the west was a wall of boarded-up and badly weathered building facades.  One doorway, a pair of massive wooden portals, remained curiously unbarricaded, and the path between it and the bridge was cleared of rubble.  Cautiously, the company approached the doors.  They never saw the nine cloaked figures rise from the debris on the prow until the twang of bowstrings filled the air.  Arrows fell among them with deadly accuracy.  Adso hissed as one went cleanly through his hand, while Wesh barely suppressed a scream as another embedded deep in his thigh.  Two shafts sprouted from Sinclair’s side, completely spinning the little gnome around.  Of them all, however, Reaper took the brunt of the attack.  No fewer than three arrows pierced his chest.  The necromancer reeled and collapsed heavily against a nearby crate.  
“Dammit!”  Cruemann cursed as he whirled, his bow singing while he was still in motion.  A volley of three arrows knocked one of the skum archers from his feet, and he didn’t rise again.  Beside the guardsman, Dexter suddenly winked out of sight, only to reappear a moment later in the midst of the assassins.  He began slashing and stabbing all about him, but, to their credit, the skum kept up their deadly barrage.  Two more arrows struck Reaper, putting the wizard on the ground, blood spilling from the side of his mouth.  
“Gnome!”  Wesh shouted through gritted teeth as he simultaneously pulled the arrow out of his leg and loosed a salvo of magic missiles among the archers.  “Stop whining and start earning your keep!”
Murderous anger flashed across Sinclair’s face at the rebuke, but the little warmage turned his fury on their opponents, unleashing an explosive cascade of roiling fire through their ranks.  

Reaper’s vision blurred and grayed as his blood continued to spill out on the rotten planks.  Still, death was no stranger to the necromancer, and ultimately, it held no mystery for him.  His voice barely audible, he uttered the short words to a spell.  Slowly, painfully, his wounds began to close themselves and the blood stream trickled to a halt.  Gasping, he levered himself up on one elbow and lowered a pair of ruby-lensed goggles over his eyes.  As he did so, they eyepieces flashed and a ball of flame exploded among the skum assassins, sending most of them scattering, but leaving three of them as smoking corpses.  Exhausted, he collapsed back to the floor and Duerten rushed quickly to his side.  Meanwhile, Adso leaped nimbly to the upper deck and joined Dexter’s deadly dance.  Coupled with Cruemann’s pinpoint accuracy, the remaining Skum fell quickly before them.  
_____________________________________________________

Quite sure they’d come to the right place, the group moved quickly towards the double doors, which they found securely locked.  Wesh tapped the doors once with his wand and they swung easily open.  Beyond was an oppressive hallway that reeked of mildew and rotting fish.  The walls were horribly stained and the ceiling sagged with pockets of water and fungus.  The sounds of wood creaking against wood filled the place.  Another pair of double-doors stood closed on the far end.  Two abreast, the companions started down the corridor.  They had proceeded almost halfway down, when the sound of splintering wood came from beneath their feet as a large section of the floor suddenly collapsed.  Adso, Reaper, and Dex were  near the center of the area, but all three managed to leap clear of the collapse.  Duerten was not so fortunate, and he vanished into the hole and sank immediately beneath the churning water revealed below.  At the same time, something monstrous heaved itself out of the hole.  It looked like a gigantic, bipedal lobster, with enormous barbed pincers and a mass of tentacles dangling from beneath its mandibles.  Before anyone could act, the creature seized Sinclair in one of its claws.  The gnome screamed as the pincer constricted around him and then lifted him into the tentacles, where he was gripped firmly.  In desperation, Wesh leaped for the warmage, and as his fingers touched his companion, they both vanished in a flash of light, only to reappear a moment later back out on the deck of the ruined galley.  
“Thanks,” Sinclair gasped.
Wesh nodded, and then turned back towards the corridor.

Meanwhile, as the crustacean stood confused at the sudden loss of its prey, Cruemann brought his bow to  bear and punched four arrows through its carapace.  Uttering an inhuman shriek, the monster fell back into the water and vanished beneath the surface.  No sooner had it cleared the hole, than Dexter rushed forward and dove head-first into the water, to the utter astonishment of his companions.  Kicking fiercely, he swam against the strong current, diving deeper and deeper.  Finally, below him, he spotted Duerten.  The dwarf was conscious, apparently holding his breath, but he was being attacked by another pair of the lobster-creatures.  Dexter swam on, and managed to avoid the snapping claws of the crustaceans as he simultaneously grabbed Duerten and then touched the heel of one of his boots.  Instantly, both he and the dwarf began to rise towards the surface as the magic of the footwear made them lighter than the surrounding water.  Unfortunately, however, Duerten was pulled from his grasp as they ascended, and the riptide seized the dwarf and swept him rapidly out towards the open harbor.  Dexter continued to rise, until he popped to the surface beneath the floor once more.  No sooner had he surfaced, however, than one of the other lobster-things breached beneath him, its claws snapping.  By that time, Dexter’s allies were ready.  Reaper and Wesh simultaneously bombarded the beast with arcane bolts.  Dex used the momentary distraction to drive both of his blades down through the creature’s skull.  Squealing, it sank in a large pool of its own blood.  Dex quickly climbed out of the hole just as the third beast emerged.  Wesh was too close, and the lobster-thing snapped him up like a tasty morsel.  This time, it was Sinclair’s turn to return the favor, and the little warmage lobbed his own barrage of magic missiles.  Stunned, the creature released Wesh, and Cruemann quickly filled it full of arrows as Adso struck from behind.  Silently, the beast fell back into the waves.

Several hundred yards out to sea, Duerten popped to the surface.  Due to magic Dexter had imbued him with, the dwarf’s feet hovered about an inch above the water.  Sighing heavily, he began to trudge slowly across the waves back towards the inlet.


----------



## SolitonMan

JollyDoc said:


> Several hundred yards out to sea, Duerten popped to the surface.  Due to magic Dexter had imbued him with, the dwarf’s feet hovered about an inch above the water.  Sighing heavily, he began to trudge slowly across the waves back towards the inlet.




I thought Cruemann was supposed to be the comic relief!


----------



## JollyDoc

SolitonMan said:


> I thought Cruemann was supposed to be the comic relief!




Yeah, but Duerten's slow movement rate and serious lack of buoyancy are starting to make for some pretty entertaining moments...


----------



## JollyDoc

SUNDAY NIGHT TEASER

1)  The companions finally come face-to-face with the Whisperer...sort of, and Adso is stymied as to why his friends can walk through walls and he can't...

2)  Cruemann is neutered...hilarity ensues

3)  Just when it seems the crisis is solved...an underwater tunnel leads to a sunken church...

4)  It turns out the Whisperer has friends...sort of...

5)  The Young One hungers, and comes out to feed...

6)  Duerten becomes an intended meal, but as everyone knows, dwarves cause heartburn...


----------



## Abciximab

JollyDoc said:


> SUNDAY NIGHT TEASER
> 
> 6)  Duerten becomes an intended meal, but as everyone knows, dwarves cause heartburn...




Baby monsters really need to start listening to their mothers and chew their food thoroughly before swallowing.


----------



## demiurge1138

Kind of an odd pick, running the Styes in the middle of Rise of the Runelords, but I definately see it working--killers, runes, etc. Personally, I'd have set it in Riddleport; even Maginmar's slums are too nice for the horrors of civic planning Richard Pett's mind can dredge up.


----------



## JollyDoc

demiurge1138 said:


> Kind of an odd pick, running the Styes in the middle of Rise of the Runelords, but I definately see it working--killers, runes, etc. Personally, I'd have set it in Riddleport; even Maginmar's slums are too nice for the horrors of civic planning Richard Pett's mind can dredge up.




We finished the Styes this week, and hopefully, you'll be able to see how it meshes with the Runelords overarching storyline.


----------



## primemover003

JollyDoc said:
			
		

> Wesh stood there, hands raised, blue fire crackling from his fingertips. The corpse creature laughed again as he raised his hand absently, conjuring a glowing, transparent shield in the air between him and the mage. His laugh faded, however, as Wesh’s missiles punched through the shield as if it were rice paper and hammered into his chest.



How did his missiles get through the Shield spell???


----------



## JollyDoc

primemover003 said:


> How did his missiles get through the Shield spell???




You've gotta love the Force Missile Mage prestige class.  At 9th level, they gain the ability to penetrate Shield spells by making a caster level check with a DC of the opposing caster's level.  They can also punch through Brooch's of Shielding by making a caster level check DC 20.  This week, you'll get to see Wesh do another magic missile trick...altering the energy of them, ie, fire missiles.


----------



## Virtue

Hey can we get a break down of level and class of the party and what book the class is from


----------



## WarEagleMage

Adso is a 10th level monk built using the Pathfinder Beta Rules.  I did incorporate the variant fighting style (Cobra) from Unearthed Arcana, and the Mage Slayer and Pierce Magical Concealment feats from Complete Arcane.

Note that in this campaign we are limited to core plus 3 splat books from which to choose our cheese.


----------



## Virtue

Thats cool in our next game, that will be Rise of The Runelords we get core, pathfinder  (not RPG but the Adventure path books) and 2.5 splat books per player that is shared in the group


----------



## primemover003

WarEagleMage said:


> Adso is a 10th level monk built using the Pathfinder Beta Rules.  I did incorporate the variant fighting style (Cobra) from Unearthed Arcana, and the Mage Slayer and Pierce Magical Concealment feats from Complete Arcane.
> 
> Note that in this campaign we are limited to core plus 3 splat books from which to choose our cheese.



And Mage Slayer (and it's ilk) is definitely one of Kraft's Cheesiest feats!

IMC MS only works on Spellcasters as defined in the PHB.  It doesn't effect creatures with SLA's, so Rakshasas and Dragons are fair game, but most demons are not.


----------



## JollyDoc

primemover003 said:


> And Mage Slayer (and it's ilk) is definitely one of Kraft's Cheesiest feats!
> 
> IMC MS only works on Spellcasters as defined in the PHB.  It doesn't effect creatures with SLA's, so Rakshasas and Dragons are fair game, but most demons are not.




It's also not so great against stone giant necromancers with big hammers...


----------



## WarEagleMage

JollyDoc said:


> It's also not so great against stone giant necromancers with big hammers...




Those same stone giant necromancers and ogress sorceresses with unassociated class levels.  We'll stop our cheese when James Jacobs stops his. And don't even get me started about Unholy Toughness! 

At any rate, Adso is fully aware of the advantages and disadvantages of being a Mage Slayer, and accepts both with the stocisim one would expect of a monk of Irori. 

I must also give JollyDoc a ton of credit for playing his mages with no metagaming involved. The casters don't know they have a Mage Slayer on their hands until he's all up in their grill, and that's how it's been handled in-game.


----------



## WarEagleDex

Dexter was going to be a pure Rogue, but then some one pointed out the pure cheese that is book of nine swords.  So 2 levels of Sword sage tops of my 8 levels of Rogue.  I weild two short swords.  One of Subtilty and one of defending (gota love weapon swap)  Because of book of nine swords I'm flanking someone 85% of the time which means my sword of Subtilty is a +4 and I end up sometimes with 4 attacks at 11+5d6. 

A dex of 25,celestrial armor, a high wisdom, and a host of other magic items gives me an unbuffed ac of 36.. add to that the fact that I have meen rolling like a fiend on my HPs and have 97 of them, means I'm always in the front line.


----------



## JollyDoc

LEGACY OF SIN

The cavernous room reeked of rotting fish.  The walls were covered with carvings of complex spirals and were smeared with blood, as was the floor and ceiling.  Crude chairs and benches scavenged from disparate locations were arranged in a half-circle facing west, where a soggy flight of stairs led down into a frothing tide pool.  Over the stairs, a huge shark’s carcass hung from the rafters by lengths of mildewed rope.  Numerous human heads had been crudely stitched to the shark’s side, and the whole thing was very poorly preserved and was the primary source of the foul stink in the room.  The seven companions stepped slowly from the hallway into the chamber, gazing about them in disgust and apprehension.  Their concern was well placed as, no sooner had they all entered, than the foul taxidermy turned its head towards them, and then wrenched violently against its chains as it flopped to the floor and began thrashing its way across the room.

“What…is that?”  Dex asked as he gripped the hilts of his blades tightly.  
“A golem of some sort, unless I miss my guess,” Wesh said.  “Kind of like what we saw in Dory’s boat.”
“Great,” Dex sighed.  
For his part, Adso didn’t particularly care what the thing was.  It certainly meant them no good, and that was enough for him.  Moving like quicksilver, he dashed across the floor, and sprang at the last moment, intending to land a crushing blow from a flying kick.  Incredibly, the shark rolled out of his line of attack faster than he would have thought possible.  

“Fast for a flesh golem,” Wesh nodded sagely.  “Let’s see if it can dodge this.”
He waggled his fingers and the familiar flash of arcane bolts left his hands, but instead of coruscating energy, they were composed of fire.  Wesh knew that mere magic would not harm the golem, but fire would slow it, if nothing else.  He smiled, satisfied as the missiles struck, scorching the golem’s hide and immediately slowing its progress.  
“Nice shot!”  Cruemann said as he drew back his bow and released.  “Now hold nice and still…”
His shafts flew true, straight as…well…arrows.  Four of them sank deep into its flank…only…they didn’t.  To everyone else watching, the archer had scored direct hits, but Cruemann saw something else.  He saw the arrows pass straight through the creature, as if it was made of smoke.  Then, after, the golem seemed to lose it…thereness…becoming shadowy and transparent.
“Ummm…guys…” he said.  “My arrows went right through that thing, and now it looks…strange.  Do you think it’s a ghost?”

Before anyone had a chance to answer, two figures emerged slowly from the pool at the far end of the chamber.  Both were humanoid, but one was clad in floor-length robes, with no features visible, while the other looked to be a barbaric savage wearing naught but a loin cloth.  
“Lay down your weapons and surrender,” the robed figure intoned.  “Only then shall I call off my guardian.”
Sinclair glanced at Reaper and saw the necromancer roll his eyes.  The little gnome smiled grimly and cast his hands out.  A burst of fire exploded between the two figures and both recoiled in shock and anger.  As for Reaper, he had an idea that there was more to the cloaked speaker than met the eye…and perhaps less.  He wove his own incantation, a dispelling charm centered upon the man.  The results were more than he expected as his target simply vanished.

Dexter’s brow creased.  He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he knew he couldn’t take anything at face value.  He peered intently at the flopping shark golem, trying to see what Cruemann was talking about.  Gradually, he did see.  The beast was translucent, ephemeral, almost as if it didn’t truly exist.  Dex made up his mind.  Concentrating, he stepped into the shadows, and reappeared a moment later standing right next to the savage warrior who still stood within the pool.  
“Cruemann’s right!” he shouted to his companions.  “The golem’s not real!  Ignore it!”

Wesh had already come to the same conclusion.  He quickly leveled a second barrage of magic missiles, only this time directed at the barbarian.  To his stunned disbelief, the missiles passed straight thru.
“Another one!” he cursed, but only Cruemann, Reaper and Sinclair heard him.  Before he could warn Dexter and Duerten, a wall of solid stone suddenly appeared across the center of the room, trapping the two on the far side.

Dexter grimaced as he saw the wall appear, and then turned back towards the berserker.
“Your boss is just full of tricks,” he smirked, “but if you think we’re trapped over here with you, you’re mistaken.  It’s you who’s trapped with us!”
With a snarl, the rogue plunged both blades through the big warrior’s chest.  The satisfied look quickly faded, however, as the man simply smiled down at him, despite the blood streaming from his wounds.    Behind Dex, however, Duerten saw something different:  Dex was fighting a shadow.

Reaper stared at the wall speculatively.  He knew such spells were possible, conjuring stone from thin air, but their opponent had already proven himself to be a talented illusionist.  Was it possible that this was simply another example of that talent?  There was only one way to find out.  He walked up to the wall, and then simply stepped  through.

Duerten grabbed Dexter’s arm
“It’s not real, lad, can’t ye see?”
Dex looked him in disbelief.
“Are you insane?  He’s as flesh and blood as you and I!  Let me go!”
He wrenched free of the dwarf’s grasp and renewed his assault upon the barbarian.  Still the man just stood there, taking his blows with a smile on his face.  
“Dammit, boy!” Duerten snarled, and he tried to step past the rogue and through the illusion, to show him its true nature.  He found his path blocked, however.  Not by the barbarian…by something else…something he couldn’t see.  Cursing again, he quickly snapped out a prayer.  A wave of rippling power washed through him, purging the area of anything unseen.  Standing on the steps beside the illusion, the cloaked man reappeared.

Wesh, Cruemann, Sinclair and Adso stepped through the wall behind Reaper, just as the hooded mage stood revealed again.  Sinclair quickly hurled another fiery burst, causing him to growl in pain and draw back.  At the same moment, Reaper chanted and a mass of rubbery, black tentacles sprang from the pool.  Once more, however, his plan did not work as he intended.  The cloaked mage moved easily through the appendages, unimpeded by their constricting grasp.  
“Another illusion?”  Reaper snapped.  “Wesh, Cruemann!  Shoot him!  We’ll see what’s real and what’s not!”
Wesh complied, sending another salvo of magic missiles.  This time, his assault seemed to strike true, driving the magician back.  Cruemann drew his bow taught, but as he prepared to release, his bowstring suddenly snapped, opening a nasty gash along the bowman’s jaw.
“Enough!”  Reaper shouted, and he conjured a second dispelling field.  This time, both the hooded figure and the barbaric warrior that Dexter still fought, both vanished, only to be replaced by the huge bulk of a fish-like creature with writhing tentacles.
“It’s…an aboleth…,” Wesh whispered.
“Not fer long, it ain’t!” Duerten spat.  He raised his axe, calling Sarenrae’s name.  His medallion pulsed with crimson light, and for a moment, it seemed as if the head of his weapon turned to solidified blood.  He brought it down heavily upon the aboleth, and the creature’s own ichor-like bodily fluids spurted like a fountain.  Squealing inhumanly, the creature sank slowly beneath the water.
___________________________________________________


“Well, I guess we can scratch one aboleth,” Dexter smirked.
“Yes, but I’m not sure that solves our problem,” Wesh replied.  “I mean, what was the point in all this?  A rogue aboleth enslaves some human cultists and manufactures a serial killer?  Why?  Where’s this ‘Young One’ we read about?”
“What about down there?”  Sinclair piped up.
The others turned to look and saw the gnome pointing towards the pool.  The stairs that led down into it descended into a submerged tunnel.  No one else had noticed it.  
“Who’s up for a swim?”  Reaper asked, clapping his hands.

Down they went, one-by-one.  Duerten, anticipating just such a development after facing Mr. Dory’s henchmen, conferred upon each of his companions the ability to temporarily breathe water.  Nonetheless, it was still a very alien experience.  The tunnel led on for thousands of feet, sloping gradually downward, taking them deep below the surface of Magnimar’s bay.  When they emerged on the far side, they saw looming out of the briny murk what appeared to be a large, sunken church.  The building listed at a slight angle, its walls festooned with seaweed and barnacles.  It appeared that the building wasn’t quite finished when it sank; its façade was a mess of partially collapsed walls and ruined scaffolding that had settled into a dangerous tangle of rubble.  The church’s spire jutted upward, nearly reaching the surface before itself ending in a gaping wound…it seemed that more than one unfortunate ship had sailed into the crown of the submerged spire over the years.  

Slowly, cautiously, the seven companions walked across the ocean floor towards the strange revenant.  The rubble blocking the interior proved impassable, but with the aid of Reaper and Sinclair, the obstacle was quickly circumvented by a brief transdimensional jaunt.  Inside, layers of silt covered the once fine floor.  Immense mounds of collapsed scaffolding lay heaped in the eastern end, but that spectacle was dwarfed by the gaping pit that yawned to the west, practically engulfing the entire wing of the structure.  The pit’s walls and rim flickered and writhed with intricate glyphs, woven together in a complex tapestry of magical light that was horribly familiar in its pattern…the Sihedron Rune.  The glyphs seemed to undulate and writhe, almost slithering across each other like and obscene carpet of snakes.  Floating in the near nave of the church, however, was a more immediate problem…a trio of aboleths, all staring at the new arrivals with alien eyes.

Adso launched himself through the water like a shark, arrowing towards the nearest of the aboleths.  The creature lashed at the monk with its tentacles, but Adso spiraled and pinwheeled like he had been born beneath the surface.  He struck like a sledgehammer, and the massive being was actually moved backwards, though its mass was easily twenty times that of the orc.  Dexter moved almost as fluidly as his friend, and though he struck with more finesse, his attack was no less effective as he slipped his blade between the plates of the aboleth’s carapace.  

As the two warriors charged into the fray, Reaper and Wesh began lobbing energy bolts at the second aboleth as it began moving towards the group.  Duerten stepped in front of the wizards as the creature approached, and it slapped casually at him with one writhing tentacle.  The dwarf took the blow, but returned it in kind with a vicious chop from his axe.  He raised his weapon again as the aboleth bore down on him, but suddenly the creature reared in the water, a high pitched wail sounding from its air holes as Dexter appeared in a flash of darklight atop its back and plunged both of his swords into its skull.  The aboleth thrashed and writhed a moment more before sinking slowly to the church floor.  Behind it, the first of its brothers also ceased its struggles as Adso delivered a devastating combination of punches and kicks.  The last of the aboleths turned and swam frantically towards the gaping maw of the pit.

When it happened, it was almost too fast for the onlookers to grasp what exactly had occurred.  A pair of enormous tentacles emerged from the abyss, wrapped around the aboleth and then hauled it into the darkness.  A moment later, black blood billowed up out of the blackness.  Several long, silent seconds passed, and then the tentacles reappeared, followed by six arms the size of tree trunks.  Last came the body of the behemoth.  It appeared to be some sort of monstrous squid, but its eyes blazed with crimson intelligence, and the side of its head bore some sort of scar or birth mark that looked ominously like the sign of Lamashtu.  

Once again, it was Adso who acted first.  Showing no fear or hesitation at all, the burly orc swam straight towards the kraken, but he never got within twenty feet of the beast.  One long tentacle whipped out and struck the orc across the face, shattering his nose in a spray of bright red blood.  As Adso was hurled backwards, another tentacle snaked out impossible far and wrapped itself around Duerten, lifting the dwarf from his feet and dragging him towards the kraken’s maw.  As the priest was pulled closer and closer, the monster’s arms hammered mercilessly at him, beating him all but senseless.  Desperately, Wesh unleashed a massive blast of energy, concentrating all of his arcane power into one blinding blast.  The kraken reeled from the blow, but did not release its constricting hold on Duerten.  At the same time, Sinclair loosed a bolt of electricity that conducted through the intervening water like a hot knife through butter.  When it struck the beast, the water around it exploded in a coruscating miasma of lightning.  Its limbs jerked wildly, swinging Duerten about like a ragdoll.  As the kraken twitched and jittered, Dexter stepped into the shadows once more and reappeared on the lip of the pit.  Pushing off, he launched himself upwards, both blades held stiffly above him.  The swords sank deep into the kraken’s hide, and the monster turned its baleful eye upon him.  Duerten was still held in its grip, but its hold loosened, its prey temporarily forgotten.  Blood leaking from his mouth, nose and eyes, the priest managed to pull his axe arm free.  As he muttered under his breath, the head of the weapon seemed to transform into blackest obsidian.  Calling Sarenrae’s name, the dwarf raised the axe and brought it down with all his remaining strength upon the kraken’s head.  The magically hardened blade sliced through the carapace as if it were paper and cleaved straight down into the creature’s brain.  The kraken’s arms and tentacles went limp, releasing Duerten as it spiraled down into the black abyss and was lost from view.


EPILOGUE

Reaper and Wesh spent hours studying the strange configuration of the Sihedron Rune before they finally felt that they had discerned its purpose.  It was a beacon for negative emotions, specifically, fear.  It focused those fears into the pit, creating a kind of incubator for the fiendish kraken growing within.  It seemed that the first aboleth they had fought, the Whisperer, had not been allied with the other three.  It was obvious that his association with the cult of Lamashtu branded him as an outcast among his own kind, guilty of the vilest of sins…faith.  In need of allies to aid him, and fodder to feed the Rune, he sent his skum slaves to recruit Mr. Dory, ordering the councilman to concoct the Lantern Man.  The serial killer’s exploits fed the fears of the residents of Underbridge, and those fears in turn fed the kraken, a creature that the Whisperer believed to be a minion of Lamashtu, sent to him as a reward for his unswerving loyalty.  Perhaps she would reward him more appropriately in the hereafter…

ONE YEAR LATER…

When Wesh Baltar’s first book was published, it was met with both critical acclaim by the artistic elite of Magnimar, who hailed it as a magnificent work of intrigue, and by equal amounts of scorn by the academic elite, who dubbed it a pedantic work of fiction.  Regardless, its true success was shown by its ramifications among the masses of Underbridge.  The poor, the forgotten, the downtrodden…old and young, they devoured the novel, and spread news about it to friends and family alike.  To them it was seen as a treatise on the class inequalities inherent in Magnimar’s political system.  It sparked a flame which rapidly grew to a conflagration, and a movement which shook the very pillars of society…the Lantern Society…


----------



## Joachim

Nice post, yet again, Sir Jolly.

In response to the question from earlier this week, Reaper is a level 10 Dread Necromancer from Heroes of Horror.  As WarEagleMage (aka Bryant) mentioned earlier, we are allowed to use 3 non-core books in character creation, and the core books include the PFRPG Beta, MIC, and SpC.  The three books I have used (and what I took from them) are:

1) Heroes of Horror - Dread Necromancer (obviously)

2) Complete Champion - Healing Devotion feat (which I have dumped 12 rebuke attempts into as well to gain 13 uses per day to give fast healing 3 for 1 minute...at this point I can heal 390 hps per day, yay!)

3) Fiend Folio - My familiar come from here (Ghostly Visage, named Baab).

Apart from that, my feats are pretty basic...Spell Focus / Greater Spell Focus, Weapon Finesse, Extra Turning, Leadership, and Skill Focus (UMD).  Magic Items of note include a full set of the Raiment of the Four, Caduceus Bracers (which JD has allowed me to trade fast healing points for the opportunity to slowly heal ability damage), and lots of wands/scrolls.


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## LordVyreth

Joachim said:


> Nice post, yet again, Sir Jolly.
> 
> In response to the question from earlier this week, Reaper is a level 10 Dread Necromancer from Heroes of Horror.  As WarEagleMage (aka Bryant) mentioned earlier, we are allowed to use 3 non-core books in character creation, and the core books include the PFRPG Beta, MIC, and SpC.  The three books I have used (and what I took from them) are:
> 
> 1) Heroes of Horror - Dread Necromancer (obviously)
> 
> 2) Complete Champion - Healing Devotion feat (which I have dumped 12 rebuke attempts into as well to gain 13 uses per day to give fast healing 3 for 1 minute...at this point I can heal 390 hps per day, yay!)
> 
> 3) Fiend Folio - My familiar come from here (Ghostly Visage, named Baab).
> 
> Apart from that, my feats are pretty basic...Spell Focus / Greater Spell Focus, Weapon Finesse, Extra Turning, Leadership, and Skill Focus (UMD).  Magic Items of note include a full set of the Raiment of the Four, Caduceus Bracers (which JD has allowed me to trade fast healing points for the opportunity to slowly heal ability damage), and lots of wands/scrolls.




Leadership?  How does that factor in mechanically?  Does your cohort ever adventure with the group?


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## JollyDoc

LordVyreth said:


> Leadership?  How does that factor in mechanically?  Does your cohort ever adventure with the group?




No, he doesn't, but he makes a wonderful major domo for Fort Rannick, and he'll take good care of Reaper's 'army'...


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## JollyDoc

SUNDAY TEASER

1)  We veer back onto the AP with the group receiving a distress call from Sandpoint.

2)  The companions regroup in Magnimar before heading home to Sandpoint, with Reaper returning from Fort Rannick where he was busy assembling his 'army.'  

3)  The group barely has time to soak in their heroe's welcome, when trouble appears on the horizon...literally.

4)  It's an all out assault on Sandpoint, as Mokmurian's troops invade.

5)  The heroes are forced to split their resources to fight battles on multiple fronts, the results being several close calls for some individuals.

6)  Just when the battle reaches a climax, a new wrinkle is added in the form of...you guessed it...a bonafide dragon!!  


Author's Note:  I'm afraid I have a small bit of bad news...I'm no longer going to be able to guarantee weekly postings.  I'm being a bit overwhelmed at trying to keep up that schedule, so I'm going to pace myself a bit more.  That doesn't mean monthly postings, and occasionally I'm sure I'll be able to put up some weekly ones, but I need to balance it out a bit.  Thanks for your patience in advance.

JD


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## Schmoe

JollyDoc said:


> SUNDAY TEASER
> 
> 1)  We veer back onto the AP with the group receiving a distress call from Sandpoint.
> 
> 2)  The companions regroup in Magnimar before heading home to Sandpoint, with Reaper returning from Fort Rannick where he was busy assembling his 'army.'
> 
> 3)  The group barely has time to soak in their heroe's welcome, when trouble appears on the horizon...literally.
> 
> 4)  It's an all out assault on Sandpoint, as Mokmurian's troops invade.
> 
> 5)  The heroes are forced to split their resources to fight battles on multiple fronts, the results being several close calls for some individuals.
> 
> 6)  Just when the battle reaches a climax, a new wrinkle is added in the form of...you guessed it...a bonafide dragon!!




In the immortal words of Chris Farley:   Aaaawesome




> Author's Note:  I'm afraid I have a small bit of bad news...I'm no longer going to be able to guarantee weekly postings.  I'm being a bit overwhelmed at trying to keep up that schedule, so I'm going to pace myself a bit more.  That doesn't mean monthly postings, and occasionally I'm sure I'll be able to put up some weekly ones, but I need to balance it out a bit.  Thanks for your patience in advance.
> 
> JD




Having written a (very bad) story hour many moons ago, I completely understand.  For my part, I'll still check in and follow this thing to the end.  One humble request that you might consider, for your poor fans:  Continue doing the teasers each week, but number them.  That way, when you write the update, you can number the update to go with the related teaser.


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## R-Hero

JollyDoc said:


> Author's Note:  I'm afraid I have a small bit of bad news...I'm no longer going to be able to guarantee weekly postings.  I'm being a bit overwhelmed.....
> 
> JD





Unacceptable!!!  
You've set the bar too high too long ago, old freind.
You might have to neglect the family or your practice, but not the S.H.



(Just kidding folks. No hate e-mail or hexes.)

You do a great job with the stories, Joe.  Keep up the quality.


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## Virtue

I am very much addicted to this story hour just keep is up with teasers from the night befores game and then post the story when you get them finished


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## JollyDoc

Thanks for undestanding!  I will keep up the teasers, and will number/date them to go along with the updates.  The latest teaser was for our game session on 11/2, btw...


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## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:


> Thanks for undestanding!  I will keep up the teasers, and will number/date them to go along with the updates.  The latest teaser was for our game session on 11/2, btw...



You've set the bar high, indeed, and spoiled us every week with killer updates, JollyDoc. We have no right to ask you to neglect real life for this story hour. Whatever, whenever you update, your readers will be there. 

Three aboleths and a fiendish Kraken, not a bad score for one session.


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## JollyDoc

SUNDAY NIGHT TEASER ( For Nov. 9)

1)  The battle for Sandpoint concludes, decisively, but not before the unexpected return of an old friend...

2)  Reaper gets another henchman, and sets about finding information about Mokmurian in his own, unique way.

3)  The group sets out for the Iron Peaks, in search of the hidden Valley of the Black Tower.

4)  When they finally reach their goal, they find the fortifications of Jorgenfist...formidable.

5)  The assault begins with a stealth mission to a lone watch tower, where a new breed of giant is discovered.


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## demiurge1138

Ooh, I do love Jorgenfist. I'm eager to see how this party tackles it--it's a great sandbox.


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## Schmoe

Yeehaw!  Against the Giants, Runelords-style.  Should be fun.


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## JollyDoc

The following update is related to the Teaser from Sunday, Nov. 2

RUMOURS OF WAR

Giants…the word was on everyone’s tongue in Magnimar.  Stories spoke of remote villages attacked by hill giants mounted on trumpeting elephants, of platoons of ogres raiding remote farms and eating everyone, and of bands of stone giants pressing every southward through the Malgorian Mountains, Churlwood, and even down along the Lost Coast.  None of the larger towns along the Lampblack River or Ember Lake had reported attacks, but the growing number of sightings at the fringes of civilization were enough to cause Magnimar’s standing army to take notice.  Patrols were increased along the Lost Coast Road, the Dry Way, and the Lampblack Trail.  Signs of giants were there…immense footprints, houses crushed to splinters, and second-hand tales of sightings by hermits and hunters.  Yet, the giants had still not engaged in a full-on assault…yet…

Wesh had spent the two weeks since the resolution of the Lantern Man murders in Sandpoint.  Though Ameiko had never learned of his death, Wesh felt that his time in the Afterlife had been an eternity, and he had been anxious to return to his lover.  She had, of course, been overjoyed to see him again, but it was nothing compared to his gratitude for his second chance.  He had relished the time to reacquaint himself with his home town, friends and neighbors, and to allow himself the illusion of normalcy, even though he knew that he and his companions would have to soon depart for the Iron Peaks.  So it was with a sense of disappointment and resignation that he answered his door one morning to find Shalelu Andosana.
“Shalelu,” he sighed, “to what do I owe this honor?”
The elf’s face remained sober.  “I assure you that I’m no more happy to deliver this news than you are to receive it, but when I learned that you had returned to Sandpoint, it saved me the trouble of having to track you down in Magnimar.  I realize that you and your companions are planning on pursuing your leads on the stone giant, Mokmurian, but I think that after you hear my report, you may reconsider your priorities.  You see, over the past weeks, I have been finding increasing evidence of giant activity in the area.  I’ve not actually seen any living giants, but the signs are clear…Sandpoint and its environs would seem to be a target for giant reconnaissance.  Do you think that you and your allies could spare the time to aid me in investigating this matter?”
Wesh nodded somberly.  “I’ll contact the others immediately.  Hopefully these are just scouting parties, but I agree that this bears looking into.  Thank you Shalelu, and forgive me for my mood.  These are dark days, and seem to only hold the promise of darker ones to come.”
___________________________________________________

When Reaper received Wesh’s message, he was just putting the finishing touches on organizing his new shock troopers for Fort Rannick’s defense.  He acknowledged the wizard’s request, and turned to Thufir.  He and the priest stood atop the snow swept crest of Skull Crossing, alone save for their new recruits.
“I have to go,” Reaper said.
“The Iron Peaks?”  Thufir asked.
“Sandpoint,” the necromancer replied, shaking his head.  “Seems they’re having some local giant problems of their own.  I’m leaving you in charge of the fort.  I trust you’ll know what to do with them,” he nodded towards the silent soldiers.
“Of course,” the priest nodded.  “I’ll take them in through the falls after nightfall, and I’ll place them in the dungeon until they’re needed.”
“Excellent,” Reaper replied, and then dismissed his cohort.  He watched with pride as Thufir departed the dam, closely followed by two-dozen shambling ogre skeletons.  Then, with a snap of his fingers, the necromancer vanished.
___________________________________________________

“So you’ve made your decision?”  Draton asked, his tone carefully neutral.
“Aye,” Duerten nodded once.  “An’ I’m takin’ Cruemann with me.  The boy needs takin’ in hand, an’ I’ll feel better with’im under me eye.”
The senior priest nodded in return.  “I’m…disappointed.  I had hoped you would be able to see past your prejudices.”
Duerten’s face reddened.  “I’ll nae be seein’ past murder, if that’s what ye mean!  What’s more, I plan on seein’ to it that no more’o his kind be killin’ more innocents!”
Draton dropped his eyes for a moment, then raised them again and placed one hand on his friend’s shoulder.  “You’ll be missed.  Go with the Dawnstar.”
He turned without another word and walked away towards the massive stone giant that waited on him.
_________________________________________________

With the aid of Reaper and Sinclair, the seven companions were transported instantaneously from the bustling streets of Magnimar to the quiet lanes of Sandpoint.  News of their coming had preceded them, and though of the original town heroes only three remained, the entire company was welcomed with open arms.  The mayor and sheriff Hemlock were especially pleased to see the adventurers, given the news brought by Shalelu.  Though they were flattered by all the attention, the group declined the numerous invitations by the locals to join them in feasts and revelries.  Instead, they met in private with the mayor, Hemlock and Shalelu, discussing the nature of the ranger’s findings.  Ultimately, it was decided that the group would accompany Shalelu the following morning to examine the evidence for themselves.

Dawn the next day found Duerten in the courtyard of the church, going through his morning rituals.  Across town, Adso was awake as well, practicing his kata outside the House of Blue Stones, where he’d spent the previous night.  And in the stable yard of the Rusty Dragon, Dexter honed his own sword skills, working off some nervous energy.  It was Dex who first spotted the silhouettes standing atop the nearby tors of Ravenroost, backlit by the rising sun.  The size of the figures left little doubt that the giants had arrived.  

Duerten, being nearest to the northern gates of the town, heard the first impact against the massive portals, closely followed by shouts from the guards, and the deeper shouts of their assailants.  The dwarf began hustling towards the wall, shouting over his shoulder at some of the acolytes who’d been roused by the ruckus.
“Ring th’bells, ye rock heads!  We’re under attack!”
By the time the bells began to toll, Dexter was already in motion.  With the aid of the glamor placed upon his armor, he rose into the air, calling out to the inn as he departed for the gates, hoping his sleeping companions within were awake.  Before he ever came in sight of the wall, however, Adso was already there, the fleet-footed monk having even outrun the much closer Duerten.

One-by-one, the others woke and leaped into action.  Sinclair shunted himself through the walls of his room in the inn, and then quickly took flight himself.  Similarly, Reaper and Wesh, also at the Rusty Dragon, teleported directly to the gates to join their companions.  Lastly, Cruemann, who had passed out in the common room of the Dragon the night before after having been bought several free rounds by his new admirers, roused himself and made his way to the roof of the inn.  From that vantage, he could see the gates, but more importantly, he could also see a second group of giants approaching from the east, hidden from view from his friends and the town’s defenders…

Wesh appeared on the ramparts above the north gate.  Two-hundred feet down the road, four gray-skinned stone giants stood, calling out taunts and jeers in broken Varisian.  Behind and below the wizard, terrified guards cowered and frantically moved wagons into place to barricade and reinforce the gate.  The giants began laughing even louder when they saw the lone human standing on the wall.  Their laughter died a moment later, however, as a line of streaking blue missiles arced from Wesh’s hand and directly into the chest of one of their number.  For a moment there was only silence as the giant doubled over in pain.  Then, he slowly straightened, scorch marks on his chest and a small boulder gripped in both hands.  He raised it high over his head and hurled it with all his strength.  The rock hurtled towards the wall and struck the parapet at Wesh’s feet, sending the wizard sprawling, blood pouring from a large gash in his head.  When he looked up through the dust, wiping the blood from his eyes, he saw the four giants advancing steadily up the road.

On the far side of Tanner’s Bridge, three more giants emerged from the woods at the edge of the river, driving four massive bears the size of elephants before them.  No one saw their approach save Cruemann, as the mercenary stood alone and unarmored on the roof of the Rusty Dragon.  He cursed to himself and fished a flask from his belt, uncorking it and drinking it in one smooth motion.  Gripping his bow, he rose into the air, buoyed by the magic of the draught.  Cursing again and shaking his head, he knocked an arrow and drew the string well behind his ear.  Sighting on the foremost of the giants, he loosed, and the shaft flew straight and true, embedding itself in the creature’s shoulder.  
“Bet you didn’t see that coming,” Cruemann smiled to himself.  The grin faltered, however, when he saw all three giants pointing at him and hefting rocks.  
“Oh, sh…!” he cried as he tried to veer away, but his body was unfamiliar with vagaries of flight, and he moved too slow.  All three rocks struck him with the force of battering rams, and he both heard and felt bones crack as he started spiraling towards the ground.

“Wesh!  Wesh, are you ok?”  Sinclair had appeared at the wizard’s side, the little gnome hunkering down behind the ramparts, out of sight of the giants.  
“I…I don’t know…,” he stammered, his head still ringing from the blow.
“Stay down then,” Sinclair said.  “We’ve got this covered.  See?”
Wesh looked up and saw Dexter fly over them, headed for the road.  Nearby, a pair of hands seized the top of the parapet and Adso hauled himself on top of the wall, and then promptly leaped down to the other side, following Dex.  
“If this is all they’re sending against us,” the gnome laughed, “then they’re in for a big surprise!”
He stood and began casting, his high-pitched voice ticking off the words to his spell.  An instant later Wesh saw a tiny ball of flame streak from Sinclair’s hand, followed by a loud explosion as it detonated among the giants.  

Cruemann managed to pull out of his dive just above the rooftops, glancing quickly behind him to see if more flying rocks were coming towards him.  Instead he saw that the giants and bears had made it across the river and were smashing in windows along the waterfront buildings, grabbing screaming townsfolk and stuffing them into large leather sacks.  Cruemann knew he had no chance of stopping them alone.  He paused in mid-air for a moment, fired off one more shot, and then streaked off towards the main gate.

“Lie still fer a minute, lad,” Duerten instructed Wesh.  The dwarf had flown to the top of the wall like an ungainly bumble bee, the necessity of magic-assisted flight overriding his racial aversion to having his feet ever leave the ground.  Wesh lay back as the priest passed his glowing amulet over his body and felt his pain ease and his thoughts clear.  
“Thanks,” he said as he pulled himself to his feet.  Next to him, Reaper was just hauling himself over the rampart, crawling up the wall like a great, black-cloaked spider.  Sinclair stood on his other side, a fierce grin frozen on his face as he unleashed a second fireball.  The giants began to scatter as the flames engulfed them, but not before Reaper sent another scorching blast among them.  At that point, the four badly burned brutes broke into an all-out run, heading straight for the wall.  Wesh saw that Dexter and Adso had positioned themselves directly in the middle of the road, and two of the giants were moving straight towards them, but the other two veered off, still coming for the gates.
“Ah, rat farts!”  Duerten cursed.  “Looks like th’lads need me help.”
The dwarf launched himself off the wall, bobbing and weaving unsteadily towards the ground just in time to intercept one of the oncoming giants.  The big brute snarled in rage as he lifted his massive club and Duerten braced himself behind his shield.  When the hit came, it came with authority, and though his feet were solidly planted, the dwarf was driven several yards backwards, his boots carving deep furrows in the dirt.

Wesh watched it all.  Duerten had at least succeeded in slowing down one of the attackers, and as the other two reached Dex and Adso, the rogue stepped directly into the charge, dodged nimbly to one side, and stabbed his sword cleanly through the flank of one of the pair.  The artery was severed cleanly, and the giant exsanguinated before he even hit the ground.  Still, there was one giant unaccounted for, and to Wesh’s growing discomfiture, it was still coming right towards him.  
“Is anyone else concerned about this?”  the wizard asked his two associates.
“Not especially,” Reaper shrugged.  “I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
Wesh wasn’t sure he liked the necromancer’s smile.  When he turned to Sinclair, the gnome was still grinning like a madman.
“Burn!” he squealed like a giddy schoolboy as he sprayed ropes of fire down upon the oncoming giant.
“Nicely done,” Reaper nodded appreciatively, “but it lacks style.  Observe…,”

Dexter circled his remaining foe warily, looking for an opening.  His chance came in a most unexpected way as the giant he had just felled slowly rose to its feet.  As it did so, it left its flesh behind, only its skeleton making it vertical.  Its brother’s jaw dropped as he saw what had become of his tribesman.  Horror and revulsion crossed his face as he swung his club, shattering the mandible of the undead monstrosity.  Dexter didn’t question his stroke of luck.  He was pretty sure of its source.  Instead, he darted into the fray, his blades flashing.  One of them struck the giant across the eyes, blinding him, while the other plunged repeatedly into his belly.  The last thing he saw was the grinning skull of his former kinsman standing over him.

Adso left Dexter to his own devices, confident of his friend’s prowess.  The monk streaked down the road, closing the distance to the giant assaulting the gate in a matter of seconds.  The brute was still reeling from Sinclair’s blasts when Adso arrived.  A moment before the orc struck, the giant saw him coming, and swung his club wildly.  The shot was lucky, and sent Adso flying.  By the time it turned back to the wall, Wesh was waiting, and he sent a point-blank blast of missiles into its face.  That only left one giant facing Duerten.  The dwarf had recovered from his pummeling, and was taking the fight back to his enemy.  He fended off more blows with his shield, then put his head down and rushed in, axe swinging furiously.  When he finally looked up again, the giant lay on the ground bleeding from multiple gashes, heaving its last breath.


“We’ve got more problems,” Cruemann said as the company regrouped at the interior of the gates.  He told them of the other group of giants, though the screams echoing from the east side of town were testament in-and-of themselves.  
“Those of us who can fly, start heading that way,” Wesh instructed.  “The rest, come as you can.”
Sinclair, Dexter and Cruemann took flight once more, and sped towards the east, while Adso took off at a run along the ramparts, moving faster than his flying companions.  Duerten lifted off as well, though his ungainly maneuvering insured that he would be well behind the others.  Wesh cast a quick spell of flight on himself and hovered above the wall.
“Coming?” he asked Reaper.
“I’ll be along,” the necromancer replied.  The giant skeleton stood silent guard beside him, and then, at an unspoken command from Reaper, it started off at a steady lope through the center of town, its master following in its wake as townsfolk ran screaming inside their homes.

The defenders had only crossed half the distance across the town when an ear-splitting roar sounded from the sky above them.  As one, they raised their eyes and felt fear seize their hearts.  Wheeling out of the light of the blinding sun was the unmistakable winged, sinuous shape of a dragon.  Its crimson scales glistened in the dawn, and when it opened its jaws for another ground-shaking roar, a great gout of flame spewed forth, washing over the town garrison.  Fortunately, the bulk of the building was made of stone, but several guardsmen were roasted alive on the battlements.  As if this new threat were not enough, three more stone giants with huge, tree-trunk clubs emerged from the swamp on the far side of the mill pond, just downstream from Tanner’s Bridge.  
“More prisoners!” they bellowed.  “Brings us your fat, greedy merchants, and we shall spare your miserable lives!  Fail, and you’ll burn in dragon fire!”
They then lifted rocks and began bombarding the town, raining destruction even more devastating than the dragon’s.  

“The giants!”  Wesh shouted to his friends.  “Take out the giants!  We can’t let them take any of the townsfolk!”
The wizard led the charge with a barrage of magic missiles leveled at a giant bear menacing a washer woman.  The beast roared and reared up on its hind legs.  The giants ceased their depredations and looked to the sky, pointing and shouting at their new targets.  Dexter touched down at the end of the street and began yelling, trying to draw the attention of the bears.  They turned towards him, all teeth, claws and boney spikes protruding from their fur.  Dexter gulped, then nearly jumped out of his skin as he felt a hand fall on his shoulder.
“You didn’t think I’d let you have all the fun, did you?”  Adso asked, the monk not even breathing hard from his run.
“Well, I kind of wanted to be the hero,” Dex grinned.
“Looks like you’ll get your chance,” Adso grimaced.  
At that moment, the bears charged.  Dexter braced himself, and tried to leap aside, but the lead bear’s massive paw swiped at him and set him tumbling.  Dex rolled to his feet only to see the bruin bearing down on him.  Suddenly, the air around him erupted in fire.  A cascading explosion of flames leaped among all of the bears, as well as one nearby giant.  Dexter looked up and saw Sinclair swooping past overhead.  The little gnome tossed him a grinning salute as he went by.

The skeletal giant stopped in the middle of the road and turned its skull creakingly towards Reaper.  It nodded once to its master and bent to pick up a stone from the rubble of a nearby building.  It lifted the rock above its head and hurled it clumsily at the dragon as it flew by.  The boulder missed by yards.  Reaper tensed, hoping the diversion  would accomplish its goal and draw the dragon’s attention towards him.  It didn’t.  The wyrm winged over and started towards the cathedral.  
“Time for something a bit more drastic,” the necromancer muttered.  He drew a slender, black wand from his sleeve and pointed it towards the receding dragon.  
“Muerte,” he said, and a thin, ebony beam of light shot from the tip and struck the beast’s flank.  The dragon shrieked as cold necromancy pierced its soul.  Longtooth, as the young wyrm was known, whipped its head about and saw the human and his skeletal companion standing at an intersection below.
“Fool!”  Longtooth roared.  “Now you have earned my ire, and the price for that shall be paid in fire!”

Dexter pounced, taking advantage of the bears’ fear and pain from the flames that still licked their fur.  He plunged one of his blades into the throat of one of the animals, and a great, arterial gout of blood signaled an end to its life.  Dexter kept moving, stabbing his second sword between the ribs of another bear.  It reared to its back feet, pawing and roaring.  Dexter backed away slowly, but before the bear could charge, Adso leaped between it and the rogue.  The monk delivered a pair of strong side kicks to the animal’s gut, which seemed to only serve to anger it further.  It threw a devastating swipe with its paw at Adso’s face, and as the monk reeled, the bear bit down solidly on his shoulder.  The impact carried him to the ground, the bear following.  Yet again, a mauling was averted by another blast of magical fire from Sinclair.  When the smoke and fire faded, Adso heaved the smoking carcass of the bear off of him.  Nearby, Dexter stood over the body of another.  

Cruemann hovered clumsily above the battle, Wesh more stable nearby.  Together, the wizard and the archer loosed a deadly hail of missiles, both arcane and mundane, at the clustered trio of stone giants.  The brutes responded with a salvo of their own, hurling boulders the size of ponies at the two companions.  Sinclair added to the chaos with more deadly fire, and one of the giants toppled like a great tree.  Now Dexter and Adso were on slightly more even footing.  They faced only two giants and one of the great bears, though those odds were narrowed further a moment later as Dex dispatched the last bruin.

Duerten found himself halfway between both battles, and from the look of things, Reaper needed him more.  The priest gripped his amulet and began his prayer to Sarenrae, but for the briefest moment, the words faltered.  An image of the stone giant necromancer flashed into his mind, and he was overcome with anger.  Deliberately, he stamped it down and began his prayer again.  When he finished, his body seemed to swell, stretching to twice his original size as he was filled with righteous might.  As he turned and flew towards the charging dragon, he saw Reaper and the skeleton both begin climbing towards the roof of a two-story building.  Duerten shouted a challenge, trying to draw the dragon’s attention.  As it glanced towards him, the priest struck, his blade flaring with holy light as it sank into Longtooth’s hide.  The wyrm howled and spun in mid-air, leaping upon the dwarf with teeth and fangs.  Very quickly, Duerten found himself overwhelmed, and felt himself losing altitude.  Suddenly, Longtooth shrieked as another bolt of black fire struck him.  His prey forgotten, he released the dwarf and turned back towards the necromancer.  Opening his jaws as he descended, Longtooth unleashed a torrent of flame upon the rooftop, engulfing Reaper and his undead minion.

Dexter charged towards one of the giants, while Adso closed with the second.  The rogue drove his sword through the brute’s thigh, ducking a devastating swing of its club in the process.  Adso was not so fortunate.  His opponent grazed him as he came, then reversed the tree-sized club and brought it down solidly across the monk’s back.  As Adso fell, he kicked out his foot and connected with the giant’s knee.  The stone giant stumbled, but did not fall.  He raised his club again, but before he could strike, he went up in a column of fire as Sinclair finished the job.  Across the street, Dexter’s foe fell heavily onto the patio of an outdoor café and did not get up again.  

Duerten tensed as the flames dissipated, then blew out his breath in relief when he saw that Reaper was still standing, though quite singed around the edges.  Defiantly, the necromancer raised his wand, and fired at Longtooth again.  Enraged, the dragon dove.  As it did, Reaper commanded his skeletal slave to lift him into the air to meet it.  The necromancer braced himself as Longtooth struck, its dagger-like fangs sinking into his side.  Simultaneously, Reaper placed his hands on the dragon’s snout, arcane words falling from his lips.  Black power  pulsed through his palms, and Longtooth’s eyes flew open wide.  Then, the dragon’s great heart simply stopped, and it crashed heavily to the ground below.

The three giants across the mill pond continued their bombardment of the town, and then, just south of the mill, another trio of giants crossed the southern bridge and stood in front of Two Knights Brewery.  One of them bore the large ‘Welcome to Sandpoint’ sign in one hand, and hurled it at the building.  
“If you don’t give us all the beer,” one of them shouted, “we’ll smash you flat!  Beer or death!”
Meanwhile, from a distance, unseen eyes narrowed as they focused on the town’s defenders, and murderous rage filled a heart long denied vengeance…


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## LordVyreth

Here's a question.  What's Luther up to in all this?  Didn't he return to Sandpoint?


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## JollyDoc

LordVyreth said:


> Here's a question.  What's Luther up to in all this?  Didn't he return to Sandpoint?




Actually, Luther retired to Windsong Abbey, which is halfway between Sandpoint and Magnimar.  He has cloistered himsefl away from the doings of the secular world...for the time being.


----------



## JollyDoc

I would like to express my gratitude for some of the kind words over on Wobber's thread regarding my story hours.  You remind me just why I started writing these in the first place, and why I continue it.  Thanks again to my players, without whom this would be impossible.


----------



## darkhall-nestor

"beer the cause of and solution to all the worlds problems"


----------



## Virtue

I thought you guys were playing Pathfinder and they got rid of Save or Dies and that sure looked like a SOD on Longtooth 

I personally hate that they got rid of SODs it looks like you allowed them in your game good


----------



## JollyDoc

Virtue said:


> I thought you guys were playing Pathfinder and they got rid of Save or Dies and that sure looked like a SOD on Longtooth
> 
> I personally hate that they got rid of SODs it looks like you allowed them in your game good




That was Slay Living, which was not save or die...it was some number of dice per caster level, which was more than enough to kill LT after the beating he'd been taking.


----------



## Joachim

Virtue said:


> I thought you guys were playing Pathfinder and they got rid of Save or Dies and that sure looked like a SOD on Longtooth
> 
> I personally hate that they got rid of SODs it looks like you allowed them in your game good




Some of the save or dies still exist in Pathfinder...such as Phantasmal Killer (allows two saves), Destruction (which is still the awesome), and Power Word Kill (which basically uses your hit points as a save).


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Awesome update! Let's see if / how you've pimped this particular Lamia Matriarch. 

Can you post a link to Wobbler's thread? I don't browse enworld much anymore, rather using the bookmark to JollyDoc's SH.


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Awesome update! Let's see if / how you've pimped this particular Lamia Matriarch.
> 
> Can you post a link to Wobbler's thread? I don't browse enworld much anymore, rather using the bookmark to JollyDoc's SH.




http://www.enworld.org/forum/story-hour/244410-overwhelmed-please-help-reading-material.html


----------



## JollyDoc

SUNDAY TEASER (11/16)

1)  Finding Jorgenfist turns out to be the easiest part of our heroes' task.  Getting in is another matter.

2)  Dexter goes scouting and thinks he has perhaps found an alternate route...

3)  The seven companions hitch a ride on Flying Giant airlines and journey down a dark, dangerous river gorge under cover of night

4)  Unfortunately, night wyverns (as their name would imply) like to hunt...well...at night!  

5)  You think mounted combat is complicated?  Try seven combatants mounted on a flying giant!

6)  Cruemann is unmanned, and very nearly unalive!!

7)  The funny thing about exploring mysterious caves...they're often inhabited

8)  Reaper is in his element as four undead house spiders...which are literally the size of houses...cause him to have an 'evilgasm.'

9)  A hidden path into the fort is indeed discovered, but it is not without its own perils...and here you thought redcaps were just fairytale creatures designed to frighten small children...and young Hogwarts' wizards...


----------



## JollyDoc

The following update is from our game session on 11/9

VALLEY OF THE BLACK TOWER

Xanesha was flying unseen over Sandpoint, heading for the Hellfire Flume on the far side, per Mokmurian’s instructions, when she saw Longtooth fall.  Up until that point she had been only peripherally aware of the pathetic attempts of the town’s defenders.  What was it to her if a few giants died?  They were only a meant to be a distraction, after all.  Her true mission lay within the ancient Thassilonian ruins.  Then the dragon had gone down, and the lamia had been compelled to give her full attention to the defenders.  It was only at that point that recognition had dawned on her as she saw the rogue, the dark-skinned mage and the orc-blooded monk.  The interlopers who had spoiled her plans in Magnimar.  The ones who had turned her into a glorified errand-runner for Mokmurian.  The ones responsible for the death of her sister.  In that instant, Xanesha knew hate, pure and unadulterated.  All thoughts of her original mission flew away, and she wheeled in mid-air and headed back towards the escalating assault.
____________________________________________________

Cruemann drew and fired as he darted among the rooftops of the town, peppering the giants across the millpond with arrows while trying desperately to avoid their return barrage of boulders.  
“Cruemann!”  Dexter called from where he hovered above the brewery.  “Leave them for now!  Those below are already within the town!  We need to take them down quickly!”
The archer nodded and quickly followed after the rogue.

Sinclair flew casually above the streets, mapping out his targets in his head as he prepared his next fireball.  He was caught completely unprepared when the snake-bodied woman appeared directly in front of him, her face hidden behind a serpentine mask, a wickedly-barbed spear gripped in her hands.  Before the gnome could react, Xanesha thrust her weapon forward, driving it deep into his abdomen.  Sinclair’s face paled as blood came into his throat.  All he could think to do was to get away.  Panic beating at his head like dark wings, he fled, erratic and jerky in his flight, desperate to reach Duerten.  

Wesh couldn’t believe what he was seeing.  The mage had alighted on the roof of the Rusty Dragon to get his bearings, and thus he had an unobstructed view of Sinclair’s ambush.  It was Xanesha.  There could be no doubt.  Fear filled him as he remembered their last meeting with the lamia, and how they barely escaped with their lives.
“Dexter!” he cried.
The rogue looked over his shoulder and saw the wizard gesturing frantically.  Wondering what could have gone wrong now, Dex nearly fell out of the sky when he saw the unmistakable form of the lamia matriarch hovering in the sky.  Unlike Wesh, however, it wasn’t fear that filled Dexter…it was anger, and an overwhelming desire for vengeance upon Skud’s murderer.  

The soulless gaze of Xanesha’s mask raked over the beleaguered town and fell upon Dexter as he raced towards her, a confused Cruemann following in his wake.  Wesh saw the lamia ready herself, and he knew that the rogue would stand no chance against her.  Desperately, he hurled arcane bolts towards her, trying to distract her, if only for a moment.  The air in front of Xanesha shimmered as an invisible shield caught the missiles, but to her surprise, the mage’s magic proved stronger than her own, and the bolts punched through, rocking her with the impact.  Wesh’s plan worked too well.  Xanesha forgot about Dexter completely.  She turned towards where the wizard still stood upon the rooftop, gripped her spear and charged.  Wesh panicked.  As the lamia closed with frightening speed, he reacted instinctively, throwing up a dispelling field between himself and Xanesha.  To his utter amazement, as she passed through it, the air around her crackled and sparked as her protective spells were ripped from her.  Slowly, she sank towards the ground as even her power of flight was nullified.

Xanesha was furious.  It had taken her a long time to prepare her defenses and she would not have to the opportunity to replace them.  Already the buffoon of an orc was closing rapidly with her.  Stupidly, the monk leaped for her, attempting to restrain her of all things!  In disdain, she slapped him aside with a flick of her tail, but as she turned to finish him off, he was already back on his feet.  She raised her spear over her head and brought it down violently.  Impossibly, at the last moment, the monk darted aside and the head of her weapon hit the ground and stuck solidly.  Snarling, she struggled to rip it free, but before she could, the rogue hit her from behind, his blade ripping into her like a hot iron.  She screamed involuntarily, but as she turned, the monk was on her again, kicking and punching, mostly ineffectively, but still managing to divide her attention.  Xanesha reached towards both of her assailants, intending to turn their minds to mush with the touch of her bare hands.  Instead, she felt a moment of intense pain in her back, followed by a blessed, calming numbness.
“I don’t know who or what ye are, lady,” said the dwarf who stood over her as she slumped to the ground, a dripping axe in his hands, “but me friends say ye’re bad news, an’ that’s enough fer me.  Vengeance is best served cold, as me ole’ pap used’ta say.”
_______________________________________________________

Xanesha’s death, on the heels of Longtooth’s, was enough for the remaining stone giants.  They sounded a general retreat and escaped into the surrounding swampland.  Over two-dozen of Sandpoint’s citizens lay dead in the aftermath of the attack, but many more surely would have had it not been for the new incarnation of the Sandpoint Seven.  In addition, no townsfolk were taken hostage by the giants, and the Scarnetti manor, which had been put to the torch by the giants, was extinguished without extensive damage, resulting in a grudging display of gratitude on the part of Lord Scarnetti to Wesh and his comrades.  As an aside, Sheriff Hemlock discretely, politely, but emphatically requested that Reaper take his new bodyguard outside the town walls, as its presence was upsetting the onlookers.

Unfortunately, no giant prisoners were taken either, thus keeping the reason for their sudden attack a mystery.  This posed no great problem for Reaper.  Once the townspeople had recovered from their shock enough to go about the tasks of putting out fires, digging out loved ones, and salvaging their homes, the heroes slipped away to examine one of the giant corpses.  More specifically, Reaper wanted to talk to it.  Gripping its massive head in his hands, he began to chant, channeling necromantic power into the body.  
“Can you hear me?” he asked at length, removing his hands.
“Yes…I can hear you,” the giant replied, its mouth moving, but its eyes remaining blank and dead.
“Why did you come so far just to attack a town as small as Sandpoint?” the necromancer asked.
“We were sent to gather intelligence in preparation for our invasion,” the corpse answered.
“How many battle groups such as yours have been dispatched?”  Reaper prodded.
“I do not know,” the giant answered.  “Many parties were sent.  Mine was but one.”
“But why attack Sandpoint if you were only sent to gather information?” asked Reaper.
“The lamia commanded it,” said the corpse.  
“Xanesha was your commander?  Mokmurian answers to the lamias?”
“Hah!” the giant laughed.  “No one commands Mokmurian.  The lamias serve him, as do we all.”
“When will the invasion come?”  Reaper demanded.
“Mokmurian’s fury will come soon,” the giant said flatly.  “Perhaps even by month’s end.”
“How many giants does Mokmurian command?”
“He has at least seven tribes of my brothers under his authority, each numbering in the dozens.  The number of lesser kin he’s conscripted…ogres, hill giants, ettins, trolls…is not insignificant either.  I have already told you of the lamias…degenerate followers of the Mother of Monsters that they are.”
Reaper paused for a moment, then spoke again.
“Who is Mokmurian?”
“Our lord and leader,” the giant said.  “He promised us glory and riches, and although our raid on your town didn’t go so well, that’s because Xanesha was a fool.  When Lord Mokmurian marches down from the Storval Plateau, he will take from you everything.”
“What is he?”  Reaper ignored the threat.
“I have only heard him speak from afar,” the corpse replied, “and have only heard from others of the power of his magic.  He is the rarest of us all, a child of the stones who has mastered the magic of the Ancient Lords.  They say he can turn the living into immobile stone and can turn his own flesh into granite armor.  I’ve even heard he can cause the very stones of the world to reject those who stand upon them and cast them into the sky.  And I’m sure he can do much more than that.”
“You mentioned the Storval Plateau,” Reaper said.  “Is that where Mokmurian’s fortress lies?”
“Mokmurian has claimed a place taboo to my people, the Valley of the Black Tower in the Iron Peaks.  He calls his fortress Jorgenfist, after the name of the fortress that guards the entrance to the afterlife.  Our elders found the name blasphemous, but Mokmurian is powerful enough not to fear blasphemy.  Jorgenfist overlooks the waters of the Muschkal River.”
“One final question,” Reaper nodded, “and then I will release you to seek Jorgenfist yourself.  Why do you and your brothers all bear the Sihedron Rune?”
“Mokmurian’s mark, you mean,” the giant replied.  “We wear it with pride as a symbol of our undying loyalty to Mokmurian.”
___________________________________________________

Duerten sat alone in the mess hall of Fort Rannick, a large tankard of dwarven ale sitting untouched before him.  The company had returned to the fort in order to use it as a staging ground for their sojourn into the Iron Peaks, but that was a journey for tomorrow, and the priest was contemplating the present.  Specifically, he was looking at what lay beside his mug…Sarenrae’s symbol.  It was the first time Duerten had removed it since taking his vows, and now, he was contemplating never putting it on again.  The Dawnstar advocated forgiveness…a tenet the dwarf had always taken for granted…right up until the day he’d been expected to put it into practice with Barl Breakbones.  And found that he couldn’t.  He could not simply overlook mass murder, torture, the corruption of life.  It went against everything he was coming to discover that he truly believed.  Everything that he’d been taught as a boy among his clan, when his mother had schooled him in the teachings of the dwarven god Torag…

Across the hall, Cruemann also sat alone, though his thoughts did not go so deep as Duerten’s.  He already knew that Sarenrae’s path was not for him, but the church paid well, and the gold bought a lot of ale.  As if in answer to his prayers as he looked into his empty mug, the cook placed another tankard in front of him.
“From the gent in the corner,” the big man nodded.
Cruemann looked up and saw a smiling stranger he’d never seen at the fort before.  The rakish-looking fellow raised his own tankard to the archer…and then he simply vanished.  Cruemann’s mouth dropped open, and he glanced down at the mug in front of him.  It was then that he saw the piece of parchment folded in its handle.  He quickly unfurled it and read the short note scrawled there.
‘Cheers, and here’s to a bright and profitable future together!’  It was signed, Caiden Cailean…
______________________________________________________

It took Wesh two days of overland flight, with return trips to Fort Rannick in the evening via teleportation before he finally located the Valley of the Black Tower.  There the mountains gave way to a wide vale perched on the upper edge of a cliff overlooking the Muschkal River.  At the near edge of the valley entrance, a lone watchtower stood upon a low hill, but that structure was overshadowed by the larger one that loomed in the valley proper.  There stood a ring-shaped stone wall, fifty-feet high and surrounding several buildings, the most impressive of which was a looming black tower with blade-like crenellations that overlooked the river gorge.  Within the ring, a one-hundred-fifty-foot-tall stone spire rose, surrounded by three low buildings.  Apart from the black tower, five smaller ones were built into the fortress wall…one of them was wider than the others, and seemed to be the only gateway into the courtyard within.  Yet the fortress was not the only sign of life, for surrounding it were seven large camps of towering tents, yurts, and stone shelters.  Smoke rose from campfires and the sound of grating laughter and the clash of weapon training filled the air, competing with the periodic trumpeting of large and angry-sounding animals from somewhere within the fortress itself.

Wesh memorized the layout, imprinting the image firmly in his mind, then teleported back to Fort Rannick.  The following morning, the mage returned, this time bearing Reaper in-tow.  The necromancer gazed upon the valley, forming his own memory, and then the pair returned to Rannick a final time to fetch their comrades.  When all seven stood at the valley’s mouth again, it was time to find a way to infiltrate Jorgenfist.  The first obstacle, however, was the nearby watchtower.  Even from a distance of almost a quarter-mile, they could see the unmistakable shape of a large giant patrolling its roof.  
“Are you ready?”  Wesh asked Sinclair.  
The little gnome nodded firmly.  He joined hands with Cruemann, Adso and Duerten, while Wesh did the same with Dexter and Reaper.  Both mages spoke the words to their spells, and the two groups vanished in a flash of light, only to reappear moments later atop the large watchtower.  The giant turned, startled, but no more so than the seven companions, for the creature was like none they’d ever seen before.  To begin with, the giant was female, and she was huge, standing nearly twenty-feet tall.  Stark white scars and tribal patterns tattooed her dusky skin, and skulls, stone fetishes and crude but deadly wooden weapons marked her as a deadly warrior.  The Sandpoint warriors, however, where deadlier still.  Between Duerten’s axe, Adso’s fists, coupled with Cruemann’s powerful arrows, the towering warrior-woman toppled like a great oak.  She never had a chance to raise her voice in alarm, much less her weapons.  

“Ah, I was beginning to miss my last companion,” Reaper said as he went to the dead giantess and placed his hands gently upon her still-warm flesh.  As he uttered his spell, the warrior rose again, only this time as a hulking, skeletal revenant.  She placed her club upon the ground and bent clumsily upon one knee to her new master.  Reaper commanded her to rise and pull open the massive, iron trapdoor that led to the tower’s interior.  The room below seemed to be a common room, and three very-surprised ettins gazed back up at them, the looks on their six faces almost comical.  At Reaper’s bidding, the undead giant leaped among them like a demonic titan.  The ettins fell back before her brutal assault, falling beneath her tree-sized maul blow-by-bone-breaking-blow.  The companions descended into the tower, pulling the door closed behind them, leaving no one at Jorgenfist the wiser…


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Very impressive, even for the Sandpoint Seven. Did you replace the giant troop leader (whatever-his-name-was) with Xanesha or was she a bonus?

Anyway, I, too, prefer the Sandpoint Seven's solution to Draton's.  At the table, it can be frustrating for the less ethically-challenged PCs to sit around and wait for the paladin or lg cleric resolve their moral issues.


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## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Very impressive, even for the Sandpoint Seven. Did you replace the giant troop leader (whatever-his-name-was) with Xanesha or was she a bonus?
> 
> Anyway, I, too, prefer the Sandpoint Seven's solution to Draton's.  At the table, it can be frustrating for the less ethically-challenged PCs to sit around and wait for the paladin or lg cleric resolve their moral issues.




I replaced the stone giant leader with Xanesha.  They were both CR 10's, so it balanced.


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## carborundum

Great update as usual - I love the way your combats don't seem to have rounds in them 

Thanks for another fine chunk o' story!


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## Virtue

So with playing Pathfinder RPG how much conversion are you haveing to do? and what do you like and dislike about Pathfinder RPG rules


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## JollyDoc

Virtue said:


> So with playing Pathfinder RPG how much conversion are you haveing to do? and what do you like and dislike about Pathfinder RPG rules




I'm mainly just having to convert the classed NPC's, and even that's not complicated.  It's a little more effort with sorcerers, clerics and barbarians.  Some of the stat blocks have the NPC's "pre-buffed" and we're using the 5 buff rule, so I have to alter that some.  The feats and spells have changed a bit, but the conversion portion of that's just plug and chug.  

From the DM side, I really haven't found much to dislike.  I think the rules greatly balance the game by making some previous PC abilities (Power Attack, Evard's, etc) more balanced.  I'm sure the players have other opinions...


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## JollyDoc

SUNDAY TEASER--Nov. 23, 2008

1)  When is a kobold not a kobold...?  When she has 12 levels of barbarian!

2)  What's worse than a barbarian kobold?  A barbarian kobold with 9 stone giant buddies.

3)  What's worse than a barbarian kobold, and her nine stone giant buddies?  A haunting experience that kills one of our heroes instantly!

4)  In the midst of chaos, an unexpected ally steps forth.

5)  But alas...what's worse than a barbarian kobold, her nine stone giant buddies, and a haunted insta-kill?  Troll fighters...behind murder holes...with pole arms...and 20' reach...ouch!!


----------



## Virtue

JollyDoc said:


> I'm mainly just having to convert the classed NPC's, and even that's not complicated.  It's a little more effort with sorcerers, clerics and barbarians.  Some of the stat blocks have the NPC's "pre-buffed" and we're using the 5 buff rule, so I have to alter that some.  The feats and spells have changed a bit, but the conversion portion of that's just plug and chug.
> 
> From the DM side, I really haven't found much to dislike.  I think the rules greatly balance the game by making some previous PC abilities (Power Attack, Evard's, etc) more balanced.  I'm sure the players have other opinions...




So the NPCs you have converted they claimed you dont need to and its still challeneging 

Does it make the Prestige Classes obsolete


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## JollyDoc

Virtue said:


> So the NPCs you have converted they claimed you dont need to and its still challeneging
> 
> Does it make the Prestige Classes obsolete




Yes, but the changes are relatively minor...CMB vs grapple, channeling instead of turning for clerics, rage points for barbarians, adding bloodlines for sorcerers, etc.  

Not many of the PC's have prestiged.  I think the new feats and abilities do sort of make them pointless, which I'm also ok with.  A bunch of cherry-picked prestige classes with little role-playing aspects smacks too much of twinking to me.


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## carborundum

JollyDoc said:


> SUNDAY TEASER--Nov. 23, 2008
> 
> 1)   Lots
> 2)   Of
> 3)   Cool
> 4)   Stuff
> 5) Listed




Wow! I can't wait!


----------



## primemover003

JD, how did your players take to the 5 buff rule?  I'm finishing the STAP now and am prepping Curse of the Crimson Throne and floate the idea of a buff limit to one of my players who was looking at an abyssal sorcerer and he absolutely hated the idea (I had originally thought 3 buffs).  It didn't really suprise me as he's my resident Optimizer...  but our groups are fairly similar so how have your house rules worked out?


----------



## JollyDoc

primemover003 said:


> JD, how did your players take to the 5 buff rule?  I'm finishing the STAP now and am prepping Curse of the Crimson Throne and floate the idea of a buff limit to one of my players who was looking at an abyssal sorcerer and he absolutely hated the idea (I had originally thought 3 buffs).  It didn't really suprise me as he's my resident Optimizer...  but our groups are fairly similar so how have your house rules worked out?




Well, we were originally going to go with three buffs as well, but as a group voted on 5 instead.  It's worked out great, I think.  People can still use their rounds/level buffs on top of their standard five.  I think it balances the game alot.  No more endless lists of buffs, and it lets the casters prepare the spells they want instead of just a bunch of buff spells.  Makes Dispel Magic much quicker as well.


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## Joachim

primemover003 said:


> JD, how did your players take to the 5 buff rule?




To follow-up on what JD said, the 3 buff rule is far, far too restrictive and really puts PCs in a real bind vs. monsters.  I have no problem with limiting buffs, and that is why Ricky (Duerton's player) and I suggested the limit of 5.  Five buffs allows for the PCs largely to adequately arm themselves and allows for versatility, but prevents Mandi-type nonsense (at her apex, Mandi had 24 buffs on herself...she rocked).


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## The_Warlock

Joachim said:


> To follow-up on what JD said, the 3 buff rule is far, far too restrictive and really puts PCs in a real bind vs. monsters.  I have no problem with limiting buffs, and that is why Ricky (Duerton's player) and I suggested the limit of 5.  Five buffs allows for the PCs largely to adequately arm themselves and allows for versatility, but prevents Mandi-type nonsense (at her apex, Mandi had 24 buffs on herself...she rocked).




And the limitation doesn't seem to have actually prevented you folks from kicking-butt and taking names most of the time, if this story hour is any indication. Great story and excellent tactics, by the by.

At the end of my 3.x run I believe the total number of long duration buff spells cast before any "real adventuring day" was something in the range of 60, with most characters covered by about 15 or 16, and the front line fighter awash in about 30. We actually had a laminated chart on the wall...oy. Of course, after 2.5 hours of adventure, some of them usually called for a Magnificent Mansion so they could hide their total lack of remaining magical defense from the enemies.


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## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:


> SUNDAY TEASER--Nov. 23, 2008
> 
> 1)  When is a kobold not a kobold...?  When she has 12 levels of barbarian!
> 
> 2)  What's worse than a barbarian kobold?  A barbarian kobold with 9 stone giant buddies.
> 
> 3)  What's worse than a barbarian kobold, and her nine stone giant buddies?  A haunting experience that kills one of our heroes instantly!
> 
> 4)  In the midst of chaos, an unexpected ally steps forth.
> 
> 5)  But alas...what's worse than a barbarian kobold, her nine stone giant buddies, and a haunted insta-kill?  Troll fighters...behind murder holes...with pole arms...and 20' reach...ouch!!



Ouch - all of it !!!


----------



## Schmoe

JollyDoc said:


> SUNDAY TEASER--Nov. 23, 2008
> 
> 1)  When is a kobold not a kobold...?  When she has 12 levels of barbarian!
> 
> 2)  What's worse than a barbarian kobold?  A barbarian kobold with 9 stone giant buddies.
> 
> 3)  What's worse than a barbarian kobold, and her nine stone giant buddies?  A haunting experience that kills one of our heroes instantly!
> 
> 4)  In the midst of chaos, an unexpected ally steps forth.
> 
> 5)  But alas...what's worse than a barbarian kobold, her nine stone giant buddies, and a haunted insta-kill?  Troll fighters...behind murder holes...with pole arms...and 20' reach...ouch!!




Can't wait!


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## Virtue

Going through withdrawls please help im getting the shakes need more JollyDoc Story Hour


----------



## JollyDoc

Virtue said:


> Going through withdrawls please help im getting the shakes need more JollyDoc Story Hour




Working on it as we speak...er...type.  With any luck, will have one up this weekend.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

I have been experiencing withdrawl effects as well, although my Dr. misdiagnosed them with the flu.  

What's you gaming schedule over the holidays - following through or taking a break? Any chance of a special guest appearance from gfunk?


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> I have been experiencing withdrawl effects as well, although my Dr. misdiagnosed them with the flu.
> 
> What's you gaming schedule over the holidays - following through or taking a break? Any chance of a special guest appearance from gfunk?




Sorry to hear of your Gamer Flu, NWK.  Should've got your flu shot, or at least watched the Gamers on DVD.

We did not game last Sunday (hence no teaser), but we will resume tomorrow.  I think the rest of the month is a go for most of us.  Dr. Funk actually put in an appearance at our table about a month ago, simply appearing on my doorstep unexpectedly one Sunday afternoon (no mean feat since he's living in San Francisco, and I'm about 2000 miles away in Alabama!).  He didn't join in the game, merely observed in his cold and calculating way...


----------



## JollyDoc

GIANTS FLYING, DRAGONS BITING, AND THE RED MENACE

“What now?”  Dexter asked as he peered down at the massive army that lay between the tower and Jorgenfist.  Behind him, the giant skeleton patrolled mindlessly around the perimeter of the rooftop, maintaining the illusion that all was as it should be.
“We find another way in,” Wesh replied.  “It would seem the direct route is not our most viable option.”
Dexter chuckled.  “That’s an understatement.  Any ideas?”
Wesh shrugged.  “If I had an army of that size at my command and a fortress like that, I would make sure that there were no loose ends, but then again, I’m not a megomaniacal stone giant.  I imagine this Mokmurian thinks himself quite safe.  Therefore, I imagine there is at least one loose end overlooked.”
He nodded towards the bluff.  “The river.  That’s where I think we should start looking…and I think you should be the one to go…you and Adso.”
_____________________________________________________

Less than an hour later, Adso and Dexter were flying low along the foothills, careful not to cast silhouettes against the horizon.  They crested the bluff and began descending towards the river, two-hundred feet below.  They had drawn almost level with the fortress above when they spied the two caves, a larger one fifty feet above the river, and a smaller one two-hundred feet above the muddy water.  Dex and Adso nodded to each other and then began the long flight back to the tower.
____________________________________________________

Later that night, the giant lookouts from the encampment would have seen a sight they would not have believed had it not been hidden under the darkness of a moonless night.  A gigantic skeleton soared through the night sky carrying a very strange cargo.  The Sandpoint Seven clung to the bony behemoth like lampreys to a shark as it flew above the rushing waters of the river below.  As luck would have it, however, there were other eyes that did spy the aerial raiders, and they burned with hunger.

No one saw them coming, not even the sharp-eyed monk or the keen-eared rogue.  In fact, no one was even aware of them until they struck, for the night wyverns were deadly nocturnal hunters, and they used their jet-black scales to excellent effect when stalking their prey.  Cruemann was their first target, and the force of the blow from the talon that struck him wrenched him from his perch upon the skeleton.  Before he knew what was happening, the archer was hurtling towards the river, his bow knocked from his hands as he fell.  He struck the ice-cold water and immediately sank beneath the roiling surface.

Dexter watched Cruemann fall, but unlike his daring rescue of Duerten, the rogue didn’t have the option to go after the archer.  The air around him was full of beating wings as the four reptiles swooped and dove around the skeletal giant and its cargo.  Instead, Dex struck out, slashing at one of the wyverns as it passed while at the same time clinging desperately to the giant’s bony ribcage.  
“Hang on!”  Reaper shouted, and then he leaped from his minion’s back to the nearby cliff wall, clinging there like a spider after a hastily spoken spell.  Then, with a mental command, he ordered the giant to halt its flight.  The brute hovered in midair, the wyverns circling and screeching.  At a second command from its master, it began swinging its massive club.  Shouts of alarm and outrage came from Reaper’s companions as they hung on for dear life.  The giant’s club whistled through the air and caught one of the wyverns that came in too close squarely on the side of its head.  The dragon’s neck snapped with an audible crack and it pinwheeled towards the river below.  A second wyvern pulled up sharply in front of the giant, its scorpion-like tail striking like a whip.  Unfortunately, as the beast backwinged, Adso and Dex, by far the most agile of the troupe, struck out simultaneously, the rogue stabbing his blade through its eye, while the monk shattered its jaw.  In a tumble of wings, it joined its companion in the muddy water.  Wesh and Duerten, meanwhile, still scrabbled at their precarious perch, the mage trying to get a clear line to loose his magic, but unwilling to let go with even one hand.  He tightened his grip as the giant swung its club again and the third dragon fell.  Suddenly, however, Wesh found himself wrenched loose from the giant, dangling in midair.  The last of the wyverns had seized him in its claws and was beating its wings to gain altitude.  Wesh screamed for help, which came unceremoniously from a devastating and crushing blow of the giant’s club.  The dragon released the wizard as it fell, and Wesh fell with it.  Fortunately, the quick-witted mage spoke a single word and his harrowing descent turned into a gentle, floating fall, like a feather on a breeze.

When Cruemann finally managed to thrash his way to the surface, his friends were nowhere to be seen.  The night was pitch-black in the river canyon, and the rushing waters were carrying him along at an alarming speed.  He shouted desperately, but he was certain no one would hear him over the roar of the river.  Suddenly, however, he saw a dim light coming towards him from upriver.  It grew brighter quickly until he was finally able to make out that it was Dexter flying towards him, his sword held above him, glowing like a beacon.  The rogue dipped towards him and seized the back of his tunic.  Cruemann felt himself lifted effortlessly from the water, his feet resting upon the surface as if it were solid ground.  
“Say thank you, Dexter,” Dex said, grinning broadly
“Thank you,” Cruemann said glumly.
“Ah, why so serious?”  the rogue jibed.  “Missing something?”
Cruemann glanced up and then his eyes suddenly widened as he saw what Dex was holding in his hand…a thoroughly soaked, but still intact greatbow…
__________________________________________________

The seven companions spent the night in the wyverns’ lair, the lower of the two caves Adso and Dexter has spotted.  The following morning, the group climbed upon the giant once more, and Reaper commanded it to carry them aloft to the higher cave.  As they rose carefully to the level of the ledge, they peered cautiously inside.  The interior of the cavern crawled.  Countless bloated, many-legged insects trampled one another as they carpeted the floor and climbed the walls, creating a susurrus of a million clicking bug legs.  The deepest part of the cave seemed to be unnaturally thick with darkness and fallen webs.  As the company watched in disgust and horror, two massive shapes detached themselves from the shadows.  Whatever terror of gigantic legs and venom-dripping fangs the arachnid monstrosities once were could have been no more appalling than the obviously undead remnants they had become.  The house-sized creatures’ wasted exoskeletons cracked and split as they skittered forward with unnatural speed, and from the web of rotted gashes crisscrossing their bulbous bodies poured swarms of fat, poison-bloated spiders.  

“What the…?”  Wesh whispered.
“I’m not sure what they are exactly,” Reaper said, a sly grin spreading across his face, “but I know they are no longer among the living, and that means they are mine!”
The necromancer commanded the skeletal giant to place him on the ledge outside the cave, and then he stepped boldly inside.  
“Stop!” he intoned as he raised one hand towards the nearest creature.  To the amazement of his comrades, it did.
“Destroy!” he commanded, pointing towards the second monstrosity.  The first spider immediately turned towards its companion and leaped upon it, tearing with its mandibles while its legs gripped and clawed.  The second spider shrieked and tried to fend off the attack, inflicting massive amounts of damage in return.  Then, from out of the deeper darkness two more of the creatures emerged.  One of them immediately joined in the assault on Reaper’s drone.  
“This is beautiful,” Reaper grinned.  Then he turned to the equally grinning skeleton behind him.
“Well?” he asked.  “What are you waiting for?”  
His companions quickly clambered down from the skeleton as it shambled forward into the middle of the melee, swinging its club like thresher.  One of the undead spiders exploded under the impact, releasing thousands of its smaller kin to scuttle for the shadows.  One of the new arrivals quickly turned on the skeleton and began weaving a massive web from its spinnerets.  Within seconds, the giant was completely enmeshed, rooted to the spot.  
“Uh-oh,” Reaper grimaced.  He turned to his companions, who were still staring open-mouthed at the titanic clash.  “Isn’t there something all of you could be doing?”
The others shook themselves from their reverie, and Cruemann quickly brought his bow to bear, finding it impossible to miss such massive targets.  Sinclair and Wesh brought their own barrage as well, hurling fire and arcane bolts of force into the fray.  The flames quickly burned free the webs entangling the giant, and the skeleton surged forward again.  Within moments, all of the spiders had been annihilated…all save Reaper’s slave.
__________________________________________________

Several minutes later, Reaper stood with his head bowed and his hands resting upon the giant spider’s carapace in silent communion.  The necromancer seemed oblivious to the hundreds of tiny arachnids that swarmed over him.
‘What are you?’ he asked through the mental link he shared with the undead creature.  
‘We are Deathwebs,’ the behemoth responded in a hollow voice that sounded like the sighing of a thousand dead leaves.  
‘How were you created?’  Reaper asked.
‘We were created by Mokmurian,’ the deathweb replied.
‘For what purpose?’  Reaper prodded.
‘We do not know,’ said the spider.  ‘We simply are.’
Reaper pondered this for a moment.  ‘Do you know how to find Mokmurian?’
‘Beyond the webs,’ the deathweb answered.  ‘He came to us from beyond the webs…’
__________________________________________________

Sometime later the deathweb lay in a crushed heap next to its kin, destroyed by the giant at a word from Reaper.  Meanwhile, Dexter had slashed his way through the dense webbing at the back of the cave and discovered a well-concealed door.  The spider had spoken the truth.  Reaper instructed the giant to await his return, since the small, cramped tunnel beyond the door would not accommodate the skeleton.  He also commanded the brute to kill anyone or anything that tried to follow.  Then he entered the tunnel behind in his companions.  Somewhere in the distance outside the cave, horns began to sound.

Navigating the tunnels was a claustrophobic ordeal.  They varied in size between three and five feet wide, and wrapped over and under each other in a tangled three-dimensional maze riddled with dead ends.  They wound steadily northward, according to Duerten, ever upwards as well.  Dozens of other tunnels intersected the primary passage, sloping away in an increasingly vexing labyrinth.  It was at one such intersection that the ambush occurred.  There was nothing to distinguish it from any of the other countless junctions they had passed, but without warning, half-a-dozen small figures suddenly darted from the darkened passages on all sides.  Snarling and spitting, the tiny creatures looked like hateful old men, their faces wrinkled like month-old fruit.  The bent, three-foot tall cretins wielded rusted scythes nearly double their size in their gnarled hands, and they wore overly large spiked iron boots.  Upon their grizzled heads sat bent hats, gruesomely stained bright crimson.    

Initially, the redcaps’ attack caught the heroes completely off guard, and the little savages hewed at their larger opponents with their scythes, opening several vicious wounds.  The advantage lasted only a moment, however.  Reaper began casting, and around his companions a protective ring of swaying black tentacles emerged from the floor.  The rubbery appendages seized the redcaps and swung them about like ragdolls.  The diminutive demons bit and kicked at the tentacles, but to no avail.  In the midst of the chaos, Sinclair introduced his own magic.  The stone floor beneath the dangling redcaps cracked open and geysers of flame spewed forth, immolating the creatures in a matter of moments, leaving nothing but charred husks behind.
_____________________________________________________

It was several hours later before the seven companions emerged from the tunnels, thankfully without encountering more redcaps.  They found themselves in a large cave cluttered by tiny mounds of carefully sorted junk…bones, scraps of armor, broken weapons, stones, dead rats, and chitin harvested from large vermin.  A net hammock hung from a pair of stalagmites near to where the crack emerged into the cave.  No sooner had the first of them stepped through, than a high-pitched shriek sounded from across the chamber.  On the far side stood a small, red-scaled, reptilian creature.  It was dressed in bone and chitin breastplate, and carried a gleaming spear in one hand and a leather buckler on the other.  As Dexter’s eyes widened, the rabid kobold charged…


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Great stuff! I'm feeling much better already!  Too bad that g's no longer around - who can imagine what game-mechanical horror he would have brought to this adventure path...

Reaper and his resources read incredible! Evilgasm, indeed...


----------



## Joachim

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Reaper and his resources read incredible! Evilgasm, indeed...




Why, thank you.  He's definitely not the most powerful member of the group, but he has been a lot of fun to play.


----------



## Virtue

Reaper and Dex are for sure my two favorite Characters


----------



## Supar

Virtue said:


> Reaper and Dex are for sure my two favorite Characters




Crueman can do 176 points of dmg! soo he is my favorite


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## JollyDoc

Supar said:


> Crueman can do 176 points of dmg! soo he is my favorite




Don't even get me started on Cruemann, but if its any indication of his cheesiness, we're banning the bracers he uses to allow him to use weapons one size category larger.  They are unquestionably, without a doubt, 100% broken!!

SUNDAY NIGHT TEASER (12.7.08)

1)  The investigation of Jorgenfist's library level begins.

2)  The first 'librarian' is a bit miffed at having noisy adventurers stomping around his library, so he makes an example of two of them...a 'small' example...

3)  The next 'librarian' is no more understanding than the first, and his wing of the library has a nasty habit of causing noisy violators to lose their lunch...and their eyesight!

4)  Then we have a third 'librarian' who enjoys separating groups of noisy children behind stone walls and then proceeding to divest them of their pesky magic items.

5)  The final 'librarian' of the night must have been a fan of Sleepy Hollow, since he, you know, lacks a head and all.  Oh, and he has six cheerful library aids to help him file books back...and crack open the skulls of trespassers.  Talk about your Library Police!

6)  Reaper continues to add to his ever-growing army of the undead...nuff said.


----------



## Hammerhead

I'd say Dex. I've got a soft spot for rogues, and he's also got seniority in the group. A regular Tilly.


----------



## LordVyreth

Speaking of the senior members, I just now got Luther's last name's reference.  So I feel a bit dumb, especially since I even made a character named Asclepius in one of my video game ideas.


----------



## WarEagleDex

Thanks for the kind words for Dexter.  He is my favorite character as well.. but seeing how he is the first character I have taken from level 1 to 10 since the late 90's or heck even played for more then a few levels, he doesn't have much to compete with for me.  Meaning, I haven't played except for a short time with this group a few years ago, since college.  And back then my DM allowed no additional books, it was all straight PHB, which I didn't really mind... Just about every character in this group has abilities that I think are slightly broken, but with everyone using them it kinda evens out in my opinion, and without them I'm not sure we could make it through the adventure path.  So while yes I think the bow is a little broken, I also think reapers total domination of undead, my Book of nine swords power, amd Sinclairs firery burst are all slightly broken (Reapers most of all, but he does a good job of not abusing it to the extent the rules would allow)

And for the record... 176, please?  My max damage is actually 188 per round, and once per combat I can do an extra attack to make it 235... but I digress.


----------



## WarEagleMage

WarEagleDex said:


> Just about every character in this group has abilities that I think are slightly broken, but with everyone using them it kinda evens out in my opinion, and without them I'm not sure we could make it through the adventure path.




Adso's not broken...er, except for that whole Mage Slayer tree of feats...but hey, it cost me 4 feats total for that (I would not otherwise have taken blindfighting), so my cheese came at a very high cost with somewhat limited functionality - especially since Paizo spellcasters are usually Stone Giant Paragons with unassociated class levels.   

Seriously though, it some of our readers love playing rogues, you'll really love the Pathfinder rogue.  Lots of added flavor and crunch.


----------



## Joachim

WarEagleDex said:


> So while yes I think the bow is a little broken, I also think reapers total domination of undead, my Book of nine swords power, amd Sinclairs firery burst are all slightly broken (Reapers most of all, but he does a good job of not abusing it to the extent the rules would allow).




The ability to create and/or control undead has not really been all that fantastic until this module, and that is really because at the end of every fight the battlefields in this adventure are littered with the corpses of high-strength large-to-huge creatures with two-handed weapons.  Evilgasm, indeed.

Because of the DN's Undead Mastery ability I am able to animate and control 125 HD of monsters at 11th level, as opposed to 44 HD that a normal 11th level spellcaster would be entitled to.  To keep myself under control, I have effectively got 80 HD worth of Ogre Skeletons in 'deep freeze' back at Fort Rannick.  

This does not count existing undead that we run into that I can take over with Command Undead (which has no limit).  Ergo, attacking Reaper with your buff undead friends can be a leading cause of death in the Fortress of the Stone Giant King.


----------



## Supar

WarEagleDex said:


> And for the record... 176, please? My max damage is actually 188 per round, and once per combat I can do an extra attack to make it 235... but I digress.





208 is my max buddy! u have tens of thousands of gold over my starting gold from 7th lvl, and on top of that can u do that from 120 feet away?

i dont even fight with the group i know the bracers are cheesed and broken. Have even offered to give em up, JD has just looks forward to the day he can sunder it and justify it


----------



## WarEagleDex

True, I have quite a bit higher starting gold then you... but my damage comes from my weapon alone.  as for 120 feet away.... you got me there.

I'm the one person who you can trully believe isn't cheering for the sundering of your bow.. I did save it after all... and yes, JD REALLY wants to sunder it, which frightens me just a bit.. imagine if he did, the gestures and the dancing he might do aftwards would cause us to have to roll a fort save or be forever blind...


----------



## JollyDoc

WarEagleDex said:


> I'm the one person who you can trully believe isn't cheering for the sundering of your bow.. I did save it after all... and yes, JD REALLY wants to sunder it, which frightens me just a bit.. imagine if he did, the gestures and the dancing he might do aftwards would cause us to have to roll a fort save or be forever blind...




My brother invented a dance called 'the Dance of the Jiggling Pickle.'  I will perform it live and repeatedly should my fondest bow-sundering dreams come true...


----------



## Joachim

JollyDoc said:


> My brother invented a dance called 'the Dance of the Jiggling Pickle.'  I will perform it live and repeatedly should my fondest bow-sundering dreams come true...




My prayer before bed tonight:

Dear Jesus, please make sure that Joe's 'pickle' doesn't get to jiggling in front of me...or even dancing for that matter.  That is all.

Amen.


----------



## Supar

Joachim said:


> My prayer before bed tonight:
> 
> Dear Jesus, please make sure that Joe's 'pickle' doesn't get to jiggling in front of me...or even dancing for that matter. That is all.
> 
> Amen.




WOW its been a long time since i been to church but believe i will be there with the same prayer


----------



## Joachim

Supar said:


> WOW its been a long time since i been to church but believe i will be there with the same prayer




Yeah, and I consider myself to be agnostic...but I am very willing to hedge my bets on this one.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:


> My brother invented a dance called 'the Dance of the Jiggling Pickle.'  I will perform it live and repeatedly should my fondest bow-sundering dreams come true...



There's always youtube, you know...


----------



## WarEagleMage

I would never dream of preempting JD's teaser, but I do have good news to report from tonight's session:  Our prayers were answered and no pickles were jiggled.  Can I get an "Amen" from the congregation!


----------



## carborundum

Amen, hallelujah!


----------



## Halford

Well I just caught up and am now forced to endure the wait for new installments .  Great storyhour my sincere thanks for going to the effort to share it with us.  I have particularily enjoyed your handling of the battles, which has been fluid and exciting while still identifiable as distinctly dndish.

Great job JD et. all!  I am off the check out the STAP.


----------



## JollyDoc

Sunday Night Teaser

1)  For a brief, frightening few moments, the group forgets they're on Golarion and thinks they've stepped straight into the world of Cthulhu!

2)  Which is infinitely preferable to coming face to face with Mokmurian himself!

3)  Why exactly is it called "the Library Level" anyway???


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:


> Sunday Night Teaser
> 
> 1)  For a brief, frightening few moments, the group forgets they're on Golarion and thinks they've stepped straight into the world of Cthulhu!
> 
> 2)  Which is infinitely preferable to coming face to face with Mokmurian himself!
> 
> 3)  Why exactly is it called "the Library Level" anyway???



You didn't mention any PC demise. How did the mage slayer fare this time?



JollyDoc said:


> "Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. TEACH a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime!"



Sweetest Belkar moment ever!  Kind of reminds me of Tilly, homocidal tendencies aside.


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> You didn't mention any PC demise. How did the mage slayer fare this time?




The mage slayer was touch-and-go for a moment there, but ultimately, he proved his worth!!


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

I am behind again.  I do want to thank you however for giving me enjoyable reading material for my lunch.  Sometimes I want to get away from the desk, and I'll print out an update, and walk over to Taco Bell.  Much better than dry hardware configuration notes.

Thank you JD, and all the players,

GW


----------



## JollyDoc

Graywolf-ELM said:


> I am behind again.  I do want to thank you however for giving me enjoyable reading material for my lunch.  Sometimes I want to get away from the desk, and I'll print out an update, and walk over to Taco Bell.  Much better than dry hardware configuration notes.
> 
> Thank you JD, and all the players,
> 
> GW




Nothing goes better with a Burrito Supreme than JD, I always say!


----------



## Dr Simon

JollyDoc said:


> Nothing goes better with a Burrito Supreme than JD, I always say!




Would that be the *other* JD?


----------



## Joachim

I'm actually partial to Wild Turkey...or Wild Turkey 101, which should be named Dire Turkey.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

This conversation is making me hungry...for another update, hint


----------



## WarEagleMage

Joachim said:


> I'm actually partial to Wild Turkey...or Wild Turkey 101, which should be named Dire Turkey.




Mmmm, Wild Turkey - the "kickin' chicken." We _*are*_ gaming on Saturday this week...

And for those concerned about updates: You might get one if you hack into and disable JD and Joachim's XBox Live accounts.


----------



## JollyDoc

The following is from 11/30

FRIENDS IN LOW PLACES

The screeching reptile paused halfway across the cavern and ripped a small bauble from a necklace around her throat.  She cocked her arm back and hurled the bangle at Dex, who stood in the fore of his companions.  The rogue watched the bead arc towards him curiously, not sure whether to duck or laugh.  It was only when the fireball erupted that he decided the latter was the correct choice.  His friends scattered as the flames roared down the tunnel, most of them managing to avoid the worst of the conflagration, save Reaper.  The necromancer rolled about on the floor, batting at his smoking robes while Adso darted forward into the cavern.  The monk, moving almost faster than the eye could follow, was on the kobold before she realized it.  He wrapped his burly arms around the squirming reptile and lifted her into the air.  She responded by snarling and spitting like a cobra, and she lifted her spear in her hands and plunged it into Adso’s shoulder.  The half-orc grunted and then hurled the vicious little fiend to the ground, pinning her there with his own body weight.  In a flash, Dexter was there, stabbing his blades down repeatedly until the creature ceased her violent struggles.  It took many, many thrusts.

“Heads up!”  Cruemann suddenly shouted.  “We’ve got more company!”
Two passages led from the cave, a wide opening to the east, and a narrower hall to the north.  From the east came three stone giants, all dressed in boiled leather smocks and carrying large forge hammers.  In the northern passage appeared no fewer than six more armed and armored giants.  Unfortunately, the cramped confines of the hallway limited their approach to single-file.  So it was that, while Adso and Dexter quickly moved to intercept the trio of smiths, Reaper swiftly wove a spell, causing a familiar-looking nest of writhing black tentacles to sprout from the floor at the head of the northern passage.  The oncoming giants, though far too strong to be immobilized by the tendrils, found their progress slowed to a crawl as the entrance became a bottleneck.  Cruemann smiled as he took deadly aim and began to pick his targets at leisure.  

Meanwhile, Adso and Dexter performed a dangerous dance with their opponents.  A hastily hurled chunk of stone clipped the rogue’s hip, sending him into a tumbling roll, but when he came to his feet again, he drove his swords with lethal precision into the belly of his attacker.  Likewise, Adso, involved in a brutal hand-to-hand slugfest with another giant, managed to bring the brute to his knees before delivering a fatal palm-heel to the giant’s jaw, snapping his neck in the process.  The remaining blacksmith fought valiantly, but he was nothing before the combined fury of the monk and rogue.

One after another, the second band of giants fell beneath Cruemann’s withering barrage of arrows.  Wesh and Sinclair added their own support, bombarding the trapped warriors with bolts of lightning and volleys of arcane bolts.  Suddenly, a flurry of movement was visible behind the rapidly shrinking knot of giants as a hulking figure began shoving through them.  It was another stone giant, though taller and more massive than his kinsmen.  He wore plate armor and carried and wickedly barbed pick in one hand.  He threw the bodies of his brethren from his path and pushed through the tentacles as if they were only tall blades of grass.  He finally made it into the room as the last of his warriors fell, and he stood staring in fury at the massacre.  Raising his face to the ceiling, he howled in rage and then began lumbering across the room, murder etched across his features.  Reaper found himself directly in the path of the onrushing killing machine, and yet his face remained impassive, even calm.  At the last moment, he spoke, the arcane words falling like thunder from his lips.  As the last one faded, the giant came to an abrupt halt, a look of confusion creasing his brow.  He stared blankly into the middle distance, a small rivulet of drool running down his chin.
“Wha…what did ye do?”  Duerten asked.
“Simple,” Reaper replied.  “I cursed him, but it won’t hold for long.  He might come to his senses at any moment.  I suggest we take advantage of the situation.”
His friends didn’t hesitate.  A deadly combination of fire, force and plain old steel fell upon the giant leader.  He died with the same blank look upon his face, completely oblivious of his fate.   
____________________________________________________

“Again??”  Wesh asked.
“Why not?”  Reaper shrugged.
“I thought you had some sort of personal code against such things,” the wizard said.
“You are thinking of the Church,” Reaper replied.  “I serve Pharasma in my own way, and at the moment, my continued survival serves the purposes of my Mistress, and this strapping fellow will help secure that.”
He gestured towards the towering skeleton that had, until moments ago, inhabited the skin beneath the stone giant commander.  
“Convenient,” Wesh smirked.
“’Tis a fate richly deserved!”  Duerten growled.  He held clutched in his fist a large tuft of braided hair threaded through a silver ring that the giant had been wearing in his belt.  It was a dwarf beard.

From the kobold’s lair, the group moved up the north passage, which eventually gave onto a huge cavern that contained four large tables set up around a central platform on which sat an immense stone throne.  From the ceiling above hung carved stalactites, some fashioned to look like dangling spears, while others looked like dragons’ teeth.  The flickering light of a large fire burned behind a row of stalagmites to the south, and lots of fairly fresh bones were scattered around the edges of the cave.  The area of the cave behind the stalagmites looked to be an open-air kitchen, where a large firepot burned and crackled with an iron cauldron hanging over the flames from a frame of tree trunks.  Kitchen supplies sized for giants sat along the far wall, including buckets of water, wooden trenchers for food, and gallon-sized mugs.  Crouched low in that area was a giantess, terror reflected in her eyes by the flickering fire light.  
“Come out where we can see you!”  Wesh commanded, speaking in the Giant tongue.  The giantess did not move, her horrified gaze focused on the monstrous skeleton standing behind Reaper.
“I’ll flush her out,” Cruemann said as he unlimbered his bow.
“No,” Wesh held up his hand.  “She’s just a scullery maid and no threat to us.”  He raised his voice and called to the giantess again.
“We are here to stop Mokmurian!” he said.  “You would do well to stay where you are and do not come out unless it is to flee.  If we see you again, your life will be forfeit.”
______________________________________________________

Beyond the Great Cave, the naturally hewn tunnel branched.  The companions chose the northern fork, from the end of which could be seen more firelight.  A small cave lay at the far end, the walls painted with red, yellow, brown, and black figures, among which were apparent images of giants, mammoths, elk, deer, and wyverns.  Others were harder to figure out:  ogres, perhaps, or giant children, or even humans.  The dwarves were very clear, with beards and tiny axes being crushed under enormous giant feet.  Duerten growled low in his throat.  A simple oil lantern lit a small altar at the far end of the cavern.  A modest offering of antlers, hooves, and patches of fur had been piled in front of the altar.

“Would you look at that!”  Sinclair suddenly exclaimed in wonder.  
The paintings on the walls suddenly animated into a display of graphic violence.  A heartbeat later, the largest giant in the mural seemed to rise up out of the wall, taking the shape of an enormous stone giant.  With shocking speed, unseen knives flayed the giant’s stony flesh and cut deep into the phantom’s belly so its exposed entrails dripped with black blood.  It moaned in terrible pain, and then reached out with its bloodstained hands.  Before anyone could react, it brought one of its massive fists squarely down upon Sinclair.  As quickly as it had begun, the haunting vanished.  Sinclair lay unmoving and pale upon the floor, no mark on his body, but very obviously dead.

“Please forgive my husband,” a voice came from behind them.  As a group, they turned, hands on weapons or readying spells.  
“Peace,” said the wizened giantess who stood at the entrance to the cavern.  “I don’t have much time, but know that if you are here to slay Mokmurian, I am your ally.  I would aid you in your quarrel here…without my assistance you might find only your graves below Jorgenfist.”
“One of us just found his, giant!”  Duerten growled, his fist clenching around the haft of his axe.  
“My husband, Vandarrec, also met his death in this room…at Mokmurian’s hands,” the giantess said quietly.  “His spirit still rests uneasily here, in the shrine that was defiled by his blood, and the others of my tribe stay away.  I am Conna, and as long as I am here with you, you need not fear my husband’s wrath.  I still have that much influence at least.”  
She smiled sadly.
“Speak quickly then,” Wesh said tightly.  “We’ve found little reason to trust giants.”
Conna nodded.  “My husband and I were the elders of our tribe.  When Mokmurian came to us, proposing his grand scheme to reunite the tribes and take back our ancestral lands, the elders declined his offer.  Yet we were too slow and mired in our traditions to see the unrest among our younger, more idealistic warriors.  When they left to join Mokmurian’s army, my husband and I came with them, to watch over them.  At first, Mokmurian paid homage to our ways, but in time, his obsession with this dark place and the secrets beneath it consumed him.  He slew my husband to silence any opposition against him.  I learned to speak only when spoken to, and stay beneath his notice after that…yet still I watched and observed much.”
“Where is Mokmurian now?”  Reaper asked.
“In the library level, which lies beneath this one.  I can make a map for you,” Conna replied.  “I ask only one thing of you.  If you encounter more of my kin, please try your best to spare their lives.  I understand if you do not.  My people have brought this doom upon themselves.”
At that moment, her eyes fell upon the giant, skeletal figure standing in the shadows behind Reaper, and they grew wide in horror.
“Galenmir?” she whispered.
“You knew him?”  Reaper asked coldly.
Conna swallowed convulsively several times before speaking again.  “He is…was…Mokmurian’s general.  He…was a valiant warrior.”
Reaper shrugged.  “His spirit has passed on, but I claim his body…at least until Mokmurian is dead.  Then I will release him.  You have my word.”
Conna nodded silently, then pulled a piece of parchment from beneath her bearskin cloak and began drawing.
__________________________________________________

Sinclair opened his eyes to see Duerten’s frowning face above him.
“Is this the Afterlife?” the gnome asked.  “Did I sin so badly?”
“Yer welcome,” the dwarf scowled.   “Next time I’ll let th’Ferryman take yer worthless soul beyond th’Pale.”
The gnome grinned broadly.  “Now wouldn’t that be an adventure?”

The company set out through the caverns once more, following Conna’s map which led them through the less populated areas of the complex.  Eventually they came to a wide passage, the walls of which were hung with furs.  To the southeast, the tunnel constricted and sloped down at a sharp angle, the path to the Library.  The companions were more than halfway down the wider passage when Adso and Dexter heard the barely-audible rustling.  The two quickly went on guard and turned to alert the others, but they were a fraction of a second too late.  The curtains on either side of the corridor suddenly twitched aside to reveal murder holes.  Behind each set stood a large, heavily armored troll, each wielding a wickedly barbed ranseur.  Between them, they could reach any point in the hallway.  

“Move!”  Duerten bellowed, urging his allies towards the far end of the passage while he raised his shield and stood his ground behind them.  Adso leaped to his side, and the two stood back-to-back, open targets.  The trolls took full advantage.  Despite the dwarf’s impressive armament and the monk’s lightning-fast reflexes, they couldn’t avoid the deadly sweep of the polearms.  Each of them suffered hideous wounds as their companions raced towards the narrow hall.  Suddenly, Dexter turned back and darted towards the right-hand wall, rolling beneath the sweeping ranseur as it came towards him.   The rogue fetched up beneath one of the murder holes and then, quick as a flash, he stood and stabbed through with his blade, earning a surprised bellow of pain from the troll on the far side.  A moment later, several flashing blue bolts sped unerringly through the hole, driving the troll back, while on the opposite side of the hall, a feisty gnome hurled a blast of white-hot fire through the openings there.
“Get clear!”  Wesh shouted to Duerten and Adso.  The two didn’t hesitate, the monk somersaulting nimbly away while the dwarf ducked behind his shield and barreled like an armadillo in his wake.

Dexter risked standing again so he could get a clear view of the area behind the murder hole.  He paid for it with a bone-jarring stab to his shoulder as the troll charged forward.  Then, in a swirl of shadows the rogue simply vanished, only to reappear a moment later directly behind the armored troll.  From his new vantage point he could see an opening leading back out into the hallway, hidden behind a fur curtain.
“Behind the curtains!” he shouted.  “The entrances are there!”
Adso turned as he reached the far end of the corridor, heeding Dexter’s words.  Quickly, he ripped aside the curtain on the opposite side, and saw the opening there.  As he rushed in, Wesh loosed another volley of missiles at the troll waiting for him, only this time, the wizard forged the bolts out of acid, remembering the vulnerabilities of the regenerating giants.  The troll howled and Adso rushed him, hammering with his fists and feet.  The giant roared and flailed wildly, driving the half-orc back with wrecking blows from the ranseur, but Adso didn’t relent.  Batting the polearm aside, he moved nimbly inside the troll’s defenses and delivered a rapid-fire barrage of uppercuts and kidney punches.  With a groan, the giant buckled and collapsed to the floor.  Simultaneously, in the far alcove, Dexter took down his own foe with a flurry of quick, deadly accurate strikes of his blades.
“We’ll take over from here,” Wesh said as he stepped inside.  Between his acid and Sinclair’s flame, they reduced the trolls to liquefied ash within a matter of seconds.


----------



## JollyDoc

SUNDAY NIGHT TEASER

1)  Wesh returns once more to a hero's welcome in Sandpoint, ready for a much-earned rest with his lady-love.  Ah, but a hero's work is never done, and a new sink hole in the middle of town demands his attention and that of the Sandpoint Seven.

2)  The inevitable descent into the sink hole reveals a new level of the runewell dungeon.

3)  This level, however, seems inhabited by a madman known as the Scribbler, an unseen foe who enjoys word games and cat-and-mouse.

4)  All games, however, come to an end, and when the Scribbler finally shows himself, he brings along a few friends.

5)  Reaper and Wesh discover that not all dogs are man's best friends, and Cruemann finds out that the best way to neutralize an archer with a 12' great bow is to simply stun him and make him drop said bow...again...

6)  Further investigation of the ruins results in an unexpected development that causes Cruemann to show his true colors, and causes Wesh to lead the citizens of Sandpoint in an uprising against the Sandpoint Seven!!!


----------



## Schmoe

JollyDoc said:


> 6)  Further investigation of the ruins results in an unexpected development that causes Cruemann to show his true colors, and causes Wesh to lead the citizens of Sandpoint in an uprising against the Sandpoint Seven!!!




Now _that_ is a tease.  Good stuff, as always!


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Great stuff - thanks for the Christmas present! Happy holidays and happy gaming, guys!



Schmoe said:


> Now _that_ is a tease.  Good stuff, as always!



I second that!


----------



## carborundum

Finally made it to the keyboard!
Happy Christmas you lot!


----------



## JollyDoc

carborundum said:


> Finally made it to the keyboard!
> Happy Christmas you lot!




You're posting to the States!  It's MERRY Christmas!


----------



## JollyDoc

SUNDAY TEASER

1)  In the aftermath of Wesh's uprising, the chagrined Sandpoint Seven pay a tearful homage to their chosen leader.  Could political aspirations be far behind?

2)  The location of the Runeforge is discerned and a lengthy cross-country journey begins.

3)  The search for the seven keys begins, but is rudely interrupted by a dragon rudely awakend from his 200 year slumber.  Cruemann goes for the ride of his life.

4)  The keys discovered, the long ascent to the Mouth of Xin begins, but alas, more guardians await, and Cruemann is once more singled out for abuse by the elemental titans.

5)  Finally, the way into the Runeforge is unlocked, and with seven sins to choose from, Reaper, of course, chooses gluttony.

6)  Though Reaper feels right at home in the Ravenous Tombs, the same cannot be said for his companions.  What would seem like a hum-drum walk in the park against a mummy mob turns into a full-fledged potential TPK as our heroes are paralyzed with fear.  Hint:  at least one PC does indeed succumb...permanently!


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

I wonder how this all plays out, cause the teasers read great! Has Wesh's uprising something to do with a certain suggestion of a certain scribe?


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> I wonder how this all plays out, cause the teasers read great! Has Wesh's uprising something to do with a certain suggestion of a certain scribe?




Ding! Ding!  Give that man a seegar!!

There should be an update soon, patient readers.  I've had a bit of a family emergency this week and have been a bit side-tracked.


----------



## JollyDoc

SUNDAY TEASER

1)  The company retreats to lick their wounds after their defeat at the hands of the minions of Gluttony, then brace themselves to go at it again.

2)  The second sojourn proves mostly fruitless, as naught but empty tombs and catacombs (and the occasional clay golem) are the only things to be found, until...

3)  New blood joins the Sandpoint Seven in the form of a rescued denizen of the Runeforge who had fallen afoul of Gluttony's necromancers, but which sin is worse, gluttony or pride?

4)  After a brief debate, it is decided to try the lair of Karzoug's faithful, the halls of Greed.  

5)  Dubious allies are encountered, and prepare our heroes for what they may find in the labyrinth.

6)  Metal-skinned wizards look really cool, but are easily PWND!

7)  When the heroes discover a pool of pure magic, it's lure proves the old addage about curiosity and cats.

8)  As the heroes leave the catacombs of Greed, Karzoug had one final Ace up his sleeve, and two of our champions have a mind...and body...altering experience!!


----------



## Schmoe

JollyDoc said:


> Ding! Ding!  Give that man a seegar!!
> 
> There should be an update soon, patient readers.  I've had a bit of a family emergency this week and have been a bit side-tracked.




Family first!  I hope everyone's well.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Hi JollyDoc, 

I hope it's nothing serious and that you're all fine! 




JollyDoc said:


> 3)  New blood joins the Sandpoint Seven in the form of a rescued denizen of the Runeforge who had fallen afoul of Gluttony's necromancers, but which sin is worse, gluttony or pride?



Cool, every band of PCs should have their very own Runeforge denizen. 'specially cause they're mad. 




JollyDoc said:


> 7)  When the heroes discover a pool of pure magic, it's lure proves the old addage about curiosity and cats.
> 
> 8)  As the heroes leave the catacombs of Greed, Karzoug had one final Ace up his sleeve, and two of our champions have a mind...and body...altering experience!!



Ha, this will be good. You just gotta love transmuters. What's Adso's new shape?


----------



## WarEagleMage

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Ha, this will be good. You just gotta love transmuters. What's Adso's new shape?




Adso turned into the Tarrasque - oh, wait - that's just what a certain shiny wizard thought. Actually, you won't belive who got "hooked."


----------



## carborundum

Argh! The ... suspense ... is ... eating ... me ... up!


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

That's why I'm still carrying around a little surplus from the holidays...


----------



## JollyDoc

JollyDoc said:


> SUNDAY NIGHT TEASER (12.7.08)
> 
> 1)  The investigation of Jorgenfist's library level begins.
> 
> 2)  The first 'librarian' is a bit miffed at having noisy adventurers stomping around his library, so he makes an example of two of them...a 'small' example...
> 
> 3)  The next 'librarian' is no more understanding than the first, and his wing of the library has a nasty habit of causing noisy violators to lose their lunch...and their eyesight!
> 
> 4)  Then we have a third 'librarian' who enjoys separating groups of noisy children behind stone walls and then proceeding to divest them of their pesky magic items.
> 
> 5)  The final 'librarian' of the night must have been a fan of Sleepy Hollow, since he, you know, lacks a head and all.  Oh, and he has six cheerful library aids to help him file books back...and crack open the skulls of trespassers.  Talk about your Library Police!




THE LIBRARY LEVEL

The stone passage wound down through the bedrock in a corkscrew for several hundred feet before the walls changed to worked granite.  They were regular, but strangely rounded…hard angles had been polished away to smooth corners, rendering the entire area somewhat disorienting to look upon.  With no hard lines defining edges, the place seemed subtly alien.  As the hall finally leveled off, it branched sharply at right angles.  One branch ended in a massive cave-in that completely filled the corridor, while the other seemed to open into a large chamber a few dozen feet along.  

A pair of double doors stood in the southern wall of the room.  The floor was made of glossy, polished black and gray marble.  To the east, what might have been another exit had long since collapsed.  Yet, nothing in the room compared to the curious effects that its walls had…looking in, it was bizarrely impossible to judge the chamber’s exact dimensions.  Any wall looked at directly remained stable, but everywhere else through peripheral vision, the walls seemed to stretch away into impossibly infinite gulfs, as if the room itself were somehow ‘unhooked’ from its own physicality.  Duerten, at the head of the column, slowly entered the chamber, his eyes squinting as he struggled to bring its features into focus.  No sooner had he crossed the threshold than a wave of vertigo washed over him as he was overwhelmed with nausea.  At the same time, he felt his body twist and convulse, and he collapsed to his hands and knees.  A moment later, the seizure passed, though the nausea remained.  Duerten climbed slowly to his feet, but when he looked around, the room had changed in perspective again, this time seeming larger than it had.  Suddenly, the priest realized what had happened.  The room had not grown larger…he had been shrunk to no more than half his original size!  To make matters worse, a hulking shadow detached itself from the far side of the room and began lumbering towards him.  Numerous severe-looking runes sparked and flickered upon the body of the towering giant, seemingly seared into the creature’s skin.  Although its eyes looked dull, its muscles bulged grotesquely, as if barely contained by a thin layer of flesh, and it moved unnaturally fast for a creature of such ponderous size.  A horrid expression, either rage or pain, contorted its features as it sped forward.  Duerten barely had the strength to raise his shield over his head as the giant’s huge club came crashing down.  When it struck, the dwarf felt the heavy steel buckle from the impact, and the shock thrummed down his arm, numbing it to the shoulder.

Dexter darted into the room, rushing to the side of his friend.  Disorienting nausea made his head swim for a moment, but it quickly passed.  As the rune-scarred giant raised its club again, the rogue stabbed upward with his sword, impaling the brute’s thigh.  The giant didn’t react.  Though the wound bled profusely, he took no notice.  Snarling, he began to swing the club again, but in that instant, at Reaper’s command, Galenmir stepped forward and impaled the giant through the chest with one of the long ranseurs taken from the trolls.  Again, the brute did not react as in pain, but staggered back as bright red blood bubbled and frothed from its pierced lung.  Air wheezed from the sucking wound, and the giant stared down at it uncomprehending.  Dexter took to the opportunity to slip behind the goliath and drive both his blades through its kidneys.  Still not uttering a sound, the rune-enslaved behemoth toppled to the floor.
_______________________________________________________


Duerten stood impatiently as Wesh reversed the shrinking charm, muttering under his breath constantly.  Once the spell was complete, and he had regained his normal size, the companions pressed deeper into the labyrinth.  There was only one way to leave the room, and that corridor was straight and unobstructed, opening into an even larger chamber at its far end.  Runes were carved in bands along the walls, and the room was lit unnervingly by a reddish glow from the slowly burning flames in a shallow fire pit in its center.  An immense iron cauldron, its sides emblazoned with an etching of a seven-pointed star, stood above the fire.  Smoke rose from its unseen bubbling contents, and a halo of human bones and fragments of what might have been dried flesh lay scattered around the cauldron’s three-pronged base.  

“Hold up,” Dex whispered from his position at point, his hand held up in warning.  “I thought I saw something.”
The rogue peered intently into the smoke-filled room, looking for the shadowy movement he thought he’d caught a fleeting glimpse of within the gloom.  Cautiously, he stepped forward…and immediately wished he hadn’t.  The haze was cloying, and it burned his eyes like acid, causing them to tear and blur until he could no longer see anything.  Worse, inhaling the vapors was starting to make him feel nauseated, and before he could stop himself, he began to heave and wretch violently.  He didn’t see the large shape moving towards him.

Adso, however, did see it.  He didn’t know what was happening to Dex, and he didn’t know if he would be affected the same way, but he never hesitated.  He went to the aid of his friend.  As he stepped into the smoke, he took a deep breath and held it.  He looked around to get his bearings, but suddenly he was struck by something that felt like a sledgehammer made of stone.  He reeled, and saw a massive figure standing over him.  It looked like a living statue, but its face was skull-like with glowing blue runes carved into its forehead.  It raised one giant fist and brought it down again, smashing into the monk’s face.  Adso’s nose shattered, and for a moment, blood and tears blurred his vision.  When it cleared again, there were two giants above him.  For a moment, he thought his brain had been damaged and his sight doubled, but then he made out the skeletal features of Galenmir as the undead general struggled with the hulking construct.  

From the doorway, the others watched the titanic battle.  Cruemann leveled his bow, struggling to draw bead on the right target.  Swearing, he released, and let out a sigh of relief a moment later when his shaft pierced the stony hide of the golem.  Beside him, he heard Wesh chanting, and a moment later, a veritable hail of sharp stone appeared in mid-air above the behemoth, burying it in an avalanche of debris.  Adso quickly flipped to his feet and shoved Dexter back towards the hallway.

“Whew,” Cruemann said as he turned towards his friends, smiling.  “That was a close ca…”
His words were cut short as a small globe of fire struck him in the face.  He cried out, batting at the flames crisping his skin, and the others whirled to look behind them.  There in the corridor down which they had just come was a lumbering humanoid shape standing at least ten-feet in height.  It looked to have been born of living ore and sculpted of pig iron.  A massive maw split its prodigious belly and through the sockets of its eyes, flared nostrils, and both mouths flickered an angry glow, as if a furnace raged within its bowels.  The impression was cemented as its jagged belly maw belched forth a blaze of cinders and sparks.  Duerten’s heart quailed when he saw it, for knew it for what it was…a scanderig…a forgefiend…a creature straight out of bedtimes stories told to dwarven children to frighten them out of  bad behavior.  And now here one was, as real as the stone beneath his feet, and twice as terrifying as he could ever have imagined.

Before Duerten could give voice to his horror, the forgefiend gestured and a stone wall abruptly materialized out of thin air, sealing off the corridor and trapping Wesh, Dexter and Cruemann on the opposite side with the scanderig.   Wesh didn’t know what in the Hells he was facing, but the look on Duerten’s face had told him everything he needed to know.  Grabbing Cruemann and Dexter by the shoulders, he spoke a few brief words and the three of them vanished in a flash of light, appearing a moment later back among their companions.  Cautiously, the group backed away from the wall into the mist, suspiciously eyeing the barrier, waiting for the fiend to reappear.  
“Let’s keep movin’,” Duerten said shakily after several minutes without any sign of the creature.  None of his allies disagreed, and they quickly crossed the chamber to the far side where another short corridor led to what was apparently another chamber.  Adso and Duerten took point, closely followed by Galenmir’s rattling bones, then Cruemann and Wesh.  The chill in the next room wasn’t quite enough to frost the floors and walls, but it was certainly enough to frost their breath.  The room itself contained what must have been two dozen suits of armor mounted on what appeared to be frozen or preserved ogres, trolls and hill giants, all staged as if rallying for war.  As Adso took in the sight, he saw one of the figures, nearly eleven feet tall, dressed in plate armor and holding a wicked looking hatchet in each hand, turn its helmeted head towards him.  The helm was open-faced, but inside there was no head, only a raw, ragged stump of a neck.  

Sinclair and Reaper were still in the smoke-filled chamber, helping the still retching Dexter between them.  They were trying to get the rogue clear of the choking vapors, but before they could reach the connecting corridor, a second stone wall appeared across it, separating them from their companions.  Worse, the scanderig reappeared as well, stepping out of an adjacent wall as if it were made of mist.

Duerten came to an abrupt stop behind Adso as the headless zombie began stalking towards them.  Simultaneously, six more of the previously frozen corpses began to animate as well, shambling drunkenly behind their master.  Adso moved quickly to interpose himself between the undead and the others, but suddenly the other six zombies abruptly stopped short, as if they’d run into an invisible barrier.
“That should hold them!”  Wesh grinned savagely.
Adso nodded in gratitude, but as he turned back towards the headless lord, the creature slashed viciously at him with one of its axes.  As the blade tore his flesh, the monk felt his arm go numb, and when he looked down at the wound, he saw that the edges of it were caked in ice, freezing the blood before it could begin to flow.  

Reaper snapped a wand out of his sleeve and turned towards the forgefiend, but before he could bring it to bear, the huge central maw of the creature snapped down, crushing the thin wood to splinters, and barely missing the necromancer’s fingers.  Desperately, Reaper backed away from the chortling thing, hastily calling up one of his most potent spells as it advanced.  As he spat out the curse, the scanderig abruptly lurched to a halt, rigid, staring blankly ahead as if confused.  Suddenly, Sinclair was at Reaper’s side, his high pitched voice rattling off a spell of his own.  As he completed the charm, the scanderig began to giggle.  This quickly escalated into a full-fledged belly laugh, and then into uncontrollable gales of hilarity.  The round-bodied monstrosity keeled over on its back, howling incoherently with laughter as the gnome’s spell convulsed through it.  
“I think…maybe…I can handle it…from here…,” Dexter gulped, wiping spittle from his chin.  His face was still pale, greenish, but his vision had cleared and as he clutched his blades, his hands were steady.  Calmly, he walked over to the guffawing forgefiend and began stabbing it…repeatedly, and with deadly acuity.

Adso began backing away from the armored zombie as it weaved its axes menacingly through the air.  Suddenly, it lunged, but before it could reach the monk, a long ranseur abruptly protruded from its chest.  Adso looked up and over his shoulder, and saw the hulking form of Galenmir standing behind him, the toothy smile frozen on the skeleton’s face in terrible rictus.  A moment later, a tremendous blast completely shattered the zombie’s breastplate, and the flesh beneath as a frenetic bombardment of bolts shot from Wesh’s hands.  The headless ghoul collapsed, its torso a smoking ruin.  Adso didn’t pause to admire the wizard’s handy work.  Instead, he ran towards the stone wall separating him from his friends, knowing full well what it portended.  Without hesitation, the monk began hammering at the wall with his bare hands and feet, heedless of the skin that tore from his flesh or the blood that began to flow freely.  Incredibly, cracks began to appear in the stone, followed by chunks of masonry falling to the floor.  In a matter of moments, he managed to breach a large section, and he quickly darted through.  To his surprise, his three companions stood waiting for him on the other side, Reaper and Sinclair supporting a woozy-looking Dexter between them, the unmoving forgefiend lying on the floor behind them.  Adso took Dexter’s arm over his own shoulder and helped the rogue back through the wall.  Once the group was together again, they made their way past the headless corpse, glancing to their right as the other zombies banged impotently against Wesh’s invisible force wall.


----------



## Supar

Jd you know your good when your own players are jonesing for a update. Now get off that Xbox and give us more


----------



## JollyDoc

Supar said:


> Jd you know your good when your own players are jonesing for a update. Now get off that Xbox and give us more




I'm currently in New Orleans, on Bourbon Street.  Don't you mean get out of that bar/casino/strip club and give us an update???


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:


> I'm currently in New Orleans, on Bourbon Street.  Don't you mean get out of that bar/casino/strip club and give us an update???



Yeah, more like get that man an Eee PC, so he can type away in those bars/casinos/strip clubs.


----------



## Virtue

Great Stuff as always

What a great way to make thouse two combats more of a challenge


----------



## JollyDoc

Virtue said:


> Great Stuff as always
> 
> What a great way to make thouse two combats more of a challenge




Well, we have Duerten to thank for that one.  He's the one that went blundering into the next room while his partners were still mopping up in the previous one, thus triggering encounter number 2!  I love it when a plan comes together!


----------



## JollyDoc

Where do I begin?  It is with my deepest regrets and sadness, dear readers, to inform you of the premature conclusion of Rise of the Runelords.  Yes, the Sandpoint Seven have come to the end of their journey, and the finale was as dramatic and action packed as their beginning.  From multiple monks to exploding illusionists, the drama was non-stop!

Never fear, I will be continuing to detail the events here to their end, but I'm wondering if you, the readers, would prefer me to continue in piecemeal format, or if you would rather me post a large synopsis.  You decide.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Wow...that was unexpected. The modules read deadly, but not more so than the other APs. Bad dies, bad dies. 

As for the format of your story postings, JollyDoc, I'm fine with whatever format. More important for me is how you are going to go on. Will you finish Rise of the Runelords with other PCs? If not, what are your plans?


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Wow...that was unexpected. The modules read deadly, but not more so than the other APs. Bad dies, bad dies.
> 
> As for the format of your story postings, JollyDoc, I'm fine with whatever format. More important for me is how you are going to go on. Will you finish Rise of the Runelords with other PCs? If not, what are your plans?




Sins of the Saviors turned out to be an unexpected meatgrinder for the players, and by the time it was all over, the consensus among them was to step away from RotRL for awhile.  Our plan is to begin Curse of the Crimson Throne next week.  The way SotS's ended left open the possibility of returning at a later date and concluding it, so that is a very real option.  For now, though, we're taking a fresh start with CotCT.


----------



## carborundum

Wow... ouch! I have no preference for how you finish your story hour - if you can take the time to write it up that's wonderful. If not, I'd love to read the synopsis. 

Are you set in stone about running CotCT? I would love to read your version of Second Darkness - dirty criminals, set-pieces galore [sblock]from the Riddleport Arch chase scene to the Elven ruins[/sblock], alien plants from space and the Golarion Underdark, full of aberrations and of course...

[sblock]drow![/sblock].

I'm loving reading it far more than I did CotCT, which seems a bit confusing in the city, and a meatgrinder outside. That castle is just ... ouch!

Still - if anyone can make me like CotCT it's JD!


----------



## Virtue

Well I want to know what happened but I also want the current adventures to be written out well so what ever is easier for you cause this was the best story hour 
You should move this over to the paizo board too


----------



## Zanticor

I am so shocked. A TPK for the best power gamer group around the boards. You've been a great inspiration for my games and now you've actual all died. Maybe I should try killing of my guys too for a change. Can you give a description of what it actually is like when the characters you've invested in just all die and you decide to call it quits? I can't imagine. Although not for lack of trying. You just always expect the hero's to win, whatever you trow at them. Maybe if you say you left that night in digust with the feeling you never wanted to play again, I won't trow that pit fiend at my guys.

Zanticor


----------



## Schmoe

JollyDoc said:


> Where do I begin?  It is with my deepest regrets and sadness, dear readers, to inform you of the premature conclusion of Rise of the Runelords.  Yes, the Sandpoint Seven have come to the end of their journey, and the finale was as dramatic and action packed as their beginning.  From multiple monks to exploding illusionists, the drama was non-stop!
> 
> Never fear, I will be continuing to detail the events here to their end, but I'm wondering if you, the readers, would prefer me to continue in piecemeal format, or if you would rather me post a large synopsis.  You decide.




Holy Cow!  That's a huge (and sad) surprise.  When I read through Sins, I didn't remember seeing anything that jumped out as a TPK.  I'll be morbidly awaiting the write-up for that one. 

I think that you should choose whichever write-up best suits your desires.  Whatever you choose, I'll be happy to read it and grateful for the time you spend on it.  While I truly enjoy the detailed stories, I can certainly understand how you might want to put your efforts into a new beginning.

At any rate, you have a great group of players, and I hope that they aren't too demoralized from the loss, as I'm really looking forward to hearing about their continued exploits.


----------



## SolitonMan

I agree with Schmoe.  I haven't read through Sins, but I had reached a point where I believed your group could survive most anything.

I'd love to see a detailed account of the end of the campaign, but I'm (as always) eager for any new material.

Good luck to you and your group in the future JD!


----------



## Supar

SolitonMan said:


> I agree with Schmoe. I haven't read through Sins, but I had reached a point where I believed your group could survive most anything.




We can survive any Challenge there was only bitterness to be had


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## WarEagleMage

Not to give away too much, but the final encounter was not in fact a TPK. It was, however, a TPK in spirit. Although we have a reputation for power gaming, we do get quite involved with our characters. Not to wax too artsy, but there comes a point where introducing another PC just doesn't feel right. I experienced that when I ditched Maruis in Savage Tide (after multiple deaths) in favor of Gregor (the druid). I never did get into him, so I went back to Marius and enjoyed the rest of the game. Now project that feeling over half the party. At nearly 13th level(the AP only goes to 15), the consensus was that (at least for the time being) it just wouldn't be that fun to continue. And while I hate to leave anything unfinished, let's face it - we're playing this game to have fun. That said, everyone seems energized about our new campaign that starts this week. Tune in for more of JD and co's thrilling heroics.


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## WarEagleMage

Also, on a sad note, we just found out that we are losing David (who currently plays Wesh, and who played the fan-favorite Towercleaver in Savage Tide) to a job transfer out of state.  We knew this day was coming, but that doesn't make it suck any less.  

David and I played D&D together for a few years before joining JollyDoc's table.  He also sucked me into City of Heroes where we've fought crime late into the night for the last 4+ years.  David is a brilliant player and an even better friend.  We're going to miss him and his never-ending supply of geeky T-shirts around the table.


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## Joachim

WarEagleMage said:


> David is a brilliant player and an even better friend.  We're going to miss him and his never-ending supply of geeky T-shirts around the table.




Seconded.  Glass raised in tribute.


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## Virtue

Well have you made a choice 

cause i want to hear how this ended but I also cant wait for Curse of the Crimson Thrown either


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## JollyDoc

Virtue said:


> Well have you made a choice
> 
> cause i want to hear how this ended but I also cant wait for Curse of the Crimson Thrown either




Yes, I decided to synopsize for the sake of expediancy.  It is my dearest hope to have the update posted tonight.  Then I'll begin CotCT, which we played our first session of this past week.  I will be writing CotCT as more of an adventure log, again for the sake of expediancy.  I also plan on posting it on Paizo as well as here.  Our cast of characters is colorful:

a half-orc bum who is also a druid
a duskblade pissed at the world
an unwilling paladin
a bodyguard who has failed his charge
a sorcerer with an addiction problem
a fortune teller pining for a lost love


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## Graywolf-ELM

I still read regularly, and am running my group through the crimson throne now.  Looking forward to reading how your group does.

If I get a vote, I just like the fact that you are willing to post out what happens, either format works for me.

GW


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## JollyDoc

RISE OF A RUNELORD

The Sandpoint Seven continued deeper into Mokmurian’s library, battling through a pack of extradimensional “hounds” that lived within the angles or reality.  Beyond these guardians, the companions found Mokmurian himself.  The stone giant sorcerer had barricaded himself within a vast lecture hall where he had prepared for the arrival of his intruders.  He had witnessed their approach through the eyes of the severed head of the zombie lord the heroes had previously encountered.  The Seven made a near fatal error by dividing their numbers to enter the chamber, only too late realizing that what they had at first thought was a second entrance, instead turned out to be a dead-end.  Mokmurian caught the group completely off guard, isolating several of them with his magic and then striking at them one-by-one.  For a brief moment, the companions were forced into a fighting retreat until Reaper managed to rip the wizard’s protective wards from him, leaving the giant vulnerable, at which point Adso, with his mage-slaying expertise, put down Mokmurian’s evil once and for all.  Among the wizard’s possessions was a note which, besides detailing his invasion plans for Varisia, indicated a point along the Lost Coast, very near Sandpoint in fact, that Mokmurian had indicated as a site for the possible ruins of a “hellfire furnace.”  The note went on to say that the ruins might hold a key to finding someone named Xaliasa, whom the mage labeled a traitor, as well as something called the Runeforge.

Finally, beyond Mokmurian’s lair, the seven companions came upon the lost Library of Thassilon.  The librarian, an ancient clockwork construct still in working order, proved quite helpful to their inquiries, and gave them valuable information about Karzoug, the Runelord of Greed, his capital city of Xin-Shalast, and a detailed history of the rise and fall of Thassilon itself.  By the time they emerged back to the surface of Jorgenfist, Conna had convinced the giant army of Mokmurian’s death, and had ordered the individual tribes to disperse.
______________________________________________________

With the imminent threat of the giant army removed, the Sandpoint heroes dispersed for some much-needed down time.  Reaper returned to Fort Rannick to oversee its proper outfitting, while all of the others, save Wesh, journeyed to Magnimar.  Wesh had pressing matters to attend to in Sandpoint, namely his lady-love Ameiko.  Events, however, had other plans for the mage.  Though welcomed back to the town as a hero once more, he had no sooner arrived home than he was summoned to a meeting with Father Zantus, Sheriff Hemlock, and Mayor Deverin.  It seemed that a large sinkhole had opened in the center of town near the garrison, and since then, strange sounds had been growing louder and louder each night.  When Hemlock sent a contingent of guards into the hole to investigate, none of them returned.  When Wesh went to see the hole for himself, he realized that it was located quite near to the site where they had found the Catacombs of Wrath and the runewell hidden within.  The mage knew this was no coincidence, and so he summoned his companions once more.  

When the group descended into the sinkhole themselves, they found the original catacombs in shambles.  A previously-collapsed corridor, however, had been reopened.  Beyond it, they found a strange temple of sorts, apparently dedicated to Lamashtu, with every available surface covered in chaotic writing.  No sooner had they entered the shrine, than a disembodied voice spoke to them, demanding answers.  Whomever it was wanted to know about the current state of the surface world, what had become of Thassilon, and especially, the whereabouts of Runelords Karzoug and Alaznist.  Reaper answered the questions, but was disingenuous.  The speaker, however, seemed to take him at his word and offered to answer questions in return.  Reaper’s first question was the speaker’s identity.  The response was that he was an incarnation of Lamashtu.  When Reaper asked about the name Xaliasa, however, the unseen interrogator demanded to know where the necromancer had heard that name.  Reaper told him of Mokmurian, and the speaker revealed that he himself had once been known by that name.  Reaper followed up by asking about the Runeforge.  Xaliasa laughed, and told him that if he sought the Runeforge, it would be his death.  

After that, Xaliasa spoke no further.  Instead, the companions soon found themselves embroiled in a battle with a pack of shadowy hounds, led by a towering glabrezu demon.  Initially, the melee was one-sided, with the fast-moving hounds inserting themselves among the heroes with surprising speed and ferocity, tripping the weaker members before descending upon them savagely.  The tide shifted, however, when Cruemann and Adso began picking off the hounds one-by-one, allowing the mages to regain their composure and bring their power to bear.  A moment later, however, and a new player entered the field…a strange-looking human with maddened eyes…Xaliasa, also known as the Scribbler.  Though a powerful mage in his own right, the Scribbler was no match for the Seven, especially after Adso took down the mighty glabrezu by puncturing its lungs with his bare hands.  

One they group had put down their enemies, they began exploring the remainder of the complex.  Outside of what-was-apparently Xaliasa’s personal quarters, however, Wesh was affected by a powerful, mind-affecting trap laid by the dead mage.  He became convinced that his companions had succumbed to Lamashtu’s influence and were determined to sacrifice him to their dark goddess.  In fear and desperation, he fled, teleporting back to the surface.  Once there, he quickly informed the town leaders of what had occurred, and warned them that they must collapse the sinkhole and form a cordon around it.  Horrified, the town rushed to comply, hardly able to believe that their saviors could have turned on them.  Several hours later, however, Xaliasa’s charm wore off, and Wesh realized what he’d done.  Too embarrassed to reveal the truth, he informed the town that he would return to the catacombs and would bring back his companions intact, or he would not return at all.

Once Wesh was back with his companions and had sheepishly apologized, the group began studying Xaliasa’s writings in depth.  Most of them amounted to a reprinting of Lamashtu’s holy scriptures, but hidden among the ramblings were several unrelated stanzas which, when taken together, formed a strange riddle:

If magic bright is your desire,
To old Runeforge you must retire!
For only there does wizard’s art, 
Receive its due and proper start.

On eastern stores of steaming mirror,
At end of day when dusk is nearer, 
Where seven faces silent wait, 
Encircled guards at Runeforge gate.

Each stone the grace of seven lords,
One part of key each ruler hoards;
If offered spells and proper prayer;
Take seven keys and climb the stair.

On frozen mountain Xin awaits, 
His regal voice the yawning gates
Keys turn twice in Sihedron…
Occulted Runeforge waits within.

And now you’ve come and joined the forge
Upon rare lore your mind can gorge…
And when you slough the mortal way
In Runeforge long your work shall stay.

Wesh recalled that, in Varisia, Lake Stormunder was known for its plentiful hot springs and geysers.  He also remembered that a mysterious circle of seven stone heads stood upon the western slope of the mountain known as Rimeskull on Stormunder’s eastern shore…
____________________________________________________


 Rimeskull Mountain lay far to the north of Sandpoint, near the extreme borders of Varisia, yet the journey only amounted to a matter of hours once Duerten imbued the company with ability to travel upon the wind.  When they arrived at Lake Stormunder, they found its steam-coated surface just as it was described in the Scribbler’s rhyme.  Several hundred feet from the lake’s edge, the land leveled off into a circular hill, upon which stood seven large, stone heads.  High above the hill, an ancient, eroded carving of a face graced Rimeskull itself, its mouth a gaping cave reached by a large, winding stair that stretched from the hilltop.  

When they landed near the stone heads, Wesh was able to identify each of them as one of the seven Runelords, one for each sin.  Within the mouth of each face was an empty hollow.  Reasoning that the Scribbler’s rhyme involved using magic from each school upon the appropriate statue, the group began with Alaznist, the Runelord of Wrath.  As Wesh hurled a magic missile at the head, an ear-splitting trill filled the air, and a golden key appeared within the carving’s mouth.  Unfortunately, the statue’s activation awoke an ancient resident of Rimeskull…the white dragon Arkrhyst, also known as Freezemaw.

Freezemaw attacked suddenly, and without warning, dropping silently down from Rimeskull’s heights.  The dragon’s first victim was Cruemann, whom it snatched from among his companions, carried him out over the lake, and then dropped him into the water, intending to come back later and finish its meal.  It then circled back to unleash its frigid breath on the remainder of the Seven.  The heroes had not survived so long, however, by being unable to adapt.  Though the initial attack had caught them off guard, they quickly recovered and began to retaliate against the dragon, using a barrage of magic.  Then, when Freezemaw closed to attack again, Adso leaped upon the wyrm, his punches and kicks piercing its magical defenses as if they didn’t exist.  Once Freezemaw was dead, Cruemann was recovered, and the group finished imbuing their respective spells upon each of the remaining Runelord heads, retrieving a key from each.  

The Seven next began the long ascent towards the mouth of Xin.  When they reached the top of the stair, however, they encountered more guardians…a pair of titanic earth elementals.  Though horribly strong and powerfully built, the elementals were slow and clumsy, and although they gave the companions several moments of doubt and panic, ultimately, the heroes won through.  Beyond the mouth of the cave, they found a long tunnel that descended to a huge, gaping hole filled with frozen icicles.  A winding ramp led down to the bottom, where lay an enormous, frozen cathedral containing seven rune-carved pillars surrounding a larger, eighth one.  Keyholes were found in each of the smaller pillars, and when the proper key was placed in each one, the pillar began to glow and the key vanished.  Once all seven were active, the central pillar began to ripple with arcane energy, forming a large, vertical whirlpool at its base.  Through the pool could be seen a long tunnel.  The choice seemed obvious, and the companions stepped through.  On the other side, they found themselves standing in the tunnel they had seen, but behind them, the portal had closed.  There was no way back.

The corridor led to a large, domed chamber containing a bubbling pool in the center.  The Sihedron Rune was inscribed upon the floor surrounding the pool.  Each point of the rune pointed to a twenty-five foot tall statue which faced the pool.  Behind each of them could be seen an arched passage.  Each of the statues represented, in exquisite detail, one of the seven Runelords.  For no particular reason, the companions chose the path behind Runelord Zutha, the Runelord of Gluttony, whose associated school of magic was necromancy.  After a strange, vertiginous transition, the group found themselves in marble corridors with silver molding decorated with the images of angels.  Immediately, all of the heroes, save Reaper, felt uncomfortable and unwelcome in the halls.  Reaper, on the other hand, felt like he’d come home at last.

Pressing onward, they soon entered a chilling crypt, whose walls were decorated with grinning skulls.  Arrayed around the perimeter of the chamber were nine desiccated mummies, who sprang to terrifying life when the intruders entered.  To a man, once more save Reaper, the companions were paralyzed with overwhelming revulsion and fear.  As the mummies attacked, Reaper knew that his allies would be dead within a matter of seconds, and in fact, Duerten was struck down in front of him before the necromancer could act.  Thinking quickly, he gathered the others close to him and teleported them back to the central chamber.  Then, reentering the tomb alone, he proceeded to deal with the undead, first trapping them in a cloud of solid fog, and then immolating them with a barrage of fireballs.
____________________________________________________

 In the aftermath of the battle with the mummies, Dexter made the unpleasant discovery that his flesh was beginning to dissolve in the spots where the undead had touched him…he had contracted mummy rot.  With Duerten dead, no one was familiar with the disease, and could not cure it.  The company decided to reenter the Ravenous Crypts, hoping to find an answer within, yet all they discovered were numerous empty corridors and tombs…until they happened upon what appeared to be a necromantic research lab.  There, strapped to a vivisection table, was a young man, still very much alive.  When they freed him, they discovered that he was a priest named Xander.  Furthermore, he had been a resident of the Runeforge for the past ten-thousand years!  Xander explained that he had been an apprentice of an illusionist named Vraxeris, himself an apprentice of Xanderghul, the Runelord of Pride.  He related that he and his fellow residents of Runeforge had originally been sent there as part of a cooperative effort among the Runelords (such as it was) to research the deeper nature of Rune magic.  They never expected to leave the forge, but at some point, they became aware that a devastating cataclysm must have befallen Thassilon, for no new contact came from the empire.  As the years wore into centuries, some of the groups died out, while others became more powerful.  As the centuries stretched into millennia, the denizens succumbed to madness, dementia and depression.  In time, the occupants became the Runeforge’s prisoners as much as its caretakers.  Then, something changed.  Several years ago, the Runeforge pool reactivated for the first time in ten millennia.  The masters of the Abjurant Halls of Envy immediately attempted to claim the pool as their own, an act that mobilized the coordinated retaliation of the other surviving factions.  This resulted in the complete eradication of the Abjurant Halls.  The short-lived truce was quickly broken thereafter, and in the resulting chaos, Xander was captured by forces of Gluttony.  The grateful priest was anxious to join forces with the Sandpoint companions, for he was more than ready to leave his prison.  Furthermore, he recognized Dexter’s affliction and was able to cure the rapidly weakening rogue.  With their new ally, the group departed the Ravenous Halls, and decided to investigate the stronghold of Karzoug’s followers, the Vault of Greed.    

Once within the entry hall, the first thing the company encountered was a wall of roiling mist that filled the last half of the corridor.  Wesh determined that the fog radiated transmutation magic, but beyond that, he could determine nothing about it.  Cautiously, they entered…and emerged unscathed on the far side.  There, they found themselves in an ornate antechamber containing a large, bubbling fountain.  Frolicking within it were half a dozen water mephitis, denizens from the Elemental Plan of Water.  Initially belligerent and taunting, Reaper earned their respect when he told them they were looking to destroy Karzoug’s minions.  The mephitis, who had accidentally stumbled upon the Runeforge, had been bullied, harassed and several of them even murdered by the transmuters.  They wanted nothing more than to see the wizards punished.  The spoke of the leader of the mages, a steel-skinned human named Ordikon.  Armed with this information, the companions pressed on.

As they explored the Vault, they found room after room unoccupied save for a few fountains filled with goldfish.  Oddly enough, these too radiated transmutation magic.  Finally, at the far end of the complex, they came upon Ordikon’s lab.  The transmuter was the sole survivor of his enclave.  Long ago, he had learned the secret of transforming his flesh to living steel.  Unfortunately, the change had also made steel of his mind, making him unable to study or learn any further.  Over time, he was driven mad.  He reacted to the intrusion of the interlopers with blind rage.  His impotent anger was nothing compared to Adso’s mage-slaying skills.  An investigation of Ordikon’s lair revealed only a shimmering pool of raw magic, but no clue as to the secret of stopping Karzoug’s return.  Discouraged, the companions started back towards the Runeforge pool.  Once more they passed through the misty hallway, but this time, when they emerged on the far side, Reaper and Sinclair were gone.
__________________________________________________

Wesh automatically assumed that the transmutative properties of the mist had something to do with the disappearance of his companions.  Furthermore, an idea came to him when he recalled the fountains they had come across within the Vault.  Taking only Xander with him, the wizard dimensionally hopped past the mist and back inside the halls of Greed.  Once there, Xander imbued himself with the ability to see the true nature of hidden things.  One-by-one, they revisited the fountains, and within each, the priest saw that the fish swimming within were actually transformed people, each and every one.  In time, they found Sinclair and Reaper, both also in the form of goldfish, their minds transformed as well.  Xander was able to dispel the effect and restore his new comrades.  Sadly, his power was not enough to rescue the dozens of other trapped souls within the pools.

Once again, the seven gathered around the Runeforge pool, completely at a loss as to what they were looking for in that forsaken place.  It was Xander who offered a solution.  He suggested they visit the Shimmering Veils of Pride and appeal to his former master, Vraxeris.  He reasoned that, with his appeal, the illusionist might help them find a way to prevent the imminent return of Runelord Karzoug.  He was mistaken.  When they entered the halls of Pride, they found every surface covered with mirrors, the effect extremely disorienting.  When they came to an intersection, with Adso in the lead, the monk was taken completely by surprise when two of his reflections suddenly stepped from the mirrors on either side of him.  Chaos immediately broke loose.  Adso’s duplicates were just as fast as he was, and possessed all of his skills…including his skill at mage-slaying.  Before the others knew what was happening, the evil monks were among them, punching and whirling like dervishes.  Within seconds, Wesh had fallen, his chest collapsed under a barrage of hammer-blows.  It was only Xander’s quick action, by breathing a Breath of Life back into the wizard, that kept Wesh’s soul from departing forever.  Still, the Sandpoint Seven had numbers on their side, and with coordinated effort, they were able to bring down the duplicates.  Unfortunately, Adso still stood between the enchanted mirrors, and no sooner had his first two doubles fallen, than two more appeared.  It was touch-and-go again, with Adso collapsing beneath his own power turned against him.  Ultimately, however, the second pair was defeated as well, and Reaper quickly placed a roiling fog cloud within the passage, preventing any of them from seeing any more of their reflections.  Xander tended Adso’s wounds, and the monk then felt his way through the fog until he found the cursed mirrors, then shattered them both.

Battered and bloodied, the company continued on, until they stood within the great hall of Pride, with its awe-inspiring shrine to the Peacock Spirit.  There, on the threshold, Xander came to a halt, his mouth agape in disbelief.  Arrayed around the shrine were six exact duplicates of his master Vraxeris.  With one voice they announced that “the Master was not to be disturbed,” and that they should “please keep your screaming to a minimum while you are punished for daring to venture this close to his magnificence.”  Then, once more in unison, they struck, releasing a devastating barrage of fireballs, all centered upon the Sandpoint Seven.  Under the withering assault, Cruemann, Wesh and Xander all succumbed.  Adso and Dexter were unscathed, thanks to their quick reflexes, but Sinclair and Reaper were horribly wounded.  In despair, the remaining companions were forced to retreat, leaving their dead behind them.

Seven had entered the Runeforge.  Four stood, yet with no priest among them, they had no hope of restoring their fallen brethren.  Worse, Reaper discovered that his teleportation skills offered them no escape.  The Runeforge was removed from their world.  They were trapped, four new prisoners of the Runelords’ machinations, doomed to dwell for all eternity within the halls of sin…
__________________________________________________

What of Karzoug, you may ask?  Did the Runelord of Greed indeed return to the world of the living?  If so, what became of Varisia?  And what of those who remained stranded in Runeforge?  Do they live still?  These questions remain unanswered…for now…


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## Abciximab

I ask this only because I was considering adding a similar rule to my game - 

Did limiting the number of active Buffs contribute to the characters difficulties? Will you continue this rule for the next campaign?


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## Virtue

So Jolly and players what are your thoughts of the RORL adventure path is the Runeforge to difficult or just bad nice of dice rolling? 

Jolly what did u like and dislike about it as whole? 

Players What about you


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## WarEagleMage

I think this had been brewing for a couple of weeks.  For whatever reason, we the players were experiencing an erosion of our suspension of disbelief.  One of Paizo's tried and true tactics (kill the BBEG, then find his journal/library/scribblings with all his evil plans neatly laid out along with a roadmap to the next encounter) was so over-used that it became a joke around the gaming table.  Frankly, none of us were "in to" the Runforge module.  As for the final few encounters, JD played for keeps as he always does.  We did not approach this with the same level of tactical interest as usual because we just wanted to finish the Runeforge and move on.  The mummies were rough, but doable.  Then we wandered around for a long, long time.  The mist/fish incident was kind of funny, but ultimately just wound up wasting resources.  I don't think JD even mentioned the magic pool debacle, but it was just plain stupid - as veteran gamers we should have just ignored the pool, but we tried to play along and got burned by a dumb encouter.  One mirror of opposition is tough, but to have two there was brutal.  It didn't help that Adso was the one who got cloned.  Then the runelord simulacrae (or whatever) just beat our init rolls or maybe it was a surpise round.  We were lined up in the doorway when they hit us with six empowered fireballs at I think 9d6 x 1.5.  Even if all the squishies made their saves they would be dead.  After that, we all just kind of stared at each other.  Within a couple of minutes, we reached a concensus to give it up and move on to CotCT.


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## Joachim

That's about the best way to put it.


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## JollyDoc

I did enjoy RotRL's as a whole, though there was a bit of a disjointedness to it.  One adventure did not neccessarily lead seemlessly into the next one.  This was especially true with Sins of the Saviors.  It really felt like a railroad, without any clear-cut reason for the PC's to be there.  In reading Spires of Xin-Shalast, it does not even seem as if SotS's was required for them to attempt it, except as a means of leveling up.  There was also a lot of aimless wandering around in the Runeforge.  Perhaps some players and DM's enjoy "flavor text" rooms, but it gets old, repetitive and boring very quickly.  For instance, the halls of necromancy had something like 17-20 numbered rooms, and only four were actually encounter areas.  The BBEG in that area was hidden in room behind a secret door...in a room identical to every other room.  So, were the players supposed to check every single room, tediously, for the one secret door in the whole place?  It was very Tomb of Horrors-like, which for us is not a good thing.  So, like I said earlier, we may return to conclude this, but for now we're going to ride CotCT for awhile.


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## humble minion

Sins of the Saviors struck me as the big weak point of RotRL as well, just based on my read-through.  I think Paizo tries to include a bit something suitable for all possible game styles in every AP, and 'Big Marginally Logical Killer Dungeon' is right there on their checklist...  

(I hadn't noticed the BBEG's Revealing Notes issue myself, though.  And none of the players have commented on it, about half way through the Savage Tide...)


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## Dr Simon

I'll be interested to see how you get on with Crimson Throne, as I'm running it at the moment over in Playing the Game. I'd advise sandboxing it quite a lot and allowing a more organic feel, at least for the first few adventures before the true nature of the campaign reveals itself. Otherwise a lot of the hooks are quite weak as written, depending on your group. 

The Harrow Point system is a nice flavour addition though.


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## Neverwinter Knight

What an ending...this last encounter...well, enough said. 

Well, CotCT is deadly to no end, so this should be fun.


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## carborundum

Say, JD, I've got a weekend game coming up and I'm thinking of running Fortress of the Stone Giants - was it a good one or a "bit too much"?


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## JollyDoc

carborundum said:


> Say, JD, I've got a weekend game coming up and I'm thinking of running Fortress of the Stone Giants - was it a good one or a "bit too much"?




I actually liked this one.  Kind of a throw back to 1st edition and Against the Giants.  It's pure dungeon crawl at its finest.


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