# Seldarn Empire - The Mega-Module Jam



## arwink (Oct 26, 2002)

Over the years, I've accumulated a lot of adventures and other stuff that I havent really had a chance to use.  When I came back from gaming after a short work-related break a month ago, I figured now was a good a chance as any to string some of these modules together.

The majority of the adventures will take place in Return to the Temple of Elemental Evil, Malhavoc Press' The Banewarrens and a scattering of Dungeon and self-written adventures.  *This storyhour makes heavy use of both these adventures, and will contain spoilers for those who haven't played them*

The Mega-Module Jam is one of two games currently running through the Seldarn Empire.  If you're interested in seeing how the events of this game inpact in the other, go check out St Cuthebert's Crusaders

If you have questions, comments or suggestions about the past, present or future events and locations in the game, please head over to the Seldarn Empire Notes, Suggestion and Discussion Thread.  If you're a player in my games, please keep out - we'll be talking about you over there


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## arwink (Oct 26, 2002)

*Current Cast* 

Durhon - Dwarven Barberian 2/Fighter 2
Warwind Treehugger - Elven Wizard 4
Brother Yip - Kobold Monk4
Calmert - Human Cleric of Heironous 4

*Coming Soon*

Ezekial - Human Rogue 2/ Fighter 2

*Deceased* 
Taranos - Dwarven Cleric of Heironous 4


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## arwink (Oct 26, 2002)

._The players handout at the start of the game_ 

The History of Hommlet

Twenty-five years ago, the forces of evil and darkness fathered north and east of Hommlet and constructed a huge temple.  This was a bastion for their armies of gnolls, bugbears, ogres, trolls and giants – not to mention the evil human masters of the place and the demons and other foul creatures that served them.  From this awful place, the malevolent denizens unleashed earthquakes, storms fires and floods upon the countryside.  Monsters were drawn to the area like steel to a lodestone.  The Temple of Elemental Evil took three years to complete, but even in that short time, the forces of good knew that they could not abide such a place.  The Armies of the empire rallied their forces and sacked the temple twenty-two years ago in a battle called Emridy Meadows (named for the site of the largest confrontation).  Most of the evil forces were destroyed of driven off.  The temple itself was greatly damaged, but the underground levels were extensive and dangerous even for those heroic folk.  So the Temple of Elemental Evil was sealed with great magic, imprisoning a powerful demon within its confines.

Nine years later, bandits began troubling the area around Hommlet.  Evil humanoids and strangely garbed priests were seen on the road.  Within the following year, it became clear that the temple of Elemental Evil was rising again.  This time, the folk of Hommlet and the surrounding area coordinated and fostered attacks by bands of adventurers against the ruined but still-occupied temple.  Eventually, the evil was once again overthrown, and this time the temples dangerous lower levels were destroyed.  Since then, the territory has prospered in the peace that has settled in, apparently for a long stay.  Common wisdom has it that no more adventures can be had in Hommlet.

General Background

The battles of Hommlet have not been your battles.  The four of you are veterans of Trollmist wars, fresh from five years on the front lines on the empires distant southern borders.  There you faced death daily, holding back the barbarian hordes of trolls, orcs and ogres that poured out of the Mountains in a wave of destruction.  Through a combination of skill, strength and luck, you have survived where many have perished.  

Like many of the wars distinguished veterans, you were granted land as a gesture of thanks.  Yours is a row of four houses in the village of Hommlet, far from the front lines and the ravages and excitement of war.  The faded deeds are stowed in your pack, alongside the booty you liberated during the war and the few gold coins left after your soldiers pay.  Some of the older veterans, survivors of other wars before the Trollmists, have warned you to expect little from your new abodes.  You have taken this warning to heart, but you admit that after the years of strife you look forward to a peaceful place to rest


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## arwink (Oct 26, 2002)

Sunday, August 13th, 518 AF

It's been a long, tired treck from Petrav to Hommlet, and the constantly overcast sky hasn't helped lighten anyone's mood.  As they walk the rough paths that link the small town to the coastline metropolise, already one of the vetrans has a sinking feeling about their "reward."

Durhon sniff's the air as Hommlet comes in sight.
"Smells bad," he grunts.  Warwind raises an eyebrow at the dwarf's comment, holding his breath against the dwarf's unwashed odor.

"It look's peaceful," Taranos tells him.  "That looks good enough for me.  It'll be nice to sleep without worrying a troll's going to spring upside my bead."

"Looks dull," Durhon counters.  He burps loudly at Taranos before he can make any counter-claim.

The threatening clouds turn ugly as they arrive in town.  They hang low and heavy in the sky, the smell and expectation of coming rain filling the air.  

Yip is scampering off the moment they hit town, his brown-robed form skittering through the wide streets in search of his new home.  He follows the direction on his deed to a small hut near the outskirts of town, a good three or four dozen yards from the closest buildings and a stone's throw from the small stream.  His nostrils flare as he looks it over.  

It's a ramshackle building, slightly larger than he's used too.  He rummages around inside, examinging the dirt floor and the gaps between walls and roofing boards.  It seems exposed to the young kobold, bred to wage battle in the tight knocks and crannies of a goblin lair.  The absence of his brother monks just makes the hut seem more foriegn.  Yip shakes his head and heads down to the stream to collect rocks.  The dwelling may be crude, but he's slept in worse during the war.   After collecting a score of small stones, he sets them down on the ground in the pattern his master taught him and settles down to meditate.


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## Capellan (Oct 27, 2002)

RttToEE _and_ the Banewarrens, eh?  Here's hoping none of my players stumble across this thread or I'll have two future campaigns blown out of the water! 

Not that I've even _read_ either book yet - but I'm sure I'll get around to it sooner or later.


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## arwink (Oct 27, 2002)

Capellan said:
			
		

> *RttToEE and the Banewarrens, eh?  Here's hoping none of my players stumble across this thread or I'll have two future campaigns blown out of the water! *




Among other things.  It's just starting slow until I have more time on my hands.

I might just duck up and emphasise the spoilers aspect in the first post.


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## arwink (Oct 27, 2002)

_Sunday, August 13th, 518 AF, Continued_ 

Warwind and Taranos have both been been awarded huts on the northern side of Hommlet, their condition no better than Yip's.  Warwind sets about making his dwelling as secure as possible, forcing slipped shingles back into space and trying to ensure there's at least a relatively dry space to store his spell-book when the rain begins to fall.  Taranos does much the same, staring at the wooden roof shingles used on the hut in disgust.  He makes a mental note to replace them with good dwarven slate when he can afford to have it imported from Petrav.

Durhon's hut is in worse shape than anyone elses, a ramshackle monstrosity on the towns edge near a druids grove.  It looks as though it's holding together on hope and dirt, and the undisturbed, overgrown grass that surrounds it shows that few villagers seem to regard as safe.  Durhon looks around the enterior and dumps his grimy army-roll on the dirt floor.  A smull flurry of dust rises up from the floor.  The dwarven warrior breaks wind and grins in pleasure.

Durhon's closest neighbour is looking on in horror as the grubby dwarf emerges from the hut.  Durhon glances at him and offers a wide grin.  "I need ale," he grunts at the frightened commoner.  "Touch me ten inch layer of dust and you'll cop it."  Hy heads to Yips hut, carrying the last of the beer he'd he'd brought with him for the journey.  

Halfway there, the storm breaks and rain belts down on Hommlet.  A flash of lightening lights up the sky, and by the time Durhon arrives at Yip's hut, he's sodden and starting to smell like a damp goat.  Yip is still meditating, the still kobold seemingly unbothered by the rain falling through the roof.  Durhon leans low and pokes a scaly arm.

"Oy."

Yip's eyes open, the red pupils staring into Durhons.

"I've got ale.  No Food," Durhon yells.  "If you got any of that food you runts eat, we'll trade."

Yip nods and opens the pouches of nuts and berries he'd gathered on the trail.  They sit, nibbling on the scavenged food and drinking the sour ale.  Eventually Taranos arrives, in much same position after finding the supply store closed for the storm.  He throws another skin of ale into the mix and tells them Warwind's gone to sleep in her ramshackle home.

"Bloody treehugger," Durhon grumbles.  "How'd we en' up in the same vilage as 'im?"

 The floor on one side of Yip's hut starts to turn muddy.  The two dwarves and the kobold say little, just watch the puddle grow and drink ale.  Eventually they all fall asleep in yips hut, Durhon sleeping blissfully in the mud puddle while Taranos and Yip struggle to stay within the patch of dry soil.


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## GreyShadow (Oct 27, 2002)

So far so good.  Rain and booze.  How can one go wrong with that. 

Looking forward to the future.

Cheers


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## arwink (Oct 30, 2002)

_Monday, August 14th, 518 AF_ 

It's a warm, spring morning.  The storm of the previous night is over, but several dark clouds are still lingering in the sky.  

Warwind has spent a misserable night in his hut, haddled underneath the threadbare blanket he was issued at the start of the Trollmist wars and cursing the incompetent beauracrat that awarded him a hut in the midst of no-where.  His waterproof pack keeps his spellbooks and scrolls safe, but the water dripping through the ceiling holes is hard to ignore.

Taranos' evening has been even worse, huddled on a small patch of dry land, trying to avoid the scaly claws of the kobold sleeping next to him.  Waking to a slight hang-over and a headache the next day does little to cheer him up.

Despite the misserable conditions, both are up not long after dawn.  They set out to explore the town, buying a few days worth of food from the local grocer.  They meet beside the barrels of salted jerky, and fall into discussing their plans.  Both are eager to repair their homes, and quickly set about finding the location of a local lumbererto get the necessary materials.

Yip is awake by midmorning.  He blinks in the morning sun, looking at the snoring form of Durhon still asleep in a muddy corner of the hut.  The carefully gathered pouches of nuts and berries are gone, a large majority of them deep in the stomach of his dwarven houseguests.  Shaking his head, Yip settles down for a brief mornings mediation.  He has no food and little skills suitable for this alien environment.  The church has provided for his needs for years, kept him housed alongside his brothers and sisters in monestries around the empire.  The sudden feeling of freedom that comes with his new hut is frightening, and the requirements of fitting into a new village where he is the only one of his kind a challenge he's unused to facing.  It takes but a few minutes of meditation for him to plot a course of action.  He needs a job, something that will find him both community acceptance and earn some of the strange gold coins the humans use to buy food and ale.

The slumbering form of Durhon breaks wind as Yip steps out of his house.  Yip finds himself fervently wishing the dwarf is gone by the time he returns.

The small meadow between Yip's hut and the rest of the village is strewn with children playing in the mud and sunshine.  Yip strides purposely towards them, his small head held high.  He's not thirty feet from the hut before children suddenly surround him.

"Who are you?"
"What are you?"
"Are you a monster?"
"You're so itty-bitty?"
"Are you going to eat me?"

Yip is barraged by questions faster than he can answer, and it's not long before the children slowly start to reach out and touch his scaly skin.  The attention flusters the small monk, and he's soon struggling to free himself from the small crowd.  The children continue to follow him, a thick muddle of limbs and voices that surrounds him like a maze.  After a few moments, Yip snaps.  He raises his hands into a defensive poster and snaps at closing hands with his sharp teeth.  The change in the crowd of children is immediate.

"EEEEEEEEEHHHHH!"  
"Moooooonnnnsteeeeer."
"Daddy, the monster biiiiit me."

They sprint off in all directions, running to hide behind houses, bushes and mothers skirts.  Yip stands in the middle of the field, suddenly alone.  He has the sinking feeling that the first impressions he's making in Hommlet have not been good.

_To be continued..._


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## arwink (Nov 3, 2002)

_Monday, August 14th, 518 AF, Continued _ 


Warwind and Taranos get the first load of lumber to their homes.  Taranos offers to help the elf with his repairs, figuring that making one hut a dry place to sleep fast is better than getting two huts done in twice the time.  After the elf's hut is done, they'll both work on getting Taranos' place in working order.  

Warwind isn't thrilled about sharing space with the dwarven priest, but finds it hard to argue against his logic.  One look at the muddy interior is all he needs.  He readily agrees.


Durhon wakes up to find he's been blowing small bubbles into the muddy floor of the hut.  His beard is streaked with grime, his clothes are filthy and he has the slightest of hangovers.  Obviously, he was doing something wrong last night.  Things should be much worse.

He checks his coin-purse.  There's still a few gold there, so obviously the kobold runt has refrained from riffling it during the night.  Not that Yip's ever done so, but Durhon's sure the stinking runt is planning to sooner or later.  He looks at the small collection of coins, struggling to remember where the nearest tavern was located.  

It's only a five minute walk away.  Durhon checks the position of the sun and figures it's about midmorning.  He's still a few hours behind.

There are seceral children hiding in the bushes around the hut, eyeing the reatreating form of Yip as he heads towards a cluster of homes.  One of them sees Durhon emerge and watches the giant war-axe on the dwarf's back with wide eyes.  Durhon glares at him.

"Whatch out," he growls.  "I bite."

The children flee in a matter of seconds.

Durhon catches up with Yip as the kobold is looking at the row of houses in the village.  The kobold seems bewildered, almost lost.

"What are you doin'?" Durhon barks.
Yip shrugs.  
"Looking for...work?" he suggests.  After years training to hunt thieves in sewer tunnels and achieve inner enlightenment, Hommlet's peaceful cobblestone paths are an enigma.
"Nope," Durhon grunts.  "Come with me and get some ale."

Yip sniff's the dwarf's odor.  Durhon isn't a pleasant being to spent time around, but at least he's a known quantity.  And one of the joys Yip's discovered since being freed from his order does seem to be a good cup of ale...

The two of them head to the nearest tavern, a ramshackle place called Terrigans.  Inside it's much worse - the furnture has a patched appearance after living through too many brawls, and the low-hanging roof is streaked with smoke and a variety of nicks and cuts.  

Durhon gets them a table in the corner, holds up a pair of stubby fingers to the bartender.  Almost immediately they are served large tankards of watery ale.
"Gar," Durhon grunts after the first sip.  "For a moment there I thought this was my kind of place.  Flamin' Rat-piss."
They drink in silence, Durhon quaffing his ale with a scowl while Yip holds the tankard to his lips with both claws, trying his best to navigate the human-sized vessel.

By the second ale they start staring at the taproom.  It's almost empty at this time of morning, with only two other patrons around.  One is a human in dark, spiked armor who seems to stare at Yip intensely.  The other is a gnome in grey robes who's glaring at the kobold with undisguised hatred.  Durhon notices their looks with something approaching glee.  He lets rip an enourmous belch, orders another two drinks and grabs yip by the arm.

"Cummon Runt, it's time to meet the locals."


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## arwink (Nov 6, 2002)

_Monday, August 14th, 518 AF, Continued _ 

Durhon pushes Yip in front of him, shoving him the last few feet until the kobold stumbles close the gnomes table.  The gnome raises his face from his mug to glare at the kobold.

"Yeth?  What do you want?" he growls.

Yip looks up at the gnome, the hate openly displayed on the creatures face.  He glances over his shoulder at Durhon, but the dwarf simply give him a grubby grin and a thumbs up before heading off to talk to the black armored human.

"I am Yip, disciple of St Cuthbert, Warrior of the Tunnelhunters and vetran of the Trollmist campaign."
The gnome looks the kobolds brown robes up and down.
"Tunnelhunterth?" he snears.  "Do I look like a theif to you?"
"No." Yip answers.  He flounders for a few seconds, thinking of something to say.  "Can I offer you a drink?"
"No."

Another moment of confused silence.  Yip is uneasy with the gnome strangers hostility, unaware of the ancestral hatred between them.

"Care to make a bet?" he offers meekly.  The gnomes ears perk up a little.
"What thort of bet?" he asks, his eyes starting to gleam.

Yip thinks of the skills he was trained in before the war, the trick of deflecting an arrow with his bare hands that he never quite got the knack of all the time.  The gnome has a number of daggers hidden about his person, tucked into small belt-sheaths and bootsheats, hidden in the folds of his robes.

"You throw a dagger at me," Yip offers.  "If I catch it, I owe you a gold.  If you hit me, you give me a gold."
"Doethn't thound like much of a bet."
"Well, think of it this way," Yip explains.  "You either earn a gold or maim me.  Either way, it seems something that would make you happy."

The gnome thinks on this for a second and finds it hard to argue the kobolds logic.

"What if I kill you?"
"I'll take the chance.  Consider it a bonus." 
"Just one dagger?" The gnome clarifies, "Thrown like any other dagger I'd throw?"

There's a note of eagerness in the question that makes Yip concerned, but he tries to relax.  His prior failures have always been with arrows or crossbow bolts, on the field of battle where his concentration was sorely pressed.  Surely here, in a small tavern, he can deflect a single dagger thrown by a robed gnome no matter what the throwers skill is.

"Agreed."


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## Mathew_Freeman (Nov 6, 2002)

Yay! Another story hour to read. *adds it to the pile*

I'm sure when I stop posting here everyday it's going to take me about a week to catch up...


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## arwink (Nov 7, 2002)

_Monday, August 14th, 518 AF, Continued _ 

Durhon walks cloaser to the black-armored human, noting the dwarf-forged longsword resting by the warriors chair.  The tall man doesn't look in good shape - his eyes are already red and bleary from ale, and his close-cropped hair is almost as chaotic and random as Durhon's own.  The man in black is staring at the exchange between Yip and the gnome, squinting over his mug of all with an expression of intense concentration.

"Hey," Durhon barks.  He pulls a chair closer to the table and sits down.  The human turns his gaze to him, stares for a few seconds, then returns his attention to Yip.

"It's a kobold," he mumbles under his breath.  
Durhon looks over his shoulder.
"Seems so," he agrees.

The human straightens slightly.  His reddened nose twitches slightly as he seems to notice Durhon's odour for the first time, but he manages to hide the expression well.
"It's a kobold," he repeats.  "But it's not evil?"
"Aye," Durhon agrees.  "Maybe.  It's well-trained, at least."
"How?" the human asks.  "My vision has been failing me of late, clouding more and more as the days go by, but surely..."

his musing is interupted as Durhon spits out a cloud of watery ale, his expression suddenly irate.
"Grash!" he curses.  "You're a paladin."
The dark-haired man nods.
"I am Xoad, Paladin of Heironous," he says.  He offers a hand over the table.
"I didn't think you could drink ale," Durhon accuses.  Xoad shrugs.
"I've never stopped.  Heironous has always seen fit to grant me his powers, no matter how much I drink."
Xoad gives a sudden hiccup.
"Although occasionally his faith in me does seem to waver."

Durhon takes a few moments to absorb this information, eventually draining his ale and holding up two fingers to order more.

"I'm Durhon," he says, shaking the paladins hand.  "Soldier.  Retired."
He finds it hard to avoid spitting out the last word in disgust.
"You're a vetran of the Trollmists?" Xoad asks.
"Yah."
"An ugly war," Xoad agrees.  "I spent six months there, in the initial campaign, before the Heironous visions called me away and the church excused me from service."
"There were ogres to kill," Durhon grunts.  "It wasn't all bad.  It was more interesting than here.  You know much about the area?"
Xoad shrugs.  The barkeep arrives with another two ales, places them in front of the paladin and the dwarf.

"You hear anything about this temple?" Durhon asks.  "Is it really as empty as everyone says?  Nothing nasty lurking in the basement?"
"It's empty," Xoad states simply.  "I go out there every now and then, but there's nothing there.  Hobgoblins in the upper levels, little more than bandits."
"Hobgoblins are something."
"Not enough," Xoad grumbles.  "Heironous sent me here chasing a vision of fire and blood.  The end of the world.  There is nothing but hobgob...er, I think your kobold may be in trouble."

Durhon turns around in time to see Yip straighten and agree to the gnomes conditions.  

"What's the smelly runt up too now?"

The robed kobold backs away, standing in the centre of the taproom with a calm expression on his face.  At the same time, the gnome plucks a dagger from his belt and starts chanting, pulling a tiny wooden target from a belt-pouch.  Within seconds, the dagger is suddenly shimmering with magical energy.

"Thrown like any other dagger I'd throw," the gnome smirks.  Yip looks at the amber glow surrounding the dagger's blade and feels a brief moment of panic.  

The gnomes throw is clumsy, but the magic guides the dagger true.  Yip's concentration shatters, sudden images of the dagger point cutting through an eye-ball or chest scale filling his head.  He lets out a momentary yelp of fear, his hands moving in a trained reflex.  

There is a flash of pain, and he looks down to see the dagger sticking through one of his scaly paws.  It hurts immensely, but Yip is willing to accept it as the lesser of two evils.  He summons as much willpower as he can to avoid grimacing in pain.

"My gold coin?" he asks through gritted teeth.  The gnome is grinning widely as he pays.

"Well worth it," the gnome tells him.  "Come back any time."

Yip accepts his coin and walks over to the table with Durhon and Xoad.  His hand is bleeding profusely, and he tries to stem it with the sash from his robe.

Durhon looks down at him as he arrives.
"Idiot," he grunts.  Yip tries to look unconcerned as he sits.


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## arwink (Nov 10, 2002)

_Monday, August 14th, 518 AF, Continued _ 

There are a few more hours of drinking.  Durhon alternates buying rounds with Xoad, glad to have a companion capable of drinking in quantities equal to his own.  Yip sits in the corner, nursing his bloody paw.  Drinking ale has become a great deal more complicated since reciving his wound.  The human-sized ale tankards have always taken a two paws to lift, and he ends up spilling a good deal of his drink down the front of his robe.  As the ale flows, they manage to tease out more of Xoads story.  He was originally stationed in the the same church battalion as their companion Taranos, although Xoad doesn't remember ever meeting the dwarven priest.  They also find out more about the vision that drew Xoad to the town, and even Durhon has to admit the paladins visions of fire and blood probably don't bode well.

As the afternoon slowly passes, the faint rumblings of hungers start in the companions stomach.  With nothing buy beer and berries to eat in the past few days, Durhon is eager to get something approaching a decent dinner, and after tasting the tavern's ale he's not willing to try their food.

"Come on," he calls to his drinking buddies.  "Time te go bug Treehugger fer some lunch."

Warwind and Taranos have had a productive day, their larder well stocked after a trip to the market and the first load of lumber being put to good use in repairing Warwinds delapidated hut.  Unfortunately, they quickly discover that the skills of a soldier do not translate particularly well to home repairs.  Warwind is at home in the trees, the battlefield and the library, but the manual labor of nailing planks over holes is somewhat more haphazard.  Worse, he has to keep an eye on Taranos and occasionally remind the dwarf that a plank of wood requires a very different mode of craftsmenship to stone.  Taranos swears a lot, and occasionally hits his thumbs with a small hammer.

Neither is particularly pleased when Durhon, Yip and Xoad arrives, but neither are they surprised.  

"What in hells have you been up to?" Taranos demands of the drunk trio.  Durhon grins and breaks wind, and Yip simply holds up a wounded paw.

"Taranos fix?" he asks.

The dwarven preists grumbles as he chants a short prayer to Heironous, and grumbles more when he's introduced to a drunken paladin of his god.  He quickly quizes a suddenly shamefaced Xoad on his reasons for being in the area, and the grumbling quickly turns into outright swearing when he hears the words "End of the world."

"This is just what we need," he spits.  "All I wanted was retirement, the chance to relax for a few years before being thrown into the face of evil once more.  What do I get?  Drunken holy-warriors with portents of doom.  Some days I think the shining lord hates the empire."


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## arwink (Nov 11, 2002)

_Monday, August 14th, 518 AF, Continued _ 

Xoad is chased off by Taranos outburst, his already unstable faith in Heironous further shaken by the ranting of the dwarven cleric.  There is a clap of thunder in the distance, and Yip's tail twitches as he can smell rain on the air.

Warwind looks at the trio standing expectantly around his hut.  Eventually he invites them to stay for a meal, none-to-pleased to be sharing his food with the smelly dwarf and confused kobold.

They are midway through the meal when the rain starts, tapping against the rooftop.  There are far fewer leaks than the night before, although the walls still contain numerous trails of water seeping through cracks and soaking into the ground.  After the meal, they sit on the huts dirt floor and watch the lightening flash through the window.

Late in the afternoon, a cloaked figure appears at the doorway.

"Greetings," a deep voice calls.  "I've brought you some blankets."

The man who walks into the hut is tall and red-haired, dressed in a suit of battle-worn armor.  He hands a pile of blankets over to the surprised warwin and hunches down beside the small fire the four vetrans have built.

"I'm Elmo," he says.  "Head of the town militia.  Heard you folks were new in town and thought I'd stop by."

There is a brief round of introductions, then an expectant pause while everyone waits for Elmo to speak.  No-one trusts that this is a friendly visit.

"I'll be blunt," Elmo says, looking at their expantant faces.  "I'm not happy that the Empire is farming off vetrans to the smaller towns.  Nothing personal, but what are you folk planning to do now you're here?  Hommlet's a small place, know what I'm saying?  The people work hard, and everyone does there bit to keep things that way.  The towns had a hard past, and we don't want anything disturbing that.  Especially not a bunch of bored vetrans with little cash and fewer skills."

Elmo pointedly eyes the haphazard patchwork job on the ceiling.

"So, now that you're here, do you have any plans?"

There is a general chorus of confusion.  None of the vetrans had expected the war to end, becoming acostomed to the unending years of battle.  

"Well," Elmo grins, "people aren't as comfortable with idle warriors sitting around the town as they once were.  It's not like the Temple's still looming over us and we need the spare blades.  Now the towns more peaceful.  I was thinking, if you want to earn yourselves a little goodwill, might I suggest doing something for the watch?  Just a favor, no payment, but it might help get some of the locals on side..."

Durhon is all to eager to agree, responding before anyone else has processed the offer.  His voice is eager and hungry.

"You got something fer us to kill?"

"No, no," Elmo says.  "Well, probably not.  See, I've heard a couple of rumors about strange folks in the hills, robed people heading out to the old Moathouse to the east of town.  It's probably nothing - robed strangers have traditionally been bad news for Hommlet, but normally they head straight out to the ruins and don't bother with the minor strongholds.  We figured anything worthwhile in the moathouse had been picked clean years ago anyway.  But just in case, well, if you've got nothing else to do you might want to go check the old mouthouse out.  Just to put my mind at ease, help everyone in town relax a bit."

The four vetrans look at one another.  Yip is hunched down, nodding eagerly at the chance to do something to help his new home.  Maybe, if he's lucky, these robed strangers would be thives and he can hunt like the old days.  Warwind and Taranos are less eager, but can see the logic in earning some goodwill from the town.  Durhons already on his feet and shaking hands with Elmo as the others make their decision.

"We're on it."  He grunts.  "Find 'em, check 'em out and kill 'em if they're up to no good.  Been looking for some action anyway."

Elmo beams.  He bids them goodnight as they start making plans, then walks out into the rain wiping a smear of Durhon's grime from the palm of his hand.


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## arwink (Nov 17, 2002)

_Tuesday, August 15th, 518 AF_

The four vetrans set out the next morning, ready and raring to face anything they may find at the old moathouse.  They're armed with little information about the area, simpy hoping that Elmo's vague description of "at the end of the overgrown path leading east, about a day and a halfs travel from town..." is as accurate as they need.

The first days travel is fairly easy.  The lands around Hommlet are lush and green, with occasional groves of trees and small woods breaking the monotony of farmland.  It takes them the better part of the day before they reach the less civilised hills to the east, and the path becomes more overgrown and harder to follow.  As night falls, they look for a camp.  Eventually Durhon suggests a small hilltop, a cluster of stones providing cover from the wind and the arrows of any stray goblin war-party that may happen along.  They quickly start a small fire and they settle down to an evening of iron rations.

Yip is the first to hear something moving in the dark beyond their firelight.  His ears prick up instantly, and the koblolds wiry frame is suddenly snapped to attentiveness.

"Yep smell something," he barks.  "Something moving out there."
Durhon opens his mouth to make a ribald comment at the remark, but closes it again when he sees Taranos scowl.
"Can you sneak up on it?" the dwarven cleric asks.  Yip shrugs.  It isn't like sneaking through the thieves tunnels beneath the capital, but he's sure he can adapt.  Seeing Taranos nod, he slinks off into the darkness beyond the firelight, crawling on all fours towards the nearest sizable rock.

Taranos, Warwind and Durhon go back to their meal, but all three are much more alert than before.  Warwind makes sure a loaded crossbow is within easy reach, while Durhon and Taranos make sure their weapons are in place for a quick, easy draw.

Yip slinks forward.  With his nightvision, he can see the dim outline of the watcher against the dark-grey shape of the rocks.  The shape doesn't appear to be looking for him, and instead leans over the stone and gazes down at the fire and Yips companions.  As Yip creeps closer, he can hear the strange figure muttering to itself.

"Fire and food.  Strangers with fire and food.  Who would have thought.  Out here.  And no robes, this time round.  Who'd have thunk it?  Do you think they'll share?  If I ask nicely?  Maybe they want to trade..."

Yip pauses behind a rock, listening to the constant random mumbling echo through the darkness.  The small kobold has three shiruken clenched in one fist, ready to fling at a dangerous target, but something tells him they wont be necessary.

Warwind, Taranos and Durhon let out an audible groan of surprise when they hear Yip's high-pitched voice cutting through the darkness.
"Yip say hello.  Who you?"
It's followed, almost immediately, by a hoarse and croaky voice screaming in fear.

"AAAaaarghh!  Wild kobold."


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## arwink (Nov 18, 2002)

_Tuesday, August 15th, 518 AF, Continued_ 

Yip holds his paws in the air as he approaches the panicking figure, trying hard to look unthreatening.

"Yip not hurt," the kobold says forcefully.  "Brother Yip work for the Church."

Before he gets further into his placating speach, a pair of dwarves come barreling out of the darkness and put themselves between the screaming human and the kobold.

"Shut up," Durhon screams, his face twisting into a snarl.  "Every blasted critter in a twelve mile radius heard you screaming, and a wild kobold ain't goin to scare 'em off."

The angry dwarf's grim visage and odour do little to calm the man down.  Taranos sends his companions back to the fire and tries to calm the stranger down on his own.  Although short, he does bear the holy symbol of Heironous and has bathed at least once in recent memory, so he does a lot better.  He convinces the stranger to stop screaming, explains that Yip is tame and a servant of St Cuthbert's church, and eventually convinces the man to join them by the fire.

The human Taranos leads into the fire is ragged, his clothing patchedworked with cured pelts from a dozen animals.  There are small twigs twinned into his matted hair, and the half-crazed grin he offers the vetrans is missing several teeth.
"This is Del," Taranos says.  "Someone give him some food."

Warwind is the only person carrying spare rations, and there is a great deal of grumbling from the elf as he hands over a few strips of dried meat and a bread loaf.  After weeks of watching Durhon eating, none of them react to the undisguised gusto that Del uses to attack his food, gobbets of spit and half-chewed food dropping out of his mouth.  The wild-eyed man grins happily as he talks around his meal.

"Many thanks," he says.  "Ain't had a meal like that in a while.  Gets' sparse, out here.  Not much call for bakers to travel this far out, ye know?  And I'm not much of a cook myself."

There is a quick round of questions, and the vetrans discover that Del is a hermit who lives in the hills.  He hides out in a few scattered caves, although he won't give them any idea of where they are, and he makes a meager living trapped and skinning creatures for an elven merchant who makes a pilgrimage to the hills once every three months or so.  

Eventually, Yip asks about strangers wandering the hills.

"Sure," Del says.  "But they aren't real friendly folk.  Brown robed, a lot of them.  Priestlike.  They wander back and forth between the town and the old gatehouse.  Sometimes they even bring wagons.  They gots beastmen with 'em, big buggers with axes and fur.  They act all secret-like, but old Del see's em.  They're in my hills, so I know they're here."

"The gatehouse?" Taranos says.  "They're actually poking around in the ruins?"
Del nods.  Durhon is grins to himself at the news.
"Looks like I'll gets to kill something soon after all."

Del immediately widens his eyes, panic writ on his features.
"No," he screams.  "Don't go to the gatehouse.  It's dangerous.  Frightening.  Not safe to go there, even before.  People don't stay dead, not even the brown-robes.  Dangers.  Many dangers."

Everyone shrugs.  They were expecting as much anyway.  Ruined strongholds of evil gods have a natural attraction for the undead.  Then Warwind runs through Del's statement in his head, and runs across a frightening thought.

"Even before?" he asks.  "You mean its worse since the clerics and beastmen came?"
"No," Del replies.  "They were just poking around.  Worse since the dragon came.  Big bugger, just landed in the ruins and crawled inside.  I been hearing screams from inside for days.  Don't wanna be goin near a dragon.  It ain't healthy."

No-one has anything to say to tha, but there's a sudden clench of fear and doubt in every gut.  They were asked to track down stray priests, not slay a dragon.  Even after the horrors of the Trollmists, it's not a prospect they look forward too.  

They set watch, and everyone tries to sleep while Warwind takes first shift.  Del curles up by their fire, drifting off into sleep in a matter of seconds.  The Vetrans, trying to remember as much dragon lore as they can, take a lot longer to drift off.


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## arwink (Nov 20, 2002)

_Wednesday, August 16th, 518 AF_ 

The moathouse isn't the imposing sight the group was expecting.  They crest a nearby hill in the dim light of the morning, having left a sleeping Del by the ashes of their fire.  The Moathouse lies below them, a ramshackle ruin barely larger than a manor house.  The upper story of the small keep has fallen in, the moat has turned to a dank bog and the tower has crumbled to rubble.  Only the short walls that suround the building and the bare remains of the Boathouse itself remain, and even then the roof has caved in at various points.  While the party was expecting sinister, but instead they find themselves underawed by the supposed site of evil.

"Arg," Durhon curses.  "What a crock."
"There's still a dragon," Taranos reminds him.  "That's not something to look forward too."
"Like we're trusting the word of a looney who wanders the hills alone and can't properly cure a hide."

Durhon tries to grin, but a faint undercurrent of fear can be detected in his voice.  He tightens his grip on his enchanted greataxe, ready for everything.

The four companions head down the hill towards the ruined gate.  They can see a boggy pool of water filled with reeds near the path, but more worrying is three strong timber planks laid accross the ruined remnants of a drawbridge.

"Someone's been here recently," Warwind comments.  Everyone nods and starts heading for the drawbridge.

Yip's emotions are calm this morning, and he feels a sense of inner peace he hasn't achieved since before the start of the war.  The feeling of hunting those who break the law, even such a simple law as those favored by Hommlet's locals, brings a sense of wellbeing he'd almost forgotten.  Perhaps its because of this inner peace that his senses become more attuned, and he's the only one of the party to notice a rustling in the reed-filled pool.

"Something moving," he hisses.  He pulls a fistfull of shiruken from the folds of his robe and drops into a defensive stance.  The rest of the party turns to follow his gaze.

"I don't see anything," Durhon complains.  "Bloody runts seeing things."
Yip shakes his head.
"No, something there.  Definately."

The reeds remain gently blowing in the breeze.  Taranos, Warwind and Durhon exchange glances - it's obvious Yip thinks there's something there, and they aren't heading forward until someone investigates.  Durhon suddenly realises that everyone's looking at him expectantly.

"What?" he grumbles.
Taranos points at the pool.
"Yer kiddin me," Durhon says, but he moves closer to the pool none the less.  He walks up to the pool, armor clanking, and pokes at the reeds with his axe.  

"See," he says over his shoulder, "Baint nothin' in here."

About this point a sticky, pink tendril shoots out of the reeds and wraps itself a round the dwarf.  Durhon gives a short cry as the tendril wraps his arms close to his body, trapping his waraxe too close to his chest to be manavuered.  Everyone reacts at once, rushing to the waters edge with bows, crossbows and shiruken prepared, looking desperately for something to aim at.  They find nothing, and within seconds Durhon has managed to struggle his way free.  He backs away from the pool, axe at the ready, and everyone follows suite.

"Right," he orders.  "Everyone avoid the water."
Warwind sniffs at the dwarves stench.
"How's that different from your normal policy."

They give the reed sodden pool a wide berth and cross over the drawbridge.  They hide for a moment in the remains of an old gatehouse, small but serviceable enough to give them cover.  Durhon and Yip lean out past the ruined remains of the gates and look accross the courtyard.  There's a good eighty to a hundred feet between their hiding spot and the main doors to the keep, and the interior they can see betyond the main doors is murky to say the least.  There are also arrowslits, about half a dozen, that remain in the walls that haven't yet falled in.  Both of them go back to hiding.  If someone, or something, was planning an ambush, this is the obvious place.

"Go scout the doors," Durhon tells Yip.  The kobold doesn't look pleased at the prospect.
"Look, yer's the smallest and the quietest," Durhon says.  "Ye also smell the worst.  If there's something out there, maybe it wont want to take a chunk out of you.  We'll be here.  If something jumps at you, I'll be there to axe it down faster than you can scream."

Yip looks to Taranos and Warwind for support, but they merely ready bow and crossbow and nodded support for Durhon's plan.

"There is no individual, only the team," Yip thinks, a mantra from his training.  Somehow, it had a lot more resonance when his team were similarly devoted kobolds.  He lets out a small sigh and prepares to creep into the courtyard.

Yip keeps his senses alert and his mind focus.  Staying close the walls doesn't seem like a good option - he's had one bad experience to many with arrow slits in thives dens, so he tries to look small and innoffensive as he crawls towards the centre of the courtyard.  

He crawls on all fours, close to the ground, and does his best to stay in the shadow of the keeps upright walls.  It's not a lot of concealment, but it may be enough.  He gets halfway to the keeps main doors when he realises its not.

A draconic head, Lizardlike and covered with dark, heavy scales, lifts itself from the shadows of the doorway.  Yip's senses screaming danger and he reacts instinctively, his arm reaching for his shiruken and flinging them at the door.  Two of the throwing blades embed in the rotting wood of the door, while a third skitters uselessly of the stone wall.  Yip has enough time to curse his luck before the dragons jaws open, and the smell of ozone cuts through the air seconds before a blast of lightning leaps across the courtyard...


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## CoopersPale (Nov 21, 2002)

Brother Yip is cool!

Just thought you may enjoy a message of support fo this story hour.
I really like this arwink, It's funny and well written.
I'm glad I clicked the link and had a read.
(which I will continue to do)


keep it up!


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## arwink (Nov 22, 2002)

Thanks (and may I say, that's a fine screenname you've got there.  Makes me thirsty just looking at it...)

I have a certain fondness for Yip - he causes very little damage (strength penalty and low damage punches) but his AC serves him well, particularly against touch attacks.

And as you'll see in the fight against the dragon, he does have one weapon that makes him as effective as the rest of the party...


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## arwink (Nov 24, 2002)

_Wednesday, August 16th, 518 AF, continued_ 

The line of lightening arcs across the courtyard, impacting against the brick wall just a few feet short of the wooden door the rest of the party is using for cover.  Yip's reflexes kick in before he's even conscious of the lightening bolts path.  He drops to the ground, rolling to the side, then looks at the scorched line of flagstones where the electricity has past by.  There is a breif moment of panic, followed by overwhelming relief that he appears to be whole and unwounded.  He mutters a breif prayer of thanks to St Cuthbert and the warrior priest who trained him as he springs to his feet.

Yip hears a mighty scream behind him, then sees Durhon charging past with his great axe raised high above his head.  The dwarf moves swiftly, despite the heavy chain he wears, and covers the courtyard in a quick dash.  There is the jingle of chain as Durhon's leaps take him up the short stairs to the buildings doorway and the dwarf strikes out at the dragon.  The axe cuts a deadly arc, impacting on the wyrms nose.  There is a sudden spurt of blood and the dragon roars in pain.  Yip follows a few steps behind the dwarf and launches a flying kick at the dragon's raised head.  Although his claw catches the creatures scaley hide, there is little force behind the blow.  Yip hisses as he lands, angry and frightened when he realises he's placed himself in the front line.

There is the mutter of hasty spellcasting coming from the gateway to the small keep, as Taranos gives himself some small measure of defence against lightening, then hurridly loads his crossbow.  This produces a chuckle from the blue-scaled dragon, confident it can penetrate the dwarfs paltry defenses.  For a few moments it considers doing so, but the pain in its snout reminds it of more pressing concerns, so the beast lurches forward from the Door's shadow and hammers at the Durhon with claws and teeth.  A few wounds are inflicted, but Durhon has an almost supernatural hardiness that serves him well.  Warwind, on the other side of the courtyard, sees the dragons attacks land and immediately concludes he wouldn't far so well in the same circumstances.  He immediately summons a suit of arcane armor, fervently hoping it wont be neccessary.

Durhon and the dragon trade blows for a few seconds, Yip hovering on the fringe of their duel to throw inneffectual punches against the dragons scales.  Durhon swears as his companions try to aid him, Warwind and Taranos firing a arrows and crossbow bolts that narrowly miss both himself and the dragon.

"Fer the love of the gods," he yells over his shoulder.  "Yer a mage.  Put down the bow and hit it with a spell."
"Dragon's are hard to hurt with Magic," Warwind yells back, notching another arrow.  Then both of them realise what they've just said aloud, and there's the sharing of a communal curse word.  They notice the Dragon's ears have pricked with curiousity, even as it rains blows against Durhon's defences.

The dragon sets its eyes on the far side of the courtyard, watching the elven wizard notch with a gleam in its eye.  It bears a few cuts and bruises, but it's dealt much damage to the dwarven warrior in exchange.  Durhon is bleeding from multiple wounds, some of them deep enough to cause the warrior extreme discomfort.  

The dragon decides the odds are in its favor and lurches forward, knocking Durhon a few feet down the steps and causing Yip to flatten himself against the wall to avoid the same fate.  The dragon's lurch becomes a spring as it's bulk is pulled free of the building and it takes to the air.

"Wizard," it purrs, and its eyes gleam with anticipation.


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## arwink (Nov 26, 2002)

_Wednesday, August 16th, 518 AF, continued _ 

Utreshimon, the dragon, hovers in the air above the courtyard.  It looks down on the gnats that oppose it, trying to force their way into its new lair.  The axe-wielding dwarf is picking itself up at the bottom the stairs, keeping a wary eye on the hovering dragon as it pulls a crystal vial from a belt pouch.  As the dwarf drinks the liquid, several of the wounds Utreshimon inflicted heal.

The second dwarf, armed with a crossbow, fires a bold from its vantage point near the outside wall.  The bolt clatters accross Utreshimon's scales.  The dwarf is also screaming at the elven wizard, telling him to cast spells before it's too late.  The wizard is pale and frightened, huddled against the stone as he casts. The rapid beat of the dragons wings stirs up the debris scattered among the flagstone, raising a cloud of dust that blocks the dragons sight of his prey.  His keen senses can still sense them in the cloud below, and he hears the wizard complete a spell and smells a sudden crackle of flame.  Utreshimon gives a breif laugh of amusement at the wizards feeble spell, until the rolling ball of flame lept out of the mist and scorched a scaled flank.  It's a minor wound, but the unexpectedness of the attack stuns the dragon.  He roars in suprise and breathes another bolt of lightening into the mist, listening to cries of horror from those below.

Of the four adventurers, only Yip is free from the blinding effects of the dust.  He can see Taranos' bolts rising out of the mist, the strange sight of Warwind's ball of flame leaping out in futile attempts to strike the dragon, and hear the rumbling curses of Durhon when the dwarf realises the dragon isn't going to return to melee combat.  None of Yips companions can see the dragon, and the kobold can tell they are doomed if the dragon remains in the air, whipping up the cloud of dust.  

Yip grits his teeth, his tail twiching in aggitation.  He can think of only one chance, and even then it seems a longshot.  He pulls a bola free from his belt and starts whirling it above his head.  

Traditionally his order is trianed in the weapon to help stop fleeing theives, and Yip has seen the masters achieve some truly miraculous things with the weapon, but after four years in the war he's had little chance to use the weapon in combat and he's never brought down anything larger than a fleeing gazzel.  THe mighty limbs of the dragon would shred the weapon in seconds - his only chance is to entangle the franticly beating wings.  

Muttering a short prayer to St Cuthbert, he lets loose with the weapon.  The spinning weights carry it towards the flying creature with unerring accuracy, and Yip cannot contain his cry of triumph as Utreshimon's wings are tangled together, bringing the flying dragon crashing to the ruined courtyard below...


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## Durhon (Nov 27, 2002)

errr.... stinkin friggin dragon.  As er rememba correct I damn near snotted the thing next.  Nice ol' axe t the 'ead.  'ad to do somethin before stinkin Knobbyknees 'ead got too big!


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## arwink (Dec 2, 2002)

_Wednesday, August 16th, 518 AF, continued _ 

Yip lets out a short yelp of glee as he sees the dragon's entangled form drop into the dust cloud.  The impact of the wyrms body on the aged cobblestones is audible, and several of them crack under the sudden weight.  Utreshimon lets out a growl of pain on impact, which causes the kobold monk to grin even wider.

Under the cover of the settling dust cloud, Utreshimon shreds the kobolds bola and free's himself, regaining his feat with an almighty roar.  It does him little good.  The four vetrans see a sudden advantage, and Taranos leads a charge to engage the creature in hand to hand.  

As the dust settles Utreshimon finds himself flanked by Durhon, Taranos and Yip, with Warwind's flaming sphere rolling perilously beneath his feet.  Utreshimon, for the first time in its life, feels a moment of panic.  He lashes out with claws, jaws and wings, and scores several serious wounds against his foes.  Although Taranos is slowed by the slashing claws and Yip is forced to fall back, they merely serve to make Durhon angry.  The smelly dwarves vision goes red, and he starts gibbering innanely as he hammers at the dragon with his oversized axe.  Soon dwarf and dragon are trading each other blow for blow - the dragons teeth and claws barely causing as much damage as the rage-fuled smites of the dwarven warrior.  

For the first time, Utreshimon's thoughts turn to escape.  Seconds before he can take to the air, Durhon's crushing blow smashes the dragon to the ground, causing it's legs to buckle beneath it.  Durhon crows with joy to see the dragon picking itself up off the ground, a dazed expression on its face.  Warwind takes the opportunity to hammer the wyrm with a magic missile, while Taranos scores his first decent blow with his sword.  Even the rapid staccato of Yip's tiny paws against the creatures scales seem to bring it even closer to exhaustion.

Utreshimon panics.  Sorely wounded, disoriented and suddenly afraid of the dwarf with the cruel axe, he sees the possibility of death looming before him.  On reflex, he unleashes a final burst of electricity.  Durhon catches a the merest edge of the blast, a jolt of power running making his tangled hair suddenly stand on end, but Taranos and Warwind take the brunt of the blast.  Taranos is thrown into a wall by the electric charge, his blackened and smoking body falling in a heap on the ground.  Warwind tries to take cover behind the remenants of the gateway doors, but the flimsy wood is blasted apart and the elven wizard dies in an agony of burning energy and splinters.

There is a moment of stillness accross the courtyard.  The wildeyed dragon turns its gaze on Durhon even as the dwarf raises his axe for another strike.  Yip merely looks accross the courtyard, at two companions he's sure are already dead.  He's seen such things happen to clan-teams in the theif tunnels before, and he knows it usually means one thing - they're screwed.  Only years of training prevents him from closing his eyes to avoid watching the next blow, knowing that both he and Durhon are dead if the dwarf misses.  

"Kill," he shrieks at Durhon.  "Killkillkillkillkillkill!"  

The dwarf complies immediately.

Durhon roars with rage as his axe leaps forward, burying it deep in the dragon's skull.  Utreshimon topples slowly, like a falling tree, and collapses to the ground in a cloud of dust.  Durhon wrenches his axe out of the dragons skull, leaning on it as he calms down, struggling for breath.

"Now that," he says between hurried gasps.  "That was what I call a fight."

He grins widely at Yip while the terrified kobold waits for the reality of their victory to sink in.


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## arwink (Dec 3, 2002)

*A Brief Diversion in the Afterlife*

_For my players:  Guys, blame Sean.  He originally gave me the idea..._ 

Interlude

Utreshimon wakes suddenly, the pain in his head suddenly gone.  The dragon feels a thrill of exhileration, followed by a crushing hollowness when it realises it can no longer feel...anything.  Attempts to stretch the tiredness from its limbs meet with little success, and when it attempts to take to the air Utrishimon find it floats rather than flies.

It's a disturbing feeling, and the dragon comes to a single conclusion - it's dead.

Utreshimon looks around.  The afterlife is grey, bland.  Not what he was expecting.  He hears the sound of a throat being cleared, and looks down to see a grinning halfling floating where his tallons would have been if he still had flesh.  Utreshimon's first instinct is to snap at the morsel, but is held back by a sudden feeling of unease when the thoughts run through his head.

"So," the halfling asks, "World's greatest predator, huh?  What happened to you?"

Utreshimon thinks back, trying to work out where his final stand went wrong.

"Well," he rumbles though a non-existent throat, "there was this kobold..."

End Interlude


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## Durhon (Dec 4, 2002)

yeah great!! Can see that one coming back to bite us!!


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## arwink (Dec 4, 2002)

_Wednesday, August 16th, 518 AF, continued _ 

Durhon and Yip take little time to rest.  As soon as the dwarf has regained his breath, he cuffs the kobold behind an ear.

“C’mon,” he growls.  “Lets see if they got something useful.”

Yip hesitates slightly at Durhon’s suggestion, but quickly sees the logic in his words.  Both of them are wounded, and their companions are dead.  Warwind, at least, would be carrying a few healing potions that could keep them alive along enough to get back to Hommlet.  The kobold limps towards the corpses of his two companions, then gingerly starts picking through the contents of their packs.

Taranos’ is the worst to go through, many of his possessions blackened and charred from the dragons final burst of lightening.  The cleric’s enchanted sword has melted into slag, and the impact against the wall has broken a potion vial.  Despite this, there are still a few scrolls and potions left intact and all bear the Empire’s common rune for healing.

Warwind’s pack is more whole, and as suspected is filled with healing magic.  Durhon and Yip split the vials, downing the precious potions until they find themselves nearly whole.

“Well,” Durhon grunts, “at least he’s doing something useful.”

With their wounds healed, both of them turn towards more mundane tasks.  Yip starts ripping free the dragon’s teeth, hiding them away in a belt pouch.
“What ye doin’ that for?” Durhon demands.  “Think you’ll become mage or somethin’?”
Yip shakes his head, then holds two of the teeth up to his own mouth like saber-toothed fangs.
“Useful, maybe,” he chirps cheerfully.  “Decoration, at least.”

Durhon grunts.  He contemplates skinning the wyrm for armor but figures there’s not quite enough scales to make a decent suit for anyone but Yip.  The dragon looks smaller in death, only slightly larger than a man, and as its toothy maw is rapidly depopulated by Yip it slowly starts to loose the fearsome aspect it had during the battle.

Leaving the kobold to his plunder of the dragon’s anatomy, Durhon climbs the stores and pushes past the doors into the gatehouse’s Great Hall.  

The Hall still caries the stench of the dragon’s occupation, as well as two decaying corpses.  Durhon, used to his own odor, hardly notices as he strides cautiously through the door.  He takes the time to give both corpses a cursory examination, taking a few moments to loot anything that seems interesting.  The first is that of a human female, still clad in black leather armor and killed by wounds that resemble a dragon’s claw mark.  Durhon takes the woman’s short bow, as well as some scattered gold coins and 3 green gems.  The second is half-eaten, the dragon’s teeth shearing through the chainmail it once wore.  Durhon takes the corpses faintly glowing mace, some gold coins, a scroll and a mask carved from some kind of strange lilac stone.   The corpse also wears brown robes over its chainmail, and Durhon remembers Del’s warning of strangers in the ruins.  Almost as an afterthought, Durhon checks the symbols both corpses wear around their necks.  Both wear a symbol the warrior doesn’t recognize, a yellow Y inscribed into the black, triangular stone.   Maybe it will help Elmo determine what’s going on.

Grimly, the dwarf turns on his heel and strides into the courtyard.  Yip is still happily pulling teeth from the dragon’s head.  The small kobold barely notices as Durhon strides towards him, but screams in surprise when the Dwarf brings his great-axe down on the dragon’s neck, severing the head.

“Come on,” Durhon grunts, “We’re goin.”
Yip glares angrily as Durhon leans over and hefts the dragon’s head onto his shoulder.
“Why take head?” Yip demands.
Durhon jerks his chin towards the doorway to the hall.

“There’s a pair o’ corpses in there,” he explains.  “Two of them, one in brown robes like Del said.  I ain’t takin the chance there’s no more of em, and I ain’t taken the chance they ain’t priests.  Last thing I wanna do is face ‘is nastiness again as a zombie.”

Yip contemplates this for a moment, then nods in agreement.
“What about them?”  he asks, gesturing at the bodies of their fallen comrades.

“Might have enough to bring em back,” Durhon says.  “Can’t take both the bodies though.  Go grab an ear or somethin’.  That’s all they need, ain’t it?”

Yip doesn’t look pleased, but he draws a dagger and approaches the corpses.  Once the ears are safely stowed, the dwarf and the kobold start the hike back to Hommlet.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Dec 6, 2002)

I like Durhon. He has such a refreshing attitude to looting the bodies of the fallen. So pragmatic. So much of a realist.


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## arwink (Dec 11, 2002)

I've edited the first post, but I'll mention it again here for those who've been reading for a while.  The Mega-Module Jam now has a companion storyhour - St Cuthbert's Crusaders

St Cuthbert's Crusaders starts with the Churches reaction from the events in the next update, and will most likely intersect with this story a few times more as things progress.

This shameless plug is now over, and I'll go back to writing the next update


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## arwink (Dec 11, 2002)

_Thursday, August 17th, 518 AF_ 

The two survivors of Utreshimon's attack make their way back to Hommlet in record time, stopping only breifly to camp and grab a fitful few hours sleep without the spellcasters to consider.  They trudge into town in the late hours of the morning, still badly beaten and bruised from their fight.

Durhon takes charge as soon as they hit town.  He walks towards the nearest townsman and shakes the bloody sack containing the dragons head at him.

"Elmo.  Where is 'e?" he grunts.  The stunned townsman stammers out basic directions.  The grmbling dwarf immediately stalks off, leaving an appologetic Yip trailing along behind, calling out appologies as they leave the Townsman behind.

"Stoppit," Durhon barks back at the kobold. 

They find Elmo at the entry hall to Pelor's temple, talking quietly with one of the priests.  He raises his hand in greeting.

"So," he asks.  "Did you find..."
Durhon opens the sack and dumps a dragons head at his feet.

"Lizard," he says simply.  Elmo looks down, a little taken aback.

"Dead robe fellas," Durhon says, digging out the holy symbols they found on the corpses in the dragons lair and dropping them on top of the dragon's head.

"And dead comrades."  

Durhon holds up the two ears, then tosses them on top of the pile.  Taranos's is blackened and streaked with ash, while Warwinds is filled with splintered and caked with dry blood.  Elmo's seen battle before, so he doesn't go pale at the sight, but he's visibly disturbed.  He kneels over and picks up the holy symbols, taking care to keep his hands away from ears.

"So," Durhon asks, scooping everything up into the sack once more, "Have we 'helped out' the town enough yet, or do you figure you owe us something for our help?"

"Come with me," Elmo says eventually.  "I'll write a note to the Temple of St Cuthbert.  I think the town can waive the usual tax in this case, and we'll see what can be done about getting your friends raised from the dead."

Durhon nods in grim satisfaction, an dangerous look still on his face as they head off.  Yip follows dutifully behind, frowning slightly at the note of tension that crept in the guard captains voice when he mentioned the St Cuthbert's Temple.


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## arwink (Dec 16, 2002)

_Thursday, August 17th, 518 AF, continued _ 

Durhon and Yip leave Elmo's hut with a note in hand.  They head through town towards the Temple of St Cuthbert, and are greated by a youthful cleric at the gate.

"We need yer priest," Durhon snarls, holding up two ears and Elmo's letter in one hand.  "Fast."

The young cleric goes pale, then hurries to guide them through the temple to Y'dey's office.  He dissappears behind the closed door for a few minutes with their letter, then returns.

"The Cannoness will see you now."  He looks even paler than before.

Yip and Durhon go inside.  Y'Dey is a tall woman, grey-eyed and stern in her robes.  She looks them both over carefully, paying close attention to Yip.

"It says here the town owes you a debt," Y'dey says, holding up the letter.  "And that you'd brought something of interest back from the old Boathouse."

Durhon nods and puts the holy symbol and ears on the desk.  Y'dey goes quiet for a few moments while she examines the symbol, and even Durhon fidgets slightly in the silence.

"This bodes ill," Y'dey says eventually, "and if it means what it may, the town may owe you a debt greater than killing a dragon.  This symbol belonged to the elemental cults that built the boathouse.  The last time they returned to their old base, it was the sign of greater danger to come.  We will be forced to assume they seek to do the same this time."

She picks up the ears.

"And where is the rest?" she asks.
"Boathouse." Durhon grunts.
"You didn't bring them back?"
"They were heavy," Durhon snarls.  "And we was movin' fast without a healer."
"hmm."  Y'dey frowns.  "I can bring them back, but without the body it requires spells beyond my power.  I have some scrolls, but their value is more than the town can afford to pay on it's own..."

There is a poignant pause.  Durhon starts emptying sacks out on the ground before her desk, pouring out the spoils of the dragons lair and several valueable peices of his dead companions equipment.

"We're soldiers, not adventurers," he says.  "We ain't got no money.  How 'bout you take stuff till we're square, then get on with the raisin'?"

Y'dey nods, and starts directing Yip to pick up items and place them on her desk.  Much of the weapons and armor they suspected was magical dissappears into St Cuthbert's coffers, as do the gems, face-mask and contents of much of their church.  Durhon notes that Warwind and Taranos will have precious little to fight with if they return, but figures that's the price to pay for being dead.  Eventually Y'dey nods, and gestures for Durhon to gather the small pile of equipment that remains.

"Go with Calmer," she says, gesturing to the young cleric by the door.  "He'll heal what wounds you have while I bring back your friends.  It will take time, and I make no guarentee of it's success, but they shall return if St Cuthbert wills it."

Durhon raises an eyebrow, then breaks wind to show his displeasure at the concept.

"Right," he says.  "Just bring em back."

He follows Yip out of the room.


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## arwink (Dec 20, 2002)

_Thursday, August 17th, 518 AF, continued _ 

Having been told by Calmer that ressurecting their comrades will take the better part of the evening, if not all night, Durhon decides on a course of action for the evening.

"Ay, runt," he grunts at Yip.  "I'll buy ye and ale."
Yip thinks on this for a few moments, contemplating the scar where his previous trip to a tavern went wrong.
"You got somthin' better to do?" Durhon demands.  Yip shrugs.  He hasn't.

They head towards the Inn of the Welcome Wench, working on Elmo's recommendation that the ale is of a slightly better quality than that of Terrigan's Tavern.

The interior of the Welcome Wench is warm and comforting, and there is already a small crowd gathered in the early twilight.  There's a woman working behind the bar, but she turns away when she smells Durhon's unwashed stench and the dwarf leers at her.  She huddles in the corner, having a short arguement with a burly man who emerges from the kitchen.  Once or twice during the arguement, she waves her hand in front of her nose as though to clear the air.

"Innkeeper," Durhon grunts knowing, nodding at the man arguing with the barmaid.  "I'll stake my stench on it."

Eventually, the burly innkeep bustles up to the companions table.
"What'll it be?" he asks.
"What ye got?" Durhon asks.  THe innkeep rattles off a list of ales and wines, but Durhon's attention is caught by something middway through the list.
"Peat beer?" he demands.  "Did ye just say ye had peat beer?"
"Yessir," the innkeeper says.  "We have a barrel or two on hand, for those with a more discerning palet.  Imported from Beldarrun from the north."
"Done," Durhon says, his grimy beard twisting around ane ecstatic smile.  Yip watches, an uneasy feeling already settling over him.

The innkeep looks at Durhon, sniffs the dwarves offensive odour for a moment.
"I should warn you, sir," he tells the dwarf, "That peat beer will come at a considerable cost."
"Hrm," Durhon grunts.  "Figures.  Save a town from a dragon and they still charge you for an ale."
"Dragon," the Innkeep asks, incredulous.  "I heard nothing about any dragon."

Once again, Durhon up-ends his sack and reveals the spoils of war.  The innkeeper looks at the severed head, aghast.
"What's ye name, Innkeep?" Durhon asks.
"O-o-ostler,"
"Ye own this place, Oster?" Durhon asks reasonably.
"Aye."
"Then how'd you like this trinket for your wall?"
Ostler looks at the dragons head, and almost forgets to nod.
"Then why don't you bring me a peat beer, and one for my friend.  A nights drinking an a plaque with me name seems more than fair for a fresh dragon's head.  Durhon, dragonslayer.  Aye?"

Ostler nods again.
"Two peat beers," the innkeeper agrees.  "With more to come.  And welcome, Durhon, to the Welcome Wench."

The peat beer is brought in short order.  Yip drinks warily, unfamiliar with the dwarven drink.  The beer is thick and heavy, and before he's even finished the first mug Yip feels his tongue hanging heavily in his mouth and a slight dizziness when he starts to talk.  Durhon sits by his side, laughing uproariously.

"A night to remember, knobbly," he shouts at the kobold.  "We killed us a dragon and we be celebratin'.  It's a night to remember."

Yip doesn't remember much beyond the second mug of peat beer, but it occurs to him towards the end that the beers taste reminds him of earth and mud.


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## arwink (Dec 23, 2002)

_Friday, August 18th, 518 AF_ 

Taranos shudders awake, gasping for breath.  His body's last instinct is to dodge a blast of electricity, and he thrashes about on the alter of St Cuthberts temple, rolling to avoid the blast.  He lands in a crouch, hand grasping at the space where his sword once rested, before he realises he's alive.  His wide eyes take in the surroundings.  Insence.  Grey stone.  The iron Cross symbol of St Cuthbert's church.

"How was it?"
Taranos spins, and sees Warwind standing in the shadows behind the alter.  The elf's features are ragged, as though he's been through great turmoil.  Taranos understands the feeling.  He wheezes slightly as his breathing returns to normal, feels his stomach churcning.

"Ain't doing it again," Taranos grunts.  "Next time I die, leave me for Heironous.  It ain't worth this."

Warwind nods.  His experience with returning from death was none to pleasant, but Taranos looks visibly disturbed by the prospect.  Warwind walks forward with a peice of cloth and sponges a small river of blood running from Taranos nose.

"Nosebleed," he offers by way of explanation.  Taranos closes his eyes for a few moments, not answering.

Cannoness Y'dey is standing nearby, the ashes of two recently used scrolls scattered on the floor around her feat.  She barely looks better than the two vetran's she's returned to life.  There's a faint sheen of sweat is visible on her face, and it's obvious that the effort required has taken it's toll on her.

"Calmer," she calls.  The younger priest is instantly by her side.  "Take these two to find their friends."
Warwind and Taranos break into grim smiles at the command.  At least Durhon and Yip seem to have made it back alive.  With one last look at the grim iron cross over the alter, they bow slightly to the Cannoness and follow the ocolyt into Hommlet's streets.


It takes little time to track down Durhon.  Calmer leads the two newly-raised adventurers to the Welcome Wench, and the dwarf if snoring blissfully in a pool of mud by the front door.  
"Figures," Warwind comments.  He nods to Calmer, dismissing him, before joining Taranos in the search for a safe method of waking their companion.  

"Do you think it's safe to poke him?" Warwind asks.
"Nope," Taranos answers.  He points at Durhon's great-axe, clutched to his chest while he sleeps.  "Remember when Argul woke him in the midst of a nightmare outside Calthea?"
Warwind thinks for a moment, then mutters a short prayer for the dead.
"Perhaps cold water?" Warwind ventures.  "If nothing else, he could use a bath."

This gives Taranos an idea.  There is a brief, whispered discussion while he outlines the plan, then a quick retreat to the tavern entrance while Warwind implements it.  

Warwind casts a quick cantrip, summoning the scent of soap-suds directly beneath Durhon's nose.

Durhon is on his feat instantly, axe waving arove his head within seconds of the spells completion.

"Anyone comming near me with soap looses a hand," he snarls.  A glob of still wet mud dislodges itself from his beard and lands with an audiable splat between his feat.  The axe freezes in mid-twirl as he looks down at it, abashed but still guarded.

"Quite," Warwind, sniffing the fragrant air around the dwarf and grinning to himself.  "You know, I think we've found his weakness.  Next time he's stubborn about going somewhere, we just follow along behind him with a cake of soap.  Best put that on the shopping list."

Durhon growls, his nostrils flaring.  Taranos can see trouble brewing
"Where's Yip?" He asks.
"What?" 

Durhon's anger is diffused, replaced with a sudden realisation of where he is.  The midst of the street, muddy, with the aftereffects of the evenings celibration catching up with him.  He feels a sudden bout of nasuea and leans onto the axe-haft to keep upright.  
"Inside," he grunts.  "Hung 'im up for safekeeping before they threw me out."
Then he collapses on the ground, feeling the first signs of a headache.

Taranos leaves Warwind to watch the dwarf, then heads into the Welcome Wench.  His puzzlement at Durhon's use of the phrase "hung up for safe-keepeing" is immediately cleared up when he finds the kobold hanging from a cloak-peg by the taverns door, his scaly feet some two and a half feet from the floor.  Yip seems unphased by this, sleeping soundly with his muzzle flaring with breif, yapping snores.

"Ahem." 

Taranos's loud exclamation wakes the kobold, and even Taranos has to admit that he's impressed by the monks ability to snap from deep sleep to alert.  Tiny paws fly into a defensive position, and the kobolds feet scramble for purchase.
"What happen?" Yip asks.  
"I think, from the looks of things, you went drinking with Durhon," Taranos explains.  Nothing further seems necessary.  Yip takes quick stock of his situation, years of training in the arts of hiding pain almost keeping the effects of his hangover from appearing on his features.   Using his tail as leverage, he pushes himself off the cloak-peg and performs a neat sommersault on landing.  It doesn't prove to be the best idea.

"You...alive?" he asks, after he pulls his head out of a nearby bucket.
"It would appear so."
"Yip glad.  Not good when one of clan dies."
Taranos reply is cut short by Warwinds angry yell from outside.
"You gave them what..."


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## Durhon (Dec 24, 2002)

Actually enjoyed hocking off everyones gear.  Going to be a bummer if I die though as Im sure some revenge will be had.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Dec 24, 2002)

Looks like the...excrement...has hit the fan Re: abandoned equipment...


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## arwink (Dec 25, 2002)

Tallarn said:
			
		

> *Looks like the...excrement...has hit the fan Re: abandoned equipment... *




Well, there was some general unhappiness.  Taranos and Warwind did loose stuff they were fairly attached too, and they were both in another room generating new characters when the realisation that they could be raised dawned on the other two.  They basically got back to the table in time to find most of their valuable possesions being handed over to St Cuthbert's Church.  From memory, Taranos is suddenly down a magic longsword and shield, which is a bit of a blow given the choice of cleric of heironous was made to run around with a blade and call it a holy symbol   I can't rightly remember what I stripped from Warwind.  Scrolls and wands mostly, I think, and his bow which was either masterwork or magical.  Both were also stripped bare of healing magic by Durhon and Yip as well.

Of course, the impact of this was greatly eased when they realised the stuff had gone to getting them true ressurections, keeping them at their current level.  Even better received when they heard that I was working at a reduced XP rate for the entireity of the campaign, but keeping treasure levels around the same standards set by the DMG.

Well, full of X-mas goodness and food right now.  Will be returning home to my notes tomorrow night after seeing the Two Towers, and I'm sure the inspiration of it all will make me want to post a new update then


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## arwink (Dec 26, 2002)

_Friday, August 18th, 518 AF, continued_ 

Taranos and Yip rush outside, to find an angry Warwind attempting to loom menacingly over Durhon.
"I gave yer bow to the priestess," Durhon grunts.  "Ye were dead, and it was the only way te get ye back."
"Why didn't you just pay them with gold," Warwind demands.  Durhon snarls.
"Where'm I getting gold from, Treehugger?" he demands, "It ain't exactly like I'm rich.  Ye was dead, we needed to get ye back.  I did what I did.  By the gods, _*Live*_ with it."
"You could have got the gold from my hut," Warwind says, then lapses into a sulk for a few seconds before he realises what he's said.  It's too late, Durhon's already registered.

"What gold in ye hut?" he asks, suddenly as pleasant as he can manage.  "Where in hell are ye hiding gold, and where did ye get it?  We've been warring and fighten for three years.  Nobody gets rich doin' that."
Warwind doesn't answer any questions on the subject, and finding no sound arguement against Durhon's actions, settles for sulking quietly.

"I take it my swords gone to the Cuthbert's as well?" Taranos asks.  Durhon nods.
"Unfortunate.  I'll need another before we head back."
Durhon turns to face him.
"Go back?  Why?"
"Did you look through the ruins, search out the robed ones we were sent to find?"
"We weren't exactly lookin that good by the time the dragon went down," Durhon grumbles.
"Then we're going back," Taranos explains.  "I'm not letting something evil fester there once more, and I'm not letting some ancient ruin scare us after the dangers of the war."

Durhon grumbles, but his interest is piqued once the prospect is put in oppositional terms.  He'd faced Trollish shamans and brought them low.  Some stray human cultists couldn't be any more dangerous.  

"We'll talk to Elmo," Taranos continues, "I'm sure he can find us weapons to cover our recent losses.  They may not be magical, but they'll do.  Now that we've beaten the dragon, how dangerous can the place be?"

His enthusiasm for the task quickly infects Warwind and Durhon, and soon all three are planning their assult on the reuins enthusiastically as they treck across town.  

Yip, trailing behind, is less enthused.  His head still hurts, and slowly flashes of memory from the previous night are coming back to him.  The drinking games, the earthy taste of the beer and...the stranger.  Some man lurking in the shadowy corner of the bar, who'd left suspiciously quickly after Durhon stood on the bar to tell the assembled townsfolk his story.  At the time it seemed nothing, but in the cold light of memory it seems strangely suspicious.  He hears Taranos ahead, proclaiming the ease of their mission again as they enter Elmo's office, and a troubled feeling passes over the kobold...


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## arwink (Dec 27, 2002)

_Friday, August 18th, 518 AF, continued _ 

A quick meeting with Elmo solves the primary problems of weapons.  He directs the group to a small store-room beneath the Welcome Wench, a place where weapons were stored in the time of the Temple's strength.  There are numerous weapons to spare here, several of high quality.  Taranos is pleased to find a longsword perfectly sized and weighted for him, while a grumbling Warwind restocks with a human-made bow and quiver of arrows.

After this, the group splits.  Taranos and Warwind return to their huts, seeking to do a few more repairs and eat a good meal before heading back to the Moathouse in the morning.  Taranos still looks haunted by his recent brush with the afterlife, and the hunger does little to help him recover.  After their meal, they head to the towns Apothacary, seeking to replace the potions their companions used or traded after death.  Inside the small store is a single, grim-featured dwarf and a ten year old girl.  The girl introduces herself as Renne and there is a breif exchange of gold for healing potions.  Warwind thinks to ask about how long replacement stock will take to arrive, thinking ahead to his return to the town.  Renne goes quiet in the wake of the question, then softly replies she doesn't know.  It's obvious something is up, but both vetrans are still shaken from their resurection and leave further inquieries for the time being.

Durhon heads back to the Welcome Wench, planning on drinking away the remainder of the night.  The dragon's skull is sitting on a pole outside the tavern when he arrives, a good ten feet off the ground.  He looks up the eerily bare skull.
"I wanted a plaque," he growls at Ostler as he settles onto a barstool.
"And you'll get it," Ostler hurries to explain.  "We just need to cure the skull, air it a little to get rid of the smell.  The poles a temporary measure, something to grab people's interest before they see it in it's true glory above the bar."
"Good," Durhon grunts.
"I do have one question, though..." Ostler ventures.  Durhon glares at him until a mug of ale is slid into his hands.
"What," he growls around the rim of the mug.
"What happened to the beasts teeth..."

Yip is standing outside the workshop of the town leatherworker.  He's just had a long and involved conversation with the shops owner, explaining the concept and design of a bola while handing over the weights of the weapon Utreshimon destroyed.  Finally the gnome in charge seemed to understand his request, and assures the young kobold the weapon will be ready to pick up the following morning.

Yip leans agianst the side of the building and surveys the town street.  He still feels out of place here, finds himself missing the presence of his own kind.  The elders of the church talked of this as a reward, but apart from the discovery of ale he's yet to find anything rewarding about the experience.  He hisses and curses in kobold.  He hears a sudden yelp of fear from the corner of the building.

His trianing kicks in immediately.  Yip drops low and flings himself forward, performing a neat somersault and coming to his feet at the corner with shiruken in his hands.  There are a trio of wide-eyed children there, staring at the gleaming silver blades with open fear.

Yip immediately makes a strangled yelp of embarresment and drops the weapons to the ground.
"No hurt," he yips quickly.  "No hurt.  Yip friend."
The children still stare at him, the threatened assult of the previous day obviously lending doubt to the kobolds assertations.
"Here.  Yip have present," Yip says quickly.  He digs in his pouch and pulls forth a number of dragons teeth to offer to the children.  "Yip help.  Yip make bad dragon fall from the sky.  Yip help."

Suddenly the fear is gone, and the three children are staring at the nine-inch dragon incors.  The boldest of them steps forward, reaching forward with a tentative hand to stroke the tooth.

"Have," Yip offers.  "Present.  Yip have lots for friends.  Presents."

The three children look at their gifts in wonder, slowly pressing the strange creature with tales of the battle.  Yip shrugs and settles onto the dirt to tell the tale.  By the time he's finished, a small crowd of young humans and elves surrounds him, rubbing their hands over newly aquired dragons teeth and staring at the kobold with shining, admiring eyes.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Dec 27, 2002)

I like Yip! That's so sweet, a little crowd of children gathered round a kobold who's giving out teeth...really gets you in the Xmas spirit, doesn't it?


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## the Jester (Dec 27, 2002)

Excellent story hour!

It's very funny, with engaging characters and a very familiar story (I've run RttToEE myself)...    I like your characterizations of the Hommlet npcs.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Dec 27, 2002)

Arwink, you should post a link to your discussion thread for this SH in the SH so that readers are aware of it.

Hey, and if you read this, tell him! Authors need encouragement!


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## arwink (Dec 27, 2002)

Tallarn said:
			
		

> *Arwink, you should post a link to your discussion thread for this SH in the SH so that readers are aware of it.
> 
> Hey, and if you read this, tell him! Authors need encouragement! *




Allready done.  Check the first post.

And thanks for the boost.  I do get a few comments on this via e-mail from friends who started reading, and thats usually enough to keep me going 

Now if only I can lure the elusive Sean into the planning thread, true evil can be spawned from our collective minds to challenge and perplex my players...


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## Durhon (Dec 27, 2002)

arwink said:
			
		

> *
> 
> From memory, Taranos is suddenly down a magic longsword and shield, which is a bit of a blow given the choice of cleric of heironous was made to run around with a blade and call it a holy symbol *




Whoops!!


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## Durhon (Dec 27, 2002)

arwink said:
			
		

> *
> 
> The drinking games, the earthy taste of the beer and...the stranger.  Some man lurking in the shadowy corner of the bar, who'd left suspiciously quickly after Durhon stood on the bar to tell the assembled townsfolk his story.
> *




What the hell????


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## Durhon (Dec 27, 2002)

arwink said:
			
		

> *
> 
> "Where'm I getting gold from, Treehugger?"
> *




Hmm... you are making my name calling sound nice!!  LOL  How about substituting what I really call them in??


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## the Jester (Dec 27, 2002)

Durhon, I like your character!  He's salty...

I bet if Arwink put in the full text of what you say, he'd offend Eric's grandmother.   But you can always cheat around it with the old #!%$ stuff.  (That's what I did with an extremely salty npc in my campaign.)

This is a great story... I like the two points of view (from the two different story hours).


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## arwink (Dec 28, 2002)

Durhon said:
			
		

> *
> 
> What the hell???? *




- You found him later.  Basically, Yip failed a spot check at the time, which is why he didn't speak up, but only because he was drinking at the time   I'm play with a little writer-ly forshadowing as a result.

- I wish I could remember everyone's dialogue as it happens, but my lack of reasonable notes and the boards restriction on several elements of your speach patterns makes it difficult.  Sean's not around with the notebook this time around, it made the last game a hell of a lot easier.

At present, I have a rought idea of where the dialogue should be, and I know the gist, so I improvise.  Feel free to correct me at will, noble dwarf.  From a distance.  Where the smell isn't quite so bad.  And I do remember the "I'm a sexy Dwarf" episode 

- It's not like you're the only one who's lost or destroyed one the clerics magic swords.  Calmet lost his within two hours of joining the group as well


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## Durhon (Dec 28, 2002)

the Jester said:
			
		

> *Durhon, I like your character!  He's salty...
> *



Thanks for that.  This is the first Dwarf I think I have played.  He had a 5 or 6 for charisma.  I had no idea's for a background at all as I've played a few in my time and was running out of idea's.  Just went with the.... "Well he's not going to be liked..."


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## Durhon (Dec 28, 2002)

arwink said:
			
		

> *
> And I do remember the "I'm a sexy Dwarf" episode
> *



But I am a sexy Dwarf!!    

* rubs hands all over body *


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## Dungannon (Dec 29, 2002)

I'm a bit dissapointed, Arwink.  I've read both threads in their entirety and not one dead Yip.  The way you tell it, a Yip dies every playing session.


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## Maldur (Dec 29, 2002)

Arwink, why do you even doubt the advertising value of the Yip?  They is great!!!( and yesy I did the they-is on purpose)


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## arwink (Dec 29, 2002)

Hey guys,

The dying capacity of Yips is mostly limited to the newly renamed St Cuthbert thread.  The player lost two characters in two games (although one was a human ranger rather than a kobold monk), and we've only played three.  Fortunately, Yip lived through tonights session, and actually came out of the entire thing as something of a hero.

In contrast, the Elemental Evil groups Yip is something of a giant among his brotheren.  Not only was he a minor hero of the Trollmist wars, he's also gets some respect because, as one of my friends points out - "He brought down a dragon, that's gotta count for something."  If one of them was ever close to learning the meaning of the word "Individual" it's going to be him 

Around here, the touch of death leaves the kobold fist-slingers and seems to aim for those with healing spells and Heironous' symbol.  Again, two deaths from three sessions, only surviving the most recent game intact.  Somehow they just haven't captured the imagination like the scampering kobolds have


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## arwink (Dec 29, 2002)

_Saturday, August 19th, 518 AF_ 

Spring is creeping up on Hommlet, the traditonal summer rains starting several months early.  The morning air is crisp, on the edge of coolness, with heavy clouds covering the sky.  

Yip is awake first, ready to meet his compatriots in front of the Welcome Wench.  It's a little before sun-up, and in the dim light coming over the horizon the dragon's skull looms like a dangerous shadow.  Yip stares at the toothless smile and forces himself to smile back.  A few second later, one of the village youths runs past on the end.  Yip recognises him as Toth, the bakers son, and his forced grin turns real when he recognises the dragon's tooth hanging from a bit of string around the child's neck.  

Warwind and Taranos arrive as the sun crest the horizon.  Both look slightly better after a nights sleep, but there is still a haunted look to Taranos' eyes.  Yip watches the dwarven priests semi-vacant stare carefully.  It seems as though something about coming back from the afterlife has frightened the dwarf, and Taranos' protestations that he'd rather stay dead next time are taken seriously.

Durhon shows up a few minutes late, emerging from the Welcome Wench rather than the direction of his hut.
"A good night out?" Warwind asks.
Durhon burps at him.
"Right then," Warwind sneers.  "Best get moving."
He holds a cake of soap up to Durhon's face, then grins widely.
"It looks like rain.
"Where'd ye get that?"
"They have a store in town," Warwind explains with a sigh, "and some of us don't blow all our wealth on ale."
"Feh, some of us spent all our gold keeping your worthless hand alive," Durhon snarls.  "Keep that in mind when yer nose decides the soap may be worth the risk."

They take it easy on the trek back to the moathouse, setting up camp on the same hill they stopped at on their first trip out.  As they eat dried trail rations around the small campfire, the rain starts.  It pelts down heavily at first, but soon settles into a steady beat.  The four Vetrans look at one another, wondering if anyone packed a tent.  None have.   They take what cover they can behind a rocky outcrop, then go back to their silent eating.

Lightening flashes, briefly illuminating the hills around them.  Warwind's keen eyes spot something.
"What's that?" he asks.  
"What?" Taranos asks.  Lightening flashes again, the the shape of a human form can be seen dancing accross the hills in the rain.
"That," Warwind says, pointing.

A slightly crazed squeal cuts through the air.
"Del," Durhon grunts.  He glances at Warwind.
"Seems he's like you when it comes to rain and showers."


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## the Jester (Dec 29, 2002)

Nice update- very moody rainstorm scene!


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## arwink (Jan 7, 2003)

_Saturday, August 19th, 518 AF, Continued _ 

The gaunt hermit comes charging up through the driving rain.
"Hello strangers," he calls, his voice full of undisguised glee.  "Welcome back."

Del's wearing few furs that last time the group saw him.  A simple loin-cloth and several uncured pelts over his shoulders.  He crouches down to talk the four adventurers, putting himself at eye level as they huddle against the rock.

"Fine weather, isn't it?"
"It could be better," Taranos says sullenly.  "What are you doing out in the storm?"
"Bathing," Del says.  He stands for a moment and scrubs at his wirey body.  "Nothing better than a rainstorm for getting clean."
Durhon grunts and edges away from Warwind when the elf grins and dips a hand towards the belt-pouch containing the soap cake.

"Why are you back in the hills?" Del asks.  Taranos shrugs.
"Back to the ruins," he explains.  "We killed the dragon, but we missed the robed men."
Del hisses slightly.
"Don't go, don't go," he says wildly.  "The dead walk there, always walking, and..."
He squint's, eyeing the four adventurers carefully.
"Well, it's dangerous.  To dangerous perhaps.  Somebody would need furs to go in there, furs that lets them know what someone thinks they shouldn't.  The merchant wont come this month, been staying away while the dragon was around.  Strangers are lucky Del still has fresh furs..."

Durhon grunts again, spitting a small mouthful of rainwater.
"Everyone wants money," he grumbles.  "Ferkin dragon didn't even have any gold."
Warwind glares at him and hands over the gold.
"What help can you give us?" he asks warily.  Del hands over a partially cured and very damp rabbit pelt.  Warwind picks it up by a corner, nose wrinkling in distaste.

"New strangers are there," Del hisses through the rainfall.  "Strangers from town not two days ago.  An ugly man with a black cloak, and another wearing robes.  Dangerous, they look.  Townsfolk working with robed priests.  It's never been good for the hills before."

"How does the rabbit skin help us?" Warwind asks.  Durhon chokes on a laugh.
"The information, Treehugger," he grunts.  "Subtle though he was, it was the price for the information."
Warwind stops midway through a detect magic cantrip.  Fortunately, it's hard to see the elf blush through the rain and darkness.

"Thanks," he says.  "Are you sure you can't resell this?"
Del shakes his head as the elf offers the pelt.
"Nooo, no, no.  It's yours now, fair and square.  Remind you to be careful when you chase after the strangers.  Maybe even keep you safe from the dead ones."

Warwind looks doubtful.  Taranos thanks Del for his help and the Hermit nods in glee, biting down on the coppers Warwind gave him for the skins.  After he's convinced they're real, he stands and starts skipping off into the rain.

"Good luck, strangers.  Be careful.  Come see me if ye ever need a pelt again."

There's a bright flash of lightening, and they see Del's scrawny cappering wilding down the hill.

"Crazy bastard," Durhon spits.  They settle down to make the best of it, and discover Yip has already managed to find a comfortable and almost dry patch beneath an overhang of rock.  The kobold is softly snoring, asleep.


----------



## arwink (Jan 11, 2003)

_Sunday, August 20th, 508 AF_

The rain lasts for the better part of the day.  After a quick breakfast on soggy bread, the soaked and grumpy adventurers head once more along the path to the Moathouse.  

It's a slow slog through the muddy track.  Twice Durhon slips in a muddy patch, coating himself in a thick layer of brown that is slowly erroded by the pouring rain.  After three or four hours of trecking through the downpour, even Warwind's threats to use soap and magehand to give the dwarf a good scrubbing fail to raise a reaction.  The wizard swaps to whistful commentary on spells he'll craft in his future "Warwind's Dwarven Deodoriser" and "Warwinds Rain of a Thousand Soap Drops," but it's no good.  The only reaction he gets is a snarl from Durhon after a slips a third time.

It's late evening by the time the rain lets up, and the four companions come to a halt on a hill-top overlooking the ruined structure.  The sky starts to clear as the sun sets, showing a bare scattering of stars, and in the amber light they can see a number of changes in the wake of their defeat of the dragon.  Utreshimon's corpse is laying outside the Moathouse's walls, pushed over a crumbling wall and left to rot next to the moat.  Worse, a pair of familiar corpses hang rotting from the wall over the gate.

"Is that..." Warwind asks, but he doesn't get out anything more than that as he looks at his own dead body swinging in the gentle breeze.  Taranos doesn't comment, just turns a pale white and sniffles.  He's picked up a cold during the down-pour, and it's made him grumpier than even his normal dwarven self for the duration of the journey.  No-one says anything, and they quickly break out a camp a little below the crest of the hill, out of sight of the Moathouse and it's new inhabitants.  

"I don't know who or what's in there," Warwind snarls over dinner, "but we rest up, we replenish spells, and tomorrow they pay for that."

There is a silent murmer of agreement.

Dinner is finished, and watches are set for the night.  Warwind, Durhon and Yip settle down in the dryest patches they can find, leaving Taranos to stand guard.  The dwarven preist sits grimly on a rock, sword at the ready and watching the darkness past his blades dim radiance.  His nose runs constantly, a steady drip that is wiped on a sleeve every few moments.  He curses quietly the luck that lead him to being such a bad example of dwarven health.

Towards the end of his watch, the monotony of the dripping nose is broken by a loud sneeze and a gobbet of flem flying off into the darkness.
"Ferkit," Taranos grumbles quietly.  "I need sleep and time in a warm bed."

Then he hears the splash of a footstep in a puddle, a strong arm looping around his neck, and the point of a dagger slicing through his neck.  There is the breifest glance of a man in black leathers, his face covered by a cowl and kerchief over his nose, as the dwarfs lifeblood spills over the earth...


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## Dungannon (Jan 11, 2003)

arwink said:
			
		

> *Worse, a pair of familiar corpses hang rotting from the wall over the gate.
> 
> "Is that..." Warwind asks, but he doesn't get out anything more than that as he looks at his own dead body swinging in the gentle breeze...
> "I don't know who or what's in there," Warwind snarls over dinner, "but we rest up, we replenish spells, and tomorrow they pay for that."*




Now that's just creepy.  Good storytelling, Arwink.


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## arwink (Jan 12, 2003)

Dungannon said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Now that's just creepy.  Good storytelling, Arwink. *




Have to admit, I stole that idea from Wulf's storyhour (I think, could be someone elses).  I'd been reading it a few hours before the game, and I just knew the Moathouses residences would be the type to use such nastiness to warn people off.

On another note, the Seldarn empire has recently taken over my webpage, and aquired it's own messageboards (links to both at the bottom of the sig).  The messageboards are currently being used as a forum for the players to discuss things between games and play out events that occur between games, but has a space set aside for those with questions about the game or the world.  Feel free to take a peek and chat if you feel so inclined.


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## arwink (Jan 12, 2003)

_Monday, August 21st, 508 AF
Very, very early_ 

Yip is sleeping comfortably.  His training had included some focus on becoming one with his surroundings, learning to take what rest he could in any situation.  It had served him well the night before, when the rain was falling, but tonight it was almost a pleasure.  A warm fire, several blissful hours of slumber before his turn at watch and the promise of smiting evil and vengance-taking in the name of St Cuthbert at dawn.  

It is an easy sleep, and the kobolds head are filled with good dreams.

Then something intrudes.  It starts as nothing, just a gentle tap...tap...tap of something against his snout.  It feels like rainwater, dripping from an overhang, and he pays it no mind.  The kobold rolls over, avoiding the drip but still dimly aware of something small falling onto the earth by his slumbering form.  Something in his subconscious latches onto the drip, irritatingly telling him it's trouble.  

Then he notices the chill.  It shouldn't be cold.  Even though it's a cool night, a brisk wind blowing after the rain and the hand of summer not yet snatching the chill from early spring, there was a small fire warming the campsite.  Taranos was supposed to be tending that fire, keeping it large enough to warm the sleepers but small enough to avoid drawing attention.  Yip rubs his scaly arms, trying to work some warmth into them.  

Then his nose begins to twitch, picking up the stench of burning skin.

It takes less that a second for his eyes to fly open once he recognises the smell.  He looks up into Tarano's gaping eyes, bulging from their sockets and staring blankly down at the kobold.  Blood slowly drips from the severed neck, and a smear of the dwarfs life-force mar's Yip's black snout.  Yip yelps in fear, scrambling backwards and tumbling to his feat.  He notices the fire has been scattered, but several still warm coals are left to smoulder in the dead dwarves mouth.  A slim trail of smoke trails up from Taranos's gaping mouth and nostrils.  

Yip prepares to attack his former comrade's corpse, remembering Del's warning of the dead walking in the Moathouse.  The head doesn't move.  Whatever has slain the priest has merely tied the severed head to a stake and angled it to dangle over the kobolds bedroll.  The body is gone.

Durhon and Warwind, both aroused by Yip's yelp, slowly rouse themselves and look eyes on Taranos' remains.

"Right," Durhon cursed, arm swinging to his axe immediately.  "Ferkin bastards go down now."


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## Lela (Jan 14, 2003)

Dang arwink, I have to go to bed after that.

Did his player not want to go with that character anymore or was it something else?

And I understand (and share) Durhon's sentiment.  The bastards go down now.


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## Durhon (Jan 14, 2003)

> Did his player not want to go with that character anymore or was it something else?



No the player was fine.  He actually left the character there cos we couldn't afford another resurrection and he didn't feel like a Raise dead and losing a level... I think.  We ran out of magic items to pawn!!  

BTW The bastards are going down!!


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## Lela (Jan 15, 2003)

So, how did the rules go for the throat cutting thing though?


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## Durhon (Jan 15, 2003)

Most likely Coup De Gra.  Why were the other players left alive you ask?  Well we had a big debate over that and the explanation was given by our DM on our groups forum board.  Check it out at http://arwink.themadship.dhs.org/phpBB2/ under the Mega Module Jam area "Taranos Second Death".


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## Lela (Jan 15, 2003)

Durhon said:
			
		

> *Most likely Coup De Gra. *




Coup De Gra?  He was awake and, somewhat, alert.  No way someone could have taken a full six seconds to slip a knife across his throat.

Was this Assassian a true Assassian from the DMG?  I'd believe it could be a death attack from him.



			
				Durhon said:
			
		

> *
> Why were the other players left alive you ask?  Well we had a big debate over that and the explanation was given by our DM on our groups forum board.  Check it out at http://arwink.themadship.dhs.org/phpBB2/ under the Mega Module Jam area "Taranos Second Death". *




Well, actually, I wasn't wondering that.  I just figured that arwick didn't want to have a TPK on his hands.  It would also explain why he had the guy set up the hanious totem over Yip's head.  That was close enough for me.


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## arwink (Jan 16, 2003)

Okay, sorry for the few days silence.  I've been swamped with work and had some trouble with the net access.  All going well, I'll have a new update tomorrow after we finish gaming 

The throat cutting was pulled off by an invisible assasin.  Probably the first successful use of death attack in my games after throwing about six assasins of various levels against the players over the past couple of campaigns.  There was a certain level of luck going there as well.  Taranos had the second best listen check of the group and only narrowly missed hearing the approaching assasin, and then flubbed what should have been an easy Fort Save.  

I think, aside from the reasons Durhon's outlined above, sheer stats were a big part of Taranos' decision.  He had a con of 8, which made most of the advantages of being a dwarf slightly less exciting, and made his role as a frontline fighter less than fun.  He'd pretty much said after the first death that Taranos wouldn't come back, so he wondered off to create someone new.


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## Haakon (Jan 17, 2003)

Well the main reason I didn't want to resurect Taranos was the fact he was running out of magic items to hock and was falling behind level wise.

Both problems ment he was more likely to die and the vicious circle continued further down the spiral.

It was better to start a fresh with a new character and decide on a better con score.

Besides now I get to drag them of to a wedding


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## Lela (Jan 17, 2003)

Okay Arwick, we have mention of a wedding.  I think it's time for an update.


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## arwink (Jan 17, 2003)

It's coming.  I leave to run a game in an hour, but I'll be back and updating after it's done.  Give me about..hmm...six or seven hours, and I'll go on an update rampage.  Both Seldarn Games, as well as the next installment of the Zalich part of In Hextor's Name


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## Lela (Jan 17, 2003)

In Hextor's Name?

I like Hextor.  If this is a Story Hour, let's see the link.


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## arwink (Jan 17, 2003)

[Brief new Storyhour Pimp]

Here: http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=36387

It's not a Seldarn storyhour.  Instead, it's the storyhour of a game that Capellan (Halgo in Copperheads, and soon to be introduced as Ezekial here) and I both play in.  WE figured we'd both write a storyhour, so you get events in two different voices - his hextorite priests reports to his superiors, and my halfling sailor/cook's log of recent events.

[end Brief new storyhour pimp]


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jan 17, 2003)

Another new SH to enjoy?

Excellent!


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## the Jester (Jan 17, 2003)

Yeah, I was curious about that one due to its title... gonna go check it out!

I'm glad to see you got a successful death attack in, too...


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## arwink (Jan 17, 2003)

_Tuesday, August 22nd, 508 AF
Early enough to still be called last night  _

Durhon straps on his armor, then carefully tests the edge on his axe.  Warwind flips open his spell-book and engages in the business of learning all the combat spells he can master, quickly stacking Mage, Shield and magic missile alongside flaming sphere after flaming sphere.  Yip checks the cords on his bola's and takes a watch position over the Moathouse.  His eyes glow red in the murky darkness.

It starts to rain once more.

Yip keeps staring intently forward as the rain starts, his eyes not leaving the couryard.  Durhon and Warwind finish their preperations and join him on the peak of the hill.

"Do we have a plan?" Warwind asks.  
"We hurt them," Durhon says simply.  "Then we cut their ferkin heads off."
"Shouldn't we try sneaking up on them?"

Durhon grunts once, in a grim kind of humor.  Warwind waits expectantly for an answer.

"And do what, surprise them with our presence?" Durhon asks.  Warwind takes his point and nods silently.  

"If it'll make yer feel any better, we'll send Knobly in to spring any ambushes," Durhon says.  Yip glances at him and raises an eyebrow.

"Yer smaller, faster, sneakier and harder to hit," Durhon tells him.  "Treerooter couldn't take a good shot, and I'm to slow.  Crap, Knobbly, worse comes to worse, catch the ferkin arrows."

Yip nods silently.  He doesn't like the reasoning of the plan, but this is a mission of vengance now.  Surely St Cuthbert will smile on him and guard his way.  His tail starts swishing back and forth in anger.

They look at each other, nodding once to indicate their readiness, then methodically trudge down the slipper, mud covered hill towards the Moathouse.  Care is taken to avoid the marshy pool, and they cross the impromtue moatbridge as quietly as they can.  A few minutes is spent in the ruins of the gate, taking cover from the rain.  The courtyard unnaturally still, ominously so.  The only thing that can be heard is the sound of rain falling on the crumbling stonework above them.

"sst, Runty," Durhon says, "Look round the corner and let us know what you spot."
Yip nods and slowly peaks around the corner, taking his time and absorbing as much of the scene as he can.  He spots shadowy movement behind a few of the arrow slits, including two by the ruined doors of the small keep.

"Watchers," he says softly, using a scouts avoidance of hard-syllabled whispers.  "Behind arrowslits."
He points to one end of the courtyard, then counts off with his fingers, letting his companions know where enemies are lurking.

"Ambush," Durhon whispers unhappily. "You spring it, we'll turn the tables, yeah?"

Yip nods.  He takes a moment to breath deeply, centering himself.  He feels a sensation of peace and readiness come over him, a sense of purpose he hasn't known since before the war.  Vengance will be his tonight.

"Yip go," he says softly, then slips into the courtyard while his watch, wary and ready for anything.


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## the Jester (Jan 17, 2003)

Go Yip!!


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## Dungannon (Jan 17, 2003)

arwink said:
			
		

> [B"Do we have a plan?" Warwind asks.
> "We hurt them," Durhon says simply.  "Then we cut their ferkin heads off."[/B]



Now that's the kind of carefully thought out planning I like to see.  lol


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## Lela (Jan 18, 2003)

arwink said:
			
		

> *[Brief new Storyhour Pimp]
> 
> Here: http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=36387
> 
> ...




/me prepares to cast _Teleport w/o Error_ but holds off until after reading (and promptly praising) the next update.


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## Lela (Jan 18, 2003)

I love the party's realistic approach to Yip.  They think of him as a pet, just the way a true party might.  While this can be hard on the player, it is refreshing.  If the player can handle it, I say away with all the PC (that other kind) crap.

The dynamic in among your players must be one of the most enjoyable things you could watch.


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## arwink (Jan 18, 2003)

They have their moments 

Partially, it's still hard to take an individual Yip seriously when you know if he dies, another one will come along soon after.  It fits and the concept is great fun, but it 's not so great on an individual level.  Add to this a player who spent three years as a barbarian meat shield in a game with no rogues or stealth capabilities, and he's more or less used to being the polish landmine detector.  

The Copperheads Yip gets a little more respect, which is strange considering it's in that group that the revolving door Yip's really took hold, but he's also had to work harder for it.  He's now more like a favored pet than a tool.

Secondly, the interaction can be tied to the last campaign.  It was very "trust no-one, I'll tell you that bit in the next room, so what do you do while everyone else is resting..." and they worked as a group out of necessity and circumstance.  More often than not, they were working against one another, so the idea of being a group of trusting friends and allies is kind of foriegn to them.

It's made it kind of interesting to watch this game develop.  They start coming off as a tad disfunctional when watching them over the tabletop   
(And things get worse with the introduction of Calmert and Ezekial too)


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## Lela (Jan 18, 2003)

Awe, more things to look forward too.

I'll let you get back to your writting then.


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## Durhon (Jan 20, 2003)

I think we have lost only the one yip in both groups.


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## Durhon (Jan 20, 2003)

arwink said:
			
		

> Secondly, the interaction can be tied to the last campaign.  It was very "trust no-one, I'll tell you that bit in the next room, so what do you do while everyone else is resting..." and they worked as a group out of necessity and circumstance.




Ah yes.. what you get from a party of CN characters made all that much harder being accompanied by a LG Aasimar Monk!! LOL

The plotting did go abit over the top.  Its a shame that story hour was never finished as it was a pretty good tale.  Especially the bit about that astounding, ravishing bloke Di'Tario!!

Hmm.. I've just realised that two out of my last three characters have had "Go forth and mate" traits of their personality.  Oh well.


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## Khynal (Jan 20, 2003)

Durhon said:
			
		

> *I think we have lost only the one yip in both groups. *




You forget the very original Yip. He stepped into a trap and it hit him so hard he exploded in a shower of blood and kobold body-parts.


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## the Jester (Jan 20, 2003)

Khynal said:
			
		

> *
> 
> You forget the very original Yip. He stepped into a trap and it hit him so hard he exploded in a shower of blood and kobold body-parts. *




When was this, did I miss it or is it before the story hour starts?


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## Capellan (Jan 20, 2003)

the Jester said:
			
		

> *When was this, did I miss it or is it before the story hour starts? *




It was in a whole 'nother campaign, before I joined their merry band and started making trouble


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## Lela (Jan 20, 2003)

Khynal said:
			
		

> *
> 
> You forget the very original Yip. He stepped into a trap and it hit him so hard he exploded in a shower of blood and kobold body-parts. *




Was that one of the tripple 20s arwick mentioned?


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## Khynal (Jan 20, 2003)

It was in a short-lived campaign well before the Seldarn games. Yip was the party rogue/scout. We were exploring a keep and he was sent ahead to check for traps. He checked out a doorway, failed to notice anything out of the ordinary and when he stepped through it a giant blade swung down from the top of the door frame and turned him into Pieces of Yip. It did a really tremendous amount of damage. The DM was so surprised at how thoroughly he'd killed Yip he went back and double-checked that yes, that was what the trap did.

That was where the player's fascination with kobolds began. And so, when it came time to start the first Seldarn game...


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## Lela (Jan 20, 2003)

Wow.  What level were you?

Any chance I could get the details on the trap (if the DM's listening in)?

Thanks Khynal.


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## arwink (Jan 20, 2003)

They were second level at the time.  The first Yip went down when he flubbed a Search check on a swinging scythe trap from the DMG, then was put on the wrong end of a crit that did max damage.

Net access is screw tonight.  If I can get a secure line, I'll update later, otherwise it wont happen until I get things sorted out and can stay online for longer than a minute and a half


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## Durhon (Jan 20, 2003)

Yeah he was a good yip.  Saved my character from death since I was meant to be the parties land mine detector!! LOL

Lieutenant Jinx just stepped on over the carcass and went on to loot the chest!!  Yay for Lawful Evil!!

Actually it was that campaign that lost the most yips wasn't it.  How many did we go through?  Two or three?


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## Khynal (Jan 21, 2003)

Durhon said:
			
		

> *Actually it was that campaign that lost the most yips wasn't it.  How many did we go through?  Two or three? *




From Yip's player:

No, after the ill-fated Yip, Deefer Dwarf, the gun-toting fella with a Scottish accent made an appearance.

Then the game finished.  I think the whole party was just so upset by Yip's demise that they couldn't go on.

That's my personal belief anyway.

So there was only one Yip before the Mega Module Jam.


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## arwink (Jan 21, 2003)

_Tuesday, August 22nd, 508 AF, Continued_

Yip slips out from the security of the entryway.  His darkvision can make out a dark stain accross the cracked cobblestones, a sooty line of burnt stone where Utreshimon's breath had blasted his companions on the last assault.  Yip's muscles are taut, his every sense straining and on edge.  He starts moving forward, creeping slowly, waiting for the shadowy figures behind the arrowslits to fire. 

The attacks come when he's halfway between the entryway and the front door.  The air is filled with the buzz of arrows.  Yip is already moving the moment he hears the sound, only a few toes on one foot keeping in contact with the ground as he twists to avoid them.  Whoever is firing are competent archers, but hardly trained marksmen.  Yip's honed reflexes carry him out of the path of almost all the arrows, the sole missile that would have struck true is snatched out of the air by a tiny paw.  

Then there is stillness, a momentary pause as Yip, his companions and his attackers blink in surprise that the small monk came through the ambush unscathed.  Yip gives half a seconds contemplation to the arrow in his fist, then drops it to to the ground and lets out a hiss of pure anger.  

The silence is broken a quick chant and a blue-white flash as Warwind fires a pair of magic missiles accross the courtyard.  There is a howl of pain as the missiles strike, followed by a gutteral curse in a tongue that sounds strangely familiar.  Yip snaps out of his surprise instantly, springing accross the courtyard to press himself against one of the crumbling wall where only half the concealed archers can target him.  There is another gutteral shout, this time with time a command, and everyone immediately recognises the sound from their time on the Trollmists's front lines.  

"Gnolls," Durhon spits.  He leaps from the safety of the entryway and charges accross the courtyard with his Greataxe held high.  Weighed down as he is by armor and weapons, he moves with the grace and speed of an injured bovine, but he reaches the crumbling stone steps and bounds up them with a yell.  

The dwarfs warcry summons two of their attackers out of the ruins.  Both are gnolls, but one is nearly twice the dwarf's height and weilds a pair of swords with casual ease.  The giant gnoll lets out a battle roar as loud as Durhon's and steps forward, gleaming longsword striking out in a powerful arc.  Durhon is instantly put on the defensive, parrying the blow with a practiced ease.  

The giant gnoll lets out a roar of pure rage, then screams at his troops in broken commong  "Keep firing.  Kill them all."

The air is filled once again with the sound of arrows.


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## Dungannon (Jan 23, 2003)

arwink said:
			
		

> *Then there is stillness, a momentary pause as Yip, his companions and his attackers blink in surprise that the small monk came through the ambush unscathed.  Yip gives half a seconds contemplation to the arrow in his fist, then drops it to to the ground and lets out a hiss of pure anger.*



I can hear Yip's mind now...

"Holy $**t, it really worked!"

Great imaging, Arwink, keep it up.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jan 23, 2003)

arwink said:
			
		

> *Weighed down as he is by armor and weapons, he moves with the grace and speed of an injured bovine, but he reaches the crumbling stone steps and bounds up them with a yell.*




Lovely image...


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## arwink (Jan 24, 2003)

Dungannon said:
			
		

> *
> I can hear Yip's mind now...
> 
> "Holy $**t, it really worked!"
> *




I think that was actually said out loud. There was around a dozen arrows flying at him, but Yip's AC (like most monks) tends towards the unnaturally high.  The one shot that looked like hitting him was on a natural twenty that would have critted.  

Yip's player gets that green look that happens anytime the word "Yip" and "Crit" are put together, then asks if he can make the deflect arrow roll.  Until this point, every attempt at this he's made has been an utter failure, usually resulting in bodily harm, so all of us were surprised when he pulled it off


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## Lela (Jan 24, 2003)

arwink said:
			
		

> *
> 
> I think that was actually said out loud. There was around a dozen arrows flying at him, but Yip's AC (like most monks) tends towards the unnaturally high.  The one shot that looked like hitting him was on a natural twenty that would have critted.
> 
> Yip's player gets that green look that happens anytime the word "Yip" and "Crit" are put together, then asks if he can make the deflect arrow roll.  Until this point, every attempt at this he's made has been an utter failure, usually resulting in bodily harm, so all of us were surprised when he pulled it off  *




You know, I'm trying to decide on the next character I'll be when I enter back into PC world.  I'm thinking either a monk, a fighter/rogue dwarf, or a druid.

Everytime I read an update in my favorite story hours I start leaning in a different direction.

No wonder my players all want two characters.


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## arwink (Jan 28, 2003)

Lela said:
			
		

> *
> 
> You know, I'm trying to decide on the next character I'll be when I enter back into PC world.  I'm thinking either a monk, a fighter/rogue dwarf, or a druid.
> *




Play a Yip, you know you want too 

Update in the next day or so.


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## Durhon (Jan 28, 2003)

Or play a nasty snarlin dwarf filled with insults.  Its a good excuse to abuse your friends and get away with it!!


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## Lela (Jan 30, 2003)

Durhon said:
			
		

> *Or play a nasty snarlin dwarf filled with insults.  Its a good excuse to abuse your friends and get away with it!! *




Yeah, but now that I'm considering a Paladin Dwarf, that gets a little harder.

I mean, Cha is kinda important there.


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## arwink (Jan 30, 2003)

*Tuesday, August 22nd, 508 AF, Continued

Warwind attempts to launch, peering around the edge of the gateway to see his opponents.  He hears someone yell "Wizard" in gutteral common as he casts, and a flight of arrows comes his way.  His magic stops some, the cover the rest, and he catches site of one of the archers.  With a grim tone, he finishes the chant of a magic missile spell.  Two glowing blue orbs shoot forth through the rainfall and dissapear through the arrow slit.  A howl of point is cut short, and Warwind ducks back behind cover with a satisfied expression.

With the wizard gone, Yip and Durhon become the target for the rest of the enemy arrows.  

Yip's dance of avoidance is a thing of grace and beauty - he seemingly slips through the gaps between arrowshots and even snatches another out of the air instead of battering it away.  As he survives the second barrage he grins to himself, then bites through the shaft of the arrow in his hand before spitting the remains towards a nearby arrowslit in a show of defiance.  He then tumbles forward, a bola whirling in his hands and the one-eyed gnoll in his sights.

Like Yip, Durhon goes on the defensive as the arrows fire.  His axe whirls around him like a shield, smashing away as many missiles as he can and trusting his chainmail to do the rest.  The all of steel he presents is an impressive site, a feat learned after years of combat amidst beastmen hordes, but Durhon knows he needs to stay focused to manage such precision.  He bites down on the natural rage that surges through his body, keeping his mind on blocking arrows and parrying the one-eyed gnolls twin swords.  The gnoll executes a clumsy attack, easily blocked, and Durhon permits himself a small grin.  If the others can keep the archers off his back, the one-eyed gnoll should be an easy victory.

Then he hears Yip shout "Duck" behind him, and the familiar whit-whit-whit of the kobolds bola in flight.  Durhon has time to grunt out half a curse before the bola twines its way around him, causing a loss of balance that sends him rolling noisily down the stairs.  The one-eyed gnoll and its smaller companion blink once at the neatly entangled dwarf, then grin and leap down the stairs in persuit.

"Knobbly" Durhon screams, "I'm gonna kill ye!"
Yip mutters an appology, running forward through the muddy courtyard to distract the gnolls aiming weapons at his down courtyard.  Another round of arrows fire at him, and with his focus gone the kobold is struck by two that draw long gashes on his chest and arms.  He reaches the neatly bound dwarf and launches a flurry at the one-eyed gnoll standing over him.  None hit.  Warwind fires an arrow from his place at the gate, missing the arrowslit he's aiming for by the space of inches.  Durhon struggles against the ropes of the bola, swearing in two languages and threatening nasty things to the kobolds spleen.

"This not good," Yip mutters.  Then he hears Warwind crying a warning from the gate.
"Light on the hill," Warwind screams.  "Someone's moving in, and they're moving fast."*


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## Durhon (Jan 30, 2003)

ah yes I remember that.  I think I got hit by a friendly arrow in that same fight too.  The others got off lightly.


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## Durhon (Jan 30, 2003)

Grrr


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## Lela (Jan 30, 2003)

Hmmmm, it's just not Durhon's day.

Of course, our decapitated friend has more right to complain.


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## Durhon (Jan 31, 2003)

ah well that was his fault.. actually I think I hear his spirit coming now!!


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## Capellan (Jan 31, 2003)

Durhon said:
			
		

> *ah yes I remember that.  I think I got hit by a friendly arrow in that same fight too.  The others got off lightly. *




Still, Treehugger's _flaming sphere_ makes Yip's bolas seem tame in comparison.


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## arwink (Jan 31, 2003)

Capellan said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Still, Treehugger's flaming sphere makes Yip's bolas seem tame in comparison. *




'Cept Durhon was the one person kept safe and sound from that.  It didn't effect him in the slightest


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## the Jester (Jan 31, 2003)

I really like this story hour!  I haven't gotten far on the other one, but the Durhon-Yip combo is _so funny_ that I almost laugh every time I read it...


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## Khynal (Jan 31, 2003)

Lela said:
			
		

> *Of course, our decapitated friend has more right to complain. *




Decapitated people always complain. What's up with that?


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## Lela (Jan 31, 2003)

Khynal said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Decapitated people always complain. What's up with that? *




I think it comes from Futurama.  Though I could be wrong.


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## Durhon (Feb 1, 2003)

Capellan said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Still, Treehugger's flaming sphere makes Yip's bolas seem tame in comparison. *




shh... lets not let on about that one yet.. its still a while off.


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## Khynal (Feb 1, 2003)

Lela said:
			
		

> *
> 
> I think it comes from Futurama.  Though I could be wrong. *




Maybe Taranos's head will come back in a future game session and make a bid to get elected mayor of Hommlet.


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## CoopersPale (Feb 11, 2003)

I like this stuff 

I'm turning into a big fan of brother Yip.

Where's the next update??

love ya work.


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## arwink (Feb 13, 2003)

_Tuesday, August 22nd, 508 AF, Continued_ 

Calmert of Heironous walks purposefully through the rain.  He keeps the radiant orb from his light spell floating a foot before his head, the glow lighting the muddy path towards the ruins the townsfolk told him about.  

Two things run through Calmert's head as he walks.  The first is a curse on the name of Ezekial, the cousin he was sent to fetch.  The second is a prayer to Heironous that the wayward kinsman be in one peice when Calmert finds him.  If he isn't, Calmert's family won't be pleased.  

The steady alternation of prayer and curse lends his gait an easy stride and ready rhythm.  He almost manages to avoid slipping in the mud.  He's walked for the better part of the night, sustianed by prayer and willpower.  The townsfolk had told him a fit man could make the Ruins in the space of a day and a half if he moved fast.  With his heavy armor, Calmert wasn't fast, but he was determined.

He spat a mouthful of rainwater at the side of the road.  Trust Ezekial to be in the middle of no-where, getting into trouble, during the summer storms.  

Then Calmert hears the howl of something savage and angry on the wind, followed by the clash of steel on steel.

"It's probably Ezekial," Calmert mutters wearily.  He draws his longsword from the scabard, it's radiance bolstering the light from his spell.  "And he'll probably need help."

His armor clanking softly, Calmert sprints to the top of the hill.  As he crests the peak, he gets his first site of the ruins.  In a flash of lightening he can make out two combatants, gnolls most likely, fighting against two smaller combatents.  He hairs the faint hiss of arrow fire, and the air is lit by the amber glow of two magic missiles.  In the aftermath of the lightening, someone screams "Light on the hill.  Someone's coming in fast."

Calmert shrugs.  He's been spotted.  No point trying to hide now.  He holds his sword before him, it's light showing a possibly safe path towards the gateway into the ruins, and he charges down as fast as his armor will let him.

"Heironoussss!" he screams, his war-cry introducing him to all involved as he half sprints, half slides down the hill.


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## Lela (Feb 14, 2003)

Great ambiance (sp?) Arwick.  It gives a feeling like we're in a movie theater.  I can almost hear the squishing sound of his boots.


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## arwink (Feb 15, 2003)

_Tuesday, August 22nd, 508 AF, Continued_ 

Durhon struggles to free himself from Yip's carelessly thrown bola, tearing and gnawing at the rope as he clumsily avoids attacks by both gnolls standing over him.  It doesn't work.  Several deep gashes are opened beneath Durhon's armor, blood seeping out from the rents made by the gnollish blades.  Yip dances back and forth behind the gnolls, trying to distract them, but he's simply to small and ineffective at hand to hand combat to truly command their attention.  At best, he draws arrow fire.  

Durhon swears.  Then the thin viel of sanity he's been holding onto snaps and his mind is filled with a bloody rage.  He lets out an roar as bestial and gutteral as the gnoll's battle cry, and his viens visibly swell beneath his skin.  The cords of the bola are shredded like twine as he struggle back to his feet, the gleaming edge of his great-axe ready.

"Arright ye mangy ball's of fur," he snarls, "Let's go."

The axe swings out in a deadly arc, cutting down the weaker of the two gnolls.  The one-eyed leader yells out a short, sharp command, and instantly the number of arrows drops in half.  Durhon's to enraged to notice, but the keen senses of Yip and Warwin pick it up immediately.  Yip does a quick flip, landing behind the one-eyed gnoll where he can provide a distraction and hamper defences while Durhon attacks.  He keeps half his attention on the doorway, waiting to see who comes out.

Warwind takes note of the decreased arrow-fire, and looks towards the armored figure charging down the hill.  By now he's on the far side of the drawbridge, only twenty feet or so from Warwin's position.  There's only one way into the moat-house, and that's through the gate he's using for cover.  Warwind makes out the lightening bolt symbol of heironous on the figures shield, but decides not to trust in appearances.  If its a ruse, there's little chance Warwinds allies could help him if it came down to a hand to hand fight.  

Warwind decides to take his chances with the archers, moving out of his hiding place and scuttling behind some fallen stones in the near the wall farthest from the melee.  He casts a flaming sphere, centering it on the one-eyed gnoll, but the large brute evades the worst of the flames.  He draws a quick hail of arrow fire, but the low rocks and his magical protections stave off the worst.  With only a few spells left, the elf draws his bow and watches for the newcomers entry.

The _Heironous_ warcry echoes through the ruined courtyard as Calmert charges through the gateway.  He quickly takes in the situation, noting the crouched elf, the melee in the centre of the courtyard and the snipers.  The cleric makes a snap decision and picks a side - the one without fur.  He rushes through the words of a spell, and summons a _the Blade of Valor_.  The shining weapon of pure force appears before one of the arrow slits, stabs in and skewers the gnollish archer on the far side in a single, smooth blow.  The gnoll is so surprised by the blades sudden appearance that he doesn't cry out before the weapon cuts through his skull.  The cleric feels a momentary rush of satisfaction, one that quickly fades as another pair of gnolls swarm down the stairs towards the dwarf and his kobold ally.


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## Lela (Feb 15, 2003)

Thanks Arwick.  How's your thesis coming?


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## arwink (Feb 17, 2003)

Not quite as fast as I'd like, but it's coming along.  I start teaching again this week, which means it's suddenly easier to fit gaming stuff into my life again because my focus is already distracted.  This I'm very happy about.

The fact that I'll be paid enough to buy gaming books is just icing on the cake


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## Lela (Feb 17, 2003)

arwink said:
			
		

> *Not quite as fast as I'd like, but it's coming along.  I start teaching again this week, which means it's suddenly easier to fit gaming stuff into my life again because my focus is already distracted.  This I'm very happy about.
> *




You'll have to explain that a bit more for me.  I got lost somewhere.


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## arwink (Feb 21, 2003)

_Tuesday, August 22nd, 508 AF, Continued _ 

With Calmert's arrival, the momentum of the fight swings in favor of the vetrans.  With his spiritual weapon spinning from arrow slit to arrow slit in search of prey, Calmert leaps at the gnolls surrounding Durhon.  His glowing sword lashes out, drawing blood, while Durhon concentrates his attacks on the one-eyed leader.  Warwind contines to fire arrows at the archers, directing his flaming sphere back and forth through the rain to scorch gnollish warriors as they emerge from the door to the ruined keep.  Yip takes advantage of Calmert's arrival to fall back and drink a healing potion, then launches a bola attack at the gnoll leader that tangles him to the ground.  Calmert's blade lashes out again, slaying a gnoll.  Durhon smiles down at the entangled gnoll at his feat.  Cold bloodlust runs through him, and it swells the beserking dwarf's heart to see his enemy helpless.

In the corner of his mind that was still rational, there's even a momentary thought that he should forgive Yip for leaving him in the same situation with his earlier missile.

Then the thought is driven away by bloodlust, and Durhon's axe swings down to cleave the trapped gnolls head from its shoulders.  Blood fountains into the muddy courtyard, and Durhon screams his joy as he whirls in search of more gnollish opponents.

By now, there are no gnollish archers left.  At the death of their leader, they have all started swarming from the ruins with axes at the ready.  Warwind watches the melee before him, his bow readied.  His flaming sphere still leaps around the courtyard, but the rain has taken it's toll and it will soon fizzle out.  Warwind curses at the realisation he is without spells, but it's a half-hearted curse. Things are definately looking better.  

Then Warwind notices a void just to his left, a place just behind some rocks where the rain doesn't fall.  The elf frowns staring hard at the space.  He knows it bodes ill, struggling to remember where he has seen this arcane effect before.

The shape rises, man-sized, and lurches towards him in a silent sprint.  Warwind hears the soft rasp of a blade being drawn, and a harsh whisper of "Die."  A short, lean man appears next to him with a rapier already mid-plunge towards Warwind's chest.  The elven wizard retreats quickly, stuggling to clear his longsword from it's sheath, but the rapiers point punctures a lung as he does so.  

"Of course," Warwind thinks, cursing himself as an idiot.  "Invisibility."  Then he coughs up blood as his blade leaves the sheath.  His lungs are on fire, the pain travelling throughout his body, but the elf holds on by force of will and training.  He even manages a hoarse scream of "Assasin" to alert the others as he struggles to get away from the now-visible killer.  His movements are slow and awkward, but he manages to parry the killers second blow.  It wont last.  Warwind knows if the fight continues, he's doomed.

"Assasin," he tries again.  "Help."
The others are still struggling against the gnolls, slowly coating the courtyard with bestial blood.  Warwind lashes out with his sword, a desperate swing that catches his opponent on the arm.  It isn't much of a blow, but it's enough for the assasin to cry out in pain.  An amaturish move on his part, to be sure, but as a bola comes flying through the air at his opponent Warwind is suddenly aware that his weak blow may have saved his life. 

"Warwind need help," Yip screams desperately. He sprints accross the courtyard and lashes at the assasin with his paws, delivering a stunning fist that shakes the imprisoned killer.  Durhon is still to lost in his battle rage to notice the kobolds cry, but Calmert quickly decides the dwarf is more than capable of mopping up the handfull of gnolls that remain.  With a heavy clank, the cleric of heironous charges the trapped assasin.

From there, things end quickly.  Durhon mops up the gnolls in a matter of seconds, his heavy axeblows downing them one after the other.  Calmert and Yip hammer the assasin as he struggle to free himself, then keep the wounded man off guard and away from Warwind as the wizard searches through his depleted stock of healing potions.  In the end it is Durhon, looking for another enemy after finding himself without gnollish opponents, that drops the man.

Silence settles accross the courtyard, the echoes of combat fading until all that can be heard is Durhon's tired breathing and the rain rattling on Calmert's armor.  Everyone gathers around the dead man clad in black, looking him over.  They know without question that it's the assasin that killed Taranos.  The clothes, the weapon and his assult on Warwind more than give him away.

Durhon spits on the assasins corpse.

"Reckon we hurt 'im good enough?" Durhon asks.  Warwind gives him a thin grin, wincing at the pain from his lung.  Yip nods seriously.

"Right then," Durhon grunts.  

He cuts the head off the assasins corpse.


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## Lela (Feb 22, 2003)

Stick it on a pole!  Stick it on a pole!

Well done with the drama and suspence Arwink.

And thanks,


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## arwink (Feb 24, 2003)

No poles.  Human heads aren't all that impressive when stuck on a pole, particularly when placed next to a dragons.  From my understanding, Durhon's happy he killed the dragon because it makes him look tough.  He's happy he killed the assasin because the bastard deserved to die.  There's a slight shift in reasoning there that makes all the difference.

Now, if it was Blarth, he'd have lopped off the head and hung it outside his hut faster than you can say "Yip, go hold off that platoon or guards" 

No update this week as I'm trying to get the attrociously behind Copperheads storyhour up to date, but we'll be playing Megamodule on Sunday so I'll probably do another one then.  To tide you over, though, I figured I'd suggest this link:  http://arwink.themadship.dhs.org/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?t=50

It's the draft of a short story Khynal wrote while he was recovering from surgery in the last two weeks, which he then posted on the Campaign Boards.  It isn't officially a story hour, and it doens't involve any of the characters, but it does offer a little insight into the Trollmist Wars our heroes are the vetrans of.  

If I can't pimp my friends work in a storyhour, where can I pimp it


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## Durhon (Feb 24, 2003)

arwink said:
			
		

> * From my understanding, Durhon's happy he killed the dragon because it makes him look tough.   *




Not so much looking tough but more for conquest as the dragon took out two of his comrades and himself and yip were left to nuke it out!!

Blarths really the head colllector.  Blarth reasons that when he has collected enough heads of creatures that have proved to be a tough fight in combat he'll earn a place by the side of his god.


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## Lela (Feb 24, 2003)

Durhon said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Not so much looking tough but more for conquest as the dragon took out two of his comrades and himself and yip were left to nuke it out!!
> 
> Blarths really the head colllector.  Blarth reasons that when he has collected enough heads of creatures that have proved to be a tough fight in combat he'll earn a place by the side of his god. *




Only if they are slain in vengence. . .

Then again, if you believe that everyone is "Punny" and find that to be a personal innsult then you're safe.


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## arwink (Feb 25, 2003)

Lela said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Only if they are slain in vengence. . .
> 
> Then again, if you believe that everyone is "Punny" and find that to be a personal innsult then you're safe. *




Blarth's doesn't actually St Cuthbert, he follows a Celestial Lord that serves as the commander of St C's armies.  Basically still under the controll of the Church, but with a much more militant focus.

Of course, Blarth's grasp of Dogma is still somewhat limmited, but he has his ideas and they may yet work 

Edit:  None of which has anything to do with _this_ storyhour, I know...


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## Durhon (Feb 25, 2003)

True.  We were a bit off track.  For those confused see the Copperheads Storyhour!  (shameless promotion)


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## Durhon (Mar 3, 2003)

Yay we played again.  As a teaser there was a twist to a bet and one naked elf... a party member rebelling, a holy city and a challenge to enter a town!! LOL


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## arwink (Mar 5, 2003)

*Just a quick update.*

_Tuesday, August 22nd, 508 AF, Continued _ 

"So, ye spent some time in the wars?" Durhon asks.  He's sitting on the rubble of a war, letting Calmert bandage wounds healing spells hadn't had the power to heal.  

"Some time," Calmert tells him.  "I wasn't close to the front lines, but we saw some action.  The church eventually recalled us a few months before the end."

"What ye doin' here then," Durhon asks.

"My Cousin Ezekial is meant to be in these ruins somewhere.  I'm here to bring him out and drag him to our mutual cousin's wedding."

"Drag?"

Calmert gives a grim grin.  "He isn't likely to come voluntarily."

Warwind and Yip quickly strip the bodies, gathering together as many valuables as they can find.  The assasin's magical rapier and invisilibity wand is quickly claimed by the elven wizard, and Durhon takes a magical broach.  The few masterwork weapons and coins among the gnolls possesions are pooled for later sales.

"Do we give the cleric a share?" Warwind muses, looking at the small pile of loot.  Yip gives him an unimpressed stare that answers all questions.

"Calmert's comin' with us,"  Durhon grunts as the cleric ties off his bandage.  "He's got business in the ruins, and we owe him a debt.  Either of ye got a problem with 'at?"

Yip shrugs, not caring.  Warwind scowls slightly at the shining holy symbol Calmert wears, but can't think of any suitable arguement.

"Right then," Durhon tells them.  "Let's see what's inside this pile of stone."

He points, and Yip quickly scampers up the stairs.


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## incognito (Mar 5, 2003)

The toughest part about story hours is waiting for the updates.

another good one I'm now locked into Arwink.  Kudos.

We already know Yip is Yip in Copperheads, and the angry dwarf is the angry 1/2 Orc.  

Buuuut - is the Cleric the cleric? and the wizard the wizard?


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## Capellan (Mar 5, 2003)

incognito said:
			
		

> *We already know Yip is Yip in Copperheads, and the angry dwarf is the angry 1/2 Orc.
> 
> Buuuut - is the Cleric the cleric? and the wizard the wizard? *




Nope.  The black sheep Ezekial (that'd be me) is the Copperheads' wizard.  And Geoffrey's player isn't in this game at all, though he does play a Cleric in Company of the Random Encounter.


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## arwink (Mar 15, 2003)

Capellan covers it.  Copperheads started because two members of what used to be the regular group were becoming increasingly harder to scheduel due to shift work and other commitments.  AT that point, Capellan had just joined and knew a few other players, so we started a new group for the "off-weekends."

As it turns out, I now tend to think of the Copperheads games as the main group, while The Mega-Module Jam is kind of the "off-weekend" game.  We get together and play this campaign about once every month and a half (One of the reasons I'm much more attentive to the Copperheads storyhour than this one - it's way further behind).

Update coming tonight some time.


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## arwink (Mar 15, 2003)

_Tuesday, August 22nd, 508 AF, Continued _ 

The group ventures into the ruined moathouse.  Little has changed in the entry chamber since it was being used as a dragon's lair.  Durhon and Yip quickly examine the room in detail to verify the fact, but all they can see are the marks where a bleeding gnoll had made his way to the wall.  

Two darkened hallways lead off from the main room, and there is a doorway leading down to a dungeon level in the north-eastern corner.  

It takes them little time to scour the rooms off the western hall, most of them crumbling and devoid of any sign of life.  There are two rooms that still have fresh gnoll corpses within, and amid the rubble of one they find the small cubby where the assasin was hiding out of the rain.  The southern hall proves almost as un-interesting.  As they work their way along the rooms that lead to the far end, they see signs of the gnolls camping out while waiting for the ambush.  In one, they even find a good quality dagger stuck into the wooden frame a round the arrowslit, a quiver of arrows slung over it.  

"Dagger any good?" Yip asks, eyeing it appraisingly.  Durhon grunts.
"Not bad, nothing special," he explains.  "Aint worth nothin."
"Yip need dagger," the kobold says reasonably.  "Fists not hurt anyone."
Durhon just shrugs, not really caring.  Calmert and Warwind have already lost interest, heading back into the hall.  Yip contemplates the dagger, hanging at least a foot out of reach, as he realises that none of the taller party members can be bothered pulling it down for him.  With a shrug, the agile kobold scrambles up the wall and grabs at the handle, trying to lever his legs against the wall and pull it free.  He hangs in the air for several seconds, drawing a quick bark of laughter from Durhon, before the dwarf leaves and Yip's alone in the room.  His tiny muscles strain, and the kobold wonders if perhaps the gnoll had hammered the dagger in.  

Durhon, Calmert and Warwind finish searching along the southern hall, arriving in a large chamber that seems to have stood up relatively well to the ravages of time.  Most of the walls have held up well, although the southern edge seems to have collapsed into a pile of rubble. They can hear the slow trickle of the moat beyond the crumbling wall, and the room feels damp and slightly humid. 

"I got a bad feeling," Durhon mutters.
"That's just because you can sense water," Warwind tells him.  Durhon snarls in reply.  Acting on the dwarfs gut instinct, they more carefully through the room.  Calmert has his magic sword at the ready, using it's dim light to explore nooks and crannies, while Durhon and Warwind scour for secret doors and traps.  

In the corner of the room, a small puddle of runny ooze suddenly senses their presence.  It rears up like a serpent breifly, then drifts slowly over the ruined tiles towards Calmert.  It's glide is silent, and slow enough that the cleric doesn't notice until the ooze wraps itself around his leg.  Calmert screams in pain, hurridly scraping at his leg to free the clining substance.  In seconds, both the leg of his armor and his sword have dissolved into slag.  The ooze is shaken off, but rears up to strike again.

"Heironous protect us," the cleric mutters as he stares at the stump of his sword.  There is a sharp cry and Durhon and Warwind leap in to hammer at the ooze, and their weapons fare better than Calmets own.  Within seconds, they have beaten it into a faintly steaming pool.

"You got a spare weapon," Durhon asks.  Calmert nods mutely, still staring at the remains of his sword.
"What?" Durhon asks.  Warwind coughts softly, pointing to the glowing sword insignia on the clerics holy symbol.
"Right," Durhon says.  He searches around for some encouraging words to offer his new ally.  "Maybe we can find another one."
Warwind rolls his eyes as Calmert sighs in resignation and searches through his pack for a spare weapon.  

There's a muffled thump up the hall, followed by a short Yip of truimph.  A pleased looking Yip emerges with a gnollish dagger in his paw.

"Yip get dagger," he announces.  "Lets go see what in dungeon."


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## Lela (Mar 15, 2003)

Yip the resourceful!


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## arwink (Mar 16, 2003)

Lela said:
			
		

> *Yip the resourceful! *




Actually, a large portion of the reason he spent so long on the dagger was because he saw the fight with the gray ooze start.  Yip carries bola's and fists, neither of which he was willing to throw into a big pile of acid.

He did have an init score, and during the two rounds of combat he did make strength checks so he could get in and help.  Unfortunately, Yip is no-where near as strong as a gnoll with the help of a good hammer


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## Lela (Mar 16, 2003)

Was there a reason the Gnoll hammered that thing into the wall?  Seems a rather odd thing to do.


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## arwink (Mar 16, 2003)

Lela said:
			
		

> *Was there a reason the Gnoll hammered that thing into the wall?  Seems a rather odd thing to do. *




It was being used as a hook to hang a spare quiver of arrows on, within easy reach.

Essentially, when they went from room to room they found signs that the ambush was pretty well prepared.  The dagger was just a flavor element that got very little thought put into it until a certain kobold took an interest in it.

Not sure _why_ he took an interest in it.  There were at least one or two daggers among the other party members, and two spare on the assasin they killed.  He did though, so it can only be attributed to player strangeness


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## Capellan (Mar 16, 2003)

arwink said:
			
		

> *Not sure why he took an interest in it.  There were at least one or two daggers among the other party members, and two spare on the assasin they killed.  He did though, so it can only be attributed to player strangeness  *




An explanation that gets a _lot_ of use when it comes to Murray's characters 

Now quit slacking and update - you still owe us Zalich's entry for the weekend


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## arwink (Mar 16, 2003)

Capellan said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Now quit slacking and update - you still owe us Zalich's entry for the weekend  *




That'll happen tomorrow some time.  Today I've got to get the results for ceramic DM to Clay before I'm lynched


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## Durhon (Mar 28, 2003)

arwink said:
			
		

> *
> 
> That'll happen tomorrow some time.  Today I've got to get the results for ceramic DM to Clay before I'm lynched *



like thats going to happen!!! (the post that is) LOL


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## Yip (May 27, 2003)

Sorry people, using as test to see if I can still submit!

I figure this thread is safe place to try.  

Me clear out the cobwebs while I here, seems no-one been around for long time.

HINT HINT


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## arwink (May 27, 2003)

I'm three posts away from Yip's first real moment of triumph in copperheads, and you're badgering me about this storyhour?

Well, given that we've finally managed something that may resemble a game for these characters, I guess it's time I started updating again.  

_Tuesday, August 22nd, 508 AF, Continued _ 

Yip is vounteered to go first, scouting out the short stairwell that leads into the dank basement level.  The kobold creeps forward slowly, his lithe form clinging close to the walls as he drops down step after step.

The rest of the group follows several dozen feet later, Durhon and Calmert trying to remain as quiet as possible in their metal armor.  For the most part, they fail.  Yip quickly backtracks and asks them to wait before continuing down.

Yip counts twenty stairs before he reaches the bottom, pausing to peer out at a room that extends beyond the limits of his darkvision.  The air is pleasantly cool and wet on his scales, and there is the faint feel of something wet and slimey beneath his feet.  Yip waits for a moment, considering the feeling of something oozing between his toes until he's sure it isn't dangerous.  It's normal dungeon slime and grime, not dangerous unless you slip and crack your head on a flagstone.

A sudden grunt sends Yip into a crouching stance, the movement fluid and automatic.  He strains his eyes and makes out the shape of three gnolls hovering just on the edge of his vision, standing in a lazy formation around an armored figure that holds a loaded crossbow bolt.  The gnolls are grunting softly, their mangled common seeming to be questioning when the intruders will arive.  The armored figure seems to say nothing, merely inclines her head, and silences the gnolls with a gesture.  Yip stands ready, prepared to parry a crossbow bolt flying in his general direction.

It doesn't come.

Several seconds pass before the kobold realises he's well camoflaged by the shadows of the stairwell, his size and natural stealth helping to keep him hidden form view.  Neither the gnolls nor their armored master has any idea he's there, all of them seeming to relax, their attention wandering slightly.  He figures they heard the armored figures on the top of the stairs, were waiting for someone to come down.

Yip breaks out into a wolfish grin as he stretches out his paws, slowly curling them into fists.  His feet pad silently on the cobblestone floor as his magic boots carry him up to the lead gnoll in a silent charge.  Before the gnoll has even realised an attack has started, Yip lashes out to crack a kneecap with a hideious yell.


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## Lela (May 27, 2003)

Yip vs. three Gnolls and a Human.  This can't end well. . .


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## arwink (May 28, 2003)

_Tuesday, August 22nd, 508 AF, Continued _ 

Up the stairs Warwind, Calmert and Durhon hear Yip's cry of rage as he attacks.  

"Trouble," Durhon grunts, and starts sprinting down the stairs.  It takes a few second for the others to catch onto what's happening, but they too charge down the stairwell, Calmert taking the steps three at a time.

The cleric arrives on the bottom step just in time to see the three gnolls move to surround Yip.  One is still staggering, it's leg sitting at an odd angle, but the other two flank the small monk and strike out.  Yip's response is a fluid dodge, allowing him to slide beneath both blades before lashing out at the wounded gnoll before him.  The monks first blow hammers into gnolls other knee, producing a small pop as the cartlidge snaps.  The gnoll lurches sideways, screaming in pain, but Yip is already there.  Leaping nearly three feet off the ground, the Kobold connects with the gnolls face with a spinning backfist.  

Calmert watches in sick fascination as the Gnolls head snaps backwards, blood tracing an arc in the air before splattering against the armored figure.  

"Heeiroooonooussss," the cleric screams, then charges forward.  His spare sword slices through gnollish armor, but seems to do little more than enrage the beast.  It does draw the armored figures attention, however, and he hears a feminine voice chanting the words of spell through the black helm.  Calmert soon feels the chilling presence of a magical fear settling over his heart.  

"I am the arm of Heironous," Calmert chants softly.  "I fear nothing while I act in his service."
For a moment his legs tremble beneath him, threatening to carrying him away from the fight, but his devotion makes him stronger than the magic.

Warwind and Durhon are fast behind Calmert, and they hit the room running.  Durhon charges forward with his axe, barreling forward to hit the second gnoll with a glancing blow.  

"Spellcaster," Calmert yells to the others.  They nod, and the front line of Yip, Durhon and the cleric try to push past the two remaining gnolls to engage the armored leader.  Warwind simply lets loose with his bow, shooting past his friends to take down the crossbow weilding human behind them.  

The gnolls prove difficult to move, their axes drawing blood from both Calmert and Durhon as they seek to stop the adventurers from advancing.  Yip succeeds in slipping past, somersaulting through a gap in their defensive line to stun the armored figure with a blow that makes its armor ring out like a bell.  The sound distracts the gnolls, leaving one open for Durhon's axe strike.  When the second creature howls in rage, lurching past Calmert to strike the dwarf, Warwind neatly picks it off with an arrow shot that catches it in the eye.

As the armored figure regains its senses, it lets out a sharp curse at the death of its guards.  The crossbow is dropped in favor of a morning star that catches Yip on the upper shoulder, spinning him around once before he regains his balance.  It's a short lived show of defiance, however, and the combined force of Durhon and Calmerts blows soon drop it to the ground.

Everyone stands at the ready, waiting for more attackers, but it seems that the defenses were focused more on the upper part of the ruin, leaving only a token force at the lower entrance.  Nothing comes out of the darkness, and all they hear is the slow drip of water hitting the flagstones.

"Well," Durhon grumbles.  "That was invigorating."
He takes a moment to look at the dead bodies, raising an eyebrow when he seens the simple efficiency with which Yip disabled the first gnoll.
"Ye know Knobly, sometime it's worth keeping you around." 
He breaks out in a wide grin, then starts sorting through the gnolls possesions in search of gold and weapons.


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## Khynal (May 28, 2003)

Lela said:
			
		

> *Yip vs. three Gnolls and a Human.  This can't end well. . . *




Not for the gnolls' knees!


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## arwink (May 29, 2003)

_Tuesday, August 22nd, 508 AF, Continued _ 

Teh bodies contain little of value, although another small collection of unfamiliar holy symbols quickly confirms that they belong to the same cult as the dead bodies in the dragon's lair.

"Slim pickings," Durhon grumbles as he sorts through the bodies, throwing thin pouches at worthwile daggers to one side for Warwind to check.  

Calmert and Yip do a quick scout of the area, discovering that the room is larger than they originally thought and dissappears into the distance.  Yip makes out several shadowy archways, like catacombs or crypt entrances, down one long hallway and there are several doors that sit ominously waiting to be opened.  Whatever was built down here, it's larger than the building above.

"Never a good sign," Calmert mutters to himself as he searches.  "People who build underground have something to hide."
Yip just scampers from door to door, pressing his ear against them to listen for noise on the other side.

He finds it on a door close to the stairs, where he can hear the sound of someone muttering to themselves on the far side.  YIp motions for everyone to keep quiet, and Durhon pauses mid-loot to place a hand on the haft of his axe.

Yip reaches forward to push at the door, hoping to surprise whatevers on the other side.  As the door swings open, it becomes obvious that he's failed - a small flurry of magic missiles thundering into his chest.  The kobold is thrown back by the blast of magic, although he lands cat-like on his feet with a small Mew of pain.

"Get back," a voice screams from the room.  "I'll not be taken alive by dark-spawn like you."

Yip hisses in anger, his tail swishing from side to side, but Durhon and Calmert are quick to restrain him.

"An who said anythin' about killin' ye?" Durhon asks loudly.  "Although if ye spring another one of those there spells on us, I may just let me scaly friend snack on yer leg bones."

A small tabby cat walks out of the room, seeming to move with a restrained caution.  It takes a moment to stare at all four of the adventurers, then mews loudly to summon a middle-aged man in grubby robes.

"You're not cultists?" the stranger asks.
"We're soldiers," Calmert explains simply.  "Or we were.  I guess you'd call us freelance do-gooders these days."
"Do-gooder?" Durhon asks, his voice slightly confused.  Warwind echoes his sentiment at the same time, although his focus is on the word "Free."  Calmert ignores them both.
"I'm Calmert, priests of Heironous, while this is Warwind Treehugger, Durhon and Yip."

"Boccob be praised," the stranger says, emerging cautiosly.  "My name is Spugnoir.  I...I'm a potion maker in Hommlet, but I've spent years poking around in these ruins in my spare time.  Late last week I came out to look around, and I found the place over-run with cultists and a dragon.  I've been trapped in that room ever since, hiding in the hopes I could find some method of escape."

"Why not blast them?" Durhon asks.  His eyes narrow as he glances at Yip's chest, focusing on the scorched cloth and scales.

"I tried to fight my way past the dragon," Spugnoir says appologetically.  "I used most of my spells in teh attempt, without success.  The spell I used on your companion was my last resort.  I should be cursed for a fool forever after coming out here without a spellbook."

"Well, we be lookin' for more cultists," Durhon says.  "Ye can either tag along or head home, I don't really care."

A grimace of pain crosses Spugnoir's face.

"I'll come," he says.  "I don't fancy my chances sneaking past the dragon."

"The dragon's dead," Durhon sighs.  "Me and knobbly here killed it a few days back."

Spugnoir blinks for a few moments, taken aback by the statement.
"Then you have my thanks," he says, "And I'd best be on my way.  I left my daughter in charge of my store, and she'd be frantic with worry by now.  If you're ever in town and in need of potions, come see me.  I promise I'll be more than willing to give you a good price to show my gratitude."

"A pleasure," Calmert says.  He spots Warwind about to start speaking, no doubt ready to ask exactly how large a discount Spugnoir is speaking of, and the cleric stomps hard on the elfs toes.  "I wish you a safe journey home."

Spugnoir rushes towards the stairs, his familiar hot on his heels.  Durhon is already looking over the gnolls meager loot as Yip searches out Spugnoir's hiding spot - a small stock room still filled with ancient crates.

"Yip think we should rest," he calls through the door.  "Yip hurt, Elf-mage need spells, Cleric need healing."
"That room be safe enough?" Durhon asks.  Yip chirps an affirmative, and everyone hurries in.

"Two man watches," Durhon reminds them as they settle in.  "Keep it quiet, and keep yer eyes on that door."


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## Lela (May 30, 2003)

Kobald's mew?  I would think they'd bark. . .

But mewing does sound cooler. . .


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## arwink (May 30, 2003)

Lela said:
			
		

> *Kobald's mew?  I would think they'd bark. . .
> 
> But mewing does sound cooler. . . *




I run on the theory that anything small and sneaky mews when it's hurts for some reason.  Yip is certainly small and sneaky, and he was definately hurt there, so...

_Wednesday, August 23rd, the Wee Hours of the Morning..._ 

Yip stands watch, perched on one of the smaller crates where he can stare at the wall.  The burnt patches of scale are still hurting, despite Calmert's attempts at healing, and he has to concentrate to keep his mind from wandering. 

Behind him, Durhon sits by the fire.  The dwarf is still dressed in his imperial issue breastplate, although it is covered in a score of cuts and battered marks since his arrival in Hommlet.  For a few moment's Yip suggests cleaning it, but he disregards the idea when he imagines Durhon's reaction.

Then he hears the chanting outside.  Yip yelps softly to catch Durhon's attention, waving a paw for the dwarf to remain quiet.  Durhon nods once, then motions for Yip to move forward and listen at the door.

On the far side he can hear someone moving, as well as the soft chanting of someone casting a spell.  Yip frowns as he listens, waiting for the sounds to come closer, but they don't.  With a shrug he backs away from the door, gently nudging the sleeping Warwind and Calmert as he goes past.

"People moving," Yip hisses softly.  "Casting spell.  Not coming this way."
"How far?" Calmert asks.  Yip shrugs.
"Not know, but close.  Close enough to hear snoring."

Everyone stays awake for a time, listening to the sounds on the far side of the door.  It goes on for the better part of an hour, the rusting sound of people moving, casting spells and giving orders, then it stops.

"Think they're gone?" Warwind asks.  No-one has an answer.
"Clean up crew?" Durhon suggests. 
"Or they made a break for it with the dragon dead," Calmert says.  Everyone pauses to think about this.
"Either way, I don't think we're going anywhere until morning," Calmert decides eventually.  "Yips hurt, and neither of us have spells.  We keep watch and sleep light, weapons close.  Hopefully, they wont be getting any closer."
"An what if they're waitin' for that?" Durhon demands.  
"Then we check," Calmert says simply.  "Yip can try and peak through the door, scout things out if no-ones there."

Yip doesn't even wait to be ask, just lets out a chirping sigh and creeps towards the door.  He moves as silently as a cat, his feet barely leaving a mark on the dusty floor, and he manages to coax the door open by the barest slither without making a noise.

And he almost gags on the stench that hits him.  He can barely describe the intensity of it, but it reminds him of days spent cleaning up the dead after battle, when the rain has fallen for a week and the sun has left them bloated.  His stomach rolls over on itself, but he manges to hold his breeth and peek through.

There are corpses on the other side.  Not just the bodies of the gnolls and the woman, but decaying bodies with the skin stretched tight over sinewy limbs and rotting flesh still lingering on their bones.  The Beastmen had used the creatures in their wars, shamens and witch doctors animating them from the dead.  Ghouls and ghasts, with magically animated zombies made from the freshly slain.  All of them seeming to be waiting for the door to open, intruders to enter the room.  Yip slides the door shut, then pushes a makeshift barricade of crates and boxes in front of it as best he can.

"What's yer problem?" Durhon asks, watching the kobolds frantic response.
"Undead," Yip hisses.  "Many undead."
"Skeletons and zombies?" Durhon asks.  
Yip shakes his head, another wave of revulsion coming over him when he remembers the ghasts stench.  Durhon and Calmert both see him gag, and realise what he's talking about.

"I'll be gettin' that box," Durhon says, pointing at a large crate that's almost as big as he is.  "You take those smaller ones there.  If we ken hold 'em off till mornin', we'll take 'em at full strength."
Calmert nods, already dragging at the boxes as Durhon makes his suggestion.

"They're just undead?" Warwind says sleepily in the background.  "What's the big deal? "Just let Calmert channel Heironous power at them and we can go back to sleep."

Everyone waits a few moments for the reality to sink in, then Warwind is on his feet and helping Calmert with his boxes.

"Sorry," the elf says.  "Still half asleep.  Hold them off, sleep, take them at full strength in the morning.  Right.  Lets do it."


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## Lela (May 31, 2003)

Looks like they chirp too.  I'll keep that in mind for later.

Hay, come to think of it, I've been invited to a priate game later tonight.  Perhaps I'll play a Yip.  Though it might not be a monk, the concept is still there.  Any ideas?


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## arwink (May 31, 2003)

Lela said:
			
		

> *Looks like they chirp too.  I'll keep that in mind for later.
> 
> Hay, come to think of it, I've been invited to a priate game later tonight.  Perhaps I'll play a Yip.  Though it might not be a monk, the concept is still there.  Any ideas? *




Play a rogue.  That's primarily what the Copperheads Yip does, and it works pretty well.  The sneak attacks make up for the lack of strength (which is a big hit, -4 is no classes friend).  Multiclassing a Monk/sorcerer may also be worth it, and certainly it looks like one of the Yips will pick up Sorcerer levels sooner or later.

Keep in mind that your the combination of two or three different types of animals - part dog, part lizard, part whatever else the DM decides is koboldish.  You don't walk anywhere, you scamper.  Odds are your command of common is dominated by the Kobold's basis in draconic, which I've always seen as having a very different syntax that places the speaking as the centre of every sentence (after all, what's more important to a dragon than a dragon?).

Hrm.  That's about it off the top of my head.


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## Lela (May 31, 2003)

Being a rogue would play off a lot of Kobald strengths (never thought I'd put those two words in one sentence).  Maybe I can get the DM to let me pull a few Halfling strengths to help my character out (bonus to Jump, Move Silently, etc.)  I mean, after all, he's a fricken Kobald.


Though, in retrospect, I recall this DM playing a Kobald in another campaign a while back.  Though I don't know the details, I understand that something went very very wrong involving the other PCs.  Maybe I'll ask about that _before_ I make a decission. . .


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## Yip (Jun 2, 2003)

I can just picture what went horribly wrong too

DM:  Whilst sitting at your camp fire, a kobold scampers cautiously up to the edge of the light.  It looks like it is about to...
Player: I hit it with lightning for ruining my dinner.
DM: Don't you want to hear what it was doing?
Player: It's only a kobold, I'm sure it wasn't that interesting.  How much XP did that give me?

Go the Yip, be damned with what the other players think.  If they don't like him, remember that ale barrel back in Bellhold.   

Yip long and prosper.


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## Lela (Jun 2, 2003)

Yip said:
			
		

> *
> Go the Yip, be damned with what the other players think.  If they don't like him, remember that ale barrel back in Bellhold.
> *




I ended up being an Aquatic Elven Druid.  His dream is to one day fly among the storms.  To this end, he has taken up worship of the Tekie (sp?) god of Storms and is planning on the Stormlord PrC.

But, being that the Druid is rather weak (I didn't used to think so, but, dang, I can't do much now), I wouldn't mind him dying.  Perhaps a Yip Sacred Fist or a Yip Cleric of the Storms?


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## Yip (Jun 5, 2003)

Yips are pretty adaptable little blighters, I am sure you'd be able to find them doing almost anything.

A druidic Yip.  I just get a mental picture of Yoda in that swamp.

"mmm, level you up I will".

They may be weak, but they do have other benefits such as being extremely hard to hit (Yip's usually have a level of monk) and are fairly nimble.


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## Lela (Jun 6, 2003)

I recall one player I know mentioning how there are ECL+s for powerful races (Drow, Trolls, Balors) but no ECL-s for weak races (Rats, Toads, Kobalds, Goblins).  Considering how much _stuff_ besides ability ajustments standard races get, it seems reasonable that the lowly Kobald should get something.  Perhaps I'd hand out some of the Halfling or Gnome stuff to help make up for it.

Still, it's an interesting thought.


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## Yip (Jun 9, 2003)

Arwink was nice enough to tweak the starting package for Yips.  I can't recall the exact details, but they are a little more useful than would otherwise have been the case.  

I think it basically entailed lots of bonuses to their 'scurry around in the dark avoiding traps' skills.

This would have been very usefull for the first Yip that failed the scythe trap detect.  Splatter doesn't begin to describe that occurence.  I still wake up late at night in a cold sweat wiping imaginary Yip yuck off me.


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## Lela (Jun 9, 2003)

I'd love to see it.  Yips sound like a good idea for me to pop into my campaign right now.

Anyone care to create a Yip's Rogues Gallery thread?  I'm sure some would even be willing to add a few ideas or full blown (N)PCs to it.


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## Khynal (Jun 10, 2003)

I don't think we have a past Yips gallery, but there's always this thread on Arwink's boards:

Yips of the Future


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## arwink (Jun 16, 2003)

_Wednesday, August 23rd, 508 AF_

Durhon insists that it is dawn on the surface, but there is little in the storeroom to say one way or another.  The dark gloom is fought back only by the few glowing weapons and items of power the various veterans possess, the morning chorus replaced by the muttering and snarling of the undead beyond the barricaded door.  Dawn becomes an idea, a marker of time when Warwind’s mind is rested enough to retain spells and Heironous will listen to Calmert’s prayers once more.  Durhon simply paces, his hobnailed boots scraping against the stone floor with a rasp that makes Yip wince.  Every now and then the dwarf will look at the small kobold, his expression questioning.  Yip just shrugs, years of habit teaching him that noise in close proximity to an enemy is something to worry about.  Durhon glowers, starts taking experimental swings with his axe to limber up.

“I’m ready,” Warwind says quietly.  A few minutes later, the sound of Calmert’s whispered chanting ceases.
“Me too.” 

They start pulling debris from the doorway as quietly as they can, letting the lightly armoured Yip and Warwind do much of the work.

“Ready,” Yip asks when the task is done.  He stands by the doorway, a paw resting on the latch the holds the door shut.  There is a mute round of nods, and the small kobold swings the door open.

The first thing to hit them is the stench, the smell of carrion and death wafting through the open door like a physical attack.  Yip, Warwind and Durhon manage to ignore it, their sense of smell deadened after the horrors of the war, but Calmert’s presence was less and the shining cleric saw less front-line action.  He gags, a splatter of vomit hitting the face-plate of his armour, but charges forward regardless.

There are dead surrounding the doorway, a morass of shambling zombies and slavering ghouls.  Some are gnolls, the wounds from yesterday’s fight still fresh on their body, while others are dressed in dark robes so old that the tatters are almost threadbare.  Everyone looks around, taking note of an easy target, and the Veterans of the Trollmist surge forward.  Elven sword, Kobold fist and dwarven axe lash out, devastating one of the more decayed ghouls, while the lumbering form of Calmert holds his sword aloft and chokes a prayer through the mess on his face-plate.

“Shining lord of Valor, cleanse this wretches of their taint.”

Zombies burst open, a silvery light spilling out of their flesh as they burn to a crisp in the face of Calmert’s faith.  Even two of the ghouls scampers backward, fleeing from the holy light.  Those that remain lash out with claws and fang, tearing rents in the armour of Durhon and scoring Warwind's flesh.  For a moment, the elf feels the chill touch of death settle on his bones, but his elven soul sings of immortality and he throws off the paralysing fear of deaths touch.  With a grin at the surprised ghoul, Warwind mutters the words of a spell and fires a pair of magic missiles into its chest.  The flesh scorches and burns as the creature drops to the ground.  Durhon and Yip team up.  The ghouls are fast and strong, death granting them a power beyond the ken of mortals, but Yip is skilled to dance through their defences and flank them.  Even the dead aren’t skilled at splitting their focus in a battle, and the combination of whirling paws and flashing axe cut through ghoulish defences with surprising elegance.  The one ghoul that survives initial contact with the pair is badly damaged by their attack, and is in no fit state to keep Warwind and a still nauseas Calmert from surrounding it and beating it to the ground.

In the space of twenty seconds, the room is cleared.  The only sound that can be heard is the soft pad of fleeing ghoulish feet.

“After ‘em,” Durhon snarls, and everyone sprints.  Yip runs like a hasted gazelle, his feet barely toughing the ground.  Durhon barrels forth with a speed that belies his heavy armour and dwarven stature.  Warwind keeps pace with a long, elven stride.

Calmert lumbers along behind, failing to keep pace in his heavy plate armour and half-blinded by his own bile.  He curses quietly as he runs, silently praying that the fight is almost over so he gets a chance to wipe himself clean…


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## Durhon (Jun 16, 2003)

Geez.  We must be nearing the end for this one.  (End as in end of the first part!!)


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## arwink (Jun 17, 2003)

One more update, and we should be at the spot where the second session ended.

Two or three, and I should have introduced Capellan's PC


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## arwink (Jul 9, 2003)

_Wednesday, August 23rd, 508 AF, continued_ 

The fleeing ghouls scamper down a short corridor and into a room that bears the trappings of a torture chamber.  Rusting racks and manacles fill the room, and two thick stone pillars support the walls.  As Yip and Durhon burst into the room, they see the two ghouls scrambling desperately at one of the pillars.  For a moment it seems as though the creatures are trying to climb to the stone ceiling, but that's all the consideration their actions are given before kobold paw and great axe are launched with deadly precision.  

The sound of tearing flesh and snapping bone fill the room as Warwind arrives, the pale elf rattling off the words to a spell and launching a pair of glowing arrows at the ghoul battling Yip.  As Calmert bursts into the room, his sword held at the ready, the fleeing ghouls are already one their way to a second death.  Calmert grunts once in consternation, trying to hold his breath against the smell of drying vomit on his armor, then charges forward to cut one of the ghouls down.  The second beast backs away, outnumbered and outclassed by the veteran soldiers, but he makes it no more than four steps before he too is laid low.

"Done," Durhon grunts with pride.  He hawks up a mouthfull of spit and projects it onto the twitching corpses of the ghouls.  Calmert is already searching his pack for a rag, trying to find some way to clean off his armor.  Yip, Durhon and Warwind mostly look on with disguised amusement.

"I thought ye said ye were a soldier," Durhon says through his grin.  "Would have thought yer dinner would hold longer than that."
"The smell was horrible," Calmert says, his voice calm.  The others can see colour slowly returning to the clerics cheeks.
"Bah, that weren't nothin," Durhon smiles cheerfully.  "Ye should have seen the charnel house that was left after the Ambush at Krellek's Pass.  That was a whiff worth rememberin'.  Eight thousand corpses, three days in the sun after a torrential rain.  Yeh almos' felt sorry fer the boys on burial detail."

The colour in Calmerts cheeks drains away once more as Durhon heads towards the hallway, laughing.
"Back to the room," Durhon says as he leaves.  "After yer cleaned up, we'll get movin' and see if we can find yer cousin."


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## Lela (Jul 10, 2003)

arwink said:
			
		

> *Wednesday, August 23rd, 508 AF, continued
> 
> "Bah, that weren't nothin," Durhon smiles cheerfully.  "Ye should have seen the charnel house that was left after the Ambush at Krellek's Pass.  That was a whiff worth rememberin'.  Eight thousand corpses, three days in the sun after a torrential rain.  Yeh almos' felt sorry fer the boys on burial detail."
> 
> The colour in Calmerts cheeks drains away once more as Durhon heads towards the hallway, laughing.*




Yuck, sick, and Durhon rocks!


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## Durhon (Jul 10, 2003)

Actually Durhon probably smells worse than the charnel house.   

Tis what you get with a charisma of 5.


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## Lela (Jul 10, 2003)

Durhon said:
			
		

> *Actually Durhon probably smells worse than the charnel house.
> 
> Tis what you get with a charisma of 5. *




Wow.  Sounds like you'd make a great party spokesmen.

I'd really like to see that.


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## arwink (Jul 13, 2003)

_Wednesday, August 23rd, 508 AF, continued _ 

Calmert is cleaned by a quick prestidigitation from Warwind, and everyone spreads out to explore the tangle of short crypts and hallways that lead from the entry chamber to the dungeon.  There is but a single door from the area that they have not explored, and with a great deal of cautiou Yip lays his ear against the slightly rotting wood.  He can hear the soft murmor beyond, and the shuffle as armored creatures move.  The sound is faint, hard to hear, and Yip doubts any but the most keen of ears could have caught it.  Even as he reports it back to his companions, he wonders if he might have been mistaken.

Everyone gathers around the door, weapons at the ready.  At a nod from Durhon, Yip swings the door open.

On the far side, a naked human has been strung up between to pillars.  Taught ropes are attached to his arms and legs, holding him steady a foot off the ground, and small cuts in his arms and legs cause a slow trickle of blood to drip off all four limbs.  Black cloth binds his mouth, preventing him from speaking, but there's a pleading look in his eyes as he catches sight of the opening door.

Behind him, a cloaked figure wearing black armor is kneeling over a cloth covering, hurridly trying to cover a small collection of items.  Behind the fire stands more gnolls, swords at the ready and snarls on their lips.

Calmert barely has the time to whisper a horrified "Ezekial," before a feminine voice orders the gnolls forward.


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## Lela (Jul 14, 2003)

Nicely done.

Note to self:  Remember this.


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## Capellan (Jul 14, 2003)

Pleading?

_Pleading?_

The day I'm reduced to pleading for help from Calmert (rather than tricking it out of him), I'll be ready for the retirement home!


Ezekial Morrow


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## arwink (Jul 15, 2003)

Capellan said:
			
		

> *Pleading?
> 
> The day I'm reduced to pleading for help from Calmert (rather than tricking it out of him), I'll be ready for the retirement home!
> *




Shh, Zeke, your holding up the storyteller.  See the cross look he's giving you?  BEsides, we all know you were just _pretending_ to plead - Calmert's such a soft touch and so eager to smite evil that looking helpless was the best way to get him moving. And it's not like there were any pretty ladies to impress with your stoicism and bravery...hey, wait a second, why are you over here listening to stories?  I thought you were supposed to be my manager, and I haven't played a gig in weeks...

-Laggo, Master Minstrel, Loyal Friend and a Tiny Bit of Forshadowing


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## arwink (Jul 15, 2003)

_Wednesday, August 23rd, 508 AF, continued _ 

Ezekial holds his breath for the space of a few seconds, waiting for the intruders to make their move.  Four days of captivity and slow blood loss have weakened him, but his binding has been less of an obstacle that the constant presence of foul gnolls and clerics that watch over him.  

He hides a smile as the armoured form charges through the ranks of intruders by the door, sword held high, until he crashes against one of the gnolls standing guard.  A kobold is next, a Yip monk by the robes, and the small creature is quick to flank the gnoll and hammer it with its fists.  

Ezekial's smile only gets wider, and he twists his arm and hand back and forth in an attempt to escape the wiring.  A dwarven form rockets across the room, great-axe swinging in a low arc to take a gnolls legs out from under him, and a ball of flame rolls across the room to fling itself at the cleric.

Ezekial looses sight of the fight, but his keen ears can make out what goes on.  The grunt of the gnolls as they swing heavy weapons at their attacks, the clank of an armoured cleric stepping backwards and casting a spell.  The flaming ball hisses, leaping through the air, and the smell of gnollish fur fills the air.  Weapons are swung, and there's a sudden bounce to one of the cords that binds his limbs as a shrill voice yelps "Yip free."  For a few minutes Ezekial actually thinks the attackers will slay the cleric and her gnollish allies before he's freed, then the sound of a spell echoes through the room and a feminine voice utters the word "Flee" through a great helm.  Seconds later Ezekial watches the dwarf charge across the room once more, succumbing to the cleric's magic.  The imprisoned man watches the dwarf charge towards one of the closed doors to the room, bending the magic's control as much as he can to avoid the open doorway and the elven wizard standing in its shadows.

"No," Ezekial yells, already aware of what's behind the dwarf's chosen path of retreat.  It's too late, and he sees the armoured figure come to a stop in front of the horde of human and ogre skeletons the cleric had been storing in the room.

"Some rescue," Ezekial mutters.  One of the ropes snaps as the kobold gnaws through it, and the change in leverage is enough that Ezekial can free himself from the rest.  The kobold is already moving, executing a stunning series of back-flips that puts him toe to toe with the surviving gnoll and cleric.  Ezekial briefly contemplates fleeing from the scene, but reason over-rides instinct and he instead dives for the small pile his captors had made of his equipment.  He finds his rapier in short order, pulling it free of its sheath and diving forward to aid his rescuers.  The cleric is wounded, but surrounded by a dark light that indicates some form of foul blessing protecting her.  The gnoll is in worse shape, but is faced by nothing but the small kobold as the armoured cleric of Heironous turns to aid the dwarf with a well-timed turning.

"Thank ye," the Dwarf rumbles as Ezekial hears the popping sound of zombies exploding, then the squelch of a battle-axe dropping something large and already dead.  Ezekial's blade finds a gnollish lung, dropping the creature to its knees where a flaming sphere is quick to immolate him.  Only the cleric remains, and she puts up a fair fight for someone already smeared with blood and bereft of allies, but the combined assault of five warriors is to much for her and she falls to the floor.

"Freedom," Ezekial thinks, and he savours the taste of the word for a few seconds while the others catch their breath.  With his most sincere and welcoming grin, Ezekial turns to thank his rescuers.  The site of the Cleric's face once he's taken off his helm is enough to give Ezekial pause.

"Ah cousin," Calmert says, "In a spot of trouble I see.  It's a good thing I came to look for you, isn't it?  Now, I know you've probably put a good deal of effort into forgetting this, but it's Miatta's wedding in a couple of weeks time and she's always thought of you as her favourite cousin, a lack of taste on her part perhaps, but I think it's best we clear this temple-raiding quickly and make an appearance, don't you?"


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## Durhon (Jul 15, 2003)

From memory I think this was a very hard fought battle.


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## Lela (Jul 16, 2003)

The Kobald imagery is amazing.  Well done.


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## arwink (Jul 20, 2003)

_Wednesday, August 23rd, 508 AF, continued _

Introductions are quickly made, and Ezekial is re-united with the bulk of his equipment as Warwind and Calmert sort through the booty taken from the slain gnolls and cleric.  There isn't much on the bodies - a few gold coins, and some potions and scrolls, but the items strewn across the blanket prove to be very interesting.  Layed out seperately are an iron torch, three black cones, a black sceptre with violet gems, a small black sphere and a black metal tube.  A detect magic quickly identifies the iron torch as magical and the black bead as carrying some unknown dewoemer.  The black tube is a scroll case, with a scroll bearing some unfamiliar writing inside.  Quick examination doesn't identify the language, but Calmert recognises it as some kind of ritual.  All of it is quickly stowed for later examination, even the non magical items after Durhon reminds everyone that if the evil folk want them, they must be worth stealing.

After the loot is split up, plans are made.  THere appears to be no other exit from this room, or any other part of the dungeon that the party has seen, but Calmert knows that the clerics used a door in the seemingly blank wall.  A quick search turns up a secred door, and after some deliberation over whether to continue on or search the rest of the dungeon for similar devices everyone proceeds down the dark corridor beyond.  Ezekial and Yip share scouting duties, the kobold pleased to discover that the lithe warrior is the quiet, stealthy comrade he's often wished for when the creaking armor of his other comrades has given them away.  Even better, Ezekial's keen eyes are the first to catch sight of a portcullis hidden in the ceiling of the passageway and he proves skilled enough to disable it before it falls.

"Ezekial very skilled," Yip comments blithely, despite a momentary twinge of instinct when he notices Ezekials skills at traditionally illicit arts.  Ezekial winks at him.

Eventually the passage brancehs off into a T intersection, both directions quickly twisting and turning to prevent easy determination of what's beyond.  The two scouts wait for the other veterans to catch up.

"Left or right?" Ezekial asks.  "I don't know what's up this far."
"Left," Durhon grunts.  "Always go left first."'

The left passage leads into a small chamber, a room with three doors on the far wall and a passageway leading off into the darkness to the parties left.

"Split up and search," Ezekial asks Yip.  The kobold nods, and they both move quietly accross the room to examine the doorways.  As everyone else filthers into the room, as quietly as they can, the two scouts fall back to confer with them.

"The first two are trapped," Ezekial says.
"Last one too." 
"I can't tell what kind there is, but I might be able to jam it enough that we can open a door," Ezekial says.  "There could also be something nasty on the far side, so I'll want you close by in case I succeed and they rush me.  The choice is yours."
"Easy then," Durhon grunts.  "Ye work on the middle door, we wait by the other two just in case.  If ye be turned into a smokin' corpse, yer cousin here can fix ye up fast."

Positions are taken as Ezekial starts pulling a variety of hooked and barbed tools from a kit kept in his beltpouch.  With a breathless care, he starts to manipulate the mechanisms inside the door and its lock.

"I think I've got it," he mutters.  "I think I've got it."

There is an ominous click from the door as he jiggles one of the tools a quarter inch.  Ezekial swears and hits the floor fast, waiting for whatever death is awaiting him.  Unfortunately,the trap lies not in the door that he's working on, but in the doors his companions are crouched near as they watch him work.  Bolts of energy arc out from both portals, and although Yip manages to leap free of the blast the other three are nearly fried by the blasts.

"I'm goin' to kill ye," Durhon growls, shaking his head to keep his beard from steaming.  "Of all the stupid, half-arsed..."
Whatever is going to follow is lost as an arrow flies past the dwarf's head.  Wounded and angry, Durhon turns to see his attacker, and two grinning gnolls stand in the shadows of the passageway with loaded bows.

"Intruders die," they howl, and their notched arrows are let fly.


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## arwink (Jul 21, 2003)

_Wednesday, August 23rd, 508 AF, continued _

The first arrow flies wide, clearing Durhon's head by nearly a foot, while the second is caught neatly by Yip as it flies past him.  The kobold looks at the barbed shaft for a second, then launches himself forward to strike the first gnollish archer.  Moving almost as quickly as the agile kobold is Ezekial.  HE notches an arrows with a single smooth movement, then lets loose a shaft that buries itself deep in the second gnoll's chest.  The two creatures howl in pain, trying to slash at the dancing form of Yip that lurks just outside their reach.  Yip sticks his tongue out as he dances away from their blades, infuriating the gnolls even more.  

Durhon doesn't give them the chance to act on their greater anger.  While their attention is focused on Yip the dwarven warrior bounds up behind the gnolls.  The first is quickly beheaded by his great-axe, while the follow-through on his blow is more than enough to bury the axe-blade deep in the second gnolls chest.

"Idgits," Durhon snarls, spitting at a corpse.  "Calme't, start wit' the healin'.  You.." he points at Ezekial, "..don't go near those doors again.  There ain't nothin' but blank wall behind 'em."
"How do you know?" Warwind asks.
"One - if ye do a trap that elaborate, it ain't goin where people are walkin'," Durhon says.  "Two - I'm a dwarf, an' unlike certain tree*&^$'s, I pay attention to what the stone be tellin' me."

Healing spells are cast, potions are drunk and a quick search of the northern passage is made.  It leads into an oddly shaped room that has six very old beds arranged in a random pattern.  The floor is littered with clothes, armour pieces and weapons although there are a few scattered bones and food scraps spread among the waste.  Most noticeable is the musty smell of wet fur that hangs over the room, especially in the thin blankets that cover the beds.

"Barracks for the Beastmen," Calmert asks.  Both Warwind and Durhon nod in agreement.
"I guess we go back to the intersection and go the other way.  So much for left."

Going right turns up a similar room as left - large enough, with three doorways opposite the entrance and a passageway leading to the north.

"If those doors are trapped, we're leaving them that way," Calmert mutters under his breath.

Once again Yip and Ezekial are sent in to scout, their footfalls barely making a whisper of noise as they move stealthily into the room.  The room has six beds laid out, although this time they arrangement is orderly and the floor is clean.  Small bags of belongings sit on the end of each bed, and an iron lock-box is resting on a small table.  The doors are all free from arcane of mechanical traps, but Ezekial finds the telling sequence of runes on the lock-box that indicates some form of Warding Glyph.

"Can you dispel magic?" He asks Warwind. 
"I'm a war-mage," Warwind sniffs.  "I command mighty battlemagics."
"Right," Ezekial says, rolling his eyes.  "I guess you'll all be wanting to take a few steps back then.  Unless someone else knows how to do this?"

Once more the thieves kit is pulled free, and Ezekial's skills almost prove adequate to the task at hand.  As the Glyph activates, he comforts himself with the knowledge that his chance of disarming it was slim at best and that his quick reflexes are more than adequate when it comes to dodging the flare of acid the glyph fires into the room.  Picking himself up off the floor, he can see that the beds and other furnishings in the room are badly burned by the acid blast, but Ezekial himself is fine.

"It's tripped," he calls to the others, waiting in the corridor.  "Just be careful where you stand, there's something of a mess on the floor."

The lockbox contains several scrolls, a sacrificial dagger gilded in silver, and several sheaves of paper that seem to serve as part of a diary.  Warwind and Calmert huddle over the scrolls, using learning and magic to determine the spells they contain. Ezekial and Yip are sent to scout out the passageway on the right of the room.  Durhon sits on one of the less damaged beds with the diary, quietly absorbing the events transcribed within...


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## Lela (Jul 22, 2003)

> *"Ezekial very skilled," Yip comments blithely, despite a momentary twinge of instinct when he notices Ezekials skills at traditionally illicit arts. Ezekial winks at him.*




Yip find friend.  Soon Yip die and friend won't have Yip.  Friend be sad?



In case no one's noticed, I've taken a liking to the Yips.  We'll see how Ezekial fares in my eyes should he dare start overshadowing to true masters of of the Roguish arts. . .


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## randomling (Sep 4, 2003)

Dude,

You *have* to update this! I'm begging you!

Also, can I play a Yip in a PbP of yours sometime?


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## Zaruthustran (Jan 21, 2004)

arwink said:
			
		

> _Wednesday, August 23rd, 508 AF, continued _
> 
> Durhon sits on one of the less damaged beds with the diary, quietly absorbing the events transcribed within...




[looks at date of last story hour update]

Wow, Durhon. You read _slow_.

-z


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## Lela (Jan 22, 2004)

Ah HA!  It's cursed.  With the _Slow_ spell.  That must suck.


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## Graywolf-ELM (Feb 18, 2004)

Lela said:
			
		

> Ah HA!  It's cursed.  With the _Slow_ spell.  That must suck.




At least this one didn't take me a couple of days to read through.  I found this story a couple of pages back.  Another good read.


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## arwink (Feb 19, 2004)

Actually, the campaign was sort of hit by a disintergration spell

It failed its save.

Due to some of the scheduling problems with work and the various players (me included), it became near impossible to organise a session whever everyone turned up, so Mega-module fell by the wayside while Copperheads took over as the primary campaign.

Sooner or later, should Copperheads ever actually reach the point of being up to date, I'll probably consider coming back and finishing this.


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## Graywolf-ELM (Feb 19, 2004)

arwink said:
			
		

> Actually, the campaign was sort of hit by a disintergration spell
> 
> It failed its save.
> 
> ...




I'm enjoying the Copperheads quite well.  I just didn't want to miss anything you did.  I'm enjoying your writing.  I like the take on a 5 charisma character, and always considered them more ugly than all around unattractive for personal grooming etc, that the dwarf is showing.  Was that the characters' doing, or more of your illustrating the character?


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## arwink (Feb 20, 2004)

Durhon is mostly the players doing, although it gets played up a tad when writing it up.  His personality probably be quite this forceful with the 5 charisma, but the other players were having fun so I we ran with it.


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