# Dr Midnight's Keep on the Shadowfell - Unbelievably updated on 7/30



## Dr Midnight (Jun 11, 2008)

Prologue
On the King’s Road
_______________​
Berak was a small, fat, and racially ambiguous creature. He seemed either halfling or dwarf, but was most likely both. No one was rude enough to ask. 

BERAK’S FINE TRADE GOODS was painted on the side of the loaded wagon. Two aged mules led the cart. Berak held the reins loosely and chewed a sun-hardened strip of rawhide as he guided his cart, clonking and banging, up the rutted road. 

“Fine adventure we’re having, eh?” he laughed. He spat between his teeth. “Think we’ll spot any skeletons that we can fight with magical swords?” Berak waited for his employees to answer, but they’d stopped rising to his jabs the day before. He cackled again.

He had hired, a week back, a small company of unseasoned adventurers. They had been trying unsuccessfully to break into the field of dungeoneering, which Berak considered to be a pointless and overly romanticized occupation that reeked of the kind of muddleheaded thought that got people killed. The group had run out of money and had had to accept the trader’s offer of three gold pieces a week to accompany his carriage as foot guards.

“It ain’t like the songs they sing, is it?” he asked after a time. “All dragons and flying horses and such. No. It’s commerce that drives the world we live in. Commerce! And now you’re finally coming around and contributing to the gain of society. Keep at it and someday you’ll be where I am.” He spat again. “You lot aren’t talkative today.” 

The five adventurers had been walking since they’d left Farheyn that morning. They were hot, tired, and irritable. The ghost of their failures as an adventuring party hung over them, along with the gray promise of working for people like Berak for the rest of their lives. Adventuring in the big city had proved ponderous. It was every child’s dream but when you grew up, you saw too late that there were no ways to get started; the existing groups cemented their reputation, and thus got all the contracts. There was no way to get a job without experience, and no way to get experience without a job. This job wasn’t like in the stories. 

“Cheer up,” Berak offered. “We’ve got one last stop at Winterhaven, then in the morning we turn back for civilization.” He was right about the first part.

The road kept stretching on for miles, and the company of BERAK’S FINE TRADE GOODS kept walking it.


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## Richards (Jun 12, 2008)

This, for me, is the best thing to come out of 4E thus far: a new Dr. Midnight Story Hour!  Woo hoo!

Johnathan


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## Metus (Jun 12, 2008)

Dr Midnight!  Yeeeeeeeaaahhh!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jun 12, 2008)

Metus said:
			
		

> Dr Midnight!  Yeeeeeeeaaahhh!




As above, only with more whooping. 

I only hope my own effort can compete...


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## Dr Midnight (Jun 12, 2008)

Ahh, my loyal subjects. Er... readers. Whatever.

More than usual, take this one with a grain of meh. I'm not plotting a campaign out of it, I'm just running KotS with the pre-gens and seeing how we like 4e. There's a chance it may catch on and grow into a campaign, but who knows. 

That's assuming I even get to the end. You know how that all goes.


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## Metus (Jun 12, 2008)

Dr Midnight said:
			
		

> More than usual, take this one with a grain of meh.




Never!

Question: are any of the people playing in this one from the Temple of Elemental Evil game?

Also, do you plan on having a website for it?


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## Dr Midnight (Jun 12, 2008)

Captain Metus! Hi. No and no. This is going to be 3 people from the Ravenloft campaign and 2 new people. I've moved away from the Knights of Spellforge Keep, though I see them regularly. Xaltar and Ziona have two girls now, and Wee Jas got married last year. Jettok had a baby a few months back. Dartan remains... Dartan.

Hey, I haven't been paying attention to the hype and I only just today flipped through the core books. I have this to say. ELADRIN?? WHAT THE HELL IS AN ELADRIN???* I can take the pointless addition of tieflings. I can barely take the pointless omission of half-orcs. I can kinda tolerate rangers being described primarily in combat terms. I cannot accept both elves and some foppish variety of super-elf. Would someone please explain to me just what an Eladrin is supposed to be? ELADRIN??

*Imagine me with the fury of Duckie from Pretty in Pink yelling "Blaine, his name is Blaine?!?"


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## Dr Midnight (Jun 14, 2008)

Played tonight. Wow, 4e is fun, eh? I still have a problem with healing surges, but overall it was a great time... combat's interesting now, wheee! I friggin' love skill challenges. 

Anyway. I'll probably be amending the prologue a bit, and I'll get to writing up session one tomorrow sometime I think. I don't think you guys are going to be disappointed with the unexpected crapstorm that came up. I'm very excited about the two new players... now that's my kind of roleplaying.


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## Metus (Jun 14, 2008)

Dr Midnight said:
			
		

> I friggin' love skill challenges.




Ah, but don't forget that skill challenges as written are broke.  I hope you're using Stalker's improved skill challenge system.  Otherwise, your players are getting a bum deal!

Either way, I look forward to some story goodness.  Bring on the adventure!


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## Dr Midnight (Jun 14, 2008)

Huh. I'm not reading or even trying to follow that guy's logic... anyone can tell you I'm no game mechanic. Looking at the base numbers for his proposed skill challenge system DO look more "right" to me, though. Thanks Metus.

I'm going to put on some coffee and get to writing.

EDIT: I have to say, these are some of the weirdest PC names I've ever run a game with. Not bad, just... uncommon.


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## Dr Midnight (Jun 14, 2008)

Session 1 – Chapter 1
Fire and War are Good for Commerce
_______________​
The group of travelers walked on, and Berak began speaking again. “You know, in a perfect world you could be a working man AND use magic items. You could… I don’t know… use a magical quill to sign important documents. Or you could use some great ancient artifact to help you move boxes on a loading dock.” This made him laugh.

The halfling, walking behind the cart, said “Don’t you think we’ve heard enough of your jokes?”

Berak spat again. “When you’re the boss, maybe you can tell me when I can and can’t make jokes. As you’re just the hired help… do your job.” They rode on in silence for a moment, and Berak seemed to bristle under the rebuke. 

The halfling was named Greldo. He walked point, as his eyes were sharper than most. He sneered silently to show his derision for his employer’s comments, and refrained from responding. He was three and a half feet tall, with the kind of rakish smile and devious wit that was characteristic of halflings in his line of work. He wore two daggers on a leather strap that crossed his chest, and he walked with an agile gait.

About a hundred yards up the road, Greldo spotted a flash of activity. A creature had peeked out from behind a pile of boulders at the approaching company, then darted across the road. It looked like a kobold. Greldo considered calling out to the group, then smirked. He fell back casually and spoke to the one of his partymates walking alongside the cart.

This was Lathon, a dragonborn paladin in the service of the god Bahamut. He was seven feet tall, and thickly corded with muscle beneath his gleaming armor. His scales were an oily black that faded to a dull charcoal at points. One red scale, the shape of a diamond, was at the base of his throat. His eyes were alert, bright red, and unnerving.

“Kobold ambush coming up,” Greldo said. “Pass it on.” 

Lathon looked at the halfling. “Are we not notifying the fat man?” He glanced over to Berak with his reptile’s eyes.

Greldo smiled. “Why should we? We’re paid to guard, not to warn.” He shrugged, as if the matter were simply out of his hands.

Lathon chuckled and nodded, then lumbered off to speak to the half-elf. Gloraen was a cleric that was also dedicated to Bahamut. He wore chainmail accented with deep purple wool at its fringes. A wicked-looking mace hung on his hip. Lathon conveyed the message and Gloraen nodded, then sidled over to the dwarf.

The dwarf was named Moltezom. He was a stout creature, wearing ornate scale mail about his barrel chest. A yellow-orange beard split into five braids, the center being the thickest. Each braid ended in a bronze ring. A great maul hung across his back. Moltezom stifled a laugh at the halfling’s idea and ambled over to pass the message to the last member of the adventuring party.

Osivan was a wizard of human descent, and a queer one at that. He was whip-thin but wiry, unshaven, and he gnawed on a pipe. His eyes crinkled at the corners. He wore dingy blue-gray robes that hung open at his side, where a wand in a holster was strapped about his upper thigh. Osivan’s hat was tall and pointed in the fashion of wizards, but the brim curled upward at the sides. He trailed pipe-smoke over his shoulders as he walked with long strides.

“Kobold ambush coming up,” Moltezom said. “We’re not telling Berak.”

Osivan grinned. “Greldo’s idea?”

“Of course.”

“This is going to be good.” The wizard put his hand to his side and twitched his fingers, ready to grab at his wand at a moment’s notice. 

The adventurers walked along, readying to grab their weapons and feign surprise. The cart began to pass between a scattering of boulders, and it happened. Kobolds leaped out, yelling high-pitched war cries. Berak shrieked with alarm. The mules stopped as their owner pulled on the reins, screaming for help. “Zounds, an ambush!” cried Greldo, causing his partymates to barely restrain themselves from doubling over in laughter. “Follow me, Lathon!” The halfling ran into the fray.

“I don’t follow YOU, little man,” Lathon replied in his gravelly voice. He tossed his backpack onto the cart, drew his gleaming longsword and began sweeping it down through kobold bodies.  Moltezom smashed his maul into the side of one, and its limp body tumbled off over the bushes to the north. Osivan snapped his wand free from its holster and began firing quick bolts of light. Gloraen hefted a rather large mace and used his free hand to guide radiant spears into his enemies. Greldo was quick, darting among the kobolds and working at them with his daggers.

One of the kobolds fell back. He was wearing a bandolier across his chest, and on it were three small ceramic globes. He popped one free and loaded it into a sling, then began swinging it. “That one’s going to be trouble,” Gloraen called to the others. The kobold fired the sphere and it arced straight into the carriage, where it shattered. Fire blossomed along the cart’s right side. 

Berak began screaming anew. “Ack!! Fire, fire! My cart is on fire, put it out! Put it out right now!” His employees seemed not to hear him, fighting on as the fire spread on the carriage. He dumped his mug of mead over the burning side of the cart, but it didn’t seem to help at all. “HELP, HELP ME, SOMEONE PUT OUT THE FIRE! I’LL PAY EXTRA!”

Moltezom crushed an enemy with his maul, grunted, and ran with all the energy he could muster toward the cart. The heavily armored dwarf jumped and hit the side of it at a great speed, rocking it towards its left side. As it fell back to its right, Moltezom leaned back, pulling on it with all his weight. “Hurrrgh!” The cart began to tip over.

Greldo, who was engaging a kobold adjacent to the merchant’s carriage, noticed the flaming cart as it crashed down upon them. He backflipped out of the way just as the hulking mass of wood and metal thundered to the ground, smashing the kobold there into the dirt. 

The mules, yoked to the cart with straps and planks, turned sideways with it. Berak was flung bodily from his seat on the cart and he landed in the grass. He hollered as he flew and landed in the grass some distance away. The cart was now smothering its right side, but the fire had spread too far, and it was still catching.  Osivan squirted his wineskin into the fire, and helped to dim the flames briefly. “It’s not enough, it’s still going!” The fire was growing in intensity. Soon the cart would be a lost cause. Moltezom and Osivan began reaching into the bed of the cart, looking for the small barrel of water they had themselves loaded into the cart the day before. 

“Where is it, where is it… Ahah!” Moltezom grabbed a barrel and opened it over the fire. Baby powder poofed out, and the dwarf coughed and sputtered as white powder coated his beard. Osivan opened another barrel and dumped a glittering mass of thumbtacks onto into the flames. Moltezom yelled “It’s too late, save what you can!” and began pulling handfuls of unburned trade goods from the cart, flinging them behind him. Some of them shattered audibly. Berak’s groans turned to sobs as the fire consumed the body of his cart. 

The kobolds were dispatched in short order and the combat was finished. The adventurers watched, not without some pleasure, as Berak unhitched his mules from the cart. The mules fell to the ground and clambered to their feet, looking no more alarmed than ever. 

Moltezom was a kinder soul than most, and though he didn’t care for Berak’s treatment of the party, it didn’t do him good to see a person in misery. He collected the things he had thrown free from the cart and brought them to the merchant. The sum of Berak’s wares, cradled in the dwarf’s arms, were three snow globes, two embroidered hand towels, and a salt and pepper shaker set that resembled castle towers. Moltezom passed these gingerly to Berak. “Cheer up, mister Berak. Fire and war are good for commerce.” It was the only thing he could think of to say.

“What’s the plan now, sir?” Osivan asked. 

Berak spoke through clenched teeth. “What’s the plan? WHAT’S THE PLAN? I’VE LOST EVERYTHING, YOU IDIOTS!”

“Watch your tongue,” Lathon hissed. “We just saved your life. You still have some trinkets.” He took one of the hand towels and, glowering down at Berak, used it to wipe kobold blood from his longsword. He then pointed the sword to the coin pouch on the trader’s hip. “And you still have your money. For now.” Lathon had lost his backpack to the fire and had only managed to recover two sunrods and his flint and steel. His mood was darkened as well, and a dragonborn in a bad mood was a dangerous thing.

Suitably intimidated, Berak mounted one of his mules and clutched his remaining treasures to his chest. He headed west, continuing the journey toward Winterhaven, without a word. Greldo shrugged and followed him.

Moltezom walked up to Lathon, holding one of the kobold’s shields. It was made of a dragon’s scale. “Look, Lathon. You’d like this. It’s dragon, too!”

Lathon looked at the shield with disgust. “Are you suggesting I carry around the body part of a distant relative as an accessory?” 

The dwarf blinked with surprise and looked at the shield. “I guess I hadn’t thought of it that way.” 

_______________

Next time
A Bad Day for the Working Class​


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## Dr Midnight (Jun 14, 2008)

Note: the physical descriptions of the PCs isn't "official" yet, barring Osivan's. Everyone else's is subject to change as soon as the players get me their descriptions. I just wanted to get the story up there.

Osivan Zoffa:


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## Dr Midnight (Jun 15, 2008)

Session 1 – Chapter 2
A Bad Day for the Working Class
_______________​
That afternoon, the company of BERAK’S FINE TRADE GOODS reached the village of Winterhaven. The town itself was walled off from the surrounding farms and countryside, and these walls were lined with defensive palisades. The Cairngorn Peaks loomed over the walls of the town, to the north. To the south and the west lay only dark woods. If the stories about the outer territories were true, those woods could go on forever, as far as anyone knew. This was reportedly the end of the line for civilization in this region of the world… a point of light in the darkness.

Two guards at the gate nodded in greeting to the sullen group as they walked into the town square. Here, market day was in full swing. The town was festooned with colorful tents, wagons, stands, and shoppers and vendors of all kinds. It was the last thing Berak wanted to see at the moment. The space he had reserved to sell his goods from was sitting there in space G13, and it was exactly the size of his now charred cart. 
“What now, boss?” Greldo asked.

Berak sneered. “What do you mean, what now? I’m going home.”

“Um… you are, or WE are?”

“You’re fired.” Berak began walking to a large caravan of wagons, where people could charter safe passage to the eastern territories. Greldo exchanged a look with the others. They hadn’t been paid for their week’s worth of work. He moved quickly and stepped in front of Berak with his hand outstretched. “What the hell do you want now?” Berak snapped.

“Our money. You owe us three gold pieces each.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Greldo began raising his voice. “This isn’t funny, Berak. We’ve worked for you for an entire week!”

“I would have paid you to guard my cart. You failed, so you don’t get a copper. Get out of my way or I’ll call the guards.” He shuffled by Greldo. 

“Son of a bitch. That son of a bitch! What are we going to do?”

Gloraen was the appointed party treasurer. He took out the communal purse and looked through it. “Uh… well, we had four silver pieces when we were hired. Those kobolds had thirty-four silver, so we’re at thirty-eight.”

“Thirty-eight silver pieces won’t last us two days,” Moltezom moaned. “We can sell the shields the kobolds had, and their short-swords.”

“That’ll buy us a bit more time to figure out a plan, I suppose,” Gloraen said. 

The party quieted down as the caravan started moving out toward the front gate. Berak’s mules were yoked to the rear of the wagons, and Berak himself sat in one of the coach wagons along a dozen other travelers. He looked at the party, and they looked back at him. 

“I’m going to tell everyone back home,” he hissed, “of how you failed completely to do your jobs. I’m going to ruin your names.”

Lathon’s nostrils flared and he reached up into the wagon, grabbing Berak by the tunic and flinging him down into the hard-packed dirt of the village square. The entire market gasped and all talk ceased. The dragonborn pointed down at the merchant and spoke with bared fangs. “You will not drag our good names through the mud. You will not.” The party backed a step away from Lathon. His anger was palpable.

“Ack… HELP! HELP, GUARDS!”

“Our honor is all we have, and I demand that you don’t sully it, you filth.”

The two guards from the town gate ran up, brandishing spears. Berak scrambled to his feet and hid behind them. “Arrest that thing, it just attacked me!!”

The guards clearly did not like the sight of the immense, seething paladin. One spoke nervously. “What has happened here?” 

The two sides told their stories. Greldo tossed in “And he stole my snow globes!”

The guards, with their spears pointed firmly to the dragonborn, said “All right. Uh. We can get this all figured out. For right now, though, we’re going to need you to come with us.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Lathon said. 

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to hand over your weapon and come with us!”

“No,” the paladin said coolly. The guards glanced at each other. Neither seemed confident that they could bring the creature down, if they needed to.

“Do as he says,” a voice called over the crowd. The onlookers in the market parted, and five more guards moved in. The captain of the guard walked up and said “Drop your weapon, dragonborn, and come with us. If you don’t, we’ll take you by force.” The seven guards were surrounding Lathon, spears angled inward.

“Come on, then,” Lathon said. His body was perfectly still and his eyes were blazing.

Gloraen moved in, with his hands held up and outward. “Wait, wait! This needn’t turn into more senseless violence. I can assure you, this man refused to pay us and threatened to besmirch our honor. I’m afraid our friend is very sensitive where issues of honor are concerned.”

The captain of the guard said “That’s irrelevant. He’s assaulted someone in our town square and WILL be arrested and the merchant will be questioned. We can have a local magistrate review the case, but for now, he comes with us.”

“I don’t have time to be questioned, I have to travel east,” Berak pleaded.

“I believe I have a solution,” Gloraen said. “I propose this. We let you go, Berak, with the fifteen gold pieces you owe us.”

“And my snow globes,” Greldo added.

“In return, you do NOT drag our names through the mud in our hometown. If you agree, we can end this right here and go our separate ways. What do you say?”

Berak looked to the cleric defiantly, then to the paladin. The look on Lathon’s face frightened the merchant badly, and he suddenly wanted to be as far from here as possible. “That’s fine. I won’t say a thing. Just let me get out of here.”

Gloraen smiled at the captain. “Well, are we finished here?”

The captain gestured to Berak. “That’s fine. He can go if he wishes, but the dragonborn comes with us. I cannot overlook violence in our town square.”

Lathon’s eyes smoldered and the square was silent for a moment before he spoke. “I’ll go,” he said, “But I’m keeping my weapons.”

The captain sighed. “If it means you’ll go without trouble, I suppose I’ll allow it. Peacetie your sword.” He tossed a small cord to the paladin, who caught it and wrapped it about his crossguard and belt. The shoulders of the guards seemed to slump in relief. Berak sprinted for the caravan and clambered aboard. It began rolling again and passed from sight through the gate.

The guards, captain, and Lathon walked north toward a walled portion of town. The party watched them go. “Well, this is fantastic,” Greldo said. “We’re marooned at the far edge of the territories with a few silver to our name and the paladin, who’s supposed to uphold good and law and all that other religious puffery, has a fit over nothing and gets arrested.”

“You know how Lathon gets about certain things,” Osivan said. “He won’t compromise. I’m surprised he even went without a fight.” 

Moltezom looked around and scratched his head. “Okay. We’re stuck here for the time being and we’ve lost our paladin. What’s the next move?”
Gloraen said “I want to start working on his release. I believe that if I can find a clergyman of Bahamut here in town to vouch for him as a holy knight, it’ll be easier to make a case for him to be let go.” 

“Probably a fine idea,” Osivan nodded. “We’ll stay here, sell the kobolds’ things and get a room for the night.” The group split up.

Gloraen was saddened to learn that there was no temple of Bahamut here in town; the temple was one of Avandra. The temple made allowances for different good faiths, though, and there was a small altar dedicated to Bahamut within. It was a very progressive touch. In speaking with Sister Linora at the temple, he enquired about influential townsfolk that might be worshipers of Bahamut. She replied that the town’s lord, Ernest Padraig, was one. Gloraen thanked her and headed toward the noble house. Finally, a piece of luck.

At Lord Padraig’s manor, he was allowed in. He found Padraig in a plush burgundy room with a broad oak desk and elegant furnishings. Padraig stood and met the cleric with a smile. “Ah, good afternoon. I’m Ernest Padraig, greetings and welcome to  Winterhaven! To what do I owe the pleasure?” He poured a glass of water and placed it before Gloraen.

“Well may I just say it’s a lovely town here, my lord. I come to you today to amend a wrong that’s been committed by a friend of mine. My adventuring party were traveling into town earlier today, guarding a carriage…”

“I’m sorry, did you say ‘guarding?’ Are you not visiting dignitaries?”

“Uh… no.” Padraig slumped in his seat, visibly disappointed. Gloraen, seeing he was losing his audience, quickly rushed to regain ground. “We are, however, an adventuring party. We’re just moonlighting as guards. Anyway, we were traveling into town and we were attacked by a band of kobolds, who set fire to…” He told his story and Padraig listened. 

Finally, Padraig took a breath and spoke. “You’re not the first group of travelers to be menaced by the kobolds that have turned the old King’s Road and our outlying farms into their personal hunting grounds. These beasts… they vex me. Sorely.” He stood and strolled slowly to a window looking out onto the street. “The villagers, however, refuse to recognize the seriousness of the problem; they won’t allow me to form a group to go out and exterminate them. Attacks along the road have grown more frequent over the past few months. Something’s stirring the kobolds up.” He paused for a moment, then turned and sat back down. “Perhaps we can help each other out.”

Gloraen nodded happily. “What can we do to help Winterhaven?”

“If you and your group agree to go out and rid us of the kobold nuisance, I will secure the release of your friend the dragonborn, and on proof of exterminating the menace, will render to you a payment. I’m afraid I can’t offer you much, though.”

“Whatever Winterhaven can pay will serve, my lord.” Gloraen hoped for fifteen gold. That would book passage for the group back home, if they wanted, or at least help them to hold out for the time being. It would certainly make up for the last week of misery in dealing with Berak. Twenty gold pieces would be fantastic.

“How does one hundred gold pieces sound?”

Gloraen coughed, sipped his water and said “We accept.”

__________

Next time
Gone Hunting​


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## Dr Midnight (Jun 15, 2008)

Let me introduce the players-

*Mike (Gloraen the Cleric)* - We play at Mike's house. I've said many times that it's the best location to play an RPG at that I've ever tried. There's access to mood lighting, mood music, a candelabra-type thing, we can play until the wee hours of the night, and the general atmosphere of the place is just right. Snacks and drinks are always well-stocked. Mike's okay too. I _guess_. Mike played The Amazing Thendrick in my Ravenloft campaign.

*Patience (Moltezom Granitar)* - This may be the weirdest name for a PC I've ever heard, but what the hell, Patience is great. She's a friend of mine from back in grade school and together we smash skulls with elbows. She's pretty new to the RPG, but she's enjoying herself. She played Ashlyn in my Ravenloft campaign.

*Roundy (Osivan Zoffa)* - I've known Roundy for years as well, and he's been playing D&D for a lot longer than I have. He was saddened to learn that there wasn't a ranger pre-gen for this campaign. He was Gerrit in my Ravenloft campaign.

*John and Dave (Greldo and Lathan)* - I don't really know these two too well just yet, but as we've seen already, they're my kind of roleplayers. They're friends of Mike's and if yesterday was any indication, friends of mine too.


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## pogre (Jun 16, 2008)

New blood in a group can certainly jump things up - sounds like the group is meshing well. Enjoying the SH - keep it up!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jun 16, 2008)

I've also got my players escorting a caravan to Winterhaven - I think they'll pick up a suitably unpleasant companion in the next session to help them on their way.

Thanks for the work on the Story Hour - looking forward to keeping an eye on this one.


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## Metus (Jun 16, 2008)

I'm digging it.  Please continue.


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## Dr Midnight (Jun 16, 2008)

Tallarn said:
			
		

> I've also got my players escorting a caravan to Winterhaven - I think they'll pick up a suitably unpleasant companion in the next session to help them on their way.
> 
> Thanks for the work on the Story Hour - looking forward to keeping an eye on this one.



Thanks- did you find the hooks lacking too?

Funny thing, the paladin's assault on Berak began a huge stray away from the intended plot. After that, everything managed to pull towards furthering the adventure, but it took a big detour around lots of planned events. Anyone who knows me knows that I love PC actions that cause dramatic problems within peaceful boundaries (like within a group or within a town). Looks like Lathan's uncompromising views on honor are going to foot the bill nicely.

Funny thing #2, putting out the fire was a skill challenge. I had several skills listed in my notes and their difficulties. Osivan at one point says "Well, no point using Ray of Frost..." He'd assumed it wouldn't be effective enough to even try. I had it listed as the easiest way to gain successes in the challenge.

There was a little more to Session 1, including the next combat, but I thought it best to pick up at the beginning of the next Session's write-up.


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## Qwernt (Jun 16, 2008)

I will not get addicted...  I will not get addicted...  I will not get addicted...

Crap too late.


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## Dr Midnight (Jun 16, 2008)

Qwernt said:
			
		

> I will not get addicted...  I will not get addicted...  I will not get addicted...
> 
> Crap too late.



Haha, gotcha again SUCKERRR


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## carborundum (Jun 16, 2008)

Qwernt said:
			
		

> I will not get addicted...  I will not get addicted...  I will not get addicted...




Yuh ... yuh got me!

Hurgh! 

<subscribe>


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jun 17, 2008)

Dr Midnight said:
			
		

> Thanks- did you find the hooks lacking too?
> 
> Funny thing, the paladin's assault on Berak began a huge stray away from the intended plot. After that, everything managed to pull towards furthering the adventure, but it took a big detour around lots of planned events. Anyone who knows me knows that I love PC actions that cause dramatic problems within peaceful boundaries (like within a group or within a town). Looks like Lathan's uncompromising views on honor are going to foot the bill nicely.
> 
> ...




The hooks are fine. I spread them out around the party and I think it might lead to some good character stuff later. For example, two characters have the "Make A Map" hook - but neither of them are any good at mapmaking, nor have any interest in it. I reckon they'll end up trying to get other members of the party to do it for them...

I've also side-tracked my group into doing the Into The Shadowhaunt Adventure from the worldwide D&D day, as an introduction. We should get that run through next Monday, and once we do I'll start posting a story hour of my own.


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## papa_laz (Jun 19, 2008)

Ah, Dr Midnights story hour. I think I remember your work from my time lurking on the story hour forums when I was in my last year of high school, a scarily long time ago (6 years). I printed this out and read it in bed last night and I'm quite enjoying it. I love the feeling of knowing I will see these characters grow into mighty badasses. Where can I read your other stories?

Papa Laz


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## GoodKingJayIII (Jun 19, 2008)

This is my first venture into a Dr. Midnight story hour.

I am deeply impressed sir.  I'm going to enjoy this one.


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## carborundum (Jun 19, 2008)

papa_laz said:
			
		

> Where can I read your other stories?
> 
> Papa Laz




that was my first question too - a lot of links don't seem to lead to where I expected, but this post  has some juicy links in it.

It's also in a Raveloft storyhour thread


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## Metus (Jun 19, 2008)

Dr Midnight also has links to his story hours in the Story Hour Index thread that is stickied in the forum.


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## Dr Midnight (Jun 20, 2008)

To read the whole Knights of the Silver Quill / Knights of Spellforge Keep campaign: http://tommartinart.com/kotsq/tales.htm

To read it with ENboard reader comments: http://www.enworld.org/archive/index.php/t-220.html

Be aware, though, that it doesn't start getting good (writing-wise) for several chapters.


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## (contact) (Jun 20, 2008)

Hey, great stuff, Dr. Midnight!  Glad to see you throwing the module off its rails a bit.



			
				Dr Midnight said:
			
		

> did you find the hooks lacking too?




As in useless?  Pretty much.  I've stripped all the setting out of the module and am running it as part of a larger campaign for my group.  I dig the locations, and the set-ups for the fights, but the rest of it, not so much.  

I like what you're doing with the additional NPCs.  I think the module as written needs some of that kind of attention.  Sounds like you have a great group there, I'm looking forward to the rest of the SH.

Also, nice illustration!  Is that pen-and-ink, or are you still working with vector art?


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## Dr Midnight (Jun 20, 2008)

Hey there (contact), what ups? I don't see you around much in the circles I run in. Good to see you.

Berak is, at present, the only thing I really added / changed. The scene in the market square cut off a scene that was supposed to take place by the module, and that I improvised around (which is fine, of course). I really do plan to run this one very closely to the written text, only adding character motivation and a few small details here and there. I like the taste of this adventure... 1st level adventures often are just my flavor.

The group's cool so far! I'm excited, this has real potential. I'm still not planning on having this be a large campaign, for now it's just the module, but if things keep going like this I'll push to expand.

The illustration was brush and ink, largely, with the pen filling in the finer details. It didn't really turn out the way I intended but meh. I've got another one coming up. 

Oh, and hey, did anyone know Lathan is spelled Lathon? Because I certainly didn't. Whoops... gotta go in and correct all that.


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## Joshua Randall (Jun 20, 2008)

Yo quiero las historias.


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## Dpulse303 (Jun 20, 2008)

Nice story hour . 
Morrus is running this for our group so i hope we play at the same rate as you write it up . wouldnt want to spoil it for me   

keep it up sir.


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## Dr Midnight (Jun 21, 2008)

Game night was tonight... good stuff. Not a lot of roleplaying, it was 90% combat. The combat, involving many MANY combatants, ran smoothly and was engaging for everyone, interesting the whole way through. I'm really liking the 4e.







I'll get to writing in the morning.

In case anyone's interested in the minis, here are the ones I've hand-painted (years back) that are being used as PCs. 

Moltezom:





Lathon:





Gloraen:





If anyone wants to poke through my other minis and geek-based images: http://www.flickr.com/photos/tommartinart/sets/72157604373825958/


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## Dr Midnight (Jun 21, 2008)

Session 2 – Chapter 1
That’s a Lot of Kobolds
_______________​
Lathon was retrieved from jail, where he’d spent only one hour, and all of that on his knees praying in silent meditation to Bahamut. The company spent the night at Wrafton’s Inn, turning in immediately to get a good night’s rest for the coming day. They’d only had enough money to buy dinner for the group and one room. None of them fell asleep for at least an hour, each turning over in their head the prospect of finally breaking into adventuring. They’d started off fired and marooned, and now were employed at many times their former rate of pay. This was experience. This could lead to bigger and better things… assuming they lived. 

In the morning, they shared a quick breakfast and left for the southeast, following the map Lord Padraig had drawn for them. They found a crude footpath and followed it for almost ten minutes. “The kobolds are supposedly only a mile from Winterfell, yes?” Osivan asked. “We should be there before too long.”

Just then, a mass of kobolds leapt from the underbrush, hurling javelins and howling for blood. The group fell right into combat stance and began to fight. “This isn’t so many,” Lathon grunted as he chopped a head free. “I’m almost disappointed.” 

One of the kobolds wore a small dragon skull as a helmet, and skulked at the edge of the combat. He raised his hands and fired a glowing orb of greenish energy that splashed into Greldo. The halfling cried out as the liquid-like energy sizzled against his skin. Greldo somersaulted away from the combatant he was facing and engaged the kobold priest, keeping him from being too great a threat at range.

A kobold holding a dragon-scale shield came up behind Greldo, flanking him, and cut him down. Osivan cooked him where he stood as Moltezom, Gloraen and Lathon were mopping up the remaining kobolds handily. One of the dragonshields yelled to another “Go, warn the others!” just before falling to Moltezom’s maul. The last kobold bolted swiftly to the south, disappearing into the foliage.  

Gloraen knelt by Greldo and healed him back to consciousness. “One’s running,” Moltezom said. “He’s going to warn the encampment of our approach.”

“This wasn’t the encampment?” Osivan asked. 

“I guess not,” Greldo said, getting to his feet. “Let’s get him.”

“Wait,” Gloraen said. “Some of us are badly damaged. Greldo, you could die if you run right into another ambush…” It was too late, the halfling was already loping after the kobold. The others broke into a run.

Gloraen and Moltezom, heavily armored though they were, found the best paths through the trees. The cleric could see the kobold running, dead ahead. He stopped, aimed, and fired a lance of light as Moltezom bulled past him. The kobold was struck, cried out, but kept running. 

The chase came to the top of a steep and sandy cliff. The kobold leaped out over it, landing in a practiced run and scampering down the slope. Moltezom threw a dagger after him as he and Gloraen maintained a good pace. Osivan and Greldo followed, and Lathon hit the sand with unsure footing, sliding down several feet and losing his stride for a moment.

The hill ended at the edge of an open field, and the kobold sprinted across it. Gloraen fired another beam of light at it, and Moltezom threw another dagger. Both missed. The others fell further behind. 

The field’s other side bordered on a wide, shallow stream. A thick tree trunk was laid across the gully. The kobold, as small as he was, ran across the log without slowing. Moltezom ran out across it as well without slowing at all. Dwarves are not built for balancing or careful footing, but the fighter’s momentum carried him in a more or less straight line across the log bridge. Gloraen grimaced and judged that he didn’t want to fall and lose what little lead he had, and he slowed to a brisk walk, joining Osivan and Greldo far behind the chase. Lathon had fallen so far behind that he was now jogging to keep up with the party, having lost any hope of catching the fleet-footed kobold.

Moltezom grunted as he kept pace with the wounded creature. He knew that the encampment was near. It could be just over the next rise. He pushed hard and his thick, stout legs pumped against the ground as they ran through thick forest. The dwarf was huffing just behind the kobold, almost within reach. He pulled his maul free and then swung it. The kobold was smashed in the ribs and slid through fifteen feet of forest floor leaves to a stop, stone dead. Moltezom braced himself against his knees as he struggled to catch his breath. 

The others arrived, equally winded. “You… You got him?” Osivan gasped. “Fine work… my friend. Huh… Huh…” Gloraen went about healing Greldo’s wounds at last, and the others rested for a moment, regaining their strength. 

Greldo looked about. “The encampment must be really near… look at all the refuse around here.” There were discarded waterskins, droppings, bones, and paper wrappings cast off from rations. “I’m going to scout ahead.”

“Be careful,” Gloraen called in a hushed whisper after Greldo as he melted from tree to tree, keeping low and to the shadows. Over the next two rises, he found it. A cliff looked over a valley of trees. Atop this cliff was a wide cave mouth, and within it torch light could be seen, occasionally blotted by a passing figure. At the base of the cave, an underground stream came to the open air and formed a waterfall that fell thirty feet to the valley floor. The stream wound away to the southwest. There, milling about the stream, was a garrison of thirteen kobolds. They cavorted and splashed in the stream, yapping and arguing, seeming to take their guard duty very lightly. Greldo noted that the valley rose up to the cave’s left and right sides in a sloping path. He took everything in and slunk back to the party. 

“What did you see?” Lathon asked.

“Kobolds… lots of them. Possibly dozens. I didn’t get an exact count. They’re based in a cave at the top of a thirty foot tall cliff. I think I found a weak spot, and a way there.” They spoke for a few minutes more, and then moved off toward the camp.

They circled wide around the camp and came in from the north side, on the cliff. Greldo motioned for them to stop when they came within view of the stream from above. From here, they could skirt around into the cave from the north entrance… provided they weren’t seen by the kobolds below. 

Greldo moved off to investigate the interior of the cave. He crept along, clinging to the rock sides on the wide path that linked the hillside and the cave. He paused at the lip of the cave and looked. He couldn’t see the entire cave interior- the irregular formations of the walls blocked his view of much of the cave- but two kobolds were talking here. One seemed to spot him out of the corner of his eye and turned his head to see nothing. He walked around to the outside of the cave, and no one was there. The kobold shrugged and walked back inside.

Greldo crept back to the others with the report. “I’ve got a plan. Kind of. I want to penetrate the cave, killing silently and swiftly, leading us inward until we reach Irontooth. The problem is the garrison below, they have full view of the footpath to the cave, and you’re not all as sprightly as I am. They’re not paying too much attention but a group of armored adventurers walking on higher ground will be hard to miss.”

Osivan thought and said “I can get rid of the garrison.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I can cast a spell that makes a sound. I can lead them off into the forest, thinking they’re heading off an approaching party. It’s a perfect distraction.”

Moltezom said “I’ve seen you cast that. Don’t you have to be within a certain distance? You’d have to get pretty close to make it sound like there’s a group of adventurers on the other side of them.”

“I thought of that. I’d have to creep in, somewhat, but the sound I make can be whatever I please. So the sound I make will be that of a distant adventuring party.”

Gloraen smiled and nodded. “Ahh, very nice. Far-off voices, maybe echoed a bit.”

“Exactly.”

“It’s a good plan,” Greldo said. “Okay, Osivan you sneak down as close as you have to and we’ll prepare to skirt right into the cave mouth as soon as they’re distracted. Once they’re gone, we’ll have a much easier time clearing out the cave. We might even be gone by the time they return.”

“Let’s do it already,” Lathon muttered. “I’m tired of planning. I just want to strike some kobolds dead.”

Moltezom, Lathon and Gloraen followed Greldo, who took point on the path around to the cave’s side. Osivan crept down the hill, keeping behind trees when possible, looking to get close enough to cast his sound upon the other side of the valley and- _snap!_ Osivan’s blood froze as the sound of a branch breaking beneath his foot carried over the area. It was so loud that it even echoed, a little. 

Every kobold head in the valley turned and stared at Osivan. A silence fell over the valley. It was the most uncomfortable silence the wizard had ever known. Fortunately, it didn’t last long.

_______________

Next time
One Hell of a Fight
​


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## Dr Midnight (Jun 22, 2008)

Session 2 – Chapter 2
Irontooth
_______________​
Before Osivan even stepped on the branch, Greldo was moving. He’d seen the branch and knew what was coming, and now was a blur moving into the cave. As the crack was still echoing from the valley below, the two kobolds were dead, their throats cut. Greldo had failed to notice a third party around the corner. A kobold skirmisher looked with eyes wide at the halfling and yelled “INTRUDERS! TO ARMS!”

All at once, bodies started moving. The horde of kobolds in the valley surged toward Osivan, and a clattering of armor filled the cave above.

Osivan backed up the hill and cast his ghost sound beyond the bushes to the west. A group of kobolds broke off and ran in that direction. Gloraen moved to fortify a position at the cave’s path nexus, looking to bottleneck the valley attack and give Osivan someone to stand beside. Moltezom and Lathon rushed into the caves. 

The paladin swung his longsword at a kobold, and the kobold flinched so that the blow missed. The kobold chuckled and hissed as several of his fellows ran up behind him, brandishing spears. Lathon opened his dragon’s jaws and a green-yellow cloud billowed out from his lungs. Acid chemically cooked the kobolds where they stood, and  they fell to the ground as clattering slimed bones. 

Moltezom and Greldo began working in tandem, flanking opponents and killing them in swift order. The dwarf fighter succeeded admirably in gaining all their attention, when the real threat was behind. Greldo would work a dagger between the chinks in their armor and have them gurgling on the ground within moments. 

Osivan allowed the kobolds from the valley to fill the bottleneck Gloraen had formed on the hillside path, then stepped around to the side and spread his hands toward them. Flame erupted from his palms and roasted a great number of the screaming horde.

“WARN IRONTOOTH!” a kobold yelled. He was, like the one from the day before, loading a ceramic globe into a sling. He fired it at Osivan and missed. The globe exploded against the cave wall in a glut of viscous white. 

“Which of these do you think Irontooth is?” Moltezom called.

Lathon laughed. “I’m not sure, but I’m not impressed.” 

A clanking of armored footsteps issued from deeper in the cave. 

Greldo stabbed a downed foe and cocked his head to the noise. “What’s that?”

Moltezom began retreating toward the entrance. “A second wave is coming… fall back Greldo, fall back!”

Greldo turned to see the approaching threat. At the rear of the main group was a kobold wearing robes and mouthing silent incantations. Two kobolds carrying dragonscale shields walked point. Between them stood the biggest goblin the halfling had ever seen. He stood at around five feet tall and was thickly muscled. He carried a battleaxe and wore a chain shirt and a wolf’s skin headdress. Scars lined his body and he rushed toward Greldo, smiling. Hammered metal shards glinted from his gums. 

“That’s Irontooth,” Greldo gasped. 

The battleaxe slashed across him. The dragonshields followed close behind and one raked the halfling with his sword. The other swung and Greldo rolled beneath the blow, getting to his feet and hobble-running across the cave to Moltezom, who beckoned him. Greldo left splatters of blood with every step. 

Irontooh and his dragonshields advanced on Moltezom in a line formation, keeping pace with each other. Moltezom shifted his maul in his hands, looking for weaknesses. Greldo stood behind the dwarf, his back was to the waterfall and a thirty foot drop to the valley below. It wasn’t safe to move anywhere else- kobolds still outnumbered the group and combat raged on outside the cave. The kobold priest darted from behind a column in the cave and fired an orb of energy at Greldo, who dropped to the ground.

“Gloraen,” Moltezom urged. “We need a spot o’ healing, and quick!”

Lathon was now engaging the kobolds en masse at the footpath, so Gloraen broke away and moved toward the caves. He  stopped as he saw Irontooth and company advancing on Moltezom and Greldo lying on the floor. He looked back to see the kobolds and Lathon and Osivan. Everyone was in range… it would work. The cleric held up his holy symbol and cried to the sky. “Bahamut, in your name, I call upon a beacon of hope. Let your good works be done!” The silver symbol flashed brilliantly and bathed the area in light. As the light washed over the group, small cuts and wounds were closed and Greldo’s eyelids flickered open. Several of the kobolds were sticken with the holy power and moved at a crippled pace.

Greldo got to his feet shakily. Moltezom parried a thrust by Iroontooth and said “Stay back Greldo… you can’t be healed enough to fight.”

“Nonsense,” the halfling coughed. “I’m feeling well enough to take them all on without you.” He limped back into battle as Osivan fired a magical arrow into Irontooth, splashing his dragonshields with acid and killing them. Irontooth was now alone but looked as though he were hardly injured by Moltezom’s mighty swings.

The kobold wyrmpriest approached cautiously, stopping at the waterfall’s edge. He had a fine line of sight to the halfling, dwarf and cleric here, so he cackled and began casting. Then, Greldo darted toward him and feinted with his dagger at the priest’s left side. The priest instinctively lurched his weight to the right, which was exactly what Greldo had intended. The halfling grabbed a handful of robe and pulled, tipping the kobold far off balance. The wyrmpriest was flung far out into the open air and fell screaming into the churning shallows at the base of the waterfall. 

Irontooth was now alone. His minions had all been killed and the enemy was surrounding him. He grunted happily and swung his battleaxe along Lathon’s armor, dragging a new scar into the dragonborn’s scales. The dwarf approached from his left and Irontooth readied a swing. “No, here, I’m the one you want!” the paladin yelled. The distraction served and the goblin’s battleaxe missed the dwarf by inches. Infuriated, Irontooth swung at Lathon, and then at Moltezom, again. 

Lathon swung back and cut the goblin deeply. Osivan pelted Irontooth with rays of frost. Greldo sidled into position alongside Irontooth, bandishing his dagger and looking for an opening. He found one and stabbed. The goblin roared and swung his battleaxe in an arc, chopping Greldo about the shoulder. The halfling fell again. 

“Greldo!” Moltezom cried. “You leave him be, you cur!” The dwarf whipped his maul around in a half-circle, smashing it against the goblin’s jaw. Irontooth wobbled on his feet a bit. “Is that it, have we got him?”

When Irontooth turned his gaze back on Moltezom, his eyes were going bloodshot and filling in a thick orange-red. His teeth gnashed together so hard that sparks actually flickered amidst the grinding. His arms thrummed and his veins stood out. 

Moltezom looked fearful. “What’s happening?”

“We’ve made him mad,” Lathon said. “Good. HERE, you stupid ape, I’m right here!”

Irontooth roared and swung his battleaxe at the paladin, who blocked it deftly and said “I’ll keep his focus on me, keep hitting him with everything you’ve got!” The party hammered at the goblin, raining blows on his back as Lathon commanded his attention. 

Irontooth oozed blood from several mortal wounds, but he wasn’t slowing down. “He can’t have much left in him,” Gloraen yelled as he bashed the goblin in the side. Irontooth responded by putting all of his weight against Moltezom, whose back was to the falls. The dwarf grunted, planted his foot on what little space he had behind him and pushed back. A dwarf that does not want to be moved is a very difficult thing to move. The two struggled. Some of the stone crumbled at Moltezom’s heel and fell into the raging waterfall. Osivan struck the goblin in the back with a sizzling bolt of energy. 

Irontooth howled “KALAREL, PREPARE MY WAY!” Moltezom regained his balance and swung his maul, killing Irontooth in a final uppercut motion.

The party huffed and waited for a moment to make certain that there were no more kobolds waiting in the shadows to run out. When they were convinced that they had fully defeated the encampment, Gloraen healed Greldo back to consciousness.

“Hey, look! He’s got a pouch.” Moltezom was rifling through Irontooth’s things and he’d found a pouch around the goblin’s neck. “Ooh, it’s got a key in it! And a piece of paper.” He unfolded the note and read aloud. 
_Irontooth
My spy in Winterhaven suggests we keep an eye out for visitors to the area. It probably doesn’t matter; in just a few more days, I’ll completely open the rift. Then Winterhaven’s people will serve as food for all those our Lord sends to do my bidding. 
Kalarel​_“…and there’s a little symbol drawn underneath. Looks like a skull with goat horns.” He shrugged and put the note in his pack. “Morbid,” he muttered. “Hey, what do you think this ‘rift’ is?”

Gloraen said “No idea. The skull looks vaguely familiar, though. I think I’ve seen somewhere. Some kind of dark old symbol. We’ll have to ask a few questions back in…”

“Treasure chest!” The distractible dwarf had wandered away. “It’s got a lock, and I’ve got a key I took from the pouch. I want to open it.”

“Go ahead,” Greldo said. “Watch out for traps, though.”

“Traps?” Moltezom paused.

“Oh, yeah. Spike traps, poison traps, exploding fireball of death traps…” Seeing the dwarf's terrified expression, Greldo waved him on. “I’m kidding you. A goblin’s not really likely to have any of those. Go ahead.”

Moltezom turned to the chest and licked his lips thoughtfully. He wiggled his eyebrows and took out the key. He placed the key slowly into the lock and leaned as far back as he could, shielding his face with his hand and wincing. He turned the key. _Click._ “Heh. Haha!” Moltezom lifted the lid. _BOOM!_ The dwarf whooped and fell back on his rump, shielding his face. He trembled, then realized he wasn’t hurt. He unclenched his eyes and looked around. Osivan was laughing. “Did you do that, wizard?” Moltezom demanded.

Lathon whacked Osivan lightly on the back of the head. “Shame on you, picking on poor dwarves.” The dragonborn couldn’t restrain a grin. “The look on his face was hilarious, though.”

“Did you hear how he yelped?” Greldo said, causing Osivan to snicker even harder. 

Moltezom chuckled. “Fell right on my ass. That was a good ‘un.” 

Soon, the entire party was laughing.

Next time
History Lesson​


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## GoodKingJayIII (Jun 23, 2008)

Ah the big battle with Irontooth.  That seems to be one of the toughest battles in the entire adventure.  Looks like your PCs weathered it well, with a few close calls for Greldo.


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## Nebulous (Jun 23, 2008)

This fight might come up our second session.  From all that i've read on Enworld about it, i'm somewhat...worried.


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## Dr Midnight (Jun 23, 2008)

Nebulous said:
			
		

> This fight might come up our second session.  From all that i've read on Enworld about it, i'm somewhat...worried.



And you're right to be. Don't judge it by this write-up... it's a harsh encounter. Seriously. My players SKATED. They have no idea how easy they had it. It's an EL 6 encounter and they make it to the end only having one PC drop. 

Irontooth did an awful job of landing hits. And after he became bloodied and gained 1d10 damage, guess how many times he hit. None. None hits. He missed EVERY SWING FROM BLOODIED UNTIL DEATH. That continues to astonish me. Lathon's marking him helped that out a lot. 

I was cringing when the combat started, because they were starting from the cave-area, engaging BOTH kobold encampment encounter areas at the same time (and getting sandwiched between), and within three rounds, out comes Irontooth. They made it through just fine. Baffling luck. 

I think I made a poor impression on the new guys with my disappointment in the NPCs scoring hits, because maybe I looked like I wanted them dead or to feel superior or something like some DMs do. I was mostly feeling like they weren't going to respect the encounter for its difficulty. I wanted them to know they'd been in a fight. Kids today. They can wipe out twenty-nine kobolds and a super-goblin without trouble. Don't know how easy they got it, I tells ya.

Note: the wyrmpriest that got knocked off the falls actually lived and walked back up around and into the fight, but got killed quickly. It was more dramatic to just write him as dying from the fall.


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## Xorn (Jun 24, 2008)

Great fight, Dr Midnight.

My group ambushed the outer encounter and entered the falls with no warning being sounded.  Then, while they got swarmed upon entering, they dropped the first wave before the reinforcements could arrive.  Irontooth was big an nasty, but he really just wasn't a match for a maul swinging fighter, a flanking rogue, and a ranger with him locked in her sights.  He passed through bloodied without getting a single attack.  

The wyrmpriest and dragonshields actually did a lot of damage though.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jun 24, 2008)

Xorn said:
			
		

> Great fight, Dr Midnight.
> 
> My group ambushed the outer encounter and entered the falls with no warning being sounded.  Then, while they got swarmed upon entering, they dropped the first wave before the reinforcements could arrive.  Irontooth was big an nasty, but he really just wasn't a match for a maul swinging fighter, a flanking rogue, and a ranger with him locked in her sights.  He passed through bloodied without getting a single attack.
> 
> The wyrmpriest and dragonshields actually did a lot of damage though.




I ran my group through Into the Shadowhaunt last night, and we're starting Keep on the Shadowfell in two weeks time - so I'll let everyone know how it goes!

Great write-up Dr Midnight - exactly what I was hoping for when I saw you'd started a new Story Hour!


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## Son_of_Thunder (Jun 24, 2008)

*Ah, sweet!*

Doc, you really should give due consideration to keep this campaign going. I remember very fondly the Knights of the Silver Quill; I started at the very beginning with them, don't you know. Between you, (contact), and Wulf's story hour I was entertained and influenced greatly.


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## Joshua Randall (Jun 24, 2008)

When I ran this fight, the wyrmpriest did a crapload of damage by hanging back and slinging energy orbs. For some reason, no one ever engaged him, or used missile weapons on him!

And my Irontooth did get to land a few blows. I let the players know I was adding +1d10 damage, so they'd be appropriate scared.

Of course, they won anyway; but that's the point, so it's all good.


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## Dr Midnight (Jun 24, 2008)

Lathon:


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## GoodKingJayIII (Jun 24, 2008)

Dr Midnight said:
			
		

> Lathon:




Uh... damn!  You doing that artwork, Doc?

Talented storyteller and evocative artist?  You sir are what I like to call a "double threat."


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## Son_of_Thunder (Jun 25, 2008)

GoodKingJayIII said:
			
		

> Uh... damn!  You doing that artwork, Doc?
> 
> Talented storyteller and evocative artist?  You sir are what I like to call a "double threat."




Agreed! Well done Doc!


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## Horacio (Jun 25, 2008)

Reading a Dr Midnight's Story Hour again, wow!
Some 5 years after last time. And the man is as good storyteller as always. 
I feel nostalgic now... and addicted again!


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## Richards (Jun 26, 2008)

GoodKingJayIII said:
			
		

> Uh... damn!  You doing that artwork, Doc?
> 
> Talented storyteller and evocative artist?  You sir are what I like to call a "double threat."



Threat?  He's actually more like a confirmed critical!

Johnathan


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## Dr Midnight (Jun 27, 2008)

and we're baaaack.

Bad news... it's game night, and I just found out a couple of hours ago that emails were exchanged all week, and I was accidentally left off the addressee list. Apparently it is NOT game night, and won't be for two weeks. So I went from GAME NIGHT GAME NIGHT, all excited, to BOO HOO BOO HOO, all saddened.

Hang in there true believers, and until next time... Make Mine Midnight™! Excelsior!
_-sufferin' Stan_


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## Squash Cop (Jul 3, 2008)

GoodKingJayIII said:


> Uh... damn!  You doing that artwork, Doc?
> 
> Talented storyteller and evocative artist?  You sir are what I like to call a "double threat."



He's a musician too, one of the most creative people I know.


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## Dr Midnight (Jul 10, 2008)

No game this week either, I'm afraid... I'm starting to twitch, I can't go this long without some 4e. I'm going to have to drop in on Squash Cop over the weekend and put him through some hoops in a solo encounter or something. This not playing stuff? It's for the birds, I tell you. The birds.


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## fenzer (Jul 11, 2008)

Horacio said:


> Reading a Dr Midnight's Story Hour again, wow!
> Some 5 years after last time. And the man is as good storyteller as always.
> I feel nostalgic now... and addicted again!





It has been a long time indeed.  5 years sounds about right.  Dr. Midnight weaving a tall tale and Horacio front row and center, it's almost too good to be true.  I feel like I'm back in my favorite easy chair.


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## Dr Midnight (Jul 12, 2008)

If anyone would like to play with me, I'm setting up a PBP Game of Death over here: http://www.enworld.org/forum/showthread.php?p=4374330

Hiya Fenzer!


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## illwizard (Jul 18, 2008)

Hey Doctor Midnight,

I'm diggin' your story, it's pretty dope man, I really love the PC's in the party too and I'll be running the same module for my party soon so will probably borrow some ideas if that's cool?

I like your avatar (Represent! ODB!) and I'm guessing your an MC or producer of some description aswell? You seem to have the funk is all.

Anyway, keep up the good work if you get a chance to play, it seems like you have some followers bro. Peace...


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## Nebulous (Jul 18, 2008)

Dr Midnight said:


> No game this week either, I'm afraid... I'm starting to twitch, I can't go this long without some 4e. I'm going to have to drop in on Squash Cop over the weekend and put him through some hoops in a solo encounter or something. This not playing stuff? It's for the birds, I tell you. The birds.




I know the feeling Dr!  Canceled games when you're all primed and ready to play really sucks.


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## Dr Midnight (Jul 18, 2008)

illwizard said:


> Hey Doctor Midnight,
> 
> I'm diggin' your story, it's pretty dope man, I really love the PC's in the party too and I'll be running the same module for my party soon so will probably borrow some ideas if that's cool?
> 
> ...



Steal ideas, enjoy. 

I'm not an MC or anything, I make thrash metal. I'm an ODB fan and I love the first Wu-Tang album, and besides, that picture is friggin' hilarious. 

We're playing tonight! Supposedly! I sent an email on Monday and received a positive response from two players, so I'm guessing we're on.


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## Dr Midnight (Jul 18, 2008)

Hey, guess what? You'll never guess. Seriously, you won't believe it.

After sending an email on Monday asking if we were on for tonight and getting two positive responses, then another this morning and getting nothing, I asked one of the non-respondees and found out that he can't play tonight. Then another pops up and says he can't either. 

SO. This one's reallllll close to folding.


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## fenzer (Jul 18, 2008)

Damn.  If this one folds, do you have anything else in the works?


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## Dr Midnight (Jul 18, 2008)

Nnnnope. I don't have any other gamers in the area, and I shudder to think of searching people out at game shops. I may have to hold out for DDI... in which case, I'm sure I could convince one or two of you good people to join me, eh?


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## Xorn (Jul 18, 2008)

I'm as excited as the next person about Game Table, but you might take a gander at Fantasy Grounds II.  Might get you playing over a VTT sooner rather than later.  

Sample Screenshot


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## illwizard (Jul 20, 2008)

> Steal ideas, enjoy.
> 
> I'm not an MC or anything, I make thrash metal. I'm an ODB fan and I love the first Wu-Tang album, and besides, that picture is friggin' hilarious.




Haha yeah I know it's a hell humorous face I agree.

Oh well,

Here's to good music and good gaming if you ever make it there.
I'd love to join ya, but Western Oz is probably stretching it a bit haha.
Peace...


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## Dr Midnight (Jul 24, 2008)

Well, we've lost a player as a result of the sheduling fracas. Of course it had to be the most interesting character, right? Ugh.

We're SUPPOSEDLY on for tomorrow. We'll see.


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## Dr Midnight (Jul 26, 2008)

We played! Yayyy. Session 3 went off tonight. It went very well, but the combats are still taking way too long for my liking... in my experience 4e combat hasn't been faster than 3e at all. Simpler, yes. Not faster. A lot less predictable. After last time, where the party breezed through an EL6 encounter, an EL2 was nearly a TPK.

The players were rolling horribly.


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## Dr Midnight (Jul 26, 2008)

Session 3 – Chapter 1
The Good Life
_______________​
The party returned to Winterhaven. They walked through the gates winded and tired, but feeling fine. “I am going to celebrate tonight, let me tell you,” Greldo muttered. Moltezom grunted in agreement.

“We should visit Padraig, get paid and get a room,” Gloraen said. 

“Right,” Osivan nodded. “What do we do about the letter detailing the spy in Winterhaven and this Kalarel fellow?”

“We should start to feel out the town, I suppose. Look for people who have recently moved into the area. Ask questions. First, though… the lord’s manor.”

They reached Lord Padraig’s estate and were ushered straight in. Padraig greeted them with a smile. “Well! That didn’t take long at all… you only left this morning. Have you wiped out the kobold encampment?”

Gloraen replied. “Yes we have, I’m pleased to report.”

“Have you brought proof, as I asked?”

“Of course. Lathon?”

Lathon reached into his satchel and withdrew a hunk of something moist. He dropped it in the center of Padraig’s desk with a wet plop. It was Irontooth’s jaw, ripped entirely from its moorings in the goblin’s skull. The metallic teeth glinted dully in the light. 

Padraig recoiled in horror. The chunk of goblin meat was seeping through several important documents that the lord had arrayed across his desktop. He’d been signing and stamping several property forms that had taken a scribe most of the day to draw up. All were now splattered with slightly coagulated goblin blood. “Uh,” Padraig stammered. “That’s fantastic. Thank you very much.”

Greldo leaned back in a chair, put his feet up on the desk and grinned. “I hesitate to bring up the unpleasant matter of our payment, but…”

“Yes, of course.” The lord fumbled in his desk drawers for a moment and withdrew a leather pouch. He handed it to Greldo. “Feel free to count it if you like.” Greldo began to open the bag.

“That won’t be necessary,” Gloraen said, eyeing the halfling. 

“Well then, if we have no further business, I believe I have some items on my agenda I must tend to. Err… will you take… that?” He gestured to the jaw sitting on his desk.

Lathon shrugged and took the jaw. Padraig politely led them to the door, bidding them farewell. Once they were gone and the door was closed, he returned to his desk. He stared at it for some moments before sighing and sweeping the contents of his desktop into the waste pail.



The adventurers went to Wrafton’s Inn and paid for another night’s lodgings.

Once inside the room, Gloraen opened the leather pouch they’d received from Lord Padraig. They crowded around the pouch and looked inside. One hundred gold pieces lay heaped in the bag. Greldo reached in slowly, reverently, and withdrew a piece. He held it up and savored the way the color of gold turns in the light. “We have money,” Gloraen said in amazement. 

“At last!” Moltezom grinned.

Osivan had never seen so much money in one place before. “What do we do first?”

Greldo flicked his gold piece into the air and caught it with a flourish. “Follow me.”



Osivan muttered “This is the life.” 

The party was lazing around a luxury private room at the House of Whispers, a local bordello. They were wearing lush bathrobes and sipping wine from crystal goblets. Prostitutes fluttered around them like moths, tending to their requests for pillows and more canapé. 

Moltezom was having his beard braided. He said “You can certainly see how adventuring is a life to aspire to, eh?”

“Absolutely, my friend.” Greldo was grinning around a cigar and getting a footrub from an exotic elf dressed in silks. “I can’t think of a finer way to end our first expedition.”

“It certainly is rewarding,” Gloraen said uncomfortably. His and Lathon’s positions as holy men in the service of Bahamut were conflicting with the setting. “I’m not sure about how I feel about engaging the services of… employees of a… house of ill repute.”

“Oh knock it off already,” Greldo laughed. “We’re not engaging them for those talents. We’re merely being tended to by a flock of attractive women, who are being well paid for their labors. Isn’t that right, Avilyn?” 

The elf at his feet nodded. “That’s right, honey.”

The halfling blew a plume of cigar smoke toward the ceiling. “Think of them as chambermaids. Gorgeous, wonderfully proportioned chambermaids.” Gloraen rolled his eyes. Greldo relaxed for a moment more, then asked the prostitute at his feet “Hey doll. Who would you say is the most recent permanent resident here in town?”

 The elf blinked. It was a strange question, but in her business odd requests were an everyday thing. She shrugged. “The dwarf that runs the smithy has only been in town for a year or so. Thair Coalstriker. He comes in sometimes.”

“Coalstriker. He’s our most likely candidate for an informant. We start with him. For now, though… does anyone feel like doing some real drinking?”

“Oh, hell yes I do.” Moltezom, his beard freshly braided, stood up and stretched. “This has been great, but two hours of sipping this sparkling white wine is enough. I want a dwarf’s drink dammit.”

“A cold beer sounds like just the thing,” Osivan said. “Let’s go.”




The party walked into Wrafton’s Inn and saw that at nighttime, the tavern room was filled with townsfolk and travelers. Laughter, jokes and boasts filled the air. “Well!” Greldo said. “This looks like a fun place. I can’t believe we didn’t leave our room last night.”

Osivan noted that a dwarf was among the rabble. His hands were stained with soot… the mark of a blacksmith. He nudged Greldo, who nodded. 

Moltezom slapped the bar and smiled at Salvana, the proprietor. “Evenin’! How about a round for everyone, on us?”

Patrons all around the room turned and saluted the group with their beer steins and a raucus cheer. Some came up and thanked them for the drink. A gentleman in his mid-sixties approached them. “Hey, thanks for the drink!” He hiccupped and took a swig of his ale. “Thass the nicest thing anybody’s done that anyone’s ever done.”

“Uh, no problem, sir,” Gloraen said.

“My name’s Eilian. They call me Eilian the Old around town. Can you believe that?” Gloraen didn’t know how to respond. Fortunately for him, Eilian wasn’t waiting and began talking again. “So what are you, who’s your party’s name? Are you adventurers? Adventurers gotta have a party name. Am I right? Whatcha doing here in Winterhaven?”

Greldo sidled away from the cleric and the drunken man. He kept to the walls, watching the dwarf he suspected to be Thair Coalstriker, who was sitting at the bar and drinking. The dwarf didn’t seem to be watching anyone else in a manner that would suggest he was a spy… but then, an accomplished spy wouldn’t appear to be glancing about with shifty eyes. A tall, thin bald man wearing purple-gray robes sat beside Thair at the bar. The two exchanged words for a minute, then the bald man finished his drink and walked away.

_The two could be trading secrets_, Greldo thought to himself. The tall man certainly didn’t fit in with the surrounding townsfolk. A fine candidate for a lieutenant that an informant might report to… but here in public? This would bear more investigation. “Moltezom,” Greldo whispered. “What say we make friends with Mr. Coalstriker?”

“Sounds fine to me,” Moltezom burped. “I like friends.”

A hand slapped on Thair’s shoulder. The dwarf turned to see another dwarf, the one in the adventuring party here in town, standing there with a drink. Behind him stood a halfling. “Hello!” The dwarf bellowed. “I’m Moltezom. This is Greldo. Hey, that’s a fine handcrafted belt buckle you’ve got there, did you make it?”

“Well met! I’m Thair. No, I’m afraid I bought this.”

“Ahh, my mistake. I thought your hands marked you for a blacksmith.”

“I am, actually. I do weapon and armor repairs, general metalworking. I don’t make things, though.”

“No?” Greldo asked. “So you repair things, but you don’t MAKE anything? No swords, no shields? That sounds odd to me.”

“It’s not odd,” Thair said coldly without as much as a look. “I haven’t been smithing for that long.” It was clear that he didn’t care to speak to the halfling.

“Moltezom,” Greldo said, “would you say it’s odd to find a dwarven blacksmith who only deals in repairs?”

“It’s uncommon, but not unheard of. Most dwarves who choose a profession choose it early and for life, though, so what’s odd to me is that you only picked up smithing recently. What did you do before you took up iron and hammer?”

Thair took a long drink of his beer. Finally he said “Hey, that’s a fine braid-job you’ve got there.” He gestured to Moltezom’s beard. “Do it yourself?”

“No, I had one of the girls down at the House of Whispers do it.”

Thair laughed. “Well, it seems I’m going there for the wrong reasons.”

Moltezom thought for a  moment. “Hey, we’ve got a few items that are in need of repair. Can we drop in on you for your services?”

“Surely, first thing in the morning I’ll be open. My smithy’s the next building over. Can’t miss it.”

Back at the table, Eilian was droning on about farming and fields. “And barley! The thing about barley is that it’s… if you don’t… what I mean to say is that you gotta harvest that stuff at the right time or else the whole crop goes to ruin. The WHOLE CROP!”

Moltezom and Greldo came back. “We didn’t learn much, but there’s something off about him,” the halfling sighed.

Lathon nodded. “We’ve found out all we can for the evening, I’m thinking.”

 “That’s fine, I’ve had enough of the adventurer’s life for one day.” Moltezom yawned.

Eilian was continuing to speak throughout all this, now going into the importance of owning land that was properly tilled and aerated. Gloraen glanced at him wearily. “Yes, I’ve had quite enough myself. Let’s call it a night.”

The group retreated to their room and fell asleep under the eaves of Wrafton’s Inn. Winterhaven dozed along with them.


Next Time
_______________

OHHH YEAH, WE'RE IN A HURRY​


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## Dr Midnight (Jul 28, 2008)

I've got the next update ready to go, I'm just waiting for some responses.


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## carborundum (Jul 28, 2008)

Argh! I can't believe you left it with such a cliffhanger! I don't trust that filthy dwarf an inch! What will happen next? Will they run out of reward within 24 hours of receiving it? Was the blood on the documents a social engineering trick so the party can read his notes from the garbage?

I can't wait for an update!!!


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## renau1g (Jul 28, 2008)

It's definitely interesting seeing your characters at this point and seeing their actions. My PC's just ran through a similar encounter in the tavern. They were there on the first night in town together after defeating Irontooth. The rogue was very streetwise and found out that Thair and Bairwin haven't been getting along. Being somewhat chaotic (and low on funds) the rogue kept buying drinks for the dwarf, until he was sufficiently drunk and coerced him into taking out his aggression on Bairwin. Thair rolled a 20 on his hit and knocked out the other merchant. After this the rogue used his Thievery to pick his pockets and found the coin purse + a unholy symbol of Shar (running it in FR). During this time the elven ranger was attempting to pick up the other elf in the bar....aka Ninaran, but are now going to run into the cultists in the city (from the Dungeon article).


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## Dr Midnight (Jul 28, 2008)

Session 3 – Chapter 2
Regarding Shadowfell Keep
_______________​
The adventurers woke to the smell of bacon wafting under their door. They strapped on their armor, collected their things and wound down the stairs. 

“That smells amazing,” Moltezom said, savoring the air.

Wrafton’s Inn in the morning was another affair. Dusty sunlight filtered through the windows, cut with lazily whickering shadows of the branches in the Imdrian wind. The haze of cooked food hung in the air and around the tavern sat a few quiet townsfolk eating breakfast. 

They got plates of food and mugs of hot coffee and sat at a table. They ate fully, each feeding the ache in their muscles from the combat the day before. 

“So what’s the plan?” Osivan asked.

Gloraen thought for a moment and said “I think we should split up. Lathon, you and I will head back to Padraig’s. We don’t seem to have a good handle on the spy situation. Perhaps if we speak to the Lord, he might have some good ideas. We should maybe show him the letter, too. Moltezom and Greldo are going to the smithy to further investigate Thair Coalstriker.”

Moltezom said “I have an idea to draw out the spy. Watch.” He cleared his throat and spoke loudly. “Golly, I had a dream last night about a man named Kalarel! I wonder who that could be?” He smiled broadly as heads turned around Wrafton’s to stare at the dwarf that had broken the silence.

Gloraen glowered at the fighter. “I wish you hadn’t done that. We could stand to play this a lot more subtly, you know.” 

Moltezom’s eye had caught something, though. To his left, in the corner of the tavern, was an elf woman seated alone. Every patron of the Inn had stared at him, but only the elf woman had slowly lowered her drink when he’d said the name Kalarel. “I think I caught a fish,” he said excitedly. He gestured to the elf. “She seemed very interested.”

Lathon stood and walked to the elf. She was rather plainly dressed in woodland skins. She had an unstrung longbow strapped across her back. She had curtains of dark hair on either side of her head, and she noted the dragonborn’s approach with visible distaste. 

“Good morning,” Lathon said. 

“Mnn.”

“Did that name mean anything to you?”

“I have nothing to say to you. I’m trying to enjoy my drink.”

“I said did that name, Kalarel, mean…”

“Leave me alone before I’m forced to call for the town guard.”  

Lathon walked back to the table. “She’s less than friendly.”

“Oh well.” Gloraen finished his coffee and stood up. “Let’s get moving. We’ll meet up later.”




A well-carved wooden sign hung on the front of the building. 

Winterhaven Blacksmith Services

Thair Coalstriker, proprietor

Thair was banging rhythmically against some lump of hot metal laid on his anvil, whistling a tune while he worked in fresh air of the morning. He looked up to see Moltezom approaching, and he waved heartily. “Welcome, welcome. What have you got for me?” He scowled as he noticed that the halfling was watching from the distance.

Moltezom seemed unprepared for the question. “What?”

“To fix. You said you had items in need of repair, yes?”

“Oh! Yes. Umm… it’s… yes. My maul. Take a look.” He took out his battle maul and handed it across the Thair.”

The blacksmith turned it over in his hands. “This doesn’t seem broken.”

“It’s seen some battle, perhaps you can take the nicks out of it.”

“Certainly, I can. I’ll charge five gold pieces. It’ll be ready tomorrow.” 

Moltezom gaped. “Tomorrow? Must it be so long?”

“Yes, metal takes time to heat and work. I have other commissions as well, that I must see to. I can’t just do it while you wait.”

“I’m afraid I can’t be without this until tomorrow.” He took the maul back and pulled out some daggers. “Can you fix these?”

Thair said “These look brand new. I doubt they’ve even been used yet!”

Moltezom put those away too. “One was,” he said sheepishly. 

Greldo appeared and took out several well-used throwing knives. “Fix these, then.”

Thair grumbled and took the knives. He hadn’t seen the halfling approach. “Five gold. Each.”

Greldo smirked. “Isn’t that what you were charging my dwarven friend to fix one maul? Aren’t daggers considerably smaller?”

“Five gold or no deal,” Thair sniffed.

“Fine,” Greldo said. He walked casually around the shop and studied Thair’s trappings. Ironworking tools, piles of different ores, coal and kindling. Everything seemed to suggest that Thair was, indeed, a blacksmith. Nothing seemed put on or out of place.

This was all in keeping with the cover of an excellent spy, Greldo reminded himself. He would have to pay closer attention. 





Gloraen, Osivan and Lathon arrived at Lord Padraig’s manor. They were allowed inside, and Padraig greeted them somewhat less enthusiastically than he had the day before. “Hello, hello. Good morning.” He seated himself behind his desk and steepled his fingers. “Now, what can I do for you? I’d thought our business finished yesterday.”

“Well,” Gloraen began. “We’ve begun looking into some matters going on here in town and were wondering if you could be of any assistance. We’re looking for an informant.” 

“An informant?”

“Yes, a spy dedicated to someone named Kalarel. Do you know who that might be?” 

“Mmm, no. Who is this Kalarel?”

“We don’t know yet. We merely know of the name, and that there is a spy in Winterhaven.”

Padraig leaned forward in his seat, clearly interested. “I see. How did you come upon this information?”

Gloraen handed Irontooth’s letter to the lord, who began reading. “Irontooth… spy in Winterhaven suggests… …in a few days, I’ll completely open the rift… …then Winterhaven’s people will serve as food for all those our lord sends to do my bidding??” Padraig looked up from the letter, his face aghast. “In a FEW DAYS?”

“Um, yes.” Gloraen shifted uncomfortably. It was only now occurring to him that the letter suggested a time-sensitive nature to its threat. He thought quickly.

Padraig gestured angrily with the letter, shaking it at the three adventurers. “Can you tell me why this wasn’t brought to my attention IMMEDIATELY?”

“I’m sorry, my lord. There was so much loot from Irontooth’s horde that we just bagged it up and brought it back to inventory. We only discovered the letter this morning among the goods. We brought it straight here, of course.” The cleric’s eyes quickly met Lathon’s and the paladin seemed to understand. Lies and diplomacy were sometimes not far removed. Sometimes one had more use than another. It wouldn’t do to have Padraig raging on them due to a mistake… the lie meant a more constructive use of whatever time was left.

Padraig seemed to buy the bluff. “Dammit,” he muttered. “This isn’t dated, we don’t even know when this was sent… this could happen today.”

Osivan said “I’m sorry my lord, what is this rift?”

“Valthrun will know. Come.” Padraig bolted from his chair and hurried out the door. His face was turning white even as he walked. 

The four stalked through the village. They collected Greldo and Moltezom on their way to the granite tower that was Winterhaven’s tallest structure. The dwarf and the halfling watched the hurried way Padraig walked with some alarm. 

At the tower, Padraig banged on the wooden door. “Go away,” a voice shouted from a high window. 

“Come down here and let us in, Valthrun.”

“I’m busy.”

“NOW, VALTHRUN, IT’S IMPORTANT!” They heard the sound of a book being angrily slammed shut. As they waited, the adventurers noted the townsfolk milling around town, eyeing their lord uncomfortably. They clearly didn’t see him in such an excited state often. The door to the tower opened. The man standing there, shading his eyes against the rays of the sun, was the bald man in the purple robes from the tavern the night before. 

Padraig handed Valthrun the letter, and he began reading as he led the group into his tower. The interior was a surprisingly dark and dust-covered collection of detritus; things he’d cast aside into storage and forgotten. Chairs, boxes, crates, barrels, assorted junk. A staircase spiraled up around the wall of the tower, and Valthrun read as he climbed.

The second story was likewise dark. Daylight filtered in through a small vertical window, lighting upon another collection of dusty relics. This pile was different, though. It included items like old swords, cobwebbed staffs in an uncapped barrel, a group of crystal orbs of varying size, a large draped shape that looked to be a mirror, a clutch of arrows whose tips glowed in varying colors. 

Valthrun began to mutter as he walked. “Oh dear. Ohhh dear.” The third floor was sufficiently homier.  Candles hung in the air and desks lay cluttered with well-read tomes. The portions of wall that weren’t blocked by the staircase’s ascent to the fourth floor were covered with bookshelves. Valthrun walked straight to one of the bookshelves and took down two books. He handed the letter back to Padraig.

“So? What does this mean?” Padraig demanded impatiently. “What is this rift?”

“The rift,” Valthrun said as he flipped through one of the books, “is at the bottom of Shadowfell Keep.”

“The old castle? The ruins a couple of miles northeast of town?”

“The very one. That castle was built for one reason, and that was to guard the rift… a doorway to another plane. It was opened once, several years back, in the time of the Nareth Empire. Undead and darker things streamed out into our world. Several villages were overrun and destroyed. Only through the brave actions of the Narethan  military was the site secured, and several dozen wizards labored long and hard to close the rift. It remains closed today. The Keep was home to nobles for generations, until a curious incident. Then…”

“I’m sorry,” Osivan interrupted. “A curious incident?”

“Yes, um…” Valthrun flipped through a few more pages. “Ahh. Lord Keegan went mad and slew his family and most of his servants before being slain by his own men.”

“Oh.” Osivan looked sorry to have asked.

“After this, the Keep was abandoned. It was deemed haunted and it fell into disrepair, serving only as a haven for crows. The rift remains, though, far beneath the surface. It was assumed that only a scattered few even knew of the rift’s existence and so the Keep was left to molder. It seems someone has learned of its existence.”

“What is this other plane that the rift serves as a gate to?” Padraig asked.

Valthrun opened his other book and flipped through several pages until he found a full-page illustration. “The plane is the Shadowfell itself, specifically the realm of… him.” He turned the book and showed the group. The illustration was a pen and ink drawing of an enormous pig-man with wide bat wings and goat legs. He held a human spine topped with a skull. “Orcus, a malign god. Demon prince of the undead.”

The blood drained from the lord’s face. “A gate is being opened to that?”

“It appears that way. If it opens, wave after wave of undead horror will wash over us, wiping Winterfell and much of the civilized world from the map. How much time do we have?”

“We don’t even know. Days, at best.”

“What’s the plan?”

Gloraen spoke up. “If I may, I had an idea. We can lure the spy out into the open with an elaborate ruse. If we feign our arrest and a caravan trip away from town in shackles, the spy will be easier for us to observe. We have a few strong suspects already, and we can sneak back by night and observe, from the rooftops, the comings and goings of…”

“You don’t understand,” Padraig said. “We don’t have time for any of this. You need to go in. Now.”

This surprised Gloraen. “Into the Keep?”

“Yes. We don’t have much time, but we need to send you in while we summon an adventuring party.”

“Summon an adventuring party?” Greldo asked, sneering. “What are we?”

“Your group served just fine for eliminating a handful of kobolds. We don’t even know what we’re up against. Cultists? Undead? We don’t know! No offense, but you lot are obviously new to the game and we need an experienced team to investigate as soon as possible. Until then, we need you to go in and soften up the resistance as best you can.”

“How much?” Greldo asked coolly. 

“How much what? Are you seriously angling for cash at a time like this?” Padraig looked to the other adventurers, but they watched mutely as Greldo worked.

“Why not? You wouldn’t want us to leave, you have no one else. Say we go in, we succeed and slay the cultists. What would that be worth?”

The lord threw his hands up. “I don’t know. Whatever’s in the town’s coffers, certainly.”

“Done. Let’s go.”

The group stood up to leave. Behind them, Padraig continued to plan on sending an urgent message for, as he put it, a real adventuring group. “Pompous jackass,” Greldo muttered.

“Ignore him,” Osivan said. “He’s under a great deal of stress.”

The group left the gates of Winterhaven behind and walked on the road to the northeast.

_______________

Next time
TOTAL PARTY K... CLOSE CALL​


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## jensun (Jul 28, 2008)

I am picking Eilian as the spy.  The annoying old man who everyone ignores or barely notices who can easily stand around talking drivel while listening in on all sorts of conversations.


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## renau1g (Jul 28, 2008)

I have some inside knowledge of the spy , but I enjoy the candor so far between the characters and note how different we RP the same NPC's. Your a great DM from what I've seen/read and I'm taking notes, I just hope that you can get your games in faster than I can, so you pass where my group is. I'd like to "borrow" (ok... steal) some of your ideas.


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## Dr Midnight (Jul 28, 2008)

renau1g said:


> I have some inside knowledge of the spy



So does everyone else now that you've spoiled it a few posts ago... COUGH COUGH


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## GoodKingJayIII (Jul 29, 2008)

Ah, glad this one's back in action!


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## renau1g (Jul 29, 2008)

Dr Midnight said:


> So does everyone else now that you've spoiled it a few posts ago... COUGH COUGH




Shoot... I just realized that. Sorry. I've removed from the post, but great narrative.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jul 29, 2008)

renau1g said:


> I have some inside knowledge of the spy , but I enjoy the candor so far between the characters and note how different we RP the same NPC's. Your a great DM from what I've seen/read and I'm taking notes, I just hope that you can get your games in faster than I can, so you pass where my group is. I'd like to "borrow" (ok... steal) some of your ideas.




Oh boy, your players are really enjoying themselves, aren't they? 

I'm loving this - the characters are great fun, and Padraig's attitude is just something I'd never had thought up in a million years. Here's hoping the PC's actually pull this off!

Of course, if they don't, the next set of PC's come with a ready-made backstory...


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## Dr Midnight (Jul 29, 2008)

Tallarn said:


> I'm loving this - the characters are great fun, and Padraig's attitude is just something I'd never had thought up in a million years.



How so? 

Well, there's tumult at the gametable... we've lost Lathon's player, Greldo's player AND Moltezom's player, all due to scheduling. We're going to try to keep the same characters as new players come in (Lathon, this week, was played by new player Hugh). Hopefully the characters will continue to come across.


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## renau1g (Jul 29, 2008)

I know I played him quite differently, as he was a man of the people in my game (being that he frequented the drinking establishment). Lord Pardraig was not quite the statesmen that he was in your game, in fact, the recent troubles of the town have caused him to try to find the answer at the bottom of the bottle. The PC's are all born in the town (known as Timmins in my game, a previous character's keep that was established years ago) and so have their own motivations for helping out. 

I hope your new player(s) work out, it can be quite difficult to recruit new gamers.


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## presipus (Jul 29, 2008)

Dr Midnight said:


> How so?
> 
> Well, there's tumult at the gametable... we've lost Lathon's player, Greldo's player AND Moltezom's player, all due to scheduling. We're going to try to keep the same characters as new players come in (Lathon, this week, was played by new player Hugh). Hopefully the characters will continue to come across.




What's going on? Why are your players leaving? Are you pushing them out?


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## Dr Midnight (Jul 29, 2008)

Nope... one just said they were unavailable for the foreseeable future, and that was it. One has their wedding coming up and I guess the month before a wedding is a tough time. One coaches kids' football and will be insanely busy at the beginning of the season.


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## renau1g (Jul 29, 2008)

Dr Midnight said:


> One has their wedding coming up and I guess the month before a wedding is a tough time.




Yup... like pull your hair out as you need to decide every minutia of the wedding. I mean I thought I was a micromanager, but man alive.... well if it's not meeting with the florist, its the photographer, or dj, or the reception hall.....*Phew* gets me tired just thinking back to it.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jul 30, 2008)

Dr Midnight said:


> How so?
> 
> Well, there's tumult at the gametable... we've lost Lathon's player, Greldo's player AND Moltezom's player, all due to scheduling. We're going to try to keep the same characters as new players come in (Lathon, this week, was played by new player Hugh). Hopefully the characters will continue to come across.




Just that I read the adventure and it put me in mind that Padraig would be reasonable, calm, and ordinary. You've given him a lot more life than I would have considered doing - so I'm probably going to steal the idea and make him a bit more abrasive!


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## Dr Midnight (Jul 31, 2008)

Session 3 – Chapter 3
Poor First Impression
_______________​
The adventurers walked north for miles on a hard-packed road that had not seen regular use in years. Festive sprigs of weeds grew amongst the wheel ruts. Moving in this direction for two days or  so would take the traveler to the northeast, beyond the Cairngorm foothills. The road would wither to a rocky footpath long before passing Lake Wintermist which lay at the vast Winterbole Forest’s southwest edge. The road would go long, up into the Stonemarch with its tribes of warring orc clans. The road had once served as a trade route between orcish and human settlements, but it seemed by the condition of the road that such agreements had long since degraded. 

An overgrown path branched off to the right. Greldo re-checked his pockets and sheathed knives, saying “I should go in first and take a look around.”

“Good thinking,” Gloraen said. “We’ll stay here. If you need help…”

“…I’ll scream girlishly,” the halfling finished. “Wish me luck.” The rogue disappeared into the foliage.

Greldo crept along the edge of the old path until he came within sight of the Keep. It really wasn’t anything special, it was like any of the broken-down castles that littered the countryside. Tumbledown piles of ruined granite and stacks of broken timbers lay about the center of a clearing. The vague shape of rooms was shown by the rotted foundation. Something had laid rubble aside and created a path into the debris, but from here Greldo couldn’t make out what it was. 

He wanted to make a full sweep of the area, but for some reason he felt hesitant to step out into the clearing. There weren’t any guards watching, he felt quite sure of that. It was more of a creepy feeling, one that in childhood Greldo and his sisters might have referred to as “getting the squidgies.” The area was fully lit in daytime, but there was no denying that it was eerie here.

Greldo stepped out with light feet and padded softly around the ruins. He saw that the path that had been cleared away went to a staircase that descended down into darkness. He made a note of that and walked around to the east. 

The eerie feeling was present here as well, and Greldo tried to put his finger on what it might be. It occurred to him that the birds weren’t singing; in fact, there were no woodland noises of any sort. No chitters of squirrels, no persistent knocking of distant woodpeckers. The halfling looked to the trees and to his surprise saw that the birds were there. They were watching him. A squirrel, too, was perched on a stump at the edge of the forest and staring at him with its black eyes. Greldo’s flesh broke out in goosebumps and he drew a dagger. The noises had ceased, he realized, the moment he had entered the clearing. Not only this, but the clearing itself was void of life; there was a radius around the ruins where the grass ceased to grow, giving way to the kind of cracked hardpan he had once seen at the edge of a desert. 

Greldo hurried back to the group and passed on everything he’d seen. “I’m just glad to be back among people,” he said. “That was not fun.”

Osivan rubbed his chin and said “It’s the rift. Sometimes around areas of ancient infections of dark magic, a localized blight will overcome the area.”

“What about the animals, though?”

The wizard smirked with a twinkle in his eye. “They’re just curious. They’re not ignorant of evil energies… in fact, they’re more attuned to them than we are. I’d say they were wondering what you were doing there.” 

The halfling sneered. “So they’re not likely to swarm us in a nightmarish frenzy of flashing teeth or anything?”

“No, no. A more superstitious man would call their silence a bad omen… though superstition and study add up to the same thing, in this case.”

“Fantastic. Let’s go.” Greldo continued to eye the wildlife as they walked to the clearing. He didn’t trust the birds.

At the staircase’s crest, Greldo could see the dim flickering of torchlight on the steps below. A shifting could be heard- something below was alive.

It was decided that they would descend as a group. They began to step lightly down the stairs. Lathon, being a dragonborn wearing plate armor and unskilled in the art of stealth, trundled a bit over a root. His armor pieces clanked together and Greldo shot him a nasty look.

Once they’d descended far enough, they saw that the room ahead was square-shaped, with four pillars supporting the ceiling. Corridors branched off to the east, south and west. The southern passage held a lone goblin who was holding a spear and grimacing at them as fearlessly as he could.  

Immediately the group launched into various attacks. Gloraen moved forward and shot a beam of holy energy that pierced the creature. Greldo fired his crossbow and moved forward, creeping along the wall. 

Well-damaged already, the goblin continued to beckon them forward but didn’t move. Gloraen, seeing this, glanced around. He found what he was looking for at the center of the room. A stone-painted patch of canvas was lying there, masquerading as solid floor. Lathon was running up and  brandishing his sword. Gloraen looked back and held up a hand. “Lathon, no, it’s a trap!”

Lathon had a good deal of momentum now and could hardly stop. He hopped, trying to sidestep around a pillar and to the left of the canvas, but fumbled his footing and plunged with the canvas into a pit. He landed, grunting, in a mass of fur. The swarm of rats began to boil upward to his face. The rats hadn’t been fed more than scraps by the goblins. They were starving. 

Lathon was screaming from the bottom of the pit. Gloraen looked down and saw him covered in a moving coat of vermin. “Continue fighting, get that goblin- I’m going to help Lathon.” The others ran around him as he whipped a rope around the nearest pillar and tossed the coil down to Lathon, who caught it and began climbing, panic in his eyes. 

Two more goblins had appeared at the end of the south passage, each bearing crossbows. They began firing with deadly precision, and Greldo and Moltezom rushed forward to meet them in the cramped hallway. Another spear-wielding goblin emerged from the eastern corridor. Osivan fired at the goblins from the safety of the north staircase.

Lathon reached the top of the pit and Gloraen blessed him with the power of Bahamut. White radiance filled the air around him and the rats that clung to him fell off as if shaken free. The dragonborn ran back into battle. “You’re welcome,” Gloraen muttered. A second goblin warrior  rushed at him, screaming madly, and the cleric hit the fiend with a bolt of light before taking a spear in the ribs.

Greldo and Moltezom were trying to pin down the two goblins in the hallway. The goblins dodged a good number of blows, shrinking back and firing again over and over. The dwarf and the halfling were already stuck with multiple bolts, and their strength was beginning to wane. Greldo made a wild swing and connected, carving out a hunk of goblin flesh. The goblin cursed, jumped back and fired another bolt into Greldo’s chest. The rogue fell with a grunt. “Greldo, no!” Moltezom cried. “Such bad timing, to leave me like this now…” The dwarf would have to make quick work of at least one of the goblins, or he’d be joining his friend shortly. He applied a tactic he’d learned in military training and whirled, applying angles and leverage to hit the goblin at just the right place under the armpit. It cleaved him into two glistening hunks. “Harr!” Moltezom shouted. “Just you and me, now!”

Gloraen was cornered by the goblin he was fighting. The goblin rushed him and Gloraen stepped out over the pit, leaping around the pillar. It was a hop of a mere three feet, but with his full attention on the goblin’s attacks he misjudged his footing and fell into the pit. The rats began to churn once more. The cleric screamed as the rats began to eat him. He lost consciousness and the darkness swallowed him.

Lathon saw Gloraen’s fall into the pit and cursed. He picked up the rope that was tied around the pillar and rappelled down. He hit the bottom praying and slapped a hand against Gloraen’s chest. A flash of light infused the rat-swarmed cleric with life and he stood, streaming blood, from the pool of rats. “Give me your hand,” Lathon said. “Let’s get out of here.”

Osivan was concentrating his fire on the crossbowman at the end of the hall. By the time he saw the goblin warrior rushing at him, it was too late. A spear gouged across his side. The other goblin warrior fell in behind him, and the two began taking turns cutting meat out of the wizard. Panicking, Osivan tried to run. A spear struck him in the small of his back, and he fell. 

The goblins laughed. They’d not made a kill like this in some time. “Five adventurers, Plork! This is too rich,” one said.

“Agreed, Gungk. It’s too bad the rats will get the meat from those two,” Plork said, gesturing into the pit. 

“Ahh, let them feast. We can watch.” 

 The two adventurers in the pit were crawling with rats and scrambling to climb a blood-slickened rope. “Dinner and a show,” Plork chuckled as he raised a dagger to cut the rope.

“RRRRAAAAAHHHHH!” Moltezom crashed into Plork like a dwarven cannonball. The force from the blow cracked the stone behind him and the goblin was killed instantly. Moltezom parried a thrust and buried his maul in Gungk’s skull.

The exhausted dwarf dropped the maul and grabbed the rope. “Hold fast!” The holy men in the rat pit gripped the rope with white-knuckled hands that were covered in tiny rat bites. Moltezom heaved and grunted. His neck bulged with straining muscle and he pulled. His friends reached the top of the pit and collapsed on the floor. Moltezom slapped away the gnawing rats that still clung to them.

Gloraen lurched to his feet and healed Greldo and Osivan. The group huddled in the entranceway to the Keep. “Do we even continue?” Osivan gasped.

Greldo replied “We could go back to town and recuperate, get more supplies.” 

“Rest,” Moltezom wheezed. “Maybe some rest.”

“This adventuring life is tough after all,” Gloraen laughed, “But honestly, how much worse could it get?”

_______________

Next Time
Worse​


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jul 31, 2008)

Dr Midnight said:


> “This adventuring life is tough after all,” Gloraen laughed, “But honestly, how much worse could it get?”




Oh, they have NO idea.


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## Xorn (Aug 1, 2008)

Ooo!  Our stories are at the same point now!  I just wanted to say:



> “No, no. A more superstitious man would call their silence a bad omen… though superstition and study add up to the same thing, in this case.”




This phrase caught my attention and I had to go back and savor it twice before I could continue the story.  Wonderful expression here, bravo.  I really enjoyed reading how this encounter went for your game!


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