# The Heroes of Winterhaven - updated 8th June - Ryam Plays Dice



## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 12, 2008)

Near the sleepy town of Winterhaven, a ruined keep stands, a keep built many years ago to protect the local area from monstrous attacks. For years it stood, a shining beacon in a vast darkness, but now the keep is ruined and abandoned, and the darkness is closing in.

The Shadows of Evil are stirring – can a small band of heroes hold them back? 
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Note for future reference: This campaign started the Monday after the release of D&D 4e, and although it's moving slowly it shows every sign of being a long-running game.

This Story Hour will consist of my adventure logs from my Keep on the Shadowfell game. We're starting with KotS, and moving on through the published adventures from WotC, each in sequence. However, to start things off, I ran the group through _*Into the Shadowhaunt*_, the Worldwide D&D Games Day adventure. Partially to give them some extra XP to start the campaign with, and partially to let them get to grips with the new system. It also allowed them to make decisions about their characters before we really got started.

Cast of Characters:
Aran Thule, Halfling Ranger
Elwanen, Eladrin Paladin
Theron, Human Wizard
Sabbat Fau, Human Warlock
Cass, Human Fighter
Ryam Rateater, Halfling Warlord
Waylander, Drow Rogue
Marianna Markelhay, Human Bard
Rangrim, Dwarf Paladin - deceased
Des, Tiefling Troubadour - player left game
Fangorn, "Woodforged" Barbarian - deceased

There is a campaign Wiki on the Obsidian Portal site - click the big picture in my sig if you want to take a look!

Hope you enjoy the stories and please leave some feedback!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 12, 2008)

*The Legend Starts Here*

It's a fresh Spring day in the town of Fallcrest, central trading town of the Nentir Vale. The sun is shining properly for the first time in months, the clouds have finally cleared away, and for once even the market traders seem at ease with the world.

In and amongst the bustle and crush of market day, a diminutive figure wends his way across the square. More than one person absentmindedly goes to walk into him, but with a swift side-step (and occasionally a bit of a poke in the ribs) they are dissuaded of this notion. For this is Aran Thule, Halfling Ranger, and one look at the fact he carries a scimitar and a dagger, not to mention the bow on his back, shows that despite his size he is to be taken seriously.

Aran is making his way to the _Blueflame Orb_, a local Inn, to meet his good friend Cass Breenan. Cass, a burly human woman, is the daughter of the innkeeper and the two are firm friends. She also has a yearning to leave Fallcrest and strike out on her own, exploring the world and seeking to find her twin brother, who has gone missing. Aran thinks he finally has a way for this to happen.

Pushing open the door, Aran scans the room, quickly spotting Cass sitting at the bar. He smiles to see her, her Greataxe slung across her back, looking every inch the warrior-woman. Next to her sits a man, and they both turn to face Aran as he enters.

"Ah, you're here!" exclaims the man. "Excellent! Happily, I have met your companion, and she has agreed to accompany you to Winterhaven."

"Cass - you're really going to do this with me?" asks Aran. "I mean, it's not like either of us are particularly good with maps or anything."

"Aran!" she retorts. "How hard can it be? We go up North - finally getting out of Fallcrest - map this old Keep and come back. You get a chance to wander in the wilds in the way that you love, I get a chance to ask around after Jon, and when we get back we get paid. How much more simple and doable could it be?"

"Then let's do it!" cries Aran. "A drink to seal the bargain!"

The three drink together, and the deal is struck. Aran and Cass will bring a map of the Keep back to Fallcrest, and when they do, payment will be made.

Meanwhile, across town, a more disturbing figure is also receiving a task of his own. He is dressed in dirty white rags, his face all but obscured by lank black hair that reaches almost to the ground, but his eyes blaze with intelligence and he radiates a sense of power. His name is Sabbat Fau, and he has come out of the east bearing tidings of plague and famine. The townspeople do their best to avoid him, but take his gold readily enough.

The Wizard Theron accompanies him to the house of Douven Staul. Both Sabbat and Theron undertook some of their training with Douven - in fact it was during his time with him that Theron's skin began to take on the mild blue-ish tinge that it now has. Gullible villagers claim that it marks Theron as cursed, but he has shrugged off this theory.

They are at the house of their old mentor as he is missing. His wife explains that he travelled North some months ago now towards the town of Winterhaven, believing that he had uncovered the site of a Dragon Tomb in that area. "Where there's a tomb, there's treasure!" he had said, and set off alone to investigate. Sadly, this was the last anyone in Fallcrest heard of him, and with the Northern Road known to be dangerous, his wife has asked Sabbat and Theron to head north themselves and look for him. A monetary reward is promised upon his safe return.

Lastly on this day, this day that might one day be recording in history as the fateful day in which the adventurers that shook the world first came together, a meeting of three people of three races laid the seeds of change.

The Tiefling Cleric Des, a large and hairty creature of calm temprement and deep wisdom, together with the hardy Dwarf Rangrim Stoneborn and the Eladrin Elwanen, all met in the Temple of Fallcrest. The Priestess tells them she has heard word of Death Cultists working in the North near the village of Winterhaven, and bids them investigate. The leader of these cultists is said to be a man called Kalarel - although nothing more is known of him.

After a short discussion and some choice Dwarven curses upon the heads of those that seek the destruction of others, the three agree to the quest, promising to go North with all haste to investigate and put a stop to whatever is going on. A monetary reward is again offered.

Handily for all concerned, news has gone round the town that a trading caravan will be leaving from the Blueflame Orb later that day heading to Winterhaven. With the spring having arrived, the road North has cleared and Winterhaven will be looking to receive goods to replenish itself after a long winter. Salvana Wrafton, the innkeeper at Wrafton's Inn, will be happy to take the goods and make payment for the money to be returned to Fallcrest.

The seven adventurers, each with their own skills and experiences, agree that it would make great sense for them to take the caravan north. They can offer protection for the goods, and with a Cleric and two Paladins riding along, no-one doubts their honesty.

Within a few days, they reach the tiny village of Linden Field, a small farming community. The Inn there is called The Dragon's Tale, and they stay the night in comfort. Cass finds it reminiscent of home - but it also makes her think of how glad she is to get out! Aran enjoys himself, sampling a new beer that you can't get in Fallcrest, and Rangrim and Elwanen begin what is the first of many friendly drinking contests. It's a pleasent evening for all.

However, early next morning there is a great commotion from outside. Hammering on the door of the Inn, a man's voice is heard shouting "My sons! My sons! They're gone! Help! My sons!"

The almost incoherent man is Quinn Stasi, local silversmith. Eventually, as he calms down, he manages to gasp out that his two sons, Steven and Ricard, have disappeared in the night. He offers a reward to the hastily dressed group, pleading with them to hurry out and bring his sons back to him. He is afraid that they have been kidnapped.

Asking around the town, Aran spots Old Thom the beggar. Thom, a crafty old drunken sot, claims he saw three people heading towards the Shadowhaunt Mausoleum. The Mausoleum marks the final resting place of the Warlords of the Kaius Dynasty who used to rule the local area before their fall around sixty years ago. Whilst Thom is obviously unreliable, it's the only clue the group can find, and so the decision is taken to go in that direction.

Next update: The party arrives at the Shadowhaunt Mausoleum.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 12, 2008)

*The Mausoleum*

The sky is overcast and a light spring wind blows from the East, as the heroes leave the small village of Linden Field. Aran leads the way, following the tracks, but all members of the group find it easy to see which way the boys were taken. The tracks head across several muddy fields and through a small wood before the Shadowhaunt Mausoleum is revealed.

The Mausoleum is a small building, one-storey, built of stone. It has a flat stone roof, and only a few markings on the outside, but on one side it has a more elaborate mural showing a human figure in armour battling what might be a gnoll. The mural is faded now - it appears that no one is looking after this monument to the Kaius Dynasty, who protected the area for so many years.

The doors into the Mausoleum are heavy and also made of stone, but they are well-balanced and appear to have been recently opened. The group nervously heads inside, wary of the stories of haunted crypts and of ambush. They see a rectangular room with three scarcoughagi on each side, all closed. Above each one, a statue rests on a small shelf in a niche. The statues on the left are recognised by Rangrim as being representative of Pelor, God of the Sun, with those on the right representing Bahamut, Father of Dragons. In the centre of the room stands a large obelisk, writing in Common along the side detailing the history of the Dynasty in the area.

Relaxing a little in the presence of insignia of such well-venerated gods, the group begin to search the area. Theron quickly spots that the statue in the far right hand corner has been dislodged and has falled to the ground.

Cass, with assistance from Elwanen and Rangrim, levers the lid of one scarcoughagus (to the mild dismay of Des, who protests that the dead should be left alone. However, all that is inside is a mouldering skeleton dressed in rusting chainmail. Leaving it undisturbed, the lid is replaced. The group are baffled - how did three people come into this room with no other visible exits, yet leave without a trace of where they went?

Aran searches around again, and in a moment the Halfling is calling the others over to the obelisk. There are strange scuff marks on the floor and a slight draft coming from it, sure signs of a secret door! However, Aran can offer no further ideas as to how to open it.

Suddenly, a chill wind blows through the room - even though the door is closed. Each person glances around, feeling as though they are being watched - and then, in eerie silence, a ghostly figure rises up through the floor. It is dressed in shabby robes that seem to fade away at the sides, drifting in an unfelt breeze. It's face is indistinct beneath a cowl, and he bears no clear markings of any kind on his robes. He points towards Elwanen and intones in a rasping voice:

*"Interlopers beware! If you trespass you shall not recognise the wisdom of my words. From entry sinister, the way becomes clear when the son follows the sire."* He then falls silent and floats motionless, watching.

It's quite unnerving being watched by a ghostly figure with no visible face, but pooling their knowledge and racking their brains the group come up with the solution.

Cass remembers that "From entry sinister" refers to the heraldric custom of designating the left hand as the sinister hand, and therefore means "the left side".

Aran reasons that "the son" could also be "the Sun", referring to Pelor, God of the Son.

Finally Theron makes a connection between "the Sire" and Bahamut - Bahamut is referred to as the Father of Dragons.

"I've got it!" yells Aran with some glee, and runs round the room moving the statues. Starting with the shelf on the left of the door, he alternates Bahamut and Pelor statues on each shelf. Glancing up to the spirit, he notices that it somehow seems pleased, and as the final statue is placed one side of the obelisk slowly grinds open, revealing a flight of stairs leading down into darkness.

The dark-robed figure sinks back into the floor, and the adventurers gather around the newly-revealed entrance, wondering what lies beneath.

Next update: The party encounters their first real foes!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 13, 2008)

*Hobgoblins!*

"Right then," declaimed Aran. "I'll go first!"

"You sure?" asked Cass. "We've got no idea what's down there. Surely we should head down as a group?"

"Nope," asserted the halfling. "Look around you! We've got two Paladins in whacking great armour - not great for stealth or speed. We've got a Cleric of The Reason, what, he'll talk the enemy to death? We've got yourself, a large woman with a Greataxe, you've got two slightly fragile Wizardly types, and you've got me - silent, deadly, and used to working on my own. I'm the natural choice!"

A resounding silence met this appraisal of everyone's abilities, and Aran gleefully started down the stairs. Sabbat decided to stay at the top, mentioning something about a vague premonition of doom he was experiencing [1]

As he moved carefully down the stairs, Aran could see that the room ahead appeared to be worked stone. The remains of some more scarcophagi line the walls, shattered into pieces, with the desecrated bones scattered across the floor. Two intact scarcophagi block each of the two exits from the room, and on each one a single lantern sits, lighting the space in front.

Both Aran and Elwanen, following close behind with sword drawn, notice that the smell of oil in the air is very strong for only two lanterns.

As Aran steps forwards to explore further, everyone in the group hears a low voice issuing from further down the tunnel, saying "Delay them as long as you can. I need a little more time to complete the ritual." Departing footsteps echo back up the hall. Exchanging looks, the party edge a little further forward perhaps wishing that they had managed to be a little more stealthy.

A second later, two figures make themselves known behind the scarcophagi. Both wear well-cared for armour and are holding nocked longbows, their faces pug-faced and ugly. They sight their arrows and release, and the party faces it's first fight!

The battle is swiftly joined, with Aran running forwards to unleash two bow shots of his own in response. The armoured hobgoblin opposite him dodges the arrows, and then drops his bow and reaches down. Straining with the effort, he overturns the scarcophagi – it shatters, spilling a further torrent of oil around the halfling's feet. The lantern then drops into the flood, igniting the pool and burning Aran quite severely!

"Ow! My hair is on fire!" he shouts.

"What are you talking about?" hollers Cass in return as she advanced. "The flames are nowhere near your head!"

"Not that hair!" he yells back. "My feet hair! Ow! Ow! Ow!"

The Dwarven Paladin Rangrim strode forward, clutching his warhammer and attempted to vault over the other blocking scarcophagi – only for it to break under his weight and dump him into another inferno. The two hobgoblins seemed emboldened by the success of their traps, drawing longswords and pressing the attack. As Cass raced forwards to help out, also getting burned as she ran through the flames, Des stepped up.

"Let the power of the Reason grant you aid at this time," he pronounced, and within a second Aran's burns had largely healed over.

A third hobgoblin then added his own bowfire to the fight, shooting from behind a further scarcophagus that lay deeper into the tomb. The distance was too much for him, and the arrow ended up skittering along the floor through the accumulated bones.

Theron, muttering a swift spell to illuminate his Orb, and Elwanen joined the attack, pressing the hobgoblins back and darting through the fire to assault them. Theron used his arcane prowess to send bolts of black energy arching through the air, and Elwanen channelled the holy power of his deity to guide his attacks.

Glancing around at the situation, Theron noted that the third hobgoblin was free to pepper the party with arrows from behind cover, and decided to force him back. Conjuring a cloud of daggers around him, the hobgoblin was forced to try and duck away – however, Cass got there first! She launched herself forwards and over the remaining scarcoughagus, sliding neatly over the top instead of breaking through it as Rangrim had done, and hammered the Hobgoblin back into place. Caught between her axe, the magical Cloud of Daggers and the walls, the goblinoid figure was swiftly dispatched. 

The hobgoblins were disciplined and forthright soldiers, veterans of many battles against lesser foes, but against these heroes-to-be they fell quickly to sword, hammer and spell. As the flames guttered and died, leaving scorched stone in their wake, the party caught it's breath and checked for further attack. For a second, all was quiet…

..until the ghostly figure that had spoken to them before drifted out of the wall, it's empty eyes again regarding those that stood catching their breath before it.

[1]1 crater, who plays Sabbat Fau, couldn't make this session, so we left the character at the top of the stairs.

Next update: What does this strange spectral figure want with our heroes? And can they figure it out in time?


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## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 15, 2008)

*"Honour Them!"*

The strange spectral figure coalesced out of the stone wall, forming again into a humanoid shape, it's outline obscured by the robes that seemed to trail away into nothingness.

Ignoring the fallen hobgoblins, it gestured at the bones littering the floor of the room, and spoke two words: "Honour them," before falling silent again.

Des, Elwanen and Rangrim all realised that the spirit meant that the despoiled remains of the members of the Kaius Dynasty should be properly honoured by returning them to the scarcophagi, even if it was badly damaged. With a little work from the party, the bones were carefully cleared and laid to rest, with the spirit watching all the while.

As the final bone was placed carefully back in it's place, Rangrim stepped forward and offered a short blessing. "Lord Moradin, let these servants of the gods, these good and honest warlords that for so long protected the farmers and villages of this area, once more rest in peace."

The spirit drifted up towards the stairs and held it's hand towards the lowest step. Cass, a little nervoulsy, approached the step and quickly found a latch that allowed her to lift up the step. Revealed beneath was a single potion bottle.

Cass handed it over to Theron for inspection. Peering inside through the glass and then finally taking the stopper out and smelling it, he eventually made a pronouncement.

"It's a potion of healing," he explained. "I have seen such things before." Lacking magical means to heal herself, it was agreed that Cass should keep it for herself.

With Aran Thule again taking point, removing the lantern from the third scarcophagus to disarm it, the group moved further into the darkness, with only the light from Theron's Orb allowing them to see.

Next update: Des shows his power for the first time!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 16, 2008)

*"Let Reason's force drive terror into your heart!"*

Peering around the corner, Aran Thule sees in to the next room. It is a large natural-looking cavern, lit by some sort of softly-glowing moss and rugged in appearance. There is an exit on the far side of the room, a small corridor leading away. 

To one side, an alcove holds a closed door in the shape of a fearsome demonic face. As the party move carefully into the cavern, they see more clearly. Around the wall is writing that Des and Theron both recognise as being that of Bael Turath, the fallen Tiefling Empire that collapsed in battle against the Dragonborn. The writing indicates that this was once some sort of tomb, although the origninal inhabitants can only be guessed at now.

Aran Thule and Cass move forwards to investigate the door, quickly noticing that the glowing eyes of the face are actually windows through to the room beyond. Looking through, they see two young human boys in chains in the midst of a magical looking circle, surrounded by two rows of identical statues. They surmise, correctly as it turns out, that these are the two boys they are looking for. The boys look scared and nervous, lying still and silent.

Moving across the rough floor, Des seeks to see down this other corridor. Dimly seen at the far end is a raised platform, with a shadowy figure stood on top of it. He is lit by the emerald energy of an eldrtich circle of power, the magic almost visibly coiling up around him, and he is reading a tome bound in dark leather. He clutches a staff in his other hand.

Without a pause for discussion, Des recklessly steps forwards, crying out "Let Reason's force drive terror into your heart!" attempting to magically install fear into the figure – hoping to force him to flee the circle and come down to the floor. The prayer arcs across the room, but as it reaches it's target it dissipates and fails to affect him. The robed figure pushes back it's cowl, revealing an elven face twisted with dark secrets and hate, and he sneers in return "Pathetic! Forward, my minions, and let your swords taste his blood!"

With the unpleasant sound of bone clicking on stone, five skeletons beging to move around the platform, brandishing swords. It appears this twisted Elf is not happy at being disturbed!

Next update: The undead attack - and is that statue _moving...?_


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## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 16, 2008)

I'm working through the above posts, turning them into proper story hour posts with some description and characterisation. I should get this done over the next couple of weeks, one post a day or so.

Once I've got caught up with the end of Into the Shadowhaunt (in terms of them all being properly written up!), then we can move on with the story, re-writing as we go.

Hope you're enjoying it!

Note: Second post updated and changed!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 17, 2008)

All the posts are now fully rewritten to be more interesting to read - further posts will follow in this style.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 18, 2008)

*Skeletal Danse Macabre*

As the skeletons surged forwards, racing down the narrow corridor to engage Des in combat, he and Theron used a remarkable piece of teamwork to slow them down.

Firstly, Theron called upon the power of the magical orb that he carries to cast _Icy Terrain_. The rock froze and became icy, with fingers of frost creeping up the legs of the on-running undead creatures. Several collapsed with a horrible click of bone on rock, unable to keep their footing. Des was forced to back up as one skeleton reached him and swung it's sword, pushing him back, but then he raised his Holy Symbol and a shining light emanated from it. The skeletons were burned in the radiance, and several of those that were prone on the floor were pushed back into the room from which they'd come, their bones smouldering. Des and Theron shared a swift grim glance of purpose, and pressed their attacks.

Seeing his minions scattered, the Elf on the platform mustered his second forces. Two sharp taps on a particular sigil in the magical circle seemed to have no effect for a second, until Cass, Aran and Rangrim began to hear the grinding of stone on stone coming from the room behind the demon door. Two of the large guardian statues that had been staring down at the captive boys began to move, their heads turning towards the door.

Quickly, Cass smashed the lock with a blow from her greataxe before kicking it open and taking a stance. Rangrim ran into to block the other statue, his warhammer and shield gleaming oddly by the light of the magic circle. It's thick stone arms took up a fighting pose as it attempted to club him to the ground, but he caught the blow on his shield and avoided being ground under it's heels.[1]

"You'll never knock me down!" he called up defiantly to the impassive statue.

Elwanen took advantage of the skeleton's dispersal. Seeing through to the Elf on the platform, he disappeared – only to reappear (as if he had only taken a step) alongside the villainous foe. Drawing on his own Eladrin heritage, he gestured and attempted to knock the Elf off the platform with a spell. However, the magic circle again absorbed the energy, rendering it harmless. The Elf sneered and struck back, trying to suck the life out his racial cousin and transfer his vitality across. The circle around them both glowed greater as he utilised it's powers.

Grimacing under the onslaught, Elwanen felt his face go pale as the spell took effect. Leering at him, his opponent looked right into his eyes before speaking again.

"The blood of two young humans would have powered my ritual well. But to have the blood of a holy warrior such as yourself...mmmm...my victory will be all the sweeter!"

Cass had not been doing quite so well against the statues. As it crashed forwards, it struck at her with one huge fist and clubbed her to the ground. As she fell, it quickly raised a heavy foot to stamp down on her, and only her quick reflexes allowed her to roll out of the way and to her feet, dodging another punch as she did so. Despite being made of stone, the statues were qiuck and deft, striking hard at the three that opposed them.

However, whilst the statue concentrated on her it lost track of Aran. The halfling, small even for his race, was able to duck forwards, spin beneath another fist and strike hard with his weapons. Finding tiny cracks in it's exterior, Aran damaged it severely. It spun again, confused between these two capable warriors. Over it's shoulder it could sense it's brother statue trading blows with Rangrim, with neither being able to gain much advantage.

Cass got back to her feet and focussed her mind, bringing up memories of chopping timber in the tavern's back yard. It didn't always matter if you hit hard, so long as you hit in the right place…She wound up a subtle strike, the greataxe taking a chunk out of the shoulder of the statue, and then brought the axe high above her head, slamming into it brutally. A fine network of cracks appeared in the statues right arm and across it's chest, and Aran drove his own swords home again in response.

"That's it, Aran," called Cass. "Between the two of us we'll crack it!"

Back in the corridor, the skeletons had regrouped, but the careful wiles of Theron and Des meant that they had no chance of success. Theron used a series of Thunderwaves to push the skeletons back, with Des backing him with further blasts of radiant energy. Taking a risk, Des ran forwards, dodging a wild swing from a skeleton warrior, and made his way to the platform where the Elf and the Eladrin were exchanging blows. Although Elwanen seemed to be winning, Des fired off another burst of radiant energy, leaving the villain reeling and close to death. Elwanen, sensing weakness, took advantage of the guiding light that Des' prayer had left – dimming the magic circle – and drove his weapon home. The Elf gasped, struggled with his footing for a second and then took a long, slow step backwards…

...off the platform. 

[1] These statues were _nasty_. They knocked prone on a hit, got a free attack against adjacent prone targets, and when you tried to get up they got another attack that could knock you prone again!

Next update: Is this the end of our first campaign villain?


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## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 19, 2008)

*Let the (Elf) Bodies Hit the Floor*

As the blade slid home, the evil Elf that had set these events in motion fell backwards, out of the protection of his magical circle. As he fell he saw around the room that his skeleton warriors lay in pieces, destroyed by Theron's repearted Thunderwaves and Magic Missiles. As he hit the floor, his last thought was that he hadn't even managed to kill the two boys…

With the Elf dead, the last skeleton was quickly dispatched, clearing the room. However, the statues were still proving a problem. The Elfs malevolent spirit had been driving them forwards, and Cass, Rangrim and Aran Thule had found them a true handful. Suddenly, though, that spirit was gone – and the statues grew sluggish. Aran was able to attack them from behind, almost running up their backs to stab true with his shortswords. Rangrim's warhammer crunched home, Cass's axe slammed into them and in short order the two statues were reduced to nothing more than rubble.

Breathing hard despite his Dwarven endurance, Rangrim offering a short, but heartfelt prayer that he wouldn't have to go through that again. Blocking the repeated blows from the statue with his shield had tired him, but unbowed he looked around the room afresh to see if anything else threatened the group.

The magic circle's that had gleamed in both rooms started to fade, and the terrified boys were finally able to make themselves heard over the sound of battle.

"Thank you! Thank you! But be careful – when that elf put us in here, he said that if we left the circle the room would come crashing down on us!"

Worried, the group convened at the circle with the boys inside. How were they to get them out without risking the collapse of the room, and possibly the whole complex?

Next update: The final part of this adventure! Who lives? Who dies? All shall be revealed!


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## FloatingDisc (Sep 19, 2008)

It's great being able to relive our party's first adventure together this way! I can't wait to see the next installment, Tallarn! 

BTW, for those interested, I'm playing Rangrim the dwarfish paladin of Moradin in this campaign.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 22, 2008)

*The Adventure Concludes*

The party gathered around the circle in the statue room, joined now by Sabbat Fau. Elwanen went to guard the entrance against possible reinforcements.[1]

Sabbat and Theron bent down to examine the circle more closely.

"It would appear that it is losing it's potency." Theron leaned close in, his hands hovering over some of the runes. "See there? It is beginning to fade."

"I have no direct experience with such things," intoned Sabbat. "But it appears to me -"

"Well, then, if it's fading I'll just drop some sand in _here_, and use my dagger _here_..." The higher-pitched voice of Aran cut in as he went to work on the circle. Theron and Sabbat jumped back, with Theron putting a hand out in warning - but then he quickly realised that the Halfling was on to something. Muttering a counter-charm under his breath and concentrating fiercely, the Wizard, the Warlock and the Rogue broke the circle. Swiftly, the strange green light faded away.

Aran stepped into the circle. "Soon have you out, lads!", he called. Using his lockpicks to unchain the two boys, he grinned at them. His small stature and nimble fingers made quick work of what had looked like quite a secure chain, and with a final twist-and-snap they were free.

As the boys stepped out the circle, the company tensed for a moment – but the ceiling stayed put, and no rumble of falling rock came to their ears. However, the shadowy figure that they had met before formed silently out of the shadows on one side of the room.

Cass looked over, gripping her axe. "So what now?" she asked herself.

A great wind seemed to be affecting the spirit, and the dark shadows were ripped away leaving it's face much more human looking and it's robes grey, rather than black.

"Thank you," he said. "That accursed elf had me under a compulsion – I aided you as best I could but I wish I could have struck the deathblow on him myself. I am glad these two innocent children have been freed."

Staring at his newly revealed face, both Des and Aran had the same thought – the figures pictured on the tombs upstairs, this face, and the face of the children bore an uncanny resemblance. A…familial resemblence.

Aran asked "Do you boys know anything your grandfather? Or possibly grandmother?" Seeing their baffled looks, he explained that a resemblence was clear, and the spirit immediately guided everyone through to the room that Helvec had been conducting the ritual in. 

"Place your hands upon this pedestal," the spirit asked. "Please - it will not harm you." At his prompting, the two boys placed their hands on the risen platform, and as they did so it began to slide into the ground, leaving behind a lump of misshapen rock. Theron was busily scratching notes into his spellbook for future reference.

After a second, the lump of rock began to flow and melt. Rangrim, staring at the flux of stone, suddenly cried out "It's a warhammer! There is a warhammer hidden in the rock!" The rock melted away entirely, and in it's place their lay, as if newly-forged, a clearly magical warhammer.

The spirit spoke again, saying "Long has this hammer been waiting to be held again. It is named the Thunderhammer, and it has great power in the right hands. The scions of the Kaius Dynasty must take their place in defence of their ideals."

However, the two boys looked a little unsure, and Richard spoke up, replying "But we're far too young!" He glanced around, spotting Rangrim comparing his own Dwarf-wrought hammer with the one lying in front of him. "You take it!" cried Richard. "You take it, and wield it, and when we're ready we'll send for it and you can return it to us!"

Rangrim was, understandly, happy with this arrangement. Striding forward, he swung the hammer down against the floor, and an echoing BOOM! rang round the chamber. Rangrim grinned, and casually remarked "So now we find some orcs, yes? I want to test this out properly!"

The spirit, it's job done, faded back into the stonework of the underground tomb, and the party gathered up the assorted treasure from their fallen foes, including the ritual book. Sabbat was all for keeping it for study, realising it contained rituals of power for those willing to make bargains, but upon further discussion it was decided that a ritual book that contained a single ritual that spoke of days of blood sacrifice was not something he wanted to have in his possession – the book's pages were burnt. 

The other item of note that was located in a small treasure chest was a note, saying "Helvec, once you have finished with your task you must meet me at the Keep. You know the passcode. In His name, K".

Des spoke clearly into the silence. "This could refer to Kalarel, the Death Cultist leader we - Elwanen, Rangrim and I - were tasked to find. I wonder if this keep is the one near Winterhaven? It seems too much of a coincidence otherwise."

[1] As one player comes back into the game, another can't make a particular session. It's pretty much what I expected with 7 players - at least one misses most games!

Next update: The party return to Linden Field in triumph!


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## FloatingDisc (Sep 23, 2008)

First magic item of the campaign, woo! So far, it's crit-power hasn't gone off, but I've used it's daily thunder power a few times. Most satisfying!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 24, 2008)

*Returning in Triumph to Linden Field*

With the ownership of the Kaius Thunderhammer settled, for now, the group set about leaving the caverns underneath the Shadowhaunt Mausoleum. The two boys were ably supported by Cass and Rangrim, the latter taking the opportunity to impress upon the young human the importance of honour, loyalty and keeping your beard well-groomed.

Elwanen noticed something as Linden Field came back into view. "You two lads," he asked "Do you feel you can stand on your own feet? It would do your parents proud to see their children return from kidnap under their own power." Steven nodded yes, and, wobbling slightly for a second, walked the final half mile unaided, his brother beside him. Quinn Stasi was overjoyed to see his children returned unharmed, and promptly paid the money he had promised.

He was also fascinated to learn of their possible ancestry, and vowed to help train his children in the ways of the Kaius, as best he could. As the local silversmith, he had a certain amount of capital, and a couple of the local farmers had seen action in militia against roving bands of monsters. It seemed that the children were in good hands, but he asked that should the group ever pass by Linden Field again, that they stop in and see how everyone is doing.

Aran piped up "Is there a free drink in it for us? Count me in!"

That evening, a happy village celebrated the return of the children in the Inn. Aran told the tale of what had happened[1], embellishing it only slightly, and despite slightly sore heads they set off in the morning with glad hearts, once more taking the trade caravan North to Winterhaven.

The countryside was largely dull – low hills breaking away in each direction, with small woods and distant, larger forests. The clouds still pressed close, Winterhaven was still several days away, and the journey quickly became routine as they continued at the slow walking pace that the donkey pulling the trade caravan forced upon them. Aran tended to range ahead a little, scouting for the group.

It was this scouting that saved them from what might have been a very nasty ambush. 

[1]DM's note: This tale can be found at 4th Ed D&D In London » Wiki » Arans Tavern Tales along with part 2! However, read the second Tavern Tale at your own risk, as it contains spoilers for this Story Hour.

Next update: Who's ambushing our band of heroes?


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## Aran Thule (Sep 25, 2008)

The first tavern tale was told in Winterhaven so people might want to wait a couple of days before viewing it as it gives away the story a bit.
Hope people are enjoying reading this as much as we liked playing it.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 25, 2008)

*Kobold Ambush (1)*

As the company rounded a bend in the road, Aran had a strange inkling that something was up. An inkling that turned into a certainty as a group of small, reptilian creatures burst from the trees around them and attacked, yelling and screaming.

As Des hollered "Everyone back in the caravan!" and ducked for cover, the rest of the party responded with weapons drawn and spells readied, taking down several of the kobolds in a few seconds. Theron suffered a nasty hit though – one particular kobold was able to sling a firepot at him, setting his arm on fire. Theron cursed and frantically tried to stop the blaze from spreading up his clothes. Elwanen, in turn, recklessly stepped through the Feywild to reach the tougher looking kobolds at the back.

The battle raged across the area, with most of the group holding a good defensive line against the tougher kobolds who could stand up to them. Three, in particular, caused the most problems as their dragonscale shields helped them deflect several attacks that were aimed their way.

Des, however, continued to stay in the caravan, imploring the other to join him in. The others, filled with the joy of battle, were not listening.

Theron managed to put out his fire and blast one dragonshield back into the trees with a _Thunderwave_. Snarling, the kobold bared its teeth and charged back into the fray, shortsword clutched in its scaly fingers, only for Rangrim to use the power of the Thunderhammer to blast the kobold back again, clutching it's ears.

Sabbat Fau showed his power for the first time, pronouncing a sentence of doom upon a kobold and then following up with a nasty curse that caused one kobold to burst into flames from the inside and catch fire. Thankfully for the kobold, Cass dispatched it shortly afterwards, her greataxe carving through it like so much dead meat.

Whilst all this was going on, Aran and the kobold slinger had been playing hide'n'seek just up the road. Seeing it's friends defeated, the slinger made a break for freedom but a flying tackle from Aran stopped it in it's tracks. Up close, it wasn't so dangerous and a couple of quick scimitar and dagger thrusts meant it lay dead on the ground.

After the battle, Aran grabbed one of the dragonscales that the kobolds had been using as shields and announced he was keeping it as a trophy. Des & Cass calmed the mule that pulled the wagon, and with a short pause to move the bodies off the road the group continued on their way to Winterhaven.

Next update: Finally, the party arrives in Winterhaven!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 29, 2008)

*Arriving In Winterhaven*

Winterhaven is a small village at the far end of the King's Road from Fallcrest. A sturdy wall protects the outside of the settlement, and visible over the top of it is Wraftons Inn, the Winterhaven Manor House and Valthruns Tower - an impressive building standing a full five stories high.

Two human guards stood at the gate, impassively watching at the donkey pulled the trade cart up the hill. Des stepped forwards to talk to them, politely asking their permission to enter the town. Despite his outlandish appearance (blue fur is not a common trait!), after a short discussion the gates were opened and the party allowed in.

Wraftons Inn was revealed right in front of them. It is a two storey structure, well built and well cared for, with a simple sign of a full tankard of ale swinging in the breeze. Salvana Wrafton emerged from the front door, beaming. "Welcome to Winterhaven!" she called. "Is that the trade caravan you've brought? Fantastic! I'll have it brought in, please, come in and get a drink. I'm sure you're tired after a long journey." A stable-boy ran out to take the reigns from a grateful Cass, and the group sank onto the benches inside.

Aran tried a local speciality drink ("It's made with cherries, well, mostly cherries!"), a mixture of ale and wine was poured, and Salvana got the news of the kobold attack. She seemed to know something about it, and recommended the group speak to Lord Parrag, the town's leader. Cass also asked after her brother, but Salvana didn't recognise the description.

Over the course of the afternoon, the party discussed all that had brought them to Winterhaven, including the Keep (Salvana: "Rumoured to be haunted! Vampires and ghosts and all sorts!"), the kobolds ("They're a real problem, but we don't have the manpower here to deal with it"), Douven Staul ("Oh, I remember him. He followed Eilian's map and hasn't been seen since") and the possibility of a cult ("There are no cults in Winterhaven, I'm sure of that"). A few eyebrows are raised as Salvana denies cult activity, but at this stage no one takes the matter further.

Once they had rested an hour or so, they began to get restless. A few minutes walk brought Des to Valthrun's Tower and he asked Valthrun to come downstairs to add his knowledge to the discussoin.

Valthrun turned out to be an elderly human, dressed in the long robes of an arcanist. Des asked him about the same subjects they'd spoken to Salvana about.

"Cult activity?" retorted Valthrun. "No such thing around here. I mean, take a look around - these are farmers and traders. They are all working too hard at simply surviving to be engaged in anything as esoteric as a cult. I do not know where you got your information from, but I'm afraid I cannot help you on that matter."

"What about the Keep?" asked Des. "I've heard that it's ruined - do you know anything further about it?"

"Hmmm," replied the sage. "We call it the Winterhaven Keep these days, but it's been ruined for many years. As far as I remember, the last time it was inhabited was about eighty years ago, after the fall of the Nerath Empire. Since then the local Lord has ruled the area out of the Manor House, and the Keep has been allowed to fall to ruins. The locals have some rumours and myths about - claim it's haunted or somesuch nonsense - but as far as I know it's just a mouldering pile of rubble these days. Still, you say that you've heard rumours someone is up there? I will search my books and see if I can find any further information on it for you."

Des asked his final question. "Have you heard of a man named Douven Staul? Some of my friends are looking for him."

"That's a name that rings a bell!" exclaimed Valthrun. "Oh yes, I remember. Came around here a while back, asking questions about a dragons tomb. I told him what I could, but in the end he wound up following a map that Eilian made for him. Probably wandered off into the woods and got lost, I'm afraid."

Thanking him for his time, Des agreed to come back in a few days to see if Valthrun had turned up any useful information.

Eilian turned out to be a very old farmer sitting in the corner of the Inn, and once Douven's name was mentioned he lit up a little, saying he could draw everyone a map of where he'd gone. Unfortunately, he said, that he had a terrible problem with his writing hand that could be much improved by a mug of ale... Once one was obtained for him, drawing a smile of appreciation, the map was redrawn and explained. There was some suggestion (from the group, and out of earshot) that this map may be less than accurate, but any map is better than none and the party agreed to head out and look for Douven soon. Elwanen did remind them, however, that it would good manners to request to speak to the local Lord before setting off again.

Walking quickly through the few streets of Winterhaven, the group approach the gated wall that keeps the Manor House seperate from the rest of the village. Two more guards in well-used chainmail waited for them, and again Des stepped forward to speak to them.

Once again, the tieflings charming manner and calm voice got them through, although the guards requested that all weapons be peacebonded inside the Manor. Opening the gate, the party is ushered through to the Manor House.

Next update: Meeting the lovely people of Winterhaven.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 30, 2008)

*A Day In Winterhaven*

The Manor House stands two stories tall, an impressive building and built with defense in mind. The windows were small and well placed, giving an excellent view and overlapping fields of fire should any enemies break down the main gate. Clearly, the previous Lords of this region had been no fools, and it looked as though Lord Parrag was following in their footsteps.

Lord Parrag greeted the group in his study – a well-furnished if functional room. The Lord himself is a strong-boned man in his early 40's, with a hint of grey in his hair. The room contains a couple of shelves of books, an open fireplace, and a large desk with papers scattered over the top.

The party and Parrag discuss the matter of the kobold attacks on the path, and the noble confirms it is an increasingly worry for him. "We receive fewer trade caravans now than we used to," he said. "I've been attempting to get the villagers to help root this problem out, but they're not trained warriors and I simply don't have the resources to deal with it. If you could manage to drive these little pests off, I would be able to offer a reward from the village's coffers. You're the first group that have come up here that I think might be able to sort the problem out."

Happy to receive payment, and to take a commission from the local authority figure, the group agrees. The fee will be paid upon proof of the kobold's defeat.

Other matters are touched upon – Lord Parrag refers them back to Valthrun for further information on the Keep, says he met Douven Staul once and has never heard of Cass' brother. 

"Well, I thank you for coming to see me and for agreeing to take care of my kobold problem. However, I am a busy man." Parrag gestured at the paperwork on the table in front of him, then rose to his feet. "I hope I shall see you tonight in Wrafton's Inn. I like to head down there every now and again."

Aran speaks up quickly "Well, sir, should you be there tonight you will hear me telling the story of our adventure so far. A tale of ghosts, living statues and deadly peril!"

"I shall look forward to it!" responded Parrag. "If the tale is good enough, I'll even stand you a drink."

"You're on!" Without further ado, the company leave, planning to head out into the wilderness tomorrow.

Rangrim wishes to speak to Thair Coalstriker the Dwarven Blacksmith, and as his forge is just by the gates to the Manor House it's easily done. Thair is a rugged dwarf of more advanced years, wearing the traditional smith's leather apron and with a triple-platted beard hanging down to his waist. He greets Rangrim warmly, with a wrist-to-wrist Dwarven handshake, and asks after his clan.

"I am from Hammerfast originally," explains Rangrim, and Thair is delighted to meet someone that knows his homelands. The two exchange tales and Rangrim brings Thair up-to-date with the goings-on.

Cass asks him about her missing brother, and although he can't help, but makes mention of having some experience in that area. Cass presses the point, and he gently deflects her, saying "The hairs of that beard have already been pulled." He promises to buy Rangrim a beer in the tavern that night and talk more.

In the evening, everyone is gathered in the Tavern. New arrivals in the village ensure it's even more packed than normal, and the group are able to meet Delphina and Ninaran, two local Elves. Valthrun and Eilian are also present, and although Eilian 

Ninaran is sullen and quiet, not wanting to speak much, but Delphina is much happier and fills in a map to the location of the Kobold lair. She is a local flower-seller, and in her travels has ventured all around Winterhaven. This map also helps to confirm that Eilian's map to the last location of Douven Staul isn't perhaps as bad as they thought, and it's decided that rescuing him might be a good move before taking on the kobolds. After Aran has entertained the crowd with tales of their exploits thus far (earning a drink and a smile from Lord Parrag), the party head for bed (with Aran in special rooms on the ground floor), ready for the morrow.

Next update: The kobolds ambush the party _again!_


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## Mathew_Freeman (Oct 3, 2008)

*Into The Wild*

As the group heads off into the woods to see if they can locate Douven Staul (the missing explorer), it is another clear & bright sunny spring morning. Birds sing in the trees, and the company spot the occasional piece of wildlife. Douven was last seen following a map from Eilian in search of a lost Dragon Tomb, and party have Eilian's best copy to follow themselves. For the moment, it's a simple trek back down the road they arrived on.

The party have been travelling for about an hour or so when Aran pauses, eyes scanning the undergrowth ahead. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up - it seems suddenly very quiet.

His fears are realised as several kobolds emerge from hiding and charge towards him – they are carrying the same dragonscale shields as the other group and look like competent warriors. Drawing his weapons, Aran dodges and weaves as they strike at him, but he is wounded a couple of times by their fierce attacks. Further up the road, he can see a spear wielding kobold begins to circle around the edge of the woods. Lastly, a fifth kobold comes into view, wearing a bone mask shaped like a dragon's skull and shrieking instructions and encouragement to his allies. Thinking quickly, Rangrim realises this is a Kobold Wyrmpriest - a kobold with strange arcane powers.

The party leaps to their friend's defence, with Elwanen _fey stepping_ forwards to engage. His forms blurs past Aran, sword in hand, but he is quickly surrounded by a dragonshield and the spear fighter, finding it hard to concentrate on both at the same time. The kobolds work together, harrying and harrassing him as he battles to keep them from surrounding him.

Cass and Rangrim are engaged in a tough battle against the other two dragonshields. Unlike the kobolds they have fought before, these kobolds are hardy and skilled. Cass finds her attacks blocked and deflected by their shields, and Rangrim's strikes are warded off as well. Aran breaks free and makes for the Wyrmpriest. The priest invigorates his colleagues, driving them to greater heights of fury, before directing a ball of flame into his enemies, scorching Rangrim. 

The Wyrmpriest pulls another trick out of the bag as Aran charges, yelling, towards him. Taking a deep breath, a jet of fire sears through the air towards the halfling. Aran manages to pull out of the way at the last second and the jet shoots over his head - unexpectedly scorching a small bird on a tree behind him. Muttering a swift thank you to the Gods for his halfling luck, Aran presses his attack against his foe.

Elwanen isn't doing so well. Faced with two skilled opponents, he struggles to make headway. Time and again the spear wielder manages to sneak a jab through his defences as Elwanen is distracted by the Dragonshield. Finally losing his temper and spinning to try and snap the shield in half, Elwanen is brought to his knees as he feels a shortsword in his back. Everything goes black for a second, before the calming words of Des roll across the battlefield. Reinvigorated, Elwanen opens his eyes, takes a deep breath and slices the spear in half, his sword taking a chunk of it's holder as well. Glancing round, he sees Cass and Rangrim stepping forwards over the bodies of their foes, with Theron smiling at the effects of his spell.

Once it's three against two, the Dragonshield and friend drop quickly. Aran, too, has slain his enemy - two blades against one meant the Wyrmpriest was fatally compromised as Aran slipped around him and buries his blades in the kobold's neck.

The company prevails and the kobolds are slain. Aran guts the priest and dumps his body to the ground, before finding an obsidian necklace on the body. Scratched into the base of a smal statuette is a symbol - a skeletal ram's head.

Des immediately recognises it as being the symbol of Orcus – Demon Prince of the Undead. This lends credence to the rumours of cult activity. Orcus' followers are known to seek to raise undead forces against the living, and if such a cult exists in the area then the villagers of Winterhaven are in severe danger.

Taking a moment to refresh themselves, the party loot the other bodies before piling the corpses at one side of the road.

Next update: Arriving at the Dragon Tomb, and a well dressed Gnome.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Oct 6, 2008)

*The Dragon Tomb*

Clouds are starting to gather as the walk through the trees continues. Aran is again taking point guard as the party come across the area of their search – the Dragon Tomb.

It's somewhat of a disappointment – merely a large pit in the ground surrounded by rough rocks and some more trees. In the pit four human workers are sifting through bones, watched over by a Gnome and two guard drakes - lizard-like creatures, about the size of large dogs. They are, as you might guess by the name, used as guards and alarms. Aran, after a little scouting, also spots another halfling lurking in the boulders around the pit's edge. He is curious to know what another member of his race might be doing around here.

The Gnome seems well-dressed and confident, with a slight swagger to his walk. He is wearing leather armour and has a crossbow resting on a rock nearby. As the Gnome sees them, he introduces himself as Agrid and invites them to come down and see what he's uncovered. The party are suspicious, particularly Elwanen, but Des attempts a diplomatic exchange. However, as he makes his way around the pit to get a better view and Elwanen heads down into it, the trap is sprung and Agrid fires a crossbow bolt at the Tiefling Cleric, causing him to hit the deck in a hurry![1]

Aran and the other halfling begin a duel of weapons – Aran's bow against the Halflings lightning quick slingshot. Projectiles ping off rocks, shoot wide and blood is drawn on both sides. The luck of the halflings also comes into play - both combatants avoid serious injury with some sharp footwork. Fortunately for Our Heroes, Aran prevails, and the Halfling is shot through the throat.

In the pit, the sheer strength and power of Cass, Rangrim and Elwanen is too much for the human mob, with Elwanen slamming one into the walls of the pit with a _Thunderwave_. Despite some Gnomish trickery with a moment of invisibility, Cass beats Agrid unconscious and captures him. The guard drakes last a little longer, but they are heavily outmatched. Soon, their bodies are also cast into the bit admidst the bones.

Des, meanwhile, has made his way across the pit to find a figure concealed under a blanket. Casting back the blanket he finds Douven Staul, alive, but tied and gagged. Des heals him of his injuries and unties him. 

Grateful to the party for rescuing him, Douven explains that he had started to work on the remains of the Tomb when he was approached by Agrid and the Halfing (his name is never discovered, sadly). The two quickly coerced him into continuing, saying that if he didn't do what they said they'd simply cut off a hand or so to keep him quiet. Scared and afraid, Douven managed to help until a few days ago when a mirror was uncovered.

This was greeted with great joy by Agrid – apprently his superior had expected something of this nature to be found here. Agrid had decided to spend just a few days more to see if any other treasures could be located, but none were forthcoming. Today was to be the last day of digging – the group were then to return to the Keep with the mirror and Douven.

Douven begs to be taken back to Winterhaven and safety before the party make any approaches to the kobold lair, and as thanks for his rescue he gives them the Amulet that Agrid had been wearing. Explaining that he just needed it for a moment, he withdrew a small picture of a woman, saying "This is my wife." He then handed over the Amulet to the group, confirming that this was a magical amulet that would provide protection against poison.

The group agree to return to Winterhaven with their captive in tow. Agrid is firmly tied and also gagged - poetically, the same treatment dealt out to Douven. Everyone keeps a careful eye on him in case he tries any more tricks.

[1]Des' player is keener on talking than action - I've promised him that future interactions with NPC's will be less combat orientated than the early sections, which largely involve the PC's being ambushed by various people.

Note: At the end of this session, everyone levelled up to 2nd. I had wanted to make sure that they were 2nd level before attempting to beat 



Spoiler



Irontooth the Goblin


 - hence the mild DM-pushing to do this section first.

Next update: A very short interlude from Sabbat Fau!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Oct 6, 2008)

*Meanwhile*

Locked away in cramped quarters above the inn at Winterhaven, the thin frame of the reclusive warlock Sabbat Fau is hunched over a pile of star charts, bony hands plotting arcane intercepts with a pair of jade callipers. Although physically present, his meditations took him far, far away.

“Believe nothing, think nothing, feel nothing.”

Note: Yes, crater missed this session also. However, I am allowing all players to score xp equally for the moment.

Next update: A celebration, and plans are made to end the kobold threat.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Oct 8, 2008)

*Journey To The Kobold Lair*

Returning to Winterhaven with Agrid in tow, blindfolded and with his hands tied behind his back, leads to some interesting questions from the guards. In short order, Rond Kelfem the militia captain is summoned, and he agrees to take Agrid to the village jail whilst he awaits further questions. He grimly promises that if Agrid tries to escape, he will be shown no mercy.

Both Sabbat Fau and Theron are delighted that Douven Staul has been rescued, and Douven books himself a room at the Inn, but not before asking with some urgency when the next caravan back to Fallcrest is due, explaining "Frankly, I just want to see my wife again." He retires early to get some real rest, but makes sure that Salvana has a round of drinks waiting for the heroes at the bar.

An evening's drinking ensues in celebration, with Aran asking Salvana for a full bottle of the delicious drink he obtained before. Unfortunately, he'll have to wait for another order to come in, but as he has no plans to leave Winterhaven until the map of the Keep is complete it's all fine for him. The villagers are also treated to some full-throated singing from Elwanen as he attempts to translate and then teach them some Eladrin drinking songs. The experiment has a mixed reaction, at best, especially when it turns out that what sounds beautiful in Elven turns out to be a little more mundane in Common. Plus, Elwanen really isn't that great a singer.

The following morning Des is up first, seeking out Valthrun in his tower. Valthrun sticks his head out of an upper-story window and shouts "These things take time! Kindly leave me alone to do this research and I'll let you know when I find something I can tell you!"[1] Somewhat dismayed at Valthrun's demeanour, Des instead speaks to Sister Lindros at the Temple, asking if she has any information on any cult activity in the area. Again getting no serious help, he racks his brains for any scrap of information about the Keep that his teachers may have mentioned. The only thing that he can come up with on this occasion is that a force from the Kaius Dynasty came this way around a hundred years or so ago, before the Keep fell, but he can recall no further details. Suddenly, he remembers the name of the last Lord of the Keep – Sir Creegan.

Meeting up, the group decide that the way to go is to take Lord Parrag's offer of payment to remove the kobold threat from the area, and head out west following the map that Delphina was able to make for them. Whilst the Death Cultists are a concern, with little in the way of hard evidence of their workings it's almost impossible to judge if or when their plans will be completed. The kobolds, on the other hand, are a problem _now_.

The map guides them safely to the right location – a small set of caves guarded by a waterfall. Aran spots a number of kobolds outside acting as guards, but whilst some members of the group delay and plan, Theron launches a solo attack with a bolt of black energy that zips through the trees and crunches into the chest of one kobold. All hell breaks loose![2]

[1] Des' player had missed the previous session where the players asked about various bits and pieces of information, so I let Valthrun show my irritation that we looked like we were going to have to go through it all again. This was a mistake on my part as DM, and it's something I've got to keep an eye on with a group this size.
[2] This took everyone by surprise! Sean, who plays Theron, simply took it into his head to launch the attack, and since I ruled they still had the element of surprise I let it stand. Hopefully, setting a good example of saying 'Yes' to players.

Next update: The party arrive at the kobold lair, and Theron makes an impulsive decision.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Oct 10, 2008)

*Outside The Waterfall*

The kobold slinger eye's widened as the magical black bolt of force smacked into his chest, forcing him a pace backwards. Before he could do so much as raise his sling to respond, Aran darted forwards and sunk two arrows into him as well, and his last thought was that he had been killed by someone no bigger than he was…

Elwanen was not as quick off the mark as Aran and Theron, but nevertheless the Eladrin followed up their attack as quick as he could. Runing through the trees, Elwanen swung at the kobold dragonshield standing in the centre of a magical circle. The two began to duel as Rangrim joined him, other kobolds flocking around them. The two Paladins worked together, guarding each other's flanks and targetting each foe in turn.

Elwanen could feel the magical energy of the circle driving his attacks forwards - ancient images of Eladrin warriors coming to his mind, inspiring his hand. Rangrim, similarly, felt as though the circle was channeling the power of the earth and guiding his hammer forwards with each strike.

Theron and Des, however, were slightly surprised to see another small group of koblds emerge from the trees further down and charge up towards them. Despite taking a few blows, a swift Thunderwave from Theron sent them staggering backwards and out.

Within a few short minutes, and despite some smart tactical work from the kobolds as they worked to flank the Paladins and try to mob them to death, the guards were all dead and the clearing was again silent, save for the ceaseless sound of churning water.

DM note: Despite the large number of minions, this all happened pretty quickly. The group did a really good job of splitting the minions up by attack from several directions, with the two defenders grinding the Dragonshield down in the centre. Smart tactical play, and I take my hat off to them.

Next update: The battle with Irontooth!


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## Khynal (Oct 10, 2008)

Tallarn said:


> [2] This took everyone by surprise! Sean, who plays Theron, simply took it into his head to launch the attack, and since I ruled they still had the element of surprise I let it stand. Hopefully, setting a good example of saying 'Yes' to players.[/color]




I'm sure if the kobold knew we were there, he would have wanted us to get going.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Oct 13, 2008)

*The Battle With Irontooth*

"So now what?" asked Rangrim, cleaning the head of the Kaius Thunderhammer with a small cloth. He held it up against the sun for a moment, checking for kobold remnants.

Aran looked over at the waterfall. "Well," he started. "I can see a cave entrance behind the waterfall - and two more caves, one either side."

"Ah! Attacking on multiple fronts. Always a good plan," added Elwanen. "I suggest we attack from the left-hand cave. We can sweep in, hold a good position and let them come to us."

"I've got an even better plan!" piped up Aran again, still scanning the hillside in front of them. "See there, and there," his finger jabbed at the various entrances. "I reckon if I went in through the main entrance, I could cause a diversion and let you lot get a bit of an advantage!"

"You're on!" cried Theron. "Let's do it - enough talk, time for action!"

Aran swiftly started to move forwards to the main entrance, straining to see if he could spot anything going on inside. The rest of the group went left, moving quietly through the trees and ready for an ambush. A quick glance between Aran & Theron, and the attack was on!

Pouring in through the entrance, the party (supported by Des acting as rear-guard) fell upon three kobolds. Two were quickly eliminated but the third proved to be of stronger stuff, ducking around the thrust of Elwanen's attack and shouting for aid.

Aran was shocked to find 10 kobolds waiting for him as he burst through the waterfall, and he quickly abandoned the 'diversion' plan and join the main group through a side opening, chased by fearsome kobolds who quickly started to attack the party from both sides. 

"Tactically," Elwanen called out as he dodged and spun between kobold spear thrusts, "This is not the best plan we've ever had."

"I've only known you a few weeks!" called back Rangrim as a enthusiastic kobold was sent flying across the cavern to crash into the fall wall. "I'm sure we'll improve in time!"

Theron again showed remarkable bravery, moving in close to use his _Thunderwave_ spell to his best advantage and blast kobolds back agains the walls of the cave. The small humanoids were falling back when a loud horn sounded further into the cave system.

The horn marked the arrival of Irontooth - a fearsome goblin who was clearly the leader of the marauders. His face was covered in a skeletal ram's head tatoo, and he clutched a battleaxe in both hands, his mouth pulled back in a snarl. Charging into Rangrim and Elwanen, he struck quickly, his axe biting into the fine Eladrin armour of his opponent. Grunting in pain, Elwanen quickly shifted his focus and began to duel him. Expecting to find a slow moving brute, he instead found this goblin to be an adept and powerful foe.

Joining the goblin from the south were two more of the ever-present Dragonshields flanking a kobold priest wearing another one of the dragon-masks. The priest stepped out of the shadows and, with an overarm throw, hurled a ball of fire at Rangrim. At the same time, he was also charged by the Dragonshields and overcome by the sheer numbers of foes pressing upon him, the proud Dwarf was sent crashing, bleeding, to the floor[1].

Des finally stepped forwards and cast a healing prayer, restoring Rangrim to consciousness. As Theron continued his magical assault on the kobolds still surrounding them, continuing to send small bodies flying, Aran ran through to tackle the kobold priest, Elwanen and Rangrim (taking a second to catch his breath) started to duel the mean-faced goblin. Their weapons, and the conviction of their holy purpose, began to bite into him, blood pooling on the floor.

Aran engaged the priest directly, and at close quarters the expertise of the halfling overcame the priests power, Aran's blade finding his throat. Immediately, he turned back towards the others, in time to see Irontooth launch into a frenzied series of attacks against his foes! 

"My Lord Orcus will take your souls when I cleave them from your bodies!" yelled the goblin. However, the luck of the gods was truly on the side of the Paladin pair, and they blocked, ducked and avoided every strike.[2]

As the other kobolds fell to spell, sword and prayer, it became clear to Irontooth that the battle was lost. Entering a battle frenzy, he strove to bring his opponents down, but with a final strike his guts spilled across the floor as he was defeated.

Catching their breath and checking around them for signs of any further foes, Rangrim offered this thought. "Teamwork is something we still need to be working on."

[1] First time any character in the campaign had gone under 0hp!

[2] Irontooth blew his action point on this attack. He was able to use a power to attack both, with +1d10 damage if he hit as he was blooded. Despite this, my usually lucky dice came up with a series of sub-par rolls, and not one attack hit. This absolutely changed the battle - he could easily have downed both Paladin's if he'd done better!

Next update: The treasure is located, identified and split!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Oct 13, 2008)

*Treasure!*

Searching the caves for loot, the group discover the following in a chest in Irontooth's quarters:

 - The Chainmail of Fili Stonehelm. Rangrim recognised the insignia of Fili Stonehelm – a Dwarf warrior from approximately fifty of sixty years ago. Fili's final fate was unknown – but now it appears that Irontooth was perhaps the one who slew him. (This is a set of _+1 Dwarven Chainmail_).
 - The Broken Axe. It is a well-made two-bladed Battleaxe, with one blade sundered into three pieces. Fire sigils adorn the blade, but in it's current state it is unusable. However, a skilled blacksmith, working perhaps with a mage or other ritual caster, could repair it given time. Theron recalls that Thair Coalstriker is a blacksmith of some ability, and lives back in Winterhaven.
 - and a significant amount of money.

They also discover a letter:



			
				Letter in Irontooth's loot-chest said:
			
		

> "My spy in Winterhaven suggests we keep an eye out for visitors to the area. It probably does not matter; in just a few more days, I'll have completely opened the rift. Then Winterhaven's people will serve as food for those Lord Orcus sends to do my bidding.
> 
> In His name,
> 
> K."




A spy in Winterhaven is worrying news indeed. The group head back to the town, and upon their return they are going to have some talking to do with Agrid the gnome about several things. Who is the spy? What is going on? And can it be stopped in time?

Next update: A short tale on a lighter note, concerning an interesting encounter once enjoyed (?) by Aran Thule.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Oct 15, 2008)

*A Tale From Aran's Past*

In response to asking my players to supply some background details, I got the following from Aran's player. I present it as written for your amusement.

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

"Oh my Head!" Aran muttered to himself as he woke up. Given the heavy thumping in his head that he recognised as the start of a monster hangover he took a deep breath before opening his eyes.

His vision blurred but he could make out the fact that the ceiling above him was natural stone, from its shape and the detail that light was coming from one side he guessed he was in a cave, he started feeling a bit dizzy and sick so decided to close his eyes and try to gather his scattered memories before choosing his next move.

Instead of sight he chose to work out his situation from what he could feel, he was lying against a fur blanket and was still fully clothed, a lump pressing against his side meant that he had his weapons still.

Slowly he started to piece together the events from the previous night, he had returned to the village triumphant after retrieving a herd of cows that had escaped following a freak storm that had damaged their holding pen and allowed them to run off into the woods.

After lots of tracking and travelling he had rescued all except one unfortunate cow that had been killed by a pack of wolves but the farmers were relieved, as they had been too scared to venture into the woods themselves.

Given that the villagers did not have plentiful bags of money Aran had agreed to try to help them if exchange for a drink, which turned into many as each farmer seemed to bring him a bottle of something they liked themselves.

So after several glasses of ale, whiskey, cider, moonshine and an assortment of colourful cocktails Aran had wished them good night and stumbled out into the woods with a large flagon of honey mead for company.

That would explain the killer hangover he thought as he lay against the warm fur, but how had he ended up here…

He remembered singing badly as he made his way through the trees towards a stream that he had seen earlier, the stream had several side pools of slow moving water which he had noted contained fish just waiting to be caught.

There had been another fisher there Aran realised as he put two and two together, this must be the fishers home, they had got on quite well even if the other fisher didn't talk much.

That's the problem with living out in the wilds, you loose contact with other people. More memories returned, the fisher had seemed upset at being disturbed but Aran had offered him some of the mead and then the pair had started trout hunting.

The thing about hunting trout without a line and bait is to find one resting in a shallow pool then slowly move your hands under it and then scoop it out, not the easiest thing to do but even drunk Aran's reflexes were lightning 
fast.

A short while later the mead had been finished and several large fish had been caught, the fisher preferred to eat them raw which was something that the strange Orientals from the Far East had introduced.

Each to their own he had thought as he had followed the fisher back to his cave and then swiftly cooked. The fisher tried some but then went back to eating it raw, then as the fire died out and the cold had set in, he had laid down in the cave to rest.

Aran smiled with the memory as he sifted through his foggy memory, most of the images were blurred and confusing but he thought he had placed it all together although there was a niggling issue that he was sure would be important.

"ARHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" said the fur he was lying on and Aran came to the sudden realisation that the one thing that might be worse then meeting an angry bear would be to meet one that had a hangover.

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Aran's player also wrote 4th Ed D&D In London » Wiki » Tale Two Tale Two of Aran's Tavern Tales, detailing the events thus far.

Next Update: The Flame Harvest, a short story from the history of Sabbat Fau.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Oct 17, 2008)

*The Flame Harvest*

It was neither night nor day but another time when death and disease are burned from the earth and become black smoke where otherwise would be seen sun or stars. They castrated the bull calf amidst a field of corn on fire, it kicked and grunted as blood spattered the stubble at the epicenter of the geometrically perfect corn circles.

When the old men finally released their grip on the beasts hind legs it kicked so fiercely that the bamboo trap bent and split. The young bull stumbled to its feet and ran panic stricken into the blackened corn field, disappearing into billowing smoke and the deafening roar of the flames, whereupon the scrawny child prophet raised a dripping knife skyward and lowered his head.

"Shavod, we curse you. We call your seed nameless and utter the words of your enemies. Shavod, look upon this ruined land and turn away, for your seed is this day killed by the fires of man and emptiness awaits you once more. Shavod, fade into the night. Let thirst take you. Let hunger waste you. Let loneliness unface you, and look not upon this world again."

Only the broad concentric circles cut from the blanket of corn kept the fire from them, and, as the wind cast this way and that, black smoke engulfed the huddled figures momentarily. There they waited for 3 days and nights, lying without sleep on the corn stalks until each one was blackened with smoke such that not even a fleeing crow could distinguish the men from the land around. 

When finally they arose, the child led the old men staggering back to the river where they washed. There he saw that he had a deep gash on his thumb, having cut himself with the knife while inside the beast. This, the people of the paper village later said, made him and the bull blood brothers, naming him 'Sacred Bull' in their language.

When the Witchhunter General one day rode into the village wearing a demon mask atop his painted wooden armour the farmers and the skywatchers were slaughtered. All except the wretched child prophet, who was now a youth, as the soldiers feared the disease that had frosted his eyes would depart his fallen body in spirit form and possess them. Bound in captivity, the time of the time of the Flame Harvest came and went without notice. The corn came high across the meadows, a glorious golden graveyard that grew over the bones of a forgotten people.

When eventually the soldiers no longer brought food or water, the boy grew so thin he could step between the poles of his bamboo cage. The Eternal City was quiet and still but for the swarming clouds of flies that made dusk of the noonday sun. The youth made his way barefoot through the corpse-littered wooden avenues and out of the city, where, on the Westward Road, he watched the stars appear again one by one in the evening sky.

Note: This is a tale from Sabbat Fau's past, written after I requested additional background information on the PC's. The events of this story may yet end up influencing how things go in the future.

Next update: A Dwarven Birth - we discover the identity of Rangrim's parents. We'll be returning to the adventure logs in due course - hang in there!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Oct 20, 2008)

*A Dwarven Birth*

Another in our series of background posts:

It was almost midnight when there came a frantic knocking at the door of the dining hall of the dwarfish lord, Gandric Stoneborn. Mid-quaff, Lord Stoneborn waved a bejewelled hand in the direction of the door and a servant hurried to open it. In stumbled a sweat-drenched and panting servant, leaning against the door frame and breathing hard as he struggled to speak. "Milord, your wife has just given birth! To a son!"

Lord Gandric gulped down a mouthful of wine, his eyes bulging in gleeful surprise. "Hurrah! Well done, that woman. So, which wife was it?"

"Er, Lady Hrangisha, milord. You know, the one who's been, er, pregnant lately. She's the father of four of your other children."

"Capital, capital! Bring her in here for a drink, there's a sport."

"Er, I rather think Lady Hrangisha was expecting you to come to her, milord. To see the baby."

"Oh. Righto. Everyone, to the infirmary!" With that, Lord Gandric's entire court, including eight former comrades-in-arms, two heralds, a bard and seven serving girls hurried forth out of the dining hall towards the infirmary. 

Lady Hrangisha looked up as a cacophany of bellowing and general drunken howling came from the hallway outside her birthing room. She shared a look of tired resignation with the doctor, then nodded towards another attendant. The timid dwarfish girl opened the door and was promptly bowled over by the rampaging, revelling Lord Gandric. "Where's this son of mine? Someone bring me a glass of wine, it's time for his first drink!" 

The doctor, a worn-looking old dwarf with a frizzy red beard named Fanbir, rushed forwards and slammed the door behind Lord Gandric before any of his followers could enter the room. 

Lady Hrangisha blinked and tried to look away as her husband's next words were preceeded by a fine mist of spittle and wine. "By the gods, but he's a rough-looking little chap, isn't he? Got a face like a boiled fist." 

Doctor Fanbir leaned forwards and said "He's healthy as they come though, sire. I've never felt a grip like his from a newborn. Look, my nail's starting to go black."

"So it is, by Moradin. Have you weighed him yet?"

Doctor Finbar respectfully plucked the newborn dwarfling from his mother's arms and raced over to the giant set of brass scales by the wall. One of the scales was weighed down by a large polished stone, the other was empty save for a pillow upon which he placed the baby dwarf. The two scales balanced out briefly, then the baby rose slightly. Lord Gandric exclaimed "Look! He's lighter than the stone! He'll rise above the rocks of his home, there'll be no stopping him when it's his time. He'll leave the mines and the city and be a traveller, that's for sure."

Lady Hrangisha spoke up finally. "Well, I won't have my boy trapsing about up there like some vagabond. It wouldn't do to have a Stoneborn wandering around aimlessly. Wouldn't look right to the other clans."

"By Moradin's great grey knotted beard full of holy gravy and bits of divine grissle, she's right. The lad needs a trade, a profession. Tell me, doctor, were there any mysterious goings on around here at the time of his birth? You know, whaddayacallit, omens, sigils, that sort of thing?"

Doctor Fanbir took a heavy scroll from a pocket in his apron and pushed his spectacles back on his nose as he consulted it. "Says here the boy's born under the sign of the Crook, that being a shephard's herding implement rather than some miscellaneous felon. That generally means he'll have religious leanings."

"Really?" interrupted Lord Gandric, "I'd have thought it'd mean he'd be a shephard."

"Well, no, sire. These things tend to be a little more oblique than that. You know, eldritch. Arcane, even."

"Ahhh," said Gandric, knowingly, "arcane. Indeed. Rather. What's his birth stone then?"

Fanbir looked further down the scroll, his stubby finger drawing across the heavy, yellowed parchment. "Erm, says here, seeing as he's born right on the cusp, he's favoured by two stones. Let me see… gold, very auspcious of course. Although he is a dwarf, and gold is pretty important to all of us, to own the truth. The other is lapis lazuli."

"By Moradin's divine, hairy – "

"Gandric, don't you dare use that kind of language in front of our boy!"

"Sorry, Hrangisha. It's the excitement of the moment, you know. Gold and blue, the very colours of Moradin the Maker himself! We'll call him 'Moradin!'"

"Isn't that a bit, whaddayacallit, blasphemious?" Finbar said uncertainly. 

"What, naming a dwarf after the patron god of dwarves? How is that blasphemious?"

Hrangisha piped up. "What about a nice human name, like George, or Donald?"

Lord Gandric rebuked her condescendingly: "Well, George and Donald are fine names for humans," he said the last with the expression one wears when cleaning up after the family dog, "but they lack that classic dwarfish grandeur, don't they? You never hear of 'Donald the Gut-Gargling Demon-Mauler', do you? Or 'The Wyvern Strangler, Alan.'"

"Well, I agree with the doctor, I don't think it's right to go naming the boy Moradin. What if he turns out to be a real prick? That's definitely blasphemious."

"Alright, alright," Lord Gandric relented, "What was your old great uncle's name, you know, the one who slew all those elfish chieftans?"

"Oh, you mean great uncle Rangrim."

Fanbir nodded sagely "Rangrim, yes, very portentous!"

Next update: A tale from the youth of Elwanen, Eladrin Paladin of Pelor.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Oct 23, 2008)

*Things From The Far Realm*

Another in our series of background information, dealing with something that happened not long before the start of the campaign, and featuring Elwanen.
____________

_"Attend me, novices. Continuing the cosmological theories we have been studying this year, this month we discuss the realms outside the Orrery of Worlds, those realms sometimes know as the Far Realm."_

Huh? Whats that? Have I fallen into a trance from fatigue again? The Eladrin ruefully surveyed the wreckage of his study table, papers strewn on the floor, the candles burnt-out stumps, ink-stained fingers stretching after hours of activity. Very well.. if the demands of the body dictate that this dissertation wait until the morrow, such is Corellons will. Shifting slowly, he assumed a meditation  pose, closed his eyes and…. That sound? A scream?

_"Known by many names, the Madness Realm, Xoriat, the World beyond the World, the Bleed, the Far Realm is a place beyond our mortal comprehension – perhaps even beyond the understanding of the Gods themselves."_

An accident? No other sounds disturbed the night, no alarms, just a single cry and then, silence. Hurrying out of his study into the hall, he could see nothing amiss… again that scream! Coming from further inside the mansion, perhaps the contemplation chamber? Quickly, he moved down the hall, the last vestiges of the trance falling away. Why have no servants, or others of his family come to help? Surely no-one could not hear that scream?

Walking up to the ornate doors of the chamber, a portion of his mind admired the ornate carvings around the door – carved by a great-great-grandfather, hundreds of years ago..  Frowning, he could see discolouration amongst the carvings, reddish, like… Never mind such obsessions – someone needs help – now is not the time to rebuke a servant for their poor cleaning! Pulling the door open, he could see the scene within…

And was engulfed by madness.

_"The 'inhabitants'- and I use this term loosely – are extraordinarily alien to us, and even those creatures who make their way from that plane to ours are nigh-incomprehensible. While few verifyable accounts exist, it is clear from thse accounts of scholars of antiquity that those alien creatures – aboleths and ithillidi – do not share the basics of mutual understanding such as the concept of 'I'."_

HecouldhearthesmellofbloodandinnardsHecouldseethescreamsofthosecreaturesthatmight
oncehavebeenhisNopleaseLordnotthemHecouldtastethevisionofthetwistedmockeriesoflife
JoinUsJoinUsJoinUsHecouldsmellthefeelofhisfeetsteppinginsidethedoorMovingBecomingOne
ButNotOne – NO!

Stumbling back, senses whirling… Corellon… Help me…

_"There are a variety of theories as to the nature of these 'Abberations', whether they are simply extensions of other entities from the Far Realm, with no real free will of their own, or creatures created by the horrific waking dreams of those entities. Others theorise are that these creatures are footsoldiers in a metaphysical sense – the greater their sway in our material world, the closer our world comes to theirs….. ending in our world being subsumed by the Far Realm."_

Running, pursued by Things his mind quailed at even categorising, through empty rooms and corridors. Have they taken everyone? Whay was he left? Did they need someone to bear witness?

Crashing through a door brings his wild thoughts to a halt. A dead end, the room was full of servants and children. They had been seeking some sort of shelter from the madness without – and he had led that madness to them.

Turning, he saw the hallway fill with the stuff of nightmares. He looked down at the sword in his hand, with no recollection of drawing it. How could this piece of steel guard these people from the horrors outside?

Corellon, have you forsaken me? All of us?

The creatures advance, their almost inaudible keening promising the most horrific of death-in-life. Surely this is the end. For all of us here. At least we can make it quick, reduce their suffering…. perhaps….

No.

Not like this.

I will not die here to these things.

I will not let them feast on these innocents like they have the others, my….

I refuse.

*He steps forward. *

Next update: Back to the adventure. A bounty delivered, a reward collected.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Oct 24, 2008)

*And For Pudding*

(The following Adventure logs were written by crater)
_____________________________________________
Three figures stood around a bulging sack that sat squat on the floor of Winterhaven Keep like a black pudding, complete with black congealing slime trail from where the bag, and it’s contents, had been dragged across the flagstones.

“I have heard that it is customary in human lands to provide evidence on collection of a bounty.” announced the first figure, a tall armoured Eladrin knight. With a gesture he invited the man opposite to investigate the bundle. From around the oaken table stepped Lord Padraig, tentatively.

“I am a man of action,” he assured, “I have seen a thing or two in my time…” He reached into the sack with both hands and, with a grimace, retrieved a grizzly ball of blood-caked hair. Within the hair lurked a face that bore an expression of agony.

“That’s Irontooth that one!” chirped the last and littlest figure, a young halfling, “You can tell from the nashers!”

Lord Paraig discovered that the thing in his hands did indeed bear metalwork within its silently screaming maw.

“You must understand, we abhor violence. At least… the tiefling does.” continued the halfling brightly, “But I can assure you the goblins had no ear for reason!”

Lord Paraig pondered this for a moment.

“Perhaps your friend may console himself that you wouldn’t be getting paid if they had.” spoke the elderly warrior. “You have done this town a great service, brave adventurers. I would shake you by the hands… were I in a position to do so.”

Leaving the keep the two curious fellows blinked in the cold sun, the frost of the night before made slippery work of the steps as they descended.

“Well Aran, my fine and furtive friend, I have it that, in human realms, the next stop after collection of a bounty is traditionally the tavern…”

“Tis the case all over, Elwanen,” replied Aran, “And of that you can be certain!”

Next update - Introducing: Fangorn!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Oct 24, 2008)

*Something From the Garden*

“And that, gentlemen, is how I came to befriend Fangorn the Talking Tree!” The odd procession made its way up the winding staircase of the wizards tower. Valthrun led the way, speaking ahead of himself in the certainty that all others would be listening.

Behind him a lanky creature made of gnarled oak climbed slowly, doubled at the trunk like an old man yet its powerful limbs of knotted branches taking several steps in a stride. It dragged behind it roots from it’s broad feet, while the spindly twigs that might be taken for hair scraped the close walls of the winding staircase, leaving chalky trails.

Fangorn rumbled and creaked appreciatively as the wizard recounted the tale of ten years past. Behind it, a red haired tiefling who had been listening intently brushed back his mane.

“A walking, talking tree (if I may be so bold), a magical garden that grows in a cave (a wondrous one at that (that is not to say that a magical garden that grows in a cave is not as of itself entirely un-wondrous)), and a ‘Heartstone’ which contains the very essence of life itself to be used for good or for evil (as the bearer of the Heartstone should be inclined (by volition as much as by accident (as much of inclination is unless I am much mistaken))). I must confess I find this all simply intriguing.”

The wizard was pleased. He stopped at a solid looking door that barred the way to the seldom seen ‘middle layer’ of his tower.

“And you will no doubt be intrigued further to learn that, finally, I have learned to harness the power of the Heartstone once again.” Valthron folded his arms, leaving his words a moment to descend upon the ears of those who were below him.

Reaching the landing, the tiefling joined the wizard as they sheltered momentarily under Fangorn’s boughs. Finally appeared the scrawny figure of the warlock, who didnt seem to have been paying attention. Instead he was engrossed in the movements of a spider that crossed his palm and the back of his hand in turn as he turned it this way and that.

“Fangorn my old friend prepare yourself, and you two… just don’t touch anything.” Valthron turned a key in the door and it swung open.

“Behold..”

Before them lay a tangled flora filled grotto of fey-like wonder. Creepers criss-crossed the walls speckled with brightly coloured fruits, spikey leafed shrubbery jostled for space, some with leaves like blades, others with leaves like spades, others still with leaves like maids with spades, and where there were no creepers nor lethal-leaved shrubs grew toadstools of near infinite varieties from the ground, the walls, even down from the ceiling. From somewhere within the melee could be heard, although not seen, a babbling brook, and in mid-air was suspended a faintly glowing transluscent stone.

“Well bless my blackberries,” remarked Fangorn “Haven’t the Rhodadaffodildrums done well!”

The group slowly entered the chamber. The warlock squatted beside a patch of toadstools, setting the spider down upon a spotted cap. The funghi trembled slighlty and a moment later the cap quickly curled upwards, engulfing the tiny creature. With a final gulp, the cap unfurled once more and the spider was nowhere to be seen.

“This is the most beautiful garden I have ever beheld.” murmured the unhealthy looking warlock from behind a long veil of matted hair.

Fangorn stepped with gentle and surprising grace amongst the foliage, pausing to stroke a sapling that had drooped and twisted into the shape of a noose. The wizard studied his visitors reactions one by one.

“Am I to believe (as I believe I am) that this fantastical floral foray is the product of that suspendant stone there, the Heartstone?” inquired the curious tiefling.

“And no small investment of painstaking yet inspired research!” improved the wizard. “It is with no small degree of pride that I invite you all here this morning, and yet, as joyful as I am to see my old friend Fangorn once more, your return troubles me greatly. It troubles me for it confirms my suspiscions that all is not well in the land.”

The tiefling turned to the wizard. “I couldnt help noticing (for my senses are (if I may humbly offer) attuned to such matters) that there is (infact) unrest in the town this very morn, as if (and please do conceed me (if you will) poetic licence) dark clouds had gathered upon the metaphorical horizon. It is (if you will allow) an observation (and (I must profer) no more than that (at least at this point)) which strikes me as…. curiouser still, it being the case that (as is indeed the case) the town (and the lands around) have recently been rid of (what I might suggest be termed as) ‘a menace of goblins’. Is this indeed the ill to which you refer?”

“It is indeed.” replied Valthron, “It can only mean that a dark force has once again awoken. The rift is opening, slowly, but this is how these things happen: signs and portents, shifts in the aether, flux within the ordered states of energies, and then before you know it it’s too late.” warned the wizard ominously.

Valthrun paused, beckoning his guests to gather beside the Rhodadaffodildrums. “I have seen that you are curious and capable adventurers.” he began in a hushed voice, “It is time that Fangorn and I shared with you the tragic tale of the Keep on The Shadowfell…”

For the full details of what happened in the Keep, I have to say you'd need to go check the original module.  Sorry, but crater has not seen fit to write all of that info down for you, my loyal readers!

Next update: Worries in Winterhaven, and an old man has a bad dream!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Oct 27, 2008)

*Worries in Winterhaven*

Again, this write-up is from crater:

“And so I leapt through the window into the maidens bedroom, leaving the warden with nothing but a basketfull of parsnips and a look of surprise!” The farmers and the fishmonger roared with laughter as the halfling finished his story. From over the top of his tankard he espied the gloomy figure of Sabbat Fau entering the busy inn. Aran nudged Elwanen, who had been growing restless. Elwanen looked up and nodded across the room to the warlock.

“I’m going to talk to the prisoner.” stated Elwanen, stepping back over the bench and making his way purposefully toward the door. Folk got out of his way.

“Well, we merry folk are diverted with ales and tales,” continued the halfling to his audience “but elsewhere fellows duck and dart with anxious glances. Why so grim jolly townsfolk?”

The group hunched closer as the townsfolk exchanged anxious glances. “My goat won’t milk, and the youngun’s crying all day with hunger though we feed him corn and suet aplenty!” confessed the first farmer, lowering his mug.

“Why only this morning I saw two crows perched on my gable, a bad sign if ever there was one!” warned the other farmer, poking the air with his pipe for emphasis.

“No matter how much I scrub, I cant get the smell of trout off my hands!” offered the fishmonger. There was an uncomfortable silence.

At length, there came a voice from the end of the table. “I dreamt of shadow.” whispered Elian the Old from beneath his cowl. “I dreamt of the darkest night that pursued me across the fields where the cows lay down and died as it passed over them.” The farmers and the fishmonger clutched their tankards and pipes with whitening knuckles. Aran raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “It followed me through the town where babies screamed.” The two farmers looked at each other with pallened faces. “And when I fell finally it came upon me…”

”...And?” ushered the awestruck fishmonger.

”...And I woke up. I couldnt get back to sleep, not even after a mug of nutmeg wiffin. Strange how I never dream of flying. Things are not right my friend, and even the crows know it!”
_____________________________________

The red haired tiefling watched as the remaining townsfolk hurried homewards. One of them was a spy.

An old woman appeared in the light of an upstairs window. She reeled in her washing and beat the frost out of it, each garment sending a light flurry of flakes into the evening, before closing the shutters and fixing the bolt.

Des pulled his cloak about him. Down in the square a young boy darted along with a bundle of twigs in his arms, glancing quickly at the strange priest before turning a corner. Across the street a flowergirl stepped cautiously from the shadows clutching her basket to her chest. With a backwards look, she opened a door and stepped inside. Nearby, low muttering could be heard from within the blacksmiths workshop.

Des thought to himself “Tis indeed curious. I normally have a sense for such things (an insight which has served me well in my calling) and yet I can glean nothing of note from this nights to-ings and fro-ings (for I would (if I may) describe them so).”

Next update: Conversations in Winterhaven, and Aran, once more, spins a tale in Wrafton's Inn.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Oct 30, 2008)

*Knuckle Sandwich*

crater's Adventure Logs continue:

The warlock stood impassively against one wall of the small cell. In the far corner, the gnome prisoner squatted, his hands bound. Nothing could be heard but a low whispering, a sibillant hiss that seemed to convey meaning, but words had it not. The gnome craned forwards to try to make out what the still figure was uttering but found himself unsettled only further.

An hour passed. The stones of the cell floor seemed colder than before and the single beam of moonlight that pierced the lofty window had traced a path across the prisoners face.

“Are you going to stand there muttering all night?” called the gnome, yet there came no reply but the almost imperceptable hissing. Another hour passed until the uneasy quiet was broken.

“Speak all.” uttered the warlock.

“Or what? You’ll stare at me and whisper some more?” replied the gnome. Slowly the warlock turned and left the cell. In his place entered a tall Eladrin knight, whose armour captured momentarily the light of the moon. The prisoner shifted where he sat. As the knight approached his eyes widened…
________________________________

*One For The Road:*

”...And I couldnt help myself, I simply had to toss it back! Well the wolf was grateful and the grocer’s wife was none the wiser!” finished the halfling. This time the laughter was subdued as the farmers and the fishmonger fidgeted with their tankards and pipes.

“Oh well, had any strange dreams lately?” chirped the halfling. One farmer looked at the other, who in turn looked at the fishmonger.

“I’d better be getting back or the bairn will wake the dogs.” said the first.

“It’s time I turned in too, I must be up early to milk the goat.” agreed the next. “If it will yield at all I shall be lucky.”

“I’d better be checking on the wife, she’ll be worried sick on a night like this.” confirmed the fishmonger wringing his hands.

“Well then, I suppose goodnight it is!” chimed the halfling as the inn began to empty.
__________________________________

*Something To Chew On:*

The tiefling priest pondered his predicament by the well in the quiet market square.

“Tradition has it that the secretive sorcerer (who warns wayfarers away from the source of such a sinister shadow) should be the one to be wary of, yet I have spoken with him at length on the subject of his concerns and I doubt not his motives.

In the second instance one should turn ones attentions to the herbalist (who hastily hurries betwixt hide and home.) (Can one hurry hastily? (I rather fancy one can if the matter is pressing enough.)) Yet tonight I have not beheld this bringer of balms.

In the third it is the appearance of innocence that indights the insidious (that is to say that ‘a rose that is rotten reeks’ (or perhaps that should be ‘every rose has it’s thorn’.)) But with only wild speculation it would not do to lay blame upon such a delightful young thing.”

Des sighed, watching his breath rise before him. At length he departed, and when strange eyes looked out upon where he had been, all that remained was a puff of warm breath in the cold night air.

Next update: Another short side-note, filling in one of the things that made Theron the Wizard he is today...


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## Mathew_Freeman (Oct 31, 2008)

*A Taste Of Things To Come*

The warlock stood once more in one corner of the dark cell. The prisoner this time lay groaning on the floor in a pool of his own blood. The murmurring hiss began once more.

“I know nothing!” cried the gnome, “I’m a mercenary, I find things and the goblins pay me. All I know is that Balgrom wants a mirror. They’re up to something in the old keep and theres too many of them so dont bother looking.”

“Speak of the way in. What have you seen?”

“Only the staircase, it leads down and then all of a sudden they surround you, goblins upon goblins! Theres no way through! I hope they get you! I hope they get you all!”
_____________________________________

And, as another side note, I present the tale of "Theron and the Tooth Goblins":

"Unctious, I think that big'un's looking at us," said the first of the two tiny blue goblins marching across Theron's bed. 

"Don't be stupid, Blimm," said the second tiny goblin. "Big'un's can't see us, light or dark. Look, I'll prove it."

Theron, who had the covers of his bed pulled right up over his nose, watched the squatter of the two tiny goblins stomp in his direction, wave his knobbly little arms and shout, "Oi! Can you see me, big'un?"

Theron nodded.

The goblins gasped. Blimm cast himself down and covered his head with his oversized hands. "He's gonna eat us! He's gonna eat us!"

"Can't eat us if he can't catch us!" said Unctious, and he produced a spear the size of a toothpick from somewhere Theron didn't see. "Can't catch us if he can't see us!" He advanced with the spear held high.

"You can't hurt me if I'm under the covers," Theron said, his voice muffled by his blanket.

Unctious paused and his brow clenched in concentration. "Aha! That only works if you know our names, big'un!" He stepped forward again.

"You're Unctious and the other one's Blimm," he said.

Blimm wailed in terror and Unctious went a terribly pale shade of blue. "How did you know that?" He rounded on Blimm. "Did you tell him?"

"No!"

"Well I didn't tell him." He squinted at Theron. "Are you some kind of wizard then, big'un?"

Theron considered this. "I'm a boy," he said.

"Would a wizard admit he's a wizard, Unctious?" Blimm asked.

Unctious scratched his chin and despite clearly having no idea said, "No he wouldn't, Blimm. They're cagey ones, wizards, not given to letting you in on their game. That way they can spring the rules on you as they like, just as this big'un has upon us poor working lads. ‘Ere," he said, peering more closely at Theron, "what's wrong with you? Your skin's the same colour as Blimm's here."

"He's the same colour as you, Unctious, not me," said Blimm.

"I said he's the same colour as you and that's the end of the matter!" Unctious roared. He looked at Theron again. "Well, must be a wizardly reason for it, I have no doubt."

"What are you doing in my bedroom?" Theron asked, who didn't like talking about the colour of his skin and anyway, the two creatures looked the same colour to him.

Unctious fished around in the bag strung over his shoulder with a length of twine, which was very unfortunately the only thing he was wearing. He pulled out a small white shape he needed both hands to hold up.

"Is that a tooth?" Theron asked.

They nodded. "From the big'un in the next room. She left it under her pillow, like she didn't know she's throwing away a fortune."

"That's my sister's tooth?" Theron said. "You're tooth fairies?"

"Tooth goblins," Unctious snarled. Blimm scowled and nodded.

"But you can't take her tooth," Theron said. "The fairy's supposed to. And she leaves a brass coin behind."

"Oh we did that," Unctious said. "Don't know why you want it, worthless scrap it is, whereas this" – he brandished the tooth – "will buy me a fancy spider web cape. I shall look right dapper, I shall."

"I thought you said it would buy us spider web capes," Blimm said.

"I did say that, Blimm my lad, and that's what it will do," Unctious replied. "Speaking only about my spider web cape just happened to fit the flow of conversation better. You'd know that if you knew your grammar."

"I did know her, Unctious, and so did you. She used to hit you on the head with her bag."

"We agreed never to speak of that again, Blimm," Unctious said, going purple. "Never. Which means not ever."

"You mean you take all our teeth?" Theron asked. "It's always you two?"

"You're on our route," Blimm said.

"Not feeling a loose tooth now, are you?" Unctious asked, beady eyes brightening. "We could give it a little nudge while we're here."

"No!" Theron slid deeper under the covers. "I thought the tooth fairy had wings."

Unctious smacked his lips. "I could do with some fairy wings. By your leave, big'un wizard, we'll be on our way. Got three more bedrooms to check tonight and I like our chances with Gilly Baker on the corner."

"Uh, sure."

They waved to him. "You have yourself a fine night then!"

"And eat plenty of hard foods!"

They marched the rest of the way across his bed, bickering about which of them told him their names, before dropping off the side and out of sight. Theron thought he wouldn't sleep again, but he did.

Once he'd made sure none of his teeth felt likely to fall out soon.
____________________

Many thanks to Khynal for writing that! It originally came out of me asking him how Theron sees magic working - whether it's by force of will, by channeling the energy flow of magic in the world, by Weaving Magick through his hands, or what.

Next update we're back to the game itself as our party of (mostly) intrepid adventures enter the Keep On The Shadowfell for the first time!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Nov 3, 2008)

*Into The Keep*

Again, thanks to crater for taking over this job.
________________________________________
If there had been anyone watching they would have seen a party of adventurers emerge from the woods; a spritely young halfling ranger, an eladrin paladin, a tiefling cleric, a warlock, and a tree creature that walked and talked and went under the name of Fangorn.

It would seem as if they walked casually across the field towards the ominous ruin of the keep, chatting amongst themselves as they took in the bracing air of the early spring. Then it would have appeared that they entered the ruin, descending a dark flight of stone stairs.

At that point however, they _were _seen, by a guard as it happens. The goblin had been on edge all night, with strict orders to look out for intruders, and the memory of ‘what happened to the last guard’ fresh in his mind should he not be vigilant enough.

It came as some surprise then to the wary goblin when a large group of ‘intruders’ came strolling into the first chamber of the keep full of chitter-chat and banter, apparently heedless of his presence. He thought he best signal for backup while he found out what they wanted.

“You there!” grunted the goblin “State your business!”

The adventurers seemed startled, and peering into the dim light the halfling stepped forward.

“We err… we have the mirror that Balgrom wanted, yes thats right, we have the mirror he asked for. The gnome asked us to deliver it, he couldn’t make it, you see.. he had to go and see the dentist, emergency and all that!”

“Mirror? Show me the mirror!” demended the guard.

“Show him the mirror.” the halfing said waving at the warlock, who didnt seem to be paying attention.

Looking around himself suddenly, the warlock stepped forward. He produced a flat bundle from his pack.

“Mirror.” He muttered, laying the bundle on the ground.

“Show me, open the bag!” commanded the goblin guard, who was certain he was being watched by his superiors and was bucking for a promotion.

The warlock, looked over his shoulder at the halfling, who looked at the paladin, who looked at the cleric, who looked at the tree creature, who looked back at the Warlock.

Shrugging, the warlock opened the bag and produced a book.

“Book.” stated the warlock.

“I knew it!” cried the goblin, certain of his impending promotion, “Intruders! Intruders!”

“Well, whats the next part of the plan?” the eladrin asked Aran.

“I think this is the bit where we kill the goblins.” answered the halfling, darting behind a pillar.

There was a flurry of activity, goblins had readied themselves in passageways leading into the chamber and now emerged, some with bows, some with swords. The adventurers sprang into action…

Next update: Post-battle, it's much harder to be polite in conversation when you're talking to a goblin.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Nov 5, 2008)

*Conversations With Goblins*

Moments later the adventurers stood amongst the corpses of many fallen goblins. Moans from the goblin sentry who had questioned them indicated they had not done their work as thoroughly as one might. Elwanen picked up the battered goblin and held him over a pit full of rats that had been revealed during the battle. 

"You're going to tell us everything. Where is Balgron? How many of you are there?" shouted the Eladrin. 

"And can you draw us a map of the keep?" added Aran merrily. 

"Yes! Yes!" cried the goblin, "Whatever you want! Just dont drop me in there!" The goblin offered his name as Thruk. He cooperatively led the party through a series of passageways to a door. "Balgron's in there!" He said pointing, at which point he found himself being bound, gagged and 'bagged'. 

"This may be upsetting. It's really for your own good." consoled Des the Tiefling cleric. 

"We dont want to make too much noise, he'll be a hinderance." agreed the paladin. A second door stood beside that which led to Balgron. Thruk had indicated that many more goblins lay beyond it. The party began discussing how to prevent being flanked by this second force. They agreed that they would need to fix the door shut, but how? It had no lock to pick, no bolt to close, all that could be done lay with the adventurers and the resources they had brought with them. 

"Spike the door." suggested Sabbat Fau, coldly. 

"What does that entail (If I may pry)?" asked Des. 

"One takes the door to a bar, and when it is not looking…" began Theron the wizard, brushing aside his immaculate barnet. 

"I think the warlock is referring to the tried and tested dugeoneering practice of driving iron spikes into the opening crease of the doors frame, thus preventing it from opening." explained the Eladrin. 

"Well (and although I do not mean to countermand what appears to be (on the surface) a fine suggestion) we will have to silence the banging. You do intend to drive the spikes in manually?" 

"With the repeated use of sudden blows, from a hammer I would imagine." answered Fangorn, the talking tree, who had kept very quiet until now. 

"We will need a spellbinder." suggested Des. 

"I can create a ghostly sound that may mask the shrill ringing of iron striking iron." offered Theron. 

"Can one use that (and do excuse my ignorance in matters arcane) to actually mask sound?" asked the curious tiefling. 

Sabbat Fau had been contemplating quietly: "One would need to, I believe, create a…" "...a noise cancellation wave. That may (and do please forgive my presumption) be beyond the scope of this (I believe I am correct in saying) cantrip." 

"You are indeed wise in the ways of the arcane." said Theron. 

"I shall begin the hammering on the one door at the exact same instant the rest of you charge through that other door." suggested Fangorn helpfully. It was agreed. 

"On three… one… two… three!" The paladin gave the door a hefty kick and it flew open. Beyond was a guardroom where three goblins were playing cards. They looked up surprised. The sound of hammering could be heard outside. 

"We wish to speak to Balgron (who is (if im not mistaken) the boss)." stated Des, 

"He's asleep!" shouted the first goblin sentry, then quietly whispering in goblin to one of his colleagues "Oi, go and get him." 

"This ones going to get him." translated Sabbat Fau. 

"! He speaks goblin! Well.. what do you want?" asked the first guard. 

"This really is a matter of some importance, and (if you will forgive the appearance of condesension) is for Balgron's ears only." said Des. There was a pause. The adventurers took a moment to look around them. A bare stone room, damp, dark and dingy. A finger painting on the wall depicted three goblins apparently playing cards. 

"What a miserable existence." said Des glumly. 

"What's that?" asked Theron who was straining to hear over the hammering. 

"I said what a miserable existence these poor creatures have. A ghastly place if ever I saw one." 

"Better than the faeces painting I was expecting." added Elwanen. 

"Oi!" shouted the first goblin, "leave it out will you this the guardroom, this is where we…" the goblin was interrupted by loud footsteps and an angry voice. Emerging from behind a curtain on the other side of the room was a large, fat, tired looking goblin with a horned helmet above his chubby face. 

"What in the name of Maglubiyet's pitch-fork is all that banging?" shouted the fat, angry goblin. 

"We seek an audience with… (and do forgive me if I mispronounce the name)... Ka-la-rel." Des read out the name carefully from a secret document the party had captured from Irontooth, "Yes, with Kalarel." 

"Well you can't have one, you can just bugger off back to whatever wattle-and-daub-thatched-roof-pig-on-a-spit piss-hole you came from!" The adventurers looked at each other blankly. 

"Maybe he's not of sufficient status to command an audience with the aforementioned gentleman." suggested Des to his companions. 

"Listen here, the problem is we are guards, see? And we guard, g-ar-duh!" explained Balgron, spelling out his job title phonetically, "and we wouldnt be very good guards if just let every tom, dick or harriet who came breezing in here asking for audiences with this one or that one just walk right on through, with a 'and do have a nice day now dont you, dont go slipping on any miserable stairs while you walk through our miserable home now will you', now would we?" 

The adventurers agreed that he had a point. "Besides," continued Balgron, "you wouldnt get past the zombies anyway!" He laughed. The other goblins in the room laughed in chorus, although they were clearly quite nervous, "Now piss orf and take your banging with you!" 

"Well then my fine friends, let us away, we obviously have no further…" began Des, calmly. 

"CHAAARGE!" yelled Elwanen… The door swung shut behind them.

Next update: The aftermath! A short post with some work for idle (branch-like) thumbs.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Nov 7, 2008)

*Gore Tsunami*

"After having negotiated extensively, the heroes decided that negotiations should break down," commented Des, as the party looted the now blood-stained goblin guardrooms. The finger painting on the wall now depicted three goblins playing cards under a tsunami wave of fresh gore. 

"Look!" exclaimed the halfling ranger, "Magic items!". Aran had found an assortment of implements and some bags of coins. The adventurers decided who should get what and left the room. 

Outside in the passageway Fangorn was taking a rest from his labours. "I've nearly finished, just one last spike.." 

"Nevermind, Fangorn," interrupted Elwanen, "We'll be needing to use that door now." 

Fangorn calmly began removing the spikes. Heaving and ho-ing he prised each one out. 

"I'll take those for later." said Theron reaching for the bundle. 

"Now are we absolutely certain we wish to proceed at this point?" asked Des, "(Far be it for me to quench the fires of bloodlust that I sense smouldering amongst you all at this moment)." 

"I say we kick down the next door, slaughter all the remaining goblins, and then rest." suggested Elwanen. 

"Agreed." agreed Sabbat Fau. The rest of the party came to an agreement. "On three… one… two… three!"

Next update: The Torturer's Chamber! Who's going to end up in the Iron Maiden?


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## Mathew_Freeman (Nov 10, 2008)

*The Torturer's Chamber, by crater*

Beyond the door the goblins, this time, were ready. The adventurers charged into a large stone room. A rack, an iron maiden, manacles on the walls and wailing from jail cells left them in no doubt that this was some kind of torture chamber. Goblin snipers crept in the shadows around the walls, a goblin spearman braced himself for impact, and infront of a roaring firepit stood a leather clad hobgoblin torturer, swinging 2 white hot branding irons. 

The paladin was in first, teleporting past the spearmen directly next to the hobgoblin. He swung his sword overhead and rained down a series of blows which would have felled another opponent but the torturers armour appeared to absorb most of the damage. The hobgoblin responded with a snarl, driving his burning brands into the eladrin who recoiled for an instant, his flesh still smouldering. 

Next in was the Warlock. Walking slowly across the room, past the spearmen who were distracted by the teleporting eladrin paladin, he stood glumly in a corner waiting for the right moment to strike. 

Aran appeared next, deftly swinging two swords at a goblin who had been hiding near the doorway. The goblin collapsed onto one knee screaming in pain. Des stepped into the room, "You know I really think we should have formed a slightly better plan." he commented before, resignedly, casting some healing to his companions. 

Theron finished off the goblin at the doorway with a fine display of personalised magic missiles and stepped into the room, calmly studying the carnage that was in progress. The paladin, who was being peppered with arrows by hidden snipers, unleashed a mighty swing of his blade, accompanied by a roar of thunder, that suddenly sent both spearmen and torturer flying into the firepit. Screaming in pain the dived back out as quickly as they could. 

As they emerged the warlock seized his chance and created a huge hand of dark smoke which, emerging from the firepit, grabbed hold of the hobgoblin and dragged him back in again, but once more the torturer clawed his way out of the pit. Theron fired off custom magic missiles from the hip as if twin wielding hand crossbows, felling a spearmen, Aran found himself grappling with the other perilously close to the open iron maiden. Its yawning embrace bekoning as they stumbled ever closer. 

The warlock wandered across the room nonchalently, taking blows from goblins as he passed by. He reeled from each blow but showed no emotion nor outward sign of pain. Finally he stood before the goblin snipers. With a curse and blast of eldritch energy he felled them. Elwanen succeeded in felling the torturer under a hail of powerful swordblows,just as Aran finally got the upperhand in the grapple and sent his opponent flying onto the spikes of the metal coffin, and, with a slam, the fight was over.

Next update: A Villainous Interlude!


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## Khynal (Nov 10, 2008)

Tallarn said:


> Many thanks to Khynal for writing that! It originally came out of me asking him how Theron sees magic working - whether it's by force of will, by channeling the energy flow of magic in the world, by Weaving Magick through his hands, or what.





Ask a perfectly reasonable question, get ...


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## Mathew_Freeman (Nov 18, 2008)

*A Villainous Interlude*

The Underpriest nervously entered the domain of his master. Kalarel had a volatile temper at the best of times, and since learning that Agrid the Gnome had found an Arcane Mirror at the Dragon Tomb, and then lost it to this same group that had now entered the Keep itself he had been difficult to approach.


“What is it?” issued the voice from the gloom of the small chamber. Straining his eyes, the Underpriest saw Kalarel stood looking through the ritual book again. Standing tall and dressed in armour, Kalarel was an imposing figure. His clay homunculous hovered nearby, chittering quietly to itself.

“My Lord, our spy has confirmed that the adventurers have broken both the local kobolds and now the goblins in the upper level,” responded the Underpriest. “They seem to have spared a few goblins – they might make useful undead later – but have now entered Sir Creegans tomb.”

“What?” roared Kalarel in a fury. In a second, he had crossed the room and gripped the Underpriest by the throat. “By Orcus’ Wand, you bring me this news now? Soon I shall perform the final part of the ritual and the Gate will open! This group cannot be allowed to interfere with that. Tell me, o faithful servant,” Kalarel’s voice dripped with venom. “What exactly are you going to do to stop them?”

“Uh…my Lord, if I may speak?” gasped the man, scrabbling at Kalarel’s gauntleted fist as it closed around his neck. Dismissively, Kalarel pushed him away and gestured for him to continue.

“The hobgoblins need to stay as a reserve force, my Lord,” stated the Underpriest. “But I have instructed our spy to put the plan to attack Winterhaven into action, serving as a useful distraction. I also require permission to fortify the zombie guards on the first level with reinforcements.”

“Wise moves,” returned Kalarel, a small smile forming on his face. “But I have an additional thought. You yourself will join the zombies on the first level. Engage only from a distance, get the measure of these…adventurers…and report back to me. I shall be waiting to hear from you. Dismissed.”

The Underpriest bowed and departed, his mind whirring with plans. The zombies were unlikely to defeat their foes by themselves, but with a little extra help…

An idea forming in his head, the Underpriest made his way to the prisoners, the words of the ritual to begin their transformation already forming on his lips. He would have to work fast – Sir Cregan’s guards would likely not hold them long.

Next update: Back to the party - and an encounter with a dishonest goblin (aren't they all?)


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## Mathew_Freeman (Nov 24, 2008)

*Meeting Splug*

There came a faint whimper from one of the cells off the torture chamber.

Fau the warlock and Aran the halfling approached the cage while the rest of the party looted the dead bodies.

“What a foul and miserable creature,” declared Aran in pity as he gazed upon the wretched goblin that clung to the bars, apparently pleading.

“D..D…Dug dug durga durga!”

“What’s that? They locked you up for gambling?” translated Sabbat Fau. “You actually hate all the other goblins and will serve us loyally if we free you?”

“Durga durga!” confirmed the goblin with a nod. Aran and Fau looked at each other for a moment.

“Let him out, what harm can he do now?” said Fau. Aran seemed to agree.

The party had gathered once again under the spreading boughs of Fangorn the tree creature to discuss what to do next. There was the bright orange haired tiefling, Des, an orator by trade, although tricky indeed he was to pidgeonhole. Next to him pondered the blue skinned wizard Theron. Human he was by birth but one wondered what his many dabblings in the wondrous world of the arcane had done to him over the years.

Then there stood Elwanen, the battle scarred eladrin paladin of Pelor, who had just finished scraping the last pieces of goblin innards off his armour. Then there was Rangrim the dwarven paladin of Moradin, a taciturn and steadfast warrior. Joining them, all silhouetted against the roaring blaze of the torturers fire pit, came Sabbat Fau the human warlock, as unhealthy looking and morose as ever, Aran the young halfling ranger with a spring in his step, and, curiously, a raggedy looking goblin.

“Gentlemen, this is Splug!” said Aran, cheerfully.

“Shall we slay the wretch now or do you want me to torture it for information first?” asked Elwanen bluntly. Sabbat blinked.

“Well, actually he’s been quite a decent chap and says he will map the keep as we go, so I thought we could keep him around for a while,” he replied.

“Got into trouble with some gambling debts, owes the rest of the nest so much money he’s actually relieved to see US!” added the halfling. “And besides, we all know my map skills aren’t up to much.”

Next Time: Battling the Bones!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Nov 27, 2008)

*Battling The Bones*

The party emerged into a long processional passageway, lined on either side with stone sarcophagi that reached from floor to ceiling. In the eerie flicker of torchlight they could make out relief carvings of noble warriors standing proudly, bearing swords and shields with the insignia of a dragon.

Aran was first into the passageway, ducking from corner to alcove, inspecting the stonework for traps. He was followed by the frontliners: Paladin’s Elwanen and Rangrim, who, as they passed tomb after tomb, curiously glanced at the imagery. Rangrim peered down the passage to the limit of his vision. “A welcome sense of good eminates here, I suspect there was once a shrine nearby.”

Next came Fangorn Treeforged, barbarian, looking slowly over both shoulders before planting himself at the nearer end of the passage, scratching some moss from his bark. Lastly came the backline: Theron the wizard, Des the Troubadour, and Fau the warlock, who was being shadowed by a wary-looking goblin, Splug.

The party had delved beyond the goblin’s lair, slaying handfuls of the creatures where they found them, before opening an ominous door where Balgron had warned lay undead. In fact Balthgron had gloated that lurking here were so many foul creatures that no adventurer would succeed in such an endeavour.

“Please sir, I think this is a bad place, we should perhaps find another way around..” implored Splug in Goblin, the goblin prisoner now beginning to regret his new-found freedom. Splug had attached himself to the grim Fau, who also was beginning to regret having granted such freedom. However, as the only person who spoke Goblin, it had fallen on him to make the decision to free the wretched little sneak, and now Splug seemed determined to repay his kindness.

“Stay close and stay silent, my minion,” stated Fau disaprovingly. By way of courage, Splug assured himself that as the guardian of the prison cell key he had a great responsibility, a task which he had been honoured with and would not fail at. Those goblins who had been subdued in the wake of the adventurers’ progress through the upper level of the keep had been deposited there. They had been clapped in irony, Splug considered as he chuckled under his breath.

The group slowly and cautiously progressed along the passage. Splug could just about hear some whispered warnings or instructions passed amongst the leading members of the advance. From his point of view there wasn’t much to see, the way ahead was hidden by the voluminous folds of the wizard, the lumbering bulk of the Treeforged, and then several hefty and heavily armoured paladins.

Suddenly the group came to an abrupt halt. From up ahead could be heard the halfling’s voice shouting something about a trap. There came a long, slow, teeth-jangling sound of stone grating against stone and the sarcophagi began to open. All along the passage the ancient stone crypt was coming to life.

A sound from behind him made Splug spin around in a panic. A gust of fetid wind issued from two new openings in the wall from where he had passed, and out of the darkness stepped a pair of skeletal warriors, each armed with a sword and shield bearing the dragon motif. Looking around with their skeletal grins they launched forward preparing to attack. Splunk screamed and dived into an alcove. The sound of clashing steel could be heard from ahead, from the sound of it the Eladrin and the Dwarf were battling more of these undead creatures. The adventurers were shouting, there came a dwarven battle cry, then a throaty roar that must have been Fangorn, followed by bashing, crashing and the splintering of bone, and on top of it all…was somebody singing?

From his alcove Splug could peer out just far enough to see the skeletal warriors come dashing past. Then came the spells. From where Theron and Fau must have been came a deafening roar of flame and thunder. The dark passage lit up for a fleeting moment in which Splunk could see a silhouetted montage of the battle before him, weapons raised in fury, fragments of bone and armour appeared to be suspended in the air, a spray of sparks where two swords struck one another, and then it was dark once more.

Amongst the deafening roar of the battle Splug could hear arcane words of power hurled into the darkness. Another burst of light lit Fangorn’s face as he swung his mighty maul overhead, illuminating the knotted grimaced expression he wore as sword blows bounced off his bark. Then it was dark, the sound of something, or someone, crashing to the floor and a cry of victory that must have been the eladrin. Somebody was still singing.

Splug suddenly became aware that he was gasping for breath. Looking this way and that he caught sight of another skeletons emerging from it’s tomb. He froze in place as it advanced down the passage towards the melee. “By Maglubyet’s hairy toe, are you a goblin or a gamuzlyphlet?” he swore at himself, braced himself to charge out, and then suddenly thought better of it. The skeleton marched quickly past him.

Peering out Splug could see the skeleton making it’s way through the melee towards Fau, who stood calmly in the center of the battle. With his lank hair covering his face and trailing along the ground it wasn’t easy to tell which way the warlock was facing, but from the direction that the bolts of fire were flying in he seemed to be unaware of the advancing skeletal warrior. The creature lifted its sword ready to strike. Somebody was still singing. “This is it, Splug!” he gasped to himself, “It’s now or never, if you don’t act now the one who freed you will perish!”

Splug launched himself out of his hiding place and dived through the melee. He ducked a skeletons sword swing, and rolled next to a sarcophagus, which opened and released another skeleton. Fangorn waded past screaming, nearly stepping on the goblin to whom he was completely oblivious. The treeforged grabbed the skeleton in one hand, lifted it into the air and swung his maul with the other, cleaving the creatures head off.

Splug darted forward finding himself next to Theron. The blue skinned wizard was mustering blasts of roaring thunder and darts of dark energy, hurling them over the heads of battling figures around him. As Splunk ran past Theron swung around poised to unleash a ball of spitting force that he had molded in his hand. “Damn goblin!” the wizard cursed and, turning away, flung the ball of energy into a crowd of skeletons nearby.

Splug ducked past the wizard and suddenly realised he had placed himself between the two paladins, who were fighting back to back against numerous opponents. The dwarf twisted to avoid a blow and barged into the goblin, sending him sprawling across the damp stone floor. Picking himself up he caught sight of Aran leaping over the head of a skeleton, whirling round and taking it’s legs away with a scimitar.

Splug had lost his bearings. He panicked in the darkness as the sound of screaming and fighting filled the close air. Somebody was still singing, and now it was right in his ear. Des the orange haired tiefling reached down and picked the goblin up, placing him upright on his feet. “If you fall, I will catch you, i’ll be waiting…” he was singing with a remarkably true voice.

“Thank you very much!” said Splug with a salute. Beyond a group of fiercely battling warriors he glimpsed Fau and the approaching skeleton. “Nearly there! Nearly there!” he shouted. Diving across the floor he skidded on his belly across the flagstones, through the legs of two skeletons who narrowly missed him with sword thrusts. Rolling to his feet he rose immediately behind his skeletal quarry who was poised to strike down the warlock from behind. With a cry he swung his sword upwards, cleaving the skeletons pelvis and ribcage, sending it’s remains clattering to the floor in heap.

Oblivious, Fau blasted the two skeletons he faced into dust. Further behind him in the darkness Splug could just make out the paladins carving up the last of the terrible creatures. As suddenly as it had begun, the battle was over. Splug collapsed against one of the sarcophagi, gasping for breath while the party inspected the area until they were satisfied that the threat had passed.

“Come quickly minion, for we are away,” ordered the warlock. “Next time stay close.”

The adventurers found themselves in what appeared to be a shrine to Baphomet, lord of dragons, mighty and noble god of goodliness and order. Rangrim offered a prayer at the altar, and as he did so the air changed. It was as if the crypt was not quite as dark and foreboding as it had been when they had entered. At the far end of the passage stood a pair of large stone doors. The dragon-headed symbol of Bahomet could be seen emblazoned across the two doors.

Fangorn stepped forward and heaved the doors open. The party stepped cautiously into a large room. A single sarcophagus stood at the far side and all around were the carvings and trappings of a shrine to Baphomet. The doors they had stepped through slammed shut, and the sarcophagus slowly began to open…

“Oh,” thought Splug to himself. “Here we go again.”

DM's note: This encounter with the skeletons was actually very anticlimatic. I had seven players that night, rather than the five expected by the module, and they were 3rd level rather than 2nd.

As a result, the initial ten skeletons + 2 skeleton soldiers were taken down almost immediately and thus the encounter ended very quickly. It really opened my eyes to the fact that I need to up both the number of enemies and their power level to challenge this group!

You'll also shortly see that randomling is rejoining the game, playing Cass the fighter, and as such I'm up to eight players. This really is it for now, unless one of them leaves the group, but it's going to mean some significant reworking of the encounters to make sure I'm challenging them properly!

As a side note, I can see that people are reading this SH, and I'd really appreciate some feedback. What do you like? What don't you like? Who's your favourite character? All comments welcome!

Next Update: The party _Speak With Dead_ without the use of rituals, and Elwanen gets some new toys.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Dec 10, 2008)

*The Tomb of Sir Creegan*

Standing in the dim light of the stone chamber the party could just make out a large stone sarcophagus at the far end. As they slowly entered the room they began to discern around the walls the iconography of Bahamut, Lord of Dragons. Here he was portrayed as the champion of justice, a noble leader of men who upheld the highest values of honour, self-sacrifice, and the pursuit of peace and goodwill. The ornate relief work showed the fluttering banners of well disciplined armies standing against a foul horde of chaos spilling forth from a gaping maw of darkness as the divine dragon looked on.

“Of course, Bahamut is no more a dragon than Moradin is a dwarf,” whispered Des, who had made a study of such imagery. “But such a noble form is fitting indeed for this godhead.”

Aran approached the sarcophagus cautiously, the flagstones seemed secure and evenly aligned, the stone work bore no traces of arcane inscription that his keen eyes could reveal, even the intricately worked dragons head that adorned the front of the stone case was free from slots from which arrows could fire out or grooves which might hide a poisoned scythe blade. “You can never be absolutely certain of such things,” he thought to himself. “But it pays to be careful.”

As the adventurers edged forwards the lid of the sarcophagus swung silently open. They jumped back as one, and in the half light the figure of an armoured knight arose.

“The Rift must never be reopened. State your business or prepare to die!” came an otherworldly voice, a sorrowful sound that lingered in the stale air as if it’s echo was trapped. The adventurers looked at each other. “Who speaks for you?”

There was a degree of discreet jostling amongst the group, and finally Elwanen found himself nudged a step closer than the others.

“Sir Elf,” came the voice again,” What business have you here so close to the dark heart?”

“We have come to close the rift, and we would seek your help, if you are indeed Sir Creegan, lord of the keep.”

“I was once that man, but I fell to the madness that seeps ever daily from the other side. It is no earthly place to which you venture near, and its influence claims all in the end. Linger not, for you will fall as once I did.” The apparition lifted its gaze as it studied the group, it’s baleful eyes full of remorse, it’s once strong face drawn with suffering.

Fangorn stepped up beside the Eladrin paladin. “Natural it may be not, but we are determined and resourceful folk. Long did I dwell in darkness before I saw the sun for the first time, and I swear by the soil from which I sprang that I would rid this place once and for all from evil, or die trying.”

“Brave words indeed tree-sprite. A stout heart will see you well, but it will take more by the end,” replied the revenant of Sir Creegan, “And what say you, Master Dwarf, who guides you on your path?”

“I follow Moradin the Maker, he teaches us that strength comes through justice, and that we will find the truth through our labours.”

“A worthy edict, your cause is just, but are you equipped to meet the arcane power that your enemies wield?” said Sir Creegan turning to the warlock. Sabbat Fau stood for a moment as if giving the question some thought.

“Yes.” He replied matter-of-factly. There was an uncomfortable pause.

Turning to Des, the ghostly apparition lowered his voice. “Your companions appear ill-chosen, word-spinner…”

Des cleared his throat, “…At first knowing [being what they are] my companions may oft appear a touch bereft in the arts of diplomacy [and this is not [I must underline] a failing on their parts, but simply [and factually speaking] a mere resultant of the gritty business to which they have [each and every one] so capably applied themselves, that business being [namely] the socially responsible and [ultimately] spiritually purifying pursuit of [if I may] that which is [by all right folk] commonly held to be the ‘good’].”

“Furthermore, we together [one and all] face a threat of malevolent Machiavellian machinations which would maliciously muster a menace that would make mice of meeker men [but we are not that]. Morality is our watchword, the paragons of virtue are our patrons, and you, good sir knight, would [if you view our cause as just] offer us your blessing.”

“Listen, it’s dangerous out there,” interjected Aran, “it’s nasty and the wilds are dark and sinister, full of kobolds and goblins, and nastiness far beyond either of those I’m sure. We are here to right this, and with your blessing we will make the land a place fit for good people once more. You should know that we have found descendants of the ancient lineage of Kaius not far from here in Linden Field, the dynasty lives on, there is hope!”

“Indeed,” pondered Sir Creegan. “That is welcome news. Now speak you wizard. Conclude our conversation.”

“…And I’m so bad with words,” confessed Theron. “You see, I operate on the theory that whatever trouble I fall into, I somehow fall out of. I’m hoping that somehow I may just fall out of this!”

“Then know this,” began Sir Creegan, “The vile taint of an evil power known as Orcus seeps through from beyond the rift. This being is as ancient as the world itself, and commands forces of evil beyond the power of any mortal.”

“This keep indeed stands on a gateway to the realm of Orcus, a land known as the Shadowfell. It was built to guard against the menace from beyond, and men such as I have lived and died here so that mankind should be safe.

“But the power of the Shadowfell is assiduous and lingering, dwell too long here and you shall all succumb, as have I, to it’s sinister lure. It will claim your mind and your friends will not know you from your foes.

“In life I was given to command this once strong garrison, but the Shadow found me in my dreams and turned me from my path. I heard the voices calling to me, a call I could not resist. They bade me work evil in the name of their master, and evil I did.

“I took the lives of my two children as they slept in their beds. I smiled as I squeezed the last breath from their lips. I carried them to the fire and cast them into it’s warm embrace, because… He wished it to be so.

“My captains fell to my blade because they knew me only as a friend. All but one, who escaped to warn the others. In life I had studied swordplay with great masters, and many worthy opponents had I bested, and when near twenty knights lay dead before me I was wounded gravely and forced back into the lower levels where I was trapped.

“There before the altar of Bahomet did I finally come to my senses. Knowing what I had done, I took my own life. Death came as a blessing, for the pain of a blade is nothing compared to the torment of the Shadowfell.

“If you are to succeed in this task you must be have steel in your hands and your hearts. This sword is named Aecris. It has taken many lives and it bears many regrets. It longs to right that which I have wronged, and whomever amongst you is best trained to wield may do so wih my blessing.

“Know also that Bahomet blesses you. These dragon tokens will aid you towards the end. Now go, and seek whatever end you are worthy of.”

And with that the tragic figure of Sir Creegan, Lord of the Keep on the Shadowfell, lay down in his tomb and was silent once more. The stone lid closed quietly and the room was still.

DM's note: This was presented as a Skill Challenge to the players. Each character was challenged in turn by Sir Creegan to speak of themselves, putting them in a good light. It did mean that all my players had to justify themselves, as it were, and I was keeping a track of those that made successful skill checks and those that didn't.

Fortunately, the party got more successes than failures and all was well.

Many thanks to crater for writing this update.

Next time: Zombies! And the Underpriest makes a reappearance!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Dec 16, 2008)

*Zombies! Thousands of Them!*

Returning to the outside of Sir Creegan’s tomb, Elwanen suggested that a rest be taken in the safe environment of the shrine to Bahamut. A consensus was quickly agreed, and with a watch pattern established the time passed quickly.

However, during the rest period, several members of the group complained of Bad Dreams...[1]

Once all were rested and recovered, the group returned to the maze of corridors with the runes on the floor. Theron had previously confirmed that the runes were some sort of arcane trap. Carefully navigating over the first of the runes via a plank of wood and some cautious balancing, they moved down a short corridor to an intersection. There were exits to the west and south.

Straining his ears as he scouted ahead, Aran could hear a low moaning in the distance. Direction was difficult, however.

“Zombies…” he called out behind him. Taking the initiative, he hurled torches down both passageways, trying to expand the field of vision. However, this did not exactly have the required effect!

Slowly shuffling into view down the end of the south corridor were two vile creatures. Human-looking, their flesh oozed and dripped from them, and even at this distance Aran got a whiff of their stink. They were followed by several more zombies, and all began to shuffle towards the halfling and Cass, who had met up with the party a few minutes before. Turning to call a further warning, Aran realised that the moaning and shuffling he could hear didn’t just come from down the south corridor – but down the west, and more worryingly the north corridor as well! The party were surrounded on all sides.

Standing behind the zombies from the west was a human figure dressed in armour. His face was tatooed with a ram’s skull, and Elwanen instantly recognised the markings as signifying that he was an Underpriest of Orcus. Snarling, the Underpriest called out “Forward, my minions! Kill them, kill them all!”

Battle was swiftly joined.

Note: This is, of course, the Underpriest previously spotted in A Villainous Interlude, above.

[1]Bad Dreams Wiki Page

Next update tomorrow! The most dangerous battle of the campaign so far!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Dec 18, 2008)

*Zombies To The Left Of Me! Zombies To The Right!*

Reacting quickly, the party leapt into action.

Cass stood firm, hefting her greataxe in her hands and blocking the southern corridor. Beside her, Aran swiftly shot two arrows down the corridor, both finding their marks and dropping two of the oncoming horde.

To the west, Fangorn charged forwards and bludgeoned another zombie with his maul, splattering it’s brains across the wall. Des moved centrally, trying to keep all his friends in view.

Elwanen acted impulsively as usual – teleporting a past the oncoming undead to engage the Underpriest directly. Sneering, the Underpriest stepped back and hurled a blot of shadow energy at him, and Elwanen was almost forced back a step from the impact, his shoulder burning where he was hit.

Theron chanted and placed a flaming sphere at the end of the north corridor, instantly immolating one lumbering opponent. Smiling to himself, he awaited the rest, confident he could keep them at bay.

The zombies, in turn, began to strike home. Two powerful brutes lumbered towards Cass, pummelling her with powerful fists. Behind them, she dimly saw the rotting corpses pull a glob of filth from themselves and hurl it towards her. Before she could dodge, she was hit twice. Crying out in pain, she realised that she could feel the filth starting to spread throughout her body, weakening her muscles. Her axe began to feel heavy in her hands.

Fangorn also suffered, as the Underpriest infused one zombie with shadow before it stepped up to him and battered him. The sound of it’s fists echoed off the walls as they crashed into his wooden form, and Des responded with an assault of his own – his psychic strike biting into it in return.

Zombies began to pour down the northern corridor, despite Theron’s spell taking down a few, and he was forced to back up a step to keep clear of them. Meanwhile, more zombies took advantage of Cass’ weakened state to press forwards on the south side, neatly trapping the party in the central room.

Aran hatched a quick plan. Drawing Fang and Talon, he sliced and diced at the zombie blocking the route to the south, calling upon Cass to help. She swung her axe in a huge blow, and with a final deft twist of a blade Aran took off it’s leg and it crashed to the floor. Grinning, Aran dodged past the other zombie and heading towards the rot-flinging pair that had stayed further back, seeking to draw fire away from Cass.

Des took a second to bolster Cass’ resolve, quietly urging her to continue, as Fangorn and Elwanen continued to battle to the west. Fangorn was striking out in great blows, shattering zombie bodies around him, but taking hits in return. Seeing that he could force a way past, he took off down the corridor as space opened up, trying to come around and join Aran in taking down the corruption courses that were working so hard to kill Cass.

The Underpriest and Elwanen continued to exchange taunts as they battled, but as Elwanen was distracted by another zombie coming in from his side the priest checked the situation and backed off down the corridor, calling behind him “You may have won this day, but my Lord Orcus shall still have your souls when you die!”

With Fangorn and Elwanen otherwise engaged, one large zombie was able to push through and engage Theron directly. Stepping forwards, it delivered a powerful blow to the Wizard’s chest, slamming him back against the wall. Theron gasped for breath and passed out on the floor, his flaming sphere disappearing too.

Fangorn also found himself in trouble, as the zombie he had pushed past followed him and similarly laid him low. A spot of light occoured as Des selflessly moved to support the fallen Treeforged, distracting the zombie from taking a final blow and issuing a Healing Word at distance to stop Fangorn from dying.

To the south, Aran obliterated one corruption corpse with a stunning display of swordwork, his blades dancing through the air. The other made room for itself and then launched another glob of foulness at him, but with a cheeky grin Aran activated the power of his new armour, taken from the Hobgoblin torturer and the attack was foiled.

Elwanen, despite triggering a magical rune and feeling panic course through him, resisted and beat down the zombie that had menaced Theron. However, this rune affected Cass much more severely and she fled down the corridor towards Aran. Happily, the effect wore up in time for her to join him in killing the second corruption corpse.

Des found himself on the receiving end of another slamming punch, which dropped him, but from behind the zombie Fangorn, revitalised, smashed his maul through it’s side and watched it collapse.

Carefully, the various members of the group checked around them. The walls and floor were covered with dismembered corpses, some twitching slightly as the remnants of the magic that had powered them left them. However, despite the desperate nature of the battle, none of the party had suffered any lasting wounds.

DM’s note: One Orcus Underpriest, 2 Corruption Corpses, 5 Zombies & 14 Zombie Minions – this was by far the toughest fight they’ve had to face. I'd originally decided I wanted them to retreat in the face of this onslaught, as they were getting low on healing surges and powers. However, they foxed that by going and resting in the shrine of Bahamut instead and regaining all their powers. It meant that this became an epic battle against a full-strength party, and it rocked!

randomling suffered quite badly by being targetted by the Corruption Corpses, and suffering a _weakened_ condition pretty much every round. As a result, she found it really hard to clear the blocking zombies in front of her - which in turn meant the C Corpses could continue to pile on the damage! A neat piece of design, there.

The party almost made things worse for themselves by trying to take on all three sides of this attack at once, but the use of _Flaming Sphere_ took care of one side all by itself. Still, I reckon that future battles are going to see them needing to up their game against more intelligent foes (and a DM who is improving all the time!)

Next time: Do you know the pass phrase?


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jan 2, 2009)

*Rangrim Falls*

After disposing of the last of the zombies and taking a moment to catch their breath, the adventurers searched the area, as all good adventurers do. Discovering a hidden door, they faced a riddling voice that challenged their intellect. Once answering, two shiny suits of armour were theirs for the taking.

Moving down some steps, they then entered the guard room, wherein waited several ranks of battle-ready hobgoblin soldiers. Standing with shields locked together were 4 sword wielding grunts, behind them what appeared to be a murky well.  On the far side of that waited 2 heavily armoured lieutenants with flails, and at the far end of the room near one of the exits stood the hobgoblin captain barking out orders.

"What's the pass phrase?" yelled one of the hobgoblins. After a series of baffled looks exchanged amongst the adventurers, everyone concludes that the party hasn't a clue what the hobgoblins are talking about - and weapons are drawn!

As the 2 opposing groups sprang into action the hobgoblin captain was the first to act. “Hold the line!” he ordered, running back down the passage into a smaller room where he could just be seen fiddling with a bunch of keys in the lock of a large cage. 

The front row of soldiers advanced slowly on the party. Elwanen, Fangorn, Cass, and Rangrim advanced to meet them. With battle cries in the air the two rows clashed. The hobgoblins were clearly experienced soldiers and held their phalanx under the onslaught of blows, while the adventurers, favouring  the pursuit of solo heroics, swung great axes and mauls in huge arcs in an attempt to break the line with raw strength. The thick shields and heavy armour proved difficult to negotiate but it was Elwanen who claimed the first advantage, driving one of the phalanx fighters backwards several steps, whereupon he tumbled backwards into the well.

As the remaining adventurers entered the chamber a second wave of hobgoblins appeared from a side passage. The adventurers looked around and instructions were shouted. The first row of soldiers had begun to break, and the flail wielding lieutenants had stepped in to regain the line.

Theron, Des, and Sabbat Fau took to opposite corners of the room from where they were able to pick out targets for their blasting spells. Their fiery bolts and darts of energy proved difficult to dodge, causing the heavily armoured hobgoblins some concern as their comrades began to fall. Having appeared out of nowhere, Aran seemed to be able to navigate the battle with great ease, ducking and rolling into position and felling grunts here and there with swift blows from his scimitar and short sword.

The battle was now opening up. The ferocious swings of two handed weapons had succeeded in breaking the main phalanx, but as reinforcements entered the room smaller groups of hobgoblins quickly organised themselves into tightly locked formations.

At that point the adventurers noticed that the hobgoblin captain had finally opened the cage in the far room, and scuttling down the passageway came a huge black spider the size of a horse, its agile legs clambering wall to wall until it suddenly emerged into the guard room with alarming speed. The melee fighters in the party shouted warnings to each other and reassembled ready to engage this new unmeasured foe.

With a giant leap the spider sailed over their heads and landed next to Fangorn who was battling several grunts. Its dripping talons narrowly missed his bark as he swung around and landed his oaken maul solidly on the beasts thorax. The giant spider recoiled, rearing up on its 4 hind legs before plunging down again upon Fangorn. Busy fighting off the soldiers that had begun surrounding them, Elwanen, Cass, and Rangrim had difficulty reaching Fangorn. Theron stepped forward and conjured clouds of force daggers where the spider stood, forcing it to shift around the battle field, picking its way nimbly over the piles of dead and dying hobgoblins.

Meanwhile from the last side passage a large group of hobgoblins could be seen assembling. Several lieutenants followed by 6 grunts surveyed the battle planning where best they would strike. Seeing this Sabbat Fau stepped into the middle of the room where he had a clear view of the group, launching a blast of fire into their midsts. The explosion wiped out most of the grunts, spurring the remaining soldiers to charge into the room towards the warlock. Seeing this, Rangrim freed himself from the opponents he faced and charged across the room to meet the oncoming hobgoblins. Standing alone against many the brave dwarf battled fiercely, receiving many wounds.

Aran had now moved into position to attack the giant spider. Difficult as it was to get passed its stabbing mandibles, enough warriors now surrounded it that it suffered many blows. As green blood oozed from its body it once again sprang into the air, landing directly behind the retreating warlock. Des turned to a new page in his book and quoted from the musings of ancient thinkers. His words twisted in the air and lashed at the spider, who suddenly found its voice, screeching in pain.

The hobgoblin reinforcements were depleted and the adventurers finally felled the last of the soldiers, turning their attention to the injured spider. Amidst axe blow and sword strike the ferocious beast died surrounded by its enemies.

The adventurers looked around the aftermath of the battle, realising quickly that Rangrim was missing. Searching the bodies they found the dwarven paladin buried under a pile of slaughtered hobgoblins, he was near death and not even Des’ healing magic could save him.

“Take my hammer and strike down many enemies,” he whispered gasping for breath, “for I am bound now for the halls of [[Moradin]] the Maker.”

“And there they shall sing of your deeds, brave friend,” spoke Des.

Rangrim died there of many wounds. There was a grim silence amongst the adventurers. Suddenly, a small voice was heard from the doorway by which they had entered.

“If you will forgive the intrusion,” A halfling stood at the doorway wearing armour and carrying a large sword over his back. “I have been sent to warn you, Winterhaven is under attack!"

DM note: This was actually a pre-planned character death. floating_disc, who plays him, had said that he was unhappy with the character; not mechanically, just in terms of flavour. He'd been wanting to try out playing both a Dwarf and a Paladin as they weren't classes he usually played, but the experiment hasn't paid off for him so he's chosen to switch.

I gave him the option of retirement or dramatic death, and he went for the latter. His new Halfling character is all ready to go! Class to follow once he's made an impact on the story.

Next time: A Return to Winterhaven? And who is this mysterious halfling, anyway?


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jan 7, 2009)

*Ninaran and Agrid Make Their Play*

Swiftly returning to Winterhaven, the party was not suprised to see the gates barred and locked. Several torches flickered above the strong wooden doors, and Lord Parrag’s voice rang down to them.

“The town is under attack! Several of my people have gone missing this night, and if you look yonder you can see some sort of strange glow from the graveyard. We’ve closed the gates, waiting to see what happens – I beseech you, please investigate for me, brave adventurers! Ryam volunteered to bring you back from your quest. I do not believe we can stand for long if the dead rise against us.”

The curious Halfling led the party, leaving them barely time to rest before they arrived at the graveyard at the edges of the town. Introducing himself as Ryam Rateater, the heavily armed Halfling pointed his broadsword down the hill across the dark landscape.

“See for yourselves!” It was night time, the air was frigid, and an eerie blue glow could be seen from far away amongst the gravestones. The party approached the gates and made their way inside.

Cautiously moving through across the frost bitten grass, their breath rising in the air around them, the adventurers saw a circle of arcane power had been drawn on the stones in the center of the cemetery. From the shadows around them, figures began to move.

“Prepare to die!” came a voice from the shadows of an old stone mausoleum. Ninaran, the elven huntress stepped into view and raised her bow to fire, flanked by a group of skeleton archers. From the edges of the graveyard other groups of skeletons began to appear, amongst them could just be seen the figure of Agrid the gnome, whom the party had previously captured and had interred in Winterhaven.

“What foul evil is this!” shouted Elwanen, drawing his sword. Des nodded to the party, strode to the front of the group and held up his hand to the ambushers.

“Wait!...” shouted the great orator, his voice carrying the promise of revelation. Ninaran paused expectantly. Agrid relaxed for a second as he strained his ears to hear what Des was about to say. Even the skeletons seemed to pause, as if awaiting instructions.

Seizing the moment, the paladin charged towards to nearest group of undead. Following his lead the rest of the party spread out and, charging through the darkness, closed with the archers as they were raising their bows and taking aim. Ryam swung his oversized broadsword overhead and ploughed into the skeletons on one side of Elwanen and Cass.

Ninaran, gathering her wits, took her shot. The arrow sailed through the night air, narrowly missing Des.

“Carry on then, lads” said the tiefling ruefully, prudently lowering his hands and stepped back into the group. Fangorn the barbarian charged the elven huntress, who was left fending off his mighty maul swings with her bow. Fau the warlock strode across the graveyard into the middle of a group of skeletons until he stood face to face with Agrid. The gnome had a look of hate burning in his eyes, for it had been Fau who had tormented him so cruelly.

“You!” uttered the warlock. The memory of the foul curse caused Agrid to step back, allowing Fau to unleash an aura of frost that engulfed all those that surrounded him.

Breaking off from the melee for an instant, Ninaran had just enough tme to call another group of skeletons from the ground. They quickly clawed their way out of their graves and ran with their swords drawn to engage the adventurers.

Aran had disappeared from view. He had made his way to the arcane circle and was engaged in the business of attempting to disable it, although it did not resemble the common wards that folk would place over their doorways to prevent pilfering during the night.

Over the other side of the cemetery a slathering, slobbering and snarling noise could be heard. A moment later a pair of rotting grave hounds burst out of the crypt house, bounding over the crunching earth, ribbons of fetid drool flying about them, their loose rotting flesh rippling this way and that. They charged into the main group where Elwanen, Ryam and Cass were finishing off the skeletons.

The warriors braced themselves to recieve the grave hounds with equal intensity, one hound bouncing off Elwanens large shield and rolling across the earth before Ryam pinned it to the ground with his sword. Cass ran several steps to meet the other hound in mid-flight, swinging her greataxe and sending it, whimpering, into a gravestone. It rolled onto its paws and crouched ready to leap.

“Bad dog!” shouted Des sternly, “No biscuit!” Even in undeath the grave hound understood disapproval, shrinking back for a moment, long enough for Cass to follow up and bring her axe down on it’s head one final time.

Fangorn had battled Ninaran back step by step. They now fought on the edge of the glyph circle. With a mighty shove, Fangorn sent Ninavan back pedalling until she toppled over the crouching Halfling and fell into the circle.

“Oi! I nearly ‘ad that!” reprimanded Aran.

“Feast on your own dark magic, witch!” spat the barbarian, watching as Ninavan writhed on the ground, a look of agony on her face.

“The pain!” she screamed.

“Bloody hellfire!” muttered Aran, “What did you do?”

The next instant, the elven huntress was upon them. Leaping out of the circle, laughing, she had her swords drawn and was ready to kill or be killed. With both Fangorn and Aran flanking her, though, she had little hope. As the two of them hacked her to the ground, the circle began to fade, it’s magic dying with her. The remaining skeletons also crumbled to dust and ash in an instant.

Meanwhile Fau and Agrid traded volleys, the gnome darting in and out of the shadows as he fired his crossbow, the warlock standing still and emotionless, unleashing blast after blast, demolishing the stonework around them.

“I will hunt you down and make you pay, warlock, mark my words!” shouted Agrid, realising his allies had all been killed. The gnome fled into the night, with Fau sending a huge wave of fire in his direction as a parting gift. To a casual observer it would have seemed as if Agrid had left a trail of burning trees and foliage in his wake.

“We return to the keep anon,” the warlock called after him, “I will expect you…”

DM note: I'd really wanted to include this encounter in the adventure, given the excellent graveyard map that is provided for it. So when the party looked to be staying in the Keep until finished, and Floating_Disc needed to introduce his new character, it seemed like a perfect match!

It also allowed me to bring back Agrid (the gnome that had kidnapped Douven Staul and subsequently been tortured by Elwanen and Fau) and, now that he's escaped again, start to make him a recurring villain. Now he's been defeated again, he's going to get really nasty, I can promise that.

This brings us back up to date in the campaign, with the next session scheduled for 19th January. So I'm afraid that between now and then you'll just have to wait...although I may be able to fit in another "Villainous Interlude" in the meantime...


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## Blackrat (Jan 13, 2009)

Rat approves this SH. I see your group too just forgot about Splug after a while, or at least you stopped mentioning him in the story. Such is the fate of "useless" NPC's. I guess now he just luggs around behind Fau, and stays out of harm untill such time that he has something witty to say. Sounds like a certain Pixie one of my PC's held as a slave once


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jan 13, 2009)

Blackrat said:


> Rat approves this SH. I see your group too just forgot about Splug after a while, or at least you stopped mentioning him in the story. Such is the fate of "useless" NPC's. I guess now he just luggs around behind Fau, and stays out of harm untill such time that he has something witty to say. Sounds like a certain Pixie one of my PC's held as a slave once




Splug got a bit lost in that last session, but next Monday when we play again I'm planning on making sure he has a bit more time in the spotlight. This may mean he ends up being left in Winterhaven whilst the party goes back to the Keep, but we'll see.


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## Aran Thule (Jan 13, 2009)

Of all the people to end up following Splug ended up with Fau, Aran would have liked a minion but no the goblin decided to go with the scary human. (Fau resembles the girl from Grudge)
I wouldnt be suprised if Agrid takes out his aggression on poor Splug as the gnome is a coward and has twice now been psyked out by the warlock.


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## Blackrat (Jan 13, 2009)

Mathew_Freeman said:


> Splug got a bit lost in that last session, but next Monday when we play again I'm planning on making sure he has a bit more time in the spotlight. This may mean he ends up being left in Winterhaven whilst the party goes back to the Keep, but we'll see.




Aye, is good for the GM to remind the players from time to time of the NPC's who are supposedly following them around. I don't think it'd be wise to leave him in Winterhaven though. They return to find him in prison for gaming debt again or something


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jan 13, 2009)

Aran Thule said:


> Of all the people to end up following Splug ended up with Fau, Aran would have liked a minion but no the goblin decided to go with the scary human. (Fau resembles the girl from Grudge)
> I wouldnt be suprised if Agrid takes out his aggression on poor Splug as the gnome is a coward and has twice now been psyked out by the warlock.




Sadly, when you met Splug Fau was the only PC who spoke Goblin - thus the attachment was formed as Splug prefers to talk in Goblin wherever possible. He's much more articulate in Goblin, anyway, and it means he can grovel _properly_.


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## La Bete (Jan 13, 2009)

Torture. It's such a harsh word.

I'm reliably informed that 4e is a cinematic game, and the "good cop-bad-cop" interrogation technique is a fine cinematic trope.

Of course it would have helped if we had remembered the "good cop" bit, instead of going with "bad-cop-worse cop".


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jan 13, 2009)

La Bete said:


> Torture. It's such a harsh word.
> 
> I'm reliably informed that 4e is a cinematic game, and the "good cop-bad-cop" interrogation technique is a fine cinematic trope.
> 
> Of course it would have helped if we had remembered the "good cop" bit, instead of going with "bad-cop-worse cop".




"Psychotic Warlock Cop - Torturing Paladin Cop" is the option you went with, I believe. Just what is Elwanen's written alignment, anyway? 

Really looking forward to picking this up next Monday. Especially as I'll be back in Shepherds Bush and not have to travel for an hour just to get to the venue! Think we'll be looking at a decent chunk of RP stuff, and a couple of encounters to (hopefully) set us up for the final battle vs. Kalarel.


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## Aran Thule (Jan 14, 2009)

*Arans Tavern Tale Part Three*

“To Rangrim!” Aran lifted a flagon and drained it; he then set it on the table and reached for the next one.

The people of Winterhaven gathered around him, and supplied the drinks in exchange for the tale he brought them, recent events had brought home that terrifying events were taking place and that if the heroes failed then their town might be destroyed.

“That keep isn’t abandoned any more I can tell you, the rumours we heard are true, there are foul deeds taking place in the ruins.” Aran paused to check he had the audience’s attention before continuing.

“We arrived without problem and found the ruins of the keep, they did not appear to be lived in but I spotted some stairs going down, there were torches lit and before long we found the guards, a bunch of goblins keeping watch for intruders. We tried to bluff our way in but it didn’t work so we had to kill them, they had a nasty pit filled with rats but only one person fell in. From one of the goblins we captured we learnt a bit more about the underground complex and quickly headed on.”

“Is that the goblin that is following the warlock around? He seems quite tame for one of their kind” asked Delphina. (Recent events had proved the woods outside too dangerous for gathering flowers so she was resting in town)

Aran shook his head and sipped his ale “Nope, that’s Splug we rescued him from a cell in the dungeon there, they had been torturing him, he likes gambling I think but I cant understand him much, most of the time he is whining to Fau… Now as I was saying we killed the guards and then proceeded too clear up the upper levels, we didn’t want to leave packs of goblins behind us, you can bet they would set up a sneaky trap behind us. We hunted down the fat boss Balgron and his minions and that evil torturer was a piece of work, I got this armour off him, nice stuff and magic too.”

The ranger grinned and buffed his knuckles on the armour he was proudly wearing and waited a moment so people could admire it before starting on the next flagon.

“Now Splug was useful, he told us a lot of stuff about the area and warned us about what we might face so we were not surprised when we entered the depths of the keep and found some nasty undead, zombies attacked us but they are stupid and we chopped them down. More worrying were some magic symbols that I spotted on some of the corridors near the stairs we had come down, we made a little bridge over one of them so we wouldn’t touch it but decided to go the one route that had not been trapped. It led to a corridor that was lined with huge coffins, I sneaked forward with out a sound but then suddenly…. They all opened and an army of skeletons climbed out, worse then that lids then started closing again and we could hear scratching from inside. Surrounded by the bones wielding sword and shield we fought back to back, chopping them down and returning them to death, but even as we did that the lids of the coffins opened and more skeletons poured out, but we were able to destroy them faster then they could climb out ad soon the last fell and it was quiet.”

The tale of endless waves of undead caused the blood of the townsfolk to chill, they had seen the glow from the Winterhaven Cemetery, where the dead had also arisen and were thankful that the heroes had overcome that threat.

Aran glanced over to where Valthrun the Prescient was sitting and smiled. “Your not going to believe the next bit, beyond the corridor was a shrine to the dragon father and also the coffin of Sir Creegan the former lord of the keep that went mad. Now Creegan regrets his actions and wanted to make sure we were on the side of good before helping us. Its true, he even gave Elwanen his sword and shield to help in the fight. Now we had been mapping and fighting all over the keep and were in need of a rest so in the safety of the shrine we slept, everyone seemed to have bad dreams that night except me, but then im the only one with a lucky fish protecting me.”

For the second time in a week the halfling showed the locals his well preserved fish, if they had doubts as to its powers or the rangers mental wellbeing they kept quiet, after all some people have a lucky rabbits foot and from the stories he told Aran indeed had Avantra’s blessing.

“So after our little nap we moved on and climbed over the magic symbol without setting it off, we came to a room with several exits and I heard groaning, from all around us and then we could make out shambling figures moving towards us from all directions under the direction of a dark robed figure.”

Thair Coalstriker stroked his beard and nodded sagely, “The old zombie ambush… ive heard it to be the end of many an unprepared party”

“Yep” Aran agreed “But those groups didn’t have me with them, if I hadn’t been there then the rest might have fallen, it was a close fight and we had to split our resources, there was no way we could retreat back down the corridor without setting off the symbol and it didn’t have any affect on the zombies as they just walked through it. Cass and me blocked one corridor, but they horde of undead tried to swarm past us, Cass’ axe is good on the backswing so they didn’t manage it.  There were two large zombies that blocked the route forward and several smaller ones but the bit that was nasty was that behind all them were two dark figures that ripped lumps of their flesh off and threw it at us. Cass got hit and the icky stuff splattered and sucked the strength out of her, leaving her weakened. This made it hard for her to take down the undead until I damaged and distracted one enough for her to take it down, this gave me the break I needed, she was in trouble and I was the only one there to help her… I charged down the corridor, weaving and darting past all the others until I reached the two gore lobbing gribblies and I opened up a can of pint sized vengeance on one of them. Talon and Fang did their work and I ripped it to shreds before it had a chance to retreat. Its companion then attacked me be I was ready and deflected its attack, but it was about then that Elwanen stepped onto one of the symbols, there was a sudden loud alarm and waves of fear swept the area, im not scared of a stupid symbol but it shook Cass and she ran away from it. Luckily that meant she headed towards me and between the two of us we made short work of the other gore lobber.”

Taking a moment to wet his throat he paused as he remembered the following events and sniffed sadly.

“We regrouped and patched ourselves up and headed off again, the person leading the zombies had been a priest of the god of undead… im not going to mention his name but you can guess who I mean. The priest had fled the fight and we followed, finally finding more stairs leading down to another room but this was full of heavily armed hobgoblins. It was bad, just as we thought we were getting an advantage another bunch of bad guys arrived, they worked together and it was hard to get past their shields, I moved around taking them down where I could but there were so many and they had a spider working for them, the size of a horse it was. We all fought as hard as we could be we didn’t realise until too late that Rangrim had fallen, we found him amounst many corpses, his last words were for Fangorn to look after the hammer he had been given and then he passed on to Moradin’s halls.

There was hardly a moment to reflect on what had happened before Ryam arrived to tell us of the troubles here. We quickly decided that we had to return here and stop what was happening so we brought Rangrim's body with us and returned here as quickly as we could. As you know the glow could be seen from the town walls, we headed there and I scouted, there was a magic circle that was causing the glow but it was beyond my ability to disrupt. I also spotted those responsible for this hideous act; Agrid the gnome that we thought was prisoner here and Ninaran who gives a bad name to elves and rangers everywhere. We had thought there might be a spy here but finding it to be true is still a shock, I wasn’t going to take this, she needed to be taught a lesson. Skeletons were rising from the ground and attacking my friends, and Ninaran was shooting her bow as well, I don’t know what Agrid planned to do but Sabbat Fau took it upon himself to punish the gnome.

Fangorn charged Ninaran forcing her back into the magic circle, she responded but summoning more skeletons to rise from the ground and fighting back, she didn’t last long as I shot her with an arrow and then sliced her up with Talon and Fang. As she died so did the magic, the circle faded and the skeletons collapsed into piles of bones…”

Aran finished his drink and nodded to the crowd. “That’s were I have to leave it im afraid, there is still unfinished business at the keep and we are heading back at first light, so either you will see us soon or something very bad has happened, but not to worry, no undead god will get the better of me or my fish.”









*OOC:*


 For those curious about what actually happened in the zombie ambush, basically the group fought as individuals rather then as a team and it could have got very messy, three characters got knocked out and could easily have died. Saying that... Aran's cunning plan worked well, once there was a gap he activated his armour (to give 10 damage resistance until his next turn) and charged through the horde to attack the corruption corpses. Using his big powers and an action point took down one of them. His armour absorbed the retaliation attacks allowing Cass to recover and help clear up.  













*OOC:*


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jan 16, 2009)

*Villainous Interlude 2*

The Underpriest winced again as the wound closed, the incantation to Orcus dying on his lips. The Demon Prince did sometimes grant the power of healing to his servants, but never without a price.

Straightening up, he made his way to Kalarel’s chambers to report further on the events of the previous day. Having returned in disgrace, desperate to save his own life as the adventurers slaughtered his zombie minions, he had been steering clear of his superior.

Kalarel was now resting after another day of attempting to open the portal to the Shadowfell. The Underpriest hoped that he was in a forgiving mood.

“My Lord?” he asked of the darkness ahead of him, cautiously waiting in the small pool of light the torch provided.

“Come in,” issued the tired words. Moving into the gloom, the Underpriest advanced carefully.

“Report, Underpriest.”

“My Lord, as you know, the adventurers were able to dispatch the zombie forces I sent against them. I can now also confirm that the initial hobgoblin defences were insufficient.”

“I guessed as much,” rasped the voice from the shadows. “Continue. What of Ninaran?”

“Ninaran did as you ordered, raising a small force of skeletons and two grave hounds to assault Winterhaven. The village would have fallen had a Halfling by the name of Ryam had not made his way here to bring news.”

“Orcus curse his name!” responded Kalarel, moving slightly more into the light. The Underpriest managed to hide his shock at his master’s appearance. His face now appeared skeletal and gaunt, yet his eyes now glinted with a deep malice and madness that had not been there before. Kalarel continued “When they return, this Halfling is to be sacrificed first, do you understand?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Continue. I take it the adventurers made it back to Winterhaven in time, then?”

“Indeed. A runner from the village made it back here a few minutes ago. Ninaran was, apparently, joined in battle by a Gnome who fought alongside her. He managed to escape, but Ninaran was slain. He and the human, Sabbat Fau, appear to have a great deal of animosity towards each other.”

“Agrid,” mused Kalarel. “It appears he is more resourceful than I thought. Excellent. I shall stay in contact with him once this matter is resolved. What are these ‘heroes’ doing now?”

“They rest in Winterhaven, stating they will return here tomorrow.”

“So be it. I am close, so close now. I believe tomorrow the portal will open and we can begin the destruction of this area.” Kalarel’s teeth gleamed in the dim light as he smiled. “First Winterhaven, and that pathetic “Lord” Parrag. Then onwards to Linden Field, and then, finally, Fallcrest itself shall fall to me!”

“Have the hobgoblin warchief prepare the rest of his troops, then you shall guard the upper Temple with your disciples. I shall return Below and continue to work. Whatever happens, hold them off.” He fixed the Underpriest with a penetrating stare.

“If you fall, do not fear. I shall defeat them myself if needed, and then I shall raise you anew. You will serve Lord Orcus, in your death as you did in life. I shall see to it, loyal follower.” Kalarel’s arm twitched violently. “But now I must rest. See to the defences. They must not take us by surprise.”

“Yes, my Lord,” replied the Underpriest. “We shall not fail you.”

DM note: This is, of course, a little more background to Kalarel's plans, and I'm hoping my players will thusly get a bit more of an idea of who he is and what he's up to than is revealed in the actual published adventure.

Next session of the game is on Monday, and with it being likely that there are only two more sessions to go, things are hotting up!


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## Blackrat (Jan 27, 2009)

Hey! Where's the update? The game was week ago... I hate it when my programs start late because of the commercials...


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jan 27, 2009)

*The Most Basic Rule of Warfare Part 1*

In the flickering torchlight of the guard room the harsh tones of the goblin tongue could be heard as the hobgoblin Warchief addressed his men.

“The bogeys will be returning from Winterhaven anytime now. We’ve been over the plan a dozen times, you all know what to do, and we don’t want a repeat of what happened last time. Brulthag and his men were sloppy, they forgot the most basic rule of warfare…”

The Warchief was interrupted by a thumping at the door at the end of a short passageway, the only way into the guardroom from the upper levels, and thusly the only way to gain access to the lower levels beyond.

“It’s them Chief! The bogeys!” whispered one of the soldiers who had been crouching on his haunches near the door.

“Right! To your positions, lads!” commanded the Warchief, “Stay together, and keep those shields locked!” The soldiers sprang into formation several lines deep, wicked flails unfurled, and large steel shields locked tightly.

The door opened and a heavily armoured hobgoblin appeared carrying an armful of snuffed torches. “Got ‘em Chief, those plonkers wont know which way is up. Any luck, they might fall down the well!”

The warchief rose from the large oaken chair in which he had been sitting proudly. “Did we or did we not have a conversation not ten minutes ago involving me telling you the secret knock?” he asked.

The recent entrant looked startled. “I had my arms full of snuffed torches Chief, I had to improvise…” he explained, nodding towards his hobnailed boots.

“Well dump those in the other room and get back to your position!” ordered the Warchief, adding “And the next time you disobey orders, I’ll have you court martialed!”

The soldier locked the door behind him, tromped across the room carrying his armload of snuffed torches, past several ranks of scowling soldiers, past the archers who stood beside a large cauldron of steaming soup and disappeared through an archway.

“The soup is nearly ready. Approximately T minus three minutes, Chief,” declared one of the archers efficiently.

“Good work, private! Now as I was saying, Brulthag slipped up. He forgot the first and most important rule of warfare…” continued the Warchief, again warming to his theme.

“What’s all that thumping about Captain?” A hunched and cowled figure stuck it’s head around the corner of one of the other exits. “I thought we had agreed to absolute silence!”

“Nothing to worry about old fellow, you get back to whatever it is you Warcasters do when you’re not doing anything.” There were some chortles amongst the soldiers.

“Actually my twin and I are recharging our staves, and you would do well to remember that Maglubiyet rewards neither the strong nor the weak, but the victor,” sneered the Warcaster in return.

“Recharging your staves, eh? Is that what you call it? Well you get back in there and recharge those staves good, we wouldn’t want you going off half-cocked now, would we?” There were more chortles.

“You will soon see where indeed lies the true might of this outfit, Captain.” And with that the warcaster went back to his work.

“Permission to speak, Chief,” pronounced a soldier from the far side of the room.

“Permission granted,” grunted the Warchief.

“I heard a story about one of those Warcasters, from back in the Old City . They say he walks into this tavern with just two pieces of copper and asks for a flagon of drow wine. The barman says ‘You must be joking mate, that’ll cost you ten gold, prob’ly more than you can carry you old codger’ so the warcaster walks out of the bar.”

“Is that the story?” asked the Warchief.

“No Chief! See, a few minutes later the Warcaster comes back into the tavern, looks around, spots this empty bottle up on the top shelf, high up like, and says to the barman ‘Alright, I’ll make you a bet. I bet you my two copper that I can piss into that bottle whilst standing right here!’ The barman looks up at the bottle, right up high on that shelf and says ‘Why Maglubiyet himself couldn’t piss that far, you’re on!’

“I’ve heard this one before,” whispered one of the other soldiers to his neighbour.

The raconteur continued, “So the Warcaster lifts up his robes and he starts pissing. He’s pissing on the floor, he’s pissing on the bar, he’s pissing on the tables, on the chairs, and on the punters sitting in the chairs. He’s pissing up the walls, he’s pissing on the windows, he even pisses on the warg sleeping by the fire, until he’s all pissed out.” Glancing around, he noted the reaction to his story thus far, and continued.

“So the barman wipes his face with a dishcloth, looks up at the bottle, it’s empty. Not a drop of piss. He’s laughing, ‘You foolish old dolt’ he says, ‘I knew you would never be able to even hit that, now pay up!’ So the warcaster pays up, but now he’s laughing. He’s roaring with laughter. He’s in hysterics. So the barman asks him ‘What’s so funny? You just lost all your money!’ So the warcaster says ‘Yes, but I just met this drow outside and I bet him ten gold pieces that I could piss all over your bar and you wouldn’t do anything about it!”

The soldiers chuckled amongst themselves. The Warchief pondered the tale.

“So then what happened?” the Warchief asked at length. A deathly silence fell across the room, save for the crackle of the small fire under the caldron.

“The barman hacked him to pieces, stuck his head on a spike, and that was that.” came the swift reply, the soldier well versed in his superior’s sense of humour.

The warchief sat back into his large oaken chair. “Well that just goes to prove my point. Never forget the first, most basic, most important, most fundamental rule of warfare…”

Suddenly there could be heard heavy footsteps and the clanging of armour from outside the door.

“They’re here, Chief! The bogeys!” whispered the alert sentry from his position of cover.

“Look sharp, lads!” barked the Warchief, “You have trained for this moment. You have been drilled and honed to the limit of hobgoblin perfection for the act of killing, shedding blood, splitting heads, and shattering bones. Keep those shields locked, remember what you have been taught, and make me proud!”

“Yes, Chief!” came the chorused reply.

“And keep silent!”

DM note: Many, many thanks to crater for coming up with this small interlude on his own merits. Please excuse the language (what has got through the filter).

I had been making a great deal of how the hobgoblins were a lot more disciplined and organised compared to previous foes, so I suppose I deserve to hear what they'd actually been talking about. I also had to explain exactly how the hobgoblins were ready for the PC's despite the long gap between this and the previous fight, so many many thanks to crater for filling in the gap.

Next update on Wednesday, featuring some more startling good dalogue from the PC's, this time.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jan 29, 2009)

*The Most Basic Rule of Warfare Part 2*

The adventurers assembled at a large wooden door deep within the dark halls of the keep. Having returned from [[Winterhaven]] they were laden with provisions and potions, and each bore a souvenir of the gratitude of the good folk of the town in the form of a stinking hangover.

“Nice of them to remove all the torches,” mumbled Fau the warlock gloomily, his goblin sidekick, Splug, cowering bravely behind him.

“I can’t see a thing, hardly!” chirped Aran the Halfling rogue, who seemed to be holding up rather well. “I nearly fell down that well!”

“Well you see my friends, it’s like this…” began Des the Tiefling orator. “It wouldn’t have been prudent to walk directly under the light of Theron’s cantrips on account of it giving away our exact location [had there been anyone observing us [which there was not [as it so happened]]].”

“Well here we are, our delving nearly at it’s end. Time to put an end to this evil once and for all!” declared Fangorn the tree-creature simply.

Aran examined the door. It was old, as old as the keep itself perhaps, and there was a keyhole. Peering through he saw that the key was in the lock.

Theron the wizard stepped forward, threw back his finely coiffured locks with a flick of his head, and gesticulated a pincer-like grasp, followed by a slow turn of the wrist. The adventurers heard the key turn in the lock.

As Elwanen, the Eladrin paladin, strode towards the door and raised his right boot, Des suddenly threw up his hands in a pacifying gesture. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, [and, of course lady], now we are [as i’m sure has not escaped your attention] slightly the worse for wear, but it would be nonetheless remiss of me to point out that now is exactly the kind of time that we should formulate a plan. Some of you may indeed be aware that [while I am not a warrior myself by inclination] I hail from a long tradition of martial adepts, and it was commonly said amongst them [during the all too infrequent moments of reflection] that one must heed the rules of warfare if one intends to survive. Now, you may [or may not] see where I am heading with this…”

“Is this another discussion about tactics?” asked Elwanen wearily, lowering his right boot.

“Indeed it is,” confirmed Des, “Or [at least I should say] it has the potential to be.”

Fangorn offered his thoughts on the matter, “Well I propose that we form two attack groups, each comprised of defenders shielding the strikers.”

“They’ll be doing that thing with their shields again, so we should split them up wherever possible,” added Elwanen.

“Concentrate your fire on the most injured,” mumbled Fau.

“Yes, even injured they’re still nasty, get rid of ‘em quickly!” agreed Aran cheerily.

“Now that’s what I like to see!” congratulated Des, “We’re really looking like a team now. And if I may add to this fine list of stratagems with one of my own: Don’t forget the most basic, the most crucial, the one single, absolubtely fundamental rule of warfare…”

Des was interrupted by a loud crash, as Elwanen’s right boot kicked the door in.

Next time: Let battle commence! And you may even find out what the most basic rule of warfare actually is...


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## Blackrat (Jan 29, 2009)

Mathew_Freeman said:


> Next time: Let battle commence! And you may even find out what the most basic rule of warfare actually is...




I sure hope so. I'm anxious to learn that rule 

Nice one again.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jan 30, 2009)

You'll have to wait until Monday, I'm afraid.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Feb 3, 2009)

*Rules of Warfare, Part 3*

Readers warning: Some of the dialogue in the next scene has been liberally translated from the original Elven, Common, and Goblin, so as not to cause offence. These passages will be marked by an asterisk.

“Come and get some of this, ye goblinoid villains who may well have engaged in intimate relations with thine own parents!”* cried Elwanen as the door fell into splinters.

The hobgoblin archers waiting in the room beyond unleashed a volley that sent him reeling back into the ranks of his own party. Cass, a dainty lass who just happened to know how to swing a really big axe, led the charge forwards as 2 robed hobgoblin warcasters stepped into view at the far end of the chamber. Unleashing powerful blasts of energy from their fully charged staves they sent both the young warrior girl and the warlock beside her flying across the room. Comfy in his large oaken chair, the warchief laughed a loud belly laugh.

“You foolish interlopers who likewise may have doubts cast upon your familial relations! Who wants more of the same?”*

Beneath a barrage of Theron’s magic missiles Aran came tumbling through his party who were sprawling this way and that. He ducked past 2 hobgoblins as they swung their rattling flails at him, and drop-kicked the soup cauldron in just such a way as to tip it onto it’s side with a resounding clang. Boiling hot broth splashed over the archers who had taken cover behind it and were now screaming in pain. Meanwhile the hobgoblin soldiers closed in on the nimble Halfling.

With a single huge stride Fangorn was into melee, batting a shield away with his maul and following up with a heavy blow that hit one of the soldiers square in the chest, sending him back pedalling. Elwanen was close behind, thrusting his sword into a pair of soldiers who were tightly locked in formation. The soldiers dealt out viscious slashing blows from their spiked flails in return.

“This is a really bad idea.” sighed Des, “I must see what’s going on!” He ran to the doorway and beheld the carnage beyond. Half of his party were picking themselves up off the floor, while the rest were surrounded by hobgoblin soldiers and fighting for their lives.

“Does anybody require healing at this point?” He called into the room.

“Nothing more than a flesh wound!” replied Elwanen, not seeking to be a drain on party resources, as he valiantly parried the hobgoblin’s attacks and seized an opportunity to gain another thrust that cut one of the soldiers across the abdomen with a grunt of pain.

“Don’t worry, it was just a bolt of deadly energy to the face.” muttered Fau morbidly, not wishing to lower party moral with apparent vulnerability, whilst staggering to his feet and blasting a hobgoblin soldier who had lined up a flanking strike on Fangorn.

“Oh well, may as well make myself useful!” Des rapidly thumbed through the pages of the heavy book he carried around with him. “Ah yes, this sounds appropriate!” He began to recite a verse.

_Winter again, but below,
The song of swords,
Mine foe is afeared._​

 A wave of dread washed over the backline of the hobgoblin formation, the archers shivered, the soldiers quaked, even the warcasters gripped their staves so tightly their knuckles turned white. Despite their unease, the hobgoblins continued fighting, although their arrows did not fly so straight, nor were their arcane words pronounced with such confidence.

Cass got to her feet and commanded her great axe to burst into flame. Swinging great arcs of trailing fire, she waded into the ranks of hobgoblin soldiers, clashing axe against shield with a burst of flame. Aran tumbled around the battlefield, wielding Talon and Claw in deadly patterns around the knees and the hamstrings of the brutish goblinoids that towered over him, felling a foe from behind. Moving into his fallen allies position, the large figure of a heavily armoured hobgoblin swung his flail down suddenly and caught the Halfling as he dived away.

Meanwhile Elwanen carved a symphony of Eladrin steel into the soldiers that surrounded him, barely managing to fend off rattling blows from their deadly flails in return. Flanked, he was spun around by a blow that smashed into his shoulder. Fangorn, taking mighty strides from foe to foe, pounded and mashed upon the shields of the well-drilled formations around him. Theron’s magic missile barrage found targets in all corners of the room, delicate wraiths of dark energy leaping from his fingertips and soaring through the air with a brutal accuracy.

But as it seemed the battle was level, Aran tumbled past the 2 warcasters who unexpectedly lashed out with their staves in melee. Catching Aran a massive blow to the chest, one of them sent him flying across the room, where he lay motionless.

“Aran!” shouted Elwanen, disappearing as the shield wall closed in around him, and reappearing a second later beside the fallen Halfling. The paladin reached down and healed his comrade with but a touch.

“Right!” shouted the warchief, “It’s time you half-witted hairless apes received a final and resounding rebuke!”* He leapt off his large oaken chair and, wielding a curved serated shortsword, charged into melee with Cass. Fending off the warchief and several soldiers, Cass was slashed, stabbed, and flailed, driven back into the passageway and barely managing to keep on her feet. Seeing this Theron leapt into the melee.

 “This had better work, or i’m dead!” he quipped with a toss of the hair, “THUNDERWAVE!”

The sudden sonic shock wave sent the soldiers flying, their broad shields acting like sails in a storm, but the warchief yet stood his ground. Bruised and battered, Cass charged back in, heaving her flaming great axe in a mighty whoosh over the head of the ducking warchief.

Fau was seen walking calmly across the room, picking his way over bodies and debris, blood pouring from many cuts and gashes, stopping occasionally to blast a hobgoblin to smithereens. The last surviving archer picked him out from the far side of the chamber and loosed an arrow, which sent the warlock reeling.

“Would anyone like to be healed at this point?” shouted Des at the top of his voice once more.

Looking around to make sure his compatriots were not watching, Fau plucked the arrow from his shoulder and called upon his inner reserves to drive him onward. Satisfied he had not been seen healing himself, and thus maintaining a confident air of invulnerability, he re-emerged into the battle and looked for his next target.

“I think you might profer Cass your aid.” Elwanen advised Des, since noone else had taken up the offer, before leaping back into melee with a group of hobgoblin soldiers around the remains of the fire on which the soup cauldron had been boiling.

Des looked across the room to where Cass and Theron were battling the warchief and several soldiers. Cass was desperately fending off blows, already riven with many wounds. Turning the page in the thick book he carried around with him, Des offered some words of inspiration:

_Let it be 
Never thee Enemy 
Better me_​

The hobgoblins facing Cass were suddenly captivated by a fleeting moment of despondency, while Cass found herself invigorated, her wounds disappearing before her very eyes.

Having battled his way to the far side of the guardroom Fangorn found himself beside a large fireplace in the corner, whereupon he set about the 2 lurking warcasters. Swinging his huge maul around his head with both gnarly hands several times in preparation he strode forward a single step and unleashed it in a great humming arc, sending one of the hobgoblin arcanists flying limp and lifeless before he hit the stone floor. The other stepped away just in time and pointed the tip of his staff at the savage tree-creature. Another blast of energy sent Fangorn staggering back, collapsing into the roaring fire. He swiftly emerged, his charred leaves floating off into the air about him as he shook off the flames.

From nowhere, Fau appeared next to the last arcanist.

“You.” he muttered, summoning a great grasping claw of smoke from the fireplace that grabbed the hobgoblin and dragged him, screaming, into the flames. A few moments later the burning figure of the unfortunate warcaster emerged from the fire, still screaming. Blackened to a crisp, it spent it’s dying moments running around the battlefield, still screaming, still on fire, before crashing to the floor and shattering into large chunks of charcoal. 

A hobgoblin soldier, who had been bearing down on Fau before he vanished, looked around and found Des, who was quickly leafing through his book for something appropriate to say. Raising his shield he charged, his long flail swinging in viscious circles around him. Des looked up from his study, and quickly drew a mace to defend himself. The soldier swung his flail and missed, Des retaliated with a blow that clanged against the hobgoblin’s shield, knocking it aside for an instant.

As if a silent alarm had rung out warning all rogues of an opportunity, Aran suddenly appeared. Seeing but an inch of unshielded armpit, the Halfling leapt up at the hobgoblin and skewered him under his shoulder in such a way that the tip of his scimitar re-appeared from the poor creatures neck.

“Redeploy!” yelled the hobgoblin warchief seeing his soldiers falling around him. The few remaining warriors under his command suddenly shifted their positions with finely-drilled precision, despite the fact that the tide had turned against them.

Reaching a vantage point in a side passage, the archer that had dealt Fau a near-mortal wound scanned the melee. Seeing Elwanen drop the last soldier he faced with a graceful, 360 degree spinning scythe-like blow that separated the soldiers legs from his feet at the ankle, he took aim and fired. The Eladrin paladin was struck in the chest and fell back with a crash, sword and shield clattering to the stone floor but an instant later.

“Elwanen!” shouted Fangorn, still smoking, as he bounded across the corpses of the paladin’s fallen foes. Retrieving one of the potions the party had acquired in Winterhaven, he poured it down the throat of the dying Eladrin.

Having stepped back from melee, Theron looked across the room and espyed the smirking archer draw another arrow, the sinister figure of Sabbat Fau calmly bearing down on the bowman. Raising a hand, the warlock blasted the hobgoblin with a rolling ball of fire, but when the smoke had cleared the creature was still on it’s feet. With toss of the hair, Theron sent a dancing wraith of black mana soaring through the air, hitting the hobgoblin square on the forehead. The archer fell backwards, rigid, and hit the floor with a smoking hole where once his brain had been.

Both Fangorn and the newly risen Elwanen charged across the room and joined the melee where Cass and Aran were battling the warchief and the last of the soldiers. Axes and mauls clashed against shields, serated shortswords lashed out. The battle, though nearly won, was not over. The barbarian felled a hobgoblin from behind with a downwards swing of his maul, while Cass struck the warchief a serious blow from her flaming axe. An exchange of blows and parries left the hobgoblin Elwanen battled reeling.

Seeing that his force was depleted, the warchief grinned with the fearless intensity of a doomed warrior.

“It has been my honour to lead you!” he declared to the 2 hobgoblin soldiers who still stood by him, “At least i’ll take one of these rotten scoundrels with me!”*

With that he barged through Cass and Des, lunging at the unarmoured wizard beyond. Following a swift feint he stabbed Theron with his shortsword, sending the wizard recoiling in pain.

With his hair all awry, Theron was enraged. The wizard picked himself up and threw himself upon the hulking warchief, who dodged the charge to suddenly find himself staring down the wrong end of a descending fiery great axe.

“Maglubiyarrgh!” he screamed, just before Cass cleaved his skull in two. Having felled one of the 2 soldiers, the party surrounded last surviving hobgoblin.

“Surrender.” muttered the warlock.

“Or be torn apart in a lengthy and scientifically interesting fashion.”* added Elwanen. With that the defeated soldier through down his weapon and shield and surrendered to the adventurers.

Note: Sadly, we didn't get to play on Monday due to the snow in London, so after this we've only one more update before we run out. Sorry!

Next time: The rule is finally revealed!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Feb 5, 2009)

*The Most Basic Rule of Warfare Part 4*

“Ladies and gentlemen, a battle hard fought indeed, well done to everyone, well done,” began Des, “Excellent swordwork may I say Elwanen, and Cass, you held the warchief at bay with vigour and determination. Theron, that was exceptionally brave to engage in melee as you did, and Aran, loved the trick with the cauldron. Fangorn, mobility and maliscious mauling in perfect harmony if I may say so, and Fau… well… very sinister, very sinister indeed! Well done all of you.”

“There is however something I would like to add. May I at this point raise an issue that has been preying on my mind for some time?” spoke Des.

“Is this going to be another critical analysis of our tactics?” responded Elwanen wearily.

“Well, as time is pressing and we are not afforded the luxury of a point-by-point breakdown of our entire battle stratagem, I will [instead if I may] focus on one particular, one single, one individual tactical ploy that struck me as most conspicuous by it’s absence just now.”

“If it’s the one about going for the knees, I was doing that!” explained Aran.

“No, it is not that to which I refer…” continued the Tiefling.

“Do you mean keep them from forming a phalanx? Because we managed to break them up in the end, but it wasn’t easy,” said Fangorn.

“No, no. While these are all fine stratagems in themselves, I am actually talking about something far more fundamental in warfare…”

“Ah!” declared Elwanen, “It’s that one about staying together and not splitting up!”

“Even more important than that, i’m afraid, and as such, a battle tactic sorely lacking from this outfit [in my estimation] as I see it at the moment…”

“Are you perhaps referring to the obscenities uttered in the heat of battle? I can assure you I exercise nothing but the most refined vocabulary as a matter of course,” justified Theron.

“He’s talking about strikers and defenders, I think,” offered Cass

“Is it about charging down a narrow passageway into a well fortified position?” inquired the hobgoblin captive helpfully, although tentatively.

“Is it about taking prisoners? Because I can fix that right now,” said the warlock.

“No, my fine friends, it is none of these. It is something far more crucial to our survival than formation groupings, points of attack, who’s defending who, which vital organ to puncture, the application of harsh language, or the merciless execution of prisoners.”

“You see, I couldn’t help noticing some ‘machismo’ creeping in during the battle…”

“What are they? I only saw hobgoblins!” chirped Aran cheerily.

“Not a ‘they’ as such my stout friend. I am speaking of the manly tendency to embolden oneself infront of ones friends and allies. The masculine urge to hide ones own weakness. Specifically, on no less than 2 separate occasions during the last combat did I inquire whether anyone needed healing, and the each one of you replied negatively.”

“In fact, you all shrugged of my offer with a ‘Not I, i’m tickety-boo”’ or ‘I’ve had much worse than this, don’t you know!” or “Do I look like I need healing!” or some such carry on, and then moments later, but barely moments later…” Des looked around at his comrades, one long eyebrow raised, “No fewer than two of you are lying on the ground, almost dead, and several more of you are staggering around bleeding all over the place. Now, you know who you are so I’m not going to name any names, but I want to take this opportunity to make clear The. Most. Basic. Rule. Of. Warfare.” Pausing for dramatic emphasis, the Tiefling drew a breath.

“If you need healing, say so. Be brave. Own up.”

The adventurers mulled quietly upon this point for a while, as they slowly dispersed and began rifling through the hobgoblins belongings.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Feb 10, 2009)

*The Cathedral of Blood*

After battling the hobgoblins and slaying their Warchief, you have made your way further into the corridors and rooms under the Keep. There are no torches here, no lights to guide your way other than what you bring with you. Theron's magelight pushes back the darkness, but as you walk, nervously scanning the shadows, it almost seems as though the darkness is pushing back against it. Slowly but surely, the circle of light appears to be shrinking – or is it just your eyes playing tricks?

The corridor takes a final twist, and ahead of you it opens out into a larger room. The sense of menace is palpable, hanging dangerously in the air. There is another smell, too, sharp and metallic. Blood.

Crimson streams trail across the floor of the vast room ahead – the biggest you have yet seen under the Keep. They terminate at a grate surrounding a hole in the floor of this shadowy cathedral. From three crystal columns, light blue light flares out – a fourth column lies smashed nearby. The light does not reach the edge of the room, and figures move in the shadows at the edge of vision, clutching axes smeared red with blood.

A dais at the far end of the room appears to be supplying the blood. A human in dark robes stands there, his knife raised high as he speaks words of dark power. Blood drips from the knife onto the dais, running onto the floor. You recognize the Underpriest of Orcus that you fought with yesterday, his tattooed face twisted in hate. The ram's skull almost appears to be laughing at you.

Next to him stands another powerful looking figure, holding a huge axe casually in one hand. The Underpriest looks over at you and cries out "You shall not interrupt my Master's work! Soon he will succeed, the portal will open and all of Winterhaven will be naught but a ruin! The Dead shall rise, and do our bidding – and soon, soon your bodies will join them!"

You can hear movement from out of sight inside the room, and Aran spots that large chains allow access into the central hole in the floor. Distantly, you can hear the sound of chanting from below.

As you step into the room, the shadows bunch and thicken behind you. No way out. Only onwards. Face your fear, and prevail.

Note: I sent this to my players a couple of days before what was going to be the final session of the game. Unfortunately, the UK snow intervened and the game was cancelled - so the next game (and probable final session of Keep on the Shadowfell) is going to be next Monday, February 16th. I've told the players that it's pretty much going to be "Turn Up, Roll Initiative!"


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## Mathew_Freeman (Feb 23, 2009)

*Entering the Cathedral*

“Ok team,” began the Tiefling orator, “If our information is correct this should be the final leg of our expedition. It’s been a long and difficult road, and we mean to end well. We shall need the kind of resounding victory worthy of a party of heroic adventurers [such as ourselves]! Now, has everybody prepared their one-liners?”

The adventurers nodded from one to another as they made there way through the passages beyond the hobgoblin guard rooms.

“Once again, I cannot overstate the importance of good delivery,” the Tiefling continued, “and the components of a well delivered one-liner are?”

Having prevented Winterhaven being overrun by undead the journey back to the keep, when not looking out for ambushes, had been spent engaged in vocal training courtesy of Des, who was now looking expectantly around the group. At first noone wanted to volounteer. Finally, from near the front of the marching order, Elwanen, the Eladrin paladin spoke.

”...Posture?”

“Good!” replied Des instantly, “And good posture demands…?”

Elwanen thought for a moment, ”...A wide stance, arms ready as if to grapple, and a… pertinant? ...angle at the neck.”

””Excellent, well remembered!” confirmed Des, “Who’s next?”

After a few moments, Aran, who had been leading the party through a series of junctions, spoke. “Erm… Essential component number two in a good delivery is… projection?”

“Exactly!” congratulated Des, “And projection demands…?”

“Projection demands… good posture… and resoluteness of purpose?” recited the halfling with some difficulty.

“Now I can see your really getting it!” affirmed the Tiefling. The party now descended a short flight of stone stairs. The air had grown cold, very cold. There was a lingering sense of malignant forboding that oozed from the very stones themselves. “What comes next? Come on now, we’ve been over this, you should know it!” he continued.

There was some scratching of heads and blank looks as the party proceeded through a large empty chamber.

“If you are a bit eccentric people might say that you are a bit of a… ” prompted Des, helpfully.

“Druid?” offered Fangorn the tree creature.

“Devil worshipper?” pondered Sabbat Fau the warlock.

“Liability?” improved Cass Breenan the fighter.

“Character!” resounded Theron the blue haired wizard, “Component number three in the good delivery of a one-liner is character. Essential to the conveyance of character are posture, projection, and a phrase or saying with personal or cultural resonance for the speaker or, in many cases, the recipient. This may be adapted within the specific instance of the delivery.” he concluded. Theron was good at this. He reeled off the lines like one might the most simplest and commonplace of alchelmical formulae.

“Fantastic! 10 out of 10!” applauded des, “So we have: Posture precluding Projection, Projection precluding Character, and what does Character preclude?”

“Oh wait, I know this one!” began Ryam Rateater the halfling warlord, “Character precludes Timing!”

“Precisely!” said Des, “And with Posture, Projection, Character and Timing one may effectively deliver a witty and poignant one-liner, thus improving morale within ones own party, lowering morale amongst the opposition, and [of course] ensuring the worthy embellishment of tavern tales once the victors have repaired to the comfy armchairs of a safe and welcoming drinking establishment.”

“Thats the part i’m looking forward to!” added Aran. There were some nods of agreement.

“Now timing is without doubt the most elusive and unpredictable element of the four, and so we should perhaps spend some time looking at the intricies of opportunistic interjections…” began Des eagerly.

“No time!” interrupted Elwanen, “It looks like a crate load of trouble’s just fallen off the back of the ugly cart.”

The party had reached what looked like an antechamber. Ahead, an archway opened into a vast cavern-like space. Peering through the party could make out figures moving amongst the shadows cast by flickering torches. Idols to unnameable entities adorned the walls, and the smell of blood hung in the air. At an altar half-hidden in the darkness on the far side of the chamber the cowled figure of the Orcus Underpriest appeared brandishing a long, wicked looking dagger that dripped with blood. The floor of the room was slick with the sheen of a dark substance, slowly trickling across the flagstones until reaching a large grate in the center. Moving into view from behind formations of glowing quartz obelisks came wild and feral looking creatures, barely human, wielding axes and serated blades.

“Finally, The Cathedral of Blood!” declared Ryam, “On my signal!...”

DM note: Hopefully the updates will come thick and fast this week, and we can get up to date. We played through the final sections of the Keep...but you'll have to wait to find out who lives and who dies...


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## Mathew_Freeman (Mar 6, 2009)

Unfortunately, I have to confess that our erstwhile writer, crater, has been suffering under a very heavy workload in the past few weeks, and as such has not had time to complete the updates as he wanted.

He also missed the last session (the aftermath) and so the player for Elwanen, better known as la bute on these forums, will be taking a crack at some writing.

I also have another chapter of Aran's Tavern Tales waiting to go up in the right place, and if you're hungry for tales of what's been going on you can always check the wiki (link in my sig) and get some news.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Mar 20, 2009)

*The Cathedral of Blood, Part 2*

The adventurers moved warily into the large chamber beyond the archway. In the dim flickering torchlight it was impossible to tell just how ancient this temple of evil was, but it had existed long before the keep was built upon it. The brave soldiers that guarded the outside world from the lingering menace of the Shadowfell were long since destroyed, and all that now stood between the hordes of Orcus and the mortal realms was this small band of heroes for hire.

As they entered, the blood smeared berserker cultists who had been standing ready advanced to intercept them, hefting huge and viscious axes.. At the vanguard of the adventurers, Elwanen let out a battle cry and led the charge. Alongside him, Cass, Fangorn, and Ryam. The two front lines met with a tremendous clash of steel, and the battle for the Cathedral of Blood had begun.

The melee surged throughout the chamber. Fangorn charged right, piling into a pair of berserkers, his maul seen swung high from across the battlefield and then crashed down upon his savage opponents. Cass, Ryam and Elwanen piled through the center, shoulder to shoulder. The feral warriors howled with bloodlust as they piled upon them. The Paladin and the Fighter yelled signals to each other, making well coordinated strikes when their foes were most vulnerable, and raining down crushing sword and axe blows that held the rest at bay in the meantime.

The spell casters took a more circuitous approach. Theron and Sabbat Fau diverged around the north and south edges respectively. Moving through the ruins of ancient crumbling walls that once divided the chamber into what may have been priests quarters, or the prisons where the doomed awaited a horrible death, they picked out targets from amongst the fray and hurled bolts of fire and force. Splug was never far from the warlock, drawing spears from the sheath he had been collecting as the party slaughtered their way through the keep and throwing them at the enemy with surprising accuracy.

Ryam had climbed atop a pile of bodies and lifted a banner bearing the symbol of the broadsword, driving its shaft down into the bloody remains of fallen berserkers.

“I see you have acquired a new friend, since last we met!” sneered the underpriest. “Let us test his mettle!” The underpriest launched a bolt of searing energy into the air. Arcing over the melee it illuminated the combat for an instant before slamming into the halfing warlord. Staggering to his feet Ryam yelled the command words that released the bolstering magic of his standard.

“Rub some dirt on you!”

Screaming from out of the shadows came several packs of feral humanoids. As they entered the dim light they could be seen to bear the fangs and ghastly visages of undead.

“Vampire spawn!” shouted Elwanen in warning. The heroes spun about in the melee to guard against the new assailants. From the large pit in the center of the chamber, the sound of ominous chanting could be heard far below…

DM's note: And *we're back!*

crater has been horribly busy at work and has been unable to update the Story Hour, but today he sent me through the new material. This will follow Mon - Wed - Fri over the next few weeks as I do my best to catch up.

This particular battle was great fun for me as DM, offering minions, the Underpriest, the barbarians and various bits of interesting terrain. I really enjoyed it - hope you enjoy the write-up!

Next time: The battle continues!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Mar 23, 2009)

*The Cathedral of Blood, Part 3*

“So tell me, brave knight, however did you overcome such odds?’ Lady Markelhay asked, intrigued at the recent successes of the newly arrived group of adventurers.

“Well ma’am,” began the Eladrin Paladin, a glass of fine wine in his mailed hand, “I have often found myself just as comfortable surrounded by my enemies as by my friends. There is a certain keenness that comes to a sure soul in the midsts of such a battle, whereupon overwhelming opposition is nothing more than a precursor to victory.”

The Halfling Warlord sitting across the long dining table from the Eladrin spoke up, “Most people try to avoid being flanked, it’s a tricky position to be in, defensively speaking. Elwanen however thrives in just such a predicament. Outnumbering us was their first mistake.”

“Intriguing,” spoke Lord Markelhay, the imposing patriach of Fallcrest. “How did you slay the underpriest?”

“He was a bit tricky, as a matter of fact!” chirped another Halfling, who had paused from scoffing the niblets that surrounded him like a barricade. “We had to wade through near a dozen savages and just as many of those vampires!”

“Our companion Fangorn, a fellow the like of which I have never seen, has a knack for making progress through ranks of villains,” elaborated Elwanen. “Using the pit to his advantage, he dispatched several of their number and before long we flanked the underpriest. Cass was instrumental in consolidating our position.”

The assembled guests and hosts alike looked down the table to where a young woman was sitting, dressed as a warrior in scale mail, polished to a high shine, a chicken drumstick in one hand.

“I don’t mind telling you I very nearly didn’t make it at all. There were so many of them it was hard to tell friend from foe. But we got there in the end, and the underpriest fell, though not too swiftly.”

“Commendable work indeed,” praised Lord Markelhay, glancing across to another young woman who was wearing a fine white dress, sitting across from Cass. “You are examples to us all!” The finely dressed woman rolled her eyes slightly. This was Marianna Markelhay, niece to the Markelhays, a women of considerable bearing and poise, who wore a rapier at her side.

“But what became of Fangorn, I see him not amongst you now?” asked Lady Markelhay.

A voice was heard from the very far end of the table, where sat a dark-skinned elf with white hair, dressed in light armour. “Let’s just say he had to split.”

“I see, and so what of Kalarel?” continued the noblewoman. “At what point did you face him?”

“My lady,” began the blue-skinned Wizard who had been quietly sipping a glass of wine, “Kalarel was waiting for us below the very chamber in which we fought. As soon as we had gathered our breath we made haste for the final battle, in the hope that we were not too late…”

DM's note: This post does, of course, offer a few spoilers as to the outcome of the fight - but it's in a fine storytelling tradition, so it's all good.

It also serves as an introduction to *Waylander*. He is a Drow Rogue, and a direct replacement for Fangorn the Barbarian. You'll be getting a more complete introduction to Waylander within a few posts.

Next time: Battling On!


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## Khynal (Mar 25, 2009)

Mathew_Freeman said:


> Outnumbering us was their first mistake.




And yet, everyone tries it on us.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Mar 25, 2009)

*The Cathedral of Blood, Part 4*

“Bring me bones!” cursed Kalarel, standing before the altar of the dark lord of death and darkness. The zombie hound by his side leapt forward, flinging itself onto the paladin who now stood alone, a line of skeletal warriors behind him, the high priest of Orcus in front of him. A shining aura surrounded him such that as the undead minions approached, limbs jerking and armour creaking, they combusted into radiant fire and vanished into the darkness in glowing motes and embers. Nonetheless, the terrible hound clung to his great shield, it’s weight pulling him to one knee.

Theron dropped to the floor from the chain he had climbed down, looking around he saw his companions locked in combat amidst a pool of thick dark blood that lapped and splashed around their feet. From one side of the nightmarish temple of darkness approached a large rotting humanoid flanked by sneering ghoulish figures. The two Halflings, ducking in and out of the cover of the temple furnishings made there way across the chamber towards the undead horrors.

Cass and Fangorn had piled into the ranks of skeletal warriors and were busy trading blows with their deft opponents, while the warlock skirted the battle, unleashing bolts of eldritch energy at any foe who strayed from the pack.

Across the length of one wall an arch of darkness wavered in the thick stench-ridden air. Beyond the arch, shadowy forms writhed and convulsed. This was certainly the object of their quest, thought Theron, this was the portal they must somehow close. Theron decided on his course of action, and summoned a thunderwave that caused surge of blood from the pool to wash over a group of skeletal warriors, hurling them back into the stonework.

As the skeletons were smashed to pieces the party frontline arrived at where Kalarel stood, hurling searing dark energy into the melee.

“It has been too long since I have engaged in combat!” he sneered, summoning a shield of darkness around him as the warriors closed in.

Meanwhile Aran and Ryam ducked and rolled around their opponents, two wights and the corruption corpse, whose necromantic auras threatened to freeze them in their tracks if they stood still for but an instant…

DM's note: This session marked the birth of Team Halfling, as our two intrepid players took on the corruption corpse and two wights by themselves. This caused much laughter at the table and was a great example of something just happening.

floating_disc, playing Ryam, was really starting to get into his stride as a Warlord at this point, dishing out extra actions, bonuses and the rest. As he gets more familiar I think we're going to see a dramatically improved party.

Next time: The conclusion!


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## Aran Thule (Mar 26, 2009)

I was worried how the two Halflings would get on as Ryam seemed the serious type, luckily with this fight they worked together and Team Halfling was formed.
As a side note i found the wight drain effect to be nasty, i think i was out of surges at the end of that fight which could have got bad if we hadnt beaten them when we did.
I also have to mention that Splug did well in both the final fights, he seems to be adept at fighting undead... or just very lucky.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Mar 26, 2009)

*The Cathedral of Blood, Part 5*

“Go Team Halfling!” chanted the young Ranger and the Warlord, clinking goblets before taking deep swigs. Lord Markelhay raised his eyebrows in surprised amusement.

“Go Team Halfling indeed!” he affirmed and raised his own goblet, “And so Kalarel finally succumbed to your prowess in battle! You smote his ruin upon the altar of his dark god, I presume?”

“Actually, the lord of death claimed it’s own,” declared Theron. “Before he fell, the beasts that lurked beyond reached through into this world with tentacles of shadow and seized Kalarel, dragging him into the darkness he served, to await a fate we dare not imagine.”

“Such evil,” whispered Lord Markelhay. “Such a terrible fate that you have spared us all. And so sealing the portal once and for all you have left this land safe for decent folk once more.”

“The portal is secure for now, this much I can assure you,” ventured the wizard, “But I cannot say that such things were meant to rest for all time. As we closed the portal, the warlock used the mirror to read the arcane inscriptions that adorned it. In doing so he claims to have seen a horror that was not meant for this world. It lives still, and it watches with a hungry eye.”

The gathering grew hushed. They looked at the scrawny figure of a man of indeterminate age, wearing a dirty white peasants smock, hunched over a plate of prawn vol-au-vonts, his lank black hair covering his face and descending all about him as far as the carpeted floor of the dining hall.

“What did you see, warlock, of which we must be so afraid? What horror lies beyond the shadow portal?” asked the lord of Fallcrest.

DM's note: This is, unfortunately, likely to be the last post for a couple of weeks as I'm off on holiday to Viriginia with my partner.

However, I'll be adding more updates when I get back!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Apr 17, 2009)

*Through the Looking Glass*

Swarms of flies swirled and swooped through the processional avenues of the easternmost city like thick black smoke carried on rolling winds, though no fire had burned here for many moons. The dead lay where they had fallen, in their homes or in the streets, their bodies now obscured under a crawling shroud of insects.

The only human survivor walked barefoot through the streets across the chitinous carpet of beetles and bugs. He had become skeletally thin, so much so that he had been able to simply step through the bars of the bamboo cage in which he had been held. Matted black hair down to the ground, ragged white smock speckled with the many insects that clung to him, he wandered out of the city and found the old road, which he followed towards the setting sun.

With the Stargazers dead there lived no-one who remembered the ancient ceremonies that kept the Plaguestar in its slumber. This was the first manifestation of the awakening, there would be more.

He was accustomed to isolation and thought not, whilst he walked, that he might benefit from company along the way. When, at length, he encountered some travellers at the road side he seemed not to perceive them, walking by with his eyes fixed on the horizon.

Those he passed often thought him afflicted, yet his step was purposeful and he asked not for aid. His appearance marked him to those who obeyed superstition as an oracle, and they likewise let him pass untroubled.

He had lived his life as a certainty. No delay of consideration affected his thoughts nor his actions. There was only one way, that which must be done now. As such his first learning was thus: The oracle knows not the future, he simply does not question it.

Some time later, he would find himself in a dark chamber filled with idols of a foreign power, images that declared that the dead would rise to inherit the earth. Gazing into the mirror he viewed the shadow portal in reflection and saw that what had appeared as a mass of writhing darkness now presented as a great golden gateway, proud in all its ancient splendour.

Beyond the gate lay a road, beckoning, winding.
Beyond the road lay a hall, quiet and still.
In the hall, a throne, about which sat souls of dead men,
Silently singing, or vacantly staring.
On the throne sat a prince,
And none raised their head above his.
On his head he wore horns,
And his boots were but hooves.
His girth was as a tall tree is around,
And yet here nothing lived,
But the darkness itself.

Before the lord and lady of Fallcrest, as well as his adventuring companions, the Warlock Sabbat Fau spoke in a low, droning mumble, in a voice coloured with the accent of a far and foreign culture, “They wait beyond the world that is our own, they see us not by our faces but by our souls. We are holes in space and time, flaws, as dirt is to linen, and nothing more. They would remake the world to be perfect, as once it was without us.”

DM's note: I had been working on adding some more detail to the various stages of the adventure path, and having read some of the later modules I had an idea of where things were going. As such, letting Sabbat Fau meet the gaze of Orcus seemed like a perfect thing to do...

Next time: Onwards to the Road of Lanterns!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Apr 20, 2009)

*The Road of Lanterns, Part 1*

When supper was over the guests, Lord and Lady Markelhay, and their niece Marianna, repaired to the lounge. The patriach stood before the gathering and addressed them with an air of gravity.

“When you are sufficiently rested, I would propose an assignment, if you are willing. I would have you venture to Thunderspire Mountain, where lairs the Bloodreaver Clan, a group of hobgoblin slavers and mercenaries who have made their foul presence known to the good folk of these parts. They have taken many of my people as slaves, to sell them in the markets of the undercity. It is possible that your brother is among those they have seized.” He ended the statement looking at Cass, who had stationed herself near one of the windows that looked out on the hill above the town of Fallcrest. Cass looked up from the view and stared the Lord right in the eye.

“If this is true then I for one will undertake this assignment,” she spoke steadily.

“I would of course reward you financially for your labours,” said the Lord, looking around at the others.

Elwanen stirred in his armchair, “Would you require proof of our having completed the task, heads on spikes along the roadside, that sort of thing?”

“It’s better than him bringing them back in a bag,” added Aran, cheerfully.

“Lord Paraig did mention something about that in his letter.” answered the Lord warily. “Let me be clear that I require _no proof whatsoever_ that the slavers are dead, simply that the slaves themselves have been freed. I would also be delighted if you would accept amongst your worthy company the assistance of my niece.”

Marianna looked up from her wine glass. “My uncle has been trying to get me out of the house for so long now, he rather thinks it apt that should embark upon an ‘adventure’. If you will have me I should be glad to honour his wishes, and give him the peace he so deserves.” Mariana spoke without irony but with a reserve that suggested she may not entirely concur with her uncle.

“You will be most welcome to accompany us, but I suggest you leave the dress here,” said the Drow known as Waylander. “Have you skill with that blade you carry?”

“I have picked up a few tricks here and there,” began Marianna, “and don’t worry, I will dress suitably for the task ahead.”

“Tell me about this place, Thunderspire Mountain,” ventured Cass.

“Home to the Mages of Saruun, Thunderspire Mountain is named for the storms that beset its peak,” said the Lord. “It sits over an ancient minotaur city, Saruun Khel, but it is in the Seven Pillared Hall that those who live above and below meet, and trade…”

DM's note: Lord Markelhay had heard about Elwanen's habit of bringing back a bag of heads to prove that he's been working from a letter from Lord Parrig in Winterhaven. Letters travel faster than adventurers.

Next time: Into the Mountain!


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## Aran Thule (Apr 21, 2009)

This is Aran's Tavern Tale (Tale 4) which he told upon arriving at Fallcrest 

The Blueflame Orb was packed to the rafters and the owner Par Breenan was rushed off his feet trying to serve the buoyant crowd. He did not mind as it was indeed a joyous occasion, for working at his side wearing an apron instead of her armour was his daughter Cass, returned home safe after heading north in search of her brother.

The search had been a failure with noone having heard or seen anything of Jon Breenan, but the trip had not been uneventful, at that moment in pride of place over the bar was a huge great axe which if the stories were to be believed could burst into flame at the thought of its wielder.
The storyteller in question was another welcome returnee, Aran Thule had headed off with Cass and had promised to look after her, they had also been commissioned by Parle Cranewing to map out an abandoned keep near the town of Winterhaven. But the adventure the ranger described seemed more then just a simple mapping expedition.

Gathered closest to him were many halflings of varied ages who wanted to hear the stories of the young white haired ranger, many from the Halfmoon Trading House who were glad to hear that the trade routes between the two towns should now be a lot safer. Further back were other patrons, taking advantage of their height but no less attentive, they listened often with disbelief at the tale of how doom had almost descended upon them.

The drinks had flowed as Aran spoke of the journey up and the attempted ambushes that had taken place, of the rescue of Douven Staul and the battles of kobold creek. Of the first venture into the ruins of the keep and the rescue of Splug, of the sad death of Rangrim and most recently of the treachery of Ninaran as she defiled the towns graveyard. Now they waited as Aran described the final venture into the depths of Shadowfell Keep…

“We were worried that we might be too late… what with the having to return to Winterhaven and back, we knew that time was of the essence and that Kalerel’s ritual was nearing completion but we didn’t know what we would face so we advanced cautiously. I took the lead and it all seemed quiet, like the calm before the storm, we reached the area we had fought the hobgoblins and pressed on until we found a set of doors behind which I could make out voices.
Now surprise is always short lived so I wanted to make the most of it, so quietly we hatched a plan while I made sure the door was unlocked but the surprise was on us as Elwanen smashed open the door and charged into the room. He didn’t get far, a nasty hobgoblin in fancy robes pointed a staff at him and the energy from it knocked him flying, Cass charged up as well and another war caster shot her with his staff and knocked her down as well. Now noone does that to a friend of mine but I couldn’t get to them, there were several guards, a huge cauldron of boiling soup and a few archers between us, Fangorn charged into the front rank of guards and I sped between the guards, I remembered the fish oil coffin trap… I didn’t want them pouring hot soup over me so before they could react I jumped up and gave the top of the pot a good kick and knocked it the other way so it poured over the archers.”

Cheers erupted from the crowd and even Sergeant Thurmina of the watch (she along with two other members of her guard unit had decided to go off duty to hear first hand of the events up north) chuckled at the description.
“I used the cauldron for cover as the hobgobs closed in, I tell you they are nasty, trained to work together, once they form a shield wall it’s a nightmare to take them down. But what can you do, if you get held up at the wall the archers and casters have free reign to unleash arrows and burning death upon you, the boss hadn’t even bothered to get involved yet, he was just laughing and calling us names.
Fangorn managed to force his way past the guards and charged the casters and I followed suit, both of us saw them as a major threat that needed to be taken down but leaving a foe behind you is risky and we both took hits from the guards as we passed them. We reached the warmages and attacked, I sliced and diced with Fang and Talon but couldn’t get a killing blow, neither could Fangorn as the defensive magics deflected his attacks… and then they hit back, one shot Fangorn with a force ray and pushed him into a blazing fire pit, now being a tree that wasn’t good, he screamed and collapsed, the other warmage muttered a word and his staff came alive with power, he smashed it down on my head and then everything went black… we had tried to take down the enemy and failed and now were down and unconscious  with a wall of guards between us and our friends.”

The crowd hushed and the younger listeners looked distressed, one of the guards muttered under his breath ”I never saw no tree enter town…” 
Aran milked the tension before continuing “I opened my eyes to see an armoured figure kneeling over me, thankfully it was Elwanen, he had teleported past the guards and healed me with his faith, but before I could rise the warchief attacked and struck the eladrin to the ground. Things looked bad, Des shouted across the room for Fangorn to fight on and not give in. The brave burning tree charged out of the flames and smacked one of the mages so hard he left a dent in the wall behind him, and proceeded to lay into the other one. Before this mage had a chance to react Sabbat appeared and with a wave of magic caused the smoke from the fire to reach out and drag the warmage into the flames where he was immolated. I got up had joined in the fight against the war chief and the remaining guards while Fangorn got his breath back and poured a potion down Elwanen’s throat. The battle had turned and we killed the chief and got the last guard to surrender.
With the ritual close to completion we did not have time to rest so we headed deeper into the ruins, it started to smell bad, of death and blood and other bad stuff. We entered a huge chamber with streams of blood snaking across the floor towards a central pit, we could hear chanting below but in front of us was the priest we had met earlier, but instead of zombies this time he had brawny wild eyed humans with big axes protecting him.
I moved to the side hoping to flank them but as I passed a side passage a creature jumped out at me, it had pale skin and glowing eyes and big, large, sharp pointy teethies, from his clothing it looked like he had been a farmer but was now a nasty kind of vampire spawn.
Thankfully he wasn’t that tough, as he lunged for my neck I reacted and thrust Talon straight through its chest and the light in its eyes went out. I was then I noticed the movement in the shadows, there was a lot more of these things in the room. This time we worked as a unit, using our skills to best effect, Ryam had a flag which he waved to inspire us and it seemed to work, we were better coordinated and took down our enemies, knocking some into the pit and flanking the stupid berserkers, even Splug helped, taking down some of the vampire spawn. The battle ended quickly, even the attacks of a sneaky shadow creature couldn’t stop us, we took down the berserkers and then the priest and then took a second to catch our breath, the only way out was down the blood coated pit, and because we had knocked someone down there they would know we were coming.”

The whole tavern seemed to lean forward in anticipation of the final battle, Aran drained the flagon he held and started on the finishing chapter.
“We climbed down the chains and ended up in a pool of blood, Ryam placed his standard and we looked around. The chamber was lit with foul lights and fire pots, statues of the god of undead stood around the room and stairs on either end of the room led up to an alter on one side and a pit on the other.
Covering a large part of one of the walls was a stone arch and in this arch was blackness, evil oily blankness that glistened and rippled as if there was something just under the surface, in front of it was a magic circle… we had found the portal to the Shadowfell.
We saw Kalarel then, he was a big scary human in black robes and armour carrying a sinister rod that glowed with dark power, next to him was an undead hound and blocking the stairs were a row of skeletons, more skeletons were scattered around the room and on the opposite side from Kalarel stood an ominous dark figure that I recognised as one of these nasty corpses that lob bits of their flesh at you, next to that were two wights.
So there we were, surrounded on all sides by undead and bad magic with the portal looking close to opening.
A wave of magic flew over my head and slammed into the flesh lobber, knocking it back into the pit, Ryam and I charged the wights while Cass attacked the skeletons on our flank, Theron and Elwanen made some skeletons go boom before the paladin and Fangorn attacked their ranks trying to get to Kalarel.
It was a great battle, magic flew, bones were shattered and undead were smited, I tag teamed the wights with Ryam and slowly we weakened and destroyed them, Team Halfling for the win!” A cheer went up from massed horde of halflings that were listening to the story.
“Unfortunately Kalarel had a few tricks up his sleeve, Cass had taken down the skeletons and now charged the evil cleric, preparing to chop him in half with her big flaming axe… the coward teleported away from her and appeared in the circle by the portal and a swarm of tentacles erupted from the darkness lashing out at any of us that came near.
We closed in, I pulled out my fish and challenged the nasty man, then ran in and hit him hard with Talon and Fang, Ryam was right behind me and he sliced in with his big sword and nearly chopped Kalarel’s leg off. Noone could survive a wound like that, Kalarel fell backwards out of the circle and the tentacles grabbed him and pulled him through into the Shadowfell.
There was a moments silence as we all stopped and looked at the portal… but it didn’t close, the darkness erupted again and this time the tentacles grabbed Fangorn and started to pull him towards the portal.
Now Fangorn was strong and Cass and Ryam grabbed him and were holding him back but I noticed something else, the tentacle was draining the life from him and using him to drain power from the heartstone, we had to stop it.
I ran up and sliced through a tentacle but as soon as I did more reached out and grabbed him, it was a losing battle, I think something passed between Fangorn and Elwanen as they came to the conclusion that the only way to stop this was for Fangorn to die outside the portal and for his body to be saved.
Theron was using his magic to try to close the portal and it all seemed to happen at once, Elwanen ran his sword through Fangorn’s heart and Theron finished his chant… the portal shut leaving just a normal stonewall.
We had won; Winterhaven was saved but at what cost… all the people that had been sacrificed to try to open the portal, Rangrim the paladin of Moradin and now Fangorn… To fallen friends and the fight against evil!” Aran raised his flagon and toasted his former companions, everyone in the tavern followed suit and there was a moments silence for the fallen.
“Then something strange happened... Fangorn’s body split open and inside we found the body of a dark skinned elf, stranger too was the fact he was alive. We didn’t know what to do but thought it best to take him back to see Valthrun. Kalarel had vanished through the portal but we found a few other interesting things, I got this crystal and dagger see.” Aran pulled out a dagger and span it in the air, he caught it and then the crowd gasped as the blade glowed and changed appearance to look like lightning, while they were reeling from that he pulled out a long dangerous looking piece of crystal that almost looked like a sword, but it was the fact to glowed a bright greenish blue that caused the looks of awe and wonder.
Aran grinned and put the weapons away and reached for the next drink.
“We made our way back, carrying the unconscious drow until we arrived at Winterhaven were we were given a lords welcome, I don’t remember much of that night but it was fun. Anyway that’s almost where my tale ends, we headed back here but one day while leading I heard a noise and then saw a human running around a bend in the road screaming that he was being chased by kobolds. Well we have faced kobolds before, just not in this number, there must have been hundreds of them, a sea of little wannabe dragons chasing this one human, well we had to even the odds a bit.
Now Theron is good with the old magic, Cass is lethal with that axe and that drow is a killer with his crossbow, but who do you think took down the most?”

Aran grinned and jumped onto the bar and posed to the crowd, the tavern erupted in noise and the chants of ‘Aran! Aran!’ could even be heard in Hightown.

James/Floating_Disc (who plays Rangrim/Ryam) has also drawn a picture of Aran, which i think looks great


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## Mathew_Freeman (Apr 22, 2009)

*The Road of Lanterns, Part 2*

“Well, this looks like a fine one,” came a rude voice from beyond the partially open door through which a wedge of light divided the darkness of the tunnel, “We’ll get ten pieces of gold for you!”

“Funny that,” came the chirpy reply, “ Cos i’m worth twenty. I’ll buy myself if you let me go!”

Waylander and Aran crept through the shadows of the tunnel. With an exchange of signs they reached either side of the door and peeked through. Beyond lay several connecting rooms where a group of hobgoblin soldiers appeared to be taunting a Halfling, whose hands had been bound with rope.

Further down the tunnel the rest of the adventuring companions gathered to await the signal from the scouts. After three days on horseback, the party had reached Thunderspire Mountain. There they had ventured the length of the Road of Lanterns, several miles of subterraenean thoroughfare lined with hideous demonic statues bearing magically glowing lamps. It was said that there were seventy-seven statues, each a hundred feet apart. Ryam had attempted to count them to verify the story, but had lost count around halfway and decided it wasn’t really worth the trouble after all.

Now the main tunnel had splintered into many smaller passages, and some way along one of these the adventurers realised that they had made contact with some of the infamous Bloodreaver Clan.

Waylander readied to give the signal to attack. He had plenty of experience in combat, but this was a new crew. While you always had your scouts, and you always had your front and back lines, every crew operates differently. It was time to find out just what kind of operators he had fallen in with.

“Ready,” he whispered, raising his hand, poised to give the signal.

“His hands up. That’ll be the signal,” commented Elwanen from back down the passage. With that the paladin led the entire party surging forward, and piling in through the doorway.

Aran just made it in through the door in time to avoid being crushed under the melee avalanche that descended upon the unsuspecting Hobgoblins. The Drow scout however was not quite so accustomed to the headlong rush, and found himself barged out of the way repeatedly.

First Aran dived in. There was the sound of two swords being drawn, a rapid slicing, followed by a scream in goblinoid. Next charged Elwanen, sword and shield at the ready. From the room beyond there emerged a burst of radiant light, some shouting, and a series of blows, some with the resounding ring of sword upon shield, resulting in cries and screams. Next came Cass, hefting her greataxe. Charging through the door there could be heard a battle cry followed by hacks and cleaves, the sound of armour and shield being split. Next went Sabbat Fau, who strode through the doorway, raising his hand and muttering his curse.

“Youuu…” There was a flash of light and the crash of eldritch energy striking home. Ryam dived through next. With his broadsword readied he charged in, barking commands to his companions. Lastly, Marianna stepped up, giving Waylander a nonchalent shrug.

“Come on then,” she said, again without a trace of irony, “You’ll miss all the fun.”

The Drow grimaced slightly, and entered swiftly on her heels.

DM's note: Ah, the perils of rolling a 1 on your initiative check.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Apr 27, 2009)

*From Tiny Acorns, Part 1*

This story hour post is designed to fill in some of the “missing” information, including the dramatic arrival of Waylander into the party.

Deep within the Winterhaven Keep, in the Cathedral of Blood dedicated to the Demon Prince of the Undead, Orcus, the Death Cultist leader Kalarel cried out in pain as Riam’s scourge drew blood from his leg. The others were closing in – Aran’s blades gleaming in the light, radiant energy gathering around Elwanen as he ran forwards as Theron shaped another bolt of arcane energy. The strange wooden creature hefted a massive Warhammer, inscribed with runes, over it’s head and stepped closer. The battle was clearly lost, and Kalarel knew his dark master would be most displeased. Looking around, he could see that his undead allies were destroyed or scattered, the profane items dedicated to Orcus were overturned and ruined.

As the warrior-woman Cass moved in closer, swinging her axe, Kalarel whispered a last prayer in his mind and hoped for a swift end, swifter than those he’d granted his victims throughout his life. Abruptly the pain in his leg vanished, to be replaced by a searing agony throughout his limbs. Dark tentacles of energy had seized him, emanating from the ink-black portal behind the Cleric, and with a wrench Kalarel was pulled through the archway. His cries of shock and pain cut off the instant he passed through.

The companions that had battled down to this lowest level of the Winterhaven Keep looked at each other, hardly daring to believe that they had finally disposed of the foe that had plagued the area in the past months. There was a silence in the room, a glad noiselessness that spoke of hard work rewarded and goodness winning through.

“Now,” said Elwanen grimly. “Let’s see about getting this thing closed.”

Sabbat Fau, his long hair reaching to the floor in an unkempt mess, reached into the bloodstained robes he wore. Pulling out the Mirror recovered from the Dragon’s Tomb, he glanced down into it and went white in shock. Staggering back, he thrust the mirror towards Theron, the Wizard, and almost ran back to the chains that led back upwards and out of the complex. The Tiefling Des followed him, shouting back that he’d make sure he was all right. Theron examined the mirror to see what might have caused such a reaction, but could see nothing. However, when he looked at the portal’s reflection in the mirror, he suddenly realized he could see runes carved all around the edge of it.

“Wait a moment…” he said slowly. “I think I can do this. I can see runes on the archway. Give me a few minutes and I think I can reverse that ritual that he has been doing. It seems it’s much easier to close this portal than it is to open it.”

Elwanen, the only other person with experience in magical matters still in the room, concurred. “We were told the portal was locked closed a long while ago. Overcoming that closure would be like lifting a very heavy rock – if it’s not completed then it’s easy to slam it back down again and keep it there. Go ahead, Theron, I’ll assist if I can.” Theron nodded and began to chant arcane words of power, hesitantly at first but gaining in confidence.

With an eruption of necrotic energy and violent noise, a forest of tentacles emerged from the archway and stretched out towards the group. Yelling, Aran and Riam ducked underneath them, weapons back in hand. Cass swung hard with her axe, the magic that powered it bursting into flame. As they were stood further back, Theron and Elwanen avoided the attack, but Fangorn, stood right in front of the centre of the archway, was slow to react and instantly caught up. Pulsing, the tentacles began to drag him forwards, into the same oblivion that had earlier captured Kalarel.

Planting his feet and straining with all of his strength to hold off, Fangorn cried out in terror as a bitter cold began to spread through his body, draining his very essence from him.

DM's note: Joe, playing Sabbat Fau, is our usual scribe for this Story Hour - he sends the stories to me and I edit and repost them here. Unfortunately he missed a session, and so I've done my best to relate the story of what happened. I hope you like it, and I hope my players forgive me if I get anything wrong!


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## La Bete (Apr 27, 2009)

*From Tiny Acorns, Part 1 - the view from the trenches*

With a horrific shriek, Kalarel was wrenched back through the portal by the hentai-tentacle demon, his screams presaging the eternity of torment his foul Master would subject him to. Only the desperate or insane ally themselves with Orcus, and only the foolish fail him.

"Righto" said Des. "Time to clean up and we're out of here. Nice backswing Cass - it's almost like you'd practised that!"

"Sounds good to me" agreed Fangorn - however the post-combat chit-chat was interrupted by a unearthly groan from Sabbat Fau - he had the mirror in one hand and had collapsed to one knee, pale (well, paler) and muttering to himself.

"Master - what ails you?" cried Splug in despair.

"The mirror, the mirror....." whispered Sabbat Fau "I have seen.... terrible things."

"No, master! Stay with Splug! You complete me!" sobbed the goblin, clutching Sabbat Fau's legs.

_He has seen his doom, thought Elewanen. His trafficking with Outside will, eventually, result in the forfeiture of his sanity and his soul. Hmmm. I had best put my beers on his tab for a while._

Peering over Sabbat Fau's shoulder, Theron looked in the mirror - he could see nothing unusual, but peering at it closer runes, glowing with an unearthly light, were clearly visible around the edge of the portal - but were only visible by means of the mirror. "This must be the way of sealing the portal" shouted Theron "But these runes, I'm not familiar with them... I'm not sure..." he trailed off, brow furrowed in concentration.

_Sigh, thought Elewanen. Humans. Such an inventive race, but really, when it comes to arcane mysteries, they really are better off sticking to what they are good at - such as brewing and prostitution - and leave the arcane arts to their betters._

Peering at the mirror, Elewanen and Theron worked on decoding the runes - Elewanen showing the benefits of an Eladrin education whenever Theron's simple mortal skill faltered. "Almost there... almost there.." said Theron "just one more minute..."

"Then lets get ready to get out of here - that roof isn't looking too stable.." fretted Aran noting the increasing about of shaking of the room, and the dust and earth beginning to shower the party.

"Has anyone checked for..." Fangorn was cut short as he gaped at the tentacles that had speared him through the chest - a veritable forest of tentacles had emerged from the portal - as if daring any of the heroes to interfere. Despite all his primal strength, Fangorn could feel himself being dragged closer to the portal.....

Our noble GM is far too objective about what went down. A proper recounting requires a more... personal touch.

As requested by Matt - the original cat scratchings notes:
[sblock]

Note - untranslatable sections are marked with a <> - sometimes with my best guess as to the contents. Sections edited due to inappropriate content are marked with [].

<Mach Stranling?>
Tentacoo-wape monster drags kal through portal
kal has bad day
Sabbat Fau looked in mirror and went white
(er)
<untranslatable>
Theron and me (insert supreriority) saw runes you can only see in mirror
these shutdown portal
Tentacoo-wape monster back
Fangorn [subjected to unwanted sexual advances of the bottom variety] by monster

[/sblock]


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## Mathew_Freeman (Apr 29, 2009)

*From Tiny Acorns, Part 2*

The rest of the group moved with speed born of desperation. Cass and Riam helped to brace Fangorn in place, slowly his advance towards the portal, whilst Aran leapt up and sliced through a couple of the tentacles. In response, yet more tendrils burst from the black surface of the arch, lashing out and fastening on to the Treeforged. With a lurch, he was pulled forwards another step.

Elwanen drew his sword and moved forwards to assist, calling back to Theron “Chant faster!” Nodding, Theron picked up the pace of his incantation, gesturing with small, precise movements.

Fangorn could feel the chill spreading through his limbs. As the noise of the others started to recede, he could feel the flow of sap through his veins start to slow. Distantly, he became aware of the Heartstone – the magical artifact that had first sparked him into life. He knew now that a permanent connection had been forged between this fount of life and himself – a connection that the tendrils were seeking to capture and convert for their own use, to feed and grow more powerful.

Forcing his head to turn, he saw Elwanen closing in, ready to swing at the tentacles holding him. With an effort of will, Fangorn spoke one final time.

“The Heartstone – linked – don’t let them –“ Another step towards the portal, another tick off the clock of his life.

Elwanen paused only for a second. Looking into the eyes of his friend, he gripped his sword, Aecris, in both hands and swung in a smooth arc. The magical blade cut cleanly through the neck of Fangorn, and as his head separated from his body the connection, too, was severed. Fangorn’s body collapsed to the ground as the tendrils retracted instantly into the portal, their purpose defeated. The Thunderhammer sparked as it struck rock, falling and lying inert on the floor.

With a cry of triumph, Theron completed his spell and pointed at the archway. A single bolt of lightning sprang from his finger and crashed into the keystone. In a crackling mass of energy, the blackness within the archway slowly faded away, leaving only bare stone behind it. Panting from the exertion, the Wizard put his hands on his knees and leant forwards.

Cass stared down at the body of the creature she had only come recently to know. “What happened?” she said disbelievingly. “We could have kept him out if you’d let us.” Accusingly, she looked up at the Paladin, who now seemed more Fey than ever before, and she was struck by how different his very nature was from hers.

“I had to do it,” replied Elwanen, looking at her but speaking to all of them. “He told me that he could feel, well, whatever that was, that it was trying to reach the Heartstone through the link that he and it shared. If it had succeeded, that creature would have had access to a magical power of life and it could have sucked it dry. Think about how much power that represents. I had to sever the connection, and this was the only way to do it. I am sorry, Cass, but I had no choice.”

The normally cheery Aran saluted the fallen warrior with a sword, his face now unsmiling. “You fought a good fight, Fangorn,” he said. “We’ll remember you – and when I tell my stories your name, and your sacrifice, will be known and heard all through the world.”

As if in answer, the body of Fangorn quivered slightly, and then appeared to split open slightly. Jumping back and moving his shield to defend himself, Riam said “By Bane’s mailed fist! What the hell is this?”

Elwanen leant forwards carefully, keeping his sword in place. Peering inside the cracked shell of his former companion, he let out a cry of surprise. “There’s some sort of person in here!”

DM's note: Fangorn's player had requested to change over to a new character, and this was the idea I came up with for him. It fitted nicely into the campaign, it made sense, and it gave him a dramatic send-off, too.

Next time: Who is this mysterious stranger? Regular readers will probably have already worked it out...


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## Mathew_Freeman (May 1, 2009)

*From Tiny Acorns, Part 3*

“What do you mean, some sort of person?” gasped Theron, pushing forwards. Inside the ruined form of Fangorn there appeared to be some sort of cavity or space, occupied by a near-lifeless figure. The slight rise and fall of it’s chest was the only sign of life. Dark-skinned, it appeared almost skeletal in it’s appearance, but the long, pointed ears on it’s head gave it’s heritage away instantly.

“A Drow!” said Elwanen. “We shall have to be careful. Although I can’t say I’m too fussed as to whether a Drow lives or dies, we might as well wake him up and see if he knows anything useful.”

“Elwanen!” responded Cass. “Honestly, you can be so hard-hearted. Of course we’ve got to wake him up – there is obviously something weird going on here and we should try and find out what it is.”

Aran’s voice was added to the chours, as the Halfling added his enthusiasm to getting this figure healed and sorted out. Riam and Theron glanced at each other and agreed.

In short order, the body of Fangorn was lifted by Cass and Elwanen, and the long journey back through the various areas of the Keep began. Passing through the rooms that they had battled through the first time, holding the body of their old friend in their arms, the party moved as quickly as they could back to the surface. Each of them could feel that the aura of the Keep had changed and lightened with the departure of the Orcus worshippers, and Aran resolved that once this urgent situation had passed he would return and speak to Sir Cregan about all that had happened. The young Rogue had an excellent idea for the use of the some of the crystal shards he had collected from the glowing pillars in the deep of the Keep.

An hour or so later, Valthrun the Prescient was awoken from his afternoon nap by a thunderous banging on the door of his tower. Opening the fifth floor window to cuss at the person causing such a commotion, he was astonished to see the group, who had met up with Fau and Des on the way, carrying the body of Fangorn and standing staring up at him.

“Open the bloody door!” shouted Elwanen. “Now!”

Hurrying down the stairs, Valthrun unlocked the door and ushered everyone in. Although moving Fangorn’s body up the winding staircase was difficult, within a few minutes he had been laid down in the soft earth of the indoor garden on the third floor, the Heartstone held overhead in it’s jeweled setting. With some effort, the inert Drow was gently removed from the cavity in which he had lain, and placed on the ground.

“He already looks healthier,” noticed Riam. “He almost seems to be filling out as I watch.”

“How long has he been inside Fangorn?” wondered Theron. Turning to Valthrun, he said “When did you first encounter him? You said it was many years ago.”

“This is true. Fangorn was someone I met a long while ago, but I had no idea he was hiding such a secret. I am as astonished as you are!” replied the Sage. “He seems to be holding up well – shall we see if we can wake him?”

With his usual speed, Aran knelt down and carefully shook the figure that lay on the floor. “Hello? Can you hear me? Wake up!”

Slowly opening his eyes, the Drow saw several faces looking down at him. His voice croaky, he stared at each in turn and said “An old human male. An Eladrin male, a Paladin maybe, but of Pelor? Curious. Two Halflings, one with an eyepatch, both male. A human female. Another male, I think, although with all that hair it’s hard to tell. And, finally, a last human male but with blue skin and the air of a Wizard about him. Very, very strange. Where am I?”

Next time - introductions and further mysteries!


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## Mathew_Freeman (May 5, 2009)

*From Tiny Acorns, Part 4*

Aran, always quick off the mark, got his reply in first.

“My name is Aran Thule, Halfling, ranger, wanderer, adventurer and tale-teller! Let me introduce you to my friends!” As he named each person he gestured towards them enthusiastically. “That there is Elwanen. He’s a Paladin of Pelor, like you said, well spotted, and he’s got a great way with teleporting into combat and laying the smackdown, I like him. Next to him is Valthrun, he’s a Sage, very clever.” Valthrun continued to peer at the Drow quizzically, as if trying to work out a particularly difficult jigsaw puzzle. Elwanen’s hand had strayed to his sword hilt since the newcomer was revealed.

“Now then,” added Aran expansively. “That’s Theron with the blue skin, he’s a Wizard and he makes things go bang. Or occasionally makes people go to sleep. Sabbat Fau is the one with all the hair, if he ever points at you and says ‘Youuuuuuuuu…’ then you’ve done something to upset him, that’s Des, he talks a lot, that’s Cass, she’s very handy with an axe and is looking for her brother and that’s Riam who is another Halfling and very good at helping us to get better organized when we’re fighting bad guys.” The various members of the party nodded as they were pointed out, apart from Sabbat Fau who stood, apparently lost in some sort of reverie.

“So,” continued the irrepressible Halfling. “Who are you and what are you doing inside the trunk of our friend Fangorn?”

“My name is Waylander,” replied the Drow, weakly. “But beyond that, I remember little. There was a Wizard, I think, and I was trying to take something from him? Then he cast some sort of spell and everything went dark and I felt very sleepy for a very long time, and then there was light and all of you. But I can’t remember much more than my name. Waylander. Have any of you heard of me? Might I be famous?” He looked around hopefully but no-one showed any recognition.

“I think I know, or knew, the Wizard that you refer to,” said Valthrun. “Myself and some companions fought him several years ago. He was using this artifact, the Heartstone, to create a magical garden inside a mountain. Some of the plants he grew were…interesting, to say the least. We rescued Fangorn, your, ah, predecessor from that garden. Perhaps I might venture a theory?”

Waylander nodded, still gathering his thoughts and his strength. A small part of his mind was suggesting to him that getting up, grabbing this valuable Heartstone and escaping out the window was a good source of income and an excellent idea, but wiser thoughts said that currently no-one was threatening him and that seemed somehow pleasant and a good thing.

Valthrun continued. “I surmise that when we rescued Fangorn from the garden, we were actually rescuing you. Perhaps that Wizard had used his magic to imprison you within the tree, and over time and with the influence of the Heartstone, the tree attained sentience and became Fangorn, all the while unaware of the living creature within him. And now, with Fangorn’s spirit gone, you have emerged once more to take up your place in the world.”

Waylander sat up slowly. “You said that this Fangorn was dead, is that right?” he asked, holding up one closed hand. “I ask, because I’ve just realized I am carrying this in my hand.” Opening his fist, he revealed a small dark brown seed. Valthrun smiled.

“It seems as though perhaps Fangorn is not entirely lost to us. I shall plant this seed and we shall find out what grows.”

“Well, since that matter seems to be resolved, I would ask the rest of you what you think we should do with this Drow, now he has appeared,” announced Elwanen. “I for one have no particular interest in him, unless,” and he paused for a second. “My friend, how are you with a blade?” Elwanen drew a well-made Eladrin dagger from his belt and tossed it to the Drow, who caught it neatly in one hand.

“That feels…familiar, somehow,” responded Waylander, holding it. He twisted and lunged suddenly, dropping into an attack stance, before relaxing and throwing the blade back to the Eladrin. “I believe I have some skill. I’m wondering, though, if anyone has a crossbow, preferably a small one, that I might borrow?”

Glances were exchanged around the room. It seemed that even though they had lost one friend, they might have gained a new companion just as useful to an adventuring party.


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## Mathew_Freeman (May 6, 2009)

*Reporting to Lord Parrag*

“Right then,” said Elwanen. “We’ve rescued a Drow, defeated the bad guy and killed his cronies. Now we come to the other really fun bit – the celebrating!”

“We should probably speak to Lord Parrag first,” noted Cass. “He’ll want to hear the full story.”

“And he promised to buy me a drink!” chirped Aran happily.

“That’s right,” added Elwanen. “Plus, I have a sack-full of heads he needs to see.” Spinning around, he headed out the door. “Who’s with me?”

Aran, Riam and Cass headed out with him, with Fau, Theron, Des and Waylander staying behind to talk more with Valthrun. The four adventurers made their way to the mansion house in Winterhaven, passing quickly past the guards and heading into the room where, once again, the Lord sat behind his desk with a mound of paper in front of him.

“My Lord Parrag!” bellowed Elwanen from the doorway, advancing on the desk as though storming a castle. “I bring proof that Kalarel is dead!” He upended a sack over the desk as Lord Parrag scrabbled to remove the more important items. Heads from various creatures spilled across the desk, including hobgoblins, humans, the strange dark creature and that of the Orcus Underpriest – still wearing his helmet. Trailing gore and dripping blood splashed down and the stench was overpowering.

“By the gods!” exclaimed the Lord. “You don’t do things by halves, do you? Well, I suppose there can be no doubt of your victory. I see that only four of you have made it here – did the others survive?” He looked from face to face, trying to read their expressions.

“Fangorn didn’t make it,” said Aran sadly. “He died. But it was a dramatic death! He…”

Speaking quickly, the Lord cut him off. “I’m sure you have a grand tale to tell, my Halfling friend, and I am sorry to hear of your loss. But I would let you all celebrate first, before you recount it in detail for me tomorrow. Agreed? You should rest and gather yourselves – take a moment to enjoy your victory. At that time, we can also make sure that you receive the just payment that was promised to you.”

Standing, he gamely ignored the slowly increasing smell from the various heads now adorning his room. One had fallen on the floor and rolled into the fireplace, where it’s now-glassy eyes surveyed the room with an expression of some surprise. “On behalf of all of Winterhaven, I must congratulate you on your success. When you arrived we were beset by kobolds and had a secret conspiracy going on under our very noses. Now, both of those are gone and we can start the process of rebuilding Winterhaven and making it a finer place to live.”

With large grins plastered across their faces, the companions met up together at Wrafton’s Inn and got, well, plastered.

The party was long, loud and raucous. Aran had the whole room on the edge of their seats, listening to his finely spun tale of glory and death in the rooms under the Keep. Des spoke eloquently of his friend’s battles, the lessons they had learned, and recounted the famous story of the “Rules of Warfare” which had all chuckling. Cass relived her youth by taking a turn behind the bar for an hour, serving drinks with great speed and announcing at one point, bottle in hand “I’m going back to fighting monsters! It’s easier than dealing with you lot!” to general amusement.

Sabbat Fau retired early, but Splug became the first Goblin to enjoy a peaceful evening in Winterhaven, drinking and talking to all about his amazing “Master”. He proved a popular talker, despite his poor grasp of the Common language, but with Riam doing his best to offer some translation and with the alcohol flowing he went along very well.

The following day, nursing some severe hangovers, the group made a full and clear report to Lord Parrag over several mugs of water and some fruit. The Lord listened intently to every detail, making sure that a scribe was able to get every fact down, particularly about Sir Cregan, the undead Knight, and about the portal. Theron asserted that the portal was firmly closed, and that without months of work it could not be reopened.

“I am concerned that news of this will get out and some other group will attempt to open this portal,” said Lord Parrag gravely. “What other guarantees can you give me that this will not happen?”

“I have been thinking of this, my Lord,” replied Elwanen. “I propose the following – I send back a tithe of my future earnings to you, and you use it to make sure that a guard is placed on the Keep against any and all creatures attempting to use it for evil purposes.”

“Splug will also guard the Keep!” announced the Goblin. “Splug likes being with Master, but Master is going away. Splug stay, do good work.”

“You are leaving my service?” asked Fau in Goblin. “So be it. You have served me well, and your deeds shall not be forgotten when the Plaguestar comes. One day I shall return for you, and we will walk once more in darkness. But on that day, perhaps I may be following you.”

“Master, learning at your feet has been a most illuminating experience,” replied the Goblin. “I shall miss the palpable sense of power that emanates from you, your mastery of death and the hideous torments you inflict. It has been a great pleasure, but I feel know my road lies elsewhere. I shall always remember what you taught me and keep it safe.”

Lord Parrag spoke again. “Splug, I accept your offer of assistance, and thank you for it. Elwanen, your funds will be most valuable. We shall do our part to make this small part of the world safe, and you shall go on and do yours. Go safely, and in peace.”

Next time: Returning to Linden Field, the site of the group's first ever adventure.


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## La Bete (May 8, 2009)

Lies, all lies. This perfidy will not stand....


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## Mathew_Freeman (May 8, 2009)

*Return to Linden Field*

After spending one final day in the town, the newly-crowned “Heroes of Winterhaven” left amidst scenes of some celebration, and sadness. Aran had spent the previous day journeying back and forth to the Keep and speaking to Sister Linora at the temple. He had been reasonably secretive, but after some pressure had stated that he had “a cunning plan” about fashioning a weapon out of the blue crystal shards that he had found. According to the Halfling, both Sir Cregan and Sister Linora had agreed to bless the shards in the names of their respective deities, and Aran was confident that once he had found someone who knew the correct ritual to create the item, he’d have a powerful new item to use against his enemies.

Elwanen finalized his tithing agreement to Lord Parrag, signing a document detailing the agreed uses of the money. The Lord seemed quite keen on the idea of extra funds, and the once word had gone out there were several sturdy young farmers lads (and farmers daughters, too) that had expressed an interest. It seemed as though the area was an untapped resource in terms of adventurers.

Waylander received a couple of gifts from the group. He had expressed an interest in the hand-crossbow (“A typical Drow weapon,” Elwanen had muttered) and Thair Coalstriker had managed to come up with one for him, along with an old set of leather armour that looked decent but had seen better days. Thusly armed and armoured, the recovering Drow had accepted the group’s offer to travel with them until such time as he made a choice about anything else he might want to do.

A few day’s travel saw the group returning to Linden Field, the site of their first adventure in the Shadowhaunt Mausoleum. Quinn Stasi, the local silversmith who had asked them for aid finding his sons, was overjoyed to see them. His face fell, however, when he heard the tale of the two bearers of the Kaius Thunderhammer that had been retrieved and given to the group. Both Rangrim, the Dwarven Paladin and Fangorn had perished whilst fighting with the hammer, and with a heavy heart Quinn accepted it back from the group.

“Maybe it’s just not supposed to be sent from the town?” he suggested. “We shall keep it here until such time as my children are fit to use it, then.”

After arranging somewhere to stay that night, the group settled in at the local tavern and Aran once more told his tale of victory in Winterhaven. A couple of the villages nodded in places as if they’d heard the tale before, and Cass was able to discover that the previous day a merchant had passed through and left some rumours in her wake, talking of the new Heroes of the land.

Aran had also spent some time talking with Quinn yesterday, continuing his strange little quest to get this magical weapon of his made. The silversmith had taken a package and retired back to his workshop, and the following day he handed over a slightly smaller package to the Halfling, and accepted a few coins in return. Theron, feeling as though there was surely something he was missing here, asked what was going on but Aran, tapping his nose mysteriously, said only that “light would be shed on the subject soon”.

The Heroes continued on their way to Fallcrest, walking easily on the road and enjoying swapping banter. At the front of the group, acting as scout in turns with Aran, Waylander strode and kept a sharp eye out for anything approaching. Just before lunchtime, he suddenly froze and then turned.

“There is a figure approaching. A human. Running. He seems upset, and there is a cloud of dust behind that suggests something is chasing him. Either it is very large, or there are a lot of them.”

About a minute later, a young human dressed in leather around rounded the corner ahead of the group. Seeing them, he yelled out “Kobolds! Help!”

“Kobolds?” grinned Elwanen. “I think we can handle a few Kobolds.”

A short distance away, nearly thirty Kobolds drew weapons and charged.

Next time: Kobolds! Kobolds! Kobolds!


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## Khynal (May 8, 2009)

Note to self: do not get killed by tentacles when Elwanen is around.


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## Mathew_Freeman (May 11, 2009)

*Kobolds! Kobolds! Kobolds!*

The party scattered and engaged the kobolds, meeting them head on. Whilst the reptilian creatures had the clear advantage in numbers, it quickly became apparent that they were incredibly outmatched in skill and toughness. Several died almost immediately, either skewered on blades, blasted with bolts of magical energy or shot with crossbow bolts.

Waylander had ducked off the road into some bushes, using the cover to make devastatingly accurate shots. Aran fought two-weaponed, slicing and dicing his way through the crowd. Next to him, Elwanen and Cass stood side-by-side, blades glinting in the sun.

One kobold, seemingly a little tougher than the others, was fighting with two weapons of his own. As Aran ducked under a swing of his blades and struck back, the kobold grabbed slyly ducked behind a comrade and watched as Aran gutted him instead, laughing. Aran spluttered with annoyance and swung again, locking blades together and shoving his foe back.

Another kobold stepped out of the incoming crowd. Remarkably, he appeared to be almost covered in rats swarming over his body. He looked up at Riam and pointed, shouting something in Draconic, and the rats poured off him and swarmed over the young Halfling. Yelping, Riam did his best to fight them off as they clawed and bit at him. Still, with his scourge slapping them off him, he was able to avoid the worst of the attack.

A couple of brave kobolds ran around the main battle, taking a long way round to engage Theron hand-to-hand. The first two were blown backwards of their feet by his counterattack, a Thunderwave, but the third leapt over the blast and struck the Wizard. Cursing, Theron moved back and continued to launch spells, but with a stunning display of kobold agility the foe dodged every time. “Ah, a little help here?” commented Theron as the rusty blade of his enemy sliced him in one side.

Despite these individual successes, the group, aided in part by the human that had joined them, quickly turned the tide. The second the two-weaponed kobold dropped his guard, Aran was able to run him through and drop him, and Cass and Elwanen soon cleared the foes surrounding them with a mixture of cleaving strikes and wide sweeps of his sword. Riam shook off the rats and launched back at his foe, dropping him with a charging attack, whilst Waylander continued to wreak havoc, summoning a globe of magical darkness to hide in and taking his shots from within.

The last kobold left alive was the one desperately battling Theron. The Wizard kept moving back and firing more spells at his foe, and with increasing desperation he watched as the small, scaled opponent dodged around them all. With the rest of the party watching with some amusement, having cleared the area, finally Cass stepped in and apologetically decapitated the small creature.

“Having some trouble, Theron?” asked Aran wryly.

“It just! Wouldn’t! Die!” shouted Theron in return, his face a mask of panic. “I tried everything! Magic Missile! Thunderwave! If it had gone on any longer I would have had to use Flaming Sphere! I hope that never happens again.”

Patting him on the back in a comradely fashion, the young human they had rescued introduced himself and apologised. “My name is Javier Sanchez. I’m so sorry that had to happen to you. I’ve been chased by those creatures for the last hour or so, and when I saw you I just headed over and hoped you could help. Thank you so much. Where are you headed?”

“We are on our way to Fallcrest to pick up some debts and tell some grand tales,” replied Aran. “And yourself?”

Javier responded “Ah, you see I’m on my way up to Winterhaven. I hear there is some adventure to have around that place, and beyond! Although hopefully slightly less perilous than facing thirty kobolds by myself.”

“Well, give our regards to Lord Parrag,” replied Elwanen. “He is a friend of ours.”

“I think I will!” laughed Javier. “Truly, it was great fortune of mine to have met you all!”

After he had shaken hands with everyone, thanked them again and headed on up the path, Theron commented “What a nice guy.”

An hour later he realized that Javier had stolen 200gp out of his money pouch.

DM's note: Seriously, Khynal (playing Theron) threw about five attacks at that little level one kobold minion and failed with all of them. It was hilarious as it nagged away at his hit points. There was talk at the table of simply leaving him to it...

Next time: The return to Fallcrest!


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## Aran Thule (May 12, 2009)

The only reason someone saved him was that in this attack all the minions were represented with mini dime bars.
Hence everyone using there area effect dailies against the swarm rather then the tougher kobolds, Aran got to test his new lightning dagger which proved great for harvesting chocy goodness


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## Mathew_Freeman (May 13, 2009)

*Entering Fallcrest*

Fallcrest is a large town in the centre of the Nentir Vale, split into two levels. The Upper Side stands north of the Nentir Falls , the dramatic waterfall on the river that is the only hindrance to trade. A thriving community of dockers were always available to transfer trade from the Upper docks down to the Lower – and if you paid the right premium, none of it would be ‘lost’ on the way, either…

For Cass, it was like coming home. The familiar shape of the Moonstone Keep, dominant over the town from the position of height at the north end, was as reassuring as the grip of her axe in her hand. Although she had not succeeded in finding her brother Jon, she had adventured into the world, faced it’s dangers, and returned. She felt proud and accomplished.

Aran Thule , Halfling tale-teller, also enjoyed returning to Fallcrest. He knew that there were several good Inns in the town, not least of which was the Blueflame Orb, owned by Cass’ father Par Breenan. Strolling along the road towards the bridge over the Nentir River , he laughed to himself, still enjoying how Theron had grown increasingly desperate against the Kobold That Wouldn’t Die. Having his money pouch stolen afterwards had just added insult to injury, and Theron (whilst taking the incident with good grace) had been bemoaning his luck and refusing all offers of financial aid.

Waylander kept his eyes open, searching all the while for anything he might recognize. During the days of travel he had been trying to remember anything that might be of use to him, any fragment of his past. The only detail that had sparked any memory at all was when he had realized that he had a tattoo on one arm, of a part-risen sun. This had stirred some thought deep in his mind, and a name had floated to the top of his consciousness – the Horizon Syndicate. None of the rest of the group recognized the name, but both Cass and Riam had suggested the Lucky Gnome taproom as a place he might start looking.

Riding on his pony, Riam felt slightly self-conscious. His previous years as a mercenary, serving in the Underdark, had meant that this was the first time he was approaching a human settlement in peace. His military instincts were twitching, and he found himself wondering idly at some moments when his scouts would report in with details of the town’s weaknesses. Sighing, he once more checked his equipment and prepared to talk to humans.

Amongst other sights on the low skyline of Fallcrest, one stood out. Glittering green in the light, the Septarch’s Tower, seven sided and built of green stone, was a unique construction. Both Theron and Sabbat Fau were drawn to it, as during their previous visit they had not found the time to speak to it’s occupant. However, both also knew that before they satisfied their curiosity they needed to speak to Douven Staul, whom they had rescued from the clutches of Agrid. Douven had swiftly returned to Fallcrest after his rescue, and had said to them they were invited to his house when they arrived.

Over the next couple of days, the group spent some downtime in Fallcrest. Elwanen made a report to the Church authorities and informed them of his decision to help fund a permanent watch on the Portal in the Winterhaven Keep. Cass spent some time with her father, and Aran spread tales of his friends good deeds across the town.

Theron and Fau enjoyed their meal with Douven Staul and his wife, and Theron finally managed to get inside the Septarch’s Tower. However, his encounter with Nimorazan the Green, the Wizard of Fallcrest, was less than encouraging. Nimozaran demanded a 2000gp sum to join the Wizards Guild in Fallcrest, and despite Theron’s attempts at negotiation he refused to budge. Dejected and rejected, Theron returned to his room at the Blueflame Orb and pondered his options, vowing one day to return and shove the contempt he had been shown down the Wizard’s throat.

Waylander, accompanied by Riam, met another Drow in the Lucky Gnome taproom. This Drow revealed himself to be another member of the Horizon Syndicate, a Drow organization that traded with the surface world races. He provided Waylander with some better quality weapons and armour, and asked him to take a small package to someone in the Seven Pillared Hall in Thunderspire Mountain . Accepting, Waylander couldn’t help but have the feeling that he had entered into a deal he didn’t quite understand.

On the morning of the second day, each member of the party received an invitation to Moonstone Keep, at the behest of Lord and Lady Markelhay. It appeared that Lord Parrag of Winterhaven had sent word that of the heroes, and now the rulers of this city wished to speak to them. All agreed, and wondered what sort of people would rule such a place.

DM's note: This brings things back up to date (although la_bete says he'll be correctly the "lies" I've been telling in these updates. crater will be posting details of our last session soon, and we're back on track, kind of.

At some point, when I get time, I might go back through the thread and arrange it so it makes chronological sense. If I can.


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## Khynal (May 14, 2009)

Mathew_Freeman said:


> DM's note: Seriously, Khynal (playing Theron) threw about five attacks at that little level one kobold minion and failed with all of them. It was hilarious as it nagged away at his hit points. There was talk at the table of simply leaving him to it...




The kobold is immortal. I'm sure by now that's it's reattached its head and is coming after us again.


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## Mathew_Freeman (May 14, 2009)

Khynal said:


> The kobold is immortal. I'm sure by now that's it's reattached its head and is coming after us again.




*writes this down*

What with Agrid the Gnome, Javier Sanchez and this Kobold, the Legion of Second-Rate Villains That Got Away The First Time will soon be invincible! Bwahahahah!


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## Mathew_Freeman (May 25, 2009)

*A Decision is Reached*

To recap...

Having agreed to head to Thunderspire Mountain and try and rescue the prisoners / slaves held therein, the party are following the path inside when they come across a party of Hobgoblins of the Bloodreaver tribe who appear to be trying to capture a young Halfling in order to sell him.

Falling upon these miscreants with their usual force, the Halfling is swiftly rescued. Now read on!

In the aftermath of the battle the adventurers were faced with a dilemma. A single hobgoblin slaver had survived and there now remained the question of what to do with him.

“I say we take him to the Seven Pillared Hall and sell him to a rival gang of slavers.” spoke the Drow, Waylander. “There will be a certain irony therein, would you not agree?.”

Theron stepped forward. “As a Good Person I must vote against promoting the slave trade.”

“And as a Good Person you would rather kill him?” replied Waylander.

“That, of course, would be perfectly acceptable.” agreed the wizard, to nods from others in the group.

“I do so admire human morality,” mused the Drow, “Its so… flexible.”

“Lets us not get into a debate on morality,” advised Elwanen, “For such discussions have as their reference points abstract concepts with no actual meaning in the real world in which we live, and they most often do not end well, if at all.”

A decision was made finally that all found more or less agreeable. The captive should be left tied up in the thoroughfare with a note attached which identified him as a member of the Blood Reavers gang, and from that point on fate should take it’s own course.

The Halfling who they had saved from torture and slavery at the hands of the hobgoblins introduced himself as Rendle Halfmoon, part-owner and proprietor of the Halfmoon Inn, in the Seven Pillared Hall. Grateful for the parties intervention he offered to guide them there.

*The Seven Pillared Hall*

“Welcome to The Seven Pillared Hall!” announced Rendle Halfmoon, gesturing into the cavernous space ahead of them. “Here the surface world and the underdark meet in peaceful and mutually profitable trade, mostly. If you’d like to look around you’ll find all manner of wonders and spectacles you’d never see back in Fallcrest.”

The adventurers followed their new companion through the flickering torchlight of the cavern. In the immense space they passed stalls with traders hawking mining supplies, shops that advertised quality adventuring goods, and a few mysterious buildings that did not attempt to identify themselves openly.

“That there is the Duergar trading office. They’re a surly bunch for sure. And that building belongs to the Drow.” The Halfling indicated a small structure that had been built from stones into a cave beside the main cavern. Waylander stopped and looked keenly into the cave. To the others he appeared to stare into the darkness, but to his eyes markings and symbols revealed themselves that identified this building as one of significance to him.

“I have some business that I must attend to. I’ll meet you at the inn.” said the Drow, before vanishing into the shadows.

The hospitality of the Halfmoon Inn was such that the adventurers were welcomed with food and a place to sleep. Grateful for the return of her brother, Era Halfmoon, a generally business-like Halfling, had endeavoured to repay the group, if only for the short term, and taking care to point out that drinks would be extra.

Next time - The Chamber of Eyes!


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## Mathew_Freeman (May 27, 2009)

*The Chamber of Eyes*

Once the group were once more assembled they began making preparations to make for the Chamber of Eyes, the location of the Blood Reavers slavers. Waylander recounted what he had learned from the one-eyed Drow at the trading post he had recently visited, on related business he assured.

“You asked a one-eyed man about the Chamber of Eyes?” asked Theron.

“Very insensitive, I feel.” agreed Marianna. Waylander appeared nonchalant.

At length the adventures passed through a series of hallways that lead away from the activity of the Seven Pillared Hall, eventually arriving at a large doorway adorned with iconography of the dark god Torog, lord of the underdark. Below that could be seen the stylised image of a beholder.

The adventurers listened closely at the doors, to hear the sound of conversation, most likely in Goblin. Quickly a plan was reached. A balcony nearby led to another door, which suggested that it might provide another way into the Blood Reavers lair. A 2-pronged attack was agreed upon, Team Halfling, which for now would honourarily include Elwanen, Theron and Marianna, would enter via the main doors. Team Striker, consisting of Waylander and the warlock Sabbat Fau, would climb the balcony and enter via the side door, to attempt a flanking manouver, should geography favour them. Elwanen climbed the short staircase that led to the main doors. There came a voice from the other side.

“Who’s there? What do you want?”

“Justice, motherf**cker!” yelled the paladin, and, with a mighty heave, Elwanen threw himself against the stone doors, which instantly shattered into tiny pieces of masonary. Beyond lay a corridor in which waited a group of goblin guards, who seemed very surprised at the abrupt entrance of a group of heavily armed adventurers.

“W..What business do you bring to the Blood Reavers?” the boldest among them inquired. There was a brief pause as the adventurers looked questioningly amongst themselves.

“Oh…” realised the goblin sentry, “INTRUDERS!”

DM's note: The party, as usual, eschewed the fine arts of diplomacy and elected to kick in the door and take some names. Personally, I'm glad, as I think I'm better at runnings combats than talking...


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## Mathew_Freeman (May 29, 2009)

*Against the Bloodreavers*







Team Halfling lead the charge into the corridor, With Theron and Marianna providing support. Elwanen piled into a goblin sentry, and there was a brief but fierce battle to secure the entrance to the Blood Reavers lair.

Meanwhile Waylander and Fau, entering via a side door, found themselves looking down on a guard room where several goblins and a bugbear were preparing for battle. Before the large hairy goblinoid had finished putting on his armour the two strikers had brought him down in a hail of arrows and eldritch blasts.

Of the two remaining goblins, one found that it had no choice but to charge up the stairs, whereupon the warlock teleported into the room behind the confused goblin, before Waylander kicked it back down the stairs. The hapless goblin crashed in a pile a Sabbat Fau’s feet, and just managed to open it’s eyes in time to be blasted at point blank with arcane force.

The other goblin however had seen fit to run from the room, out into the passage where Team Halfling were finishing off the other guards and make for a doorway nearby, shouting ‘INTRUDERS! INTRUDERS!”

Marianna sprang forwards and raced after the goblin, catching it just as it reached the door. With an acrobatic flip she flung it tumbling back the way it had come into the middle of the melee.

Moments later the adventurers, having dispatched the last of the guards, were ready to proceed. The door that the goblin had tried to open revealed a small room where two sturdy armoured figures sat by a roaring fire. A wave of heat eminated from the chamber, and as the two squat looking soldiers stood up it could be seen by their swarthy skin, ugly faces, and heavy dwarven armour that they were Duergar. Beyond the two Duergar soldiers was a narrow corridor along which stood several solid looking wooden doors.

DM's note: My poor bugbear died without getting an action off, I think. Sniff.

Next time: Lord Krand finally makes an appearance!


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jun 1, 2009)

*Lord Krand*

The adventurers fought their way into the Duergar guardroom, but they proved hard to kill. As the melee was in progress voices could be heard from further down the corridor. A Hobgoblin Warcaster stepped through one of the doors at the end of the narrow passageway, took one look at the battle ahead of him and called for his commander.

“Lord Krand! We are under attack!”

The Warcaster thumped his staff on the stone floor and a blast of energy came roaring down the corridor. One by one the adventurers ducked and dived but some were thrown back as it caught them. Flanked by a Hobgoblin archer the Warcaster took up a defensive position using the turn at the end of the corridor for cover.

The party saw that to get to him they would have to brave the length of the passage whilst under fire from both the archer and the arcanist. At that point another figure stepped out of a side door halfway down the passage. A heavily armoured hobgoblin warrior, whose badges and weapons indicated that he was of high rank.

The warlock Sabbat Fau and Marianna found themselves caught in the corridor with the guardroom at one end and the Hobgoblins at the other, while the rest of the adventurers worked on dispatching the sturdy Duergar. There was an exchange of blows and eldritch blasts as both sides lashed out at each other.

With the last Duergar eventually hacked to pieces, Aran and Elwanen raced down the corridor to deal with the Hobgoblin leader. Elwanen teleported behind Lord Krand and, flanking with Aran, hacked him down.

As the remaining Hobgoblin were quickly slaughtered, the adventurers became aware of the sound of loud merry-making from beyond a nearby doorway. It sounded as if there were many more creatures in revelry, possibly Hobgoblins too.

Next time: What hobgoblins, goblins and humans talk about when there are no adventurers around to bother them...


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jun 1, 2009)

Chris, who played Javier Sanchez in one previous session, will be joining us tonight as a guest star, since I'm a few players down. He'll be playing a Dwarven Invoker named Nalin - but I'm not going to spoil the surprise as to where he turns up.

Safe to say we're a bit further on in Thunderspire Labyrinth than the thread currently relates.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jun 3, 2009)

*Eavesdropping*

“Sounds like a tavern to me.” whispered Aran, as he crouched next to the stout wooden door.

“I can hear cheering, some mugs clinking… and I think that’s the sound of dice rolling!” observed the Drow rogue, “There’s some conversation, I think that’s goblin. Fau, see if you can make it out…”

The raggedy warlock craned his neck towards the door. He listened for some time, no expression could be discerned through his long matted hair. “Goblins of various kinds.” he muttered, “They are playing some kind of dice game. Each has adopted a role, a persona, and together they are… acting, it appears. Some are assuming strange voices…”

“Strange? Strange how?” inquired Aran.

“There’s one speaking in a squeaky lilt. I’m certain that it’s affected, and not natural. From what I gather, this goblin is pretending to be a Halfling.” explained the warlock flatly, “Another is using a slow, gruff, drone-like voice. No creature of this world would speak like that by design. I think this is a hobgoblin imagining he is some kind of depressive, other-worldly human.”

“Strange behaviour, even for goblins.” commented Waylander, “But if I were a goblin, I would probably pretend I were someone else too.”

Ryam came close to the door, joining in the huddle. “Perhaps it’s some kind of strategy meeting. Students of the art of warfare often act out battles or negotiations before hand, in order to prepare themselves for a variety of eventualities.”

Cass had been standing back away from the door with Elwanen, her heavy armour and weapons tended not to lend themselves to subterfuge or eavesdropping, but the whispered conversation amongst her party members had intrigued her.

“What are these imaginary people doing, I mean, pretending to do?” she asked, stepping forward.

Fau listened a while longer. “They are…they are eavesdropping at a door, and trying to discern what might lie on the other side. There seems to be different opinions amongst the group as to how to proceed.”

“Typical,” tutted Aran, “Ambush. Eavesdrop. Argue. The three goblin A’s”

“Ah. One of them has opened the door and gone in.”

“I don’t get it.” pondered Elwanen, who found himself drawn into the analysis, “Who decides what the one who just went through the door is about to see? What, do they just make it up?”

“One of the Hobgoblins seems to be ‘in charge’. He tells them what happens whenever they do something.” replied Fau.

“So what happened?” asked Waylander.

From the other side of the wooden door there came what sounded like dice rolling on a table. The voices beyond grew more animated. The party listened further. There were shouts of victory, curses of frustration, a cackle of laughter rang out.

“Sounds to me like they’re pretending to fight!” observed Elwanen, raising an eyebrow.

“Indeed,” affirmed Fau, “They have encountered, get this, a group of goblins, and after brief negotiations they have entered into imaginary combat.”

“Well, what are the odds!” gasped Waylander ironically.

“Excellent!” whispered the Halfling warlord, “We shall observe their strategy…”

DM's note: I had initially described the sounds from behind this door as being "like a tavern", and so when they started listening at the door again I had to come up with something more. crater, here, has come up with something much more interesting than I did on the night, for which I thank him.

How many of the players can you spot amongst the goblins?


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jun 5, 2009)

*Aran Blags a Pint*

Aran walked boldly into the room. Around a table sat a group of figures drinking, arguing, and rolling dice. A large open fire crackled to one side, lending the room a smoky haze and a shifting light. In the dim light Aran saw that there were goblins, hobgoblins, even several rough-looking humans, all busy in their game.

Also around the room were some other hunched figures, probably goblins too, scurrying around tending to a pair of large, fierce looking wolves who lay on the stone floor chewing bones.

The moment the Halfling ranger entered the room everybody stopped what they were doing. Behind the small figure of the Halfling stepped Waylander, Ryam, and Fau.

“And you would be…?” asked a surly hobgoblin who was sitting at the head of the table. He spoke in common, and did not sound as if he wished to be trifled with.

“Thirsty!” chirped Aran, nonetheless. There was a pause.

“Does this look like some kind of tavern?” snarled the hobgoblin after some thought.

Aran took a moment to look around. Beyond the table of drinkers and gamers, at the far side of the room, stood a long counter with cups and bottles on it. Behind the counter could be seen stacks of kegs, and also what looked liked sacks of food and supplies. Standing there was another goblin wiping a goblet with a rag. There was even a badger’s head mounted on a plaque above the fireplace.

“Well…” he began, but then quickly decided against the smartypants answer and went for the good old bluff, “Well, Chief Krand said to come and get a drink here when we brought in the new stock.”

The hobgoblin thought about this. It had never happened before, but that wasn’t to say that it couldn’t happen, and no-one wants to get on the wrong side of Chief Krand. Besides, these visitors had the look of coin about them. What did it matter if they were lying, let’s just take their money and send them on their way.

“If you wanna stay, you have to play.” offered the hobgoblin, slyly shaking a hand full of dice, “Which of you wants to go up against me?”

Ryam sat himself down at the table in between the two humans. They were dressed in grubby outdoors gear, swords on their backs, and each a face like a bulldog licking poison off a nettle.

“I’ll play.” stated Ryam, making room for himself between the two bandits, “What’s the game?”


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jun 8, 2009)

*Ryam Plays Dice*

The dice game that the goblins were playing seemed very similar to one that he knew from his youth, except this one required more strategic thinking, and involved more ‘imaginary’ combat, which was probably why the goblins enjoyed it so much.

As such, the Halfling warlord found himself to be very adept at this strategy-based variant and within a short space of time Ryam had won himself an impressive prize, the almost legendary Tankard of The Endless Pint.

The goblins were miffed at the newcomer’s success, and, by way of a ploy, struck up a conversation, seeking to distract Ryam’s attention away from the game.

“New stock you say?” began the first hobgoblin, rattling a fist full of dice, “We just sold a bunch of slaves to the Duergar a few days ago. Miserable bunch of humans we rounded up, I thought we’d never shift ‘em.” The hobgoblin spilled the dice onto the table and cursed.

“Maglubyet’s cock! Missed again!”

It was Ryam’s turn. He scooped up the dice and began to rattle them himself, both hands clasped around each other.

“Oh really.” he said, feigning disinterest. This was clearly a ploy to distract him, but he knew very well that slaves the hobgoblin was referring to may very well be the ones the party had been searching for. Maybe Cass’ brother, John, was among them. He decided to play their game and pry further.

“And where are the Duergar taking them?” he asked nonchalantly, as he rolled out the dice in his hand. The goblins at the table looked concerned. Each die had rolled it’s maximum value. For Ryam the result was a complete success and would spell the end of the game. Totting up the result in his head, Ryam took it upon himself to subtract a liberal amount from the total.

“Blast it!” he muttered in mock desperation, “15. Another miss!”

The hobgoblin quickly understood that Ryam had appeared to miscalculate, but he was not the type to pass up the opportunity to capitalise on an opponent’s error. He greedily grabbed at the dice.

“They’re off to a very nice little place, they’ll have a great time where they’re going!” he laughed. The other goblins around the table began to cackle, one after the other joining in. The hobgoblin rolled the dice.

“22. A hit!” he shouted. The dice clearly indicated a somewhat lower amount. The hobgoblin was cheating, and not very well. The goblin audience cackled once more. “I shift, and all enemies within 2 squares are ‘glum’, save ends.” added the gloating hobgoblin.

Ryam scooped up the dice once more, with a furrowed brow. Glum was not good. Surveying the tokens on the table he spotted a key strategic move that would destroy his opponent entirely. Ryam moved his token in the opposite direction, putting himself in a very vulnerable position. The goblins grinned at each other.

“What kind of a place is that then?” he asked as he rolled out the dice. Once again his roll was as good as it could possibly have been. The hobgoblin, seeing this, quickly began talking, making exaggerated gestures with his arms in an attempt to capture Ryam’s attention.

“The Horned Hold!” he declared with his hands twisted into claws to emphasise the nastiness of the place he was describing. “A Duergar citadel. A place where slaves work and die!”

Ryam tipped out the dice onto the table. The Halfling could not believe his luck. He had rolled the maximum possible once again.

“By all the gods!” spat the Halfling, with a look of disgust on his face, “Missed again! But I save versus glum, and all adjacent creatures are ‘discontent’ until the end of my next turn.” he added.

The hobgoblin sneered. He could handle discontent. He rolled the dice, and added a random number to the result.

“Ha! Critical!” The hobgoblin cried, to rapturous applause from his goblin minions. Ryam feigned reluctance as he removed several of his tokens from the table. “Your turn.” challenged the hobgoblin victoriously.

Ryam picked up the dice and rolled them quickly out onto the table. Straight away the hobgoblin started talking again.

“And… so, any news from where you’re from?”

Ryam had decided that enough was enough. These goblins probably didn’t have any more information for them, it was time to finish this. He nodded to Aran who, along with Fau and Waylander, had been watching the game. Aran took the hint and spoke up, leaving Ryam to concentrate on the game.

“Actually, we were telling Chief Krand, these this big nasty Eladrin Paladin of Pelor stomping around.” chirped the other Halfling merrily, “Says he’s after slavers and wants to kill every last one of ‘em!”

The goblins around the table looked at each other uncertainly.

“Pelor my arse!” mocked the second hobgoblin after a moment, “We piss on Pelor! Maglubiyet pisses on Pelor! If he shows up here we’ll show him what it means to go up against the Bloodreavers!”

“I just thought I’d mention it.” added Aran, “He teleports all around the place you see. You never know where he’s going to show up next.” This last statement was intended to be a cue, as such he said it with a slightly raised voice so that the other party members waiting on the other side of the door might hear.

“That 3 hits, 1 critical, and you are ‘self-depreciating’, save ends.” declared Ryam.

The goblins looked at each other once more, this time with more concern on their faces. Aran repeated the intended cue, this time a bit louder.

“I said, you just never know where he’s going to show up next!”

At that, the door swung open. In stepped Elwanen and Cass with their weapons drawn. They stood several steps from the table, looking around at the gathering. The goblins looked back at them: a tall young woman dressed in scale mail wielding a huge great axe standing next to a mean-looking Eladrin paladin dressed in battered full plate, carrying a chipped sword in one hand and a dented shield with a symbol of the sun on it in the other.

“Right then lads,” spoke the Eladrin paladin, “Have you found out where the hookers are yet?”

The goblins and the bandits sprang to their feet and reached for their swords. Ryam jumped out of his chair and drew his scourge. All around the room the goblin minions dropped what they were doing and desperately dived for their weapons.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jun 10, 2009)

Sadly, and at this dramatic juncture, I am going to have to call a hiatus to updates to this thread. crater is crazy busy at work right now, to the extent that he has pulled out of gaming until the end of next month. As a result, I'm not going to be asking him for updates until he's good and ready.

The game does continue, and la_bete is stepping in with some updates of more recent sessions, but the updates here are going to be a bit sporadic for a while.

Thanks for your patience, and I hope we're back up and running soon for the continuing adventures of...

*dramatic chord*

*The Heroes of Winterhaven!*


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## Mathew_Freeman (Jul 31, 2009)

Well, sadly it looks as though this campaign is coming to an end within a month's time, at the climax of Thunderspire Labyrinth, due to a change in my personal circumstances.

However, I'm going to be running a new weekly campaign with a new group, so fingers crossed I can pick up a new Story Hour from that.

Thanks for reading, all.


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## Falstyr (Aug 25, 2009)

Mathew_Freeman said:


> As a side note, I can see that people are reading this SH, and I'd really appreciate some feedback. What do you like? What don't you like? Who's your favourite character? All comments welcome!




I read, because it is interesting to see how other groups go through KoTS.
What I like is the writing style. What is mildly annoying is the change of names...
Creegan = Keegan
Parraig = Padraig
Baphomet = Bahamut
even Splug gets different names in your adventure like Splunk 
Little things like that

So far on page 3 so can't say much further.

Personally I'm not a fan of groups larger then 4-5 because it stretches mechanics. Larger groups also diminish overall fun imho


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## Mathew_Freeman (Aug 25, 2009)

Some of those name changes were forced on us (with there being enough football fans having the undead Knight called Sir Keegan only brought up memories of former Newcastle player and manager Kevin Keegan) and I couldn't pronounce Padraig so spelled it Parrag.

The Splug / Splunk thing was an in-joke. 

Not sure about the Baphomet / Bahamut thing or where it came in, that just might be a mistype.

Thanks for reading, though! We had the final session of the campaign last night, funnily enough, which went well. The game is on a final indefinite hiatus as I'm no longer able to put the time in for it due to a change of circumstances, but who knows, maybe one day we'll pick it up.


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## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 5, 2009)

I put this in the final email out to the group about the game:



			
				Mathew_Freeman said:
			
		

> Another neat little idea that I’ve had would be for everyone to write a short “what happened next” for their characters – imagine that as the credits roll on the film adaptation you see each character’s picture with a short paragraph overlaid summing up the rest of their life. Make ‘em as funny or as serious as you like!




This is what they came up with:



			
				JC said:
			
		

> As for Des, I can see a final screen-shot of him as a disgraceful old hippy guru, who's written a successful series of self-help books and pop philosophy texts. He goes on frequent lecture tours. And the author bio only hints at his past exploits, although rumours still abound, especially when people detect a certain sadness when people challenge him about the glory of war, or when he goes on his occasional and "secret" get-togethers with that strange and disparate group from far away...






			
				Aran_Thule said:
			
		

> Aran continued adventuring with his friends but as the party drifted apart he headed off by himself, following rumours and searching new lands.
> 
> Eventually his journeys led him to other planes, new wonders to see and new drinks to try, he continued helping those in need and causing trouble to any that deserved it.
> 
> ...






			
				Martin said:
			
		

> As for Waylander, I see him pursuing a long journey trying to recover information about his past and his relationship with the Horizon syndicate while he continues to work with them. He'd keep in touch with the sapling Fangorn of course and make sure the hearthstone was kept safe and hidden. He'd also  maintain a mutually beneficial relationship with Gendar from the Seven Pillared Hall and they'd grow to become wary friends over the years. Eventually though, Gendar gets a bit greedy and double crosses the syndicate, who send Waylander to avenge the theft.
> 
> Gendar provides a good chase but eventually they meet in the depths of the Underdark. The duel is long and terrible and both are near death by the end. Munnin, Waylander's familiar, is cackling with joy at the thought of finally collecting his 'master's' soul. Waylander, his art exhausted, slumps against the wall as Gendar lunges in for the killing blow, but he just manages to get off a single final shot from his trusty crossbow. Gendar's blow however was aimed at Munnin, the Abyssal Raven who ensnared the young Rogue Waylander centuries ago, who lost in his glee was capering too close to the fight.
> 
> ...




As or when I get any more of these, I'll post them here.


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