# Nebulous's Thunderspire #1



## Nebulous (Sep 6, 2009)

Ok, as we're about to finish this campaign arc i thought i'd post our sessions publicly. As usual i include lots of pics which slow it down, so i'm posting these in chunks rather than a single thread. I really liked Thunderspire Labyrinth. I hope you guys/gals do too. 

Side Trek (I):  Xenoseth’s Revenge

Time.  All this time. By now, he could barely remember how sunlight felt on his skin.  He had been enslaved for that long.  

A year?  Two years?  More? Down here time had little meaning.  The dark elves used their own measure for the years, hourglasses and magical implements that ticked away the endless march of days, but Xenoseth only had intuition. 

He pressed his forehead against the bars. Nearby, he could practically smell the nervous anticipation of the dwarves in adjacent pens. They were newcomers, brought in by the drow just the day before.  And a feisty group too.  They had all carried the same implements— a bright silver shield polished to a high sheen, and keen axes already notched from battle. Most seemed of the same quiet temperament, except for one dwarf with fiery red hair who must be their leader.  His cursing never faltered for a moment, not until the dark elves peppered him with half a dozen sleep darts, but even then he mumbled threats. 

Xenoseth had watched them take the dwarves to the slave pens, knowing that it would not bode well for them at all.  The enmity between dark elves and dwarves was legendary, and although Xenoseth despised the drow himself, the drow in turn considered him some kind of curious anomaly. 

And a magnificent warrior too, for he had fought often since arriving in Mor’loth’achek.







Xenoseth was a rare shifter.  At least, so he’d been told by others knowledgeable about such things.  His mother had always told him that he was just her funny little boy, glossing over his odd features, but he had always suspected something more.  She finally told him the truth one day when he was ten years old.  By then the tell-tale symptoms were showing themselves with the onset of puberty.  His fingernails had lengthened and sharpened, and he found a light fuzz of scratchy black fur covering his skin.  He felt a strange affinity for cats, often spending hours upon hours with them, and the salty tang of raw meat was enticing. And the fact that he had no father like other children in the Blue Bear Tribe raised the question of who exactly held that role. Among the Blue Bears family was special, and lack of that parental unit offered wide speculation for weakness.

So his mother told him, but kept the explanation simple, and he did not fully understand until later, not even until after her horrible death. 






His father was not a human at all, but a were-panther, an evil thing that had forced itself upon her. She lived though, and apparently, Xenoseth had inherited some of those lycanthropic traits.  Now, years later, his human side had been nearly subverted. He stood six feet three inches tall, with smooth black fur covering nearly all of his body.  What had originally been mistaken as a facial malformation proved to be an elongated snout and whiskers, not unlike that of a cat.  He could only be mistaken as human from a distance, and his appearance had caused problems in more civilized regions, but the Blue Bear Tribe found it something to rejoice; it meant that the blessing of the primal gods flowed in his veins.  For those reasons Xenoseth had rarely traveled outside of the tribe, and would still live there with his mother now…

…if not for the gnolls. 

“You!  Cat man! How long you been trapped?”

The gruff dwarf voice grabbed Xenoseth’s attention.  It was the red-bearded dwarf in the holding cell across the hall. 






“A hundred times longer than you,” he answered quietly. 

“Aye, you have that look about you.  I am Mallus Silvershield, and these are the proud remains of my Silvershield Brigade.  Say hello, Brigaders! Ho!”

“HO!” the other five dwarves chanted in unison. 

“The bastard dark elves caught us by surprise, whittled us down from twenty to what you see here.  Oh, but we cut a swath through them, we did. They’ll not bloody forget us anytime soon.” 

Xenoseth had no doubts about that, especially considering what was about to happen. The drow slavers had told him previously what to expect today.  Unlike the usual battle in the gladiatorial pits where he was expected to fight to the death against other slaves, today the drow wanted Xenoseth and the dwarves to work together.

[GM Note: Xenoseth is a 5th level barbarian/Mallus a 3rd level Fighter Battlerager/ the five dwarves are 3rd level Improved Minions. One player controlled everyone].

Xenoseth growled deep in his throat.  He felt the old rage building.  Outside, cheering could be heard, spectators waiting for the entertainment to begin.  

“Look, we don’t have much time.  What fighting style do your men use? The drow want us to unite and kill whatever is out there.”

Mallus’s beamed at the question.  “The Brigade is highly trained!  They’re formation fighters, using shields to maximum effectiveness.  They fight in a tight-knit group, trying to surround foes and avoid flanking maneuvers themselves.  I trained them well.  HO!” 

“Good,” Xenoseth said. “When the pens open they will have deposited weapons to use.  Suit up fast.  Stick close to me and we might leave here alive.”

“And do you fight well, Cat Man?” Mallus asked.

“Well enough.”  It was true.

They heard gears clanking behind the walls.  The bars of their pens shuddered and rose, and Xenoseth quickly ducked underneath and found the weapons cache. His favorite falchion was there, a heavy serrated blade that could easily hack through bone and flesh. The blood had not even been wiped clean from his last battle against the troglodytes, and the sword still stank.

“At arms, brothers!” Mallus ordered, and the dwarves fell upon a pile of axes and ragtag armor, most of it butchered from past battles. Xenoseth shrugged a hide hauberk over his chest and buckled it, simultaneously gazing out the final gate.  When it opened they would have to enter the battlefield, or whatever was waiting there would come to them. It was dim outside save for uncountable magical glowglobes that cast a multihued pattern of red, green and blue light over the arena.  Hundreds of drow hovered anxiously above the floor on black basalt walls so they could look down at the arena. Bridges connected the battlements allowing them to access different areas of the combat zone.











And then Xenoseth saw her, the demonic priestess of Lloth, some hideous four-armed thing unmatched in her cruelty.  He had once seen her come down in person to slay the lingering survivors after a match, and she seemed to relish every bloody moment.  If she was what followers of Lloth aspired to be, he thought they must all be as insane as they were cruel. 






Xenoseth had no more time to contemplate.  The gate began to clank open, and a new wave of cheers and jeers washed over them.  

“Tiphon, scout left.  Marwell, scout right. You three, stay close. Cat Man, bring up our rear.” 

Xenoseth complied as the advice was sound enough. Two dwarves immediately exited, their shields and axes held close to their chests.  Xenoseth heard another gate opening nearby, undoubtedly to release a beast into the fray.  He wondered what it would be, and knew that the drow had a virtually limitless supply of contestants…

He did not have to wait long. Tiphon choked out a cry of shock, then: “Around the corner!” 






Something twice as tall as a man lumbered toward them.  Not flesh and bone, but rather a pasty white mass of webbing bundled together into humanoid shape.  Eight glowing blue eyes focused on Tiphon and poisonous mandibles clacked, oozing vile ichors down its chest.  The dwarf surged at the thing with a battle cry and sank his axe into its gooey hide.  The blade pierced deep, but the monster’s flesh was as sticky as its namesake.  The axe buried itself and became stuck, despite how Tiphon strained against it. The monster swung at him, and the handle of the weapon jerked from his hands, disarming him.

“At the beast!” screamed Mallus, and his Brigade leapt into motion, systematically falling into position around the abomination. 

The monster raked its claws down Tiphon’s face, and then picked the poor dwarf up, his stubby legs kicking futilely, and buried sharp mandibles into his arm.  It tossed him away, and clutching the wound, Tiphon staggered up still alive, trying to suck the poison out before it killed him.  Xenoseth did not know if their natural resistance to poisons would help or not.

Multiple axes hacked into the monster but it felt no pain, issued no gasps, and a razor-clawed hand sent a Silvershield hurtling through the air, his throat slashed and gushing red.

“I thought you said you could fight!” shouted Mallus to Xenoseth.  “Get in there!”

Xenoseth had flanked to the south, scanning the area for more enemies and not happy with the various closed cages he saw. Unpleasant things chittered and surged against the bars, eager to be released and feed. 
















“DIE YOU STINKING BASTARD!” roared Mallus Silvershield, and drove his axe deep into the web monster’s back. So great was his fury that Mallus ripped the blade right back out, despite the sticky adhesive.  This proved a constant problem though, and the dwarves found themselves barely able to hang on as their weapons were pulled from their grasp. Another dwarf went down under its claws, split from belly to navel.

Then Xenoseth saw the adjacent cage opening, the thing inside gripping the bars with slimy green tentacles.  It was also much larger than a man, wearing an iron-shod domed helmet and standing on cloven hooves.  It groped through the bars, trying to use its extensive reach to snag a dwarf and pull it closer. 

“Look out behind you! Finish the first one!”

And upon her spider-clad throne on the parapets, he saw the vile draegoloth rejoicing in the mayhem below.






Realizing he had done little to contribute so far, Xenoseth called upon the potent forces of his lineage.  Rage bubbled within him, the call of the primal wild, and in a slick motion so fluid and seamless that it seemed nearly illusory, Xenoseth transformed from humanoid to panther form.  If his allies were bewildered, they showed no sign. He darted past them and lined up a charge on the web monster, intending to rake it to pieces with his powerful hind legs and foreclaws.

[GM Note: the way the wildshape works doesn’t make him nearly as effective as a real panther, but it’s a balance-issue thing].

Roaring, the panther leapt effortlessly through the air and tore a huge chuck of webby material from its shoulder…only to become instantly stuck.

_Ohh…that was a stupid thing to do_, he thought.






Snarling and thrashing, Xenoseth squirmed against his enemy, but he was stuck fast, and the monster easily slashed its talons across his shoulder.  Blood spurted up, merely a scratch as far as the shifter was concerned (he had suffered much worse) but then the thing’s mandibles pierced him.  Hot, blazing poison poured into his veins, stinging needles of agony that made his heart wobble and vision blur. He had to pull himself off or this beast would bite him to death. 

Applause erupted from the crowd as the battle proceeded, with everyone injured by this point, and the helmeted abomination had yet to enter the fray.  As soon as it did though, a snaking tentacle ten feet long wrapped around a Brigader’s neck, pulled him off his feet, and squeezed hard.  His head swelled purple, eyes bugging from their sockets, and with a sickening crunch of bone and cartilage, his lifeless corpse was tossed aside. 

“HO!” bellowed Mallus, and a final axe strike cracked the web-thing’s spine.  The creature fell to its knees and then tumbled over, destroyed, but pulled the panther down with it. 

Their attention turned to the helmed horror, and Mallus wasted no time raining blows upon the monster’s flesh, but it uttered nary a whimper of pain either. Xenoseth managed to pull himself off the dead thing and warp back to normal form, but his keen ears detected the tell-tale clacking of gears, and he instantly spotted a distant gate opening.  Something hulking and cruel crawled under the tines, its shape only vaguely humanoid.  Arching a demonic head to the sky, it crowed once, twice, and then raced toward them.  

“Another!” the shifter warned them.  “Watch your backs!” 






The helmed horror proved to be a brutal combatant, though not much worse than the web monster, and at least it could not disarm them.  Xenoseth’s enchanted falchion carved a chuck of flesh from its abdomen and viscera squirted out in a wide berth, coating the barbarian’s black fur. The monster staggered under the blow, and Mallus Silvershield followed up with a mighty wallop to the back of its head, so powerful that the metal dome cracked.   Their goal was to lay it low before the third foe flanked them, but they were too slow, and the galloping, dog-like thing pounced upon the final Brigader.  Claws and fangs severely wounded the dwarf and he pulled back, trying to intersperse his shield between them.

Raging now, blood pumping in his ears like a river, Xenoseth slashed at the helmed horror’s abdomen in a ruthless series of cuts until it finally succumbed and toppled over, its meaty body thudding to the ground amid a new round of raucous cheers.  The spectators now threw black flowers, luminescent mushrooms and even small baubles, but the slaves had no time to notice.  The demonic thing in their midst was a flailing weapon of claws and teeth, and Xenoseth knew that he could not prevail if they released every foe in the arena.  The largest ones were still penned.


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## Nebulous (Sep 7, 2009)

*Nebulous's Thunderspire #1 (side trek 1)*

“Help me!” the last Brigader squealed.  He hid behind his shield, barely able to fend off another slavering barrage from the demon. Teeth and claws clattered across the metal surface but failed to penetrate. 

“Chin up, soldier!” Mallus yelled.  “Chin UP!”

But the demon caught the Brigader under the chin with a swipe of its claw, nearly tearing off half his face.  Gurgling on blood, the last dwarf--other than Mallus—collapsed in a bloody heap. 

But the monster had left itself critically vulnerable to Mallus and Xenoseth.  The dwarf commander targeted its kneecap, exploding it out from underneath. It staggered and went down, howling in pain 

“Take that, ya dog! HO!”

Xenoseth hacked his serrated falchion into the meaty shoulder, feeling bone and muscle separate under the impact.  The monster swirled on him, hot blood flecking its lips.  It lunged, swiping, but the shifter danced out of the way, and brought it down once more with a powerful blow between the eyes.  The skull-case cracked, but still the creature did not want to die.  It shuddered violently and fell to its side, legs kicking as the dwarf and barbarian backed off for the brief respite they might get. 

Xenoseth could keep fighting if necessary, it was in his blood, but he felt weariness creeping into his bones.  He could not do this forever, not if the larger and more predatory monsters surged at them.  The drow had kept him alive for this long now despite his many victories, so maybe it was fate that they would feed to him to a giant ravenous scorpion.  They had promised him freedom, but he doubted that to the core of his being.

“Back to back,” growled Mallus Silvershield.  “I’ll keep an eye to the west, you to the east, and if—”

He stopped talking when a sudden hush fell over the spectators.  High on her throne perch, the draegoloth priestess had spread her arms.

“This won’t bode well,” Xenoseth whispered.  In fact, he now suspected what was to come. He gripped the haft of his blade tighter.

When she finally spoke, her voice echoed over the arena with unnatural intensity.  She spoke in Deepspeech, and he had picked up a fair amount of the language during his time as a slave in the drow city.  But Mallus did not understand.  The drow began beating their feet in a slow tempo that rapidly increased, until the arena thrummed from the noise.

“What? What did that thing say?”

Xenoseth stared at the ground, not wanting to tell Mallus, for Xenoseth had seen this happen many times before.  Too many times.

“Finish it, she said…” he finally answered, and then met his eyes.  “…which means us.”

The dwarf glowered at him, and then shook a mailed fist at the draegoloth priestess. “So that’s how it is? You dirty drow bitch! May you rot in the hells! Damnation!” 

Mallus spun away from him, huffing and puffing, and Xenoseth had not calmed down either.  He could not afford the luxury.  There was no time.  No rest.  No mercy. They must finish the battle or there would be consequences to pay.  There were always consequences, each more painful than the last.  He had learned that the hard way and still bore the scars. He and Mallus turned to face each, no more than twenty paces apart now.

“I’m sorry, dwarf. Are you ready?” the shifter asked in a low voice, holding the dripping falchion down low. 

“Aye. I’m ready Cat Man. You said you can fight.  Let’s see it then; I ain’t been too impressed yet. We’ll give these bastards a show, won’t we? Better to die quick than live here.”

Xenoseth could not even manage a false smile as Mallus brought his axe up and charged him, a wave of cruel cheers following in his wake …

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[GM Note:  We didn’t play this fight out, everyone was out of encounters and dailies and it would have been a brutal grindfest as they picked away at each other.  Plus, there was the possibility the dwarf might have killed him (he gets regeneration 5 when bloodied), and this is just a background story! Can’t have a PC dying on us…]

Xenoseth awoke the next morning, stiff and cold in his regular holding cell.  He could still taste Mallus’s coppery blood in his mouth. The stubborn dwarf had put up a good fight, as promised, but in the end Xenoseth’s feline instincts had won over and he crushed the life from the dwarf in his jaws.  The very thought sickened him, but it was not the first time.  The malicious drow often pitted him against former friends and allies, seeming to rejoice as a small piece of him died inside.  By now, there was little compassion left at all. Fortunately, he had not known Mallus long, and after two years of such conduct, the shifter had learned to shut off that emotional switch in his mind.  He acted on instinct now, letting the rage take him where it wanted, without fear of repercussions or consequence.

[GM Note: This was all the player’s background idea, to explain WHY his barbarian raged, and what triggered his emotions; good stuff].

He lay on his cot for a long time, trying to remember again what sunlight felt like, how it warmed his skin and soothed his spirit, but it almost seemed like a distant fever dream that might never have been real at all.  Eventually he heard a key opening the door and two drow jailors appeared. He sat up, wondering if they had come to make good on their word, or just to bring him to another match. 

“It’s time,” one of them said in elvish, a drow with bright lavender eyes.  “You were promised your freedom one day, and you have earned it.”






Xenoseth did not respond.  Their promises were nothing but veiled lies, every one of them, and he did not trust them.  They unchained his feet and led him down the dank corridors of the city, finally arriving at a large exterior gate he had never seen.  Where were they? Surely they weren’t keeping true to their word? 

Soon enough Xenoseth understood their plan and his suspicions were validated.  A lizardman warrior was shackled to him as well so they could not easily escape. 

“We have a long journey ahead,” athe drow said. “You have earned your freedom from the dark elves…by being bought by another.  The Bloodreavers will pay good gold for a seasoned warrior such you.  Enjoy your new masters, Xenoseth, and pray they are kinder than we.” 

_The Bloodreavers._

He knew the name; a gang of slavers somewhere in the mountain that bought and sold slaves without discretion. The drow frequently traded with them and kept a constant river of flesh entering into the city for their vile games and depraved experiments.  Still, Xenoseth could not imagine that his new destination could be any worse than the old one. He had not ventured outside Mor’loth’achek since the day he arrived, but he had been barely conscious then.  The gnoll raiders that slew his mother, and messily devoured her in front of him one screaming piece at a time, had been none too gentle with Xenoseth either.  

The gnolls.

The gnolls were the ones that sold him into the slavery.  The cackling, hyena-faced gnolls were the ones that ruined his life and killed everyone he loved; and it was the baleful gnolls for which he harbored the most intense hatred of any living thing in the world, even more than the despicable drow.  The gnolls were nothing but fodder for his blade.

They left soon afterward, an escort of four elves dragging their chains through the dusty darkness. A wide paved road curved through the Underdark, but Xenoseth had no concept of where he was.  Even if he could escape he would be lost in some underground labyrinth, just food and fodder for unknown predators, or death by a quick plunge into an endless ravine.  Right now, a change of scenery was better than nothing.

They walked for what seemed like endless hours, hearing the strange hoot and slither of unseen things just barely beyond sight.  They passed through strange grottos of enormous mushrooms, and vast rooms of crystal columns that radiated heat. But the most impressive sight Xenoseth witnessed occurred at the base of a gigantic staircase.

“I hope you’re not tired yet,” a captor said to him, and pushed him onto the steps.






Yes, he was, and this new climb exhausted him even more.  A thousand steps and then a thousand more.  His muscles burned and his lungs ached, but still they marched on, hugging the cavern wall, rising past obsidian claws bearing globes of eldritch green light, through leering archways, and eventually, after an hour of hiking, through a massive minotaur-faced exit that finally leveled into a straight, wide tunnel. 

Xenoseth and the lizard man captive nearly collapsed but the drow pushed them on.  

Soon, he heard the sounds and smells of civilization; cooked meat, wood-burning stoves and the distant murmur of conversation.  They entered a large cavern supported by seven immense pillars of reinforced stone.  Dozens of buildings and facades filled the chamber, and the floor crawled with a diverse number of species, some of which the shifter had never seen.  Humans, dwarves, and halflings mingled here, but also the occasional troglodyte, bugbear and stranger beasts, species that normally would be at each other’s throats like flies on dung.  Xenoseth saw a building façade carved into the wall that looked like a temple of sorts, with a creature nine feet tall standing on the steps, arms crossed, surveying all before him. It was perhaps an ogre, but he had never actually seen an ogre, only heard about their great stature.

They did not pass straight through the city but instead skirted the western wall, avoiding most of the populace and quickly entered a side tunnel.  The passage sloped gently upward, zig-zagging, where glowing green enchanted lanterns every 100 feet lit the way, and interspersed between the lanterns were dozens and dozens of horrific demonic statues. Leering visages watched their progress, and the shifter could have sworn their inhuman eyes turned to follow them as they passed.






A while later they diverged off the main road and entered a narrow cleft that led to a closed cavern. It was dark here save for a number of torches and other non-magical light sources.  In the distance squatted a stone building in considerable disrepair, but it was the guard at the door that sent Xenoseth’s heart racing…a gnoll.






The seven-foot tall creature bore a spear in its arms, gripping it tight as the group crossed the bridge and approached.  Xenoseth could barely contain himself.  The hackles on his neck bristled and anger churned in his gut.  He wanted to rip free of his constraints and lash out at the beast, regardless of the danger.  

“We’ve brought the merchandise,” the drow spokesman said.

The gnoll knocked on the door, and a gruff voice said, “Enter.”  It let them in.

The building inside was a small tumbledown structure of ill-placed blocks and a thatched roof.  A hulking bugbear sat behind a crude desk with quills and paper, and there was also a second bugbear and a sallow-faced human with bad teeth and greasy black hair.  The drow brought their slaves inside, chains rattling, and the spokesman placed a fat bag of clinking gold on the table.











“The price agreed upon,” the drow said. “The black-furred one is especially impressive, and worth every coin. I think you will be pleased.”

The big bugbear grunted.  “Maybe.  But that lizard piece of dogshit looks worthless.  I won’t pay gold for that. I’m not stupid.  Unchain him. The cat man only.  No other deal.”

The drow glowered at him, hazel eyes sparkling in the wan light, but he stiffly ordered a guard to do as instructed.  The guard bent down, rattling a key in the manacles, but in that instant the lizard man lashed out!

“Arrggh!” It leapt at the guard, kicked the key away and threw itself upon him, its teeth tearing into the drow’s shoulder. 

“Get it off! Get it off!” Chaos and shouts filled the small room as weapons were drawn.  For a brief moment Xenoseth was ignored, and in that instant he realized nothing chained him to the lizard man. Still manacled, yes, but he could run with manacles.  He could run fast and hard and far until he could run no longer, for dying at that point would be better than further enslavement.  The barred window next to him was open, and acting before thinking, he instantly transformed.  In a single fluid movement he had leapt through the small opening and into the open cavern.






“GET HIM! STOP HIM!” 

He heard the door slam open and footsteps pound closer, but Xenoseth did not falter or look back.  Padded paws bore him to the exit, with the tunnel sloping down to the left, toward the Pillared Hall, and up to the right, which might be the surface.  He had to try.  He had to try. He careened right, even as a spear flew by his nose, and galloped up the tunnel past even more demonic statues.  They watched his escape, perhaps secretly praying for failure. He did not know.






_I will not fail_, the shifter swore.  _I’ll escape.  I must…I must…I must… _

[GM Note:  This was a short Skill Challenge using Athletics and Endurance to outrun the Bloodreavers and drow; otherwise, a fight!].

His flight carried him up several hundred yards along a relatively straight passage, and soon he smelled cold, wet air. The light ahead grew into a hazy grey rectangle, and that alone filled him with inspiration.  He ran even harder, still hearing the sounds of pursuit but no longer caring.  Even if they caught him now he would die in the daylight if nothing else. Moments later he burst outside into a torrential downpour, his black fur instantly soaked.  Thunder rumbled around him, the cloudy sky pierced by blue shards of lightning.  He stood in the entrance of a vast tunnel flanked by two immense minotaur statues.  A narrow cart track wound down the mountainside into a forested ravine. 






But he did not have time to gawk or delay.  He instantly sprang down the path, slipping in the mud, lost his footing and rolled and sprang back up.  Lightning split the summit around him, a cacophony of noise and confusion, but rather than fill Xenoseth with dread, he could only marvel at the crash of thunder and the sensation of cold rain on his skin. He had not felt that in two years, and thought it might never happen again.

He continued running, deeper into a wet canyon engorged with water, and was soon enveloped by a shroud of evergreens. He felt at home again, and concern of pursuit had all but vanished from his mind.  Let them come, he thought.  I’ll tear their throats out! 

But one other thought blazed in his mind, one clear idea that began to form, and it set his heart racing in that familiar furious staccato.  At some point he would return here, whether alone or not he did not know yet, to this place where the minotaurs guarded an entrance to the deep, and as surely as the gods were wild and life was unfair and evil was rampant, one way or another in due time…

…Xenoseth would have his REVENGE.




And there we stopped.


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