# By the blood of Tiamat; an FR campaign



## rathor (Nov 6, 2002)

This is my first time hosting a story hour and running a large, continuous game.  I ask for everyone that reads to post any suggestions they may have.

The game is run mostly from the FRCS though I do add and change a lot to suit my style of dming.  The first three sessions were largely combat intensive and meant to gather players, weed out the weak and uncommitted, help players get a feeling for their characters and help me get a feeling for what the players wanted to do with their characters.  It is the forth session, the night when I began posting story hour, that the actual neat stuff begins to happen.  

We are on our fourth session now, though I will post the three previous ones also.  I will post one part of each session every night, given college cooperates, every night until the story hour is up to date with the game.  I will incorporate many suggestions into the game, so continue to read and offer advice.  Maybe you will see your thoughts included into game play.

The setting is in Unther, Toril.  A FRCS nation situated between the nation of Cessenta to the west, the empire of Mulhorand to the east, the stretch of plain called the Shaar to the south and the inner sea to the north.

I will encourage all my players to post their characters in the rouge galley and provide links to their threads.

Enjoy.


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## rathor (Nov 6, 2002)

*Session 1 part 1*

It started many years ago when a powerful figure in the cult of Tiamat helped stage an attempted coup on the ruler of our land, the god-king Gilgeam.  He was a young and ambitious leader; he showed much promise to his goddess, Gilgeam’s archrival.  By the guidance of his slain god’s spirit he challenged Gilgeam.  Like his goddess so many years before, he failed.  Fortunately for our story hour, he escaped the claws of death and retreated to the foothills of the Smoking Mountains.  There he built a self-sufficient community around his private estate of Samsur.  He rebuked his goddess for his failure and mourned for his lover, who was slain by the hand of the god-king himself.     

…

25 years later…

It was a pleasant day outside, absent the cloud of haze that surrounded the Smokey Mountains due to their continuous volcanic activity.  Cervantes Gildarin, a 21 year old brute of a man weighing 260pds measuring 6’6", was carrying a dear carcass on his back with plans to include its meat in the communities nightly feast.  Cervantes is the son of the ruler of Samsur and by far the strongest and most agile of the fighters among the community.  He knew his friends and his father would be proud of his catch. Most importantly, however, Cervantes was proud of himself.  He lived to please only himself, and he only sought to please others when it was in his best interest.  

After waving to the guard atop the tower of the community’s wall, Cervantes opened the stout wooden gate to find his father, Berkholt, awaiting him on the other side.  Berkholt was a fragile old man.  He needed the aide of a cane to walk and always had the look of internal suffering in his eyes.  Though Cervantes knew his father was a noble that was chased out of Unther by the king, he knew little more about his fathers past.  Cervantes memories of his father are mostly of him laying in the bed of his keep and silently muttering to himself.  Everything about his appearance said he should have already died.  Despite this, the people of Samsur loved Berkholt and honored his every wish.  

Samsur was a community that survived because no one outside Samsur, other than a few annoying goblin tribes and a female gnome druid housed in a cave nearby, knew of its existence.  Every year Berkholt and three of his closest friends traveled outside of Samsur to sell surplus food and wood and buy needed supplies.  This year however Berkholt told Cervantes, “I am too old and weak to buy supplies this year.  You are the most skilled fighter of Samsur and will someday take my place.  Take the surplus to the city and buy some ale, arrowheads, and hoes… not women my boy.  You should take your friends, and remember, tell nobody of our existence here.”  With that said he patted his son on the back and said, “Nice catch.  I am going to go contribute to our fertilizer for the next planting season.”

Cervantes cleaned his dear and had some of Samsur’s residence load the wagon for the journey.  That night he told his two closest friends, Ruv Grvebern the 45 year old 3 ½ foot Gnomish Druid and piper a small Halfling Bard.  They enjoyed the night’s feast with pleasant longhorn music provided by Piper, and rested for whatever tomorrow might hold.

The next day they left before dawn.  They had little trouble following the trail Berkholt had left after 25 years of journeys before and encountered no trouble the first day.  Most of it was filled with the anxious silence of anticipation.  It was the second day of the journey that Ruv’s pet wolf, Nidrash, stood up and growled at noise of four goblins arguing over a piece of chicken.  The group, especially Ruv, hated goblins.  Nidrash leapt from the wagon and charged the unexpecting goblin band.  Cervantes was not far behind, climbing down from the wagon and running under a tree.  Ruv did the same, and Piper leapt onto the tongue of the wagon and ran down it to flip off and land on his feet in front of the wagon.  The goblins would have never known the group was approaching had Cervantes not bumped his head on the branch of the tree.  Unfortunately for the goblins, Nidrash was already upon them with his teeth sunk deeply into the ass of the closest goblin.  

The goblins that were not grabbing their bleeding asses and screaming were readying their spears to attack.  Cervantes sliced one in two between the right solder and left hip.  Ruv hit one square in the chest with a bullet from her sling and piper overshot that same one with his dart.  The wolf slayed his target and the other two ran.  Cervantes promptly cut ones arm off while chasing them into the wood.  It still held the chicken.  The wolf ran down the last one.  

Other than the satisfaction of killing goblins, the party found only four poorly made spears, a half eaten chicken, and firewood.

…


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