Misfit Chronicles

Session 7 & 8: Xerex’ Journal

Posted by Xerex on Sep 22, 2008

Why we followed Kohl out to this chilly pit, I still wonder.  Since the orcs, the little band of adventurers and I have seen quite a good deal of action.  We left the orcs we expertly dispatched three days ago, their remains left as a warning to the other blood-thirsty savages.  After clearing over some mountain passes, we finally came to a break in the craggy surfaces - something that I both enjoyed and regretted. Passed the mountains came a forest. These trees were nothing like the trees I normally say back at home, or even in Blackbird Dell. These were massive trees whose limbs reached to the heavens and encircled the clouds, their very leafs creating an illuminated sky of stained green, like the window of a church.

 

It wasn’t long before we found ourselves in trouble once more. While the majestic and enchanting beauty of the serene location took our breaths away, the predators of this paradise found their way to us.  Wolves came upon us in a flash - Kohl receiving the brunt of their surprise attack and being knocked down by the pack. I had my back to the havoc due to the fact that a bewildered Wru had spotted something behind me. The moments rushed by quickly as the wolves tried to make us their meal of the day - their massive jaws strong enough to shred skin, tear muscle or even snap bone.  I received a wound from the creatures, my scales are still growing back from its bite, but I survived and the scar tissue will make for interesting conversation in the future, but the vindication I took upon the wolf for the wound was something I will not go into detail on.

 

With the wolves fully dispatched, we set up camp. There was little to do but nurse our bite wounds and count the bodies of the giant canines.  When we took a moment to examine the bodies, we found that their size was actually much greater than that of a normal wolf.  If Gorehammer the Furious dwarfs our smaller members, then these wolfs were on par with the minotaur of the gladiator ring.  We made quick work of dispatching the wolf meat from its bones - weeks of rations will make anyone want to bite into something that doesn’t taste like it was made out of parchment.  As we camped quietly, a noise came to my attention, and as being always alert, I snuck out to examine the disturbance.

 

Imagine my surprise when I was suddenly snout to nose with an elf, who seems just as surprised to see me.  This was different Thant the elves I normally saw back in Blackbird Dell - these elves were woodsy in appearance and didn’t carry the silken robes that most of their civilized counterparts did.  I extended a motion of greeting to the strange elf and received one in return as he brought forth two other elves from behind cover and introduced himself. Josan, or Jozan, I’m not sure how to write his name in our language, but he introduced himself as an elven inhabitant of this forest.

 

We introduced one another to each of our respective groups and the small camp became alive with conversation. We spoke with Jozan; informing him of the warlord Memnar’s fate. He found the news of the once great warlord’ demise and imprisonment gravely disturbing and asked us to follow him to his elven town.  What disturbed him even more was what we informed him on the way to the elven community; we asked him about the strange missing item on the pedestal back at Memnar’s tomb and he informed us that this was a ‘black unicorns horn’ and that its magics were powerful, but we had not retrieved it and for the least we knew, it had been missing for over 600 years - since Rutherford’s entrance to the tomb so long ago.

 

I cannot begin to describe the elven town and I know my words will not make justice of its odd beauty.  The elves’ land was built into the trees - the concept of doors foreign to them and nature itself seemed to twist itself to their will.  Bridges spanned across the gigantic tress and small huts encircled the great wooden giants.  The Thunderscales would have approved of this location as a place greatly engineered and incredibly well defended, any attackers would need to come from below, and even then, if required, the ropes could be cut and the enemies halted.  Cutting down those trees would have taken an act of Bahamut himself.

 

Jozan lead us off to speak with the elders. Naturally, I was curious about this culture and wanted to learn more, so I followed.  The talks were going great until Veliv decided to contact Rutherford via his magic ball.  I couldn’t stand for any discussion with the wizard in the employ of that oaf and decided there to leave the talks to those who have time to waste.  I wasn’t the only one with distaste for the conversation as both Kohl and Lenathis had left the council’s company and were re-enacting scenes of great battles for the children to be amused.

 

I found myself more transfixed on removing a certain item from my person and sought a sage of the magical variety.  Turns out it would be quite a spectacular fee to remove this bracelet from my wrist and until I can come up with the items needed for the ritual, it seems as though Rutherford’s noose around my neck gets to stay snug.  After a long and quite honestly useless conversation with the sages, I found Kohl who had just finished his re-enactment.  He spoke to me about how the elves communed with sprits and how everything in this world had a spirit - elven gibberish as far as I can tell, but the minotaur seemed completely convinced about this whole thing.  So convinced was the gladiator that he insisted we go to the waterway to speak with the river spirits.

 

After a debate, it was decided that we would go to the water, where we found nothing except a nice view and some rather perplexed looking elves who were wondering what Gorehammer was doing.  After a few hours of Kohl whispering to the water, we decided to move on and bring the large oaf with us.  We heard tales that night as we mingled with the common elves that there was an area outside of their village where ‘evil things’ would happen and people would disappear.  Kohl, having had too many of one kind of spirit insisted rather whole-heartedly that we go on this trek to help the elves. 

 

I personally saw no error in trying to help the elves with their mysterious location, but Veliv had earlier informed us that Rutherford had demanded we bring a female elf back to him - I thought him to be a lecherous old man at the time, but it turned out that this elf was actually a close relative.  It would seem as though Rutherford’s ancestor was a bit of an adventurer in other ways as well.  We convinced the others to join us and decided to set off come the morning.

 

We asked Jozan to follow us and he seemed somewhat disturbed about doing so, but he quickly saw an opportunity when I offered him some of the orc weapons we had scavenged from our encounter.  The elves lacked metal in their wooden paradise and these weapons were twice as strong as any of the basic armaments the elves carried.  We set out and thanks to Jozan’s great ability; we arrived at the clearing in good time. The trek was usually two days, but with our guide it took merely one and a half.

 

It wasn’t until we examined the clearing that we were ambushed by Eladrin.  Until now, I had no idea what the difference between the elves and the eladrin, but it became more apparent as combat ensued.  The eladrin moved like the wind and easily swept aside from our blades, dancing about our attacks as though we had informed them of our swing prior to committing to the act.  I remember receiving a devastating blow from one of the eladrin and feeling the cold leaves of the shrubs brush against my scales. I could feel my mind begin to wander as the sound of combat drained from my ears, replaced by the familiar thumping of my heart which had begun to slow to a crawl. I tried to thrash, tried to scream, tried to even call for help, but my strength had left me.

 

I knew however, that if I let my eyes close and allow the alluring idea to slip out from the ever-dulling pain coming from my head, that I would wake up in the pit of despair, where all Thunderscale failures find themselves once they pass on - in a pit so deep, the light from the sun cannot shine through and the souls of those who have failed in their life forever claw at the slick walls of the pit while their failures are whispered to them by the souls of those the Thunderscales had failed so long ago.

 

I never fail.

 

In a bloodied stupor, I forced myself to my knees, my attacker having turned his back to me while his blades prepared to cut Wru to ribbons.  With speed that I cannot explain how I received, I clamped my claws onto the skull of the eladrin and drew my blade across his throat, expunging his life from his body in such a fluent fashion that Wru did not even have time to see the attacker ready himself to strike her down.  I remember rage and the sweet scent of combat assailing my senses as they returned to me.  I tried to calm my lineage that called to me and I went on to assist Kohl as best as I could. 

 

We dispatched the swordsmen and chased after a spell slinging eladrin, who coincidentally plummeted into the pit and vanished.  Jozan had received a near-fatal wound and Lenathis tended to our fallen comrade, bringing him back from the brink of the pit.  We rested and recuperated in order to gather our bearings. Knowing that there were eladrin about that would attack on sight, we sent Jozan back to retrieve reinforcements from the elves while we investigated the strange site.

 

The first thing that caught our eyes was a majestic tree that dwarfed even the giant’s tree houses of the elves.  Carved upon the bark of the tree, or even sculpted was the face of a wizened and stoic-expressional eladrin.  Unsure of what to make of it, I decided that the mystery of the giant chasm would only be solved at the bottom of the gaping hole.  Kohl lowered me down into the oversized grave, using the stone-constructed outcropping as a base.  I secured the rope via pitons and slowly made my way onto the ground-level of the pit - how ironic it was for me to have found myself in this strange hole with having almost slipped over to the other side.

 

I secured the rope at the base and Kohl secured it about something up top.  Not sure what to make of the area, I waited everyone else.  Veliv, Wru and Lenathis descended, Kohl opting to stay at the top of the pit, in case the eladrin returned.  At the base of the strange outcropping of stone was a pit, being the ever-curious one that I am, I foolishly approached it and was ambushed by an eight-legged abomination that sunk its fangs deep into my neck, knocking me prone.

 

The fight was abrupt and almost everyone was caught off guard.  The second enormous spider leapt upon Wru and dug into her with its fangs, dropping her to the ground.  Veliv threw her spells and singed the beasts, but to no true avail - the hides of the spiders too thick to penetrate through and roast them from the inside.  Lenathis clubbed the spider that kept me pinned and knocked it clear from my frame, allowing me return to my feet.

 

I was able to get a better idea of what I was facing now that I could see the large arachnid.  Fangs dripping with green venom and limbs larger than Kohl’s massive arms stared me down with all eight eyes.  Taking advantage of its moment of confusion, I capitalized and struck it dead-center with my blade, ichors spewing from its torso and hissing as the air met the warm, blood-like goo.  The creature leapt away and began to climb the strange tree.  We dealt with the one that was attacking Wru and knocked it clear from her body, Lenathis crushing its form from beneath his flail.

 

 

Kohl finished off the spider that leapt away, tossing its dead body down into the very pit that it had leapt out from.  The poison worked its way through our systems and we continued on, exploring the strange pit for any hint as to what it actually was there for.  An astounding waterfall displayed itself before us, a pool of clear water and roots to the massive eladrin-faced tree surrounded us.  I had read many a story about things hidden by a cascade of water, blocking it from view and decided to examine the locale.  As I gazed into the falling water, the reflection of something caught my eye and I pulled back, just in time to avoid the clawing form of an undead whose breath smelt worst that blood-soaked minotaur.  In a frenzy to claim me for his meal, the ghoul lounged at me and became over-weighed by the impressive waterfall beating down on his misshapen form.  Taking advantage of the downed figure, I rammed my sword through his spine, but realized a little too late that this would be little more than a hindrance to the creature.

 

My attack was met with a raking claw the pierced through the scales on my leg and the ghoul, having received more blows from my fellow adventurer, retreated to the waterfall.  Veliv followed suit and I tried to move, but found my muscles seized, as though they had stiffened like that of a fresh corpse.  Lenathis tried to assist me in movement, but couldn’t help for this ailment. Wru dashed behind the falls and went after the monster.

 

Lenathis followed the creature after I began to regain movement and together, the four of us struck the beast down with little effort, its advantage long ago disappearing due to it lacking the element of surprise.  Kohl had come down to assist us and Wru, having received another blow to her side retreated out from the waterfall, only to begin shrieking about some kind of vined horror.  Rushing out to assist the drow, we found ourselves held fast by the vines of a ten foot tall monstrosity whose body was composed of moss, tree roots, algae and even shrubs.  Orbs of red stared out at us and began constricting around our bodies, trying to envelope us within its horrible body.

 

It was not until Veliv decided it best to ignite the creature into flames that it loosened its grasp, however, the tiefling didn’t seem phased too much in the fact that she also set us ablaze with her magic.  Tearing ourselves free from the squealing force of nature, we began to hack at its gnarled limbs, cleaving through the roots and ultimately reducing the demon to little more than mulch.

 

 

By this time, Kohl had reached the base of the pit, only to see an eladrin cut the rope he had been previously climbing down.  The poor fool must have slipped however, as he found himself precariously dangling off the edge of the cliff.  With a simple flick of her wrist, Veliv’s magic found the man’s fingers and burned them to stumps, forcing the man to fall prey to gravity’s embrace. 

 

We searched behind the waterfall and found a small dwelling where the ghoul had obviously been using as a shelter. The body of the eladrin mage was found among the refuse and we removed him from the watery interior, hoping to at least gain a location to stay safe while others would search for a way out.  While cleaning the cave, I noticed eladrin watching me and gave them no heed, hoping that they would decide not to try casting spells, for fear of losing their element of surprise.

 

When I returned to the cave, I noticed the small pool of water behind the waterfall went deeper than the rest and went under for a closer look.  The craggy exterior of the rocks made it hard for me to find my way through and I had to resort to cracking two sun rods in order to gain a better look at what was hidden under the lapping waves of the cave’s pool.

 

I came up with a necklace of bone, a find that was in considerably better shape than anything else down in the water. Veliv later identified it and a shoddy-looking mace as magical items. I wonder what kind of mage would put an enchantment on a necklace of bone or a mace, but either way, they would be put to better use with our group than to rot in the home of a now dead ghoul.  We decided to rest here, what with the bodies now removed and the eladrin no longer able to see us.

 

There is something I must say before I finish this entry though. For a brief moment, I heard something melodic while clearing the refuse from this cave.  I hope that it was nothing important and no one else seemed to hear it, so I’m hoping this is not some kind of sign that my actions have been compromised.  Perhaps in a few hours we’ll find a way out of here and wait for reinforcements, there doesn’t seem to be much of interest in this dank and death-infested pit.

 ~X~

Session 2-8: Wru

Posted by Wru on Sep 21, 2008

Dexella–it feels like it’s been a million years since I’ve last seen you. So much has happened since I left that I couldn’t properly describe to you in the short note I left with my new Goblin friends, and even then, who knows if they’ll be able to brave the wilds and get it to you?

Where to start…well, I used to always talk about how I wanted adventure and excitement. I’ve rethought this great yearning to be famous, and when this is all over, if I live through it, I think I want to settle down back at the camp and never leave home again.  Ever.

Everywhere we’ve gone and everything we’ve done has proven more and more to me that, for the most part, my new ‘friends’ are absolutely insane! If they’re not almost drowning, provoking phantoms or trapping me up top of a cliff with an ork berserker, then they’re making a spectacle of themselves and causing a ruckus in bars and market places, causing all manner of scum (not our kind of scum, either) to come out of th woodwork, after us!

We’ve also picked up a reckless hanger-on cleric, whose rash decisions have nearly gotten me killed more than helped me out–his attitude towards the helpless Goblins that I sent to you (he wanted to kill them despite the fact that they clearly recognized us at the more dangerous party and had surrendered, and on top of that, they were defenseless!) makes me worry for my own life…he does not know of my identity, and I would very much like to keep it that way.

Anyhow, Omelas was a big pile of sand, and while I’m happy to admit that I’m very proud of  a masterwork shovel, crafted by a famous Dwarf smith, that I have recently aquired,  this journey through it has bene one disaster after another. The sun was unforgving, the sands equally harsh, and when we finally figured out where we were supposed to be going, there was a phantom waiting for us.

It was a terrifying experience, and I’m not sure how we all made it out alive. Some engravings pointed us to a jungle on the other side of a mountain range, and so off we went. It didn’t take Xerex very long to almost kill me–we discovered we were being followed by orks, and so i followed him to make sure he didn’t (oh, and I forgot to mention the bandits he’s lead to us earlier) pull another ‘bandit’ situation. However, when the going got tough, he decided to get going, and left me trapped behind his scaley butt at the top of a cliff as he hogged the only means of escape. I did what any self-preserving adventurer would and jumped on his back. The berserker had the same idea, and when I woke up, I was barely alive. Kohl managed to save us, but it was a hell of a battle and he almost bit it, too.

When we finally gathered our wits about us, we high-tailed it out of there and into the jungle. We ran into some dire wolves, almost immediately (lucky bunch, we are) and again, I almost died. Lenathis’ priorities when it comes to healing seem a bit misplaces, and i found myself pulling myself back from the brink of death with sheer willpower. I don’t think I’ll be trusting him too much more.

Luckily, we spotted some friendly elves. They took us back to their settlement, and you can bet I was sure to keep my appearance under wraps, literally. They provided us with te information we needed, and with luck, we’ll soon be back in Promontory, and I’ll be able to get to Blackbird Dell and find my way to you. Then maybe we can do something about this stupid tracking bracelet.  If not, it’s off to the coast for me.

If we live through this next little impromptu adventure. Wanting to do something nice for the elves, Xerex and Kohl decided that it would be a nice idea for us to go into the remote Jungle and see why Elven rangers would disappear there from time to time. We found some sort of creepy sacraficial pit, which contained, no joke, two giant spiders, a vine horror and a ghoul! We’ve finally dispatched them, and I continue this letter that will never be sent as I try to get my bearings back over a long and confusing battle. Here’s to hoping I make it back to you in one piece…

Session 6: Xerex’s journal

Posted by Xerex on Aug 22, 2008

If I do not see desert for a thousand year, it would still be too soon.  It has been a long time since I was able to rest and write down the things that have transpired since the tomb.  After having vanquished the phantom, Kohl, Wru, Veliv, Lennethis and I explored its depths a little more.  Being the ever-adventurous band that we are, we stumbled across a small pedestal which presumably used to hold some ancient elven artefact, or so the murals in the damp place would have suggested. 

Veliv performed some of her magic and contacted Rutherfords’ magician lackey. From there, the group discussed some rather trivial things while beating around the proverbial bush until finally coming to a conclusion that the pompous bafoon Rutherford would want us to find this artefact.  Without much to go on other than an inscription Kohl found on the pedestal, we were unsure of where Rutherford’s ancestor would have taken this item.

Kohl transcribed the ‘map’ from the pedestal and as a group he decided that we should go searching for the elves that were shown paying tribute to the warlord. No one thought for a second that the mural to the left of the elves would be important - that of orcs doing battle near a large mountain. Deciding that the tomb was no longer worth our time, we preceded to the entrance where I volunteered to swim out first; anything to remove the stench of the rotten bones from my nostrils.

It was not until I began finding slack in my rope that I realized a horrible fate had befallen one of the members of our party.  Surfacing quietly, I made my way to the edge of the oasis and slowly climbed out of the water. In sadness, I looked over the remains of one of our closest friends in the desert - Heehaw; the group mule had been horribly mauled and torn limb from limb in a gorish display. His poor legs were strewn about in three pieces while his rotting head had been severed and left to bake in the sun. Perhaps resting in the tomb was not the best of idea, but this fate could not have been avoided after the destruction we had faced in the tomb.

Securing the rope to one of the larger portions of Heehaw’s mutilated corpse, I gave the signal and Veliv began her ascent, followed closely by Wru and Lennethis. In retrospect, asking Kohl to have removed his mail armour may have been in our better judgement, but the stale air in that crypt did not assist in any decision making.  Struggling against the massive size of our compatriot, the four of us strained to carry the massive minotaur’s weight towards the surface.  It took time, but eventually, we saved our friend from joining the secrets of the oasis.

After catching our breath, Kohl decided to investigate the murder of our beloved Heehaw.  Noting the large incisor marks and the way the body had been strewn about, the gladiator pointed out that a predator larger than himself, with jaws as strong as steel and more powerful than an umber hulk had done this.  As Kohl spoke about this horrific beast, Wru exclaimed in what could be described as a saving shriek and pointed towards the surrounding shrubs.

A crocodile, twice my size emerged from the bushes. Its jaws were more deadly than Kohl hammer or even Veliv’s magic. The serrated teeth of the massive reptile seemed to have no end as it snapped towards us. The scales shone like steel in the sun, a resemblance of the best quality of hide armour glaring at our weapons and enticing them to try and pierce its leathery hide. Kohl moved forward and struck the beast with his hammer while I decided to deal with the beast by cutting out its heart.  I almost succeeded, if not for the beast’s incredible display of agility and ferocity.  I have never felt such pain as I did when the beast secured its jaws around my torso. 

In what seemed to be an eternity, but truly transpired in less than six seconds, my comrades were upon the beast. I felt the impact of Veliv’s dark magic and the sudden spasms that the creature made force me to realize something very important - it would not let go.

In the throngs of its death dance, I was hurled from its jaw, almost dead from the teeth flaying across my belly and thigh. As I rolled across the sandy ground, Lennethis came to my aid almost immediately, so I’m told.  I could not help but feel as though the darkness the surrounded me felt familiar. In those few minutes that I travelled from between this world and the next, I could swear I saw the twin peaks of Thunderclap and I think that is what made me force my way back into this world; I did not want to meet Bahamut before making my mark or else the whole reason I ever left Thunderclap would be forfeit.

We marched from then on, Lennethis tending to my wounds as we travelled through the desert.  The hours crawled into days and the days stretched into weeks. Because of my painful condition, I could not keep track of time properly, but I know that I had seen more than fourteen moons above my head before we finally found the hills on the map Kohl had transcribed.  Deciding it best to get away from the cliff edge, we rested for a short while before continuing on. My wounds had become mended, but were still a little tender from the internal damage, but that did not stop me and Wru from finding a hidden path that lead up the mountain.

The path was treacherous, winding across the jagged rocks in a way I have only seen on Thunderclap ridge. Had there been walls around us, we would have been lost among them, but the open sky allowed us to venture onward.  The jagged path soon found its way to a gentle stretch, like a river after the rapids have had their way with the water.  Veliv demanded that we rest - her noble upbringing finally getting the best of her.  Choosing a quiet area where an outcropping of rock provided shade seemed best. We must have relaxed for at least a day. I found myself sleeping through the most part; having finally had time to scrape the sand from between my scales gave me the chance to indulge in some dreaming.

Late in the day, while the crew laughed at some bad interpretation of Kohl, at our own expense, I felt a prying set of eyes befall upon us.  I glanced around and peered towards the crest of a small up-rising jut and saw an orc, staring directly at our position.  Somewhat vexed that we had been spotted by something as vile as an ork whilst we rested, I informed my comrades that we should leave. Kohl, being the gladiator he was, opted to stay and fight.  Even though Kohl had an extensive knowledge of the orcs, I explained to him that being in the same place only allows for even more orcs finding us and hunting us down.

We put it to a vote and the party decided upon my plan.  We travelled for hours, our eyes constantly spying orcs coming and going from the ridge tops, always watching us, always following us.  We had trekked for four hours before we finally stopped and re-assessed our situation.  Kohl knew the orcs would want to take us by surprise and in full force - they were dirty fighters and strong warriors. What the orcs had not counted on however was that a dragonborn would be cleverer than they were in the ways of dirty fighting.

We let the dusk begin to settle over the horizon sky before setting our plan into motion. I quietly climbed the wall of the ridge, making aptly sure that I did not make a noise unless required. I had trained to do this for years on the cliff sides near my residence and this ridge was not even a challenge compared to what I used to scale. I reached the top of the ridge and counted heads; six orcs stood atop the ground, their guttural voices scraping my ears as they seemingly were plotting something against my small group.

Quickly reporting my findings to the group, I devised another plan, one that would even the odds.  Wru and I crept back up the side of the ridge, I had to be more careful as I do not know how skilled Drow are at climbing, but Wru seemed to be more than adequate for the purpose we had in mind.  Using a length of rope from Kohl’s pack, I secure a small snare into the ground and Wru, using her expert abilities as a grave robber, fashioned a quick disguise for it.  The female began to descend before me and I waited atop the ridge, we needed to get the drop on them or the plan would fail.

I lured the orcs to the position of the snare by tossing a rock. Their natural curiosity took effect and they began to approach the snare.  I became too engrossed in watching them approach the trap to realize where my talons were. Slipping slightly, my foot kicked a loose stone from the side of the mound I was hidden behind.  The orcs immediately saw their change to strike and moved in.  Wru scrambled her way back up and assisted me as the rest of the group prepared for the scuffle down below.

One of the orcs, his muscles barely contained by his green flesh came at me first. What orcs have in strength they lack in intelligence.  Over-extending himself with a full two-handed swing, the axe attempted in vain to cleave my head from my shoulders.  Deftly avoiding his blow and plunging my sword into his ribs, I tossed the green menace from the highpoint and down to my compatriots below.

I saw one of the orcs slip from sight as a horrified guttural scream echoed from the ridge, Kohl’s massive strength having pulled down on the snare. Beside the now vacant spot, another orc was launched head over heels as his body was struck by Veliv’s awesome magics.  Wru dealt with the other massive orc, the smaller ones falling to a combination of magic and shurikens.  One of the greenbacks ran forward and called out over to some unseen group.  Grinning at the thought of removing more of these nuisances, I remained atop the ridge - that is to say, until I saw the giant orc.

Built over seven feet tall with muscles that defied his form, this green hulk carried an axe whose shaft was made of a pure tree trunk and whose blade could deftly slice a man in two.  Deciding it best that Wru and I join the other below, I secured to rope after dispatching one of the smaller orcs with a throwing star. 

Wru must have felt some Drowish instinct of preservation, for as the large barrelling orc appeared, she did not attempt to slow him or any of his friends, instead, she leapt towards me and grappled onto my back, my natural horns allowing her to cling to me with ease.  Her small weight was nothing compared to my strength, but what happened next will always remind me why it’s always better to have your talons on the ground.

With a battle cry that almost pierced the heavens, the large orc catapulted himself into the air, aimed directly at me, his massive axe cleaving through the gap between us and his massive bulk slamming into me and throwing Wru and myself clear from the rope.  The sky became ground and the ground melted into the sky as I fell. Unable to right myself, I landed with a heavy thud, Wru crashing down beside me and not moving. Lennethis immediately ran to her aid as I pulled myself to my feet and shook my head to dull the pain that throbbed through my body.

By the time my vision cleared, Kohl had already backed the brute up to the wall, the two massive monstrosities clashing against each other in brutish combat.  Kohl was struck heavily by the massive axe, blood spilling out across his armour as his mail splintered from the sheer impact of the axe, but he did not fall.  Striking back at his would be slayer, Kohl slammed the orc into the wall with his hammer, the mighty tusk of the beast being ripped clear from his jaw with the momentum the minotaur threw into his swing, but the orc did not falter.

Moving in to assist Kohl, Lennethis and I surrounded the large orc, whose brutish swings kept us at bay. One wrong move and we could easily find ourselves in two places at the same time, like poor Heehaw.  The fight was going in our favour until an unseen attacker launched a rock upon Kohl’s skull.  The sound of cracking bones and denting metal rang through my ears and for a moment, the conflict was at a halt. Kohl’s eyes rolled into the back of his skull as he lurched forward, but again, he did not fall. Finding whatever massive strength he had in reserve, the might gorehammer proved his valour once again. Forcing himself upright as the helm that adorned his head split from the impact, Kohl glared at the orc and smiled.

What followed next was one of the most unexpected things I have ever witnessed.  I heard Veliv shout something in the distance, but paid no heed, and neither did anyone else around the orc, who had just received a painful retaliation from Kohl and was looking like he was on his way to the pyre. Had he been paying attention, I doubt he could have avoided his fate in that condition.  The shout was Veliv casting a spell, her target was the orc who had slung the boulder at Kohl’s helm and the result was a large chunk of orc landing upon and mortally wounding the orc we were facing. 

I think I still have some of the splatter in some of the folds of my armour.

We made camp afterwards, few words were traded between us, but I worry for Wru, if she falls to her instinct once more, perhaps we will all pay for it.

~X

The Story, continued

Posted by DM on Aug 22, 2008

The excited hum of conversation in the common room died down to a murmer as the old sage shuffled in. Rows of eager children sat cross-legged, watching the elderly gentleman keenly as he made a show of dusting himself off and easing himself into his chair.

“Now,” spoke the wizened scholar, folding his hands in his lap, “I believe I was telling you the story of the Rutherford Mercenaries.”

A little girl wearing a ribbon in her hair helpfully piped up, “you left off after they returned from the crypt in Blackbird Dell.”

“So I did,” replied the sage, smiling patiently. “Listen closely, children, for today’s yarn marks the first real taste of freedom the adventurers would be given. Far from creeping through dusty tombs and struggling with monsters in the dark, the next task our heroes would face was a great and challenging journey.

“Samuel Rutherford was well pleased with the headpiece recovered by his unwilling mercenaries, and paid them well for their services. A bag of gold went into each pair of waiting hands, and each of the exhausted explorers was whisked away to a lavish bedroom to rest. Wru, ever restless and longing to wander free, was the first to demand freedom, and the first to discover that none would be given - Rutherford’s guards would not allow her to travel beyond the walls of the manor. The other three soon made the same discovery, and it was only fierce Gorehammer who did not chafe at such indignity - as a former slave-fighter in the gladiatorial arena, he was accustomed to captivity, though he appreciated his comfortable new quarters.”

“Samuel didn’t let them go?” asked a stocky boy, his face indignant.

The storyteller shook his head. “Indeed not. The greedy merchant had other plans for the captive warriors. Having had enough time to recover from their ordeal, they were summoned before Rutherford once more.

“Their description of the tomb’s contents and appearance had intrigued their self-serving taskmaster, and he wished to learn more about his ancestor’s whereabouts. Knowing that the architecture described in their report was common in Omelas, he tasked the reluctant adventurers with travelling west to that mysterious nation to find some trace of Thomas Rutherford’s actions and discoveries.”

The sage paused to gather his thoughts for a moment before proceeding. “In order to ensure the recalcitrant party’s cooperation, the merchant had them fitted with cursed bracelets which would allow his wizard to track their movements at all times. Though Gorehammer had little objection to this - indeed, he had been made to wear a similar bracer for much of his career in the Arena - Wru and Xerex balked at the idea, and had to be threatened by Rutherford’s guards before they agreed.”

A slightly older, freckled girl asked, “what about Veliv? Didn’t she complain?”

“Oh, she did,” laughed the storyteller, “but her complaint was that her bracelet was not rich and ornate enough! The Tiefling’s background in high society had left her accustomed to certain luxuries, one of which was fine clothing. Samuel was a bit taken aback by this, needless to say, but he commissioned a more elabourate piece for her all the same.

“The next morning, the four explorers were taken on by a caravan heading west. Who knows what thoughts ran through their heads as they waited in that wagon? Surely Veliv’s thoughts were elsewhere, perhaps anticipating the strange and forgotten arcana that slumbered in the trackless sands of Omelas. Wru, withdrawn and taciturn, must have dreamed of escape, of returning to the wilderness to delve into lost resting places without the interference of meddling nobles. Xerex seemed to prefer not to think at all, and quickly took to moving between wagons so that he could chat with the caravan’s guards and workers.”

“What about Gorehammer the Furious?” asked a slightly pudgy boy with an upturned nose, “what was he thinking?”

“That much is clear,” replied the sage. “Gorehammer had often spoken with the guards at Rutherford Manor. He dreamed of buying his freedom, growing rich through his adventures, purchasing the very arena in which he had once done battle, and settling down to live as a legitimate businessman. In truth, he looked forward to the day when he, a Minotaur, would have no need for stage names or intimidating titles, and the common folk of Promontory would greet him using his given name: Kohl.”

Several of the boys frowned a little, puzzled that a mighty adventurer would want to be anything other than a fearsome killing machine, but a few of the girls seemed very moved by the earnest simplicity of the hero’s dreams. The sage smiled to himself.

“Much of the caravan’s journey passed without interruption. The weather was clear, so Kohl and Wru both chose to find places to sleep outside of the wagon, while Xerex and Veliv preferred to have a roof over their heads, even one of rough canvas. And so it was that the Tiefling and the Dragonborn started awake one night as they heard the crash of tumbling crates from within the wagon.

“His curiosity piqued, Xerex investigated the fallen merchandise and found one of the workers pinned beneath. Suspicious, he and Veliv questioned the man, and soon learned that he had intended to steal from them in their sleep. Angered, the Tiefling told Xerex to resolve the situation and washed her hands of the entire affair, but instead of levying punishment, the Dragonborn simply told the would-be pilferer that he respected his gumption and let him go free. With that, the travelers went back to sleep.”

“Wait a minute,” interrupted an astonished boy, “he just let him go? Just like that?”

The old scholar shrugged. “Xerex was a mysterious and unpredictable soul. It is all but impossible for us to understand what he was thinking at that moment.”

The boy just shook his head in disbelief.

“The morning after their encounter wth the would-be thief, Xerex and Veliv slept in somewhat. When Wru and Kohl returned to the wagon to find them, a startling sight greeted their eyes. Unbeknownst to them, the Warlock had grown cold during the night and, in her sleep-addled state, had sought out the nearest source of warmth. So it was that the oblivious Xerex lay sprawled out on his back, with Veliv, equally unaware, resting her head on his chest. Naturally, this all appeared to be a rather romantic situation to Wru and Kohl.”

A Tiefling girl in the front row wrinkled her nose. “Eww, that would be gross. Why would any Tiefling want to hug and kiss a big, scaly Dragonborn?” Her attitude earned her dirty looks from a few Dragonborn youth.

The storyteller chortled to himself. “Why, indeed? Kohl must have shared your opinion, as by all accounts he was rather, ah, out of sorts for some time afterwards. Nevertheless, the caravan continued west, bringing our hapless heroes with it. Xerex soon grew bored with the uncomfortable silence in their wagon, and sought out the worker who had attempted to rob him. He spent the next few days offering him advice on how to hone his technique.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.” An Elven boy was holding up his hands in a “stop” gesture. “You mean to tell us that Xerex first forgave the thief for trying to steal from him, then taught him how to steal without getting caught?”

“Yes.”

The child stared, baffled.

“As I said, he was a deeply inscrutable man. His motivations were often difficult to understand.” Ignoring the confused whispering amongst his audience, the sage returned to his story. “The caravan soon reached a small town and stopped to do business for a day or so. While the others were out replenishing their supplies, Xerex spoke to the guards and revealed his new apprentice’s larcenous tendencies-”

The children all shouted in astonishing unison.

Laughing, the old man held up his hands in a placating gesture, shushing them. “I must admit that even I cannot explain his reason for doing so. At the time, he apparently claimed that being caught would be a learning experience for the budding criminal. I rather suspect that he acted out of boredom more than anything else.

“Once the merchants had finished their business, they set off, with our heroes - and without the light-fingered worker - in tow. After several more days of uneventful travel, they brought the explorers to their destination: a hunting encampment immediately next to the Omelasian border.

“The citizens of this camp were exceptionally close-minded and stubborn folk, and did not take well to a minotaur striding into their shops. They refused to sell to Kohl, and even Wru and the others were charged extravagantly high prices for simple goods. Frustrated, the mercenaries left the settlement and made camp several hours away.”

A sleepy-looking young lady asked, “Why were they mean to Gorehammer?”

“That, my dear,” replied the scholar sadly, “is a very good question indeed. They mistook him for a monster, but even when he spoke to them and explained his mission, they refused to see beyond his fierce appearance. There will always be people who see the world through a film of ignorance, fear, and hatred, and it is very likely that you will come across some of them during your life. That brings me to the next part of our story.

“While they rested in the wilderness, the adventurers each took a shift on watch, peering quietly into the darkness for any threat to their companions. It was on Kohl’s watch that danger came creeping through the underbrush, and it is fortunate that the minotaur was alert enough to spot the six men sneaking towards the camp.

“Hoping to gain the element of surprise against these would-be ambushers, the gladiator nudged Wru, awakening her.” The sage leaned forth in his chair, speaking in a tense, conspiratorial tone, and was pleased to see the children lean in closer, eyes wide. “As he warned her, she sat up to see the interlopers, and they spotted her.”

The storyteller leaped to his feet with remarkable alacrity for one so old. “They shouted and loosed arrows at her, ignoring Kohl. Bravely, the warrior hurled himself in front of the startled treasure hunter, turning aside the deadly projectiles with his shield. Xerex and Veliv were on their feet in moments, indiscriminately inflicting violence upon anyone they didn’t recognize.

“Between Veliv’s dread magic, Xerex’s flashing blade, Wru’s deftly-thrown daggers, and Kohl’s devastating charge, the attackers had broken and fled in less than a minute, leaving one man unconscious on the ground, and another pinned in Kohl’s massive arms. The adventurers were quickly able to identify them as hunters from the settlement, and set about questioning them to determine why they had attacked.”

The elderly man eased himself back into his chair, still speaking. “Unbeknownst to our heroes, one of the hunters had been tracking game in the woods nearby while Wru was bathing the previous evening. He had seen her, and known her for what she was. Though that man had escaped during the fight, the two captives knew well enough what he had spotted in the woods that day: a Dark Elf, sneaking through Promontory in pursuit of some unknown agenda.

“The adventurers released the superstitious hunters, warning that any further harassment on their part would result in a very interesting and creative demise at Veliv’s hands. The men must have taken their words to heart, for they did not return to bother them further.”

After a moment’s silence, he continued. “Veliv was the first to voice her thoughts on the revelation. Where she had previously thought Wru to be diseased due to the bandages she wore to conceal her dark skin, she now considered her untrustworthy and craven. The fact that she essentially thought this of everyone did not seem to enter into her consideration.” He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Xerex was seemingly unfazed by the discovery, while Kohl was heartened by it - he no longer felt as though he was the only mercenary to be made outcast due to his race.”

One of the Dragonborn youths raised his hand, drawing the sage’s attention. “Sir, wasn’t Xerex of Stormscale descent?”

The old storyteller blinked, surprised. “You know your legends, child! Yes, he was. Why?”

“Didn’t he mistrust or hate Wru? The Stormscale lineage fought some of the most bitter battles against the Drow in the War of the Granite Throne.”

“Xerex, possessed as he was of a great love for legends and history, would certainly have known all about his lineage’s age-old feud with the Dark Elves.” The sage smiled gently, steepling his fingers as he spoke. “However, he had a much less… traditional attitude than many of his brethren. Having fought alongside Wru in battle, he regarded her as a skilled warrior and a worthy ally, and felt little concern for comparatively petty details such as race.”

“But-”

“Remember, young one,” said the talespinner, “that this particular Stormscale had always chafed against the rigid heirarchy of his fellows. He held no regard whatsoever for any tradition or law that served no constructive purpose. Xerex was, in a way, more the practical warrior than his brothers and sisters ever were.”

The boy remained silent, though he looked somewhat mutinous.

“Now, where was I? Oh, yes.” The storyteller cleared his throat. “The adventurers broke camp early the next morning, and set out to the west. The forest soon grew sparse, giving way to rocky ground, and by midday the travelers had reached the dusty plains marking Omelas’ border. Orienting themselves according to the directions given to them by Rutherford and the merchant caravan, they struck out into the desert.

“It was not long before they noticed something on the horizon. Xerex wished to investigate, but the others did not wish to deviate from their course. After a heated debate, the Dragonborn set off on his own, while the rest waited for him to return, frustrated by his stubbornness. As they watched, he dwindled away to a speck in the distance.

“Xerex’s curious nature proved to be a liability in this case. The strange shape, barely visible from some distance off through the desert heat, turned out to be a group of mounted bandits. Their leader demanded a toll from the adventurer, who replied that he had little money, but his friends were wealthy-”

A little Halfling girl blurted out, “Was he stupid, or something?”

The storyteller laughed. “‘Reckless’ may be a more accurate term, and ‘eccentric’ would certainly seem to fit the bill. The rogue led the bandits back to his allies, and when they drew near, he gestured that the other explorers should attack the brigands. Their leader saw this, and fetched him a ringing kick to the back of the head, knocking him sprawling. Within an instant, a bloody battle was underway.

“The bandits circled around their prey, hurling javelins and slashing with curved scimitars. Kohl immediately tried to even the odds by striking a rider from his saddle with a ringing blow, while Wru used her agility and cunning to harry another, dodging his attacks and wearing him down with countless shallow wounds. Veliv blasted the highwaymen with all manner of uncanny magicks, wiping her image from their minds so that they could not see her. It is said that she took much glee in tormenting them as they wasted their javelins attacking sand and shadows. Xerex leapt to his feet and taunted the bandit leader, dodging aside when he struck and luring him into overextending himself. The frustrated rider grew careless beneath such mockery, and suffered many wounds.

“In spite of their courageous defense, the heroes incurred grievous injuries. Kohl was nearly slain as javelin after javelin pierced his armour, Wru narrowly avoided being struck dead by a robber’s scimitar, and Veliv was wounded many times by the panicked and desperate thieves. Only Xerex managed to avoid serious harm, as he was able to outwit and dispatch the leader in single combat.”

The elderly scholar spread his hands, saying, “in the end, it was Veliv who wrought the greatest carnage. As her strength flagged and her wounds took their toll, she called upon demonic magic to bolster her. More than one bandit died horribly as she tore the very life from his body, imbuing it into her own flesh to sustain her consciousness. The last robber alive tried to flee on horseback, but fell, lifeless, from the saddle as the vengeful Warlock blasted him from behind.”

Every child in the room was silent and pale, lost in contemplation of the awful powers at Veliv’s command. The old man decided to break the tension.

“Needless to say, everyone was extremely upset with Xerex.”

A nervous, relieved laugh rippled through the audience. One child timidly asked, “was Veliv… evil?”

The storyteller thought about that for several moments. “I do not believe so. I rather think that she was ambitious, and temperamental, and possessed of entirely too much power for one person to wield without being changed by it at least a little. But not evil.”

His answer seemed to relieve the children, who began to chatter amongst themselves. The sage held up his hand for their attention, silencing them.

“Our heroes,” he said briskly, “gathered what valuables the bandits had possessed, and then rested awhile, the better to recover from their, erm, ‘adventure.’ Once their wounds had healed somewhat, they set out on their journey once more.

“Several days passed, and no danger came to the travelers - it seemed that Xerex had brought all the bandits in the desert down on them at once!” He paused to let the children’s laughter die down before continuing. “They soon reached the city of Hamir, a settlement so steeped in trade and commerce that it was essentially one huge bazaar, with vendors on every corner…”

The scholar sat, waiting for one of the children to ask. He didn’t have to wait long.

“And?” asked the Dragonborn boy who had questioned Xerex’s actions before, “what happened next?”

“Well,” chortled the sage, “you’ll find out next time, won’t you? Bah, don’t groan like that, children, one day you’ll be old and sore like I am! Go on, now, we’ll continue the story tomorrow.”

Session 4&5 - Xerex’s Journal

Posted by Xerex on Jul 22, 2008

At least two weeks have passed since we left the confines of Hamir and I can say that the desert was never truly a place for Dragonborn to trek. Sand has allowed itself to enter every part of my body, sliding under scale and horn in an attempt to distract me from finding what we had been sent out to the west to find - the tomb of a great warlord which was the only fragment of a clue we had to go on in order to appease Mr. Pompous Rutherford.

If that wasn’t enough, we ran into a half-elf named Lennethis, or somesuch. A cleric of some human god named Kord or something along those lines. I’ve never truly met a half-elf safe for this man, but that is not to say I don’t know what they are supposed to look like. This crossbreed was definitely more in-tune with his human half than his elf half.  He spoke of joining in great adventures and journeys. Naturally, having heard tales of our deeds, the cleric beseeched us to allow him the favour of travelling with us.  No objections were made and Len joined our ranks as we prepared to head out with the caravan.

 We travelled through the desert for days, each of us using our various expertises in order to blaze a path through the endless sea of sand.  It wasn’t until Kohl had seen a cave that we had not gazed upon anything but brown grains as far as the eye could see; at times even the sky was blanketed with the grains. Intrigued, and more than prepared to spend the night in something other than the sand-blasted wilderness of the desert, we headed for the mouth of the cave.  We could hear clambering and screeching inside the cave, but none of us could truly see anything but darkness.  Courageously, I took a chance and looked inside - my curiosity was rewarded with a javelin which found its way into my abdomen; obviously what lay inside was not too pleased with having visitors.

I took a step back to remove the weapon from my stomach; it had not pierced deep enough to be threatening, but it was a wound nonetheless.  Veliv lit up the tunnel inside with her arcane flames and the figure of a scorching, screaming goblin came into view.  As ugly as these things are, I still don’t think they deserved the fate Veliv had decided for them, but I was not about to argue with her after having received a wooden shaft into my stomach.

The encounter with the goblins did not last longer than 5 minutes. Within that time, Veliv had reduced most of the foul little critters into ash; having caused a catstrophic explosion by means of a flask of oil and her spells. The few that remained were either on their way to the other side or cowering in fear of the tiefling.  Having examined my wound, I decided that these trifling beings were not worth my time and went on to prepare for our departure as the rest of the group squabbled about how to finish the last two vile little wretches.  To my surprise however, the two were left unharmed; I suppose Veliv did not get her way or they may have been forced to be used as footwear for the tiefling.

After making camp away from the stench-filled cave, we trekked on further. The day crawled on with nothing much of interest, and the second day seemed to follow the same course until a glint of something caught our attention. Deciding that we were close enough to the approximate destination we had set out to find, the group agreed to come towards this strange reflection.  As we closed the distance between ourselves and the anomaly, we began to realize that this was in fact an oasis of some kind.

I have never truly understood magic, but what I saw was beyond words. An almost perfect circular lake was carved out of the sand in front of us and within the lake, a structure as massive as the great temple of Bahamut cropped itself in the very center, submerged within the crystal-clear liquid.  The marvel challenged us to examine it and Kohl reluctantly accepted to try and get a glimpse of the structure from within the water.

Fastening a line to Kohl’s torso and each of us grabbing hold of the other end, including attaching a length to Heehaw, the mule, we slowly descended the minotaur into the chilling waters below.  With nothing but a barrel of air clamped around his muzzle, Kohl descended into the darkness and disappeared from our view.  The massive gladiator remained unseen by all of us for a while before we received a tug on the rope; the signal to bring the gladiator back to the surface.

Kohl explained to us that there were massive pillars holding the structure in place, keeping it suspended in the center of the pool of water.  The group decided that I, Xerex, was the best suited for the next task; and eager to wash the sand from my scales I did not disagree. Diving headlong into the clear water, I submerged myself with a water skin (now filled with air) and expertly swam my way to the giant stone doors that had been left open so long ago. 

As I surfaced, I could hear every movement I made echo off the dark walls. Striking my sun rod, I tossed the illuminating stick onto the floor and watched from the water’s surface.  The room contained enough engravings and tapestries of the same human male conquering civilizations that I naturally concluded that this had to be the resting place of the famous warlord we had been seeking.  We tied one end of the rope around one of the massive pillars, I set back to inform my colleagues of this discovery.

Using the fastened rope, the group slowly descended into the depths. We had already been in a tomb before and we had learnt that keeping your weapon ready was a smart idea, so we opted to maintain a hold upon our adventuring clothing.  I will say that minotaurs are not the most pleasant things to smell once wet. We proceeded into the tomb and made our way carefully throughout the strange complex, regarding each of the tapestries with inquisitive glances.

No clues presented themselves as we pushed on and at one point, we did come across a row of sarcophagi. Now, having already been in Sir Rutherford’s tomb, Kohl and I were not too keen on letting any skeletons rise to impale our party, so we chose to glance inside of each of the heavy stone caskets.  Nothing but dust and rust remained inside the tombs, nothing of interest inside to speak of, but what happened next was surely a tale that goes hand in hand with this fellowship’s quota for strange encounters.

From the walls, a terrible sight emerged;  a translucent skeleton slid its way through the stone walls and in its wretched gaze, it surveyed what we had unearthed. In one hand it held a long sword that shone with blue and purple light, wicked curves running up and down the blade. In the other hand, the skeletal ghost had a shield that seemed to ebb and flow with the hatred that seethed forth from this ghost.  The face of the abomination faded in and out of sight, skin melting to bone and soul blending into sinew as the beast fixated its eyes upon Kohl and began to swing its unearthly blade.

Kohl’s steed did nothing to assist him against the ethereal blade of the ghost, its shrieks chilling the group to the bone as it unleashed necrotic forces that could drive a lesser man to his knees with but a whisper.  It slammed itself in full force against our small band, but the resilience of the group was greater than the ghost’s resolve and we fought it back to the hellish realm from which it came; or so we thought.

Pushing forward, Len took the lead as he had supposedly dealt with undead and knew more about them than the rest of us.  We came upon a large hall; tapestries and writings of the various things that the warlord had accomplished lined the walls, but their timeframe seemed to have been that of a few years later than the previous rooms.

Also in the room were skeletons, but we had had enough experience against those kind of atrocities that they were dispatched with little effort, our blades cleaving through their animated bones and weapons like they were made of churned butter.  After the dust and rust had cleared, we noticed that one of the many statues that aligned the walls had collapsed prior to our arrival.

Behind the statue was a hallway that was completely littered with clutter, some bone fragments, dust and trash lined the walls. In the centre of the room stood two massive stone doors, their handles different than the rest as they were to be forced open by pulling them, instead of lifting. Once Kohl and I managed to pull the slabs of stone apart, the cold chill of an unholy tomb struck us.  We entered the final resting place of the warlord. His sarcophagus was encircled by water. Within the stone casket lay the almost unrotten form of the six hundred year old human.

Veliv saw runes underneath the body and requested that the body be removed, Kohl obliged, but was surprised to find a shadowy sword connect with his shoulder as his fingers rested upon the body of the dead warlord; the ghost had returned and he was not happy. 

Quickly remembering what Len and Veliv had said, I leapt into action. The two had told us that the warlord’s body was comprised of water mainly because he had drowned to death. Due to his apparent death, his soul was afraid of water, as Wru had found out in our previous fight.  Knowing what I knew, I gripped the torso of the mighty dead warrior and flung it into the water, only to find that this in fact did nothing.

Kohl fought valiantly against the shade as Veliv tried to decipher the runes of the now empty coffin.  Leaving the arcane witch to her own devices, I left to assist Kohl, but quickly found myself worrying about another problem; skeletons had found our location. There was a horde of white-boned monstrosities staring back at me as I reached the door. Their thin frames were just wide enough that they couldn’t brave the gap in the door that they had created. Forcing myself to slow their entry, I called back to Kohl about the inherent danger of what lay behind the doors.

Veliv continued reading her runes, and as one of her stature is prone to such acts, she became bored with whatever she was investigating and decided that blowing up the sarcophagus was a proper way to break what she later described as a curse on the soul of the warlord.  The skeletons I held off shattered forcefully, pelting myself and the rest of the group with fragments of their brittle bodies. For a moment, everything was silent and we thought the ghost was undone; Veliv’s actions justified by the emptiness, but only for a moment.

In a horrible flash of negative energy, the ghost’s form billowed from its original shape and started to shriek in glee as its bluish hue began to bleed black sludge. Within a blink of an eye, the ghost had become completely engulfed in the black ooze, leaving only the mouth to emit any kind of light. Razor-covered limbs, clawed at the tip of the ooze-covered limbs and a legless body floated above us.

Sheer hate and sadism emanated from this beast. It howled in anticipation as it tried to terrorize the group with its horrible hatred and psychotic images, but we held our ground and readied ourselves.  The hellish spectre was a formidable foe, but Len was able to drive it off with his faith in his god, forcing the beast to retreat through the walls.  We readied ourselves at the wall it had disappeared from, but we could not expect to know that having been transformed into this entity of hate had caused the ghost of the warlord to lose its fear of water.

Tearing through the ceiling, the spectre unleashed another onslaught of images into our minds, this one more terrifying than the last. None of us safe for Veliv, whom I believe to have already walked through the sixth circle of hell, dropped to our knees from the attack.  The ghost revelled in our pain and laughed once more.

In an act of defiance, Len leapt above the spectre, and act obviously assisted by his elven heritage and pummelled the being with his mighty flail of golden might, the spectre shrieking from the blow, but not waning. In an attempt to protect Kohl, I drove my weapon into the enigma’s form, causing it to lose substance, Kohl was badly injured and the beast seemed all too eager to force Kohl to join it in the afterlife.  With a savage claw to the minotaur’s head, the spectre forced Kohl to the ground. 
Angered that I may lose one of the most powerful allies I had ever attained, I shielded Kohl’s body from further damage and pierced the spectre clean-through with my sword, causing the monster to designate around my blade, its laughter echoing through the emptied halls.

We were able to prevent Kohl from slipping from our world, but the minotaur now rests a little bit away from me. I have no doubt that this warrior has often seen a lot of injuries, but none that did what this spectre could do. His flesh about the wounds was rotted and fetid, as though the skin itself had died out and almost instantly turned gangrenes.  I hope that Kohl will recover from this; it would be a shame to lose the might Gorehammer so early.

~X

Session 2 & 3: Xerex’s Journal

Posted by Xerex on Jun 30, 2008

It has been a few weeks since my last venture from the walls of the so-called noble, Samuel Rutherford. If not for the intrigue that I felt upon reclaiming the skull of his long-dead ancestry, I would have left that place post haste. I finally have something new to write about - or at least to mention in this journal.  The small group I as part of was summoned before the fat noble once more in order to have another task handed to us. The merchant naturally chose myself as the proper conveyer of messages, but I was not too delighted to be leashed to his employ like a common pet or tithe-gatherer.  Apparently, his forefather had travelled to Omelas and he had caught wind of where about we might be able to find mention of the ancient Rutherford of the past. 

The way Samuel had worded the land of Omelas - as a hostile, bleak and incredibly dangerous landscape roused my interest a little; adventurers were often known to go to such places in search of treasure, demons or what have you.  The merchant was clever enough to escort us with his armed behemoths, for given the chance; I would have stolen myself away and disappeared to venture out to Omelas on my own.  I can honestly say that Veliv worries me a little and the accompaniment of Wru is not as I had thought, but I will get to that later.  These three would surely slow me down if I were to be stuck teaching them how to survive in the harsh wastes.

The caravan was dull, but the night that the burglar tried to steal from us was indeed a spectacle. Crouched in the darkness and concealed within the shadows themselves, the vile brigand tried to levy our coin purses whilst we slept. His crooked fingers had already taken some valuables from the other caravan wagons, but within this wagon, he did no such thing. Having devised a fool-proof and precarious ensemble of crates, the thief quickly found himself in a particular situation. Stuck within my ingenious trap, the human tried to weasel his way from the truth, but I forced it out of him with but a gesture and a smile.  It was obvious that this poor night-stalker was under-skilled compared to one such as myself, but I took no foul upon him for trying.  Through the generosity of my own heart, I taught him few more appropriate means of movement in order to stay concealed; one must be careful if one plans to sneak past a dragon.

After removing the wretched urchin from the wagon and giving him some pointers, I dozed off; knowing full-well that no fool would dare try and cross the wagon now that they knew who was inside.  Kohl and Wru however, opted to stay outside for the night. I naturally had an obligation to keep the wagon safe, so I stayed within the confines of the cramped little box. Veliv stayed inside as well, her needs more accustomed to sleeping with a roof than under a star-lit sky.  I think my ability to stop that rogue must have endeared myself to the tiefling, as I awoke to find her embracing my body while asleep.  A truly interesting gesture, but I have no time for things like this tiefling; they would only hold me back from gaining more of a name for myself.

I gently removed her grasp from my person and went out to speak with the others. Kohl had a nightmare about unicorns, nightmares, and supposedly ants. A truly disturbing nightmare it must have been, as he was emptying the contents of his stomach almost every minute that passed. Wru seemed distant, as usual, but I thought that was nothing more than her normal personality.  I remember speaking with the guards of our little night time friend, and introducing the rapscallion to the caravan defenders in order to teach him a lesson, but that was the last time I saw the poor fellow; hopefully he won’t be so careless next time, as my teachings should have improved his ability to avoid the naked eye.

The caravan later continued with not much interest; Kohl remained green-furred, Wru kept silent and spokes only once or twice to a shovel she carried and Veliv seemed more interested in complaining than enjoying the freedom of not being cooped up in that awful mansion. When the caravan finally lurched to a stop at the outskirts of Omelas, we disembarked from the caravan and gathered supplies from the small village; the people seemed dismissive and possessed at the same time, nodding to myself and shunning both Kohl and Wru for reasons I was not completely sure of. Once we received our supplies for the travel, we made camp outside the village, near the boarder. 

Kohl, being as strong and brave as the stories would say, offered to take first watch. Luckily for us, the large minotaur’s eyes can adjust well to the dark. We awoke to find ourselves being encroached upon by some unseen figures.  As I stirred from my sleep, I saw the gnarled and twisted bodies of our attackers, without hesitation, the group sprung into action. The mighty thugs were no match for our combined efforts. As the swarm tried to consume us, we slashed and burned away at their numbers, cutting those down that dared to cross us. With ease we cleared a path through the group, hellish cries and moans of despair climbing through the air in waves of constant agony. As our rebuke carried on, those that were wise fled from our weapons and whisked themselves off into the night.  We captured two of the swarm and interrogated them both; they had been from the village and were sent to kill Wru. The reasoning behind this was a shock at first, but I have grown accustomed to the information. Wru was in fact a drow, which would explain the constant bandaging of her flesh. 

From the stories I read, drow were unfriendly creatures, nor were they ones to travel on top, but instead, below.  We released the two left in order for them to warn their village that they best not defy us again. Their cowardly screams still linger in the woods, warning passerbys of the ill fate that befell those that would dare contend with Xerex, Kohl, Wru and Veliv.

We traversed into the great desert of Omelas, in search of the secluded town of Hamir.  With great determination, I pushed forth, hoping to get that much closer to ridding myself of the bond that tied me to Rutherford’s employ.  We travelled across searing heat; the air so hot flames would burst forth from its very fabric and lick our exteriors, but we were not frail to the elements and as such, we pushed on.  It wasn’t until Kohl spotted something on the horizon that the dreadful monotonous dunes seemed to distance themselves from us.

I was adamant on finding out what this spec in the distance could be; it could have been almost anything from that distance - a town, a small camp, some villagers or perhaps even a caravan. The rest of the group was too enthralled with assisting Sir Rutherford, insisting we continue on our designated path.  I can safely say that no hero that was worth his or her weight in gold always did as they were told.  With fierce determination, I left the group behind.  I travelled for what seemed hours, yet I could still feel the heated gaze of my cohorts on my spine. As I approached what now were riders on the distance, I stopped in my tracks, for the sight before me was as grotesque as the tales I have read.

Men made of sand and flowing of wind circled me, their dark steeds neighing in anticipation at the slaughter they thought they would have.  As the leader of the sand-bandits spoke, dust flowed from his mouth and took to the air, his words forming from his lips in an eerie deep rasp.  His demands, like most hoodlums, were simple enough; 25 gold and my life would be spared. The fools thought they had trapped the great Xerex, but instead, found themselves laced within my own web. Informing them of the group of travellers that accompanied me, I lured the greedy sand demons back to Kohl, Veliv and Wru.

Quickly, the leader saw the real threat and tried to end my life, but I was too graceful for his sand-made form. Dodging like the air itself, I weaved my way about his blade as the rest of the group dispatched the sand-bandits. The demon had no idea what he faced and as I drove my sword into his stomach, I pulled his form free from the dark steed  and watched as his body sank back into the sands; leaving nothing but his clothes and his sword. I had hoped to ride the steed and save myself the trouble of walking to Hamir, but unfortunately, these unnatural beasts leapt across the wind-swept dunes in single bounds, clearing off into the distance before we could gather ourselves from the fight.

After gathering the clothes of the now dead sandmen, we continued on our way. The trek was long; weeks we stayed in the desert as we tried to gather information and insight onto where we were headed. In vain, Veliv tried to use her arcane arts to detect a sign of life, and at least once, her abilities lead us astray. It was Wru, Kohl and myself who helped us reach the border of Hamir. We entered, thankfully under the guise of somewhat known travellers, as we had adopted some of the sandmen’s clothes to suit our own needs.

The town of Hamir was like nothing I had ever seen, people ran across roofs as the streets were too crowded with merchants peddling what little they had for prices as absurd a hundred gold for a single basilisk eye. I was not fazed by their lures of possible treasures, as I had already set my path in motion. Making our way to the resident library, or ’scribe’ as the guardsman called it, we enlisted the help of a very old man whose body seemed to have seen more years than a mighty oak.  His ancient face could only be described as archaic and he moved with a certain unorthodox method, as though time seemed to stop and speed up about him in all manners of strange way.

We finally made our way from the scribe with an estimated time of six hours in order to receive all the information we needed, so naturally, as any good adventurer would, I lead my small band of travellers to the pub.  We did not sit for long however and the tug of this strange culture seemed to envelope every member of the party; some before others. Veliv, Kohl and myself left to scout the strange merchants and see if perhaps some items of Mr. Thomas Rutherford would be sold about these parts, but came up empty handed. When we returned however, Wru departed from our corner and went in search of something, while Veliv decided that more browsing would be in our best interest.

The women left the pub on their quests, leaving myself and Kohl to our own devices.  It did not take long for me to convince my friend that we could make a profit in a small town like this; with his immense size and my cunning, we would make enough money to assist us in retrieving more information about Rutherford.  With as much moxie as a god, I approached the bartender and arranged a business proposition. Within minutes a line formed and Kohl was showing off his incredible strength. Within mere hours we had collected over seven gold in profit, Kohl having to throw some of his competition a bone in order to keep them coming.  Veliv was the first to return and was not too pleased with our business proposition, but quickly silenced herself when I presented her the winnings and a mug of fresh ale.

Once Kohl had his fill, we departed the pub and made our way back to the Scribes. The documentation was worthless. Jabbering of political influences, caravans and useless information was dumped into our laps and with very little to go on, we began to discuss our predicament in the scribe’s presence. It was not until my sharp insight kicked in that a spark of hope became clear. I withdrew the helmet from the skeletons of the crypt we had previously been in and showed it to the scribe.  In his wizened ways, he sent us towards a renown smith, which he told us would have the answers we searched for.

Without hesitation, we hurried off to see the smith, but Wru preferred to go shopping instead.  Leaving our drowish companion to her own devices we made our way to the smith. After a long wait, we finally found ourselves in front of the renown dwarven smith. I could no believe my eyes when I saw this dwarf. Before us stood a dwarf made almost completely of metal. His hair were wires of steel, strong and rugged across his features, his flesh was made of bronze and across his body were gems and incredible inscriptions that I could not fathom to read. The dwarf was gruff, as most are and demanded to know what we had been sent for.

The dwarf told us that the hats come from the south-west region of Omelas, where a dynasty over 600 years old used these hats as infantry armour. I was impressed that the bronze-made dwarf knew so much of this foreign culture, but I did not speak about it as I had to keep my tongue in check around the dwarf; they are a very serious bunch.  The warlord of the old region would be quite a help in order for us to search out Thomas’ quest, but for now it was honestly all we had to go on.

Once we had received the information from the dwarf, we headed off to meet up with Wru once more - preferring to meet at the pub again.  Once the party was together again, I offered to lead us to an inn I had seen earlier.  With a whistle on my lips, we trotted off to find our place to stay for the night.  What came as a surprise, is when we were ambushed by two different groups of people; one claiming that Kohl and I had cheated at our previous business arrangement and the others yelling about some kind of rod. 

Seeing how obviously fragile-minded these men were, Kohl, Veliv and myself used our wits to outsmart the brutes, claiming the other group had what they wanted. Our ploy was a success and the burly men grappled against each other in vain as we heroically called upon the town guards to settle this dispute in a more appropriate way; not wanting to endear ourselves the wrong way to the guards, we had no real other choice. 

We made our way to this inn I am currently writing it. It is cramped, cold and dark, but it beats being in Sammies quarters. We communed with Samuel about what we had discovered and the worm snivelled his way into making Kohl agree to continue west to the 600 year old society. I attempted to protest, but our large friend had already made his bull-headed mind up.

Perhaps tomorrow we’ll find a way west. I plan on checking for some of the caravans and perhaps some of those dark steeds we had found, but I doubt those exist inside a town as bustling as this.

~X

Session 1: Veliv’s Journal

Posted by Veliv on Jun 17, 2008

This has to be some kind of practical joke played by the demon holding my soul. I am now forced to hunt through dungeons like a petty thief for various items for that foolish old merchant Samuel Rutherford in order to get the information I need to get out of this pact.

Let me explain a bit about my new comrades. First off there is Kohl or GOREHAMMER THE MIGHTY as he is called for his stage name . He is a large minotaur who is pretty much a servant to Samuel. While in battle he does prove to be a fairly useful tool, his brute strength is not something to be trifled with, but he seems a little too courageous for my tastes. And apparently the large beast is afraid of ants…

Secondly there is Wru, a grave robbing, that’s right grave robbing leper who has too many bandages for her own good. As long as she doesn’t pass her disease to me I can put up with her. Much to my surprise she was very capable of handling herself in battle. Watching her blades dance through our enemies was quite amusing.

Third there is the dragonborn, Zemx or xers or something like that. He acts as you would expect any dragonborn to; very rudely and on top of that he is a theif! When I first met him I thought he was a skinned doormat just lying there on the ground. Apparently he was in a drunken stupor which I am sure he maintains most of his waking hours, but despite that he is a most skilled combatant. He even went so far as to toss a brazier of fire at an on coming zombie attack, but I still don’t trust him.

So our little rag tag group went into the tomb for old Sammy to bring back a crown from one of his ancestors. Little to say the group would have been lost with out yours truly. My spells destroyed most of the creatures that we came upon. Unfortunately I did take some fairly high damage in the battles, but none the less I always tend to come out on top. Other then getting the crown for the old fool nothing of real interest happened…

OH! except as a means of tracking us to make sure we are doing our jobs for him, Sammy had these interesting little trinkets made. I was not at all pleased with the first one he gave me and demanded another that was more becoming of my beauty and power. And after we returned he gave me a beautiful gold bracelet with a silver design running around it. It is much classier and more elegant then the one the others are wearing, but as their leader I should stand out.

Session 1: Xerex’ journal

Posted by Xerex on Jun 17, 2008

It would seem that this blank journal was left in my room for a reason, whether it is to record my personal feeling about this atrocious farce or to allow me to scribe the truth as to what has happened, only for Samuel to extort this information to gain more wealth.

Either way, I cannot resist the lure of perhaps one day adding this small leather-bound book to my collection of stories - for now, I will have to make due with it as a rough outline of my current ventures under this Samuel Rutherford.

This morning started off rather strange, as I had previously planned to retrieve a ceremonial belt from one of the local nobles - he had no use for it and kept it behind a glass casing for some reason I have yet to decipher.  It was clear that Sir Montone was not appreciative of the sash that once belonged to the great Edgar Remire - famed adventurer and inventor. As such an artefact would merely gather dust under the watchful eye of his guards, I decided that it would be more appropriate if the sash were used by one who wished to follow in Remire the Remarkable’s tracks.

Upon seizing the item from the drunken buffoons who guarded it, I leisurely left the estate, sash on my person and a tune on my lips.  Having acquired another garb of the once epic heroes of the past, I decided to celebrate - but only to celebrate like those of legends. Suffice to say, I remember entering the bar, ordering a round of some kind of ale and then waking up on the floor of another estate while a large minotaur grappled my head and hoisted me to my feet.

The hours in between are truly a blur to my memory. I will have to remember to buy more of that ale when I return to the Ettercap Skull Pub.  As I was ceremoniously presented forth to the scoundrel who had supposedly acquired my person, I realized that I was holding some kind of writ in my hand.  I quickly went over its details, only to find myself being pressed upon to work for some overweight merchant who supposedly had information regarding my previous actions.

Being the ever-heroic one that I am, I challenged the merchant, but he cowered behind his guards - men who stood seven feet tall and had shoulders as broad as the horizon. Had it not been for the presence of these behemoths, the merchant would be sitting naked in the street.

As the world finally flushed the blurriness of the ale away, I found myself not alone in the employ of this so-called noble. The minotaur was one known as Gorehammer - a gladiator of great merit. I have seen two or three of his fights and I can safely say that it would be a fatal error to find oneself on the wrong side of the minotaur’s hammer.

There was also one whom I mistook for a leper, wrapped in so many bandages, one could have mistaken her for an undead mummy of the tales, like that of Imu-halek; the great mummy slayer.  I later learned her name is Wru and that she has a way with blades that is in itself, an art.

There was a tiefling among us as well - but she did not look like the rest of us. Dressed in fancy clothing that I doubt she earned, Veliv was nothing more than a coddled baby - or so I thought.  Upon venturing with her a little ways, I can safely say that the tales of the demonic tieflings may be true,

The merchant, while cowering in his chair, requested that we four retrieve a tiara from his long-dead relative. I still fail to see why he wouldn’t have gone on his own with his monstrous guards, but I guess what they have in size, they lack in courage.  After fitting us with a bracelet that is said to locate our whereabouts, the four of us were piled into a cart and whisked off to some cemetery.

The guards escorted us to the entrance, their fear of the unknown anchoring them in their uniforms. Without pause, Wru lead the way.  It was a crypt and like most crypts I have read about, there were dangers, unknown scriptures and horrible traps.

My first ever encounter with an undead went rather fruitfully. I received a marking from his blade and he, or should I say it, became little more than dust - unable to withstand the onslaught of our small group of unwilling mercenaries.

There were tombs and sarcophagi littered throughout the first floor. Even more interesting than that, there was a large pillar with a strange ant-shape on it and gold coins from various other locations, including the mysterious nation of Omelas.

If this Thomas Rutherford had truly travelled to Omelas and such, then why had I never heard of this human? My curiosity was piqued and I had to find out, so I pressed onward. 

Apparently, the tale Samuel had told us of previous adventurers was not a farce. We found bloody trails that lead to a larger sarcophagus, but the bodies were no where to be found. Triumphantly, I walked towards the final resting place of Mr. Rutherford’s remains, but all too carelessly, I stepped upon a trap and found myself in a hellish pit of bones and blood.  Keeping my ever-lasting calm, I waited for my compatriot Gorehammer, also known as Kohl, to lower me his rope and climbed myself free from this death trap.

The skeleton of the dead traveller was strangely calm. For all the skeletons in the tomb, this one had not stirred or even moved. We removed the tiara from its crown, the cloak from its shoulders and the rings that adorned the knuckles - surely they would be put to better use to serve our cause. I also claimed the skull of the adventurer - not for sentimental reasons, but curiosity. Holes had been drilled into the skull of the old traveller; a ritual I had never heard of and a mystery that deemed warranted to examine.

Upon retrieving the belongings of the deceased, we found ourselves surrounded by horrid atrocities to nature.  The previous group Samuel had sent had become inducted into the ranks of the undead, their flesh still clinging to their animated bones.  With furious skill, the group worked together and took down the monsters, easily dispatching them by blade, hammer, and magics.  Gorehammer became gravely wounded when one of the creatures delivered a debilitating blow to the minotaur, causing him to collapse to his hoofs. With a flash of steel, Wru brought down her blade on the zombie’s neck, severing the spine and lopping the head clear from the abomination’s shoulders.

In a panic, we tried to save our wounded compatriot. Wru, having taken a few blows could not focus enough to assist the downed gladiator, Veliv, even with her amazing knowledge of the arcane could do nothing to help the large fighter. As they fumbled about to try and staunch the bleeding, I had an insight. Like the great Imu-halek, I unravelled some of Wru’s hand, uncaring of the possibility of spreading her imagined pestilence into my wounded compatriot and expertly wrapped Kohl’s lacerations. 

Once the panic was over, the group rested - but I was not even winded. The great Xerex would not wait around while adventure waits. While the party recuperated, I snuck around the cave. Using my honed skills, I discovered a horrible truth - the poor remains of those slaughtered in another room had come back to life.  Expertly making my way back to the party, I informed them and we devised a plan.

We reached the door in which the skeletons waited, almost having made it there quietly, but the tiefling’s delicate nose gave us away, as she sneezed.  The dead silence that followed chilled me through my scales, and I take pride in the teachings of Bahamut - for I steeled that fear and readied the door for the now conscious and raging companion - Gorehammer.

The surge of skeletons was like that out of the great stories of war. An unrelenting, un-ending mass of bone and steel rushed forth from the wall, slamming into the monstrous minotaur and pushing him back to the wall.  Even Kohl’s immense strength was not enough to fend off the sheer numbers of the undead minions. Wru sliced through bone and rotten steel as Veliv unleashed hellish fury upon the foul creatures. I cleared my fair share from Kohl’s way and we succeeded in destroying the monsters, with little more than scratches to show our effort.

A few more of the mindless skeletons waited for us, but we had had enough of these pleasantries and with ease, we cast the skeletons aside like dust and moved on to claim our freedom - or so I thought. 

The guards were astonished to see us emerge from the crypt. Their eyes were filled with such horror and amazement that I could not help but swell a little with pride.  The pride, however, was quickly replaced with misery as I was forced into the same confined cart with the now blood-soaked minotaur and sweat-covered party that we had arrived with.

We arrived back at Samuels to receive trivial rewards for our tasks. I am still indentured to him, as he holds some documents that may, or may not be real. I have no way of knowing what supposed deeds he claims to know I have done, but for now, I will play along with his game - perhaps these adventures will give me some friends to call upon when my time of need is at hand.

For now, I will continue to log the events of these adventures - as vexing as it may be to be under this Samuel Rutherford’s employ, there might be some good that comes from it. 

Session 1: Wru

Posted by Wru on Jun 15, 2008

Oh, Dexella…if only you could see me now.

You’re probably wondering where I am, what happened to me. I know how things work–when push comes to shove, there will be no grand rescue. In fact, I doubt my name will ever be mentioned again outside the camp, lest you be associated with crimes I have or could potentially commit.

Even so, I can just picture Pa and you missing me. I think, if I don’t make it through this, I’ll arrange for my new ‘boss’ to send you this journal, just so someone knows what became of Wru Iromix.

I suppose this all started when I went off on my own. You told me not to, Pa told me that my post at the camp was too important to give to anyone else, and Road and Garr threatened to hang me upside down from that big old tree next to my tent, by my bootlaces, no less, if I ever thought of leaving. I guess I felt babied, like you couldn’t trust me to do anything right outside of your watchful eyes…and so that was why I had to do it. I had to prove to you all that I was useful, that I could pull my weight.

You sent me to town to see if I could catch wind of any rumors or hearsay about our latest ambush, and everything kind of…fell into place. An old guy in a tavern tossed me a map for a very cheap price–swore I’d be able to line my pockets and travel pack with what lay below. I just so happened to have my climbing kit on me, and you know I’d never leave home without my shovel. I left for this tomb with a hop in my step and a head full of fantasies where I came home, tossed down a bag of jewels and gold and you were all just…so proud.

It seemed like a good idea at the time. I suppose I should have asked a few more questions of the old guy who sold me the map, like when exactly his ex-employer intended to send a group of adventurers down there, or what they would do if they found someone trying to make off with their find. I woke up in a holding cell, so I guess I’ve learned a lesson of sorts…

They held me there for three days. I can’t say that I was mistreated, but what Coaster in their right mind would feel at home in a cage? When they finally let me out, they handed me my stuff back and led me to a room that appears to have sealed my fate; it was an ordinary study filled with the most strange and confusing people, and if these ‘jobs’ we’re being sent on don’t kill me, just being near these adventurers might do the trick.

I arrived in my work attire, so I’,m happy to say that not one of them knows what I look like. This is normally ideal for slipping off, but the merchant I was acquired for was two steps ahead of me and fitted us all with silver bracelets that allow his wizards to keep tabs on our location. No matter where I could run to, they would find me. I cannot come home to you.

From what I gather, all of us are here for different reasons.

The muscle of our group is actually Gorehammer the Furious! He says his real name is Kohl. I remember seeing many of his matches, though I’ll never admit it–the less they know about me, the better. He has a strange intelligence about him, and seeing him in action, so close, is like nothing you’ve ever seen before, Dex! Maybe when this is all over, I’ll tell him I’m a fan. Whenever that is. I get the feeling that it may be months before we’re allowed to walk free, if not years.

The brains of the outfit, myself aside, appears to be a Tiefling warlock with an affinity for high society and setting things on fire. She immediately decided that I must be a leper and in a way, I thank the Raven Queen for her ignorance–it keeps everyone at least a few feet away from me at all times. She seems quite spoiled, and I wonder if she’s ever had to work a day in her life. Already she is bartering for special treatment from our merchant ‘friend’. She did save our skins quite a few times, though, that much I can admit. I do not want to cross this woman. EVER.

And lastly, the trouble of the party is a dragon born scoundrel named Xerex. While useful in battle, he spent most of our journey insisting that we do insane things, as well as almost killing us (especially
Kohl). If I die on this quest, odds are it will either be directly or indirectly this lizard’s fault. If you really feel the need to avenge me, this is the guy you’ll want to kill.

Our first ‘adventure’ went…interestingly enough. I have never seen an animated skeleton before, never mind nearly thirty of them! There were Zombies, too–the party the merchant hired before us, even! This whole affair leaves a bad feeling in my bones. I don’t know what to do. We’ve been given a few weeks to prepare and patch up our wounds before we go out, on to the next treasure hunt. If I could contact you, I would ask you to keep me in your prayers–I certainly could use all the extra help I can get.

I miss you, Sis. I can’t wait to see you again.

Session 1: Storytime

Posted by DM on Jun 15, 2008

The Mercenaries

“Tell us a story, elder,” called the children eagerly, tugging at the wizened old sage’s robes. “Tell us a scary one, like the story about the Old Hag Bogclaw or the Mad Coast of Omelas.”

The elder chuckled gently as he slowly lowered himself into his seat. “I think, perhaps, that I will tell you a new story today. It is not a long tale, but it is exciting and full of frightening monsters.” He paused to smooth out his robes before folding his hands over the top of his cane, smiling down at the wide-eyed, rapt children sitting cross-legged in front of him. “I will tell you a tale of four hardened mercenaries undertaking a seemingly impossible task, but uniting in spite of their differences to overcome the dark forces arrayed against them.”

“That sounds boring,” whined a child. “Tell us something with bogeymen and evil wizards!”

“Ah,” replied the old sage, “but there are bogeymen and night-ghasts aplenty in this story, and it is only the first of many. These mercenaries carved a destructive path of carnage and glory, leaving behind a bloody trail of shattered enemies wherever they went.” He laughed as the children’s eyes grew wide. “Come closer, young ones, and listen.”

“This story begins with an old merchant named Samuel Rutherford. Samuel had little to do in his retirement, and had taken to researching his family tree. Upon learning of an adventurous ancestor of his, Thomas Rutherford, Samuel was intrigued - Thomas had gathered many interesting relics in his travels, and Samuel very much desired to collect them for himself. He had his men open Thomas’ grave, but…” he let his voice drop, smiling inwardly as the children leaned in, enthralled. “There was no body in the sarcophagus. Instead, there was a bare stone staircase, leading into a thick and fearful darkness.

“Samuel resolved to recruit some ambitious young warriors to his cause, that they might explore whatever lay beneath the cold stone of his ancestor’s mausoleum. Soon, four novice adventurers heeded his summons. He gave them supplies and sent them down the frightful staircase, and they vanished with nary a trace.”

“They never came back?” a little girl asked, her eyes huge.

“Never.” The sage’s eyes were serious, though they betrayed the slightest hint of sadness. “Their ambition got the best of them, and they strayed into peril too great for their abilities. Take note of their failure, and remember to know your limits.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “Samuel was frustrated and worried at this. He knew that one of the items he desired was beneath that coffin, but his hirelings had failed to retrieve it. In desperation, he cast a wider net, hoping to find fiercer and more competent mercenaries.”

“And then he found the ones this story is about, right?” An eager boy was practically bouncing up and down in anticipation of the coming bloodshed.

The old man laughed and nodded. “Yes. First, he knew that any monsters in the tomb would likely be too strong for an ordinary mortal to face, so he obtained a monster of his own: the legendary gladiator, Gorehammer the Furious.” He paused to bask in the appreciative gasps of the children. “As he prepared to purchase the fearsome Minotaur from the Blackbird Dell arena, he was surprised to see that his guards had already brought him another suitable champion - the mysterious and deadly crypt explorer known only as Wru, who never let anyone see her face.”

“I haven’t heard any stories about Wru before,” called a little girl from the back of the group. “Did you make her up just now?”

“No, child. Wru was a swift and deadly warrior, and a treasure hunter of great skill, but she showed no interest in fame or glory. Mysterious as the moonless night from which she came, she followed her own inscrutable goals. And I assure you, she was very much a real person, last I checked.” A brief silence as he adjusted his posture to be more comfortable. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the mercenaries. Samuel’s soldiers found Wru as she explored a deep and terrible crypt - a crypt which, unluckily, contained one of the items the merchant desired. Wru was brought before him as a prisoner, but he was so impressed by her courage and finesse that he hired her into his mercenary crew.

“The third member of Samuel’s warriors was a Dragonborn warrior, a confident and charismatic rogue who followed traditions perhaps older than any of his fellows could truly understand. This warrior’s name was Xerex,” a momentary pause as a few children perked up, recognizing the name, “and he entered into Samuel’s service under odd circumstances - perhaps Xerex had angered some nobles in the past, or perhaps his unique code of honour had led him into conflict with the law. Whatever the case, Samuel struck a deal with the Dragonborn - he would destroy all trace of the adventurer’s supposed misdeeds, and in exchange, Xerex would help him to collect the relics he desired. And so, Xerex became the third member of Rutherford’s motley band.

“The fourth and final piece of the puzzle came to Samuel practically of her own accord. Her name was Veliv, a brilliant and conflicted Warlock of magnificent power. Torn between her lust for magical knowledge and her desire to live a free and unfettered life, she was attracted to the merchant’s promise of wealth and arcane lore, and took her place as the fourth and final inductee into his carefully handpicked mercenary party.”

The elder leaned forward, resting his weight on his cane as he peered intently at the rapt youths. “Once the adventurers had agreed to their respective bargains - freedom for Gorehammer, wealth for Wru, exoneration for Xerex, and eldritch knowledge for Veliv - Samuel Rutherford sent them forth to the mausoleum. Though they knew that they went into danger, there was no way that the mercenaries could have guessed at the terrible mystery that they were about to stumble upon…”

The Tomb

“Now, children,” said the sage kindly, “I must warn you that this story becomes quite frightening.”

The children stayed put, none of them willing to give up the chance to hear the elder’s tale. He laughed and sat back in his chair as he continued.

“As the four explorers descended the staircase, they found themselves in a strange tomb of sandy brown stone. Odd runes and weird pillars decorated the rocky tunnels, and a great, eerie, carved face stared sightlessly from the wall at them. Though they could see the footprints of the previous adventurers meandering down the hallway ahead, they turned back to search - and there was a door behind the staircase!

“Using his fearsome strength, Gorehammer smashed the ancient door and the group filed through. The room they found themselves in told a grim tale - scattered masonry materials, broken tools, and ancient skeletons filled the chamber. Seeing nothing of use, the adventurers turned their backs on the grim scene and followed the footprints of their predecessors.

“They soon came to a door at the end of a long hallway, and this one had been opened already - the previous adventurers had broken through it. When the warriors passed through into the chamber beyond, however, their blood ran cold - a mountain of bones and skulls lay in the corner, the site of some ancient and terrible massacre.” A gasp rose from the youths, and the sage shook his head. “It was now clear that they had stumbled upon something dreadfully evil. Unnerved, they passed into an antechamber, and found rows and rows of stone coffins, filled with skeletal bodies in repose. Now, young ones, you must remember that many adventurers, particularly paid mercenaries, have a very practical mentality. The heroes of this tale were no exception; truth be told, they relieved the dead of their surviving possessions, though a sensible soul might suggest that the dead have no need of such trappings anyway.”

“They stole from the graves?” A horrified boy was staring openmouthed at the storyteller, his eyes wide.

“One might argue that they found items of value in the general vicinity of some presumably unrelated remains,” replied the sage with a knowing smirk. “At any rate, we will surely forgive them their lust for gold; many famous heroes had their moments of weakness, and surely it is better to rob the dead than to harm the living.”

“Well… I suppose…” The boy quieted down, though he still looked uneasy.

“Once they finished relieving the restful departed of their inconvenient burdens, our heroes once again followed the footprints left by their predecessors. They rounded a corner, peering wonderingly at the eerie and surreal carvings that scarred the walls like wounds in the sanity of the world, and came upon another scene of violence. Ancient, tar-covered skeletons lay shattered on the floor, their rusted, point-topped helmets and pitted longswords scattered about at random. As the mercenaries looked about apprehensively, two creaking, black-boned revenants loomed out of the oppressive darkness, their hollow eye sockets showing no trace of their ruthless, murderous intent.

“The ensuing battle was horribly bloody. Mighty Gorehammer, famed champion of the Blackbird Dell arena, was driven to his knees by many deep and terrible wounds as he strove to protect his comrades. Wru, that brave, mysterious explorer, fearlessly stepped into battle to aid the Minotaur, and was grievously injured for her courage. Veliv brought all manner of terrible and unthinkable magicks to bear, blasting the monsters with the infernal wrath of a thousand hateful demons, and still they wounded her sorely, for their assault was relentless. Even wily Xerex, the canny warrior, suffered many deep cuts from the rusted blades of the hateful undead.

“Ultimately, they were able to drive back and destroy the monstrosities through combined force of arms, not least due to Veliv’s awesome mastery of lost and forbidden arcana. It is said that she commanded the sun itself to shine through her, and blasted the beasts from their feet with a magnificent wave of fire and light.”

“That’s crazy,” retorted a little boy with a freckled face. “Nobody can command the sun.”

“It is believed that Veliv could command any force in the world,” replied the sage solemnly. “It seems that she could at least wield enough power to prove a match for the terrible guardians of the Rutherford tomb.” As the boy frowned doubtfully, the old man continued apace. “As they stood over the shattered remains of the dreadful beasts, the warriors turned to look at each other. They were all tremendously tired, and sorrowfully battered by their ordeal. Within a moment, an unspoken agreement had been reached - they would rest.

“After a few hours to tend their wounds and gather their wits, the adventurers rose as one and proceeded through the door that the revenants had guarded. As they emerged, two more skeletons lashed out at them with cracked blades, surprising Veliv and wounding her before they were quickly smashed to pieces - these monsters were not covered in the same tarry substance, and wore no helms, so one may assume that they were not warrior beasts like the other two. When they looked around the room, the adventurers found a staircase descending beneath a great dais, on which rested a huge stone obelisk engraved with an equally enormous ant. Intrigued by the weird and uncanny symbol, they sketched it in their journals and then gleefully stole all of the things that had been left around it as offerings.”

“Um,” opined one child, “these heroes don’t sound very heroic.”

“To be fair, the things our brave heroes did were much the same as the exploits of many of the heroes of legend. I am just describing them a little differently.” The elder nodded wisely. “Xerex, always full of his own brand of sensible wisdom, recognized that many of the coins left on the dais were from that remarkable nation known as Omelas. He mentioned this to his comrades, who were not in the least bit interested because they were busy watching out for horrible skeletal monsters. It was perceptive of him to notice, though.

“After they finished, er, liberating the offerings to the mysterious obelisk, the adventurers traveled down the staircase, following the tracks of the previous explorers. At the bottom of the staircase, they emerged into a wide-open room stained with blood and the signs of battle, and were immediately set upon by a bloodthirsty gang of crumbling undead fiends. Wru, that cunning mistress of dark and forgotten places, stood at the fore, and she held back the monsters until Veliv and Xerex could fell enough of them for the mercenaries to establish a defensive line. A handful more charged out of the shadows and were cut down, one by one, by Gorehammer’s famed hammer, Wru’s flashing swords, Veliv’s fearsome spells, and Xerex’s lethal blade. Once the cavernous hall was clear, the heroes rested, giving Xerex a chance to examine the doors at the far end, which the previous adventurers had evidently never survived to breach.

“Using his adventurous cunning and knowledge, the Dragonborn disabled the lock on one door, then heroically marched forth alongside Gorehammer so that Wru and Veliv would not be exposed to further danger. When they passed through into the deepest and last room of the crypt, they saw a large, raised pedestal, covered by mysterious stone plates engraved with many disturbing glyphs. The warriors advanced, finding a staircase at the back of the pedestal, and ascended to the top, where Thomas Rutherford’s sarcophagus awaited, adorned with the sinister, now-familiar image of a huge ant.

“Xerex, ever courageous to the point of being rash, was the first to step onto the dais, and was therefore the one to trigger the trap.” The old man paused for effect, enjoying the tense silence as the children listened. “The floor collapsed beneath him like sand, and he found himself falling. He plummeted a great distance before landing on a pile of bones with a terrible crash… but his inborn resilience and his finely-honed agility enabled him to survive with minimal injury. Gorehammer lowered a rope and pulled him up, and the explorers skirted the edge of the pit to reach Thomas’ coffin, lighting great iron braziers along the way.

“Upon opening the ancient container, they seized everything within, particularly the mysterious and beautiful crown they had been sent to claim. Xerex, ever perceptive, noted that the long-dead explorer had been subjected to some strange and unnatural ritual… there were holes drilled into his skull.”

The children shuddered. One of them asked, “but… was he alive when it happened?”

“It did not appear so,” replied the sage. “From what Xerex could discern, it looked as though the indignities to Thomas’ body were part of some bizarre burial rite.” He pretended not to notice the sighs of relief from the children as he continued. “Intrigued, the Dragonborn collected the adventurer’s skull, intending to-”

“Why would he take his skull!?” One of the little girls was staring at the old man in open disbelief.

“Because,” he replied gently, “he intended to show Samuel Rutherford that something strange had happened to his ancestor. He needed proof of what he had seen. Now, as they removed all these things from the coffin, our unusual heroes heard a scratching sound from beneath them. Looking into the pit that had nearly claimed Xerex’s life, they saw that the skeletons within had risen and were futilely trying to climb out. Gorehammer, practical and merciless all at once, used his terrifying strength to rend a brazier of burning oil from the dais and hurl it into the pit. The skeletons clambered mindlessly over one another, and soon succumbed to the flames, their bones cracking and crumbling as their tormented souls escaped from their cursed bodies and went to their rest.

“But the scratching sounds had not ceased. Hidden compartments in the corners of the dais swung open and - horror of horrors! - the previous adventurers tumbled out, now mangled and rotted! Their flesh was hacked and ruined, their eyes filmy and oozing, their hair matted and bloody! The mercenaries could see that their predecessors had died horrible deaths at the hands of the tomb’s skeletal guardians, and now their tortured spirits could think of nothing but bitter vengeance!”

The elder stood up, gesticulating as he spoke. He felt a flash of pride at the terrified expressions on the children’s faces - he had always been a good storyteller. “Groaning and wailing, the slaughtered explorers shambled towards the staircase leading to the top of the dais. Gorehammer, fearless and mighty, stood atop the stairs, valiantly swinging his hammer at anything foolish enough to venture near. Veliv seared the very souls of the undead creatures with eerie ghostlights, while Xerex and Wru al