Mathew_Freeman
First Post
Poor old Malford. All that hard work in previous campaigns, all come to naught.
The Fall of Civilization
the Jester
Legend
the Jester
Legend
Vann-La hurls a javelin at one of the giant sundews, but it goes wide.
There is no response.
“Do you suppose they are sentient?” wonders Hkatha. He calls out in Elven (figuring that it is the language that intelligent plants are most likely to speak): “We come in peace! Hello?”
There is still no response.
Vann-La and Shakgar move forward cautiously as Cook fades into the shadows, sneaking around the side somewhere. The Kree’s perceptions are exceptional; as she moves forward, she detects a tremor in the ground, so faint that she is certain that none of her companions is aware of it. “There’s something underground,” she calls.
The sundews jerk into motion at just that moment. One flails out without appalling reach and misses Vann-La. The second starts shambling slowly towards her. The third is closer, and it heaves itself forward, also lashing out at her.
She hurls another javelin, hitting it with a disruptive strike, and it misses her.
“Come and get it!” she howls, and the sundews roll closer to her. She strikes all around her, hewing at the sticky plants. Behind them, a flaming sphere appears, courtesy of Hkatha, and the echo of Iggy’s gun barks in the air.
Then Shakgar, proving once again that he really likes to attack from above, leaps over a copse of trees and lands next to one of the sundews, bringing his axe down in a blur of motion. Sticky sap splatters all around him. The sundews flail about, trying to drag the heroes down and make the Garden of Delights their final resting place.
“Oi, look!” Cook emerged from his hiding place a moment ago in order to fight, and now he jerks his head to the southeast, where a small, suspicious-looking bank of fog is rolling towards the fight. “Something else is coming!”
“And there’s still something underground!” Vann-La shouts. The vibration is increasing.
Sta’Ligir slays the first of the giant sundews with a magic missile, but even while he does so, one of the others whips its tendrils out, grabbing Shakgar and pulling him through a thorny row of roses. “Aargh!” the barbarian roars, and enters into a silver phoenix rage.
Simultaneously, the underground threat emerges as three ankhegs burst forth from beneath our heroes’ feet!* Cook, Vann-La and Shakgar are all thrown from their feet as the huge insectoid monsters tear into them.
“It’s up to us wizards!” Captain Ligir calls over to Hkatha.
“You already took out one of these things,” Captain Hkatha replies. “Now it’s my turn!” His flaming sphere rolls forward into one of the other sundews, scorching it. The plant quivers and tries to draw back, but the sticky sap on it catches fire. The thing makes a loud hissing sound as it starts to boil, and it goes limp, dead.
Meanwhile Cook leaps to his feet and manages to push his ankheg friend back a few paces. “Need breathing room!” he cries.
Heimall says, “Let me see if I can draw it off of you for a moment!” He jabs his magical glaive at the ankheg, but it rears back and the attack misses. The ankheg darts forward, biting at him, but the links of his armor take the blow and prevent him from being harmed. He swings the butt of the glaive around and strikes the monster, but it isn’t out of fight yet.
Shakgar, meanwhile, is being dragged off by the last giant sundew. With an enraged howl, he cuts it in two and then scrambles up, panting and looking for a new target. He sees Cook tumbling into flanking on the bug that is trying to chew on Heimall and rushes forward to join the fun, even as the fog bank rolls closer. As it closes around him, it begins to burn his skin. Acid! he thinks, and it just pisses him off even more.
Torinn bloodies one of the ankhegs with his spiked chain, and the beast burrows back into the earth. But a few seconds later, it comes back up and bites him, knocking him from his feet. “Damn it!” the Dragon of Fandelose roars. “All bets are off!!” He strikes the ankheg with his chain, wrapping it around the beast’s neck, and then gives a great tug, drawing the spikes of his chain ruthlessly through the monster’s chitin. Bug juice sprays all over, and the first of the ankhegs falls!
Iggy and Hkatha focus their arcane firepower on the plant shrouded by fog. The fog lifts as it really gets into the fun, trying to devour any meaty figures nearby. The flames of the two wizards’ attacks don’t seem to bother it terribly at first, but this soon changes as they keep pouring it on. Meanwhile, Shakgar slays the second ankheg with a devastating strike, and then Vann-La takes care of the fog-spewing plant with a steel serpent strike.
“Shakgar!” cries Heimall. “In the name of the Empire, destroy that bug!”
And with a final terrific blow, the goliath does so.
Panting, our heroes clean the sap and bug juice off of their weapons. Those that the sundews hit take a few moments to pour dirt onto their stickier surfaces, hoping to cover the sap so that it doesn’t hinder them too badly. Iggy and Hkatha step up, using their arcane might to clean the worst of it off of their allies.
Torinn, meanwhile, walks to the rose garden. At least one section of it has seen better days, what with having had a raging goliath barbarian jerked through it. Even so, it doesn’t take long for him to find a large, healthy-looking rose bush with but a single rose growing on it.
A single silver rose.
“Hey guys,” the dragonborn calls, “I found something over here!”
The others walk over to the rose. “That looks like a silver rose to me,” nods Hkatha.
“Do we just pick it, or what?” wonders Heimall.
“Oi, this garden may have wondrous herbs for cooking in it,” Cook says, and starts to wander about, searching for them.
Torinn suddenly jerks as if he had been shocked. “Did you hear that?” he exclaims.
“What?” asks Iggy.
“The rose!” Torinn looks at his friends. “You didn’t hear it?” At their blank looks, he exclaims, “It spoke to me!”
***
The Silver Rose of Garnet doesn’t seem inclined to speak to anyone else, at least initially. According to Torinn, it sounds like three voices speaking in unison, all three of them female. Also according to the dragonborn, it wants him to pick it. So he does, and he affixes it to his cloak like a pin.
“It is a strong and holy relic of Garnet,” he reports to his companions. “Even though I don’t worship her, it will function to channel the sacred powers of my god- Lester- and it might be able to aid us greatly.”
“Well, we need it before we go to Tirchond, at least according to that unicorn,” Heimall says. “Does that mean it’s time to go there?”
“We don’t have a way to get there,” answers Hkatha.
“Maybe,” Cook suggests, “we can find coordinates for a teleport circle there.”
“Not a bad idea,” Iggy says, “if we can figure out where to get them.”
“Well, now what?” asks Heimall. “We’re here to scout, at least ostensibly. Maybe we should check out that tower and the haze around it.”
The party debates for a few moments. Some of them think they should simply head back to Fandelose; others favor going to Northshore in order to free the enslaved people there. After some discussion, they decide to check out the tower, then report in to Colonel Jaxe via sending (as General Argos is probably very busy, and has requested that the heroes follow the chain of command when contacting him) and see what he says.
At one point, someone mentions the name of Arawn (the death knight who leads the Six-Fingered Hand). Torinn sputters, “Hold on- the Rose knew him!”
“What?” exclaims Iggy.
“One of its bearers was involved with him,” Torinn reports, clearly listening to a voice that only he can hear. Then he gasps.
“Her name was Dawn.”
Next Time: Our heroes investigate the tower!
*Please note that these were one of my own ankheg versions, not the level 3 types in the MM2- in fact, this encounter happened well before the release of the MM2 and includes two monsters that appeared in it. The versions of the ankheg that I used were 15th level (ankheg earthshakers, for those of you who saw them in the Monster Project) and 10th level (the greenvise fogger, see Vines in the MM2).
There is no response.
“Do you suppose they are sentient?” wonders Hkatha. He calls out in Elven (figuring that it is the language that intelligent plants are most likely to speak): “We come in peace! Hello?”
There is still no response.
Vann-La and Shakgar move forward cautiously as Cook fades into the shadows, sneaking around the side somewhere. The Kree’s perceptions are exceptional; as she moves forward, she detects a tremor in the ground, so faint that she is certain that none of her companions is aware of it. “There’s something underground,” she calls.
The sundews jerk into motion at just that moment. One flails out without appalling reach and misses Vann-La. The second starts shambling slowly towards her. The third is closer, and it heaves itself forward, also lashing out at her.
She hurls another javelin, hitting it with a disruptive strike, and it misses her.
“Come and get it!” she howls, and the sundews roll closer to her. She strikes all around her, hewing at the sticky plants. Behind them, a flaming sphere appears, courtesy of Hkatha, and the echo of Iggy’s gun barks in the air.
Then Shakgar, proving once again that he really likes to attack from above, leaps over a copse of trees and lands next to one of the sundews, bringing his axe down in a blur of motion. Sticky sap splatters all around him. The sundews flail about, trying to drag the heroes down and make the Garden of Delights their final resting place.
“Oi, look!” Cook emerged from his hiding place a moment ago in order to fight, and now he jerks his head to the southeast, where a small, suspicious-looking bank of fog is rolling towards the fight. “Something else is coming!”
“And there’s still something underground!” Vann-La shouts. The vibration is increasing.
Sta’Ligir slays the first of the giant sundews with a magic missile, but even while he does so, one of the others whips its tendrils out, grabbing Shakgar and pulling him through a thorny row of roses. “Aargh!” the barbarian roars, and enters into a silver phoenix rage.
Simultaneously, the underground threat emerges as three ankhegs burst forth from beneath our heroes’ feet!* Cook, Vann-La and Shakgar are all thrown from their feet as the huge insectoid monsters tear into them.
“It’s up to us wizards!” Captain Ligir calls over to Hkatha.
“You already took out one of these things,” Captain Hkatha replies. “Now it’s my turn!” His flaming sphere rolls forward into one of the other sundews, scorching it. The plant quivers and tries to draw back, but the sticky sap on it catches fire. The thing makes a loud hissing sound as it starts to boil, and it goes limp, dead.
Meanwhile Cook leaps to his feet and manages to push his ankheg friend back a few paces. “Need breathing room!” he cries.
Heimall says, “Let me see if I can draw it off of you for a moment!” He jabs his magical glaive at the ankheg, but it rears back and the attack misses. The ankheg darts forward, biting at him, but the links of his armor take the blow and prevent him from being harmed. He swings the butt of the glaive around and strikes the monster, but it isn’t out of fight yet.
Shakgar, meanwhile, is being dragged off by the last giant sundew. With an enraged howl, he cuts it in two and then scrambles up, panting and looking for a new target. He sees Cook tumbling into flanking on the bug that is trying to chew on Heimall and rushes forward to join the fun, even as the fog bank rolls closer. As it closes around him, it begins to burn his skin. Acid! he thinks, and it just pisses him off even more.
Torinn bloodies one of the ankhegs with his spiked chain, and the beast burrows back into the earth. But a few seconds later, it comes back up and bites him, knocking him from his feet. “Damn it!” the Dragon of Fandelose roars. “All bets are off!!” He strikes the ankheg with his chain, wrapping it around the beast’s neck, and then gives a great tug, drawing the spikes of his chain ruthlessly through the monster’s chitin. Bug juice sprays all over, and the first of the ankhegs falls!
Iggy and Hkatha focus their arcane firepower on the plant shrouded by fog. The fog lifts as it really gets into the fun, trying to devour any meaty figures nearby. The flames of the two wizards’ attacks don’t seem to bother it terribly at first, but this soon changes as they keep pouring it on. Meanwhile, Shakgar slays the second ankheg with a devastating strike, and then Vann-La takes care of the fog-spewing plant with a steel serpent strike.
“Shakgar!” cries Heimall. “In the name of the Empire, destroy that bug!”
And with a final terrific blow, the goliath does so.
Panting, our heroes clean the sap and bug juice off of their weapons. Those that the sundews hit take a few moments to pour dirt onto their stickier surfaces, hoping to cover the sap so that it doesn’t hinder them too badly. Iggy and Hkatha step up, using their arcane might to clean the worst of it off of their allies.
Torinn, meanwhile, walks to the rose garden. At least one section of it has seen better days, what with having had a raging goliath barbarian jerked through it. Even so, it doesn’t take long for him to find a large, healthy-looking rose bush with but a single rose growing on it.
A single silver rose.
“Hey guys,” the dragonborn calls, “I found something over here!”
The others walk over to the rose. “That looks like a silver rose to me,” nods Hkatha.
“Do we just pick it, or what?” wonders Heimall.
“Oi, this garden may have wondrous herbs for cooking in it,” Cook says, and starts to wander about, searching for them.
Torinn suddenly jerks as if he had been shocked. “Did you hear that?” he exclaims.
“What?” asks Iggy.
“The rose!” Torinn looks at his friends. “You didn’t hear it?” At their blank looks, he exclaims, “It spoke to me!”
***
The Silver Rose of Garnet doesn’t seem inclined to speak to anyone else, at least initially. According to Torinn, it sounds like three voices speaking in unison, all three of them female. Also according to the dragonborn, it wants him to pick it. So he does, and he affixes it to his cloak like a pin.
“It is a strong and holy relic of Garnet,” he reports to his companions. “Even though I don’t worship her, it will function to channel the sacred powers of my god- Lester- and it might be able to aid us greatly.”
“Well, we need it before we go to Tirchond, at least according to that unicorn,” Heimall says. “Does that mean it’s time to go there?”
“We don’t have a way to get there,” answers Hkatha.
“Maybe,” Cook suggests, “we can find coordinates for a teleport circle there.”
“Not a bad idea,” Iggy says, “if we can figure out where to get them.”
“Well, now what?” asks Heimall. “We’re here to scout, at least ostensibly. Maybe we should check out that tower and the haze around it.”
The party debates for a few moments. Some of them think they should simply head back to Fandelose; others favor going to Northshore in order to free the enslaved people there. After some discussion, they decide to check out the tower, then report in to Colonel Jaxe via sending (as General Argos is probably very busy, and has requested that the heroes follow the chain of command when contacting him) and see what he says.
At one point, someone mentions the name of Arawn (the death knight who leads the Six-Fingered Hand). Torinn sputters, “Hold on- the Rose knew him!”
“What?” exclaims Iggy.
“One of its bearers was involved with him,” Torinn reports, clearly listening to a voice that only he can hear. Then he gasps.
“Her name was Dawn.”
Next Time: Our heroes investigate the tower!
*Please note that these were one of my own ankheg versions, not the level 3 types in the MM2- in fact, this encounter happened well before the release of the MM2 and includes two monsters that appeared in it. The versions of the ankheg that I used were 15th level (ankheg earthshakers, for those of you who saw them in the Monster Project) and 10th level (the greenvise fogger, see Vines in the MM2).
the Jester
Legend
I think we're due for a roll call post:
Vann-La, Kree (elf) fighter/dreadnought 12
Sta'Ligir, eladrin wizard/pistol mage* 12
Shakgar, goliath barbarian/bear warrior 11
"Cook" (Bum Po), dwarf rogue/flying blade adept 11
Hkatha Ilmixie, tiefling wizard/Ilmixie highborn** 11
Heimall Heinrickson, human warlord/combat veteran 12
Torinn, dragonborn cleric/pit fighter 12
*Homebrewed paragon path.
**Reflavored turathi highborn. The Ilmixie line is a long-established line of pcs in my campaign, with a lot of fun history behind it. Likewise, Torinn's god, Lester, is an old pc. For that matter, so is Garnet- though the player's last game with me was in 1987 or 1988!
Vann-La, Kree (elf) fighter/dreadnought 12
Sta'Ligir, eladrin wizard/pistol mage* 12
Shakgar, goliath barbarian/bear warrior 11
"Cook" (Bum Po), dwarf rogue/flying blade adept 11
Hkatha Ilmixie, tiefling wizard/Ilmixie highborn** 11
Heimall Heinrickson, human warlord/combat veteran 12
Torinn, dragonborn cleric/pit fighter 12
*Homebrewed paragon path.
**Reflavored turathi highborn. The Ilmixie line is a long-established line of pcs in my campaign, with a lot of fun history behind it. Likewise, Torinn's god, Lester, is an old pc. For that matter, so is Garnet- though the player's last game with me was in 1987 or 1988!
Rikandur Azebol
First Post
My my, our PC's seem to grow muscles. 
You write great as ever Jester. What kind of personality the Rose possess ?
You write great as ever Jester. What kind of personality the Rose possess ?
the Jester
Legend
You will certainly get more of a picture of the Silver Rose of Garnet over time. It's the first artifact that I used in 4e (although not the last!).
That said, here's another update.
***
“Dawn. That name again- what does it mean? What does it mean to us? And more importantly, what does it have to do with Arawn and the Six-Fingered Hand?”
You know of her?
“Yes. We heard her mentioned by a... by an oracle, I guess. In the Feywild.”
She is a wonderful person.
“She’s still alive?”
I have no idea, actually. My sense of the passage of time is not very good.
“And she dated a death knight?”
What?
“Arawn- he is a death knight.”
A long pause, and then the Silver Rose of Garnet speaks again, a whisper in Torinn’s mind that only he can hear.
Oh dear. No, he was a man when I traveled with Dawn. They loved each other so much. I fear that something terrible has happened to him. Are you sure?
“He is the leader of our enemies, the Six-Fingered Hand. Do you know of them?”
No.
Torinn sighs and opens his eyes. “It is definitely talking to me,” he reports. “It sounds like it knew Arawn before he was a death knight.”
“Oi, how long ago was that?” asks Cook.
The dragonborn shrugs. “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem to track time very well.” He takes a deep breath and speaks inwardly again. “What can you tell us about him?”
Little. She met him not too long before I moved on from her possession. He was a strong, good man; he made her very happy. They were very much in love.
“Maybe,” Torinn says aloud, “whatever happened to Dawn is what drove Arawn to become a death knight. The Rose says that he was a good man, at least when they met.”
“I thought that the dragon said that Dawn betrayed someone,” Hkatha interjects. “Right? Something about elven sisters betraying too many people or something?”
Dawn was a human, the Silver Rose tells Torinn.
“Dawn was a human,” the cleric relays to the others.
“Then who are the elven sisters?” wonders Vann-La.
“Maybe they betrayed Dawn and Arawn,” suggests Cook.
“Well, the Rose doesn’t know.”
“It doesn’t really matter,” Vann-La states. “It doesn’t change the fact that we need to destroy Arawn and his damned Six-Fingered Hand or civilization will perish.”
***
What are they doing?
Standing around talking, the shorter gnome signs back. They are communicating using a complex language of gestures and silent body language, one that makes no noise whatsoever. This is a vital skill to have developed over the years of Hand despoilment. Now they are moving towards the lich’s tower again.
The Rose is in the right hands, at least. The silver rose holy symbol clasping his cloak is clearly an emulation of the one in Torinn’s possession, beautifully crafted yet unequal to the real thing.
Silently, the pair of gnomes moves through the hidden underways of the city, cutting straight through the series of long winding streets through which our heroes tread. They reach a good vantage point from which they can gaze upon Krezjarl’s Tower unseen.
I hope they succeed, the shorter gnome signs.
Yes. Dawn’s goodness is an example to all of us who serve Garnet. I have no doubt that she would be elevated into a Saint, if only her spirit were resting.
***
The tower is square, squat, wide, four storeys high. A window on the top level is shuttered closed. The door into the tower is bound with wide bands of bronze and graven with threatening-looking glyphs and characters. A large, heavy knocker of brass is in the center of it. About 25’ up the side of the tower, multiple vents in each wall allow strange puffs of orange smoke to escape.
“What’s up with that door?” wonders Heimall.
Hkatha examines the arcane glyphs graven around the door. “It is basically the magical equivalent of a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign. I don’t think they actually do anything- I think they are just here to look threatening. It looks like whoever placed them was probably a necromancer.”
“Good!” Shakgar declares. “Something to kill!”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Heimall says. “He could just be here, hurting nobody, minding his own business.”
Shakgar just snorts.
Torinn knocks on the door. “Hello!” he calls. “Is anybody home?”
The door opens, and the heroes are looking into a large, square room with several human corpses hanging from hooks on the back wall. A trio of scrawny-looking creatures, grotesquely sewn together from the body parts of many others, stands in the room, a seeping chill emanating from them. Behind them, two pale figures with nails driven into their eyes seep black fluid and moan and weep out a dirge.
Shakgar grins savagely at Heimall. “I told you so!”
“Vann-La!” shouts Heimall. “Get in there! Git!!”* Even as the Kree warrior springs forward, Shakgar enters a stone bear rage and, frothing at the mouth and roaring like a bear, he crashes forward, landing a terrific blow against one of the enemy. Cook rushes in on his heels, unleashing a blinding barrage at the foe. A fiery burst explodes behind the undead, lacing fire across their backs, courtesy of Hkatha.
Inevitably, our heroes push forward, smashing the undead to bits. The weeping undead ululate in despair as Torinn turns the group of enemies, pushing them back and annihilating one of the undead sewing projects. Then Hkatha’s shock spheres and blinding burst go off. Two undead remain, and Shakgar tears through them both.
“Not bad,” Hkatha quips. The party tries to take a moment to catch their breaths, but suddenly a gloomy, incorporeal figure appears, phasing through the ceiling for a moment before darting back through.
“Crap,” sighs Iggy. “Get ready- I think we’re about to have company.”
Indeed- for the ghostly figure slips down the stairs that rise up the wall of the square tower, followed by a ghastly figure, gaunt, dressed in rotted finery. A great man-shaped contraption of wood, stone and metal clanks along beside him, and he is surrounded by a cloud of stirges.
“Who disturbs Krezjarl the lich?” the figure hisses.
“Crap,” Iggy repeats.
Next Time: Hurray, I got to use a lich in 4th edition!
*Knight’s move and then commander’s strike combo.
That said, here's another update.
***
“Dawn. That name again- what does it mean? What does it mean to us? And more importantly, what does it have to do with Arawn and the Six-Fingered Hand?”
You know of her?
“Yes. We heard her mentioned by a... by an oracle, I guess. In the Feywild.”
She is a wonderful person.
“She’s still alive?”
I have no idea, actually. My sense of the passage of time is not very good.
“And she dated a death knight?”
What?
“Arawn- he is a death knight.”
A long pause, and then the Silver Rose of Garnet speaks again, a whisper in Torinn’s mind that only he can hear.
Oh dear. No, he was a man when I traveled with Dawn. They loved each other so much. I fear that something terrible has happened to him. Are you sure?
“He is the leader of our enemies, the Six-Fingered Hand. Do you know of them?”
No.
Torinn sighs and opens his eyes. “It is definitely talking to me,” he reports. “It sounds like it knew Arawn before he was a death knight.”
“Oi, how long ago was that?” asks Cook.
The dragonborn shrugs. “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem to track time very well.” He takes a deep breath and speaks inwardly again. “What can you tell us about him?”
Little. She met him not too long before I moved on from her possession. He was a strong, good man; he made her very happy. They were very much in love.
“Maybe,” Torinn says aloud, “whatever happened to Dawn is what drove Arawn to become a death knight. The Rose says that he was a good man, at least when they met.”
“I thought that the dragon said that Dawn betrayed someone,” Hkatha interjects. “Right? Something about elven sisters betraying too many people or something?”
Dawn was a human, the Silver Rose tells Torinn.
“Dawn was a human,” the cleric relays to the others.
“Then who are the elven sisters?” wonders Vann-La.
“Maybe they betrayed Dawn and Arawn,” suggests Cook.
“Well, the Rose doesn’t know.”
“It doesn’t really matter,” Vann-La states. “It doesn’t change the fact that we need to destroy Arawn and his damned Six-Fingered Hand or civilization will perish.”
***
What are they doing?
Standing around talking, the shorter gnome signs back. They are communicating using a complex language of gestures and silent body language, one that makes no noise whatsoever. This is a vital skill to have developed over the years of Hand despoilment. Now they are moving towards the lich’s tower again.
The Rose is in the right hands, at least. The silver rose holy symbol clasping his cloak is clearly an emulation of the one in Torinn’s possession, beautifully crafted yet unequal to the real thing.
Silently, the pair of gnomes moves through the hidden underways of the city, cutting straight through the series of long winding streets through which our heroes tread. They reach a good vantage point from which they can gaze upon Krezjarl’s Tower unseen.
I hope they succeed, the shorter gnome signs.
Yes. Dawn’s goodness is an example to all of us who serve Garnet. I have no doubt that she would be elevated into a Saint, if only her spirit were resting.
***
The tower is square, squat, wide, four storeys high. A window on the top level is shuttered closed. The door into the tower is bound with wide bands of bronze and graven with threatening-looking glyphs and characters. A large, heavy knocker of brass is in the center of it. About 25’ up the side of the tower, multiple vents in each wall allow strange puffs of orange smoke to escape.
“What’s up with that door?” wonders Heimall.
Hkatha examines the arcane glyphs graven around the door. “It is basically the magical equivalent of a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign. I don’t think they actually do anything- I think they are just here to look threatening. It looks like whoever placed them was probably a necromancer.”
“Good!” Shakgar declares. “Something to kill!”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Heimall says. “He could just be here, hurting nobody, minding his own business.”
Shakgar just snorts.
Torinn knocks on the door. “Hello!” he calls. “Is anybody home?”
The door opens, and the heroes are looking into a large, square room with several human corpses hanging from hooks on the back wall. A trio of scrawny-looking creatures, grotesquely sewn together from the body parts of many others, stands in the room, a seeping chill emanating from them. Behind them, two pale figures with nails driven into their eyes seep black fluid and moan and weep out a dirge.
Shakgar grins savagely at Heimall. “I told you so!”
“Vann-La!” shouts Heimall. “Get in there! Git!!”* Even as the Kree warrior springs forward, Shakgar enters a stone bear rage and, frothing at the mouth and roaring like a bear, he crashes forward, landing a terrific blow against one of the enemy. Cook rushes in on his heels, unleashing a blinding barrage at the foe. A fiery burst explodes behind the undead, lacing fire across their backs, courtesy of Hkatha.
Inevitably, our heroes push forward, smashing the undead to bits. The weeping undead ululate in despair as Torinn turns the group of enemies, pushing them back and annihilating one of the undead sewing projects. Then Hkatha’s shock spheres and blinding burst go off. Two undead remain, and Shakgar tears through them both.
“Not bad,” Hkatha quips. The party tries to take a moment to catch their breaths, but suddenly a gloomy, incorporeal figure appears, phasing through the ceiling for a moment before darting back through.
“Crap,” sighs Iggy. “Get ready- I think we’re about to have company.”
Indeed- for the ghostly figure slips down the stairs that rise up the wall of the square tower, followed by a ghastly figure, gaunt, dressed in rotted finery. A great man-shaped contraption of wood, stone and metal clanks along beside him, and he is surrounded by a cloud of stirges.
“Who disturbs Krezjarl the lich?” the figure hisses.
“Crap,” Iggy repeats.
Next Time: Hurray, I got to use a lich in 4th edition!
*Knight’s move and then commander’s strike combo.
Mathew_Freeman
First Post
Fantastic set of updates, Jester, really enjoying them!
Next year I'm planning on coming to Gencon Indy, if you're going and running something I really want to reserve a space at your table. I've been reading your stuff for years now and always enjoyed it.
Next year I'm planning on coming to Gencon Indy, if you're going and running something I really want to reserve a space at your table. I've been reading your stuff for years now and always enjoyed it.
the Jester
Legend
If I go, I'll be happy to save you a space. Unfortunately, I'm not too likely to go- Gencon usually conflicts with some of my other commitments. If you ever make it near me in northern California, though, I'll arrange a special session for ya! (That goes for any of my other readers, too!)
Rikandur Azebol
First Post
Tempter ... You work for the Devil don't You ?
the Jester
Legend
Ligir bows. “I am Captain Ligir of the Imperial Army,” he announces. “We, uh, do not mean to disturb you, but if you work with the Six-Fingered Hand, we shall destroy you!”
The combat lulls- perhaps only for a taut moment- as the party takes in the lich, certain to be a very deadly opponent. There is a chance here, perhaps a very slim one, that such a battle can be held in abeyance.
“The Hand,” sneers the lich, “is no friend of mine.” Its eyes flash with cold blue light. “But if you seek to trouble me, I will do them the courtesy of destroying you.”
“What about the corpses in the bottom of the tower?” demands Torinn. “Did you or your agents kill them?”
“I have no need to kill the residents,” Krezjarl replies. “Enough of them die without my help. When I have need of a body, I send minions out to find one. Those,” he gestures at the cadavers hanging from hooks, “are preserved and are far less fresh than you probably expect.”
“If you are not their ally,” Hkatha says, cutting off Vann-la before she can give her own answer to Krezjarl (which is bound to be considerably cooler than the tiefling’s), “then perhaps you would be willing to work against them?”
“I am not interested in politics.”
“This is far more than politics!” exclaims the tiefling. “This is genocide! Look at what they have done to this city. When they came here, they burned, killed and raped.”
“Indeed,” the lich agrees with a nod.
By now, the taut moment has stretched so far that it snaps. The combatants step apart and lower their weapons, still glaring at each other, but no longer fighting.
“You were here?”
“I was, but not as you see me now. I was still alive then.”
The lich’s pronouncement takes Hkatha aback.
“In fact,” Krezjarl continues, “it was my need to be unmolested by them that led me attain my transcendence. I became a lich because they would not desist in trying to draw me forth into battle with them until I was no longer a human.”
“You could have helped fight them,” says Torinn. “They can be beaten. We are from a city that held out, beat back their army and prevailed.”
“Indeed? Remarkable. This city certainly couldn’t hold them back. It was a lost cause. I was not interested in throwing my life away.”
“But you were a citizen of the Empire?” Heimall asks.
“I was.”
“Do you still consider yourself one?”
“Does the Empire still exist?” counters Krezjarl.
“Yes,” Heimall answers firmly. “As long as Fandelose stands, the Empire stands. But we need allies. We need everyone that we can find to band together to keep them driven off. We-”
“I am not interested in fighting goblins,” sneers the lich. “Tell your people to stay away from my tower. My interests involve experiments in my laboratories, not petty battles. But if they leave me alone, I will leave them alone.”
“Perhaps,” Cook says, “we could continue our discussion over a meal?”
Krezjarl stares at him.
“I am a most skilled cook,” the dwarf explains.
Krezjarl cracks a ghastly smile. “Your cook is a dwarf? You are very brave people. I have many old spices and herbs in my tower.” He nods. “The kitchen is on the third floor, dwarf.”
***
As always, the party is somewhat dubious of Cook’s efforts, but Krezjarl seems amused by the situation. He clacks his jaw- perhaps the equivalent of smacking his lips, given that he has none?- and expresses quite an interest in sampling Cook’s viands.
At the top of his tower, Krezjarl has a viewing scope. When they peer through it, distant objects seem much closer. While Cook prepares the meal, everyone else spends some time looking through it, examining the surrounding lands as best they can. There are no large concentrations of troops that they can see, although Northshore, a city to the south of them along the banks of Lake Belwur, is visible, and there is some sort of large enclosure outside of it. “I think that there are people in there,” Vann-La says, “maybe forced workers? And there is a lot of greenery in there. I bet that enclosure is full of farms, and the people are forced to work them for the Hand.”
The party eats from old, cracked dishes that the lich hasn’t dug out in years, cleaned first by prestidigitation. The meal is somewhat bizarre, as Krezjarl eats, but the food merely falls through his skeletal form. After the main course is served, Vann-La unwraps a package and offers him a piece of chocolate.
“What a delicacy!” the lich exclaims. “Of course I shall have some!” He chews it up, and chocolaty smears end up all over the lower part of his skull and his phalanges.
All in all, a pleasurable- if bizarre- meal.
***
“What about trade?” asks Heimall. “Surely there must be something that you need?”
“Glassware,” the lich says. “Vials, bottles, jugs, containers of all sorts.”
“I am a representative of the Heinrikson clan, and we deal in many trade goods. I will see if they will send a representative to you to start trading. We must reestablish commerce and regain the lands claimed by the Hand if we are to have any hope of rebuilding.”
“I am not especially interested in helping you, but I do need the glassware,” the lich admits. “I will speak to your merchants. But warn them- I will destroy them if they attempt any treachery.”
“I assure you,” Heimall replies, “if we were going to fight you, we would do it here and now.”
Krezjarl laughs.
“Do you know anything about death knights?” asks Vann-La. “We have to destroy one.”
“Yes,” replies Krezjarl. “Their souls are bound to their weapons. To truly destroy one, you must also destroy its weapon.”
“We mean to kill Arawn.”
“You are quite ambitious,” Krezjarl observes. “He has four other death knight lieutenants.”
“What!”
“Indeed.”
“What about sigil sequences?” Iggy queries. “Do you have any you would be willing to share?”
“No.”
“Then perhaps you know where there might be some?” asks Hkatha.
The lich smiles at him and licks a little chocolate off its fingers. Then he says, “There was a great library in Northshore. It is possible that there are a number of them recorded in its remains.”
***
It looks to be about a week’s journey to reach Northshore, which (our heroes determine) should be the party’s next destination. When it becomes obvious that the lich is tiring of their company, the party leaves. It is full dark by now, but that’s okay. They put a fair amount of distance between themselves and the tower before they make camp, and before they go to bed, Hkatha sends a report to Colonel Jaxe. His reply: Examine situation in Northshore. Prepare for liberation. Tell the people to come to Fandelose. Will have troops on the way.
In the morning, they head south.
***
Three more days of travel, and they encounter a small group of survivors, including a man whose hands have been severed. The party tells them of Fandelose’ triumph over the Hand, and discovers that the survivors are from Northshore.
“How did you get free?” asks Iggy.
“We were rescued,” replies one of the survivors, “by Summer.”
“Who is Summer?”
“We’ll take you to her.”
***
Summer turns out to be a tough-looking woman wearing a pair of horns, somewhat feline in appearance. Vann-La discerns that she is not exactly human; in fact, after some study, she decides that Summer must be what is known as a shifter- a person with lycanthrope blood in their background. Less than a full shapechanger, a shifter could take on minor aspects of its ancestral lycanthrope. She tells the party that she has helped rescue dozens of the people of Northshore from their enslavement, but as many as a couple thousand remain, forced to serve the Six-Fingered Hand. “The general is called Sharm the Terrible, and he is a vicious kobold,” Summer continues. “He is responsible for much misery.”
“Well, we mean to end his reign,” declares Heimall. “In the name of the Empire!”
“You must have an army with you, to be so ambitious.”
“There’s one on the way, but I see no need to wait for it. We will destroy this Sharm the Terrible. We’ve already killed another of the Hand’s generals- Heshwat the Eviscerator. I use his glaive.”
“It may not be the right time,” she says. “One of Arawn’s lieutenants is there right now, checking up on things.”
“One of the other death knights?” asks Iggy.
“Other death knights?” exclaims Summer.
”Yeah, he has four lieutenants. We just found out about them.”
“Regardless of who it is,” Torinn says, “we’ll slay him and free Northshore.”
Vann-La nods. Summer looks the group over. “You look like you mean it,” she says. “But you could probably use my help.”
“Welcome aboard,” replies Iggy.
Next Time: To free Northshore!
The combat lulls- perhaps only for a taut moment- as the party takes in the lich, certain to be a very deadly opponent. There is a chance here, perhaps a very slim one, that such a battle can be held in abeyance.
“The Hand,” sneers the lich, “is no friend of mine.” Its eyes flash with cold blue light. “But if you seek to trouble me, I will do them the courtesy of destroying you.”
“What about the corpses in the bottom of the tower?” demands Torinn. “Did you or your agents kill them?”
“I have no need to kill the residents,” Krezjarl replies. “Enough of them die without my help. When I have need of a body, I send minions out to find one. Those,” he gestures at the cadavers hanging from hooks, “are preserved and are far less fresh than you probably expect.”
“If you are not their ally,” Hkatha says, cutting off Vann-la before she can give her own answer to Krezjarl (which is bound to be considerably cooler than the tiefling’s), “then perhaps you would be willing to work against them?”
“I am not interested in politics.”
“This is far more than politics!” exclaims the tiefling. “This is genocide! Look at what they have done to this city. When they came here, they burned, killed and raped.”
“Indeed,” the lich agrees with a nod.
By now, the taut moment has stretched so far that it snaps. The combatants step apart and lower their weapons, still glaring at each other, but no longer fighting.
“You were here?”
“I was, but not as you see me now. I was still alive then.”
The lich’s pronouncement takes Hkatha aback.
“In fact,” Krezjarl continues, “it was my need to be unmolested by them that led me attain my transcendence. I became a lich because they would not desist in trying to draw me forth into battle with them until I was no longer a human.”
“You could have helped fight them,” says Torinn. “They can be beaten. We are from a city that held out, beat back their army and prevailed.”
“Indeed? Remarkable. This city certainly couldn’t hold them back. It was a lost cause. I was not interested in throwing my life away.”
“But you were a citizen of the Empire?” Heimall asks.
“I was.”
“Do you still consider yourself one?”
“Does the Empire still exist?” counters Krezjarl.
“Yes,” Heimall answers firmly. “As long as Fandelose stands, the Empire stands. But we need allies. We need everyone that we can find to band together to keep them driven off. We-”
“I am not interested in fighting goblins,” sneers the lich. “Tell your people to stay away from my tower. My interests involve experiments in my laboratories, not petty battles. But if they leave me alone, I will leave them alone.”
“Perhaps,” Cook says, “we could continue our discussion over a meal?”
Krezjarl stares at him.
“I am a most skilled cook,” the dwarf explains.
Krezjarl cracks a ghastly smile. “Your cook is a dwarf? You are very brave people. I have many old spices and herbs in my tower.” He nods. “The kitchen is on the third floor, dwarf.”
***
As always, the party is somewhat dubious of Cook’s efforts, but Krezjarl seems amused by the situation. He clacks his jaw- perhaps the equivalent of smacking his lips, given that he has none?- and expresses quite an interest in sampling Cook’s viands.
At the top of his tower, Krezjarl has a viewing scope. When they peer through it, distant objects seem much closer. While Cook prepares the meal, everyone else spends some time looking through it, examining the surrounding lands as best they can. There are no large concentrations of troops that they can see, although Northshore, a city to the south of them along the banks of Lake Belwur, is visible, and there is some sort of large enclosure outside of it. “I think that there are people in there,” Vann-La says, “maybe forced workers? And there is a lot of greenery in there. I bet that enclosure is full of farms, and the people are forced to work them for the Hand.”
The party eats from old, cracked dishes that the lich hasn’t dug out in years, cleaned first by prestidigitation. The meal is somewhat bizarre, as Krezjarl eats, but the food merely falls through his skeletal form. After the main course is served, Vann-La unwraps a package and offers him a piece of chocolate.
“What a delicacy!” the lich exclaims. “Of course I shall have some!” He chews it up, and chocolaty smears end up all over the lower part of his skull and his phalanges.
All in all, a pleasurable- if bizarre- meal.
***
“What about trade?” asks Heimall. “Surely there must be something that you need?”
“Glassware,” the lich says. “Vials, bottles, jugs, containers of all sorts.”
“I am a representative of the Heinrikson clan, and we deal in many trade goods. I will see if they will send a representative to you to start trading. We must reestablish commerce and regain the lands claimed by the Hand if we are to have any hope of rebuilding.”
“I am not especially interested in helping you, but I do need the glassware,” the lich admits. “I will speak to your merchants. But warn them- I will destroy them if they attempt any treachery.”
“I assure you,” Heimall replies, “if we were going to fight you, we would do it here and now.”
Krezjarl laughs.
“Do you know anything about death knights?” asks Vann-La. “We have to destroy one.”
“Yes,” replies Krezjarl. “Their souls are bound to their weapons. To truly destroy one, you must also destroy its weapon.”
“We mean to kill Arawn.”
“You are quite ambitious,” Krezjarl observes. “He has four other death knight lieutenants.”
“What!”
“Indeed.”
“What about sigil sequences?” Iggy queries. “Do you have any you would be willing to share?”
“No.”
“Then perhaps you know where there might be some?” asks Hkatha.
The lich smiles at him and licks a little chocolate off its fingers. Then he says, “There was a great library in Northshore. It is possible that there are a number of them recorded in its remains.”
***
It looks to be about a week’s journey to reach Northshore, which (our heroes determine) should be the party’s next destination. When it becomes obvious that the lich is tiring of their company, the party leaves. It is full dark by now, but that’s okay. They put a fair amount of distance between themselves and the tower before they make camp, and before they go to bed, Hkatha sends a report to Colonel Jaxe. His reply: Examine situation in Northshore. Prepare for liberation. Tell the people to come to Fandelose. Will have troops on the way.
In the morning, they head south.
***
Three more days of travel, and they encounter a small group of survivors, including a man whose hands have been severed. The party tells them of Fandelose’ triumph over the Hand, and discovers that the survivors are from Northshore.
“How did you get free?” asks Iggy.
“We were rescued,” replies one of the survivors, “by Summer.”
“Who is Summer?”
“We’ll take you to her.”
***
Summer turns out to be a tough-looking woman wearing a pair of horns, somewhat feline in appearance. Vann-La discerns that she is not exactly human; in fact, after some study, she decides that Summer must be what is known as a shifter- a person with lycanthrope blood in their background. Less than a full shapechanger, a shifter could take on minor aspects of its ancestral lycanthrope. She tells the party that she has helped rescue dozens of the people of Northshore from their enslavement, but as many as a couple thousand remain, forced to serve the Six-Fingered Hand. “The general is called Sharm the Terrible, and he is a vicious kobold,” Summer continues. “He is responsible for much misery.”
“Well, we mean to end his reign,” declares Heimall. “In the name of the Empire!”
“You must have an army with you, to be so ambitious.”
“There’s one on the way, but I see no need to wait for it. We will destroy this Sharm the Terrible. We’ve already killed another of the Hand’s generals- Heshwat the Eviscerator. I use his glaive.”
“It may not be the right time,” she says. “One of Arawn’s lieutenants is there right now, checking up on things.”
“One of the other death knights?” asks Iggy.
“Other death knights?” exclaims Summer.
”Yeah, he has four lieutenants. We just found out about them.”
“Regardless of who it is,” Torinn says, “we’ll slay him and free Northshore.”
Vann-La nods. Summer looks the group over. “You look like you mean it,” she says. “But you could probably use my help.”
“Welcome aboard,” replies Iggy.
Next Time: To free Northshore!
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