Nebulous's Keep on the Shadowfell (FR)

Nebulous’s Keep on the Shadowfell (FR)

This is our Forgotten Realms “Keep on the Shadowfell” campaign over the past few months. It is set in the 4e Realms but does not follow canon very closely; I still used Orcus as the deific source of evil rather than a Realmsian god from the web enhancement. If you’ve read my other story hours you’ll know that I like to add pictures from our games, many of which are doctored post-session specifically for the recaps. I’ve broken the adventure summaries into smaller chunks for easier digestion depending on their length.

These were written primarily for the players, often referred to as “You”, although I kept in mind that other readers would see it eventually and sometimes I refer to them (you guys) as well. The style I use is a blend of prose, game mechanics and summarization that I find quick and easy to write. It’s no eloquent novel, that’s for sure. I also use lots of “GM Note” asides. A few of the background story elements and NPCs developed over the course of the adventure, so I’ve gone back and tried to enhance them for a more cohesive narrative.

Unfortunately, I think my players care less about cohesive narrative and more about killing monsters and taking their stuff. Ah. C'est la vie.

These are the chapters:

Prologue
Adventure #1: Winterhaven
Adventure #2: Court of the Frog Queen
Adventure #3: Ambush on the Old Road
Side Trek (I): The Grave of Blacksoul
Adventure #4: A Dismal Den of Dragon Droppings
Adventure #5: Shadowfell Keep
Adventure #6: Splug!
Adventure #7: Lord of the Maw & Boss of the Fat
Side Trek (II): The Streets of Silverymoon
Adventure #8: Caves of Peril
Adventure #9: Slime Central
Adventure #10: The Hobber Barracks
Adventure #11: Chief Krusk, Sir Keegan & Traps Galore
Side Trek (III): The Fate of Blacksoul
Adventure #12: Cathedral of Shadow
Adventure #13: The Claws of Orcus
Epilogue

We’ve really enjoyed 4e so far, and I thought this was a great introductory adventure. I can’t say that it is my favorite version of D&D (magic is rather lame now), but combat is a helluva lot of fun. I tried to address some of the shortcomings in the module, such as one-note NPCs and lack of detail for the main villain, Kalarel. We’re moving on to Thunderspire next, but I may very well skip Pyramid of Shadows and segue into King of the Trollhaunt Warrens, planting it smack in middle of the Evermoors.

Many thanks to other DMs who gave me ideas I unabashedly stole. Take what you want from here!






Prologue

The dirty half-elf girl looked up from the parchment in her hand. This was the correct address, yes: 20 Spinagon Alley, Silverymoon. She crumpled the paper. It was a squalid, ugly building, with peeling lichenous green paint, and blackened, boarded windows. She could hardly imagine anyone living here, but Ninaran had lived in worse places. She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly.



This is where her mother had told her to come. Despite that her elven mother was long, long dead and buried.

She raised a fist and rapped lightly on the door. Silence. She looked up and down the street but saw only trash spinning in the chill wind. It was cold out here, no one up and about yet. She raised her hand to knock again, wondering if her mother’s angry spirit had made a mistake, but the door suddenly cracked open.

An eye glared at her.

Ninaran found that she could not speak. Perhaps she should not have come at all. What was she doing here? Did she really think that this stranger would help?

“Are…are you…Kalarel?” Her question was a mere whisper, nearly lost in the rustling wind.

The eye blinked, and the door opened wider.

“Enter.” A man’s voice, deep and full of command. She did not dare disobey. Gathering the hem of her muddy traveling cloak, she stepped up and entered the door. It closed behind her with a snap and was quickly bolted shut. She stood in a small, dirty apartment. The room stank of something sickly sweet and rotten, and the only light flickered from a large candle on a table, but the candleholder was half a human skull. The man, whose features were shrouded by a black hood, stepped slowly away from the door, watching Ninaran. She stood quietly, looking down at the paneled floor between her feet. She did not want to see his face.

“You must be…Ninaran. Yes. Your mother told me you would be here soon.”

His eyes were just two glittering dark jewels under the hood. He was tall too, broad shouldered and emanating an authoritative presence that genuinely frightened Ninaran on some primal level. She did not say anything, just nodded.

“Sit,” the man instructed.

Ninaran found a chair. He walked behind her, his boots clicking on the cold wooden floor, and she heard him stop. Her fingers were shaking, but whether from cold or fear she did not know.

“We have much in common, you and I, Ninaran the half-elf.”

Ninaran wondered what that meant exactly. She had never met this man before, and would not known of him at all unless her mother’s banshee had repeatedly come to her, instructing Ninaran to seek this person out, a man who would help Ninaran find what she and her mother sought…

…revenge.

“Did…did you…know my mother in life?” she asked, her voice hollow even to her own ears.

“No child,” he answered, “but the dead speak to me more eloquently than the living ever could. Her very soul screamed for revenge against the human who burdened her with a child all those years ago, and then promptly abandoned them. Your mother died from grief, did she not? So in love with a young man named Ernest Padraig that his rejection of her and her young daughter was more than she could bear. Heartbroken.

This…Padraig killed your mother Ninaran, just as surely as if he had slid a blade between her ribs himself.”

Ninaran felt the tears and the old rage building, bubbling up in her gut like a hot fountain. It was true what Kalarel said; a young nobleman named Ernest Padraig was her natural father, according to the banshee’s tale of woe that haunted her so many nights. Ninaran hated this man she had never met, a man that long ago thoughtlessly killed her mother without even knowing.

“I know of loss too,” the man said, placing a hand on her shoulder. Ninaran stiffened at the touch.

“The lust of the Padraig family has passed through many generations. My own blood is tainted by their seed, by the father of the father who left you with a life of inequity and poverty. And my own mother…” and he paused briefly, as if struggling with a memory, “…died too young. Too young.”

Kalarel stepped around the chair and pulled his hood back. His head was clean shaven, his features strong and angled, his skin deeply tanned, almost handsome in a way if not for the maniacal gleam in his eyes.

“So you see Ninaran…we do have something in common. And we share a desire for revenge.”

“Revenge…” she whispered so quietly it was barely audible.

“I can help you Ninaran, if you help me. I have a powerful master, more powerful than you can imagine, with control over life and death in the palm of his hand. I have business in the small town of Winterhaven to the south, and if you help me, I promise that you will have the revenge you seek. Ernest Padraig lives there even now with his family, uncaring of the woes he has spread.

Help me Ninaran the Half-Elf, and you will see justice served.”

And Ninaran knew in the deepest part of her soul that this evil man was right.

And she agreed to help.

Great start. Love the way you have tied Ninaran and Kalarel together. Moving the story to the North rather than going with the Dungeon idea of the Thunder Peaks is also interesting.

I'm intrigued and awaiting the next post.

Adventure #1: Winterhaven (Part 1)


Adventure #1: Winterhaven

PART ONE


“So as you shiver in the cold and the dark, look into the fire and see in its spark—
My eye…watching over you.

As you walk in the wind’s whistling claws, listen past the howling wolf’s jaws—
My song…comes to you.

And when you’re lost in the trackless snow, look up high where the eagles go.
My star…shines for you.

You are not forsaken. You are not forgotten. The North cannot swallow you. The snows cannot bury you. I will come for you.

Faerun will grow warmer and the Gods will smile. But oh my love, guard yourself well—

This may not happen for a long, long while.”



But it is the season of Greengrass now, the 1st of Mirtul, far from the cold clutches of winter, and five heroes are escorting a single horse-driven wagon from the majestic city of Silverymoon. Their destination: the small walled hamlet of Winterhaven. The wagon driver, an ugly but amicable half-orc named Gobbo Goodnest, is taking his wares to Winterhaven to sell during the weekly Market day.



The party is going along as protection, as well as fulfilling a job for Merple the Moneylender, a Halfling businessman in Silverymoon.



The group has been hired to go to Winterhaven and map out an old crumbled keep in the vicinity, a derelict of a long lost age. Brandis Padraig, as a long time resident of Winterhaven, knows legend and rumor of this place, but has never been there. Merple only has an incomplete map of the region and would like to have updated information added to his archives. He has given the group a copy of what he has, although it is not particularly detailed or useful.

In addition, Merple has tasked them with a secondary mission; he has another employee in the region, Douvan Stahl, who was looking for the remains of a dragon’s tomb. If they can find Stahl, let Merple know if he’s alive or dead, or if he ever found the dragon tomb he was searching for.





Helga Hammerhelm, female dwarf Fighter (out to prove her worth to her clan).

Eravin, male eladrin Wizard (a miraculous survivor of the Spellplague that stripped him of his former levels; he has recovered enough lore to gain 1 level of expertise)

Irann-mari, female half-elf Warlock

Ashravan “Ash,” male elf Rogue

Brandis Padraig, male human Warlord, eldest son of Lord Ernest Padraig of Winerhaven. He has not set foot in Winterhaven for several years while seeking his fortune and fame in the wider world.


The group has only known each other for a few weeks, and they know little about each other’s abilities or backgrounds, other than the obvious. Brandis Padraig has not been home for two years, and is sure that his family will be overjoyed to see him. Gobbo Goodnest chortles and talks incessantly, but abruptly stops and pulls up the reins when he spots a flicker of movement in the distance behind a clump of rocks.

“Ya see that?” grunts Gobbo.

They do indeed, and Ash the rogue tries to flank around the side. The rest of the group sees several lizard-like dog men peering out from behind boulders, not particularly trying to hide, but Ash spots a few more concealed beyond the boulders. Brandis Padraig advances, perhaps a little too brazenly, and is instantly swarmed by enraged kobolds, including a heavily armed soldier bearing a dragonscale shield! Shrieking, they duck and jab and stab at Brandis, shifting out of the way, and then a hidden slinger hurls a glob of sticky glue at his feet, anchoring Brandis to the road. He’s immediately in serious trouble.



The wizard and warlock employ their magical resources, tossing magic missiles and cursing foes with eldritch fire. Helga the fighter dwarf leaps into the fray with her battleaxe, hewing foes down in vicious chops. The dragonshield kobold blocks her attacks with advanced tactics and proves to be a worthy foe. Their blows ring off each other’s armor and steel.

Ash moves behind a kobold and tries to slit its throat, only to be rushed by a second dragonshield warrior. It is an enemy he does not wish to fight alone. Meanwhile, the kobolds have continued to dance around the mired Brandis Padraig, who is unable to escape the gluey mess entangling his feet. He is quickly bloodied, and then dips perilously close to death before the closest attackers are either killed or retreat. To his immense fortune, the kobold slinger throws several globs of burning pitch that all miss him. Had they hit, he might have died.

Brandis finally manages to escape, but has been giving tactical orders the whole time.

The first dragonshield soldier is dropped, eldritch fire exploding from his eyes after the warlock’s curse infuses his soul with dark portent. She teleports to another spot across the battlefield, powered with the death of her enemy, and targets another foe. Helga charges the remaining three enemies, ignoring their opportunity attacks, and wails on the dragonshield with a devastating Brute Strike. The soldier falls to one knee, but staggers up, still in the fight -- until Ash backstabs him. Steel hacks into the kobolds from both sides, and the slinger’s head is brutally removed from his shoulders, spewing dark blood in a wet arc.



Soon the battle is over, the dust settles, and blood begins to cool in the road. Gobbo Goodnest is ecstatic, praising the heroes and their martial prowess. Apparently, kobold brigands have been a problem on the King’s Road recently, but Gobbo had been hoping to avoid a confrontation. Still, he promises the group that Salvana Wrafton of Wrafton’s Inn will offer them room and board for free, his treat for the first night or so. They’ve earned it, no doubt.

Several hours later as dusk is crawling over the horizon, the group sees the walled palisade of Winterhaven behind the trees in the distance.



To the east though, outside the gates, they see a mournful procession of crying women in the graveyard, and a small casket being lowered into the ground. Brandis does not recognize anyone immediately, other than the priestess of Sune present for the funeral rites: Sister Linora.



“What happened here?” Brandis quietly asks once the rites are finished.

Sister Linora is pleased to see Brandis Padraig and hugs him, telling him that it has been a long while. As for the funeral, a child was killed by marauders in the outlying farms. The problem has been getting worse and worse as of recent. Sister Linora asks with some difficulty if Brandis has spoken with his family, and if he knows about…Kel.

His youngest brother, only twelve years old.

Brandis has heard nothing, and Sister Linora says that he really should find his father and speak with him. Greatly disturbed now, Brandis ushers the others toward the front gates. There are two sentries, one of whom Brandis immediately recognizes as Rond Kelfern, head of the Winterhaven Regulars, the town’s militia. They greet each other, and Rond says that Lord Padraig is either at his walled estate, or at the Inn.

Drinking. Yet again, as has been the case ever since Kel...

Adventure #1: Winterhaven

PART TWO



The group heads to Wrafton’s Inn first, and by now dusk has settled cool and purple over the town. Even before the doors open they hear a female minstrel inside, and soon her voice soon washes over them, backed by the pungent smell of ale and cooked sausages.



The singer is a female elf who melodically croons and nods to the newcomers (GM Note: she was singing a song from the Beowulf movie]. A disheveled Halfling sits at her feet strumming a lyre, with a hat extended for coins. Eravin the Eladrin Wizard is immediately attracted to this young minstrel (despite his advanced age), and taking a position at her side, he uses cantrips to call forth fluttering fireflies to augment her performance. (YAY! Non-combat use of magic!!)



Gobbo Goodnest, Helga, Brandis, Ash and Irann all enter the bar area and are greeted by a tall, attractive human woman named Salvanna Wrafton, owner and bartender.



There are a few patrons eating and drinking here, and Salvana immediately recognizes Brandis. She tells him that his father is at the back booth, thoroughly immersed in his cups. Brandis immediately goes to speak with him.

“These are great warriors!” praises Gobbo, clamping a hand to the dwarf’s shoulder. “They slew many dirty ‘bolds along the road this eve. Left not a one standing!”

Mugs are raised in appreciation from the farmers and patrons at the bar, including one from a heavy-set human with a ruddy face.





“Well met then, strangers,” the large man drawls. “It is always good to hear of less trouble on the road. Every little bit helps! My name is Valthrun the Prescient, local “purveyor of knowledge,” or some such audacious title. Who might you be?”



The group asks about the kobold problem first, and find that it has indeed become a serious problem over the last few months. The little bastards are getting braver and braver, going from attacking individual travelers on the trade road to actually infiltrating houses and stealing babies! The Winterhaven Regulars don’t have enough members to patrol the farms outside the walls. Worse, says Salvana Wrafton quietly, Lord Padraig’s own young son Kel has been killed by raiders while out hunting. He is wallowing in grief, and his wife Cynthia Padraig has gone almost mad. She arms herself at all times now, and will not let their youngest daughter out of her sight.

While Helga, Ash and the others are relayed this gossip, Brandis is hearing pretty much the same thing from his father. Lord Ernest Padraig is an emotional mess, but extremely glad to see his oldest son, who has blossomed into a fine warrior just as his father did.



Valthrun the Prescient is a wealth of information, and continues drinking and engaging the newcomers while Salvana keeps their mugs and plates full. Talk eventually turns toward questions about an old keep outside of town.

“Aye, the old keep,” murmurs Valthrun, rubbing his chin. “I know of it.”

“Some say it’s haunted,” whispers Salvanna. “Ghosts. Vampires. Why in Sune’s good name would you want to go there?”

Well, money talks, and the group is being offered good coin to map it out by Merple the Moneylender in Silverymoon. Valthrun says he doesn’t know too much about it, other than it might have been a watchpost for the old kingdom, but that was probably hundreds of years ago. Now, it’s likely just a goblin den or some such foul place. Still, Valthrun is intrigued by their questions; it panders to his love of lost lore, so he immediately volunteers to retreat to his tower and search his library for clues about the old keep. When they see him again, he says, he’ll know much more. [Journal Updated!]

Brandis and his father soon leave, his mother needs to be seen, and the rest of the group steps outside into the cool night air. They hear ringing blows from a hammer and anvil, and soon see a dwarf hunched in the ruddy glow.



The dwarf has an obvious gimp leg, and walks with a limp to dunk the shaft of hot metal in a barrel of water. Helga addresses him, asking if he has anything for sale. Exceptional weapons perhaps? The smithy, Thair Coalstriker is bitter and barely acknowledges her questions, spitting curses as he hammers a sword, pretending he is bashing a goblin’s head into greasy pulp. Helga pushes the issue, and Thair roars in anger, unpleased to have someone reminding him why he can’t be the skilled warrior he always wanted to be. They ask a few more questions about the kobold problem, and a mysterious keep outside of town. Thair knows that the kobolds need to be smashed into pieces, but he can’t say much about the keep. Maybe Valthrun or Lord Padraig knows more. Thair HAS heard the name “IRONTOOTH” mentioned in relation to the kobolds, so that might be a leader. He doesn’t know where the kobolds are lairing though, but he thinks that the Militia Leader Rond Kelfern might have an idea.

They haggle some with Thair, and he buys some kobold swords to smelt down, although he wants nothing to do with the dragonscale shield. It's not born of the earth, like rock or iron.

The night ends with the party deciding that the immediate kobold problem in Winterhaven is their chief concern. Perhaps Lord Padraig needs some “help” with this problem, and Brandis Padraig has nothing but revenge on his mind.

As for Ash the elven rogue, he stands silently in the shadows, biding his time and keeping his dark thoughts to himself. For the others, they might be…disturbing.




[GM Note: As the first official 4e adventure, I thought combat was fast and furious with little to no interpretation problems. Roleplaying was actually easier to do with a group of people already comfortable with it. There were no rules dictating how you should or should not act, and alignment was not an issue. I still don’t quite get the Skill Challenges though]

Nebulous's Keep on the Shadowfell (FR) Updated 10/28/08

Adventure #2: Court of the Frog Queen


PART ONE

An hour has passed since the last session when the group spoke with the bitter dwarven smithy, Thair Coalbiter. Their main mission is still to find and map an old keep somewhere in the vicinity, but of more immediate concern is the kobold problem. Two of the heroes (The Warlock and Wizard) retire to bed at Salvana’s Inn, but Ash the Elf Rogue and Helga the Dwarf Fighter stay on the lower level, sipping drinks at their own tables. Ash prefers to be alone, but Helga openly chats with Salvana Wrafton as she cleans up and prepares to close for the night. Meanwhile, Brandis Padraig, son of Lord Padraig, is still at the walled estate attending to his beleaguered mother and father.

As for Ash…

…the rogue has not been resting very long on his stool when someone sits down close beside him. It is a young half-elf woman, not uncomely, somewhat tomboyish, with short cropped hair and a smattering of freckles.






“Who are you?” she asks bluntly, but quietly, so that no other patron might hear. There is a pig farmer and a drunkard nearby. Ash is blunt in return, immediately distrustful of her forward approach. A quick glance offers many clues about her; her skin is dirty yet tan, as if she is outdoors often; her scent ripe as if she has not washed for days; both her forearms are bandaged. The half-elf introduces herself as Ninaran, and asks again what has brought Ash to Winterhaven. “A task for gold,” is all he offers. Seemingly satisfied, Ninaran goes further, asking Ash what it is like to be a pure blood elf, untainted by a human lineage? What an odd, odd question. Ash is quiet and somber by nature, and suspects that this strange half-elf girl is perhaps attracted to his dark nature. His cowl is pulled up, covering his features in shadow, but she presses in close enough to see his eyes.

“Do you like to walk?” Ninaran asks. Ash nods, and the half-elf urges him up. “We walk in the dark then. It suits us, doesn’t it? Hides us, warts and faults and all.”

“What do you dislike so much about your heritage?”

Ninaran sneers, looking away. “Weak-willed humans. It disgusts me. None of the grace and beauty of…your kind.”

Her eyes flash at Ash, and the elf is intrigued. “And why should I trust a stranger in the dark? You might try to kill me.”

Ninaran laughs. “You to fear me? Indeed, elf, it should be ME afraid of you in the dark!” Ash smiles ruefully, obliged to agree with her. So, he tells Helga he is stepping outside, and the two depart.


Meanwhile, Helga…

…is enjoying her fifth mug of frothy cold ale while Salvana Wrafton sweeps meticulously around her legs and wipes the table down with a wet cloth.



“So you know Brandis Padraig, eh?” the tavern-owner asks. “Oh, that boy has grown up handsome, an image of his father he is. That Lord Padraig is a striking man. I’ve had an eye for him some years now, truth be told! Truth be told, aye. Too good for that wife of his. She’s a crazy one I say, even before Kel passed on. Had only I met Ernest when we were younger, there might be a different Lady Padraig!”

Helga has heard about the problems with the Padraig family though, and the death of their young son Kel has created emotional turmoil, sinking the Lord into his cups and the wife into a pit of wailing despair. Salvana is extremely talkative and keeps spilling her feelings about Lord Padraig, until Helga starts to wonder if the woman has an ulterior motive for talking to her so much. Is she hitting on me? the dwarfs wonders, and gulps her beer in silence. Strange. The dwarf isn’t sure what to do about that so she just drinks more.

And behind the walled royal estate, Brandis Padraig…

…holds his sobbing mother in his arms. She is hysterical, and has not stopped crying since he arrived. She laments the loss of her son Kel, and has not let Brandis’s young sister out of her sight since the incident two weeks ago. Lord Padraig stands nearby, his brow furrowed in worry. Cynthia Padraig drags Brandis to the trophy room and shows him a shield on the wall that surprises him:

A fresh goblin head is mounted there, its eyes wide in shock!




“Filthy beasts. They took my Kel’s head!” she sobs. “They took his head, Brandis, and we’ll do the same to them! Find their vicious, ugly heads! As many as you can! Kill them and hurt them and bring me their rotting little heads! We’ll mount them around the keep, a warning to all! Stay away from our children! Stay away!”

Her eyes are wide, her lips trembling, and then Cynthia begins twisting her hands, mumbling that the blood won’t come off, it just won’t come off no matter how many times she washes them… Lord Padraig finally guides her to bed, and then returns to Brandis.



“Son, your mother is very ill. I…I fear for her health. Do you know Delphina Moongem? Perhaps not. She has lived here for not long. She is an elf maiden with some magical talent. She has been picking herbs to brew tonics and elixirs for your mother, to calm her. I feel that Cynthia might harm herself otherwise. But the ingredient for the tonic is rare and nearly gone. Delphina can only pick it by moonlight on Jade Hill, nearly a mile from here. There are…rumors that creatures of the night will not harm Delphina, and so far such rumor seems true, although I know not why. She seems to walk untroubled in wild places blessed by the gods perhaps. But…there are things in the woods worse than goblins and kobolds. Please, accompany her to Jade Hill. Protect her while she finds the herbs. Your mother needs it more than anything right now.”

Brandis nods gravely, and swears to help find the herbs…AND the heads.


And outside Wrafton’s Inn…

…Ash and Ninaran have stepped into the brisk night air. It is newly spring, the month of Mirtul, the moon full and bright, and they walk side by side toward the walls. Ash finds this girl to be very strange, but can’t quite put his finger on why. “What are the bandages for?” he asks. She is defensive and changes the subject, pointing to a ladder leading to the parapets. They climb up near the guard towers and stand overlooking the night scenery. To the north looms the immense High Forest, and Ash mentions that he was born there, deep in the shadows with his people. Ninaran is fascinated by his tale, and presses him for more detail. Ash works his way around to the nature of the bandaged arms again, and Ninaran finally admits that when one hates themselves enough, they’ll try to kill themselves. The bandages hide scars, but that is long ago and not of concern now.

She changes the subject, pointing to the woods and says that she has small hut near town. She lives there, away from the encroaching walls and hubbub of people. She wants Ash to follow her there. It will be…private. Right….Ash isn’t too keen on following this woman into the woods alone, even though he does figure himself superior in a fight. She seems genuinely interested in him on a physical level, but she’s dirty and uncouth, almost as she lives off the land and only forays into civilization occasionally.

Ninaran repeats the offer, but just about then Brandis Padraig has exited his father’s estate and sees Ash up on the wall with another figure he can’t identify. He climbs the ladder and finds Ash with a female half-elf. Brandis briefly explains that they need to round up Helga because they have some “business” to take care of outside the walls.

Ninaran’s features flash with anger that they have been disturbed. “My offer then, Ash? What of it?”

“It will have to wait,” he says. “Tomorrow though, I will see your abode.”

“Then I’ll join your task tonight,” the half-elf says. “I know these woods well.”

Brandis shakes his head. “No…but thank you. This is a family matter. We can take care of it.”

Ninaran is clearly offended, and after exchanging a few heated words with Brandis, she spits at his feet and says, “You worthless Padraigs are all alike.” She clambers down the ladder which Brandis probably would have kicked over were it not bolted to the timber.

“By the love of Sune, Ash, what kind of company do you keep?”

Ash just shrugs.

***

Adventure #2: Court of the Frog Queen

PART TWO

Helga is soon roused from her table, still carrying her final beer and feeling quite intoxicated. The three of them let their other companions sleep, confident that this entourage is sufficient to protect Delphina Moongem while she collects the herbs and roots necessary to brew a tonic for Cynthia Padraig. Following his father’s directions, they soon find the simple flat and knock on the door. It is answered by a red-haired elf maiden, her hair intertwined with fragrant flowers.



“Oh. Yes! You’re son of the lord, of course. Come to help me find snailwort? Of course you are. Come, come! It grows on Jade Hill, but we must find it while it’s fresh. I know where to look. Follow me!”

She pushes past the group, barefoot and clad in a skimpy dress, and the others look at each other thoughtfully. Delphina Moongem seems to imbibe a few too many herbs that she collects. She is a flighty, absent-minded girl who dashes ahead, seemingly oblivious to whether they are following or not. She is unarmed and only carries a satchel to gather ingredients. At the front gates the guards recognize her, and she states her business as an errand for Lord Padraig. They open the gates enough for everyone to slip out one at a time, and then the gates close behind them.

They are beyond the walls, the moon a high, pale white orb looking down on them.

The forest creaks and chirps with night creatures, rustling softly as they pad down a well- worn path. It is not terribly dense wood, certainly nothing like the tangled undergrowth of the High Forest which Ash knows hides all manner of secret, dangerous things. Delphina hums to herself, stopping occasionally to pluck a purple mushroom that she nibbles. The party members begin to wonder just how much this young elf girl is in her right mind, and how much she’s floating in a semi-world of wonder and bliss. How could she possibly survive alone out here?

Soon though, they hear something large tromping through the woods. Ash halts Delphina and Brandis, but the elf wanderer giggles and pulls away, dancing ahead without heed. Helga grabs the girl and forces her to wait while Ash sneaks ahead. He hears the thing moving around, twigs cracking and branches breaking, and then a breathy SNORT! He freezes just as he crawls around the enormous bole of a duskwood tree, and he sees in the shadowed canopy a large porcine silhouette; cloven hooves, bulbous head and snout, curved tusks – it’s a huge boar, and it sees Ash at the same time!

“Big…PIIIIG!” the rogue bellows, tossing his sunrod at the thing, and the creature explodes toward him with a ferocious snarl!



Light blooms around the tree in a wide berth, and in the resulting glare Ash clearly sees that this boar is not wild; a saddle is strapped to its back, stirrups dangling down, but the saddle is slathered with a copious amount of fresh blood…

The ground is uneven from roots breaking the soil, and the beast’s charge is hampered, but it still manages to gouge the rogue. Ash staggers back, swinging his dagger in defense, using the trunk for cover. Helga puts her beer down and unslings her ax. Brandis the Human Warlord rushes up to help their ally, following the light from the sunrod, but they spectacularly fail both of their Perception checks, until Delphina points, crying out: “Look! Another piggie! I like piggies.”

Sure enough, there is a second boar crouched in the foliage on the other side of the duskwood, and it clambers over the roots and charges Helga, slamming into her. The dwarf stubbornly plants her feet and pushes back, falling prone at the thing’s cloven hooves. Like its companion, this boar also boasts a saddle coated with blood that is not the pigs.

Something in the woods killed the riders, but what exactly, they cannot tell.



The resulting fight is ferocious. The rogue and warlord manage to flank their boar, raining down sharp blows from longsword and dagger, hacking through tough hide and leather barding. Helga the dwarf has a tougher time, Bloodied by consistent hits from her foe.

“Delphina! Help me!” the dwarf bellows, but Delphina has trotted nonchalant to the base of the tree and is digging around, ignorant of the battle raging around her. Something has caught her interest, despite the rampant squeals and screams and scuffling.

At last, one of the boars is dropped, but ferociously surges up for one last dying attack, narrowly missing Brandis Padraig. Ash moves to flank the remaining boar, while Brandis gives the dwarf strategic advise, resulting in a flurry of axe blows, severing a tusk and half of the thing’s face. The boar staggers in agony while Ash sinks a dagger into its haunches, and finally Helga lands a killing blow into its skull, crumpling the beast into a quivering lump of coarse hair, brain pulp and blood.

They search the boar corpses, wracking their memories for knowledge about what kind of creature would ride a boar? Goblins have been known to ride wolves or worgs into combat, and the saddles are big enough...maybe even for a man. Or a large goblin. The only other clues are strips of cured meat in the side pouches, which could just as easily be cured beef as it could be cured human or cured elf. They don’t take the meat.

The next unanswered question is what killed the riders and left the boars?

“Ooh! Ooh! Look what I found!” cries Delphina Moongem. She rushes up, cradling plants in her hands. “Yellowfiddle! This is SO hard to find, you just don’t know.”

Helga the dwarf growls at her. “Why didn’t you help? We could have been killed.”

Delphina glances around. “Oh, I’m sorry. I…I did not notice. Are…are the pigs hurt bad? I hope not…”

The dwarf has had enough of this elf imbecile and stalks off. Brandis grunts, following, and Ash is about to follow too when he hears a distinct chittering laughter in the trees. They all stop, and for a brief moment catch a glimpse of something bright RED in the branches, and then it’s gone, tinkling laughter melting into the darkness.

Unnerved now, and afraid that something else is stalking them, they follow Delphina to Jade Hill, which she insists is not far. Soon, the woods reach an end and they see a large hill rising before them toward a clear, bright, uncluttered moon.

“There! Not far now!” the elf wanderer announces, and she hikes up her dress and begins climbing the hill. Brandis and Helga follow, but Ash hangs back, sinking into the shadows and extending his senses into the darkness behind them, wary of anything following, his dagger ready to lash out and kill it…

Adventure #2: Court of the Frog Queen

PART THREE

Delphina soon crosses a concentric circle of small rocks that rings the hilltop. Helga and Brandis stop outside these rocks, wracking their brains for the significance of such placement. The rocks are deliberately arranged, but they’re not sure why. They ask Delphina, who has dropped to her hands and knees and is digging into the dirt.

“A faery circle, silly!” she says, chortling. “Don’t you know anything? Wonderful magic happens here, things wondrous and beautiful! Now I must find the snailwort for Lady Cynthia. Your mother needs help, Brandis, and help her I will!”

Meanwhile, inside the perimeter of trees, Ash peeks out and sees his companions standing near the top of the hill under a bright, bright moon. He snaps his head around upon hearing laughter above him in the boughs. Again, something reddish leaps limb to limb and vanishes. He squeezes a hand around the pommel of his blade…

Helga and Brandis patiently wait for Delphina to find the ingredients she needs for the tonic. A cool breeze has begun to blow, one that strangely comforts them (demanding FORT saves). Brandis notices fireflies around him and reaches out to grab one…

…but upon opening his palm sees that it is a tiny woman!



Smaller than a dandelion, she sputters and sparks, and he releases it, soon to find it joined by dozens of variously shaped faeries that flicker with eldritch light. Helga hefts her axe to her other hand, unsure of what to make of this, and then a tiny creature alights on her head and begins braiding her blond hair. Brandis finds his sword belt unbuckled, and his blade clatters to the grass. Dozens of these things surround them, a miasma of faery-kin, a nimbus of soft light under the silent moon.



“Delphina—what are these things? What do they want?”

“Oh, just the faeries. They’re so sweet. But I’m busy now. Must dig! Your mother needs help, Brandis. Ah, I found some snailwort!”

Brandis is unimpressed by her help. “We mean no harm,” the warlord announces to the fey visitors. “We’re just here to collect some herbs. We mean no intrusion upon your sanctuary. We’ll soon be gone.”

At the bottom of the hill, still hidden, Ash sees an unusual amount of bright fireflies clouding the top of the mound. He hears giggling again, and spots another flash of red in the branches, this time attached to a small humanoid form. Something is closing in on his location, skirting between the branches with unnatural accuracy, something hefting a heavy metal blade gripped in gnarled hands…



Mist has begun to coalesce inside the ring of faery stones. The sparkling intensifies, the conglomeration of fey kin swarming and singing and chattering, the glow brightening, and then from the depths of the mist appears a short, squat green man with a red scarf cinched around his neck.



“Make way for the Frog Queen,” he croaks in a peculiar voice, a tongue that only Brandis identifies as an ancient goblin dialect. Helga can’t understand it at all.

Brandis stutters, staggering back from this small man who resembles a goblin, but unlike any he’s ever seen. His features are smaller, his demeanor different, and the goblin brusquely waves them aside.

“I Picklenose announce the arrival of the Frog Queen! All hail the Frog Queen! All hail… THE FROG QUEEN!”

Mist swirls and gusts about them, and to their shock and surprise, a HUGE amphibian foot plants itself in the soft green grass! A glistening wet body pushes itself through the fabric between worlds, another foot crashing down, followed by pendulous breasts swinging from a hybrid woman-frog. Her awful voice croaks across the hill in a tongue that is both alien yet intelligible.



“WHO’S UPON MY HILL THIS NIGHT?
WHAT YOUR MOTIVE? WHAT YOUR PLIGHT?”

Brandis and Helga are terrified, and the redhats and redscarves swarming out from the mist and surrounding them does not help the situation.




Ash is likewise being flanked in the forest by six redcaps grinning evilly at him. He dashes up the hill and joins his companions, taking his chances against the Frog Queen. Delphina cheerfully keeps digging.

Brandis stammers a response, reiterating that they are only here to gather herbs and then be on their way, and they meant no disrespect whatsoever. The fey creatures begin laughing, and the Frog Queen tells them that mortals should know better than displease her.

“TELL THEM WHAT HAPPENS, PICKLENOSE.”

The squat redscarf clears his throat and says that he used to be a human barber in Waterdeep, and now loyally serves in the court of the Frog Queen for all eternity.

Now the PCs are really worried.

This encounter instigates a Skill Challenge where they try a variety of Knowledge, Diplomacy and Insight checks, trying to gain some advantage in the situation and avoid eternal service as some ugly little toad monster. Helga wisely decides NOT to Intimidate the Frog Queen, which would have resulted in an auto-fail. Brandis has heard old wives tales about the Frog Queen and how she steals people to serve her, but she is not wholly evil or wholly good, just unpredictable. And ugly as sin.

Their stilted conversation sways back and forth, and initially the Frog Queen seems adamant that she wants to take the mortals back with her to the Feywild. There is clearly no way to escape, and impossible to fight them off, so the group carefully avoids any kind of melee. Brandis Padraig is finally able to convince her that he and his friends can serve her better on this side of the mystic veil, and he heartily offers their services in whatever capacity she deems worthy.

[GM Note: While this encounter was fun, I’m still unsure of how Skill Challenges are supposed to work. I feel like we’re missing an important component]

Ultimately impressed by this offer of servitude, the Frog Queen (who ended up sounding like Yoda) says that she will allow them to go free on ONE condition:

There is a goblin who has offended her, a goblin who has overstepped his boundaries. A goblin named IRONTOOTH.

Brandis knows the name because Thair Coalbiter and his father Lord Padraig mentioned it himself this very evening (The last adventure, session #1). Irontooth is whispered to be the leader of the raiders.

“BRING ME HIS HANDS ON THE NEXT FULL MOON,
ONE MONTH FROM TONIGHT. THAT IS OUR BARGAIN, MORTALS.”

So Cynthia wants his head, and now this Frog Queen wants his hands! There won’t be much left of Irontooth to dish around. The group readily agrees to her terms, and then the Frog Queen gestures toward Picklenose. He hands her a stone bowl. She gestures toward Delphina Moongem who brings a handful of snailwort and drops it in the bowl. The Frog Queen spits in the bowl, adds water from a decanter, and waves her wet fingers over the concoction. It bubbles and fizzles, acrid fumes rise up, and then she hands the bowl back to Delphina.



“THIS IS THE BREW YOU SEEK.
NOW GO, AND REMEMBER OUR AGREEMENT.”

Oh, they’ll remember alright. They won’t forget this night for a long, long time. The fey creatures begin slipping back into the mist, vanishing a few at a time, and soon the companions are alone on top of the hill.

Delphina sighs and yawns. “Oh…I am SO tired. I want to go home.”

So they do.


And that’s where we stopped.

We were down two players this session so i scrambled something new together outside of the plotline. I'll eventually tie the Frog Queen back into something more Feywild oriented, maybe the Trollhaunt Warrens if i ever get a chance to run it.

And although the players don't learn until much later, the boars belonged to the Bloodreavers.

Adventure #3: Ambush on the Old Road

PART ONE

The next morning, Ash the Rogue is woken by pounding on his door at Wrafton’s Inn. Sunlight slants through the windows, and he hears the chirp of birds outside. Hand to his knife, he warily asks: “Who’s there?” It’s awfully early in the morning for him to kill someone.

“Gobbo Goodnest it is, hero!” grunts the half-orc wagon driver from Silverymoon. “I got someone ‘ere who wants to speak with you.”

Ash unlocks the door, peeking out. Gobbo’s ugly mug greets him, along with a clean-shaven young man garbed as a Winterhaven Regular.




“And there he is!” crows Gobbo. “Barely out of bed, and this man could still gut a gob in the blink of an eye. What did I tell you, Corby? They’re true heroes!”

Ash is clear that he also has no qualms about gutting ugly half-orcs, but Gobbo rolls with the jest, only slightly unsure of its authenticity.

Corby nods in agreement with Gobbo. “Mr…Ash, sir…Lord Padraig sent me to rouse you and your friends, at…at your convenience of course. He wishes to speak with you, at his estate. Mr. Ash. Sir. It concerns his good wife, Ms. Lady Padraig.”

Ash agrees to wake the others. They smell bacon frying downstairs and that alone is enough to rouse them. Well, the Eladrin Wizard Erevan doesn’t actually SLEEP; he just sinks into a reverie of rejuvenation. He spent some time on the parapets the night before looking for invaders, unaware that his companions had actually left the walls to collect snailwort with Delphina Moongem. The half-elf warlock Irann was unaware as well.

Soon, Helga the dwarf, Ash, Irann and Erevan have all congregated downstairs. Brandis stayed at the estate with his family. Behind the counter a busty Salvana Wrafton easily greets them:



“Mornin’ strangers. Did ye sleep like the dead in my beds?”

There is another old man they recognize at the bar, the same pig farmer from the night before when they first arrived: Elian the Old. He’s pigless right now, but enjoying his morning beer before Market Day begins. “Hoo-eee! Morn to you, folks.”



Gobbo clamps a beefy hand on Helga’s shoulder. “Heroes they are, seen em myself in the thick of battle. Just what Winterhaven needs!”

Gobbo offers the heroes to peruse some of his wares from Silverymoon. He makes the trip once a month or so to sell trinkets and pottery, and to collect items to resell in Silverymoon. The group isn’t particularly interested in his wares though (or Gobbo himself), and they soon find themselves in the streets. Winterhaven is active this morning. People mill about outside; chickens cluck; pigs squeal and the general hubbub of the market filters through the air. Farmers from outlying fields come here to sell vegetables and furs; seamstresses set up kiosks to sell blankets and pillows; cobblers repair and sell shoes, and so on. The commerce seems reasonably rotund, although Corby points it is less than it should be, given all the brigands on the roads.

Following Corby’s lead, they’re almost at the interior gates when an attractive young blond woman approaches them. They recall briefly meeting her the day before, outside the city walls. She is Sister Linora, a Priestess of Sune and religious presence in Winterhaven.



“I heard what you did for Lady Cynthia. She…and we…thank you. I think that your actions will soon help us all through these dire times. I…I can offer you this. Not much, but it should aid you your troubles. Fare thee well, adventurers. You have Sune’s blessing.”

She hands them a small leather pouch that tinkles when Helga accepts it. “Careful,” Linora says. “It is fragile.” Helga sniffs the bag but doesn’t open it, but Erevan does. There are five small vials with a rune of healing upon. The party members take 1 each.

Corby leads them through the inner gates. “That Ms. Sister Linora is a kindly soul. I like her. Follow me now. Mr. Lord Padraig is waiting.”

Soon, Lord Padraig has heartily greeted them with a wide smile and handshakes. “The brew you and Delphina returned to us is the finest we’ve had yet. Cynthia is now in a deep, dreamless slumber, an aura of peace about her that I have not seen in weeks. I cannot thank you enough.”

“You can thank us with gold,” mutters Ash.

“Ah, yes, of course. Gold. Brandis and I have been discussing this.”

Brandis Padraig stands diligently at his father’s side, already geared for battle. “Father will pay you, but first we need to find this kobold lair, and this so-called goblin named ‘Irontooth.’ The threat to Winterhaven will not subside until we eliminate the threat at its core.”

“Yes, but the gold…?” insists Ash.

“Seventy-five pieces of Winterhaven-minted gold upon your return,” says Lord Padraig. That is acceptable to the heroes, but they still want 25 upfront for supplies. They also want to know if Lord Padraig has any magic items to give or sell them. No. The only thing he has is an enchanted sword, but that is the Padraig heirloom and will be passed down to Brandis one day, gods willing. Lord Padraig says that they should visit Bairwain Wildarson of Bairwain’s Grand Shoppe. He’s known to carry rare items from all over the Realms and can sometimes supply exceptional merchandise. He certainly likes to talk about it, Padraig adds.

Helga wants a better axe, and Brandis wants a polearm, so Lord Padraig tells them to speak with Rond Kelfern, Head of the Militia, and he’ll supply them with whatever weapons they need. The group visits the Siege Supply, and soon they’re off to find Bairwain Wildarson and his Grande Olde Shoppe of Excellente Stuffe.



A large, pompous sign swings above the shop with gaudy bright lettering, and the man behind the desk matches his establishment. He is impeccably dressed in a pressed purple tunic. Slick black custom-fitted shoes click on the tile as he approaches them. [He looks like an Prince Valiant to me, and portrayed as such].

“Greetings,” he says with a curt drawl and southern accent. “Help you this fine day? Welcome to Bairwain’s Shoppe of the Rare and Exquisite, as I’m sure you can see from my wares.”

Gilded birdcages hang from hooks. Glass cabinets house chiseled ornaments from Cormyr, Amn, and Aglarond and more exotic locales; ornamental swords dangle from the walls, encrusted with gems or sheathed in fine silver inlaid scabbards. The shop almost has the air of a miniature museum rather than a practical store, although there are plenty of mundane items interspersed among the flashier goods.

The group simply asks if Bairwain has any magic items for sale, and his eyes light up.

“Ah! That I do. That I do, travelers and friends. Not my normal bounty of goods, for I have not been to my…well, my “supplier” in some time, but I will soon enough. But I do have…”

And he offers them a quiver of 20 red-tipped steel arrows: Heartseekers.

“What do they do?” grunts Ash.

“They seek a foe’s heart!” the shop owner snaps. “What kind of adventurer are you? It’s obvious I would think.”

Bairwain offers them a newcomer “Friend Price” of 250 gp for the heartseekers (+1 arrows) but they can’t really afford it. Maybe later.

His second offer is more interesting, to Bairwain anyway. He hands a small mundane wooden box to the Dwarf and bids her to open it with the key. She does so. It’s empty. He asks her to close it again, open it, close it and then quickly open it, as fast as she can (Dex Check 10). Helga does so, and this time sees a golden chained medallion curled inside.

“It’s called the Box of Innox, or the Box of Innocuous Conclusions. Or even a Box of Illusion to some. Noble wives have used it to hide their pretty trinkets.”

The box is smaller than a shoebox, always weighs half a pound, and never seems to have contents. The only way to access the hidden items is to open it quickly a second time. It is not a Bag of Holding and can only accommodate what will fit within the dimensions of the box. Erevan the mage is particularly interested in this item, and convinces everyone to chip in to cover the 100gp price.

There’s nothing else they want in Bairwain’s store, although he says that he will be re-supplying in the near future and they should return. The group steps outside, enjoying the cool spring breeze washing over them, a vaulted deep azure blue sky over their heads, They begin walking briskly toward the north gate while Brandis fills in Erevan and Irann about their encounter with the Frog Queen last night.

They’re about to leave when they see Eilian the Old nearby with his morning beer and a pig. “Hoo-eee! They’re off! Luck with ya, adventurers! Kill me a gob! Kill me a—”

Helga snatches his beer. Ash takes his pig. Eilian looks after them, flabbergasted, and then raises his arms to the sky, wailing: “Why do ye gods hate me so!!!?”

Nebulous's Keep on the Shadowfell

Adventure #3: Ambush on the Old Road

PART TWO


***

Soon after, on the open road, they discuss their clues and goals: Thair Coalstriker, lame dwarf smithy, mentioned that the leader of the kobolds was named “Irontooth.” The Frog Queen confirmed that this Irontooth was actually a goblin, and this is strange: a goblin leading kobolds? Why? Lord Padraig and Rond Kelfern have heard that the kobolds lair near the waterfall, and since there is only one in the vicinity, Dorsail Falls, Lord Padraig has scrawled a rough map for them to follow, including the location of the old keep that the party is here to map for Merple the Moneylender. Padraig has never been to the waterfall himself and does not know if there are caves or not.

Although Padraig’s map is of inferior quality to this, it roughly offers the same information:



Last week, before they arrived, torrential rain had swollen the river so much that it was impassable. But the water level has subsided now. They elect to travel north on broken cobblestone and weedy wheel ruts along the Old Road that once stretched to the Silver Marches, skirting the southern Evermoors before monsters grew too large and hungry in that region. This road is no longer used and has fallen into disrepair.

They estimate a two hour journey overland, but they’ve only been traveling for a short while when they hear abrupt screeching nearby. Three small reddish bodies leap at them from hiding, and within seconds the group finds sharp swords jabbing at their kneecaps! It is much more dangerous than it looks.



These kobolds are well-armed and armored, militarily trained, and they launch their attack with precision, managing to strike Helga several times. The dwarf counters a few blows, and her companions quickly leap into fray. Irann the Warlock curses a Dragonshield soldier, Ash skirts the fight to flank another foe, and Erevan tosses a magic missile at a skirmisher who appears about thirty feet away, heaving a spear at them that manages to hit Helga. Bloodied within seconds, the dwarf flies into a rage. Brandis maneuvers into position with his polearm, but these kobold soldiers are keen, and repositioning on the battlefield triggers their own counter-maneuver dance.

[GM Note: I really like the dragonshield shifting tactics, although it takes a little getting used to. PCs hate it. What I don’t like so much is their Marking ability, which gets tricky to follow. We used a combination of glass beads and foam pads, the latter of which we’ll probably stick with. They’re color coded, stack easily, and visible from any direction].



Helga slams her battleaxe into a kobold’s neck, hewing its draconic noggin from its shoulders for later retrieval in a burlap sack.

But the combat takes an unexpected turn when a cloaked kobold appears near the slinger, bearing a rat-skull staff. It jabbers in an unknown tongue and tosses a hissing glob of green acid at Helga, narrowly missing her.



Erevan tosses an Ice spell the direction of the wyrmpriest, slicking the ground where they stand and knocking him prone. The skirmisher advances with his final spear into the thick of melee.

The female warlock absorbs the latent soul-energy of a fallen foe and magically teleports across the battlefield in a puff of purple-blue sulfurous smoke. BAMF! She has managed to spread vile curses across the battlefield the whole time, and few can escape her influence. Two of the dragonshield soldiers are finally killed, the third surrounded, and when the skirmisher tries to escape entrapment, Brandis Padraig thoroughly skewers the little dragon-dropping on the pointy end of his halberd, raising its writhing body to the sky for all to see.

Only the wyrmpriest is left. Helga rushes it, burning an Action Point to slam her axe into the thing’s side. It staggers, but manages to send a blob of acid arcing over her foe to painfully burn the warlord Brandis Padraig. The dwarf finally cleaves the beastie clavicle to ribcage, and a frothing vomit of acid harmlessly gushes from its mouth as it collapses backward.

The group is relatively unhurt, save for Helga who took a pounding. They sort through the bodies, finding a small shield, notched swords, red-scale dragon shields, and a curious draconic medallion around the wyrmpriest’s neck. Erevan detects no magic, but he does feel an indention on the back. On the flip side is the etched engraving of a goat skull…




The heads are quickly collected and thrust into a pouch to satiate Lady Padraig’s bloodlust. Helga the Dwarf doesn’t have any problem with wearing two of them around her neck as a grisly necklace, so long as they don’t stink yet.

Ash hunts the area for signs of where the kobolds came from and soon finds tracks leading northwest behind the ancient, weather-worn gravestones. They follow, and find themselves skirting the steep banks of Dorsail Creek. The bubbling brook is crossable now after the storms, but they stay on the east side and follow the tracks. The footprints range from just a few to many, and at one point they find footprints that are decidedly larger than a kobold—easily man-sized.

An hour later they hear the distant rumble of a waterfall and slow down. From their elevated vantage point they see the falls plunging down into a ravine. Ash elects to sneak ahead in the deep shadows of the canopy and return with a report.