The Scars Run Deep (Updated - 3/29/2004)

The Scars Run Deep is a campaign set in the Scarred Lands campaign setting. It focuses on four characters drawn from various countries as they are bound together by fate.

I’ve started the campaign by running each player through a solo introductory session, allowing us to build the character backgrounds and get a feel for them before having to interact with the other players. So far, I am very impressed with my players.

The Cast of Characters:

Tréan of Madriel: Female Half-elf Cleric (Madriel) 3. Tréan was raised by the temple of Madriel in Angelsgate, never having known her mother. As she learned and grew in strength, her tutelage took her to Vesh where she became a member of the Order of the Morning Sky. She is a staunch foe of the undead and a capable speaker on behalf of her temple.

Gerad Caedmon: Male Human Fighter 3. Gerad is a former janissary slave-warrior to the Calastian Empire. A man so brutal to his enemies that he gained the monicker ‘Scourge’ in his younger days. He has rebelled against everything he once lived for, and now looks to find his place in the world.

Surielle Moonshade: Female Human Druid 3. A druidic servant of Denev walking the footsteps of her mother Amara. She and her wolf companion Snowmelt try to heal the wounded land and oppose the deadly machinations of titan-worshipping druids in the land.

Silas Meren’stadt: Male Elven Rogue 1/Urban Ranger 2. A bitter hunter driven by the death of his beloved sister. Moving from city to city, Silas hunts assassins that belong to the shadowy Cult of the Ancients. Only when they are destroyed will he stop his quest.

Tréan - 20th of Tanot, yr. 150 A.V.

The coming of dawn is a wondrous thing to behold in the Temple of the Sun. The Eastern wall is dominated with open windows to allow Madriel’s golden rays to bless her temple. Architects had labored to allow the most possible sunlight into the main temple without leaving it open to the frequent rains of Durrover. In those places where the morning dew had pooled, young initiates worked steadily to scrub and clean.

Tréan recalled her years spent in the temple, working to keep its stone floors and walls spotless. Some would say that such tasks were pointless and menial, but they did not understand the pride that comes from such work. Purity was one of the first tenets taught to those who followed the path of Madriel. It was a far cry from the tenets that she had learned while in Vesh…

“Acolyte Tréan?” A small blonde-haired initiate wearing simple white robes interrupted her thoughts. “Yes, dear?” she asked.

“Maester Taigral requests your presence in his office.”

Tréan smiled at the young girl as she curtsied and went off to other duties. Tréan wondered what the high priest needed of her, hoping it was a challenging assignment. The few months since she had returned to Angelsgate had been comforting, but she had tasted action in Vesh and now she yearned to have it again. Tréan could apply the healing arts as well as any other of her rank, but she knew that her gifts lay also in the martial disciplines.

The door to Maester Taigral’s chamber was partially closed, and Trean could hear voices inside. She knocked and was greeted by the Maester and another, Helena Garrond. Tréan knew Helena, as both were of the Order of the Morning Sky. The Maester asked Tréan if she could wait outside while they finished their conversation. She did so, leaving the door as she first found it.

Her ears, which rose to a slight point due to her elven heritage, picked up fragments of the conversation. In Tréan’s mind, it wasn’t snooping as much as it was curiosity. She heard a few details, mostly from the Maester’s raised voice, including her name, plans for another youth, and the word ‘Sussephra’. What it meant, she knew not, but she was intrigued. Soon enough, she found herself standing before Helena and the Maester.

“Divinities Day approaches, Tréan, and every year there is a week-long festival held in the Zathiskan town of Quelsk. As the country officially worships Chardun, there are no established temples to our Lady nearby.” Trean noted the way the Maester’s white eyebrows furrowed when he named Chardun, the Slaver. Maester Taigral was a respected elder among the faithful – one of few men to assume a position of authority in what was mostly a matriarchal religion. In the years she had known him, Tréan had developed a profound respect for the man.

“A pilgrimage is set every year so that the people of Zathiske will know the mercies of Madriel, and remember that she cares for them, even if their rulers have forgotten her.” Helena was next to speak.

“Zathiske is in the heart of the Hegemony, and given our country’s current state of war, we feel it would be wise to send the Order of the Morning Sky.” Helena spoke truly; Durrover had been under siege from the neighboring country of Lageni, a province of the Calastian Hegemony. The Order, known for missions of mercy, was allowed to cross the borders even in times of war.

Tréan readily agreed to the mission, looking forward to travel through these unfamiliar lands. She was given basic details of the path that will lead them to Zathiske. She also learned that they will be accompanied on their quest by a younger acolyte, a youth by name of Mitran. The Maester escorted them from his office, wishing them good fortune on their travels.

“You, Mitran and I shall meet tonight for dinner and discussion,” Helena said. “We have much to do, and I, for one, am eager to begin this journey.”

Cool, your story begins!

Could I suggest putting a link in your signature?

Excellent!

Another story hour with which I might while away hours that I should be using to produce new books.

Spectacular start, theRuinedOne. Looking forward to hearing more about it.

Silas - 5th of Corer, yr. 144 AV

“Silas, I will only say this once more. I forbid you to seek these men out!”

Silas narrowed his eyes at his father as he paced around the study. Brigham Loralian was upset, just as he was. Yet his words, his decree, made Silas fume all the more.

“You would have me sit here in tears, when I could be out finding the killers?”

It had been two days since the watch had brought Illyana’s bloodstained body to the house. His sister, murdered in the streets of Aolvnir. She had a dalliance with a human by name of Frederico, something short-lived and passionate. She had kept it secret from her father, but had trusted Silas with the information. Apparently this Frederico had enemies of his own, and they had murdered the young couple as they walked through the streets at night.

“Silas, I will see that Illyana is avenged. I can make this happen. but you are young –”

“I am nearly fifty years old!” Silas shouted.

“And still a youth in our family, or have you forgotten from whence you came?” His father’s retort stung. Silas knew the underlying meaning. His father had always commented on the amount of time Silas spent with his human friends, instead of the other elves within Aolvnir. And now Illyana’s love for a man had caused her death. He watched as his father walked over and placed a hand upon his shoulder.

“Please, Silas. I have lost one child dear to me. I do not wish to lose the other.”

Silas gently moved from his father’s touch.

“Father, you lost me years ago, not that you would notice.”

No further words were spoken as Silas turned and walked from the room.

* * *

Silas did not spend that night searching for his sister’s murderers. Instead, he found himself rebelling against his father in a different way, associating with his friend Martin Shale. Martin had a terrible curiosity, and always seemed to find danger where it lurked in Aolvnir.

Tonight was no exception: the pair were perched behind a rocky outcropping that led down to the lakeside, spying on a group of four men. They had been here for nearly an hour, and the men below now prepared to leave.

“One of them should have the lens. If we can get it, I know someone who will pay a good sum of gold for it.” Martin leaned forward and squinted in the moonlight. His eyesight paled beside the elven eyes of Silas.

“One of the thinner men is holding a long case,” Silas announced. “I don’t like this, Martin. I swear, one of the men is a guardsman, and I believe another wears the insignia of the Duke.”

“Maybe, but this is a thousand gold crowns we’re talking about. One score, and we can live like kings!”

Silas watched his friend for a moment without speaking. Martin had mentioned this job to him before, but he had ignored it. Smaller thefts were tolerable; filching a purse or roaming through someone’s house while they were away was actually exciting. But this was stealing from a city official, an act that could be trumped up to treason if the Dragoons caught them. Yet, his mind had changed tonight. The city watch had said they had no information regarding his sister’s murder, but he doubted if they had asked the right questions. Witnesses may give more information if coins crossed their palms, coins that this job could provide. It was a dirty business, but Silas felt obligated to pursue it. For Illyana, he kept telling himself. For Illyana.

“One condition, Martin: Two-fifths go to me, two-fifths to you, and one-fifth goes to the Church of Hedrada.”

“The church? Are you mad? You’re welcome to give them part of your share, but -”

“One-fifth, Martin. Either that or I walk.”

Martin seemed ready to argue the point, but a voice called out from below them. The guardsman had apparently heard voices and was calling for a lantern. Thinking quickly, Silas grabbed a flask and splashed himself with wine. Within moments, the glare from a hooded lantern shone on the pair.

“Explain yourselves! What are you doing here?”

Silas began to speak in a slurred voice, but Martin quickly intervened with a story of them drinking by the lakeside. He was not as skilled a liar as Silas, but his story seemed convincing enough. The guard approached close enough to smell them, and then returned to his group with a look of disgust. Silas and Martin watched as the four continued up the path back to the city proper.

“Fair enough,” Martin grumbled. “One-fifth to yer church.”

* * *

The pair watched from between two darkened houses as the guardsman walked from the thin man’s house. Two black cases stood on end on the stoop, as he fished through his pockets for a key.

“We should do this quickly before he gets inside,” Silas said. Martin agreed and they formed a plan. Within seconds, Silas strolled up to the house, still smelling of cheap wine. The man had retrieved his key, and now the door to his house stood open. He turned and nearly jumped when he saw Silas walking up.

“Excuse me, sir…” Silas continued the act, exaggerating his words.

“Can I help you, sir?” the man asked. Silas got up close to him and mumbled an incomprehensible string of words. “Pardon me? Wait, weren’t you back…?”

The man’s words were interrupted as Martin bowled into the two of them and snatched the cases, running off into the night. The victimized man cursed and swore, calling out for the guard as he struggled to get to his feet. He looked at Silas and pointed a finger, then ran down the street calling for the guards. Silas considered looking through the man’s open house, but decided against it. He had already taken too many risks this night.

Within an hour, Martin had brought the cases to a quiet flat where Silas stayed most nights. He had a room at his father’s considerable estate, but he chafed at the rules placed upon him there. This house was comforting to him.

Examination of the cases had revealed one to have a long tube split in half, with a glass lens in each piece. It reminded Silas of a spyglass his father had mounted above the fireplace. The other case held an odd metal stand with three legs that presumably could attach to the tube. After a brief examination, Martin closed the cases and rose from the floor.

“I’ll see if my contact can meet me tomorrow to look at the goods. Then I’ll find you.”

“I think the lenses should stay with me. Not that I don’t trust you, Martin…”

Martin grumbled.

“I trust you too, but I’m loathe to leave the prize here.”

“Take one of the lenses with you, I’ll keep the other,” Silas said. “We’ll meet tomorrow and handle the deal.” Martin thought for a moment, and then agreed, grabbing one of the tubes from the case and gently placing it in a sack.

Silas lay on his bed, unable to sleep after Martin had left. How far would he go for his sister’s memory? How far?

Thanks, Horacio! Somehow I knew you'd be the first to comment. =)

SSS-Druid, thank you as well. I would never, ever want to distract you from your work on SL. Just think of me as placating the masses while your wonderful story hour takes a hiatus.

Question: Is the dialogue color bothering you? I like it, but don't want it to appear too gaudy.

Not to bad Ruined. I don't mind the coloration in dialogue. Not entirely sure of the color..but it's not too bad.

So far I like it!

I like dialogue in color

And I love the story!

Great story!

Tréan - 5th of Enkilot, yr. 150 A.V.

The trio rode silently on horseback through the opening of Irontooth Pass. They passed from under the shadow of Rockvale, the last hold of Durrover they would see as they passed into lands controlled by Lageni. Twenty-four years ago, Calastian forces had taken control of Irontooth pass, the main route of land travel into Durrover.

The journey through the northern reaches of Durrover had been reassuring. Many of the skirmishes with Lageni occurred in the mountain passes of Keldar between the highlanders and Lageni raiders. At Helena’s request, their first stop was at the hold of her family. Helena’s father, the thain Garrond, was a blustery man who grumbled continuously about ‘those Lageni heathens’. He was none-too-thrilled to learn that his daughter intended to ride through Lageni lands. Tréan had witnessed a series of loud arguments between the two which finally ended in a family honor guard that escorted them all the way to Rockvale. The thain would have gladly sent the guard with them all of the way, but it would have doomed their journey.

Helena, to her credit, had handled her father’s decision with wisdom and grace. Tréan had witnessed a hint of the thain’s temper in Helena, but she kept it restrained at most times. Tréan regarded her now, noting the ease in which she handled the horse beneath her. Helena had traded her robes of blue and white for a suit of light mail enameled with the symbols of the Redeemer and their Order. Her dark brown hair was tied in a heavy braid that hung down past her shoulders.

Mitran rode on the other side of Helena, displaying the same ease in which Helena handled her horse. He seemed very young and small beside the priestess. It had to be that he wasn’t wearing armor. Instead he wore a simple white tabard over blue robes, traveling garb for most young acolytes. He was all of thirteen years, wide-eyed and eager to travel through new lands.

“There’s the outpost, up ahead,” Mitran remarked.

“You should speak with them this time,” Helena said, looking at Tréan. Tréan nodded and nudged her mare forward to meet the approaching soldiers. After a few quick questions, she was brought forward to speak with the captain of the border guard. She was taken inside the small outpost while the others waited. Captain Vagon was a homely man with a large warty nose who looked at her with fierce cunning.

“Hmm, I was unaware of any plague in our lands,” he said, eyeing the symbol enameled on her breastplate. “What is your purpose in Lageni?”

“We seek only to travel through to Calastia and beyond. We journey to Quelsk to celebrate Divinities Day.”

“Hmm. And when do you plan to return?”

“After the celebration ends, we shall return here unless our services are needed along the way.”

Vagon asked a series of exacting questions: what cities they would stop at; who they reported to in their homeland; whether they intended to spy on Lageni. He noted all of their names, which Tréan gave freely. She had no delusions that he despised her and her companions, and that her religious duties are the only reason they were given passage. Eventually the questions ended, and Vagon escorted her out.

“Perhaps when you return, you will find things much different here, Durrovian.”

Tréan smiled at his thinly veiled threat.

“Perhaps we will.”

* * *

Their path carried them beyond the outpost and garrison which held the end of Irontooth Pass. The looming walls of the Kelder Mountains had given way to smaller rocky hills. Soon the path would open to the great fields of wheat Lageni was renowned for.

Tréan and Helena had ridden ahead of Mitran, engaging in conversations that would have made the young boy blush. Helena regaled Tréan with tales of her family and the troublesome romantic exploits of her many brothers. Tréan was surprised to learn that she had caught the eye of two of Helena’s brothers. Helena had threatened them both with being struck down as eunuchs should they try to romance the lass. The two shared a conspiratorial laugh, knowing that their goddess did not frown upon such pairings.

A sudden movement caught Tréan’s eye, overhead and behind of Helena. A large winged shape plummeted out of the sky directly towards the pair. Tréan called out and readied her spear, but Helena was caught unaware. The huge birdlike creature - a hippogriff, if Tréan recalled her lessons - slammed into Helena with outstretched claws, knocking her from her saddle.

Tréan spared a glance at Mitran, and found him still on horseback, wheeling out of range of another hippogriff while pelting it with arrows. Satisfied that he could hold for a few minutes, she quickly dismounted and ran to Helena’s aid before the first beast could return. Tréan feared the worst for her friend, but found her struggling to rise. Helena’s face was slashed horribly, and runnels of blood flowed down her cheeks.

“I’ll live,” Helena said weakly, “just spare me a moment.” Tréan rose with spear in hand, and she could hear her friend chanting a healing prayer to Madriel.

The first hippogriff was soaring at her again, issuing an angry cry. She held her ground, almost daring it to strike her. As it neared, she struck out with her spear, feeling it gouge the beast’s flank. She drew back just in time to avoid the deadly talons as the beast moved past.

The wounded hippogriff flapped its wings twice, and then landed on the ground not far from her and Helena. She prepared to fight the beast alone, but was reassured when Helena rose to stand beside her, silvered spear in hand. Her face was still bloodied, but she seemed resolute. Tréan felt a surge of confidence pour through her.

Something fell at their feet, interrupting their concentration on the enemy before them. At first they thought it an attack from the other hippogriff, but Tréan quickly realized that it was a bow. Mitran’s bow. Helena cried out as they both looked up.

Mitran was in the grasp of the second hippogriff, being carried away in the sky.