Malvoisin's Dungeonaday Playtest [PFRPG][IC]




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    Malvoisin's Dungeonaday Playtest [PFRPG][IC]

    An unseasonably warm autumn sun shines cheerily overhead as a newfound band of comrades ascends the hill known as Bryson's Look. As the hill crests, the thick groves of silver maple and boxelder give way to vine-grasped piles of stones, overgrown outlines of foundations, and the furtive hint of walls and arches. Once, long ago, these ruins were known as Chordile Keep. Now, only the croak of a raven serves as a memorial to those days long past.

    The two-mile trek from Brindenford has been uneventful, even pleasant. It's a welcome respite for dry mouths and pounding heads, the reminder of too many glasses of wine and cups of ale downed the night before at the Lost Shepherd. It's hard even to remember the promises of camraderie and brotherhood, of wealth and glories waiting to be won. But promises they were, and so six figures stand on the hilltop, ready to entrust one another with their lives, though they barely know each other.

    In the center of the hilltop lies the entrance to the dungeon itself...little more than a twenty foot wide pit with an exposed stone stair that leads down into darkness. This band is clearly not the first to have braved the perils below, as the entrance has been kept clear of overgrowth.

    The stairway down beckons. Who stands ready to answer the call?


 

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    The breeze tosses the young northman's long blonde hair about his shoulders as he stands looking down the stone stair into the dungeon below. He strikes a spark with his flint and steel, and soon the torch he holds in hand is blazing with bright fire. The flint and steel he returns to his pouch, and then draws his greatsword in his strong right arm. With a look around at his new companions, Anundr nods and starts down the stairway.
    - Rhun

    For every one hundred men you send us, Ten should not even be here. Eighty are nothing but targets. Nine of them are real fighters; We are lucky to have them, they the battle make. Ah, but the one. One of them is a warrior. And he will bring the others back. - Heraclitus of Ephesus, 500 BC

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    Iradias sits on an outcropping of rock, or maybe the ruin of a wall or column; he can't quite tell. Knees and elbows poke out at awkward angles from his perch and he studies the ruins with his head jutting forward like some sort of vulture. The harsh sound of Anundr striking flint and starting a fire draws his attention and he watches the big man until the torch is lit. Surprise and dawning comprehension flow across Iradias' face as if he had never considered the possibility that they would need light down below.

    Shifting, he pulls the buckler from his arm and places it in his lap. He lightly caresses the dented steel. Steel he himself dented, after many hours of work with a wooden mallet, to give it the appearance of the face of the moon. It doesn't, really, but he's no craftsman and there isn't anything else he can do with it. Except... He closes his eyes and continues to allow his fingers to flow over the marred surface. In the temple-tongue he begins his prayer, "Glarias, bless us with your light..."

    The buckler begins to glow dimly and Iradias opens his eyes with a smile. He straps the buckler back onto his arm and slips from his perch. Looking around at his new companions and nodding in unwitting mimicry of Anundr, Iradias follows after the northerner.

  • #4
    Raven

    The monk only known as Raven follows his new companions. He was really glad they had thought of the darkness below the surface. His traditional monk garb and wild beard rustles in the light breeze. He grips his staff harder, a small bag with some water and bread his only other equipment.
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    Nathan Tchanlach, human sorcerer

    "You lot sure we don't want to go looking for a better hangover remedy instead of this?" Nathan says, squinting in the bright of the day. He runs a hand through his hair, though it remains mussed and slightly unkempt.

    The young man shrugs as he notices the resolve on his companions' faces.

    "What the hells, let's see what's down there," he says. Then adds, "Just ... some of you heartier types go in front and behind, right? I'm squishier than you lot."

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    "Just be wary," comes Anundr's deep, bass voice from down the stairs ahead of you. "Anything might lie below us."
    - Rhun

    For every one hundred men you send us, Ten should not even be here. Eighty are nothing but targets. Nine of them are real fighters; We are lucky to have them, they the battle make. Ah, but the one. One of them is a warrior. And he will bring the others back. - Heraclitus of Ephesus, 500 BC

  • #7
    OOC: I know that two of the players haven't posted yet, but let's not wait forever. They'll catch up.

    With the dual light sources of Anundr's torch and Iradias' spell lighting the way, the fledgling party takes a collective deep breath, and proceeds downward.

    The weathered stone stairs descend into the earth for twenty feet, before emerging into a 20x20 square room. The light of the northman's torch flickers off of the plain walls of worked stone. More downward-leading stairs exit this room to the north, east, and west.

    OOC: Note, that the scale for all Dungeon maps is 1 square=10 feet.


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    Anundr hardly pauses at the landing, turning to the right and continuing on down the next set of stairs, as if he knows where he is going.
    - Rhun

    For every one hundred men you send us, Ten should not even be here. Eighty are nothing but targets. Nine of them are real fighters; We are lucky to have them, they the battle make. Ah, but the one. One of them is a warrior. And he will bring the others back. - Heraclitus of Ephesus, 500 BC

  • #9
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    Iradias pauses at the top of the stairs and motions for Raven to pass by him. "After you, my fine-bearded friend," he says in a coarse but unusually high-pitched voice.

  • #10

    Zooey

    Zooey had been too enthralled in worry about what she had gotten herself into to notice that most of the others had already started down into the Dragon's Delve. She was over obsessing about the fact that she was the only woman in the group. A girl has to watch out for herself in this day and age. She was going to be in an enclosed area for who knows how long with five men. What was she thinking? Oh that's right! She was drunk. She was just getting this whole drinking thing figured out. Mom and Dad hadn't imparted much knowledge on such things. She turns to where the others had so recently been. "So! Shall we..." She stops and sees that most of the group has already started down into the darkness. She then turns to the only one who still has not started down into the unknown. "I guess we should catch-up to the others." She then takes her backpack off, rummages around inside, pulls out a lit torch, replaces the pack on her back, and starts down after the others.
    Last edited by Tailspinner; Wednesday, 16th September, 2009 at 05:29 PM.

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