Session 4 (Welcome To DIE, Population YOU!)
Cast of Characters
PCs
Corum (Ken (for Andy)) – Thief 1 (dwarf)
Doc Dino (David) – Cleric 1 (Thar)
Meucci (Robert) – Thief 1
Thyle (Eric) – Magic-User 1
Xandar (Ken) – Ranger 1 (half-elf)
Henchmen and Hirelings
Thad - Man-at-Arms - kisses weapon after combat
Gump - Torchbearer - stable boy
Bartram – Man-at-Arms – refers to himself in third person as “The Captain”
Ralf – Man-at-Arms – makes ridiculous threats, brother of Remy
Remy – Man-at-Arms – facial deformity, mute, brother of Ralf
Ulf – Man-at-Arms – bastard of minor nobility from a warlike race of sea faring people
Day 20
Here’s a riddle, friend. A pen is my voice, a mask my face. Who am I?
I am the riddle, and the riddle is me. This pen tells the tale which my mute mouth cannot utter. The brave, stoic mask on my helm is a truer reflection of the man within than the deformed visage that is my face. I am a lowly hireling. (But I am not without ambition. I aspire to become a henchman – how my heart soars at the thought of henching and a share, if only half of one, of the treasure! O, to stand in for a slain character, if only for a session, until the player rolls a new character and I am again relegated to the familiar role of meat shield and DM puppet!) My name is Remy. This is my story.
My brother Ralf and I arrived in Grael without food, coin, or prospects. We traveled with Bartram, a popinjay of a man with a ridiculous plumed helm in the habit of referring to himself as “The Captain.” As he was slightly more amusing than annoying (though that balance was shifting with each passing moment in his company), and he tolerated even Ralf’s most vile insults, we stuck with him once inside the Great City’s gates. We could not buy into Grael’s better quarters, and so stole our way into the Paw, a rat-infested, plague-ridden district choked in equal measure by the black smoke of a thousand fires and the brutal grip of the thieves that hold sway there.
We went unmolested, thanks to our strength of arms, obvious lack of anything worth stealing, and Ralf’s propensity to hurl absurd, violent threats at anyone who looked our way. He might shout, “I’m gonna pick my teeth with your face!” Other times, he would lovingly growl, “I’m gonna stroke your lifeless body.” I knew that Ralf was a gentle, misunderstood soul, but his outbursts kept the world at blade’s length. It was inconvenient and isolating at times, but in the Paw, I was thankful for it. It kept the watchful eyes and sharp blades in the shadows, and out of our path.
It was not long before a street crier alerted us to an employment opportunity. He sent us to The Yellow Fang, a public house adjacent to a recently burned out stables. Inside, we found what every hireling’s heart desires – a party paying cold coin for warm bodies! I observed carefully while Bartram worked out the details with a magic-user named Thyle, and Ralf made conversation with other bar patrons (“Look into my eyes when I stare at you!” “I’m gonna rip you a THIRD bunghole!”). Arrangements were made, gold changed hands, and soon we were off.
This party – the mage Thyle whom I have mentioned, the dwarf Corum, the cleric Doc Dino, the burglar Meucci, the half-elf Xandar, their man-at-arms Thad, and the dimwitted torch-bearer Gump – was in the business of tomb robbing. It was honest work for decent pay, and we were glad for it.
The group had recently found the mausoleum of one called Klexx the Maligned and was bent on exploring it. What could go wrong? We made our way beneath Grael’s thronging streets, through twisting tunnels, down a secret stair, and to the foreboding tomb. Our hammers rang out in the eerie silence, laying open the sealed crypt. Corum and Thyle entered cautiously, bidding Thad, Ralf and me to follow. Inside we found a sarcophagus, and the usual business ensued, to wit, a seemingly lifeless corpse arose as a flesh-eating zombie and attacked! We quickly drubbed it into submission, but that is when things took a turn for the weird – and deadly!
As the zombie lay dead (again) in its sarcophagus, the dwarf Corum approached with his axe to make certain the deed was done. Suddenly, the creature rose (again), pure hate blazing in its dead eyes! I do not know what came over me, but for the first time in my career as a hireling, I turned and fled in sheer panic.
As I ran mindlessly through the benighted halls of the catacombs, some part of me was aware of the sounds of battle behind me. I heard Ralf screaming. “I will feast on your mother’s sweat box! Welcome to DIE, Population YOU! Get on your damn knees and grovel for me, monster-bitch!” That last bit was choked off at the end, but I was still able to make out one of Ralf’s familiar and more frequently employed curses. It was the last time I would ever hear Ralf’s sweet voice.
When I came to my senses, I was at the top of the secret stair. Thyle, Thad, and Corum were with me, all looking as confused as I felt. We had no time to gather our wits, though, as we were met by six skeletons, probably drawn by the sounds of combat and Ralf’s echoing shouts. They fell upon us with ferocity. First Thad, then Corum, fell to their savage attacks. I myself succumbed, gashed by one skeleton’s ancient blade. As I fell to my knees, I thought of Ralf, and vowed to find him in whatever realm lies beyond this accursed world.
That was not to be, however. I was roused by the strange, bestial chanting of Doc Dino, who restored my vigor with his magic while shaking something that looked like a huge chicken bone at me. Before they said a word, I knew that Ralf was dead. Thad, a fellow hireling, had also been slain. For a fleeting moment I considered deserting. But then I realized that this party could have left me for dead. Instead, they had healed me. They gently informed me of Ralf’s demise. And one of their own, the dwarf Corum, had lost his life in the fray – these were not cretins content to cower behind their hirelings, but rather men of valor ready to risk their own hides for illicit monetary gain. I decided on the spot that I would see things through with this group of brave, well-meaning grave robbers.
We returned to the mausoleum below where I said my final farewell to dear Ralf. He would have been so proud had he but lived to see the party lovingly strip a golden crown and two jeweled bracers from the vanquished abomination.
We retreated back to the surface and the sanctuary of The Yellow Fang. After several days of rest, and quaffing rivers of cheap beer to steel our courage, the party recruited another hireling. His name was Ulf, and he claimed to be a bastard of minor nobility among the seafaring people to the north. The pungent smell of dried urine about him, and the quick way he resorted to fighting words over the smallest slight, real or imagined, reminded me of Ralf. I was glad to have him in our company.
Day 23
We once again ventured into the catacombs, where we retraced our steps. Near the site of Ralf’s death, three skeletons lurched forth from the dark and attacked, but we quickly dealt with them.
Exploring farther, we found a large room filled with statues dedicated to long-forgotten gods and a broken altar along the southern wall. The room was otherwise empty, but Meucci and Xandar carefully explored every crevice of the room. Their thoroughness was rewarded, as behind one of the statues they found a secret door. The door opened onto a hall that stopped in what appeared to be a dead end, but was actually another hidden door.
We emerged on the arse side of a stone statue the height of three men standing atop one another. The statue was the likeness of a four-armed demon. In each hand it held a skull marked with an obscure symbol. While exploring the vaulted crypt antechamber, the half-elf Xandar managed to fall into a pit. Fortunately, it was a short drop and he was not badly hurt.
While we retrieved Xandar from the pit, the thief Meucci checked a door to the north. It was locked, and despite his best efforts he was unable to open it. Next he tried the door to the south. Regrettably, he was able to open this door. Peering into the room, he saw an entire family of ghoulish figures wearing strange masks. Meucci sounded the alarm, and Thyle coordinated our efforts as we ignited a barrier of fire outside the door and rained flaming flasks of oil into the room beyond. The choke point provided by the doorway was likely the only thing that saved our skins that day. Well, most of our skins, at any rate.
The fire was doing its trick, and we soon smelled the vile stench of roasting ghoul flesh. However, the flames could not hold back the monsters entirely. Some of them sprang from the room, vaulting flames to attack. Bartram and Ulf were laid low by these blazing ghouls. I myself was paralyzed by one of the creatures, but Doc Dino’s magic soon released me from the cold grip of the ghoul’s power.
We turned that section of the catacombs into a furnace, hurling flask after flask of oil and loosing flaming arrows until the ghouls – eight of them! – were sent smoldering back to the grave. The death masks they wore turned out to be mithril, inlaid with electrum. Meucci was confident that they would sell for a king’s ransom, but Thyle was more interested in determining if they had any magical properties.
Down two men-at-arms, wounded, and reeling from the epic battle, we quit the catacombs and headed back for the surface. On the way we stumbled across three hungry zombies, but they proved little match for our fire and steel. We limped back to The Yellow Fang and called it a night.
UPDATE: After the session, Thyle confirmed his suspicion that the death masks the party recovered from the ghouls were in fact magical. He consulted with the sage Toren, who agreed to attempt to identify the masks at a cost of 200 gp. It required a full day, as he consulted with the Sorcerous Cabal's libraries and wealth of knowledge regarding magical artifacts.
Toren shared the following information with Thyle: “Ages ago, when Grael was known as Asperia, the catacombs beneath the city were used as a place to lay the dead to rest. Before the arrival of Nergal's cult, death masks were an important part of ancient burial rites. Death masks varied in design. Some depicted the deceased, the gods, or ancient heroes. Others portrayed the faces of the seasons, animals, or the elements. They were as unique as the deceased.
“Death masks are made of precious metals or alloys, such as copper, brass, silver, electrum, gold, platinum, and even mithril, although the latter are very rare. Other masks are carved from wood or bone. Select death masks are magical in nature and bolster the strength and power of the dead who wear them. They will not function for the living, however. Your masks are very rare and valuable, indeed.
“There are those who seek out artifacts such as these, and pay a premium for their acquisition. However, those who deal in such goods may not be trusted, and you may wish to avoid their attention. My inquiries alone risked drawing covetous eyes. I can put you in contact with an agent for such a collector, but I would warn that bargains struck with the one known as Scarab often carry an unseen price. Of course, the mithril alone is of great value. I can direct you to a dwarf who may be interested in your wares, and who has little regard for the Potentate's law. I'm no expert in such matters, but I imagine he would pay a small fortune for these masks.”
Thyle sold the two least ornate masks to the dwarf, Ubrun, for 50pp each. He reimbursed his out of pocket expenses in identifying the masks and finding a lead to a buyer (200gp), leaving 800 gp remaining to distribute among the PC survivors of last session -- or 200 gp each!
Monsters Killed: Klexx the Maligned, skeletons (6), masked ghouls (8), zombies (3)
PCs Killed: Corum (Ken (for Andy))
Henchmen/Hirelings Killed: Ralf, Thad, Bartram, Ulf
Treasure Recovered: Golden crown (1,000 gp) and jeweled bracers (2) (1,400 gp each)
Items of Interest: Mithril and electrum death masks (8) [2 masks sold for 50 pp each]
XP per PC: 1,108 xp each (Doc Dino, Meucci, Thyle and Xandar)
