Story HourPost your ongoing tales from your campaigns, and read those from others for inspiration. Lots of other RPG boards post "Story Hours", but this is where it started!
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Disclaimer: I helped generate a portion of the material for this text, providing a few derro items and one of the monsters. However, I did buy my print copy of this book. My PDF was provided by... [Read More]
Disclaimer: I contributed a bit of material (Some monsters and one background option) for this book by virtue of working on _Halls of the Mountain King_. I was not otherwise directly involved in its... [Read More]
The first thing that grabs you about the Imperial Gazetteer is the cover. Malcolm McClinton has once again put together a gorgeous image that wraps around to the back. It's fantastic piece of art and... [Read More]
This is not the first Doctor Who RPG. The first one published was a system created by FASA back in the mid 1980s, which used a similar system to their Star Trek RPG. I used to run that game back in... [Read More]
Kham padded into the officer’s quarters. He had already searched aft castle, only to discover the crew slept there instead of the captain. Being in the front of the boat, even a galleon, meant it would rock like crazy during choppy waters. Not usually the place the Captain of a ship would choose to sleep. Kham attributed the strange bedding arrangements to orcs being complete morons.
The cabin beneath the forecastle was small and cramped. There were two beds, a table, and a chest large enough to hold a person. In one of the beds, covered by a sheet, was a very large figure. His chest rose rhtymically to titanic snoring. Two massive orc feet protruded from the edge of the bed, tipped with ugly yellow toenails.
“I hope you’re not in there, Lucius,” thought Kham to himself. “Because that means you’re probably dead.”
He leaned close to the chest to listen to it. It was covered with sea charts and navigational equipment. A large iron lock was clearly visible.
Kham pulled his trusty dagger from his jacket. With a twist, he turned the hilt and lock picks sprung out. After feeling each of the picks, Kham decided on one and inserted it into the lock.
There was a soft click. “Piece of cake,” Kham though to himself.
Then his left arm went numb. Something had pinched the top of his hand while he was fiddling with the lock.
Poison! Kham knew he had to work fast. He put the dagger back in his overcoat and slowly lifted the lid. It was heavy, heavy enough that he had to strain to keep it from slamming open and dumping everything on top of it to the floor.
There was a low, rolling sound. An Altherian compass, undoubtedly taken off the body of an Altherian captain, wobbled its way across the lid…
Kham snapped his right hand out to catch the compass just as it would have hit the deck. His left arm was still tingling.
There was a five-foot long staff inside. It lay atop a pile of Imperials. Keeping the chest propped open with his shoulder, Kham reached in and gently pulled it out.
The staff was carved with a scale motif. Kham didn’t take time to inspect it. It looked important, and that was enough for him.
He made his way to the porthole and slowly, carefully opened it. Amazingly, it didn’t squeak.
Kham paused. Leaving the chest unlocked would definitely arouse suspicion. He wanted to be long gone by the time the orcs figured out they had lost the staff.
We padded back to the chest. Checking himself, he carefully placed the compass back on the lid. He turned away…
And turned back. They would surely notice the padlock unlocked. But his arm was tingling worse than before. The sensation had traveled all the way up to his shoulder.
It was simple. He could do it easily with his right hand. All he had to do was lock the padlock back together.
“Piece of…”
CLICK.
The figure under the covers sat bolt upright. “RUH?!”
Kham threw the staff through the porthole.
The gigantic orc’s bleary eyes focused on Kham. “What the…?”
“Guess the potion wore off,” said Kham. He kept his head tucked tightly between his extended arms and dove out the porthole.
Inside the Rusty Hook, the orcs kept singing. Scarbelly was leading the chorus.
“Got dis staff from Kenzil, we’re keepin' 't safe!
Yo, ho, he pays really well!
I’m wearin' nay loincloth an' these britches chafe!
Yo, ho, he does really smell!
We tookst up this freak an' pillaged some towns!
Yo, ho, he pays really well!
Four voyages later an' he’s still around!
Yo, ho, he’s really nay well!
He asked me some questions an' I told 'im nay lies!
Yo, ho, he’s really nay well!
But th' fool saw 't all wi' his own bloody eyes!
Yo, ho, he can go t' hell!”
The pirates erupted into drunken cheers. Vlad made it a point of buying them a steady supply of drinks. Whenever the orcs’ interest seemed to lag, Ilmarė would whip them up into a frenzy. She hopped from table to table, sloshed ale around in mugs, and occasionally winked at Scarbelly.
She was…acting like a pirate wench. Vlad was agog.
Then a huge, muscular orc ran in. He was wearing a chain shirt and little else.
“Intruder!” he shouted. “What’s wrong wi’ ye! I`ve been shoutin' t' th' rooftops!”
The singing stopped. Ilmarė hopped down from the table.
“What th' hell be wrong wi' YOU?” shouted Scarbelly. “We be jus' havin' some fun wi' that juicy morsel o'er there,” said the captain. His tongue licked one of his protruding fangs as he looked Ilmarė up and down.
“Thar be an intruder in me room!” shouted Aggro, the first mate. “I saw th' lad wi' me own eyes!”
“This better nay be another one o' yer bad dreams,” said Scarbelly.
“Shut up! 't wasn’t about seagulls!” shouted Aggro, who towered over Scarbelly.
Scarbelly took up his axe. “Fine, we’ll check 't ou'. You,” he pointed at Ilmarė. “Ye wait right here. I’ll be back fer ye.”
Ilmarė blanched, but nodded.
The orcs stumbled out of the Rusty Hook. Vlad watched them make their way to the Bloody Vengeance.
“Should we help Kham?”
“At this point,” said Ilmarė, “I think we need to help ourselves.”
A few seconds later a bell rang loudly from the Bloody Vengeance.
“Time to go!” said Ilmarė. She skidded to the front door. An archer from the crow’s nest of the ship drew a bead on her.
Ilmarė ducked as an arrow shivered in the Rusty Hook’s door, where her head had been. She dashed off down the docks, clearing a shipping crate with one leap.
Vlad, in full plate armor, struggled to do the same. Ilmarė turned as he scrabbled over the crate like a crab.
“Stupid human,” she yanked Vlad over the top of the crate. He fell on the other side as arrows thudded around them. “When are you going to learn to stop wearing such heavy armor?”
An arrow KA-TANGED off of his armor.
“When people stop shooting things at me,” said Vlad. Then they took off into the heart of Freeport.
They stood in front of an impressive structure, with a vaulted frame that soared up over a hundred feet. Large bronze doors stood open, revealing a tiled atrium. Statues of the god indicated that the chamber was the center of worship, but balconies line with books reached all the way to the frescoed ceiling. It was much library as temple; rows of silent scholars working in the balconies attested to its importance as both.
“I don’t get it,” said Vlad. “What’s the staff got to do with Lucius?”
“I’m not sure,” said Kham. “I’ve left it in safe hands for now. But if we’re going to get questions answered, I figure we should go to the source.” He nodded in the direction of the Temple of Althares.
“If I heard the orcs correctly,” said Ilmarė, “Scarbelly and his crew were responsible for ferrying Lucius around during his ‘manic’ period. Perhaps Egil can shed more light on his friend’s behavior.”
They had left Dril to watch the Bloody Vengeance in case anyone came calling for the staff or Lucius showed up there.
Kham strode up to the young man standing at the front door. He exchanged words with the temple novice, who disappeared to fetch someone else.
A few minutes later, a slight man with pince-nez huffed up to Kham. “I’m afraid you cannot thee Brother Egil,” he said with a strong lisp. “He’th buthy. I’m Miloth. If you have quethtionth for him, you can talk to me.”
Kham looked back at Ilmarė as if to ask, “Is this guy for real?” Then he turned back to Milos. “Okay, Miloth—“
“Miloth,” said Milos.
“That’s what I said,” said Kham. “Miloth.”
“No, MiloTH,” said Milos.
“Look, whatever your name is. We had some questions for Egil regarding Lucius. You remember Lucius, right?”
“Why yeth, yeth I do. Brother Lucthiuth was an exthellent librarian. Unfortunately, he made theveral poor choiceth during his thtay. He wath away from the temple until rethently. Brother Lucthiuth hath not been here in a couple of dayth. I have no idea where he ith.”
“Was he acting strangely before he left?” asked Dril.
Milos adjusted his pince-nez. “He appeared increathingly haggard over the patht theveral monthth. He altho began athking some very thrange quethionth. The high prietht himthelf had a talk with him.”
“Questions?” asked Ilmarė. “What kind of questions?”
“He theemed to have forgotten why he was exthpelled from the temple. As if he weren’t there himthelf! No one neeth to be reminded that Luthiuth violated the thanctum.”
In the background, Kham could see Egil. He was doing his best to pretend he didn’t know them.
“What exactly is involved in violating a sanctum?” asked Kham aloud.
“Look, I’m thure you have thomething better to do with your time. I’m thorry your friend ith mithing. We don’t have the rethourceth to mount a thearch partieth for every librarian who failth to come to work. In any cathe, there’th no evidenthe of foul play. I’m sure Luthiuth ith jutht thleeping off a hangover thomewhere. Good day.”
He spun on his heel and left in a huff.
“Well fine!” said Kham to Milos’ back. “Be sure to tell Egil that it’s over between us!”
They all looked at him in shock.
“What was that all about?” asked Vlad.
“Nothing, I just didn’t want to get Egil in trouble for asking all of those questions. He’s obviously being watched.”
Death in Freeport - Part 6: Yellow Shields at Sunset
The sun was setting in the west, silhouetting the Lighthouse of Drac beautifully with its dying rays.
“They call that Milton’s folly,” said Kham, staring upwards at the lighthouse. Just three months to go, but it took ten years to build.”
There was the unmistakable THWACK! of crossbows discharging. As bolts flew through the air, a group of warriors carrying yellow shields burst out of a nearby alley, swords drawn.
The leader, accoutered in black studded leather, stepped forward with two thugs.
“You’ve got a nice bounty on your head, Cam,” said the leader. “We’re here to collect. And we’ll take that staff back too.”
“Great,” said Kham. “The Yellow Shield gang.”
“You know these guys?” asked Vlad.
“Yeah, that leader’s Rittoro,” said Kham. He pulled two pistols from his overcoat.
Ilmarė spun on her heel. “We’ve got more company.”
A bald sorcerer with eyebrows dyed bright red stepped into the alley with another mercenary.
“That’d be Belko, the sorcerer,” said Kham. “Now that we’re all acquainted, let me introduce you to the ladies!”
Vlad roared a challenge and slammed into the yellow shield of the leader. Rittoro grunted in surprise from the force of the blow and than retaliated by hacking at Vlad’s head. Shield met axe and sword met shield as the two clashed again and again.
Ilmarė drew her elven thinblade in a flash, just in time to parry a Yellow Shield’s short sword.
Belko stepped towards them. “Enough of this: Incensio terum!”
A fan of flames arced from his extended fingertips. Kham dove forward and rolled underneath the fire even as the flames washed over Vlad’s armor.
Kham rolled to his feet behind Belko. Belko looked over his shoulder in surprise. “Oh sh—“
BLAM! BLAM!
Two gaping holes appeared in the sorcerer’s chest. He fell to the ground, dead.
Kham rolled to the side just as a blade sliced at his head. He hopped up to his feet and pulled a scimitar and Flesh Ripper from their sheaths.
“If I were you,” said Kham. “I’d leave. The bounty on my head just isn’t worth it.”
Ilmarė dodged to the right as the mercenary’s shorter blade slashed forward. She flicked her blade and drew blood.
There was a SPTANG! as a crossbow bolt bounced off of Vlad’s helmet. “Someone take care of the sniper!” he shouted.
“I can’t!” said Ilmarė, skipping backwards from a clumsy swipe.
Rittoro took advantage of the distraction and smashed Vlad sideways with his axe. The big man went down in a clatter of plate armor.
Kham dodged another sword strike and came in low. Then Kham crossed his arms and, with one smooth scissor motion, used his two blades to cut the mercenary’s legs out from under him. He slid backwards into the alley wall in a smear of blood.
Up on the rooftop, the Yellow Shield sniper struggled with his crossbow.
“Let me help you with that.”
The mercenary looked up just in time to see Dril’s scimitar and dagger stab into his chest. He fell backward off the roof, tumbling into the alley.
Rittoro and the remaining mercenary had enough. They took off in opposite directions.
“Oh, no you don’t,” said Dril. He took careful aim with his dagger. Rittoro huffed down the street.
Ten paces.
Twenty paces.
Thirty paces.
The blade went whistling through the air, end over end. It skewered the Rittoro in the back, stopping him in his tracks. He spun, one hand struggling to remove the blade, and fell flat on his face.
“Nice shot,” said Kham. He stepped over to Rittoro. “Now, where were we. Oh yeah, you were going to tell us who hired you.”
Dril hopped down from the rooftop into the alley. Rittoro looked groggily up at Kham. “Who didn’t?”
Kham put one foot on Rittoro’s head. “Elaborate.”
“Well, words out about that bounty on your head at the Rusty Hook. And then there’s Scarbelly. And Enzo.”
“Nice plan,” said Ilmarė to Kham. “Who’s Enzo?”
“Enzo. Little weasel. I’m supposed to meet him at the Black Gull tavern in an hour with proof of completing the mission.”
Dril leaned down to snap a pouch off of Rittoro’s neck. He emptied its contents on top of Rittoro’s back, then took out a crumpled piece of paper and read it.
“Directions. Good. So,” he yanked the dagger out of Rittoro’s back. The mercenary leader grunted in pain. “I recommend you leave before our friend here,” he nodded over at Vlad, “gets up and remembers what happened.”
Rittoro got to his knees. “Forget this town, I quit.” He pushed his yellow shield away. “Hey Cam, no hard feelings.”
Kham twitched. “It’s pronounced KAI-YEM!”
The last thing Rittoro saw was Kham’s boot in his face.
Somewhere in the Eastern District of Freeport, a man with hands bound and a hood over his head ran willy-nilly down the street.
“You think he’s going to survive Freeport like that?” asked Vlad.
“His odds are considerably better than with the Brotherhood of the Yellow Sign,” said Ilmarė. “He’s lucky we didn’t kill him outright.”
“The elf’s right,” said Kham. “Enzo was an errand boy. You don’t send a tailor as your go-between for a hit unless he’s expendable.”
“Fortunately, he’s quite talkative,” said Dril, returning his knife to its sheath beneath his full-body cloak. He nodded towards a bricked up house. “This is it.”
The house was nondescript, which made it the perfect hideout. The dilapidated exterior was made of wood, but the windows were all bricked up. Two steps led up to a stout-looking wooden door.
Dril tried the door. “Locked,” he said.
Kham stepped up to the task. A moment later, it sprung open.
Inside, the place was a wreck. There were piles of masonry and garbage everywhere. It was impossible to tell how many rooms the place may have once had.
“There’s a trapdoor,” said Ilmarė. “There.” She pointed at a wooden trapdoor in the floor.
Vlad led the way down the trapdoor to an old wine cellar. The walls were lined with nine large casks made of oak, each about six-feet tall and nearly eight-feet long.
“No dust,” said Kham, wiping one finger along the top of one of the barrels. He rapped on one of the casks with his knuckles. It sounded hollow. “This is the entrance. Vlad, wanna knock?”
Vlad stepped up to the barrel. “My pleasure.” It took only two hacks before the wood splintered, revealing a stone passage and more stairs leading down.
“Who wants to go down the creepy tunnel inside the cult headquarters first?” asked Kham.
Vlad leaped through the doorway in front of Kham, only to be yanked out of sight of the doorway. Dril followed fast behind him with scimitar and dagger at the ready. Ilmarė drew her bow and peered around the doorway.
Two snake-like creatures with humanoid arms hacked and hissed at Vlad and Dril. Their heads were triangular and snake-like, reminiscent of that of a massive viper. Their bodies glistened, reflecting a myriad of fine scales that covered their forms. Their eyes, like golden orbs, glowed in the ambient light.
Each snake person wielded a scimitar in one hand and a wooden shield in the other. They darted, as fast as any serpent, bobbing their heads and coiling their bodies around the slower humans.
“Ssanu!” shouted Ilmarė.
“Don’t look at their eyes!” said Dril. He kept his gaze focused on the creature’s torso as he parried a scimitar strike and retaliated with his dagger.
Frustrated and unable to get a clear shot, Ilmarė turned to focus on Kham instead.
Kham continued to stare off into space, his eyes glazed over. The look of surprise when the ssanu entered from the secret door was still etched on his face.
She slapped him. Hard.
Kham nearly spun around from the blow. “Ow,” he said.
Vlad hacked at the head of one of the ssanu, dropping it. The other had its coils around Dril. It sank its teeth into his right forearm.
Dril grunted and stabbed the ssanu through its lower jaw with his dagger. It silently expired, slumping off of the Altherian.
“You handle yourself well,” said Vlad, kicking the corpse of the ssanu away from him.
“Not that well,” said Dril. His arm already looked purplish. It hung limply at his side. “If you don’t mind,” he said, pulling his cloak back with one hand, “could you grab the fifth potion from the right out of its holster and put it in my left hand?”
Vlad hesitated, but did as he was told. Dril wore a bandolier across one shoulder filled with vials of potions of a variety of colors. He popped the cork with his mouth and smeared the viscous liquid on the wound. Dril hissed in pain as pus oozed out of the two puncture marks.
“You’ve fought these things before?” asked Vlad.
“I have,” said Dril. “I’ve been on the trail of one of the ssanu from Altheria.”
Ilmarė examined the corpses. “These ssanu are young. But they have no business being here, this deep in human lands. I fear the worst.”
Kham rubbed his cheek. “It can get worse?”
“Are you all right?” Vlad wiped his sword on one of the dead ssanu. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I have,” said Ilmarė. “Creatures like these created my race.”
“Now what?” said Kham, his features concealed in shadow by the flickering torchlight. “We just keep walking until something kills us?”
“This is clearly a passageway the ssanu use to move from place to place,” said Dril. “If we follow it, we may be able to find the heart of the Pit.”
“I’m not so sure I WANT to find the heart of this Pit,” said Kham. “There’s just four of us, remember?”
“Speak for yourself,” said Vlad. “I’ll take on whatever these snakes can dish out.”
Ilmarė agreed with him. “If the ssanu are here in Freeport, then they are more powerful than we imagined. If we don’t stop them here, they may spread.”
“Better to cut off the head of the viper in its lair,” said Dril.
“Oh, very symbolic,” said Kham. He leaned on part of the tunnel. “You guys go ahead and kill yourselves. Let me know how it works ouAAAAH!”
A piece of the tunnel slid away behind Kham, opening into another room. Kham fell into a garish purple curtain and promptly found himself wrapped up in it.
Kham felt blindly in front of him. His fingers touched cold metal. “That’s a chest!” he shouted. “This is their treasure room!”
“Whoa,” said Vlad behind him, peering into the room. “Good job.”
The sound of clattering of bones surrounded Kham. He stretched out his fingers again. This time he felt something cold and rough.
“You may want to move back, Kham,” said Ilmarė.
Kham tugged the cloth from his face, just in time to see a bastard sword swing down at his head.
He ducked and rolled, coming up next to a chest. There were four skeletal corpses, all armed with swords and shields. They turned to advance on the others.
Kham whipped his dagger out…
…and immediately set to using the lockpicks hidden in the pommel to pick the lock of one of the chests.
“Kham, what are you doing?” asked Ilmarė as she ducked a clumsy swing. “Shoot them!”
“You guys can handle those things,” said Kham. There was a gratifying click as he twisted the dagger in the lock. “I’ll take care of the chests.”
“We’ve been broke for awhile,” said Vlad. He blocked a sword blow with his shield. “He spent it all on potions. And alcohol.”
Death in Freeport - Part 10: Cave of the Degenerates
Kham struggled behind everyone else, dragging two chests as he walked. They made a horrible screeching noise with each step.
“If we ever had any hope of the element of surprise, it’s long gone now,” said Dril ruefully.
“Well,” said Vlad, admiring his new shield, “the shield is nice.” It had an image of a serpent upon it, with arrows flying towards it.
They were in a large, irregular cavern. It was different from the other rooms in that it was both older and more primitive. The cave was scattered with bones, refuse, and filth. The lapping of a dark pool echoed from one corner.
“That leads to the ocean,” said Ilmarė. “It has a current.”
“You know, all this water makes me have to pee.” Kham wiped his forehead. “Can we go now?”
“No,” said Ilmarė. She walked up to a part of the cavern wall and pressed on it. “The ssanu must be eliminated. Every last one.”
The wall popped open into a much larger room lit by blazing torches. They had reached the heart of the Pit.
It was a large chamber flanked with pillars. Each pillar had a giant stone snake coiled around it and the motif continued on frescoes along the walls and floor. The room was large enough to house another structure, a grandiose hall, within it.
Kham dropped both of the chests. He turned to look at Dril. “They’ve been here for awhile, huh?”
Dril nodded, muted by the spectacle. The craftsmanship involved would have taken decades.
“Well,” said Kham, “we may as well see if anyone’s home.” He drew two of his pistols and jogged up the steps to the front of the hall. Dril and Vlad followed close behind.
Kham peered around the corner into the room. An altar of black basalt stood at the far end of the hall and a strange yellow symbol was inscribed on the wall behind it. There was a statue of a tentacled horror in front of it.
Two figures in robes lurked behind the far pillars, loaded crossbows at the ready. Behind the pillar stood a small man wearing red and black robes with a full hood. A skull-shaped mask covered his face.
“You are the firth outthiders to ever reach the Temple of the Unthpeakable One,” said the unmistakable voice. “Your achievement detherveth congratulationth. It ith altho your doom!”
Death in Freeport - Part 11: Temple of the Unspeakable Oath
“You mutht learn rethopect!” shouted Milos.
“How can anyone possibly respect you when you talk like that?” Kham shouted back, pistols cocked.
BLAM! BLAM!
Both shots ricocheted off an invisible shield that surrounded Milos.
“Damn,” muttered Kham.
Milos pointed at Kham with his staff. An expression of horror crept over Kham’s face. Then he turned and fled through double doors at the other end of the hall.
Vlad and Dril stood on opposite sides of the temple’s opening. They watched Kham run screaming past them.
“Our turn,” said Dril. “Keep your eyes down.”
With a shout, Vlad and Dril charged forward into the temple. A huge pool was at its center, surrounded by tiles patterned in the form of coiled serpents.
One of the temple attendants pointed at Vlad with his mace. The warrior froze in mid-step.
Dril kept coming. The other attendant pointed at him, but the Altherian was unaffected. His scimitar sliced through the unarmored attendant’s torso and jutted out of his back.
Ilmarė fired an arrow at the other attendant, who was forced to duck behind one of the pillars. A crossbow bolt answered her attack but went wide.
“Vlad!” shouted Ilmarė. “Snap out of it!”
Vlad stood, dazed. He was oblivious to the combat that raged around him.
Suddenly, Ilmarė’s clear voice pierced the din of battle. “Cuiva Vlad!” she sang, demanding him to awaken.
Dril pointed his dagger at Milos. “I’m coming for you next!”
“Tira nottolya,” sang Ilmarė. She asked them to face their foes.
“Oh, really?” asked Milos. He pointed with his spear at Dril. “Kneel before your mathter.”
“Tulta tuolya,” sang Ilmarė. She asked her allies to summon forth their strength.
Sweat broke out on Dril’s brow, as the magic forced his knees buckle. He fell to one knee. Then his other slowly bent until both knees touched the ground. Dril’s neck was on fire; he fought it with all his might, but the magic was too powerful for him to resist. He bowed his head in supplication before Milos.
“An mauya mahtie,” sang Ilmarė. They had to fight!
Dril was at war with his own body. “Where…” he grunted, “is Lucius?”
“Why you are tho interethted in that librarian, I’ll never know,” said Milos. He sauntered down the steps from the altar to where Dril was kneeling.
“Ter oiomornie,” sang Ilmarė. They would battle through endless darkness.
“He ith inthignificant in the thcheme of thingth,” said Milos, “but you are welcome to die for him.”
“Ter ondicilyar,” sang Ilmarė. They would battle through chasms of stone.
Vlad shook his head, clearing the cobwebs. He raised his shield just in time to block another shot from a crossbow. The bolt hovered before the serpent shield as if caught in a net. Then it dropped to the ground.
“Whoa,” said Vlad, staring down at his shield.
“Mettanna!” sang Ilmarė. They would fight to the end.
Vlad bellowed a charge and, filled with the hope and glory of Ilmarė’s song, slammed into the attendant in a rage. The man was unprepared for the full force of a fully armed warrior. He went down with little resistance.
Milos raised his spear, ensuring he would inflict a killing blow on Dril.
“Nurunna!” sang Ilmarė. They would fight to the death!
The music sliced through the haze that had taken control of Dril’s body. Dril rolled to the side as the spear came down where his head would be.
Milos looked up as Vlad stalked towards him from one side and Dril rose to his feet on the other. He ran back to the center of the altar.
With arms outstretched, he shouted, “By the Yellow Thign, we will rule!”
Then an arrow shivered at the center of his forehead. Milos turned and fell forward from the raised altar into the serpent pool with a splash.
“Remind me not to make you angry,” said Dril over his shoulder to his Elorii companion.
As the cultist’s eyes glazed over in death, a terrible transformation took place. His skin and bones rearranged themselves in a most unnatural way. His human visage was gone. Milos lay revealed as a monstrous creature, a serpent man with scaly skin and forked tongue.
“Another ssanu,” said Ilmarė. “I wonder how long he carried on this deception.”
“More importantly,” said Dril, “are there others like him in Freeport? We’ve only encountered three ssanu. There would be many more in a Pit of this size.”
Vlad climbed back down the dias with an unconscious Lucius in his arms. “It looks like he’s hurt, but I think he’ll survive.”
Dril blinked. “Speaking of survivors…where’s Kham?”
Kham ran down the hallway and threw open the nearest double doors. In his feverish mind, putting as many barriers between him and Milos was paramount. The doors seemed like a good place to start.
Within the octagonal chamber, the entire room was painted black. The ceiling shimmered with stars like the sky at night. There was a circular depression in the center of the room, some ten feet deep. On the far wall was a sturdy table covered with ritual paraphernalia: a gong, incense burners, two candelabras, and some other items he couldn’t make out. No one was in sight.
And just as suddenly, the terror wore off.
Kham straightened and smoothed his jacket. Running from a cultist was understandable, but running from a lisping idiot like Milos was unforgivable. He would be sure to let the ladies have a chat with Milos, Altherian-style.
Then he remembered his bladder. The fear had nearly caused him to wet his pants.
“So Lucius violated an inner sanctum of Althares,” said Kham with a smirk. He unbuttoned his pants. “Well, Milos, let’s see what your ‘Unthpeakable One’ thinks of this!”
And with that, he peed on the altar, the gong, the incense burners, one of the candelabras, and anything else in range.
When he was finished relieving himself, Kham buttoned his pants back up. He turned to go…
Above him, the stars seemed to twinkle as if they really were the night sky. Then he felt a presence—and the circular depression erupted with yellow tentacles.
One look at them confirmed Kham’s worst fears. He was staring at the Unspeakable One itself, and his bleary, tired, and more than a little hung over mind was in no shape to stare into the blasted abyss. With a shout, he ran screaming from the room.
Kham was already halfway through a bottle of wine at the Pale Plate.
“Apparently, Milos sent Lucius on an errand to that Pit,” said Dril. “Milos tortured him, asking questions after question about his memories and nightmares.”
“When a cult like that takes an interest in you, it’s never a good thing,” said Vlad.
“No, it isn’t,” said Dril. “I’m going to keep an eye on Lucius. I don’t trust him.”
Ilmarė nodded. “And I will monitor the priests of Althares,” she said grimly. “It would be like the ssanu to use your false gods as a front for their cult.”
“You two do that,” said Kham. “I uh, have to leave town for awhile.”
Ilmarė rolled her eyes. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the bounty on your head, would it?”
“Which one?” asked Kham. “I’m starting to lose track. What about you, Vlad?”
Vlad shrugged. “I’ll go where the money is.”
“Speaking of which,” said Dril, “I thought Brother Egil said all priests of Althares take a vow of poverty.”
“So?” asked Vlad.
“Then where,” asked Dril, staring out the window at the docks, “did he get the money to pay us?”
This is a free adventure that takes place in Freeport, written by Chris Pramas and (loosely) set in the Arcanis setting. You can download the adventure at: http://64.17.155.164/gr_files/focus05a.pdf. You can read more about Arcanis at http://www.onaraonline.org. Please note: This adventure contains spoilers!
Our cast of characters includes:
· Vlad Martell (human ftr4) played by Matt Hammer
· Ilmarė Galen (elf brd4/ftr1) played by Amber Tresca
· Naruis Drilian (human rog1/rgr2) played by Mike Best
Michael Tresca (that’s me) was Dungeon Master for this session.
This short adventure focuses on a pirate captain, so it wasn’t much of a leap to flesh out Baldric’s personality a bit more and give him something else to do besides chew scenery and make people sing sea chanties. I also made some tweaks to tie it into the overall plot of the Brotherhood of the Yellow Sign. Even though it’s a short adventure, everyone had their chance to do their part—Dril especially, being that he’s the “urban guy.”
I got to use quite a few props, as you’ll see in the pictures. I also increased the hit dice of the main bad guy at the end considerably, but the poor monster (who doesn’t even have a name!) still had a rough time of it. And oh yeah, the reason the dire rat is so huge is…well, because I don’t have a mini that matches the size of your usual dire rat, so I beefed it up considerably.
It was a bright and sunny day in the city of Freeport. The city was abuzz with activity because it was Swagfest, one of the city’s most important holidays. Celebrating the Great Raid of Sea Lords Drac and Francisco, in which the fleet of Freeport terrorized the maritime nations for three months and brought back loads of booty, Swagfest was a daylong party that shut the city down with revelry.
Dril shook his head as he entered the Pale Plate, exchanging glances with Ilmarė. “No luck,” he said.
The beautiful elorii sighed. “I lost track of the librarian as well,” she said. “I don’t know how we could lose them so quickly.”
“Not that hard,” said Vlad as Dril pulled up a chair. “The city’s so crowded, I’m lucky I was able to find my way here.”
“There’s not much to do,” said Dril, “besides wait until Swagfest’s over. Maybe Lucius and Egil will show up drunk somewhere.”
“Captain Baldric’s launching Swagfest in a few minutes,” said Ilmarė with a grimace. “If you think it’s crowded now, just wait until he gets going.”
“We may as well see what Baldric’s up to,” said Vlad. Out the window, Vlad could see Baldric standing on a temporary stage near a long pier.
“As long as he doesn’t try to make me sing anything,” muttered Dril.
“Seems the Captain has his eyes on something more than music,” said Ilmarė. “I hear he’s pushing for a seat on the Captain’s Council.”
Vlad got up and walked to the door. “That explains why he’s suddenly so excited about Swagfest.”
“You two go on ahead,” said Dril. “I’m going to try to get a better view from the docks.” He weaved his way into the crowd and disappeared.
Ilmarė joined Vlad as a trumpet sounded. Captain Baldric, a big fellow with long scraggly hair and an eye patch, stepped forward.
Baldric raised his hands to address the crowd. “Arrr, mateys, an' welcome t' Swagfest! 't be me honor t' begin th' festivities this voyage. As ye well know, Sea Lord Drac be busy wi' his lighthouse, so 't falls on yer humble cap’n t' take this duty. Be ye ready fer plunder an' pillage?”
The crowd roared its approval. Ilmarė rolled her eyes.
“I said, BE YE READY FER PLUNDER AN' PILLAGE?”
The crowd shouted even louder, and this time Vlad hooted along with them. Ilmarė glared at him.
“Two bucketfull o' voyages ago,” shouted Captain Baldric, ” th' fleet o' Freeport first tookst t' th' waves. Two mighty captains had we, an' th' landlubbers shuddered as th' captains gave ‘em fire an' Freeport steel!”
“What was that?” asked Ilmarė.
“What?” Vlad asked back. The din of the crowd was so loud that he couldn’t understand her.
“I saw someone slip towards the rear of the stage,” said Ilmarė.
“What?” shouted Vlad, louder this time.
“I said,” Ilmarė shouted back, “I think there’s someone on the stage!”
“You mean Baldric?” asked Vlad.
“No,” said Ilmarė. She pointed at the stage in exasperation.
Just then, Dril whistled past them. “Assassin!” he snarled, scimitar and dagger out.
The crowd parted like water before Dril, but it was too late. A cloaked woman stepped out from the curtain and stabbed Baldric in the back. He went down, hard.
Screams erupted as panic gripped the gathered masses of pirates, sailors, and common folk. Vlad lifted his heavy crossbow off of his back. It automatically loaded itself with a bolt as he took aim.
Ilmarė’s bow was out in a flash, but the crowd jostled her, ruining her shot.
Dril slashed at the assassin’s legs. She hopped easily over his swipe. Then she took a few steps backwards.
Ilmarė gave up trying to draw her bow. “She’s going to—“
The assassin launched herself into the air, clearing the ten feet from the pier to the water. With the skill of an accomplished diver, she plunged gracefully into the water with barely a splash.
“Jump,” finished Ilmarė.
“Wish I could jump like that,” said Dril.
Ilmarė struggled to get to the stage. She threw up her hands in disgust. “Vlad?”
The big man took his shield off of his back. “OUT OF THE WAY!” bellowed Vlad. Then he rammed forward, abruptly sweeping men and women to the side.
Ilmarė finally made it to the stage, where Baldric lay face down in an expanding pool of his own blood.
Dril stood over the fallen captain. “He’s hurt,” he said. “Bad.”
The elorii waved him off. She put her hands on the Captain’s coat and whispered something to the spirits of the sea.
There was a low groan. Then Baldric struggled to his feet. Dril helped him up.
“Now then, 'ere be I…” said the Captain, scanning the milling crowd.
“Are you insane?” asked Ilmarė. “Someone just tried to assassinate you!”
“Do you have any enemies that would want you dead?” asked Dril.
“Now I wouldn’t be a very good seafarin' hearty if I didn’t be havin' any enemies who wanted me dead,” said Baldric with a sneer. “Besides, 't’s nay like I haven’t been stabbed in th' aft before. Thank ye fer savin' an old salt.” He winked at Ilmarė. “I always spake ye be me lucky charm.”
Baldric harangued the crowd into coming back. “Thar be ten kegs o' grog headin' this way, if only ye`ll stay!”
With that, everyone calmed down and returned.
“Stand by me an' we’ll be havin' a fine tide yet,” Baldric said to Dril. Then he turned back to the crowd. “Francisco be nay th' only cap’n wi' a knife in his aft,” joked Baldric. “Now, while we wait fer th' grog, let Swagfest commence!”
Ilmarė shook her head in disbelief. “Stupid humans.”
“As ye all know, th' Great Raid did Freeport proud,” said Baldric. “An' nay shipmate did more than One-eyed Jack. Lashed t' th' mast o' Cap’n Drac’s flagship durin' a storm, he fought off o'er a dozen fishmen o' th' deep wi' only a belayin' pin. Truly a salt t' be reckoned wi'. Now, be ye ready fer One-eyed Jack’s Stand?”
The crowd once again roared its approval. Captain Baldric made his way to the scene of the first event and he motioned to Vlad to follow him. A short distance away was a circle of packed earth with a large stone obelisk at its center. A rope dangled from the top of the obelisk.
“An' me good matey Vlad will go first. Let’s give th' lad a hand!”
Vlad blinked and looked around in surprise. “Wait…what?”
“Th' rules o' th' game be simple,” Baldric continued. “Contestants take th' role o' One-eyed Jack. Ye be tethered t' th' pole wi' th' rope an' get a club. A dozen jacks play th' fishmen an' they be armed wi' harpoons. Th' fishmen attack One-eyed Jack until they be all defeated or Jack be unconscious.”
“Real harpoons?” asked Dril, watching the crowd.
Ilmarė shook her heard. “The club’s padded. The harpoons are just padded staves.” She rubbed her forehead. “Osalian help us, I didn’t think it was possible, but Swagfest is even more ridiculous than the Saturnalia in Sweet Savona.”
“Th' contestant that defeats th' most fishmen wins,” shouted Baldric to the crowd. “Anyone that defeats all twelve fishmen wins automatically. Anyone that takes off th' tether automatically loses. Be ye ready Vlad?”
Vlad was still in his full plate armor, the armor that had once belonged to a Nierite. It was painted over black, but the red shown through in places where a blow had connected. The overall effect was that Vlad’s armor appeared to suffer from a series of jagged wounds.
Vlad dutifully tied the tether about his ankle. After hoisting a padded club and his wooden shield, he nodded at Baldric. “I’m ready.”
“Begin!” shouted Baldric.
They all came at him at once. Vlad whirled and cleared a path as several staves crashed down from above, from below, from all sides.
WHAM! He connected with an upward swing. Teeth and spittle shot into the air and a sailor was out cold.
The crowd cheered. “That’s one!” shouted Baldric.
Vlad shoved one of the sailors off of him with his shield, but another immediately filled the hole. The big Milandisian lurched forward and struck another sailor along the side of his head. The man stumbled backwards into the dirt.
“That’s two!” shouted Baldric. The crowd hooted in response.
Vlad’s assailants stepped up their attacks. Blow after blow landed against his helmet, on his arms, on his back. Someone was even trying to stub his toe. He grit his teeth and tried to focus—the hammering he was taking made a terrific din on his helmet. It was all he could do to lift his arm up to swing.
Think! He had to fight smarter, there was no way he could win through brute force alone.
Vlad lowered his a bit to give a sailor to his left an opening. The man couldn’t resist and lunged into the space with his stave. Capturing the staff with his arm, Vlad pulled it down and then slammed upwards with his shield. It connected with a CRACK into the man’s jaw.
Somewhere amidst all the shouting came, “Three!” Betting abounded as men, women, and children waged for or against Vlad.
Vlad thrust his leg in between the legs of another sailor and twisted. The man stumbled. Vlad smacked him with the club and he went down.
“Four!”
Vlad’s back was to the pylon, but it didn’t provide much protection. A staff slammed him from over his shoulder. He resisted the urge to turn and face his assailant. It was a lucky shot.
Suddenly, there was a great weight on his shield. The men were dragging it away from him! Vlad snarled and dug his heels in for a moment as two of the sailors put their backs into it.
Then Vlad let it go. The sailors tripped over themselves, giving him an opening. He kicked one in the side. The man was dragged out of the fracas.
“Five!”
Vlad pressed the advantage on his fallen assailants and struck down hard. He connected with something soft and was rewarded with an “oof!”
“Six!”
Sweat poured out of Vlad’s armor as he swung clumsily around him. The normally pleasant climate had become stifling hot in a relentless combat with no opportunity for rest or retreat. He took a clumsy step backwards, only to realize his gambit had left his back unprotected by the pylon.
Then something cracked against the side of his helmet, and Vlad didn’t worry much about pylons, sailors, or One-Eyed Jack.
As he slid into unconsciousness, Vlad wondered what he might have earned if he won the contest.
The ale carts had finally arrived and the crowd’s mood only got jollier as alcohol flowed. Out in the harbor, several ships performed reenactments of famous engagements of the Great Raid. Throughout the day, inns and taverns did a brisk business with those more interested in hard drinking than fun and games.
Vlad nursed a drink at the Pale Plate, along with his aching head. “Did I win?”
“No,” said Ilmarė. “Somebody beat your score by one. That’s the most ridiculous contest I’ve ever seen. And for what? You can barely walk.”
“I’ll be fine,” said Vlad. “I just need a few more drinks.”
“I’ve asked around,” said Dril. “It appears Egil and Lucius were last seen together with a dwarf, heading towards Scurvytown.”
“What in the world would those two idiots be doing in Scurvytown?” asked Ilmarė. “They can barely survive outside of their homes, much less the roughest part of Freeport.”
“Speaking of ridiculous contests,” said Dril, “it looks as if another one is about to begin.”
“Count me out of it,” said Ilmarė.
Dril shrugged and stepped out of the Pale Plate to watch Captain Baldric mount the stage again. Vlad didn’t even bother to get up.
The crowd cheered for the old captain. Baldric hoisted a tankard and toasted the rowdy citizens of Freeport. The crowd responded with many shouts of “long live the Cap’n!”
He smiled, exposing his terrible teeth, and cleared his throat. “Alright, lads an' lassies, time fer some more fun. Ye all know that Captains Drac an' Francisco chased th' fat rats up an' down th' sea lanes. Well, now 't’s yer turn!”
Baldric pointed at a man-sized keg that three sailors slowly rolled up to the stage. He undid several latches and with a creak, the front of the keg fell open.
In the darkness, two beady red eyes glared out at the crowd.
Ilmarė joined Dril to stare into the keg. “Oh no, he didn’t,” she said. “He’s not going to let that thing loose, is he?”
“Th' first salt t' brin' me back th' fat rat gets th' booty,” shouted Baldric. “An’ remember, he’s worth more alive than dead!”
With that, the huge rat launched itself into the midst of the crowd, nearly flattening a particularly ugly woman.
Ilmarė pinched the bridge of her nose with thumb and forefinger. “Of course he is.” When she looked up, Dril was gone.
“Dril went after the rat,” said Vlad, nodding off in the direction of overturned carts, screaming children, and a trail of chaos. “If anyone can catch that thing, he can.”
“But why would anyone want to? That crazy captain just released a monster into the streets.”
“Well let’s hope he catches it soon,” said Vlad. “Because it’s heading towards Scurvytown.”
Dril was hot on the rat’s trail, but it wasn’t very hard to track. The thing left a wake of terror and more than a few gnawed limbs of those too slow to get out of its way. Dril kept pace easily with the crowd, pulling ahead even as other sailors behind him cursed and laughed. Most of them were drunk.
Then he saw the girl.
Her parents had carefully hoisted her up on a crate, out of the path of the rat and the men. But what they didn’t count on was the rat’s mad dash, its tail thrashing behind it. The long pink tail snapped like a whip and toppled the crate, leaving the girl in shock in the mud.
Right in the path of the crowd.
Dril knew there was no way he could stop them in time. He lowered his arms as he ran and scooped her up.
“Eek!” she squealed. She wasn’t as light as Dril had hoped. “Let go of me!”
Dril had to slow his pace even as some of the sailors jogged ahead of him. He placed her on a nearby wagon. “You’re welcome,” he said. The girl stuck her tongue out at him.
The Altherian ignored her and resumed his jog. A moment later, he had passed the sailors who ran ahead of him. They had all stopped in their tracks and were staring ahead.
Dril ran past them, but his moment of triumph was short lived. He stopped running and turned to face his rivals. “What’s wrong?”
“That’s Scurvytown,” said one of the sailors. He spat. “I wouldn’t be caught dead there, but you will be if you keep chasing that rat.”
Dril shrugged. “I can take care of myself.”
“But just in case,” said Vlad, hobbling up from behind the throng of men. “We’re going with you.”
“We?” asked Dril.
Vlad tugged Ilmarė behind him. “Yes,” he said. “We.”
“The rat went in there,” said Dril. He pointed at a basement window in a dilapidated building. The window had once been boarded up, but something large had gnawed its way through.
Ilmarė cocked her head. “Something’s in there.”
“Squeaking?” asked Vlad hopefully.
“No,” said Ilmarė. “Clicking.”
“I found a door,” said Dril. “But it’s boarded up.”
“Vlad,” said Ilmarė, pointing at the boarded up door. “Mind knocking?”
Vlad grinned and slammed his bulk into the door, shield first. It splintered apart.
He rubbed his shoulder afterwards. “Ouch,” he said.
They climbed down steps into the basement. Vlad went first.
He stopped abruptly at the opening. “Well, the good news is we’ve found the rat,” said Vlad.
They found the rat all right, but he was in no condition to fight back. The room was filled with arcing webs, and the rat was firmly caught amongst them. His jaws worked futilely as he tried to gnaw his way free. Around the room were several large cocoons, some as large men.
“What’s the bad news?” asked Dril.
Deep in the shadows a pair of red eyes glowed. An arachnid form was just visible in the webs. As mandibles clicked, a raspy voice emerged from the abomination.
“If you leave now, I’ll let you live,” it whispered.
Dril handed Vlad a lit torch. Firing at the spider was nearly impossible, given the tough webbing that blocked their path. Dril’s flintlock make a lot of noise but had little effect.
“It’s like the Isle of Tears all over again,” said Vlad, igniting some of the webbing. It hissed and crackled. “I’ll just clear out these webs, then we can get the rat and get out—“
A white beam of light struck Vlad’s torch. His hand, along with the torch, was instantly encased in ice. They were plunged into darkness, with only a thin shaft of light from the basement window to guide them.
“Oh,” said Vlad.
“You burned enough of a path,” said Dril. He stepped around Vlad into a space not completely covered by webbing…
Only to be completely covered by a strand of webbing. The cottony stuff so ensnared him that he fell to the ground.
Vlad stepped behind him, only to find himself ensnared as well by the spider’s webbing.
Ilmarė drew her bow. She fired, but the arrow was caught in more webbing. “A talking spider?” she asked to no one in particular. She decided it was an aranea.
Vlad burst out of the webbing with a roar. “Look, we just want the rat!” he shouted. He began hacking at the other strands that were anchored to pillars, walls, and floor.
Dril slashed his way out of the cocoon with scimitar and dagger. The white webbing sloughed off of him as he stalked forward. He looked like an enraged corpse, shedding its burial shroud as it clawed from the grave.
The aranea whispered something and two bolts of energy spiraled into Dril.
“That’s not going to work, beast,” Dril said with a sneer. “Just give us the rat and we’ll leave you be.”
Ilmarė peeled back the webbing on one of the cocoons.
“I’ve found Lucius,” she said. “He’s alive. Barely. I’m guessing that other cocoon is Egil.”
Vlad lifted his crossbow from his belt. “That changes everything,” he said. The crossbow magically loaded itself with a click.
Dril stalked into the funnel hole where the aranea had retreated. There was a furious struggle. Then something screeched horribly, an inhuman sound that should never have come from a spider.
The Altherian emerged, ichor dripping from both of his blades. “It will terrorize Freeport no more,” he said triumphantly.
“That’s great,” said Ilmarė. “Now how do we get this huge rat back to Baldric?”
The aranea had done the hard work for them. The rat was poisoned, so weak that it could barely move its head. It was tightly cocooned, so it couldn’t escape. They wrapped some webbing around the dire rat’s head and Vlad dragged it down the street.
Their human cargo was transported in much the same way. Egil and Lucius were far too weak to walk, so they were dragged in makeshift stretchers made of webbing. Ilmarė dragged Egil while Dril dragged Lucius. Slung over Ilmarė’s back was a smaller cocoon of the aranea’s possessions.
Then three men stepped into their path. Three more blocked the way behind them.
“Give us the rat,” said the scruffy-looking leader, “and we’ll let you live.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Ilmarė.
“Look,” said Dril. He lowered Lucius to the ground. “We went through a lot of trouble to get this rat. We’re not giving it up without a fight.”
The man spat. “Stupid Altherians. You think you know everything, don’t you? Well, this here is Scurvytown, and you’re on our turf. That rat’s worth a fortune and we plan to collect.”
Dril drew both of his blades with a SHING! Vlad shrugged and let the rat drop the ground. It squeaked as it hit the cobblestone. Ilmarė put her fists on her hips.
The thugs drew their scimitars. Vlad drew his sword and unbuckled his shield.
“Let’s make this quick,” said Vlad. “The alcohol is starting to wear off.”
The two groups eyed each other warily. Then Dril struck like lightning. Two men fell backwards, bleeding from their thighs.
Vlad beaned one of the thugs with the flat of his blade. The thug fell backwards onto his rump. The other men danced around, looking for an opening.
“You do realize that all you win for capturing the rat is a case of exotic spices?” asked Ilmarė.
The thugs stopped in their tracks. “What?” said the leader. The other men stumbled to their feet.
“It’s a case of spices,” said Ilmarė. “That’s the prize. That’s it. Spices. You don’t think Captain Baldric’s going to give away a king’s ransom during Swagfest, do you? He’d be broke by the end of the day. He was a pirate, after all.”
A few mutters of “it’s not worth it” and “ah forget this,” the men scattered.
They all resumed dragging their respective cargo down the street out of Scurvytown. “How did you know that Baldric’s offering spices?” asked Dril.
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