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!
The worst thing to ever happen to D&D was the idea of "standard wealth level".
It's not all bad. Before that, the game was often all about what items your character had collected, now, items serve more as a foundation, while your class & feat choices make a real difference. It'd be nice, though, if items were just story elements, though, rather than crucial character elements (unless you wanted them to be). But, then, it'd be Fantasy Hero, not D&D.
The classes /are/ balanced around standard wealth, though, and I still wonder that your campaign doesn't run into bigger problems.
AC, for instance, in a low magic game, must be abysmal, and that's hardly compatible with the draw-out combats that seem to predominate in Aquerra...?
It'd be nice, though, if items were just story elements, though, rather than crucial character elements (unless you wanted them to be). But, then, it'd be Fantasy Hero, not D&D.
I am of the philosophy that it is all D&D. The role of magical items does not make the game D&D or not, to me at least. . .
Personally, I think an ideal system would have a baseline of few to no magical items and allow for DMs to run games with more layers of gear - since it easier to add stuff to a game than to take it away.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Tony Vargas
AC, for instance, in a low magic game, must be abysmal, and that's hardly compatible with the draw-out combats that seem to predominate in Aquerra...?
Well, we do use a Base Defense Bonus house rule. . .
And don't forget the expansion of what you allow under the Masterwork rules.
Yeah, but very few people have actually taken advantage of masterwork items as it still tends to be very expensive. If Kazrack had not returned the Hand of Natan-Ahb there was no way he would have afforded the 15K in silver that armor would have cost him.
Session #16 – “Hezrah’s Maternity Mayhem!” (part 1 of 3)1
“Oh, no no no!” the pregnant ogress cried. She turned quickly, nearly falling over due to her awkward condition, and hurried out of sight back down the corridor.
Laarus of Ra swung his flail at the crone, but she cocked her head and moved out of the way with blessed luck. But her luck did not last, the priest of Ra stepped around the spear with a sudden spring and caved in the side of her head with his weapon. She collapsed without a sound. The other orc women continued to screech and bat futilely at the walls.
“Get the hell out of my way you fncking idiot,” Markos pushed past his cousin and threw open the door on the right, relieved when Laarus’ light revealed what he suspected. The door led back out into the hall with the fire pit where they had fought the ogre-blood. 2 “Hey! Hey! Over here! We need help!” He called for the others, ducking out into the hall.
“Tymon! Remain at the cave entrance and send Dulevey along when he gets here. Hezrah must not escape!” Bleys said, hearing Markos call from just outside of the cave. “Falco! With us!” And with that he dashed back into the cave after Telémahkos and Victoria of Anhur who were already answering Markos’ call.
Telémahkos tumbled into the doorway and stopped to take in the scene. Two of the gray-skinned naked ogrillions emerged from the corridor just across from the door and a bit to the right. Bleys rushed past Victoria, who was weighed down by her armor, as usual, and he entered the room bow in hand, to see Laarus walking towards Timotheus with purpose. He could see that the tall blond warrior was shielding Crusta behind him.
“Nobody hurt her! She’s a priestess of Isis,” Timotheus insisted. He looked over his shoulder at her, as he turned to face the ogrillions. “Stay behind me. Stay close…”
“He’s charmed!” Telémahkos hissed into the watch-mage’s ear, and then with a deft roll he was beside his cousin, urging him forward against the cautious ogrillions. Laarus stood on Tim’s other side and began to call to Ra to close Tim’s wounds. At that moment one of the ogrillions stepped in and slammed its calcified fist into the priest’s vulnerable jaw. Laarus was able to groan out the last of his pray, though, and Timotheus’ wounds closed a perceptible amount. 3
“Markos, stay close to me,” Victoria said to the slight mage, marching into the center of the room, long spear before her, trying to keep their two foes wedged in one quadrant of the room while keeping wary of the strange orc females. They appeared to have gotten their eyesight back, but were still cowering in the corners. Markos followed her in loading his crossbow with the easy pull of a lever.
“Boyfriend! Don’t let them hurt me!” Crusta looked out from where she was huddled in front of Timotheus, and Telémahkos took advantage. “I’ll help her, Tim!” he cried, and drove his rapier into her, drawing black blood. She screamed and jerked back.
“She’s a priestess of Isis, you moron!” Timotheus roared, raising his sword threateningly. “Do that again, and I’ll cut you!”
This was the opportunity the other ogrillion was waiting for, and in the confusion in leapt into the fray. The first one slammed Laarus of Ra in the face again, and this time the priest collapsed, beginning to bleed out. Forced to lower his sword to block a gut-busting punch from the other orcish hybrid, Timotheus’ attention was drawn back to the fight. An arrow from Bleys kept the ogrillion from leaning over to continue its beating of Laarus. The watch-mage’s arrow hung painfully from a flap of loose bloody skin on its chest.
Falco was sending arrows into the chaos whenever he saw an opening, but as usual he was not very effective.
There was a sizzling sound as Telémahkos noted that Crusta’s hand was awash in blue sparks of lightning that leapt at him as she reached in his direction. She cried out again, as his rapier cut her side, but a blue arc of energy leapt to his chain shirt and suddenly his whole body was jerking spasmodically as he collapsed to the cold stone floor. 4
“Someone see to them!” Victoria commanded, as she moved in front of Bleys’ line of fire in order to stand guard over Laarus.
“Dunlevey! Tymon!” Bleys called for the hirelings, but they had not yet arrived. “Markos, quickly, feed Laarus a potion!”
“Already on it, Bleys,” Markos answered, but he came no closer wary of the ogrillions and Crusta. Tymon came rushing in, panting heavily.
“Master Telémahkos!” he cried.
“Tymon! Give this to your master!” Bleys commanded, handing the portly young man a flask. “Veneficus telum!” Bleys cast, an arrow of purple light slammed into Crusta’s side. She cried out and fled through the door in the north wall.
“Timotheus! Your friend is safe,” Markos said, speaking of Crusta. “Withdraw and let me give you this potion!” One of the ogrillions moved to follow Victoria as she withdrew and then she stepped into a hard thrust, catching it full on and burying the point deep into its shoulder. Its gray hide tore sickeningly as she pulled her weapon back to fend off its fists. Though bleeding profusely, it was only more enraged.
The other ogrillion hopped back to avoid an arrow from Bleys as Timotheus withdrew. He grabbed the open potion from Markos and chugged the contents, feeling some of his wounds begin to close as if they had never been there. “Okay! Let’s try this again!” he said, with his not uncommon smile and leapt back into the melee swinging his saber widely. The ogrillion slapped the blade away easily, but got distracted by its companion’s sudden fall from an arrow through the throat that found its way from Falco’s bow.
“Damn it, Falco” Victoria swore. She stepped around the scout, as he had gotten in her way to get his shot, and caught the remaining orc-blooded hybrid under the arm. Its arm dropped weakly and then suddenly a bolt from Markos’ crossbow and an arrow from Bleys sent it to the ground to bleed out its remaining life.
“Someone help me bind Laarus!” Bleys said, getting down beside the dying young priest as he opened his healer’s kit drawing out thick gauze.
“Just give him a potion!” Markos said.
“Do we have anymore? Potions are a limited resource. It may be best to just bind him,” Bleys replied, still working at the priest.
“Better safe than sorry,” Timotheus said, and fed Laarus the potion, tilting his head back and messaging his throat as he coughed. He was no longer bleeding, but even the potion was not enough to wake him from the severity of his wounds. Groaning with exhaustion, the recently awakened Telémahkos crawled over and fed the priest his remaining healing potion, and a moment later Laarus Raymer was sputtering awake.
“Did we catch Hezrah?” Laarus asked, as he staggered to his feet with Victoria’s help.
“No, but the other witch went through that door,” Markos pointed to the door in the north wall.
The door was opened and revealed a hallway with a tall ceiling. A wooden frame below that held a few dozen birds in various states of having been plucked or smoked. There were also some large chunks of unidentifiable gray meat.
“Tymon, when we are done here, you will go through and collect everything that is edible,” Bleys told the servant. The hall turned to the right. The half-orc witch must have fled that way. The watch-mage turned to Timotheus, “Stay here and watch the rear-guard. More of those creatures may come from the other hall.”
“Yeah, and that way you don’t act all stupid,” Telémahkos added.
“Well, maybe you should stay behind, too, since you’re so bloodthirsty and was stabbing at a priestess of Isis!” Timotheus spat back.
Telémahkos rolled his eyes like a drunken thespian, making sure everyone saw him.
“All I am saying is,” Timotheus went on. “Try not to kill her…”
Telémahkos sighed, but Victoria stepped up. “I shall go in the front with Master Bleys,” she said, to Tim. “ I am willing to believe you and stay my spear, but only until I have made my own conclusion.”
“Fair enough, but I did hear her call on Isis when she healed that ogre out in the hall,” Timotheus explained. 5
The militant nodded and led the way, turning the corner and tearing the ratty fur curtain that obscured the room beyond. It was part laboratory, part kitchen and part bedroom, illuminated by the light emanating from Victoria’s helmet. It was clear that Crusta was doing her best to hide, squatted behind the narrow flea-ridden cot.
“Boyfriend! Help me! I’m not doing anything!” she cried out to Timotheus, but could not hear, being kept out of the room.
“Release your hold on Timotheus!” Victoria commanded, but the half-orc witch just looked at her with fear and confusion.
“I’ve got a boyfriend for ya!” Telémahkos quipped, rushing into the room and leaping up onto the cot, crossbow in hand. He let a quarrel go at point-blank range, but was so eager he did not account for sinking down into the cot as he leapt on it, and the shot managed to completely miss her.
“Nooo! I give up! I give up!” Crusta croaked, putting her flabby wrinkled gray arms in the air. It looked as if she had recently lost a lot of weight, and her skin hung off her unhealthily.
Victoria stepped over and forced Telémahkos to lower the weapon. “No! Bewitched as he may be, he says she may be a follower of Isis, and I swore I would find out before passing judgment.”
“She’s not a priestess of Isis,” Telémahkos replied with casual dismissal of Victoria’s concern. He began to reload his crossbow.
“Release Timotheus!” Laarus of Ra echoed the Victoria’s command as he came in the room.
Crusta shook her head and continued to look confused, making a little croaking noise in the back of her throat.
“Oh, just kill her, that’ll break the spell,” Markos said.
“Where is Hezrah?” Victoria asked.
“She… She ran away already,” Crusta replied.
“Kill her, before Tim gets bored and comes and sees what is going on,” Telémahkos said. “He will not allow us to take her prisoner.”
“She will release him, or we will allow Telémahkos to do as he’d like, “ Laarus said coldly. He looked directly at her as he spoke. Telémahkos raised his crossbow.
“Yes,” Markos turned to the half-orc girl. “When we call Timotheus in here you shall release him or we will kill you.”
Crusta nodded meekly.
Bleys called for Timotheus and the tall warrior came in with his usual big grin.
“How do you feel about her now?” Markos asked curtly, pointing at Crusta.
Tim’s face was blank and then sudden it was filled with anger and confusion. “What did you do to me?” He stepped towards her with his arms tensed, his stylized manacle bracelet rattling. Crusta looked down and away, shivering. Timotheus’ shoulders sagged and then he stood tall again. “Despite the charm, she really did call on Isis…”
Victoria Ostrander and Laarus of Ra began to discuss the possibility that an evil witch might call on Isis.
“I can’t imagine that Isis would grant her power to one that is not worthy,” Victoria reasoned.
“Witches make strange pacts and can do many strange things,” Laarus replied with a hint of respect in his voice.
Timotheus looked to his cousin and apologized. “I know you were just trying to protect me…” He slapped him heavily on the shoulder and Telémahkos feigned punching his tall cousin in the chin, smiling.
“What is this?” Markos asked. He had begun to look around and saw a list that was scratched into the wall with charcoal, and beneath it was burned a large rune.
The list read:
4d Ogr / 50s
2d Br F / 10s
> 20 RR chil
Hez: Prim 27
The rune looked like some kind of ‘9’ with a smaller rune within the top loop of it. 6
“That is the symbol of the Master,” Crusta said. She spoke with awe.
“Who is the Master?” Timotheus asked.
“He is the Master. He comes from far away and commands Momma,” Crusta replied. “She was making plans until the Test of Thutmose came…”
”The Test of Thutmose? Is that not what the goblin called us?” Victoria said.
Laarus nodded.
“Did your mother say anything about the Test of Thutmose?” Victoria asked the half-orc. “Where did she hear the name?”
“I don’t know.”
“She must have contact with the Flor’choo,” said Laarus.
“She told the Master about the Test of Thutmose, but he say Test of Thutmose was beneath his notice,” Crusta added, nodding her head in a way that was not unreminiscent of Tymon. “But Momma is scared of them… They killed all my brothers, except Theorn. You all killed Theorn.”
And then her yellow eyes widened and her mouth fell open, revealing her crooked blackened teeth and filmy tongue as she gasped. “You… You are the Test of Thutmose!” She pointed at them, but then withdrew her finger with fear and began to tremble again.
“So this Master did not appear afraid of the Test of Thutmose?” Victoria continued her questions.
“Not the Master! The Master has no fear. The Master can do anything! Master came from Hell!” Crusta said.
“I guess we’ll just have to send him back then,” Timotheus winked, patting the hilt of his sheathed saber.
“Other Masters come from far and go to the Flor’Choo,” Crusta continued to volunteer information. “They learned of the Test of Thutmose…”
“Other masters? Were they hobgoblins?” Timotheus asked.
Crusta shrugged her shoulders.
“What does the Master look like?” Laarus of Ra asked. Crusta moved towards a small chest by the cot, and tension blossomed in the room once again, and she withdrew, pointing to it. It was then that Laarus and Timotheus noticed that Markos and Bleys had retreated from the questioning along with Telémahkos and were whispering to each other by the entrance to the room.
“What are you whispering about?” Timotheus asked, stepping over there. Telémahkos and Markos left the watch-mage and the warrior to talk, and began to rummage through the room’s contents. Opening both the small chest and the larger one over by a stained stone table.
“The Master tall like ogre, but blue-skin and horns,” Crusta said as they did this. “Master can fly…”
“This is a den for breeding evil,” Bleys said to Timotheus.
“I know,” Timotheus replied, inferring what the whispered conversation had been about. “We’ll have to kill all the orc-women, right?” The tall warrior’s shoulders drooped and he sighed.
Session #16 – “Hezrah’s Maternity Mayhem!” (part 2 of 3)
“We need to unchain them before we kill them, though,” Timotheus said, his words bearing the weight of some reticence. “I cannot in good conscience do that, if only out of respect for Nephthys… But yes, we need to kill them.”
“Yes, that has already been determined. Are you steeling yourself, or trying to dissuade…?” Bleys asked.
“The former.”
“There is no shame in letting others complete this task if it proves too difficult for you,” Bleys replied.
“No. I won’t shirk my responsibility,” Timotheus, standing up straight again and looking the watch-mage in the eyes. “It would be on me whether I acted directed to slay them or not…”
Bleys nodded.
Markos and Telémahkos found several clay flasks holding what they assumed were potions, and ordered Crusta to tell them what they were. She could only guess, she said. One would make you disappear, another allowed you to see in the dark, or so she said.
Among the flea-infested clothing and blankets in the big wooden chest, were some sacks of copper and silver coins. Some of it was Thrician, but some of it was also Herman-lander, and imprinted with the stamp of mints in the Black Islands Barony. Wrapped in a kerchief was an ivory plaque, about three inches wide and four inches high, not more than an eighth of an inch in thickness. One side was painted like a trump from a set of cards, showing a blue-skinned demonic horned ogre, holding a staff, and carrying bound humans on its back. It was marked with the same rune as was burned on the wall, and had a stylized ‘A’ in one corner and an ‘F’ in the opposite diagonal one. 1
“That is the Master!” Crusta said when she saw the card. “Momma use that to call the Master to come.”
Markos used a detect magic spell to examine the plaque, but there was no trace of a dweomer. He turned the card back and forth examining it with furrowed brow, confused by its lack of aura.
“Perhaps this Master uses this object as a focus for his scrying?” Markos speculated while looking to Bleys for an opinion.
“It is possible,” the watch-mage replied, uncommitted.
“Momma makes ogrillions for the Master,” Crusta said. “She prove she can make them for Master to use so she can serve Master and the other Masters…”
“The ones that went to the Flor’Choo?”
“No… The other Masters…” Crusta replied, as if that made it clearer.
“That could explain the list,” Markos said. “It is an order. Four dozen ‘oh-gee-ar.” Ogrillions.”
“And the ‘bee-ar-eff’ could mean ‘breeding females,’” Bleys offered.
“Well, no use in stretching it out,” Timotheus said. “If we are going to have to… Let’s do it and not make them suffer this wretched life too much longer…” He began to walk towards the door, and Bleys the Aubergine followed.
“I want to help,” Telémahkos said.
“Wait!” Laarus of Ra cried. “You are planning to kill the breeders? Why? They are no threat!”
“They may be no threat in and of themselves in the short term, but they are being used to breed those ogrillion things,” Markos said.
“They are prisoners who were forced to breed against their will,” Laarus said. “They wear chains. They are not warriors…”
“They are orcs,” Telémahkos said by way of explanation.
“It is too bad we have no means of making them incapable of conception,” Victoria said. “But that would take some learned herblore, and probably resources we are not likely to find.”
“Look Laarus, I don’t like it either, and I plan to remove their chains before they are killed so at least they are free,” Timotheus began.
“You’re going to what?” Markos scoffed. “So we have to chase them around and kill them? If we’re going to kill them, we just kill them. It is a sad necessity, but a necessity, none-the-less…”
“I stand with Brother Laarus,” said Victoria. “They should not be killed. It is not honorable to kill the defenseless, women or children…”
“In the north, when a hobgoblin lair is found, every last of them is put to the sword,” Timotheus said. “They cannot be allowed to regain their numbers because they hate humans and the other good races. They will never stop trying to raze our cities and kill us all… Anyway, it is what they do when they raze human towns… Do you think they would spare our women and children?”
“So we should look to hobgoblins as are moral guides? I think not,” Laarus replied, his face growing flush. He began to walk back out in the larger room where the orc women still cowered.
“Heh. I guess he’s against killing the pregnant ogre, too,” Timotheus said.
“Pregnant ogre!” Bleys’ face betrayed amazement.
“Yep, she’s big… Looked due to pop…”
“How long until an ogre baby is big enough to be a danger?” Markos asked Crusta.
”By the time the seasons pass twice,” Crusta replied. “Same with the ogrillions… They grow fast. Momma grinds up the babies that don’t live and the breeders that die and feeds them…”
“Crusta, would you kill the orc women if asked you to?” Bleys asked her.
”To save my own life? Yes…” She replied.
“That is just is just wrong in so many ways,” Timotheus said, shaking his head. He followed the priest of Ra out into the room. “Laarus, I just have one question: When you came up through the trapdoor, who stabbed at you with a spear?”
Laarus looked at Tim and then at the four groups of orcish women cowering in the corners. They wore stained roughspun smocks, and scratched at each other as they fought to get behind each other and as far away from the noble adventurers as they could. The room was a mess of blood, urine, ratty furs and flea-ridden woolen blankets. The horrendous smell was made just something short of vomit-inducing by the smoking braziers.
“That one,” Laarus pointed to where the orcish crone lay dead, the left side of her head caved in.
“And what are those on her chest?” Tim asked.
“Breasts,” Laarus answered, furrowing his brow as he looked back at Tim. His face bore a look of angry puzzlement.
“Yes, Laarus… Breasts… Women orcs fight and kill, too…”
“They are not fighting and killing now, are they?” Laarus asked in return. “And the orc crone was scared and lucky. She threatened us and paid the price. The same cannot be said of these others.”
By this time, everyone had come back out of the smaller room, Bleys pushing Crusta along at saber-point.
“You know if you try to run we will chase you down and kill you,” he told her in his cold tone.
“Me figured…” She replied, drooling slightly with fear.
“Will you fight to protect these orcs?” Markos asked his cousin.
“Will it come to that?” Laarus’ anger was brimming. The young priest seemed barely contained, but still he did not raise his voice.
“Is that a yes?” Markos asked. “Because if you will raise your weapon to keep us from killing these orc women then I shall concede my position, however reckless it may seem to me to let them live…”
“Sometimes in the cause of honor we leave ourselves vulnerable, but that is why it is called ‘honor,’” Victoria reasoned. She approached one of the orc women to remove the chains, and noticed the shackles had no locks. They had been smelted closed around their arms and waists. Nasty burn scars were visible around the shackles.
Pressed for more answers, Crusta was unable to say where the black orc women had come from, except that Hezrah often disappeared for days or weeks returning with outcasts and slaves in tow. Among these had been a runt of a warg cub that had grown strong on orc and kobold meat. 2 Freed, they would be unable to return to their own tribes, and even if they could they would likely be killed as tainted outsiders.
Crusta snorted and grunted in the orcish tongue, explaining the prisoners that the young nobles only meant to free them, not kill or beat them. The orcs were confused, but eventually calmed down and let Victoria do the carefull work of prying off the shackles with a mallet and an iron spike. Timotheus helped her, and eventually took over freeing the rest.
“Tell them to flee far,” Bleys told Crusta. “If I see them again I will kill them…” The orc women fled from the large room and towards the exit.
When asked what was in the cave just north of this one (also marked as being home to orcs on their map), Crusta said, “undead orcs.”
The signers of the Charter of Schiereiland collected their gear and loot and began to make their way back to the grove where they usually camped out. Crusta was brought along as prisoner, her wrists bound, but her feet let free so she could walk with no trouble. She looked around furtively and with great fear as they came out into the gorge and then out towards the plain. Markos walked along side of her, asking her many questions about her knowledge of witchcraft and asking after her tokens. She explained they were hidden and buried, but she would show him to them if he wanted. The others were against the detour. It would have to wait.
“So, what is the plan for tomorrow?” Timotheus asked Bleys as they walked.
“We go and kill the goblins,” Bleys said flatly.
“Except for the goblin women and children, them we leave to starve or to be killed by kobolds to show them the merciful ways of our gods,” Telémahkos said with a wink, making sure that Laarus heard him. If he did, the priest of Ra ignored the jab. He walked in the rear of the line occasionally talking with Victoria.
“You know, when it comes time to fight hobgoblins, we are going to have to be careful to stay away from the priests,” Telémahkos said to his cousin.
“It makes no difference,” Timotheus frowned. “No one is going to stop me from doing what needs to be done when it comes to safety of our homeland…” Brimming with sudden anger at the thought, Tim slowed his pace to allow Laarus to catch up.
“Hobgoblins are different,” Timotheus began.
Laarus was puzzled.
“They are an immediate threat,” Timotheus continued. “If we come across one of their lairs, they would all have to die. Every one of them… The fact that they are an immediate threat makes it a different case than with these orc women…”
Laarus of Ra shook his head. “There is no difference. Would you kill an innocent babe if it meant that all hobgoblins would die?’
“What?!” Timotheus was outraged. “You think hobgoblins are innocent?”
“That is not what I said,” Laarus replied.
“I am fncking insulted that you would insinuate that I would kill some innocent baby, and to compare a human baby to some fnckin’ hobos!” Timotheus marched back up the line fuming.
“The gods have always confused me,” said Telémahkos when he returned. “That’s why I like Bes and Bast. Simple. I need luck and I like cats.” He smiled at his tall cousin.
“I’d make a lousy priest of Nephthys,” Timotheus said, and marched to the very front of the line. Only Falco walked ahead of him, sixty feet ahead of the group, as was his habit.
“Will one of you be my boyfriend?” Crusta asked with a saddened voice when got to the grove and began to settle in to rest of the remainder of the day. It was the hot part of the afternoon when they got back, and most of them flopped down to rest and drink water.
“I will be your boyfriend,” Markos said, feeling sorry for her. Crusta gave a weak smile and sidled up next to him. She was taller than he was, but gangly and stooped.
“I wish I could put soap in my head,” Timotheus said when he saw her cozy up to him.
“Why not try putting some on your body every now and again,” Telémahkos quipped.
“Hey! I bathe!” Timotheus gave his cousin a hard put playful shove and Telémahkos tripped across Victoria’s bedroll. She gave him a withering look.
Later, after long examination, Markos announced that two of the potions taken from Hezrah’s lair were indeed potions of invisibility.
“I will be your boyfriend,” Markos said, feeling sorry for her. Crusta gave a weak smile and sidled up next to him. She was taller than he was, but gangly and stooped.
“I wish I could put soap in my head,” Timotheus said when he saw her cozy up to him.
Thanks for the double dose. Although this has already been said many times, you have quite a knack for giving your players some thought-provoking decisions to make. Good job.
Expect an update tonight. However, the updates will be coming less frequently between now and Christmas because of the crunch of the final weeks of the grad school semester (I've got two 15 page papers and a sample syllabus to hand in).
However, I hope to make up for it and actually make an effort catch up to the current sessions in the month of January before the Spring semester starts up.
Session #16 – “Hezrah’s Maternity Mayhem!” (part 3 of 3)
Ralem, the 1st of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)
“Get up! Get up! Everybody up!” Markos and Telémahkos were kicking and shaking the rest of the signers of the Charter of Schiereiland and their hirelings awake. During the first watch, as Markos and Telémahkos were bemoaning their lot being cast with the zealot priests, Tymon had spotted the shadow of a warg creeping away from the grove.
“If it was leaving that meant it got a chance to scout around unseen and unheard,” Markos surmised. “Right now it is likely reporting to its superior and a plan of attack is being made.”
“The moon is bright enough, we shall be able to see them coming,” Bleys said.
“But we won’t know their numbers, and this grove is too small to last long as a place to hide against many,” Timotheus said. “They can come all the way around it and attack from all directions, and we’d have nowhere to retreat to… They can see in the dark, we can’t…We should leave…”
“Can we not create traps and obstacles to funnel them in one direction?” Markos suggested.
”In the dark, and not knowing when they will be arriving?” Timotheus asked with disbelief. “We should go…”
The others agreed, though Victoria of Anhur took no effort to hide her disdain for the party’s frequent withdrawals. They gathered their things and took off at a steady march towards the stream and the skunk cabbage patch, hoping to arrive before the moon set.
It was a long hard march in the gray light of Mind’s Eie, but Falco led them at hurried pace that left Markos and Tymon flagging. They were grateful to hear the faint trickle of the stream and as the last light of moon dissipated they found a cluster of brush to hide in and wait. Markos crawled under a low bush and went to sleep, wanting the rest necessary to get up and prepare his spells when morning came. Crusta crawled in next to him, spooning his body with her own.
It was an anxious night, but no army of goblins ever arrived to test them. As Ra’s Glory rose they set about to march back with frayed nerves. There were still some miles away from the grove when they saw the column of smoke rising way up into the clear morning. The grove had been chopped and burned. It was no longer a fit place to make camp.
“See? They used fire without burning everything down,” Markos said to Falco with annoyance. 1
Falco opened his mouth as if to reply, but just closed it again and shook his head.
“Those damn goblins!” Timotheus swore. “It is our responsibility that they fail the Test of Thutmose.”
“I would be happy to wipe the Flor’Choo off the face of Aquerra,” Bleys said. “Let us deprive those hobgoblins of some troops to use against our homeland.”
“I disagree,” Victoria said. Noticing Bleys was still hurt, she called for Anhur to close the watch-mage’s wounds. “We are wasting time with the goblins here and jeopardizing our chance to warn the north of the hobgoblins’ efforts and this one that the half-breed called ‘the Master.’ Anhur knows I want to prove myself in battle, but preparedness is also part of war.”
“Good point,” Timotheus replied, quickly changing his mind once the thought of home entered it. “I’m glad we came here and all, but maybe we should go back.”
“I think we should go to Schiereiland and tell your father what we have learned here,” Telémahkos agreed.
“And what of the Moor-Tomb?” Bleys asked.
“This seems more pressing than some old trapped tomb,” Telémahkos replied.
The Signers decided that their adventures in and around the King Stones were over. Refilling their skins at the watering hole, they had Falco begin to guide them to the Ray-Ree village. Once there they could decide if they would return to civilization or search for the mysterious Tomb of Dalvan d’Amberville.
Osilem, the 3rd of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)
Two days later the Signers were back at the Ray-Ree village. Kermit had found them on their way, disoriented by the unrelenting sun of the Disputed Territories and suffering from heat exhaustion. He greeted the news of their abandoning the King Stones with his usual smirk of contempt. He was on his way back from delivering Tim’s horse to the Ray-Ree. The halfling led them the rest of the way back to the village on Duckhunter.
After meeting with Admentus, the party sharing a meager meal with the tribe. Crusta was introduced to the First Elder and to some of the members of the barbarian group, and as the child of a former member, she was offered a place among them, though if she wanted to practice witchcraft she would have to seek out Rudwilla and get her approval, and live out in the moors. Clearly unsure of herself, the half-orc girl continued to follow Markos around, looking at him expectantly every time he spoke. All during their journey he had made the time to talk to her, shared his food and water, and asked many questions about witchcraft.
They learned that while they were gone two women of the tribe had returned from the gathering of the hordes. 2 There had been three others who had headed back with them, but they did not survive the perilous journey. The women brought news of the city of Majenta burning at the hands of the gathered tribes, one of the high temples of the Red God of the West had been defiled and the tribe shamans summoned their animal totems to fight among themselves and devour captives. The entire Uzon tribe, the bear-warriors of the Isle of Dusk had been slain in a poorly planned assault on a dervish camp. A high priest of the Red God of the West had summoned a ‘black angel’ that could kill with its stare. Lavia, who was one of the women who had returned, was pointed out to them. Her hair was a shock of white, and though she was still a young woman, her face was creased with sorrow. It was but a glimpse of the angel’s face that had done it the other, Tora, had said, for Lavia no longer spoke. They left the Ray-Ray warriors joined with other tribes in building boats to travel even further south and westward and continue their path of war and destruction.
Timotheus hooted his pleasure, and recommended cracking open the cask of Red Gritch Ale 3 the packhorse had been carrying around in celebration. The others agreed.
After dinner, the young nobles gathered in the open hut provided them to discuss their plans.
“If we are going to go to the Moor-Tomb then I think we should send Kermit back with a message to send to my father about the Hobgoblins of the Blue Claw and the breeding experiments,” Timotheus said.
“If the matter is so pressing why do we not just return now?” Laarus of Ra reasoned.
“I’m all for going back,” Timotheus said. “What more can we do here?”
“There is a lot more to be done,” Bleys said. “Aside from the Flor’Choo, there were other caves to explore and I was curious about the Dark Apshai Ziggurat. Not to mention the Moor-Tomb.”
“I think we should go back,” Telémahkos agreed with his cousin.
“I don’t particularly think this hobgoblin issue is pressing, but am more than happy to go back if it means we might get a chance to look into the matter of the Pearls,” Markos said, looking at each person with mock attentiveness. 4
“I would rather face foes with honor than to creep around a trapped tomb,” Victoria of Anhur said. “But I stand with Brother Laarus. As he goes, I go…”
“I still believe that we have much to gain by finding the tomb of Dalvan d’Amberville,” Bleys said. “Not the least of which is the amulet touched by Fallon’s mortal form, said to have healing properties. Think of the good that object could do, and as I have said the Church of Isis has given their blessing to have such an item retrieved. Is it not for this kind of thing that we gathered?”
The discussion lasted for quite a while, but as Markos began to nod off, leaning on Crusta, and Dunlevey and Falco returned from wandering the grounds without hiding their frustration with the prolonged debate, there was a vote on the matter, and it was unanimous. 5 The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland would seek out the Moor-Tomb on the following day, and Kermit would be sent back to civilization to send a message by faultless to Pyla. The halfling was not happy about having to go and then return to guide them back, but he was offered extra coin, and he admitted that traveling alone would be safer for him.
“Anyway, I didn’t fancy the idea of waiting outside that tomb for you to come out,” he added. “I figure I should be back in a fortnight… Uh, maybe more like twenty or so days…"
-------------------------------------
Some hours later Timotheus woke up, and noticed Bleys awake, sitting in the doorway contemplating the full moon. The blond warrior crawled over to him and scooted out of the hut, to sit outside and look out for a moment.
“Gotta pee,” he said, and wandered off.
When he returned, getting down to crawl back in among the lump of sleeping adventurers, hirelings and the dog, but then stopped and looked back at the watch-mage.
“I just want you to know,” he said. “That I saw the siege of Marrock, or its results anyway, and I know that hobgoblins burn and kill women and kids, and torture people and take slaves. My kin and my friends are at risk from those monsters, so I plan to be as stubborn as Laarus when the time comes to journey to Pyla and defend it.”
“I would expect nothing less,” Bleys the Aubergine replied in a quiet voice. He never took his eyes from the night sky. Timotheus crawled back in and dropped off to sleep.
Teflem, the 6th of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)
Two days before the Signers had left the Ray-Ree village behind; once again, leaving it to the tribe’s generosity to look after their horses. Timotheus gave three throwing axes to the barbarians as a gift. They had been among the things recovered from Hezra’s cave. Crusta was with them, deciding to let Markos decide for her when asked what she preferred doing.
“He’s my boyfriend. He decide,” she said. Markos insisted she come along, and said he planned to teach her to read.
“It was only her environment that made her like she was,” Markos explained to the others. “I mean, how do you think you would have ended up having grown up in a place like that?”
“We would not have grown up in a place like,” Victoria replied. “We are a civilized people…”
Kermit Buckleburr had mounted Duckhunter and taken off north that same morning. Before he left, Timotheus paid the halfling ten extra silver coins, and thanked him for taking the message.
They had reached the Ickle Trik the night before, but decided to camp out before crossing the river since it had been getting dark. In the pre-dawn hours of the third watch, after a long talk concerning the latter’s visions, 6 Bleys and Laarus confronted Falco about his use of magic in the battle against the ghouls when they went to visit Brother Cineas. 7
“It is like when the half-breed woman called on Isis,” Falco explained, when he was not given a chance to withdraw. “I called on the spirits that serve Shu to aid me on that day.”
“Witchcraft,” Laarus said.
“Some call it that,” Falco replied.
“And where did you learn this?” Bleys asked.
“When I was a boy, from my aunt who raised me,” Falco said. “She was the village mid-wife.”
“Why did you not tell us of this before?” Laarus asked.
“It did not seem important to the job which you hired me to do,” Falco said. “Unlike some, I see calling on the spirits as something that should not be done lightly. My aunt always taught respect and restraint.”
Laarus of Ra did not hide his displeasure, but after a warning against deceiving them, he let the topic lie.
After breakfast and spell preparations, the Signers looked to Markos to get them across the river once they climbed down the steep mossy embankment. The water looked very deep and cold and moved very fast.
“Creáre nautica!” Markos chanted holding aloft a small wooden model of a row boat. A moment later, there was similar rowboat of usable size dredged up on to the narrow banks of the Ickle Trick. It took several trips and expert rowing to deal with the current, but eventually everyone made it across. 8
From there they marched north by north east, keeping the line of the Ickle Trick in view, but staying closer to the treeline to avoid being spotted too easily from its shore. The ground was increasingly swampy, and mosquitoes crawled under their armor and around their necks taking long irritating drinks of their blood. The air was heavy and the heat oppressive, but though it threatened rain, no rain ever came to relieve them. Near mid-day they spotted the silhouettes of the ruined buildings of the town of Moor-Wall, and Falco led them even further east on their northward journey to not be see from there in turn.
“Laarus, what can you tell me about ghouls?” Timotheus asked the priest. “How is it best to fight them?”
“Slashing weapons,” the priest replied. “Piercing weapon may puncture organs, but being undead they do not need their organs. And while breaking bones with a blunt weapon can slow them down, it actually lopping them apart that is most effective.”
Timotheus carried this news to his cousin, and for the first time Telémahkos looked at his magical rapier with disappointment. They quickly convinced Dunlevey to lend the smaller Briareus his longsword.
Looking at the map Bleys had gotten from Malcolm the Bronze9, Falco led them back to the west, risking getting close to Moor-Wall in hopes that coming in the direction of the overgrown track that led from the bridge might give them a clue of what they were looking for.
‘Follow the Masks’ the map said, and sure enough, a bunch of them spotted the black lacquered mask carved high up on a bald petrified gray tree. The mask was crude, but expressive, and had a rune of a horizontal line with a dot over its center carved on the forehead.
Standing beneath this tree they began to scan around at the same height and sure enough they noted a dark spot on a similar tree some several dozen yards away. Approaching revealed a similar mask, but this one a sad countenance at odd with the smiling (if still frightening) face of the first mask. The rune was a short horizontal line with a dot hanging below it.
“These are similar to the runes of the ancient Mystics,” Laarus said. “They were an expressive people, and much of their language is made up of runes signifying gradations of emotions which are combined in incredibly complex ways. Some say that the language of the ancients was so powerful it had inherent magic-like properties.”
Victoria spotted the next mask from beneath that tree and then spotted yet another one. Each one was about another few dozen yards further than the last one had been, leading them north by northeast. Once the distances between them became so great that they had to fan out and look, Bleys took to tying a bronze-colored sash to the previous mask-carved tree to make sure they did not lose their way in the increasingly dense swamp foliage. The sash was borrowed from Telémahkos.
Dunlevey spotted the next two, and Laarus did his best to translate each mask’s rune. There was happiness and sadness. “That one is… contemplation?” It was clear some guesswork was involved. “And I have no idea what that other one is…”
Markos noted a stone wedged into a hole at the base of one of the sixth marked tree. Telémahkos checked it for traps and then pulled it out. Inside was a stuffed bird, like a small partridge. Its eyes had been torn out, and it was tied with red string.
“Could that be some kind of magic?” Timotheus asked Crusta. “Witchcraft?”
“It could be,” she replied, shrugging her shoulders. Telémahkos put it back and covered it with the stone.
The seventh mask was very far from the sixth and took nearly an hour to find. “Avarice? Greed? Something like that,” Laarus said of the rune on it, but more importantly they could see a large clearing just beyond the petrified tree. Some kind of narrow stone structure was sticking up out over the treeline.
“That must be the pointed tower that is the ‘keyhole tower to tomb’,” Bleys said, holding the moor-tomb map aloft. He led his companions in that direction, an uncharacteristic eagerness in his countenance.
1 Upon first arriving in the area of the King Stones, Falco warned the party that the dry conditions meant they had to be wary of starting a forest fire. (See Session #12)
2 The Signers of the Charter of Schiereiland learned that the warriors of the Ray-Ree had gone to the Council of the Chieftains to decide what to do about Rube incursions in their lands, and the taking of their children for dervish camps. The decision was immediate attack. In the Ray-Ree culture (and in that of several of the barbarian tribes of the Spice & Thread Islands), women accompany their men to battle, taking care of their meals and weapons, and being responsible for bringing their bodies back to the tribe for burial should they fall.
3 This was part of the booty the party gathered from the looting of Kraken’s Cove.
5 I have no memory of how this notoriously contentious group reached a consensus at all. Perhaps it was only possible by means of some alien technology that then proceeded to wipe our memory of it, because when I surveyed the players about how the discussion had reached that point, none could give me any details. And yet, I know it did happen, because it was in the notes and the party did end up going there. Anyway, it is not as if anyone in the group claimed that it wasn’t a consensus, we just don’t know how it happened.
6 This conversation was handled later via the messageboards, and can be read as InterSession #16.1
7 The party visited Brother Cineas in Session #12.
5 I have no memory of how this notoriously contentious group reached a consensus at all. Perhaps it was only possible by means of some alien technology that then proceeded to wipe our memory of it, because when I surveyed the players about how the discussion had reached that point, none could give me any details. And yet, I know it did happen, because it was in the notes and the party did end up going there. Anyway, it is not as if anyone in the group claimed that it wasn’t a consensus, we just don’t know how it happened.
As I recall, the deadlock wasn't broken until after Kermit stated that he'd be safer traveling on his own rather than with the group. At that point, Timotheus (who really wanted the warning about hobgoblin activity to get through) switched his vote to staying on in the Disputed Territories while Kermit got the message to Thricia, and Telemakhos reluctantly followed suit.
InterSession #16.1 – “In the Dark Hours Before Dawn”
Teflem, the 6th of Keent - 566 H.E. (637 M.Y.)
"May I speak with you?" the priest of Ra requested of the academy wizard. It was the coldest hour before sunrise, and the watch-mage and the priest were on watch together. "Do you know who the Pillars might be? As it would relate to a watch-mage?"
The rest of the Signers of Charter of Schiereiland were asleep, except for their scout, Falco, who was off seeking small game birds among the reeds beside the Ickle Trik. Bleys the Aubergine risked throwing another small log on the fire as he mused. It crackled, sending sparks into the darkness. "Hmmmm, Pillars… I know the Pillars of Ra, if that is what you mean, but I do not know how they may relate to a watch-mage specifically. Why do you ask? Is this important now?"
"Not now, but soon" The priest paused, quietly pondering. “I am familiar with the Pillars of Ra, as well, but a watch-mage would not be one of them. And it'd be unlikely such an involvement would put them at odds with the law. So you know of no other group known as the Pillars?"
Bleys mulled the question once again, looking at the glowing outline of Laarus’ pale face in the fire light, perhaps considering the source of the question as much as the questions itself. "I believe there are the White Pillars in the City of Sorcery, but that is not a group, it is a location. Perhaps this is what you seek? All of this is very curious though. Does it stem from another of your visions?"
"Yes. Another insight into what will be, but has yet to come. Part of it concerns a colleague of yours. I do not feel the White Pillars would have to do with it. No man can be one of those." Laarus paused in consideration only briefly when a sudden realization lit up his dull green eyes. "Unless there is a group associated with them…"
"Hmm, I need more detail to be of aid,” Bleys sat beside the priest of Ra, and cleared his throat softly. “As I understand it, you are telling me that you have seen some watch-mage in league with a group using ‘Pillars’ as a moniker or part there-of, and they are in conflict with Thrician law. Is this correct? Perhaps it would be best if you told me all you saw…"
"No, that is not what I'm telling you,” Laarus stood. He pulled his cloak closer around him against the chill, and then kneeled beside the fire, warming his hands. He did not look back at Bleys when he spoke, but deep into the fire. “And that is not what I saw. One should be mindful of leaping to conclusions. It can lead you astray. Especially when concerning these visions."
Bleys cocked an eyebrow. "Do not vex Laarus, for I am not drawing any conclusions. Quite the contrary. I wish not to presume anything, which is exactly why I ask you for clarification. For certainly making any rash judgment could lead to one’s demise, I know you agree…"
Laarus did not turn from the fire. "I shall not tell you all I've seen now, but I can tell you the piece that concerns what I have asked about.” He closed his eyes. "We're in our suite in Sluetelot. Most of us… You enter the suite reading a letter and say: 'More bad news. Oroleniel has been imprisoned. They say he did it because he is one of the Pillars.'"
There was a long silence broken only by the crackling fire and the first chirpings of birds who could see the sun before even the pious eyes of priest of Ra could. Finally, Bleys spoke, "Perhaps we should think on this differently. More specifically, less concerning Oroleniel, whom unfortunately I know scant little about, and more to do with you. And why you have these visions."
Laarus stood and turned looking deep into his companion's eyes. "It is difficult, I know. My thoughts would pull in a hundred directions when these were new to me. But Ra has helped restore order to my mind. These visions cannot be overthought or underthought. If they are, you risk not seeing the truth. I've still to find the perfect balance. Even after all these years." Placing a hand on Bleys' shoulder, Laarus continued, "Put your mind at ease. Your comments have already helped me see where information might be found." Bleys looked to the hand, unaccustomed to physical displays of familiarity, but looked at Laarus again as the priest brought his hands back together, intertwining his fingers. "Speak with Telémakhos. He may know something of the Pillars. He's quite knowledgeable about organizations throughout Thricia."
"As of yet, I am unable to ease what weighs on my mind. And I am glad the topic has been broached,” Bleys replied. “When we were at the Vanderboren Manse, you told me that you believed that these visions were not bestowed upon you by Ra. This thought ails me. If not Ra, then from whom? And why? How are you certain that your patron does not confer them? I know you say that they always come true, but nonetheless they make me uneasy, unknowing of their intent and derivation. You are one of Ra's most faithful servants. If someone else can meddle in your mind, how can you trust all that you see? And certainly you must be aware that it makes it harder for others to trust you."
"I know they aren't sent by Ra, because I know from where they flow. They do not come from another person, being, or entity. They do not come from anything with its own motivations, goals, or desires, I assure you, as I did Telémakhos." The priest took a step back away from Bleys. "And they have all come to pass. Except for those a few months back. Distrust their veracity, if you wish, I can understand it difficult to see without proof, but me? The worth of my trust is being questioned?"
Bleys was unphased by Laarus sudden shift in demeanor, and replied flatly. "No. I trust you. Do not conflate my words and my position. See it from our point of view. You are a priest of Ra - king of the gods. You tell us that you experience visions. You tell us that they involve the foresight of our demise, and that they always come to bear. And you tell us that they are not warnings sent by Ra. What would you think? If I am to accept wholly what you tell me, and I do, for I have no reason not to then what must I assume? Some other very powerful force is at work. It is hard to blindly trust those visions as altruistic, despite your best intentions. The very action you take in an attempt to save one of us may indeed ironically doom one or all of us. Do you disagree?”
“I am aware of that possibility,” Laarus replied, briefly and solemnly.
Bleys continued, "You have admitted that the visions are but mere bits of information, windows upon a scene that is but a blink in time. Telémakhos may yet be destined for immolation. He may return to Quillton some day. Both he and the city remain, and there is no way for us to determine whether or not your vision related to our trip to the Vanderboren manse last month or some other journey next year." The watch-mage only paused slightly, plodding on in his flat tone. "But between those who are ostensibly friends should you not trust in us? Why is it so hard for us to collaborate fully in delving further into this mystery? Surely there must be some reason that you chose to come to me with the information that you have, and I am grateful for that. Allow me to help you further if you will, but hobbled with half-truths and hunches, I will be hard-pressed."
“I don't believe the visions are altruistic, and though what they show is sinister, the visions themselves are neutral. They only show what will be. But, I will use what I see, what I know, to bring light in place of that coming darkness, if I can… That is my choice. That is my duty." Laarus paused for a moment, silently separating the change in subject. "And, I chose to come to you because I felt you might shine some light on the truth I've been shown. You could not. But, you've shown me another possible source. Until I learn more, I have nothing else to say on the matter. What I've told you is my only glimpse of the truth. It seems the rest of my vision has nothing to do with it. And revealing that will only serve to burden you and vex you. That is why I've said nothing of it. Not because of any lack of trust. All we can do now is search out the truth and not let hunches cloud our judgment." There was another long pause. "But I can say no more about the source of my visions. I have told you all I am able without betraying the trust of others."
"Very well then, I respect your wishes,” Bleys said, letting go of the subject with dispassionate ease. “As I learn additional information I may be able to offer further insight. And in the meantime I will think on this more, perhaps with time I may recall something I was unable to immediately."
Bleys focused on Laarus, holding his attention with his eyes as to emphasize the gravity of his words. "But if I may, a word of caution, Laarus. Do not martyr yourself for us. Such weight can wear heavily upon a mind. We are all grown men who willingly signed our charter, which means we are all bound to work together for weal or woe, do not betray the support you have available to you."
"I do not intend to martyr myself for anyone, and neither will I turn my back on them or betray them. When I felt Telémakhos could enlighten what I knew, I sought his support. When I felt you could, I requested yours. I understand the weight of what I carry. It is my burden. And I do not wish to cause another to bear its full load."
Bleys nodded. "Good, so then we are in agreement. When you have something further for me I will be anxious to lend what aid I may."
"I'm happy to hear I have your support," Laarus Raymer replied with a rare smile. They heard Falco return to camp and Bleys was reminded of something else he wanted to discuss with Laarus concerning Falco’s mysterious spellcasting.
Well, Tis' the Season...and all that. I assure you that he is fine. Or at least as fine as he can be (there is no helping some things, not without serious pscyhotropics )
If you are really jonesing, you can always bone up on the diary of Bleys the Aubergine.
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Last edited by Rastfar; 22nd December 2007 at 05:58 PM..
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