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!
She had trained since the age of 29- which is very young- in the arts of a proper Drow lady: swordsmanship, sorcery, dancing and poisons. She was only a fair spellcaster- no greater than any of her kind- and her mastery of poisons was not as great as it should have been, but she was one of the best dancers in her entire House. Her swordsmanship, too, was remarkable; Thizul “Riposte” Briz’Kellar herself had commented on Thalanaz’ skill with a blade.
Oh, but she was good.
In seconds Vosh was bleeding from two wounds, and even with their bard singing the pirates couldn’t seem to land a blow.
Delilah’s spells slid off the female dark elf like water off a wall of force, and she whirled away and dodged Vosh’s hooves and Urdor’s axe with ease.
Then it was another prick, this time on Urdor. He snarled and swung, but she swayed away from the blow. “She’s too quick!” yelled the Bleakist.
Delilah cursed silently as another spell fizzled off the deadly Drow. “Well played, Illspree!” she called, and the wild mage smiled wickedly.
Meanwhile, Thalanaz stabbed Urdor in the leg, Vosh in the side and Akakathan in the arm. Vosh managed to heal some of the worst of it, and he tried to interpose himself between the vicious blade of the dark elf and Delilah, but it stabbed her as well. Thalanaz danced away from all their countermeasures, all their spells and blows. They hadn’t even wounded her.
“Tsk,” Arvandor Illspree shook his head. “It appears you are not as worthy as I had thought.”
Delilah glanced angrily in his direction, but it’s a terrible mistake. She screamed as sudden pain ripped through her chest and out her back, and she fell, twitching and moaning, to bleed unconscious. Vosh swung his scimitar and finally dealt a scratch to the vicious elf, but it wasn’t anywhere near enough.
She’s going to kill us, he realized with dismay. He bit his lip. We can’t lay a finger on her, and she’s tearing us up- she’s too quick! How can we equalize the odds? Our spells can’t hurt her...
An idea pricked him even as she stabbed him in the flank. “Aargh!” Vosh cried in pain. “All right, that’s it!” He cast a spell, not at his enemy, but at the ground beneath her. And with his remarkable skills as a sculptor*, he quickly managed to grab her feet in shoes of stone before she realized what he was doing.
“This won’t help you,” the Drow sneered.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Vosh responded tartly. “I don’t think you’ll be quite as tricky when you can’t move.”
And he was right. Suddenly, even though she could still dodge and move her body a certain amount, she was no longer nearly as difficult to strike. In a few short moments the party had defeated her, and Arvandor Illspree looked much less smug.
“Impressive,” the wild mage admitted. “Very well; take the amulet. Perhaps you shall do something worthy of mention with it.” He tossed a disc tied to a leather cord to the group. “Now begone.”
“Gladly,” quipped Akakathan, and the group left triumphant.
Next Time: We’ll be looking in on some crazy crazy stuff, folks- the remnants of Farenth’s journals from this period, which were found a century later in the ruins of the Halls of Light after the Tarrasques were put down! Since they’re an integral part of this period’s goings-on, we’ll take a look...
*Vosh had several proficiency slots in Craft (sculpting) or whatever it was in 2e.
What follows is a partial transcriptions of an old journal alleged to be that of Farenth, the so-called Black Son of Bleak. These journals were found sometime in the early third century O.L.G. in the ruins on Forinthia, and were studied extensively by a team of scholars under the leadership of Thimbleton, a gnomish illusionist and scholar of note.
A note from the translator: This journal was in terrible shape when it was recovered and it has resisted all efforts to restore it to its original, undamaged state. Thus, there are sections missing, both in terms of areas of pages and possibly in terms of pages themselves. Also, in translating the language used almost half a millennium ago, one must realize that many subtleties have been lost and not all terms will translate directly. Many of Farenth’s more colorful curses, for instance, would have little impact in our modern world. Nonetheless, without further ado- Farenth’s Journal.
4/18/95 O.L.G.
A few days ago I hired on to a vessel called the Sea Hag. I have been directionless for far too long, ever since I found that damn book. I must become active again, lest I go mad from the voices I now hear.
We are planning on establishing a hideout on Yafall. How ironic... the captain of the Sea Hag is this little arrogant gnome named Malfourd. His crew includes a Forinthian pagan named Lyr. The bitch offends me, with her constant “I th.. text burnt away I’m clever” attitude. I would like to see her off the ship, at the least. Th burnt is also a young man named Gallagher who preaches the virtues of Bleak... if burnt he knew.
4/19/95
Amazing what can happen in such a short time! We saw and investiga burnt ship manned by skeletons and commanded (?) by a skeletal warrior of burnt It vanished in the end, leaving me to speculate that Lake Yafall may burnt gate within its waters. I wonder if we could find it, use it, perh burnt far away...? I wonder, too, why I have yet to offer my knowle burnt captain. I think I shall wait, but I can’t quite pin down why. Hm burnt I simply pay too much attention to the voices within.
4/25/95
We have begun the preliminary work necessary to establishing burnt operation. I suspect that we shall be kept quite busy for the nex... burnt or months. I have learned a lot about my companions. I like few burnt amount.
Note: From here on in the burn damage is more excessive, and shall be noted with an ellipse (...).
5/1/95
Began work on Gallagh... to... Damn it, I feel more akin to him every day! I do not...
5/3/95
That bitch Lyr... crew today, upbraiding me for she called m... te and the officers of the crew” and promise... out either someone to watch me or the...
Bitch.
5/4/95
...but I have become bitter. Damn that book...
Thing... rk to be done, and then our base will be des... high seas. What fun- loot, ravage and des... of innocents. Damn this life!
6/15...
Lots of work to be done.
The voices will not go away. I want to cry. Sometimes it makes me... I don’t know. I do know that I act as if I were already a servant of darkness as often as not. I know that bitterness and anger and hate fill my soul as if it were a cup of wine and I could not stop drinking from it.
The bitch Lyr and I continue to have what Captain Malfourd refers to as a “personality conflict.” I begin to dislike the smug little gnome, as well.
I see from my earlier entries that I have avoided, until now, talking about Dexter. He is a convert to the Light, oddly enough in this hive of Bleak worship and paganism. Apparently an old friend of many of the crew, he and Galligher seem to be constantly at each others’ throats. Perhaps they will kill each other.
I wish the voices would stop.
6/22/95
I found a very interesting thing this afternoon down by the lakeshore: a... that appears to be magical. I would show it to the others if not for the ... that I will NOT surrender it under any circumstances. It is MINE.
7/18/95
We have begun clearing the wilderness around the hideout. Started construct... a pagan temple for the bitch Lyr as well.
I hate them all. The voices have told me so much, and the more time passes the more I begin to surrender myself to them. I cannot help it. I am so tired of resisting them all the time. I am no longer the Farenth Whiteshield who once desired paladinhood so strongly, so long ago. No more am I in the Light, of the Light, for the Light...
Oh father, how far I fall.
8/1/95
The temple to Bleak is done. I went in to try to make friends with Gallagher- or at least an ally- but found myself scoffing, laughing at his would-be services. The fool knows nothing.
The voices have been urging me to take his temple over, perform the right services, glorify Bleak as he deserves. If it were only so easy... and yet, that is not what I really want. Is it? I am no longer very sure of what I want, or even of who I am...
8/28/95
I cried all night last night, for I surrendered to the voices at last. But now I understand so much better. I was simply holding back my destiny for all this time.
First Gallagher, Lyr and Dexter; the rest shall follow.
9/1/95
Last night I had a dream. Dexter...whom I have mentioned previously in pa... saw him somehow restoring me to the man I... it, but the dream had something of the ring o... much on it, for I have no hope of it coming tr... open my soul to him and I know that something w... ever happening, God! And every day that part of m... ot even resist it anymore.
9/2/95
Another dream of Dexter. I saw him in a great hand, and he was lifted to a... mouth and devoured. It was only then that I realized that the hand, the mout... were mine. As I consumed him body and soul I came to realize that I too was he... in the grip of a hand, this one even larger than mine (the distortion of t... physical form being very common in dreams), and then that the hand was connected to a form that glowed with such brilliance and light that I knew it must be Galador Himself. I quailed at His presence, and found myself propelled towards His mouth. He destroyed me, sending me to darkness.
I take this dream to be a sign of my damnation. I believe Galador sent it to me to tell me that all my old aspirations are not to be, that I am beyond redemption. I woke weeping bitterly; I fear that Bilbo, the cook (a halfling), may have heard me. He is a quiet and inoffensive creature, devoted (to a great extent) to that bitch Lyr. I do not want my weaknesses exposed; and yet I am loathe to act against such a malleable individual. Who knows; maybe someday I will have use of him.
9/17/95
The indignities some of us must undergo!
Paris (one of the crew, an archer of impressive skill) and I were on a routine patrol when I was caught in a snare. The archer chuckled and guffawed for a good twenty minutes before shooting the line and dumping me on the ground. I do not think that I like him very much, or that he likes me.
The snare was primitive, probably goblin or wild gnome. (If there are wild gnomes on Yafall; I think their culture might be confined wholly to Gorel.)
9/29/95
That bitch Lyr today put out a reward for apes. Imagine that. I asked her what she wanted them for and she said she was going to eat their hearts. Hmph! And they call Bleak worshipers barbaric.
10/21/95
We finally finished all the construction we’ve been working on for the last six months late last night. Now the officers are going on leave. Bastards... Oh well. I have a feeling... doing all I can to make friends wi... ion of the bitch.
10/23/95
Bilbo will not be subverted... ve enough time I think I can at least set hi... poison in the food delivered to Gallagher?
11/14/95
They’re gone again, and I’m coninu... ve also begun to fear the power of the ship’s ta... r name is Chanti; I recently saw her in comba... r her if I should move openly against Gallag... Bleak, and if he should suffer some sort of... ould be relatively easy to turn her to my service.
It was not so long ago that I... have changed.
11/20/95
How eagerly I await the return... ain and officers!
I believe that Bilbo is mine. I... persuaded him (mostly through fear... to poison Gallager. I told him that I had evidence that Gallagher is plotting against both Malfourd and Lyr. The halfling is a fool. However, if he can slip the poison in the wine (or wherever) than he is a fool that I am happy to be acquainted with.
11/29/95
Still waiting, and now word. Could something have gone wrong? Perhaps they are not to return...
I fear Bilbo may lose his nerve. He knows too much at this point. I would have to kill him.
WHAT AM I DOING???? WHAT HAVE I BECOME??? I must stop these things, tell Bilbo-
Tell him what?
11/30/95
Of course I let things remain as they were. What can I do now? It is too late. If I were to tell Bilbo not to do it he would be suspicious and my options would be discovery or murder. If I were discovered it would mean the death of me (after all, these people ARE pirates.) That is therefore not an option. Murder- or murder.
How have I come to this?
12/4/95
I do not know...
They still are not back. Perhaps they have encountered trouble?
12/18/95
Still no Sea Hag. Perhaps I will not have to choose.
1/2/96
I fear I am undone. The Sea Hag is no more, nor are Dexter, Gallagher, or Malfourd with us any longer. Apparently Dex and Malfourd attacked and killed Gallagher. Worse still; Lyr is the new captain of the ship, and I am almost sure that Bilbo either has or soon shall tell... y plan.
2/17/96
So. This is how my term aboard shi... ll you,” the bitch said, “for you acted to save yo... ot sail with a poisoner... You will be put off...
At least it will be Pesh.
3/11/96
Today I said farewell to my com... (But can I really blame anyone but myself?)
Next Time: This brings us to the point at which Farenth was put off the boat. What will follow will be his journal entries up to the current point in the story hour and a little beyond... the spark that will begin Farenth’s game.
DM’s Note: I’m actually transcribing this journal from a prop I made for a much later group of pcs, so all the ‘burnt’ stuff is actually burnt away on my copy. Alas, this was done on an old 286 almost a decade ago, and it’s crammed away in an attic hundreds of miles away, so there’s no hope at all of simply copy & pasting or anything- it’s peer past the browning of time and the blackening of artfully-applied flame to transcribe what I can, but it sure is interesting to throw a perspective in here that didn’t exist until years after the fact...
3/13/96 O.L.G.
Well. Isn’t Pesh a pleasant land? ...nough to make me sick. The people all try to make friends with you; positively smothering. All these gaudy scarves and veils, and of course all the famous Peshan perfumes... This whole island stinks of them. It smells like unwashed body odor mixed with vinegar and honey. Cloying and sticky; that is the best way to describe Pesh. And to think that I used to dream of visiting this hell hole!
Sigh. Except that it isn’t really that bad; I’m just bitter. I want to kill them all for doing this to me! Or am I passing the blame so I don’t have to own up to my mistakes? Damn it, my plan would have worked! If Dexter and Malfourd hadn’t slain Gallagher it never would have come out at all!
3/15/96
I’ve been staying at this inn called the Inn of the Traveler’s Spices since my arrival here at Pesh City last week. Today the local authorities came and asked me many uncomfortable questions. I fear that someone tipped them off to my little experience with piracy (with my dear shipmates from the Twikwakikikak). They left me with a stern warning that they will be watching me.
Dammit, I have to leave this city quickly, before anything happens to get me in trouble with the authorities. I do not want any problems. I just want to settle down for a while and collect my thoughts. I just want to have time to figure out who I am. I don’t know anymore.
3/19/96
Got a job today. I gut fish. It is a smelly, slimy, stinking hellpit of a job.
Damn them all anyway! If I ever run into any of them again I swear I will kill them!
No... no. Better to let bygones be bygones. Hard though that may be, holding a grudge will only worsen things. I just need some time alone somewhere isolated- maybe Aerisa, maybe Gorel again.
4/2/96
Why me?
The local constable came to see me while I... work... and questioned me at length concerning a robbery that ha... near here. I knew nothing of it, of course; still... out to haul me off. Thank the sea that I had a ...th the ship I gut fish on.) He seemed relative... played for a fool or used as a scapegoat.
4/15/96
I’ve turned the 55 gold piece... ka (worth about 130 gp at current rat... st have to work another five days, unti...
4/17/96
I left, but not as planned.
I am on board the ship Ancient ... ishing vessel I gut on. I just finished dumping the bodies over...
What have I done?
The constable came while we were at the docks, to arrest me for crimes I did not commit. I tried to talk to him, to make him listen, but he wouldn’t. Obviously, he died. So did my employer and all his crew (save myself, of course). It was mostly a family vessel: mom, dad, and four children, one of them too young to work. But still present.
And over the side.
I am a murderer of children, now. Children too young to fight back with any hope of success.
It all goes back to the piracy, doesn’t it? It’s all their fault.
I am without direction now. I do not know what to do. I (obviously) must flee Pesh, most of my possessions left behind. Of course, I now own a fishing vessel, but it will not take me far or fast. However, perhaps it will fetch me enough money to run out on. I think I will try to sell it when I reach Khelm.
4/29/96
My old ship sold remarkably quickly, but then I was asking an almost obscenely low amount. The question remains, what now? I am certain the Peshan authorities are seeking me now, even as I write. I must flee, but my options are limited in the extreme.
I have heard, however, that there is a land devoted to Bleak somewhere to the east. It is called Strogass. Perhaps I shall seek it. (As good of a course as any, I suppose.)
5/3/96
Today I set out for this mythical “Strogass” on board a ship I hired. The captain said that they will only take me part-way, but that they will then provide me with a boat to allow me to journey the rest of the way. I wonder that something devoted to darkness could survive so close to Forinthia, but I suppose I shall see soon enough.
7/15/96
I sighted land today. I have yet to reach it (it is evening) but anticipate that I shall by tomorrow noon.
7/16/96
Land ho! The first I’ve stepped on in over two months!
The first thing I saw as I approached was a great cliff face, running inland. I would say that it is almost two ... high at the tip that extends into the sea. It makes the waters around ... and dangerous, and so I had to travel somewhat north, to where the ... lower, in order to reach the shore in safety.
No signs of cities as of yet- but then, I’ve only been here an hour and a half.
7/17/96
Sailing north along the coast. I expect to see a city soon enough, assuming that this is in fact Strogass- or that it is inhabited.
7/18/96
No city yet, but I saw a warship today. They stopped me and asked me who I was and suchlike. I told them the truth, and they held me prisoner for a few hours, searched my ship, etc. Then they told me many things: where to find a city nearby, that this is indeed Strogass, and that if I am lying they will find me and kill me. To this effect they took a lock of my hair and my best shirt. Then they sent me on...
7/20/96
Glorious- the ...e of the jagged mouth of the Salmon River. ...
I think I will ... some more formal training.
7/21/96
Today I suddenly rea... absolutely no idea what became of that Book I found... was it rea... ago? Almost two and a half... I didn’t sell it or destroy it, and ...have it. I guess that for a long time I just tried not to think about it, before I came to accept myself in darkness.
I sought out a temple, but much to my chagrin they did not know the proper rituals any more than Gallagher did! I think that it is I who have much to teach them, not the other way around.
7/24/96
I went to that temple again today to offer them my superior knowledge. They laughed at me until I killed their high priest. I do not quite know how it happened- anger welled up in me and he fell dead at my feet. I suppose it must have been the power of the darkness within me- TRUE darkness.
After savoring the pleasures the temple had to offer and beginning to teach my new underlings the true way of things, I spent a few hours in repose and meditation. I realized that I have much to thank my old shipmates for, because without them I would never have heard of this wonderfully dark place. They were headed here when they dropped me off. I wonder what happened to them? I must find out.
They hate runs strong in me for them, all of them. Perhaps...
A plan begins to form.
Chanti, especially, would be easy to use. After all, she is a Bleak worshipper whose master was slain by two of ...emies. I wonder if I could set them against one another? Chanti was ...e of the Twikwakikikak at the time of my ejection. She must have a ... of pull with Lyr. Hmmm....
7/25/96 O.L.G.
To pull it off I need to:
--Find the Twikwakikikak
--Find Dexter and Malfourd
--Lure Chanti and Lyr into attacking Dexter and Malfourd
--Bait a trap for Dexter and Malfourd
If they reached Strogass I should be able to find the ship with minimal effort, as long as they were in a major port. I must at least find their tracks.
I must plan.
7/29/96
I began sending my new l... today. One of my underpriests knows a wizard of some ... us with divinations. He must travel about a ...lly this wizard will respond to my pol... end of next month. Regardless, I’ve oth...exter and Malfourd. My ecclesiastical com...ikak (again assuming it ever made it to po...
I need more informa...re I can plan anything to any real extent.
8/1/96
I reread all the entries I have made in here since I joined the Sea Had so long ago this morning and the extent to which I have sunken sickens me. I was once so full of virtue that I was nearly a paladin. Now I am a twisted mockery of my former self, a mockery of all that I aspired to be. The Book. I do not think that anything I do can save me now and so I say: Cast it to the sea and let it swallow me up. Let me be the way I am. I am beyond redemption, a murderer of children, a worshiper of Bleak, an agent of darkness, vengeful, vindictive, evil, unrepentant.
Except that I DO feel remorse!
I wish I had a way to expunge my sins, but they stain me too deeply on my soul. I am forever lost.
8/19/96
The wizard Besphem attends me now. ...te impressive, but he had no choice but to aid me; after all, who on Str... would defy the Church of Bleak?
Ha.
I wish I could still laugh.
Besphem said that he has a crystal ball, and that with the help of some of Dexter or Malfourd’s personal effects he can scry them out. Good, I have a few of Dexter’s things, still- not much, but a few things he brought on board with him that remained when he and Malfourd fled. With these I will sow the seeds of his destruction- his and Lyr’s and M... Especially Lyr’s.
8/20/96
Besphem left today to fetch hi... his tower. I wonder if I can use him to aid me in other ways as well...
8/30/96
Well well...
Apparently my old mates reached Bratamond (a city south and east) over two months ago and are questing for some sort of device to protect them from Dexter’s psionic powers. They already seek him! Better still! Now I have dispatched word to Bratamond that they are to be aided but subtly delayed until I am ready. I lied to the Archpriest of the province that Bratamond lies in, saying that I am baiting a trap (true) to aid them in destroying Dexter (false).
9/7/96
I dreamed of Dexter again last night. He look... He was everything I wanted to be. He was with ...nd spoke w.....of God. And I looked like him, and was everthi.....anted to ... opposition to all that is good.
I have begun to wonde... are se... some entity- whether Bleak or a wizard, or... Boo,, I d.....w.
Next Time: That's as far as I can go with Farenth's Journal without spoilers, so we'll be gettin' back to Dexter and co.....
Excellent filler... that poor bastard. He's gone off his rocker, for sure.
__________________ Robert Blezard I write; therefore, I am!
D&D v.3.5, d20 Modern, OSRIC, Pathfinder, True20... OGL Forever! Walk the Road
Avatar by Sialia
Just as an aside, I was just thinking that, when Farenth's Game climaxes, I'll probably switch to a different set of characters or a different period- that was a pretty campaign-shaking climax, and it makes a good ending for the first major cycle of Cydra. Maybe time for a new thread, and put this one away for a while...? We'll see.
11 a.m, 9/9/96, on the first level of the Temple of Elemental Evil
Our heroes burst into the room, taking yet another set of guards by surprise. How could these dwellers in this evil place be so disorganized? How could they not know by now that they were being attacked systematically? How could our heroes keep succeeding in brutal frontal assaults?
Lady Charlotte’s blade sang as it deflected off the lead guard’s shield, but Malford tumbled in and thrust his shortsword into the guard’s kidneys from behind. “Adventurers!” one of the other bad guys cried, but then he gave a last gurgling noise as Dexter’s staff of combat crushed his head.
The bodies lay in puddles of steaming blood in a few short minutes, and our heroes congratulated themselves again. Malford was already searching the corpses. “Look at this,” he called, snapping the string of an amulet than one of the guards had been wearing and holding it up. “Another different symbol.”
The group crowded around to observe. Indeed, this time the symbol was a weird diamond-shaped pendant in red.
“I think they must have various factions,” reasoned Dexter. “We’ve found three different symbols so far, right? And there are definitely multiple temples down here- we’ve seen pretty much elementalist themes. What if they don’t really like each other?”
“Then we kill them all,” Lochenvare said with a toothy grin.
“That would explain why they don’t seem to know we’re slaughtering them,” Malford mused.
“Well, my friends,” said Lady Charlotte, “it seems to me that instead of questioning our fortunes, we should continue smiting the villains in this evil place.”
Lochenvare gave an unpleasant laugh. “For once, the woman and I are on the same page.” Lady Keen gave him a frown for his trouble, but he just leered at her.
***
2:15 p.m.
Several more groups of guards, human and goblin and bugbear, have fallen to the band of heroes by the time it happened.
Malford nodded after listening to the door before the party. “People talking in there,” he whispered, giving Lochenvare the nod.
With a grin, the big burly fighter threw himself into the door. It smashed to splinters as he barreled through, screaming wildly, and hewing about him. Blood sprayed, the smell of burning flesh immediately sprang into the air as Malford’s burning hands took out a pair of the axe-wielding guards, the sounds of weapons scraping out of their sheathes was met with the wet thump of Dexter’s staff braining the villains.
But though the initial onslaught dropped half the guards, the others rallied, forming a line around their leader, who pulled out an axe lovingly sharpened to a razor’s edge and commenced giving a spirited reply to the party. He leapt forward, hacking brutally, and brushed Charlotte aside like a fly. While the other heroes dealt with the remaining lackeys, Lochenvare roared his approval of the leader and met him, blade against blade. The two warriors slashed and hewed at each other, until, with a single decisive blow, the axe-wielding man sheered off Lochenvare’s foot at the ankle! With a cry, he fell bleeding and unconscious.
“No! Lochenvare!” screamed Malford, and rushed to his side to pour a potion of healing down his throat, saving the fighter’s life. Lady Charlotte was dragging herself up, trying to clear her head. One of the other guards tried to take advantage of the moment and spear her, but Galador’s righteous fury filled her and she stabbed him in the lung. That was enough for him; he collapsed, trying to breathe air but finding only blood in his lungs.
Meanwhile, Dexter rose up against the grinning axeman, spinning his staff and landing a solid blow on the man’s thigh. He staggered, but swung again- the single blow in all of Cydra’s history to have the most repercussions. If Dexter hadn’t jerked back at the last moment, it would have cut his head in two. Blood and tissue sprayed everywhere, and with a horrible scream of agony, Dexter fell against the wall, clutching his face.
“My eyes!” he screamed.
Malford leapt forward, driving his sword through the axe-wielder’s groin. The human groaned and his axe fell to the ground with a clang as his lifeless body slipped down into an almost fetal position.
“My eyes!” howled Dexter. “I can’t see!! My eyes!!” He staggered around drunkenly, his hands clutched to his face. Blood poured from a terrible wound all across the front of his face. “My eyes!” he shrieked again.
“They’re over here,” groaned Lochenvare, pointing at the floor a few feet away. “Right next to my foot.”
__________________ Robert Blezard I write; therefore, I am!
D&D v.3.5, d20 Modern, OSRIC, Pathfinder, True20... OGL Forever! Walk the Road
Avatar by Sialia
What could change a man more than being blinded? And not easily, either- blinded with an axe across the face. Ouch!
Take a kid- maybe seventeen years old. He’s got pimples, he’s had no luck with girls, never even had a whore- he’s only had one real friend that lasted, who is with him still; he’s given his soul to Bleak, but he has now pledged himself to Galador. He speaks with the Voice of God, sometimes; and yet-
Yet he’s just a kid, confused, full of raging hormones, unsure of who he is or what he wants to do with his life. He’s never even really thought about it.
Oh, but there’s more, isn’t there? He isn’t just a kid, not really. He’s a freak. He can touch other minds, he can read thoughts and talk in your head; and because of that he is a pariah. What kid doesn’t have secret thoughts, after all? And what kid would want those secret thoughts plucked from his mind? So Dexter never had friends, oh no, not until Malford.
As he lies in his bedroll convalescing, Dexter realizes that he’s going to have to do a lot of thinking in the next few days to figure out what the hell he’s doing next. Because, Son of Galador or not, now he’s living in eternal darkness.
***
Think of it. What could affect a culture more profoundly than someone who speaks with the undeniable Voice of God? Someone who clearly represents the divine, yet is separate- oh, how very separate- from the established church. Perhaps even someone who, occasionally, will battle with the established church, and will win with God’s aid.
But who would notice, if that Voice nor preached nor heckled? What difference could such a Voice make, always on the road, always running from hidden dungeon to remote wilderness to citadel of darkness?
And what if then, one day, after months of rumor spreading about him like wildfire, that person began to speak to the crowds?
Dexter’s foot was now on the path.
***
9/12/96 O.L.G., on Dorhaus
The group traveled again, leaving the foul Temple of Elemental Evil behind, at least for the nonce. Dexter rode behind Malford, virtually helpless. The stump of Lochenvare’s leg had been kept clean and tightly wound in cloth; the doughty warrior had been leaning on a stick and had spent considerable time carving a wooden foot to serve him for the time being. It hurt like blazes, but he could limp along with it, and his pride would not permit him to acknowledge the depths of his pain.
After two days the group was beset by bandits along the way, but repelled them fiercely. Lochenvare was especially savage with them; he had a lot of anger to work out right then. Dexter groped at them blindly with his staff, wishing that he could use his mental powers to engage them but not wanting to disturb his priestly training.* Malford shouted aid to him, but it was clear that Dexter had to spend some time learning to fight blind.
Looking over the bodies with a detect magic, Malford grunted. “There are a couple of items worth keeping,” he announced, and pulled out a magical backpack and some dust. He kept the backpack of infinite food after identifying it; the dust of sleep went to Lochenvare.
Several days later they were attacked again on the road, but this time by weird flying creatures that looked like a cross between a vicious deer and a bird, with razor-sharp, steel-strong antlers and, most disturbingly, the shadow of a man. The battle, again, was brutal, and this time Malford was gored almost to death; but Lochenvare’s skill with blades stood the group well, and soon both of the weird creatures were dead and Malford, though bleeding freely from his chest and side, was still standing.
***
9/17/96 O.L.G., Knurly, Dorhaus
The small town of Knurly proved fortuitous. Not only did Lochenvare get a more expertly crafted prosthetic, the high priest, Dillian, proved most receptive to Dexter once he used the Voice. After a discussion of their current goals, the party decided to continue following Malford’s plan: a journey to the city of Fuzia, the capitol of Thule, to attempt to gain an audience with the King. The King of Thule had no heir, and Malford and Dexter had once obtained a certain magical pair of coconuts...
High Priest Dillian gladly obtained a boat that would take the group to Fuzia, and provided them all with kocho, big vicious riding birds.
“We leave in the morning,” announced Dexter.
That evening, Lady Charlotte went to Dillian’s church to aid the poor and the beggars. She used her abilities to heal a few of the wounds and one of the diseases of the ragged folk there. Then she bumped into somebody else, and while she was talking to him, Dexter and Malford showed up.
“Rajah!” Malford exclaimed.
Next Time: Rajah joins the good guys, our heroes have an audience with the king, and the coconuts come into play!
*2e dual class rules... Dex was now a 3rd-level cleric, and needed to attain 6th level before he could use his psion abilities again without forfeiting xp.
There are two things we should note, at this point, about Dexter. The first is a short discussion of how he intends to cope without eyes. The second is a word on miserliness.
Among his psionic abilities, he could establish a sight link with another creature. He could, in other words, see through another’s eyes psychically, though blind himself; and though it might be disorienting, it would at least give him an idea of what he was facing and the terrain around him.
But he couldn’t use his psionics. (Remember, this is in 2nd edition.) While he was focused on developing his clerical powers, he had to forsake all of his previously gained psionic ability, for to rely on it would be to stymie the learning and growth of his new priestly abilities.
This terrible trial, the most terrible trial yet laid upon him, drove Dexter nearly to despair. But he accepted it. It was his God’s will; it had to be. He would live in the darkness even as he walked in the Light. Dexter acquiesced. He would cope. He would find a way to function without his eyes. He would develop his other senses, so that he could hear the shape of a room, so that he could smell the presence of monsters, so that he could feel the movements of the air and plot out the movements around him. He would find other ways, too; once he grew to a sufficient height of clerical power he would be able to use his sight linking powers again.
Malford had an idea too. Even then the gnome was brilliant, a genius mind that burned hot with ideas and ambition. He had a million ideas, was already preparing to research several spells of his own devising. And one of his ideas was to try to craft a homunculus for Dexter, one that would help guide him. It was a gamble- Malford did not know of the technique he had come up with having been tried- but it was worth a try. All it would cost them if it failed was some time and money.
Interestingly, Dexter seemed reluctant to apply the money.
It was a pattern, not yet noted even by the sharp-witted Malford. Dexter would now spend only the minimum amount on- well, anything. A room for the night? A cheap inn, the cheapest private room he could find, with a stingy dinner and only one or two cheap drinks. He seemed to resent spending even the meagerest coin, scowling when forced to pay a bridge toll of 2 coppers. He would even avoid buying things if he couldn’t haggle the price down sufficiently.
And now, the homunculus. It might cost as much as a couple thousand gold pieces, but to Malford it seemed a reasonable cost for a pair of eyes that Dexter could see through. But Dexter grumped and muttered, agreeing to pay for the cost, but unhappily.
All of this, of course, was the influence of the coins.
Sitting in a bag tied firmly at the bottom of Dexter’s backpack, the Sixty-six Red Coins of Greed exerted their pressure on the young man. It was a subconscious influence; Dexter certainly didn’t realize it himself, not on a conscious level, nor did any of his friends and companions at that point. The coins kneaded him, they swayed him gently as if in a dance with him as they warped his behavior.
9/18/96 O.L.G., 10 p.m., in the city of Fuzia, capitol of the Kingdom of Thule, Dorhaus
Rajah’s eyes flickered open. He felt strange, languid, weak; like he hadn’t eaten or drank in months, yet had not suffered for it. Now, though, he was ravenous- and could barely move. He groaned.
“He’s awake,” came a voice, and Rajah glanced in its direction. There was an acolyte of Galador, dressed in clean white raiment, hurrying towards him.
“Water,” croaked Rajah. Where am I? he thought, disoriented. The last thing he remembered was... the dryad? He had spent the night with her... “What happened?” he gasped, as the lad brought him a clay cup of water. Gratefully, Rajah took it and drank deeply, draining it. He was dizzy...
“Someone found you in a fairy circle,” the young priest explained. “Rest easy. You’ll need a night to recover- we’ve seen these things before. Here, have some food.” The acolyte offered a tray of biscuits, fruit and cheese to Rajah.
“Where am I?” Rajah started devouring biscuits immediately.
“You are in Fuzia.”
“Fuzia... this was my destination!”
“You were waylaid by the fae folk?”
“I... don’t remember what happened.” Rajah was growing very tired, very rapidly. He lay back. “I think I need to sleep.”
“Of course. You will be recovered soon.”
But Rajah was already asleep.
***
9/19/96 O.L.G., 11 a.m.
It was satisfying work, helping the beggars and the destitute. Charlotte smiled to herself. She had just spent all morning helping to distribute some food and meager aid to the poor. Her next stop was back at the church, where she reported her deeds and tithed. Rajah, by this point, was prowling about, eager to get his strength back and already much of the way there. He overheard part of Lady Charlotte’s conversation, and the name ‘Dexter’ floated to his ear. After that he watched and waited until Charlotte was leaving, and intercepted her at the edge of the temple’s nave, where he could speak to her without being overheard. He told her he was an old friend of Dexter’s and Malford’s- correctly guessing that the two would still be together- and once he told her his name (which she had heard Dexter and Malford relate in their stories of their earlier adventures), she scanned him for evil and then took him to them.
“Rajah!” exclaimed Malford. Lochenvare looked at the man who would become known as the Tiger Prince warily. Dexter grinned and turned his head. He wore a blindfold, covering the terrible gash that had replaced his eyes and the upper part of his nose.
The old friends embraced and told their tales, and Rajah was introduced to the other members of the party. His thoughts turned briefly to Lyr and her crew; he wondered how they were.
“I have an audience with the King tomorrow,” Malford told Rajah proudly. “He doesn’t have an heir, and I have these coconuts from this magical tree of fertility in the Parrot Isles... heh heh heh. I bet I can brew up a potion that will give him an heir, and maybe I can get a position at court as his wizard or something!” The gnome was plainly very excited by the prospects. He went on to say that “a king’s gratitude is more wealth than ten thousand gold pieces,” and Dexter smiled wanly. The thought crossed his mind that his sixty-six coins were probably worth more still.
***
9/20/96 O.L.G., 1 p.m.
King Verrion was very interested in Malford’s proposal. He was getting old; as a warrior king, he knew that there were inherent dangers in his position. He needed an heir.
“If your potions work,” he declared, “I will reward you greatly.”
So Malford set to work. Over the few weeks, he clarified, rarified, distilled, reduced, combined, congealed, baked, powdered, scraped and reliquified until he had accomplished his goal: two potions of fertility, that hopefully would overcome whatever >ahem< issues there were that were preventing the King and Queen from producing an heir.
Six weeks later, Malford was summoned to a private audience with King Verrion and Queen Ahlissa. They were sure by now; she was pregnant. It had worked. And King Verrion’s court mage (damn, thought Malford, he’s already got one) had indicated through his divinations that it would be a boy.
“In thanks,” the King told Malford, “I am going to award you the Barony of Var.”
And Malford was speechless.
***
The Barony of Var was a small area, mostly composed of the plains and valley in the middle northern reaches of the Kingdom of Thule. It butted up against the Ketzian Mountains. The largest town, and capitol, was the city of Var. Malford briefly considered re-naming it after himself, but wisely decided against it.
In their first couple of months in Var, the new Baron and his companions began setting up shop in the old, decrepit castle that the last Baron (however long ago) had used. It needed repairs, for which Malford- sorry, Baron Malford- would need funding.
The adventurers made a foray into the Ketzian Mountains, where they fought and killed a foul, super-quick faerie (Malford defeated it with a color spray). They also met some ugly blue-skinned creatures that called themselves xvarts. “These are our mountains!” the little leader of the blue things squeaked. “And by ours, I mean the Fae Folk! Believe me, you don’t want to be on bad terms with the Elf-King of Ketzia!” After a considerable show of force by the xvarts, our heroes retreated, returning to Var, with Malford demanding loudly that the xvarts send this elf-king to speak to him.
By this time it was two months into the new year. And it was only four days after they retreated to Var that the Elf-King arrived.
Next Time: The Elf-King of Ketzia! Is the new Baron of Var in big trouble? Will all be peaceful? Is there a problem in Faerieland? Stay tuned and find out!
I'm really get a kick out this thread and Great Conflicts. They complement each other.
Cheers!
KF72
__________________ Robert Blezard I write; therefore, I am!
D&D v.3.5, d20 Modern, OSRIC, Pathfinder, True20... OGL Forever! Walk the Road
Avatar by Sialia
I'm really get a kick out this thread and Great Conflicts. They complement each other.
Cheers!
KF72
Thanks!
Pretty much the whole campaign ties together in one way or another. Early on you have Dexter and Malford, and the whole idea of Law vs. Chaos really started at the very beginning (with Galador being very Lawful and a little Good). You get Na'Rat even at this early stage, too. Later, when I moved to Davis and started a new group, you have the introduction of Neutrality as a distinct force in Tirchond. (Neutrality's finest moment yet, by the way, was when a true neutral pc drew the Balance card from a deck of many things and chose to be judged rather than to change alignment. He had several games of rigorous moral and ethical tests, which he passed with flying colors.) Then it ties in to Dexter and Malford again around game 200 (heh heh), and somewhere towards the end of that sequence you get the introduction of the Clockwork Horrors, who tie in to Horbin and Clambake and stuff in my old story hour. In between you have the group that went from calling itself the Swords of Assistance to the Fine Bitches because almost all the surviving pcs were female (including Sheva, Sybele, Angelfire and some others), which again tied in to the Law-Chaos conflict and into the Neutrality aspect of Tirchond. Then you get to the Agents of Chaos storyline, which ties Horbin to the other group, and eventually to Malford again.
Yeah- you'll see pcs (and some npcs) across multiple story hours. The relationships between the various characters sometimes have considerable complexity beneath the surface.
Here is a list of the games, in case anyone's interested.
The Elf-King of Ketzia arrived as dusk was beginning to blink its eyes across the horizon. The sky had turned that strange color neither grey nor blue, with the western clouds glowing golden as evening’s setting rays caught them. He rode in on a strange steed neither exactly garen nor exactly elk, but some dangerous-looking combination of both. He was accompanied by a train of elves, perhaps a dozen in number. No one saw them before they emerged from around the curve of the road on the Baron’s Road and became visible from the castle.
Malford’s men, of course, saw to the mount and the comforts of the visiting elves without delay. They didn’t know who they were, but a powerful veil of enchantment and illusion seemed to spring from them; and they were quite clearly Ketzisti elves, the strange elves of Ketzia, the folk of the Faerie-Land. The Baron was summoned, and upon realizing that this was the Elf-King whom he had demanded, Malford led him to a sitting room.
Already Malford’s ambitions were stirring. He was a Baron, come out of nothing; was that enough for him? Not by half. He wanted more- bigger lands, more gold, more powerful magic. He had that thirst for life that only adventurers have; and so he determined that this meeting, however ill-begun via the xvarts, would give him something useful. Some edge... something.
Much more, in fact, than he expected.
The Elf-King- who never gave his name- admitted that the mountains weren’t really his, but stated that the particular section the xvarts lived in was probably theirs by right. He didn’t seem overly concerned at the losses the party inflicted on the xvarts; he was a little put out, but he seemed willing to be eminently reasonable about it. A good thing, too, since everyone knew what happened when the fey folk were angry: your milk would curdle, your food would spoil, animals would hate you, and so forth. So when Malford gratefully offered to do a favor for the Elf-King in return for his concessions on the mountains and xvarts, the Elf-King immediately affirmed that there was indeed something he needed help with.
“Uldinor,” he said, his voice dripping hate.
“Who is Uldinor?” asked Malford, cocking an eyebrow.
“A summoner,” the Elf-King replied.* “He has the secrets of the circles that allow him to summon and command fey folk, and that protect him from fey! He can control us, and we are powerless against him!” His fists were clenched, and his lips curled in a snarl. “Even I dare not go against him; he has many of my folk guarding him against their will... I would not harm them, if I can avoid it.”
“Sounds tricky,” commented Lochenvare.
“Why is he doing this? What does he have to gain? From what I’ve heard of Faerieland, it seems like he could just get lost in it pretty easily,” Malford remarked.
The Elf-King winced. “He could, but in the meantime many fairies would die. Why he’s doing this...” He stopped for a long moment, looking down. Then, haltingly, the Elf-King continued, “One of his circles... one of the material components... is pixie wings.”
“We’ll do it,” Dexter said. “We’ll help you.”
2/10/70 O.L.G., 2 p.m., Ketzia
Picture meadows of thousands of shades of grass, blooming with early flowers- splashes of yellow and white and blue on a green canvas. Throw a few clouds in the sky, puffy like cotton balls. The sky was a deep blue, the color of that one beautiful child’s eyes. Cheery little shrubs popped up happy and healthy on every ridge and roll. Animals flitted about- squirrels raced and mice scampered and cats played with their prey and snails slowly trekked along and butterflies spread their colors like rainbows in the sky. There were stranger things too- ‘bunnycorns,’ as the party dubbed them, were rabbits with unicorn horns; the group saw several families of them, including adorable little babies.
Their travel was, as the Elf-King had assured them it would be, unimpeded by the normal detrimental effects of Faerie. The sun advanced across the sky, leaving the group day and night which might otherwise have blended into perpetual twilight; the weather was fair, when it might have grown wroth with them out of whimsy; no fiendish trees barred their path, nor riddled doors their way, nor troll-haunted bridge their road. It seemed that the Elf-King’s good will meant quite a bit- at least, if one trusted all the stories and tales about Faerie.
Which Malford, at the least, did. Rajah had never heard those tales, having been brought up in the jungles of Gorel by tigers. But he listened as Dexter and Malford excitedly told the stories. So did Lady Charlotte, but her attitude was more parochial. She disapproved of faerie tales and such as pagan artifices to cover the influence of Bleak, and so she noted Dexter’s telling of the tales with a reluctant sense of dismay. After all, Charlotte had heard Dexter speak in the Voice of God... could she doubt him now? Well, clearly, the answer was yes, because she did... but... It was very confusing. She filed the faerie tales away for another day.
The group found Uldinor easily. It was almost as if the land itself led them to him. Perhaps it did. There was a house, and it was human-sized; and it was clearly out of place. The party had seen nothing like it yet.
They drew off a short distance to discuss strategy.
“We don’t want to hurt any faeries if we can avoid it,” Malford said, and Dexter instantly agreed.
“It may not be possible to avoid hurting some of them,” Rajah stated. “If they get in our way, we have to remove them for their own good. Some of them may not be removable unless we hurt them. Or even kill them.” He tossed his mane of hair. His muscles rippled as he stretched his arms and legs, loosening up for fighting.
“Be that as it may, we should minimize it as much as possible,” Malford insisted.
“Instead of fighting our way through there,” Rajah suggested, “we might be better off just running through each room until we find this summoner guy.”
The group greeted this with silence for a moment, then Malford giggled. “I can just see it. We’ll pick up a train of faeries!” He started to laugh hysterically, and the others joined him.
When the laughter subsided, Dexter said, “Let’s do it, then.”
And they did. The group clustered around the entrance; then Rajah threw open the door and they all sprang inside. Malford scrambled to the next door and threw it open before the fey could respond to him, but then, anguished looks on their faces, the enslaved fairies threw themselves at our heroes. Rajah knocked a sprite back and Dexter smacked a brownie with his staff of combat. Then the party was through into the next room, and Lady Charlotte was already cutting down the sprite blocking the exit. Then through, while Malford whirled and blanketed the closest faeries in a color spray.
The next door led to Uldinor.
The man was standing, grinning, in the center of a circle, but the grin vanished instantly when he realized that his attackers weren’t fae. “Wait!” he cried, “don’t-“
Lady Charlotte didn’t even pause long enough to detect evil. She charged, followed by Rajah, who tore at the summoner like a tiger, screaming and growling. Malford moved in and landed a backstab, and Dexter’s staff of combat dealt a telling blow. In moments it was over, and though the nixies and sprites had begun reluctantly attacking the party in a half-hearted effort to defend their master, the instant Uldinor dropped the faeries all stopped.
The nearest nixie sighed, a great sigh of relief.
A brownie groaned, “At last...!”
And our heroes grinned. A job well done.
Next Time: Our heroes have dinner with King Verrion of Thule!
*Summoners are important to this part of the story, or I probably never would have even mentioned them. A summoner was a master of circle magic, based on the summoner class from Paladium. I don’t recall there ever being a pc summoner back when I used them, at least not in Cydra. Anyhow, summoners used circle magic, that is, they inscribed circles and invoked their magic. There were three types of circles- summoning circles, circles of protection and circles of power. A summoner could invoke so many circles per week (I think?- don’t believe I still have the rules for all that).
2/25/97 O.L.G., 7 p.m., in the dining hall of the Royal Castle in Fuzia, Thule
Having left his majordomo, Marcus, in charge of things at home, Baron Malford and Prince Rajah had gone to Fuzia, several hundred miles away. Now they sat to dinner with the King of Thule. As one of the King’s men, Malford felt obligated to relate to him the recent events involving Ketzia. It was a neighboring state, after all, and he had made diplomatic contact- sort of- with the Elf-King. King Verrion II of Thule, Lord of Lake Bellurnus, Protector of the Ketzian Mountains, Thane over the Bendrock, Guardian of the Western Reaches, etc., was most pleased to hear of it. He thought that Malford might make a wonderful addition to the aristocracy indeed.
“We’ve never had much luck with the Ketzians,” Verrion confessed. “Please, feel free to build this relationship up. Everyone knows that the Ketzians could be either fantastic allies or deadly enemies. And if you could persuade him to send envoys, or even to meet with me personally... well, I would be honored to receive any such gestures.”
Not only would friendship with the Ketzians help in its own right, it would also aid the Kingdom of Thule in its diplomacy with the Duchy of Moire and the state called only Morraine, in the north. These were two nations of mixed blood human/elves. Generally referred to as ‘half-elves,’ the inhabitants of Moire and Morraine were usually the product not of mixing elf with human, but of mixing mixed bloods among the Moirans and Morrainians. The elven blood in these folk was largely Ketzisti; they connected with the Ketzians like no other people possibly could. Like the Ketzisti, they preferred an attitude of careful neutrality towards the big polarization of Dorhaus.
Picture Dorhaus for a minute. Split along its north-south axis by the Bendrock Mountains, and along its east-west axis by the Ketzian Mountains (on the west) and the Swamp of Lithos (to the east).
In the west, south of the Ketzian Mountains, was the Kingdom of Thule, of which the Barony of Var was a vassalage. North of the Ketzian Mountains, of course, was Ketzia itself- which remains even today, and persevered through even the worst of Fuligin’s ravages. The northern extent of Ketzia ended, at that time, where the Bendrocks began curving gently west towards the coast. Further north still were Moire and Morraine, with forests and smaller ranges of mountains on their borders.
The southern portion of the eastern part of the continent, below the Swamp of Lithos, was controlled by Imperial Wotan. This included several powerful semi-independent tributaries, such as the Barony of Goldstone, the Prince’s Hold, the County of Aara and the Duchy of Sallax. But the current Emperor of Wotan- Tovan IV, called Kinslayer but never in his presence and never very loudly- held everything together with an iron-tight fist. Imperial Wotan and the Kingdom of Thule were the two largest and strongest states on Dorhaus; they were natural rivals, though separated by the Bendrocks except at their southernmost extent, where a pair of forts were built at either end of the Iron Wall long ago to guard the passage against all but the most determined armies. The interminable warfare between the two enemy states was thus limited to clashes in and around the Iron Wall or dangerous forays through the formidable chain of mountains.
North of the Swamp of Lithos, southeast of Moire and Morraine, was a smaller kingdom called Chorania. Being so close to Imperial Wotan, it could not escape becoming a satellite. North of it was a state known as Bemvia, and it and Chorania were longstanding foes. With Imperial Wotan behind Chorania- after all, the Emperor would love to annex the entire continent if he could manage it- the only way Bemvia could hold out was to become a fierce ally of Thule’s.
One of the problems in this arrangement was that it was very difficult for Thule to send reinforcements to Bemvia. They either had to sail through the rough waters off the north of Dorhaus, which were notoriously dangerous, especially in the spring, or they had to go through a long mountain journey, during which time they were vulnerable to ambush. There was a much easier route- going through territory that was Ketzian. If Malford could somehow open that route... The implications were fantastic.
So were the implications of Rajah. The Tiger Prince, King Verrion thought. It was not inconceivable that there could one day be a friend on the throne of Wotan. Perhaps it was unlikely; but it was at least possible.
King Verrion II of Thule grinned to himself. It was a good time to be King. Yes indeed.
Originally a group of scoundrels formed a pirate crew. Several of them were followers of Bleak, including Chanticller, the ship’s tail, and Galiger, a cleric of Bleak who spent his every moment praising the darkness and opposing the Light of Galador, Bleak’s arch-nemesis and the (more or less) monotheistic deity of the world. (Other gods are out there, but Galadorianism dominates the known world and persecutes everything else, claiming that it is worship of Bleak wrapped in deceptive clothes.) Most of the rest of the pirate crew was, if not evil, at least anti-Galadorian. Dexter, a young, impressionable lad, was a ripe target for conversion to the worship of Bleak, and in a deadly battle he gave his soul to Bleak in return for victory. But then Dexter, who had used his mental powers to murder a cleric of Galador, was captured and tortured by the Inquisition. Forced to convert or die, the lad naturally converted to follow the Light. He was branded and released, and returned to the crew a humbled and changed young man.
Galiger was furious that Dexter had recanted his worship of Bleak, and especially furious that he would not cast Galador aside in turn, but Dexter was afraid that the Inquisition would know and he would not suffer himself into their hands again. Galiger constantly baited and taunted Dexter, until finally Dexter attacked him and psionically mindwiped him, reducing his mental faculties significantly. Only the intervention of Malford, captain of the pirates, stopped the fight from turning lethal; Malford magically rendered them both unconscious, and realizing that there was no way the two could coexist peacefully, he carried Dexter away. He felt responsible for the lad, and he felt that Galiger would be satisfied with leadership of the pirate ship. But Galiger, enraged, killed himself in an oil-bearing assault on a church of Galador that led to an appalling fire.
Thus Dexter and Malford fled the ship. The other pirates, though some clamored for revenge, sailed far away to Strogass, a continent rumored to exist where Bleak ruled supreme. Along the way, the new pirate captain, Lyr, discovered that one of the crew members, a man named Farenth, had attempted to intimidate the cook into poisoning her. When confronted, Farenth lied smoothly and claimed that he had been acting in what he felt was the ship’s best interest. After an intense interrogation, Lyr decided to let him live, but to put him off the ship at the next harbor, Pesh.
Farenth was also a Bleakist; though information on his background is sparse, it is clear that he once aspired to paladinhood. And he fell, far and farthest, to the bottom of the blackest pit there is. Farenth’s name lives in infamy, even hundreds of years later, and no doubt will continue to live on for eons. For he was the antithesis of Dexter.
Meanwhile Dexter explored his faith, and tentatively moved towards good and lawful alignment. And when he took up the raiment of a cleric, he discovered that he could speak in the Voice of God. This surprised Dexter as much as it surprised anyone, and he almost immediately began running afoul of the established church. Yet as individual priests heard him speak in the Voice, they knew that Galador spoke through him. His previous reputation as a deceiver worked strongly against him, though. Malford and Dexter had gathered a formidable group of adventurers around them, including one of the old pirate crew, and Malford had even been made a Baron by the King of Thule.
Meanwhile, the pirates reached Strogass. They didn’t know it, but Farenth would follow them there after he failed to redeem himself on Pesh. He knew where Lyr had intended to go, broadly speaking, and the idea of reaching a land where he could relax into his true, evil proclivities was most appealing. While the pirate leaders adventured, Lyr was killed; and the new captain was none other than Chanticleer, one of Bleak’s villains and the leader of the faction that wanted to hunt down and kill Dexter. But they knew that they needed a way to defend themselves against his mental powers first, so they went on a quest for an item that took them to the Underdark and thence to the very Abyss itself.
Farenth, meanwhile, had begun spinning his web. He seethed with hate for all of them- Chanti, Dexter, Malford, several of the others. He manipulated and murdered his way into position and slowly, subtly, began drawing them together. He dispatched a letter to Dexter and Malford- it was easy enough for him to find out where they were, as news of Dexter was racing all around- and he dispatched another to Captain Lyr and her crew (not knowing that Lyr was dead and Chanti had become the new leader of the pirates).
Farenth’s plan was simple, at heart. He would kill them all. The beauty of it was, he would use the two groups against each other. He would kill them all by tricking them into killing each other, and only at the end would he swoop in to get the survivors. If they were lucky, he might honor one or two of them by sacrificing them to Bleak.
Oh yes. Kill them all.
***
These are the pcs at the culmination of Farenth’s game, a few updates from now.
Good Guys:
Dexter Nadly (cleric 5)
Malford the Magnificent (thief/illusionist 6/5)
Lochenvare (fighter 5)
Rajah (psionicist 5)
Lady Charlotte (paladin 4)
At some point- possibly already chronicled- something very important happened to Chanticleer and a few of her companions.
All of this thread up to now has been from some fairly detailed notes and game summaries, but oddly this got left out. Did it happen after the group’s trip to the Abyss? I don’t think so- I think it was sometime before. But somehow, this event was never noted.
Well, I have no date for this- just a rough idea. Insert this parallel to our recent looks at them; squeeze it in there somewhere. I shall merely report the events, and to a certain extent (in this case) I must leave the chronology to you.
***
The night was thick and dark. The villains of this piece were celebrating their evil plans. Vosh provided some interesting mushrooms, Chanti and Urdor provided the liturgy to Bleak, Akakathan- somewhat reluctantly- provided the music. This ceremony to an evil god of the land people was more than a little uncomfortable for him, but it was already too late for him to back out of the group.
The mushrooms took hold, though Akakathan refrained from indulging in them. Frenzied dancing ensued, and feasting and drinking; and in the midst of it all, dedicated to their Dark Lord, came an orgy, given in the name of Bleak.
“Bleak!” Chanti cried, “I am your vessel! Fill me with your Darkness!”
They took her one by one, first Urdor and then Delilah and then even the centaur, Vosh- he almost ripped her in two, but she accepted him gladly, screaming Bleak’s name.
The storm fell upon them, lightning and thunder, the sky black with clouds as fat drops of blood-warm rain splattered down around them. Akakathan shivered at the greasy feeling of the drops; this was no natural rain.
And then a stroke of black lightning struck down.
Vosh, Delilah, Urdor and Chanticleer were writhing together beneath a tree when it came, the coup de grace, killing them all instantly and leaving them insensate for a moment. Akakathan’s scream was drowned out by the thunder. He rushed to the pile of bodies, but they were already stirring.
Bleak had heard their prayers, accepted their sacrifices and touched them to aid them in their quest. They looked the same, at least for now, but though they still breathed (out of habit) their hearts no longer beat. In time they would learn that they had become undead, and when they did their reactions would vary.
Both Urdor and Chanticleer were overjoyed. A mark of Bleak’s favor! The Black Sun surely shone upon them! So what if they were cold to the touch? So what if men would shudder at the thought of enjoying Chanti’s charms? They were now undead warriors of Bleak, unholy reavers of blasphemy. Now their quest for Dexter’s blood had new impetus. “I’m going to kill him,” Chanti murmured to herself with new assurance.
Vosh was horrified at his change. He was a druid! How could he have become undead, such a terrible blight on nature? He wept secret tears and vowed to find a way to reverse the process. To Vosh this was an abomination, so unnatural that it made his stomach churn. But for now, out of friendship, he would remain with his companions.
Delilah was the only one with mixed feelings on the subject. To her, a believer in the power of seduction, the inability to touch, to feel like a living thing, was crushing; but the ability to exist eternally, in unchanging beauty, was like a heady wine to her. (Later, when she began moving among the richest men of Forinthia, she found that some people, at least, liked her to be cold and still. “Play dead,” he whispered in her ear.) She immediately set out to develop a spell designed to aid her with seducing others into believing she was a warm living woman. Inner warmth was to be the result, but the process made her very thoughtful. Why not make spells her rivals would have difficulty casting? Gloating at her brilliance, Delilah the Damned began work on a spell whose material component was horrific enough that most casters would be unable to use it- especially good casters. This became her oozing lilacs.
Akakathan watched it all quietly and wondered what the hell he was doing with these horrible monsters, but there was nowhere to go and no way out.
***
When the group got the letter from Farenth, they were surprised- to say the least. It was addressed to Lyr, who was dead. In it, Farenth claimed that he was luring Dexter and his companions to Forinthia, and inquired as to whether Lyr and her crew would care to aid him in killing them. Chanti grinned like a demon upon reading it.
Twenty-four hours later, the crew had been pulled together and the Twikwakikikak was moving out of the harbors of Strogass and setting out for far-away Forinthia.
While Farenth was manipulating the villainous group of pcs with the promise of Dexter’s head, he was also setting the terrible events in motion that would lure Dexter and his companions- the heroic pcs, if you will. He had already hit upon his bait for them- and he had already kidnapped Sheila the Confessor, the priestess who had assuaged Dexter’s fears and helped his pains while he was in the dungeons of the Inquisition. She was the one, more than any other, who had turned Dexter to the Light. Dexter could not turn from her. Driven by a deep guilt crossed with teenaged lust, he had no choice when the letter came. And indeed, why should a group of adventurers so puissant that they included the Son of the Light, the Baron of Var and the rightful heir to mighty Imperial Wotan fear a single pirate madman worshiper of Bleak?
Dexter was frightened for Sheila. “He wants us to come to Forinthia to get her out of his ‘tender ministrations,’” Malford read to him (for, alas, Dexter could not read with no eyes).
Dexter could not, would not refuse.
The party strapped on their gear and prepared to depart, but Malford was crafty and perceptive. “I don’t like it,” he argued. “What if he’s got a crew of his own now?” And he brought his captain of the guard with him, along with four of his men.
“A Bleakist? Let’s smite him!” Lady Charlotte was showing a taste for violence, at least if it was justified by service to the Light. Dexter timidly tried to talk to her about it, but though she listened, his words didn’t seem to unduly influence her actions.
From Var, the group traveled to Ostraghan, a large port city on Lake Bellurnus. From there they rode a barge downstream to the sea, where they sought passage on a boat. Farenth had dispatched one of his new lieutenants, a dwarven fighter named Durgin, with orders to take the group’s measure. Farenth knew full well that Durgin wouldn’t be able to kill them, but he hoped to gain enough information about the party’s tactics and abilities to make the investment of time worthwhile. Durgin, having traveled to Dorhaus and to the most likely city the group would leave from, hired a pack of wererats to attack the party, and they struck while the party was whiling away a few days waiting for their ship to depart. The heroes handily dispatched the lycanthropes, though several members of the group were wounded in the engagement (including Malford’s captain of the guards, Breston).
Durgin got away aboard the same ship our heroes were on and kept watching them unobtrusively. Soon enough they all reached Port Lofrax, on Forinthia. As the adventurers disembarked, Durgin walked away towards Farenth’s lair.
Farenth, utterly deranged at this point, was keeping quite busy. Between committing unspeakable acts of torture upon Sheila, he was keeping a close eye on any ships arriving from the west. Dorhaus- and half of his targets- lay in that direction.
Kill them all. Oh, yes.
Next Time: Farenth’s Game concludes with a bang! What happens when the heroic pcs meet the villainous pcs, with Farenth and his lackeys in the middle??
4/18/97 O.L.G., 10 a.m., the harbor of Port Lofrax, Forinthia
What have I gotten myself into? groaned Akakathan to himself.
He stood on the prow of the Twikwakikikak in the stinging spray, his heart heavy. He could simply leave... but these people were his friends. And they were counting on his help. Behind him, he heard Vosh say, “So this is Forinthia?” The centaur’s voice was tinged with sorrow- since the foul ritual that had turned him undead, he had not recovered his good cheer.
“Yes,” came the voice of Chanticleer, full of spite and malice. “And Dexter is here somewhere.”
***
The city was crawling with Farenth’s agents. He was certainly well-informed of local events, and the arrival of the villains was reported to him right away. No sign of Lyr, as yet, but there were others he knew... oh yes. On his knees behind a dark altar, he grinned as he made his prayers to Bleak. Everything was coming together. His spider web was quivering as the flies landed.
When Durgin announced that Malford had arrived with nine allies, Farenth frowned slightly. That was a lot of opposition; he could only hope the pirates would be as wise.
Then he spoke to the doppelganger and they made their final plans. Even if Dexter thought he won, Farenth would ensure that he would lose.
And then, of course, one more thing to take care of- Farenth spent the majority of his savings having a teleport spell put into his ring of spell storing. Now all was ready.
***
Noon, the Blue Moon tavern, Port Lofrax
“We’ve got to find them,” Dexter said urgently.
“It’s a trap, you know,” Lochenvare grunted.
“It doesn’t matter. We’ve got to save Sheila!”
“Wasn’t she involved in your torture?”
“No, she was my Confessor. And it doesn’t matter. We just need to stop Farenth and rescue her!”
“Whatever.” The burly fighter shrugged and took a pull on his beer. “So how do we find them?”
“He lured us here,” Malford explained. “He will find us.”
***
How right Malford was. Once Farenth’s preparations were made, his people in place, the doppelganger in the form it needed to be, he sent off one of his particularly amusing lackeys to get things started.
***
1:30 p.m.
Seth, garbed in outrageously pink studded leather armor, moved through the streets of Port Lofrax, keeping his eyes peeled for a centaur with green hair. That would be the one that would stand out the most. He asked street vendors near the docks, passing out a few coppers, until he had followed the pirates’ meandering trail to an inn of rough reputation. There he sauntered up to their table and softly, in a simpering voice, murmured, “Farenth sends his regards.”
Chaticleer’s head snapped up. “Where is he?” she asked, her voice dangerous.
“Is it him you seek- or Dexter?”
***
Meanwhile, almost simultaneously, a group of three of Farenth’s agents ambushed Dexter’s group as they were on their way to Port Lofrax’s cathedral to Galador. Dexter hoped they might be able to help track down the missing Confessor.
The attack was sudden and brutal. It was led by Amar, one of Farenth’s lieutenants, but all three of the agents were sacrifices. Farenth knew they had no real chance against the heroes; the idea was to lead them into his lair.
When the last of the three was defeated, the party interrogated the only survivor. And he played his role perfectly- quivering in fear of his life, he told them where to find Farenth. They moved immediately towards the address he had given- towards Farenth’s trap.
***
“We need to think about this,” Delilah repeated. “If we’re going to attack them, we need to make sure they won’t just slaughter us. Can we take them in a fair fight? Maybe- we don’t know what they can do- but we shouldn’t even try. Forget a fair fight! Let’s be sure we’ll get them!”
“He’s in that house right now,” Seth promised.
“We don’t want to just charge in at them,” Delilah insisted. “We need to lay a trap and lure them out into it.”
“What do you mean?” Chanti’s eyes were lidded; she was drugged with the feeling of vengeance, about to be delivered. Vengeance for Galiger- vengeance for Bleak.
“I’ve got an idea,” she explained. “First of all, we all use that dust of disappearance- if we lose the fight, we don’t want Dexter and his team to get it, so however much we use up is a good thing. Then we all wait in a rope trick and ready oil and acid and missiles. When they come into range, Chanti sneaks out of the hole and prepares to engage Dexter and the rest of us drop fire on them, creating a distraction.”
“Damn,” swears Urdor Darkwind, “you’re clever.”
“Delicious, darling,” she said sweetly.
They began passing around the dust.
Next Time: Here we go, folks! You’ve seen the lead-up- here comes the confrontation!
__________________ Robert Blezard I write; therefore, I am!
D&D v.3.5, d20 Modern, OSRIC, Pathfinder, True20... OGL Forever! Walk the Road
Avatar by Sialia
Linear Mode
And yet another word from our sponsors
