dungeon blaster
First Post
The following story hour details the adventures of the group formerly known as the Heroes of Hommlet, and now called the Companions of the Vale. We are currently running Red Hand of Doom, adapted for C&C and set in a strange amalgamation of FR, DL, and Greyhawk. We begin in the sleepy village of Hommlet, post-Temple of Elemental Evil, with two adventuring companions:
Tarquin - a human male fighter born and raised in the sleepy village of Hommlet
Mathias - a human male cleric of St. Cuthbert orphaned on the steps of the church
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Chapter 1: Hommlet - The Adventure Begins
Arriving that night, Mathias visits the home of his childhood friend and adventuring companion, Tarquin. Once a poor soldier's son, Tarquin now lives in one of the largest, and perhaps gaudiest mansion in any village of the Vale. Built primarily of stone, with several slender towers and leaded glass windows, le Chateau de Tarquin is a grand testament to the vast stolen treasures that had once been secreted away in the Temple of Elemental Evil. Certainly, fame and fortune have not gone to the young warrior's head. No, he is one with the people, the bread of the land, salt of the earth, so to speak.
Mathias rings the bell outside the wrought iron gate and waits. Across the road he sees a stout stone building, dimly illuminated by the near-full moon. To most, it was the local church of St. Cuthbert, but to him it had been home for nearly twenty years. Within those stone walls he had learned to talk, to read and write, of ancient lore and of men long dead. But his most valuable lesson was the teachings of St. Cuthbert, to see with eyes unclouded and open the heart and mind to receive Him and do his work upon the mortal plane. Those were the lessons that carried him through the darkest moments in the Temple, when it seemed the pure evil of that unholy fane would consume him and burn his soul to ash.
The front door opens and a man emerges, enveloped in a thick wool cloak to ward off the chill wind. At first, Mathias thinks it is Tarquin, but the man walks as the elderly do, and is clearly not his old friend. The cloaked man stops five paces shy of the gate and eyes Mathias warily.
"Who are you? The master does not meet at this hour. Come back in the morning." the old man croaks.
"I am Mathias of St. Cuthbert, and an old friend, good sir. Wake him if you must, but my news cannot wait till morning."
The old man scowls, appeared ready to refuse, but then turns and ambles back inside the home. Mathias waits impatiently, hoping the old man will not make him wait too much longer in the cold. He had ridden all night, his muscles hurt, and his bones ached. It's gonna be a cold winter, he thinks drearily. Seemed as if every winter was a little bit colder than the last. Probably because every winter he was a little older than the last, he reminds himself.
The door opens again and a cloaked man strides towards the gate with none of the unsteadiness evident in the old man's step. His cloak is finer, of rich white fur, and drapes over shoulders broad and strong, unable to conceal the muscled frame underneath. Tarquin picks up his pace, jogging the last few steps to the iron gate, swings it open, and grasps Mathias in a bear hug.
Greetings aside, the two old friends hurry back into the manor, to a sitting room with dark wood paneled walls, plush couches, and a roaring fire. Mathias immediately sheds his cloak and sits by the fire.
Tarquin pours mead into a couple of crystal glasses, handing one to Mathias. "Everburning. Should be great for the winter, but don't know what I'll do with it come summertime!", Tarquin laughs. Mathias stares into the enchanted flames. They are not as hot as a real fire, probably designed that way so that the rich fop who purchased one would not burn his house down. He sips his mead slowly, savoring the delicate taste of honey. Hommlet was well-known for its mead, and this bottle was no exception to its quality reputation. Probably a bottle of Joren's Gold, the finest in the Vale.
He watches as Tarquin drains his glass and plops down on one of the poofy velvet chairs, one leg draped over the armrest. He had to admit, that while he still thought of his friend as a boy, in the eyes of many others he was a warrior of skill and courage. Of course, many others thought him reckless and a bit of a fool. That was their mistake; yes he could be reckless, but he was no fool.
The two friends exchange the usual pleasantries, but talk soon turns to the matter-at-hand.
"I am on a quest", Mathias states bluntly. "I must speak with the high priestess of Dennovar".
A puzzled look crosses Tarquin's face. "A quest? What are you speaking of?"
"Earlier this night, I was visited by a sending from the high priestess of Dennovar. She bade me come see her to discuss an urgent threat".
"Hmm. So when do we leave?"
Mathias smiles at the word "we". Good, he had hoped Tarquin would be willing to join him. "We must leave soon"
"Tomorrow morning then. I will have fresh horses readied and gear packed ..." Tarquin stands, begins pacing as he always does when making plans.
"No. Now. I...we...should go now." It is difficult for Mathias to say it. His muscles plead for respite, to rest in a warm bed of soft down. He realized he hadn't ridden a horse in a long time, several months at the least.
Tarquin smiles. "Alright. Now it is. Just give me a few moments".
As Tarquin steps out of the sitting room, Mathias stares into the fire. What am I doing? he wonders. He didn't have any idea what this quest was, of if there truly was a threat. I must trust in my God, he reminds himself. He will show me the path when the time comes.
Tarquin - a human male fighter born and raised in the sleepy village of Hommlet
Mathias - a human male cleric of St. Cuthbert orphaned on the steps of the church
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 1: Hommlet - The Adventure Begins
Arriving that night, Mathias visits the home of his childhood friend and adventuring companion, Tarquin. Once a poor soldier's son, Tarquin now lives in one of the largest, and perhaps gaudiest mansion in any village of the Vale. Built primarily of stone, with several slender towers and leaded glass windows, le Chateau de Tarquin is a grand testament to the vast stolen treasures that had once been secreted away in the Temple of Elemental Evil. Certainly, fame and fortune have not gone to the young warrior's head. No, he is one with the people, the bread of the land, salt of the earth, so to speak.
Mathias rings the bell outside the wrought iron gate and waits. Across the road he sees a stout stone building, dimly illuminated by the near-full moon. To most, it was the local church of St. Cuthbert, but to him it had been home for nearly twenty years. Within those stone walls he had learned to talk, to read and write, of ancient lore and of men long dead. But his most valuable lesson was the teachings of St. Cuthbert, to see with eyes unclouded and open the heart and mind to receive Him and do his work upon the mortal plane. Those were the lessons that carried him through the darkest moments in the Temple, when it seemed the pure evil of that unholy fane would consume him and burn his soul to ash.
The front door opens and a man emerges, enveloped in a thick wool cloak to ward off the chill wind. At first, Mathias thinks it is Tarquin, but the man walks as the elderly do, and is clearly not his old friend. The cloaked man stops five paces shy of the gate and eyes Mathias warily.
"Who are you? The master does not meet at this hour. Come back in the morning." the old man croaks.
"I am Mathias of St. Cuthbert, and an old friend, good sir. Wake him if you must, but my news cannot wait till morning."
The old man scowls, appeared ready to refuse, but then turns and ambles back inside the home. Mathias waits impatiently, hoping the old man will not make him wait too much longer in the cold. He had ridden all night, his muscles hurt, and his bones ached. It's gonna be a cold winter, he thinks drearily. Seemed as if every winter was a little bit colder than the last. Probably because every winter he was a little older than the last, he reminds himself.
The door opens again and a cloaked man strides towards the gate with none of the unsteadiness evident in the old man's step. His cloak is finer, of rich white fur, and drapes over shoulders broad and strong, unable to conceal the muscled frame underneath. Tarquin picks up his pace, jogging the last few steps to the iron gate, swings it open, and grasps Mathias in a bear hug.
Greetings aside, the two old friends hurry back into the manor, to a sitting room with dark wood paneled walls, plush couches, and a roaring fire. Mathias immediately sheds his cloak and sits by the fire.
Tarquin pours mead into a couple of crystal glasses, handing one to Mathias. "Everburning. Should be great for the winter, but don't know what I'll do with it come summertime!", Tarquin laughs. Mathias stares into the enchanted flames. They are not as hot as a real fire, probably designed that way so that the rich fop who purchased one would not burn his house down. He sips his mead slowly, savoring the delicate taste of honey. Hommlet was well-known for its mead, and this bottle was no exception to its quality reputation. Probably a bottle of Joren's Gold, the finest in the Vale.
He watches as Tarquin drains his glass and plops down on one of the poofy velvet chairs, one leg draped over the armrest. He had to admit, that while he still thought of his friend as a boy, in the eyes of many others he was a warrior of skill and courage. Of course, many others thought him reckless and a bit of a fool. That was their mistake; yes he could be reckless, but he was no fool.
The two friends exchange the usual pleasantries, but talk soon turns to the matter-at-hand.
"I am on a quest", Mathias states bluntly. "I must speak with the high priestess of Dennovar".
A puzzled look crosses Tarquin's face. "A quest? What are you speaking of?"
"Earlier this night, I was visited by a sending from the high priestess of Dennovar. She bade me come see her to discuss an urgent threat".
"Hmm. So when do we leave?"
Mathias smiles at the word "we". Good, he had hoped Tarquin would be willing to join him. "We must leave soon"
"Tomorrow morning then. I will have fresh horses readied and gear packed ..." Tarquin stands, begins pacing as he always does when making plans.
"No. Now. I...we...should go now." It is difficult for Mathias to say it. His muscles plead for respite, to rest in a warm bed of soft down. He realized he hadn't ridden a horse in a long time, several months at the least.
Tarquin smiles. "Alright. Now it is. Just give me a few moments".
As Tarquin steps out of the sitting room, Mathias stares into the fire. What am I doing? he wonders. He didn't have any idea what this quest was, of if there truly was a threat. I must trust in my God, he reminds himself. He will show me the path when the time comes.
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