Der Kluge's Wilderlands Campaign

[reddist]

Nearer than I thought. No sooner had I come to this conclusion did I hear a rough bellowing, an ogre building itself into a chaotic frenzy, and Balderk shouting warnings and battle cries. The noise reverberates through the tunnels and chambers, telling me the other passageway also connects to this room. Chath drops back behind the pile of rock, heading back to the party, and I nock and arrow and dash around to the other tunnel, hoping to pin the beast between Balderk and myself.

I scramble over the pile of rock, easily spotting the great, hairy beast as it raises a massive club to smash down at Balderk. I loose an arrow at its head and move toward the melee. Over the din of war cries and shrieking metal I can hear Theros shouting in his guttural spell language and I see flashes of green and purple light. The ogre swings its mammoth club again and Balderk drops like a puppet with its strings cut. A stone caroms of the ogre’s head and I know Chath has made it through the other side to join the fight. I rush to the top of the pile and fire point blank at the ogre’s head, screaming at it to distract the monster from smashing the inert Balderk to paste.

I drop my bow and whip out my scimitar, intending to cleave the thing’s head from its shoulders. I swing wildly and the blow glances off the ogre’s shoulder armor. It spins around to face me, backhanding me with its huge club. I feel ribs crack and I fly back against the wall, my head slamming against the rock. My vision spins and ears ring as the beast roars, its victory cry echoing loudly through the chambers.

In my dizzying vision I see Cyridon scoop up Balderk’s guisarme and threaten the ogre with it. Jabbing at its side, Cyridon tries to draw its attention away from the crumpled Balderk. Brave, but perhaps foolish, as the roaring ogre turns to regard him. Screaming in its bloodlust, it raises the greatclub high over its head for a two-handed smash that would surely slay the death-cleric. Foul bits of spit and slime spray the priest as the ogre roars gruesome death at him, and if he could go any paler I’d be surprised.

Just as the ogre pauses in the apex of its swing Theros musters enough power to shout out one more spell, sending a green gob of acidic plasma streaking from his fingers toward the ogre and catching it square in the throat. The goo sizzles and hisses, and the sharp tang of chlorine mixes with the foul stench of the ogre. It drops the club to clutch at its dissolving throat, its roars of anger and hatred turning to bubbling gurgles of red and green bubbles. The beast drops to its knees as the glowing green jelly eats away at its neck. Finally it goes silent, vocal chords liquefied by the acidic paste, and it falls to the floor to choke on the blood and gunk that used to be its gullet.

 

[reddist]

Cyridon provides what healing he can, getting Balderk and me back on to our feet. The battle with the ogre did not attract any other attention, and we reason that there is nothing more to threaten us, at least not nearby. We move into the chamber Chath and I found on the other side of the rock piles to search out the ogre’s lair.

The room is bare, but I spot a ledge high on the wall, hidden in the shadows. About 15 feet up, and an easy climb at that on the rough wall, we find another chamber. Rotten furs, bits of bone and scraps of wood are scattered about. Along one wall we find several canvas sacks and an old wooden chest.

This ogre has been around a while. The sack and chest open to reveal a staggering amount of coins, gear, and miscellaneous items. If this is all loot the beast took from fallen foes, he has been ambushing parties both above and below the surface for some time. We throw the most offensive of the rotten garbage to the room below and set up a make-shift camp to recover some from our wounds and sort through the piles of goods.

One of the most notable items is a small trident, long, light, and the shaft is inlayed with strips of platinum. The points are sharp and barbed, and the thing seems to vibrate slightly in my hands. A line of runes run along the crossbar, and include a small stylized image of a frog. Theros and Cyridon sort out a smaller pile of items, including the trident, which they proclaim has having some sort of unusual properties.

I also find a bow amongst the pile of assorted weapons the ogre collected. It’s sturdy and has a strong pull. While Theros doesn’t identify it as having magical properties, I can tell it is well made. I claim it as mine.

As Balderk and I sort through the collected weapons, divvying them into “rusted and useless” and “probably sell-able” piles, I come across a heavy, stout mace. Thick metal flanges on top of a steel-shod shaft of solid oak, with a handle wrapped in leather. The pommel sports a ring of steel to loop it on to a belt or harness. I give it a practice swing and nearly topple myself. THIS is what I’ve been looking for. Something to smash those damned red skeletons to dust. Finally. I hang it on my belt with a certain degree if satisfaction… and anticipation.

After we rest and determine what items we wish to take with us, we decide to explore the passageway that leads from the chamber below further into the darkness.

 

[reddist]

We find a long narrow tunnel that twists and turns through the rock. These walls show signs of work, as if someone expanded the sized of the passageway. We come across shards of broken glass, nicked and broken swords, and the ends of burnt out torches.

The tunnel opens up to reveal an end to the passageway, of sorts. Fitted into the wall is a wooden door with iron bands. The door is warped slightly, wedging into the frame, but it is not locked. Balderk uses one of the broken swords to pry the door open, revealing a corridor of stone beyond.

The stone bricks and cobbles were a welcome change after creeping through the rock caverns. The short corridor lead us to another wooden door, though this one swings open easily. Behind it is a tomb, six stone sarcophagi, three to each side, line the walls, and beyond these is another open passageway.

All the sarcophagi are open, their lids pushed back to reveal skeletons lying in repose underneath. On the chest of each is an amulet of red and black. Bhaal, Cyridon mutters under his breath, reaching out to inspect one of the amulets a bit closer. I unhook my new mace from my belt, gripping it tightly in two hands. I can sense what’s coming next…

 

[reddist]

And I am not disappointed. As soon as Cyridon whips the amulet’s chain off the skeleton’s neck, they all jerk upright, pulling themselves up out of their crypts. We scatter about the room, arming our selves as Cyridon yells at us to stay our hands… he raises his sigil and utters words of command in his voice of broken glass, but it does not good. The skeletons rise up, standing now, with rusted longswords at the ready. A deep, hollow laughter erupts from the far end of the room as a gaunt, yellow-skinned figure comes slowly around the corner. Its eyes are coal black, its sickly yellow skin pulled tight across sharp, bony features. The vile symbol emblazoned in its ebon armor seems to pulse with a dark light as it raises its arms, calling to its minions.

Yelling madly I lash out at the nearest skeleton with my mace, sending shards of rotten bone to skitter across the stone floor. Bring the skeletons down now! Quickly! I shout, leaping up on to the next sarcophagus. Theros puts a hand on Balderk’s arm, holding the knight back until Theros can complete a spell that makes Balderk’s flail glow with a faint blue light. Satisfied, Balderk makes his way straight to the gaunt figure in ebon armor, ignoring the lashing, hissing skeletons.

Cyridon tries again with his sigil, focusing all his will on the undead warrior, but again it laughs, shrugging off Cyridon’s control as easily as I might wave off a child. Then it reaches up to caress the eldritch symbol on its own black armor, and waves of power pulse through the room.

I grit my teeth as fear tries to consume me. Chath yelps, dropping his sling and running from the room, but the rest of us hold fast against the waves of heart-freezing fear. Balderk reaches the dark horror in ebon armor, swinging his flail wildly. It easily dodges his blows and lashes out, raking its black, twisted claws across his neck and chest. Blood wells up bright and red from Balderk’s wounds and he staggers to his knees. I spin around with my mace and use the momentum to shatter another skeleton to splinters, taking one more step towards Balderk and his assailant, praying to Tymora I am not too late.

Cyridon musters his strength and raises his sigil high above his head, shouting commands at the skeletons in a loud, forceful voice. For a moment they turn to regard him, their arms dropping to their sides. The armored undead thing barks a sharp demand, driving his minions to a frenzy and forcing them to ignore the words of the pale, puny death-priest.

Balderk regains his composure only to have his flail knocked from his grip. The ghastly being’s claws dig deep into Balderk’s chest and the knight cries out in pain as he collapses to his knees.

I launch myself up off a sarcophagus, twisting in the air past a swinging skeleton, spinning again as I land to bring my heavy mace crushing down on the wight’s head. Chips of bone and shreds of skin fly from its skull as its knees crumple to the ground. It topples over with a crash, the ebony armor clanging on the stone tiles.

 

[reddist]

The skeletal minions come easily to Cyridon’s command. Theros and I help Balderk to his unsteady feet, and we find Chath cowering in the shadows of the cavern. Beyond the tomb filled with sarcophagi, we find another room set aside for the dark warrior. A stone altar to Bhaal stands atop a small dias, and the entire room has dark, evil aura to it. Theros looks sick just standing in here. The wight’s sarcophagus stands open (of course), and inside we find several leather pouches that had been entombed with the corpse when it was put to rest. Not quite as impressive as the Ogre’s loot, but respectable nonetheless.

Cyridon somehow manages to gain complete control over the four remaining skeletons. With their aid we manage to carry the bulk of the loot back to the temples of Amantir and Torm. There I make a couple of travois so we can continue to clean out items from the abandoned temple and drag it all back to Pentolus’ old tower.

Here I feel I have to remark upon the oddity of seeing four skeletons, recently intent on killing me, strapped to sleds made of tree branches and vines, hauling around piles of centuries old weapons and armor. Funny how we adjust to things seemingly unworldly and spectacular, and make them mundane, just to cope. Cyridon seems perfectly at ease, if not unduly excited, with his new minions, and Theros, whom I thought would bear the most vehemence against such creatures, strolls idly alongside the pale, hooded death cleric, chatting amiably.

The knight seems to have retreated into himself again, perhaps wrestling with his geas. He hasn’t spoken much since our last foray into the temple under the hill. Brought low by both the ogre and the dark wight, only to be saved at the last moment, either by Theros or myself, might weigh heavily on a man of his supposed prowess.

Chath seems to bear no animosity or ill-will at all. His former companions are dead no less than a week and he’s already attached himself to us like flies on dung. I fear there will be no ridding of ourselves from him now.

I ponder these things over the cooking fire, outside of our “new” tower. Apparently old Pentolus “gave” it to us, as he and his crew no longer have use for it. Already Cyridon and Theros are arguing over how to divide the floors, so each can have space for whatever arcane research they want to commit. Listening to them, I think they have forgotten that “us” includes Balderk and myself… we seem to be housed to the stables and cellar already, if not forgotten about entirely.

The dark ebon armor the wight was wearing rouses both interest and a certain amout of greed, I think, in Cryidon. It radiates evil, emblazoned as it is with unholy symbols of hatred and fear. I see him try to struggle into it, obviously inexperienced with armor so heavy. The humor at watching him wrestle with the heavy metal is balanced by the unease I feel at his desire for it. He finally gets it over his head and frees his arms from the tangles of buckles and straps, but he stands hunched over, not used to the weight. Thankfully, after trying to move around in it for a while, he takes it off and tosses it into pile of items we intend to get rid of.

Included in that pile are a number of small statuettes, Bhaal, all of them. Gold, sure, but who will buy such items? Even at the festival, we would have a hard time unloading them. Though what bothers me even more is the very presence of Bhaal. Rune-carved doors, amulets, statuettes, even an altar. What went on in these old temples? What’s going on there now? We still have not uncovered the source of the Blood Fountain, and I’m not sure I want to.

Haven’t seen any “bandits” either. I’m beginning to think that was a ruse the death cleric used to get me out here.

 

[reddist]

Still, a dinner of roasted rabbit and peppered shallots, together with some of Theros’ wine, will help me sleep easy tonight. I can hear Balderk discussing plans to return to the tombs once more before we head back to town. There is a fair coming soon, and none of us want to miss out on the opportunity it may provide. I shall join my companions once more, if they wish to continue to explore the caverns and temples, but perhaps I shall use the festival to slip away from this area. Norgood is not as far from Judas as I might like, and he might have agents at the fair looking for me.

I pick over the sorted piles of loot we brought back, ignoring the skeleton which Cyridon set to stand sentry. It was told to ignore us, so I ignore it in return. Mundane. I pick up a finely worked quiver, one of the items Theros set aside for further study. Slinging it over my back, I find that it fits perfectly against my armor and it would place the ends of my arrows at precisely the right place, so reaching for them is as natural as scratching my nose. Intrigued, I remove the quiver and begin filling it with arrows… and behold! They simply disappear into the quiver! I try to dump them out, but nothing falls! Fearing that I’ve lost a half-dozen good arrows, I reach into the quiver… and feel their tips under my fingers. I pull one out, and it looks whole and undamaged. So I put all my arrows in, plus some we gained… it holds three times as many as my old quiver does!

I find the quiver holds many arrows, in addition to my bows, the trident, and even a couple shortspears. Indeed, with the items we have, I am unable to reach the quiver’s limits. Thanks be to Tymora! This stroke of luck might make nearly dying three times over nearly worth it!

But only nearly. Satisfied, I place my trust in the skeleton and its eerily silent gaze, unroll my bedding and go to sleep near the fire, underneath the bright stars of the summer sky.

 

[reddist]

Session 6: Frogs

The next morning we set out to return to the tombs under the hill. We leave the skeletons behind to watch over our loot and keep unwanted visitors out of “our” new tower, but we each take a few items out of the assorted piles of loot. I grab my mace, bow, and quiver, while Balderk sticks with the armor and sword granted him in the temple. Cyridon leaves behind the dark armor, but I do see him slip one of the amulets under his shirt… one of the amulets with Bhaal’s symbol on it. Chath grabs one too, but I’ve learned to trust in the halfling’s innocent curiosity. A proclaimed cleric of a death god, using an amulet to protect himself against the enemies of Bhaal… that I’m not so sure about. I don’t think Theros sees it. Balderk might not care.

We make it back to the caverns underneath the temple in the hill without incident. We come to an intersection where before we chose right, which lead us to the Ogre’s lair and beyond that the Dark Wight’s tomb. The left-hand passage is narrow and twisting and slopes downward, the air scenting of stagnant water the farther we go.

The passage eventually opens into a much larger cavern, sloping down to the edge of an inky black lake stretching out into the darkness. The water is glossy ebon, smooth as silk with not a ripple to mar its surface. It soaks up our light. Above us are some of the first natural cavern formations we’ve seen, jagged stalactites hang 25 or 30 feet above us. The shores of this underground lake are soft, like black sand or gravel. Stones click and skitter as we enter the cavern.

Something about this wide open space makes my skin crawl. We can’t see an end to either the shore or the mirror-like surface of the bleak lake. I am appointed the lead, so I cling to the wall and skirt around the open space, feeling my way along the rough rock.

 

[reddist]

I hear Chath cry out just as a biting pain pierces my shoulder, driving me to my knees. A savage hissing fills my ear, and I can feel hot, rank breath on my neck. One of the stalactites! Dropping from the ceiling and punching through my armor! Whatever the foul monstrosity, it chews on my neck and shoulder… I can feel it pushing itself deeper, digging into my chest. My vision swims as the pain mounts, and I can sense Theros coming up behind me as Balderk and Chath shout out, both rushing towards me. From the corner of my fading vision, I see more of the dark mantles drop from the ceiling, stabbing at the knight and halfling.

Theros reaches out to touch my shoulder and mutters the harsh, guttural words of his spell language. They seem to bounce off my ears, I hear them but I can’t comprehend them or even remember them, and I sense a tugging at my center and I let it go. It pulls at me, and for a moment I feel like I am being strained through a fine mesh. For some reason I think of making sun tea on the porch with my mother, straining the tea through cheesecloth, squeezing the water out into a pitcher. I blink, and then I stumble against the wall, several paces from where I was. The mantle remains behind to fall to the ground at Theros’ feet, though the hole it made in my shoulder is now gaping and burning.

Cyridon comes up behind me, placing his hands on my bloody wound as it pumps out bright red blood, and he utters his own prayer in his thin, spidery language. My skin crawls under his touch. I don’t think I will ever get used to the chill he gives me, or the way I can feel insects crawling over my skin when he uses his whispering prayer-speak. Still, his utterances fill me with a cold strength and I am able to stand straight and bring my bow to bear on the battle Balderk and Chath fight against the mantles.

Balderk has little to worry about. Dodging the first piercing attack, his armor protects him from further lashings and he simply mows down his opponent with the sword of Torm. Chath is not faring nearly as well, these mantles weighing nearly as much as he does. I quickly put two arrows in the one he faces while Theros plugs the last one with a bolt from his crossbow. Our foes fallen, we pause where we are to scan the rest of the stalactites… spotting two more of the beasts hanging from the ceiling. I take my aim and put arrows into both of them, their corpses dropping to collapse in bloody, twitching heaps on the dark gravel, kicking up stones to rattle off in the darkness.

 

[reddist]

The cavern calms once more and we feel freer to explore the banks of the dark lake. The far end holds a small surprise… a bronze door is fitted into the wall on the other side of the bank. Thin, curving runes are inscribed on the door, and prove incomprehensible to both Theros and Cyridon. Chath fiddles with the silver lock, but his efforts are futile. The door is locked through magics stronger than we were prepared for.

We step back from the door to ponder our next move. Perhaps out of boredom, Chath kicks and pushes at a corpse of one of the dark mantles, moving it to the murky water. Even as he rolls the corpse into the lake, the waters come alive, boiling and frothing as giant frogs burst through the surface. One lashes out at Chath, spearing him with a thick, sticky tongue. Chath is hauled back, kicking and screaming as he goes, disappearing in to the frog’s gaping maw. His legs jerk feebly and then go still, dangling out of the frog’s mouth.

I think this is the third time in a week Chath has been eaten by a frog.

With practiced ease I pull the slender trident from my quiver and lunge at the frog. The trident pierces its hide like a needle into a ripe tomato, sinking effortlessly all the way to the crossbar. I yank it out, and the frog explodes as the barbs rip apart muscles, bones, tendons, and inner organs. Frog bits fly in all directions as I spin the trident around to stab the second beast, and it too dies a grisly and quick death on the end of the baneful trident. Theros and Cyrdidon pull Chath from the mash of yellow, green, and red muck, wiping his face off. He appears pale and drawn, and can barely keep to his feet.

While the two scholars help Chath back to shore Balderk and I wade in to the pool, looking for more of the monstrous amphibians. The knight holds his sword aloft, and I wield the trident. The water never gets much above our waists, even when the far back wall comes down to meet the surface. We can each feel the pull of a slight current though, tugging at our legs, and we know there is a passage underneath the water leading back behind the rock wall.

And, no doubt, to more frogs. Undaunted, I tie a thin rope around my waist and take a firm grip on the trident. Surely no frog could stand long against the vengeful might of the Gig. I take a deep breath, nod to Balderk, and duck under the water.

 

[reddist]

I travel no more than five or ten feet before I come face to face with two more croakers. I lance out at one and feel the trident’s barbs bite into its cold, clammy flesh, but this one doesn’t pop quite like the others did. This one retaliates. I scramble back to the surface just as it lashes out at me with its tongue, and a white hot pain blossoms in my calf and spreads to my back. I blink away the flashes of light that splash through my vision, staggering against the wall, and I feel another nova of pain erupt in my belly… the second frog nails me with its own tongue attack.

Coldness spreads to every part of my body. I try to toss the trident to Balderk, but it slips through my fingers to splash into the churning water. I try to pull myself through the water, but it seems to turn to molasses, to tar. My armor turns to lead and I collapse into the lake, drowning in three feet of water….