Nebulous
Legend
Adventure #13: The Claws of Orcus
PART THREE
Four bloody chains descend into the pit. There is light down there, albeit dim, so they lower the sunrod on a rope, illuminating a rich red pool of blood fifty feet below, much larger than the hole leading down into it. But the light brings someone else to their attention.
“AH! There you are! I was thinking you would never join me. You’re scuttling around up there like rats.”
They can’t see the source of the voice, but from his smug tone, they assume it’s none other than the REAL Kalarel.
“Please, do join us. I’ve been waiting for some time now. I knew you were coming, and I know about all you. Helga, for example, the dour dwarf warrior. And the paladin of Kelemvor, Kerric, who is so determined to wipe my work from the face of the world. And the good Brandis Padraig. Brandis? Can you hear me? My boy, we share more in common than you probably realize. Come down…let me tell you all about it…and the wretched sins of the Padraig family.”
Kalarel doesn’t mention Erevan or Irann, and the warlock is slightly miffed that she didn’t get named. (“I’m dangerous too!” she thinks).
Ah, but the getting down part if the problem. The pool of blood is fifty feet below them, and the way the shaft is designed they have no line of sight to the rest of the chamber. Anyone climbing down the rope will be a sitting duck.
But Kerric volunteers. His faith in Kelemvor will protect him, he’s sure of it.
Taking a deep breath, he grabs the rope and begins to clamber down. Partway down the shaft he finally has a full view of the large room he is entering, and the paladin is NOT pleased that he’s here alone.
To the south looms a malevolent statue of Orcus that is possibly life-size.
To the west are clustered immense pillars surrounding a shrine. To the east is another dais upon which sits a smaller demonic statue and some undead thing pointing up at the paladin.
And last but not least, to the north is a glowing blue circle in front of a massive portal. Shadows seem to push against the fabric, and Kerric sees yawning mouths and grasping tendrils, as if something is waiting just beyond to punch through into the reality of their world.
And inside the circle stands Kalarel with some friends.
“Ah! Our first guest! You bear the countenance of a holy warrior. Allow me to help you!”
And with that Kalarel points his rod. A sickly shaft of gray light beams out and strikes the paladin. Kerric is overcome with agony, his muscles weakening, and then the monster on the dais strikes him with a similar ray of necrotic energy, and the paladin finds his limbs seizing up. He can no longer hold onto the rope and he plunges the rest of the way into the pool of blood…
…finding that it is only about two feet deep.
His armor crunches into the bottom and warm blood surges up his nostrils, but he manages to hold his breath, unable to force his head above the surface. The others watch this scene unfold and immediately come to his rescue. Helga slithers down the rope, managing to swing south toward the massive statue of Orcus and lands on the shore of the blood pool.
But the dwarf is not beyond the range of the undead thing on the dais, and the glob of necrotic energy anchors the dwarf to the spot. Her legs cramp up, impossible to move.
Irann the warlock tries to scramble down the rope, but her grip fails her, and only partway down she slips and falls the rest of the way, landing painfully atop the paladin who is drowning in the blood!
Kalarel chuckles. “And to think I was worried! You bumbling fools will kill yourselves before I have the pleasure of doing it myself! Lord Orcus, I don’t even know if their blood is worthy for sacrifice!”
Kerric’s muscles finally relax and he surges up, drawing in lungfuls of air. Irann staggers out of the pool, slathered in slick hot blood that must be magically prevented from rotting, and takes a position near Helga, who is still unable to move. Brandis swings down the rope and plants himself on the stone floor, leaving only Erevan the wizard clambering down. The mage doesn’t make it far before a necrotic blast hits him and his limbs seize. He is left clutching the rope, dangling far above the battle arena.
“Attack them!” orders Kalarel, and his hulking equine soldiers lurch into motion, quickly crossing the distance to the nearest PCs while Kalarel and his wight continue blasting them with ranged necrotic attacks.
Brandis, Irann and Kerric engage the Skeleton Warrior, hacking past its defenses and cutting chunks of bone and armor from its body. Helga engages the second one that has flanked to the other side where the wight lurks next to the demon statue. Erevan remains hanging onto the rope far above the battle, throwing down a few magic missiles that miss more than hit, although his position is one of relative safety now that the enemy is engaged.
The hoofed undead soldiers look intimidating, but they are bulky and slow, their blades readily deflected by the dwarf and warlord. Kerric wants to reach Kalarel above all other targets, and brushes past the undead thing, making a beeline for the priest who is waiting with open arms. And a skull mace.
“Let us see if your god can save you!” Kalarel says. “I doubt it.” Kerric does not respond to his goad, answering only with the steely clang of his blade on the necromancer’s armor.
Erevan aids the paladin by summoning an orb of flame and that immediately ignites the priest’s robes. Kalarel shrieks in pain but ignores the fiery orb and continues hammering his mace onto the paladin, inflicting terrible damage. The glowing mace is infused with dire necrotic energy that rots Kerric’s armor where it touches him, but that is the least of Kerric’s worries. He sees that where his blade damages the priest of Orcus, the wounds are closing within seconds.
“The blue circle! It’s healing him!” shouts Kerric to his allies.
And then something even worse happens.
Black tendrils and claws launch from the open portal to the Shadowfell, tangling around the paladin’s feet as the priest laughs, and he drives yet another stunning blow into Kerric’s chest. The paladin staggers, sweeping the tendrils away with his blade and then infuses himself with a blessing from his god, giving him the strength to fight on. The tendrils retract, waiting to lash out again from the shadowy recesses of the portal.
[GM Note: I made an error here not noticed until too late. The Thing in the Portal has threatening reach 3, but I forgot to smack the paladin (or anyone) each time he moved within range, which was quite a few times. By all odds the paladin should have died this fight (I also purposely ignored Kalarel’s ongoing necrotic 5 damage which would have chewed Kerric to pieces in no time; probably should have left that intact in retrospect)].
One of the skeleton warriors has been dropped, so the battle moves to the other flank where Helga is trading blows with the second equine monster and dodging energy blasts from the deathlock wight.
Brandis rushes up to wight, stabbing it through the ribcage. The thing snarls, and about then Helga drops the skeleton warrior and runs up the steps to help the warlord. The wight’s face peels back in a horrific visage that could potentially cause debilitating fear in the dwarf and warlord, but they both resist the effect. The deathlock wight points to the crumbled remains of the skeleton warrior.
“RISE!” it shrieks.
The dead soldier’s bones rattle back together. Splintered ribs mend and it surges to its hoofed feet, although slightly worse for the wear. Its fight with Helga has left the creature with precious few bones that can be repaired.
Nearby, Kerric is still having a terrible time with Kalarel and The Thing in the Portal. The paladin refuses to disengage, but is able to miraculously dodge the shadowy claws that launch out at him again and again, although the same can’t be said for the priest’s mace. The horrid skull has bashed Kerric’s armor and flesh into mincemeat. He tries to heal himself again, staggering perilously close to death’s door.
“Do you hear that, paladin?” Kalarel hisses through bloodied teeth. “That is Orcus calling you!”
This time the claws of Orcus lash around the paladin’s waist and drag him closer to the fluctuating portal, which Kerric assumes will be instant annihilation if he is pulled within. Gritting his teeth, he is prepared to die to see an end to Kalarel once and for all.
[GM Note: I tried to make Kalarel more 3-dimensional to the players through cut scenes and flashbacks, but yeah, the way the adventure is written, he’s a really boring villain with no motivation or interaction with the PCs until this fight. I probably should have had them meet Kalarel sooner somehow and talk long before this battle takes place].
The wight and skeleton warrior are finally destroyed, and the rest of the party rushes to aid Kerric who has nearly died multiple times. Brandis bends to a knee and pulls out his Flaming Blow, sending an arrow into Kalarel’s back. Erevan’s flaming sphere has burnt the priest round after round, and with the added damage from the arrow, they see that the necromancer is finally worried about the outcome of this fight.
Helga hits the priest hard, slamming him out of the circle and negating its regenerative properties. Kalarel is right at the edge of the inky darkness, his face smeared with blood and…worry.
Flames crackle around him, incinerating his cloak, blackening his skin and cooking him alive inside his plate armor. Kerric hacks into his breastbone, and then Helga delivers a mighty roundhouse axe blow straight into the priest’s head. His helmet cracks and the blow knocks him backward into the darkness. Inky tendrils envelope Kalarel, roping him into the portal as rich red blood gushes down his face.
“You…promised me!” he gurgles. “Lord Orcus…you promised me…that I would live FOREVER!”
And then he is gone, absorbed into the netherworld, his face taking on the ghastly pallor of death as his flesh crumbles to dust.
Everyone staggers away from the portal, afraid of the thing reaching out and sucking them in too. The glowing runes are still glowing, and after some inspection in the area, they decide that destroying the statue of Orcus and defacing every rune, symbol and relic they can find will be sufficient to seal the portal once and for all.
Eventually they have done as much damage to the ceremonial chamber as they can possibly do. The pool of blood is tainted, the statues are broken, and the blue runes are utterly scratched. The glow finally dissipates, and the shadowy portal to the netherworld fades and becomes nothing more than a solid wall. The room is searched, netting a huge bag of gold under the western altar, several scrolls with spells that Erevan has never heard of (Presper’s Moonbow, Pilfer Dweomer, and Otto’s Tin Soldiers), multiple rituals, and several odds and ends of magic items that are split among the group.
The fact that they all survived is miraculous, and Kerric feels that the fortune of Kelemvor and perhaps Bahamut was indeed with them all.
The group briefly discusses what more they can do in the keep before they leave. Boss Fatty is running around somewhere, the lucky bastard, but they don’t feel like tracking him down. There is a room with a huge Blue Slime guarding some treasure, but after their last encounter with that thing they don’t really feel like tangling with it again, especially now that they’re so depleted on resources.
And then there is the matter of Shuck the traitorous halfling. He’s still chained upstairs in the Cathedral of Shadow, so they agree to unbind the fat little man, but keep him tethered close. He will be taken back to Winterhaven and handed over so that justice can be served just like it was to Ninaran.
So, they leave the keep behind, trudging wearily up into the sunlight, leaving Sir Keegan and his ghostly twin daughters to their fates in the catacombs below, hoping that perhaps now they can finally find peace.
But will the portal to the Shadowfell remain closed forever? That they do not know.
*******************************
They are soon welcomed back to Winterhaven amid a crowd of cheers, waving banners and happy smiles. News travels quickly and word of their success quickly brings out dozens and dozens of people, although most of the citizens don’t know how close their community came to utter destruction at the hands of an undead horde.
Salvana Wrafton wraps Brandis Padraig in a hug, huskily whispering into his ear that she’ll have a “special” gift for him later. She winks, and the warlord blinks rapidly. His father has heard that same offer before.
Kelrella Sweetleaf, elf minstrel, promises to write an ode to the heroes so that they will be remembered and honored for years to come. She is genuinely DISGUSTED to learn that her harpist Shuck the Halfling was actually in cahoots with a vile necromancer. Shuck teamed up with her in Silverymoon some months back, and must have planned to betray everyone the whole time. She hopes he gets hanged.
Rond Kelfern, head of the militia, takes Shuck off their hands and hauls him to the jail where the Halfling will lament until they decide what to do with him. Public execution is a likely outcome, but it’s ultimately Lord Padraig’s decision.
Thair Coalstriker roars with laughter and wants to know exactly how many goblins they butchered. He says this while starting right at Splug, who shies away beneath Irann’s robes. Helga agrees to indulge Thair in their story over a brew or six. Thair also says that he’s been working on a statue for the heroes, and although it’s not done yet, soon enough there will be a bronze effigy of them standing in the middle of town.
Delphina Moongem wanders up, all smiles and humming merrily, and places bright flowers behind everyone’s ears, in their hair and in the cracks of armor. Strange, strange woman, that one, but her presence reminds them of the looming date with the Frog Queen on Jade Hill when they must turn over Irontooth’s hands. It is still a few weeks away.
Valthrun the Prescient, portly sage and scholar of Winterhaven, nods deeply at their success and hugs each of them. “The gate has been sealed. Winterhaven is safe again, thanks to you.”
Bairwain Wildarson, owner and proprietor of Bairwain’s Shoppe of Rare Goods, intervenes before the party is shuffled off to the tavern for an evening of drinks, food, and merriment. “You have my thanks as well,” he says. “Listen, I just had a shipment arrive from a traveling merchant from the Hall of Seven Pillars. He brought some choice goods, and I’ll sell them discount. Come see me later.” The party won’t argue with that offer.
Lastly, Brandis’s father Lord Ernest Padraig pushes through the crowd, and the group is shocked to see none other than Ninaran at his side. Furthermore, she is dressed in the holy robes as a priestess of Sune.
“My son. Heroes, all of you, you have my eternal gratitude. You have saved us from a terrible fate, and you are welcome here in Winterhaven anytime you wish, free room and board. What we have is yours.”
“But what is SHE doing out jail?” demands Brandis, scowling at the half-elf.
Ninaran answers, although she stares at the ground as if embarrassed. “Your father has seen it fit to forgive me, and to recognize me as a…as a true daughter.” Lord Padraig nods. “It was not an easy decision for him, but I have sworn to redeem myself for the hardships I brought upon the people of Winterhaven. I have devoted myself as a nun to the Temple of Sune with Sister Linora. Together, we will work to heal the community as best we can. It is the least I can do.”
Brandis and the others aren’t wholly convinced of the truth of her words, but Lord Padraig defends her.
“I must learn to forgive,” Padraig says. “I shunned this woman in the past, and others like her too I fear. Your…mother is not pleased, I assure you that, Brandis. But we’ll discuss that later. For now, let us retire to the fest hall and celebrate your victory!”
Erevan, Irann, Helga, Kerric, Brandis and little Splug are ushered through the warm front doors of Wrafton’s Inn, leaving the cold purple dusk outside, and knowing for the time being, the people of Winterhaven are finally safe.
And the heroes have earned themselves a small spot in history.
THE END
[GM Note: And that’s a wrap. This was a fun adventure, I enjoyed it. I think the players liked it too. There’s enough plot hooks to segue into the next published module, Thunderspire Labyrinth, although I've taken a detour and am running a conversion of an old adventure from Dungeon Magazine called Tallow's Deep, which so far has taken 8 sessions, much, much longer than I thought it would].
Thanks for reading!
PART THREE
Four bloody chains descend into the pit. There is light down there, albeit dim, so they lower the sunrod on a rope, illuminating a rich red pool of blood fifty feet below, much larger than the hole leading down into it. But the light brings someone else to their attention.
“AH! There you are! I was thinking you would never join me. You’re scuttling around up there like rats.”
They can’t see the source of the voice, but from his smug tone, they assume it’s none other than the REAL Kalarel.
“Please, do join us. I’ve been waiting for some time now. I knew you were coming, and I know about all you. Helga, for example, the dour dwarf warrior. And the paladin of Kelemvor, Kerric, who is so determined to wipe my work from the face of the world. And the good Brandis Padraig. Brandis? Can you hear me? My boy, we share more in common than you probably realize. Come down…let me tell you all about it…and the wretched sins of the Padraig family.”
Kalarel doesn’t mention Erevan or Irann, and the warlock is slightly miffed that she didn’t get named. (“I’m dangerous too!” she thinks).
Ah, but the getting down part if the problem. The pool of blood is fifty feet below them, and the way the shaft is designed they have no line of sight to the rest of the chamber. Anyone climbing down the rope will be a sitting duck.
But Kerric volunteers. His faith in Kelemvor will protect him, he’s sure of it.
Taking a deep breath, he grabs the rope and begins to clamber down. Partway down the shaft he finally has a full view of the large room he is entering, and the paladin is NOT pleased that he’s here alone.
To the south looms a malevolent statue of Orcus that is possibly life-size.
To the west are clustered immense pillars surrounding a shrine. To the east is another dais upon which sits a smaller demonic statue and some undead thing pointing up at the paladin.
And last but not least, to the north is a glowing blue circle in front of a massive portal. Shadows seem to push against the fabric, and Kerric sees yawning mouths and grasping tendrils, as if something is waiting just beyond to punch through into the reality of their world.
And inside the circle stands Kalarel with some friends.
“Ah! Our first guest! You bear the countenance of a holy warrior. Allow me to help you!”
And with that Kalarel points his rod. A sickly shaft of gray light beams out and strikes the paladin. Kerric is overcome with agony, his muscles weakening, and then the monster on the dais strikes him with a similar ray of necrotic energy, and the paladin finds his limbs seizing up. He can no longer hold onto the rope and he plunges the rest of the way into the pool of blood…
…finding that it is only about two feet deep.
His armor crunches into the bottom and warm blood surges up his nostrils, but he manages to hold his breath, unable to force his head above the surface. The others watch this scene unfold and immediately come to his rescue. Helga slithers down the rope, managing to swing south toward the massive statue of Orcus and lands on the shore of the blood pool.
But the dwarf is not beyond the range of the undead thing on the dais, and the glob of necrotic energy anchors the dwarf to the spot. Her legs cramp up, impossible to move.
Irann the warlock tries to scramble down the rope, but her grip fails her, and only partway down she slips and falls the rest of the way, landing painfully atop the paladin who is drowning in the blood!
Kalarel chuckles. “And to think I was worried! You bumbling fools will kill yourselves before I have the pleasure of doing it myself! Lord Orcus, I don’t even know if their blood is worthy for sacrifice!”
Kerric’s muscles finally relax and he surges up, drawing in lungfuls of air. Irann staggers out of the pool, slathered in slick hot blood that must be magically prevented from rotting, and takes a position near Helga, who is still unable to move. Brandis swings down the rope and plants himself on the stone floor, leaving only Erevan the wizard clambering down. The mage doesn’t make it far before a necrotic blast hits him and his limbs seize. He is left clutching the rope, dangling far above the battle arena.
“Attack them!” orders Kalarel, and his hulking equine soldiers lurch into motion, quickly crossing the distance to the nearest PCs while Kalarel and his wight continue blasting them with ranged necrotic attacks.
Brandis, Irann and Kerric engage the Skeleton Warrior, hacking past its defenses and cutting chunks of bone and armor from its body. Helga engages the second one that has flanked to the other side where the wight lurks next to the demon statue. Erevan remains hanging onto the rope far above the battle, throwing down a few magic missiles that miss more than hit, although his position is one of relative safety now that the enemy is engaged.
The hoofed undead soldiers look intimidating, but they are bulky and slow, their blades readily deflected by the dwarf and warlord. Kerric wants to reach Kalarel above all other targets, and brushes past the undead thing, making a beeline for the priest who is waiting with open arms. And a skull mace.
“Let us see if your god can save you!” Kalarel says. “I doubt it.” Kerric does not respond to his goad, answering only with the steely clang of his blade on the necromancer’s armor.
Erevan aids the paladin by summoning an orb of flame and that immediately ignites the priest’s robes. Kalarel shrieks in pain but ignores the fiery orb and continues hammering his mace onto the paladin, inflicting terrible damage. The glowing mace is infused with dire necrotic energy that rots Kerric’s armor where it touches him, but that is the least of Kerric’s worries. He sees that where his blade damages the priest of Orcus, the wounds are closing within seconds.
“The blue circle! It’s healing him!” shouts Kerric to his allies.
And then something even worse happens.
Black tendrils and claws launch from the open portal to the Shadowfell, tangling around the paladin’s feet as the priest laughs, and he drives yet another stunning blow into Kerric’s chest. The paladin staggers, sweeping the tendrils away with his blade and then infuses himself with a blessing from his god, giving him the strength to fight on. The tendrils retract, waiting to lash out again from the shadowy recesses of the portal.
[GM Note: I made an error here not noticed until too late. The Thing in the Portal has threatening reach 3, but I forgot to smack the paladin (or anyone) each time he moved within range, which was quite a few times. By all odds the paladin should have died this fight (I also purposely ignored Kalarel’s ongoing necrotic 5 damage which would have chewed Kerric to pieces in no time; probably should have left that intact in retrospect)].
One of the skeleton warriors has been dropped, so the battle moves to the other flank where Helga is trading blows with the second equine monster and dodging energy blasts from the deathlock wight.
Brandis rushes up to wight, stabbing it through the ribcage. The thing snarls, and about then Helga drops the skeleton warrior and runs up the steps to help the warlord. The wight’s face peels back in a horrific visage that could potentially cause debilitating fear in the dwarf and warlord, but they both resist the effect. The deathlock wight points to the crumbled remains of the skeleton warrior.
“RISE!” it shrieks.
The dead soldier’s bones rattle back together. Splintered ribs mend and it surges to its hoofed feet, although slightly worse for the wear. Its fight with Helga has left the creature with precious few bones that can be repaired.
Nearby, Kerric is still having a terrible time with Kalarel and The Thing in the Portal. The paladin refuses to disengage, but is able to miraculously dodge the shadowy claws that launch out at him again and again, although the same can’t be said for the priest’s mace. The horrid skull has bashed Kerric’s armor and flesh into mincemeat. He tries to heal himself again, staggering perilously close to death’s door.
“Do you hear that, paladin?” Kalarel hisses through bloodied teeth. “That is Orcus calling you!”
This time the claws of Orcus lash around the paladin’s waist and drag him closer to the fluctuating portal, which Kerric assumes will be instant annihilation if he is pulled within. Gritting his teeth, he is prepared to die to see an end to Kalarel once and for all.
[GM Note: I tried to make Kalarel more 3-dimensional to the players through cut scenes and flashbacks, but yeah, the way the adventure is written, he’s a really boring villain with no motivation or interaction with the PCs until this fight. I probably should have had them meet Kalarel sooner somehow and talk long before this battle takes place].
The wight and skeleton warrior are finally destroyed, and the rest of the party rushes to aid Kerric who has nearly died multiple times. Brandis bends to a knee and pulls out his Flaming Blow, sending an arrow into Kalarel’s back. Erevan’s flaming sphere has burnt the priest round after round, and with the added damage from the arrow, they see that the necromancer is finally worried about the outcome of this fight.
Helga hits the priest hard, slamming him out of the circle and negating its regenerative properties. Kalarel is right at the edge of the inky darkness, his face smeared with blood and…worry.
Flames crackle around him, incinerating his cloak, blackening his skin and cooking him alive inside his plate armor. Kerric hacks into his breastbone, and then Helga delivers a mighty roundhouse axe blow straight into the priest’s head. His helmet cracks and the blow knocks him backward into the darkness. Inky tendrils envelope Kalarel, roping him into the portal as rich red blood gushes down his face.
“You…promised me!” he gurgles. “Lord Orcus…you promised me…that I would live FOREVER!”
And then he is gone, absorbed into the netherworld, his face taking on the ghastly pallor of death as his flesh crumbles to dust.
Everyone staggers away from the portal, afraid of the thing reaching out and sucking them in too. The glowing runes are still glowing, and after some inspection in the area, they decide that destroying the statue of Orcus and defacing every rune, symbol and relic they can find will be sufficient to seal the portal once and for all.
Eventually they have done as much damage to the ceremonial chamber as they can possibly do. The pool of blood is tainted, the statues are broken, and the blue runes are utterly scratched. The glow finally dissipates, and the shadowy portal to the netherworld fades and becomes nothing more than a solid wall. The room is searched, netting a huge bag of gold under the western altar, several scrolls with spells that Erevan has never heard of (Presper’s Moonbow, Pilfer Dweomer, and Otto’s Tin Soldiers), multiple rituals, and several odds and ends of magic items that are split among the group.
The fact that they all survived is miraculous, and Kerric feels that the fortune of Kelemvor and perhaps Bahamut was indeed with them all.
The group briefly discusses what more they can do in the keep before they leave. Boss Fatty is running around somewhere, the lucky bastard, but they don’t feel like tracking him down. There is a room with a huge Blue Slime guarding some treasure, but after their last encounter with that thing they don’t really feel like tangling with it again, especially now that they’re so depleted on resources.
And then there is the matter of Shuck the traitorous halfling. He’s still chained upstairs in the Cathedral of Shadow, so they agree to unbind the fat little man, but keep him tethered close. He will be taken back to Winterhaven and handed over so that justice can be served just like it was to Ninaran.
So, they leave the keep behind, trudging wearily up into the sunlight, leaving Sir Keegan and his ghostly twin daughters to their fates in the catacombs below, hoping that perhaps now they can finally find peace.
But will the portal to the Shadowfell remain closed forever? That they do not know.
*******************************
They are soon welcomed back to Winterhaven amid a crowd of cheers, waving banners and happy smiles. News travels quickly and word of their success quickly brings out dozens and dozens of people, although most of the citizens don’t know how close their community came to utter destruction at the hands of an undead horde.
Salvana Wrafton wraps Brandis Padraig in a hug, huskily whispering into his ear that she’ll have a “special” gift for him later. She winks, and the warlord blinks rapidly. His father has heard that same offer before.
Kelrella Sweetleaf, elf minstrel, promises to write an ode to the heroes so that they will be remembered and honored for years to come. She is genuinely DISGUSTED to learn that her harpist Shuck the Halfling was actually in cahoots with a vile necromancer. Shuck teamed up with her in Silverymoon some months back, and must have planned to betray everyone the whole time. She hopes he gets hanged.
Rond Kelfern, head of the militia, takes Shuck off their hands and hauls him to the jail where the Halfling will lament until they decide what to do with him. Public execution is a likely outcome, but it’s ultimately Lord Padraig’s decision.
Thair Coalstriker roars with laughter and wants to know exactly how many goblins they butchered. He says this while starting right at Splug, who shies away beneath Irann’s robes. Helga agrees to indulge Thair in their story over a brew or six. Thair also says that he’s been working on a statue for the heroes, and although it’s not done yet, soon enough there will be a bronze effigy of them standing in the middle of town.
Delphina Moongem wanders up, all smiles and humming merrily, and places bright flowers behind everyone’s ears, in their hair and in the cracks of armor. Strange, strange woman, that one, but her presence reminds them of the looming date with the Frog Queen on Jade Hill when they must turn over Irontooth’s hands. It is still a few weeks away.
Valthrun the Prescient, portly sage and scholar of Winterhaven, nods deeply at their success and hugs each of them. “The gate has been sealed. Winterhaven is safe again, thanks to you.”
Bairwain Wildarson, owner and proprietor of Bairwain’s Shoppe of Rare Goods, intervenes before the party is shuffled off to the tavern for an evening of drinks, food, and merriment. “You have my thanks as well,” he says. “Listen, I just had a shipment arrive from a traveling merchant from the Hall of Seven Pillars. He brought some choice goods, and I’ll sell them discount. Come see me later.” The party won’t argue with that offer.
Lastly, Brandis’s father Lord Ernest Padraig pushes through the crowd, and the group is shocked to see none other than Ninaran at his side. Furthermore, she is dressed in the holy robes as a priestess of Sune.
“My son. Heroes, all of you, you have my eternal gratitude. You have saved us from a terrible fate, and you are welcome here in Winterhaven anytime you wish, free room and board. What we have is yours.”
“But what is SHE doing out jail?” demands Brandis, scowling at the half-elf.
Ninaran answers, although she stares at the ground as if embarrassed. “Your father has seen it fit to forgive me, and to recognize me as a…as a true daughter.” Lord Padraig nods. “It was not an easy decision for him, but I have sworn to redeem myself for the hardships I brought upon the people of Winterhaven. I have devoted myself as a nun to the Temple of Sune with Sister Linora. Together, we will work to heal the community as best we can. It is the least I can do.”
Brandis and the others aren’t wholly convinced of the truth of her words, but Lord Padraig defends her.
“I must learn to forgive,” Padraig says. “I shunned this woman in the past, and others like her too I fear. Your…mother is not pleased, I assure you that, Brandis. But we’ll discuss that later. For now, let us retire to the fest hall and celebrate your victory!”
Erevan, Irann, Helga, Kerric, Brandis and little Splug are ushered through the warm front doors of Wrafton’s Inn, leaving the cold purple dusk outside, and knowing for the time being, the people of Winterhaven are finally safe.
And the heroes have earned themselves a small spot in history.
THE END
[GM Note: And that’s a wrap. This was a fun adventure, I enjoyed it. I think the players liked it too. There’s enough plot hooks to segue into the next published module, Thunderspire Labyrinth, although I've taken a detour and am running a conversion of an old adventure from Dungeon Magazine called Tallow's Deep, which so far has taken 8 sessions, much, much longer than I thought it would].
Thanks for reading!
