Schmoe's Story

[Schmoe]

This is a story that will chronicle the events of a campaign we began nearly a year ago. There have been a great many adventures and misadventures, and hopefully you can enjoy reading about them as much as we've enjoyed playing them.

Alas, I don't yet have the time to begin writing the story from the beginning, but I've finally convinced one of my players to write a character log. I'm going to post the log here. It's written from his character's viewpoint, so I plan to provide commentary and additional information where I think it would be helpful. The log begins where our campaign was sometime in March or April of this year.

Here's a little bit about the characters as of the beginning of this particular thread:

Orion Brownacre, Human, Rogue 1/Bard 3/Sorcerer 2 - Performer extraordinaire, and the writer of this campaign log.

Judas "Crabby" Brownacre, Human, Rogue 1/Sorcerer 4 - Orion's irascible brother, in game and out.

Magnus, Human, Ranger 2/Fighter 4 - A bounty hunter with great personal trials to overcome.

Pharos, Elf, Cleric 6 of Geb - A wandering chronicler of stories who desires to see the world.

Demetra, Human, Ranger 3/Druid 3 - Greenpeace meets the Green Berets, with an attitude.

Ash, Human, Fighter 2/Wizard 3 - A demented, pyromaniac hermit who joined the League of Freedom to pursue his destructive urges.

Ovlark, Half-Elf, Ranger 2/Fighter 2 (NPC)- His father founded the Gryphon's Claw, and organization of rangers that protects Brookhaven (Orion and Crabby's home town). He's not sure how he got mixed up in all of this political nonsense, but here he is.


This is a homebrew campaign, so if you have any questions about something that doesn't make sense, feel free to ask. Some basic knowledge of the gods that will be helpful is that Geb is the Creator of the world; Selenya is the daughter he created to protect the Chosen Races (those he created); Durla Kryl was a demon from the Void who corrupted Geb's creation and is now worshipped as the god of all evil.

There's plenty more, but this should give you a good start, and information overload can be a bad thing...

One last thing before we get to the good stuff: my comments will be in italics, while the player log will be in normal text, just in case there's any confusion.

 

[Schmoe]

(This story begins as the group is at a camp of the League of Freedom on the plains outside of Rushington. The camp is run by a stern ex-officer named Justin Grabelson. They fled here after the encounter at the secret temple of the Black Circle beneath the slums outside of Rushington, where Gerald Gorson of the Crimson Agents fled in possession of the History of the Shadowlands. He fled because the party turned on him, along with the Windslayers of Jreknar, when Naivoryn, along with the prince, Sasha, and several other League members, arrived and called for the party’s assistance. Now, with the Deputy Minister of the Crimson Agents fuming at their betrayal, Rushington was undoubtedly a deathtrap for the party. That’s why they were in the camp.

Little more than a day after arriving at the camp, a group of three diseased pilgrims approached, claiming that they had a message for the one known as Naivoryn. Although the patrol that first found them warned them away, they continued to the camp itself. When Naivoryn and the entire League contingent confronted them, the revealed themselves as fiends, creatures of ineffable evil. In a desperate battle, one of the fiends was slain and the others driven off, but the toll was great. Nearly a dozen of the guards lay dead or dying, and the party’s newfound companion, an unflappable grig rogue by the name of Brindlewyne, was dead.)

I had little time to mourn the death of Brindlewyne, my newfound friend. As I trudged through the blood-drenched snow towards the burial site, a League soldier hurried up to my side, explaining that Nayvorine wanted to see me (and my companions) immediately. I waved him off, exasperated and exhausted, laid Brindlewyne’s limp, delicate form alongside the other valiant warriors that gave their lives, collected my thoughts, and headed directly to Nayvorine’s tent.

It seemed I was the last to arrive – Demetra, Ovlark, Magnus, Breelock (a.k.a. The Prince) (Breelock is the cover identity that Prince Edmund uses), Nayvorine, Pharos, Ash, and Crabby were all already there, calmly discussing the possible roads ahead. The League still had business in Rushington – a splinter League faction had started the revolution early, so weapons needed to be smuggled in to the still-loyal but ill-equipped League members still in Rushington. The splinter faction itself was also an issue: We knew who was spearheading it, but what were his motives? Why did he start early? In addition to the controversy surrounding the splinter faction, Breelock felt that if he could get into Rushington to talk to his uncle, Duke Belnor Blackthorne, he might be able to talk sense to him – to tell him what’s really going on.

At this point, I was a little confused. I thought that it was pretty obvious what was going on – the King was overtaxing the crap out of his subjects, gradually putting the Kingdom of Talnorak under martial rule, and sending anyone who objected to work (and die) in the mines. At this point, it was apparent that something else was going on.

Obviously aware of my puzzled expression, Nayvorine spoke: “Breelock, maybe we should tell them what’s really going on.” A wave of anxiety and betrayal washed over the lot of us as we realized that we had been played for fools once again.

(Actually, as I recall the exchange went something more like this:

Prince Edmund/Breelock: “I think it’s time we tell them.”
Naivoryn, sweetly, with a pleasant smile: “Tell them what, my good prince?”
Prince Edmund/Breelock: “The truth.”
Naivoryn, sharply: “Oh. That.”)


Breelock responded to Nayvorine’s suggestion with a cold nod. Nayvorine explained that League operatives have discovered that the King himself is working to bring about the return of Durla Kryl and that all of the mining in the mountains is directly related to Durla Kryl’s return. While not really surprising news to us, it was disturbing all the same, confirming our suspicions that Durla Kryl’s cultists were far more organized than we initially suspected.

After reviewing all of the clues at hand, we decided to accompany The League to Rushington. Breelock would go talk to the Duke, other League operatives would smuggle the weapons in through the sewers, and Magnus, Demetra, Crabby, Ovlark, Pharos, Ash, and I would sneak in through the sewer system as well, hoping to investigate the address noted on a scrap of paper we found in the temple of Durla Kryl.

The two-day trek southeast to Rushington was bitterly cold, but relatively uneventful. We camped a few miles out of Rushington, then, under the cover of darkness, rode horses into the ramshackle sprawl of The Alley. Though we knew we wouldn’t see them again, we stabled the horses in one of the many abandoned buildings on the outskirts, found the nearest sewer grate, and descended into the now-familiar stench.

The stench may have been familiar, but there was no way in the Nine Hells I could ever get used to it. We splashed about in the darkness a bit, until Ash unshuttered his lantern, bathing the waste of Rushington’s degenerates in a warm, golden glow. It took a little while, but my knowledge of Rushington’s layout, tempered with a little of Demetra’s direction sense, landed us on the path towards the North Commons.

The journey through sewers was among the creepiest experiences I’ve had. Shaggy mosses hung overhead, hiding gods-know-what. The flickering light from the lantern danced off of the walls and glistened off of the river of effluvia, creating an ever-changing mass of shadows at the edge of our vision. Suddenly, I saw one of the moss-clumps move, and, sure enough, several of them moved across the ceiling at lightning speed and down the walls towards us.

The things were man-sized bipedal masses of glistening, sinewy, jet-black flesh with arms fully twice the length of their torsos. As they descended, their whip-like arms lashed out at us, attempting to draw us in and squeeze the life out of us. Though the things moved with incredible speed, Magnus, Pharos, Demetra, and I acted quickly, and, under a flurry of steel and spells, managed to dispatch the full half-dozen before any of them could strangle the life from us. We took a moment to collect ourselves, tended our minor wounds, and trudged on.

As we continued, we frequently felt an enormous presence just outside of our lantern’s light. Occasionally a wave of sewage would spill up onto the walkway – sometimes we’d see something slithering just beneath the surface of the waste. Whatever it was, it was there, and when we came to the next junction room, we decided that now was as good a time as any to head up to the surface. Fortunately, I had kept us on track, and we emerged but a couple of blocks away from our destination. We were greeted by starlight and the pungent odor of burning wood, a welcome change from the stench of the sewers, but a melancholy indication of things to come. After shooing off a couple of overly curious beggar children, we trudged through the snow-covered streets towards Thieves’ Market.

 

[tleilaxu]

Good luck with the story hour! Before long you'll have a loyal following...

 

[Schmoe]

Good luck with the story hour! Before long you'll have a loyal following...

Thanks tleilaxu! I had a story hour here back when these boards were run by Eric Noah, but I was a player then and that campaign is finished now. It's a little bit more difficult to write a story about a campaign for which I DM, as I find that I want to spend most of my time working on the campaign. Still, stories and logs are a wonderful way to record the adventures and good times you've had along the way. Hopefully this becomes a long-running story hour.

Congratulations on being the first one to post here!

 

[Schmoe]

Some background

Now is probably a good time to explain what the party is doing, and why.

When they first arrived in Rushington, the party took a job for the League of Freedom to recover a book known as The History of the Shadowlands. They eventually discovered that this book had information on how to create something known as the Ring of Truth. Initially, the League told them that they had reason to believe that any planned revolution was doomed to failure unless they were in possession of the Ring of Truth. However, while in the League camp northeast of Rushington, Naivoryn revealed that the real reason they needed the Ring was to complete the Planar Seal.

You see, in ages past there were gateways between the world of Strife and the Void beyond, and demons and other terrible creatures of the Void were free to enter the world and wreak havoc. Durla Kryl drew his strength from these creatures, and the land was a nightmare of fire and pain. Then four heroes arose from the mists of legend and tamed the elements, forging four tokens of power. These tokens were used to create the Planar Seal, which locked out the creatures of the Void and bound Durla Kryl to a restless slumber. The tokens were then secreted away in hidden shrines across the world, to prevent any from undoing what had been done. But the Seal was incomplete, and there still exist ways to weaken or even destroy it. The League fears a twisted scheme by the king of Talnorak, King Dalamar Blackthorne, to perform a ritual that may sever the Seal once and for all.

That's where the Ring of Truth comes in. The League came across reference to the Ring in conjunction with a way to strengthen, reinforce, and perhaps even make permanent the Planar Seal. The only problem is that they don't know how or where to acquire the Ring, which is why they sent the party after The History of the Shadowlands.

The group had a devil of a time tracking down the book, and in the process they recruited the aid of Gerald Gorson of the Crimson Agents. Just when they thought they had the book safely in their possession, there was the showdown between Gerald and the Windslayers, the party, and members of the League of Freedom. Gerald escaped with the book, and the League and the party fled the city.

The party was not without recourse, however, as they had managed to pilfer the rambling notes of a mad high priest who had briefly possessed the book. These notes contained an address in Rushington, along with some brief references to the book in question, and so the party returned to Rushington...

 

[Schmoe]

nasssty second pagesess...

As we closed in on the plaza, the burning-wood smell intensified, and as we rounded a corner to enter the plaza, we could see part of its source. At the market’s far end, a man with wild hair and crazy eyes stood atop a crate, a blazing bonfire to his right, and a crowd of several dozen malcontents before him. Off in the distance, flames licked up the sides of several residential buildings, and thick smoke poured from their windows. The man ranted, above the crackling of the flames, about the need for a revolution, for the citizens of Rushington to arm themselves, and to fight against the oppression of Duke Blackthorne. Unable to resist my desire and need to set things straight, I stepped forward out of the darkness, and spoke above the shouts of the crowd:

“Do not listen to the lies this man speaks.” The man fell surprisingly silent, and as the confused crowd turned to face me, I continued, “Violent revolution is not the answer. Duke Blackthorne is a compassionate man – he is to be respected and honored.”

The man, well-dressed despite his obvious madness, glared at me in such a way I felt my blood momentarily thin. “Look at you – nothing more than money-grubbing mercenaries dressed in the sewer’s finest. What makes you think that these obviously intelligent people will believe anything you have to say?”

My eyes narrowed, and one-by-one, my companions stepped out of the darkness. “Because our deeds precede us, and we have already fought for what is right and true. I am Orion Brownacre, of Brookhaven, and these are my companions. We have slain legions of kobolds in Brookhaven, ferreted out deviant serpent-men in Farlan, fought off the so-called League of Freedom, and banished shadow-demons in the Darkwood Forest.”

A murmur swept through the crowd – he shrunk back a little, so I continued, “As I said prior, violence is not the answer today! Go back to your homes; support the Duke in whatever he does. I assure you he is just. Listen not to this man, as he will surely lead you to your deaths.” The murmuring continued, then distinct, but subdued, approval could be heard, and the crowd dispersed, with nearly everyone glancing angrily behind them at the man on the platform. Realizing that his performance had come to an abrupt halt, the man continued his hateful stare a moment longer, then disappeared into the shadows. Emboldened a bit, we strode across Thieves’ Market to Rogue Street, and found the address we searched for shortly thereafter.

The bookshop was closed up and tightly shuttered for the evening. After pounding on the door repeatedly and after a bit of verbal coercion from our friend Magnus, the owner, an aging, bookish half-elf, reluctantly let us inside to conduct ‘business.’ We asked him many pointed questions about The History of the Shadowlands, but all he could tell us is that someone had paid him handsomely to translate it. He mentioned that he still had notes on the subject, and we convinced him to part with them for a modest sum.

(Actually, the half-elf had considerably more information than that. It seems that several weeks ago he was approached by a tall, thin man with stringy, unkempt hair about whether or not he could translate a book written in the native tongue of the Shadowlands. The half-elf said he could, and an arrangement was made. About a week after that, a different man, this one well-dressed, with brown hair and a full beard and claiming to be affiliated with the first, brought the book to the half-elf and requested that he begin the translation post-haste. The bearded man returned just over a week ago and demanded that the half-elf turn over the book and any notes he had managed to translate, despite the half-elf’s protests that he was not finished.

All of that seemed relatively normal, but this very morning the first man returned and said that there had been a delay in acquiring the book. He said that his need for the half-elf’s services may have been delayed indefinitely, and he demanded repayment of his deposit. When the half-elf explained to him that his services had already been rendered, and then explained about the bearded man, he became extremely angry and flew out of the shop in a rage. Knowing when to get out of the way, so to speak, the half-elf was now in the midst of packing up his shop to leave town.)

As the half-elf rummaged through his records, we heard a bit of noise outside. I could make out the sounds of spellcasting, but my knowledge did me no good as the building’s front door exploded inward in a shower of splinters, revealing a hulking creature made of earth and stone. The next few minutes are a complete blur to me now, but they involved the half-elf fleeing, defeating the evil earth-creature, recovering the half-elf’s scrolls, and chasing off several invisible foes whose voices we recognized as those belonging to cultists of Durla Kryl.

 

[ForceUser@Home]

Looking forward to reading what happens next!

 

[Schmoe]

Looking forward to reading what happens next!

Thanks Force! Your comments definitely help to inspire motivation.