carborundum
Adventurer
Sounds like a blast! Did everyone just remember them all or did you plough through the SH to find favours? ;-)
Shilsen's Eberron SH (Finished - The Last Word : 9/20/15)
Oh we went through all our contacts for the past 5 years. If we didn't kill it then we asked for its help even if we did try to kill it, or managed to kill it and it came back we asked for it's help... mutually assured destruction works... "help us or we ALL die"
Shil would keep a running list of all npcs met so we referenced that too.
A nice thing about this group is that we didn't really gain or lose players so what one person forgot two others recalled.
Shil would keep a running list of all npcs met so we referenced that too.
A nice thing about this group is that we didn't really gain or lose players so what one person forgot two others recalled.
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shilsen
Adventurer
carborundum said:
What Avi said. Sometimes I mentioned options that the characters would be aware of even if the players might have forgotten, and sometimes the players went "What about that person who did/lived at X and whose name I forget..." and I gave them the info. But the vast majority of it was people the players thought of.
carborundum
Adventurer
They just needed to dare a few bad guys to go buy a newspaper in Sharn ;-)
shilsen
Adventurer
You know, now that I think of it, of all the things that the Xoriat invasion did in Khorvaire, they never, ever tried to get a newspaper in Sharn.
And they call it the plane of madness, Ha!
Plane of Madness, not stupidity. Also don't forget, in this campaign the Alienist is the sane, reasonable and Moral character!
Welcome to the Story Hour by the way.
shilsen
Adventurer
As Rackhir said, welcome to the Story Hour, Noliar.
And here's a quick update...
* * * * * * * * * *
Knowing that there is no predicting what they will encounter in passing through the Dead-Gray Mist, the Guardian Angels prepare themselves with various protections before entering. Six and Nameless remove the ability to see invisibility which they both normally have, having no desire to see—and presumably be attacked by—the thousands of spirits which inhabit the Mournland, as has happened once before. Nameless links everyone via a telepathic bond, not wishing to rely solely on the mental connection that they all have due to the fragments of the Silver Flame that they absorbed.
Once ready, they connect themselves to each other with the self-regenerating troll-gut rope Six possesses, and then head in. The sensation of entering is the same as ever, with sight fading almost instantly, while sound and sensation are both heavily muted. There are, however, a few changes. This time, the Mist seems somehow thicker and more physically tangible, exerting a faint pressure on the Angels as they move slowly through it. There is also a constant buzzing murmur, which seems to resemble the much fainter buzzing that the Angels have encountered ever since they were infused with the Flame.
Other than these minor changes, there does not seem to be any appreciable difference in the process of passing through the Mist. They hear the faints sounds and cries around them or in the distance, at least one of them feels the touch of an invisible hand at some point, time seems to pass at an odd rate, but eventually, with nothing untoward having occurred, the Guardian Angels step through the Dead-Gray Mist and onto the ground of the Mournland within its borders.
“So far so good,” says Luna, as the Angels look around the dimly lit landscape of blasted desolation. “What next?”
“Why don't we take my dolgaunt out of the portable hole and see if it can give us any directions?” suggests Korm.
“Your dolgaunt?” chuckles Gareth, while Nameless complies with Korm's suggestion.
The Gatekeeper shrugs and grins, before helping the dolgaunt out of the extradimensional space once the alienist has opened it. “So,” he says to the aberration, “Can you lead us to the ziggurat from here?”
The dolgaunt turns its sightless eye-sockets back and forth and then replies that it cannot, before meekly adding that it's not good at judging directions and positioning because it can only see in a certain radius around it.
“Great ,” grunts Luna. “Our 'guide' is blind. We should have got a mind-flayer!”
“That might have caused some other problems,” Gareth observes.
Six, who has been looking around warily, interrupts at this point. “Is anyone feeling a little cold?”
Now that he mentions it, the other Angels realize that the temperature does seem to be decreasing around them, till it is substantially colder than the last time they were in here. The 'weather,' or what passes for it here, seems to be the same, however, giving no indication why this shift is occurring. It is doubly odd because their now inherent resistance to all of the elements normally makes them incapable of detecting shifts in temperature. As they focus on this matter, they also notice a change in the faint firefly-like lights which constantly appear and disappear in the muted silver glow that now permanently surrounds each of them. The little lights have evidently intensified in number, and are also winking on and off more rapidly.
“I wonder why this phenomenon is occurring,” Nameless muses, half to himself. “My hypothesis would be that the soul energy within us is interacting in some manner with that present in this place.”
“Maybe,” says Gareth. “Let me try something. I prepared this in case it helps.” The paladin picks up a small pebble from the ground and casts a spell, touching the tiny rock to each of his companions in turn. When he does so, the pebble crumbles in his hands. Looking thoughtful, the paladin produces a knife and nicks his finger, before casting a healing spell. There is no effect.
“An attune form?” asks Nameless. “That only works on other planes of existence.”
“I know,” says Gareth. “Considering all the things that are different about this place, I wondered if that might help here. Perhaps by attuning ourselves to the weird laws of this place we could heal magically or do other things. I guess not.”
“On the other hand …,” says Korm, indicating the paladin's finger, which has now stopped bleeding.
“Oh, nice!” says Luna, enthusiastically. “Our fast healing works here. Great!”
Korm chuckles and says, with cynical sarcasm, “We just walked into the Mournland and discovered some good news. There is no way this day will get any worse.”
As he speaks, Six looks up. “You're very perceptive, Korm. Sometimes,” he says with mechanical dryness, flicking his spiked chain to a ready position, “I hate that about you.”
Glancing up to see what the warforged is looking at, the other Angels—and the dolgaunt, which has been waiting patiently and meekly—find themselves staring at the Dead-Gray Mist a hundred and fifty feet above their heads, which forms a ceiling over the Mournland. Two huge sections of the Mist have detached themselves from the larger mass, each of them some thirty or forty feet across. Both of them drop rapidly towards the Angels below, roiling and spinning as they come. As the segments of Mist twist and turn, many scores—if not hundreds—of faces form and reform in their surfaces, seemingly screaming in agony or fear for an instant (albeit soundlessly) before they disappear into the ever-changing surface.
Not that the Angels have time to enjoy or worry about the strange display. As the two swiftly dropping sections of Mist come within twenty feet of them, each one extends what looks like a gigantic pseudopod and strikes at the Angels. Despite their fog-like appearance, the appendages are clearly very solid, as is indicated by the manner in which Korm and Luna are both bowled off their feet. The pseudopods swiftly retract and the creatures retreat slightly, remaining well out of reach of the Angels.
The two druids respond with arcs of lightning and flame strikes, but the Mist monsters are clearly both agile and resilient, only small parts of their amorphous bodies disappearing under the magical onslaught.
Gareth, having been hasted along with the others by Six, activates his magical armor, causing giant angelic wings to sprout from his shoulders while his form blurs, making it difficult to discern and hit. As he prepares to fly up, Nameless rasps, “You're not flying up after them, are you? Haven't we learned anything about not separating from the group?”
“We need to get close to them!” says Gareth, hefting the Endless Blade. “Unless you can bring them down here.”
“Not quite,” replies the alienist, “But I can do this.” His tentacle flexes as he quickly speaks the words of a spell, and one of the giant masses of ambulatory Mist promptly disappears. “I mazed it, but it'll be back soon. Take care of the other.”
Before Gareth can do so, however, the remaining Mist monster swoops down towards them. Its shape changes as it drops, seeming to turn in on itself and form a giant vortex of swiftly revolving clouds, the myriad faces flowing around and around on its surface. The creature smashes down on Luna, who had transformed into a giant bear, and scoops her huge form up inside itself, before retreating upwards again. The unfortunate dolgaunt, which had been cowering a short distance away, is swept up in its wake.
“Ah, great!” says Gareth, before leaping into the air after it. The paladin soars upwards, with the Endless Blade shifting into the form of a lance as he does so. An instant later, he strikes the creature with tremendous force, driving his weapon deep into its cloudy mass and feeling distinct resistance – which tears and collapses under his blow.
The mass of Mist shudders and shakes violently at the impact, but before it can do anything else, Six appears next to Gareth, borne aloft via his cloak, which has transformed into two large pinions of flame behind him. His spiked chain, wreathed around with the shadows that stream from his body, strikes with pinpoint accuracy at the precise spot that the paladin just struck.
This time, the faces on the surface of the Mist monster all scream in unison, making no sound but spreading their mouths wide in what appears to be silent agony. And then disappear, as the creature collapses in on itself and, in the space of a second or two, disappears.
Which leaves a startled Luna behind, to fall out of the air to the ground below with bone-crushing force. Or at least bone-crushing for anyone besides the phenomenally resilient druid – such as the dolgaunt, who is possibly having the unluckiest day of any dolgaunt on the planet. The aberration falls too, its shriek of terror cutting off as it smashes into the ground – and then has Luna plummet right on top of it.
Korm opens his mouth to say something, before jerking his head back upwards as the mazed Mist monster reappears where it had been before Nameless' spell, looming over Gareth and Six. Two appendages appear this time, smashing into each of them.
As the creature engages his two companions, the alienist below says, “Time to finish this.” Nameless casts a limited wish, using his temporary control of the immediate future to manipulate their enemy's chances of resisting his next spell.
Above him, the Mist monster hammers at both Six and Gareth, its powerful blows striking the two despite their agility or heavy armor or magical protections. It absorbs their attacks, as well as a flame strike from Korm, but there is a limit to what it can take. An incredibly powerful beam of energy strikes it, causing the entire mass to be momentarily outlined in emerald green light. Then it collapses in on itself as the combination of Nameless' weakening of its resistances and his disintegrate* reduces it to nothingness.
The alienist smiles and mimics cocking and then firing a crossbow. Then he glances at Luna, who climbs a little groggily back onto her four legs and then picks up a mangled form in one paw. Holding up the crushed and bloody remnants of the dolgaunt, she gives Korm a weak ursine grin. “Sorry!”
The Gatekeeper stares at her and then waves his arms, yelling aggrievedly, “Dammit – you broke my dolgaunt! And I just got it!”
* Which was empowered and maximized, doing approximately 350 hit points worth. Even a reskinned air elemental monolith has trouble absorbing that kind of damage.
And here's a quick update...
* * * * * * * * * *
Knowing that there is no predicting what they will encounter in passing through the Dead-Gray Mist, the Guardian Angels prepare themselves with various protections before entering. Six and Nameless remove the ability to see invisibility which they both normally have, having no desire to see—and presumably be attacked by—the thousands of spirits which inhabit the Mournland, as has happened once before. Nameless links everyone via a telepathic bond, not wishing to rely solely on the mental connection that they all have due to the fragments of the Silver Flame that they absorbed.
Once ready, they connect themselves to each other with the self-regenerating troll-gut rope Six possesses, and then head in. The sensation of entering is the same as ever, with sight fading almost instantly, while sound and sensation are both heavily muted. There are, however, a few changes. This time, the Mist seems somehow thicker and more physically tangible, exerting a faint pressure on the Angels as they move slowly through it. There is also a constant buzzing murmur, which seems to resemble the much fainter buzzing that the Angels have encountered ever since they were infused with the Flame.
Other than these minor changes, there does not seem to be any appreciable difference in the process of passing through the Mist. They hear the faints sounds and cries around them or in the distance, at least one of them feels the touch of an invisible hand at some point, time seems to pass at an odd rate, but eventually, with nothing untoward having occurred, the Guardian Angels step through the Dead-Gray Mist and onto the ground of the Mournland within its borders.
“So far so good,” says Luna, as the Angels look around the dimly lit landscape of blasted desolation. “What next?”
“Why don't we take my dolgaunt out of the portable hole and see if it can give us any directions?” suggests Korm.
“Your dolgaunt?” chuckles Gareth, while Nameless complies with Korm's suggestion.
The Gatekeeper shrugs and grins, before helping the dolgaunt out of the extradimensional space once the alienist has opened it. “So,” he says to the aberration, “Can you lead us to the ziggurat from here?”
The dolgaunt turns its sightless eye-sockets back and forth and then replies that it cannot, before meekly adding that it's not good at judging directions and positioning because it can only see in a certain radius around it.
“Great ,” grunts Luna. “Our 'guide' is blind. We should have got a mind-flayer!”
“That might have caused some other problems,” Gareth observes.
Six, who has been looking around warily, interrupts at this point. “Is anyone feeling a little cold?”
Now that he mentions it, the other Angels realize that the temperature does seem to be decreasing around them, till it is substantially colder than the last time they were in here. The 'weather,' or what passes for it here, seems to be the same, however, giving no indication why this shift is occurring. It is doubly odd because their now inherent resistance to all of the elements normally makes them incapable of detecting shifts in temperature. As they focus on this matter, they also notice a change in the faint firefly-like lights which constantly appear and disappear in the muted silver glow that now permanently surrounds each of them. The little lights have evidently intensified in number, and are also winking on and off more rapidly.
“I wonder why this phenomenon is occurring,” Nameless muses, half to himself. “My hypothesis would be that the soul energy within us is interacting in some manner with that present in this place.”
“Maybe,” says Gareth. “Let me try something. I prepared this in case it helps.” The paladin picks up a small pebble from the ground and casts a spell, touching the tiny rock to each of his companions in turn. When he does so, the pebble crumbles in his hands. Looking thoughtful, the paladin produces a knife and nicks his finger, before casting a healing spell. There is no effect.
“An attune form?” asks Nameless. “That only works on other planes of existence.”
“I know,” says Gareth. “Considering all the things that are different about this place, I wondered if that might help here. Perhaps by attuning ourselves to the weird laws of this place we could heal magically or do other things. I guess not.”
“On the other hand …,” says Korm, indicating the paladin's finger, which has now stopped bleeding.
“Oh, nice!” says Luna, enthusiastically. “Our fast healing works here. Great!”
Korm chuckles and says, with cynical sarcasm, “We just walked into the Mournland and discovered some good news. There is no way this day will get any worse.”
As he speaks, Six looks up. “You're very perceptive, Korm. Sometimes,” he says with mechanical dryness, flicking his spiked chain to a ready position, “I hate that about you.”
Glancing up to see what the warforged is looking at, the other Angels—and the dolgaunt, which has been waiting patiently and meekly—find themselves staring at the Dead-Gray Mist a hundred and fifty feet above their heads, which forms a ceiling over the Mournland. Two huge sections of the Mist have detached themselves from the larger mass, each of them some thirty or forty feet across. Both of them drop rapidly towards the Angels below, roiling and spinning as they come. As the segments of Mist twist and turn, many scores—if not hundreds—of faces form and reform in their surfaces, seemingly screaming in agony or fear for an instant (albeit soundlessly) before they disappear into the ever-changing surface.
Not that the Angels have time to enjoy or worry about the strange display. As the two swiftly dropping sections of Mist come within twenty feet of them, each one extends what looks like a gigantic pseudopod and strikes at the Angels. Despite their fog-like appearance, the appendages are clearly very solid, as is indicated by the manner in which Korm and Luna are both bowled off their feet. The pseudopods swiftly retract and the creatures retreat slightly, remaining well out of reach of the Angels.
The two druids respond with arcs of lightning and flame strikes, but the Mist monsters are clearly both agile and resilient, only small parts of their amorphous bodies disappearing under the magical onslaught.
Gareth, having been hasted along with the others by Six, activates his magical armor, causing giant angelic wings to sprout from his shoulders while his form blurs, making it difficult to discern and hit. As he prepares to fly up, Nameless rasps, “You're not flying up after them, are you? Haven't we learned anything about not separating from the group?”
“We need to get close to them!” says Gareth, hefting the Endless Blade. “Unless you can bring them down here.”
“Not quite,” replies the alienist, “But I can do this.” His tentacle flexes as he quickly speaks the words of a spell, and one of the giant masses of ambulatory Mist promptly disappears. “I mazed it, but it'll be back soon. Take care of the other.”
Before Gareth can do so, however, the remaining Mist monster swoops down towards them. Its shape changes as it drops, seeming to turn in on itself and form a giant vortex of swiftly revolving clouds, the myriad faces flowing around and around on its surface. The creature smashes down on Luna, who had transformed into a giant bear, and scoops her huge form up inside itself, before retreating upwards again. The unfortunate dolgaunt, which had been cowering a short distance away, is swept up in its wake.
“Ah, great!” says Gareth, before leaping into the air after it. The paladin soars upwards, with the Endless Blade shifting into the form of a lance as he does so. An instant later, he strikes the creature with tremendous force, driving his weapon deep into its cloudy mass and feeling distinct resistance – which tears and collapses under his blow.
The mass of Mist shudders and shakes violently at the impact, but before it can do anything else, Six appears next to Gareth, borne aloft via his cloak, which has transformed into two large pinions of flame behind him. His spiked chain, wreathed around with the shadows that stream from his body, strikes with pinpoint accuracy at the precise spot that the paladin just struck.
This time, the faces on the surface of the Mist monster all scream in unison, making no sound but spreading their mouths wide in what appears to be silent agony. And then disappear, as the creature collapses in on itself and, in the space of a second or two, disappears.
Which leaves a startled Luna behind, to fall out of the air to the ground below with bone-crushing force. Or at least bone-crushing for anyone besides the phenomenally resilient druid – such as the dolgaunt, who is possibly having the unluckiest day of any dolgaunt on the planet. The aberration falls too, its shriek of terror cutting off as it smashes into the ground – and then has Luna plummet right on top of it.
Korm opens his mouth to say something, before jerking his head back upwards as the mazed Mist monster reappears where it had been before Nameless' spell, looming over Gareth and Six. Two appendages appear this time, smashing into each of them.
As the creature engages his two companions, the alienist below says, “Time to finish this.” Nameless casts a limited wish, using his temporary control of the immediate future to manipulate their enemy's chances of resisting his next spell.
Above him, the Mist monster hammers at both Six and Gareth, its powerful blows striking the two despite their agility or heavy armor or magical protections. It absorbs their attacks, as well as a flame strike from Korm, but there is a limit to what it can take. An incredibly powerful beam of energy strikes it, causing the entire mass to be momentarily outlined in emerald green light. Then it collapses in on itself as the combination of Nameless' weakening of its resistances and his disintegrate* reduces it to nothingness.
The alienist smiles and mimics cocking and then firing a crossbow. Then he glances at Luna, who climbs a little groggily back onto her four legs and then picks up a mangled form in one paw. Holding up the crushed and bloody remnants of the dolgaunt, she gives Korm a weak ursine grin. “Sorry!”
The Gatekeeper stares at her and then waves his arms, yelling aggrievedly, “Dammit – you broke my dolgaunt! And I just got it!”
* Which was empowered and maximized, doing approximately 350 hit points worth. Even a reskinned air elemental monolith has trouble absorbing that kind of damage.
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Osama Bin Laden also believes those things about himself.
Shrug.
Nameless has done his best in almost every situation to try and do that which was the most benefit to the most people. He never shirked his responsibilities. His conscience is clear.
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