Mircoles
Explorer
I use Flickr.com to post images online. They give you the option of different sizes of the pictures that you post in your photostream.
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The VOIDRUNNER'S CODEX is LIVE! Explore new worlds, fight oppressive empires, fend off fearsome aliens, and wield deadly psionics with this comprehensive boxed set expansion for 5E and A5E!
The Friday Knights in Thunderspire Labyrinth (with Pics).
- Thread starter Goonalan
- Start date
I use Flickr.com to post images online. They give you the option of different sizes of the pictures that you post in your photostream.
Testing...
![a>](http://<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/40504969@N08/3722079426/" title="1. Friday Knights vs The Sentries by goonalan, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3449/3722079426_51bb2f2ec9.jpg" width="500" height="400" alt="1. Friday Knights vs The Sentries" /></a>)
So I tried copying and pasting in the "Grab the HTML", and "Grab the Link", and this what I get- if you get chance then tell me what I'm doing wrong, also can't see anything that will let me size the screenshot.
Cheers Paul
PS Much appreciated, I understand how things should work, alas I rarely seem to know how to make things actually work.
If anyone knows how I can insert images into these posts then please contact me, see my attempts above. I know how to import the images as attachments but the 'insert image' for me is proving difficult to understand, I've posted the images at flickr and insert the url but see above for the results- any help much appreciated.
Now some more...
The Friday Knights in Sellswords of Fallcrest
Part 19: Misfortunes.
“Mawdam Zweb- she know wall, see wall, hear wall...”
“Didn't hear us coming.” Kullervo interjects, and gets a look.
“Hear mowst things”, Madame Zeb corrects herself, then goes on, “lewt mwe diwine yaw forwtune...”
The Friday Knights gawp en masse.
“What's she want?” Kullervo asks.
“To tell your forwtune, I mean fortune.” Ignaran cuts through the fog.
Madame Zeb nods frantically- Cathal still has his longsword drawn, and is pointing it directly at her.
In the background Pinky, the surviving Eunuch, goes fishing in a pickle jar for a wrinkled flesh-coloured gherkin, at least that's what it appears be.
“What starw swine arwe yew?” Madame Zeb stares hard at... none of the Knights meet her gaze, except... Astaroth, who squints hard at the odd-shaped Tiefling.
The moment elongates.
“She wants to know what star sign you are?” Ignaran translates.
“Trouble.” Astaroth growls and stomps off to find something to bully or smash, both would be better.
Flustered Madame Zeb turns to face Cathal, crouches a little and pleads with her eyes for a bite.
“Claptrap.” The Warrior of Kord hiccups and stomps off to see what Astaroth is doing.
Which just leaves Kullervo and Ignaran.
“I'm a Weasel, I mean I was born in the Seventh House, the Weasel- Year of the Artichoke, Second Abandonment, you know...”, Kullervo looks for confirmation, alas neither Madame Zeb nor Ignaran are keeping up with the conversation. “My mother was a Weasel too, although she was born in the Year of the Sodden Frog; my dad... huh, dad- he's a Tadpole, always was- always will be; Year of the Milky Potato... Bastard.” Kullervo pants slightly out of breath- clearly excited.
Ignaran tries for words, but the fog in his brain won’t clear, he settles for wordlessly flapping his mouth open and closed. Madame Zeb smiles constantly, the smile of the condemned prisoner having their sentence read out to them in a strange and garbled tongue - not understanding, but with the guillotine plainly in sight.
“We... We had an Almanac [1], in the Peterhouse, sorry- that's what we used to call it, the crapper, I used to read it all the time,” Kullervo finishes by way of explanation.
Madame Zeb takes her chance and grabs the young Rogue's hand, unfurls his clasped fingers and begins to trace the lines on Kullervo's palm.
Which works. Their attentions are grabbed.
“Hmmw.” She fabricates.
“I cwan swee yew are gowing tow hav aw lwong lwife.”
Kullervo blinks hard, what is she saying- he looks to Ignaran for answers, the Druid looks... confused, and yet; “She says you are going to have a very long, I mean tall, wife. That's nice.”
Kullervo nods and grins- loving the attention.
“What else does it say?” He asks and eagerly offers his palm up for further inspection.
“Hmmw.”
“Yew tayk afterw yer fawther.” Madame Zeb mumbles and continues to stroke Kullervo's palm.
“What?” Ignaran leans in, he didn't catch that.
“I shaid yew tayk afterw yer fawther.” She tries again.
Kullervo looks at Ignaran.
“She says- you're a lot like your dad.” Ignaran parrots.
And that's when it happens.
Kullervo is suddenly back at home, stood in the kitchen, his mother at the sink crying, again; feet on the stairs- thumping, running, his brothers and sisters- out of reach. His father stood to the right of his mother, holding onto the big kitchen table, tottering- reaching out to grab her.
Less than a second later Madame Zeb is clutching her broken nose and Kullervo's knuckles hurt. Cathal and Astaroth are over in a flash, although neither of them are doing anything- witnesses, that's all.
There's no more violence.
Cathal looks a little disappointed.
Ignaran drags the bawling Madame Zeb away, the last Eunuch attempts to cradle his mistress but is kicked away- the Druid and the Tiefling Witch head into the previous chamber, Ignaran staring back at the young Rogue- concerned.
“What'd she say?” Cathal finally asks.
“Nothing.” Kullervo shrugs and sets about searching the chamber.
Discoveries are made, the best of which is a mummified scythe-like weapon seemingly made from the fused bones of something terrible. Other than that there's little else to report- save the skull-topped rod which is stowed away for Ignaran's later perusal.
Five minutes later the Druid returns on his own.
“I've let her go...”
Cathal starts up.
“She says that the Beggar King has a throne room of sorts, guarded by a bunch of his Beggar guards, and an assassin- someone called Black Shet, another mercenary.” Ignaran finishes up, leans against a filthy bench and stares hard at Kullervo.
“Black Shet.” Cathal plays with the name, thinks hard.
“Heard of him... her?” Ignaran asks.
“No, probably another down and out looking to make a quick crown. Anyway- onwards.” The Warrior of Kord checks his sword and shield and heads on, there's an untried door over the other side of the makeshift laboratory.
He gets half way, then turns back, looks hard at Kullervo, who's watching his feet, silently fuming still.
“And you!” Cathal barks, Kullervo looks up; “take it out on Black Shet- whoever they are.”
Then he's off, the rag-tag bunch, not talking, following after.
[1] “Old Carduggan's Almanac”, Kullervo's father swears by it. For the princely sum of one silver the discerning reader has access to all manner of useful snippets of information, not the least of which is long-range Humanoid Invasion forecast. The well thumbed copy that Kullervo carries in his backpack also includes “21 Recipes for Fire Beetles”, “Spiretop Drakes- minor nuisance or just plain menaces?”, and, “Kobold Love- a romantic comedy.”
Now some more...
The Friday Knights in Sellswords of Fallcrest
Part 19: Misfortunes.
“Mawdam Zweb- she know wall, see wall, hear wall...”
“Didn't hear us coming.” Kullervo interjects, and gets a look.
“Hear mowst things”, Madame Zeb corrects herself, then goes on, “lewt mwe diwine yaw forwtune...”
The Friday Knights gawp en masse.
“What's she want?” Kullervo asks.
“To tell your forwtune, I mean fortune.” Ignaran cuts through the fog.
Madame Zeb nods frantically- Cathal still has his longsword drawn, and is pointing it directly at her.
In the background Pinky, the surviving Eunuch, goes fishing in a pickle jar for a wrinkled flesh-coloured gherkin, at least that's what it appears be.
“What starw swine arwe yew?” Madame Zeb stares hard at... none of the Knights meet her gaze, except... Astaroth, who squints hard at the odd-shaped Tiefling.
The moment elongates.
“She wants to know what star sign you are?” Ignaran translates.
“Trouble.” Astaroth growls and stomps off to find something to bully or smash, both would be better.
Flustered Madame Zeb turns to face Cathal, crouches a little and pleads with her eyes for a bite.
“Claptrap.” The Warrior of Kord hiccups and stomps off to see what Astaroth is doing.
Which just leaves Kullervo and Ignaran.
“I'm a Weasel, I mean I was born in the Seventh House, the Weasel- Year of the Artichoke, Second Abandonment, you know...”, Kullervo looks for confirmation, alas neither Madame Zeb nor Ignaran are keeping up with the conversation. “My mother was a Weasel too, although she was born in the Year of the Sodden Frog; my dad... huh, dad- he's a Tadpole, always was- always will be; Year of the Milky Potato... Bastard.” Kullervo pants slightly out of breath- clearly excited.
Ignaran tries for words, but the fog in his brain won’t clear, he settles for wordlessly flapping his mouth open and closed. Madame Zeb smiles constantly, the smile of the condemned prisoner having their sentence read out to them in a strange and garbled tongue - not understanding, but with the guillotine plainly in sight.
“We... We had an Almanac [1], in the Peterhouse, sorry- that's what we used to call it, the crapper, I used to read it all the time,” Kullervo finishes by way of explanation.
Madame Zeb takes her chance and grabs the young Rogue's hand, unfurls his clasped fingers and begins to trace the lines on Kullervo's palm.
Which works. Their attentions are grabbed.
“Hmmw.” She fabricates.
“I cwan swee yew are gowing tow hav aw lwong lwife.”
Kullervo blinks hard, what is she saying- he looks to Ignaran for answers, the Druid looks... confused, and yet; “She says you are going to have a very long, I mean tall, wife. That's nice.”
Kullervo nods and grins- loving the attention.
“What else does it say?” He asks and eagerly offers his palm up for further inspection.
“Hmmw.”
“Yew tayk afterw yer fawther.” Madame Zeb mumbles and continues to stroke Kullervo's palm.
“What?” Ignaran leans in, he didn't catch that.
“I shaid yew tayk afterw yer fawther.” She tries again.
Kullervo looks at Ignaran.
“She says- you're a lot like your dad.” Ignaran parrots.
And that's when it happens.
Kullervo is suddenly back at home, stood in the kitchen, his mother at the sink crying, again; feet on the stairs- thumping, running, his brothers and sisters- out of reach. His father stood to the right of his mother, holding onto the big kitchen table, tottering- reaching out to grab her.
Less than a second later Madame Zeb is clutching her broken nose and Kullervo's knuckles hurt. Cathal and Astaroth are over in a flash, although neither of them are doing anything- witnesses, that's all.
There's no more violence.
Cathal looks a little disappointed.
Ignaran drags the bawling Madame Zeb away, the last Eunuch attempts to cradle his mistress but is kicked away- the Druid and the Tiefling Witch head into the previous chamber, Ignaran staring back at the young Rogue- concerned.
“What'd she say?” Cathal finally asks.
“Nothing.” Kullervo shrugs and sets about searching the chamber.
Discoveries are made, the best of which is a mummified scythe-like weapon seemingly made from the fused bones of something terrible. Other than that there's little else to report- save the skull-topped rod which is stowed away for Ignaran's later perusal.
Five minutes later the Druid returns on his own.
“I've let her go...”
Cathal starts up.
“She says that the Beggar King has a throne room of sorts, guarded by a bunch of his Beggar guards, and an assassin- someone called Black Shet, another mercenary.” Ignaran finishes up, leans against a filthy bench and stares hard at Kullervo.
“Black Shet.” Cathal plays with the name, thinks hard.
“Heard of him... her?” Ignaran asks.
“No, probably another down and out looking to make a quick crown. Anyway- onwards.” The Warrior of Kord checks his sword and shield and heads on, there's an untried door over the other side of the makeshift laboratory.
He gets half way, then turns back, looks hard at Kullervo, who's watching his feet, silently fuming still.
“And you!” Cathal barks, Kullervo looks up; “take it out on Black Shet- whoever they are.”
Then he's off, the rag-tag bunch, not talking, following after.
[1] “Old Carduggan's Almanac”, Kullervo's father swears by it. For the princely sum of one silver the discerning reader has access to all manner of useful snippets of information, not the least of which is long-range Humanoid Invasion forecast. The well thumbed copy that Kullervo carries in his backpack also includes “21 Recipes for Fire Beetles”, “Spiretop Drakes- minor nuisance or just plain menaces?”, and, “Kobold Love- a romantic comedy.”
Mircoles
Explorer
Click on the picture you want to get to this page. The all sizes button gets you size selection.
I copy the "Grab the photo's URL" option and after hitting the insert images button a yellow bar appears at the top of the page, at least it does for me.
I click on it and allow scripted windows then click on the insert image button again. Then this pops up on the screen.
I paste the "Grab the photos URL" option there and voila. If there's an easier way,I haven't figured it out yet. But, this method works well for me.
Hopefully that helps. I'm rarely very good at explaining how I do things
The Friday Knights in Sellswords of Fallcrest
Part 20: B.S.
Out into the pissing rain, the weather's got worse while they've been inside, Cathal spies the courtyard- a-pit, he descends the wooden steps and into the broken arena.
Astaroth, his shadow, follows after.
Down into a broken cobbled yard, weeds and worse showing through, all manner of filth- pools of foetid water, a door to the north- which must lead to the abandoned sleeping quarters, Cathal thinks. A pair of rotten wooden double doors to the east - into some sort of dilapidated warehouse.
A flash of lightning followed by the rumble of thunder- the light momentarily illuminates a tower just beyond the buildings; the peak of the tower is clouded in a dark haze.
Ignaran, at the top of the stairs, spots this- stands statue.
“See that?” He asks Kullervo stood next to him, the young Rogue is already sodden from the torrential rain.
“Yes.” Kullervo replies resigned, and heads down the stairs in a half-rush, then across the yard heading for neither door, making a bee-line for a point between them, where the two buildings meet - the stone building they've been exploring and the dilapidated warehouse.
Ignaran follows after, hisses, “where you...”, but the young Rogue is moving too quickly now.
Cathal and Astaroth catch up with the Druid.
Kullervo braces himself, using the angle between the two walls, less than five seconds later and he's on the sloped slate roof of the stone building, and at a window.
“Didn't see that.” Ignaran comments.
Cathal shakes his head and concurs.
The three watch on.
Kullervo's at the window, it's filthy, something in the way making it difficult to see in, although there's a light in the room beyond. He shields his eyes, looks in- pressed against the crude glass pane, glimpses rafters, he's looking down into a chamber- the window is in the eaves, there's a... bed, a table, a couple of very still figures- standing to attention, a throne, perhaps, of sorts.
Something in the way though, he can't see much to his left- black. A black... Black... Back.
It's somebody’s back, a man- dressed in black, nestled in the rafters- looking down into the chamber, just like he's doing.
The man has a wicked looking dagger at his belt, one hand curled around the pommel.
It's Black Shet, Kullervo thinks - scratch that- knows; just a pane of glass between me and him, he holds his breath.
“What's 'e doin?” Astaroth points up.
Ignaran and Cathal shrug.
SMASH
Kullervo's hand darts out punches through the glass, cutting himself badly, grasps the collar of Black Shet's leather cuirass and pulls- violently.
Black Shet tumbles backwards through the window, Kullervo quickly dodges aside. Shet lands hard on the sloped slate roof and slides quick-smart backwards and off the edge of the roof- head first.
CRUNCH
And lands very awkwardly on his neck and back in the broken cobbled courtyard below, all the wind gone from his sails.
Kullervo is first on the scene; although Ignaran, Cathal and Astaroth have only got five yards to cover.
Kullervo's on him, and punching hard- he's not really cut out for this fist fighting lark but he seems to be quickly getting the hang of it.
“NO!” Ignaran screams, and increases his pace.
Cathal's arm is suddenly grabbed, tight. He skids to a halt.
“Der!” Astaroth spins him round and points, the left-hand door to the dilapidated warehouse is opening, within can be seen a ravenous bunch of gap-toothed, hacking, ragged Beggars- maybe a half-dozen of them in total, all wielding sharpened implements of one sort or another.
The right hand door begins to open, clearly there are more Beggars within the dilapidated warehouse.
It's Astaroth's turn now to show his speed, he's at the second door in a flash.
THUNG
He kicks it closed, which comes as a serious inconvenience for several of the rancid Beggars, particularly Little Roger who takes the full force of the rebounding door in his face, his head jerks back, neck snaps and he flops to the floor to do a little dance, short but terminal.
The remainder of the Beggars stream out.
“For the Beggar King!” Squeaky squeaks.
“Top'n'tail the fools!” Scabby Vince snaps.
“Spare a copper for a cuppa!” Big Roger brays.
While Moon Child, an albino loon, totters forward with a glazed expression swishing randomly about him with a pair of broken bottles.
“Incoming!” Cathal barks and draws his sword.
Ignaran, fighting to keep Kullervo from beating Black Shet to death looks up and round, then back again - to just above the window recently investigated by the young Rogue. There's something not right.
A black tentacle is momentarily illuminated by a stroke of lightning, the dark arm is reaching down from the top of the tower, heading this way, it seems to made up of a million little inky specks.
“Gods!” Ignaran rasps, then stares mouth open.
The darkness is coming for him.
He always knew it would.
Part 20: B.S.
Out into the pissing rain, the weather's got worse while they've been inside, Cathal spies the courtyard- a
-pit, he descends the wooden steps and into the broken arena.Astaroth, his shadow, follows after.
Down into a broken cobbled yard, weeds and worse showing through, all manner of filth- pools of foetid water, a door to the north- which must lead to the abandoned sleeping quarters, Cathal thinks. A pair of rotten wooden double doors to the east - into some sort of dilapidated warehouse.
A flash of lightning followed by the rumble of thunder- the light momentarily illuminates a tower just beyond the buildings; the peak of the tower is clouded in a dark haze.
Ignaran, at the top of the stairs, spots this- stands statue.
“See that?” He asks Kullervo stood next to him, the young Rogue is already sodden from the torrential rain.
“Yes.” Kullervo replies resigned, and heads down the stairs in a half-rush, then across the yard heading for neither door, making a bee-line for a point between them, where the two buildings meet - the stone building they've been exploring and the dilapidated warehouse.
Ignaran follows after, hisses, “where you...”, but the young Rogue is moving too quickly now.
Cathal and Astaroth catch up with the Druid.
Kullervo braces himself, using the angle between the two walls, less than five seconds later and he's on the sloped slate roof of the stone building, and at a window.
“Didn't see that.” Ignaran comments.
Cathal shakes his head and concurs.
The three watch on.
Kullervo's at the window, it's filthy, something in the way making it difficult to see in, although there's a light in the room beyond. He shields his eyes, looks in- pressed against the crude glass pane, glimpses rafters, he's looking down into a chamber- the window is in the eaves, there's a... bed, a table, a couple of very still figures- standing to attention, a throne, perhaps, of sorts.
Something in the way though, he can't see much to his left- black. A black... Black... Back.
It's somebody’s back, a man- dressed in black, nestled in the rafters- looking down into the chamber, just like he's doing.
The man has a wicked looking dagger at his belt, one hand curled around the pommel.
It's Black Shet, Kullervo thinks - scratch that- knows; just a pane of glass between me and him, he holds his breath.
“What's 'e doin?” Astaroth points up.
Ignaran and Cathal shrug.
SMASH
Kullervo's hand darts out punches through the glass, cutting himself badly, grasps the collar of Black Shet's leather cuirass and pulls- violently.
Black Shet tumbles backwards through the window, Kullervo quickly dodges aside. Shet lands hard on the sloped slate roof and slides quick-smart backwards and off the edge of the roof- head first.
CRUNCH
And lands very awkwardly on his neck and back in the broken cobbled courtyard below, all the wind gone from his sails.
Kullervo is first on the scene; although Ignaran, Cathal and Astaroth have only got five yards to cover.
Kullervo's on him, and punching hard- he's not really cut out for this fist fighting lark but he seems to be quickly getting the hang of it.
“NO!” Ignaran screams, and increases his pace.
Cathal's arm is suddenly grabbed, tight. He skids to a halt.
“Der!” Astaroth spins him round and points, the left-hand door to the dilapidated warehouse is opening, within can be seen a ravenous bunch of gap-toothed, hacking, ragged Beggars- maybe a half-dozen of them in total, all wielding sharpened implements of one sort or another.
The right hand door begins to open, clearly there are more Beggars within the dilapidated warehouse.
It's Astaroth's turn now to show his speed, he's at the second door in a flash.
THUNG
He kicks it closed, which comes as a serious inconvenience for several of the rancid Beggars, particularly Little Roger who takes the full force of the rebounding door in his face, his head jerks back, neck snaps and he flops to the floor to do a little dance, short but terminal.
The remainder of the Beggars stream out.
“For the Beggar King!” Squeaky squeaks.
“Top'n'tail the fools!” Scabby Vince snaps.
“Spare a copper for a cuppa!” Big Roger brays.
While Moon Child, an albino loon, totters forward with a glazed expression swishing randomly about him with a pair of broken bottles.
“Incoming!” Cathal barks and draws his sword.
Ignaran, fighting to keep Kullervo from beating Black Shet to death looks up and round, then back again - to just above the window recently investigated by the young Rogue. There's something not right.
A black tentacle is momentarily illuminated by a stroke of lightning, the dark arm is reaching down from the top of the tower, heading this way, it seems to made up of a million little inky specks.
“Gods!” Ignaran rasps, then stares mouth open.
The darkness is coming for him.
He always knew it would.
The Friday Knights in Sellswords of Fallcrest
Part 21: The Shadow descends.
Cathal and Astaroth stride forward, into the thick of the action, two of the Beggars are cut down quickly- Cathal is all action; a third suddenly slumps onto the cobbled floor- Astaroth wrenches his axe free and moves on.
In a matter of moments there are only three or four of the Beggar guards left- backing up swiftly, heading for the comforting darkness of the dilapidated warehouse. Only a pair left when they finally retreat into their lair.
Cathal nods at Astaroth, who grins back- the man mountain lumbers into the warehouse to play an extremely violent game of tag.
Behind the pair Ignaran is now all action, and Kullervo has at last broken his clinch with the unmoving Black Shet.
The dark shadowy tentacle reaching down from the top of the tower comes on, Ignaran, for a second is reassured, bats- they're bats. The Druid fires up a bolt and burst of lightning into the swarm- that should scatter them.
But it doesn't.
The bats are insubstantial, wrought of shadow, not flesh and bone.
“Ahhhh!” The Druid back-peddles furiously but has nowhere to go and is engulfed in the Umbral Bat Swarm, bitten and bruised. Worse, a deathly numb eats at his innards- not bloodied, his blood is instead turning to ice in his veins.
Then Cathal and Kullervo are in the mix, but it’s a crude approach, the threesome in a panic are swatting furiously- doing little damage- particularly as the shadowy bats that hit disappear in a poof of dust, but are soon replaced by more of their kin. The inky trail snakes back to the top of the tower.
A war of attrition.
Which is made worse when...
WHOOOSH
The Bat Swarm suddenly blossoms- bursts its banks, sending all three of the Friday Knights scuttling back, Cathal momentarily blinded by the inky wave.
And yet they battle on, and soon after the tail is broken, the swarm at last detached from the tower- no more reinforcements are available. Thereafter the swarm is slowly, shadowy bat by shadowy bat, picked apart.
Then it's over, and Cathal, Ignaran and Kullervo are well and truly spent- they lean or squat, try to catch their breath.
“That was... Not good.” Ignaran confirms, gasping.
“What...” Cathal tries.
“Bats. Shadow bats, Gods knows where they came from- they're not... Well, natural - from the Shadowfell.” Ignaran states.
“Where?” Kullervo winces, holding his side.
“The Shadowfell- a land of darkness, home to twisted shades- mockeries of life.” Ignaran concludes, to raised eyebrows.
Then out of the dilapidated warehouse strides Astaroth, unscathed- of course. He hefts his axe over his shoulder, stomps over and strikes a pose- lacking only a large pile of skulls or bodies at his feet.
“All gone.” The man-mountain confirms and grins.
The Friday Knights take a well-earned break, and make a few discoveries a little later.
Black Shet, if that's who he is, is dead- he has another nice dagger, which Ignaran confirms is also magical; Kullervo adds it to his collection. There's a smattering of coin which also makes its way into the collective packs of the Knights.
The bodies, nearly a dozen of them, are dragged out of the courtyard and back into the dark of the dilapidated warehouse.
Within are piles of mouldy straw, the walls and ceiling charred black with soot from past fires. Streams of water drip from holes in the ceiling, cooling in cold puddles on the muddy floor. Of note is a ladder, which stands in one corner, it leads to a loft- other than that the chamber is empty.
“You could have taken him alive?” Ignaran nods towards the corpse of Black Shet.
“He said I should take it out on Black Shet- I reckon that's what I did.” Kullervo spits and puffs out his chest.
Cathal blinks away sweat and wipes his brow, reaches out and grabs Kullervo's right shoulder, drags him into a rough embrace.
“Good lad.” Cathal barks and stares hard at Ignaran, daring him to say anything more.
Ignaran stares at Cathal.
Cathal stares back.
“Grab the body- I've an idea, he may prove useful yet” Cathal orders, Astaroth is quick to obey.
Five minutes later the quartet are heading cautiously into the loft, led by Kullervo, there's an open window, the young Rogue heads on through and into the Court of the Beggar King- their journey is at an end, he thinks.
Part 21: The Shadow descends.
Cathal and Astaroth stride forward, into the thick of the action, two of the Beggars are cut down quickly- Cathal is all action; a third suddenly slumps onto the cobbled floor- Astaroth wrenches his axe free and moves on.
In a matter of moments there are only three or four of the Beggar guards left- backing up swiftly, heading for the comforting darkness of the dilapidated warehouse. Only a pair left when they finally retreat into their lair.
Cathal nods at Astaroth, who grins back- the man mountain lumbers into the warehouse to play an extremely violent game of tag.
Behind the pair Ignaran is now all action, and Kullervo has at last broken his clinch with the unmoving Black Shet.
The dark shadowy tentacle reaching down from the top of the tower comes on, Ignaran, for a second is reassured, bats- they're bats. The Druid fires up a bolt and burst of lightning into the swarm- that should scatter them.
But it doesn't.
The bats are insubstantial, wrought of shadow, not flesh and bone.
“Ahhhh!” The Druid back-peddles furiously but has nowhere to go and is engulfed in the Umbral Bat Swarm, bitten and bruised. Worse, a deathly numb eats at his innards- not bloodied, his blood is instead turning to ice in his veins.
Then Cathal and Kullervo are in the mix, but it’s a crude approach, the threesome in a panic are swatting furiously- doing little damage- particularly as the shadowy bats that hit disappear in a poof of dust, but are soon replaced by more of their kin. The inky trail snakes back to the top of the tower.
A war of attrition.
Which is made worse when...
WHOOOSH
The Bat Swarm suddenly blossoms- bursts its banks, sending all three of the Friday Knights scuttling back, Cathal momentarily blinded by the inky wave.
And yet they battle on, and soon after the tail is broken, the swarm at last detached from the tower- no more reinforcements are available. Thereafter the swarm is slowly, shadowy bat by shadowy bat, picked apart.
Then it's over, and Cathal, Ignaran and Kullervo are well and truly spent- they lean or squat, try to catch their breath.
“That was... Not good.” Ignaran confirms, gasping.
“What...” Cathal tries.
“Bats. Shadow bats, Gods knows where they came from- they're not... Well, natural - from the Shadowfell.” Ignaran states.
“Where?” Kullervo winces, holding his side.
“The Shadowfell- a land of darkness, home to twisted shades- mockeries of life.” Ignaran concludes, to raised eyebrows.
Then out of the dilapidated warehouse strides Astaroth, unscathed- of course. He hefts his axe over his shoulder, stomps over and strikes a pose- lacking only a large pile of skulls or bodies at his feet.
“All gone.” The man-mountain confirms and grins.
The Friday Knights take a well-earned break, and make a few discoveries a little later.
Black Shet, if that's who he is, is dead- he has another nice dagger, which Ignaran confirms is also magical; Kullervo adds it to his collection. There's a smattering of coin which also makes its way into the collective packs of the Knights.
The bodies, nearly a dozen of them, are dragged out of the courtyard and back into the dark of the dilapidated warehouse.
Within are piles of mouldy straw, the walls and ceiling charred black with soot from past fires. Streams of water drip from holes in the ceiling, cooling in cold puddles on the muddy floor. Of note is a ladder, which stands in one corner, it leads to a loft- other than that the chamber is empty.
“You could have taken him alive?” Ignaran nods towards the corpse of Black Shet.
“He said I should take it out on Black Shet- I reckon that's what I did.” Kullervo spits and puffs out his chest.
Cathal blinks away sweat and wipes his brow, reaches out and grabs Kullervo's right shoulder, drags him into a rough embrace.
“Good lad.” Cathal barks and stares hard at Ignaran, daring him to say anything more.
Ignaran stares at Cathal.
Cathal stares back.
“Grab the body- I've an idea, he may prove useful yet” Cathal orders, Astaroth is quick to obey.
Five minutes later the quartet are heading cautiously into the loft, led by Kullervo, there's an open window, the young Rogue heads on through and into the Court of the Beggar King- their journey is at an end, he thinks.
The Friday Knights in Sellswords of Fallcrest
Part 22: Glaffin
The Court of the Beggar-King is bedecked in mouldering splendour. Stained tapestries illuminated by fluttering tapers and smoking bronze braziers that glisten with mould and rainwater. Pillows and blankets, black with mildew, cover every inch of the floor.
Cracked mirrors and tarnished copper shields- covered in verdigris, hang from a fishing net strung from the rafters above. The air is thick with incense, but no amount of perfume can conceal the oppressive reek of sweat and spilled wine.
At the far end of the chamber, past a low table strewn with half-empty jugs of wine and nibbled sweetmeats, is a divan hung with furs. Asleep in a drunken stupor atop the divan is a portly figure in an embroidered robe. A glittering crown- topped with gems - sits nearby, atop a small gold coffer.
A trio of hooded guards, dressed in the formless grey cloaks of executioners, stand watch over the sleeping form.
“Careful... Wait” Kullervo shushes from the shadows.
The young Rogue takes a few steps forward, the floor creaks loudly, protests his passage- he stops, something odd- he stops to stare.
Then goes to shuffle forward again.
Again the floor protests.
He stops.
Behind him Cathal, Ignaran and Astaroth are content to watch on, reassured by Kullervo's command of the situation.
The young Rogue kicks a cushion over, then another- squats and places his hand flat on the wooden floor.
“Hmm.”
He retreats to Cathal and the others.
“Throw the body into the middle.” He whispers.
“Wh...” Cathal starts.
“Do it!” Kullervo hisses.
Cathal nods.
Astaroth steps forward, hoists the broken body of Black Shet over his head and pumps his arms once.
THUNK
BOK-K-K.
Black Shet's body slams into the floor, which instantly parts, that is flops down and open, in two separate halves. Which - gravity takes charge - causes Black Shet to continue his descent.
THUNG
Clearly something below has impeded his progress.
Kullervo stares down, there's a huge cavern below, the thrash and swirl of water, a rocky ledge thirty feet below and to his left, the rush of the underground river some twenty feet below the ledge.
And between the river and the point at which Kullervo stands is a metal cage, dangling from a thick heavy-linked iron chain. Black Shets’ broken body splayed on the floor of the now swaying rusty metal cage.
The other Knights creep forward to admire the view.
The three guards within the chamber, and the sleeping form have not stirred in all of this time.
Kullervo nods at Cathal, eyes right to the guardian forms, his job not yet done- the young Rogue takes a circuitous route around to the far side of the chamber, beyond the yawning pit. Once again the others wait on- although manoeuvre themselves into more advantageous positions, ready weapons for the rush.
Kullervo squats in the shadows, tight to the wall, as far away as he can from the fall. He can see everything from here, the first guard- with its back to him, it's a dummy- not a man, an arming dummy dressed in armour, a glaive-like weapon leant against it.
He moves on, confirms the second, and the third are likewise dummies, all that's left is the sleeping form on the divan - and the crown and the small gold coffer, of course.
He approaches the divan, the figure stirs, he stops- it's no dummy, and yet, something is still not right, he approaches cautiously.
Cautiously.
Closer.
Silent as the grave.
Then looms up over the sleeping form, dagger downward pointing, in two hands, ready to strike down- the sleeping form reacts to his sudden shadow, lurches around- it's a young girl, tears and fear in her face- she's gagged and bound.
The dagger descends.
At lightning speed.
And is swiftly slotted into its leather scabbard, Kullervo fumbles for the girl’s ropes, her gag- all smiles and shushes, he's grinning, eyes glistening, whispering- again and again, like an echo- “sorry... sorry.”
She's soon free, and the other Knights over to her- she's called Glaffin, she's eleven and alone in this world. Kullervo clutches her to him, it comes easily to him- the human touch; the other Knights seem less adept, much less adept.
The gold this and that, the fancy crown et al- all of it is junk; the coffer also proves to be trapped- Kullervo however does his job and quickly and quietly disarms the trap- a poisoned dart set to fire out. Inside a pile of coin- gold, or at least tin coins painted gold- badly. There's nothing here of any worth- all of it junk, the whole thing an elaborate trap; the Court of the Beggar King is nothing more than a charade.
It seems the action lies below, for the Friday Knights it’s into the caves.
The Knights take a break, Cathal and Ignaran pick their moments to head over to Kullervo and shake him by the hand- “good work”, and, “well done- sorry about before”. It seems the young Rogue has found his feet and his place is secure in the Friday Knights.
Glaffin knows nothing, except that she's cold, lost and alone- Kullervo tells the others that he will take her back to the Inn. Cathal goes to protest but sees the young Rogue's eyes- the clue is in the word 'tells' in the previous sentence; Kullervo has made his decision- he heads off, leading Glaffin away, her hand firmly clasped in his.
“He's shaping up.” Cathal remarks with a smile when the young Rogue has departed.
The Knights rest, Cathal remains on-guard, cleaning his longsword; Astaroth slumps in a corner examining closely, silently counting, incorrectly, his fingers on his hands; Ignaran squats and eats jerky, trying hard not to stare at the warrior of Kord.
“I said he's shaping up.” Cathal repeats, baiting a trap, or so it seems to Ignaran.
“Mmm.” He confirms, and doesn't look up.
“I had my doubts... but, he's really shaping up, see him with Black Shet- all action.”
In the corner Astaroth grins and nods.
Cathal grins back at the man-mountain and then turns again to Ignaran.
“I thought he was soft, I thought he didn't have it... But, Kord be praised- he made mush of that guy’s face.” Cathal pointedly stares at Ignaran.
“Did ya see that?” Cathal prods a little harder.
Ignaran meets Cathal's stare.
“Yes, I did.” He states, then adds, softly- “what happened with you in the storeroom, with the rats, you just seemed to freeze?” Ignaran smiles back.
Cathal flashes red, his hand tight on the grip of his sword.
It passes.
“Nothing.” The Warrior of Kord offers, bites on his beard, nods once at the Druid, smiles and turns away.
Thirty minutes later, eyes still glistening but full of smiles, Kullervo returns- for the first time he feels he has made a difference, perhaps this adventuring lark is something more then death and gold, he feels... good, content, happy with his lot.
“Where next?” he enquires, wreathed in smiles.
Part 22: Glaffin
The Court of the Beggar-King is bedecked in mouldering splendour. Stained tapestries illuminated by fluttering tapers and smoking bronze braziers that glisten with mould and rainwater. Pillows and blankets, black with mildew, cover every inch of the floor.
Cracked mirrors and tarnished copper shields- covered in verdigris, hang from a fishing net strung from the rafters above. The air is thick with incense, but no amount of perfume can conceal the oppressive reek of sweat and spilled wine.
At the far end of the chamber, past a low table strewn with half-empty jugs of wine and nibbled sweetmeats, is a divan hung with furs. Asleep in a drunken stupor atop the divan is a portly figure in an embroidered robe. A glittering crown- topped with gems - sits nearby, atop a small gold coffer.
A trio of hooded guards, dressed in the formless grey cloaks of executioners, stand watch over the sleeping form.
“Careful... Wait” Kullervo shushes from the shadows.
The young Rogue takes a few steps forward, the floor creaks loudly, protests his passage- he stops, something odd- he stops to stare.
Then goes to shuffle forward again.
Again the floor protests.
He stops.
Behind him Cathal, Ignaran and Astaroth are content to watch on, reassured by Kullervo's command of the situation.
The young Rogue kicks a cushion over, then another- squats and places his hand flat on the wooden floor.
“Hmm.”
He retreats to Cathal and the others.
“Throw the body into the middle.” He whispers.
“Wh...” Cathal starts.
“Do it!” Kullervo hisses.
Cathal nods.
Astaroth steps forward, hoists the broken body of Black Shet over his head and pumps his arms once.
THUNK
BOK-K-K.
Black Shet's body slams into the floor, which instantly parts, that is flops down and open, in two separate halves. Which - gravity takes charge - causes Black Shet to continue his descent.
THUNG
Clearly something below has impeded his progress.
Kullervo stares down, there's a huge cavern below, the thrash and swirl of water, a rocky ledge thirty feet below and to his left, the rush of the underground river some twenty feet below the ledge.
And between the river and the point at which Kullervo stands is a metal cage, dangling from a thick heavy-linked iron chain. Black Shets’ broken body splayed on the floor of the now swaying rusty metal cage.
The other Knights creep forward to admire the view.
The three guards within the chamber, and the sleeping form have not stirred in all of this time.
Kullervo nods at Cathal, eyes right to the guardian forms, his job not yet done- the young Rogue takes a circuitous route around to the far side of the chamber, beyond the yawning pit. Once again the others wait on- although manoeuvre themselves into more advantageous positions, ready weapons for the rush.
Kullervo squats in the shadows, tight to the wall, as far away as he can from the fall. He can see everything from here, the first guard- with its back to him, it's a dummy- not a man, an arming dummy dressed in armour, a glaive-like weapon leant against it.
He moves on, confirms the second, and the third are likewise dummies, all that's left is the sleeping form on the divan - and the crown and the small gold coffer, of course.
He approaches the divan, the figure stirs, he stops- it's no dummy, and yet, something is still not right, he approaches cautiously.
Cautiously.
Closer.
Silent as the grave.
Then looms up over the sleeping form, dagger downward pointing, in two hands, ready to strike down- the sleeping form reacts to his sudden shadow, lurches around- it's a young girl, tears and fear in her face- she's gagged and bound.
The dagger descends.
At lightning speed.
And is swiftly slotted into its leather scabbard, Kullervo fumbles for the girl’s ropes, her gag- all smiles and shushes, he's grinning, eyes glistening, whispering- again and again, like an echo- “sorry... sorry.”
She's soon free, and the other Knights over to her- she's called Glaffin, she's eleven and alone in this world. Kullervo clutches her to him, it comes easily to him- the human touch; the other Knights seem less adept, much less adept.
The gold this and that, the fancy crown et al- all of it is junk; the coffer also proves to be trapped- Kullervo however does his job and quickly and quietly disarms the trap- a poisoned dart set to fire out. Inside a pile of coin- gold, or at least tin coins painted gold- badly. There's nothing here of any worth- all of it junk, the whole thing an elaborate trap; the Court of the Beggar King is nothing more than a charade.
It seems the action lies below, for the Friday Knights it’s into the caves.
The Knights take a break, Cathal and Ignaran pick their moments to head over to Kullervo and shake him by the hand- “good work”, and, “well done- sorry about before”. It seems the young Rogue has found his feet and his place is secure in the Friday Knights.
Glaffin knows nothing, except that she's cold, lost and alone- Kullervo tells the others that he will take her back to the Inn. Cathal goes to protest but sees the young Rogue's eyes- the clue is in the word 'tells' in the previous sentence; Kullervo has made his decision- he heads off, leading Glaffin away, her hand firmly clasped in his.
“He's shaping up.” Cathal remarks with a smile when the young Rogue has departed.
The Knights rest, Cathal remains on-guard, cleaning his longsword; Astaroth slumps in a corner examining closely, silently counting, incorrectly, his fingers on his hands; Ignaran squats and eats jerky, trying hard not to stare at the warrior of Kord.
“I said he's shaping up.” Cathal repeats, baiting a trap, or so it seems to Ignaran.
“Mmm.” He confirms, and doesn't look up.
“I had my doubts... but, he's really shaping up, see him with Black Shet- all action.”
In the corner Astaroth grins and nods.
Cathal grins back at the man-mountain and then turns again to Ignaran.
“I thought he was soft, I thought he didn't have it... But, Kord be praised- he made mush of that guy’s face.” Cathal pointedly stares at Ignaran.
“Did ya see that?” Cathal prods a little harder.
Ignaran meets Cathal's stare.
“Yes, I did.” He states, then adds, softly- “what happened with you in the storeroom, with the rats, you just seemed to freeze?” Ignaran smiles back.
Cathal flashes red, his hand tight on the grip of his sword.
It passes.
“Nothing.” The Warrior of Kord offers, bites on his beard, nods once at the Druid, smiles and turns away.
Thirty minutes later, eyes still glistening but full of smiles, Kullervo returns- for the first time he feels he has made a difference, perhaps this adventuring lark is something more then death and gold, he feels... good, content, happy with his lot.
“Where next?” he enquires, wreathed in smiles.
The Friday Knights
The truncated version- and so I just don't have the time, sound familiar, so it's either abandon the game, or the write-up, or find another way of cataloguing the adventures of the Friday Knights that isn't so time consuming. I'm so far behind the action; the action I have described to date brings us in game terms to the end of the second actual session of play, it'll be the 35th session this Friday coming (21st August 09), and we play every week.
So here it is, the truncated versions of play, a narrative of sorts but much much simpler- to read and to write, sorry if it's not what you want but it's all I can manage.
Background to the Adventures of the Friday Knights.
My last game went and broke, player A no longer liked player B and the rest of us either picked sides or tried to wait it out- I'll not go into detail. Fed up I hunted high and low, and after weeks of frustration took the plunge and offered my services as a DM for an on-line game of 4th Edition, thanks to Maptools, ENWorld and Skype within ten days I was in business.
I sent out the campaign details, hand outs et al- cobbled together from the snippets about Fallcrest and the Nentir Vale in the 4e DMG. The first adventure was set to be set in the city itself, a reworking of Goodman Games Dungeon Crawl Classic #53 “Sellswords of Punjar”, Sellswords of Fallcrest if you like.
And so from the four corners of the globe they came, the players-
Cathal, Human Fighter; an abrasive, firm but fair, mercenary with a higher calling- a big fan of Kord, a local lad, a citizen of Fallcrest. Cathal will later pick up the moniker “Sarge”, and it will fit him like a glove. Cathal is played by Simon. (Representing the UK)
Kullervo, Human Rogue; the quiet and uninitiated farmer's boy fleeing home, home being Phsant a small village just outside the Fallcrest city walls. Kullervo gets his nose into everything, often leaving the others to do the actual fighting and such. Kullervo is played by Rob. (Representing the US, but resident in Spain)
Ignaran, Human Druid; worldly wise- or at least he pretends to be, slightly aloof but with homicidal tendencies- kill them all, let Mother Nature sort them out, that kind of thing. The thinker in the party. Ignaran is played by Mike. (Representing, and resident, of the US)
And so our story, in note form, begins (again)...
But first, ahem, a note about 4th Edition; prior to this campaign I had played (DM'ed, I don't play, it's beneath me) 4e on I think six separate occasions, two of the six ended in TPKs. The first was in the Keep on the Shadowfell, one of the Kobold Ambushes, the one with the Kobold Wyrmpriest and the Dragonshields (and some minions I think), anyway... TPK. And this with a group of players who, they swore, had never TPK'ed ever... ever, honest, and had been playing D&D for, hang on I'm going to work it out- I need more fingers, 70 years in total, that's four players, the least experienced with eight years under his belt. Needless to say a few weeks later when I did it again, with the same players- different characters (obviously), in an RPGA scenario, CORE 1-2 The Radiant Vessel, the last encounter I believe- well, they weren't impressed.
So if you think the start is a little cautious then in truth I was very wary. I soon realised my problem however with the two previous TPKs, I had the wrong players, then again how was I to know, I had yet to meet the valiant Friday Knights...
The truncated version- and so I just don't have the time, sound familiar, so it's either abandon the game, or the write-up, or find another way of cataloguing the adventures of the Friday Knights that isn't so time consuming. I'm so far behind the action; the action I have described to date brings us in game terms to the end of the second actual session of play, it'll be the 35th session this Friday coming (21st August 09), and we play every week.
So here it is, the truncated versions of play, a narrative of sorts but much much simpler- to read and to write, sorry if it's not what you want but it's all I can manage.
Background to the Adventures of the Friday Knights.
My last game went and broke, player A no longer liked player B and the rest of us either picked sides or tried to wait it out- I'll not go into detail. Fed up I hunted high and low, and after weeks of frustration took the plunge and offered my services as a DM for an on-line game of 4th Edition, thanks to Maptools, ENWorld and Skype within ten days I was in business.
I sent out the campaign details, hand outs et al- cobbled together from the snippets about Fallcrest and the Nentir Vale in the 4e DMG. The first adventure was set to be set in the city itself, a reworking of Goodman Games Dungeon Crawl Classic #53 “Sellswords of Punjar”, Sellswords of Fallcrest if you like.
And so from the four corners of the globe they came, the players-
Cathal, Human Fighter; an abrasive, firm but fair, mercenary with a higher calling- a big fan of Kord, a local lad, a citizen of Fallcrest. Cathal will later pick up the moniker “Sarge”, and it will fit him like a glove. Cathal is played by Simon. (Representing the UK)
Kullervo, Human Rogue; the quiet and uninitiated farmer's boy fleeing home, home being Phsant a small village just outside the Fallcrest city walls. Kullervo gets his nose into everything, often leaving the others to do the actual fighting and such. Kullervo is played by Rob. (Representing the US, but resident in Spain)
Ignaran, Human Druid; worldly wise- or at least he pretends to be, slightly aloof but with homicidal tendencies- kill them all, let Mother Nature sort them out, that kind of thing. The thinker in the party. Ignaran is played by Mike. (Representing, and resident, of the US)
And so our story, in note form, begins (again)...
But first, ahem, a note about 4th Edition; prior to this campaign I had played (DM'ed, I don't play, it's beneath me) 4e on I think six separate occasions, two of the six ended in TPKs. The first was in the Keep on the Shadowfell, one of the Kobold Ambushes, the one with the Kobold Wyrmpriest and the Dragonshields (and some minions I think), anyway... TPK. And this with a group of players who, they swore, had never TPK'ed ever... ever, honest, and had been playing D&D for, hang on I'm going to work it out- I need more fingers, 70 years in total, that's four players, the least experienced with eight years under his belt. Needless to say a few weeks later when I did it again, with the same players- different characters (obviously), in an RPGA scenario, CORE 1-2 The Radiant Vessel, the last encounter I believe- well, they weren't impressed.
So if you think the start is a little cautious then in truth I was very wary. I soon realised my problem however with the two previous TPKs, I had the wrong players, then again how was I to know, I had yet to meet the valiant Friday Knights...
The Friday Knights
Session 1- Sellswords of Fallcrest Part 1. To the Gate.
The characters find each other in an Inn, hey that sounds familiar- Cathal has heard that there's money to be made venturing into the lair of the Beggar King, indirectly the Beggar King is bound to have some money and the like hoarded away; more directly the local Thieves Guild- the Shadowmen, have set a 500gp bounty on the Beggar King's head. The Fighter wants some of that, all he needs is to find some unsuspecting... Ah, here we are.
Kullervo has just escaped his home, he's in search of adventure, and also starving, lost and alone in the big city- and he wants in.
Ignaran is in Fallcrest on business, he hates Fallcrest, and cities in general. However the business is important, Nimozaran the Septarch of Fallcrest (Chief High Honcho Mage) has a job for the Druid- there's a strange phenomenon he wants Ignaran to investigate, an odd black cloud sometimes seen surrounding a tower in the Dock Quarters. Ignaran can't say no to the Mage, all he needs then is to find some likely individuals to accompany him in his investigations, for protection, and to carry things, and the like.
It turns out that the tower cloaked in black haze is part of the Beggar King's domain- wouldn't you know it, the Friday Knights are gathered.
Much of the first session is spent in the Blue Moon Inn in Fallcrest, the Knights drink a little, laugh a lot and keep an ear out for rumours and gossip about the Beggar King, the tower etc. There's plenty of gossip flying around as it happens; talk of a turf war between the the Beggar's Guild and the Shadowmen, tales of the Beggar King's long lost treasure, even stories of black clouds descending from the aforementioned tower into the streets of Fallcrest to attack passers-by. Black clouds capable of stripping a man's flesh from his bones, supposedly.
The hunt is on. At midnight the Knights head out to Cutpurse Alley, the entrance to the Beggar King's domain, alas the way ahead is blocked - an ornate gate, which Kullervo attests is “trapped to 'igh 'eaven.” There's talk of abandoning the project, Ignaran however has other ideas and boosts Kullervo up onto a low roof, sometime later all of the Knights are pressed against the cold wet shingles, spying down on Cutpurse Alley.
They get wet, very wet- the weather is atrocious.
The three head along the roofs, careful like, till they find a nice spot; ahead are lights, a low roof on the opposite side of the alley, a burning brazier, several guards, well hidden- at least from the front gate, now obvious. One of the guards is eating a pie, one stares at the moon and gibbers, the last squints into the dark.
A minute later Kullervo has one down, a beautiful flick of the wrist culminating in a dagger buried in the pie-eating guard's back- the guard falls, backwards, and lies still on the cobbled floor of the alley- deathly pale. The young Rogue has never killed or harmed anyone (much) in his life- he's a little terrified, well played that Player.
Cathal in the meantime goes all action hero, sprints down one slick roof, leaps to another, runs up and along and drops down on the moon-gazing guard, and stabs him through the heart- dead. Cathal takes death and destruction (of others) in his stride- doesn't bat an eyelid.
The squinting guard is three rooftops away by the time the above has played out, sword scattered and not looking back, or ever coming back- now officially unemployed.
Kullervo is briefly ill, just after looking at the mess he's made of the pie-eating guard on the cobbles below.
Strike one for Kullervo & Cathal, Ignaran grips onto the roof and curses the foul weather.
[DM Interlude Encounter #1 [300 XP = Level 1] 3x Human Sentries (Level 1 Skirmishers). Easy I know but before prior to this campaign I had played only six sessions of 4E via Maptools, two of which ended in TPKs- that's quite a strike rate. Conservative, and wanting the players to gain some early success I decided to give them a couple of encounters to get into the swing of things.]
So it comes as quite a shock when the formerly pie-eating guard peels himself off the deck and hares back down the alley and to a door, flings it open and dashes within, all the while screaming something along the lines of “intrewgers, intrewgers”, while wiping the remains of his scalding hot pie from his face.
The Knights do a double take, what next?
They don't have long to wait- Fernando Del Amitri is a fighter and a lover, a bounder and a cad, with an excellent pedigree and a great first line...
“I am Fernando Del Amitri. I killed my father. Prepare to die.”
Cathal leaps down into the alley to prove his prowess, a test of arms, and steel, and grit, and other macho exhortations- he damn near breaks his legs and lands in a heap, prone before Fernando, who cuts him up a little, it seems he's not big on fair play.
However before Fernando can really get to work Kullervo flings another dagger, and connects again; a moment later Ignaran conjures and a Wolf appears at Fernando's side. The Wolf stares at the Swordsman, the Swordsman stares back- then the Wolf does its best to eat the swarthy swordsman.
A little later, still struggling with Wolfie, Fernando finds respite- Cathal finally gets to his feet and slashes through his armour and deep into his chest with his longsword, Fernando dies, it seems Cathal doesn't mind a bit of dirty fighting either.
Fernado Del Amitri, his dad's dead, don't worry- he'll be seeing him soon.
[DM Interlude Encounter #2 [125 XP = Level 1] Human Tough (Level 2 Brute). The second easy encounter to allow me and the players to get our collective eye's in, as it were.]
The session ends as the Knights nose further into the alley, after robbing the fallen of course- nice work Kullervo. Only two combat encounters but two thirds of the session was given over to character creation, roleplay in the Inn, background detail et al.
Finally a note about XP, I do it differently, always have- name the edition, I do it differently. Players get XP for everything- good roleplaying, investigation, smart play, killing stuff, finding the things they are looking for, being amusing, or emotional, or emotive, or... everything. Obviously it takes more XP to get up levels, I'm not going to explain exactly how it works save to say it does- also I don't tell the players how many XP they need to get to the next level, I like to keep them in the dark a little. That said the players earned 844 XP this session, that's between the three of them- it's split equally.
Session 1- Sellswords of Fallcrest Part 1. To the Gate.
The characters find each other in an Inn, hey that sounds familiar- Cathal has heard that there's money to be made venturing into the lair of the Beggar King, indirectly the Beggar King is bound to have some money and the like hoarded away; more directly the local Thieves Guild- the Shadowmen, have set a 500gp bounty on the Beggar King's head. The Fighter wants some of that, all he needs is to find some unsuspecting... Ah, here we are.
Kullervo has just escaped his home, he's in search of adventure, and also starving, lost and alone in the big city- and he wants in.
Ignaran is in Fallcrest on business, he hates Fallcrest, and cities in general. However the business is important, Nimozaran the Septarch of Fallcrest (Chief High Honcho Mage) has a job for the Druid- there's a strange phenomenon he wants Ignaran to investigate, an odd black cloud sometimes seen surrounding a tower in the Dock Quarters. Ignaran can't say no to the Mage, all he needs then is to find some likely individuals to accompany him in his investigations, for protection, and to carry things, and the like.
It turns out that the tower cloaked in black haze is part of the Beggar King's domain- wouldn't you know it, the Friday Knights are gathered.
Much of the first session is spent in the Blue Moon Inn in Fallcrest, the Knights drink a little, laugh a lot and keep an ear out for rumours and gossip about the Beggar King, the tower etc. There's plenty of gossip flying around as it happens; talk of a turf war between the the Beggar's Guild and the Shadowmen, tales of the Beggar King's long lost treasure, even stories of black clouds descending from the aforementioned tower into the streets of Fallcrest to attack passers-by. Black clouds capable of stripping a man's flesh from his bones, supposedly.
The hunt is on. At midnight the Knights head out to Cutpurse Alley, the entrance to the Beggar King's domain, alas the way ahead is blocked - an ornate gate, which Kullervo attests is “trapped to 'igh 'eaven.” There's talk of abandoning the project, Ignaran however has other ideas and boosts Kullervo up onto a low roof, sometime later all of the Knights are pressed against the cold wet shingles, spying down on Cutpurse Alley.
They get wet, very wet- the weather is atrocious.
The three head along the roofs, careful like, till they find a nice spot; ahead are lights, a low roof on the opposite side of the alley, a burning brazier, several guards, well hidden- at least from the front gate, now obvious. One of the guards is eating a pie, one stares at the moon and gibbers, the last squints into the dark.
A minute later Kullervo has one down, a beautiful flick of the wrist culminating in a dagger buried in the pie-eating guard's back- the guard falls, backwards, and lies still on the cobbled floor of the alley- deathly pale. The young Rogue has never killed or harmed anyone (much) in his life- he's a little terrified, well played that Player.
Cathal in the meantime goes all action hero, sprints down one slick roof, leaps to another, runs up and along and drops down on the moon-gazing guard, and stabs him through the heart- dead. Cathal takes death and destruction (of others) in his stride- doesn't bat an eyelid.
The squinting guard is three rooftops away by the time the above has played out, sword scattered and not looking back, or ever coming back- now officially unemployed.
Kullervo is briefly ill, just after looking at the mess he's made of the pie-eating guard on the cobbles below.
Strike one for Kullervo & Cathal, Ignaran grips onto the roof and curses the foul weather.
[DM Interlude Encounter #1 [300 XP = Level 1] 3x Human Sentries (Level 1 Skirmishers). Easy I know but before prior to this campaign I had played only six sessions of 4E via Maptools, two of which ended in TPKs- that's quite a strike rate. Conservative, and wanting the players to gain some early success I decided to give them a couple of encounters to get into the swing of things.]
So it comes as quite a shock when the formerly pie-eating guard peels himself off the deck and hares back down the alley and to a door, flings it open and dashes within, all the while screaming something along the lines of “intrewgers, intrewgers”, while wiping the remains of his scalding hot pie from his face.
The Knights do a double take, what next?
They don't have long to wait- Fernando Del Amitri is a fighter and a lover, a bounder and a cad, with an excellent pedigree and a great first line...
“I am Fernando Del Amitri. I killed my father. Prepare to die.”
Cathal leaps down into the alley to prove his prowess, a test of arms, and steel, and grit, and other macho exhortations- he damn near breaks his legs and lands in a heap, prone before Fernando, who cuts him up a little, it seems he's not big on fair play.
However before Fernando can really get to work Kullervo flings another dagger, and connects again; a moment later Ignaran conjures and a Wolf appears at Fernando's side. The Wolf stares at the Swordsman, the Swordsman stares back- then the Wolf does its best to eat the swarthy swordsman.
A little later, still struggling with Wolfie, Fernando finds respite- Cathal finally gets to his feet and slashes through his armour and deep into his chest with his longsword, Fernando dies, it seems Cathal doesn't mind a bit of dirty fighting either.
Fernado Del Amitri, his dad's dead, don't worry- he'll be seeing him soon.
[DM Interlude Encounter #2 [125 XP = Level 1] Human Tough (Level 2 Brute). The second easy encounter to allow me and the players to get our collective eye's in, as it were.]
The session ends as the Knights nose further into the alley, after robbing the fallen of course- nice work Kullervo. Only two combat encounters but two thirds of the session was given over to character creation, roleplay in the Inn, background detail et al.
Finally a note about XP, I do it differently, always have- name the edition, I do it differently. Players get XP for everything- good roleplaying, investigation, smart play, killing stuff, finding the things they are looking for, being amusing, or emotional, or emotive, or... everything. Obviously it takes more XP to get up levels, I'm not going to explain exactly how it works save to say it does- also I don't tell the players how many XP they need to get to the next level, I like to keep them in the dark a little. That said the players earned 844 XP this session, that's between the three of them- it's split equally.
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