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The Kordovian Adventurers Guild
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<blockquote data-quote="Richards" data-source="post: 7478312" data-attributes="member: 508"><p><strong>ADVENTURE 51: THE TALENT SCOUT</strong></p><p></p><p>PC Roster:</p><p style="margin-left: 20px">Binkadink Dundernoggin, gnome fighter 14</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"> Darrien, half-elf ranger 14</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"> Finoula Cloudshadow, elf ranger 14</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"> Gilbert Fung, human wizard 14</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"> Hagan, half-orc sorcerer 14</p><p></p><p>NPC Roster:</p><p style="margin-left: 20px">Aithanar Ivenheart, elf fighter 3</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"> Laerornith Ivenheart, elf bard 5</p> <p style="margin-left: 20px"> Malrin Ivenheart, elf druid 7</p><p></p><p>Game Session Date: 28 July 2018</p><p></p><p>- - -</p><p></p><p>"Aithanar! Aithanar!" called Laerornith Ivenheart as she burst into the tavern where her brother was playing cards at a table with three tough-looking men. "I have exciting news! You'll never believe it!"</p><p></p><p>The elven fighter looked in irritation at his younger sister; he had a good hand and he knew the guys he was playing with didn't like interruptions to their game. "I fold," he sighed, getting up from the table to deal with whatever Laerornith thought was so important it warranted interrupting his making a little money on the side.</p><p></p><p>"A talent scout from a bardic college heard me singing last night and wants me to try out! I could be joining the Conservatory of the Ineffable Chord!"</p><p></p><p>"Okay, good for you," Aithanar said, looking back at the table and the card game he was missing. "I wish you good luck."</p><p></p><p>"No - you have to come with me!" Laerornith insisted.</p><p></p><p>"What? Why?"</p><p></p><p>"The tryout's in a couple of days, but it's in a set of ruins in the Vesve Forest. I already asked Father and he agreed to allow me to audition, but he won't let me travel that far away unless I have an escort. I'm sure Castillan would do it if he were here, but he's off doing that family thing that Father insisted he do. So will you?"</p><p></p><p>"Hmm," mused Aithanar. "I suppose I could ask Finoula if she'd like to accompany us." The elf was envisioning some time alone with the good-looking ranger while his sister did her audition or whatever.</p><p></p><p>"That would be excellent!" enthused Laerornith. "But we have to get ready! If we're going to make it in time, we need to leave by tomorrow morning!" She pulled out a map the talent scout had given her, showing the approximate location of the ruins, deep in the part of the Vesve Forest to the southeast of Kordovia. Aithanar judged it to be at least a day and a half travel via horse and wagon - there was no good way to fly the dragonfly vessel through a forest, and without having ever been there before, <em>teleporting</em> would be iffy.</p><p></p><p>"I'm out, guys," Aithanar announced back at the table. He scooped up the winnings he'd amassed thus far and left the tavern with his sister, who was happily babbling about what a wonderful opportunity this was. <em>A wonderful opportunity to spend some time with Finoula,</em> Aithanar thought to himself.</p><p></p><p>The next morning, Aithanar sat in the driver's seat of the Vistani wagon, leading Castor and Pollux along a narrow road going through the Vesve Forest. He wore a frown that had nothing to do with the fact that Finoula rode beside him on her pony Daisy, or that her timber wolf Wrath trotted alongside Daisy's feet. No, his frustration was due to the fact that ahead of Finoula loped Obvious with Binkadink in the jackalope's saddle; that atop the Vistani wagon (in the spot usually reserved for Castillan) sat Darrien, his <em>Arachnibow</em> at the ready; that Darrien's pet dire bear cub Grumps Junior loped on the other side of the wagon; and that inside the wagon rode not only his younger sister Laerornith but also his older sister Malrin, Gilbert Fung and his earth elemental familiar Mudpie, and Hagan and his weasel familiar Wezhley. What the elf fighter had hoped would be several days spent with Finoula (and his sister, who would hopefully spend her time practicing on her lute) had turned into the whole group of adventurers tagging along. Gilbert had walked up unbeknownst to Aithanar when he had proposed the outing to Finoula and offered the whole group's services as bodyguards and had even coaxed Malrin along to serve as the party's healer.</p><p></p><p>Laerornith did spend the day practicing her singing and her lute playing, which helped pass the day pleasantly - the young bard did have a very nice voice. Eventually even Aithanar got over his bad mood and decided to make the best of it; it might not have been the more intimate trip he had envisioned, but he was still getting to spend time with Finoula in a relaxing environment. The group made camp that first day at sunset alongside the road in a clearing. They worked out a guard shift for the hours of darkness, but nothing disturbed their camp all night - although there were occasional crashes through the forest to remind the guard on duty the Vesve Forest contained many large and potentially fearsome creatures.</p><p></p><p>However, after breaking camp on the second day of travel and making their way down the road for no longer than a half hour or so, Darrien - perched back on the roof of the Vistani wagon and alert for danger - heard a slight rustling among the undergrowth to the right side of the road just ahead of the two black draft horses pulling the wagon along. Aiming his <em>Arachnibow</em> in that direction, he sighted along the arrow's shaft and saw a reptilian head peering at him through the scrub. "Ambush!" he called, releasing his arrow to fly straight at the draconic creature as it emerged from its hiding spot.</p><p></p><p>The half-elf ranger's cry was more prophetic than he had anticipated, for it was an ambush drake that leaped out at the travelers - and it was followed by three others of its kind from farther down the side of the road. Even farther down, a hulking, gray shape emerged from the tree line as well, ambling over in a hunched, knuckle-walking gait like some sort of hairless gorilla.</p><p></p><p>Binkadink urged Obvious forward and pointed his glaive directly ahead like a lance. The gnomish weapon pierced through the lead ambush drake, skewering it instantly. But as the gnome shook its corpse off his weapon's blade, the three other drakes raced up, one slashing a set of powerful claws at the jackalope while is companions attacked Wrath and Grumps Junior, the animals being at the front of the procession. Aithanar brought the horses to an immediate stop, alerting everyone inside the wagon that something was up.</p><p></p><p>Gilbert Fung popped open the door at the back of the Vistani wagon and took a good look at what was causing the commotion. Making a quick mental calculation of the distances involved, he cast an <em>Evard's black tentacles</em> spell that encompassed the three ambush drakes without catching any of the group's animals in the spell's area of effect. Thick, rubbery appendages sprang from the ground to engulf the reptilian foes, preventing them from moving while slowly squeezing the life from them.</p><p></p><p>Binkadink brought his glaive slashing down at the head of the nearest entangled ambush drake, who was unable to avoid the gnome's magic blade. Having slain this nearly helpless foe, the little fighter pulled his weapon back out of the mass of writhing tentacles before they could get a good grasp on it as well.</p><p></p><p>Hagan stepped up beside Gilbert and cast a spell of his own: a <em>chain lightning</em> targeted at one of the two remaining drakes and arcing off that one to hit the other. "I <em>love</em> that spell!" the half-orc sorcerer enthused.</p><p></p><p>"It one of your favorites," agreed Gilbert.</p><p></p><p>Finoula didn't dare reach into the tentacle mass with her magic longsword, but she figured attacking with her <em>flaming whip of thorns</em> was pretty safe, so she sent the tip striking at one of the bound drakes. It cried out in helpless fury; behind it, the gray render that had attached itself to this band of ambush drakes roared in response and redoubled his running speed. Binkadink urged Obvious to go hippity-hopping around the edge of the <em>Evard's black tentacles</em> spell to meet the oncoming guard-beast.</p><p></p><p>But when the gray render loped into combat range, it rushed forward with amazing speed to take a bite out of a foe. Binkadink, who had readied himself for the attack, sent his glaive tearing into the render's flesh, but the gray-skinned beast still managed to surge forward and get its oil-black teeth into the upper part of the jackalope's right front leg. Obvious cried out in pain and tried - without success - to pull himself free of the gray render's toothsome grip. Seeing this, Finoula leaped from Daisy's saddle, ran a few steps forward, and then transformed herself into a bolt of lightning, courtesy of the amulet she wore around her neck. She blasted through the gray render, slaying it instantly. (Fortunately, Binkadink's glaive attack had already dealt it a substantial amount of damage and it was already bleeding profusely when Finoula blasted it with her electrical attack.) Finoula remanifested in her elven form on the other side of the gray render to see it topple lifelessly to the ground.</p><p></p><p>After that, it was a simple matter to slay the remaining ambush drakes that had been struggling this whole time - without success - to free themselves from the black tentacles crushing them to death. Darrien took the opportunity to try some trick shots with his <em>Arachnibow</em>, but before too long the drakes were all dead and it was safe for Gilbert to dismiss his spell. He had Mudpie help drag the corpses off to the side of the road so as not to impede traffic while Malrin cast healing spells through Ingebold's <em>staff of healing</em> on the animals who had been injured in the drakes' attack, and then the group was back on the road.</p><p></p><p>They arrived at the designated ruins with about a half hour to go before sunset. The ruins were in fairly good condition, as ruins go - it was obviously once an open-air amphitheater and could easily be put to such use in its present condition. Sitting in the front row of the bleachers were two human figures, one tall and thin; the other even taller and corpulently fat. They both rose as Aithanar brought the Vistani wagon to a halt and the group's members disembarked and approached the duo.</p><p></p><p>"Ah, Miss Ivenheart," greeted the thin man. "I'm so glad you could make it. I would like to introduce <strong>Lord Shambleton</strong>, the admissions registrar to the Conservatory of the Ineffable Chord."</p><p></p><p>"Charmed," said Lord Shambleton with a brief smile, leaning his vast bulk on a heavy cane. Gilbert, ever untrusting of new people, quietly cast a <em>protection from evil</em> spell upon himself - just in case.</p><p></p><p>"Very pleased to meet you, sir," Laerornith replied. The talent scout, <strong>Mr. Fletcher</strong>, introduced himself to the group and offered them refreshments before the audition began. The men had a small flask of brandy with them and Mr. Fletcher ensured Laerornith had a decanter of water available beside her on a small table in the center of the auditorium. Then the two men took their seats. "You are welcome to join us here in the audience," offered Mr. Fletcher to the others in the group, "but we must insist upon absolute silence during the performances." The heroes sat in the rows behind and to the side of the two judges; Gilbert remained as far back as possible, frowning down at the strangers.</p><p></p><p>Once everyone was settled, Lord Shambleton removed a sheath of papers from an interior vest pocket. "This is a list of performances I'd like from you, my dear," said the admissions registrar. "To begin with, I understand you have had some small success playing and singing at various inns and taverns. I would like you to begin by performing your most popular song for us, please."</p><p></p><p>On the lowered stage, looking up at her audience, Laerornith nodded and readied her lute. Then, taking a deep, calming breath, she began her song. The reason for the odd tryout location became evident as the elven bard sang; the acoustics, even in the structure's partially ruined state, were magnificent. Aithanar beamed proudly as his little sister gave the best performance he'd ever heard from her; sitting at his side, Finoula's broad smile showed she shared his views and, more importantly to the fighter, was having a good time.</p><p></p><p>However, at the end of Laerornith’s song, Lord Shambleton looked somewhat displeased. Frowning, he said, "My dear, I'm afraid you have wasted your time..." – but then followed it up with "...singing at taverns! With a voice like yours, you would do very well indeed expanding upon your considerable talents at the bardic college of your choice. If you don't mind continuing for us? I would be very interested in discovering the range of your talents."</p><p></p><p>"Not at all," replied Laerornith, visibly pleased at the praise.</p><p></p><p>"Do you speak the Dwarven tongue?" asked Lord Shambleton. "No? Very good. I will have Mr. Fletcher give this page to you; written on it are the dwarven lyrics to a popular drinking song, spelled out phonetically in the Common alphabet. I should like to hear your attempts at singing in a foreign tongue." Mr. Fletcher took the proffered sheets and ran them down to the elf and then raced back to take his seat once again. Laerornith took the opportunity to look over the pages; the words were unfamiliar, but spelled out as they were she didn't see anything she couldn't pronounce. There were no musical notes inscribed on the page; they were allowing her to create her own tune to the cadence of the unfamiliar words. She placed the sheets of paper on the table beside her where she could glance down at them, then began playing a tune on her lute, picking up the dwarven words at the appropriate time. When she was finished, she looked up expectantly at the judges, but they were busy making notations in their own notebooks.</p><p></p><p>Finally, Lord Shambleton looked back up at her. "Very nice," he commented. "And now, as the sun sets, I should like you to sing a lament of your own devising, here and now. One proviso: I do not want to hear existing words; I wish you to express a feeling of infinite sadness, of longing, of the inevitability of fate, using only sounds of your own devising, please."</p><p></p><p>Nodding in comprehension, Laerornith began a sad tune on her lute, then began singing a wordless song. Lord Shambleton had timed the audition perfectly, as the setting sun added to the mood of the performance. At its completion, both men looked approvingly at each other and made quick annotations in their notebooks.</p><p></p><p>Lord Shambleton pulled a few more pieces of paper from his vest pocket. "I shall now read to you a brief story about a curious puppy who gets into mischief. Having heard the story only once, I should then like you to compose a spontaneous song about the events in the story," he said. The story was indeed brief, lasting less than a minute; the judges then gave Laerornith a minute of preparation before asking her to begin. The elf's song was rather childish, Aithanar felt, but then it was intended to be so, given the source material. The bard's nimble fingers plucked a jaunty melody from the strings of her lute as she created simple stanzas telling the tales of the mischief the puppy got into. He was especially impressed with her simple chorus, which, being repeated between each stanza, gave her some time to come up with the next bit.</p><p></p><p>"Oh, very nice!" applauded Mr. Fletcher, not at all embarrassed to get so much enjoyment out of a song best suited to small children.</p><p></p><p>Lord Shambleton reached into his vest for another sheet of parchment. "Finally," he said, "I should like to hear your vocalizations of a number of word-sounds. Mr. Fletcher will provide you with this list of made-up words in sentence form; just as you did with the Dwarven song, I should like you to pretend they are a song in a foreign language and set them to music of your own devising." Laerornith, feeling she had done very well for herself thus far, looked over at the unfamiliar nonsense words and started composing a quick tune to match them. Then, her tune decided upon, she began singing the strange words aloud.</p><p></p><p>The two men were enjoying the performance immensely, as was the rest of the audience - all except Gilbert. The wizard frowned in concentration, finding several of the words familiar: they were words of the Abyssal language, although it had been difficult to pick them out given Laerornith's unfamiliar pronunciation of several of the words. But replaying them in his head (with the proper pronunciation), Gilbert realized the song consisted of the following:</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>The realization hit Gilbert at about the time Laerornith had gotten to the Abyssal word for "immortal." He called out for her to stop, but she got another nine words out before she stopped singing, looking at Gilbert with a look of betrayal. She had been doing so well - what was this silly human doing interrupting her audition?</p><p></p><p>"I see that you have detected our little ruse," admitted Lord Shambleton to Gilbert, who had raced down the steps to confront the corpulent admissions registrar. Then, turning back to Laerornith, Lord Shambleton continued, "Alas, my dear child, you have been used poorly this night. As your friends have no doubt surmised, although the Conservatory of the Ineffable Chord is indeed an esteemed bardic college, we two are not members of that fine estate, but rather impostors of the worst possible sort. We are, in point of fact, members of a demon cult who have successfully tricked you in tendering your immortal soul to my handling, to do with as I see fit." Laerornith stared open-mouthed at the two men, shocked by the admission of foul trickery. But in the stands, several of the heroes stood up and grabbed for their weapons.</p><p></p><p>"Now then, before your indignation overcomes your sensibilities, allow us to discourse like civilized gentlemen," continued Lord Shambleton. "You, no doubt, are considering slaying both Mr. Fletcher and myself – we are, after all, both surrounded and outnumbered. However, before taking such a drastic action, I will remind you that slaying us will do nothing to free Miss Ivenheart's soul, which now, by the laws of the Abyssal Realms, belongs to me. I intend to use those souls bound to my service as bargaining chips; when I arrive at my Abyssal destination upon my death, I will barter those souls away to lessen my own time of torment and fast-track myself into full demonhood. I would, naturally, prefer to extend my time here on this mortal coil, but death holds no fear in my heart. I know my own black soul's final destination, and have taken steps to ensure its eventual comfort in the Abyssal Realms.</p><p></p><p>"So then: to business. You, no doubt, wish to regain Miss Ivenheart's soul. I, for reasons just given, do not wish to relinquish it. However, I am willing to offer you a chance to earn it back: I assume you are familiar with the concept of 'double or nothing'?"</p><p></p><p>"What do you mean?" demanded Aithanar.</p><p></p><p>"My Lord!" exploded Mr. Fletcher. "Is this wise?"</p><p></p><p>"Quite simple," replied Lord Shambleton - if, in fact, that was his real name - ignoring his associate's question for the moment. "If one of you wishes to try to regain Miss Ivenheart's soul, he or she need only wager their own soul upon a combat with Mr. Fletcher here, who is, I must warn you, quite handy with a rapier." Then, turning to the astonished Mr. Fletcher, he added, "Such a chaotic maneuver, I would imagine, is in line with the teachings of the Abyssal demons."</p><p></p><p>Still seated comfortably upon the marble bench holding his bulk and leaning heavily on his cane, Lord Shambleton continued his proposal. "The rules shall be as follows: Neither of the combatants can leave the amphitheater until the combat has concluded. Those not involved in the combat directly can observe from the amphitheater seats, but are not to interfere. Only those whose souls are on the line can engage in active combat. Those observing from the amphitheater must swear an oath not to interfere, agreeing to turn over their own souls to me should they break that vow.</p><p></p><p>"The fight need not be to the death; if either combatant signals surrender, the foe must respect that and allow him to live. However, you will be fighting for your own souls, which must be turned over to me if you are defeated. Each combatant must make a blood oath to that effect before his or her combat begins; the amphitheater has been consecrated to my demonic patron, so you need have no fear on that front: your oaths will be quite binding.</p><p></p><p>"Additionally, should more than one of you opt to lay your soul on the line, you must either fight one at a time against Mr. Fletcher, or I might be persuaded to join the fight if more of you wish for a larger melee. In fact, we will even agree to fight you all at once, on the condition that you agree to allow us to surrender and be allowed to live, upon forfeiture of your own immortal souls if you do not comply with the surrender."</p><p></p><p>"I not agreeing to any such terms!" announced a furious Gilbert.</p><p></p><p>"You need not be involved in the combat," agreed Lord Shambleton. "But if you are to remain in the area, you will either swear an oath - upon forfeiture of your soul - not to interfere in any way, whether that be by spells, weapons, or even mere advice or warnings from the sidelines. If you do not like these conditions, you have two choices: either leave the area while we conduct our business, or slay us right now - and lose Miss Ivenheart's soul forever."</p><p></p><p>Laerornith looked about to burst into tears at the trouble she'd gotten her brother and his friends into; she still stood rooted to the spot at the center of the amphitheater.</p><p></p><p>Binkadink stepped up. "I agree to your terms," the gnome fighter said, gripping the shaft of his magical glaive.</p><p></p><p>"As do I," added Aithanar.</p><p></p><p>"And I," said Finoula, stepping beside the elven fighter. Behind her, Malrin added, "Me too." The druid looked nervous, though, realizing she had much less combat experience than anybody else here, save her little sister. Laerornith gave a cry of shame at the sight of her family members willing so readily to put their own immortal souls on the line to save her.</p><p></p><p>"Anyone else?" asked Lord Shambleton. "It would seem we have a brave set of elves - and a gnome - at hand. Will the rest of you be joining or bowing out?"</p><p></p><p>Darrien and Hagan looked nervously at each other. "I'm in," the half-orc sorcerer finally decided, taking a step forward.</p><p></p><p>Darrien let out a big sigh. "Okay," he said. "So am I."</p><p></p><p>"That leaves only you," observed Lord Shambleton as he put his weight on his cane and struggled to his feet, to look Gilbert straight in the eye. "What will it be? You seem to be the only human in this group - will you let the burden fall solely upon your friends? You would seem to be a poor representative to your race should you choose that path."</p><p></p><p>Gilbert snarled in wordless frustration at the obese demon cultist - for once, the hefty wizard wasn't the fattest person around - and finally conceded, "Fine!"</p><p></p><p>"Very well, then," nodded Lord Shambleton. "We need only decide upon the rules of our little competition. Shall we fight without spells and weapons - a true barehanded brawl? I must say, was quite the pugilist in my day!"</p><p></p><p>"I vote weapons," piped up Binkadink immediately.</p><p></p><p>"And spells," added Hagan. If he was going to be in a fight with his immortal soul on the line, he wanted to be able to blast his enemies!</p><p></p><p>"Whatever your side gets, our side gets as well," countered Lord Shambleton. "You are taking the chance that the two of us are not secretly powerful clerics capable of dazzling displays of spellcraft."</p><p></p><p>"There are more of us than there are of you," pointed out Binkadink. "I think we'll take our chances."</p><p></p><p>"But no summoning," interjected Hagan. He didn't want to take the chance that these demon cultists might be able to summon forth a demon from the Abyss to fight on their behalf. The half-orc sorcerer knew some of the spellcasters on his team knew a few summoning spells, but they were nothing any of them used very often. And he figured Darrien's giant praying mantis wouldn't likely make that big of a difference in this fight in any case.</p><p></p><p>"That brings up the next point," said Lord Shambleton. "Will we be fighting a series of one-on-one matches, or a free-for-all?" The assembled heroes talked briefly amongst themselves and agreed upon the latter.</p><p></p><p>"Very well, then," agreed Lord Shambleton. "To recap the rules, then: all combatants will remain within the boundaries of the stage of the amphitheater. Spellcraft and weaponry are both allowed, but summoning has been outlawed. If any of you are defeated - either by being slain or by surrendering - your souls will belong to me upon your death, should Mr. Fletcher and I win the overall combat. If, on the other hand, you either slay myself and Mr. Fletcher or we surrender the battle to you, all of your souls will remain your own and you will have regained, in addition, the soul of Laerornith Ivenheart. Are we agreed in all aspects?"</p><p></p><p>Reluctantly, the heroes agreed. "Then we shall all swear binding oaths to the terms of our agreement," insisted Lord Shambleton. "You greatly outnumber us, but I must insist that we be given an opportunity to walk out of here with our lives. I fully intend to live to a ripe old age before meeting my eventual fate in the Abyss."</p><p></p><p>"I can't let you do this!" cried Laerornith. "This is all my fault!"</p><p></p><p>"No it isn't," insisted Aithanar, taking his sister's hand. "We were all taken in by these cultists."</p><p></p><p>"But you're all fighting on my behalf - and in my place! I should be fighting beside you!"</p><p></p><p>"You can't help us fight," pointed out her brother. "They've already got your soul. You don't have anything left to wager." This only caused the tears to flow more heavily down Laerornith's cheeks.</p><p></p><p>"Here," said Hagan, stepping up to the crying bard. "Take Wezhley, if you would, please. I don't want to expose him to the dangers of this combat; he's just a little weasel." Wezhley, upon his master's urging, scampered down the half-orc's shoulder and arm to curl up in Laerornith's own cradling arms. Somewhat mollified in having something useful to do, Laerornith let the sorcerer lead her to the top row of seats in the amphitheater. "You stay here, out of harm's way," said Hagan. "We'll be able to take these guys, easy. Just look at these odds." Laerornith smiled bravely and gave a little nod at the half-orc's words.</p><p></p><p>Once Hagan rejoined the rest of his group, everyone assembled there swore their blood-oaths; Lord Shambleton allowed the oaths to be given in the Common tongue, so everyone would know what was being said and there was no possible underhandedness with linguistic trickery. Aithanar was given leave to drive the wagon around a bend out of sight and take Grumps Junior, Wrath, and Obvious with him, to ensure they wouldn't interfere in the upcoming battle. Then, upon his return, the opposing sides were ready for battle.</p><p></p><p>"As it was the bargaining away of her soul that began this encounter," suggested Lord Shambleton, "perhaps it would be appropriate for the younger Miss Ivenheart to give the signal to begin."</p><p></p><p>"1-2-3 go!" called out Laerornith, hugging Wezhley tight and praying that none of her friends or family would be hurt.</p><p></p><p>Malrin was the first to react - perhaps out of sheer nervousness bordering on near terror. She cast a <em>greater magic fang</em> spell on Mudpie, as she was planning on remaining well in the back lines and leaving the actual combat to the professionals. Hagan followed up a mere moment after with a <em>chain lightning</em> spell centered on Mr. Fletcher that arced over to Lord Shambleton. The lightning bolts struck both targets - and Hagan was pretty sure they had had to fight their way through a magical barrier of some type - perhaps a natural spell resistance? - but neither man seemed bothered at all by the electrical bolts. <em>They've protected themselves against electricity!</em> surmised the sorcerer. That took his favorite spell off of the agenda!</p><p></p><p>Mr. Fletcher raised his hands and called off a few words in the Abyssal tongue, casting an <em>unholy blight</em> spell upon the assembled group of heroes. All but Hagan (whose spell resistance from his <em>scarab of protection</em> negated the spell's effects upon him) were affected to some degree; Aithanar staggered backwards, wobbling to keep on his feet as he backed his way out of the amphitheater. "I'm sorry, Laerornith," he said, nearly falling onto one of the marble benches, his departure from the field of battle indicating his surrender from the fight. His heart was in the right place, but he was well out of his league!</p><p></p><p>Darrien sent a fusillade of arrows from his <em>Arachnibow</em> flying at Lord Shambleton, who didn't even bother trying to dodge them or swat them away; they just struck his corpulent form and fell to the wayside. The half-elf ranger suspected the heavyset foe had somehow cast a <em>protection from arrows</em> spell on himself when he hadn't been paying attention.</p><p></p><p>Binkadink stepped forward, striking forward at Mr. Fletcher with his glaive. The blade dug deep into the thin talent scout's torso, causing a stream of blood to soak through his overcoat and vest. Beside the gnome, Finoula snapped her <em>flaming whip of thorns</em> at the thin man's face, then stepped forward and stabbed at him with <em>Tahlmalaera</em> when his attention was distracted by the thorny whip in his face.</p><p></p><p>At Mr. Fletcher's side, Lord Shambleton looked as if he had cast a spell of some sort, but none of the heroes present could determine what it might be, for it had no apparent effect other than cause a nimbus of rainbow-colored energy to manifest around the corpulent cultist's body. Some sort of protective spell, perhaps? But then he cast off his human form, growing in size until he stood over 20 feet tall. His corpulent form retained its general body shape, but his facial features took on a decidedly porcine semblance, complete with boarlike, upthrust tusks. A pair of small, feathered wings sprouted from his shoulders; Gilbert gasped in horror as he recognized "Lord Shambleton" as a nalfeshnee demon.</p><p></p><p>Overcoming his surprise, Gilbert cast a <em>heightened enervation</em> spell at the nalfeshnee, significantly weakening him. The wizard smirked at the obvious success of his spell, evident in the demon's look of major irritation that the human's spell had gotten through his resistance to spell energy in the first place.</p><p></p><p>Malrin was terrified out of her mind at this point - she had expected to be fighting a pair of humans, possibly even capable of casting spells, but certainly not a living demon from the deepest bowels of the Abyss! Still, the druid had the presence of mind to cast a <em>bear's endurance</em> spell on Binkadink, as the gnome fighter looked like he could use a boost to his overall constitution after Mr. Fletcher's <em>unholy blight</em> spell. And then Mr. Fletcher dropped his human guise as well, growing in size to reach the nalfeshnee's shoulders - about 15 feet tall in all. He grew sharp claws at the tips of his fingers, as a second set of arms grew out of his shoulders, this pair ending in oversized, crablike pincers. His skin hardened and his head became lupine, with a mouth full of wicked teeth. "Glabrezu!" hissed Gilbert.</p><p></p><p>"Mr. Fletcher" snapped his pincers at the heroes standing before him, catching Finoula in his right pincer-claw and Binkadink in his left. Both heroes struggled to free themselves, to no avail. Binkadink even felt himself being pulled closer to the glabrezu's face, the better for the demon to bite at the little gnome.</p><p></p><p>"My arrows can't get through!" Darrien called out, realizing his <em>Arachnibow</em> was all but useless against these particular enemies.</p><p></p><p>"Here!" Gilbert called over to him, taking a moment to pull the magic katana he'd taken from an enemy samurai in his mother's homeland from his belt. He knew the weapon had magical enhancements aiding the wielder in striking accurately and dealing damage; perhaps the ranger could put it to good use. Darrien grabbed the curved blade, feeling its heft for a moment to get a feel for the weapon, and then ran up to Lord Shambleton to attack. The nalfeshnee, with his enormous reach, clawed at the approaching ranger, scoring parallel grooves down the side of Darrien's face. But the katana struck true, sinking deep into the demon's bloated leg.</p><p></p><p>Binkadink was still being crushed in the glabrezu's pincer but he had maintained his grip on his own glaive and continued to put it to good use, swinging the blade into the demon's face and eliciting a roar of pain from his hulking foe. Finoula followed suit, bringing her magical whip and longsword to bear against their foe as best as she could given her current situation - being crushed in the glabrezu's right pincer-claw. Together, the two heroes made the glabrezu pay for his actions in continued pain for as long as he held them prisoner in his claws. From the expression on his lupine face, he was starting to regret the course of action he'd taken against these particular two.</p><p></p><p>And then, all across the battlefield, the <em>smite</em> action Lord Shambleton had taken a moment ago hit its full power. The multicolored nimbus of energy around his body exploded out in all directions, affecting all around him save his demonic partner. Binkadink and Malrin were both noticeably dazed by the magical effect, their faces contorting in fear as they experienced their own personal worst terrors. The other heroes each winced in momentary fear, but managed to shrug off the worst of the effects and continued the battle for their souls.</p><p></p><p>Taking advantage of the moment of confusion as his <em>smite</em> attack took effect, the nalfeshnee cast a <em>feeblemind</em> spell at Gilbert, hoping to take him out of the fight permanently. Fortunately for the wizard, he was able to fight off the mental attack through sheer willpower. In return, he cast a <em>scorching ray</em> spell at Mr. Fletcher, hoping to take down the weaker of the two demons and allow everyone to focus on a sole enemy. He knew the demon had at least partial immunity to fire-based attacks, but was hoping his spell was powerful enough to overload the glabrezu's defenses. Judging from the demon's howls of pain, he was quite successful on that front.</p><p></p><p>Hagan followed up Gilbert's attack with a <em>disintegrate</em> spell centered on the glabrezu. The demon managed to prevent himself from being instantly obliterated by the spell, but he wasn't able to prevent it from dealing him a significant amount of damage. So much, in fact, that the glabrezu realized if he continued on in this fashion he'd likely be slain - and since he and Lord Shambleton had been <em>gated</em> here to the mortal world, if they were slain here it would be quite permanent. "I'm afraid I'm out," he apologized to the nalfeshnee, before hurling Finoula across the amphitheater to land in a bone-crunching <em>thud!</em> beside Malrin, who was still trapped in her own personal mental horror. He then threw Binkadink to land atop her, hoping to cause even more damage from the gnome's heavy armor, but the toss went wide and Binkadink landed beside the elven ranger. Then, with a mental trigger, Mr. Fletcher faded from view, his body <em>gating</em> back to the Abyssal realm he called home.</p><p></p><p>Darrien bravely continued his attacks with his borrowed katana against the nalfeshnee's legs and seemed to be dealing a little bit of damage, but the demon's thick hide made it almost seem like he was trying to cut down a tree with a sword. Mudpie rushed over to aid the ranger, but he couldn't manage to do much more damage to the demon than Darrien was managing. Behind them, Malrin was still frozen in terror and Binkadink couldn't free himself from his own personal torment to rise up from where he'd been thrown. Gilbert and Hagan were mentally going over their respective spell inventories to find the ones most likely to take down this nalfeshnee before he claimed all of their souls. If he did another <em>smite</em> attack, there was no telling how many more heroes he'd take down....</p><p></p><p>But Finoula, lying on the ground where she'd been thrown, wasn't yet out of the fight. She crawled back to her feet and briefly considered using her <em>lightning amulet</em> against the towering demon, but something in the back of her mind made her think he was probably immune to electrical attacks. And then she remembered one of the powers granted by her <em>angelhelm</em>. With one hand held to her helmet, she channeled a <em>dispel evil</em> spell into her body, making it a living receptacle ready to apply it to the next creature she touched. She raced up to the demon, her sword and whip left behind on the ground where she'd been thrown, and reached out her hand like a living weapon. Approaching from behind Mudpie, she reached over the small earth elemental's body and slapped Lord Shambleton on the knee.</p><p></p><p>A surge of white energy flashed from the ranger's hand to the demon at the touch. The nalfeshnee jolted as if blasted with an explosive spell, looked down at the ranger, and smiled a hideous grimace with his horrible tusk-filled mouth. "Oh, very well done," he complimented her in surprise as his body faded the same way Mr. Fletcher's had done a moment before, only this time quite involuntarily on his part. A second later, the amphitheater was empty save for the heroes.</p><p></p><p>"Is that it?" asked Laerornith, afraid to believe they'd won.</p><p></p><p>"That's it," Aithanar assured her. He held his little sister in his arms to comfort her, but his eyes were on the ranger who had struck the final blow and saved them all. "Finoula did it!" His loving gaze said quite obviously he had never doubted otherwise.</p><p></p><p>- - -</p><p></p><p>The group was starting to get pretty nervous there at the end, afraid they weren't going to be able to take down the nalfeshnee in time. And then Vicki remembered the <em>dispel evil</em> power of Finoula's <em>angelhelm</em>. It's only usable once per day, so this was all or nothing at that point. She rolled, and overcame the demon's spell resistance, so it had a chance of affecting him, but he still got a saving throw. We do all of our die-rolling out in the open, so I calculated the odds (he only needed a ridiculously low number to save) and tossed down my 20-sider. It careened along the top of a <em>Player's Handbook</em>, rolled up to the edge...and then fell off the book and onto the table, a natural 1. No kidding, Vicki was jumping up and down in excitement - I've never seen her so ecstatic.</p><p></p><p>I enjoyed role-playing the demons, as well - I used an "Alfred Hitchcock" voice when speaking as Lord Shambleton. As for the bardic tryout, I had Vicki make the Perform checks for each test (I had done up a one-page NPC sheet for Laerornith Ivenheart and given it to her during the tryout) and documented each result as if they mattered; she actually rolled very well for that part of the adventure. Vicki was a bit suspicious at the last test, wondering aloud what monster she'd be summoning when Laerornith recited the "made up words" (actually, the soul offering in Abyssal), but rolled well then as well. I had made the players all tell me what languages their PCs knew at the beginning of the test, purportedly to see if anyone knew Dwarven (nobody did), but really to see who might recognize Abyssal being sung aloud (and it was only Gilbert). I had Dan roll an Intelligence check for Gilbert, and I had made up a chart to show at which word of the oath Gilbert recognized what the bard was saying based on his result; I then had Vicki make a Will save for Laerornith to see how many extra words she said after Gilbert told her to stop. She got far enough along to have already given her soul to Lord Shambleton.</p><p></p><p>And I apparently made my "demon cultists" explanation reasonable enough that everybody bought it and nobody suspected they were dealing with actual demons. So that was a fun reveal, especially since I own a nalfeshnee D&D Mini and Logan had earlier purchased, built, and painted a "wolf demon" mini that's quite obviously a glabrezu. Plopping them down on the battle map (a set of cards from the "Ruins" Map Pack from Paizo) resulted in a lot of worried looks on my players' faces!</p><p></p><p>The next adventure deals with an encounter on the way back home to Kordovia. With events as they are, if Jacob decides to play with us next session he'll have to run one (or both) of Castillan's sisters, since his PC is away doing a task for his father. It's an interruptible task, but he'd have no way of knowing the other PCs' current location or have any way to get there in time if he did.</p><p></p><p>- - -</p><p></p><p>T-Shirt Worn: Still wearing my green dragon T-shirt, since this was the same game session as "Audience with the Successor."</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Richards, post: 7478312, member: 508"] [B]ADVENTURE 51: THE TALENT SCOUT[/B] PC Roster: [INDENT]Binkadink Dundernoggin, gnome fighter 14[/INDENT] [INDENT] Darrien, half-elf ranger 14[/INDENT] [INDENT] Finoula Cloudshadow, elf ranger 14[/INDENT] [INDENT] Gilbert Fung, human wizard 14[/INDENT] [INDENT] Hagan, half-orc sorcerer 14[/INDENT] NPC Roster: [INDENT]Aithanar Ivenheart, elf fighter 3[/INDENT] [INDENT] Laerornith Ivenheart, elf bard 5[/INDENT] [INDENT] Malrin Ivenheart, elf druid 7[/INDENT] Game Session Date: 28 July 2018 - - - "Aithanar! Aithanar!" called Laerornith Ivenheart as she burst into the tavern where her brother was playing cards at a table with three tough-looking men. "I have exciting news! You'll never believe it!" The elven fighter looked in irritation at his younger sister; he had a good hand and he knew the guys he was playing with didn't like interruptions to their game. "I fold," he sighed, getting up from the table to deal with whatever Laerornith thought was so important it warranted interrupting his making a little money on the side. "A talent scout from a bardic college heard me singing last night and wants me to try out! I could be joining the Conservatory of the Ineffable Chord!" "Okay, good for you," Aithanar said, looking back at the table and the card game he was missing. "I wish you good luck." "No - you have to come with me!" Laerornith insisted. "What? Why?" "The tryout's in a couple of days, but it's in a set of ruins in the Vesve Forest. I already asked Father and he agreed to allow me to audition, but he won't let me travel that far away unless I have an escort. I'm sure Castillan would do it if he were here, but he's off doing that family thing that Father insisted he do. So will you?" "Hmm," mused Aithanar. "I suppose I could ask Finoula if she'd like to accompany us." The elf was envisioning some time alone with the good-looking ranger while his sister did her audition or whatever. "That would be excellent!" enthused Laerornith. "But we have to get ready! If we're going to make it in time, we need to leave by tomorrow morning!" She pulled out a map the talent scout had given her, showing the approximate location of the ruins, deep in the part of the Vesve Forest to the southeast of Kordovia. Aithanar judged it to be at least a day and a half travel via horse and wagon - there was no good way to fly the dragonfly vessel through a forest, and without having ever been there before, [I]teleporting[/I] would be iffy. "I'm out, guys," Aithanar announced back at the table. He scooped up the winnings he'd amassed thus far and left the tavern with his sister, who was happily babbling about what a wonderful opportunity this was. [I]A wonderful opportunity to spend some time with Finoula,[/I] Aithanar thought to himself. The next morning, Aithanar sat in the driver's seat of the Vistani wagon, leading Castor and Pollux along a narrow road going through the Vesve Forest. He wore a frown that had nothing to do with the fact that Finoula rode beside him on her pony Daisy, or that her timber wolf Wrath trotted alongside Daisy's feet. No, his frustration was due to the fact that ahead of Finoula loped Obvious with Binkadink in the jackalope's saddle; that atop the Vistani wagon (in the spot usually reserved for Castillan) sat Darrien, his [I]Arachnibow[/I] at the ready; that Darrien's pet dire bear cub Grumps Junior loped on the other side of the wagon; and that inside the wagon rode not only his younger sister Laerornith but also his older sister Malrin, Gilbert Fung and his earth elemental familiar Mudpie, and Hagan and his weasel familiar Wezhley. What the elf fighter had hoped would be several days spent with Finoula (and his sister, who would hopefully spend her time practicing on her lute) had turned into the whole group of adventurers tagging along. Gilbert had walked up unbeknownst to Aithanar when he had proposed the outing to Finoula and offered the whole group's services as bodyguards and had even coaxed Malrin along to serve as the party's healer. Laerornith did spend the day practicing her singing and her lute playing, which helped pass the day pleasantly - the young bard did have a very nice voice. Eventually even Aithanar got over his bad mood and decided to make the best of it; it might not have been the more intimate trip he had envisioned, but he was still getting to spend time with Finoula in a relaxing environment. The group made camp that first day at sunset alongside the road in a clearing. They worked out a guard shift for the hours of darkness, but nothing disturbed their camp all night - although there were occasional crashes through the forest to remind the guard on duty the Vesve Forest contained many large and potentially fearsome creatures. However, after breaking camp on the second day of travel and making their way down the road for no longer than a half hour or so, Darrien - perched back on the roof of the Vistani wagon and alert for danger - heard a slight rustling among the undergrowth to the right side of the road just ahead of the two black draft horses pulling the wagon along. Aiming his [I]Arachnibow[/I] in that direction, he sighted along the arrow's shaft and saw a reptilian head peering at him through the scrub. "Ambush!" he called, releasing his arrow to fly straight at the draconic creature as it emerged from its hiding spot. The half-elf ranger's cry was more prophetic than he had anticipated, for it was an ambush drake that leaped out at the travelers - and it was followed by three others of its kind from farther down the side of the road. Even farther down, a hulking, gray shape emerged from the tree line as well, ambling over in a hunched, knuckle-walking gait like some sort of hairless gorilla. Binkadink urged Obvious forward and pointed his glaive directly ahead like a lance. The gnomish weapon pierced through the lead ambush drake, skewering it instantly. But as the gnome shook its corpse off his weapon's blade, the three other drakes raced up, one slashing a set of powerful claws at the jackalope while is companions attacked Wrath and Grumps Junior, the animals being at the front of the procession. Aithanar brought the horses to an immediate stop, alerting everyone inside the wagon that something was up. Gilbert Fung popped open the door at the back of the Vistani wagon and took a good look at what was causing the commotion. Making a quick mental calculation of the distances involved, he cast an [I]Evard's black tentacles[/I] spell that encompassed the three ambush drakes without catching any of the group's animals in the spell's area of effect. Thick, rubbery appendages sprang from the ground to engulf the reptilian foes, preventing them from moving while slowly squeezing the life from them. Binkadink brought his glaive slashing down at the head of the nearest entangled ambush drake, who was unable to avoid the gnome's magic blade. Having slain this nearly helpless foe, the little fighter pulled his weapon back out of the mass of writhing tentacles before they could get a good grasp on it as well. Hagan stepped up beside Gilbert and cast a spell of his own: a [I]chain lightning[/I] targeted at one of the two remaining drakes and arcing off that one to hit the other. "I [I]love[/I] that spell!" the half-orc sorcerer enthused. "It one of your favorites," agreed Gilbert. Finoula didn't dare reach into the tentacle mass with her magic longsword, but she figured attacking with her [I]flaming whip of thorns[/I] was pretty safe, so she sent the tip striking at one of the bound drakes. It cried out in helpless fury; behind it, the gray render that had attached itself to this band of ambush drakes roared in response and redoubled his running speed. Binkadink urged Obvious to go hippity-hopping around the edge of the [I]Evard's black tentacles[/I] spell to meet the oncoming guard-beast. But when the gray render loped into combat range, it rushed forward with amazing speed to take a bite out of a foe. Binkadink, who had readied himself for the attack, sent his glaive tearing into the render's flesh, but the gray-skinned beast still managed to surge forward and get its oil-black teeth into the upper part of the jackalope's right front leg. Obvious cried out in pain and tried - without success - to pull himself free of the gray render's toothsome grip. Seeing this, Finoula leaped from Daisy's saddle, ran a few steps forward, and then transformed herself into a bolt of lightning, courtesy of the amulet she wore around her neck. She blasted through the gray render, slaying it instantly. (Fortunately, Binkadink's glaive attack had already dealt it a substantial amount of damage and it was already bleeding profusely when Finoula blasted it with her electrical attack.) Finoula remanifested in her elven form on the other side of the gray render to see it topple lifelessly to the ground. After that, it was a simple matter to slay the remaining ambush drakes that had been struggling this whole time - without success - to free themselves from the black tentacles crushing them to death. Darrien took the opportunity to try some trick shots with his [I]Arachnibow[/I], but before too long the drakes were all dead and it was safe for Gilbert to dismiss his spell. He had Mudpie help drag the corpses off to the side of the road so as not to impede traffic while Malrin cast healing spells through Ingebold's [I]staff of healing[/I] on the animals who had been injured in the drakes' attack, and then the group was back on the road. They arrived at the designated ruins with about a half hour to go before sunset. The ruins were in fairly good condition, as ruins go - it was obviously once an open-air amphitheater and could easily be put to such use in its present condition. Sitting in the front row of the bleachers were two human figures, one tall and thin; the other even taller and corpulently fat. They both rose as Aithanar brought the Vistani wagon to a halt and the group's members disembarked and approached the duo. "Ah, Miss Ivenheart," greeted the thin man. "I'm so glad you could make it. I would like to introduce [B]Lord Shambleton[/B], the admissions registrar to the Conservatory of the Ineffable Chord." "Charmed," said Lord Shambleton with a brief smile, leaning his vast bulk on a heavy cane. Gilbert, ever untrusting of new people, quietly cast a [I]protection from evil[/I] spell upon himself - just in case. "Very pleased to meet you, sir," Laerornith replied. The talent scout, [B]Mr. Fletcher[/B], introduced himself to the group and offered them refreshments before the audition began. The men had a small flask of brandy with them and Mr. Fletcher ensured Laerornith had a decanter of water available beside her on a small table in the center of the auditorium. Then the two men took their seats. "You are welcome to join us here in the audience," offered Mr. Fletcher to the others in the group, "but we must insist upon absolute silence during the performances." The heroes sat in the rows behind and to the side of the two judges; Gilbert remained as far back as possible, frowning down at the strangers. Once everyone was settled, Lord Shambleton removed a sheath of papers from an interior vest pocket. "This is a list of performances I'd like from you, my dear," said the admissions registrar. "To begin with, I understand you have had some small success playing and singing at various inns and taverns. I would like you to begin by performing your most popular song for us, please." On the lowered stage, looking up at her audience, Laerornith nodded and readied her lute. Then, taking a deep, calming breath, she began her song. The reason for the odd tryout location became evident as the elven bard sang; the acoustics, even in the structure's partially ruined state, were magnificent. Aithanar beamed proudly as his little sister gave the best performance he'd ever heard from her; sitting at his side, Finoula's broad smile showed she shared his views and, more importantly to the fighter, was having a good time. However, at the end of Laerornith’s song, Lord Shambleton looked somewhat displeased. Frowning, he said, "My dear, I'm afraid you have wasted your time..." – but then followed it up with "...singing at taverns! With a voice like yours, you would do very well indeed expanding upon your considerable talents at the bardic college of your choice. If you don't mind continuing for us? I would be very interested in discovering the range of your talents." "Not at all," replied Laerornith, visibly pleased at the praise. "Do you speak the Dwarven tongue?" asked Lord Shambleton. "No? Very good. I will have Mr. Fletcher give this page to you; written on it are the dwarven lyrics to a popular drinking song, spelled out phonetically in the Common alphabet. I should like to hear your attempts at singing in a foreign tongue." Mr. Fletcher took the proffered sheets and ran them down to the elf and then raced back to take his seat once again. Laerornith took the opportunity to look over the pages; the words were unfamiliar, but spelled out as they were she didn't see anything she couldn't pronounce. There were no musical notes inscribed on the page; they were allowing her to create her own tune to the cadence of the unfamiliar words. She placed the sheets of paper on the table beside her where she could glance down at them, then began playing a tune on her lute, picking up the dwarven words at the appropriate time. When she was finished, she looked up expectantly at the judges, but they were busy making notations in their own notebooks. Finally, Lord Shambleton looked back up at her. "Very nice," he commented. "And now, as the sun sets, I should like you to sing a lament of your own devising, here and now. One proviso: I do not want to hear existing words; I wish you to express a feeling of infinite sadness, of longing, of the inevitability of fate, using only sounds of your own devising, please." Nodding in comprehension, Laerornith began a sad tune on her lute, then began singing a wordless song. Lord Shambleton had timed the audition perfectly, as the setting sun added to the mood of the performance. At its completion, both men looked approvingly at each other and made quick annotations in their notebooks. Lord Shambleton pulled a few more pieces of paper from his vest pocket. "I shall now read to you a brief story about a curious puppy who gets into mischief. Having heard the story only once, I should then like you to compose a spontaneous song about the events in the story," he said. The story was indeed brief, lasting less than a minute; the judges then gave Laerornith a minute of preparation before asking her to begin. The elf's song was rather childish, Aithanar felt, but then it was intended to be so, given the source material. The bard's nimble fingers plucked a jaunty melody from the strings of her lute as she created simple stanzas telling the tales of the mischief the puppy got into. He was especially impressed with her simple chorus, which, being repeated between each stanza, gave her some time to come up with the next bit. "Oh, very nice!" applauded Mr. Fletcher, not at all embarrassed to get so much enjoyment out of a song best suited to small children. Lord Shambleton reached into his vest for another sheet of parchment. "Finally," he said, "I should like to hear your vocalizations of a number of word-sounds. Mr. Fletcher will provide you with this list of made-up words in sentence form; just as you did with the Dwarven song, I should like you to pretend they are a song in a foreign language and set them to music of your own devising." Laerornith, feeling she had done very well for herself thus far, looked over at the unfamiliar nonsense words and started composing a quick tune to match them. Then, her tune decided upon, she began singing the strange words aloud. The two men were enjoying the performance immensely, as was the rest of the audience - all except Gilbert. The wizard frowned in concentration, finding several of the words familiar: they were words of the Abyssal language, although it had been difficult to pick them out given Laerornith's unfamiliar pronunciation of several of the words. But replaying them in his head (with the proper pronunciation), Gilbert realized the song consisted of the following: The realization hit Gilbert at about the time Laerornith had gotten to the Abyssal word for "immortal." He called out for her to stop, but she got another nine words out before she stopped singing, looking at Gilbert with a look of betrayal. She had been doing so well - what was this silly human doing interrupting her audition? "I see that you have detected our little ruse," admitted Lord Shambleton to Gilbert, who had raced down the steps to confront the corpulent admissions registrar. Then, turning back to Laerornith, Lord Shambleton continued, "Alas, my dear child, you have been used poorly this night. As your friends have no doubt surmised, although the Conservatory of the Ineffable Chord is indeed an esteemed bardic college, we two are not members of that fine estate, but rather impostors of the worst possible sort. We are, in point of fact, members of a demon cult who have successfully tricked you in tendering your immortal soul to my handling, to do with as I see fit." Laerornith stared open-mouthed at the two men, shocked by the admission of foul trickery. But in the stands, several of the heroes stood up and grabbed for their weapons. "Now then, before your indignation overcomes your sensibilities, allow us to discourse like civilized gentlemen," continued Lord Shambleton. "You, no doubt, are considering slaying both Mr. Fletcher and myself – we are, after all, both surrounded and outnumbered. However, before taking such a drastic action, I will remind you that slaying us will do nothing to free Miss Ivenheart's soul, which now, by the laws of the Abyssal Realms, belongs to me. I intend to use those souls bound to my service as bargaining chips; when I arrive at my Abyssal destination upon my death, I will barter those souls away to lessen my own time of torment and fast-track myself into full demonhood. I would, naturally, prefer to extend my time here on this mortal coil, but death holds no fear in my heart. I know my own black soul's final destination, and have taken steps to ensure its eventual comfort in the Abyssal Realms. "So then: to business. You, no doubt, wish to regain Miss Ivenheart's soul. I, for reasons just given, do not wish to relinquish it. However, I am willing to offer you a chance to earn it back: I assume you are familiar with the concept of 'double or nothing'?" "What do you mean?" demanded Aithanar. "My Lord!" exploded Mr. Fletcher. "Is this wise?" "Quite simple," replied Lord Shambleton - if, in fact, that was his real name - ignoring his associate's question for the moment. "If one of you wishes to try to regain Miss Ivenheart's soul, he or she need only wager their own soul upon a combat with Mr. Fletcher here, who is, I must warn you, quite handy with a rapier." Then, turning to the astonished Mr. Fletcher, he added, "Such a chaotic maneuver, I would imagine, is in line with the teachings of the Abyssal demons." Still seated comfortably upon the marble bench holding his bulk and leaning heavily on his cane, Lord Shambleton continued his proposal. "The rules shall be as follows: Neither of the combatants can leave the amphitheater until the combat has concluded. Those not involved in the combat directly can observe from the amphitheater seats, but are not to interfere. Only those whose souls are on the line can engage in active combat. Those observing from the amphitheater must swear an oath not to interfere, agreeing to turn over their own souls to me should they break that vow. "The fight need not be to the death; if either combatant signals surrender, the foe must respect that and allow him to live. However, you will be fighting for your own souls, which must be turned over to me if you are defeated. Each combatant must make a blood oath to that effect before his or her combat begins; the amphitheater has been consecrated to my demonic patron, so you need have no fear on that front: your oaths will be quite binding. "Additionally, should more than one of you opt to lay your soul on the line, you must either fight one at a time against Mr. Fletcher, or I might be persuaded to join the fight if more of you wish for a larger melee. In fact, we will even agree to fight you all at once, on the condition that you agree to allow us to surrender and be allowed to live, upon forfeiture of your own immortal souls if you do not comply with the surrender." "I not agreeing to any such terms!" announced a furious Gilbert. "You need not be involved in the combat," agreed Lord Shambleton. "But if you are to remain in the area, you will either swear an oath - upon forfeiture of your soul - not to interfere in any way, whether that be by spells, weapons, or even mere advice or warnings from the sidelines. If you do not like these conditions, you have two choices: either leave the area while we conduct our business, or slay us right now - and lose Miss Ivenheart's soul forever." Laerornith looked about to burst into tears at the trouble she'd gotten her brother and his friends into; she still stood rooted to the spot at the center of the amphitheater. Binkadink stepped up. "I agree to your terms," the gnome fighter said, gripping the shaft of his magical glaive. "As do I," added Aithanar. "And I," said Finoula, stepping beside the elven fighter. Behind her, Malrin added, "Me too." The druid looked nervous, though, realizing she had much less combat experience than anybody else here, save her little sister. Laerornith gave a cry of shame at the sight of her family members willing so readily to put their own immortal souls on the line to save her. "Anyone else?" asked Lord Shambleton. "It would seem we have a brave set of elves - and a gnome - at hand. Will the rest of you be joining or bowing out?" Darrien and Hagan looked nervously at each other. "I'm in," the half-orc sorcerer finally decided, taking a step forward. Darrien let out a big sigh. "Okay," he said. "So am I." "That leaves only you," observed Lord Shambleton as he put his weight on his cane and struggled to his feet, to look Gilbert straight in the eye. "What will it be? You seem to be the only human in this group - will you let the burden fall solely upon your friends? You would seem to be a poor representative to your race should you choose that path." Gilbert snarled in wordless frustration at the obese demon cultist - for once, the hefty wizard wasn't the fattest person around - and finally conceded, "Fine!" "Very well, then," nodded Lord Shambleton. "We need only decide upon the rules of our little competition. Shall we fight without spells and weapons - a true barehanded brawl? I must say, was quite the pugilist in my day!" "I vote weapons," piped up Binkadink immediately. "And spells," added Hagan. If he was going to be in a fight with his immortal soul on the line, he wanted to be able to blast his enemies! "Whatever your side gets, our side gets as well," countered Lord Shambleton. "You are taking the chance that the two of us are not secretly powerful clerics capable of dazzling displays of spellcraft." "There are more of us than there are of you," pointed out Binkadink. "I think we'll take our chances." "But no summoning," interjected Hagan. He didn't want to take the chance that these demon cultists might be able to summon forth a demon from the Abyss to fight on their behalf. The half-orc sorcerer knew some of the spellcasters on his team knew a few summoning spells, but they were nothing any of them used very often. And he figured Darrien's giant praying mantis wouldn't likely make that big of a difference in this fight in any case. "That brings up the next point," said Lord Shambleton. "Will we be fighting a series of one-on-one matches, or a free-for-all?" The assembled heroes talked briefly amongst themselves and agreed upon the latter. "Very well, then," agreed Lord Shambleton. "To recap the rules, then: all combatants will remain within the boundaries of the stage of the amphitheater. Spellcraft and weaponry are both allowed, but summoning has been outlawed. If any of you are defeated - either by being slain or by surrendering - your souls will belong to me upon your death, should Mr. Fletcher and I win the overall combat. If, on the other hand, you either slay myself and Mr. Fletcher or we surrender the battle to you, all of your souls will remain your own and you will have regained, in addition, the soul of Laerornith Ivenheart. Are we agreed in all aspects?" Reluctantly, the heroes agreed. "Then we shall all swear binding oaths to the terms of our agreement," insisted Lord Shambleton. "You greatly outnumber us, but I must insist that we be given an opportunity to walk out of here with our lives. I fully intend to live to a ripe old age before meeting my eventual fate in the Abyss." "I can't let you do this!" cried Laerornith. "This is all my fault!" "No it isn't," insisted Aithanar, taking his sister's hand. "We were all taken in by these cultists." "But you're all fighting on my behalf - and in my place! I should be fighting beside you!" "You can't help us fight," pointed out her brother. "They've already got your soul. You don't have anything left to wager." This only caused the tears to flow more heavily down Laerornith's cheeks. "Here," said Hagan, stepping up to the crying bard. "Take Wezhley, if you would, please. I don't want to expose him to the dangers of this combat; he's just a little weasel." Wezhley, upon his master's urging, scampered down the half-orc's shoulder and arm to curl up in Laerornith's own cradling arms. Somewhat mollified in having something useful to do, Laerornith let the sorcerer lead her to the top row of seats in the amphitheater. "You stay here, out of harm's way," said Hagan. "We'll be able to take these guys, easy. Just look at these odds." Laerornith smiled bravely and gave a little nod at the half-orc's words. Once Hagan rejoined the rest of his group, everyone assembled there swore their blood-oaths; Lord Shambleton allowed the oaths to be given in the Common tongue, so everyone would know what was being said and there was no possible underhandedness with linguistic trickery. Aithanar was given leave to drive the wagon around a bend out of sight and take Grumps Junior, Wrath, and Obvious with him, to ensure they wouldn't interfere in the upcoming battle. Then, upon his return, the opposing sides were ready for battle. "As it was the bargaining away of her soul that began this encounter," suggested Lord Shambleton, "perhaps it would be appropriate for the younger Miss Ivenheart to give the signal to begin." "1-2-3 go!" called out Laerornith, hugging Wezhley tight and praying that none of her friends or family would be hurt. Malrin was the first to react - perhaps out of sheer nervousness bordering on near terror. She cast a [I]greater magic fang[/I] spell on Mudpie, as she was planning on remaining well in the back lines and leaving the actual combat to the professionals. Hagan followed up a mere moment after with a [I]chain lightning[/I] spell centered on Mr. Fletcher that arced over to Lord Shambleton. The lightning bolts struck both targets - and Hagan was pretty sure they had had to fight their way through a magical barrier of some type - perhaps a natural spell resistance? - but neither man seemed bothered at all by the electrical bolts. [I]They've protected themselves against electricity![/I] surmised the sorcerer. That took his favorite spell off of the agenda! Mr. Fletcher raised his hands and called off a few words in the Abyssal tongue, casting an [I]unholy blight[/I] spell upon the assembled group of heroes. All but Hagan (whose spell resistance from his [I]scarab of protection[/I] negated the spell's effects upon him) were affected to some degree; Aithanar staggered backwards, wobbling to keep on his feet as he backed his way out of the amphitheater. "I'm sorry, Laerornith," he said, nearly falling onto one of the marble benches, his departure from the field of battle indicating his surrender from the fight. His heart was in the right place, but he was well out of his league! Darrien sent a fusillade of arrows from his [I]Arachnibow[/I] flying at Lord Shambleton, who didn't even bother trying to dodge them or swat them away; they just struck his corpulent form and fell to the wayside. The half-elf ranger suspected the heavyset foe had somehow cast a [I]protection from arrows[/I] spell on himself when he hadn't been paying attention. Binkadink stepped forward, striking forward at Mr. Fletcher with his glaive. The blade dug deep into the thin talent scout's torso, causing a stream of blood to soak through his overcoat and vest. Beside the gnome, Finoula snapped her [I]flaming whip of thorns[/I] at the thin man's face, then stepped forward and stabbed at him with [I]Tahlmalaera[/I] when his attention was distracted by the thorny whip in his face. At Mr. Fletcher's side, Lord Shambleton looked as if he had cast a spell of some sort, but none of the heroes present could determine what it might be, for it had no apparent effect other than cause a nimbus of rainbow-colored energy to manifest around the corpulent cultist's body. Some sort of protective spell, perhaps? But then he cast off his human form, growing in size until he stood over 20 feet tall. His corpulent form retained its general body shape, but his facial features took on a decidedly porcine semblance, complete with boarlike, upthrust tusks. A pair of small, feathered wings sprouted from his shoulders; Gilbert gasped in horror as he recognized "Lord Shambleton" as a nalfeshnee demon. Overcoming his surprise, Gilbert cast a [I]heightened enervation[/I] spell at the nalfeshnee, significantly weakening him. The wizard smirked at the obvious success of his spell, evident in the demon's look of major irritation that the human's spell had gotten through his resistance to spell energy in the first place. Malrin was terrified out of her mind at this point - she had expected to be fighting a pair of humans, possibly even capable of casting spells, but certainly not a living demon from the deepest bowels of the Abyss! Still, the druid had the presence of mind to cast a [I]bear's endurance[/I] spell on Binkadink, as the gnome fighter looked like he could use a boost to his overall constitution after Mr. Fletcher's [I]unholy blight[/I] spell. And then Mr. Fletcher dropped his human guise as well, growing in size to reach the nalfeshnee's shoulders - about 15 feet tall in all. He grew sharp claws at the tips of his fingers, as a second set of arms grew out of his shoulders, this pair ending in oversized, crablike pincers. His skin hardened and his head became lupine, with a mouth full of wicked teeth. "Glabrezu!" hissed Gilbert. "Mr. Fletcher" snapped his pincers at the heroes standing before him, catching Finoula in his right pincer-claw and Binkadink in his left. Both heroes struggled to free themselves, to no avail. Binkadink even felt himself being pulled closer to the glabrezu's face, the better for the demon to bite at the little gnome. "My arrows can't get through!" Darrien called out, realizing his [I]Arachnibow[/I] was all but useless against these particular enemies. "Here!" Gilbert called over to him, taking a moment to pull the magic katana he'd taken from an enemy samurai in his mother's homeland from his belt. He knew the weapon had magical enhancements aiding the wielder in striking accurately and dealing damage; perhaps the ranger could put it to good use. Darrien grabbed the curved blade, feeling its heft for a moment to get a feel for the weapon, and then ran up to Lord Shambleton to attack. The nalfeshnee, with his enormous reach, clawed at the approaching ranger, scoring parallel grooves down the side of Darrien's face. But the katana struck true, sinking deep into the demon's bloated leg. Binkadink was still being crushed in the glabrezu's pincer but he had maintained his grip on his own glaive and continued to put it to good use, swinging the blade into the demon's face and eliciting a roar of pain from his hulking foe. Finoula followed suit, bringing her magical whip and longsword to bear against their foe as best as she could given her current situation - being crushed in the glabrezu's right pincer-claw. Together, the two heroes made the glabrezu pay for his actions in continued pain for as long as he held them prisoner in his claws. From the expression on his lupine face, he was starting to regret the course of action he'd taken against these particular two. And then, all across the battlefield, the [I]smite[/I] action Lord Shambleton had taken a moment ago hit its full power. The multicolored nimbus of energy around his body exploded out in all directions, affecting all around him save his demonic partner. Binkadink and Malrin were both noticeably dazed by the magical effect, their faces contorting in fear as they experienced their own personal worst terrors. The other heroes each winced in momentary fear, but managed to shrug off the worst of the effects and continued the battle for their souls. Taking advantage of the moment of confusion as his [I]smite[/I] attack took effect, the nalfeshnee cast a [I]feeblemind[/I] spell at Gilbert, hoping to take him out of the fight permanently. Fortunately for the wizard, he was able to fight off the mental attack through sheer willpower. In return, he cast a [I]scorching ray[/I] spell at Mr. Fletcher, hoping to take down the weaker of the two demons and allow everyone to focus on a sole enemy. He knew the demon had at least partial immunity to fire-based attacks, but was hoping his spell was powerful enough to overload the glabrezu's defenses. Judging from the demon's howls of pain, he was quite successful on that front. Hagan followed up Gilbert's attack with a [I]disintegrate[/I] spell centered on the glabrezu. The demon managed to prevent himself from being instantly obliterated by the spell, but he wasn't able to prevent it from dealing him a significant amount of damage. So much, in fact, that the glabrezu realized if he continued on in this fashion he'd likely be slain - and since he and Lord Shambleton had been [I]gated[/I] here to the mortal world, if they were slain here it would be quite permanent. "I'm afraid I'm out," he apologized to the nalfeshnee, before hurling Finoula across the amphitheater to land in a bone-crunching [I]thud![/I] beside Malrin, who was still trapped in her own personal mental horror. He then threw Binkadink to land atop her, hoping to cause even more damage from the gnome's heavy armor, but the toss went wide and Binkadink landed beside the elven ranger. Then, with a mental trigger, Mr. Fletcher faded from view, his body [I]gating[/I] back to the Abyssal realm he called home. Darrien bravely continued his attacks with his borrowed katana against the nalfeshnee's legs and seemed to be dealing a little bit of damage, but the demon's thick hide made it almost seem like he was trying to cut down a tree with a sword. Mudpie rushed over to aid the ranger, but he couldn't manage to do much more damage to the demon than Darrien was managing. Behind them, Malrin was still frozen in terror and Binkadink couldn't free himself from his own personal torment to rise up from where he'd been thrown. Gilbert and Hagan were mentally going over their respective spell inventories to find the ones most likely to take down this nalfeshnee before he claimed all of their souls. If he did another [I]smite[/I] attack, there was no telling how many more heroes he'd take down.... But Finoula, lying on the ground where she'd been thrown, wasn't yet out of the fight. She crawled back to her feet and briefly considered using her [I]lightning amulet[/I] against the towering demon, but something in the back of her mind made her think he was probably immune to electrical attacks. And then she remembered one of the powers granted by her [I]angelhelm[/I]. With one hand held to her helmet, she channeled a [I]dispel evil[/I] spell into her body, making it a living receptacle ready to apply it to the next creature she touched. She raced up to the demon, her sword and whip left behind on the ground where she'd been thrown, and reached out her hand like a living weapon. Approaching from behind Mudpie, she reached over the small earth elemental's body and slapped Lord Shambleton on the knee. A surge of white energy flashed from the ranger's hand to the demon at the touch. The nalfeshnee jolted as if blasted with an explosive spell, looked down at the ranger, and smiled a hideous grimace with his horrible tusk-filled mouth. "Oh, very well done," he complimented her in surprise as his body faded the same way Mr. Fletcher's had done a moment before, only this time quite involuntarily on his part. A second later, the amphitheater was empty save for the heroes. "Is that it?" asked Laerornith, afraid to believe they'd won. "That's it," Aithanar assured her. He held his little sister in his arms to comfort her, but his eyes were on the ranger who had struck the final blow and saved them all. "Finoula did it!" His loving gaze said quite obviously he had never doubted otherwise. - - - The group was starting to get pretty nervous there at the end, afraid they weren't going to be able to take down the nalfeshnee in time. And then Vicki remembered the [I]dispel evil[/I] power of Finoula's [I]angelhelm[/I]. It's only usable once per day, so this was all or nothing at that point. She rolled, and overcame the demon's spell resistance, so it had a chance of affecting him, but he still got a saving throw. We do all of our die-rolling out in the open, so I calculated the odds (he only needed a ridiculously low number to save) and tossed down my 20-sider. It careened along the top of a [I]Player's Handbook[/I], rolled up to the edge...and then fell off the book and onto the table, a natural 1. No kidding, Vicki was jumping up and down in excitement - I've never seen her so ecstatic. I enjoyed role-playing the demons, as well - I used an "Alfred Hitchcock" voice when speaking as Lord Shambleton. As for the bardic tryout, I had Vicki make the Perform checks for each test (I had done up a one-page NPC sheet for Laerornith Ivenheart and given it to her during the tryout) and documented each result as if they mattered; she actually rolled very well for that part of the adventure. Vicki was a bit suspicious at the last test, wondering aloud what monster she'd be summoning when Laerornith recited the "made up words" (actually, the soul offering in Abyssal), but rolled well then as well. I had made the players all tell me what languages their PCs knew at the beginning of the test, purportedly to see if anyone knew Dwarven (nobody did), but really to see who might recognize Abyssal being sung aloud (and it was only Gilbert). I had Dan roll an Intelligence check for Gilbert, and I had made up a chart to show at which word of the oath Gilbert recognized what the bard was saying based on his result; I then had Vicki make a Will save for Laerornith to see how many extra words she said after Gilbert told her to stop. She got far enough along to have already given her soul to Lord Shambleton. And I apparently made my "demon cultists" explanation reasonable enough that everybody bought it and nobody suspected they were dealing with actual demons. So that was a fun reveal, especially since I own a nalfeshnee D&D Mini and Logan had earlier purchased, built, and painted a "wolf demon" mini that's quite obviously a glabrezu. Plopping them down on the battle map (a set of cards from the "Ruins" Map Pack from Paizo) resulted in a lot of worried looks on my players' faces! The next adventure deals with an encounter on the way back home to Kordovia. With events as they are, if Jacob decides to play with us next session he'll have to run one (or both) of Castillan's sisters, since his PC is away doing a task for his father. It's an interruptible task, but he'd have no way of knowing the other PCs' current location or have any way to get there in time if he did. - - - T-Shirt Worn: Still wearing my green dragon T-shirt, since this was the same game session as "Audience with the Successor." [/QUOTE]
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