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<blockquote data-quote="DM-Rocco" data-source="post: 1679566" data-attributes="member: 14451"><p><strong>session 3 Module A2 Secret of the Slaver Stockade</strong></p><p></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Thorin stalked the shadows of the Hillfort, moving in silence down the dusty hallways, pausing at each door to use his natural psionic powers to see and listen through the walls and doors. At the end of the corridor he held his breath as he slowly pressed the lever on the door and with a loud crash Thorin burst into the room, his blade a fury of motion.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“Die slaver scum,” cried Thorin, his rage beyond control. The room contained a ceramic pot, used for the barracks latrine, and two rather pathetic looking hobgoblins, cowering in the corner, swords on the ground and arms out in a sign of mercy.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“Don’t hurts us, we no kill pretty elf, we only following orders we were,” pleaded one of the hobgoblins.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“You kill Grogg, we feared to disobey Grogg or our head would roll, you kill master, now you our master,” whimpered the other.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Thorin held his blade and checked his fury, years of training in the monasteries and war schools of the Githyanki had taught him to show mercy when given the chance and no quarter in all other situations. He could kill these two before they had a chance to draw another breath, but to do so would violate everything that he believed.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“By the light of Pelor, have at you,” came the war cry from behind.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“Stay your hand my jihad happy friend, these two can cause us no more harm and offer their services to us freely. I can no more slay these two than you could live the rest of your life in darkness.”</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“Perhaps your right, but I will know vengeance for the loss of Zimbar,” cried Khael, tears accomplishing the one thing in all the world the light could not, blinding his sight. He dropped his mace to the ground, light burning from his eyes, the divine might of his God, Pelor of the Sun, piercing the darkness, he reached for the nearest Hobgoblin and pinned him to the wall. The pathetic creature squirming under the intense light of Pelor.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“Behold the light of Pelor you miserable, vomitous, putrid pool of bile. Your salvation lays not in the path which you have chosen but that which you have yet to take. Behold the light and the way of Pelor and know true power, the power of the Sun, the power to heal, the power create, the power to destroy. Stand now before the light of the one God and be judged for all time, for your actions to the living echo with you to eternity, behold!” The Hobgoblin tried to cringe away in fear, moving and turning to break the iron grip that held him. His struggles proved fruitless however and he had no choice but to look into the light, no choice but to feel the strength and might of the servant of Pelor. He stared into the light, meeting the gaze of Khael and when he turned away, his eyes were nothing more than milky white glazed over orbs, he was now stone blind.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“I see the errors of my ways I do, please hurt him no further, please I beg of you, show us mercy, Jurit will tell you all you need to know I will, Jurit will serve you evermore,” cried the voice of the other Hobgoblin. </span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Khael turned his fiery gaze towards the other Hobgoblin and the flames died down.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“Speak now, and quickly, for I have little patience left. Tell me the lay of the keep, who runs it and where the slaves are and I shall spare your lives. Leave nothing to chance, tell all and speak the truth or I shall pen your name in the dead book.”</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“Yes of course, I shall speak, and the truth too, for I will see no harm come to my new master. My name is Jurit and this is Gaul, we came to the Hillfort seven years ago in promise of wealth beyond our means. When we arrived, Icar trained us in battle tactics and discipline. Beware of Icar master, he is tall, even for a human, he must stand at least two heads taller than any of you and he is blind, blind as my friend now is, but his lack of vision from birth has given him true sight. He can see better than the sighted he can. He guards this level of the Hillfort and is in charge of it’s defense. I know nothing of the halls beyond and nothing of the dungeon below. I know that is where the broken slaves are kept, ready to be shipped to market and below is where you can find Markessa, she is a warrior like no other and can use magic too. Dark magic she wields. She can turn people from one race into an other, twisting and pulling at the fabric or creation to create new breeds of slaves. That is all I know master Khael, please don’t hurt use anymore, we will follow you until death if commanded, we will follow the light evermore.”</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Khael relaxed his grip on Gaul and reached for the medallion around his neck. He pulled the medallion of Pelor off but it remained, or rather it duplicated itself and then again, so that two copies of the medallion of Pelor were held in either hand.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“Take these medallions of your new God and wear them always, before you go to bed at night, meditate on them and pray to him for salvation. In his flame shines salvation,” preached Khael. He watched as both of the Hobgoblins placed the medallions around their necks and to his surprise they did not burn in fiery deaths as an infidel would have but rather they glowed slightly with a reverent light of acceptance.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“By Pelor’s flame,” gasped Khael, amazed that such creatures of evil had been accepted into Pelor’s fold.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“Take this silver, the combined treasure of your comrades, and have your riches. Spread the word to those we have passed that there are new lords of the keep and await our return,” casually replied Gren. </span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">The two hobgoblin’s quickly gathered up the money on the floor and praised the hardy adventures names. The party of friends now turned their task to the gruesome work at hand, binding the body of their fallen comrade. Gren then used his magical bag to encompass the fallen comrade and store his/her body for a future burial.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">In the end it was Thalus that knew the rights about the proper burial rituals of the golden elves. The body needed to be burned at its ancestral home and the ashes spread across Menzoberranzan, one of the largest drow cities of the underdark. Thalus, who once would have reveled in the body of a golden elf, was now sickened at the treatment of such remains by his fellow drow. The body would have been taken to the altar’s of Loth where horrible curses and poxes would be cast on the mortal remains and its mortal shell filled with energy from the negative material plane, binding the golden elf to an undeath life for all time. Such undead creatures are then used to track down and slay others of their kin or used against the house enemies. Even crueler are the dark deeds used by the magi of the under world for they use the physical remains, when they can get their hands on them from the females clerics, to fuel dark and sinister powerful magic.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“May Pelor’s light guide your way my friend,“ was the only words spoken and the only ones needed as Zimbar’s body was slowly placed in Gren’s bag of holding.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 10px">* * *</p><p></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">On the remaining brave companions went, trudging through the Hillfort. Down one hallway they encountered a set of three mummies, quickly dispatched by a fireball from Thalus and then came the attack from behind from yet more Hobgoblins. Jurit intervened, and persuaded the small group that we were their new master as well. This Jurit seems to have a natural leadership quality about him and in the absence of his cruel over lords, he could rise to the challenge of leading his fellow hobgoblins as a commander while his quite counter part, Gaul, seems more spiritual in nature.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Following the twisting and winding hallways we came to a pit trap, an illusion revealed the pit was actually closer than it appeared and the clever designers placed a thin, yet strong, nearly invisible wire across the far side which was unseen by Gren’s human eyes. He found out the hard way as he jumped across the gap and then was force back into the pit of spikes. Luckily he had tied a rope to himself before jumping across, that and the strength of the Githyanki were enough to pull him out of harms way.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Water wells and store rooms and then a breaking room for the slavers. This room contained a most unusual creature, a cloaker. The beast best looked like a cloak, hence the name, and he used his spineless body to wrap itself around Gren in hope of smothering him to death. The beast then let out a low subsonic moaning that caused many in the party to feel weak and helpless. The battle was hard fought but in the end the brave adventures came out on top.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Several other rooms, store closets and warehouses and barracks lined the hallway. One room even contained a man awaiting slaves. He fought to the death, with nothing more than a curse to the party for their effort. In another room was a man known as executioner, and rightly so as he wore a black executioner’s hood on his head and was donned in fine black chain mail. He wielded a hefty bastard sword with two curving hooks in the cross guards which gave him an uncanny ability to disarm his opponents as Gren found out as his chain went flying from his hand.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Snaking around the hallway we came upon a kitchen. In this room was a odd mixture of hobgoblins, were-boars and Icar, the cruel fort leader. The battle was hard fought as the were-boars were a tough lot and Icar was tougher still. He seemed immune to even the toughest magic we threw at him. Heavy wounds of every kind racked up upon his body, but the most telling was the blast wound from Khael’s searing light magic, ironic that a blind man could be hurt by light. In a rage of fury he charged the fire pit where he had previously thrown Khael and pinned him into the flames, a last ditch effort to take at least one of us down with him.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">He himself burned in flames.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">The connecting rooms were bedrooms and more storage chambers. In Icar’s bedroom we ran into a medusa, a foul creature whose gaze can turn others to stone and indeed it did. Khael, Delvin and Thalus all turned to stone by the gaze of that most foul of beasts. After slaying the beast it was Venotheeb who had the solution to breath life into the stone statues but it came at a price, he needed magic. Potions and a used up ring were required. The magic was then taken from the items and used to fuel a spell to turn stone to flesh. </span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Down into the depth’s of the keep we went where the party encountered a room full of goblin’s which were easily dispatched. Then down the hallway were a strange, large magnet pulled the parties metal weapons and armor to the wall. Delvin got the worst of it as he was unable to move as he was wearing full interlocking plates of metal. Stuck he was until the release lever for the trap was found. Around the corner we encountered some spiders using a dead body covered in cob webs to lure victims to their doom. After slaying the beasts we found a secret door and a hallway and that is were the party ponders their next move.</span></p><p> <span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"></span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="DM-Rocco, post: 1679566, member: 14451"] [b]session 3 Module A2 Secret of the Slaver Stockade[/b] [size=2]Thorin stalked the shadows of the Hillfort, moving in silence down the dusty hallways, pausing at each door to use his natural psionic powers to see and listen through the walls and doors. At the end of the corridor he held his breath as he slowly pressed the lever on the door and with a loud crash Thorin burst into the room, his blade a fury of motion. “Die slaver scum,” cried Thorin, his rage beyond control. The room contained a ceramic pot, used for the barracks latrine, and two rather pathetic looking hobgoblins, cowering in the corner, swords on the ground and arms out in a sign of mercy. “Don’t hurts us, we no kill pretty elf, we only following orders we were,” pleaded one of the hobgoblins. “You kill Grogg, we feared to disobey Grogg or our head would roll, you kill master, now you our master,” whimpered the other. Thorin held his blade and checked his fury, years of training in the monasteries and war schools of the Githyanki had taught him to show mercy when given the chance and no quarter in all other situations. He could kill these two before they had a chance to draw another breath, but to do so would violate everything that he believed. “By the light of Pelor, have at you,” came the war cry from behind. “Stay your hand my jihad happy friend, these two can cause us no more harm and offer their services to us freely. I can no more slay these two than you could live the rest of your life in darkness.” “Perhaps your right, but I will know vengeance for the loss of Zimbar,” cried Khael, tears accomplishing the one thing in all the world the light could not, blinding his sight. He dropped his mace to the ground, light burning from his eyes, the divine might of his God, Pelor of the Sun, piercing the darkness, he reached for the nearest Hobgoblin and pinned him to the wall. The pathetic creature squirming under the intense light of Pelor. “Behold the light of Pelor you miserable, vomitous, putrid pool of bile. Your salvation lays not in the path which you have chosen but that which you have yet to take. Behold the light and the way of Pelor and know true power, the power of the Sun, the power to heal, the power create, the power to destroy. Stand now before the light of the one God and be judged for all time, for your actions to the living echo with you to eternity, behold!” The Hobgoblin tried to cringe away in fear, moving and turning to break the iron grip that held him. His struggles proved fruitless however and he had no choice but to look into the light, no choice but to feel the strength and might of the servant of Pelor. He stared into the light, meeting the gaze of Khael and when he turned away, his eyes were nothing more than milky white glazed over orbs, he was now stone blind. “I see the errors of my ways I do, please hurt him no further, please I beg of you, show us mercy, Jurit will tell you all you need to know I will, Jurit will serve you evermore,” cried the voice of the other Hobgoblin. Khael turned his fiery gaze towards the other Hobgoblin and the flames died down. “Speak now, and quickly, for I have little patience left. Tell me the lay of the keep, who runs it and where the slaves are and I shall spare your lives. Leave nothing to chance, tell all and speak the truth or I shall pen your name in the dead book.” “Yes of course, I shall speak, and the truth too, for I will see no harm come to my new master. My name is Jurit and this is Gaul, we came to the Hillfort seven years ago in promise of wealth beyond our means. When we arrived, Icar trained us in battle tactics and discipline. Beware of Icar master, he is tall, even for a human, he must stand at least two heads taller than any of you and he is blind, blind as my friend now is, but his lack of vision from birth has given him true sight. He can see better than the sighted he can. He guards this level of the Hillfort and is in charge of it’s defense. I know nothing of the halls beyond and nothing of the dungeon below. I know that is where the broken slaves are kept, ready to be shipped to market and below is where you can find Markessa, she is a warrior like no other and can use magic too. Dark magic she wields. She can turn people from one race into an other, twisting and pulling at the fabric or creation to create new breeds of slaves. That is all I know master Khael, please don’t hurt use anymore, we will follow you until death if commanded, we will follow the light evermore.” Khael relaxed his grip on Gaul and reached for the medallion around his neck. He pulled the medallion of Pelor off but it remained, or rather it duplicated itself and then again, so that two copies of the medallion of Pelor were held in either hand. “Take these medallions of your new God and wear them always, before you go to bed at night, meditate on them and pray to him for salvation. In his flame shines salvation,” preached Khael. He watched as both of the Hobgoblins placed the medallions around their necks and to his surprise they did not burn in fiery deaths as an infidel would have but rather they glowed slightly with a reverent light of acceptance. “By Pelor’s flame,” gasped Khael, amazed that such creatures of evil had been accepted into Pelor’s fold. “Take this silver, the combined treasure of your comrades, and have your riches. Spread the word to those we have passed that there are new lords of the keep and await our return,” casually replied Gren. The two hobgoblin’s quickly gathered up the money on the floor and praised the hardy adventures names. The party of friends now turned their task to the gruesome work at hand, binding the body of their fallen comrade. Gren then used his magical bag to encompass the fallen comrade and store his/her body for a future burial. In the end it was Thalus that knew the rights about the proper burial rituals of the golden elves. The body needed to be burned at its ancestral home and the ashes spread across Menzoberranzan, one of the largest drow cities of the underdark. Thalus, who once would have reveled in the body of a golden elf, was now sickened at the treatment of such remains by his fellow drow. The body would have been taken to the altar’s of Loth where horrible curses and poxes would be cast on the mortal remains and its mortal shell filled with energy from the negative material plane, binding the golden elf to an undeath life for all time. Such undead creatures are then used to track down and slay others of their kin or used against the house enemies. Even crueler are the dark deeds used by the magi of the under world for they use the physical remains, when they can get their hands on them from the females clerics, to fuel dark and sinister powerful magic. “May Pelor’s light guide your way my friend,“ was the only words spoken and the only ones needed as Zimbar’s body was slowly placed in Gren’s bag of holding. [center]* * *[/center] On the remaining brave companions went, trudging through the Hillfort. Down one hallway they encountered a set of three mummies, quickly dispatched by a fireball from Thalus and then came the attack from behind from yet more Hobgoblins. Jurit intervened, and persuaded the small group that we were their new master as well. This Jurit seems to have a natural leadership quality about him and in the absence of his cruel over lords, he could rise to the challenge of leading his fellow hobgoblins as a commander while his quite counter part, Gaul, seems more spiritual in nature. Following the twisting and winding hallways we came to a pit trap, an illusion revealed the pit was actually closer than it appeared and the clever designers placed a thin, yet strong, nearly invisible wire across the far side which was unseen by Gren’s human eyes. He found out the hard way as he jumped across the gap and then was force back into the pit of spikes. Luckily he had tied a rope to himself before jumping across, that and the strength of the Githyanki were enough to pull him out of harms way. Water wells and store rooms and then a breaking room for the slavers. This room contained a most unusual creature, a cloaker. The beast best looked like a cloak, hence the name, and he used his spineless body to wrap itself around Gren in hope of smothering him to death. The beast then let out a low subsonic moaning that caused many in the party to feel weak and helpless. The battle was hard fought but in the end the brave adventures came out on top. Several other rooms, store closets and warehouses and barracks lined the hallway. One room even contained a man awaiting slaves. He fought to the death, with nothing more than a curse to the party for their effort. In another room was a man known as executioner, and rightly so as he wore a black executioner’s hood on his head and was donned in fine black chain mail. He wielded a hefty bastard sword with two curving hooks in the cross guards which gave him an uncanny ability to disarm his opponents as Gren found out as his chain went flying from his hand. Snaking around the hallway we came upon a kitchen. In this room was a odd mixture of hobgoblins, were-boars and Icar, the cruel fort leader. The battle was hard fought as the were-boars were a tough lot and Icar was tougher still. He seemed immune to even the toughest magic we threw at him. Heavy wounds of every kind racked up upon his body, but the most telling was the blast wound from Khael’s searing light magic, ironic that a blind man could be hurt by light. In a rage of fury he charged the fire pit where he had previously thrown Khael and pinned him into the flames, a last ditch effort to take at least one of us down with him. He himself burned in flames. The connecting rooms were bedrooms and more storage chambers. In Icar’s bedroom we ran into a medusa, a foul creature whose gaze can turn others to stone and indeed it did. Khael, Delvin and Thalus all turned to stone by the gaze of that most foul of beasts. After slaying the beast it was Venotheeb who had the solution to breath life into the stone statues but it came at a price, he needed magic. Potions and a used up ring were required. The magic was then taken from the items and used to fuel a spell to turn stone to flesh. Down into the depth’s of the keep we went where the party encountered a room full of goblin’s which were easily dispatched. Then down the hallway were a strange, large magnet pulled the parties metal weapons and armor to the wall. Delvin got the worst of it as he was unable to move as he was wearing full interlocking plates of metal. Stuck he was until the release lever for the trap was found. Around the corner we encountered some spiders using a dead body covered in cob webs to lure victims to their doom. After slaying the beasts we found a secret door and a hallway and that is were the party ponders their next move. [/size] [/QUOTE]
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