The Whiterock Castle Campaign- Nothing better than a good old sausage in you.

[Goonalan]

Turn 13: He can stick it where the sun don’t shine.

Cillamar

The remains of the Iron Manacle Slavers, three blubbering prisoners, have been delivered to the appropriate authorities, and with an eager smile, Ronnie of course puts in a good word for them- “belligerent, they seem remorseless, uncaring, no signs of them ever changing, the one called Brother Ralph made to bargain with me thinking he could exchange his captivity for information regarding what lies below, in Whiterock- I suggest he spends time with the Inquisitor. The other two were helpful, to a point, run-of-the-mill scum, I suggest you kill them slowly so that they may consider the many other paths they could have travelled.”

The Paladin is soon back in the bar with his brother, bragging about his role in the activities, “the Gnome was mostly for show, I don’t think I saw her do anything of use in the entire time we were there, mind you brother, the Dwarf’s not much better- they get in the way… little people, prevented me from getting into the action on many occasions, they’re hard to see at times- too short. Yes, I can honestly say they’re no use what-so-ever.”
“Ahem.” Ronnie spins around, fists clenched, before him is a large figure, large and short, almost as wide as he is tall, a Dwarf, the emblazoned Hammer & Anvil on the Dwarf’s armour mark him out as being a follower of Moradin.
“I heard what you were saying- about the ‘little people’, and… well”, Cestode suddenly notices Reggie, Priest of Kord, Ronnie’s brother- Cestode shuffles over so he can measure like for like, the Dwarf is a good inch taller then Reggie, “I’d ask you to reconsider your rash statement.”
“Feck off, short arse.” Ronnie spits.

The bar goes quiet.

“I am Cestode Rafferty, the second, Paladin of Moradin- Holy Dwarven Warrior sent to scourge Whiterock of its blasted vile inhabitants- to see this land safe again, I am the son and heir of Cestode Rafferty… the first, who fought for right, and justice, and freedom- and retired undefeated.” Cestode rocks back on forth on the balls of his feet- loose, ready for the fight that’s about to begin. “Call yourself a Paladin, your nought but a wastrel, a lick-spittle follower of a deity that prizes might alone, a bully…” he continues.

The fight begins.

Or rather would do if it wasn’t for the sudden commotion from the door of the Inn, good citizens lurch left and right as a sea of people rush into the place, ahead of the mob is a mono-browed middle-aged man clad in much repaired raiment- a simple son of the soil, a farmer, in fact- Farmer Palmer.

“Me young ‘uns, oooo ‘eaven’s to betsy, lil Pete, forlorn Jim and stern Molly- me young ‘uns- gone frum me.”
“Steady on stout yeoman, simple son of the soil, for I am Cestode Rafferty, the second, Paladin of…” Cestode rambles on, the same introduction as before, it’s enough to silence the crowd, for a moment.

“Please yer Lord Dwarfship, please too ‘elp me in me ‘our of need?” Palmer wails.
“If you are asking me to help you then- yes, yes I will prevail, for I am Cestode Rafferty…”
“Got it Lord, son of Cestode Rafferty the first, yer dad. Quickly now sir Dwarf- to the Monolith.” Palmer, and the rent-a-mob, vacate the premises, dragging the Dwarvern Paladin with them, who manages one last rendition, “I am Cestode Rafferty, and I’ll be back…”

Which leaves Ronnie and his brother, Reggie, high and dry- the pair shrug and head back over to the bar, “Fecking stumpies”, the Paladin of Kord’s farewell to Cestode.

Over the other side of the bar deals are being done, Quintas a travelling Potion salesman, purveyor of all things magical, has just been commissioned to identify a number of items. Also to clean and mend, through the use of ‘mighty magics’, the tapestry Grungarak found in the ruins- the Half-Orc’s just curious, it seems to depict the Castle. The other members of the adventuring group are in the business of securing supplies and doing the things that adventuring groups do between jobs, that is except for Twiglet- who seems to be in some sort of trance.

“Twiggy?” Then louder. “TWIGGERS?”
The Dwarf turns around to stare at Gina, “Mmm?”
“What you lookin’ at?”
“That Dwarf.” Twiglet replies, still staring at the door, replaying the scene in his mind.
“What about him?” Gina screws up her face.
“He was so… dreamy.”
“Dreamy?”
“I mean, sorry- not dreamy, I mean brave, very brave- did you notice his beard?”
“No.”
“It was lovely. Shiny and soft.”
“Twiglet?” Gina stares.
“Oh sorry, I was just… anyway.”
“What are you going on about?” This time Gina smiles, like she knows a secret.
“I was just thinking we should help him.”
“Really?”
“Yes, rescue the farmer’s kids- that’d be the right thing to do; perhaps we could get to know him… find out what he’s really like?”

One conversation and fifteen minutes later the threesome are packed and ready to go after Cestode, they head for the door.
“Oh what about Ronnie?”
The three turn to stare.
“He can stick it where the sun don’t shine- he’s an idiot.” Gina states, Twiglet shrugs and Grungarak grins, from ear-to-ear.

They’re gone.

For those of you that are stat-based life-forms; Ronnie is now a Paladin of Kord level 2, Twiglet a Fighter level 2, Gina a Cleric of Garl level 2 and Grungarak a Ranger level 2- Cestode’s a Paladin of Moradin level 1- shame.

 

[Goonalan]

Turn 14: Cestode Rafferty, Moradin’s little helper.

So Ronnie is out, he was only along for the ride, one of the Pre-Gen characters, the player in question arrived unprepared, sans PC, so we change out a mad Paladin of Kord for a mad Paladin of Moradin… hang on.

Absolutley none of you are asking- Why Cestode Rafferty the second, aren’t you? Well I’ll tell you. Cestode Rafferty the first lead a party of AD&D-style adventurers about eighteen years ago in a campaign I DM’ed- it’s the same player, with the joy of RPTools and Skype some of the old gang are getting back together.

And so…

"Well me lad, its time for ye to walk in the world of men like I did" the grizzled dwarf states, clasps a gnarly hand on the shoulder of his son. Everything is packed and ready, Cestode Junior trained, as good as he’s ever going to get without real experience, ready for the wider world.
"I will do what you ask, of course Da", Cestode looks fondly down on his old dad, "though I do not know where to begin, any suggestions?"
"Ahh I was hoping ye might ask that" the older dwarf chuckles, and limps over to a series of dusty wooden cabinets. He'd made the large creaking cabinets himself, when he’d retired from a life fraught with danger, a life of adventure. Cestode Senior’s woodwork has become the stuff of legend, dwarves often travelled from far and wide to commission his magnificent pieces for their homes; he did his best to keep up with demand. What his work lacked in beauty, for they were all far from beautiful, except perhaps to a dwarf, they more than made up for in sturdiness. A Rafferty chest would last for generations, and that’s a long time when it comes to dwarves. They also often had little drawers tucked away in the most obscure and unsuspected places. Cestode Senior often mused that half of all the wealth of the dwarves was probably hidden away in his secret drawers, or sliding false-holes, as he called them. You could keep a secret forever in a piece of Rafferty.

His own cabinet creaked a brief shower of dust drizzles down as the old dwarf scampers up a set of fold-out steps to one of the higher shelves, and begins rummaging.
"Here we go lad, this should get you started". He returns to earth clutching a large rolled up parchment, brown with age and torn in several places. Carefully spreads it out on the sturdy wooden table, one of his earlier pieces, then points a stubby finger "We're here, Far Cirque, in the mountains", Cestode Junior peers over his father's shoulder, nods, "Forget South, there's nowt much there, and the West for now, East - well me map don't show much of that, but look 'ere to the North" he gestures grandly, "Lots of towns and exploring to be done down there- Cillamar, Whiterock. Lot of men-folk and", he stabs at a woodland area, "there's elves livin’ in there, and down here", his hand waves about a bit vaguely. "They say there's a mighty empire, I heard there's dwarves living in the mountains by the sea- they does fishing, now that would be a sight to see- imagine a dwarf with a fishing rod", he dabs his eyes a little. "Anyway plenty to see, and maybe you can fill in my map a bit on the way…"
Young Cestode doesn't know what to say. His head buzzes with all the strange sounding names of places on the map, his excitement coupled with sadness at having to leave his old Dad, and his home.
"Don't worry lad", the grizzled veteran smirks, "The mountain'll still be ‘ere when you get tired of wandering, and so will I. Plenty of life in the old dog yet, an’ I got yer sister to train, and yer mam to nag me, and twenty orders for furniture so plenty to keep me busy. Mind you, a letter once in a while, so as I can keep up with your adventures would be nice, if it ain’t too much trouble o' course."
"Course I'll write you old fool" the younger dwarf punches his old dad on the shoulder, as gentle as he can without making it too obvious, "So you know when I've seen more than you did, killed more monsters and rescued more people from certain death."
"Aye, bloody size of you, you probably will an all. Keep yer wits about ye though, remember not everyone fights fair like we do. I've packed ye some extra stuff to take with ye. Come on then yer mam and sister are waiting upstairs, let’s get it over with."

The two dwarves clasp hands one last time, then head to the stairs which lead up to the entrance of their home. Both can hear the snuffles already as they mount the steps, the younger dwarf stops, takes one last look around the dwarf hole he calls home, then heads upwards to a tearful farewell, and adventure beyond his mountain home.

 

[Mircoles]

I've never enjoyed pregens very much. They always seem to be lacking something or they have something thats seemingly useless to the person playing the pregen.

Besides most people seem to prefer characters that they've made to ones that others have made.

It's not really the big of switch anyways. Ronnie was replaced with another paladin. A seemingly more interesting one, though I guess we'll see on that.

I'm still enjoying the story so far.

 

[Goonalan]

Turn 15: His beard’s lovely.

The Sinister Secret of Whiterock

“Helloooo. Helloooo.” Twiglet runs after Cestode, Grungarak and Gina a little behind, they share a look, Gina shrugs up at the Half-Orc. Twiglet’s skipping.

Cestode spins around, “I am Cestode…”
“I know.” Twiglet slurs, which stops Cestode in his path.
The others catch up.

“We’re here to help Sir Dwarf.” Gina states and proffers her hand, “Gina, Priest of Garl, at your service.”
Grungarak nods, “This is Grungarak.” Gina offers, “and this…”
“I’m Twiglet, you can call me Twiggy.” Twiglet half curtsies then remembers, and bows- clears his throat once or twice, drops an octave and grumbles “pleased to meet you Cestode.”

Cestode takes them all in.

“Thanks. Well- it’s this way isn’t it?” And before anyone can answer heads off.

They fall in line, Gina and Twiglet at the back, “his beards lovely”, Twiglet whispers to the Gnome, who smiles politely back.

Twenty minutes later the fields end and the hills start, and there on a rocky scarp is the monolith, their destination- Farmer Palmer’s kids it seems have entered the dark place below the worn stone.

They crowd round the thing, to one side a rough stone stair leads down into darkness.

“I shall lead the way, fear not comrades for my steel shall lay low any that seek to harm us- the children will be back in home before bedtime or my name’s not Cestode…”
“Hang on.” Gina states, she’s found something. “There’s writing, rather runes, ancient Gnomish, warnings really, something about Poderon.”
“Poderon?” Twiglet asks.
“The Trickster, a minor Gnomish deity fond of pranks and games- traps to be precise; this must be some sort of Gnome redoubt… perhaps.” Gina can’t help herself, she grins from ear-to-ear, her hand finds the stone device her Uncle gave her- it’s hidden away in her pocket.
“We best get on then.” Gina states and grins some more.

Cestode leads the way down into the darkness.

Shallow stone stairs descend into a small, unlit chamber. Thick, dusty cobwebs cover the ceiling and corners; the air is stale with age. In the far corner of the room is a battered husk of an old crate.

A torch flares, Gina waves the flame around to chase away the shadows.

There’s a flagged passage heading south, Grungarak draws his weapon and heads over to take a look.

“Look there.” Cestode points, wedged in the corner with the crate is a skull- picked clean, a dwarven skull.

“Beware friends- who knows what foul creatures infect this place.” Cestode grimaces.

“Oh he’s so… so… dreamy.” Twiglet whispers.
Gina grins back at the Dwarf.

“I shall remove the skull of our ancient ancestor Twiggy, this brave fallen warrior’s spirit can at last be set free from his immortal torment.” Cestode strides over.
“I wouldn’t, I mean…” Twiglet trails off.
“Speak stout Dwarven warrior.” Cestode commands.
Twiglet goes weak in the knees for a moment, recovers, clears his throat once or twice and grumbles, “it is likely a trap stout, I mean brave, Protector of Moradin- I think all that junk around it’s holding the ceiling up.”
Cestode looks again, and really has no idea what he’s looking at, nevertheless he looks determined, he even goes so far to adopt a determined pose, “you speak the truth of it.” Cestode nods sagely.

“He’s so determined.” Twiglet whispers.
Gina nods some more.

Grungarak appears back in the chamber, “corridor ends at a door- silent, suspicious.” The Half-Orc gestures back over his shoulder.

“Then let us breach the door, for we must strive to return the lost children to the succour of their family.” Cestode marches past the Half-Orc, heads off down the corridor, he doesn’t get far.

“Or we could try the secret door, over here.” Twiglet states, and points at a blank area of stone wall directly opposite the stairs down.

Cestode about turns, seamlessly, and strides back into the chamber, “Ah yes”, he chuckles, “well done brave Twiggy- I, of course, spotted the secret door earlier- you have passed the test, truly you are both brave and stout, good work soldier.” Cestode grips Twiglets arm for a moment, long enough for Twiglet to melt a little inside, the Paladin of Moradin strides over to the far wall- looks at it blankly for a moment before turning back.

“I will ready my axe- now open the way.”

Twiglet scurries on ahead, feet hardly touching the ground, to the wall, thumps a spot about half way up and the section of stone, slightly to the right of Cestode, slides aside, the Paladin of Moradin adjusts his stance so that he’s facing in the right direction.

“Light.” Grungarak murmurs and crouches combat ready.

And sure enough, ahead, a light flickers and dances.

The adventurers shuffle into the cramped passage, as quietly as they can, then forward into a second chamber.

The air is thick with the smell of cooking meat and wood smoke. In the centre of the chamber is a large iron cauldron, blackened with age and soot. A pair of small, pale humanoids, Gnome-like in size and shape, but with fierce fangs and oversized pads on their fingers, kneel near the cauldron, adding sticks to the fire, while a third pulls squirming rats from a bag and tosses them into the stew.

“It can’t be.” Gina catches her breath, “no…”, but by then it’s too late.

“I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord Moradin when I lay my vengeance upon thee.”

Cestode finishes up his speech, the three strange looking Gnome-shaped creatures lay dead, Cestode, Grungrak and Twiglet’s weapons are bloodied- they didn’t last long, nor did they stand a chance.

Gina collapses in a heap, sobs and weeps as she pummels her tiny fists into the hard, cold and unmoving stone floor.

 

[HalfOrc HalfBiscuit]

Very entertaining, as ever, Goonalan.

The interaction in the revised party is certainly ... interesting.

Can't help wondering if the lack of an arcane caster will be a problem though.

Keep up the good work.

 

[Goonalan]

Very entertaining, as ever, Goonalan.

The interaction in the revised party is certainly ... interesting.

Can't help wondering if the lack of an arcane caster will be a problem though.

Keep up the good work.

And no Rogue- it'll end in tears mark my words...

 

[Mircoles]

What are the fanged gnome-like creatures ?

 

[Goonalan]

My version of the Sil'hel, a clan of Gnomes once known as the Silverheel, warped by a strange crystal (see later in the story) over centuries. Incidently they look a lot like Gina's uncle- see Gina's backstory, although her uncle- imprisoned at the Temple of Garl, has been away from the strange crystal for some time now- he's much better, and much worse than the sad remnants of the once famous Gnome clan that inhabit this place.

The Silverheel established a secret experimental area within Whiterock, the Clockwork Academy.

That ok?

 

[Goonalan]

Turn 16. “Dwarves were never meant to dabble in the athletic arts.”

The Sinister Secret of Whiterock.

“What is it?” Twiglet is quickly to the Gnome.
“They… It’s… I mean, who…”, Gina wipes her eyes, sits up, then shuffles over to poke through the rags of one of the dead- the hands warped, fingers twisted into tripod fleshy claws, and suckered. Face and body hairless, teeth sharpened to fangs, eyes unused to natural light- milky white, the pigment gone- just, just like her Uncle.
“What is it Gina? Are you alright?” Twiglet asks again and levers the Gnome up to her feet.

Cestode and Grungarak have secured the chamber, a passage leads to the south, and directly over from where they entered another passage leads on a little way to a heavy door, rotten with age.

“Nothing, nothing.” Gina adds wiping her eyes still, “only next time let me talk to them, at least try to make sense of what they are.”
Twiglet looks from the corpse to Gina, shrugs then smiles.

“We cannot turn back, our way is clear, ahead- the door yonder, surely that is where our destiny lies, far portal stands alone between us and our fate, tremble at this auspicious…” Cestode is off again.
“There’s something down…Aaarrghhh.”

Cestode swivels, Grungarak has decided to check out the southern passage, which quickly leads him into another darkened chamber, a maze of oversized gears, pulleys, rusting chains, and rotten rope. Everything in the room is coated in dust and black
gunk, that is until the contraption springs to life- a metal piston arm lances out and thumps into Grungarak’s midriff laying the Half-Orc low. Gina and Twiglet rush to the scene, leaving Cestode alone with the door and his speech.

Grungarak is dragged back, out of range of the wheels and pistons that lurch and lunge from the strange machine. The noise is deafening.

“WE MUST BRAVE THE DOOR.” Cestode shouts as the three come skittering back into the chamber, the Dwarf points.
“WHAT?” Twiglet shouts back.
“TAKE THE DOOR.”
“TAKE THE DOOR? WHERE?”
“WHO KNOWS WHERE IT MAY LEAD, TO OUR FATE SURELY.”
“I’M FAT?”
“NO, FATE.”
Twiglet looks confused.
“I’M FATE? AND DON’T CALL ME SHIRLEY.”
“NO STOUT WARRIOR, YOUR FATE.”

Twiglet turns to Gina, yells over the noise, “AM I FAT?”
Gina yells back, “NO”, then waits for Twiglet to turn away before adding, “not for a Dwarf.”

“NO, YOUR FATE.”

Twiglet strides over to the door wrenches it open and walks in, signalling for the others to follow, a damp and dirty passage way continues to a corner where it turns to head south, it’s much quieter here.

“Now what did you say?”
“I said we should take the door?”
“What door?”
“That one.” Cestode points to the door they’ve just passed through.
“Take it where?” Twiglet looks confused.

Silence erupts.

For a while.

“Doesn’t matter.” Cestode, crestfallen follows the passage on, the others fall in line, there’s a set of stone steps leading further down a little way in, the passage continues. They note the spot and head on, the noise gets louder again, much louder, they head round a corner and back into the room with the very active machinery, actually they pull up short, Cestode uses hand signals to usher an about turn.

They’re back at the stairs down.

“Do you hear that?” Gina asks.
The other three strain their ears, finally Cestode breaks the silence.
“No.”
“Oh.” Gina remarks and points the way.

Cestode non-plussed heads down.

“Fear not…” He starts up.
“Got it.” Gina finishes and shoos the Paladin of Moradin on into the all encompassing darkness.

“Ooo that’s my toe.”
“Sorry.”

The stairs wind their way down through rough, but flagged, stone passages, its good craftsmanship, just a little the wrong side of ancient.

“Good sturdy stuff”, Cestode thumps a wall, “Dwarven- probably.”
“Mmm.” Gina keeps her own counsel.

The new noise gets louder, as they emerge.

Onto a platform that reaches out over a dark crevasse. The walls of the cavern
fall away to either side, vanishing into inky gloom. Across a roughly six-foot gap stands another platform.

A massive chain descends from the ceiling down the centre of the chamber, between the platforms. From below can be heard the rumble of a thundering waterfall.

“Blimey.” Twiglet looks impressed.

There’s a sudden flurry of squeaks, followed by flapping sounds.

“What’s that?” Gina asks.
“Stirges.” Grungarak states, and looses and arrow, the first beast to emerge from the gloom is now sans much of one wing, the Stirge flaps, spirals down and is soon out of sight.

FWUNG

Twiglet’s crossbow sings, the second Stirge is hit, no more than a scratch but enough to send it on its way again, back up and out of sight.

The third Stirge is however through their defences and onto Cestode in a flash, actually a smash, the thing hovers for a second and is then batted out of the air, it lands a few feet away a crumpled wreck.

Silence, only the forlorn flapping of the first Stirge, vainly trying to control its descent, and below the dull rumble of the waterfall.

Silence some more.

“Dangnation, thwarted- Moradin hear my prayer, so close and yet to be met by the impossible, the gap, the gap-“ Cestode starts up, moves forward, a little- wary of the edge, he points at the terrific gap between the two platforms- as I say, probably six feet. “Too far, too far- Dwarves were never meant to dabble in the athletic arts, like jumping, or climbing… Oh.”

FLOP

Grungarak lands on the far side, a perfect leap, the Half-Orc mooches off into the darkness, he’s spotted something on the far wall.

“Oh.” Cestode confirms, and shrugs.

 

[Mircoles]

My version of the Sil'hel, a clan of Gnomes once known as the Silverheel, warped by a strange crystal (see later in the story) over centuries. Incidently they look a lot like Gina's uncle- see Gina's backstory, although her uncle- imprisoned at the Temple of Garl, has been away from the strange crystal for some time now- he's much better, and much worse than the sad remnants of the once famous Gnome clan that inhabit this place.

The Silverheel established a secret experimental area within Whiterock, the Clockwork Academy.

That ok?

Cool.