(Cydra) The Year 271 Campaign (Low Magic experiment)

“All right, you son of a bitch, HOW DO WE GET HOME?” Sir Fwaigo roars. Me, growling, looms right behind him.

Sir Harth, who has a fairly generous bloody nose, a black right eye and a split lip, sneers. “Why should I tell you anything?”

Lord Cedric grabs him roughly by the tunic and shakes him. “You are our captive, Harth! Make no mithtake, you live or die at my pleathure! You will aid uth in getting home- or you will never return to our time, either. Do you with to be trapped here for all time? Are you truly that mad?”

“In return for aiding you, you must assure me that you-”

“No athurantheth, Harth!” Cedric snarls, spittle flying in Harth’s face. “You will aid uth in bringing you to juthtithe- or elthe we will therve juthtithe more informally here, in thith time. Thurely you would rather thee a trial than a length of cold thteel!”

Harth hesitates.

“Me hate traitor,” rumbles Me.

“I can subject you to forms of torture you can’t even imagine,” Otis remarks.

“Yeah!” agrees Kyle.

“HOW, Harth?” demands Sheriff Jorgen. “How were you going to get back? You must have had a plan! You’re not that stupid. Or are you?”

“Of course not!” Harth rises to the bait, then realizes what he has said. Smiling, he nods. “That’s one to you, sheriff. All right. I have a plan, yes. But you cannot possibly execute it without my help.”

“Oh really?” Otis asks dryly.

Sir Harth laughs. “Not unless you can- and dare to- contact entities from Beyond.” The way he says Beyond is somehow disturbing, as if it holds secrets not meant for humanoid intelligence.

“Beyond what?” Goer asks.

“Beyond... everything, you fool.”

Goer bridles, and Lord Cedric snaps, “I am tired of hith intholenthe. One of you, cuff him.” Immediately, Me, Dahlia and Kyle all step up and begin to throw more punches at him. In another few seconds, Harth is lying curled on the floor. The party only kicks him a few times while he’s down before Cedric calls them off.

Sir Colder and Me haul him to his feet. He groans in pain, blood pouring from a cut near his (now black) left eye. Me gives him a rough shake.

“Now, why don’t you be a little more forthcoming this time?” Jorgen suggests. “What was your plan?”

Harth coughs and spits, then says, “To go through the Vast Gate. To go... Beyond. And to contact an intelligence there to help me.”

“But how could-” Dahlia is cut off before she can even frame the question.

“Don’t you see it? When we are... outside, for lack of a better word, we shall be in a place that defies all the rules of our physical universe, a place utterly alien. Space does not apply there, at least, not as we know it... and neither does time. With help, it should be child’s play to emerge back at our time.”

“And you had a specific entity in mind, I assume.” Otis stares hard at Sir Harth.

“Not at all,” Sir Harth replies. “I am simply looking for any entity that is capable of helping.”

“How?” demands Lord Cedric. “How will you find it?”

“I know certain secrets of black magic,” Sir Harth answers obliquely.

***

After they finish interrogating Sir Harth- whom they have relieved of useful gear of all kinds- the party and the two elves with them draw off a short distance to discuss what to do.

“If this is his plan, it’s probably our best bet,” Colder notes. “Unless someone has something better in mind? Didn’t think so.”

“I think that this ‘outside’ place is the same thing that turned- I guess turns- the elves into those things we fought at Goblin Gorge,” Dahlia says. “What will it do to us?”

It’s an unsettling question. But, as Goer points out, they don’t have much choice.

“How do we get to the Vast Gate? This place is swarming with those furred monsters,” Kyle comments.

When asked how he planned to reach it, Sir Harth only shrugs and answers, “I was going to look until I found it. Or whatever I had to do. But I do not know exactly where to go to find it.”

“What about you?” Jorgen turns to the two elves.

The female shakes her head. “I am sorry, but we do not. We never attended directly on the Vast Gate itself.”

“Maybe I can do something to find it,” Dahlia offers. She casts commune with nature. A look of profound disgust comes over her face, and a few moments later, when she comes out of her trance, she exclaims, “This place is disgusting!” She spits, as if to clear a foul taste from her mouth. “Ugh!!”

“Could you discern anything useful?” Otis inquires.

“Yes. Right. We need to stick to the right; it is the safest path, all the way. I could sense the Vast Gate- it’s like a tumor, a cancer festering in nature.” She shudders.

“Think about what we know,” Otis reminds her. “Think of those things that we fought in Goblin Gorge- the things that were once elves. We shouldn’t be surprised if this place is foul.”

“Can you lead uth where we mutht go?” Lord Cedric asks Dahlia.

“I-I think so.”

Gravely, the Lord of Whitewater nods to her. Taking a deep breath, the druidess begins to lead the rest of the party- and their new prisoner- further down the hallway. Everyone is keyed up and alert; before long, several of our heroes report hearing gibbering noises from further on. But Otis casts a silent image of the milk maid from back home to distract everyone and remind them of what they are doing.

Ambush!

As they move down the wide hall, they are suddenly assaulted! A group of a half-dozen of the furry little gibberlings rushes out, babbling incoherently. The party easily defends themselves, slaying their attackers in but a few short moments.

They take the first right turn that they can, moving carefully through a series of malformed caves. Strange growths dot the walls and floor here and there. Across the floor, small trickles of moisture run- though whether they are water is not entirely clear. Some of it looks strangely blue.

Everyone is on edge. The place itself makes them irritable, as if it were constantly muttering dark imprecations at them. The party continues through several more adjoining chambers, then down and up a twisting tunnel shaped like a U. In the distance, they can hear more occasional gibbers.

Finally, they reach a strange area where the natural (although deformed) caves give way to something more artificial. A broken section of wall breaks into a large, rectangular room obviously carved by intelligent hands. A dull blue sludge covers the floor of most of the area, apparently secreted by the dozens of white, wet and doughy-looking dog-sized lumps on the ceiling. These lumps slowly move back and forth amongst weird bulbs of satiny black goop that are fixed to the ceiling by a cluster of strange, fibrous roots. The white lumps have orifices on their backs, which seem to be dripping the blue sludge. An open doorway leads out on the other side of the room.

“Yuck,” exclaims Dahlia.

Cautiously, the group proceeds across. There is some joking about making Sir Harth touch the stuff, but nobody wants to linger in this strange chamber.

They stay to the right, moving into the carved areas. They cannot be far from their destination now.

But what will happen once they reach it?

Next Time: Our heroes run into trollish trouble!

A Little Troll Trouble

“We should bring the elves back to our time with us,” Otis urges Lord Cedric in a low voice. “As a breeding pair. Just think of their knowledge! Just think of what we could do if we knew half of what they know!”

“Propothe it to them,” Cedric nods.

Otis turns and translates his offer into Elvish. The two elves exchange a glance and agree to consider it. Otis frowns; he knows the sound of a polite dismissal when he hears it.

***

Trolls!

They are strange and deformed, stunted and miscolored. The first has a weak-looking, shriveled third arm coming out of his side. The second has twisted, warped legs. The third seems to have an extra set of gasping lungs on the outside of its chest; and the third has a complete second troll, shriveled to a mere foot in size, dangling from the back of its neck.

Otis and Dahlia waste no time, unleashing a fireball and a flame strike immediately. The trolls are swiftly overcome after that, but once the fight is over, Dahlia studies the bodies intently.

“That was easier than I would have expected. They were... almost frail. Something about this place,” she mutters.

The female elf nods. “Magical healing can sometimes warp you, if you are close to the Vast Gate. Things that were born too close to it might be warped it in the womb, as well.”

Dahlia shudders.

***

The party continues along, but before long a large cavern opens from the rough tunnel. A dim light emanates from several of the natural pillars and numerous stalactites. Dozens of grossley misshapen trolls are in the room, rolling around on the ground together, seemingly- wrestling? Mating? Our heroes cannot tell. Most of the trolls have vestigial appendages and organs sprouting from their bodies, which flop around grotesquely during their gyrating exertions.

Presiding over the entire affair is a huge creature of enormous girth, with two heads and a thick, serpentine tail. The great two headed she-troll squats on a pile of jumbled bones, gazing wantonly at the scene before her. Her gaze crawls from the orgy of troll mutants before her to the approaching party.

They halt immediately at the sight of so many trolls. Otis asks Adelle to cast tongues on him, and then he steps forward into view. Before the hideous troll queen has a chance to open her mouth, Otis steps forward and calls out- in Elven- “We mean you no harm! We are just passing through! We are just trying to reach our home!”

The trolls erupt in a collection of surprised grunts as they break apart and begin pulling themselves to their feet. The obese troll matriarch heaves herself to her feet and gawks at Otis with both heads. The other adventurers step up behind her, accompanied by the elves.

The troll matriarch chuckles. “We are strong,” she burbles. “Why should we let you pass?”

“We are stronger than you. We have already slain four of your sentries. How else do you think we reached you?”

The matriarch sends a pair of mutant trolls to check out Otis’ story. “I hope you can do this, master,” Kyle whispers.

“Me,” Sir Percival hoots mournfully.

Otis’ story checks out, and our heroes are a menacing band. The matriarch’s heads start to argue with each other, and she even briefly comes to blows with herself before the party is allowed to pass.

But they are, in the end, allowed to pass.

***

The party moves into a weird chamber that smells of vinegar. An archway leads out into a worked room to the left, but right is a scabrous tunnel coated with greenish-brown resin, whorled and ridged. The footing is uneven, and the vinegar-like smell is very strong.

“Stay right,” Dahlia insists, despite the unpleasant appearance of the passage.

The party heads into the unnerving tunnel. They pick their way forward carefully, coming into a long, irregularly-shaped cavern whose walls, floor and ceiling are lined with more of the resin.

Then something hideous comes into view from around a stone protrusion.

Skittering on six crab-like legs, the bloated, yellow-orange creature has an oily body covered in short, writhing tentacles. It has an enormous, tooth-filled mouth framed by more, longer tentacles. Four large, bulging, yellow and red eyes are set into the monster’s upper portions, above the mouth. Behind its eyes are a cluster of strange, bulging sacs of some kind.

“Dispatch it quickly!” cries the male elf. “It’s a brain collector!!”

Next Time: The brain collector! The Vast Gate! And the swarm of eyeless eels!!

Going Home

The bizarre thing rushes forward, skittering on strangely crab-like legs towards our heroes. Its oily skin, slick with yellow-brown stuff, gives off a weird, unearthly aroma.

“Kill it!” Sir Colder screams, and he fires his crossbow, but misses. Kyle nods enthusiastic agreement, blasting the monster with a volley of magic missiles. They spatter against the monster, leaving smoking holes in its... carapace? But the monster ignores the attack and skitters up to Adelle, snapping at her with its immense maw. Its teeth close on her arm, and it begins to retreat, dragging her with it.

“No you don’t,” snarls Otis, and fires a volley of maximized magic missiles into the monster. Sir Jorgen, meanwhile, charges forward, stabbing the thing with his lance- but to his chagrin, he finds that his blow sends a course of fire from the monster into him. Suddenly it is surrounded in a corona of flames! Adelle screams in pain, struggling ineffectually to free herself.

“Thtop it!” Lord Cedric urges his companions. “We mutht free Adelle!” He quickly ties a knot in his rope and then hurls it around the wizard, attempting to rescue her from the brain collector- but the rope catches fire and burns free immediately!

Sir Fwaigo bellows a war cry and springs forward, swinging his sword at the beast. He hits, but flames shoot down the weapon and blast him. He cries out in pain, but the brain collector drops Adelle. Worth it, Goer thinks as he staggers back, reeling from the pain. He sees both Kyle and Otis fire more volleys of magic missiles at the monster; the beast drops back a pace.

“Flee, monster!” cries Sir Colder, darting forward and helping Adelle to her feet.

”While it’s hesitating,” the elven male accompanying our heroes mutters, “flee!” He and his sister begin to back away.

“What? No way! We need to get past this thing,” argues Sir Colder. He begins moving forward, towards the brain collector. The brain collector surveys our heroes for a moment; it looks barely wounded. Yet- it hesitates. Clearly not out of fear. Perhaps... disappointment?

The monster vanishes, fading into thin air with a quiet “whoomph”.

Maybe our brains aren’t worth collecting, Kyle thinks ironically.

***

As the party continues on, always keeping a wary eye on Sir Harth, Otis Optimus takes his apprentice aside again. “Kyle, let me see your spellbook.” With a sigh, Kyle hands it over. Otis opens it to the grading page and scratches out the D+ written there. In its place, he puts a C+. Gravely, he tells Kyle, “You are now a wizard in your own right. You are no longer an apprentice.”

“Thank you, mas- thank you.” Kyle grins hugely. I was going to tell you the same thing anyway, he think, but there is no need to say it now. They understand one another, at least well enough.

***

Sir Harth doesn’t say a word the entire time, except when one of our heroes speaks to him. He casts dark looks at Sir Porthos, but Porthos’ loyalties seem solidly with Lord Cedric. Still, Goer, Jorgen, Otis and Kyle maintain a discrete watch over Porthos; it was not so long ago that he followed their archenemy, and when victory is so close, there is no point in letting it slip away by neglecting the most elementary precautions.

The party finds themselves working their way through a previously blocked passage, and thence through a series of large, domed chambers, several of them now coated in the weird whorled resin. Every now and then, the group passes by the partial corpse of a duergar.

“Keep going towards the worked stone,” Dahlia exhorts her companions.

“Where are we going, anyway?” asks Goer.

“To the heart of the unnatural... stuff,” Dahlia replies. “I presume... the Vast Gate.”

Sir Harth twitches and mutters.

The party passes through an intersection covered by strange, chest-high purple grass that undulates and moves as if waves of wind were washing through it. All these strange things, thinks Otis in wonder. This Isle of the Elves- Tirkon- it has escaped most of the damage to our lands from the great conflict. In our time, they must have so much knowledge accumulated- so much never lost- that I could glean, if only I could reach them... If we make it home, I must seek them out. I must!

The party enters a large vestibule. Several partially devoured corpses of duergar are scattered messily throughout the place. Harth stiffens. “Yes!” he declares. “This is it! We are very close!” He gazes at the ceiling, which bears strange patterns of decoration.

“What’s your plan, Harth?” Kyle demands.

He cackles. “I have already told you. I will bargain our way home- if I can! But I cannot do it until we pass through the Vast Gate. My black magic should allow me to bargain for passage.”

“Black magic,” sneers Dahlia.

“Me hate traitor,” Me growls.

“Lithen well, Harth,” Lord Cedric snaps. “If you try to play uth falthe in thith, you will not thurvive. I thwear by my mother, if you attempt to betray uth, I will have your head from your thoulderth!”

Harth subsides, but his manner has changed now that the Vast Gate is so close. He no longer looks as though he feels defeated.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the swarm of eyeless eels appears in mid-air. It swims forward and the eels begin biting at the male elf, seizing him with savage strength! He screams in pain as they fasten upon his flesh.

Danelle, the last surviving peasant from the village, bravely draws her quarterstaff and swings it at the eels. It bounces harmlessly from them. Kyle- Sir Kyle, lest we forget, since he was dubbed by Lord Cedric- fires an arrow in to the swarm, while Sir Colder likewise unleashes his crossbow.

The female elf rushes to her brother’s aid, hacking at the eels. They keep biting relentlessly at him, and blood sprays everywhere as they rip at his flesh. He struggles to break free, but the eels are too strong!

Then Sir Percival- Me- is there, roaring, his magical mace crashing into the swarm of eels again and again, the muscles on his arms and shoulders sticking out like steel cords, until the eels all spasm and, all together at the same exact instant, go dead. Yet- they remain, floating in the air. It is eerie; there is a hint of something else at the back end of the eel swarm, and now that they aren’t moving, our heroes can see that they simply... fade into nothingness at the back end.

“What the hell are those things?” Goer asks.

The elven man groans. He drags himself to his feet. Dahlia hurries over and applies a little healing to him. “Thank you,” he says heavily.

The party takes a few minutes to organize themselves. One of the doors, the one that is opposite the way our heroes entered the chamber, is different from the others. It is made of thick steel, bound with nephilium, the strange, clear metal that these duergar seem to work so much. Harth seems almost poised on the balls of his feet; he is full of obvious excitement. He’s mad, thinks Dahlia.

They open the door, and before them is the Vast Gate.

The party is staring into a huge, four-valved chamber lined with more nephilium. At the central focus of the chamber is a huge sphere, incandescent with radiance. The light pulses in time to a heartbeat, strobing in a strange, disorienting fashion. Strange shapes seem to move within the walls. The huge crystal hangs in the air, about a foot above the ground. Three great columns of crystal bracket the sphere, spaced equidistantly, rising from floor to ceiling. Several tables, a podium and more bodies are also in the room.

“Well,” says Goer, “here we are.”

“Me,” Me agrees mournfully.

“What about it, Harth?” demands Jorgen. “What do we have to do?”

Harth chuckles. “We have to go through the Gate.”

The party draws off to the side to discuss their options. Going through the Vast Gate is an intimidating proposition. Yet- if it is their only way home, what do they have to lose?

“We’ll watch, but we’re staying here,” the female elf announces.

All the while, Sir Harth’s eyes never leave the Vast Gate. He licks his lips and sighs.

“We’re going,” Lord Cedric says. The party ties themselves together, and then binds Harth tightly to them.

And they step into a realm of utter madness.

It blasts at their sanity. Screaming fright made real, made the air you breathe, made delightful... huge, cyclopean beasts too large even to notice them... the conceit of language blasted away, away to nthg... screaming madness, terror, disorientation and helplessness... weep, man, for you are as nothing to the things that dream here... and like a bubble, layer after layer pops as they pass through from one zone of insanity to the next...

And yet, somehow, through the madness, they keep hold of Harth. And Harth? He is mad enough already. And he has practiced long and hard for this opportunity. For years, he built his cult and cultivated his knowledge of the dark arts, until finally the night came- that night when the stars were right, and Harth cast himself back through time.

I am ready, Sir Harth tells himself. And if I can, I will persuade some power to destroy these fools!

Harth uses all the knowledge of black magic that he has accumulated over a decade of research and experimentation, sending his own mad mind out to contact something beyond sanity- or comprehension.

Show me the way, begs Harth. From here, for you, it should be trivial to find an exit into a different moment. Shoe me!

The madness goes on, like a good meal or an interrogation. Yet, in the midst of it, our heroes hold strong to themselves. They cleave together, trying desperately to hold onto their own mind.

Sir Harth howls in triumph, and there is a sense of motion and them. He turns his gloating eyes on the party. “I have done it,” he cries, and then things seem to pull and distort around them. There is a sense of movement, of action. Layers of filmy stuff break over our heroes like membranes that they are passing through, over and over again, speeding up until...

KRACKOOOM!!!!

Disoriented- it is raining, hard- it is dark- the sky, the stars are out-

“Where’s Harth!” cries Dahlia. The villain is nowhere to be seen!

The group gathers their wits, which are quite scattered by the trip Outside. They are back outside the ruins of the Ghost Keep! Quickly, the party begins searching around for any signs of their nemesis’ passage- and almost immediately, Sheriff Jorgen cries, “Here!” He begins leading the way, while Me jogs swiftly to the crest of the nearest hill to look for any sign of movement in the night. “ME!” he shouts, pointing into the darkness, and begins running forward. The others charge into the black after him.

Sir Harth cannot outdistance them, especially not Me. The scout rushes forward, tackles him, and gives him a solid thumping. “Me HATE traitor!” screams Me.

The others gather around. “The game’s over, Harth,” Sheriff Jorgen says. “You’re under arrest- and you’re going to face justice.”

***

And thus it is that we come to the end of our story. It was a fun ride, going from virtually no-magic to really high-magic and back again, and I think it’s safe to say that the good guys won and everyone lived happily ever after- well, everyone but Cur Sed Seed, anyhow.

Lord Cedric of Whitewater remained a petty ruler throughout his life, but his holdings expanded to include fiefs in many lands, even some in Tydon. He was instrumental in arranging the eventual marriage of Baron Rusk to the Earl of Tydon’s youngest daughter. He hired a crack team of dwarven spirit-brewers, and had a fine brood of many children by his wife, even if some of them didn’t look much like him. Sadly, the cure to the wasting sickness was never found, and it eventually took both Cedric’s mother and several of his longtime servants.

Lady Cara of Whitewater gave birth to many fine children for Cedric. She proved to be very capable of handling affairs of state, and while Cedric concerned himself with drinking and dandying young lads on his lap, Cara took care of business and enjoyed the perquisites of her position. Her mother was very proud of her, and eventually moved to Kamenda City to live in the “city home” that Cedric and Cara set up.

Sheriff Jorgen Boatwright of Whitewater eventually went on to become High Chief Justice of all of Kamenda. When the Uprising of 285 happened, it was Jorgen’s skillful handling that kept it from getting out of control, and prevented the overthrow of Baron Rusk. Jorgen eventually fell in love with a beautiful commoner and flouted all convention by wedding her despite her inferior status, setting in motion shock waves of social change that would eventually lead to a great increase in the ability of the social classes to both mix and to advance (or decline).

Sir Percival, who was too stupid to say his own name (he could only manage two syllable words, so he always just called himself “Me”), went on to be the example around which the Order of the Knights Percival were founded. Dedicated to fast action, the Knights Percival rapidly attained a reputation as formidable foes and staunch allies. Me fought in several wars, always acquitting himself with valor, but it was in the Tydon War of 290 that he achieved his greatest coup, when he single-handedly defeated the Tydonian champion Gruel the Mighty, for which he was awarded Kamenda’s highest honor, the Medal of the Golden Dragon.

Lady Dahlia Laagos lived out her days at Castle Laagos, which she duly renovated as was required of her in order to gain title to it from Sir Martin Whitewater. She had no human staff and few visitors, which was as she preferred it, and she never advanced socially or spent time in court (which was likewise in accordance with her wishes). Amongst the animals and fey, however, Dahlia became quite well-known, and Castle Laagos grew to be home to a diverse array of animals and beasts, as well as magical animals and fey things, such as al-mi’raj and brownies. Badgers, cats, bears and wolves; moles and birds and frogs and fish, all spoke well of Lady Dahlia, and after she died, her castle was quickly claimed by them for their own use. The fey hid it under a weave of fog and glamer, and they and the animals haunted it, mourning its lost owner. Castle Laagos became a thing of legend sought by adventurers.

Sir Kyle Goldenbow became first a hanger-on at court in Kamenda City, then the baron’s personal jeweler. This put him in a perfect position to, eventually, become the richest man in Kamenda, through a combination of favors, a few ‘lost’ gems and legitimate salary. Of course, manipulating his way into the position of Guildmaster of the Thieves’ Guild of Kamenda City didn’t hurt either! Kyle lived out a very wealthy double life. He became so wealthy, in fact, that he was able to mitigate the economic crash that preceded the Uprising of 285 solely by means of his personal wealth. This prevented a wholesale collapse of the Kamendan economy and made Kyle an unknown, unsung hero- for her chose to keep his part in things hidden.

Sir Colder returned to Sir Galadon’s service, but as a knight rather than a messenger. He rose rapidly in esteem in Galadon’s eyes, until Galadon enfeoffed him with a parcel of land. Now Lord Colder, he set about improving the land for his people, only to find that there was a dragon that plagued the area. He strapped on his armor and shield and took up his spear and met the dragon in battle. They strove against one another in a tremendous battle, with Lord Colder clinging to it bodily as it flew high in the sky, until finally Lord Colder smote the dragon as it tried to flee the confrontation, and it died. Colder was nearly killed himself in the long fall, but he lived. He bathed in the dragon’s blood, and it burned and scarred him tremendously. He fled the sight of his men-at-arms approaching, and ran off into the hills. Though Lord Colder never returned, there are tales of a grotesque immortal hero of the hills in that area, who (it is said) does not age and has the heart of a dragon, yet will never give his name or join with a group of people.

Sir Fwaigo “Goer” Smith remained Lord Cedric’s loyal friend and aid for their entire lives. As Cedric’s lands and influence grew, he enfeoffed Fwaigo with an area just outside of Whitewater, and Cedric’s squire of old became Lord Fwaigo. Later, as he grew older, Lord Fwaigo became known as the Smith-Lord, for his habit of working the forge personally even as a lord. He worked for over a year on Cedric’s legendary bastard sword, Dandylion, which he gave to his friend on his 45th birthday. It is said that the weapon has strange inexplicable properties- perhaps even some kind of echo of its creator within it.

And Otis Optimus? Immediately after the party reached the castle in Kamenda City, Otis left. He is known to have traveled to the coast, far away from Kamenda, in lands whose names we do not know, and there to have chartered a boat to take him further still across the sea.

He was never heard from again- at least, not by his old friends.

All right! A fine story, Jester.

What is the outcome of your fine experiment? Any analysis after the denoument?

The Tale of Otis Optimus Pt. 1

A court full of merryment and celebration is the scene in which the Heroes of Kamenda are in; wine and whiskey are aplenty, and songs are about to be sung.

"Fools, idiots, all of you", shouts Otis.

"Whath is the matther Otith? We are home, come rejoice" says Lord Cedric.

"What are we celebrating for? Great...we are home, big deal".

"Otis...for once in your life, shut up and have a drink" says Sir Fwaigo.

"Are you mundane hasbeins really so ignorant? Otis shouts, "Harth was headed somewhere, I intend to find out where".

a moment of silence..

"That's right, you think this is over? Whose to stop some other ambitious noble with black magic ancestors from doing the same thing... furthermore, what's to stop me from doing it?

The party gives Otis a strange look

Baron Rusk replies: " Otis Optimus, you were an aid all of Kamenda, perhaps all of Pelincia, you should be happy and forget what's bothering you for the mean time".

Otis' eyes widen as looks at the meek baron, Otis turns his back and begins to walk for the door.

"Where are you goin? ask Kyle

Otis puffs up, "I'm going to Goblin Gorge, then after I kill Glorgin I'm going to make those green-skinned midgets make me vessel to get to Tirkon".

"Yeah well...good luck with that you crazy wizard", says Sir Fwaigo.

And so, Otis leaves the castle, and as he considers buying a horse on his way out of town, decides to buy new shoes instead beacuse he doesn't have the best luck with horses. He reaches the gate and says to guards: " Next time you see me..run". The guards look puzzled as the arrogant wizard walks past them.

A few days travel across the plains, along with a small boat ride down the river eventually lead the young wizard to the city of Whitewater; where the wizard makes his way to the tower of his old master, the lady Zastas.

NEXT TIME: A Kiss, a slap, and a spellbook and, if orcs are piss bloods, what does that make goblins? stay tuned.....

Alcar said:

if orcs are piss bloods, what does that make goblins?

Click to expand...

MEEEEE!

Great updates Jester and Alcar!


This setting was one of my favorite ever played. I was hesitant about the whole "low magic" element at first, but the roll playing more than made up for it. The whole shift away from alignment and development of traits was an interesting twist for character development.

Alcar might not be finishing this any time soon, but hopefully he'll get back to it eventually.