Morrus' SH II - War of the Burning Sky (4e) (updated 21st & 22nd October)
Eccles
Ragged idiot in a trilby.
Trudging through the snow to the fallen warrior, the companions paused over his smoking form.
“He looks a bit familiar,” muttered Tyr.
“The tabard on the horse has got some kind of black horse insignia,” replied Grusalock, even as he calmed the panicking animal with his confident manner.
“He looks a little like General De’Nava,” stated Torrent. “He’s a general in the Ragesian army, and the symbol he and the troops were wearing is that of a Ragesian bounty hunting group.”
Tyr straightened up from the bounty hunter’s belt pouches clutching a neat parchment script, and handed it around.
Kathar Danaver,
We offer you and your men a bounty on behalf of the Ragesian empire – we will pay a bounty of one hundred gold for each living wizard you deliver to us.
The document was finished with the heavy wax seal of the Ragesian Inquisition. The group heaved the bodies into an alleyway, taking care to remove a few of their black armbands ‘just in case’.
.oOo.
Continuing towards the Depository, the five reached one of the more populated parts of the city, where fires spread thickly and screams tore through the snowy air.
Rounding a corner, a man staggered from a burning building, clutching a blanket-wrapped bundle in his arms. Tarn muttered and lay one hand over the man’s badly burned hand. There was a brief moment where the screams and the crackle of flames seemed to die away amidst the flapping of invisible wings, and the man seemed to slump as his pain ended.
Unwrapping the bundle revealed a baby, and a young family rushed from the other side of the building screaming and crying for their father. Reunited, the group agreed to carry the three children on their captured horse, and continued on their way.
.oOo.
Passing another burning structure, Grusalock was the first to notice screams from above. Within a few moments, they had swept the heraldic tabard off the horse and Tarn directed a handful of bystanders to hold the corners, allowing the terrified citizens leap down into it.
By the time they arrived at the temple, they were leading a substantial group of people all of whom were looking to them for safety.
.oOo.
After a short rest to speak to the priest and leave the many citizens in the relative safety of the temple, the group headed onwards to the Depository.
Once again the trek was interrupted, this time by tremendous screaming from the north, which seemed to be closing and becoming louder incredibly faster. Glancing up a street, the group could see a lookout on a bridge staring fixedly up and to the north before screaming and diving off the bridge into the crowd below.
The wave of terror washed over the street where the companions stood, as overhead a tremendous red-winged form swooped over the city. Tarn, Torrent and Wingwrath were largely unmoved by the massive dragon, but Grusalock and Tyr fled – returning sheepishly a while later once the tremendous dragon had flown on.
.oOo.
A while later, the group were picking their way through a shortcut, and emerged into the square before the Depository where they were due to meet their contact. The gates to the 80 foot tall tower stood open and were unguarded, reflecting the fires around it, and the breezes from the flames causing the many garish banners around the building to flap and move.
As they strode forwards, an imploring voice cut through the air. “Kiki, please, come out!”
Looking to the right, a richly dressed merchant was on his hands and knees calling into a drainpipe.
Grusalock peered up the pipe and called out for Tyr, who slipped into a crack in the supporting wall. He called out for Grusalock, and there was then a short delay.
“It’s some kind of creature, Grusalock. It’s too scared to come out – I’m gonna need some help”.
It took some time to push Grusalock’s heavy hide armoured form through the gap Tyr had glided through so nimbly, and he then followed Kiki (a gigantic weasel) down a cracked pipe into a sewer drain. At his instruction, the others headed to a collapsed templem where they opened a door into the stinking sewers. There stood Grusalock, drenched in dreadful fluids and clutching a stench-ridden dire weasel, rubbing its stained head against his own.
The owner was pitifully grateful, offering the companions a discount on any silk they might wish to buy…
.oOo.
Finally they had reached the Depository, and trudged through the fountain and statue-lined grounds towards the building. On the door stood three half orcs and a dwarf on guard. He asked for a key which Torrent produced, and he then relaxed and nodded as his comrades opened the door for the group.
.oOo.
Inside, the tower was in the form of a series of large circular stone rooms filled with rows of metal lockers. Stone ramps led up to a second identical floor, but as the companions ranged across the floor to the next ramp a squat horrendous form rounded the side of the lockers towards them.
“I hear war outside,” couched the hideous pug-faced gnome. “I am relieved to be inside. Follow me, Peppin; it’s time to discuss our business.”
‘Peppin?’ mouthed Wingwrath silently to the rest of the group as they followed the scarred and acne-ridden gnome to a locker where he paused.
“Peppin, do you know the password,” he asked craning up to look at the much taller adventurers above him.
Torrent looked confused, and Grusalock was clearly suspicious as he began to swing his staff around towards the gnome.
Rumbled, the gnome turned and dashed for the upwards slope, ducking rapidly aimed blades as he went. The gnome drew a surprisingly long blade and slashed at Tyr, who leapt past him to bar his way up. Instead, the gnome swerved and simply ran straight up the wall, dodging between metal globes in the wall which seemed to distract Grusalock.
Not for long, though. Concentrating, the druid gestured and a slew of vines leapt from his staff to wrench the gnome from the wall. As all the companions surrounded him, they were distracted by a bright light which fluttered down from the level above and began to lance at them with tongues of flame. At the same time, the metal studs in the walls began to his and crackle with lightning, which sheared down across the wall. As Wingwrath cast a spell up at the flying ball of light and flame, the lightning on the walls leapt into life and crackled across the room, arcing across Torrent and Tyr.
Wingwrath and the flying light-thing began a duel of fire and ice magics, whilst the gnome on the floor received blows from all of the other companions. Panicking, he leapt away, receiving strikes from several weapons as he scrambled over one of the lockers.
Tarn gave chase, striking him with the flat of his blade, at which point Grusalock, shifting into the form of a bear, slashed down and tore the gnome to the bone. He convulsed and was still; his form shifting as he died as he transformed into a tall and noble-looking Shahalesti eladrin.
Overhead, Wingwrath continued to blast cold spell after cold spell into the flying form, which was now firing into the group beneath it. One blast of flame dropped Tyr to the ground screaming, but Tarn and Torrent both moved rapidly to heal him with their prayers.
The tiny creature couldn’t last long under the onslaught of fire, cold, thunder and lightning which followed, and as it dropped to the ground, guards finally ran up the stairs from the ground floor. The experienced guardsmen fanned out across the rest of the Depository. On an upper floor they found the comatose form of a gnome, whose ugly face was covered with acne scars and spots.
They were also treated to a view over the burning city, where wyverns still wheeled overhead dropping casks of explosives onto the homes and shops below.
Most of the group was looking at the cityscape, but Grusalock took all of that in with a glance and then spent some time laconically pointing out the windows which had been forced open form the inside, and the slits in a banner caused by two people sliding down it to the ground below. Only his eagle eyes could see the two forms fleeing away.
.oOo.
Once the ugly gnome was awakened, he introduced himself as Rivereye Badgerface, and Torrent confirmed that he was the agent they were there to meet.
Rivereye explained that he had been cursed by the Inquisitors as a safety measure and therefore could not explain his intelligence but that he had captured a series of essential documents which had been with him until he was ambushed by the Shahalesti agents. Feigning unconsciousness, he had learned that they were working with someone named ‘Shialis’, who was based in Gabal’s school of wizardry, and that she was organising a tunnel out of the city and away towards the Shahalesti empire.
And these people had captured his case of documents.
“He looks a bit familiar,” muttered Tyr.
“The tabard on the horse has got some kind of black horse insignia,” replied Grusalock, even as he calmed the panicking animal with his confident manner.
“He looks a little like General De’Nava,” stated Torrent. “He’s a general in the Ragesian army, and the symbol he and the troops were wearing is that of a Ragesian bounty hunting group.”
Tyr straightened up from the bounty hunter’s belt pouches clutching a neat parchment script, and handed it around.
Kathar Danaver,
We offer you and your men a bounty on behalf of the Ragesian empire – we will pay a bounty of one hundred gold for each living wizard you deliver to us.
The document was finished with the heavy wax seal of the Ragesian Inquisition. The group heaved the bodies into an alleyway, taking care to remove a few of their black armbands ‘just in case’.
.oOo.
Continuing towards the Depository, the five reached one of the more populated parts of the city, where fires spread thickly and screams tore through the snowy air.
Rounding a corner, a man staggered from a burning building, clutching a blanket-wrapped bundle in his arms. Tarn muttered and lay one hand over the man’s badly burned hand. There was a brief moment where the screams and the crackle of flames seemed to die away amidst the flapping of invisible wings, and the man seemed to slump as his pain ended.
Unwrapping the bundle revealed a baby, and a young family rushed from the other side of the building screaming and crying for their father. Reunited, the group agreed to carry the three children on their captured horse, and continued on their way.
.oOo.
Passing another burning structure, Grusalock was the first to notice screams from above. Within a few moments, they had swept the heraldic tabard off the horse and Tarn directed a handful of bystanders to hold the corners, allowing the terrified citizens leap down into it.
By the time they arrived at the temple, they were leading a substantial group of people all of whom were looking to them for safety.
.oOo.
After a short rest to speak to the priest and leave the many citizens in the relative safety of the temple, the group headed onwards to the Depository.
Once again the trek was interrupted, this time by tremendous screaming from the north, which seemed to be closing and becoming louder incredibly faster. Glancing up a street, the group could see a lookout on a bridge staring fixedly up and to the north before screaming and diving off the bridge into the crowd below.
The wave of terror washed over the street where the companions stood, as overhead a tremendous red-winged form swooped over the city. Tarn, Torrent and Wingwrath were largely unmoved by the massive dragon, but Grusalock and Tyr fled – returning sheepishly a while later once the tremendous dragon had flown on.
.oOo.
A while later, the group were picking their way through a shortcut, and emerged into the square before the Depository where they were due to meet their contact. The gates to the 80 foot tall tower stood open and were unguarded, reflecting the fires around it, and the breezes from the flames causing the many garish banners around the building to flap and move.
As they strode forwards, an imploring voice cut through the air. “Kiki, please, come out!”
Looking to the right, a richly dressed merchant was on his hands and knees calling into a drainpipe.
Grusalock peered up the pipe and called out for Tyr, who slipped into a crack in the supporting wall. He called out for Grusalock, and there was then a short delay.
“It’s some kind of creature, Grusalock. It’s too scared to come out – I’m gonna need some help”.
It took some time to push Grusalock’s heavy hide armoured form through the gap Tyr had glided through so nimbly, and he then followed Kiki (a gigantic weasel) down a cracked pipe into a sewer drain. At his instruction, the others headed to a collapsed templem where they opened a door into the stinking sewers. There stood Grusalock, drenched in dreadful fluids and clutching a stench-ridden dire weasel, rubbing its stained head against his own.
The owner was pitifully grateful, offering the companions a discount on any silk they might wish to buy…
.oOo.
Finally they had reached the Depository, and trudged through the fountain and statue-lined grounds towards the building. On the door stood three half orcs and a dwarf on guard. He asked for a key which Torrent produced, and he then relaxed and nodded as his comrades opened the door for the group.
.oOo.
Inside, the tower was in the form of a series of large circular stone rooms filled with rows of metal lockers. Stone ramps led up to a second identical floor, but as the companions ranged across the floor to the next ramp a squat horrendous form rounded the side of the lockers towards them.
“I hear war outside,” couched the hideous pug-faced gnome. “I am relieved to be inside. Follow me, Peppin; it’s time to discuss our business.”
‘Peppin?’ mouthed Wingwrath silently to the rest of the group as they followed the scarred and acne-ridden gnome to a locker where he paused.
“Peppin, do you know the password,” he asked craning up to look at the much taller adventurers above him.
Torrent looked confused, and Grusalock was clearly suspicious as he began to swing his staff around towards the gnome.
Rumbled, the gnome turned and dashed for the upwards slope, ducking rapidly aimed blades as he went. The gnome drew a surprisingly long blade and slashed at Tyr, who leapt past him to bar his way up. Instead, the gnome swerved and simply ran straight up the wall, dodging between metal globes in the wall which seemed to distract Grusalock.
Not for long, though. Concentrating, the druid gestured and a slew of vines leapt from his staff to wrench the gnome from the wall. As all the companions surrounded him, they were distracted by a bright light which fluttered down from the level above and began to lance at them with tongues of flame. At the same time, the metal studs in the walls began to his and crackle with lightning, which sheared down across the wall. As Wingwrath cast a spell up at the flying ball of light and flame, the lightning on the walls leapt into life and crackled across the room, arcing across Torrent and Tyr.
Wingwrath and the flying light-thing began a duel of fire and ice magics, whilst the gnome on the floor received blows from all of the other companions. Panicking, he leapt away, receiving strikes from several weapons as he scrambled over one of the lockers.
Tarn gave chase, striking him with the flat of his blade, at which point Grusalock, shifting into the form of a bear, slashed down and tore the gnome to the bone. He convulsed and was still; his form shifting as he died as he transformed into a tall and noble-looking Shahalesti eladrin.
Overhead, Wingwrath continued to blast cold spell after cold spell into the flying form, which was now firing into the group beneath it. One blast of flame dropped Tyr to the ground screaming, but Tarn and Torrent both moved rapidly to heal him with their prayers.
The tiny creature couldn’t last long under the onslaught of fire, cold, thunder and lightning which followed, and as it dropped to the ground, guards finally ran up the stairs from the ground floor. The experienced guardsmen fanned out across the rest of the Depository. On an upper floor they found the comatose form of a gnome, whose ugly face was covered with acne scars and spots.
They were also treated to a view over the burning city, where wyverns still wheeled overhead dropping casks of explosives onto the homes and shops below.
Most of the group was looking at the cityscape, but Grusalock took all of that in with a glance and then spent some time laconically pointing out the windows which had been forced open form the inside, and the slits in a banner caused by two people sliding down it to the ground below. Only his eagle eyes could see the two forms fleeing away.
.oOo.
Once the ugly gnome was awakened, he introduced himself as Rivereye Badgerface, and Torrent confirmed that he was the agent they were there to meet.
Rivereye explained that he had been cursed by the Inquisitors as a safety measure and therefore could not explain his intelligence but that he had captured a series of essential documents which had been with him until he was ambushed by the Shahalesti agents. Feigning unconsciousness, he had learned that they were working with someone named ‘Shialis’, who was based in Gabal’s school of wizardry, and that she was organising a tunnel out of the city and away towards the Shahalesti empire.
And these people had captured his case of documents.
RangerWickett
Legend
Heh. Nobody likes the depository tower. Hope it wasn't too frustrating.
If you find you don't have time to keep up with the whole narrative, you could do like some storyhours and just post the highlights of all the stuff you liked best, and summarize the in-between bits.
If you find you don't have time to keep up with the whole narrative, you could do like some storyhours and just post the highlights of all the stuff you liked best, and summarize the in-between bits.
Last edited:
Eccles
Ragged idiot in a trilby.
Joined by Tok’hen, a mail-clad human military commander who came with the was recognised by Torrent, the group continued on their way to the temple of the Knights of the Aquiline Cross. Torrent promised that underneath the temple was a resistance safe house.
It was now late at night, and the streets were mostly empty, though lit by the glow of many burning buildings. Overhead came the screech of battling griffon riders defending the city from the Ragesian wyvern riders. Suddenly, amidst a screaming of mounts and startled riders, a griffon crashed headlong into the wing of a sinuous wyvern, which plummeted from the sky and crashed into a building a short distance ahead.
Hearing a woman’s scream from the ruined building, the companions rushed forwards. Tyr made short work of the lock, whilst peering through the window Tarn saw a badly wounded axe-wielding plate-clad Ragesian soldier reach down and pick up a young infant in his other arm.
“You’re in the centre of a city, cut off. Put the child down and we can talk this through,” called out the blond paladin, but hearing this Wingwrath took three steps and put his muscular shoulder to the door, which flew open.
As the companions poured in through the door, the Ragesian raised his axe snarling “the child will die now”. Thinking quickly, Wingwrath cast again and again, and a thick layer of frost rimed the black-clad warrior. Tyr leapt in behind the warrior and slid his dagger into a seam in his armour, and Torrent’s blast of tidal force smashed a huge chunk off the side of the wyvern’s crushed skull.
Tok’hen leapt into the room and tried to wrestle the child out of the Ragesian’s arms. He managed to tear the child partly away from the hulking warrior, but then the enemy reacted and tightened his grip. Within an instant the two were both hauling on the arms of a screaming and terrified infant. Somehow, the child managed to pull its way free of both men, and they both watched as it fell with a crack to the ground and landed silent and awkwardly.
Tok’hen recovered first, snatching the child up and muttering words of healing before pushing it back to the others.
Then the fight was on in truth. Freed from the fear of striking the child, the group unleashed strike after strike at the warrior’s heavy armour. Fire seemed to sink into the armour, and even many of the mightiest blows glanced off it. Grusalock continued to shift in and out of bear-form, one moment slashing with his claws, the next chanting elven words and launching a spray of vines towards the foe.
Cornered between the many fighters, the warrior was not cowed. His blood ran freely, but he opened many wounds in his enemies. Soon, though, Tarn was stood close to him, challenging his freedom to strike at the others, and when the Ragesian tried to bring his axe down on Grusalock he stiffened at the sight and sound of a thousand dark birds which only he could see. Having angered the Raven Queen and invited her curse, the flapping wings of vengeful spirit-ravens surrounded him, and to the others he seemed to jerk and twist at a dozen wounds which opened over his whole body from an unseen source.
The Ragesian wyvern-rider collapsed.
Tarn strode over the corpse of the fallen foe and stooped to calm the screaming child before placing it up on the captured horse with ‘uncle’ Riverii. Meanwhile, behind him the others moved swiftly to capture the few enchanted items which the Ragesian had worn.
“Here, Tarn,” called Grusalock. “I think you’ve earned this.” He held out a plate of the powerfully enchanted cold-iron armour.
.oOo.
At last, the group reached the temple. Whilst part of it had been damaged by a dropped Ragesian stone-bomb, it was still packed with rescued civilians, and the several families who were accompanying the group left them gratefully at this point. Priests were moving carefully between the many people, their magic long spent but their bandages plentiful.
The demoralised and scared people looked to the well clad and armoured newcomers, whilst a dark skinned woman played a mournful tune in the background. Tarn and Wingwrath both tried to persuade her to play something more cheerful, but she ignored both of them and their money, continuing her doleful tunes of depression.
Torrent led them through an ornate doorway and down into the crypts under the temple. Riverii was rushed down a side passage towards treatment, and the others were led to a small but functional living area, where they were met by a grossly fat acquiline priest named ‘Buron Watcher’, who introduced himself jovially, but explained “now we are reduced to hiding like rats from the Ragesian eagle,” as his face fell.
He was told the news of Shialis and the Shahalesti interest in the plans, and the group concluded that they needed to find out more about the ‘Singing Chasm’ – the underground network of caves near the city.
The group rested, though taking their times to speak to some of the other resistance fighters. One dwarf spoke of his hopes to flee to a fledgling dwarven nation some distance to the south, though it was little more than a settlement at the present time.
Focussing on more immediate concerns, however, Tyr learned of a Ragesian terrorist cell operating within the city from a Warehouse some distance away.
.oOo.
The following morning, the group rose and re-equipped themselves, and spoke to Riverii over breakfast.
“I wish I could tell you what it was that I took,” he explained in his squeaky high-pitched voice which seemed strange coming from such a wart-encrusted and ugly face. “However the Ragesians weave complex enchantments over those people such as I who handled sensitive information. Once beyond the control of the Ragesian empire, we simply cannot speak of what we know; to do so would mean pain and most probably death. Instead, I stole items I believe to be of the utmost importance, and those were to be passed over to the resistance. Unfortunately, as you know, they were stolen by the Shahalesti just last night. It is imperative that the case is recovered as soon as possible. The fate of Gate Pass, perhaps the world, depends upon it!”
Discussing Shialis, the Shahalesti agent, the group pooled their knowledge. She was an advanced instructor of the second tier within Gabal’s school of wizardry. Wingwrath’s desire for scurrilous gossip meant that he had heard a rumour she may even have been sleeping with the notoriously difficult and antisocial Gabal himself.
.oOo.
Stepping back out onto the streets in daylight, the cobbles were slippery with thick ice. Denied any access to Shialis at this stage, though Burron had some “irons in the fire” as he put it, the group instead decided to head to the warehouse to see what could be done about the terrorist cell.
It was now late at night, and the streets were mostly empty, though lit by the glow of many burning buildings. Overhead came the screech of battling griffon riders defending the city from the Ragesian wyvern riders. Suddenly, amidst a screaming of mounts and startled riders, a griffon crashed headlong into the wing of a sinuous wyvern, which plummeted from the sky and crashed into a building a short distance ahead.
Hearing a woman’s scream from the ruined building, the companions rushed forwards. Tyr made short work of the lock, whilst peering through the window Tarn saw a badly wounded axe-wielding plate-clad Ragesian soldier reach down and pick up a young infant in his other arm.
“You’re in the centre of a city, cut off. Put the child down and we can talk this through,” called out the blond paladin, but hearing this Wingwrath took three steps and put his muscular shoulder to the door, which flew open.
As the companions poured in through the door, the Ragesian raised his axe snarling “the child will die now”. Thinking quickly, Wingwrath cast again and again, and a thick layer of frost rimed the black-clad warrior. Tyr leapt in behind the warrior and slid his dagger into a seam in his armour, and Torrent’s blast of tidal force smashed a huge chunk off the side of the wyvern’s crushed skull.
Tok’hen leapt into the room and tried to wrestle the child out of the Ragesian’s arms. He managed to tear the child partly away from the hulking warrior, but then the enemy reacted and tightened his grip. Within an instant the two were both hauling on the arms of a screaming and terrified infant. Somehow, the child managed to pull its way free of both men, and they both watched as it fell with a crack to the ground and landed silent and awkwardly.
Tok’hen recovered first, snatching the child up and muttering words of healing before pushing it back to the others.
Then the fight was on in truth. Freed from the fear of striking the child, the group unleashed strike after strike at the warrior’s heavy armour. Fire seemed to sink into the armour, and even many of the mightiest blows glanced off it. Grusalock continued to shift in and out of bear-form, one moment slashing with his claws, the next chanting elven words and launching a spray of vines towards the foe.
Cornered between the many fighters, the warrior was not cowed. His blood ran freely, but he opened many wounds in his enemies. Soon, though, Tarn was stood close to him, challenging his freedom to strike at the others, and when the Ragesian tried to bring his axe down on Grusalock he stiffened at the sight and sound of a thousand dark birds which only he could see. Having angered the Raven Queen and invited her curse, the flapping wings of vengeful spirit-ravens surrounded him, and to the others he seemed to jerk and twist at a dozen wounds which opened over his whole body from an unseen source.
The Ragesian wyvern-rider collapsed.
Tarn strode over the corpse of the fallen foe and stooped to calm the screaming child before placing it up on the captured horse with ‘uncle’ Riverii. Meanwhile, behind him the others moved swiftly to capture the few enchanted items which the Ragesian had worn.
“Here, Tarn,” called Grusalock. “I think you’ve earned this.” He held out a plate of the powerfully enchanted cold-iron armour.
.oOo.
At last, the group reached the temple. Whilst part of it had been damaged by a dropped Ragesian stone-bomb, it was still packed with rescued civilians, and the several families who were accompanying the group left them gratefully at this point. Priests were moving carefully between the many people, their magic long spent but their bandages plentiful.
The demoralised and scared people looked to the well clad and armoured newcomers, whilst a dark skinned woman played a mournful tune in the background. Tarn and Wingwrath both tried to persuade her to play something more cheerful, but she ignored both of them and their money, continuing her doleful tunes of depression.
Torrent led them through an ornate doorway and down into the crypts under the temple. Riverii was rushed down a side passage towards treatment, and the others were led to a small but functional living area, where they were met by a grossly fat acquiline priest named ‘Buron Watcher’, who introduced himself jovially, but explained “now we are reduced to hiding like rats from the Ragesian eagle,” as his face fell.
He was told the news of Shialis and the Shahalesti interest in the plans, and the group concluded that they needed to find out more about the ‘Singing Chasm’ – the underground network of caves near the city.
The group rested, though taking their times to speak to some of the other resistance fighters. One dwarf spoke of his hopes to flee to a fledgling dwarven nation some distance to the south, though it was little more than a settlement at the present time.
Focussing on more immediate concerns, however, Tyr learned of a Ragesian terrorist cell operating within the city from a Warehouse some distance away.
.oOo.
The following morning, the group rose and re-equipped themselves, and spoke to Riverii over breakfast.
“I wish I could tell you what it was that I took,” he explained in his squeaky high-pitched voice which seemed strange coming from such a wart-encrusted and ugly face. “However the Ragesians weave complex enchantments over those people such as I who handled sensitive information. Once beyond the control of the Ragesian empire, we simply cannot speak of what we know; to do so would mean pain and most probably death. Instead, I stole items I believe to be of the utmost importance, and those were to be passed over to the resistance. Unfortunately, as you know, they were stolen by the Shahalesti just last night. It is imperative that the case is recovered as soon as possible. The fate of Gate Pass, perhaps the world, depends upon it!”
Discussing Shialis, the Shahalesti agent, the group pooled their knowledge. She was an advanced instructor of the second tier within Gabal’s school of wizardry. Wingwrath’s desire for scurrilous gossip meant that he had heard a rumour she may even have been sleeping with the notoriously difficult and antisocial Gabal himself.
.oOo.
Stepping back out onto the streets in daylight, the cobbles were slippery with thick ice. Denied any access to Shialis at this stage, though Burron had some “irons in the fire” as he put it, the group instead decided to head to the warehouse to see what could be done about the terrorist cell.
Eccles
Ragged idiot in a trilby.
In the daylight, the devastation was revealed. Almost every building showed some sign of damage or abandonment. Many shopfronts were shattered, and many dozens of homes were burning in the early light. A few brave souls on the streets spread worrying news; the Ragesians had been driven back, but would soon return in far greater numbers. Demands had been made that the gates be opened to the feared Ragesian Inquisitors.
The group reached the warehouse in good time, given the empty streets. On the other side of the street stood a baker’s shop, where Torrent informed us the Resistance had stationed a number of agents. However once inside, there was no sign of life – though there were several indications that a bloody fight had taken place.
Turning their attention to the warehouse, they noted that the sign outside advertised lingerie (“Even if you have tusks, you’ll still look good”). The double door to the front was obviously bolted, and there was no side door. On one side was a collapsed shell of a building which had clearly been bombed by the Ragesians. On the other was a three storey building which overlooked the roof.
Creeping to this taller structure, the group looked down at the roof of the warehouse, and Grusalock swiftly pointed out a series of marks which indicated a trapdoor was hidden under a heavy layer of snow.
.oOo.
Having picked their way across the roof, a simple plan was formed. Using rope, the group would rappel down into the warehouse, and then engage any Ragesian sympathisers within.
.oOo.
It is said that no plan survives contact with the enemy, and the same was true of this very simple stratagem. Sliding down the rope last of all into a melee with several sword and club wielding thugs, Tarn was still fastening his shield to his arm when 2 archers rounded one pile of crates and began a rain of shots down on Wingwrath, whilst a mage emerged from another pile, slamming his staff down on the floor and sending lightning crackling over most of the group.
As Grusalock warped into a roaring bear and charged at the mage, a tiny draconic creature emerged, clawed at him and then vanished from sight once more.
Tyr ran to join Grusalock, and together they worked at stabbing, slashing and distracting the mage, whilst the thugs heavy blows proved that they weren’t up to penetrating Tarn’s heavy armour and shield.
As his bear-claws crashed through the mage’s chest, Grusalock turned back into his elven form, and ran back at tremendous speed to join the rest of the group. His hair was standing on end from lightning hits, and an open wound in his shoulder dripped green poisons from the pseudodragon’s attacks.
“Suck it up, princess,” shouted Tok’hen at him as he flourished his sword at the thugs.
The pseudo-dragon continued to stab at Grusalock, and the party continued to heal him as he shifted from elf to bear form and then back again. Wingwrath, meanwhile, pushed his way towards the two archers, taking a punishing fire from them as he closed.
Roaring in bear form once more, Grusalock heaved one of the thugs away from where they were still cooling Tarn with the draft from their weapons. He flung the man onto the point of Tok’hen’s blade where he gasped once and then slumped to the floor. A few moments later, another one was dragged to the floor by Grusalock’s summoned vines. As Tok’hen gave enthusiastic encouragement, Tarn’s blade made short work of this second thug, and then a heavy blow with his foot left the last thug sinking to the floor cross-eyed.
A further blast of cold from Wingwrath slammed into the darting form of the pseudodragon, which burst in a shower of entrails over Tarn leaving him coughing and choking.
Towards the front of the warehouse, one of the two crossbowmen snapped off a shot and ran for around a pile of crates, hotly pursued by several members of the party. Tyr was ahead of the others, and abruptly vanished with a yell of alarm as a trapdoor opened up beneath him.
Transforming back from elf to bear, Grusalock hurtled around the trapdoor, followed by Tok’hen who leapt over it. However as Grusalock dashed around the corner of a massive pile of crates he ran onto the point of a readied longspear and collapsed heavily to the ground.
The other crossbowman was also running around the back of the tottering pile of chests, and Tarn moved to head him off. Although a good plan, it was abruptly interrupted when Tarn plunged through the floor into a second concealed trapdoor. Tyr easily clambered out of the 1st hole, and Grusalock was brought back from death’s door by Torrent’s prayer – however Tarn was only able to scrabble vainly at the walls of the pit. The fleeing crossbowman was too quick, and he escaped through a hidden door in the back of the warehouse, pursued by a vengeful Tyr.
There was a thrown dagger, and the spearman collapsed into the fresh snow.
.oOo.
Returning to the thug who was still crying on the ground and clutching his crotch, the bloodied and tired adventurers had no difficulty in persuading him of their anger, and their threats swiftly bore fruit.
“We were to assist another group of infiltrators,” sobbed the man. “We were just to be a distraction – set fire to a building near some counsellor or something.”
The snow was still falling as the group returned to their temple base of operations.
The group reached the warehouse in good time, given the empty streets. On the other side of the street stood a baker’s shop, where Torrent informed us the Resistance had stationed a number of agents. However once inside, there was no sign of life – though there were several indications that a bloody fight had taken place.
Turning their attention to the warehouse, they noted that the sign outside advertised lingerie (“Even if you have tusks, you’ll still look good”). The double door to the front was obviously bolted, and there was no side door. On one side was a collapsed shell of a building which had clearly been bombed by the Ragesians. On the other was a three storey building which overlooked the roof.
Creeping to this taller structure, the group looked down at the roof of the warehouse, and Grusalock swiftly pointed out a series of marks which indicated a trapdoor was hidden under a heavy layer of snow.
.oOo.
Having picked their way across the roof, a simple plan was formed. Using rope, the group would rappel down into the warehouse, and then engage any Ragesian sympathisers within.
.oOo.
It is said that no plan survives contact with the enemy, and the same was true of this very simple stratagem. Sliding down the rope last of all into a melee with several sword and club wielding thugs, Tarn was still fastening his shield to his arm when 2 archers rounded one pile of crates and began a rain of shots down on Wingwrath, whilst a mage emerged from another pile, slamming his staff down on the floor and sending lightning crackling over most of the group.
As Grusalock warped into a roaring bear and charged at the mage, a tiny draconic creature emerged, clawed at him and then vanished from sight once more.
Tyr ran to join Grusalock, and together they worked at stabbing, slashing and distracting the mage, whilst the thugs heavy blows proved that they weren’t up to penetrating Tarn’s heavy armour and shield.
As his bear-claws crashed through the mage’s chest, Grusalock turned back into his elven form, and ran back at tremendous speed to join the rest of the group. His hair was standing on end from lightning hits, and an open wound in his shoulder dripped green poisons from the pseudodragon’s attacks.
“Suck it up, princess,” shouted Tok’hen at him as he flourished his sword at the thugs.
The pseudo-dragon continued to stab at Grusalock, and the party continued to heal him as he shifted from elf to bear form and then back again. Wingwrath, meanwhile, pushed his way towards the two archers, taking a punishing fire from them as he closed.
Roaring in bear form once more, Grusalock heaved one of the thugs away from where they were still cooling Tarn with the draft from their weapons. He flung the man onto the point of Tok’hen’s blade where he gasped once and then slumped to the floor. A few moments later, another one was dragged to the floor by Grusalock’s summoned vines. As Tok’hen gave enthusiastic encouragement, Tarn’s blade made short work of this second thug, and then a heavy blow with his foot left the last thug sinking to the floor cross-eyed.
A further blast of cold from Wingwrath slammed into the darting form of the pseudodragon, which burst in a shower of entrails over Tarn leaving him coughing and choking.
Towards the front of the warehouse, one of the two crossbowmen snapped off a shot and ran for around a pile of crates, hotly pursued by several members of the party. Tyr was ahead of the others, and abruptly vanished with a yell of alarm as a trapdoor opened up beneath him.
Transforming back from elf to bear, Grusalock hurtled around the trapdoor, followed by Tok’hen who leapt over it. However as Grusalock dashed around the corner of a massive pile of crates he ran onto the point of a readied longspear and collapsed heavily to the ground.
The other crossbowman was also running around the back of the tottering pile of chests, and Tarn moved to head him off. Although a good plan, it was abruptly interrupted when Tarn plunged through the floor into a second concealed trapdoor. Tyr easily clambered out of the 1st hole, and Grusalock was brought back from death’s door by Torrent’s prayer – however Tarn was only able to scrabble vainly at the walls of the pit. The fleeing crossbowman was too quick, and he escaped through a hidden door in the back of the warehouse, pursued by a vengeful Tyr.
There was a thrown dagger, and the spearman collapsed into the fresh snow.
.oOo.
Returning to the thug who was still crying on the ground and clutching his crotch, the bloodied and tired adventurers had no difficulty in persuading him of their anger, and their threats swiftly bore fruit.
“We were to assist another group of infiltrators,” sobbed the man. “We were just to be a distraction – set fire to a building near some counsellor or something.”
The snow was still falling as the group returned to their temple base of operations.
