WotBS Bonus Time's Burning Sky

I'll post updates of my group's progress in this thread. They've already done the first three adventures and started the 4th last week. Thank you to all contributors to this forum for helping me run this campaign. Hopefully, this contribution will help others.
This is written by one of the players from their point of view...

In Bresk, But Not Loudly​

The walled city of Bresk rises above the hills around it, with a castle perched on a rocky protrusion called the Great Hill. It looks like a huge pointy head to me. It overlooks the wide river and the Toraest Steppes to the east.

The architecture is all pillars and cat statues and phallic columns. The people are unused to this weird cold, so have wrapped themselves in whatever cloth they can find.

Balan leads us to the Golden Griffon just north of the Nasham River, and secures us rooms before going off to arrange meetings. I decide he is useful.



We (well, most of us except me, who cares and knows nothing of political maneuverings) gather in one of the expansive rooms and decide whom to meet and in what order, while trying to avoid some suspicious imperious type who thinks we've killed the king's family, which is terribly likely considering we weren't even in the country when it happened.

Trevor finds local holes in the wall to wet his whistle but also attempt to gather gossip and tales. I go with him, for no other reason except I can listen well.

Hanging around the castle, the others uncover some data:

• Most of Bresk's real culture lies underground in tunnels excavated by dwarves over the centuries. Most foreigners never delve below the surface to see the bustling markets and solemn temples illuminated by clever skylights and mighty braziers. There is where we would find Forax Ironheart, the proxy for Lord Dashgoban under The Great Hill. Don't know much of her or Dashgoban.
• Leandra Tudo, proxy for Megadon, frequently meets caravan merchants in Old Bresk to arrange trade agreements. We will likely ignore her; Lord Megadon was a mighty naughty word raccoon, gouging people for entrance into his lands. We'd left T'aud there to spread positivity, but the whole lot can go and beat their pet birds.
• Melanie Ursin, proxy of Lady Timor, can be found in Fey Field at The Stacks, meeting with merchants or reading. Timor was closest to Gate Pass where we fought harpies and worked with wizards.
• Duncan, proxy for Lord Iz, can frequently be found in the gymnasium training in Amberfall. We had met Lord Iz and helped his folk by slaying a nightmare. We should have good relations with them.
• Damien Roland, proxy for Rego, can be found outside the city walls working with the refugees in the Honey Stairs Ward. We remember the knights of Rego protecting refugees and that Lord Rego seemed a benevolent sort.
• Jinis, proxy for Gallo, has been put in prison under suspicion of helping to plot the assassination of the king's family. It'd be nice to talk to him, especially since we're meant to deliver a letter to him from his son Jineer.
• Archibald Whitworth, proxy for Dene, is a devout worshiper of Diancecht and can be found frequently in prayer at the chapel in Old Bresk. Dene was where literal robbery of refugees took place, everything was ten times the price, and the lord made clear his disdain for the people. Feck them.
• Lady Namin is in Bresk personally; rumors (from drunks) say she is already trying to work her way into the king's bed to become the new queen. We had fought basilisks in Namin and rescued some of their patrol, and gifted the basilisk eggs to her, so perhaps word of our victory has reached her.

That’s a lot of information-gathering! I don’t know how they do it. I am proud of my companions who know how to talk to people.

Under the Hill​

Balan confirms that we have about three days before our audience with the king. Fafnir and Viggo take some time to scour the new plate armor of its former owner's designs, then start meeting with political types. Trevor is interested in finding out more of Nina Glibglammer, so that we might get on her good side.

We seek out Forax Ironheart first, searching under the Great Hill. Tunnels and stairs descend under the hill like a sewer. We eventually meet a militant-looking dwarf who gives us the hairy eye. "Where do you think you are going?" he asks in a rumbling voice.

"Oh! We are here to see Ironheart, to give our respects to her, and all her great guards! We mean to peacefully pass," says Osnald, hand over heart.

"What business do you have with the lady? We don't get many foreigners down below."

"Well, that's a shame, because this is a beautifully built tunnel. As a halfling, I don't see enough of them."

I am unsure why we don't get to the point, but I defer to the wisdom of my friends. Perhaps we shouldn't tell our business to everyone.

"I like you, laddie. We need to feel the warmth of the earth around us. Go to the main square below. She lives in a grand palace... but be sure to talk in your most formal manner. She seeks to become the Lady of Dashgoban and wants to make a good impression among those of courtly manner."

We thank him and continue. It is an entire city underneath Bresk, with buildings and streets and light and noise. All types are down here. The cold permeates the air. Tunnels head in all directions. In a center courtyard stands a mansion. Two formally dressed dwarven guards flank the door.

"Whom do you seek at this late hour?" they state. We blink; it's barely the afternoon.

Osnald bows deeply. "We seek the audience of Forax Ironheart, to pay our respects as we have traveled and would share our adventures with her."

"She is preparing her meal."

"Then I might be the minstrel to accompany her dining!"

"Who are these others?"

"My protectors! They have accompanied me over many miles of adventure!"

"All right. The help goes around back to the kitchen," they say, dismissing us.

So We're Waitstaff? Nice Cushions, Though​

After hanging in the kitchen for some time, we emerge into a absurdly rich decorated hall. Well-dressed dwarves in chairs surround a circular carpet of gold and red. Forax proves to be a young dwarven woman, freckled and vibrant but with a determined countenance. They ask what our troupe's name is.

I stand stiffly to the side, uncomfortable in this environment, but watch people's faces.

Osnald takes command. "A humble band that has named themselves The Quell, come from Seaquen to Bresk." He begins to sing the ballad of our journeys, supported by illusions by Viggo. He mentions the hurricane and bringing peace and calm, and our honor of being chosen as representatives of Seaquen. He is met with a standing ovation. Viggo and Fafnir notice Forax furrowed her brow when we mention the Shahalesti fleet and the hurricane's destruction. She seemed particularly interested in our bastion ceremony, especially its formal proceedings. We believe she might have an interest in the Shahalesti.

"Let us have The Quell speak with me," Forax states. We gather awkwardly in the middle of the huge rug. "A most delightful entertainment. How much of it has actually happened?"

"All of it, and more than we mentioned," Fafnir says. "The Fire Forest is quenched. And met the princess Shalosha."

"You don't say! We are interested in increasing trade with the Shahalesti. Do you suppose you can help with that?"

"Indeed we can! The biggest obstacle are the Ragesians. They are a larger threat than any we have faced. They have hindered us all up and down the coast."

"We seek a trade route, but need to go through Namin, who requires excessive fees to travel through. Perhaps the Innenotdar can be a new route," she muses. "If we could avoid Namin... are you truly familiar with the area?"

"We are, especially with the native fey of the region, the seela. We do have a route through it and to Gate Pass. The Lady Timor has also worked to help clear the forest with some of her wizards. We may not have the authority to deal with ambassadors, but we can show you the route. We would not speak for the princess."

She nods. "Perhaps an introduction would be sufficient for the envoys of my father-in-law to make entreaties with them?"

"You humble us with this request!" says Osnald. "We hope to unite others against the Ragesians as well."

"As you know, the king has already signed a non-aggression pact with the Ragesians," Forax says carefully.

"How do you feel, my lady, about this pact?" asks Viggo.

She looks at her guests and advisors, answering that question. She cannot speak openly. "The king believes this is the best way forward for the kingdom. There are intersections and various interests, and an upcoming council where we will speak more of this. I take it, priest of Nuada, you are aware of the strained relations between Ragesia and the Shahalesti, and we are interested in connecting with the latter." From this, we get the sense she isn't much into this pact and perhaps looking for a reason not to support it.

She regally dismisses us, and we are escorted out. Osnald finds a small bag of gems pressed into his hand.

… That went well? I hate this sort of thing.

We return to the Griffon and write some letters of introduction to be delivered to various proxies and requesting audiences. We sit Trevor down and make him exercise his old skills, while Osnald paces and dictates.

Tudo or Not Tudo

We next look to speak with Leandra Tudo, the proxy of Megadon, despite misgivings for the uncaring prat who sits on its throne. In the city square where caravans come and go and commerce moves, we look for her.

A woman in her thirties with an attitude of success is doing business at a desk in a building. Mounds of paper surround her, and scurrying people. "Come in, come in, I'm very busy, merchants waiting to see me."

"We will be brief," promises Osnald, and quickly relates our story of Ragesians and the Shahalesti, and that we seek support, and that the war threatens free trade and causes closed borders.

"My lord does not see it that way. The quicker Seaquen can be brought to heel, the quicker business can be done," she says dismissively. "There is not much to think about, no reason for my lord to rally for Seaquen, who have called all these refugees passing through his lands, asking for support and taking liberties with the oceans. Again, the quicker the Ragesians settle this matter."

"If Ragesia in turn is stopped, the reason for the refugees with disappear," Osnald points out.

"I don't disagree, my halfling friend, but my lord believes Ragesia will solve it to the good of our country. We will allow them passage. I think we're done here today."

So much for that. I eye her guards on the way out, imagining flicking a forefinger between their eyes. She, like her boss, is a prat.

And On Rego

We exit the city to the Honey Stair and find Damien Roland, proxy for Rego, who stands in the cold mud. He is an older gentleman "How may I aid you all? You have come from Seaquen?"

We thank him for his time, and explain.

"The Ragesians are no threat to Rego," he says.

"They are a threat to the entire continent," Viggo says.

"Seaquen is no friend to Rego," he replies. "We reached out to them for aid and they did not respond."

"When was this, that they failed to give aid?" asks Fafnir.

"Several years ago when we were under threat by wizards controlling the weather. So now I find it humorous, if not hypocritical, that they would send emissaries to ask aid of Rego."

"We have traveled through your lands, and seen the great work you have done in caring for refugees. We ourselves are refugees from Gate Pass. We can promise to do a better job in aiding Rego in the future, should you let past mistakes go. We could forge a stronger alliance."

"Perhaps. I have heard nothing from them acknowledging their error. The refugees are a great cost to us, but it is not their doing. We cannot sustain this. The fastest way to resolve this is the best way. Currently we are in no position to stand in the way of Ragesia."

"Have you been to Innenotdar? Have you seen a house burning? Do you blame the house, or the fire?" says Trevor. "Do you curse the house for burning, or the house for being in flames? All the refugees are due to the fire of Ragesian war."

"And the Ragesians brought dragons to burn Gate Pass. They will not stop at a peaceful pact to march through others' lands," I say, unable to keep silent.

He shrugs. "None the less, the king has decided, and our coffers cannot support a war."

"But if others were to join and stand fast?" asks Trevor. "If others stood up and say it is unjust, would you stand with them?"

"That would hold little sway for us, I'm afraid. Our trouble is our coffers, and the hypocrisy of Seaquen. An apology would be a good start, he says, but they have not done so."

For negotiations, it seems financial support and an apology seems like the only method of changing Rego's course.

I love the details in the politicking.

No​

Leaving the less agreeable proxies behind, we discuss who to visit next. We ask around regarding Dene and find that its proxy, Archibald Whitworth, is nowwhere to be found in the city. A young urchin points out the home of Proxy Whitworth and on its columns we see the design of the murdered man in the ice. We realize that we have the head of the Proxy in our Bag of Holding, which I never really felt comfortable with.

Guess what we won't be showing to anyone?

We need to determine whether to inform anyone of what we know, while avoiding the very sensible suspicion that we were the ones who did away with him.

We look toward Timor and Melanie Ursin, in the Fey Field.

There Sure Are A Lot Of Books Here​

The Stacks is a for-profit library where one can rent books. Skylights let light into the huge room from vaulted ceilings. I step timidly onto the herringbone wood floor, trying not to make noise. Folks stream in and out with books. A box of tattered leftovers is available for the taking.

Melanie looks up from her book. She is petite with striking eyes, and seems young. "Please, have a seat." Her guard looks us over, hand on hilt. I eye him right back.

Fafnir introduces us. "We are essentially refugees from Gate Pass, and journeyed south through Dassen, and have met Timor's wizards as we battled monsters together. We are here to ask your thoughts on the Ragesian invasion and subsequent goals for Seaquen."

"Well met, Fafnir and companions. We are of course concerned about the Ragesian aggression, especially the scourge as they round up magic users. The Lady herself is quite adept at the arcane arts, and is most troubled by the scourge." We notice the book she is reading seems to be about the magical arts.

Trevor summons some of his noble oration ability. "We were ousted from our home, and I don't want that to happen to your country."

"Luckily, Timor is protected by the mountains. We do enjoy that, but the Lady is appalled by Ragesia's actions."

"Could we rely upon your help in convincing the king to rethink his non-aggression pact?" asks Trevor.

"Well, she has sworn fealty to the king..."

"We don't ask to renege... but to guide, to offer wisdom. Can we rely on your vote, on the suggestion to help?"

"There are others who feel the same," Fafnir offers.

"The Lady does recognize Seaquen as a refuge for wizards, and might well be interested in knowing more about that. I don't know if Seaquen is willing to share its knowledge of the arcane with others. They can be secretive, or even unhelpful."

"We have contributed to Seaquen, and resolved some of their mistakes of the past. We have already spoken to Damien Roland, who indicated the desire for an apology from Seaquen," says Fafnir. "We intend to do our part to ensure those relations can be healed. Other proxies have suggested a wait-and-see approach. Others favor stopping the Ragesians. It may be worth noting that the Fire Forest is quenched... so that area that was impassable is now open. While they might not push a whole army through the mountain passes, you are no longer as isolated as you were."

"Yes," she agrees, biting her lower lip and fidgeting. Fafnir and Trevor believe she is unsure of herself, perhaps nervous. However, she seems keenly interested in Seaquen and magic and changing its ways. She furrows her brow at mention of the forest. "I've heard of it no longer burning... this is true?"

Trevor speaks up, mentioning that his family home was in Innenotdar, and that we had brought about the quelling of the fire. He draws forth the Living Blade. "This was the relic that maintained the fire for these past decades. I am now its keeper, and it keeps the forest and its Seela inhabitants safe."

Melanie looks surprised and interested. The guard too is interested. "Is it any good? It's made of wood."

"It is a finely crafted living blade that serves me and the seela well," Trevor says. The guard raises a skeptical brow.

Fafnir mentions that we have contacts within Lyceum, and that Seaquen owes us a debt for saving their city.

Melanie perks up. "I will tell you that the fire provided us some sense of security, as people did not travel through there... but perhaps now is an opportunity to connect with Gate Pass, though it be under attack. What if Ragesia wins, and can come through that valley? You overestimate the strength of our army."

"But with the help of spellcasters, you could close that pass. Your greater concern is if the army passes through Gallo," Fafnir says. "That Seaquen is concerned but Dassen is not is a concern. The Shahalesti wants Seaquen, Ragesia wants Seaquen, and to give it up would be a terrible mistake for all. Ragesia would capture and kill all spellcasters, then move on to Shahalesti."

"Do you truly believe that Seaquen would come to our aid if needed? That they would train our people in the arcane arts?"

"We do. It is filled with refugees, many with magical ability, waiting to do something. Those people would help. They are looking for a home, and if Timor could provide that, Seaquen would be more than willing to aid," Fafnir assures her. "They seek allies and would be open to suggestion."

She considers us. "I hear your earnestness and your story rings true to me. The arcane arts are important to my Lady. She is keen to see them flourish, and if Seaquen can promise support, then yes, we will support you when the time comes."

"That is all we can ask, lady," Fafnir says.

Less Words, More Action, and What Is Up With Our Artificer​

Viggo enters to join us, and we notice a priestly person look up from his book, gazing intently at Viggo, then get up and leave. I quietly move toward the entrance to follow. Viggo walks out with me.

"Do ye recognize that fool?" I ask, taking long strides along the cobblestones. We track the man, who has stopped to speak with a woman and point back at us. We peer carefully. He seems to wear religious regalia.

I sit on the edge of a well, somewhat hidden. I don't think he's seen me. Behind me, Trevor exits the library and runs quickly forward toward me. Fafnir follows. They must have wrapped up their meeting with Melanie Ursin.

Viggo dashes forward, catching up to the man and waving. "Hello, friend! I saw you in the library. Do I know you?" Both the man and the woman turn, and I can see they are startled and a little scared. Viggo can be a little startling if you're not used to him.

Fafnir catches up to me, clanking, and I can see him preparing some kind of spell. He continues past innocently, toward the gathering, failing to deceive anyone, as he is the largest and most well armored individual in the street.

Viggo throws a barrage of words at the man. "I am so sorry if I don't recognize you. I am missing half of my turnip, and would like to learn more. Would you like a brain?" He offers him a turnip. "Do you ever wonder how the brain moves? Do brains have toes?"

The man leans close like he's having trouble hearing. "I can't believe you're alive... and can't believe you're here, after what you've done!"

The artificer freezes.

Trevor catches up to me, asking what's going on. I point out the man and our current observing hobby. He sits and hangs out with me.

The man takes out a holy symbol, a mallet over a sword. "May Goibhnio send you back from whence you came!"

Fafnir's jaw works in confusion. Did that man just try to turn Viggo, as if he was undead?

The man, seeing his holy symbol do nothing, turns to retreat. I rise from the well I've been sitting on and move around the corner to keep an eye on him. The woman also flees, past me. I glance back at Viggo, wrinkling a brow.

"I have no idea. I'm from here, but I don't remember," Viggo says, worried.

Fafnir runs after. "Friends! Do not flee! Viggo may not be what you think. He's lost his memory, and may need help. He is not evil. Perhaps you can give us some insight?"

Even more terrified, the man and woman vanish into the crowd.

"Forget him. I don't care," Viggo says, obviously troubled.

Trevor walks up. "What the naughty word? You look like you've seen a ghost. What's going on?"

"Some guy thought he recognized me, and ran away!"

"So do we need to keep an eye on ye?" I ask. "Do ye remember where you lived?"

"The details are foggy, but I think I used to be a big wizard, maybe did an experiment, and it went awry. I lost my wife, and half my brain. So there might be people who recognize me... I did not think they would be afraid of me."

Viggo changes the subject. "So you remember the king's family being murdered might be a power struggle? We could go back to the library and study, and see who gains if Steppengard's line is no more."

Pardon me if I missed it, but did you have an earlier thread that introduced the PCs? If you're just doing this for yourself to keep records, feel free to ignore me.

RangerWickett said:

Pardon me if I missed it, but did you have an earlier thread that introduced the PCs? If you're just doing this for yourself to keep records, feel free to ignore me.

Click to expand...

Sorry, didn't mean to ignore you. There was no earlier thread.

TLDR: The party went on a side quest to address a PC's backstory. They then met with the King Steppengard and started making their way to Gallo's Fend.​

---

No, Honestly, What is Up with Our Artificer​

We gather at a nearby inn and have some ales, going over what we've learned.

According to research performed by our bastion library, no treaties mention Ragesia. However, a common thread in many of the treaties recognizes lineage and the line of succession. They frequently mention The Book of Eight Lands. This book magically records the lineage of all the rulers of the lands of Dassen, and its text automatically records any births, marriages, deaths, or other changes in succession.

The book is so named because the nation once consisted of eight kingdoms, though fifteen years ago Steppengard united the region and added a ninth region for himself. In the past the Book served almost as a checklist of whom to kill in order to move closer to the throne, so it inspired much civil conflict. It is no longer used to determine succession; however, by mutual agreement of the nobles.

According to the bloodline succession detailed in the Book of Eight Lands, Lord Megadon is next in line to the throne after Steppengard, but Lady Namin wants to marry Steppengard and become queen. Everyone fears another civil war.

"Viggo Stormforge!" calls a voice from outside. "Come out and meet the justice you denied us for so long!"

An older man stands outside, his robes depicting a black star on a gray background, the sigil of Arawn, the god of life and death.

Trevor tries to calm him. "Maybe you can tell us more about Viggo, friend."

"What is he to you?"

"He's been a strong friend, ally, and confidant. What is he to you?"

"The bane of my family's existence."

"naughty word hell. What did he do?"

"He murdered my sister Elena!"

Viggo's eyebrows shoot upward; the name is known to him, her death a painful memory.

Others gather outside, watching, and accusing. "Come out, you coward!" A blonde woman storms in, mace in hand, and Trevor catches her with his whip. Osnald halts her with vicious mockery. She swings at Trevor instead, and he ducks. "Let me go, you rascal! He is responsible for so much destruction and woe!"

An individual in a horned cowl fires a longbow arrow into Trevor's side. "We have no quarrel with you!"

"Clearly you do, because you just fuckin' shot me!" Trevor roars.

I barrel out of the door and slam into the woman, knocking her back with my greater height. "Viggo is not Viggo. He's been reborn, and is not the man you think he is. Stand down. If you try to get your revenge on him, you'll deal with us." I train an arrow on the bowman, daring him to shoot again.

"Let go of her!" shouts a man next to me, firing a crossbow at Trevor.

"I'm so sorry. I should have protected her," Viggo says, palms raised in a placating gesture. "I swear, Aldric, I will make this right. If you want justice and not just vengeance, I'm yours. But you need to stop the attack on my friends. Put your weapons down."


"We wept over her body!" says a woman in green.

"What do you want me to do? You're angry at me. Isn't that what you came here for? My friends are here doing good." Viggo exits, hands up.

The crowd of people do not soften. "Why should we not kill you right now? What justice do you offer that vengeance does not quell? You murdered her. You destroyed the valley where people lived and made their livelihoods!"

"She was there willingly, helping with the experiment!" he pleads.

"We have no quarrel with your friends."

"This arrow claims otherwise," Trevor retorts.

"We will let them be if you come with us."

Viggo nods. "This is a day of atonement."

Others, led by a handsome man in armor, step forward to ensure Trevor releases the woman. They surround us threateningly. Trevor casually glances at them, cracks the whip, and uncoils it. The woman slaps him.

"I've felt worse," Trevor grumbles. "If you're taking our friend Viggo, I'll come along. This naughty word's been a mystery to us. Maybe you can tell us more."

"He will have to answer for his crimes and the misery he caused all of us."

Osnald tries to calm them. "Please let us accompany him. Punishment without trial is not justice."

"You claim you did not kill her?"


"She died. In a regrettable accident. I was there. It was not purposeful. She was helping me. As horrible as it is, it was a risk taken in this line of work," Viggo says. "There was no malice. Elena and I had a loving relationship. I did not intend the explosion."

"To this day the land cannot nourish anyone. I still hear her calling for help. You who killed her, you just left. Where were you when she cried out?"

"Next to her. I was holding her, in my arms."

"Then let us go." They beckon us to follow. The woman in green, Elena's mother, slaps Viggo as he passes.

Viggo's Past It All​

We move outside of Bresk, to a valley where the explosion must have occurred. The remains of a ruined tower jut from the earth. A crater radiates from its base. The land looks wilted.

"Are you ready to receive your just rewards? You must perish as Elena perished," they ask.

"Would that make your pain go away?" he asks.

"Would you not rather put Elena to rest so she no longer haunts all of us?" Trevor asks. "Maybe we can do something. Maybe the man she used to love, can do something, so you can be at peace."

"Even so, he still killed her, and ruined the lives of all of us."

"Is there a way we can make amends which does not involve more suffering and death?" Viggo asks. "In the intervening years, I have been saving people, and spreading joy and love. You are willing to put that aside for a personal vendetta?"

While Viggo and Trevor try to convince the crowd that killing Viggo might not bring the closure such an act promises, Osnald and I examine the land, trying to determine what still poisons it. There seems something unnatural and unhealthy about it. We suspect something magical in nature is oversaturating it. The plants are drowning and wilting at once.

The crowd considers. "If you can free her from her torment and help the land, we will not seek your death. But you must leave and promise never to return."

"We have business with the king. Give me a few days," Viggo says.

Aldric’s mouth is a thin line, but he nods. "We agree. One thing you should know: Elena's undeath is not here. She is part of the reason I took the priesthood, to find the nature of her torment. Her spirit is captured in the Shadowfell."

What in the hells is a Shadowfell?

"If my pain and suffering is what you want, the pain of her loss is far worse for me. Ending the pain is an easier option. I am trying to atone for my crimes," says the artificer.

"The emanation seems to be inside what's left of the tower," says Aldric. "Some of us have tried to breach it, but there are things not of this world in there."

"Monsters we can vanquish," I say. This, at least, is prey I know how to chase.

Down into Shadowed Ruin​

Osnald and I heal Trevor, and we approach the ruins. We scramble down the crater toward the remains of a tiled hole in the ground. We can make out what used to be a bed and nightstand, broken glass. Viggo pauses, remembering the room and his former life.

We slide downward and discover a hall. Trevor freezes momentarily as a dark shape flashes across the hall. "Looks like that was an elf," he mutters. He moves carefully forward.


Ahead, a pale hairless figure stands. Inviting, or menacing?

Osnald casts dancing lights for comforting illumination, but they do little to lift the heaviness of the air.

I step up to the room entrance, arrow on string, gazing at the pale figure, and notice shadowy forms along the walls. Viggo passes me into the room and regards the elven apparition. "Identify yourself," he says.

She looks at him with almost a sly expression, and a clink sounds behind her. A spiked chain appears in her hand, whipping thrice at his head. He dances backward, throwing up a shimmering shield. "What are you doing in my tower!" he demands.

I raise and fire, my arrow flashing past her chains, sinking into a very real body. Viggo casts something at her. Trevor rushes forward, whip cracking twice.

The pale elf avoids being tangled in its coils, and reacts to whatever Viggo did to her, wincing and snapping at something in front of her. Osnald reaches forth and fills the room with a hypnotic pattern.

Suddenly a shadow detaches from the wall and floats before Trevor and me, emanating cold. It swipes a near-invisible limb at me, and I feel it sucking away my strength. Trevor smites it with the Living Blade of Innenotdar, and it dissolves like burning paper.

I stride into the room and spy another shadow, and send two arrows into it. It shreds into nothingness.

Viggo concentrates on whatever mind-affecting spell he has going on the weird-looking elf, but adds a ray of frost for pain and suffering. She gasps and falls, her spiked chain rattling on the stone.

We exit the room into what appears to be a courtyard or garden, with a lawn and a planter. As we step onto the grass, parts of it seem to come alive, squirming under our boots. How are these things growing when all else isn't?

Osnald speaks with a confident tone, filling us with motivation and goodwill.


"What the naughty word is this?" says you-know-who, brandishing the Living Blade.

A patch of grass suddenly writhes and tries to trip Viggo. A purple flower rustles in the planter, sending a tendril at Fafnir. Both companions are too well armored. Viggo hits his soil assailant with a ray of frost and walks forward. "Can we not just leave these behind?" They snap and coil at him but miss.

"These aren't yours?" I ask.

"Maybe? Seems like something I would grow," he shrugs.

Fafnir snorts. "Fafnir is not running from plants! I must pound them!" And follows up with a hammer blow on the vines. I slink past the plants into the next room with a stonework floor, noting a passage and two doors. Trevor does so as well, but more elegantly with his boots. Viggo sends another ray back at the offending flower. Fafnir remains behind, unable to get past the concept of simply leaving opponents behind, even immobile ones.

An Awful Revelation​

We enter a side room, which seems to be a burial chamber. A stone sarcophagus rises from its center. A plaque reads: Beloved Wife, Mother, Daughter Elena.

"I buried her? In my grief?" Viggo whispers. "Mother? She was pregnant?"

Fafnir, always practical, cracks open the tomb to verify. A skeleton lies inside, with the skeleton of an infant. Inside a message reads, Your sacrifice will feed the greatness of the empire.

In Ragesian.

Did Elena purposely sabotage Viggo's work, dying in the process?

Former Associates and The Like​

We leave the silent tomb, listening at the two doors. Fafnir yanks one open, revealing an iron-floored room. It looks like a busy laboratory and blast furnace all in one.

"Oh! Master Viggo! You've arrived! With more sacrifices!" says a voice. We glance at the artificer.

Can you be somewhat less complicated?


A woman in Ragesian armor looks at Fafnir. "Come here, tall one. Step in here," she says, gesturing to an open cage. "Ready for you."

"We can finally get this done! The final sacrifices will help us complete this!" says an excitable goblin.

"Do we look like feckin' sacrifices to you?" I ask, stepping into the chamber with arrow pointed.

Another woman in armor steps up. "Get into your containment." I aim at her throat.

"Viggo! The sacrifice of your wife was excellent, but insufficient! We require four more. We are prepared for your final triumph," says a wizardly type.

Viggo does not hesitate, but responds with a horrid tangling spell, yanking the man into twisted positions. The man grunts and resists it, until Osnald's silvery barbs halts him. Bones creak.

I take that opportunity to fire, sinking into the armored woman's shoulder. She responds with an elemental bolt which zips by my ear.


"I don't know who the hell you are, but get out of this tower!" yells Viggo.

Trevor slips past Fafnir to get at the restrained wizard, slashing him easily multiple times with the whip, leaving red stripes. The man howls.

Fafnir looks down at the woman gesturing at the cage, steps forward as if meekly stepping toward the cage, and brings forth a spiritual weapon. The Ragesian slashes at him in response. He ignores her, hammering the alchemist with Einherjar.

Osnald viciously mocks the bound and wounded wizard.

The alchemist hastily assembles some concoctions and tosses them at Fafnir to no effect, then drinks a third. The Ragesian tries to cast a spell on her colleagues, but Viggo causes it to fizzle.

"You were going to be part of the greatest story of Ragesia and Leska!" she growls. Trevor spits.

The excitable goblin casts heat metal on Fafnir. "You're looking kind of hot, big guy!"

Seeing that Fafnir looks uncomfortable but not enough to distract him, I send two arrows into the restrained wizard, and he sinks in the coils of Trevor's whip. The Ragesian who attacked me hurls a lightning bolt through Trevor, Osnald, and Viggo, who staggers backward into the wall and magically absorbs some of it. Scorching rays leap from his hand to strike the caster.

Trevor, clothes smoking slightly, pulls back his whip and slashes the Ragesian to the ground, her chin striking the floor, sending teeth skittering. "Shocking, I'm sure." (I've never known him to crack a finishing line.) He directs another strike at the other Ragesian, yanking her prone. The whip flashes by my head.

Fafnir brings the spiritual bull's head and tries to crack the goblin's head, hoping to break his concentration on the metal-heating, and plants his boot on the downed Ragesian, directing two hammer strikes at her skull. An ugly pulping sound is heard, and she gasps and goes still.

Osnald backs up and viciously mocks the alchemist.

Erasing Viggo’s Past​

(I must have been busy or dealing with other things, so Trevor has graciously agreed to deliver his own views of what happened in the ruins of Viggo's old tower. I take no responsibility for the level of cursing below. - Hawk)

The past and present merge for Viggo in some foggy reality. The "inhabitants" of his lab seem familiar; they even talk like they know him, but the things they say about him are foreign. Everything is there--his writings, his constructs, and his lab--but these aren't the things he remembers.

The lady with the leather lab coat grabs a couple vials from her bandolier, shakes them together, throws them at Fafnir. The glass glances off his heavy armor and sizzles on the tile floor. "Nuada protects me!" he roars. The alchemist curses, but braces against the wall.

Standing just out of reach, the goblin with metallic limbs yanks a bellows from the wall and spews grease on the floor beneath Hawk and Fafnir. Still uneasy in these narrow mechanical passages and sweating under the heat metal steam spout directed at him earlier, Fafnir slips and knocks Hawk to the ground. (It was completely that clumsy half-orc's fault. I would never have slipped. - Hawk) Both of them are unable to gain purchase as the goblin artificer cackles away around the corner and rushes to an apparatus covered in metal rods and large cables. Something glows from within. "Just as we predicted. You will fulfill your destiny. Sacrificing your wife was just the beginning!" The sweaty goblin grabs a lever and pushes it up. Energy swirls inside and the apparatus whirrs to life. Steam shrieks out from nearby pipes. "Hahhahaa!"

"naughty word hell," I groan.

Viggo surveys his lab and remembers something. "We don't have much time." He runs behind me and casts horrid tangling on the goblin artificer, racking him up in mechanical arms pulling the still cackling goblin by each limb.

I look at the small goblin and the lever. I slash the Living Blade of Innendotar across the goblin twice and then pull the lever back down. The apparatus whirs faster and starts to rumble. "What the hell did I do?" I shout.

"So predictable!" giggles the goblin as he licks the blood from his goblin lips. (What other lips did you expect him to have? No, don't answer that. In this place, who knows. - Hawk)

Telepathically Viggo broadcasts, "That's the sacrificial chamber. It needs a body for sacrifice or all hell will break loose."

Meanwhile Fafnir and Hawk struggle to stand in the grease. (He kept knocking into me. - Hawk) With the heat metal no longer baking Fafnir he pivots, plants his booted feet beneath his steeled torso, and launches up from the grease. With his downward momentum, Fafnir yanks the alchemist down into the grease and brings the spiritual hammer down on her. "Thank you for the assist. Nuada says, 'Don't let that get you down.'" (No one comments about this? That was bard-worthy post-hit comedic delivery. - Hawk)

Laughing at the sight of Hawk and Fafnir flailing in the grease, Osnald hurls insults and injury on the alchemist now scrambling on the sloppy floor. She screams in frustration as she slips again face down into the grease.

But the true danger still remains. The whirring from the apparatus is faster and gouts of flame punctuate each blast of steam. Strung up and restrained by Viggo's horrid tangling, the artificer goblin can't reach the lever, but he does push a few buttons on his palms which triggers several rods and pipes to fall from him. They roll together and attach to various debris in the lab, clanging together into a large steel beast resembling a warg. The monstrosity lunges to attack Trevor. (I hate this kind of horseplay. Give me natural things and woods and beasts. - Hawk)

"You shower of naughty words," I complain as I kick the steel beast away. I lash my whip at the goblin, binding it in the whip's coils. I tug the goblin closer and shove it into the spinning apparatus. Fire, steam, and rock batter the goblin inside as I slam the door closed, "A sacrifice." I back away from the steel beast. ("I tug the goblin." Snrrk. - Hawk)

The goblin cackles from inside. "Yes, it will be! It will BEEEEE!"

Viggo twists a dial on his wrist and the steel beast twitches and jerks about. Telepathically Viggo says, "I've scrambled its instructions. It won't know friend or foe, try to stay away from it." I nod. Then Viggo dashes after the alchemist harrying Fafnir, easily gliding over the grease pit and nearly running into Fafnir, but Viggo stops short. He sees his writing, literally on the wall, describing the processes--his processes.

He knows what he must do; the fog is gone. "Colleagues, it is going to blow. You need to get out."

A little unsteady from Viggo's abrupt appearance, Fafnir is careful not to step back into the grease pit, but the alchemist is able to crawl away free. She gets to her feet and with grease smearing her face she shouts, "Eat this!" She throws a vial at Fafnir and flees before Fafnir can react.

Fafnir's eyes follow the bottle as it slowly tumbles through the air and smashes perfectly on his steel chest. He looks down as bits of glass spray in all directions in a beautiful pattern and a fiery blast erupts. "Oh shiii..."

Tiny Osnald struggles to pull Hawk from the grease pit (No, I was fine. On my feet, I'm sure. - Hawk) and looks up to see flaming debris dripping from Fafnir's armor. Fafnir stomps and pounds his fists. "That was not pleasant."

Under the cover of her explosion, the alchemist rounds the corner and fiddles with the apparatus. It gets louder under her ministrations.

"Yes, yes, YES!" cackles the goblin from inside.

"naughty word hell," I groan and turn to leave per Viggo's warning, but Viggo runs past me toward the apparatus. "What the...?" Viggo frantically manipulates knobs and levers. He isn't fearful, he looks driven. Although the sounds from the apparatus is deafening, I can hear Viggo in my head: "Get out."

The goblin cackles, "You're just where I want you to be, Viggo DiMarco. Hahahaha."

"naughty word hell." I push past Viggo and kill the alchemist, (severing her hand at the wrist with the Aquiline Heart) and the artificer (piercing his throat with the Living Blade of Innendotar through the bars of the apparatus).

"Thisssss chaaangesss nooothhhhhiiiing….." hisses the goblin as it sinks into the elemental maelstrom inside the apparatus. The steel beast falls to pieces of useless rods and pipes and springs.

"Let's go," I say as I jumps over the dead bodies of the other alchemist and the biomancer and head for the door. Viggo nods.

"Oh my Gods of the Realms! Trevor! You should have said, 'Do you need a hand?'" shouts Osnald. "No wonder you have no rizz."

"Yeah, Osnald is right. That was a perfect opportunity to say something clever and witty. You are lacking. Nuada would be displeased," chimes Fafnir. Hawk rolls her eyes as the trio clears a path to leave. (I probably did. - Hawk) The plants they ignored earlier sense their presence and reach toward them.

Viggo finishes with a lever and swings the door to the apparatus open. He steps inside, pauses, and looks at the others holding the door to the blasting chamber open for his exit. He dips his head to acknowledge them and closes the apparatus door behind him. He's buffeted by stones, scorched by fire, scalded by the steaming air. It's all so familiar. Elena, his beloved. This is how she died, in a cyclone of the elements. As if conjured by this memory, a shadowy Elena emerges, shedding her shadow and becoming light. She reaches for Viggo, but he is unable to move. In his mind he hears a question: "I have no eyes, yet I see the past. I have no hands, yet I shape the future. I speak without a tongue, yet all who listen may learn. What am I?"

Viggo chuckles. "A book. You always loved riddles, my dear."

Viggo embraces Elena and their kiss shatters through the maelstrom. Shockwaves crash outward, and Fafnir, Hawk, Osnald, and I struggle to remain standing as the energy washes over us.

Instantly the air smells fresher, the attacking plants become docile, and the interior of Viggo's lab brighten. Viggo steps from the apparatus, no longer bearing his furrowed brow, tears streaming down his face. Together, we leave Viggo's old tower and see land has been renewed. A fog no longer veils the sun and color has returned to the landscape.

Fafnir tries explaining to Viggo's in-laws what happened, but Osnald polishes the story, conveniently omitting the parts that included Viggo's work with the Ragesians.

After Math​

(Back to me writing notes. - Hawk)

We rest at the Golden Griffon, discussing our plans. Collectively we decide we trust Viggo, as his actions prove more to us than his past. We are to join the audience with the king later, and are unsure what we are allowed to do or say. We speak to Balan. He will make the argument that the king should reconsider his decision to allow the Ragesians free passage, and that Seaquen has been a good ally to Dassen. What, after all, prevents the Ragesians from occupying Dassen while passing through?

We consider our eyewitness accounts of the attack on Gate Pass and the flight of the refugees fleeing the Ragesian advance. The lands all have their issues with the refugees, but that problem stems from Ragesian aggression. The Ragesians were involved in the magical storm affecting Seaquen and attempted to blame the Shahalesti. We have been attacked by Inquisitors throughout our journey.

"It's no secret that Ragesia harbors ill will toward Seaquen and magic users... so we may not be saying anything not already known."

"But how can we support wiping out magic users? Does Dassen really believe that they would remain untouched while Ragesia marches through on their way to attack the southern lands? Does Dassen support this goal of genocide?" I ask.

"This deal was made so they do not enter into a war with Ragesia," Balan says. "They don't want to fight because war is costly."

"How costly will it be when armies come through? The infrastructure and needs of an army, outposts, fortresses set up along the way? Armies do not simply march through and leave the land untouched," Fafnir argues. "They will use local resources to sustain themselves. Food, livestock, labor of the local population."

"You have spoken well on these topics. Would you like if you spoke at court as well?" Balan asks.

We look around. We are each passionate, but have no skill at speaking in court. We look hopefully at Osnald, who fidgets.

"We should express condolences to the king, but should we raise the issue of succession?" Balan says. We think we won't, though we will keep our knowledge of the book of succession in case the issue arises. "Should we bring up the death of the proxy found in the snow?"

We think no, as that would reveal our interaction with the Secret Police and does not point to the Ragesians particularly. Megadon would be next in line, so we will observe interactions in that regard.

We exit to our respective rooms. I still find it odd to have a room to myself, and sit awake in the hall between, legs stretched under the table, fletching arrows and chewing on a piece of string. We decide to keep a watch despite being in an inn.

Audience with the Sorrowful King​

After navigating a variety of irritating functionaries and a warren of corridors leading deeper into the hillside, we are ushered into a throne room--wide with high ceilings, its walls studded with small shaded windows and a single skylight over the throne itself, illuminating it and the space just before it in pale amber light. A crowd of dozens of people--proxies for nobles, their assistants, ambassadors, and servants all linger in the shadows, watching the spectacle.

We are directed to the right side of the room, positioned beside the entourage of Lady Namin. She is the only noblewoman who is personally in attendance and is dressed in mourning black, contrasting sharply with her platinum-colored hair. All the other nobles are represented by their proxies.

A pair of lavish thrones sits on the dais, the left one empty and covered with a black shroud. In the other sits an aging but still vital looking King Steppengard. His brown beard is unkempt, his clothes are wrinkled, and his crown is somewhat askew; it looks like he has not slept well in days.



In front of him kneels a slim man in manacles, being harangued by a gnome woman with curly hair that seems to shift from black to purple as she moves. Evidently this is Nina Glibglammer. She holds a book in her hand and stalks around the man in a circle, her voice shrill.

She leans close to the man and says, "Relder, you realize the king is offering you a chance to recant, confess, admit your role in this tragedy, and ask for his mercy? You do realize that, don't you? It is no secret that Gallo has —"

The man interrupts, "Duke Gallo? His family has defended our nation since its birth... you should pay him the respect he has earned!"

"Gallo," Nina says. "He has the most to gain if the king were killed. This was clearly an attempt to frame Ragesia." She gestures to the audience gathered in the darkened edges of the room, to a space opposite where we stand. We spot a man dressed in rich red Ragesian clothes, marked with symbols of a torch. He is guarded by an inquisitor in a heavy cloak, the white of his bear-skull mask darkened by etched runes. Trevor probably spits next to me.

"The Ragesians," the gnome continues, "who have offered to protect us in this time of war! But no, Gallo is too arrogant to accept that. Gallo must have his war. Is it not true?"

The man starts to reply, but stammers, looking confused. The woman laughs. "Your lies have begun to confuse even you, poor man. Please, answer my questions. Explain to us how Duke Gallo was involved in the terrible, tragic, tyrannical attempt to break the back of our mighty kingdom."

Balan whispers to us that Relder is the clerk to Lord Gallo’s proxy, Jinis, who remains in prison.

"Where were you the night the king's family was murdered? More important, where was Gallo? Were you conspiring with him?" she presses.

Relder winces, and appears confused. "No, no."

Viggo and Osnald peer carefully, trying to detect the possibility of magic. Viggo begins casting, and Glibglammer turns to us with a grimace. "Sorry, force, of habit!" he says. We suspect the clerk is being affected magically.


We notice Ragesians here, standing with smirks on their faces. One is an Inquisitor, in his skull mask.

Just then, Nina shakes her head and turns to the king. "I am convinced, your majesty, that this man has been charmed and his memory altered."

King Steppengard straightens, looking ghoulish in the low light. "Nina, thank you for your service. It worries me that someone would use sorcery in my own kingdom. I must serve justice. Take him back to prison until such time as other evidence comes to light. I cannot pass judgment on him now." Nina takes her place next to the throne, visibly annoyed.

"I tire of trials," he continues. "I will take audience now." The room almost visible brightens, and Balan steps forward, beckoning us to gather to him.

"Your royal majesty. I am Balan Bastom, and I bring with me the heroes of Gate Pass, the extinguishers of the eternal fire, the vanquishers of the storm, the Quell. They have traveled far to tell us the story that we believe is important for you to hear: treachery and duplicity, of death and dishonor, that we wish to avoid and ensure does not befall not only the city of Seaquen, but the fair land of Dassen. We come to plead that you reconsider allowing the Ragesians passage through to Seaquen. Seaquen has long been a supportive ally and fear what will happen if Ragesia were to pass through other lands. They have made their desires clear and plain: to slay many of the populace, to lay siege and destroy cities, actions they have already attempted with a maelstrom. Is that not correct, Viggo Stormforge?"

"A hundred percent," Viggo says, uncertain why he was called upon. "We can support it with evidence." He stands near the Inquisitor, eyeing him up and down.

"First I would have a hero of the Quell speak of what they saw in Gate Pass. Fafnir!"

"My family has served as loyal guards at Gate Pass for generations," says the cleric. "We used to respect Ragesia, until the day they came to burn our city for no reason, rounding up anyone who can cast spells, in a draconic witch hunt. They burned and pillaged, and we fled, seeking justice and peace. But the Ragesians offer none. They released dragons to burn women and children in flames. That is a sample of what they will do to what they set their eyes upon."

"And, your royal majesty, we wish to avoid this in Dassen," says Balan smoothly. "We understand that your desire is to avoid such bloodshed, but we point out that the most advantageous route would not be to allow Ragesians through here, lest they begin to lay claim to any part of this land. Dassen has already lost so much with the royal family, for which we offer condolences."

"The refugees that everyone knows of and causing economic strain, are due to Ragesian advances," offers Fafnir.

"I would want to know why there is a Ragesian Inquisitor here, as Inquisitors serve solely the purpose of slaying that which Ragesia hates," I say aloud.

Forax Ironheart appears moved and steps forward. "We must hear what this intrepid group has to say. We respect Dassen, and know the issue of succession is important. We must not do anything that puts into doubt that the decision isn't yours regardless of what any book says. We must defend our land and not accuse our friends of betrayal."

Melanie Ursin of Timor says, "Indeed my lord, if what these people say is true, you must consider what may occur with the armies coming through, and the dishonor and threat that they pose. Seaquen has long been a supporter and may be more so in the future."

Duncan says, "Your majesty, I fear much of what may be true. It may be a danger to us to move forward with this plan. Perhaps we should take it into more advisement before agreeing."

The proxies of Megadon, Namin, and Rego whisper to each other, scowling.

Steppengard straightens, and points at Trevor. "You. You do not have the silvered, honeyed tongue of your companions. How many companions, family, friends have you lost in this war?"

"First, I am sorry for your loss. To answer your question, everyone. My entire family, my home, my youth. All I have is what I fuckin' carry. You have a castle full of servants, and I lost everything. I apologize. I know exactly what losing it all is like." He glares at the Inquisitor and spits.

The king says, "I have lost nineteen. My wife, children. I would gladly have lost my own life and have suffered for my country. No others should lose their life in a war. If you were my subjects, I would arrest you. None shall offer aid to the mages of Seaquen and their allies. To you, I give three days in my city. Use that time and your poets' tongues to persuade the Ragesians to show mercy."

"Your majesty, may I speak? It is I, Fafnir. A moment of your precious time. We are not asking you to start a war. We are asking you to stop one. To stop the death at the hands of the Ragesians. Have they said they would battle you if you did not agree to let them through? You know what they did to Gate Pass, and what they did to Seaquen, and it would be on your shoulders for you to let it happen to your own land. All you must do is deny them free rein through your country, as you have done for years."

"I have made my decision clear. We shall not fight this war on behalf of anyone else. Begone!" Steppengard roars.

Fafnir walks by the Ragesian ambassador. "We will meet again. Remember my face."

The man chuckles. "Of course. Perhaps we will see you again, hanging from a high place."

The proxies of Timor and Dashgoban walk out with us. Duncan waves us out, nodding.

"We hear your words," says Melanie, "so forceful, and it does nothing but strengthen our resolve to help you. If you wish, we can try again over the next few days, but if not, I understand. The king has all but allowed Ragesians free reign. If you decide to leave, I suggest to head north and speak to Duke Gallo. We disbelieve what is accused of him. His family has laid down their lives to Dassen."

We decide to tell them we had discovered the proxy of Dene, slain in the snow by the Secret Police. We show them his signet ring as evidence.

"How did you come by this? He was dead?"

We relate the story, and that they attacked us.

"And you believe it was the Talon that slew him?"

"They admitted it. We came upon his body first, then found them assaulting a caravan of halflings transporting the girlfriend of the imprisoned proxy of Gallo. They had taken the ring first."

"A grave turn indeed. We have our suspicions of Nina, and she is in charge of the Talon. Take this with you, and share it with the Duke, or leave it with us to share with Lady Dene," Melanie muses. We agree to the latter. "We will continue trying to speak to our lords and ladies, and convince the others to change their minds. If enough nobles disagree, it may be reversed."

"If the king is under Nina's sway, would that make a difference?" I ask.

"If enough nobles do, the decision can be changed."

"Talk to Iz. We didn't get a chance to," Fafnir says.

We would try to speak to the imprisoned proxy of Gallo, though the Talon is given much leeway with the gaols. We also discuss going north to Gallo, and the unusual weather pattern. We regather at the Golden Griffon. Balan will remain to work with the nobles. We recommend he request guards from our allies, as we will no longer be there to protect him.

North to Gallo​

We have the letter to Jinis delivered to him in his cell, letting Balan figure out how to get it to him.

Deciding that Duke Gallo needs to know of the latest news, and not being welcome any more in the unwelcoming sewer I consider Bresk to be, we head north, not waiting for the three days we were granted.

The gate is open for us, and saddled riding horses await with special cleated shoes for taking the icy river. An eager-looking sergeant waving us through and shouting good luck as we ride past. Some few, apparently, do not harbor us ill will because of some gnomish witch's influence. Bresk has not been the best of towns.

I scan the land and maps before we leave. It is 70 miles to the border of Gallo’s land, a two-day trip if we follow the river, then another 50 miles to Gallo’s Fend.

Talons on Our Necks​

We cross into Dashgoban and find a place to camp near the frozen river, tying our horses to spindly trees. During Fafnir's watch late in the night, he notices a far off darkness against the sky to the south, approaching. Squinting, he believes it to be a griffon and rider. Is it someone from Gate Pass, somehow? And on the ground, a band of mounted horses, perhaps a dozen, coming north from Bresk.

He wakes us quickly and we dash out the fire coals. "Quickly, under the trees!" I move over to a taller tree and begin to climb. Osnald and Viggo cast minor illusions, covering tracks and the evidence of our presence. Viggo brings forth a tiny hut for the group to hide in; I remain in my tree.

It becomes apparent that it's the Talons, and they're following our tracks. It's twenty mounted men. We mount up and race north. The Pitchwood is a day's travel north. We cross onto the river, moving carefully across the ice. My horse does not do well with its cleats, and is slowed. We increase the gap between us and the Talon forces. We split ourselves and rejoin, creating multiple sets of tracks. Viggo casts phantom steed as we travel, giving our horses a break as we move.


Somehow we remain ahead, and as night falls we reach the Pitchwood straddling the border between Dashgoban and Gallo, perhaps two hours ahead of the Talons. Our horses are winded and slowing, breathing mist in the icy air. Viggo is exhausted from constantly ritual-casting phantom steeds.

Fafnir and Viggo feel that our pursuers have stopped following us, perhaps at the edge of the woods. We cautiously camp among the tall trees.

Osnald is on watch, humming to himself, and does not see the slavering beast creeping up to our campsite until it is nearly on us. He wakes me and I spring to my feet, bow in hand. I send two arrows through its skull, sending it to the soil. I recognize it as a worg.

At Least The Predators Are Familiar​

In the morning, we are packing to move. The worg's body has been dragged dozens of yards into the forest. Fafnir perks up his ears. Something approaches from the north, hidden among the trees. Bowstrings whisper and arrows fly past us, shortbow strings from the sound of it. A black-feathered arrow digs a furrow in my thigh, drawing blood. Another pings off Fafnir's armor. Osnald yelps from one striking him.

Goblins, riding worgs. Apparently they don't like us in their woods, and apparently they're early risers.

Fafnir brings forth spirit guardians, blazing red bulls whirling around him, and stamps forward to greet a pair of galloping worgs. They and their riders reel from the radiant damage.

Viggo casts dragon's breath on his familiar Owlmo, who flies up above Fafnir and belches flame onto the besieged goblins and worgs. They collectively collapse.

Three magic missiles stream from the trees, striking Viggo, who raises a shield spell.

I step forth and face the goblin who shot me, sending him flying off his mount dead with two arrows. Its worg keeps running at me. Trevor runs up beside me and lashes it with Aquiline Heart.


Owlmo is hit by magic missiles from the trees and vanishes without a sound, leaving only feathers. Some goblin type has magical ability. Osnald drops a stinking cloud higher up on the nearby bluff where the spells are coming from. Retching noises come from the trees.

More arrows fly, one striking Trevor. The worg closes, and he twists aside, stabbing it dead with the Living Blade, not without a "fuckin' hell" for emphasis. He slashes the blood from the wooden blade.

Fafnir swings at one of the wounded worgs caught at the edge of the stinking cloud, crunching its skull. He moves through the trees, bull spirits surrounding him. Viggo steps up next to Osnald and tries to spy out the coughing goblin spellcaster hidden behind rocks.

An entangle spell writhes up around us, compliments of the other spellcaster. Trevor and Fafnir are caught in vines. I fire at an oncoming worg and goblin, missing wildly but striking the wolfish monster with one arrow. With a lucky nod from Osnald, Trevor struggles mightily, breaking free of the entanglement, snapping and uprooting vines. He takes in a breath and runs up the hill to the northwest toward the one caster, who drops another entanglement in terror.

Osnald watches the oscured cloud, waiting for the retching spellcaster to emerge. He dashes between dead worgs and spies the goblin, targeting him with some well-placed vicious mockery.


The worg coming at me veers away so its rider can target Fafnir with an arrow. The cleric shrugs free of the entanglement and blocks it. A worg next to him whirls, snapping at the bull angels that gore at it. "Come at me!" Fafnir growls. The worg's rider sends an arrow at him, and he blocks again, then swings Einherjar at the rider, sweeping it into the air. "Take that, you bitch!" He growls again, filling himself with energy, and kills the worg with the backswing, the hammerhead rendering its jaws into paste. He tramps up the the worg and rider who shot at him. "Fafnir mad!" he adds, dropping words in his haste.


Viggo blasts the owl-killing goblin caster with horrid tangling, and bones make awful sounds as the goblin is torn apart.

The caster before Trevor yanks its reins and turns to flee. I step forward and my arrow sprouts from his neck. He hunches forward dead, still riding as his worg gallops away. I turn toward another worg and send a second arrow into its backside. It howls. Trevor, his prey gone and suddenly free of entangling vines, turns back and lopes down the hill, reaching the worg's rider and whipping it. The goblin ducks, letting the worg take the strike, and the beast drops dead beneath its rider. Trevor's whip snaps around the goblin's neck multiple times and its eyes goggle. The spirit guardians make short bloody work of it.

We look around at dead goblins and worgs, and hear a clear, proud horn blowing. Men on horses ride into our clearing.

"We heard the sound of violence and came to your aid! We are soldiers of Duke Gallo!" they cry. "We received an owl that said you were on your way from Bresk! I assume you are the heroes of Seaquen."

"We are the Quell," Fafnir says, shedding goblin blood. “You’re just in time for cleanup.”

"Welcome, Quell."

I'm enjoying the inset profile pictures as NPCs come up. I thought about doing that a couple of times, and each time laziness wins out.

Tolamaker said:

I'm enjoying the inset profile pictures as NPCs come up. I thought about doing that a couple of times, and each time laziness wins out.

Click to expand...

Thankfully I have a player who does the write up and screen captures.

Been over a month so quite some catch-up...​

The Jolly Gallo Brigade​

"Hi ho, Knights of Gallo," says Trevor. "Had you come earlier, we might have seen your mettle. As it is, I'm sure we would settle with an escort." He winds up his whip, noticing Fafnir blithely skinning the worgs, elbow deep in gore. "Say, Knights of Gallo Commander Heritage, it's frosty. You wouldn't happen to have some brandy like those big furry dogs. You know, to take the bite off the chill. How did you know to come for us here?"

"Ho ho! You must be Trevor! I do have a flask of my famous Peppermint Peach Schnapps for you. Ho, ho! M'lord Gallo received a message stating that your group had left heading north. He is anxious to hear from you directly about what's happening in the capital."

After sharing some warm quaffs from the flask, we move north. We stop at towns which are quiet, their citizens nervous, having heard rumors that Steppengard believes Duke Gallo a traitor. Commander Hertiage speaks to the towns' leaders and priests, telling them to prepare their people for war, and to be ready to send troops to aid Gallo's Fend.


Similar to Bresk, the city of Gallo's Fend is walled, built into a rocky rise of land with a river on one side. However the defenses are much more substantial here, since this is the most obvious route of approach into Dassen from the north. Gallo and his ancestors have defended against the Ragesians and others for hundreds of years, watching the Alydi Gap, a low pass through the Otdar mountains broad enough for an army to march in force. Other routes through the mountains are narrower, more easily defended by the numerous independent Dwarven lords who serve Dassen faithfully, but the Aldyi Gap is Dassen's most vulnerable point, so Gallo's Fend acts as a sturdy shield.

I like it. It reminds me of Gate Pass.

We are met by Duke Gallo and his entourage at the heavily fortified gates of the castle. He shakes our hands. "I am Michael Gallo."

We let Osnald speak first. "Oh, great Duke of Gallo. I am your humble servant, Osnald Swiftwillow, and proud to introduce my companions."

The Duke introduces his entourage, including Roger, who will help us with preparations. We explain the situation. They agree that Leska is a tricky one, and that it is good news we met with all the proxies. We tell him of the slain proxy of Dene, and of the secret police.

"I have heard dark things about this Glibglammer person," the Duke says. We wonder if this strife between nations will lead to a civil war. "I sympathize with the king, for who would be able to act when their family is lost? I am here to defend the pass against all invaders." He asks that we let Roger escort us to a small manor house, where we are welcome to stay. He will follow up in the morning.

We pass through the city/fortress, seeing windows like arrow slits, people preparing, resolute but not panicked, accepting of upcoming conflict. This city seems more serious-minded than Gate Pass.

We ask Roger about the city's supplies, its foodstuffs and healing supplies. They are well-stocked.

"What of the magical contingent?" I ask. "They used dragons against us at Gate Pass."

Roger nods, indicating large ballistae and stabled griffons. "An enemy that reaches the riverbank will be hit by catapults and face hundred-foot cliffs and stone walls."

All Manor of Things​

The manor is one of the largest houses I have ever seen, all stone and fountains and statues and wide sweeping staircases and red carpet. Roger indicates that many families try to house refugees, including this structure, but that he can vouch for their integrity.

As lunch is being served, we seat ourselves at the massive table, longer than a boat. We meet Ashley Mournhell, a dour-looking, tattooed man. Fafnir asks what brings him here.

"I am from Gate Pass. I got this scar when our homes were burned, in the first district. We fled, and came here. I hear the fight against the Ragesians continues here, and I will lend my sword. I am a distant relative of the mayor."


Fafnir greets him enthusiastically, then asks the young woman next to him.

"My name is Cordelia Terryn," she says in a quiet voice. "I am from Ragesia originally. My husband practiced the arcane arts, and they took him away. I fled south."


Viggo moves to the study to discuss intellectual things with a healer, Hart Portman, and an elderly lady named Valnis White. They talk of the books as he browses the shelves.

The next day at dawn, Gallo summons us to his war room in the castle. "I thank you for the news you brought, and for helping to contact Jinis. Here is a small token of my gratitude." He holds a sack, which Osnald accepts. "Here we stand. Steppengard marches on us with an army of ten thousand, taking the frozen river northward. I'm sure you know one needs an attacking force thrice its size to take this city. The problem is Ragesia from the other side, at forty thousand strong. The only thing holding them back is the pending thaw. Steppengard makes it easier for them.

"My commander recommends we fight. It will be a week before Steppengard arrives. Iz, Namin, and Megadon are supporting him. I must convince my neighbors, Timor and Dashgoban, to side with us. I need proof of Ragesia's intentions. Across the river is the Alydi Gap. They will come down that way to attack Dassen, to silence the outpost and keep their troop movement secret. Our sending spells to the outpost have failed. I need to confirm my suspicions. A group must ride to the outpost, bring back that proof, and then to Dashgoban to present the findings."

That is something we can do, so we agree.

"Commander Hertiage will join you. The troops at the outpost know him."

Deeper into the Oncoming Threat​

We arrange cold-weather gear, arrows, and potions, while Osnald buys clothes of mending. I shake my head, but I suppose clothes that mend themselves are useful.

We cross the river by midmorning, nearing the border of Ragesia. The weather remains cold. We move quickly, and make it to the first outpost, spying it out. Gallo has not used sending to alert the outposts, to prevent Ragesians from learning of our mission. The forts are meant to have a chaplain and eight soldiers. The lookouts are surprised to see us, but offer warm drink and food. We travel throughout the day to reach the sixth outpost, which has not responded.

The farthest, situated on a rocky spur high above, is reached by switchbacks. The bottom of the mountain path is surrounded by forest at the base of the plateau. We dismount and lead our horses up.


We hear snarling and crunching noises ahead. We sneak ahead while Viggo sends his owl to investigate. We see large, odd insectoid creatures feasting on poor soldiers.

Trevor and I move silently up behind the massive boles of the trees. It seems the creatures are scavenging, as the bodies seem to have been killed by other means, perhaps a great fall. One of the beasts sniffs around. Hertiage and Fafnir move up as quietly as their armor allows. I feel the lightness of a Nuada bless upon me.

Deciding that we don't want to make enough noise to alert whoever is hiding in the outpost, Trevor steals forward to strike at the nearest creature with his shortsword, following up with the Living Blade, now in the shape of a scimitar. I send an arrow deep into its armor, while a second shaft bounces away. Osnald casts hypnotic pattern on the beast higher on the ridge.

The beast before Trevor claws and grapples at him, and its mandibles clack down, tearing at him. Osnald tries silvery barbs to prevent the monster's venom from coursing through Trevor, and succeeds. The jaws snap on empty air.

Hertiage stamps up the ridge to face the wounded creature. Fafnir raises a finger and spears it with a guiding bolt.

Viggo has his owl flying to the outpost, and is concentrating on what it sees. He sees the door has taken damage and is repaired, and much blood on the ground. It is otherwise shuttered and still, with smoking trickling from its chimney.

Trevor, pinned by claws, takes advantage of the creature's dazed state, piercing it with steel and wood. It chitters and dies.

While the other insectoid monster is staring at nothing from Osnald's hypnotic pattern, we close around it, preparing to strike it down.

Trevor stabs the drooling creature with wood, following with swipes from his sword and lash from the Aquiline Heart, and we unleash steel in response. I send a trio of arrows at it. Hertiage swings his battleaxe, unable to pierce its thick armor. Shaking its head of blood, it claws and bites Trevor, grappling him in return. Fafnir's hammer thumps it.

However, Viggo, via his owl's eyes, is distracted by something, watching us from the trees. It seems like a sinewy feminine creature of wood and leaf.

Trevor pierces it again, extracting itself from its jaws. "And I thought they smelled terrible... on the inside!"

Hertiage slaps him on the back. "I've rarely seen that kind of bravery from a man! With those tiny little weapons!"


I try to spy out the hiding female-presenting creature, but don't see it. I examine the dead guards to discern whether they were from Gallo, which they are. Fafnir believes it a dryad, and also perhaps a dryad witch.

Trevor steps forward, speaking in Sylvan. She cautiously steps forward, speaking his name. He asks how the men died.

She says they were killed by humans from the north, with strong magics. I look more closely at the corpses. Aside from impact, they seem to have suffered cuts, perhaps from blades. Trevor assures her that we are here to prevent more slaughter. She wishes us fortune.

The Frozen Summit​

[Sorry, I did not like the encounter as provided in the original module so I swapped it out with another encounter and integrated it. ]
We labor up the mountain until we reach a ledge. A wall of solid ice, carved with intricate runes, blocks our way, offering no protection from the biting wind. The symbols hum faintly, and coldness radiates from the gate. In the center, a large indentation shaped like a handprint glows with soft blue light. Viggo peers at it, determining that one must speak words in the Giant tongue to open it.

Fafnir comes up with the idea of having Osnald cast sending to ask his library. Trevor considers trying to melt or shatter the ice, which does not seem overly thick. Fafnir, pleased with the idea of being able to smash something with pure force, steps up to the wall with Einherjar in hand. He takes some minutes to cast silence to mask our presence, then spits on his hands. The hammerhead slams silently into the wall.

The ice crumbles, and we see the interior. A vast chamber is dominated by a massive forge, which glows with a cold, blue flame. Rows of frost-covered constructs stand dormant, their forms glinting ominously in the dim light. The air hums with arcane energy, and the ground beneath us is slick with frost. Towering armored zombies stumble within, accompanied by Ragesian soldiers.

I send two arrows deep into the rotted belly of one of the ogres. Osnald casts hypnotic pattern into the room, filling it with color for a moment. It does not seem to affect the ogres, but one of the soldiers stops and stares, incapacitated. Fafnir barges in, dropping the silence in favor of snorting spiritual guardians, and bashes a soldier.

The ogre zombie I shot lurches forward into the guardians, which tear at it. Undaunted, it swings a huge morningstar at Fafnir, missing, and steps away, not liking the spirits. A Ragesian swings a battleaxe at the cleric, suffering under the bulls' horns, and misses. The other ogre zombie stomps forward from the wall to attack Fafnir, likewise receiving punishment from the guardians, and its morningstar thumps into the ground.

A half-orc Ragesian spins into view, and Trevor tries to wrap his whip around him. The soldier gets in our faces and raises his axe to strike. Viggo suggests that he flee the scene, and the soldier freezes. Trevor slips past to get behind the massive zombies. Suddenly two of the constructs against the wall creak alive. Trevor sees them but whips the zombie anyway, then strikes at the other, yanking to try to trip it. I snap two arrows into the other zombie, watching them sink deep, but it remains standing. These things are large sacks of unlife.

A suit of armor steps away from the wall to slam into Fafnir, knocking him sideways, but his spirit guardians stay. Osnald hurls his magical dagger at a zombie.

Fafnir wisely stands his ground in a defensive position, bringing forth his spiritual weapon. A Ragesian shrugs off the radiant damage and swings at him, missing. His companion is less lucky, as the spirit guardians batter him to death. They turn their anger upon the first ogre zombie, and it falls. The other zombie, still standing, swings over Fafnir's head.

Another suit moves forward behind Trevor, hammering him. Viggo casts scorching rays at it in response.

Ragesian Bastards and Frost Creature Bastards​

"Fuckin' hell," Trevor responds, slashing with the LIving Blade and his shortsword against the armor, knocking off various metallic parts. It clanks to the cold floor.

Not to be outdone, I shoot through the zombie ogre's spine. It curls backward and crashes to the floor where Trevor had been standing. It reveals another suit of armor behind, and I send another arrow through its empty faceplate. It is pinned to the wall.

Osnald viciously mocks one of the soldiers, and Fafnir lumbers into the next room. Its icy walls depict frost giants and their empire. Statues of them line the room. A rhythmic pounding can be heard. Fafnir's bull angels are suddenly dispelled, and a pair of Ragesian infiltrators leap from hiding, peppering him with blades and arrows and spilling half-Orc blood. He summons the spirit guardians again, because the Nuadan bulls cannot be denied. The Ragesian he leaves behind is mauled and trampled by celestial hooves.

Hertiage runs into the second room, axe raised. "Yaaah!" he yells eloquently.

Viggo dashes forth and casts horrid entanglement on one of the Ragesian orcs, who proves to be an inquisitor. She shakes off the effect. Trevor slips past, changing his hunter's mark target, and lashes out at the inquisitor. She proves dexterous and strong, and is difficult to hit. I leap over bodies and send a pair of shafts into her, but she is hardy as well, and stays standing. Fafnir brings his hammer to bear, and she is bloodied by the force of his blow.

One infiltrator stabs at Fafnir, but cannot get past his armor. Another gets through, steel biting deep.

Osnald runs in behind us, and gives the inquisitor a vicious mockery, because as a inquisitor she deserves it. "Okay, princess underbite. You've made an enemy of the world-destroying Fafnir!" She does something and counters it, unaffected by his remark. In response she says, "Neska likes my underbite." (Trevor spits.)

She grimaces and disengages from the threat of Fafnir, moving away and dashing toward a door to the east. The cleric's guardians batter the infiltrators, and he batters one with his spiritual weapon and his physical one. He then steps away toward the door, letting one of them strike at him, and the rogue does, stabbing him deeply. Fafnir grunts again, which is pretty much the most he will do when severely hurt.

A small icy creature flies from the wall, previously hidden by the cold wall. It gibbers at us, then exhales icy breath on Trevor, Osnald, Hertiage, and me. I blink from icicles over my eyelids.

"Let me at them!" Hertiage barks, and rushes at an inquisitor, swinging his battleaxe.


Another icy devil beastie emerges, flying through Fafnir's celestial bulls. Suddenly a cloud of cold fog fills the room, obscuring everything east of us.

Viggo eyes the first ice monster but sends scorching rays at the partially obscured infiltrator. Trevor follows up with slices from his scimitar, slashing through the fog. He then disappears within the gray. I see the infiltrator moving slightly, and step next to the icy fiend, bringing down the rogue with arrows. I wink at the icy beast next to me.

The other infiltrator appears from the fog, running past Osnald through the door, not without stabbing at the halfling. Osnald dodges, then dashes into the room behind me. He gives me bardic inspiration, and I feel a little happier.

Inside the fog, steel and grunts and steps sound. A crunching sound of a large bootstep is heard. Is there another creature in this room? Did one of the frost giant statues wake up?

The icy little fiend did not like my wink, and moves around me, slashing with its tiny claws.

"I can't see a damn thing in here!" calls Hertiage. He bursts from the cloud between the infiltrator and the fiend, and swings at the former. "Oh ho! Feel the icy death of my blade!"


Inside the fog cloud, the bulls must have bruised the other ice fiend, because the fog cloud suddenly vanishes. A large frost giant statue lurches in the middle of the room. Beyond, an open door reveals Ragesian soldiers and a room emitting shimmering energy from a crystal.

Viggo mind whips the statue guardian. Trevor moves up to the far door. "There's a couple of big ones in here! Ice elementals!" He moves in, whip cracking. I see him yank backward with his signature grappling technique, and the inquisitor is hauled into view, her leg caught. Trevor's scimitar slashes down with finality. "Never say 'Leska' again, bitch." He then unlashes the whip and sends it against the soldier next to him.

I shoot the soldier next to Hertiage, but he still stands. He swings at Hertiage, damaging him. The commander falls. The soldier sneers and flees out of the outpost.

Osnald casts healing word on the fallen Hertiage, and the dwarf stirs, grumbling. He then mocks the statue, which is affected by the insult. It swings at Fafnir, its mighty fists whirring over his head. The cleric swings at the guardian while his own guardians batter it, then moves to the door, bringing bulls with him.

In the next room, a frozen behemoth stomps into view, towering over Trevor. It swings massive limbs at him; Osnald hurls a quick silvery barbs to make one of them miss, but the other slams into Trevor, knocking him sideways.

Next to the fallen Hertiage, the ice fiend huffs and flees, unable to face my deadly winks. The commander grumbles and quaffs a potion and hauls himself up. "Let me at 'em," he says with the same enthusiasm, and staggers up next to me.

Viggo casts a spell at the second ice fiend, to no avail.

The soldiers are beaten by bulls, and one dies. The other slashes Trevor with an axe.

I can feel the temperature drop from the next room, as something within glows with arcane energy, highlighting Trevor's form as he reenters our room, slashing and stabbing at the giant shield guardian, his boots lending him uncanny speed. Fafnir steps forward to block the door, intending to soak damage. His bulls tear at the Ragesian and the elemental inside. The soldier disengages and retreats backward.


I focus fire on the giant armor, one of my arrows bouncing from its steel. We notice with dread that its armor begins mending its dents. The damn thing is fixing itself! It lumbers over to Fafnir and clubs at him with its metal fists, missing. The cleric, surrounded by hulking creatures and his own raging angels, holds his position, and is cracked over the helmet by the ice elemental creature.

Hertiage stamps forth and swings at the shield guardian, unable to pierce its armor. Viggo sends a spell past to affect the elemental's mind. Another large elemental steps forward into the angels' radius and slams at the resolutely standing Fafnir. It tries to step away, but the first elemental, affected by Viggo's magic, clobbers it as it passes.

Trevor slashes the shield guardian with the Living Scimitar, following up with ineffective stabs from his sword. Frustrated, he heals himself and slides away. I fire again, and again only plant one arrow in it. We keep slogging.

Fafnir continues standing in defense, letting his spirit guardians do their work, but takes a second wind to recover his breath. Hertiage connects this time, his axe rending the guardian's armor. Viggo disappears with a puff of fire and teleports into the next room to address the situation, only to be clobbered by an elemental that dislikes the new entrant.


Trevor plunges back into the fray, Living Blade in hand, battering the guardian. I keep missing it, every shot worse than the last, but I feel Fafnir and Nuada supporting me, and I finally send a shaft between the armor. The guardian keeps trying to slam into Fafnir, but the cleric holds fast, bringing his spiritual weapon to bear with a mighty crack on its central eyepiece. The shield guardian finally crumples under its force. Fafnir disappears into the next room.

(I nearly whoop aloud, so proud am I of my friend.)

The frozen elementals are angry at the celestial bulls and at the presence of non-Ragesians, and slam everywhere, even each other.

"Arr, let me at them!" shouts Hertiage, running forth to join the battle. His battleaxe strikes true against an elemental. "Once more into the breach!"


Viggo applies his intellect, and with various arcane maneuverings shuts down the crystal and whatever it was doing in the room. The icy elementals defrost and become normal (if you can think of such things as normal) earth elementals. They are still mad, however, and keep swinging.

Trevor gapes at the sight. "Wuh! Viggo did something!" and rushes forward as only an eloquent noble can. He strikes at the nearest elemental with wood and steel. I take advantage and advance, planting a foot on the dead guardian, and switch my hunter's mark to the elemental. Two arrows fly, breaking bits of rock from it as they thunk into its bulky body. Fafnir's spiritual weapon slams mightily into its backside. He draws forth the javelin of lightning and sends it through both elementals. The one before us staggers with the javelin planted in its torso, then explodes in a cloud of rock and dust all over Trevor and Hertiage. (Respective responses: "Fuckin' hell, Fafnir!" ... "Ho ho! Let me at 'em!")

Hertiage darts out of view, as does Trevor. Viggo casts something which sounds like his mind sliver cantrip. I hear elemental fists swinging and a Dwarven grunt of pain. Wood strikes rock several times. I need to get into this room, full as it is with bodies.

I step in and send an arrow into what passes for its brainpan, and it slumps over into a pile of rocks.

Yet Another Room Full of Big Things​

Fafnir pulls open a northerly door, revealing more large rocky and metallic things, and quickly tries to shut it. "More big things."

The ogre zombie blocking the door slams down into Fafnir, who blocks it. It takes radiant damage for its trouble.

"Into the breach!" shouts Hertiage, who looks quite hurt and really should not be going into breaches. He drops his shield and swings two-handed. "Come on Fafnir! Come, Trevor!" And with his heartening cry, Trevor slips forward and whips the zombie. Fafnir tolls the dead on it, staggering it.

We see an armored orc standing in the room, looking like he is in charge. A towering frost golem crunches forward before him and slams the foolhardy Hertiage senseless to the floor. "Take the outpost, boys! Take...!" he cries weakly as he falls, his axe clattering on the stone.


Viggo casts horrid tangling on the orc, who shrugs it off.

"Mother of pearl. Fuckin' hell!" Trevor visibly struggles with the decision of whether to try to save the commander, and finally steps forward and plies the wooden scimitar against the zombie ogre, spilling its putrid guts and tearing away its arm. It falls.

The orc steps aside and fires at Fafnir, peppering him with shortbow arrows.

Deciding I should show him how shooting works, I run up to the zombie's body, switch my hunter's mark again, and send a single arrow into the orc. He looks stunned.


"You shall not pass," intones the other golem as it strides forward into the spirit guardians and blocks the door. Spikes of ice erupts from the ground around us. Poor Hertiage is speared where he lies. Trevor swears behind me, losing his hunter's mark and his patience.

Fafnir says, "We are here in the name of Duke Gallo. You have been controlled by Ragesian scum, keeping you from your service." The golems' eyes flicker momentarily, but seem to remain under the orc's control. Fafnir slams the door closed and sighs. He cures himself somewhat. Trevor downs a potion.

Viggo tells us about the golems and their immunities and advantages. They seem resistant to lots of things.

We Have To Grab That Rod... No, Shut Up​

While we hold the door closed, we quickly review options. The golems seem to be the original guardians of the outpost, so not our natural enemies. We decide that as much as we must save Hertiage, we need to disarm that half-orc. Osnald goes invisible with the intent of slipping inside, to knock that rod from the half-orc's hand if he can. He makes Trevor vanish as well.

I have Trevor take a potion of climbing from my pack so he can move over the golems through the huge door. I then find Osnald, who accidentally brushes my tit to let me know where he is, and cast longstrider on him. I will have a talk with him later when we're safe.

The golems pull open the massive doors. They still stand imposingly while the half-orc glares. One steps through before Fafnir and swings at the dodging cleric, missing but getting hammered by his spirit guardians. Hertiage lies bleeding, arms outstretched, revealing a tattoo on his arm that Fafnir recognizes: the same that Colonel Francis Parker, Fafnir's mentor, bears.

Viggo attempts to mind sliver the orc, who resists it. I feel Osnald next to me move away, hopefully to slip under the golem's legs. In moments we see Hertiage sputter and stir. Trevor likewise moves away.

The orc peers at the fallen Dwarf, and seems to be drawing out a shortbow. I send two longbow arrows past the big golems into his body. "Have at ye. That's how real bows work, ye Ragesian dipshit!"

The lead golem pushes past Fafnir into our room, presumably to come at me. Fafnir blocks the door further to prevent the other from entering. The half-orc's eyes glimmer in time with the rod tucked into his plate armor.

Hertiage rises. "Aaah, let me at them!" He staggers to his feet, picking up his axe, and hacks at the second golem, who takes additional damage from the bull angels. The construct swings and somehow misses the foolhardy Dwarf. "Come at me, big boy! I like my drinks icy cold!"

Viggo jumps perilously between the golems and casts bane on our opponents. The half-orc shoots at Hertiage but the arrow bounces from his armor.

Suddenly Trevor appears, hanging onto the wall near the half-orc, and whips downward, attempting to snare the rod. It flips from the armor into his hand. He skitters back along the wall next to a golem, tossing the rod into our room. Fafnir and Viggo grab for it, and the artificer grasps it. The half-orc, startled but resolute, drops his bow and moves forward to Trevor, swinging thrice with his battleaxe in both hands. As the blade slashes Trevor, he simply grins. I fire, sinking an arrow into the half-orc for his trouble.

The spirit guardians bash the first golem, which... stands still and does not respond. Can the control of them have changed that fast?

Taking that as a cue, Fafnir charges inside, done with dodging and not using his hammer, leaping past both constructs, to get at the half-orc, hitting him two-handed with Einherjar. He surges, and hits him again in the chest, denting the plate armor. He slams the enemy to the ground and pounds the life from him.

Outpost Aftermath​

Viggo determines that the magical device in the room connects with the Elemental Plane of Ice. This must not have been an outpost, but some experimental place. Hertiage tells us that this place and the golems were built in service to Gallo, but the frost elements are unrelated, brought by a man named Skjorn, a former colleague of Viggo.

We find a note on the half-orc, who is named Commander Jaas: "Take the first outpost, then stay put, receiving supply drops every other day. When we learn of the success or failure of Madness, our weather mage associates will break the winter over the Alydi Gap. When the thaw begins, prepare to take additional outposts." Here, then, is our proof that Ragesia plans to attack and not merely to march peacefully through Dassen.

Additionally, we find boots of the winterlands, a ring of cold resistance, and Osnald uncovers a headband of intellect, which we tell him to keep. He’s going to be insufferable now.

I begin gathering arrows and clearing out the second room, as it seems the most designed for people to live in. We prepare to rest.

Trevor reminds me that the half-orc rogue had managed to slip by us and escape. Tired but resolute, I perk up, yanking two arrows from a corpse. Trevor is wounded but energetic. "Feckin' right, Trevor, we're not finished. Let's go. Let the others set up camp here."

Trevor leads me outside and we begin scanning the windswept snow for bootprints. Trevor sees them first. "Fawking hell, he's going back down the path!"

We give chase. Trevor keeps his whip coiled around his arm and the Living Blade in hand, and I keep arrow on string, as we dash downward, heads low, slipping on snow and ice and crashing into the rocky cliff face.

The rogue is jogging but not running, apparently convinced that we remain occupied in the outpost above.

"Keep on," I say, skidding to a halt and measuring the wind. Trevor nods.

"You can do it," he says, then hurtles down the path as quietly as he can.

The wind is steady without gusts, wrapping around the mountain like a jealous spouse. The rogue is out of range of hunter's mark. I breathe in, seeing him as a deer within trees. The first arrow sails to the right, riding the wind, then carves down like a dagger to plunge into the Ragesian's leg. He tumbles forward, keeping his feet, but is spun around by the shaft piercing his thigh. His howl is barely heard.

I stand steady, as if getting my sea legs on the edge of the world, and send the second arrow arcing high. It wobbles in the air, losing height, then finds its path and plants itself in the Ragesian's chest. He turns and runs again, slowed by the wounded leg.

Trevor, putting on a burst of speed, sails past him with a swipe from the Living Blade, spinning the half-orc again, and wraps his whip around his neck, yanking downward. The half-orc drops and lies still. Trevor makes certain of his death with a well-placed stab, salvages one arrow from him, and begins his trek back up the winding path. I wait for him.

"Fuckin' hell," he pants, handing the arrow back.

I grin. "I'm out of healing potions. I gave them all to Fafnir. But we'll get you some food and rest, hero. Thanks for doing all the work."

Dashing to Dashgoban​

Duke Gallo plans to send couriers to Dashgoban, and to Dassen to try reasoning with Steppengard, but says "hope for the best, plan for the worst."

He feasts us and introduces us to Makhesson, his envoy, and a courier, Bhedam Buni. We are to accompany him to Dashgoban, then off to meet with Lady Timor. It is suggested we ride south through Pitchwood Forest, as it will cut a day of travel. It is springtime, but still cold.

We pause in a small community called Midway. Trevor stays in a jail cell (I don't recall what he did), and we stayed at the Wacky Jester Inn. Osnald performs for some coin, and we stay for free.

As we ride through the forest, we are accosted by pitchlings, mischievous fey which are resistant to fire. They are slim and naked except for a coating of black pitch smeared across their bodies.

"Leave money in sack! Or we burn you!"

Trevor offers some gold-leafed paper and other pretty things, and they seem to like the idea. They take one of his proffered sheets and examine it, but surround us. They seem dim-witted. Trevor then tells them of outsiders approaching, and that perhaps they might hinder them? They agree, but want more shiny things in return.

One remains, gazing at Trevor's Living Blade. "You recognize it?" asks Trevor. "It's the Living Blade of Innenotdar." The fey seems bewildered, reaching almost reverently to touch. Trevor lets him do so.

The fey grabs Trevor's hand, and holds it to his forehead. He takes the gold sheet. "No one shall pass us." He runs off.

"Your patience is good," grunts Fafnir.

At the edge of the Pitchwood in the evening, Bhedam Buni says, "We can stop here. Another twenty miles to Lord Dashgoban's home, or we can try to push on through the night." We choose to rest. I share a midnight watch with Osnald.

My First Doll In Two Decades​

After I finish my watch, Trevor notices a straw doll lying next to my bag. He picks it up and looks at it. It seems strangely familiar to me, shaped and dressed like my uncle Gavintar. It bothers me. It couldn't be him.

In the morning the doll is still there. Trevor detects magic on it and says it smells of conjuration. Saying nothing and not knowing why, I stuff it in my pack.

Dashgoban​

The old castle of Dashgoban is built from an outcropping of rock, looking like a shadowed monster. Only scattered farms and villages surround it. We are met at its gates by soldiers who ask us our business. Makhesson tells them of our mission from Gallo.


Lord Dashgoban is a pale, aging Dwarf with a soft-looking beard. He works in his garden, and rises, wiping his hands. "Dahling! How are you?" He looks at Osnald, our most charismatic and brightly dressed individual. "Your outfit is fantastic. I love that for you. But tell me. Why are you here?"

"We are here to remind your greatness of a commitment to aid the people of Gallo in defending his people, the same as he would come to defend yours," says the bard.

"Of course. I'd do anything for the old man. But why now?"

We tell him of Ragesian advances and Steppengard forces.

"I received messages from my proxy. We are all ready to aid, but am unsure what Gallo is asking here."

Fafnir steps forward. "We believe it urgent that you read this letter, to know of his raided outposts, his murdered troops, and that Ragesians carried this." He hands the orders over.

The king's brows furrow. "This is bad. What will you do from here?"

We tell him we are for Timor, to remind her of her promise, and that a united front is vital to protect Dassen against Ragesia.

He nods. "I am not fan of Steppengard, and if he is too foolish to see that Ragesians cannot be trusted... this proves it."

"In the king's defense, he has not seen this letter. We hope that as his forces approach Gallo's Fend, there will be an opportunity to prove the cause."

"Are you the darling group they call The Quell? My proxy has told of your good works. I will have a thousand cavalry and two thousand shields ready to march on Gallo's Fend." He looks at his soldiers. "Cosgall, darling! Muster the men!"

"Beware the Pitchwood Forest," warns Fafnir. "The fey are guarding it, per the bearer of the Living Blade of Innenotdar."

"The Lady Timor is a lovely, darling woman. Give her my regards," says the king.

"You have men that know how to scale these cliffs," says Fafnir.

"I do. Send for Daloznod Earthcloak. He is a darling, darling Dwarf, and an expert climber. It's quite a trek, and you cannot take your horses. Are you experienced? It is noon now. Will you stay or leave now?"

Daloznod appears. "You surely need climber's kits. We will outfit you. We should go up the river, frozen as it is, then scale the Glasskeel cliffs. Don't worry, lads, I've got your back!" And he slaps Fafnir's backside with an overly familiar hand. "I practically grew up on the cliffs!"

Up the Glassteels​

[I swapped out the ape for this homebrew creature...and regretted it. My creature had no distance attacks and ended up getting killed before it closed with the party. Still not crazy about the ape though...]
Gazing up twenty-five hundred feet at the cliffs gives us pause, though I feel relaxed, almost elated. We are in mountainous terrain now, where I feel most comfortable.

Daloznod Earthcloak checks our gear. Fafnir has his Indominability, Trevor his Tide Reaver's Tear, which gets us to the first hundred-foot tier. Trevor misses a handhold and slides down, scraping ice and cursing. His boots help him absorb some of the battering. However, it alerts local beasts to our presence. Detritus can be seen on our ledge, including cattle bones.

Scuttling down toward us is a huge multilegged horror, something between a centipede and a spider. It is higher up the mountain, but is definitely approaching us. I lean back, gauge it to be around four hundred feet away, and send two arrows up to strike it. It has chitinous armor but not too thick to penetrate.

"An arachnopede!" mutters Daloznod. "Tough shell. Like a spider, it likes wrapping meals in cocoons. It can charge quick, so be ready." I rack my memory. I believe such creatures are immune to poison, have a nasty bite, and can throw webbing.

It begins rappelling down the cliff on strands of the aforementioned webbing, because it wasn't weird and disgusting enough a creature just clambering on a vertical cliff. It leaps across crevasses and slopes. Osnald and Viggo move back against the wall, unable to affect it from so far away.

I send two more arrows upward into the creature, almost slipping off the ledge until Osnald lends me some luck, and my arrow ends up planting firmly in its thorax.

Trevor, looking for a secure spot, notices what might be a large space on our ledge, perhaps a cave, obstructed by snow. Fafnir sees if he can move some of the snowpack away from it. We will soon determine if it reveals a horde of arachnopede babies or a defensible space. After a moment, movement is detected inside: multiple swarms of critters. Fafnir and Trevor rapidly repack the snow. "Fuckin' hell, what's in there?" (Arachnopede babies, like I said.)

Two more arrows. One bounces from its armor. I quickly down my last potion of climbing in case I need a climbing speed. Fafnir upcasts guiding bolt, lighting it up with holy light. Viggo and Trevor plug up the cave wall. Scratching sounds can be heard.

It stops to spit a strand of web at Fafnir but does not connect. With Nuada's light guiding me, two more arrows sprout from its insectoid head in response. Viggo mind slivers it. Fanir tolls the dead.

The monster flees, disappearing through a crevasse. There goes eight arrows. Angry, I run up the side of the wall, hook my boots in, and with another nudge of Osnald's luck send one last shaft into its thorax. It goes legs-up and flutters down the mountainside.

Fafnir chuckles and together we climb down to retrieve arrows and trophies from the creature. Six arrows survived the fall. We laboriously chop off parts and extract the poison glands for Viggo. Fafnir makes a necklace from mandible parts and gives it to me. "For you." "You're such a friend," I reply. After some time we emerge on the first shelf.

More Tea in Timor​

We resume climbing while Viggo levitates. Halfway up to the second ledge, I slip. The artificer catches me with feather fall but I take damage. We finally reach the top of the cliff and continue on foot, Lady Timor's castle visible ahead.


"Who goes there!" comes a voice. Daloznod answers, and a squad of guards brings us to Lady Timor.

"Welcome, adventurers. Are you those they call The Quell?"

"We are, my lady," Osnald bows. "We ask for aid on behalf of Gallo. To defend against foes."

"Which foes?"

"The danger is twofold. Steppengard. And Ragesia."




"Steppengard marches on Gallo, accusing it of treason, which is naughty word and bogus," Trevor says.

"You must be Trevor," Lady Timor muses. "You are a Strathmore, are you not?" He nods. "My family and yours have done business in the past."

"Hopefully on good terms, and we hope to be on good terms now. Gallo needs you."

She tells us that the Strathmores had once helped banish a demonic cult in nearby mountains. We reiterate that time is of the essence, and show her the proof of Ragesian aggression. She reads it and calls for her advisor. "What think you of this? Is it truthful?"

The aged counselor looks at it. Fafnir notices him casting a divination spell over it. "It is indeed a true document, my liege."

"We took it from a Ragesian Inquisitor within one of Gallo's outposts."

"These are indeed treacherous times, and I am sorrowful that our king is entrenched in poor decisions." She calls on Lord Fen Nirkav, who will send a division of mages, infantry, and cavalry, and Tupof Dzequifs, a xorn ally. "My proxy tells me that you helped promise magical training for Timor. It is a good idea, and we are grateful for it."

We are given drinks to warm ourselves, and are asked how we arrived so quickly.

"We climbed the cliffs," growls Fafnir. "And vanquished an arachnopede."

"I presume you prefer not to have to climb down," she says, and offers some of her wizards' spells to fly us down the next day. She puts us up in a well-appointed tower, within which we can see magical light. This place seems to rely on the arcane.

The Clever Wolf Inn, within the castle walls, offers relaxation and good food and drink, which we take advantage of. Osnald performs at the inn, giving such a performance that the locals will recall his presence for years to come. We drink and hear rumors.

Timor has magical items for sale, and with Trevor's gracious help I purchase a shortsword and a handaxe, feeling more confident in close range combat against such creatures as we've faced lately.

Back Down to Gallo, Threatened​

Lady Timor has her bevy of wizards cast fly on us all, and we descend the cliffs. Trevor and Osnald do not like heights, apparently, and had a difficult time keeping the contents of their stomachs inside them. We all, though, feel more experienced and capable with all the adventures we've had.

Duke Gallo is excited to hear our news of Timor's aid. "Excellent. We've already had word that Dashgoban's army should arrive at the Fend tomorrow. I've heard that Steppengard has reached the Pitchwood. We have emissaries there hoping to talk him out of this foolishness so we can concentrate on the real threat." We remember the pitchlings, and hope they are not harming them. "I'm unsure why Steppengard has taken so long to get here. Perhaps he was not as ready as we believed them to be. But we have had extra time to prepare."

We suspect our meetings with the various proxies had slowed the army's assembly. Duke Gallo also lets us know that he intends to support Seaquen, assuming his armies can survive the vise of Steppengard and Ragesia. We compare notes about the king, his advisor, and the goals of Dassen.

Fafnir suggests that if we attend the meeting of the armies in the Pitchwood, we might aid in convincing Steppengard to stop, especially if forces from other lands are present. I'm uncertain what role we should play, but then I'm no good with politics anyway. We also wonder if Nina Glibglammer might attempt a coup with all the armies absent. Perhaps we could contact someone in Bresk for news.

"One of my hopes was that you might aid us in sabotaging their siege machines inside the Pitchwood," Duke Gallo says. This is something we could do, since the parley is happening now between Steppengard's army and Gallo's representatives. It is two days' ride to the Pitchwood.

Back Down Farther to the Pitchwood, Pitchy​

Fleeing lines of people eye us as we ride. A sickly-looking soldier rides up to us. "Where are you going? People are heading to Gallo's Fend for protection. Don't you know there's an army invading from the south?"

"We're off to try to stop the army," we say, pretending it doesn't sound insane. "Or at least save some lives."

"Well, good luck then. The towns south of here are preparing." He moves off with the group.

The Pitchwood looms ahead as a wall of green. We break for camp near Middleton as evening approaches; Viggo casts a tiny hut for safety, and sends magical communication to Gallo. The response is that Nina has refused to parley. She's accompanying the army?

In the morning, more refugees are seen moving north. We enter the Pitchwood, and are quickly met by one of the pitchling fey.

"The bearer of the Living Blade! You've returned! We have not forgotten. We are prepared to fight these intruders in our lands."

"How can we assist?" asks Trevor. Nearby we see crosscrossing stakes the fey have set up, along with small ballistae that hurl balls of burning tar. Farther down the path are siege engines, dozens of them, pulled by horses and accompanied by mounted Breskian soldiers. We stand atop a long ridge, with openings at either end.

I run up to the ballista and introduce myself to Helgoria, the fey manning the device. I cast longstrider on Fafnir and Trevor to speed their way. Osnald gives us a motivational speech, making us feel stronger and luckier. Fafnir casts doom of dancing blades, and copies of Einherjar circle around him. Viggo casts dragon's breath on his owl.

Osnald begins the assault with a hypnotic pattern centered on the first catapult, causing confusion among the men and horses.


I send two arrows into the hindmost mounted soldier in a white shirt, wounding him through his half plate. Fafnir stomps down the hillside, propelled by longstride, and stops next to a tree, tolling the dead on the wounded horseman. The man seems to cast a healing spell on himself, and pulls his horse among the trees for cover. The other horsemen begin spurring their mounts up the hill toward the edge of the ridge. One pings a crossbow bolt off Fafnir.

Another tries to turn the catapult toward us. The fey next to me fires her balllista in response, missing the engine.


Trevor leaps from the brush and runs up to the first mounted soldier, swinging the Living Blade with hunter's mark, following with the shortsword, then another slash with the wooden blade.

Viggo's owl flies silently over the white-shirted soldier, breathing flame upon him. Viggo adds scorching rays, searing the soldier badly. The man slumps to the ground with a dull clang.

A fourth horseman gallops up to Trevor, swinging a battleaxe. Trevor winces, his boots helping to absorb the slashing damage. A fifth rushes up toward Fafnir's tree, a lance spearing toward him but missing.

These posts are absolutely massive, and I haven't read it all, but I need to comment that the picture of Gallo's Fend is outstanding. Where did you find that? I really wish that I had that when I ran it.