Against the Shadows VII - A Faded Glory Story Hour (Re-Updated - 5/17)
- Thread starter Old One
- Start date
WSmith said:
WSmith,
Where ya been, lad?!?
I AM working on the next .pdf installment (and next update), but the going is slow...most of my very limited "gaming-related activity" time is being eaten up by prepping for the Grim Tales/Black Company hybrid I am running for NC Game Day VII.
Thanks for stopping by and look for the next installment soonish...
~ OO
Session 26 (Part Three) - Of Traps and Bones and Unlikely Heroes
Hey Gang!
I know it has been a while (1 month to be exact)...so I thought it time for another update
! I hope the two readers still hanging around this dusty tome enjoy 
!
~ OO
Of Traps and Bones and Unlikely Heroes
She watched the action with hooded eyes, searching for a face, a familiar face, a once-beloved face. She idly noted that the leading rank of the zombies and skeletons where marching up the steps of the dais. Axe and sword flashed, scattering undead remains. Her eyes flicked up and to the right.
Her mistress soared above the fray, speaking in guttural tones. A sickly greenish-black ray streaked toward the small knot of struggling humans. She couldn’t see the impact point and shrugged away any concern over its effects. An audible sigh of relief escaped her lips as she convinced herself he wasn’t there. His diminutive brother, however, was.
She noted with dispassionate detachment his struggle to defend himself against a zombie and pair of skeletons. An ear-splitting shout heralded the arrival of her mistress’s undead captain – and lover - into the fray. Barely a shiver ran down her well-conditioned spine as his fear magic followed his bellowed challenge. A more vital shudder momentarily gripped her as she pictured the pair together. She fully understood the hypnotic draw of un-death, but she most definitely had her limits.
She unsheathed a rune-covered wand and pointed it towards their living foes. Words of Power reached her pursed lips and stopped, suspended by indecision. The dream of the previous night came cascading back – vivid and overpowering. The whispered promise of power and position and rising favor in the service of Shadow hammered against her senses. Her mistress had been careless, whispered the voice. Years of planning and preparation negated over failing to safeguard the sacrifice. She had failed and failure had its price.
Abigail, former lover of Quintus, one-time miner of Glynden and willing servant of Shadow narrowed her eyes and set her jaw with the firmness of an irrevocable decision. She slowly slid the wand back into its sheath and began to unfurl a tattered parchment scroll.
Cragen cursed and struggled, caught like a great dwarven fish on an oversized fishing line. The ballista team reeled him inexorably towards the edge of the dais as the unholy zombie head burrowed deeper into his flesh. Even the cleric’s stout legs could not overcome the superior mechanical leverage.
Rowan surmised his companion’s predicament in a nonce and shifted to his left, bringing the Old Man’s sword down on the intestinal sinew. Once. Twice. Thrice. The line parted with the third blow and Cragen staggered backwards and nearly fell with the sudden release of tension. Stubby fingers dug into his torso as he wrenched the burrowing head from his hide and flung it from him. It skittered across the dais, snapping and foaming.
As he attempted to focus on something other than the blood seeping from the raw wound, Cragen felt vile sorcery wash over him. Sickly greenish-black washed over him, but his superior constitution, innate dwarven toughness and faith in Moradin prevented the power-stealing magic from affecting him.
“Cragen!” Sextus gasped as half-a-dozen zombie hands sought to rend him asunder. “We need you!”
The battered cleric responded, lifting hammer and shield and intoning Moradin’s holy name. Violet light bathed the area, piercing zombie and skeleton alike. A dozen of the enemy disintegrated, the foul magic holding their unnatural bodies together overcome by Cragen’s faith. It bought the companions a few precious moments, allowing healing potions to be quaffed before two enemies closed in for every one destroyed.
“Courage, my friends.” Sextus called and his deep baritone rose above the screech of bony nails on steel shield. A rousing ballad of Old Emor echoed through the pulsating chamber and hope infused the flagging spirits of the embattled band.
(DM’s Note: I have been amazed throughout this campaign on how often Bardic Song has tipped the scales in the party’s favor. The bonuses aren’t big, but can make a huge impact!)
Röse, Rowan and Sextus struck again and again as Cragen’s holy wrath burned through rank after rank of their enemies. Rowan’s faint hope of prevailing against the overwhelming odds evaporated as Cragen staggered under the impact of another greenish-black bolt and the undead Captain ascended the dais and attacked Röse with his black sword and terrible shout. Hope rekindled as all held firm and rebuffed the clawing fear engendered by the enemy champion.
The Brigante deflected the first assault and a feral grin split his face as he let his spirit go to the wild place within. He didn’t even notice the snapping zombie-headed ballista missile that sailed a mere hand’s breadth behind his head.
“You are mine!” The barbarian shouted as the rage took him. He rained blows on the armored warrior, forcing the fearsome figure back one step, and then another.
The short necromancer pulled into a momentary hover above the fray and cursed under her breath. The holy power of the dwarf was decimating her rank and file and her undead artillery team hadn’t hit a thing after their initial success. Her champion was momentarily thwarted and the expected spell support from her understudy had yet to materialize. She railed silently against incompetent help as her eyes swept the pulsating green shadows. She turned, focusing her anger and bitterness on the cleric, muttering to herself. “With him gone, the others are carrion.”
She nosed over into a shallow dive, sweeping towards the melee and extending her wand as she swooped towards point-blank range. She screamed as the magic holding her aloft wavered and dissipated, along with many of her protective wards. She hurtled a spear’s length above the vicious battle atop the dais and careened into the rear rank of skeletons before smashing into the stitched-skin floor. She tumbled end-over-end thrice before coming to rest on her back. The impact had winded her badly and she lay helpless, gasping for air like a fish out of water.
In the shadows, a twisted grin of triumph spread over Abigail’s face as the scroll crumbled in her trembling hands. Both hands dropped involuntarily to the slight rise of her belly as she exulted in her mistress’s fall. The promise of the dream would come true! She quickly gathered her wits and began moving.
Sextus’s sharp eyes caught the necromancer’s fall. He noted the trajectory and only hesitated a grain or two before leaping forward. “Cover me,” he called as he ran towards their fallen foe, weaving and dodging through outstretched skeletal and zombie claws.
Cragen shifted his holy power, blasting a path for the bard with Moradin’s violet light. Sextus skipped under out-stretched claw and around grasping zombie hands, shifting his gladius so the honed point lined up with the necromancer’s head. Intent on finishing their tormentor, the younger Scipio failed to give a flailing zombie a wide enough berth. A fist of rotting flesh smashed into his temple.
He spun away from the vicious blow and landed in a crumpled heap next to the necromancer. Barely conscious and seeing double, the bard struggled to his knees just as the necromancer moaned and rolled onto her side. Black eyes fixed on the bard’s face as he drew back his blade. He lunged for her throat…and missed. She somehow twisted aside at the last possible grain and Sextus’s sword opened a narrow gash along her cheek instead of slicing through her jugular. The bard’s consciousness cried out as he faded into black, “N-o-o-o-o-o…”
(DM’s Note: Once again, Sextus is writing checks his body can’t cash. His brave dash through the enemy hordes to finish the necromancer left him disabled with one action left. Although quaffing a healing draught might have made sense, Sextus followed his bold spirit and went for the deathblow. Oops…)
The necromancer struggled to hear knees and regarded the comatose bard with a mixture of fury and glee. A quick glance towards the battle main told her that no one would get there in time. She deliberately pushed the sleeves up her chunky forearms and being to intone black, vicious words. Her hands darkened visibly as she placed them on Sextus’s chest. His body bucked spasmodically as she began to feed on his life force. She screamed with joy.
“I will triumph yet!”
To Be Continued…
Next: Session 26 (Part Four) - So Many Choices…All of them Bad
Hey Gang!
I know it has been a while (1 month to be exact)...so I thought it time for another update
! I hope the two readers still hanging around this dusty tome enjoy !~ OO
Of Traps and Bones and Unlikely Heroes
She watched the action with hooded eyes, searching for a face, a familiar face, a once-beloved face. She idly noted that the leading rank of the zombies and skeletons where marching up the steps of the dais. Axe and sword flashed, scattering undead remains. Her eyes flicked up and to the right.
Her mistress soared above the fray, speaking in guttural tones. A sickly greenish-black ray streaked toward the small knot of struggling humans. She couldn’t see the impact point and shrugged away any concern over its effects. An audible sigh of relief escaped her lips as she convinced herself he wasn’t there. His diminutive brother, however, was.
She noted with dispassionate detachment his struggle to defend himself against a zombie and pair of skeletons. An ear-splitting shout heralded the arrival of her mistress’s undead captain – and lover - into the fray. Barely a shiver ran down her well-conditioned spine as his fear magic followed his bellowed challenge. A more vital shudder momentarily gripped her as she pictured the pair together. She fully understood the hypnotic draw of un-death, but she most definitely had her limits.
She unsheathed a rune-covered wand and pointed it towards their living foes. Words of Power reached her pursed lips and stopped, suspended by indecision. The dream of the previous night came cascading back – vivid and overpowering. The whispered promise of power and position and rising favor in the service of Shadow hammered against her senses. Her mistress had been careless, whispered the voice. Years of planning and preparation negated over failing to safeguard the sacrifice. She had failed and failure had its price.
Abigail, former lover of Quintus, one-time miner of Glynden and willing servant of Shadow narrowed her eyes and set her jaw with the firmness of an irrevocable decision. She slowly slid the wand back into its sheath and began to unfurl a tattered parchment scroll.
Cragen cursed and struggled, caught like a great dwarven fish on an oversized fishing line. The ballista team reeled him inexorably towards the edge of the dais as the unholy zombie head burrowed deeper into his flesh. Even the cleric’s stout legs could not overcome the superior mechanical leverage.
Rowan surmised his companion’s predicament in a nonce and shifted to his left, bringing the Old Man’s sword down on the intestinal sinew. Once. Twice. Thrice. The line parted with the third blow and Cragen staggered backwards and nearly fell with the sudden release of tension. Stubby fingers dug into his torso as he wrenched the burrowing head from his hide and flung it from him. It skittered across the dais, snapping and foaming.
As he attempted to focus on something other than the blood seeping from the raw wound, Cragen felt vile sorcery wash over him. Sickly greenish-black washed over him, but his superior constitution, innate dwarven toughness and faith in Moradin prevented the power-stealing magic from affecting him.
“Cragen!” Sextus gasped as half-a-dozen zombie hands sought to rend him asunder. “We need you!”
The battered cleric responded, lifting hammer and shield and intoning Moradin’s holy name. Violet light bathed the area, piercing zombie and skeleton alike. A dozen of the enemy disintegrated, the foul magic holding their unnatural bodies together overcome by Cragen’s faith. It bought the companions a few precious moments, allowing healing potions to be quaffed before two enemies closed in for every one destroyed.
“Courage, my friends.” Sextus called and his deep baritone rose above the screech of bony nails on steel shield. A rousing ballad of Old Emor echoed through the pulsating chamber and hope infused the flagging spirits of the embattled band.
(DM’s Note: I have been amazed throughout this campaign on how often Bardic Song has tipped the scales in the party’s favor. The bonuses aren’t big, but can make a huge impact!)
Röse, Rowan and Sextus struck again and again as Cragen’s holy wrath burned through rank after rank of their enemies. Rowan’s faint hope of prevailing against the overwhelming odds evaporated as Cragen staggered under the impact of another greenish-black bolt and the undead Captain ascended the dais and attacked Röse with his black sword and terrible shout. Hope rekindled as all held firm and rebuffed the clawing fear engendered by the enemy champion.
The Brigante deflected the first assault and a feral grin split his face as he let his spirit go to the wild place within. He didn’t even notice the snapping zombie-headed ballista missile that sailed a mere hand’s breadth behind his head.
“You are mine!” The barbarian shouted as the rage took him. He rained blows on the armored warrior, forcing the fearsome figure back one step, and then another.
The short necromancer pulled into a momentary hover above the fray and cursed under her breath. The holy power of the dwarf was decimating her rank and file and her undead artillery team hadn’t hit a thing after their initial success. Her champion was momentarily thwarted and the expected spell support from her understudy had yet to materialize. She railed silently against incompetent help as her eyes swept the pulsating green shadows. She turned, focusing her anger and bitterness on the cleric, muttering to herself. “With him gone, the others are carrion.”
She nosed over into a shallow dive, sweeping towards the melee and extending her wand as she swooped towards point-blank range. She screamed as the magic holding her aloft wavered and dissipated, along with many of her protective wards. She hurtled a spear’s length above the vicious battle atop the dais and careened into the rear rank of skeletons before smashing into the stitched-skin floor. She tumbled end-over-end thrice before coming to rest on her back. The impact had winded her badly and she lay helpless, gasping for air like a fish out of water.
In the shadows, a twisted grin of triumph spread over Abigail’s face as the scroll crumbled in her trembling hands. Both hands dropped involuntarily to the slight rise of her belly as she exulted in her mistress’s fall. The promise of the dream would come true! She quickly gathered her wits and began moving.
Sextus’s sharp eyes caught the necromancer’s fall. He noted the trajectory and only hesitated a grain or two before leaping forward. “Cover me,” he called as he ran towards their fallen foe, weaving and dodging through outstretched skeletal and zombie claws.
Cragen shifted his holy power, blasting a path for the bard with Moradin’s violet light. Sextus skipped under out-stretched claw and around grasping zombie hands, shifting his gladius so the honed point lined up with the necromancer’s head. Intent on finishing their tormentor, the younger Scipio failed to give a flailing zombie a wide enough berth. A fist of rotting flesh smashed into his temple.
He spun away from the vicious blow and landed in a crumpled heap next to the necromancer. Barely conscious and seeing double, the bard struggled to his knees just as the necromancer moaned and rolled onto her side. Black eyes fixed on the bard’s face as he drew back his blade. He lunged for her throat…and missed. She somehow twisted aside at the last possible grain and Sextus’s sword opened a narrow gash along her cheek instead of slicing through her jugular. The bard’s consciousness cried out as he faded into black, “N-o-o-o-o-o…”
(DM’s Note: Once again, Sextus is writing checks his body can’t cash. His brave dash through the enemy hordes to finish the necromancer left him disabled with one action left. Although quaffing a healing draught might have made sense, Sextus followed his bold spirit and went for the deathblow. Oops…)
The necromancer struggled to hear knees and regarded the comatose bard with a mixture of fury and glee. A quick glance towards the battle main told her that no one would get there in time. She deliberately pushed the sleeves up her chunky forearms and being to intone black, vicious words. Her hands darkened visibly as she placed them on Sextus’s chest. His body bucked spasmodically as she began to feed on his life force. She screamed with joy.
“I will triumph yet!”
To Be Continued…
Next: Session 26 (Part Four) - So Many Choices…All of them Bad
Lela
First Post
Ouch, me thinks we've lost Sextus. Did he get/use a hero point for that?
I've got to say, though, I think Cregan is fast becoming my favorite character. He's just the saving grace of the party at every turn. You get the feeling that with 3 more like him, this would be a whole lot easier.
[Sorry for the delay. Miner return of the eye infection of doom; not a whole lot of SH reading going on.]
I've got to say, though, I think Cregan is fast becoming my favorite character. He's just the saving grace of the party at every turn. You get the feeling that with 3 more like him, this would be a whole lot easier.
[Sorry for the delay. Miner return of the eye infection of doom; not a whole lot of SH reading going on.]
Rel
Liquid Awesome
Gah! I knew that I'd forgotten something. I got the notice of this update earlier in the week when I was busy with work and then it promptly got buried.
I gotta agree with Lela about Cragen. He's tough, makes his saving throws and never seems to quite run out of hit points. He feels like the fulcrum the rest of the party turns on these days.
I gotta agree with Lela about Cragen. He's tough, makes his saving throws and never seems to quite run out of hit points. He feels like the fulcrum the rest of the party turns on these days.
Graywolf-ELM
Explorer
Oh man, another cliff hanger. You're killing me here.
GW
GW
Lela said:
Lela,
Thanks for droppin' by...hope you didn't have too much trouble focusing
! Did you have conjunctivitis? That is a major pain in the...eye ! Hope you are feeling better.With Quintus's absence, Cragen has sorta become the solid "base" of the party. Of course, it also helps that he is an undead turning machine (Extra Turning x2), so the current predicament really lets him shine.
As to Sextus's fate...that will be revealed soon
! I can't remember if we had hero points instituted at this point, but I rarely give them out during play (although I should have here). Plus, me earlier incarnation of hero points wasn't very good...the release of Grim Tales and it's approach led to major changes in the action point/hero point structure.More soon...
~ Old One
Rel said:
Rel,
Ola! Understand the playtest game went well this weekend...looking forward to lots o' Martian butt-kicking on the 23rd.
Not to foreshadow too much...but there is an upcoming episode where Cragen has...um...difficulty with saving throws...lots of difficulty!
~ OO
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