Against the Shadows VII - A Faded Glory Story Hour (Re-Updated - 5/17)
- Thread starter Old One
- Start date
Tramp4life
First Post
Darklone said:Pst Cragen, German beer for spoilers?
I believe I can be talked into that deal, but Old One has a greater gift for prose. You'll likely get more pleasure from his rendition!
However I will give you this...
"A dragon came down, FROM THE SKY"
TFL
BTW, Old One, we can keep mind flayers out of this game for as long as you like!
DethStryke
Explorer
Tramp4life said:"A dragon came down, FROM THE SKY"
*hand motions emphatically towards the clouds, thrusting with each word* From the SKY!
Tramp4life said:
I second that motion!
Blood and Ashes
Unfortunately, Quintus could clearly see his doom approaching. The mangy-furred gnoll pulled itself onto the roof, slide the heavy dirk from its mouth and ran a black tongue across its yellowed teeth before softly snarling. It covered the eight paces to the paralyzed sorcerer in two quick bounds, bringing the blade in line with Quintus’s jugular.
Foul breath washed across the elder Scipio’s nose, “Goodbyez, dead manz!”
A blur of black and white hit the gnoll’s face and sent it hurtling off the roof. The dog-man screamed once, holding its savaged face with both paws, before meeting the pavement with a sickening crunch. Severus flapped away, a gnoll eyeball dangling in one talon. The remaining gnoll at the foundation of the house snapped an arrow at the osprey as it climbed for altitude, but the shot went wide. The gnoll creeping towards Rowan paused and looked towards the cause of the ruckus.
Quintus, mentally straining against his magical bonds, nearly fell off the roof as the magic ceased. A grim smile creased his bloody lips as he began calling on his magic.
Optio Bato, Emorian Legionnaire, shook his head in wonder. His charge, Junior Tribune Metallus, was not quite the poof he had imagined. After his initial shock, the young officer had taken to the slaughter with earnest zeal. The pair used their scutii, gladii and close-fighting tactics to good effect against the strong, but reckless gnolls. Humans and halflings alike rallied around the Emorians, holding the wagon wall against the enemy.
Cragen gasped as another blow from the Shaman’s club hammered through his defenses. His return strike missed as the gnoll nimbly danced aside. ‘This is nae goin’ so well,’ the dwarf thought grimly, before he hefted his hammer and tried to get in under his larger opponent’s reach once more.
Behind him, Drusilla lost her uneven battle with several gnolls and slumped atop Sextus’s still form, bleeding badly from a head wound. The dwarf caught her fall in his peripheral vision and whispered a silent prayer to Moradin before calling a thick mist into being, partially sheltering himself, Drusilla and Sextus from view. The gnoll Shaman cursed and crouched low, sniffing the air. He grinned and began to creep towards Cragen’s distinct smell.
The contest between Skilorn and Röse continued to attract unwanted attention. Survivors from the first gnollish column, scouts and snipers filtered through the ruins to watch their leader crush the human. Soon, close to a score of the dog-men circled the battling pair, yipping and yowling. The Brigante landed several glancing blows, but the bandit chief was much fresher and shrugged them off. His return cuts were powerful and precise. Röse was soon staggering under the unrelenting attack and quickly tiring from his numerous wounds.
For the second time in ten turns of the minute glass, Rowan was glad the Shaman’s paralyzing magic extended to his bladder. His unblinking eyes watched the approach of the gnoll’s serrated knife with detached fascination. ‘I sure hope the others make it,’ he thought glumly as the blade was drawn back.
Severus wheeled above the smoke and chaos, tucked his wings and plummeted earthward. Quintus felt the elation of his familiar as the dexterous bird easily avoided the gnoll’s clumsy shot and raked the unfortunate creatures head, opening bloody furrows. The sorcerer mirrored that feeling as magic missiles sprang from his outstretched hands, hammering the gnoll standing before Rowan in the back. The dog-man yelped in pain and fell into the ranger. Both crashed to the ground.
Cragen and the Shaman collided in the mist. Both struck out and both connected. The dwarf gasped, “I canna’ take much more o’ this…by Moradin’s light!”
He focused and swung his hammer. A violet light flared briefly about the head of the weapon as it cut through the mist and struck the Shaman in the forehead. The creature’s skull surrendered with a thunderous crack and it fell to the pavement. Cragen dropped to one knee and split the unmoving gnoll’s head like an overripe melon with a final blow.
(DM’s Note: Cragen’s hammer is a bonded weapon. It allows him to “smite” 1/day.)
Röse paused for a moment and shook the blood and sweat from his eyes like a cur shedding water from an unwanted rain. Through the haze of his rage, he was distantly aware of the yapping laughter of the gnolls, of the acrid smoke that burned his lungs and the fact that he stood alone. He pushed all peripheral awareness from his mind as Skilorn bellowed and launched another attack. All his being was focused on the thin lip of the gnoll’s axe as it cut through the air towards his head. Three words resounded in his addled brain, ‘Not…Quick…Enough.’
A gust of wind blew a column of stinging smoke past Quintus, temporarily blocking his view of Rowan and his tormentor. He cursed and directed his anger at the remaining gnoll below him. Already wounded from Severus’s attack, the creature pawed at its quiver, attempting to notch another arrow. The sorcerer ended the gnoll’s attempt with another barrage of arcane missiles.
Sensation returned to Rowan and the ranger found his mouth filled with flea-ridden gnoll fur. Sputtering and spitting, he crawled from under his mortally wounded mortal enemy and sank the Old Man’s blade deep into its throat. He quickly gathered up his bow, notched an arrow and went gnoll hunting.
Skilorn’s attack passed close enough to Röse’s head to buss his cheek with a metallic kiss. The bandit chief staggered forward, following the force of his blow. The Brigante pivoted on groaning legs and whipped his own axe around with the last of his fading strength. The blade hit the huge gnoll at the juncture of neck and shoulder, shearing through Skilorn’s upper torso before lodging his breastbone. The gnoll dropped without so much as a whimper and lay still. After a moment of stunned silence, howls of dismay rent the air and the pack surged toward the tottering barbarian.
(DM’s Note: Great Axe + Raging Barbarian + Critical = Dead Bandit Chieftain
!)
Quintus gauged distance, height and blast area in the blink of an eye and left fly. Two in three of the charging gnoll pack were engulfed in a whirling fireball. Those that escaped incineration ran yowling through the ruins, pawing at burning fur. Those unhurt by the magical fire abandoned revenge for self-preservation and retreated with all possible haste. The survivors of the battle before the laager joined the retreat and the tattered remnants of Skilorn’s once formidable bandit force were soon in headlong flight. Röse swayed on unsteady feet and then his eyes rolled up into his head as he collapsed across the ruined carcass of Skilorn.
Rowan managed to drop a few with arrow fire before they passed out of range. Quintus, after assuring Severus that he was fine, set the osprey to wing to survey the countryside before climbing down to find his brother. Cragen dismissed the magical mist and busied himself with his injured companions. To his astonishment, Sextus, Drusilla and Röse all lived, although none would be dancing a jig anytime soon. The barbarian’s exertion had nearly cost him his life, but Cragen was sure the reckless youth would live to fight another day.
Bato and Junior Tribune Metallus limped from behind the wagon wall. The broadness of the young Emorian’s triumphant smile contrasted sharply with his soot stained face. The taciturn Optio allowed himself the briefest of smiles. A broad-shouldered human warrior, clad in Lorica Hamata with a bloody bandage around his head, followed the Emorians. He reached the group just as Rowan and Quintus jogged up.
The man smiled an ironic smile and fixed the elder Scipio with a penetrating gaze. Half-a-dozen emotions played across his face before he slowly extended his hand to Quintus. Quintus regarded the proffered hand for several grains before grasping it in return. “Many thanks, Scipio.”
Tomas “The Bull” Nacalius released the sorcerer’s hand and spun on his heel, stalking back towards the jumble of wagons. Quintus and Rowan shared a knowing smile. Cragen looked at the pair and shook his head, muttering in dwarven, “Humans!”
(DM’s Note: Tomas “The Bull” Nacalius is a childhood friend of the Scipio brothers and a member of the “Swords of Glynden”, a rival adventuring group. They had a falling out several years ago and rarely speak. Tensions are even greater now that one of the other members of the “Swords” has taken Quintus’s and Sextus’s oldest sister to be his concubine. Saving the “Swords” collective rear-ends was sweet justice.)
The survivors of the caravan began coming out to thank their saviors. Many of the halfling merchants were most thankful, Ollandia Battenhorn chief among them. The companions that were conscious humbly accepted the recognition and set about trying to bring a semblance of order to the chaos.
(DM’s Note: Quintus tried, unsuccessfully, to form a trade partnership with Ollandia’s father prior to leaving Oar. His chances might be a bit better now!)
Quintus’s head snapped to the south as he felt a surge of emotion from Severus. The sorcerer’s jaw dropped and his eyes narrowed. Rowan followed his friend’s gaze and his heart sank. A crescent-shaped line of gnolls, clad in brown leather and green cloaks, was descending purposefully from the southern heights above Greenspires. Enormous wolves on chain leashes, preceded most. Weak cries of alarm rose about the square as the weary defenders prepared for battle once more.
To Be Continued…
Next: Session 22 (Part Six) – Mysteries and Explanations
~ Old One
Unfortunately, Quintus could clearly see his doom approaching. The mangy-furred gnoll pulled itself onto the roof, slide the heavy dirk from its mouth and ran a black tongue across its yellowed teeth before softly snarling. It covered the eight paces to the paralyzed sorcerer in two quick bounds, bringing the blade in line with Quintus’s jugular.
Foul breath washed across the elder Scipio’s nose, “Goodbyez, dead manz!”
A blur of black and white hit the gnoll’s face and sent it hurtling off the roof. The dog-man screamed once, holding its savaged face with both paws, before meeting the pavement with a sickening crunch. Severus flapped away, a gnoll eyeball dangling in one talon. The remaining gnoll at the foundation of the house snapped an arrow at the osprey as it climbed for altitude, but the shot went wide. The gnoll creeping towards Rowan paused and looked towards the cause of the ruckus.
Quintus, mentally straining against his magical bonds, nearly fell off the roof as the magic ceased. A grim smile creased his bloody lips as he began calling on his magic.
Optio Bato, Emorian Legionnaire, shook his head in wonder. His charge, Junior Tribune Metallus, was not quite the poof he had imagined. After his initial shock, the young officer had taken to the slaughter with earnest zeal. The pair used their scutii, gladii and close-fighting tactics to good effect against the strong, but reckless gnolls. Humans and halflings alike rallied around the Emorians, holding the wagon wall against the enemy.
Cragen gasped as another blow from the Shaman’s club hammered through his defenses. His return strike missed as the gnoll nimbly danced aside. ‘This is nae goin’ so well,’ the dwarf thought grimly, before he hefted his hammer and tried to get in under his larger opponent’s reach once more.
Behind him, Drusilla lost her uneven battle with several gnolls and slumped atop Sextus’s still form, bleeding badly from a head wound. The dwarf caught her fall in his peripheral vision and whispered a silent prayer to Moradin before calling a thick mist into being, partially sheltering himself, Drusilla and Sextus from view. The gnoll Shaman cursed and crouched low, sniffing the air. He grinned and began to creep towards Cragen’s distinct smell.
The contest between Skilorn and Röse continued to attract unwanted attention. Survivors from the first gnollish column, scouts and snipers filtered through the ruins to watch their leader crush the human. Soon, close to a score of the dog-men circled the battling pair, yipping and yowling. The Brigante landed several glancing blows, but the bandit chief was much fresher and shrugged them off. His return cuts were powerful and precise. Röse was soon staggering under the unrelenting attack and quickly tiring from his numerous wounds.
For the second time in ten turns of the minute glass, Rowan was glad the Shaman’s paralyzing magic extended to his bladder. His unblinking eyes watched the approach of the gnoll’s serrated knife with detached fascination. ‘I sure hope the others make it,’ he thought glumly as the blade was drawn back.
Severus wheeled above the smoke and chaos, tucked his wings and plummeted earthward. Quintus felt the elation of his familiar as the dexterous bird easily avoided the gnoll’s clumsy shot and raked the unfortunate creatures head, opening bloody furrows. The sorcerer mirrored that feeling as magic missiles sprang from his outstretched hands, hammering the gnoll standing before Rowan in the back. The dog-man yelped in pain and fell into the ranger. Both crashed to the ground.
Cragen and the Shaman collided in the mist. Both struck out and both connected. The dwarf gasped, “I canna’ take much more o’ this…by Moradin’s light!”
He focused and swung his hammer. A violet light flared briefly about the head of the weapon as it cut through the mist and struck the Shaman in the forehead. The creature’s skull surrendered with a thunderous crack and it fell to the pavement. Cragen dropped to one knee and split the unmoving gnoll’s head like an overripe melon with a final blow.
(DM’s Note: Cragen’s hammer is a bonded weapon. It allows him to “smite” 1/day.)
Röse paused for a moment and shook the blood and sweat from his eyes like a cur shedding water from an unwanted rain. Through the haze of his rage, he was distantly aware of the yapping laughter of the gnolls, of the acrid smoke that burned his lungs and the fact that he stood alone. He pushed all peripheral awareness from his mind as Skilorn bellowed and launched another attack. All his being was focused on the thin lip of the gnoll’s axe as it cut through the air towards his head. Three words resounded in his addled brain, ‘Not…Quick…Enough.’
A gust of wind blew a column of stinging smoke past Quintus, temporarily blocking his view of Rowan and his tormentor. He cursed and directed his anger at the remaining gnoll below him. Already wounded from Severus’s attack, the creature pawed at its quiver, attempting to notch another arrow. The sorcerer ended the gnoll’s attempt with another barrage of arcane missiles.
Sensation returned to Rowan and the ranger found his mouth filled with flea-ridden gnoll fur. Sputtering and spitting, he crawled from under his mortally wounded mortal enemy and sank the Old Man’s blade deep into its throat. He quickly gathered up his bow, notched an arrow and went gnoll hunting.
Skilorn’s attack passed close enough to Röse’s head to buss his cheek with a metallic kiss. The bandit chief staggered forward, following the force of his blow. The Brigante pivoted on groaning legs and whipped his own axe around with the last of his fading strength. The blade hit the huge gnoll at the juncture of neck and shoulder, shearing through Skilorn’s upper torso before lodging his breastbone. The gnoll dropped without so much as a whimper and lay still. After a moment of stunned silence, howls of dismay rent the air and the pack surged toward the tottering barbarian.
(DM’s Note: Great Axe + Raging Barbarian + Critical = Dead Bandit Chieftain
!)Quintus gauged distance, height and blast area in the blink of an eye and left fly. Two in three of the charging gnoll pack were engulfed in a whirling fireball. Those that escaped incineration ran yowling through the ruins, pawing at burning fur. Those unhurt by the magical fire abandoned revenge for self-preservation and retreated with all possible haste. The survivors of the battle before the laager joined the retreat and the tattered remnants of Skilorn’s once formidable bandit force were soon in headlong flight. Röse swayed on unsteady feet and then his eyes rolled up into his head as he collapsed across the ruined carcass of Skilorn.
Rowan managed to drop a few with arrow fire before they passed out of range. Quintus, after assuring Severus that he was fine, set the osprey to wing to survey the countryside before climbing down to find his brother. Cragen dismissed the magical mist and busied himself with his injured companions. To his astonishment, Sextus, Drusilla and Röse all lived, although none would be dancing a jig anytime soon. The barbarian’s exertion had nearly cost him his life, but Cragen was sure the reckless youth would live to fight another day.
Bato and Junior Tribune Metallus limped from behind the wagon wall. The broadness of the young Emorian’s triumphant smile contrasted sharply with his soot stained face. The taciturn Optio allowed himself the briefest of smiles. A broad-shouldered human warrior, clad in Lorica Hamata with a bloody bandage around his head, followed the Emorians. He reached the group just as Rowan and Quintus jogged up.
The man smiled an ironic smile and fixed the elder Scipio with a penetrating gaze. Half-a-dozen emotions played across his face before he slowly extended his hand to Quintus. Quintus regarded the proffered hand for several grains before grasping it in return. “Many thanks, Scipio.”
Tomas “The Bull” Nacalius released the sorcerer’s hand and spun on his heel, stalking back towards the jumble of wagons. Quintus and Rowan shared a knowing smile. Cragen looked at the pair and shook his head, muttering in dwarven, “Humans!”
(DM’s Note: Tomas “The Bull” Nacalius is a childhood friend of the Scipio brothers and a member of the “Swords of Glynden”, a rival adventuring group. They had a falling out several years ago and rarely speak. Tensions are even greater now that one of the other members of the “Swords” has taken Quintus’s and Sextus’s oldest sister to be his concubine. Saving the “Swords” collective rear-ends was sweet justice.)
The survivors of the caravan began coming out to thank their saviors. Many of the halfling merchants were most thankful, Ollandia Battenhorn chief among them. The companions that were conscious humbly accepted the recognition and set about trying to bring a semblance of order to the chaos.
(DM’s Note: Quintus tried, unsuccessfully, to form a trade partnership with Ollandia’s father prior to leaving Oar. His chances might be a bit better now
!)Quintus’s head snapped to the south as he felt a surge of emotion from Severus. The sorcerer’s jaw dropped and his eyes narrowed. Rowan followed his friend’s gaze and his heart sank. A crescent-shaped line of gnolls, clad in brown leather and green cloaks, was descending purposefully from the southern heights above Greenspires. Enormous wolves on chain leashes, preceded most. Weak cries of alarm rose about the square as the weary defenders prepared for battle once more.
To Be Continued…
Next: Session 22 (Part Six) – Mysteries and Explanations
~ Old One
Last edited:
Gnolls everywhere. Rowan hates gnolls.
Worse ... a fresh army of gnolls between us and our expensive new horses. Rowan got the wise idea of going to get the horses only to see the fresh army of gnolls approaching in battle lines. Sharp, coordinated battle lines.
Rowan hates gnolls.
Then Rowan gets the wise idea to do something plum crazy with a battle souvenir quintus had planned to keep.
*shudder*
Worse ... a fresh army of gnolls between us and our expensive new horses. Rowan got the wise idea of going to get the horses only to see the fresh army of gnolls approaching in battle lines. Sharp, coordinated battle lines.
Rowan hates gnolls.
Then Rowan gets the wise idea to do something plum crazy with a battle souvenir quintus had planned to keep.
*shudder*
Broccli_Head
Explorer
Truly Awesome Skirmish Old One!
How lucky were the PCs or was it just a case of the RBDM losing his edge?
How lucky were the PCs or was it just a case of the RBDM losing his edge?
Tramp4life
First Post
Broccli_Head said:Truly Awesome Skirmish Old One!
How lucky were the PCs or was it just a case of the RBDM losing his edge?
The RBDM actually made it sound like we won this fight!
OK, technically, we did win that skirmish, but MAN, it's not like we really won.
We are all beaten (badly); all but done with spells (read very little healing left (Cragen) and no fireballs or Magic Missiles (Quintus)). Add to that, we see a fresh group of gnolls coming around, and these don't seem disheveled. They are organized and disciplined looking. We were about to die...AGAIN
The Swords were going to be no help because they had been fighting since well before we "saved" them...they were whooped! Our group was down more than half HP--and that was AFTER I spend most of my healing putting them back together!
Our horses (Cragen has a gelding pony named Jeweles) are far enough away that we can't get to them to make an escape. And, we can't leave anyway because we'd be leaving the Swords and the remainer of the caravan to certain doom........
And, I hope I get this part right...Add to that that when we look around for Rowan, he's no where near us! Rowan decided that he hates Gnolls enough (The Ranger's chosen enemy I believe) that he goes up to the group like the Outlaw Josie Wales approaching the Indians with his bow out and drew a line in the sand. And, THAT'S just about where the RBDM decides to stop for the day!
Talk about your emotional sessions!
TFL
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