High Cleric
First Post
Just keep it up and I won't be Curin yer Critical Wounds... 
Barrow of the Forgotten Story Hour - Complete! 8/13/08
Keepin' the Cure Light on tap.
*Sniff, Sniff.*
No, must be something on your end, better check your electrical connections.
So I expect we'll finish up Sinister Spire and possibly start Module #3 (whose title shall remain unmentioned in case the players haven't already looked it up) on Weds.
As one who likes to create/print maps for ease of use and speed of play, just let me say, getting the maps ready for Mod #3 really sucked and I'm not done yet. I still have 3 more areas to finish (and I'm doing them all the quick and lazy way).
Peteinmaine said:
*Sniff, Sniff.*
No, must be something on your end, better check your electrical connections.
So I expect we'll finish up Sinister Spire and possibly start Module #3 (whose title shall remain unmentioned in case the players haven't already looked it up) on Weds.
As one who likes to create/print maps for ease of use and speed of play, just let me say, getting the maps ready for Mod #3 really sucked and I'm not done yet. I still have 3 more areas to finish (and I'm doing them all the quick and lazy way).
I found yet more proof we are not the only group reduced to preteens during game play by odd names and phrases.
Yeah, that’s how it starts and then it’s all downhill. It’s probably worse in a group with no females.
We are gaming tonight, so the new update should be posted by the weekend. Hopefully.
Yeah, that’s how it starts and then it’s all downhill. It’s probably worse in a group with no females.
We are gaming tonight, so the new update should be posted by the weekend. Hopefully.
Bootsy – 6th/1st Level Gnome Sorcerer/Fighter.
Celtir – 7th Level Elven Cleric.
Frankie – 7th Level Dwarven Barbarian.
Tristan – 6th Level Human Paladin.
Wencis – 6th Level Aasimar Incarnate.
“Another night of creepy figments in a creepy place,” Frankie said with a sigh as he sat down on one of the musty beds and pulled out a small vial.
Wencis, who was giving some thought as to what would be the best way to shape his soul energy for the day, looked over at Frankie. “Yeah, but at least they’re harmless. What are you doing there?”
“I found this on one of the Drow we fought at the entry way, I figure it’s the same poison that put Bootsy to sleep. I know it won’t be much use against the undead we’ve been facing, but I’m hoping we’ll find this Fadheela today,” Frankie said as he started to apply the oily substance to his blade.
“Well, be careful, just because it’s on your weapon doesn’t mean it won’t affect you… or us for that matter.”
Frankie smiled as he used his thumb to spread the oil along the blade, “Don’t you worry, I know how to handle my axe and even if I am accidentally exposed to it, we Dwarves are… Ow!”
Wencis watched as Frankie pulled his bleeding thumb from the axe blade and then slowly slumped down onto the bed and started snoring. “.”
“Do you think he’ll be all right by himself?” Tristan asked.
They were back in the short hall Bootsy had found during the intense combat with the glass creatures. Bootsy nodded, “Oh yeah, there doesn’t seem to be much that wanders around this place. Everything we’ve come across seems to have stayed in its own space. He’ll be fine. Hell, he’s probably safer down there asleep and alone than he would be up here armed and ready with us.”
All the companions paused for a moment as this sank in. Once again, the Gnome was probably right.
Beyond the door was a small rectangular chamber. A large set of double doors, banded in silvery metal and made of black stone, dominated the southern wall of the otherwise empty chamber. Another simple stone door, similar to the one they had entered was set in the western wall.
After a quick debate, the companions moved to the dark double doors. The doors opened into a square room that was bare except for a low, dry font in its center. A small door was set in the center of the western wall and a dusty black curtain stretched across an archway to the south.
Standing off to one side of the archway, Tristan used Merthuvial to move the curtain aside and peered into the room. The evil that filled the room beyond the curtain was palpable. Complex and entrancing patterns of silvery bones and skulls filled the black walls and floors. Flanking the doorway, just inside the room, sinister violet flames danced in twisted oversized iron braziers that were covered in thorns and adorned with shining metal skulls. Atop a low, rectangular dais on the far side of the room squatted a basalt alter, covered in layers of dried blood that failed to conceal a shiny pair of rams horns. Two statues flanking the altar portrayed identical corpulent figures that had cloven hooves, bat-like wings and a ram’s head. In one fist, each statue clutched a skull topped rod of black iron. The eye sockets of the rods’ skulls gleamed in the light.
Celtir, looking over Tristan’s shoulder, recognized the figure. “Orcus, Demon Prince of the Undead.”
Using his blade to open the curtain more fully, Tristan stepped into the room. As he did, malefic violet figures of flame crackled as they leapt from the braziers, toppling those containers and spreading hot coals on the floor. Even as their burning fists slammed into Tristan, an amorphous cloud of darkness broken only by two points of blazing violet rose from the bloody altar. A breeze moved toward it as if it were drawing in air. It hissed as it flew toward the Paladin and Tristan found he could no longer breathe as the creature slashed at him with an incorporeal claw. Holding his breath, the Paladin attacked one of the burning creatures as Celtir started to pray for assistance from Solonor and Wencis reshaped his soul energy.
Bootsy cast and quickly ran over the spilled coals to deliver a Shocking Grasp to the same creature Tristan had struck. Luckily, he was quick enough that his clothes did not catch fire as he touched the creature and it disappeared in a burst of flame.
The fire creature and the wraith-like creature both lashed out at the Paladin once again, one creature burned him while the others mere touch seemed to eat away at his stamina. Tristan turned to face the black wraith and slashed at it with his blade.
As Celtir finished his prayer, a creature composed of water appeared near the remaining fiery creature. Its presence extinguished some of the hot coals on the ground as the elemental reached for the burning creature in an attempt to grapple it. The fire creature was too quick and lashed out at the water elemental. There was a hiss of steam as fire met water.
Bootsy, moving quickly over the coals once again, delivered another Shocking Grasp to the fire creature.
Finishing his adjustments to his energies, Wencis ran into the room and struck the same creature. The force of his blow and the burst of electricity he had charged it with finished the creature and it disappeared in a burst of flame as had its ally.
As the Water Elemental moved about the room, extinguishing what flames it could, Celtir called upon Solonor once again and a burst of energy healed his companions and burned at the undead creature.
The companions converged on the wraith as it drained even more of Tristan’s vitality. Most of their weapons and a Scorching Ray from Bootsy all passed through the creature leaving it unharmed, but another burst of energy from Celtir finally destroyed it.
With combat over, the companions spread out to see if anything useful could be found in this shrine of evil.
Celtir stopped Tristan as he moved towards the altar. “Are you ok? It seemed the touch of that creature left you looking rather haggard and drained.”
“I’m fine,” he answered with a smile as he held up his magical blade, “Merthuvial was able to restore my health.”
Bootsy moved to the middle of the room and cast. He gazed about the chamber, seeking any magic within the room that might be revealed by his spell. He directed Wencis’ attention to the statues of Orcus, “Check the head of each rod held by the statues. It would appear there is some magic contained within each of them.”
Using his hammer of soul energy, Wencis broke them free and found within each a different colored gem. One was a red ruby, the other a clear diamond. Examining them with his monocle, Bootsy was unable to ascertain their properties.
Through one of the side doors they had passed, they found a small room with stone benches carved from the walls as well as a few black velvet cloaks hanging from the pegs. Each of the companions took a cloak thinking they may find them useful.
Through the other door they had passed, they found a very short hall with stairs going down. “Do we know where these come out?” Asked Wencis.
Tristan thought for a moment, “No. Should we?”
“Well, all the stairs we’ve come across have been up. Maybe finding one going down to an area we haven’t found is significant.”
Tristan nodded thoughtfully as he stepped on the stair. The black iron stair shuddered and groaned as he climbed onto it. “It feels unstable.” As he moved to step onto the next stair there was a flash and Tristan once again felt drained, but between Merthuvial and Celtir, Tristan was soon feeling better and ready to continue down the stairs.
Tristan winced as the metal groaned and shook with his every move. “We should go one at a time,” he started to say when something zipped past him, sliding down the rail.
“We should go quickly you mean,” Bootsy said as he slid past the cautious Paladin. His ride was cut short when the railing and the stair ended abruptly and he dropped the remaining distance to the ground. “Perfect!” he called up. “Just a short drop at the end.”
One by one, the companions slowly followed him down, jumping the last fifteen feet to land on a debris covered floor in a narrow hallway.
Sconces mounted on the walls contained flickering green lights that threw unsettling illumination down the hallway. Alcoves on each side of the passage held stone sculptures. A constant, thin cry trilled from somewhere within the northern alcoves.
Tristan’s features wrinkled in disgust as he passed the first set of stone statues. One was a male Drow crouched low, his ears and nose still flesh. The other was a male Duergar with a hammer raised. His eyes, still flesh, squirmed madly within stony sockets.
Wencis moved up next to the paladin and frowned. “Surely even the evil residents of Pedestal don’t deserve this.”
With nothing to reverse the state of these unfortunates, they moved down the hall, noting each petrified creature as they passed. A female Drow with hands of flesh, palms upward as if in supplication and another standing on one foot, her flesh mouth still keening. In one of the last two alcoves there was an angelic being that appeared to be struggling to launch itself into the air, its white feathered wings still soft. The other held two Drow children gazing upwards as if in awe, their pointing fingers still wriggling.
At the end of the hall was a small square room with four more artfully posed statues, each stood in one of the four corners. Each wall had a door in the center, including the one they had entered. To the east of the southern door was the statue of an armored humanoid with a vipers head and to the west of that was a male human with snakes for arms. To the east of the northern door was a willowy female with upturned eyes and a sneering mouth full of pointed teeth. On that door’s western side was a female creature that had a snake tail instead of human legs. The western door was intermittently outlined with brilliant green light, each time accompanied by a sound like the discharge of electricity.
Bootsy found the door to the east locked. A quick discussion and the companions decided against breaking it down for now. Through the northern door they found a narrow shaft that pierced the floor. It was just wide enough to sit atop without falling in and the whole room reeked of the foulness that issued from it. Bootsy shut the door and shrugged, “Hey, even evil necromancers need to go to the privy sometime, right?”
After readying themselves for what might lay beyond, Tristan opened the western door.
The wide chamber contained several statues of Drow warriors in battle poses. Directly across the room, a wide alcove held two thick iron rods that had a bolt of emerald electricity dancing between them. Due to the statues, it was hard to see the rest of the space clearly, but it seemed like a couple of walls were lined with stone counters upon which were scattered various objects, parchments and other oddments. A slightly open curtain covered what must have been an alcove in the southeastern corner. A few low grunts from deeper in the room let the companions know they were not alone. Off to one side, Tristan saw four muscular humanoids with gray, scaly skin and eyeless sockets in its face, each snarling and brandishing a greataxe.
Almost directly ahead he saw a swollen horror that might have once been human fix its eyes upon him. Distended veins sprawled across its livid skin. Scraps of rotting cloth were all that covered its blood-bloated body.
Celtir, once again looking over Tristan’s shoulder murmured a quick prayer and all four of the gray skinned creatures were rocked by a blast of sound that stunned two of them.
The blood-bloated, hulking creature lurched forward and pummeled Tristan with its massive fists. Tristan channeled holy energy through his blade and his answering blow caused blood to spray the entire room, covering many of the companions with gore. Moving into a better position, Bootsy accepted a blow from the hulk and let loose a ball of fire that filled most of the two chambers, killing all of the gray creatures and singing the hulking creature and most of the companions.
Wencis also moved in and launched his hammer at the hulking creature, the electricity from his soul hammer causing its body to spasm involuntarily.
Attacks from all the companions caused more blood to spray from the creature and then, with a high, harsh screech, She appeared. Coming up behind the Bloodhulk slid a creature whose torso fused into the giant coils of a snake. The creature’s upper body was scaled like the lower, but humanoid in shape and obviously female. Its head was crowned with a mass of writhing, hissing snakes instead of hair. They had finally found Fadheela.
The companions all resisted the urge to meet her gaze and quickly averted their eyes.
Tristan tried to focus on striking the hulking creature in front of him, but it moved at just the wrong moment as he went to attack and he met Fadheela’s gaze. In the blink of an eye, there was yet another statue in the room.
Bootsy, unwilling to be turned into a garden Gnome, closed his eyes and dropped a ball of fire right at his feet. All combatants were bathed in fire.
Charging his war hammer once again, Wencis was able to stay focused on the hulking creature and even as it dropped to the floor after his blow struck it down, he did not meet the gaze of Fadheela. Thinking quickly, Celtir stepped forward while drawing forth an arrow. Focused only on the floor at his feet and his prayers to Solonor, he infused the arrow with magical darkness and dropped it at his feet.
Hearing Bootsy preparing to cast again, both Celtir and Wencis started shouting, “It’s down! The Bloodhulk is down!” Already unseen in the magical darkness, Bootsy turned himself invisible and moved through the doorway.
A wave of fear crashed over the three remaining companions, but all held their ground. Keeping his eyes downcast, Wencis carefully made his way through the darkness until he was finally free of it. Focusing his eyes on the lower half of her body, Wencis boldly stepped forward and struck Fadheela with his hammer.
Moving to the side until he was free of the darkness, Bootsy kept his back to where he thought Fadheela might be. He quickly cast a spell, charging his hands with electricity.
Celtir was moving cautiously through the darkness trying to get a bearing on where she might be when another wave of fear crashed over him. This time he fled, cowering and cursing against one of the doors flanked by two of Fadheela’s “creations”.
As Wencis’ hammer struck again, he heard Bootsy’s battle cry as the Gnome turned and charged at Fadheela with his outstretched hand wreathed in electricity. His battle cry was cut short as he inadvertently met Fadheela’s gaze and was turned to stone.
Realizing how desperate things were getting, Wencis stayed focused, striking Fadheela once more as he dodged the serpents on the top of her head as they lashed out at him. He struck again, and then thinking she was moving forward to strike with the snakes again, he moved to the side, but she was actually bending down to meet his gaze.
Another statue for her collection.
Celtir, having regained his composure, mumbled a quick prayer to infuse an arrow with fire. He moved to the edge of the darkness and called out. “Fadheela! We’re just here for the king’s bones! Give them to us and we will let you live!”
It was all Fadheela could do not to give away her position with hysterical laughter.
She slid forward and attacked blindly into the darkness, hoping to grab Celtir and drag him out of the relative safety of the darkness, but could not get a hold of him. Having felt the snakes on the top of her head brush against his face with her attack, Celtir gave a grim smile. He knew exactly where her head was. He brought up his bow and loosed his arrow.
The arrow caught her right between the eyes and continued right through, until just the fletching held the arrow in place where it protruded from the back of her skull. Fadheela didn’t even have time to be surprised as she dropped to the ground.
Celtir stepped out of the darkness and smiled with the satisfaction of a job well done. Moving quickly but efficiently, Celtir searched the bodies and the room, gathering all that he could find. In a small closet he found a stone coffer, a slender gray staff capped with a golden draconic head and a chest. He quickly opened the chest and, digging through the platinum coins, found three vials of viscous oil. Once again he smiled.
He had thought that she might keep something on hand to turn valuable prisoners back to flesh for questioning if necessary. He hoped he was right. He quickly poured the oil over the Paladin and soon there was one less statue.
Not long after, the companions were reunited. While Bootsy worked to identify many of the items they had found, he was especially interested in the staff, the others went to open the locked door with a key they had found on Fadheela. Within, was a lot of piled junk, but a quick Detect Magic revealed a magical greataxe buried at the back of the room.
Coming back into Fadheela’s chamber they found Bootsy examining a small gold rod. The head of the rod was an opened fanged mouth closing over a blue agate that resembled a globe. “It’s some type of magical key.”
All eyes turned to the iron rods with the green bolt of electricity arcing back and forth. Taking the golden rod, Celtir approached the device. As he approached the bolt divided into two bolts, which slowly separated in the middle. After about one minute there was a bright flare and the bolts formed a perfect ten foot diameter circle.
Celtir turned back to his companions, “We better go get Frankie, we wouldn’t want to leave him behind.”
End of Session 11.
Celtir – 7th Level Elven Cleric.
Frankie – 7th Level Dwarven Barbarian.
Tristan – 6th Level Human Paladin.
Wencis – 6th Level Aasimar Incarnate.
“Dawn take you all…”
“Another night of creepy figments in a creepy place,” Frankie said with a sigh as he sat down on one of the musty beds and pulled out a small vial.
Wencis, who was giving some thought as to what would be the best way to shape his soul energy for the day, looked over at Frankie. “Yeah, but at least they’re harmless. What are you doing there?”
“I found this on one of the Drow we fought at the entry way, I figure it’s the same poison that put Bootsy to sleep. I know it won’t be much use against the undead we’ve been facing, but I’m hoping we’ll find this Fadheela today,” Frankie said as he started to apply the oily substance to his blade.
“Well, be careful, just because it’s on your weapon doesn’t mean it won’t affect you… or us for that matter.”
Frankie smiled as he used his thumb to spread the oil along the blade, “Don’t you worry, I know how to handle my axe and even if I am accidentally exposed to it, we Dwarves are… Ow!”
Wencis watched as Frankie pulled his bleeding thumb from the axe blade and then slowly slumped down onto the bed and started snoring. “
.”----------
“Do you think he’ll be all right by himself?” Tristan asked.
They were back in the short hall Bootsy had found during the intense combat with the glass creatures. Bootsy nodded, “Oh yeah, there doesn’t seem to be much that wanders around this place. Everything we’ve come across seems to have stayed in its own space. He’ll be fine. Hell, he’s probably safer down there asleep and alone than he would be up here armed and ready with us.”
All the companions paused for a moment as this sank in. Once again, the Gnome was probably right.
Beyond the door was a small rectangular chamber. A large set of double doors, banded in silvery metal and made of black stone, dominated the southern wall of the otherwise empty chamber. Another simple stone door, similar to the one they had entered was set in the western wall.
After a quick debate, the companions moved to the dark double doors. The doors opened into a square room that was bare except for a low, dry font in its center. A small door was set in the center of the western wall and a dusty black curtain stretched across an archway to the south.
Standing off to one side of the archway, Tristan used Merthuvial to move the curtain aside and peered into the room. The evil that filled the room beyond the curtain was palpable. Complex and entrancing patterns of silvery bones and skulls filled the black walls and floors. Flanking the doorway, just inside the room, sinister violet flames danced in twisted oversized iron braziers that were covered in thorns and adorned with shining metal skulls. Atop a low, rectangular dais on the far side of the room squatted a basalt alter, covered in layers of dried blood that failed to conceal a shiny pair of rams horns. Two statues flanking the altar portrayed identical corpulent figures that had cloven hooves, bat-like wings and a ram’s head. In one fist, each statue clutched a skull topped rod of black iron. The eye sockets of the rods’ skulls gleamed in the light.
Celtir, looking over Tristan’s shoulder, recognized the figure. “Orcus, Demon Prince of the Undead.”
Using his blade to open the curtain more fully, Tristan stepped into the room. As he did, malefic violet figures of flame crackled as they leapt from the braziers, toppling those containers and spreading hot coals on the floor. Even as their burning fists slammed into Tristan, an amorphous cloud of darkness broken only by two points of blazing violet rose from the bloody altar. A breeze moved toward it as if it were drawing in air. It hissed as it flew toward the Paladin and Tristan found he could no longer breathe as the creature slashed at him with an incorporeal claw. Holding his breath, the Paladin attacked one of the burning creatures as Celtir started to pray for assistance from Solonor and Wencis reshaped his soul energy.
Bootsy cast and quickly ran over the spilled coals to deliver a Shocking Grasp to the same creature Tristan had struck. Luckily, he was quick enough that his clothes did not catch fire as he touched the creature and it disappeared in a burst of flame.
The fire creature and the wraith-like creature both lashed out at the Paladin once again, one creature burned him while the others mere touch seemed to eat away at his stamina. Tristan turned to face the black wraith and slashed at it with his blade.
As Celtir finished his prayer, a creature composed of water appeared near the remaining fiery creature. Its presence extinguished some of the hot coals on the ground as the elemental reached for the burning creature in an attempt to grapple it. The fire creature was too quick and lashed out at the water elemental. There was a hiss of steam as fire met water.
Bootsy, moving quickly over the coals once again, delivered another Shocking Grasp to the fire creature.
Finishing his adjustments to his energies, Wencis ran into the room and struck the same creature. The force of his blow and the burst of electricity he had charged it with finished the creature and it disappeared in a burst of flame as had its ally.
As the Water Elemental moved about the room, extinguishing what flames it could, Celtir called upon Solonor once again and a burst of energy healed his companions and burned at the undead creature.
The companions converged on the wraith as it drained even more of Tristan’s vitality. Most of their weapons and a Scorching Ray from Bootsy all passed through the creature leaving it unharmed, but another burst of energy from Celtir finally destroyed it.
With combat over, the companions spread out to see if anything useful could be found in this shrine of evil.
Celtir stopped Tristan as he moved towards the altar. “Are you ok? It seemed the touch of that creature left you looking rather haggard and drained.”
“I’m fine,” he answered with a smile as he held up his magical blade, “Merthuvial was able to restore my health.”
Bootsy moved to the middle of the room and cast. He gazed about the chamber, seeking any magic within the room that might be revealed by his spell. He directed Wencis’ attention to the statues of Orcus, “Check the head of each rod held by the statues. It would appear there is some magic contained within each of them.”
Using his hammer of soul energy, Wencis broke them free and found within each a different colored gem. One was a red ruby, the other a clear diamond. Examining them with his monocle, Bootsy was unable to ascertain their properties.
Through one of the side doors they had passed, they found a small room with stone benches carved from the walls as well as a few black velvet cloaks hanging from the pegs. Each of the companions took a cloak thinking they may find them useful.
Through the other door they had passed, they found a very short hall with stairs going down. “Do we know where these come out?” Asked Wencis.
Tristan thought for a moment, “No. Should we?”
“Well, all the stairs we’ve come across have been up. Maybe finding one going down to an area we haven’t found is significant.”
Tristan nodded thoughtfully as he stepped on the stair. The black iron stair shuddered and groaned as he climbed onto it. “It feels unstable.” As he moved to step onto the next stair there was a flash and Tristan once again felt drained, but between Merthuvial and Celtir, Tristan was soon feeling better and ready to continue down the stairs.
Tristan winced as the metal groaned and shook with his every move. “We should go one at a time,” he started to say when something zipped past him, sliding down the rail.
“We should go quickly you mean,” Bootsy said as he slid past the cautious Paladin. His ride was cut short when the railing and the stair ended abruptly and he dropped the remaining distance to the ground. “Perfect!” he called up. “Just a short drop at the end.”
One by one, the companions slowly followed him down, jumping the last fifteen feet to land on a debris covered floor in a narrow hallway.
Sconces mounted on the walls contained flickering green lights that threw unsettling illumination down the hallway. Alcoves on each side of the passage held stone sculptures. A constant, thin cry trilled from somewhere within the northern alcoves.
Tristan’s features wrinkled in disgust as he passed the first set of stone statues. One was a male Drow crouched low, his ears and nose still flesh. The other was a male Duergar with a hammer raised. His eyes, still flesh, squirmed madly within stony sockets.
Wencis moved up next to the paladin and frowned. “Surely even the evil residents of Pedestal don’t deserve this.”
With nothing to reverse the state of these unfortunates, they moved down the hall, noting each petrified creature as they passed. A female Drow with hands of flesh, palms upward as if in supplication and another standing on one foot, her flesh mouth still keening. In one of the last two alcoves there was an angelic being that appeared to be struggling to launch itself into the air, its white feathered wings still soft. The other held two Drow children gazing upwards as if in awe, their pointing fingers still wriggling.
At the end of the hall was a small square room with four more artfully posed statues, each stood in one of the four corners. Each wall had a door in the center, including the one they had entered. To the east of the southern door was the statue of an armored humanoid with a vipers head and to the west of that was a male human with snakes for arms. To the east of the northern door was a willowy female with upturned eyes and a sneering mouth full of pointed teeth. On that door’s western side was a female creature that had a snake tail instead of human legs. The western door was intermittently outlined with brilliant green light, each time accompanied by a sound like the discharge of electricity.
Bootsy found the door to the east locked. A quick discussion and the companions decided against breaking it down for now. Through the northern door they found a narrow shaft that pierced the floor. It was just wide enough to sit atop without falling in and the whole room reeked of the foulness that issued from it. Bootsy shut the door and shrugged, “Hey, even evil necromancers need to go to the privy sometime, right?”
After readying themselves for what might lay beyond, Tristan opened the western door.
The wide chamber contained several statues of Drow warriors in battle poses. Directly across the room, a wide alcove held two thick iron rods that had a bolt of emerald electricity dancing between them. Due to the statues, it was hard to see the rest of the space clearly, but it seemed like a couple of walls were lined with stone counters upon which were scattered various objects, parchments and other oddments. A slightly open curtain covered what must have been an alcove in the southeastern corner. A few low grunts from deeper in the room let the companions know they were not alone. Off to one side, Tristan saw four muscular humanoids with gray, scaly skin and eyeless sockets in its face, each snarling and brandishing a greataxe.
Almost directly ahead he saw a swollen horror that might have once been human fix its eyes upon him. Distended veins sprawled across its livid skin. Scraps of rotting cloth were all that covered its blood-bloated body.
Celtir, once again looking over Tristan’s shoulder murmured a quick prayer and all four of the gray skinned creatures were rocked by a blast of sound that stunned two of them.
The blood-bloated, hulking creature lurched forward and pummeled Tristan with its massive fists. Tristan channeled holy energy through his blade and his answering blow caused blood to spray the entire room, covering many of the companions with gore. Moving into a better position, Bootsy accepted a blow from the hulk and let loose a ball of fire that filled most of the two chambers, killing all of the gray creatures and singing the hulking creature and most of the companions.
Wencis also moved in and launched his hammer at the hulking creature, the electricity from his soul hammer causing its body to spasm involuntarily.
Attacks from all the companions caused more blood to spray from the creature and then, with a high, harsh screech, She appeared. Coming up behind the Bloodhulk slid a creature whose torso fused into the giant coils of a snake. The creature’s upper body was scaled like the lower, but humanoid in shape and obviously female. Its head was crowned with a mass of writhing, hissing snakes instead of hair. They had finally found Fadheela.
The companions all resisted the urge to meet her gaze and quickly averted their eyes.
Tristan tried to focus on striking the hulking creature in front of him, but it moved at just the wrong moment as he went to attack and he met Fadheela’s gaze. In the blink of an eye, there was yet another statue in the room.
Bootsy, unwilling to be turned into a garden Gnome, closed his eyes and dropped a ball of fire right at his feet. All combatants were bathed in fire.
Charging his war hammer once again, Wencis was able to stay focused on the hulking creature and even as it dropped to the floor after his blow struck it down, he did not meet the gaze of Fadheela. Thinking quickly, Celtir stepped forward while drawing forth an arrow. Focused only on the floor at his feet and his prayers to Solonor, he infused the arrow with magical darkness and dropped it at his feet.
Hearing Bootsy preparing to cast again, both Celtir and Wencis started shouting, “It’s down! The Bloodhulk is down!” Already unseen in the magical darkness, Bootsy turned himself invisible and moved through the doorway.
A wave of fear crashed over the three remaining companions, but all held their ground. Keeping his eyes downcast, Wencis carefully made his way through the darkness until he was finally free of it. Focusing his eyes on the lower half of her body, Wencis boldly stepped forward and struck Fadheela with his hammer.
Moving to the side until he was free of the darkness, Bootsy kept his back to where he thought Fadheela might be. He quickly cast a spell, charging his hands with electricity.
Celtir was moving cautiously through the darkness trying to get a bearing on where she might be when another wave of fear crashed over him. This time he fled, cowering and cursing against one of the doors flanked by two of Fadheela’s “creations”.
As Wencis’ hammer struck again, he heard Bootsy’s battle cry as the Gnome turned and charged at Fadheela with his outstretched hand wreathed in electricity. His battle cry was cut short as he inadvertently met Fadheela’s gaze and was turned to stone.
Realizing how desperate things were getting, Wencis stayed focused, striking Fadheela once more as he dodged the serpents on the top of her head as they lashed out at him. He struck again, and then thinking she was moving forward to strike with the snakes again, he moved to the side, but she was actually bending down to meet his gaze.
Another statue for her collection.
Celtir, having regained his composure, mumbled a quick prayer to infuse an arrow with fire. He moved to the edge of the darkness and called out. “Fadheela! We’re just here for the king’s bones! Give them to us and we will let you live!”
It was all Fadheela could do not to give away her position with hysterical laughter.
She slid forward and attacked blindly into the darkness, hoping to grab Celtir and drag him out of the relative safety of the darkness, but could not get a hold of him. Having felt the snakes on the top of her head brush against his face with her attack, Celtir gave a grim smile. He knew exactly where her head was. He brought up his bow and loosed his arrow.
The arrow caught her right between the eyes and continued right through, until just the fletching held the arrow in place where it protruded from the back of her skull. Fadheela didn’t even have time to be surprised as she dropped to the ground.
Celtir stepped out of the darkness and smiled with the satisfaction of a job well done. Moving quickly but efficiently, Celtir searched the bodies and the room, gathering all that he could find. In a small closet he found a stone coffer, a slender gray staff capped with a golden draconic head and a chest. He quickly opened the chest and, digging through the platinum coins, found three vials of viscous oil. Once again he smiled.
He had thought that she might keep something on hand to turn valuable prisoners back to flesh for questioning if necessary. He hoped he was right. He quickly poured the oil over the Paladin and soon there was one less statue.
Not long after, the companions were reunited. While Bootsy worked to identify many of the items they had found, he was especially interested in the staff, the others went to open the locked door with a key they had found on Fadheela. Within, was a lot of piled junk, but a quick Detect Magic revealed a magical greataxe buried at the back of the room.
Coming back into Fadheela’s chamber they found Bootsy examining a small gold rod. The head of the rod was an opened fanged mouth closing over a blue agate that resembled a globe. “It’s some type of magical key.”
All eyes turned to the iron rods with the green bolt of electricity arcing back and forth. Taking the golden rod, Celtir approached the device. As he approached the bolt divided into two bolts, which slowly separated in the middle. After about one minute there was a bright flare and the bolts formed a perfect ten foot diameter circle.
Celtir turned back to his companions, “We better go get Frankie, we wouldn’t want to leave him behind.”
End of Session 11.
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“…and be stone to you!”
Session Notes.
Yeah, Frankies player was absent, he didn’t really poison himself.
I was surprised at our slow pace. We usually can squeeze in three combat encounters per session and this time we only managed two. The combats seemed to take longer than usual.
I try to keep things moving by limiting the number of times I look things up, which of course means I make a few mistakes here and there but I would rather make a few mistakes and keep the game moving.
In retrospect the Bestow Curse that gave -6 to the Paladins Con score shouldn’t have been overcome with a few Lesser Restoration since the spell states that it can only be removed with a Break Enchantment, Limited Wish, Miracle, Remove Curse, or Wish spell. Also, I had reviewed the whole Gaze attack thing before hand, even scribbled some notes to help me remember things, but completely missed the fact that averting your eyes gives your opponents concealment (20% miss chance). I felt I was missing something, but with just a quick look to double check, I managed to miss it. Oh well, you live and you learn.
Wencis’ ability to add electrical damage to his hammer attacks helps deal some serious damage. The Paladin finally got to smite some evil. Celtir’s (and Tristan’s) positive energy burst has been really great for healing. And Bootsy got to torch the entire party.
Again.
And again.
Oh yeah, Celtir’s Crit that killed Fadheela, great stuff.
Natural 20. Confirm. Roll for miss (Concealment, he was still in the magical darkness) Success! And he had charged that arrow with a Flaming Burst. Bonus! She only had 15HP left, I think his total damage was 24.
Session Notes.
Yeah, Frankies player was absent, he didn’t really poison himself.
I was surprised at our slow pace. We usually can squeeze in three combat encounters per session and this time we only managed two. The combats seemed to take longer than usual.
I try to keep things moving by limiting the number of times I look things up, which of course means I make a few mistakes here and there but I would rather make a few mistakes and keep the game moving.
In retrospect the Bestow Curse that gave -6 to the Paladins Con score shouldn’t have been overcome with a few Lesser Restoration since the spell states that it can only be removed with a Break Enchantment, Limited Wish, Miracle, Remove Curse, or Wish spell. Also, I had reviewed the whole Gaze attack thing before hand, even scribbled some notes to help me remember things, but completely missed the fact that averting your eyes gives your opponents concealment (20% miss chance). I felt I was missing something, but with just a quick look to double check, I managed to miss it. Oh well, you live and you learn.
Wencis’ ability to add electrical damage to his hammer attacks helps deal some serious damage. The Paladin finally got to smite some evil. Celtir’s (and Tristan’s) positive energy burst has been really great for healing. And Bootsy got to torch the entire party.
Again.
And again.
Oh yeah, Celtir’s Crit that killed Fadheela, great stuff.
Natural 20. Confirm. Roll for miss (Concealment, he was still in the magical darkness) Success! And he had charged that arrow with a Flaming Burst. Bonus! She only had 15HP left, I think his total damage was 24.
Bootsy – 6th/1st Level Gnome Sorcerer/Fighter.
Celtir – 7th Level Elven Cleric.
Frankie – 7th Level Dwarven Barbarian.
Tristan – 7th Level Human Paladin.
Wencis – 7th Level Aasimar Incarnate.
The call had come again and once again they were gathered before the pavilion of The Taskmaster. It was happening with such frequency now that Clora was sure that soon they would all be dead. There were too few of them left to work the fields to supply enough food for the fortress and the remaining slaves. They chose the strongest men and now were even taking what few children there were, leaving mostly women and the sick and feeble behind. Their numbers had been reduced to a point where it seemed the Masters were no longer concerned about maintaining the slave population. Whatever was happening within the fortress, the slaves had reached the end of their usefulness to the Masters. Clora looked around as the remaining slaves gathered in front of the Taskmasters tent, forming up in rough lines so that slaves could be selected to “serve the Masters within”.
Was that a flash from the hill? That often indicated the arrival of new slaves, but they had not seen any new arrivals in quite some time. The Masters had turned their attention elsewhere. They appeared to have other priorities now. Something big was happening within the fortress and whatever it was it did not bode well for the remaining slaves.
She looked toward the hill, across the stream, from where all new slaves were brought into the small village in the secluded valley where they all lived, worked and often died under the Masters whips. A life of suffering followed by a violent death or even worse, whatever fate befell those chosen to go within the fortress. Better to die out here in the fields under the open sky. Clora had lost all hope and found herself wishing for death to claim her.
There on the hill, there is someone there, she thought. It looked like a small group, a half a dozen figures maybe. They were too far away to be sure. Fresh slaves. Our lives have just become even less important.
The Masters were among them now, choosing those they felt would meet their needs within the fortress, whatever they might be. A cry and the sounds of a struggled brought her attention back to the gathering of slaves.
Oh gods, they’re taking Dhara’s son!
Dhara and her son had arrived with the last group of slaves brought to the valley over a year ago. Her teenage son had been a hard worker in the fields and their experience as cattle farmers had made them too useful to be killed. Now the Masters had selected him and were trying to drag him away, even as Dhara tried to pull him back. Resisting the Masters was a serious crime for a slave and always brought about terrible punishment to the offenders and any who were perceived as taking part. It was unwise to stand too close to any slave who caused trouble.
Watching Dhara struggle and plead to save the life of her only son, Clora felt tears rolling down her face. She had thought she had none left to shed. Truly, there was no hope, only death. She prayed it would come quickly for them all.
Then, the fletching of a crossbow bolt seemed to sprout from the wooden wall of the pavilion, right next to one of the Masters. A fraction of a second later an arrow took another one of the Masters, the one who was trying to drag off Dhara’s son, through the throat and he dropped to the ground.
Looking back toward the hill she saw a strange Sight. A man in shining armor, wielding a black sword was charging toward them on the back of a huge wolf. Then all hell broke loose as the Masters started to yell and all the slaves dropped to the ground in fear of what might happen.
Clora, unable to contain her curiosity, looked up to see what was happening. One of the masters was casting and the plants and grass around the man on wolf-back started to twist and twine around the wolf’s legs. The other two fired arrows that flew wide of their mark. In the blink of an eye Griffon-Eater appeared. The huge snake sprung from the well and snatched the man from the wolf and started squeezing the life out of him. His large wolf turned and bit at the snake, in an attempt to free the man.
Then she saw the others further back. An Elf appeared from behind The Box, an iron cell where disobedient slaves were punished, left to bake in the heat of the day. The Elf launched another arrow, wounding another of the Masters. Charging up to the group were a Dwarf and a Human, no not Human, there was something about him that seemed different though she could not place it. Further back was a… child? No not a child, a Gnome launching another crossbow bolt.
The wolf was biting at Griffon-Eater over and over, trying to save his master, who was struggling to free himself. It seemed a hopeless cause, fighting against the strength of the great snake. The Dwarf and the Man were attacking another of the Masters with axe and hammer. It seemed their skill would win out, but Clora knew what was to come. More specifically she knew who would come.
No sooner had the thought entered her mind then she appeared. The Taskmaster stepped from her pavilion to see what was causing the disturbance. Almost as soon as she stepped out, an arrow seemed to pass right through the space she was occupying as if she wasn’t there. Hissing in anger at such impudence from a lesser creature she launched her retaliatory strike. A bolt of lightning flashed through the ranks of slaves, killing two of them instantly. It continued on almost faster than the eye could follow coming within a hairs-breadth of the Elven archer. He seemed a little frazzled from the effects of the bolt but still stood.
Then two magical bolts flew from the Gnome and struck at the Taskmaster, eliciting even more hissing and cursing. The Dwarf and the Man had finished the Master and were running up to confront the Taskmaster. Axe and hammer seemed to pass right through the image of the Taskmaster and she answered with two rays of flame that burned at the dwarf. Such fools. They didn’t stand a chance. She prayed they would not suffer unnecessarily.
Then something strange happened. A huge ball of fire burst near Griffon-Eater, burning him badly. Distracted by the pain, the snake did not see the wolf as it leapt. Its jaws latched onto the snake’s throat and tore it out. Clora watched in amazement as the horrid snake that had been one of the many banes of their existence, dropped to the ground. Even more amazing, the man who had been wrapped in Griffon-Eaters coils stood up. He was still alive.
With another hiss, the Taskmaster faded from sight. The man seemed to concentrate for a moment, then rushed forward and appeared to strike something that could not be seen. Could it have been the Taskmaster? Could these people actually harm her? The Dwarf also charged and struck down another one of the masters. The Taskmaster reappeared farther away where she launched a Lightning Bolt at the wolf. It caught the brunt of the bolt but still lived. Another burst of flame roared around the Taskmasters burning her horribly, then a small storm of bright energy seemed to surround her, flashing and flaring, the energy of the storm seemed to burn her even more. After only a few seconds of this, the Taskmaster fell.
The last remaining Master dropped his bow that he had been using ineffectively against these strangers and drew his scimitar, cutting down one of the chained slaves. The strangers charged him and he quickly joined his fallen allies in death.
The Elf ran forward, raising his bow above his head and calling out in his native tongue. A small symbol on the bow flashed bright and Clora reflexively closed her eyes as the burst of light filled her vision. When she opened them she could not believe what she saw. The strangers stood victorious, some of their wounds healed by the burst. Garish, the slave who had been struck down by one of the Masters sat up, his wounds completely healed.
Who where these people who had defeated not just the Masters, but also the Taskmaster and her pet snake? Clora was shocked beyond words and there was something else. Another emotion slowly started to creep into her mind as she watched these people walk among them with a mix of concern and righteous anger etched upon their faces.
Hope.
As the slaves dispersed, the companions noted that they seemed to hold the attention of one of the women. Celtir finally approached her. “Greetings, I am Celtir and these are my companions, Wencis, Frankie, Bootsy and Tristan,” he said as he indicated each of his companions in turn.
“I am Clora,” she answered in a voice choked with emotion.
Celtir smiled warmly, “Do you speak for these people?”
“They look to me for guidance, though there is little I can offer them.”
“Can you tell me what is going on here?” Celtir asked, as he looked around at the appalling conditions around them.
“We are slaves to the snake-men who live within the castle. It is called Serastis, a horrible place. We raise crops and cattle to feed ourselves and our Masters, though our numbers grow few and we are poorly treated. We will not be able to sustain ourselves much longer.”
Frankie came up behind them. “Humph. You’d think they would take better care of those that supply their food.”
“We have always been driven hard and allowed little rest to leave us too weak to consider escape. None of us knows exactly where we are. All of us were brought here from other locations through a magical portal to this valley. They used to be more careful with our lives, only killing those they felt were too strong or were considered troublesome. Something has changed recently though. Now they take many of us into the castle for some unknown purpose. Many more snake-men have been coming and going from the castle. Whatever horrors that place contains, they seem to be escalating.”
Tristan joined them, his face showing his anger at the treatment of these people. “Well, you are free now. None of you will come to harm you as long as I still live and these snake people will pay for their crimes against you.”
She looked upon the man’s noble features and while her heart wanted to believe his words, she was still filled with too much fear of the Masters. “We appreciate all you have done, but we have nowhere to go. We could not travel far enough or fast enough to get away. The Masters would just hunt us down. We pray for your success, but as long as the snake-men rule castle Serastis, we remain as slaves.”
Tristan just looked at her and gave a grim smile. “You will be free.”
Celtir smiled at her as well, “We have had a long road, is there someplace we could rest?”
“The snake-men have a hard time telling us apart, we may be able to hide you for a time. You can stay in the men’s quarters, there should be plenty of room since most have been taken.”
Celtir placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, “I’m sure it will suit our needs. If you have need of us for any reason, you know where to find us. We will be here. We will fight for you.”
Tristan drew Merthuvial from its sheath and brought the blade up in salute, “And we will win.”
Celtir – 7th Level Elven Cleric.
Frankie – 7th Level Dwarven Barbarian.
Tristan – 7th Level Human Paladin.
Wencis – 7th Level Aasimar Incarnate.
Deliverance
The call had come again and once again they were gathered before the pavilion of The Taskmaster. It was happening with such frequency now that Clora was sure that soon they would all be dead. There were too few of them left to work the fields to supply enough food for the fortress and the remaining slaves. They chose the strongest men and now were even taking what few children there were, leaving mostly women and the sick and feeble behind. Their numbers had been reduced to a point where it seemed the Masters were no longer concerned about maintaining the slave population. Whatever was happening within the fortress, the slaves had reached the end of their usefulness to the Masters. Clora looked around as the remaining slaves gathered in front of the Taskmasters tent, forming up in rough lines so that slaves could be selected to “serve the Masters within”.
Was that a flash from the hill? That often indicated the arrival of new slaves, but they had not seen any new arrivals in quite some time. The Masters had turned their attention elsewhere. They appeared to have other priorities now. Something big was happening within the fortress and whatever it was it did not bode well for the remaining slaves.
She looked toward the hill, across the stream, from where all new slaves were brought into the small village in the secluded valley where they all lived, worked and often died under the Masters whips. A life of suffering followed by a violent death or even worse, whatever fate befell those chosen to go within the fortress. Better to die out here in the fields under the open sky. Clora had lost all hope and found herself wishing for death to claim her.
There on the hill, there is someone there, she thought. It looked like a small group, a half a dozen figures maybe. They were too far away to be sure. Fresh slaves. Our lives have just become even less important.
The Masters were among them now, choosing those they felt would meet their needs within the fortress, whatever they might be. A cry and the sounds of a struggled brought her attention back to the gathering of slaves.
Oh gods, they’re taking Dhara’s son!
Dhara and her son had arrived with the last group of slaves brought to the valley over a year ago. Her teenage son had been a hard worker in the fields and their experience as cattle farmers had made them too useful to be killed. Now the Masters had selected him and were trying to drag him away, even as Dhara tried to pull him back. Resisting the Masters was a serious crime for a slave and always brought about terrible punishment to the offenders and any who were perceived as taking part. It was unwise to stand too close to any slave who caused trouble.
Watching Dhara struggle and plead to save the life of her only son, Clora felt tears rolling down her face. She had thought she had none left to shed. Truly, there was no hope, only death. She prayed it would come quickly for them all.
Then, the fletching of a crossbow bolt seemed to sprout from the wooden wall of the pavilion, right next to one of the Masters. A fraction of a second later an arrow took another one of the Masters, the one who was trying to drag off Dhara’s son, through the throat and he dropped to the ground.
Looking back toward the hill she saw a strange Sight. A man in shining armor, wielding a black sword was charging toward them on the back of a huge wolf. Then all hell broke loose as the Masters started to yell and all the slaves dropped to the ground in fear of what might happen.
Clora, unable to contain her curiosity, looked up to see what was happening. One of the masters was casting and the plants and grass around the man on wolf-back started to twist and twine around the wolf’s legs. The other two fired arrows that flew wide of their mark. In the blink of an eye Griffon-Eater appeared. The huge snake sprung from the well and snatched the man from the wolf and started squeezing the life out of him. His large wolf turned and bit at the snake, in an attempt to free the man.
Then she saw the others further back. An Elf appeared from behind The Box, an iron cell where disobedient slaves were punished, left to bake in the heat of the day. The Elf launched another arrow, wounding another of the Masters. Charging up to the group were a Dwarf and a Human, no not Human, there was something about him that seemed different though she could not place it. Further back was a… child? No not a child, a Gnome launching another crossbow bolt.
The wolf was biting at Griffon-Eater over and over, trying to save his master, who was struggling to free himself. It seemed a hopeless cause, fighting against the strength of the great snake. The Dwarf and the Man were attacking another of the Masters with axe and hammer. It seemed their skill would win out, but Clora knew what was to come. More specifically she knew who would come.
No sooner had the thought entered her mind then she appeared. The Taskmaster stepped from her pavilion to see what was causing the disturbance. Almost as soon as she stepped out, an arrow seemed to pass right through the space she was occupying as if she wasn’t there. Hissing in anger at such impudence from a lesser creature she launched her retaliatory strike. A bolt of lightning flashed through the ranks of slaves, killing two of them instantly. It continued on almost faster than the eye could follow coming within a hairs-breadth of the Elven archer. He seemed a little frazzled from the effects of the bolt but still stood.
Then two magical bolts flew from the Gnome and struck at the Taskmaster, eliciting even more hissing and cursing. The Dwarf and the Man had finished the Master and were running up to confront the Taskmaster. Axe and hammer seemed to pass right through the image of the Taskmaster and she answered with two rays of flame that burned at the dwarf. Such fools. They didn’t stand a chance. She prayed they would not suffer unnecessarily.
Then something strange happened. A huge ball of fire burst near Griffon-Eater, burning him badly. Distracted by the pain, the snake did not see the wolf as it leapt. Its jaws latched onto the snake’s throat and tore it out. Clora watched in amazement as the horrid snake that had been one of the many banes of their existence, dropped to the ground. Even more amazing, the man who had been wrapped in Griffon-Eaters coils stood up. He was still alive.
With another hiss, the Taskmaster faded from sight. The man seemed to concentrate for a moment, then rushed forward and appeared to strike something that could not be seen. Could it have been the Taskmaster? Could these people actually harm her? The Dwarf also charged and struck down another one of the masters. The Taskmaster reappeared farther away where she launched a Lightning Bolt at the wolf. It caught the brunt of the bolt but still lived. Another burst of flame roared around the Taskmasters burning her horribly, then a small storm of bright energy seemed to surround her, flashing and flaring, the energy of the storm seemed to burn her even more. After only a few seconds of this, the Taskmaster fell.
The last remaining Master dropped his bow that he had been using ineffectively against these strangers and drew his scimitar, cutting down one of the chained slaves. The strangers charged him and he quickly joined his fallen allies in death.
The Elf ran forward, raising his bow above his head and calling out in his native tongue. A small symbol on the bow flashed bright and Clora reflexively closed her eyes as the burst of light filled her vision. When she opened them she could not believe what she saw. The strangers stood victorious, some of their wounds healed by the burst. Garish, the slave who had been struck down by one of the Masters sat up, his wounds completely healed.
Who where these people who had defeated not just the Masters, but also the Taskmaster and her pet snake? Clora was shocked beyond words and there was something else. Another emotion slowly started to creep into her mind as she watched these people walk among them with a mix of concern and righteous anger etched upon their faces.
Hope.
----------
As the slaves dispersed, the companions noted that they seemed to hold the attention of one of the women. Celtir finally approached her. “Greetings, I am Celtir and these are my companions, Wencis, Frankie, Bootsy and Tristan,” he said as he indicated each of his companions in turn.
“I am Clora,” she answered in a voice choked with emotion.
Celtir smiled warmly, “Do you speak for these people?”
“They look to me for guidance, though there is little I can offer them.”
“Can you tell me what is going on here?” Celtir asked, as he looked around at the appalling conditions around them.
“We are slaves to the snake-men who live within the castle. It is called Serastis, a horrible place. We raise crops and cattle to feed ourselves and our Masters, though our numbers grow few and we are poorly treated. We will not be able to sustain ourselves much longer.”
Frankie came up behind them. “Humph. You’d think they would take better care of those that supply their food.”
“We have always been driven hard and allowed little rest to leave us too weak to consider escape. None of us knows exactly where we are. All of us were brought here from other locations through a magical portal to this valley. They used to be more careful with our lives, only killing those they felt were too strong or were considered troublesome. Something has changed recently though. Now they take many of us into the castle for some unknown purpose. Many more snake-men have been coming and going from the castle. Whatever horrors that place contains, they seem to be escalating.”
Tristan joined them, his face showing his anger at the treatment of these people. “Well, you are free now. None of you will come to harm you as long as I still live and these snake people will pay for their crimes against you.”
She looked upon the man’s noble features and while her heart wanted to believe his words, she was still filled with too much fear of the Masters. “We appreciate all you have done, but we have nowhere to go. We could not travel far enough or fast enough to get away. The Masters would just hunt us down. We pray for your success, but as long as the snake-men rule castle Serastis, we remain as slaves.”
Tristan just looked at her and gave a grim smile. “You will be free.”
Celtir smiled at her as well, “We have had a long road, is there someplace we could rest?”
“The snake-men have a hard time telling us apart, we may be able to hide you for a time. You can stay in the men’s quarters, there should be plenty of room since most have been taken.”
Celtir placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, “I’m sure it will suit our needs. If you have need of us for any reason, you know where to find us. We will be here. We will fight for you.”
Tristan drew Merthuvial from its sheath and brought the blade up in salute, “And we will win.”
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High Cleric
First Post
What's that quote from the Dragonlance book?
"None of us are heroes...."
If only Clora knew the truth
"None of us are heroes...."
If only Clora knew the truth
mundinironhand
First Post
Only desperation was the paladin, Tristan. Even the wolf had a better time than him. Bootsy hung back and casty spells and launched crossbow bolts unscathed, Celtir did likewise with bow and clerical spells, and Wencis was able to charge into melee with the taskmaster and not take damage. Frankie took the brunt of the taskmasters fire spells but was hardly fazed. Pretty damn heroic.
