Adventure 21
Draconic Rashômon
GM's NOTE: The last session was one in which I pulled out each PC for a bit of solo gaming as the party went through a month's downtime. I asked each player to write up their experiences. Unfortunately, we got some mixed news. Remi found a job, but it will mean that he will be out of the game for at least a month or two.
Andreas' Telling (Keith Martin)
Andreas shifted nervously from foot to foot, awaiting his audience with Queen Nighean. The typically silver-tongued wizard was unaccustomed to dealing with someone in her position, and he feared his glibness would desert him. Even in Iconium, his home, where he was well versed in the customs and protocols of the Nobility, he was unaccustomed to dealing with actual Royals. In the court of the queen of the Vacomagi, he was entirely out of his element. He tried to pay attention to the matter currently before the court, but was unable to keep his thoughts on the affairs of the cimbri. He thought again on his unexpected discovery of a Logosian shrine right here in the heart of eastern faerie.
He was on his way to the docks to confront a certain cursed White Dragon with a few insights he’d had when he noticed it for the first time – a small archway, and beyond, a simple mosaic figure on the wall, a figure of St. Attalus. A warrior-saint so puissant that the bodyguards of the High King of the Faerie had declined to slay him when they might have, out of respect for his skill at arms and devotion in battle, Attalus was well known as the foremost warrior of the early days of the Iconian empire. Andreas himself revered Decius, the Saint that had devised (or stolen, as the fae would have it) the secrets of arcane lore, previously the domain of the fae alone, and made them available to man forever afterwards. But he could not fail to recognize the Patron of Paladins, with the famous flail in one fist and the ever-present tankard of ale in the other. As he watched, a young human stepped out of the doorway, dropping a few silvers into the plate as he did so. Andreas, of course, could hardly pass by without at least investigating.
The shrine itself was small, simple, and somewhat sparse – Attalus, Andreas thought, would approve, assuming of course that at least one convenient tavern was nearby. The cleric was a middle aged man with a long cimbri-style braid, named Christobel. Andreas conversed with the man for far longer than he’d intended. As they spoke of various matters – the priest’s cimbri wife, his past as an adventurer, the blind eye turned towards his church by Queen Nighean in exchange for his failure to proselytize, a thought came to Andreas.
“Tell me, Father, even though we are in faerie, this place where we stand, it’s holy ground, yes?”
“Indeed it is. Consecrated by the Bishop of Ephesium when the church was founded. It is hallowed ground whereupon any rite of the church may be performed.” Andreas thought a moment. “Any rite, you say?”
“Yes” the cleric replied. “Any rite requiring a sanctified location. Marriage, confession, confirmation . . .”
“Burial? What of burial?” Andreas said. “Well, yes. If need be.” The priest said. “Though few of the faithful have passed here in Vacomagi, and as most are sailors they typically are buried at sea . . .”
“Father,” Andreas began, “You may know a story of a knight of the Holy Order of St. Uriah, the slayer of demons, who supposedly passed into faerie and out of human knowledge many years ago. I know the truth of that story.”
The priest’s eyebrows arched in interest. “Do go on, my on. I suspect you have much to tell me.”
Andreas was startled from his thoughts by the sudden clash of arms. Spears on shields were not a sound he was expecting in court. He reached reflexively for the leather pouch of reagents at his belt and brought to mind the words and gestures of a half-dozen abjurative enchantments. He had excused Dario for the day, certainly not expecting to need a bodyguard in the court of the queen herself. Suddenly he realized that no one else seemed the least concerned. No panic, no shouts of fear or outrage, indeed the queen’s guards had not moved a muscle. The sound he’d heard was that of a retinue of some Cimbri noble – he wracked his brains to remember the man’s name even as the herald was announcing him to the court. “Really” Andreas mused to himself. “Now comes the interminable bragging before he gets to the point – some neighboring lord has stolen half his calves, or something, and he seeks redress.” Andreas thought on his plans to recover the remains of the ancient knight of St. Uriah from the lair of the dead drake Cyranog and inter them in the little church. The priest had seemed quite pleased when he’d offered to pay for the project himself.
Dragonkind had played a prominent role in his life lately, he thought. Or at least, dragonkind and faux-dragonkind had. He tried to concentrate on the complaint of the faerie lord before the queen – he was wrong, it was sheep in dispute, not cattle. “Must have been some damn spectacular sheep to bring it all the way to the queen herself” he mumbled. “The lord, he’s her favorite” the Cimbri next to him said in accented Iconian, and with horror Andreas realized he’d mumbled aloud. “They were raised together” the man went on. “there’s some as say he and she have been more than just sovereign and subject, if ye take my meaning” he leered. Andreas did his best to appear uninterested. Queen Nighean was the powerful monarch of a sophisticated realm, but in many ways her court seemed quite rustic to the Iconian, though they would no doubt be equally put off by the eness formalities of human politics. He tried to concentrate on the phrasing of his request, but not surprisingly, his mind wandered again and again to the revelation that the White Dragon, the ship he and his companions had sailed the Skia Thalassa on, had made to him earlier in the day.
Of the crew that had originally befriended the White Dragon, Andreas was personally familiar with only Malcom and Copoc, the lizard-man. He gathered that a human paladin had briefly been privy to the secret of the talking, cursed ship, but the unfortunate knight had been slain in a confrontation with a sea hag during that episode. Another wizard had apparently known about her as well, but of his fate no one seemed to know much. When Gudlaug and Andreas had been rescued by, and then befriended and joined forces with Copoc and Malcom, they had been made privy to the secret as well, and both had sworn never to reveal it, as nearly had the loose-tongued dwarf Kuldar.
Since that time, Andreas had come to regard the ship as something of a friend. It had been instrumental in the destruction of the sea-hag Abashag, the same fiend who’d slain the paladin – Theon, his name suddenly came back to Andreas, Theon Agricola. But even beyond that act, The White Dragon had in all ways been a trustworthy and faithful companion. Even so, all Andreas knew of the thing was that it was not really a ship at all, but was in fact some other manner of thing under a dread and powerful curse. The others had told him of how they’d slain a giant and fed its heart to the White Dragon, thus breaking one-third of the curse, but beyond that he knew little of the creature – or had known little, prior to that very morning.
Andreas tried again, with little success, to pay attention to the court of Queen Nighean. Now she was hearing a complaint between two sorcerers, the issue of the missing sheep having been settled, at least for the moment. Andreas’ command of the fae tongue was good enough to get by on most of the time, but the subtleties of court language escaped him. He could not fully understand the nature of the complaint, even though he suspected he might be intrigued by the details. He wondered what the two arcanists would think if they knew of the shape-changed, cursed creature floating as a ship in the harbor below. He thought again on the course of reasoning that had led him to confront the White Dragon that morning, and of the conversation that followed . . .
“Clearly, and I mean no disrespect by this, but clearly, you, ah - you are no dragon at all.” The serpentine masthead regarded him with eyes cold and black as the bottom of the sea itself. “I am not an expert, exactly, but I know a little of the ways of dragons, white dragons not least of all, and they are – well, to put it bluntly, white dragons are ruthless, stupid and altogether violent. Not like you at all, really.”
“Was crushing Abashag to paste not violent enough for you, mageling? I can arrange another demonstration if I must.” The masthead-dragon smiled, but Andreas frowned. “Not at all, it was quite – aggressive. And what’s more, a little too clever for a true white dragon, who would have breathed forth her breath upon the thing, perhaps, even despite my having already pointed out that she was warded against cold. Furthermore, you’ve had any number of opportunities to betray us, and you’ve not done so - also rather un-draconic. Or at least, not very appropriate for ‘Draco Blanco’, if you take my meaning.”
The back orbs were unreadable, but Andreas imagined that the dragon-ship rolled its eyes in a good natured way. “You are my friends, if I may say so. One does not betray one’s true friends. You as well have been faithful to your promise to me, yes?” It was not really a question, for the ship was well aware that, despite the carelessness of Kuldar, its secret remained safe. Andreas smiled. “Yes indeed, though that does not weaken my argument at all – white dragons do not exactly make friends of humans, half-elves and dwarves. Snacks, certainly, slaves, possibly, but friends – never.”
“Perhaps I am an exceptional white dragon.” The ship replied, although from the tone of its voice Andreas knew he was on the right track. “Or perhaps” the wizard replied “you are, as I said, no dragon at all. Who – or what – are you, really? Surely by now you’ve no fear left that we will betray your secret. As you said, friends – true friends – do not behave thus.” The ship stirred uncomfortably, the water of the harbor slapped its sides softly. Andreas glanced about, but no-one was near enough to have overheard or noticed.
“Gather the others” the White Dragon replied. “What I have to say is for them to hear as well. But be warned, though – you may not like what you are about to learn. You may not like it at all.”
“You may approach, barbarian.”
Andreas was startled from his recollections of the White Dragon’s troubling revelation. The Queen’s herald was addressing him, he realized. He gathered the folds of his robe and approached, bowing just deeply enough, or so he hoped. With sudden relief, Andreas felt his old confidence return – he was a wizard of the College, educated and studied in the lore of the fae, not some sycophantic courtier or fawning nobleman. He knew he could be persuasive without offending the faerie queen, and she was already predisposed to favor him. Yet he would need to be glib, for the favor he had in mind to ask of her was no trifle. The fae guarded the remaining secrets of their magic from the human empire very jealously, and his request for new magic unknown in Iconium was a bold one. What would she think, he wondered, if she knew that which he himself had learned scant hours before? That even as they spoke in her court, one of her oldest and most dangerous foes, indeed the very same Three Mothers assassin that had slain her own uncle, was currently afloat as a white ship with an exquisite draconic figurehead in her very own harbor? Pushing these thoughts from his mind, Andreas knelt on one knee at Nighean’s feet and began his plea.
“Your Grace, I crave a boon . . .”
Gudlag's Telling
A Month in Vacomagus
Continuing the Journals of Gudlaug Hamarson (Jon Hanna)
After the group had spent some days feasting with the queen and her court, we were allowed to get back to a more restful situation. I spent a few days wandering around the city, getting to know where I was. I have not spent too much time in large Cimbri cities, so I found the time enjoyable.
Andreas called me down to the boat one evening. He desired to have a conversation with “White Dragon,” and did not want the conversation to be overheard. I cast my Natural Sounds spell on us so that the conversation would sound like the squawks of seagulls and the like. The conversation with the boat proved interesting. So interesting in fact that I went and retrieved the other party members, so that they could be a part of it. We learned that the boat is not now, nor has ever been a dragon of any type. It turns out that he was a Rolgulkan assassin prince who worked for the Three Mothers. They had cursed him for some bit of personal treachery decades ago. Over the course of the last 75 years or so, he has mellowed in his desire to be a killer, and just wants to have the curse removed. We all agreed to help him finish this quest. We will definitely need his experience with the Three Mothers in our quest to hunt down the final Yuan-ti, Ophia.
A few days later I decided that I would cross over into the Shadow Plane, and scout the area in and around Vacomagus. Knowing that the Three Mothers liked to use the Shadow Plane for their travel, I wanted to be sure that they didn’t have agents lurking there. When I got to the dark plane, I did notice large strange bird creatures that were lurking around. They kept their distance from me, and I from them. The Shadow Plane version of this city turned out to be less dark and disturbing than the area around Tavia, the human city where I lived for awhile. Vacomagus itself is not that old. There was a ruined city on the other side of the river from the current city, which had many shades wondering around in it. I did not go there.
I went to where the Queen’s residence would be, and found a barrow. I did not examine it too closely. Some things are best left undisturbed. I then went to where the druid’s grove was, and found a very thick, deep bit of forest. It was guarded by Shadow bears, which recognized me as a druid, and therefore no threat. It seems that Sativola and the other local druids use this place as a secret hiding place, in case they need to evacuate Vacomagus in a hurry. They have stores of fresh food and water there. The Bears had seen no unusual activity.
Then I went around other points in the city to see if there was anything amiss. I discovered that there was a version of the Ley here in the Shadow Plane. This was the magical road that members of the queen’s court could use to travel around the city quickly and safely. Now I got a notion of how it worked. Here there was a version of the Ley following the same path as the golden street in Vacomagus. This one was made of bones laid end-to-end. It seems that the sorcerers are tapping into the power of the Shadow Plane to speed up their travel. Interesting. I went back to my natural plane at this point.
The next day I met up with Sativola in the grove. He had some questions for me regarding our boat, as I knew he would. He knew that the boat was more than just a ship with Magic Mouth cast on it, and wanted to be sure that there was no danger there to Vacomagus or the queen. I assured him that to my knowledge there was no threat, and that the only reason we had acted so strangely when Kuldar mentioned our talking boat was that we, Kuldar included, had sworn an oath to not talk about it. He accepted this, but warned me that the Three Mothers were actively seeking out magic boats, and buying them. He said that it was dangerous for the information about the boat to spread. I agreed, and told him that the Three Mothers situation was exactly why we had been sworn under oath to remain silent.
I spent the rest of the month in comfort at the grove with Sativola and the other druids, and recovered from our resent exertions.
Copoc's Telling
Conversations with Guardian Spirits and Varnian Kings
(Or Chatting with Kanul and White Dragon)
(David Nickerson)
For the most part I had a terrific time in Vacomagus, pondering my boon and touring the city with Malcolm. We no longer had access to the Ley and I was able to experience many aspects of Cimbri life. Despite a prevailing uneasiness that we were being observed by Ophia or one of her spies, I remained preoccupied with determining the location of Tikul. I asked many Cimbri sailors and was offered several possible locations. It seemed there were many volcanic islands that fit the description I had. No one, however, was aware of any lost Kulkan city, and in fact the general consensus seemed to be that Kulkans lived as tribes or in small villages and didn’t build cities. Gondoc claimed to know the exact coordinates, but when questioned further I was convinced that he knew nothing of navigation and was just bloodthirsty and itching to cause trouble somewhere.
Gudlaug informed me that Sativola had a brother in the city of Iconium that had access to the Ambassador’s Palace, so I decided to pen a letter to Brone. I still had reservations about him despite his aid in our battle with Wulvera, but I thought it only fair that he be warned. Without revealing the names of my accomplices, I informed him that the purveyor of Demon’s Breath, Krace, had been flushed out and killed. I also told him about the scrolls and that we were being hunted by Ophia. I did not reveal that his name had been suspiciously absent from Krace’s diary. I also asked him if he planned to rejoin us and if he had any information concerning the lost Kulkan city of Tikul. Perhaps this was the true reason that I had written. I still await a response.
Many days I spent on the beach, swimming and hunting with Balamob. I had ample time for research and preparing my rituals and subsequently was successful in summoning and retaining two new spirits. The first was Otema. She was a kulkan and a great priestess of Ogokwu, the god of sanctuary and healing. Otema gave me a crystal prism to anchor her spirit and to direct her healing powers. Honestly I don’t know much of Ogokwu. As shamans grew in power my race seems to have lost touch with the old gods. I know of Shabok Gali’, the moon goddess, only from my dealings with Xoholos Xulu and other ancestor spirits. Unfortunately I also remember Chak. I was terrorized as a child by stories of Chak and his Blood Rain Cult and find myself quite shaken to learn of his involvement with Gondoc. That is why I have also summoned Bombaska, the Burning Sun. Such a great and powerful spirit may prove useful if my future is indeed tainted by the touch of Chak. I wear Bombaska’s golden medallion even now, and it burns with an intense warmth, as if it has absorbed the very rays of the sun.
Several days ago I retreated to my chambers to meditate deeply and consult with Kanul Yat Balam. To my surprise he dismissed my entire entourage with a wave of his hand and then manifested before me. He looked much older on this plane, and deadly serious.
“You have done well my brave young shaman,” he spoke, “to seek after our lost Tikul. You have found your true path, but you cannot do this alone.”
“I have found many powerful allies,” I responded, “both here and in the Spirit World.”
“Yessss…..” Kanul seemed to pause in thought.
“You must lead me to this city so that I may uncover our heritage.”
“All in good time Copoc. There are many riddles yet to unravel. Much information must you attain. Events must transpire as foreseen.” Kanul paused again, his eyes glassy. “The board is set and now the pieces move to assume their rightful place in destiny.”
“I doubt you not Kanul, but you must give me more…something I can sink my teeth into!”
“Very well Copoc. Perhaps you are ready. First you must know that the curse of Galavesh has prevailed. The exact nature of this curse, its precise wording, is unknown even to me. But make no mistake- Galavesh did not do this alone. Chak is up to his eyeballs in the blood of our kin!”
“But how? Gondoc paid the dark god’s price when he sacrificed his firstborn children!”
“Little is understood about their actual pact, and attempts to attain this information have only enraged Gondoc. He is merely a shell now of his former self. I do know that when he died his children rose as vampires. Many of our people were slaughtered outright and the survivors were driven from Tikul. Chak’s Blood Rain Cult devastated our once great empire and made the reign of Galavesh seem like a short bask on a sunny shore.”
“So Gondoc is responsible for our plight?”
“In part, yes. But it is also prophesized that Gondoc may lift the curse. He must destroy his children again, and you Copoc, must allow him to do this.”
“And then the curse will be ended? Our great city will be restored to its former glory and our people will be set free?”
“That is my understanding, yessss…”
“But how? How will all of this be possible?”
“Only you can answer these questions Copoc. A small group of Kulkans fled to Skia Thalassa after the Blood Rain commenced. Your ancestors were among these. And you, my shaman, are a direct descendant of Gondoc.”
I was in shock and my head was spinning as I searched for answers. “And how does Dalas Salik fit into all of this? I have become increasingly convinced that she springs from the Shadow Plane.”
“She seeks something from that vile dimension. She may help you, yes. And your earthly allies. But her role in the endgame is unclear.”
“I’ve recently summoned Bombaska to aid us in our future endeavors.”
“You have done well Copoc, but look not only to the spirits, for our grasp on this plane is tenuous at best. Seek priests of the Sun God. Do not underestimate the power of flesh and blood and steel.”
I sat and meditated for days, reeling still from these revelations.
Not long after that incident I found myself the recipient of more startling news. I was having a drink with Malcolm in his favorite tavern when he informed me that he would be taking temporary leave of our company. As a captain for the Queen he had new duties and responsibilities. Before I could even try to convince him to stay, Gudlaug burst through the front doors. “Quickly…the beach,” he rasped before rushing back outside.
When we arrived at the beach we found White Dragon. Andreas was on deck and we boarded just in time for some more surprises. White Dragon felt that he could trust us now, and revealed that he was actually an ogre-mage and the King of Varnia to boot. Seventy-five years ago his younger brother had betrayed him, leaking information of his romantic involvement with all three of the Three Mothers! Apparent lover to the trio, the Rogulkan prince was also their most trusted and deadly assassin. He was soon captured and cursed, and his treacherous brother went on to become king. White Dragon’s spirit was trapped in the ship, and that is what I had detected so many months ago. It was a chain curse, and each of the three components could only be dispelled with willing help- the act of true friends. Feeding White Dragon Wodlaw’s heart had broken the first part of the curse and allowed him to speak. The remaining hexes could be removed only by stealing the loot from the Three Mother’s pet hydra and then getting some beard hairs from a dwarven king (?). I understood finally why White Dragon’s secret must be kept- from the Three Mothers and from the Varnian king. I put my thoughts of Tikul and Ophia aside and wondered if we would be able to help our friend.
Malcomb's Telling (Remi Treuer)
Will post ASAP.
Cezar's Story (Wayne Peacock)
I am no dragon, or even a ship -- well I am, cursed to dwell as one by the Three Mothers. Long have a waited to tell my sad, ignoble tale to ones I believe I can trust.
My true name is Cezar, I am...no, I was a Rolgulkan lord [DM
gre-mage], the elder brother of Dimas, the current King of Varnia. I was spoiled and indulged as a youth. I eschewed the rough arts of war that comes naturally to my people and took to the magic of song and power of well spoken word. In this I excelled.
By the time of my coming of age, I had my father’s court in complete turmoil. I had cuckolded most of the males and driven the rest of the court mad with jealousy or desire. My father gave me a choice -– take the magical boat my father had commissioned for me -- a flying boat that could sail itself – on an extended tour of Skia Thalassa, or begin fighting my own duels.
Over a hundred years ago I took to the sea, and have never been back to my home, but not out of my own choosing. I bested my old misdeeds a hundred fold; I reveled in my own evil. I used my innate abilities to masquerade as a hundred men, pirated, kill…well, let us say I supped large and unashamedly at the bounty that was around me. I dallied with lojosalfar vixens, parodied Cimbri lords, broke the heart of a frost giant king’s daughter, lightened the treasuries of several dragons and whenever things got too “hot,” well, it’s good to be the favored son of a Rolgukan King…
My father doted upon me, perhaps wishing for the freedom I had. Few know the burdens of the ogre kings of Rolgulka, or the price for their power. My brother Dimas was left to learn the arts of leadership that I should have been studying…
Finally, as a last act of roguery before setting my sail for home and throne, I took it upon myself to seek out the pirate queens known as The Three Mothers and bend them to my will -– for the sheer bravado of the deed. For a while I was successful, each of the three loved me like no other, but I forgot how hate is the jealous twin of love.
One morn I awoke from a night of epic debauchery to find myself bound to the mast of my ship, my three lovers debating my fate. They gave me a choice, death or life as their slave and assassin.
I took the latter, with little forethought at the time. An invisible, flying killer, with my talents was a huge success for them. Fifteen captains died under my knife. Chiefly, you should know, I killed Queen Nighean’s father, then Lord of the Sea for the Vacomagi. But there were others. My evil grew.
Eventually, I grew tired of their demands as a killer and a lover and so I fled one day towards home. But I was caught and for my “treachery” they cursed me as only a coven of half-demon hags could. They stole my future, my kingdom, my name, my body and my honeyed words from me – binding my body and soul into my prized ship. Furthermore they set three impossible tasks that would have to be fulfilled were the curse to be lifted. Moreover, my tasks could only be performed by true friends, without trickery or deceit on my part. Honesty and honor were all that could save me, and at the time I had none.
Anezka, the sea hag, said that to regain my voice, I would have to be fed the heart of a giant, since I had no heart of my own.
Tanis, the green hag, said my noble form would be returned to me if a true friend would but pluck three hairs from the beard of a dwarven king and give them to me.
Marya, the annis, said that to regain my songs and magic, I would have to take back my lute from horde of Decimachus, a half-fiend, ten-headed, lernaen, cryohydra who guards one of the Three Mothers hordes on the ill-fated isle of Kritos.
To drive my slavery home, I served as a private “yacht” for the hags. They enjoyed showing me off to their evil horde. After several years they gave me to one of their servants, a ljosalfar pirate called Erik. Iconians caught the ljosalfar raiding their ships and in the great sea battle that ensued, Erick was slain. The Iconians sunk me, but did not know I could repair myself.
I escaped and lived alone for a few years, wallowing in my self-pity and fearful of being another’s slave. Eventually I grew lonely and hopeful that I could escape the curse. Then one day I was cruising near the coast and came upon a Cimbri fishing village. Swimming towards shore was drunk Cimbri cursing fate that his only ship had been lost. I took a chance and appeared before him, and adopted him. For a time I was happy as a mere fishing boat. Gilroy raised a family on fish poured onto my decks and I was prized by him.
When I finally revealed my magical nature to the Cimbri, Gilroy foolishly blabbed it all over town after too much drink. Some adventurers found the poor sot and slit his throat on my deck. I killed them all and then fled.
Again I lived alone for many, many years. This time my solitude was ended by another lone swimmer; I rescued a ljosalfar who had been attacked by some of the Three Mothers’ pirates. The alfar, a bard named Hrolfnir, was grateful and never divulged my abilities. Eventually Hrolfnir figured out much of my nature and through some truly humbling questions and answer sessions -- remember I could not talk then -- he discovered my need to eat the heart of a giant.
Hrolfnir took it upon himself to outfit a crew and go after Wodlaw. But again my hopes were dashed. It was Hrolfnir that was killed by the Demon’s Breath addled pirates just before I met you. It was he that I was avenging when I met Copoc and Malcomb on Wodlaw's isle. [DM: see Adventure #1.)
So now, you know the bulk of my story. It is simply up to you to aid me or not. I am at your mercy now.
