Company of the Random Encounter ('complete' 14 Nov 2004)
- Thread starter Capellan
- Start date
Capellan
Explorer
"The Hallowed Hills" by Miguel Duran (WotC Cliffhanger) - Part 3
The wagon makes it only as far as Andalyn and Gendrew's house, however, before Mantreus calls a halt.
"I'll just be a few minutes," he promises, before knocking on the cottage door. His knock answered by Gendrew, the sorcerer disappears inside for a few minutes, before returning with a wooden scroll tube, stoppered with wax at both ends.
"I bought some scrolls and a wand for detecting secret doors. I don't think that's got many charges left, but I figured it was worth it. You know how these old buildings are full of secret treasure rooms."
"That 'old building' is a holy house of the church." The Padre sounds reproving.
"Yes, but it's not your church."
"True." The Priest of St Cuthbert considers this point, and nods in satisfaction. "Good idea."
Sirdros, who probably ought to object to all this, seems occupied with getting the wagon moving once more, and makes no objection to the nascent plan for monastery-robbing.
In fact, the elven priest says very little at all, over the next day and a half, and it's not until the second night of the group's journey, as they sit around the fire for their evening meal, that the cause of his reticence is revealed.
"You were planning to mention the catacombs of undead when, exactly?" the Padre complains.
"They're not full of undead." Sirdros sounds waspish, "This is a sanctified monastery of Pelor."
"But there are tunnels, filled with corpses, right?"
"Yes."
"And those are, in fact, the part of the monastery that's been damaged?"
Sirdros sighs.
"Yes."
"Damage that caused an opening into further, hitherto unexplored caverns?"
"Yes."
"And the fate of the three monks who decided to go poking around in these caverns?"
"They weren't 'poking around' - they were recovering lost treasures that had been lost in the tremor."
"Whatever. What happened to them?"
"They haven't returned."
The Padre looks smug.
"Sounds like undead to me." Mantreus agrees, "What are we getting paid for this, again?"
"Nothing."
"Well, that's a bad deal."
Despite their resentment over Sirdros' late revelations, the group continues toward the monastery the next day. Though it is only early winter, there is a bite to the air, and the group bundles up warmly together in the back of the wagon, leaving the Pelorite to handle the horse - and the cold - by himself.
"You know, someone else could take a turn." Twinkle suggests, in a far too casual tone of voice. "It can't be that hard."
"No, they can't." the Padre grumbles back in a half-snore, "And you certainly can't. So whatever you're planning to do to the horse, you can forget it."
Twinkle, grumbling about nasty, suspicious humans, moves further away from the cleric. He appears unconcerned, and - after a few minutes of growing steadily more chilly - the gnome shuffles back into the warm clump of bodies.
"Why are we stopping?" Briar asks suddenly.
"Maybe Sirdros has frozen solid?" Mantreus suggests
"Of course I haven't." the elf mutters in response, "There's something odd, up ahead."
The others poke their heads up over the front of the wagon.
"It's a bee." Mantreus shrugs.
"It's a foot-long bee."
"It's the wrong season for bees." Briar offers, "They hibernate at this time of year."
"Are you missing the part about it being a foot long?"
"Do the big ones have different habits, then?"
"Oh, for ..." Sirdros sputters, then sighs, "What are we going to do about it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Shouldn't we attack it or something?"
"Why would we do that?"
"It might try to sting us."
"I should think it will, if we try to kill it."
"I meant if we didn't kill it."
"Why would it do that?"
"Isn't that what bees do?"
"Bees also hibernate in winter." Briar points at the foot-long insect as it buses in rather erratic circles over a clump of brown grass. "Which that isn't."
"You're just being difficult for the sake of it, aren't you?"
"Pretty much." The rogue grins.
"Fine, I'll kill it myself." Sirdros climbs down from the wagon and pulls out his morning star. Taking a deep breath, he begins to stalk over toward the slowly buzzing insect.
And then a new voice calls out:
"No! No! Don't hurt it!"
The wagon makes it only as far as Andalyn and Gendrew's house, however, before Mantreus calls a halt.
"I'll just be a few minutes," he promises, before knocking on the cottage door. His knock answered by Gendrew, the sorcerer disappears inside for a few minutes, before returning with a wooden scroll tube, stoppered with wax at both ends.
"I bought some scrolls and a wand for detecting secret doors. I don't think that's got many charges left, but I figured it was worth it. You know how these old buildings are full of secret treasure rooms."
"That 'old building' is a holy house of the church." The Padre sounds reproving.
"Yes, but it's not your church."
"True." The Priest of St Cuthbert considers this point, and nods in satisfaction. "Good idea."
Sirdros, who probably ought to object to all this, seems occupied with getting the wagon moving once more, and makes no objection to the nascent plan for monastery-robbing.
In fact, the elven priest says very little at all, over the next day and a half, and it's not until the second night of the group's journey, as they sit around the fire for their evening meal, that the cause of his reticence is revealed.
"You were planning to mention the catacombs of undead when, exactly?" the Padre complains.
"They're not full of undead." Sirdros sounds waspish, "This is a sanctified monastery of Pelor."
"But there are tunnels, filled with corpses, right?"
"Yes."
"And those are, in fact, the part of the monastery that's been damaged?"
Sirdros sighs.
"Yes."
"Damage that caused an opening into further, hitherto unexplored caverns?"
"Yes."
"And the fate of the three monks who decided to go poking around in these caverns?"
"They weren't 'poking around' - they were recovering lost treasures that had been lost in the tremor."
"Whatever. What happened to them?"
"They haven't returned."
The Padre looks smug.
"Sounds like undead to me." Mantreus agrees, "What are we getting paid for this, again?"
"Nothing."
"Well, that's a bad deal."
Despite their resentment over Sirdros' late revelations, the group continues toward the monastery the next day. Though it is only early winter, there is a bite to the air, and the group bundles up warmly together in the back of the wagon, leaving the Pelorite to handle the horse - and the cold - by himself.
"You know, someone else could take a turn." Twinkle suggests, in a far too casual tone of voice. "It can't be that hard."
"No, they can't." the Padre grumbles back in a half-snore, "And you certainly can't. So whatever you're planning to do to the horse, you can forget it."
Twinkle, grumbling about nasty, suspicious humans, moves further away from the cleric. He appears unconcerned, and - after a few minutes of growing steadily more chilly - the gnome shuffles back into the warm clump of bodies.
"Why are we stopping?" Briar asks suddenly.
"Maybe Sirdros has frozen solid?" Mantreus suggests
"Of course I haven't." the elf mutters in response, "There's something odd, up ahead."
The others poke their heads up over the front of the wagon.
"It's a bee." Mantreus shrugs.
"It's a foot-long bee."
"It's the wrong season for bees." Briar offers, "They hibernate at this time of year."
"Are you missing the part about it being a foot long?"
"Do the big ones have different habits, then?"
"Oh, for ..." Sirdros sputters, then sighs, "What are we going to do about it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Shouldn't we attack it or something?"
"Why would we do that?"
"It might try to sting us."
"I should think it will, if we try to kill it."
"I meant if we didn't kill it."
"Why would it do that?"
"Isn't that what bees do?"
"Bees also hibernate in winter." Briar points at the foot-long insect as it buses in rather erratic circles over a clump of brown grass. "Which that isn't."
"You're just being difficult for the sake of it, aren't you?"
"Pretty much." The rogue grins.
"Fine, I'll kill it myself." Sirdros climbs down from the wagon and pulls out his morning star. Taking a deep breath, he begins to stalk over toward the slowly buzzing insect.
And then a new voice calls out:
"No! No! Don't hurt it!"
Capellan
Explorer
"The Hallowed Hills" by Miguel Duran (WotC Cliffhanger) - Part 4
A man comes running down the road toward the Company. He is tall and gangly, with sandalled feet and a somewhat grubby robe streaming out behind him. Clutched in one hand is an enormous butterfly net, which keeps threatening to trip him as he runs.
"Don't hurt it!" he repeats, "It's not dangerous."
This claim provokes some rather sceptical remarks from the adventures, but they allow the man to herd them away from the oversized bee, then watch as he creeps up toward it through the long grass, his bony posterior waving above the tips.
"Who is this fool?" the Padre asks.
This 'fool', it turns out, is Sionaas: a wizard with a passion for bees.
"Fascinating creatures." He opines, as he leads the group back toward his caravan; a brightly painted affair with a strange white wagon hitched to the back.
"They're not usually so large." Sirdros has size issues.
"Oh, these are a giant breed."
"You don't say."
"Yes, indeed. They were quite expensive to acquire, I can assure you. But vital to my research: absolutely vital."
"Research?" Twinkle perks up, "Are you trying to make a bee-based explosive?"
"Not quite, no." Sionaas is oblivious to the hopes he has just crushed - which is probably just as well. "It's actually the wax from their hives that I'm interested in."
"The wax?" Twinkle frowns as she watches Sionaas gently push the bee into the unusual, enclosed wagon behind his caravan. "Not the honey?"
"Oh no. I've got far more of that than I need."
Within moments, the gnome is happily ensconced in Sionaas' caravan, a massive earthenware jar of honey in her lap. For once, she takes little part in the conversation, her attention - and her mouth - fully occupied by the jar and its sweet contents.
As the travellers enjoy a companionable meal of honeyed bread and freshly steeped tea, Sionaas explains that he is on his way north-east to the village of Poisson, in an area known as the 'Hidden Coast', where he plans to build a giant hive for his bees.
"I keep the bees, for the wax that they use for their honeycomb." He continues, "I'm convinced that it can be used in magical compounds and candles. But I need somewhere to keep the hive, before I can produce enough to supply my research. It will be quite something to see once it is built."
"We have business to the south, for now" the Padre swirls the dregs of his tea, giving the leaves in the cup a disapproving stare, "But we may come see it, once that is done." His opinion of Sionaas has risen sharply ever since he heard the phrase 'magical compounds'.
"Well, I'm sure it won't be ready for several weeks at the least." Sionaas explains, "But you would be welcome to visit me any time you wish."
"C'n we get more?" Twinkle speaks for the first time in several minutes, gesturing with now-sticky hands at the pot in her lap. Sionaas laughs,
"Of course. Take another now, if you like." He gestures at the dozens of similar pots that line the shelves of the caravan, "As I said before, I have far more than I could never use."
Once Twinkle has helped herself to the biggest jar she can find, the adventurers take their leave of the wizard, and continue their journey to the Monastery of the Risen Star. They arrive there in the later part of the afternoon, having been slowed by the twisting road, which snakes back and forth between many patches of rough and rocky ground.
"I'd say this area has a fair number of earth tremors. " Briar points at one of the many ribbon-like ridges that flank the road. "Lots of subsidence would cause that."
"Where'd you learn something like that?" Anastria glowers suspiciously at a human displaying such knowledge of the wilderness.
"Macwood. He was showing me some maps he'd drawn, and explaining how the land became shaped the way it was." Briar shrugs, "It was pretty interesting."
"Well if you're right, it's a damn stupid place to build anything." The Padre snorts, "Though I wouldn't expect much better from the Pelorites."
Distracted with driving the wagon, Sirdros does not hear the remark. Or at least, refuses to acknowledge it.
At last, as the shadows grow long in the twilight, the cart clatters into the monastery courtyard. Leaving the horse and wagon in the care of one of the junior brothers, the adventurers are led through the stone building by another of the lesser brethren, who finally ushers them into the presence of Abbot Gerrard.
The Abbot is a silver-haired human male, though the colour of his hair and a few lines on his face are the only signs of his age. He welcomes the Company in a deep baritone, and sends the younger monk to fetch mulled wine -
"- to chase some of the evening chill from your bones." He smiles, then turns grave, "It is late in the day, and I can see you are tired, but I hope that by first light tomorrow you will be sufficiently rested to begin your search. Three of my brethren are missing - including Brother Durham, my chief assistant - and I am greatly concerned for their safety."
"Has any attempt been made to find them?" the Padre asks, with a slight air of belligerence.
Abbott Gerrard shakes his head,
"There is little we have been able to do. Lanterns were lowered into the caves, in the hope that their light would lead our brothers to safety, but to no avail. The bravest and most capable of my brethren went with Brother Durham. I would have entered the caves myself, but the high priest insisted that the task be left to you."
"Lucky us." The priest of St Cuthbert grunts sourly, then downs his wine with one gulp, "We'll be ready at first light."
A man comes running down the road toward the Company. He is tall and gangly, with sandalled feet and a somewhat grubby robe streaming out behind him. Clutched in one hand is an enormous butterfly net, which keeps threatening to trip him as he runs.
"Don't hurt it!" he repeats, "It's not dangerous."
This claim provokes some rather sceptical remarks from the adventures, but they allow the man to herd them away from the oversized bee, then watch as he creeps up toward it through the long grass, his bony posterior waving above the tips.
"Who is this fool?" the Padre asks.
This 'fool', it turns out, is Sionaas: a wizard with a passion for bees.
"Fascinating creatures." He opines, as he leads the group back toward his caravan; a brightly painted affair with a strange white wagon hitched to the back.
"They're not usually so large." Sirdros has size issues.
"Oh, these are a giant breed."
"You don't say."
"Yes, indeed. They were quite expensive to acquire, I can assure you. But vital to my research: absolutely vital."
"Research?" Twinkle perks up, "Are you trying to make a bee-based explosive?"
"Not quite, no." Sionaas is oblivious to the hopes he has just crushed - which is probably just as well. "It's actually the wax from their hives that I'm interested in."
"The wax?" Twinkle frowns as she watches Sionaas gently push the bee into the unusual, enclosed wagon behind his caravan. "Not the honey?"
"Oh no. I've got far more of that than I need."
Within moments, the gnome is happily ensconced in Sionaas' caravan, a massive earthenware jar of honey in her lap. For once, she takes little part in the conversation, her attention - and her mouth - fully occupied by the jar and its sweet contents.
As the travellers enjoy a companionable meal of honeyed bread and freshly steeped tea, Sionaas explains that he is on his way north-east to the village of Poisson, in an area known as the 'Hidden Coast', where he plans to build a giant hive for his bees.
"I keep the bees, for the wax that they use for their honeycomb." He continues, "I'm convinced that it can be used in magical compounds and candles. But I need somewhere to keep the hive, before I can produce enough to supply my research. It will be quite something to see once it is built."
"We have business to the south, for now" the Padre swirls the dregs of his tea, giving the leaves in the cup a disapproving stare, "But we may come see it, once that is done." His opinion of Sionaas has risen sharply ever since he heard the phrase 'magical compounds'.
"Well, I'm sure it won't be ready for several weeks at the least." Sionaas explains, "But you would be welcome to visit me any time you wish."
"C'n we get more?" Twinkle speaks for the first time in several minutes, gesturing with now-sticky hands at the pot in her lap. Sionaas laughs,
"Of course. Take another now, if you like." He gestures at the dozens of similar pots that line the shelves of the caravan, "As I said before, I have far more than I could never use."
Once Twinkle has helped herself to the biggest jar she can find, the adventurers take their leave of the wizard, and continue their journey to the Monastery of the Risen Star. They arrive there in the later part of the afternoon, having been slowed by the twisting road, which snakes back and forth between many patches of rough and rocky ground.
"I'd say this area has a fair number of earth tremors. " Briar points at one of the many ribbon-like ridges that flank the road. "Lots of subsidence would cause that."
"Where'd you learn something like that?" Anastria glowers suspiciously at a human displaying such knowledge of the wilderness.
"Macwood. He was showing me some maps he'd drawn, and explaining how the land became shaped the way it was." Briar shrugs, "It was pretty interesting."
"Well if you're right, it's a damn stupid place to build anything." The Padre snorts, "Though I wouldn't expect much better from the Pelorites."
Distracted with driving the wagon, Sirdros does not hear the remark. Or at least, refuses to acknowledge it.
At last, as the shadows grow long in the twilight, the cart clatters into the monastery courtyard. Leaving the horse and wagon in the care of one of the junior brothers, the adventurers are led through the stone building by another of the lesser brethren, who finally ushers them into the presence of Abbot Gerrard.
The Abbot is a silver-haired human male, though the colour of his hair and a few lines on his face are the only signs of his age. He welcomes the Company in a deep baritone, and sends the younger monk to fetch mulled wine -
"- to chase some of the evening chill from your bones." He smiles, then turns grave, "It is late in the day, and I can see you are tired, but I hope that by first light tomorrow you will be sufficiently rested to begin your search. Three of my brethren are missing - including Brother Durham, my chief assistant - and I am greatly concerned for their safety."
"Has any attempt been made to find them?" the Padre asks, with a slight air of belligerence.
Abbott Gerrard shakes his head,
"There is little we have been able to do. Lanterns were lowered into the caves, in the hope that their light would lead our brothers to safety, but to no avail. The bravest and most capable of my brethren went with Brother Durham. I would have entered the caves myself, but the high priest insisted that the task be left to you."
"Lucky us." The priest of St Cuthbert grunts sourly, then downs his wine with one gulp, "We'll be ready at first light."
Capellan
Explorer
"The Hallowed Hills" by Miguel Duran (WotC Cliffhanger) - Part 5
Thus it is that the Company drag themselves out of their beds in the cold half-light of the dawn, yawn their way through dressing and equipping themselves, and then grumble their way down into the catacombs beneath the monastery. The monks have been storing their dead here for several decades, and the group walks past dozens of coffin-filled niches to reach the opening into the caves.
"Given the way I feel, this is the right place to be." Mantreus gives the Padre a baleful stare, "Remind me why we needed to be up this early, again?"
The way down into the caves below proves to be a 10' wide fissure in the floor, in the oldest section of the catacombs. The fissure, which drops some 60' straight down, has rough walls with plenty of hand-holds, but some of the rock looks unstable, so the group decides to use a rope to get down. A long discussion follows on the subject of who should go first. Eventually, Sirdros is chosen.
"With that half plate armour of yours, you're not going to be able to climb down by yourself." The Padre reasons, "And it will probably need all of us to lower you down safely, with all that weight. Besides, if there is something dangerous down there, you're the best protected of any of us."
However reluctant a volunteer he might be, Sirdros cannot deny that the logic is sound, and he soon finds himself lowered - rather like a sack of potatoes - to the cave below. Untying himself quickly, he raises the group's everburning torch, to provide better light, and waves for the others to come down.
Anastria is the next to begin the descent, clambering down the rope towards her brother. She has gone only ten feet, however, when a pack of four emaciated, leathery-skinned creatures burst out of the darkness, rushing toward Sirdros.
"Ghouls!" the priest of Pelor shouts, dropping the torch and drawing forth his holy symbol. The ghouls reach him seconds later, clawing at his armoured form. Only once manages a hit, drawing a shallow gash along the cleric's arm.
The Padre swears and raises his crossbow to his shoulder, firing a chancy shot down into the melee below. The bolt shatters harmlessly on the rock floor.
Mantreus swears too, but he has recourse to other methods of attack than his crossbow. An unerring missile of energy flashes down into the cave, searing the shoulder of one of the ghouls. Snarling, the creature ducks to one side, out of sight of the narrow view given by the 60' shaft.
Anastria climbs ten feet.
The ghouls swarm over Sirdros. Their paralysis attack is useless against the elf, but their teeth and claws are more than capable of rending his flesh. Each of the four manages to pierce the cleric's armour at least once, and blood pours from several injuries as Sirdros tries to invoke his god.
"May Pelor's might drive you hence!" he cries, raising his symbol aloft. Pelor's holy light flares in the cave, but it seems dimmer somehow, in the cavernous darkness, and fades quickly, without eliciting more than a few hisses of discomfort from the ghouls.
The Padre grabs Briar and pushes her toward the rope,
"Start climbing!" he orders, then turns and yells down toward Anastria, "Climb faster! You're moving too slowly!"
Anastria climbs ten feet.
Below, the ghouls claw and bite at Sirdros once more. Gore spatters across the ground as the elven cleric sags, his strength failing as his injuries mount. Ragged tears mar his armour and his flesh alike, and his feet slip on the wet and sticky patches of his own blood.
Fighting to stay conscious, the elf calls on his god again, his voice sounding hoarse and wet as he chokes out the words of the invocation. Light gleams forth again, but - much like the man who summons it - it is weaker than before. As the glow fades, one of the ghouls grabs Sirdros and drags him to the ground.
"Anastria!" the Padre bellows, veins standing out in neck as his face turns red, "Go faster, damn you! Hells - jump, woman! - Sirdros is down!"
Anastria climbs ten feet.
The Padre yells again for her to jump, joined now in his invective by Mantreus, who demonstrates an extraordinary imagination in his suggestions as to the elf woman's parentage and virtue.
The ghouls, snuffling and croaking in glee, drag Sirdros' body into the darkness of the cave. The elf makes no resistance, his holy symbol falling from his limp fingers as he disappears from sight. Moments later, the smell of blood grows even thicker, as there are noises like the sound of wet cloth, tearing.
Anastria climbs ten feet.
Twinkle becomes the third person onto the rope, which creaks alarmingly under the accumulated weight, but continues to hold.
As the sounds of the feasting ghouls continue, Anastria finally reaches the bottom of the rope. Immediately, the ghouls charge out of the darkness once more, encircling the elven woman. The creatures mouths are stained with blood, while gore coats their arms, all the way to the elbows.
Briar, still halfway up the rope, sees the undead surround Anastria, clawing and biting at what must to them seem to be another tasty mortal from above. Realising that if things continue as they have, the whole group could be overwhelmed and eaten individually, the young rogue races through the words of the most sincere prayer of her life, and lets go of the rope.
Landing heavily - her attempt at a somersault to break the falls goes badly awry - Briar staggers to her feet. Shaking her head to clear it, she raises her sword just in time to bat aside a ghoul's claw, then steps to Anastria's side, stabbing at one of the creatures as she does so.
One after another, the remaining four adventurers do the very thing that Anastria did not: as they reach the halfway point of the rope, they take a deep breath, mutter a quick prayer, and drop. Even the Padre - with all the acrobatic grace of a wooden log - gamely plummets a full 30', landing amidst a clatter of weapons and armour.
Rising to his feet, the priest sees that his companions have the ghouls more or less in hand and immediately beseeches St Cuthbert for light, searching for any sign of Sirdros. He swiftly spots the other cleric, and rushes to the elf's side, but it is immediately apparent that it is too late: Sirdros stares up with dead and sightless eyes, his body torn open by the voracious undead.
Thus it is that the Company drag themselves out of their beds in the cold half-light of the dawn, yawn their way through dressing and equipping themselves, and then grumble their way down into the catacombs beneath the monastery. The monks have been storing their dead here for several decades, and the group walks past dozens of coffin-filled niches to reach the opening into the caves.
"Given the way I feel, this is the right place to be." Mantreus gives the Padre a baleful stare, "Remind me why we needed to be up this early, again?"
The way down into the caves below proves to be a 10' wide fissure in the floor, in the oldest section of the catacombs. The fissure, which drops some 60' straight down, has rough walls with plenty of hand-holds, but some of the rock looks unstable, so the group decides to use a rope to get down. A long discussion follows on the subject of who should go first. Eventually, Sirdros is chosen.
"With that half plate armour of yours, you're not going to be able to climb down by yourself." The Padre reasons, "And it will probably need all of us to lower you down safely, with all that weight. Besides, if there is something dangerous down there, you're the best protected of any of us."
However reluctant a volunteer he might be, Sirdros cannot deny that the logic is sound, and he soon finds himself lowered - rather like a sack of potatoes - to the cave below. Untying himself quickly, he raises the group's everburning torch, to provide better light, and waves for the others to come down.
Anastria is the next to begin the descent, clambering down the rope towards her brother. She has gone only ten feet, however, when a pack of four emaciated, leathery-skinned creatures burst out of the darkness, rushing toward Sirdros.
"Ghouls!" the priest of Pelor shouts, dropping the torch and drawing forth his holy symbol. The ghouls reach him seconds later, clawing at his armoured form. Only once manages a hit, drawing a shallow gash along the cleric's arm.
The Padre swears and raises his crossbow to his shoulder, firing a chancy shot down into the melee below. The bolt shatters harmlessly on the rock floor.
Mantreus swears too, but he has recourse to other methods of attack than his crossbow. An unerring missile of energy flashes down into the cave, searing the shoulder of one of the ghouls. Snarling, the creature ducks to one side, out of sight of the narrow view given by the 60' shaft.
Anastria climbs ten feet.
The ghouls swarm over Sirdros. Their paralysis attack is useless against the elf, but their teeth and claws are more than capable of rending his flesh. Each of the four manages to pierce the cleric's armour at least once, and blood pours from several injuries as Sirdros tries to invoke his god.
"May Pelor's might drive you hence!" he cries, raising his symbol aloft. Pelor's holy light flares in the cave, but it seems dimmer somehow, in the cavernous darkness, and fades quickly, without eliciting more than a few hisses of discomfort from the ghouls.
The Padre grabs Briar and pushes her toward the rope,
"Start climbing!" he orders, then turns and yells down toward Anastria, "Climb faster! You're moving too slowly!"
Anastria climbs ten feet.
Below, the ghouls claw and bite at Sirdros once more. Gore spatters across the ground as the elven cleric sags, his strength failing as his injuries mount. Ragged tears mar his armour and his flesh alike, and his feet slip on the wet and sticky patches of his own blood.
Fighting to stay conscious, the elf calls on his god again, his voice sounding hoarse and wet as he chokes out the words of the invocation. Light gleams forth again, but - much like the man who summons it - it is weaker than before. As the glow fades, one of the ghouls grabs Sirdros and drags him to the ground.
"Anastria!" the Padre bellows, veins standing out in neck as his face turns red, "Go faster, damn you! Hells - jump, woman! - Sirdros is down!"
Anastria climbs ten feet.
The Padre yells again for her to jump, joined now in his invective by Mantreus, who demonstrates an extraordinary imagination in his suggestions as to the elf woman's parentage and virtue.
The ghouls, snuffling and croaking in glee, drag Sirdros' body into the darkness of the cave. The elf makes no resistance, his holy symbol falling from his limp fingers as he disappears from sight. Moments later, the smell of blood grows even thicker, as there are noises like the sound of wet cloth, tearing.
Anastria climbs ten feet.
Twinkle becomes the third person onto the rope, which creaks alarmingly under the accumulated weight, but continues to hold.
As the sounds of the feasting ghouls continue, Anastria finally reaches the bottom of the rope. Immediately, the ghouls charge out of the darkness once more, encircling the elven woman. The creatures mouths are stained with blood, while gore coats their arms, all the way to the elbows.
Briar, still halfway up the rope, sees the undead surround Anastria, clawing and biting at what must to them seem to be another tasty mortal from above. Realising that if things continue as they have, the whole group could be overwhelmed and eaten individually, the young rogue races through the words of the most sincere prayer of her life, and lets go of the rope.
Landing heavily - her attempt at a somersault to break the falls goes badly awry - Briar staggers to her feet. Shaking her head to clear it, she raises her sword just in time to bat aside a ghoul's claw, then steps to Anastria's side, stabbing at one of the creatures as she does so.
One after another, the remaining four adventurers do the very thing that Anastria did not: as they reach the halfway point of the rope, they take a deep breath, mutter a quick prayer, and drop. Even the Padre - with all the acrobatic grace of a wooden log - gamely plummets a full 30', landing amidst a clatter of weapons and armour.
Rising to his feet, the priest sees that his companions have the ghouls more or less in hand and immediately beseeches St Cuthbert for light, searching for any sign of Sirdros. He swiftly spots the other cleric, and rushes to the elf's side, but it is immediately apparent that it is too late: Sirdros stares up with dead and sightless eyes, his body torn open by the voracious undead.
Capellan
Explorer
Keep in mind that I have deliberately written the above passage to paint Anastria's actions in the worst possible light (although, let's face it, there's no good light to paint them in).
Anastria's player is still somewhat of a novice (this was only her 4th CotRE and maybe her 12th game, ever) and massively risk averse: at least vis her own character. She invariably takes the option that is least dangerous to her, personally: often to the detriment of the group as a whole.
Of course, sooner or later, she's going to be the one who needs help. I'll be interested to see what happens, then ...
As for Sirdros, of all the people at the table, he was probably the one who was least annoyed wth her; but then, while the characters are siblings, the players are engaged.
Anastria's player is still somewhat of a novice (this was only her 4th CotRE and maybe her 12th game, ever) and massively risk averse: at least vis her own character. She invariably takes the option that is least dangerous to her, personally: often to the detriment of the group as a whole.
Of course, sooner or later, she's going to be the one who needs help. I'll be interested to see what happens, then ...
As for Sirdros, of all the people at the table, he was probably the one who was least annoyed wth her; but then, while the characters are siblings, the players are engaged.
Zaruthustran
The tingling means it’s working!
Capellan said:
Yes, but are they still engaged? >
-z
Hammerhead
Explorer
I hope Anastria's player remembers her cowardice when she's the one being devoured by ghouls. Still, the Company should know better than to trust an elf
Capellan
Explorer
"The Hallowed Hills" by Miguel Duran (WotC Cliffhanger) - Part 6
Sirdros wakes from a dream of sunlight and warmth to a reality of darkness and cold.
He lies on a stone altar, before a banner of his deity, Pelor.
The remembers the Sun God's realm: golden sunshine and eternal summer.
"Rest easy, my son." A warm hand touches his cold brow, "It will take some time for you to reacclimatise to this mortal realm."
"Abbot ... Gerrard ..." the elf priest struggles to form the words, "Cold."
"I know, my son." The Abbot draws a blanket over his body, "You have left the warmth of our lord Pelor's court to return to us."
"I ... heard you ... calling. "
"I read the invocation." Gerrard touches the fragments of a scroll. "Nothing more."
"The others?"
"They are healed, and await you. You may join them once you feel strong enough. For now, you should rest."
Sleep steals over the elf, and he sinks into darkness, filled with dreams of light.
It is not until the next day that he is able to rise and go to the others. He moves slowly, his vision feeling strangely dim in this dark, drab world. His welcome is muted, but sincere, whether it be a clap on the shoulder from the Padre, or a teary smile from Twinkle.
"I'm ready to go back." He tells them, taking a deep breath. "Others of my faith are still in there."
"You know they're almost certainly dead." The Padre offers, "It would be safer to seal the tunnels."
Sirdros shakes his head,
"That is not our task."
And thus they return to the caverns, venturing past the corpses of the ghouls, and into a narrow but high tunnel. This twists and turns, forcing them to move in single file and often plunging one adventurer or another into darkness as those members carrying torches move around a bend.
And then suddenly there is a flurry of activity above them, and what they take at first to be bats drop out of the darkness toward them. It is only as the creatures come within their light that they see the long mosquito-like noses and hear the high-pitched buzz of the wings: these are no bats.
"Stirges!" the Padre curses, "Don't let them land on you!"
Easier said than done: several of the creatures alight on Anastria and Briar, each attempting to plunge their needle-like proboscis into the flesh of the women. Some succeed, and Anastria goes white as more than a pint of blood is drained from her body. Swaying badly, she ignores the foul creatures, scrabbling instead in her pack for her potion of bear's endurance, which she drains as eagerly as the stirges drain her blood.
Fortunately for the elf woman, the other adventurers are at hand, not at the other end of a rope. They move quickly into action, attacking the creatures that have settled upon her and Briar. Mantreus' magical missiles prove particularly useful in this regard, for he can target them on the beasts without risk to his friends.
Despite this, and despite the potion, Anastria is white and trembling by the time all six of the stirges have been slain. Anaemic and faint from the loss of blood, she sags against the tunnel wall, barely able to hold onto consciousness.
After checking that Briar is in no imminent danger of death, the Padre gives Anastria a hard stare, before laying his hand on her shoulder and speaking the words of a spell of restoration. Perhaps St Cuthbert senses his priest's reluctance, for the magic flows weakly, barely strengthening the elf woman at all.
"This is ridiculous." The priest confers with Sirdros and Mantreus, "We've barely gone a hundred yards further than last time, and we've got to head back again. I'm pretty sure that potion is the only thing keeping her alive."
"Briar is weak, too." Sirdros agrees, "Though not so sorely. Twinkle and yourself as well."
The Padre waves off the concern.
"I'm fine." He insists. "Let's get back to the monastery."
Sirdros wakes from a dream of sunlight and warmth to a reality of darkness and cold.
He lies on a stone altar, before a banner of his deity, Pelor.
The remembers the Sun God's realm: golden sunshine and eternal summer.
"Rest easy, my son." A warm hand touches his cold brow, "It will take some time for you to reacclimatise to this mortal realm."
"Abbot ... Gerrard ..." the elf priest struggles to form the words, "Cold."
"I know, my son." The Abbot draws a blanket over his body, "You have left the warmth of our lord Pelor's court to return to us."
"I ... heard you ... calling. "
"I read the invocation." Gerrard touches the fragments of a scroll. "Nothing more."
"The others?"
"They are healed, and await you. You may join them once you feel strong enough. For now, you should rest."
Sleep steals over the elf, and he sinks into darkness, filled with dreams of light.
It is not until the next day that he is able to rise and go to the others. He moves slowly, his vision feeling strangely dim in this dark, drab world. His welcome is muted, but sincere, whether it be a clap on the shoulder from the Padre, or a teary smile from Twinkle.
"I'm ready to go back." He tells them, taking a deep breath. "Others of my faith are still in there."
"You know they're almost certainly dead." The Padre offers, "It would be safer to seal the tunnels."
Sirdros shakes his head,
"That is not our task."
And thus they return to the caverns, venturing past the corpses of the ghouls, and into a narrow but high tunnel. This twists and turns, forcing them to move in single file and often plunging one adventurer or another into darkness as those members carrying torches move around a bend.
And then suddenly there is a flurry of activity above them, and what they take at first to be bats drop out of the darkness toward them. It is only as the creatures come within their light that they see the long mosquito-like noses and hear the high-pitched buzz of the wings: these are no bats.
"Stirges!" the Padre curses, "Don't let them land on you!"
Easier said than done: several of the creatures alight on Anastria and Briar, each attempting to plunge their needle-like proboscis into the flesh of the women. Some succeed, and Anastria goes white as more than a pint of blood is drained from her body. Swaying badly, she ignores the foul creatures, scrabbling instead in her pack for her potion of bear's endurance, which she drains as eagerly as the stirges drain her blood.
Fortunately for the elf woman, the other adventurers are at hand, not at the other end of a rope. They move quickly into action, attacking the creatures that have settled upon her and Briar. Mantreus' magical missiles prove particularly useful in this regard, for he can target them on the beasts without risk to his friends.
Despite this, and despite the potion, Anastria is white and trembling by the time all six of the stirges have been slain. Anaemic and faint from the loss of blood, she sags against the tunnel wall, barely able to hold onto consciousness.
After checking that Briar is in no imminent danger of death, the Padre gives Anastria a hard stare, before laying his hand on her shoulder and speaking the words of a spell of restoration. Perhaps St Cuthbert senses his priest's reluctance, for the magic flows weakly, barely strengthening the elf woman at all.
"This is ridiculous." The priest confers with Sirdros and Mantreus, "We've barely gone a hundred yards further than last time, and we've got to head back again. I'm pretty sure that potion is the only thing keeping her alive."
"Briar is weak, too." Sirdros agrees, "Though not so sorely. Twinkle and yourself as well."
The Padre waves off the concern.
"I'm fine." He insists. "Let's get back to the monastery."
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