Copperheads: Betrayal and Strange Runes and Burning Dead, oh my (short update 02/12)
- Thread starter arwink
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arwink
Clockwork Golem
Finding Selendar turns out to be more difficult than anyone expected. There are precious little clues as to where he may be hiding, and the only way off the watch is down the path they originally walked along. The kobold bodies are quickly hidden and all signs of the fight are cleaned away as best the group can manage. With slightly dampened spirits, they return to the base of the hill.
"Look for tracks?" Geoffrey suggests.
"It's a travelers path," Halgo says. "There are only a dozen people walking along it ever day. I doubt any of us could follow a force smaller than an army across soft mud at the best of times. How in hell are we going to find the tracks of a single renegade cleric on a paved road."
"Kobold tracks," Blarth announces from the side of the road. "Blarth think they come from forest."
Halgo and Geoffrey look at one another.
"Not a word," Halgo says quietly.
Geoffrey just smiles.
They head into the forest, following the light trail of kobold paws through the undergrowth. The tusk forest has a thick canopy that only filters through a little light, and there's an earthy smell in the air that seems faintly oppressive. After what seems like hours of aimless wandering, they stumble across a mail-clad figure lying in the midst of a clearing. The body is brutally bloodied and partially eaten, large rents ripped through the chain-linked mail. The pale blue tabard he wears is bares the symbol of St Cuthbert, and a heavy mace is gripped firmly in his hands.
"Perric," Geoffrey says as he kneels over the body. "He was one of the assistants during the bell crafting, an apprentice justicar. I remember Y'Dey mentioning that he was being sent after Selandar and hadn’t been heard from. He was presumed dead or corrupted."
"Dead is better, in this case," Halgo says quietly. "Isn't it?"
"Yes, but look at the wounds," Geoffrey says. He runs his hands along the edges of a wide gash. "Something heavy tore through here, and I doubt it was a weapon. What in the Nine Holy Laws does this to a man?"
A sharp crack suddenly fills the air, followed by the sound of something forcing itself through the undergrowth. Everyone turns to see a giant boar, easily five feet in height, crashing its way through the bushes around the clearing. A single, baleful eye glares at the three adventurers, a red gleam easily visible as it stares from the shadowy fringe of the clearing. Two long tusks, easily the size of pike blades, curve out from the boars face. Both the tusks are streaked with dry blood.
"Blarth just guessing, but he think maybe that do it."
With a grunt of pure rage, the boar charges.
The three Copperheads lurch into actions, weapons at the ready even as the boar crashes into their midst. The boar's tusks swing wildly, tearing a rent in the side of Geoffrey's armor and opening a wound in the clerics belly. He barely fills the wound as a cold rage fills him, the sight of the corrupted creature that killed his brethren fueling his anger. Channeling the might of St Cuthbert through his blow, he smashes his mace down on the creature’s head. The boar lets out a squeal of pain, and the blow staggers the creature, but it doesn't fall. Blarth is quick to press the advantage, hammering his sword against the boar’s head. The creatures flailing tusks deflect the worst of his blow, but the half-orc still opens a jagged gash along the snout.
Everyone looks a little surprised when the boar is still standing after both blows. Even more so when it swings around and gouges a tusk into Blarth's leg.
Halgo rattles off the words to an extended daze, his magic boring through the boars rage and leaving it momentarily glassy eyed.
"You've got a ten-count," the wizard calls. "Kill it."
Everyone sets to with a vengeance, hammering at the boar with whatever weapon is at hand. None of it seems to do any good, swords barely cutting through the thick hide and maces bouncing off the thick skull. Although the creature is easy to strike, neither Blarth nor Geoffrey seems to hit it hard enough to break the skin.
Halgo silently counts off the effect of his spell, calling a warning mere seconds before the Boar shakes free and swings its tusks towards him. The dwarf's arcane defenses hold out against the boars tusk, but the force of the blow leaves him winded. The boar snorts heavily and takes a step towards the wizard.
"Nay!" Geoffrey shouts, and his mace lashes out with an arcing blow. Even before it reaches the boar, he can feel the force in the blow - a smooth combination of human muscle and weighted core coming together in a deadly symmetry. The mace connects with a tusk first, snapping it with barely a pause, then buries itself in the boars remaining eye with a sickening squelch. The boar takes another step towards Halgo, an act of pure instinct, then keels to one side and falls to the ground.
"It dead?" Halgo asks.
Blarth pokes it a few times with his sword.
"Think so," he says.
"Good."
Halgo looks at Geoffrey for a few moments, then glances down at the pig.
"Next time I stun something, do you think perhaps you could hit it like that before it recovers?"
Geoffrey shrugs.
"I'll see what I can do."
"Look for tracks?" Geoffrey suggests.
"It's a travelers path," Halgo says. "There are only a dozen people walking along it ever day. I doubt any of us could follow a force smaller than an army across soft mud at the best of times. How in hell are we going to find the tracks of a single renegade cleric on a paved road."
"Kobold tracks," Blarth announces from the side of the road. "Blarth think they come from forest."
Halgo and Geoffrey look at one another.
"Not a word," Halgo says quietly.
Geoffrey just smiles.
They head into the forest, following the light trail of kobold paws through the undergrowth. The tusk forest has a thick canopy that only filters through a little light, and there's an earthy smell in the air that seems faintly oppressive. After what seems like hours of aimless wandering, they stumble across a mail-clad figure lying in the midst of a clearing. The body is brutally bloodied and partially eaten, large rents ripped through the chain-linked mail. The pale blue tabard he wears is bares the symbol of St Cuthbert, and a heavy mace is gripped firmly in his hands.
"Perric," Geoffrey says as he kneels over the body. "He was one of the assistants during the bell crafting, an apprentice justicar. I remember Y'Dey mentioning that he was being sent after Selandar and hadn’t been heard from. He was presumed dead or corrupted."
"Dead is better, in this case," Halgo says quietly. "Isn't it?"
"Yes, but look at the wounds," Geoffrey says. He runs his hands along the edges of a wide gash. "Something heavy tore through here, and I doubt it was a weapon. What in the Nine Holy Laws does this to a man?"
A sharp crack suddenly fills the air, followed by the sound of something forcing itself through the undergrowth. Everyone turns to see a giant boar, easily five feet in height, crashing its way through the bushes around the clearing. A single, baleful eye glares at the three adventurers, a red gleam easily visible as it stares from the shadowy fringe of the clearing. Two long tusks, easily the size of pike blades, curve out from the boars face. Both the tusks are streaked with dry blood.
"Blarth just guessing, but he think maybe that do it."
With a grunt of pure rage, the boar charges.
The three Copperheads lurch into actions, weapons at the ready even as the boar crashes into their midst. The boar's tusks swing wildly, tearing a rent in the side of Geoffrey's armor and opening a wound in the clerics belly. He barely fills the wound as a cold rage fills him, the sight of the corrupted creature that killed his brethren fueling his anger. Channeling the might of St Cuthbert through his blow, he smashes his mace down on the creature’s head. The boar lets out a squeal of pain, and the blow staggers the creature, but it doesn't fall. Blarth is quick to press the advantage, hammering his sword against the boar’s head. The creatures flailing tusks deflect the worst of his blow, but the half-orc still opens a jagged gash along the snout.
Everyone looks a little surprised when the boar is still standing after both blows. Even more so when it swings around and gouges a tusk into Blarth's leg.
Halgo rattles off the words to an extended daze, his magic boring through the boars rage and leaving it momentarily glassy eyed.
"You've got a ten-count," the wizard calls. "Kill it."
Everyone sets to with a vengeance, hammering at the boar with whatever weapon is at hand. None of it seems to do any good, swords barely cutting through the thick hide and maces bouncing off the thick skull. Although the creature is easy to strike, neither Blarth nor Geoffrey seems to hit it hard enough to break the skin.
Halgo silently counts off the effect of his spell, calling a warning mere seconds before the Boar shakes free and swings its tusks towards him. The dwarf's arcane defenses hold out against the boars tusk, but the force of the blow leaves him winded. The boar snorts heavily and takes a step towards the wizard.
"Nay!" Geoffrey shouts, and his mace lashes out with an arcing blow. Even before it reaches the boar, he can feel the force in the blow - a smooth combination of human muscle and weighted core coming together in a deadly symmetry. The mace connects with a tusk first, snapping it with barely a pause, then buries itself in the boars remaining eye with a sickening squelch. The boar takes another step towards Halgo, an act of pure instinct, then keels to one side and falls to the ground.
"It dead?" Halgo asks.
Blarth pokes it a few times with his sword.
"Think so," he says.
"Good."
Halgo looks at Geoffrey for a few moments, then glances down at the pig.
"Next time I stun something, do you think perhaps you could hit it like that before it recovers?"
Geoffrey shrugs.
"I'll see what I can do."
arwink
Clockwork Golem
Nightfall is close as the Copperheads finish examining the boar’s body, and no one is particularly thrilled with the idea of finding their way back to the road in the darkness. A hurried camp is made just outside of the clearing, with small beds of leaves covered by cloaks and a small fire to cook strips of bacon from the freshly slain boar.
"Waste not, want not," opines Geoffrey cheerfully as he cooks. "There should be enough there for breakfast as well."
Geoffrey's cooking skills aren't great, but he does a manageable job with the bacon and everyone settles down for a relatively contented nights sleep. The noises of the forest are muted and quiet, and there is a warm breeze filtering through the trees. Halgo grumbles about the potential to ambush, voicing a concern on everyone's minds, but little happens to disturb their sleep.
Morning consists of another meal of Boar, and Geoffrey is quick to carve out a few choice cuts of the pig and cook them for later consumption. Once the cooking is done, the Copperheads face up to the arduous task of digging a grave for the fallen Cuthbertite in the clearing. It takes the better part of an hour to dig a shallow grave without proper tools, and Geoffrey says a few somber words over the interred body.
Only then do they realize they can no longer find the kobold tracks they'd been following the day before.
"Damn," Geoffrey curses. "I knew that was too easy."
"So climb a tree and find the direction back to the road," Halgo suggests. "Standing here isn't going to get us anywhere."
Geoffrey looks doubtfully at the winding trees that surround them, the thick carpet of leaves several dozen feet overhead. He has dim memories of the watery climb up the waterspout in Bellhold, and he doesn't relish being without his armor in the forest. He shakes his head at Halgo, and as one they turn to the half-orc who is hiding the remains of the boar in the nearby bushes.
"Blarth!"
It takes a few minutes for Blarth to scale the tree, even longer for him to find a branch that's strong enough to hold his weight at a height where it would do some good. Eventually, he drops to the ground with a slightly muted clank.
"Road that way," he says, pointing. "But Blarth see bird up there too. Circling over clearing. And smoke, like from chimney, that way."
"What kind of bird?" Halgo asks.
Blarth shrugs.
"Don't know. Eagle. Hawk. Something like that."
Halgo frowns as he considers this piece of news.
"It could just be after the boar's remains," he muses, "But it could also belong to a druid or mage of some kind."
"Spy?" Geoffrey asks.
"Possibly. Hard to say while we're standing here. Why don't we try heading towards the chimney smoke for an hour or so, then send Blarth up another tree and see if it's still there?"
So they start walking. Three adventurers with nary a scrap of wood law between them, trekking off through an overgrown forest chasing a scrap of smoke in the distance. By the time Blarth is sent up another tree, it's quickly realized that they are traveling off course, and that the bird is still circling above them.
"Definitely a spy," Halgo decides upon hearing the report. "Probably leading a hunting party of some kind after us. Could you still see the smoke?"
Blarth points.
"That way."
"I think we're heading south then," Geoffrey comments blandly. "We're likely to overtake it if we aren't careful."
"Then we'd best be more careful," Halgo says blandly. "Unless you want to wait here for whatever's following us to arrive."
"Is that such a bad idea?"
"That depends," Halgo says. "If it's only a couple of guys, then no. If it's a platoon of thirty Granak converts, it could be a tad tricky."
"I doubt it's a large platoon," Geoffrey says. He runs his fingers along the edge of his iron cross holy symbol, carefully considering the situation. "That many men would be easily traced back to the camp, and I doubt they've had time to amass enough forces for that kind of thing. Whatever that bird's attached to, we can probably take it with a little luck."
"We could set up an ambush," Blarth suggests.
"Not with the bird following us," Halgo counters. "If it does belong to a druid, then it'll they'll have some idea of where we are before we arrive."
Blarth shrugs.
"Blarth fix."
With a speed neither Geoffrey nor Halgo expects, Blarth scrambles up the tree. He picks his path carefully, making sure his feet rest on broad branches that support his weight and give him fair purchase. After a few seconds of testing the higher branches this way, he finds one that suits his purposes.
Balancing as carefully as he can, Blarth readies his magic bow and takes aim. With a whistling exhalation of breath, he lets fly an arrow that only narrowly misses the circling bird above. The bird wheels in a tighter circle, seemingly alarmed by the sudden presence of arrows, giving Blarth enough time to fire a second shot that strikes the creatures wing. The bird lets out a piercing cry and glides clumsily into the forest below.
"Got it," Blarth informs, then promptly looses his balance and half-falls of the branch. Quick reflexes and luck leave him dangling from a second branch a few feet lower, his feet scrambling at the rough bark in search of purchase.
"You know," Geoffrey says, watching the flailing feet, "For a moment there, I was almost impressed with him."
With their avian shadow gone, the prospect of ambush looks slightly more appealing. The trek through the forest is continued for another hour as the three adventurers seek out a suitable ambush sight, eventually selecting a clearing with a giant oak in the center where there are plenty of options for hiding. Blarth is left in the open, seemingly setting up a camp with his weapons nearby. Geoffrey takes a position near the trunk of the tree, gathering firewood with a loaded crossbow in easy reach. Halgo hides in the undergrowth, crossbow at the ready and the words to a spell on his lips.
It doesn't take long for their pursuers to find them, and Geoffrey's guess as to numbers is close to the mark. Two men approach the clearing, creeping as quietly as possible through the undergrowth. The first is pale skinned with inky hair that clings to his head like a limpet. The effect would almost be comical if it wasn't for the burnished half-plate he wears, or the angry red pucker of an empty eye socket that glares balefully at the world. Sitting on his shoulder is the hawk that Blarth wounded, it's wing whole and healed despite the arrowshot.
His companion is far more intimidating, a seven-foot monster of a man with gleaming red skin and a long Mohawk of blue hair that runs like a crest over his head and dangles to his waist. Black eyes keep careful watch on the ground, seemingly following the Copperheads tracks, and he carries a great-axe that stands a full head taller than he does.
The pair are locked in whispered conversation, but no one can understand the muted tongue they are speaking. Although the words are foreign, there is no mistaking the tone, and no-one is surprised when the hissing crescendo reaches a point that sounds much like a "Now."
The two men charge into the clearing, the hawk leading the way as it flies like an arrow towards Blarth. The Copperhead's react like a well oiled machine, Halgo and Geoffrey letting fly crossbow bolts that catch the red-skinned warrior in the chest and fell him, while Blarth cuts down the hawk as it lurches towards his face. The one-eyed cleric pauses in mid-charge, taken aback at how quickly his comrades were slain, and hurriedly chokes out the words to a protection from good. An angry red light surrounds the cleric, and he smiles in grim readiness, confident in his protection from these champions of light.
His confidence doesn't last long, as both Blarth and Geoffrey close in on him as Halgo lets loose with an extended daze that leaves him stunned. The red energy that surrounds the cleric flares to life as both Blarth and Geoffrey swing, the evil light enough to deflect Geoffrey's mace but not strong enough to stop Blarth's sword. There is a slick gurgle as the cleric slides off the blade, lying on the ground in a bloody mess while the red light flickers and dies away.
"Well, that was bracing," Geoffrey says, looking over the bloody mess that was their ambushers. "Anyone else for following their tracks back to their hideout?"
No one has a better plan, so the attackers belongings are quickly gathered together and sorted, with the clerics small pouch of gold coins distributed evenly and his healing scroll and masterwork morning star handed over to Geoffrey. The cleric spends some time considering the duo's arms and armor, contemplating their relative value back in civilized areas against the added weight they'd be in a cross-country trek. In the end, the half-plate is stowed in a tangled mess and attached to Blarth's pack while the great-axe is left lying in the long grass.
The tracks of a goat-footed creature and a heavily armored cleric prove much easier to follow through the soft forest loam than a pair of kobold monks, although there are still several false trails and wasted hours where the group takes a wrong turn. After the better part of the day is gone, they manage to spot the trial of smoke through the canopy, and it appears blessedly close. Following the tracks and their instincts, the Copperheads trek to the edge of a small clearing on the side of a hill, with a ramshackle cottage sitting in its center. It has the appearance of an old hunters shack, badly in need of repairs, but the smoke rises lazily from it's chimney and the deep indentations of the cleric's heels that they've been following for hours lead right up to its front doors.
"Does anyone want to rest before we go in?" Geoffrey asks. No one does. As quietly as they can manage, the three adventurers move up to the shacks front door.
"Waste not, want not," opines Geoffrey cheerfully as he cooks. "There should be enough there for breakfast as well."
Geoffrey's cooking skills aren't great, but he does a manageable job with the bacon and everyone settles down for a relatively contented nights sleep. The noises of the forest are muted and quiet, and there is a warm breeze filtering through the trees. Halgo grumbles about the potential to ambush, voicing a concern on everyone's minds, but little happens to disturb their sleep.
Morning consists of another meal of Boar, and Geoffrey is quick to carve out a few choice cuts of the pig and cook them for later consumption. Once the cooking is done, the Copperheads face up to the arduous task of digging a grave for the fallen Cuthbertite in the clearing. It takes the better part of an hour to dig a shallow grave without proper tools, and Geoffrey says a few somber words over the interred body.
Only then do they realize they can no longer find the kobold tracks they'd been following the day before.
"Damn," Geoffrey curses. "I knew that was too easy."
"So climb a tree and find the direction back to the road," Halgo suggests. "Standing here isn't going to get us anywhere."
Geoffrey looks doubtfully at the winding trees that surround them, the thick carpet of leaves several dozen feet overhead. He has dim memories of the watery climb up the waterspout in Bellhold, and he doesn't relish being without his armor in the forest. He shakes his head at Halgo, and as one they turn to the half-orc who is hiding the remains of the boar in the nearby bushes.
"Blarth!"
It takes a few minutes for Blarth to scale the tree, even longer for him to find a branch that's strong enough to hold his weight at a height where it would do some good. Eventually, he drops to the ground with a slightly muted clank.
"Road that way," he says, pointing. "But Blarth see bird up there too. Circling over clearing. And smoke, like from chimney, that way."
"What kind of bird?" Halgo asks.
Blarth shrugs.
"Don't know. Eagle. Hawk. Something like that."
Halgo frowns as he considers this piece of news.
"It could just be after the boar's remains," he muses, "But it could also belong to a druid or mage of some kind."
"Spy?" Geoffrey asks.
"Possibly. Hard to say while we're standing here. Why don't we try heading towards the chimney smoke for an hour or so, then send Blarth up another tree and see if it's still there?"
So they start walking. Three adventurers with nary a scrap of wood law between them, trekking off through an overgrown forest chasing a scrap of smoke in the distance. By the time Blarth is sent up another tree, it's quickly realized that they are traveling off course, and that the bird is still circling above them.
"Definitely a spy," Halgo decides upon hearing the report. "Probably leading a hunting party of some kind after us. Could you still see the smoke?"
Blarth points.
"That way."
"I think we're heading south then," Geoffrey comments blandly. "We're likely to overtake it if we aren't careful."
"Then we'd best be more careful," Halgo says blandly. "Unless you want to wait here for whatever's following us to arrive."
"Is that such a bad idea?"
"That depends," Halgo says. "If it's only a couple of guys, then no. If it's a platoon of thirty Granak converts, it could be a tad tricky."
"I doubt it's a large platoon," Geoffrey says. He runs his fingers along the edge of his iron cross holy symbol, carefully considering the situation. "That many men would be easily traced back to the camp, and I doubt they've had time to amass enough forces for that kind of thing. Whatever that bird's attached to, we can probably take it with a little luck."
"We could set up an ambush," Blarth suggests.
"Not with the bird following us," Halgo counters. "If it does belong to a druid, then it'll they'll have some idea of where we are before we arrive."
Blarth shrugs.
"Blarth fix."
With a speed neither Geoffrey nor Halgo expects, Blarth scrambles up the tree. He picks his path carefully, making sure his feet rest on broad branches that support his weight and give him fair purchase. After a few seconds of testing the higher branches this way, he finds one that suits his purposes.
Balancing as carefully as he can, Blarth readies his magic bow and takes aim. With a whistling exhalation of breath, he lets fly an arrow that only narrowly misses the circling bird above. The bird wheels in a tighter circle, seemingly alarmed by the sudden presence of arrows, giving Blarth enough time to fire a second shot that strikes the creatures wing. The bird lets out a piercing cry and glides clumsily into the forest below.
"Got it," Blarth informs, then promptly looses his balance and half-falls of the branch. Quick reflexes and luck leave him dangling from a second branch a few feet lower, his feet scrambling at the rough bark in search of purchase.
"You know," Geoffrey says, watching the flailing feet, "For a moment there, I was almost impressed with him."
With their avian shadow gone, the prospect of ambush looks slightly more appealing. The trek through the forest is continued for another hour as the three adventurers seek out a suitable ambush sight, eventually selecting a clearing with a giant oak in the center where there are plenty of options for hiding. Blarth is left in the open, seemingly setting up a camp with his weapons nearby. Geoffrey takes a position near the trunk of the tree, gathering firewood with a loaded crossbow in easy reach. Halgo hides in the undergrowth, crossbow at the ready and the words to a spell on his lips.
It doesn't take long for their pursuers to find them, and Geoffrey's guess as to numbers is close to the mark. Two men approach the clearing, creeping as quietly as possible through the undergrowth. The first is pale skinned with inky hair that clings to his head like a limpet. The effect would almost be comical if it wasn't for the burnished half-plate he wears, or the angry red pucker of an empty eye socket that glares balefully at the world. Sitting on his shoulder is the hawk that Blarth wounded, it's wing whole and healed despite the arrowshot.
His companion is far more intimidating, a seven-foot monster of a man with gleaming red skin and a long Mohawk of blue hair that runs like a crest over his head and dangles to his waist. Black eyes keep careful watch on the ground, seemingly following the Copperheads tracks, and he carries a great-axe that stands a full head taller than he does.
The pair are locked in whispered conversation, but no one can understand the muted tongue they are speaking. Although the words are foreign, there is no mistaking the tone, and no-one is surprised when the hissing crescendo reaches a point that sounds much like a "Now."
The two men charge into the clearing, the hawk leading the way as it flies like an arrow towards Blarth. The Copperhead's react like a well oiled machine, Halgo and Geoffrey letting fly crossbow bolts that catch the red-skinned warrior in the chest and fell him, while Blarth cuts down the hawk as it lurches towards his face. The one-eyed cleric pauses in mid-charge, taken aback at how quickly his comrades were slain, and hurriedly chokes out the words to a protection from good. An angry red light surrounds the cleric, and he smiles in grim readiness, confident in his protection from these champions of light.
His confidence doesn't last long, as both Blarth and Geoffrey close in on him as Halgo lets loose with an extended daze that leaves him stunned. The red energy that surrounds the cleric flares to life as both Blarth and Geoffrey swing, the evil light enough to deflect Geoffrey's mace but not strong enough to stop Blarth's sword. There is a slick gurgle as the cleric slides off the blade, lying on the ground in a bloody mess while the red light flickers and dies away.
"Well, that was bracing," Geoffrey says, looking over the bloody mess that was their ambushers. "Anyone else for following their tracks back to their hideout?"
No one has a better plan, so the attackers belongings are quickly gathered together and sorted, with the clerics small pouch of gold coins distributed evenly and his healing scroll and masterwork morning star handed over to Geoffrey. The cleric spends some time considering the duo's arms and armor, contemplating their relative value back in civilized areas against the added weight they'd be in a cross-country trek. In the end, the half-plate is stowed in a tangled mess and attached to Blarth's pack while the great-axe is left lying in the long grass.
The tracks of a goat-footed creature and a heavily armored cleric prove much easier to follow through the soft forest loam than a pair of kobold monks, although there are still several false trails and wasted hours where the group takes a wrong turn. After the better part of the day is gone, they manage to spot the trial of smoke through the canopy, and it appears blessedly close. Following the tracks and their instincts, the Copperheads trek to the edge of a small clearing on the side of a hill, with a ramshackle cottage sitting in its center. It has the appearance of an old hunters shack, badly in need of repairs, but the smoke rises lazily from it's chimney and the deep indentations of the cleric's heels that they've been following for hours lead right up to its front doors.
"Does anyone want to rest before we go in?" Geoffrey asks. No one does. As quietly as they can manage, the three adventurers move up to the shacks front door.
arwink
Clockwork Golem
I made the mistake of comparing which game the storyhour was up to compared with where the game was in real life, and discovered that at this point I'm at least eleven sessions behind.
Yeesh.
Note to self- must post more.
I should also note that this adventure was at least loosely based upon Provincial Prior Cause from Dungeon 96. I forgot to mention it earlier, but from here on in it starts following the layout of the dungeon a little more closely.
Yeesh.
Note to self- must post more.
I should also note that this adventure was at least loosely based upon Provincial Prior Cause from Dungeon 96. I forgot to mention it earlier, but from here on in it starts following the layout of the dungeon a little more closely.
arwink
Clockwork Golem
The interior of the cottage is sparsely furnished, and apart from the cooling stew over the coals there is little sign of habitation. A pair of battered wooden chairs are set alongside a rickety table, but the piles of musty blankets on the small travelers cot have been covered with think layer of dust and leaves. There is, however, a small trap door with an iron ring-pull set into the floor and the adventurers waste no time in opening it. The air that rises is pungent, a mix of rotting flesh and vegetable odors that leaves everyone holding their breath for a few moments.
“Blarth first,” Geoffrey orders. “Scout it, and call if you need help.”
Blarth nods and starts down the rickety wooden ladder. The boards creak ominously as his armored form settles on each rung, but holds out long enough for him to reach the muddy floor of the cellar. He peers about with his darkvision, making note of the sacks full of rotting food that line the walls. On the far wall there’s a crude tunnel, obviously carved with little attention to the complexities of mining, and Blarth can hear the soft dripping of water from somewhere beyond the range of his darkvision. Blarth draws Luckringer, willing the copper blades radiance to dim to the barest glimmers, and starts towards the tunnel.
He’s not gone further than a few feet when the darkness settles down upon him, a black blob of emptiness that manages to block darkvision as effectively as a blindfold. Blarth can feel Luckringer flaring into light in response to his sudden flash of panic, but even that does little to cut through the blackness. Blarth snarls, his voice rising to call a warning to his comrades above, but a pair of slimy tentacles dangle out of the darkness and warp themselves around his throat. Blarth lets out a choked gasp before he’s pulled of his feet, feet waving wildly in need of purchase as his body is lifted towards the roof. The half-orc lashes out wildly as the tentacles tighten, choking of his air. His sword swings wide, no use in such close quarters, but he hears a whispered grunt as he connects with his flailing shield. He swings again, praying to Drakkar that he can find the creature again in the darkness, and is rewarded with a satisfying slap and a short fall to the ground. He lands on the balls of his feet, rocking slightly to take the momentum of the fall, shield already moving to deflect the swinging tentacles he feels whistling past his face. Praying quietly to Drakkar, the half-orc stares up into the emptiness and stabs. He grunts as he feels the blade hit, and the darkness dissipates just in time for Blarth to see a black-skinned octopus sliding along the length of his sword to collapse against his face.
Geoffrey and Halgo scramble down the ladder just as Blarth fights his way free from dead tentacles and octopus flesh.
“Um, Blarth need help?” Blarth offers weakly, kicking the creatures remains into the corner of the room.
“You were supposed to call,” Geoffrey reminds him. Blarth shrugs, shows the cleric the bruises around his throat by way of explanation.
“It’s called a darkmantle,” Halgo tells them as Geoffrey heals Blarth. “Ugly looking things, and dangerous enough if you aren’t careful. They use darkness to confuse prey, then try and choke them to death from a vantage point on the ceiling.”
“Blarth noticed,” Blarth mutters.
“Are there more?”
Halgo scans the ceiling, looking for likely hiding places.
“Not that I can tell,” he says. “But they’re quiet creatures, and far better at hiding in the shadows than we are. If there’s another one up there and it doesn’t want to be found, we’re not likely to see it.”
“Blarth kill it,” Blarth says with a shrug. “Darkmantle puny. Blarth not-puny. Easy fight.”
“You know,” Geoffrey deadpans to Halgo, “I think it’s been a whole three or four days since I heard him say that.”
Halgo offers a small smile.
“In any case,” Geoffrey says, considering the dark passage leading into the earth, “I think it’s best we stick together from here on in. Without Yip, we can’t really manage a quiet approach, and we want to avoid anymore sudden ambushes.”
“What about traps?” Halgo asks.
“Blarth can take point,” Geoffrey orders. “He’s the least puny of us all, which should help against poisons or gas. And his armor should take the brunt of most conventional deterrents.”
“Blarth not want to go first,” Blarth offers hopefully.
“Tough.”
They proceed down the passageway, light provided by Blarth’s blade and a quick orison from Geoffrey. The passage twists and turns along its length, and Halgo sniffs at the poor quality of the mining used to dig the passage.
“I’ve seen goblins do better work,” he explains, pointing out some poorly braced sections of wall. He considers the wall for a second, then looks at Blarth. “I’d be very careful when using that whistle of yours. These tunnels may not be stable enough to cope with that much destruction.”
The passage eventually spills into a small chamber, with branching tunnels leading off from the far wall. The chamber itself is bathed in a blue light, cast from a crude representation of an eye that glares up from the dirt floor. Blarth stops on the edge of the sigil, eyeing it warily.
“Glyph,” Halgo and Geoffrey say at the same time.
“Glyph not good?” Blarth asks.
“Depends on how attached you are to living,” Halgo explains. “They could have any sort of spell stored in there, and it’s probably going to hurt whoever steps on it fairly badly.”
“Blarth not afraid,” Blarth boasts, and both his companions take a few instinctive steps backwards. Despite his bravado, there is a moment of hesitation as Blarth looks over the glyph. Bracing himself, the half-orc places his heavy boot on the surface of the glowing eye.
“Blarth first,” Geoffrey orders. “Scout it, and call if you need help.”
Blarth nods and starts down the rickety wooden ladder. The boards creak ominously as his armored form settles on each rung, but holds out long enough for him to reach the muddy floor of the cellar. He peers about with his darkvision, making note of the sacks full of rotting food that line the walls. On the far wall there’s a crude tunnel, obviously carved with little attention to the complexities of mining, and Blarth can hear the soft dripping of water from somewhere beyond the range of his darkvision. Blarth draws Luckringer, willing the copper blades radiance to dim to the barest glimmers, and starts towards the tunnel.
He’s not gone further than a few feet when the darkness settles down upon him, a black blob of emptiness that manages to block darkvision as effectively as a blindfold. Blarth can feel Luckringer flaring into light in response to his sudden flash of panic, but even that does little to cut through the blackness. Blarth snarls, his voice rising to call a warning to his comrades above, but a pair of slimy tentacles dangle out of the darkness and warp themselves around his throat. Blarth lets out a choked gasp before he’s pulled of his feet, feet waving wildly in need of purchase as his body is lifted towards the roof. The half-orc lashes out wildly as the tentacles tighten, choking of his air. His sword swings wide, no use in such close quarters, but he hears a whispered grunt as he connects with his flailing shield. He swings again, praying to Drakkar that he can find the creature again in the darkness, and is rewarded with a satisfying slap and a short fall to the ground. He lands on the balls of his feet, rocking slightly to take the momentum of the fall, shield already moving to deflect the swinging tentacles he feels whistling past his face. Praying quietly to Drakkar, the half-orc stares up into the emptiness and stabs. He grunts as he feels the blade hit, and the darkness dissipates just in time for Blarth to see a black-skinned octopus sliding along the length of his sword to collapse against his face.
Geoffrey and Halgo scramble down the ladder just as Blarth fights his way free from dead tentacles and octopus flesh.
“Um, Blarth need help?” Blarth offers weakly, kicking the creatures remains into the corner of the room.
“You were supposed to call,” Geoffrey reminds him. Blarth shrugs, shows the cleric the bruises around his throat by way of explanation.
“It’s called a darkmantle,” Halgo tells them as Geoffrey heals Blarth. “Ugly looking things, and dangerous enough if you aren’t careful. They use darkness to confuse prey, then try and choke them to death from a vantage point on the ceiling.”
“Blarth noticed,” Blarth mutters.
“Are there more?”
Halgo scans the ceiling, looking for likely hiding places.
“Not that I can tell,” he says. “But they’re quiet creatures, and far better at hiding in the shadows than we are. If there’s another one up there and it doesn’t want to be found, we’re not likely to see it.”
“Blarth kill it,” Blarth says with a shrug. “Darkmantle puny. Blarth not-puny. Easy fight.”
“You know,” Geoffrey deadpans to Halgo, “I think it’s been a whole three or four days since I heard him say that.”
Halgo offers a small smile.
“In any case,” Geoffrey says, considering the dark passage leading into the earth, “I think it’s best we stick together from here on in. Without Yip, we can’t really manage a quiet approach, and we want to avoid anymore sudden ambushes.”
“What about traps?” Halgo asks.
“Blarth can take point,” Geoffrey orders. “He’s the least puny of us all, which should help against poisons or gas. And his armor should take the brunt of most conventional deterrents.”
“Blarth not want to go first,” Blarth offers hopefully.
“Tough.”
They proceed down the passageway, light provided by Blarth’s blade and a quick orison from Geoffrey. The passage twists and turns along its length, and Halgo sniffs at the poor quality of the mining used to dig the passage.
“I’ve seen goblins do better work,” he explains, pointing out some poorly braced sections of wall. He considers the wall for a second, then looks at Blarth. “I’d be very careful when using that whistle of yours. These tunnels may not be stable enough to cope with that much destruction.”
The passage eventually spills into a small chamber, with branching tunnels leading off from the far wall. The chamber itself is bathed in a blue light, cast from a crude representation of an eye that glares up from the dirt floor. Blarth stops on the edge of the sigil, eyeing it warily.
“Glyph,” Halgo and Geoffrey say at the same time.
“Glyph not good?” Blarth asks.
“Depends on how attached you are to living,” Halgo explains. “They could have any sort of spell stored in there, and it’s probably going to hurt whoever steps on it fairly badly.”
“Blarth not afraid,” Blarth boasts, and both his companions take a few instinctive steps backwards. Despite his bravado, there is a moment of hesitation as Blarth looks over the glyph. Bracing himself, the half-orc places his heavy boot on the surface of the glowing eye.
GreyShadow
Explorer
So is Blarth going to need a new pair of heavy armoured boots? 
Enjoyable reading.
Enjoyable reading.
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