Copperheads: Betrayal and Strange Runes and Burning Dead, oh my (short update 02/12)

[arwink]

Winter in Bor is a harsh and dangerous time, a season where night hangs over the land for sixteen hours of the day and humanoid creatures ravage the countryside under the light of a blood-red moon that drives the goblins and beast-men mad. In the outlying towns, fierce battles a fought in the darkness as villager and farmer alike try to drive off the crazed bands of warriors that throw themselves against the town walls. Goblin arrows and spears cause almost as many deaths as the cold, and the only thing that allows the battered population of the fledgling nation to survive is the stout heart, muscled sword arms and deep pockets of their leaders. Especially those that have had the foresight to hire dwarven mercenaries from Thorbeck to keep their people safe.

Of course, none of this is of great concern to the various members of the Copperheads, who spend the cold months among the blissful heat of Thorbeck and its volcanic core. They join the various merchants who have made the same decision and make the cold trek to the dwarven gates, and are delighted to find that they are still considered guests of the Thane when they arrive. With little ceremony, but a great deal of warmth, they are returned to their quarters that have a view of the city and are quickly drawn into the daily life of the city. Geoffrey spends more time in the dwarven courts, Blarth and Yip spend their time drinking and brawling throughout the city, Amarin spends some quality time with the stronghold’s sages and Halgo hones his skills at the forge as well as learning more secrets relating to the craft of arcane items. As the months wear by he rapidly creates many marvels for his companions, crafting boots that allow the wearer to cling to the walls for Yip and Geoffrey as well as embedding defensive magic into the clerics armour. Amarin returns from the market one day with a strange staff, crafted from petrified wood and garnished with small crystals. His psi-crystal sits in a crook at the tip of the strange device, and he gleefully demonstrates the staff’s ability to focus his control over the strange crystalline familiar, sending it scurrying around the apartment on thin, ectoplasmic legs.

Months pass idly; the cold winter snows raging outside while the Copperheads rest in the lap of dwarven luxury. Battle-weary muscles slowly start to relax, old wounds no longer have the slight ache that they normally do, and everyone slowly becomes well rested and exceptionally bored.

Then in the late hours of one evening a dwarf wearing brown robes suddenly appears on their balcony, wearing the holy symbol of Durkannan the Forger around his neck. A pair of armed dwarven warriors suddenly appears behind him, their ornate ceremonial hook-hammers glowing with arcane energy.

“You will come with us,” the first dwarf intones, his voice leaving no room for argument. “A grave crime has been committed, and you five are all that stands between us and utter destruction. Gather your equipment – I will take you to Yurgar Forgeson, and he will explain all.”

Everyone looks at the dwarf lazily.

“What?” Geoffrey asks. The robed dwarf sighs in exasperation.

“You’re needed,” he says, this time with less grandeur. “A great evil, end of the world, great secrecy, you’re our only hope. There’s probably a lot of money in it, if that helps.”

The Copperheads are ready within minutes.

“How exactly are we getting there?” Halgo asks.

“Step off the edge of the balcony,” the robed dwarf explains. “The skiff is cloaked from sight.”
“Uh-huh,” Halgo says carefully, looking dubiously at the empty space. “And if we step in the wrong place?”

Amarin has clambered over the lip of the balcony before the dwarf can answer.

“Wow,” he says, his voice coming from empty space. “I can see you all, and there’s a metal flying thing here, and more dwarves. I should take notes…”

Soon the entire group is loaded onto the dwarves flying skiff, the stealth and secrecy of their passage marred only by the wailing of Blarth as he clings to the centre of the strange metal barge, letting every waking dwarf in Thorbeck know exactly how much he hates to fly…

 

[arwink]

The Holy Forge of Durkannan is the largest temple in Throbeck, and its resources are considerable, but even with this in mind the Copperheads are surprised by the secret door built into the side of the very volcano that allows their flying skiff access to the temple. The dwarf seated at the centre of the skiff flies straight towards the wall with a determined grimace, and the metallic flying machine and its passengers pass easily through the stone. The skiff is guided through a series of stone passageways, then lands gently in the midst of a small underground stream. The group is guided off, and lead by the three dwarves to a small chamber.

“Wait here,” the robed dwarf orders. “Do not wander the temple – our guards have orders to kill anyone they don’t recognise. The Forgeson will find you shortly, and everything will be explained.”

Then the dwarf leaves, and the group is left alone and without light. They wait a few seconds, wondering if perhaps this was a mistake, but when no further light-sources or visitors manifest themselves they settle for regarding one another in the dim light shed by Luckbringer and the Warhammer Geoffrey collected from the renegade Justicar beneath the Tusk forest.

“What do you think they want?” Blarth ventures finally, after he grows bored with examining the dwarven runes carved into the walls. “We do something wrong?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Geoffrey says, mentally running through the groups recent activities. “I’m not fully conversant with the differences between this church and the worship of Durkannan in the empire, but I’m fairly sure we’ve avoided most of the major taboo’s. It’s likely they really do have something for us to do.”
“Why us?” Halgo wonders. “That’s what bothers me. Why not local heroes? There are a dozen dwarves in this city more skilled than we are, and dozens more just as good as us. Why bother getting us involved?”
“Politics?” Amarin guesses. “Maybe some kind of religious problem?”

“The gravest kind of religious problem,” a voice whispers from the doorway. Everyone turns to see a middle-aged dwarf standing in the doorway, his grey skin worn to a stone-like smoothness and his reddish beard flecked with the beginnings of white. He carries a heavy hammer and pick at his belt, and the holy anvil of Durkannan forged from mithril is resplendent on his chest. It seems likely that this is Yurgar Forgeson, High Priest of the Holy Forge of Thorbeck, and that he’s arrived in a room of unarmed strangers without any visible armour or escort only serves to make everyone more nervous.

“The church apologises for gathering you at this late hour,” Yurgar begins. “Had we the time and luxury of going through more diplomatic channels, I assure you we would have done so, but this situation warrants such breaches of protocol in the name of expediency. To further complicate matters, I must ask that you agree to this task before I can explain it to you. You stand on the very edge of a grave secret, one that belongs not only to the church but also to Durkannan himself, and we cannot bring you into this without knowing that you are willing to help us. Even by offering you this opportunity, I am on the very border of shattering a thousand years of Church dogma, so I urge you to consider this very carefully before you agree. I will not lie to you – the task I would ask of you is dangerous, potentially deadly, but there is no other in the city who can undertake it and we risk the very lives of everyone in this city and in your over-land towns if it is not dealt with. Will you agree?”

 

[Mathew_Freeman]

“The church apologises for gathering you at this late hour,” Yurgar begins. “Had we the time and luxury of going through more diplomatic channels, I assure you we would have done so, but this situation warrants such breaches of protocol in the name of expediency. To further complicate matters, I must ask that you agree to this task before I can explain it to you. You stand on the very edge of a grave secret, one that belongs not only to the church but also to Durkannan himself, and we cannot bring you into this without knowing that you are willing to help us. Even by offering you this opportunity, I am on the very border of shattering a thousand years of Church dogma, so I urge you to consider this very carefully before you agree. I will not lie to you – the task I would ask of you is dangerous, potentially deadly, but there is no other in the city who can undertake it and we risk the very lives of everyone in this city and in your over-land towns if it is not dealt with. Will you agree?”

"No pressure, though."

I'm sure that what the rest of the group THOUGHT he said, anyway.

 

[arwink]

I'm sure that what the rest of the group THOUGHT he said, anyway.

Actually, not as much pressure as you'd think. Yurgar was kind of needy, true*, but that's because he's looking at the situation from the perspective of a dwarven priest rather than a DM.

I've gamed with some members of this group for years, and I know exactly how well the big, bludgeony adventure hooks tend to work. I try not to be too heavy-handed with things, and I try to have a back-up plan if they turn their back on things.

Of course, I figure they're also smart enough to know what happens when they turn their back on things for too long...



*although whether he was quite as needy as he appears in this write-up I'm not quite sure - I'm working of dim memories and rough notes.

 

[Lela]

Let the world end. I want money!

 

[Capellan]

You know, it'd be really nice if there was an update waiting for me when I got back from New Zealand

 

[Zaruthustran]

Soon the entire group is loaded onto the dwarves flying skiff, the stealth and secrecy of their passage marred only by the wailing of Blarth as he clings to the centre of the strange metal barge, letting every waking dwarf in Thorbeck know exactly how much he hates to fly…

Reminds me of a certain other muscle-bound fighter member of a certain other adventuring group.

"You ain't gettin' me on no plane, Hannibal!"

 

[arwink]

“Sure,” Amarin says cheerfully.

As one, everyone else punches him.

“What?” He says. “It’s a secret! A big secret. How can you not want to know?”
“Because it could get us killed,” Geoffrey says through gritted teeth.
“Only some of us,” Amarin points out. “And we’re likely to die anyway, if what he says is true. What’s the big deal?”
“What will you give us?” Halgo asks, ignoring the argument between his companions. “For doing this? What’s it worth to you?”
“The churches favour,” Yurgar says. Noticing that this does little to sway the dwarf, he lets out a sigh. “And healing magic. Whatever we can make is yours for the asking – five thousand gold pieces worth of scrolls, potions, wands.”
“You’re paying for the crafting,” Halgo says. “We want five thousand gold pieces worth of crafted items at cost, not what you’re selling them for to your followers.”
“Agreed,” Yurgar says, barely batting an eyelid.
“And you owe Copperheads favour,” Blarth orders. “Raise anyone who die in mission. No charge.”
“Agreed,” Yurgar says. “I shall cast the spells to restore lost spirits personally.”
“And we want your flying skiff,” Amarin tries, figuring they’re on a roll. “The one that got us here. It was interesting.”
“It is not ours to give,” Yurgar says. “It belongs to one who serves the church, but it is his property. I could, perhaps, convince him to sacrifice it if necessary, although we would be forced to kill him whether he agree or not.”
“That’s not our problem,” Geoffrey mutters, but Amarin is already hastily apologizing and saying that it’s not necessary.

“We agree,” Halgo says. “All of us.”
Everyone mutters in agreement.

“Then we may yet be saved,” Yurgar says. “Although know that what I tell you now must never past between your lips after you leave this room – the secret you will carry is priceless beyond belief, and to speak it will mean your death. I am going to ask you to visit a place that our people regard as sacred beyond belief, a place that no dwarf of Thorbeck has stepped foot within for over a thousand years.”

Yurgar pauses, shifting uncomfortably as he gazes at everyone.

“There was a time, in the ancient records of our temple, that speaks of a time when the gods themselves roamed this land among their children. Their presence was not felt through prayer and magic, but through the majesty of their power as they walked among the people. It was a golden time, when Thorbeck wasn’t a city on its own, but part of a thousand clan-holds that filled the mountains. We were not in decline, as the city you see outside is, but the masters of an empire as mighty as your own, ruled by the favoured of Durkannan and guided by the most powerful of his children.

And yet, even then, there were forces in the world that did not favour us, and the gods of the goblins and the orc, the troll and the gnoll, were among their people even as Durkannan marched alongside us. And while the dwarves would clash with the children of evil, the gods themselves abstained from the glory of war. It was a time when the lands were lush and green, not covered by the ice and snow, a time when we had allies among the surface dwellers just as we have allied with your people now. This time is long lost, just as it has been a thousand years since we last felt Durkannan’s touch, and it is for the best that many of my people have forgotten it.

We have no records of why the gods left, of why the world above does not match the world that is written of in our oldest tomes, but there is one edict that remains from the time of the great change. There is a cave, two days travel from here, hidden deep within the earth. It is a sacred place to us, one of the last places Durkannan was known to have walked before the Cataclysm that decimated the lands and destroyed our Kingdom. Durkannan himself has built doors there, great portals of mithril and adamantine with heavy chains to hold them shut, and declared that no-one shall enter it, lest they know his shame and that shame may destroy the Thorbeck and all trace of the dwarves. For a thousand years my temple has guarded it, kept its existence secret even from the Thanes of Thorbeck, and we have kept the secret of Durkannan’s Shame well.

Yesterday the entry to the Caves was violated, and the guards we had placed there slain…”

 

[Lela]

See, someone always gets in those places. And usually you're lucky if it's just someone like Amarin. You'd think the gods would catch on after a while and just destroy them.

Then again, perhaps the good deities find it hard to destroy truth; no matter how damaging it is to themselves. So they content themselves with hiding it, knowing that oneday it will be found again. That's when they bring in their heros.

 

[arwink]

Yurgar pauses to let the full import of his words sink in, but the Copperheads are more resistant to the gravity of the situation than most. Their minds quickly process what he has said, looking for information that may become necessary to survive the upcoming mission.

“So you want us to go in and kill the violators,” Halgo asks, his tone reasonable. “I can see a problem with your logic there. Won’t we be violating the caves as soon as we put foot in there.”

Yurgar nods solemnly.

“This is true,” he admits. “But we have communed with Durkannan and learned that you are his choice – even if this were not so, there could be no other. The doors to the caves can only be opened by the divine power manifested by a true cleric, and the trespass of any dwarf of the city would be far greater – Durkannan’s Shame is ours by birthright, and the secret hidden within may be far less grave if learned by outsiders. We hope that your position as emissaries of the church will protect you, and we are certain that those that intrude upon the sacred caves are engaging in far worse crimes than you would break in following them. To leave the violation unanswered would be unpardonable, and we have faith that they have not yet reached the inner chambers of the caves, and the grief bourn by a dwarf of the faith would certainly result in his death should he learn the truth’s hidden behind the portals.”

“How do you know they haven’t broken the inner chamber?” Geoffrey asks.

Yurgar can only shrug.

“We are still alive,” he says. “If such violation had occurred, then certainly we would be doomed. The shame of a god is a terrible thing, and our lives are but a trifling when compared to keeping Durkannan’s secret. You would, of course, be required to submit to a geas upon returning from this mission, for to leave you with free knowledge to speak of what you might find would be to dangerous to allow.”

“This gets better and better,” Halgo mutters. Yurgar watches the dwarven mage carefully, but his confused expression makes it obvious he hasn’t heard Halgo’s comment.

“So essentially we go in and kill everyone we find,” Halgo says. “That’s it? That’s all we need to do to save everyone?”
“And remove their corpses,” Yurgar says. “To leave them within the caves would be unpardonable.”
“Quite.”

Everyone considers things for a few moments, trying to find any other points to question.

“Okay, lets go,” Geoffrey says. “No time to waste.”

Yurgar pulls the hammer from his belt and offers a quick blessing to the group, then summons a small group of warriors dressed in the livery of the church – Steel Grey togas over burnished black breastplates, with axes and shields at the ready.

“These men are some of the churches finest warriors,” Yurgar explains. “They know the path to the caves, and they were comrades to those who were slain. They will guide you, but the trip will be hard – it two days march to the caves, and you will attempt to make it in one. They have been provided with potions that will enhance your endurance for the trip, as well as a small supply of healing to assist you in your purge of the caves. May Durkannan’s Eye be on you, and may you walk safely on the paths we cannot travel.”