(Cydra) Great Conflicts
- Thread starter the Jester
- Start date
the Jester
Legend
Since we’ll be picking up these guys again soon I thought I’d bring y’all completely up to date. This will be a short update, but it’ll whet everyone’s appettites. I estimate roughly a month until I run it again- the holidays may throw things for a bit of a loop, though.
8/7/371 O.L.G., 7 p.m., the castle in Var
Over dinner, Horbin breaks the news to the others. “I’m going to be the Bishop of West Dorhaus,” he half-exults and half-whines.
Chakar discovers Arion the Archmage for the first time this night. Arion, a wizard of commendable power, is a long-time acquaintance of Lester and Malford, well-known for getting drunk and throwing around powerful magic. He is also said to be something of a specialist in force magic. Chakar, being a dwarf, is more than happy to entertain Arion with a drinking contest; and, being a monk of the highest order, he is more than equipped to win it. Nonetheless, Arion puts up a respectable showing. By the end of the night, Chakar has agreed to fetch “the twenty best bottles” for Arion in return for the archmage’s cleaning of Chakar’s bag of holding.
After dinner, Horbin true resurrects Gerontius, and the halfling shudders back to life. Then Ten Buck Tom performs a new song he has composed, “Who Will Stand When the Strong Have Fallen?”.
Our heroes rest.
***
8/8/371 O.L.G., noon, Horbin’s Halls of Healing[/b]
“I want to do something about those orcs,” declares Gerontius.
“It’ll be a good warm-up before the Bastion of Law,” nods Lillamere. “I’m for it.”
Inoke declares, “I’ll go to deal with the orcs. You guys are crazy to talk about going to the Bastion, though.”
“The orcs will be a good start.”
“Which orcs?” asks Veil.
“On Valonia,” Gerontius explains, “oppressing my people.”
“Didn’t we take care of them before?” asks Horbin.
“Just a small group of them,” the halfling responds.
“Well, then,” says Lillamere, “I guess we know what’s next.”
Next Time: I kill them all! Er, that is, we resume playing this game!
8/7/371 O.L.G., 7 p.m., the castle in Var
Over dinner, Horbin breaks the news to the others. “I’m going to be the Bishop of West Dorhaus,” he half-exults and half-whines.
Chakar discovers Arion the Archmage for the first time this night. Arion, a wizard of commendable power, is a long-time acquaintance of Lester and Malford, well-known for getting drunk and throwing around powerful magic. He is also said to be something of a specialist in force magic. Chakar, being a dwarf, is more than happy to entertain Arion with a drinking contest; and, being a monk of the highest order, he is more than equipped to win it. Nonetheless, Arion puts up a respectable showing. By the end of the night, Chakar has agreed to fetch “the twenty best bottles” for Arion in return for the archmage’s cleaning of Chakar’s bag of holding.
After dinner, Horbin true resurrects Gerontius, and the halfling shudders back to life. Then Ten Buck Tom performs a new song he has composed, “Who Will Stand When the Strong Have Fallen?”.
Our heroes rest.
***
8/8/371 O.L.G., noon, Horbin’s Halls of Healing[/b]
“I want to do something about those orcs,” declares Gerontius.
“It’ll be a good warm-up before the Bastion of Law,” nods Lillamere. “I’m for it.”
Inoke declares, “I’ll go to deal with the orcs. You guys are crazy to talk about going to the Bastion, though.”
“The orcs will be a good start.”
“Which orcs?” asks Veil.
“On Valonia,” Gerontius explains, “oppressing my people.”
“Didn’t we take care of them before?” asks Horbin.
“Just a small group of them,” the halfling responds.
“Well, then,” says Lillamere, “I guess we know what’s next.”
Next Time: I kill them all! Er, that is, we resume playing this game!
the Jester
Legend
Just to update our status, the next game we play will be a warm-up game for this group, involving the orcs, and should be sometime within the next week. You can expect an update a few days after that.
the Jester
Legend
Let me just say that I am incredibly glad that I write my story hours up in Word before posting them these days... 
My plan: one post per day (in one or more of my SH threads) until the old posts are all back in place, and then more- presumably by that time, I'll have a few new ones written and be able to leapfrog forward...
My plan: one post per day (in one or more of my SH threads) until the old posts are all back in place, and then more- presumably by that time, I'll have a few new ones written and be able to leapfrog forward...
the Jester
Legend
6 p.m., Var
“I am telling you, we must take care of zese orcs!” declares Gerontius. He gestures expansively. “Think about it. If zey were attacking your folk, you would be all for it!”
“True,” agrees Baron Lillamere. “But we also have to assault the Bastion of Law.” He ponders as they walk through the streets of Var towards the Three Rubies, the tavern which they have enjoyed for some time, ever since being introduced to it by Lester. It is typically crawling with adventurer groupies, and our heroes are the mightiest and most well-known of the patrons.
“I think we should talk to the orcs,” Inoke says. “They are Galadorian, after all.”
“A pretense, nothing more. Orcs are disgusting,” opines Chakar. “We should slay them all and free the halflings of their threat.” Gerontius nods vigorously. Inoke just sighs.
The Three Rubies, as usual, treats our heroes well. There are many lovely creatures within who are enthralled to see such legendary figures as the slayers of Asmodeus within arm’s reach, but our heroes manage to keep a little table to themselves. As they chat, Lillamere’s eyes wander over the rest of the place, and he notices another group of folk clustered at another table. To his surprise, seated at the table and basking in the attention he is receiving is one of his old lovers.
“I’ll be damned!” the elven baron exclaims, and rises and swiftly walks over to the other table. The elf seated there glances up and sees him, and his face blossoms into a smile. Though the rest of our heroes can’t hear them over the noise of the tavern, it is obvious that they know each other. Lillamere and the other elf embrace, laughing, and begin chattering excitedly like teenaged girls.
Inoke, however, doesn’t even notice. He seems to be brooding into his drink.
“You know what else?” Gerontius says. “We have a lot of treasure to identify from Seclaidra’s succubi and other recent battles.”
“Where’s Orbius when you need him?” sighs Alcar.
“Maybe Lillamere could identify them,” suggests Chakar.
“Or we could try to get a scroll of analyze dweomer, maybe in Sigil,” interjects Inoke. “We could go see the Eyebrarian.”
“Well, we’re kind of scattered at the moment- I think Horbin’s starting to go through his confirmation hearings to be Bishop of Dorhaus- not to mention that Wankerman went to the latrine a while back and he has not returned yet, which leads me to believe that he was as drunk as he looked, and I’m getting there.” Gerontius belches.
“But it is a good idea. Perhaps tomorrow,” nods Chakar.
***
8/9/371 O.L.G., 9:30 a.m., the Halls of Healing
In the morning, Inoke, Gerontius, Chakar, Alcar, Wankerman and Zyltha (who has altered her form to a more half-elven one, losing her demonic wings and horns) leave Horbin’s Halls of Healing and head back to the Three Rubies. They have seen no sign of Baron Lillamere since leaving the tavern last night, though they did see him pay for a room. When they reach the Rubies, they find Lillamere and his new companion chatting over breakfast.
“Good morning!” Gerontius greets them.
“Good morning,” agrees Baron Lillamere with a grin. “We’ve been catching up on old times. Please, join us- have some breakfast.”
“Breakfast,” sighs Gerontius, rubbing his halfling belly. He immediately flies up to a stool and digs in.
“Who’s your friend?” asks Inoke after a moment.
“Oh! How rude of me!” Lillamere colors momentarily. “This is an old companion of mine, Hyliss. He studied at the Silver College on Tirchond. He is skilled with both spell and sword.” He smiles at the other elf. “He will be joining us, adding his strength to ours.”*
The party chats over breakfast, getting to know their newer companions for a time. As they finish their meal Gerontius mumbles something about identifying loot and then attacking the orcs around a mouthful of eggs. The party discusses sending word to the orcs that they are coming to talk and debates an attack with diplomacy. Gerontius then names two of his daggers Diplomacy and Gerontius and laughs that he will happily use Diplomacy on the orcs. Again the subject of identifying the loot the party has comes up.
“I might be able to help with that,” Hyliss offers. “I even have an identify prepared today.”
“We have many items to examine,” Gerontius replies. “One identify would not be enough.”
“But do you know analyze dweomer?” queries Alcar. “It would only take a couple of those.”
“Regretfully, I don’t; but it would be a very good spell for me to learn. If I should come across it anytime soon, I would definitely like to add it to my repertoire.”
Inoke says, “We could probably find it in Sigil. Or maybe a scroll of it.”
“Where is Sigil?” Hyliss asks.
Dorn Wankerman laughs. “You’re in for a treat,” he says, and almost adds Clueless.
***
A quick superior teleport to Tirchond, specifically a certain dwarven attic, and our heroes move through the portal and out onto the streets of the extraplanar metropolis of Sigil. The buildings are a haphazard mess of different materials. The sky is lit by a dingy radiance that doesn’t seem to come from anywhere in particular. As our heroes walk the streets, looking for the Eyebrary, they pass strange creatures on every corner. Many store fronts seem to display bizarre creatures and objects in their windows, from caged mephits to percolating pink liquids bubbling through strange glass and metal apparati.
And just about everywhere, whispers follow them. The Killers of Asmodeus.
Soon enough they reach the Eyebrary. Within, the strange Eye of Boccob- who our heroes call the Eyebrarian- greets them. It resembles a human with a giant eyeball for a head. It greets them evenly.
“Anything especially interesting going on?” asks Lillamere.
“Can you identify items for us?” asks Gerontius.
“No,” the Eye of Boccob tells them both. “The big news remains the destruction of Asmodeus at your hands. But I am certain you can find a scroll to aid you.”
“What about Little Alex?” asks the baron (referring to the tout who has guided them around Sigil before). “Can anyone send him a sending?” asks the baron.
“I don’t have one prepared,” replies Alcar.
“I do,” Hyliss says, “but I would have to know him.”
Chakar steps outside of the library for a moment and looks around. A pair of loitering ruffians catch his eye across the street.
“You,” he says, pointing at one of them.
“Whatcha want, berk?” the youth retorts arrogantly.
“Do you know Little Alex?”
“I might.”
“Can you find him for me?”
“What’s in it for me?”
“Gold,” Chakar replies. He is a dwarf; he knows all about appealing to greed. The tough speeds off after receiving a little sample of Chakar’s wealth.
“What about me?” the other inquires plaintively. “D’ya need anything else? I could use a few coins meself!”
Chakar considers briefly, then says, “I am looking for a scroll of analyze dweomer.”
“That’ll take real scrill, guv,” the tough warns.
“Don’t worry about that. If you can tell me where it is, I can get it.” Chakar watches the second hoodlum run off and then heads back into the Library of Boccob, where the party is clustered around a map of Valonia. The Eye is pointing at the spot at which the Warlord of Orokeuse is presently- on the road, apprently in between Zer Squelm and a small fort.
“I might turn into an angel and give him a message, let him know we’re coming,” muses Lillamere.
“I am an angel of the Light. With any luck they will recognize me as such.” Alcar folds his powerful arms across his barrel chest.
“You know a lot,” says Inoke abruptly to the Eyebrarian. “Is there a Bastion of Chaos?”
“Not as such,” responds the Eyebrarian.
“Because all this talk of attacking the Bastion of Law strikes me as sheer craziness,” Inoke confesses. “It seems like a good way to get caught in the eternal battle to me.”
“Well, overthrowing it is a good way to end the war,” Alcar points out. “And we have to deal with these Arrows of Law, anyway.”
“You mean the Bastion,” mutters Inoke. “But you don’t even know what to do when you get there! Maybe there’s another way; maybe we could take on whatever the focus of Chaos is.”
“Maybe the Eyebrarian knows what we would have to do,” wonders Gerontius. “Do you know what we must do there to overthrow it? Do you have a map of it?”
“I have no map,” the Eye answers, “but to overthrow it you must defile the pool at the Bastion’s heart.”
“How do we do that?” wonders Alcar.
“With Chaos,” breathes Lillamere. “Is that it?” At the Eyebrarian’s affirmative answer, Lillamere asks, “Like what? How would we do that?”
“There are many possiblilties,” the Eyebrarian replies. “Anarchic water, for instance.”
“What’s that?” wonders Chakar.
“The chaotic equivalent of holy water,” Wankerman informs him. Chakar frowns.
“Would a fragment of an obelisk do it?” asks Gerontius.
“Oh, yes,” the Eyebrarian replies. Suddenly there’s a knock at the door. “It is for you,” the strange eye-headed creature tells Chakar.
“I have found our scrolls,” Chakar tells the party a moment later. There is another knock, and Chakar moves to answer it again. Little Alex greets him, and moments later the rest of the party, with enthusiasm. Soon they depart the Eyebrary with their tout. To their surprise, quite a crowd is outside, and they follow the party and their guide at a respectful distance.
“I suppose that knowing us is good for your reputation,” Chakar says to Little Alex, noting his new shoes and belt. The rest of his clothes are still rags- a choice, suspects the monk.
“Oh, it certainly is!” agrees Alex with a grin.
***
When all is said and done, the party sells a ton of large magic weapons and other gear, and keeps only one item: a belt of giant strength +6. As they cruise the market place, they are amazed by how well-known they seem to be. At one point, a strange blue-skinned creature dressed in red and yellow robes introduces himself to Lillamere as Tezdra and claims to be a powerful arcanist interested in unique spells. His collection seems very formidable.
And then it’s time to go.
“Let’s go liberate my people!” urges Gerontius.
“All right, all right,” grumbles Lillamere. “Are we going to send a message first?”
“Are we talking, or fighting?” demands Inoke. “Last time, with Seclaidra, we said we were fighting but ended up talking. Let’s actually talk on purpose this time.”
Chakar snorts.
“I will use Diplomacy on them,” Gerontius chuckles. Inoke just sighs.
Next Time: Our heroes meet the Warlord of the Orcs of Valonia! An unexpected monster! And agressive negotiations!
*Hyliss is Lillamere’s new cohort- a wizard 10/fighter 3/battlemage 5 (customer prc from my campaign).
“I am telling you, we must take care of zese orcs!” declares Gerontius. He gestures expansively. “Think about it. If zey were attacking your folk, you would be all for it!”
“True,” agrees Baron Lillamere. “But we also have to assault the Bastion of Law.” He ponders as they walk through the streets of Var towards the Three Rubies, the tavern which they have enjoyed for some time, ever since being introduced to it by Lester. It is typically crawling with adventurer groupies, and our heroes are the mightiest and most well-known of the patrons.
“I think we should talk to the orcs,” Inoke says. “They are Galadorian, after all.”
“A pretense, nothing more. Orcs are disgusting,” opines Chakar. “We should slay them all and free the halflings of their threat.” Gerontius nods vigorously. Inoke just sighs.
The Three Rubies, as usual, treats our heroes well. There are many lovely creatures within who are enthralled to see such legendary figures as the slayers of Asmodeus within arm’s reach, but our heroes manage to keep a little table to themselves. As they chat, Lillamere’s eyes wander over the rest of the place, and he notices another group of folk clustered at another table. To his surprise, seated at the table and basking in the attention he is receiving is one of his old lovers.
“I’ll be damned!” the elven baron exclaims, and rises and swiftly walks over to the other table. The elf seated there glances up and sees him, and his face blossoms into a smile. Though the rest of our heroes can’t hear them over the noise of the tavern, it is obvious that they know each other. Lillamere and the other elf embrace, laughing, and begin chattering excitedly like teenaged girls.
Inoke, however, doesn’t even notice. He seems to be brooding into his drink.
“You know what else?” Gerontius says. “We have a lot of treasure to identify from Seclaidra’s succubi and other recent battles.”
“Where’s Orbius when you need him?” sighs Alcar.
“Maybe Lillamere could identify them,” suggests Chakar.
“Or we could try to get a scroll of analyze dweomer, maybe in Sigil,” interjects Inoke. “We could go see the Eyebrarian.”
“Well, we’re kind of scattered at the moment- I think Horbin’s starting to go through his confirmation hearings to be Bishop of Dorhaus- not to mention that Wankerman went to the latrine a while back and he has not returned yet, which leads me to believe that he was as drunk as he looked, and I’m getting there.” Gerontius belches.
“But it is a good idea. Perhaps tomorrow,” nods Chakar.
***
8/9/371 O.L.G., 9:30 a.m., the Halls of Healing
In the morning, Inoke, Gerontius, Chakar, Alcar, Wankerman and Zyltha (who has altered her form to a more half-elven one, losing her demonic wings and horns) leave Horbin’s Halls of Healing and head back to the Three Rubies. They have seen no sign of Baron Lillamere since leaving the tavern last night, though they did see him pay for a room. When they reach the Rubies, they find Lillamere and his new companion chatting over breakfast.
“Good morning!” Gerontius greets them.
“Good morning,” agrees Baron Lillamere with a grin. “We’ve been catching up on old times. Please, join us- have some breakfast.”
“Breakfast,” sighs Gerontius, rubbing his halfling belly. He immediately flies up to a stool and digs in.
“Who’s your friend?” asks Inoke after a moment.
“Oh! How rude of me!” Lillamere colors momentarily. “This is an old companion of mine, Hyliss. He studied at the Silver College on Tirchond. He is skilled with both spell and sword.” He smiles at the other elf. “He will be joining us, adding his strength to ours.”*
The party chats over breakfast, getting to know their newer companions for a time. As they finish their meal Gerontius mumbles something about identifying loot and then attacking the orcs around a mouthful of eggs. The party discusses sending word to the orcs that they are coming to talk and debates an attack with diplomacy. Gerontius then names two of his daggers Diplomacy and Gerontius and laughs that he will happily use Diplomacy on the orcs. Again the subject of identifying the loot the party has comes up.
“I might be able to help with that,” Hyliss offers. “I even have an identify prepared today.”
“We have many items to examine,” Gerontius replies. “One identify would not be enough.”
“But do you know analyze dweomer?” queries Alcar. “It would only take a couple of those.”
“Regretfully, I don’t; but it would be a very good spell for me to learn. If I should come across it anytime soon, I would definitely like to add it to my repertoire.”
Inoke says, “We could probably find it in Sigil. Or maybe a scroll of it.”
“Where is Sigil?” Hyliss asks.
Dorn Wankerman laughs. “You’re in for a treat,” he says, and almost adds Clueless.
***
A quick superior teleport to Tirchond, specifically a certain dwarven attic, and our heroes move through the portal and out onto the streets of the extraplanar metropolis of Sigil. The buildings are a haphazard mess of different materials. The sky is lit by a dingy radiance that doesn’t seem to come from anywhere in particular. As our heroes walk the streets, looking for the Eyebrary, they pass strange creatures on every corner. Many store fronts seem to display bizarre creatures and objects in their windows, from caged mephits to percolating pink liquids bubbling through strange glass and metal apparati.
And just about everywhere, whispers follow them. The Killers of Asmodeus.
Soon enough they reach the Eyebrary. Within, the strange Eye of Boccob- who our heroes call the Eyebrarian- greets them. It resembles a human with a giant eyeball for a head. It greets them evenly.
“Anything especially interesting going on?” asks Lillamere.
“Can you identify items for us?” asks Gerontius.
“No,” the Eye of Boccob tells them both. “The big news remains the destruction of Asmodeus at your hands. But I am certain you can find a scroll to aid you.”
“What about Little Alex?” asks the baron (referring to the tout who has guided them around Sigil before). “Can anyone send him a sending?” asks the baron.
“I don’t have one prepared,” replies Alcar.
“I do,” Hyliss says, “but I would have to know him.”
Chakar steps outside of the library for a moment and looks around. A pair of loitering ruffians catch his eye across the street.
“You,” he says, pointing at one of them.
“Whatcha want, berk?” the youth retorts arrogantly.
“Do you know Little Alex?”
“I might.”
“Can you find him for me?”
“What’s in it for me?”
“Gold,” Chakar replies. He is a dwarf; he knows all about appealing to greed. The tough speeds off after receiving a little sample of Chakar’s wealth.
“What about me?” the other inquires plaintively. “D’ya need anything else? I could use a few coins meself!”
Chakar considers briefly, then says, “I am looking for a scroll of analyze dweomer.”
“That’ll take real scrill, guv,” the tough warns.
“Don’t worry about that. If you can tell me where it is, I can get it.” Chakar watches the second hoodlum run off and then heads back into the Library of Boccob, where the party is clustered around a map of Valonia. The Eye is pointing at the spot at which the Warlord of Orokeuse is presently- on the road, apprently in between Zer Squelm and a small fort.
“I might turn into an angel and give him a message, let him know we’re coming,” muses Lillamere.
“I am an angel of the Light. With any luck they will recognize me as such.” Alcar folds his powerful arms across his barrel chest.
“You know a lot,” says Inoke abruptly to the Eyebrarian. “Is there a Bastion of Chaos?”
“Not as such,” responds the Eyebrarian.
“Because all this talk of attacking the Bastion of Law strikes me as sheer craziness,” Inoke confesses. “It seems like a good way to get caught in the eternal battle to me.”
“Well, overthrowing it is a good way to end the war,” Alcar points out. “And we have to deal with these Arrows of Law, anyway.”
“You mean the Bastion,” mutters Inoke. “But you don’t even know what to do when you get there! Maybe there’s another way; maybe we could take on whatever the focus of Chaos is.”
“Maybe the Eyebrarian knows what we would have to do,” wonders Gerontius. “Do you know what we must do there to overthrow it? Do you have a map of it?”
“I have no map,” the Eye answers, “but to overthrow it you must defile the pool at the Bastion’s heart.”
“How do we do that?” wonders Alcar.
“With Chaos,” breathes Lillamere. “Is that it?” At the Eyebrarian’s affirmative answer, Lillamere asks, “Like what? How would we do that?”
“There are many possiblilties,” the Eyebrarian replies. “Anarchic water, for instance.”
“What’s that?” wonders Chakar.
“The chaotic equivalent of holy water,” Wankerman informs him. Chakar frowns.
“Would a fragment of an obelisk do it?” asks Gerontius.
“Oh, yes,” the Eyebrarian replies. Suddenly there’s a knock at the door. “It is for you,” the strange eye-headed creature tells Chakar.
“I have found our scrolls,” Chakar tells the party a moment later. There is another knock, and Chakar moves to answer it again. Little Alex greets him, and moments later the rest of the party, with enthusiasm. Soon they depart the Eyebrary with their tout. To their surprise, quite a crowd is outside, and they follow the party and their guide at a respectful distance.
“I suppose that knowing us is good for your reputation,” Chakar says to Little Alex, noting his new shoes and belt. The rest of his clothes are still rags- a choice, suspects the monk.
“Oh, it certainly is!” agrees Alex with a grin.
***
When all is said and done, the party sells a ton of large magic weapons and other gear, and keeps only one item: a belt of giant strength +6. As they cruise the market place, they are amazed by how well-known they seem to be. At one point, a strange blue-skinned creature dressed in red and yellow robes introduces himself to Lillamere as Tezdra and claims to be a powerful arcanist interested in unique spells. His collection seems very formidable.
And then it’s time to go.
“Let’s go liberate my people!” urges Gerontius.
“All right, all right,” grumbles Lillamere. “Are we going to send a message first?”
“Are we talking, or fighting?” demands Inoke. “Last time, with Seclaidra, we said we were fighting but ended up talking. Let’s actually talk on purpose this time.”
Chakar snorts.
“I will use Diplomacy on them,” Gerontius chuckles. Inoke just sighs.
Next Time: Our heroes meet the Warlord of the Orcs of Valonia! An unexpected monster! And agressive negotiations!
*Hyliss is Lillamere’s new cohort- a wizard 10/fighter 3/battlemage 5 (customer prc from my campaign).
Knightfall
World of Kulan DM
the Jester said:Let me just say that I am incredibly glad that I write my story hours up in Word before posting them these days...
My plan: one post per day (in one or more of my SH threads) until the old posts are all back in place, and then more- presumably by that time, I'll have a few new ones written and be able to leapfrog forward...
Me too.
So how many SH pages/posts did you lose for Great Conflicts?
KF72
the Jester
Legend
Knightfall1972 said:
Oh, about 21,000 words.
the Jester
Legend
The party appears off the road several miles ahead of the orcish force, along the western edge of Valonia. It is one thousand strong- a traveling small army. The party cannot see it due to the terrain, a jumbled mass of rocky ridges scattered with shaggy trees and bushy scrub. The coast is less than a mile to the west.
“Do we know the warlord’s name?” asks Inoke.
“Ragash Zelgar,” states Baron Lillamere.
Alcar spreads his wings. “I’ll take a look around from the air,” he declares, and then with a mighty flap he ascends. After gaining a few hundred feet, the Angel of Food peers around. There is the army, he notes, probably a thousand of them, and only a few twists and turns along the road- but what is that?
To the west, high clouds are scudding in. A great shadow flits behind them. Whatever it is, it must be huge for him to be able to notice it at this distance! The clouds are still a couple of miles away. Alcar watches the shadow for a moment more before descending, but he cannot ascertain any further details. He does note how swiftly the clouds are moving in, however.
When he rejoins his friends, he tells them, “I saw the army, but there is also something in the clouds- something big.”
“What kind of thing?” Baron Lillamere has already cast his shape change, but he keeps his form his own, at least for the moment.
“I couldn’t tell,” Alcar replies.
Quickly, our heroes enable what flying magic they have. Chakar remains landbound below for a few moments, until Lillamere casts fly on him. From the vantage point that Alcar had previously had, they can only see shadows; so Alcar flaps his way up above the cloud layer.
When he darts back down, he cries, “It’s a chaos roc!”
“What’s that?” demands Gerontius.
“It’s a big bad bird,” Alcar declares.
“Should we kill it?” wonders Chakar.
“Well, how likely is it that it is a coincidence that it is here?” asks Lillamere. “I mean, come on, the chaos roc, the army- what are the odds?”
The others ponder this for a moment. “You may have a point,” concedes Inoke. “If we slay it, it might help intimidate the orcs a little,” he adds after a moment.
“That’s a good point,” Lillamere responds.
“Let’s have a look,” suggests Hyliss, and the entire party flies up above the clouds. In the distance they can see the chaos roc, an immense bird shimmering with color. Its great wings beat the air with immense strength.
And it is coming right for them.
It is still perhaps a half mile from them, but it is closing very quickly. Our heroes prepare rapidly, but the bird closes the distance in a few short moments. When it approaches within 150’ or so, it veers off to the side. Its eyes blaze with color, and a blast of prismatic energy lashes out over the entire party! Most of them resist the effects of the rays that hit them. Inoke, though, takes a blast of acid that his energy absorption only partially prevents. Lillamere, shape changed into a red dragon, suffers from a direct blast of electricity, as does Hyliss.
Wankerman charges through the air, his spear reaching out, and he smashes into the side of the monster’s great beak, cracking open a hole in it! The monstrous bird gives a shrieking caw. Meanwhile, Chakar rushes in and attempts to grapple the bird, but it shakes him off.
Lillamere rakes the bird with a blast of fiery breath as he flies by it, roaring gloriously. Hyliss tries to disintegrate the monster, but it resists his spell. And then Inoke charges into it, giving it the old Inoke Special, and it’s done.* The giant corpse tumbles down, down, down to the ground below, landing in an explosion of feathers.
The party notes that the army seems to be heading in their direction on the ground, so our heroes descend. They land next to the chaos roc’s corpse. Lillamere sends out prying eyes, and soon he can see the image of the orcish scouts which are coming in their direction. They hail the scouts, who seem taken aback and aren’t quite sure what to make of the party.
“I am an angel of Galador. Bring the warlord before us,” commands Alcar.
“Uh, the Warlord doesn’t come at your beck and call,” one of the orcs says, “But we’ll tell him you wanna talk to him.”
The scouts fade back into the woods. Soon the oncoming army comes into view on the road. An honor guard surrounds a formidable-looking armored orc. Alcar’s eyebrow quirks after he examines the guards’ uniforms and insignia. They are paladins! he realizes.
Chakar starts. There are a pair of dwarves behind the Warlord.
“You wanted to see me?” rumbles the Warlord of Orokeuse.
Next Time: The negotiations begin!
*As you know, we hadn’t played the epic game in months. I think it was at this point that I shook my head ruefully and said, “I forgot.” Forgot how incredibly powerful the pcs in this game are. Damn.
“Do we know the warlord’s name?” asks Inoke.
“Ragash Zelgar,” states Baron Lillamere.
Alcar spreads his wings. “I’ll take a look around from the air,” he declares, and then with a mighty flap he ascends. After gaining a few hundred feet, the Angel of Food peers around. There is the army, he notes, probably a thousand of them, and only a few twists and turns along the road- but what is that?
To the west, high clouds are scudding in. A great shadow flits behind them. Whatever it is, it must be huge for him to be able to notice it at this distance! The clouds are still a couple of miles away. Alcar watches the shadow for a moment more before descending, but he cannot ascertain any further details. He does note how swiftly the clouds are moving in, however.
When he rejoins his friends, he tells them, “I saw the army, but there is also something in the clouds- something big.”
“What kind of thing?” Baron Lillamere has already cast his shape change, but he keeps his form his own, at least for the moment.
“I couldn’t tell,” Alcar replies.
Quickly, our heroes enable what flying magic they have. Chakar remains landbound below for a few moments, until Lillamere casts fly on him. From the vantage point that Alcar had previously had, they can only see shadows; so Alcar flaps his way up above the cloud layer.
When he darts back down, he cries, “It’s a chaos roc!”
“What’s that?” demands Gerontius.
“It’s a big bad bird,” Alcar declares.
“Should we kill it?” wonders Chakar.
“Well, how likely is it that it is a coincidence that it is here?” asks Lillamere. “I mean, come on, the chaos roc, the army- what are the odds?”
The others ponder this for a moment. “You may have a point,” concedes Inoke. “If we slay it, it might help intimidate the orcs a little,” he adds after a moment.
“That’s a good point,” Lillamere responds.
“Let’s have a look,” suggests Hyliss, and the entire party flies up above the clouds. In the distance they can see the chaos roc, an immense bird shimmering with color. Its great wings beat the air with immense strength.
And it is coming right for them.
It is still perhaps a half mile from them, but it is closing very quickly. Our heroes prepare rapidly, but the bird closes the distance in a few short moments. When it approaches within 150’ or so, it veers off to the side. Its eyes blaze with color, and a blast of prismatic energy lashes out over the entire party! Most of them resist the effects of the rays that hit them. Inoke, though, takes a blast of acid that his energy absorption only partially prevents. Lillamere, shape changed into a red dragon, suffers from a direct blast of electricity, as does Hyliss.
Wankerman charges through the air, his spear reaching out, and he smashes into the side of the monster’s great beak, cracking open a hole in it! The monstrous bird gives a shrieking caw. Meanwhile, Chakar rushes in and attempts to grapple the bird, but it shakes him off.
Lillamere rakes the bird with a blast of fiery breath as he flies by it, roaring gloriously. Hyliss tries to disintegrate the monster, but it resists his spell. And then Inoke charges into it, giving it the old Inoke Special, and it’s done.* The giant corpse tumbles down, down, down to the ground below, landing in an explosion of feathers.
The party notes that the army seems to be heading in their direction on the ground, so our heroes descend. They land next to the chaos roc’s corpse. Lillamere sends out prying eyes, and soon he can see the image of the orcish scouts which are coming in their direction. They hail the scouts, who seem taken aback and aren’t quite sure what to make of the party.
“I am an angel of Galador. Bring the warlord before us,” commands Alcar.
“Uh, the Warlord doesn’t come at your beck and call,” one of the orcs says, “But we’ll tell him you wanna talk to him.”
The scouts fade back into the woods. Soon the oncoming army comes into view on the road. An honor guard surrounds a formidable-looking armored orc. Alcar’s eyebrow quirks after he examines the guards’ uniforms and insignia. They are paladins! he realizes.
Chakar starts. There are a pair of dwarves behind the Warlord.
“You wanted to see me?” rumbles the Warlord of Orokeuse.
Next Time: The negotiations begin!
*As you know, we hadn’t played the epic game in months. I think it was at this point that I shook my head ruefully and said, “I forgot.” Forgot how incredibly powerful the pcs in this game are. Damn.
the Jester
Legend
“It has come to our attention that you are attacking the halflings of Valonia,” declares Baron Lillamere. “You have to leave them alone. Why are you attacking them? What is your problem with them? Perhaps we can help you seek a different solution.”
Ragash Zelgar, Warlord of Orokeuse, regards our heroes impassively. The twenty orcish paladins in splendid array around him look ready to strike at a moment’s notice. The two dwarves apparently accompanying the orcish warlord exchange a glance. Chakar stares at them wrathfully. Dwarves working with orcs, he grumbles to himself. It’s terrible! A disgrace!
“You will leave my people alone,” warns Gerontius.
Ragash Zelgar, the Warlord of Orokeuse, sneers at him. “’Your people’ are my unruly subjects. They do not pay their taxes, they refuse to swear allegiance to me. What would you have me do?" he shrugs. "I cannot let such an insult go. It would undermine my authority over the rest of my people. You must understand that they are a... rough race.”
“They are not your subjects!” Gerontius says hotly. “What makes them your subjects?!”
While the conversation is going on, Alcar casts detect evil. He frowns. The paladins are not evil; however, the warlord is. He’s evil, I’m going to kill him, the Angel of Food announces over the telepathic link.
“They’re my subjects because I said so, and because I have the power to back up my claim!” the warlord states flatly. He rumbles deep in his chest. “I am the Warlord of Valonia!”
“You can’t just declare them your subjects,” Chakar objects.
“You need to relax!” Alcar shakes his finger at the warlord. “Do you know who we are?” His halo darkens momentarily as his hostility grows.
“No,” the warlord admits.
“We’re the slayers of Asmodeus,” Baron Lillamere declares grandiosely. It is a claim of such weight that it would be ludicrous were it not true. And yet-
“Who?” the warlord asks.
“The... the people who killed Asmodeus.” No response. “Asmodeus? You know-“
“Never heard of him,” the warlord shrugs.
“Nonetheless,” Inoke urges, “trust us, we’re quite powerful.”
“We could destroy you and your entire army here,” warns Alcar.
The warlord frowns. “What is it you want?”
“We want you to leave ze halflings alone!” Gerontius cries.
“Perhaps we could negotiate an arrangement,” Lillamere offers. “What if they agreed to pay taxes, but not to acknowledge you as their sovereign?”
“You can’t bully me,” Ragash Zelgar snorts. “You want me to undermine my own authority? Forget it.”
“Enough of this!” Alcar shouts angrily, and invokes a fire storm. White-hot fire licks out over the circle of paladins and the warlord and his two dwarven advisors. It scorches them, and they scream in pain as they burn. He adds more fire to the mix with another one, as well as a flame strike on the warlord and one of the dwarves next to him. The dwarf collapses, overcome.
“Wait!” cries Horbin, but it is too late. The dice are cast. The rest of our heroes launch themselves into action as well. Gerontius begins stabbing the orcish paladins, cutting them down one by one. Lillemere chants the words to a spell and a crushing fist of spite smashes down on Ragash Zelgar. He gives a cry of pain as it deals him a mighty blow. Pulling out his greatsword, the warlord shouts, “False angel!” He glares at Alcar. The charge makes the Angel of Food furious.
Inoke swings his club gently, striking not to kill, but rather to knock his foes unconcscious. In a single blow, he knocks over all of the paladins that he can reach, bowling them over like tenpins.*
Yet another fire storm from Alcar blasts the enemy. Those paladins not already disabled by the rest of the party are slain. Fires explode amongst the first ranks of the army behind them, too, who are staring in shock. In only seconds their warlord’s advisors and his elite guard have all fallen! Then Chakar springs, leaping upon the warlord. For a moment there is a flurry of movement as Chakar wrestles with the orc- and then he savagely snaps the neck of Ragash Zelgar.
From the ranks of the orcish soldiers there are screams of shock and disbelief as their warlord falls at Chakar's feet. They begin to break in panic. In moments it is a complete rout, and the entire force of 1000 orcish soldiers is running full tilt away from the party in a chaotic mass.
“Well, as negotiations go, that left something to be desired,” Lillamere admits.
“I don’t understand,” Inoke objects. “We came here to talk, and ended up fighting; but against Seclaidra, we went to fight and ended up talking? Something is backwards here.”
Alcar picks up the warlord’s body. “I’ll be back,” he says, and flies away with it.
Where are you going? Lillamere asks telepathically, but Alcar isn’t listening- or answering. The Baron sighs in frustration.
“We should make a tomb or grave for the paladins,” Horbin says sadly, surveying the carnage. Most of the bodies are blackened and burnt. The rest of the party agrees, and with a combination of huge and large characters digging and magic (such as stone shape), our heroes inter the corpses. “We’ll have to raise them all later, of course,” Horbin muses. He frowns. What is Alcar doing with the body of the warlord?
The party waits for about half an hour for Alcar to return, but whatever he’s doing is taking longer than that. Finally, getting bored, Baron Lillamere suggests, “Well, why don't we go check in on the halflings?”
Thirty seconds later the party superior teleports away.
Next Time: Alcar brings the warlord back! Our heroes hang out with the halflings and ponder the consequences of instituting a regime change on an orcish nation! And Sybele states her conditions for storming the Bastion of Law!
*Great Cleave.
Ragash Zelgar, Warlord of Orokeuse, regards our heroes impassively. The twenty orcish paladins in splendid array around him look ready to strike at a moment’s notice. The two dwarves apparently accompanying the orcish warlord exchange a glance. Chakar stares at them wrathfully. Dwarves working with orcs, he grumbles to himself. It’s terrible! A disgrace!
“You will leave my people alone,” warns Gerontius.
Ragash Zelgar, the Warlord of Orokeuse, sneers at him. “’Your people’ are my unruly subjects. They do not pay their taxes, they refuse to swear allegiance to me. What would you have me do?" he shrugs. "I cannot let such an insult go. It would undermine my authority over the rest of my people. You must understand that they are a... rough race.”
“They are not your subjects!” Gerontius says hotly. “What makes them your subjects?!”
While the conversation is going on, Alcar casts detect evil. He frowns. The paladins are not evil; however, the warlord is. He’s evil, I’m going to kill him, the Angel of Food announces over the telepathic link.
“They’re my subjects because I said so, and because I have the power to back up my claim!” the warlord states flatly. He rumbles deep in his chest. “I am the Warlord of Valonia!”
“You can’t just declare them your subjects,” Chakar objects.
“You need to relax!” Alcar shakes his finger at the warlord. “Do you know who we are?” His halo darkens momentarily as his hostility grows.
“No,” the warlord admits.
“We’re the slayers of Asmodeus,” Baron Lillamere declares grandiosely. It is a claim of such weight that it would be ludicrous were it not true. And yet-
“Who?” the warlord asks.
“The... the people who killed Asmodeus.” No response. “Asmodeus? You know-“
“Never heard of him,” the warlord shrugs.
“Nonetheless,” Inoke urges, “trust us, we’re quite powerful.”
“We could destroy you and your entire army here,” warns Alcar.
The warlord frowns. “What is it you want?”
“We want you to leave ze halflings alone!” Gerontius cries.
“Perhaps we could negotiate an arrangement,” Lillamere offers. “What if they agreed to pay taxes, but not to acknowledge you as their sovereign?”
“You can’t bully me,” Ragash Zelgar snorts. “You want me to undermine my own authority? Forget it.”
“Enough of this!” Alcar shouts angrily, and invokes a fire storm. White-hot fire licks out over the circle of paladins and the warlord and his two dwarven advisors. It scorches them, and they scream in pain as they burn. He adds more fire to the mix with another one, as well as a flame strike on the warlord and one of the dwarves next to him. The dwarf collapses, overcome.
“Wait!” cries Horbin, but it is too late. The dice are cast. The rest of our heroes launch themselves into action as well. Gerontius begins stabbing the orcish paladins, cutting them down one by one. Lillemere chants the words to a spell and a crushing fist of spite smashes down on Ragash Zelgar. He gives a cry of pain as it deals him a mighty blow. Pulling out his greatsword, the warlord shouts, “False angel!” He glares at Alcar. The charge makes the Angel of Food furious.
Inoke swings his club gently, striking not to kill, but rather to knock his foes unconcscious. In a single blow, he knocks over all of the paladins that he can reach, bowling them over like tenpins.*
Yet another fire storm from Alcar blasts the enemy. Those paladins not already disabled by the rest of the party are slain. Fires explode amongst the first ranks of the army behind them, too, who are staring in shock. In only seconds their warlord’s advisors and his elite guard have all fallen! Then Chakar springs, leaping upon the warlord. For a moment there is a flurry of movement as Chakar wrestles with the orc- and then he savagely snaps the neck of Ragash Zelgar.
From the ranks of the orcish soldiers there are screams of shock and disbelief as their warlord falls at Chakar's feet. They begin to break in panic. In moments it is a complete rout, and the entire force of 1000 orcish soldiers is running full tilt away from the party in a chaotic mass.
“Well, as negotiations go, that left something to be desired,” Lillamere admits.
“I don’t understand,” Inoke objects. “We came here to talk, and ended up fighting; but against Seclaidra, we went to fight and ended up talking? Something is backwards here.”
Alcar picks up the warlord’s body. “I’ll be back,” he says, and flies away with it.
Where are you going? Lillamere asks telepathically, but Alcar isn’t listening- or answering. The Baron sighs in frustration.
“We should make a tomb or grave for the paladins,” Horbin says sadly, surveying the carnage. Most of the bodies are blackened and burnt. The rest of the party agrees, and with a combination of huge and large characters digging and magic (such as stone shape), our heroes inter the corpses. “We’ll have to raise them all later, of course,” Horbin muses. He frowns. What is Alcar doing with the body of the warlord?
The party waits for about half an hour for Alcar to return, but whatever he’s doing is taking longer than that. Finally, getting bored, Baron Lillamere suggests, “Well, why don't we go check in on the halflings?”
Thirty seconds later the party superior teleports away.
Next Time: Alcar brings the warlord back! Our heroes hang out with the halflings and ponder the consequences of instituting a regime change on an orcish nation! And Sybele states her conditions for storming the Bastion of Law!
*Great Cleave.
the Jester
Legend
A mountain in the southern portion of the Snowy Peaks, Valonia
Alcar alights atop a craggy mountain- a small mountain, but a mountain nonetheless. He frowns to himself, contemplating. His halo darkens slightly as he ruthlessly pushes all thought of remorse over killing the paladins from his mind. They were orcs, he reminds himself.
After meditating for a time, he sighs gently and pulls out a huge diamond. Its value is extraordinary; he would not expend it lightly, not without great cause. He glances at the body of the Warlord of Orokeuse, lord of the Valonian orcs.
He was evil, Alcar reminds himself. Then, grudgingly, he also tells himself: He was a Galadorian.
Alcar beats the air with his wings, taking flight and virtually hovering above the corpse of Ragash Zelgar. The sun haloes him in the sky. With the light of the afternoon behind him, outlining him, he casts true resurrection on the orcish warlord. As the self-styled master of Valonia gasps, life returning to his cold limbs, Alcar gently descends. “Behold!” the angel intones. “You have been returned from the Beyond by the mercy of Galador!”
Warlord Ragash Zelgar springs to his feet, nothing if not resilient. “What have you done!” he cries. “How dare you!!” His fingers clench around empty air, but the party took his weapons, armor and gear while he was dead. He is unarmed and defenseless.
But clearly, he is not cowed.
“Calm down,” Alcar commands. “You must relax. You must let the Light guide you. Trust in the Light. You do not need to attack the halflings. What harm have they done you? Perhaps you should consider joining my summer league team.”
“What harm-? Your what?” Ragash Zelgar shakes his head to clear it. “How dare you claim to work for the Light! You just slew twenty paladins of the Church!”
“That will be remedied,” Alcar assures him. The orc gapes. “For now, you should agree to non-aggression with the halflings.”
“Are you mad? They defy my interests. They deny my authority. If I let them get away with it- them, a group of stupid fat halflings!- how long do you think I will maintain the respect of my orcs?”
“We killed you once already,” Alcar points out.
“I do not fear you, dark angel!” Ragash Zelgar says, his voice dripping scorn. “Fallen angel! Get away from me!”
“I am no fallen angel,” Alcar says hotly.
“You slew my bodyguard of paladins. You destroyed priests of the Light. Dwarf priests.” Ragash Zelgar’s face twists in a furious scowl. “Tell me again that you serve Galador.”
Alcar takes a deep breath, trying to still his anger. The orc’s right, he thinks. I need to return the dwarves, and those orcish paladins, from death. He feels a moment of remorse, but quickly banishes it. Aloud, he tells the warlord, “We will go raise the dwarves now.”
Alcar picks the orc up and carries him into the sky. Ragash Zelgar scowls the entire way. He strongly considers attack the angel in the air, but reminds himself that he is unarmed. He decides to wait for a better time. He is dangerous, the orc acknowledges cannily. He and his friends tore through my best men like a bullet through flesh. I must be careful. Glaring at the angel, the orc’s thoughts simmer with anger.
When they reach the site of the battle, they are dismayed to find that the paladins’ bodies are gone (buried nearby by the rest of our heroes, though Alcar and the warlord don’t know that). Alcar resurrects the two dwarves (whose bodies are still evident), then turns his attention to the missing corpses. “Hmm,” Alcar muses, “we can find the paladins, but we’ll need the help of my friends.”
“I think I have had enough of your friends’ ‘help’,” the warlord jeers.
“I don’t think you have!” Alcar admonishes. He shakes his finger at the warlord. “You are evil and unrepentant! You make a sham of following the Light, and I will not have it! I have tried to reason with you, but you won’t do it. Very well!” And with that, Alcar pronounces a destruction upon the orc. Ragash Zelgar bursts into flame and, in the space of less than a second, is nothing more than blash ash.
The two dwarves cry out in dismay. “What have you done!” one of them cries.
“What have you done in helping the orcs? They are attacking the halflings for no reason other than to control them. They are evil!”
“He was our best choice,” the dwarf says heavily.
“Do not speak to us of shame, Angel of Food!” cries the other dwarf. “Yes, we know who you are! You are in disgrace in Heaven! How dare you castigate us?”
Alcar retorts hotly, “Galador is a prisoner in Heaven! How long has it been since any angel heard His voice or saw him directly? The forces of Law are keeping Him-“
“Preposterous!” the dwarves say as one.
“Bah!” Alcar cries. He pumps his mighty wings and ascends into the sky, unable to stand any more of the argument. His mighty wings take him southeast for a dozen miles, his sharp eyes peering everywhere for signs of his friends, until finally he contacts them over their permanent telepathic bond.
We’re with the halflings in Shire Role, Lillamere tells him. What happened?
Ignoring his question, Alcar casts a wind walk and heads towards the party.
Next Time: Our heroes hang out with the halflings and ponder the consequences of instituting a regime change on an orcish nation! Sybele states her conditions for storming the Bastion of Law! And the party makes a new friend!
Alcar alights atop a craggy mountain- a small mountain, but a mountain nonetheless. He frowns to himself, contemplating. His halo darkens slightly as he ruthlessly pushes all thought of remorse over killing the paladins from his mind. They were orcs, he reminds himself.
After meditating for a time, he sighs gently and pulls out a huge diamond. Its value is extraordinary; he would not expend it lightly, not without great cause. He glances at the body of the Warlord of Orokeuse, lord of the Valonian orcs.
He was evil, Alcar reminds himself. Then, grudgingly, he also tells himself: He was a Galadorian.
Alcar beats the air with his wings, taking flight and virtually hovering above the corpse of Ragash Zelgar. The sun haloes him in the sky. With the light of the afternoon behind him, outlining him, he casts true resurrection on the orcish warlord. As the self-styled master of Valonia gasps, life returning to his cold limbs, Alcar gently descends. “Behold!” the angel intones. “You have been returned from the Beyond by the mercy of Galador!”
Warlord Ragash Zelgar springs to his feet, nothing if not resilient. “What have you done!” he cries. “How dare you!!” His fingers clench around empty air, but the party took his weapons, armor and gear while he was dead. He is unarmed and defenseless.
But clearly, he is not cowed.
“Calm down,” Alcar commands. “You must relax. You must let the Light guide you. Trust in the Light. You do not need to attack the halflings. What harm have they done you? Perhaps you should consider joining my summer league team.”
“What harm-? Your what?” Ragash Zelgar shakes his head to clear it. “How dare you claim to work for the Light! You just slew twenty paladins of the Church!”
“That will be remedied,” Alcar assures him. The orc gapes. “For now, you should agree to non-aggression with the halflings.”
“Are you mad? They defy my interests. They deny my authority. If I let them get away with it- them, a group of stupid fat halflings!- how long do you think I will maintain the respect of my orcs?”
“We killed you once already,” Alcar points out.
“I do not fear you, dark angel!” Ragash Zelgar says, his voice dripping scorn. “Fallen angel! Get away from me!”
“I am no fallen angel,” Alcar says hotly.
“You slew my bodyguard of paladins. You destroyed priests of the Light. Dwarf priests.” Ragash Zelgar’s face twists in a furious scowl. “Tell me again that you serve Galador.”
Alcar takes a deep breath, trying to still his anger. The orc’s right, he thinks. I need to return the dwarves, and those orcish paladins, from death. He feels a moment of remorse, but quickly banishes it. Aloud, he tells the warlord, “We will go raise the dwarves now.”
Alcar picks the orc up and carries him into the sky. Ragash Zelgar scowls the entire way. He strongly considers attack the angel in the air, but reminds himself that he is unarmed. He decides to wait for a better time. He is dangerous, the orc acknowledges cannily. He and his friends tore through my best men like a bullet through flesh. I must be careful. Glaring at the angel, the orc’s thoughts simmer with anger.
When they reach the site of the battle, they are dismayed to find that the paladins’ bodies are gone (buried nearby by the rest of our heroes, though Alcar and the warlord don’t know that). Alcar resurrects the two dwarves (whose bodies are still evident), then turns his attention to the missing corpses. “Hmm,” Alcar muses, “we can find the paladins, but we’ll need the help of my friends.”
“I think I have had enough of your friends’ ‘help’,” the warlord jeers.
“I don’t think you have!” Alcar admonishes. He shakes his finger at the warlord. “You are evil and unrepentant! You make a sham of following the Light, and I will not have it! I have tried to reason with you, but you won’t do it. Very well!” And with that, Alcar pronounces a destruction upon the orc. Ragash Zelgar bursts into flame and, in the space of less than a second, is nothing more than blash ash.
The two dwarves cry out in dismay. “What have you done!” one of them cries.
“What have you done in helping the orcs? They are attacking the halflings for no reason other than to control them. They are evil!”
“He was our best choice,” the dwarf says heavily.
“Do not speak to us of shame, Angel of Food!” cries the other dwarf. “Yes, we know who you are! You are in disgrace in Heaven! How dare you castigate us?”
Alcar retorts hotly, “Galador is a prisoner in Heaven! How long has it been since any angel heard His voice or saw him directly? The forces of Law are keeping Him-“
“Preposterous!” the dwarves say as one.
“Bah!” Alcar cries. He pumps his mighty wings and ascends into the sky, unable to stand any more of the argument. His mighty wings take him southeast for a dozen miles, his sharp eyes peering everywhere for signs of his friends, until finally he contacts them over their permanent telepathic bond.
We’re with the halflings in Shire Role, Lillamere tells him. What happened?
Ignoring his question, Alcar casts a wind walk and heads towards the party.
Next Time: Our heroes hang out with the halflings and ponder the consequences of instituting a regime change on an orcish nation! Sybele states her conditions for storming the Bastion of Law! And the party makes a new friend!
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