(Cydra) The Year 271 Campaign (Low Magic experiment)

[the Jester]

Monkey Business

The buzzing of insects, the occasional chirp of birds, the croak of a frog, the dripping of fat beads of water as they fall from wide rounded leaves... all within the tower. Looming over our heroes, trees up to 30’ high brush the ceiling of the level of the Ghost Tower of Inverness that our heroes are presently exploring. The undergrowth is so thick that it is impassable; a trail would have to be cut through it for our heroes to advance off of the path- for a single path leads away, through the rampant growth.

“Thith ith prepothterouth!” exclaims Sir Cedric.

“Clearly, my lord, we must explore,” Sir Jorgen says smoothly.

“Here,” Sir Fwaigo adds, handing his wineskin to Cedric. The former squire squints as he looks around. “Well, I guess we only have one way to go, unless we want to spend hours cutting through the brush...”

With that, the party sets off down the winding path. Its width varies and it seems to wander one direction and then another. As they walk, Kyle catches a glimpse of motion off in the woods. He whips his head around and Peers nervously in that direction, but the only thing he sees is some kind of monkey.

“It’s weird,” he comments, continuing to walk the path, “that there is a forest in this tower.” Nervously, he pulls out his shortbow and nocks an arrow.

“Me like furry,” replies Sir Percival, pointing at Dahlia’s badger companion.

Otis suddenly cries out, “ABOVE US!!”

Silently, two monkey-like creatures have crept into the branches that arch above the path. They are ugly-looking things, overly muscled, with prehensile tails and feet that seem able to grasp like hands. The creatures’ fur is a dirty gray; their tails and faces are black, and their paws are a bloody red.

Kyle is fast. Even as Otis begins casting a spell, the elfblood fires his arrow at the monkey. The shaft takes it in the throat, and blood begins to spurt from the wound. The things gives a choked screech, and then Otis finishes his spell. A magical dart of energy flies out and blasts the wounded monkey in the chest. With a loud shriek, it teeters and falls out of the branches, crashing to the ground 25’ below!

The other monkey bares its fangs in rage. Suddenly Otis cries out in pain, pressing his hands to his temples. “Beware!” he cries. “They have some kind of mind powers!” Gritting his teeth, he fights off the psychic blast and struggles to focus. Another magic missile shoots from him as he gains his equilibrium, He watches as a series of projectiles fllies up from the party, sticking the monkey in two, three, four places!

It plummets from its perch, smacking into the ground with lethal force.

“What are those things?” wonders Otis. “I have never heard of them before!”*

“Monkeys with mental powers,” Kyle marvels. “Master, it’s fantastic!”

“Perhaps we’ll have a chance to research it sometime,” muses Otis.

The monkeys do not have any clothing or tools, and thus have no treasure. Our heroes shrug and continue along. The other monkeys, noting that the adventurers killed two of their numbers without suffering a wound or any mental effects, wisely decide to fade back into the thick woods and avoid further conflicts.**

The party wanders along the twisting paths. Once or twice the path splits, and Dahlia begins making a map lest the group become lost. Eventually something strange and disturbing comes into view. Topped by what appears to be a human skull, a rack of bamboo woven with weird bits of hide, bone, fur and feathers stands about 7’ high in the middle of the path. It looks like some kind of weird totem or fetish.

“What the hell is that?” exclaims Goer.

“It looks like some kind of totem or fetish,” Jorgen answers (repeating the boxed text).

“Nobody touch it,” Otis commands. “It may be cursed, trapped or dangerous.”

“It doesn’t look relevant to us anyway,” Sir Jorgen muses.

The party thus leaves the strange totem be and continues along their winding way. Soon there is another branching, and their path curves and comes back to the totem again.

“Let’s return to that last branch,” Jorgen suggests, “and go the other way.”

The party does exactly that. Soon, they come into a clearing that is roughly 20’ in diameter, with three other paths leading from it. Throughout the place, rosebushes grow, scenting the area with their delicate fragrance. Two statues of men with daggers upraised are in the place; the moldering, headless corpse of what appears to be a human woman lies near the entrance of one of the paths.

“Whoa,” says Sir Fwaigo.

The party moves into the clearing and begins examining the scene. The two statues prove to have been wearing Sir Harth’s livery and sign (a rose twined around a blade). They also bear wavy-bladed daggers similar to those used by Harth and his cultists. “Interesting,” murmurs Jorgen. As the sheriff, he has become quite an investigator, and he is carefully assembling all the clues the party has seen so far.

The decapitated body seems to have been left behind at least a month ago. In the bushes nearby, Kyle finds the head- but instead of hair, it has a mass of (now-dead) snakes atop its head.

“Well, we have several other paths to explore,” says Dahlia, looking down one of them. It winds away, just like the one that led the party here. Our heroes complete their examination of the area and then pick a path. It loops around and leads to another clearing. Across it, our heroes spy another of the signature wrought-iron staircases that this tower seems to prefer.

“Well, well,” smirks Otis. “We have found another ascent.”

“Let uth forge ahead,” commands Sir Cedric.

The party moves towards the clearing, and suddenly, from either side of the path, two piles of bones which were hidden by the grass leap together, forming skeletal wolves! Jorgen, near the front of the party, charges, barreling into the beasts, slamming his sword through the ribcage of one of them! The skeleton staggers, but then snaps forward. On either side of the sheriff, the skeletons bite at him, tearing into his left forearm and his right hip! Sir Fwaigo hurries up and stabs one of them, but his blade turns ineffectually off of it! Likewise, Kyle finds his arrows to be useless. With a gulp, he nocks another arrow.

Then Me rushes in with a roar. “BAD DOG!!” he shouts, and his huge blade crashes through the one that Jorgen wounded, shattering it into its component bones!

“By the power of my pinky finger!” declares Sir Cedric, “We shall dethtroy thethe monthterth!!” He moves forward, bringing his blade free of its sheath, but is too far back to get an attack in. Dahlia hurries up beside him.

Meanwhile, in the front line, Jorgen slams his blade into the remaining skeleton. Bits of yellowed bone go flying, but it still stands. And then- Otis, of all people, moves in. He clutches his staff in his bony fingers, and then swings it with all his might, slamming it into the skull of the undead wolf, and crushes it! The skeleton collapses.

“Interesting,” murmurs Sir Jorgen.

“Shall we go up?” asks Kyle.

“Indeed!” cries Sir Cedric. “Brotherth in armth, againtht all oddth- we thall triumph! Here, Fwaigo, have thome of my whithkey!” He passes the bottle over.

Up our heroes go, climbing about 20’ before coming to a stone landing with two pathways projecting from it, away to the right and left, and looping away. The pathways and the landing are about 1’ above the surface of what seems to be a sea of fire. The flames lick upwards to heights of 2’ to 3’ above the surface of the sea, and breathing is a little difficult due to the smoke and sulphurous fumes. The flames lick up before our heroes, but they can make out an island in the center- the long paths seems to loop around to it. Across the 160’ diameter circular chamber is what appears to be a wrought-iron spiral staircase leading up to a ceiling 20’ above, but our heroes’ vision of it is somewhat obstructed by the soot-black giant standing 12’ high in front of it.

Kyle is in the lead, trying to be somewhat stealthy, and he hisses in surprise and pushes the others back down the stairs about ten feet. “A giant!” he gasps. “And a lake of fire!” He shivers. “I don’t want to go up there! Maybe we missed something down here, along the other paths or something.”

But a few minutes’ exploration reveals that they just loop around, one leading back to the fetish and the other to another clearing.

“I guess it’s the giant, then,” Goer says.

Weapons ready, our heroes ascend.

Next Time: Against the giant!!

*Of course, most of my players identified these things right off! However, none of the characters could make the appropriate check.

**Alas, that means that they’ll never fight the cool advanced su-monster chief I had statted up. Oh well.

 

[the Jester]

The choking smoke rolls through the air, making our heroes’ lungs burn. The stink of sulphur fills their nostrils.

Me think of training, Sir Percival tells himself. Big man tough.

And then he is sprinting down the long, looping path that will lead ultimately to conflict with the giant. He ignores the burning in his lungs, the flaming lake all around the paths. The others start moving in behind hi, and for the moment the smoke aids them all; it takes the giant a few short moments to notice them.

But when it does, it issues a booming laugh, dips its hands into the burning liquid surrounding the platform on which it stands- and pulls out a rock, glowing hot from its long immersion in the flaming sea. And then it whips its arms back and throws. The stone sails up in a long, lazy arc- and smashes down on the platform, inches away from Sir Colder.

Fwaigo skids to a halt and pulls out his sword. “Umm,” he says, his mouth gaping, and he inhales a huge cloud of smoke. Blinded and coughing, his eyes tearing from the irritating air, he shakes his head to clear it. When he can see again, he gasps: flaming forms are lifting out of the flaming lake near Me. Roaring, he slashes at them, but the bat-like forms dive in and tear at him. One attaches to his shoulder, sucking his blood and burning him.

Otis, too, stops closing the distance with the giant and casts magic missile, blasting the fire bat that is clinging to Me from his body. It explodes into a mist of red flames. The wizard grins to himself, but outwardly remains aloof; he must maintain his image. Dahlia pulls her scimitar and begins dueling with the birds, aided by Sir Cedric; but Colder, Jorgen and Percival (or Me, as the big dumb lug calls himself) sprint past.

The giant’s laughter booms through the chamber. A whistling sound announces the arrival of another boulder, which smashes into Me with bone-crushing force! He throws himself aside at the last moment, avoiding the worst of it, remembering his training, and then throws himself prone to dodge another of the huge heated rocks. Scrambling back to his feet, he keeps moving up... and sees another of the rocks sail past him and smash Colder in the leg.

Kyle, near the back, fires another magic missile at one of the fire bats. Cedric hacks into the thing and it explodes too; he and Dahlia are holding their own against the flaming things. It’s the giant we have to worry about, Cedric thinks grimly, running another fire bat through.

Meanwhile, Me sprints around the last curve before he has a straight shot at the giant- and finds himself suddenly confused and falling! “Whooof!” he cries, as he crashes into the ground-

Huh? Me thinks.

Everything has turned upside down. Why... why are his friends on the ceiling? Befuddled, he hesitates for a moment. Otis, simultaneously, shouts, “Beware! There is some kind of reverse gravity field! Beware!!”

Jorgen edges along near the outside edge of the walkway. “I think the edge is okay!” he shouts. Then he sees the giant lining up a shot on him- and gulps. But fortunately for him, the thick smoke obscures him just enough that the giant’s boulder misses!* Jorgen whistles in relief, pulls out his sword- and charges.

The others, meantime, have finished off the fire bats, and now they resume their approach towards the giant. Kyle stops, drops to one knee and pulls his bow. I don’t want to get close to that thing! he thinks to himself. He could cut me in half in a single blow with that huge sword!** Sighting down the shaft, he fires for the giant’s upper body, hoping to miss his allies.

Both Colder and the sheriff of Whitewater dance with the giant, and from the ceiling Me roars. He runs to get as close to the giant as he can- and suddenly, he’s falling- CRASH! Disoriented, he groans and shakes his head. “What... where...” he mutters, and then realizes that everyone is on the floor again. Confused but happy, he charges with his greatsword. It is perhaps half the length of the one that the giant is pulling from a great baldric across its broad back, but it is just right for Me!

Otis fires another volley of magic missiles at the giant, peppering him with small wounds. Jorgen and Me have already cut into it in several places. Roaring, the black-skinned giant cuts into Jorgen with devastating force, slitting him open from his left shoulder to his thigh. The sheriff screams in pain, staggering back. He grits his teeth and clutches his sword in shaking hands as the giant swings again, and this time Jorgen barely manages a parry.

Then the giant falters and falls back with a great shout as an arrow hits him in the cheek, and Colder stabs him in the foot.

Beset by the gnats around him, the giant growls deep in his barrel chest. He will not be defeated by little ones again so soon! It is intolerable!

Another of our heroes arrives in melee, bastard sword in both hands. Cedric! He springs forward and slashes, but the giant blade crashes into his legs with a backhanded sweep as he closes on the giant. He howls in pain, then cries, “My friendth, enough ith enough! We mutht dithpothe of thith mithcreant!”

The heroes close in, and the giant cannot fend them all off. Suddenly another cut slashes across his leg, another on his arm. He swings his sword into the half-orc, aiming for the head, but Me is fast; he springs out of the way enough that the blade only hacks into his arm.

“AAARGH!” the giant cries, as another arrow hits him, this time in the neck.

Then two swords simultaneously stab him, and that’s all. The giant falls to the ground with a great smashing noise.

Panting, our heroes exchange glances.

“Hey,” Jorgen says, his tone startled and displeased. “That’s not a stairway.”

Indeed, what they had taken for a staircase turns out to be merely a wrought iron column.

“Well what the hell, then,” Fwaigo says crossly, having finally broken his paralysis and come across the long, looping pathway to the giant’s area. The party is very carefully navigating to avoid any further reverse gravity shenanigans; a little experimentation quickly reveals the location of the edge of the field, and our heroes chalk a mark on the ground to indicate it. Avoiding it then becomes much easier. Once everyone is at the giant’s platform, they begin to search.

The iron column that they had taken to be a staircase proves to have an interesting back side. An inset area contains an anvil and some giant-sized forge tools. Goer takes some, despite their bulk; as a smith, he is very interested. “Some of this should be usable, and it will help us at least maintain our armor and weapons. And who knows, maybe it will be worth something somewhere.”

There is also a sarcophagus-like object next to the giant. The stone lid is very heavy and resists a casual attempt or two at lifting it. While the stronger party members prepare to make a more serious, concerted effort, Kyle searches the giant’s body. Almost immediately, he cries, “Hey, everyone, look at this!”

The others cluster around. Kyle says, “Check out his arm.”

Indeed, one of the giant’s arms has a relatively fresh scar on it- a scar shaped as a rose wrapped around a sword.

“Thir Harth’th heraldry,” Sir Cedric intones flatly.

“Well-carved, too,” notes Jorgen. “They took their time about it.” He shivers.

For a moment the party studies the face of the dead giant. He looks old- were he a human, about 50. What was his story? They will never know, now. But clearly, Sir Harth featured in it somewhere.

“Well,” Jorgen thinks aloud, “at least that is more evidence that we’re on Sir Harth’s trail.”

“Now what?” asks Sir Colder. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m pretty badly wounded.” Several of the others nod in agreement. “I think we should wait to open that sarcophagus until we’ve rested- but I don’t want to rest up here next to it,” Colder continues, and again he gets general agreement.

“How about if we rest in the forest?” Kyle suggests.

“Thoundth good,” Sir Cedric agrees.

So it is that our heroes retreat to the wooded level of the strange tower that they are exploring, and as there is a clearing immediately at the base of the stairs, they set their camp right there. Dahlia passes some goodberries around, and soon the group settles in to rest. Watches are kept; when morning rolls around, our heroes elect to continue to rest, at least for the rest of a full day. They are fairly beat up, and the rest does them a great deal of good, allowing wounds to mend, spells to be refreshed, the strange sickness that afflicted them all when they first awoke in this blasted land to be overcome. The goodberries keep away hunger, and Sir Cedric employs a bottle of whiskey to good effect.

“Well,” Otis declares, “it is clear that we need to go to the top of this place. We need to figure out how to ascend from the giant’s chamber. Also, have you noticed- there seems to be an elemental theme to this place.”

“What?” Goer looks confused.

“Yes,” Otis affirms. “The first level was airy, with mist, and flying beasts. The second level was a jungle, full of earth. Then a fire level. I posit that above the giant we shall find a level of water.”

“My master is brilliant,” Kyle breathes. He is really quite impressed.

“Well, let’s see what we can figure out,” suggests Otis. “Let us head up there. We are rested, recovered. What say you?”

“I agree,” nods Goer.

The rest of the party does so as well. Indeed, they are eager to get back to it. Though a few of them have some wounds remaining, none of them are now in dire straits. It is time to find the way up.

Back up in the giant’s chamber, they decide to attend to the sarcophagus first. A concerted group effort, Sir Percival in the lead, manages to remove the lid. Within it are merely a large brass armband and a large hammer.

“Ooh, a hammer,” Goer says, and snatches it up. It does not appear to be remarkable in any way other than its giant size, but again his smithing nature prods him into taking it with him.

“Hey, I found it!” cries Kyle. He’s pointing at the ceiling. “Up there,” he announces. “There’s a hole in the ceiling, in the middle of that magic gravity trap thing.”

“The reverse gravity field,” Otis corrects him.

“Whatever,” Kyle nods.

Otis’ eyes flash. This will be noted in your grade, he thinks frostily of his apprentice.

“So we have to fall up?” Sir Colder haltingly asks.

“Me fall again,” Me says.

A long discussion about the mechanics of the reverse gravity trap ensues, with the party trying to decide how best to get onto the ceiling without hurting themselves. They try a few rope-based attempts involving one person on the floor and one person in the field, and a few heads are bumped, and eventually someone is on the ceiling. Then they tie one end off to the big pllar of iron on the ground. With a couple of people bracing it on the ceiling, it becomes a workable bridge that can be climbed- though even so, the gravity reversal is disorienting enough that a couple of people take minor bumps and bruises.

Otis peers down the hole. “As I surmised,” he announces. “There is water down there- or should I say, up there.”

Dahlia declares, “Hold on a second and I’ll cast water breathing on everyone.” The party groups around and she dispenses her spell. Everyone has just under two hours worth of water breathing.

Goer sighs. “Here goes nothing,” he says, and jumps into the hole.

Next Time: The water level!

*Everyone over 20’ away had a 20% miss chance.

**At full health, our 6th-level Kyle has 13 hit points. Yikes!!

 

[the Jester]

Dramatis Personae (updated)

Our heroes currently consist of:

Lord Cedric of Whitewater, knight 3/priest 3.
Sir Jorgen Boatwright, sheriff of Whitewater and captain in the guard of Kamenda; fighter 4/rogue 2.
Sir Fwaigo "Goer" Smith, captain in the guard of Kamenda; fighter 6.
Sir Percival "Me", captain in the guard of Kamenda; barbarian 3/scout 3.
Sir Colder, captain in the guard of Kamenda; fighter 4/scout 2.
Otis Optimus, wizard 6.
Dahlia, lady of Castle Laagos; druid 7.
Kyle Goldenbow, apprentice to Otis; rogue 4/wizard 3.

 

[Seance]

You sir, are a slacker!!

 

[the Jester]

There is a moment of dizziness and disorientation as our heroes, one by one, splash into warm, salty, green water, apparently about 15’ deep. Struggling to surface, they see a small island ahead (about 25’ away) with sand and two palm trees. To the left and behind them, coral several feet high grows on the bottom of the small sea. Once again, the party must remind themselves that the place is indoors- here, a strong light, almost like sunlight, fills the area.

“Perhapth we thould check out the island,” Lord Cedric suggests.

The others agree, and begin stroking towards the sandy beach. Before they can reach it, however, Kyle cries, “Look!” He gestures with one hand as he struggles to draw out his dagger.

A dark form is moving quickly through the water towards our heroes- a big dark form.

“It’s some kind of fish!” Sir Colder cries. Otis treads water and fires a magic missile at the thing, peppering it with small darts of force.

“Hold on, I’ve got it,” Dahlia declares. She gestures and mutters, and suddenly the level of the water in a large area around our heroes drops precipitously! In only seconds, it recedes to a depth of only about 2’, and the great fish is unable to swim. Its massive bulk flops and twists, but it is out of its element now, and our heroes wisely back out of its reach.

“What is it?” wonders Kyle, even as Cedric hurls daggers and epithets at it. The party pours on the missile fire.

Dahlia tells him, “It’s an ancient type of fish. I’ve heard about them before- the weird ladies in Whitewater told me about it. They had some pictures of the bones of these things. It is called a dinicthys.”

“Who cares?” Goer japes. “Just help us kill it!”

Sir Colder is getting cocky. He gets too close, and the fish’s great mouth clamps down on his elbow! It starts trying to suck him into its mouth; the messenger gives out a shriek and struggles madly against it. “Help!” he yells. “I think it’s trying to eat me!”

“Worry not, Thir Colder!” Lord Cedric cries. “We will thave you!” With that, he leaps forward, swinging his heavy flail. The spiked ball slams into one of the dish plate eyes of the dinicthys, and clear gel squirts out. Then Sir Percival- Me- charges in, rumbling and gnashing his teeth and frothing at the mouth, and he smites the fish in the head, penetrating its brain and killing it!

The party wrenches Sir Colder free of the fish’s death grip. “Whew!” he breathes a sigh of relief. “Thanks! That was a close one...”

“Indeed,” Lord Cedric says emotionally, and gives him a crushing bear hug that goes on for an uncomfortable length of time. “Ah, my friendth, it ith quite a thing to be thtuck here, ith it not? We mutht find our foeth and dethtroy them! Brotherth in armth, together againtht all oddth! I am honored to be in the company of thuch fine men... fine men indeed!”

“I am a lady,” sniffs Dahlia.

Otis is standing near one of the edges of the control water effect as our heroes converse. Suddenly, he cries out and begins moving away from it. “I think we should withdraw!” he calls.

“What?” Kyle asks. He backs up against the edge of the water near him. Suddenly, he cries out! Something in the water bites him! Whirling free, he sees- some kind of ray! Then his eyes widen as he realizes that there are more- and one of them emerges most of the way from the water in order to viciously bite his thigh, then withdraw back into the green water. “There are some kind of rays in the water!” he calls out a warning, backing off and wincing as his leg bleeds.

Otis and Kyle each launch a volley of magic missiles at rays near the interface. Each slays the one that he targets. Meanwhile, Cedric lays his hands upon Kyle’s wounded thigh and caresses it while whispering sweet words of Clymorian, his god. The wound closes, but it creeps Kyle out a little bit.

“They look to be retreating,” calls Lord Cedric. “Quickly! After them!!”

The party surges into the water in pursuit of their foes, and more of the devil rays glide through the water at them. The party is out of their element, but able to breathe, thanks to the water breathing spell that Dahlia cast upon them before they left the fire level. This prevents any unfortunate breathing incidents; however, it is no help when one of the rays starts casting spells, chilling the metal that Me carries, then healing the injured rays. The battle leads over the coral growths that our heroes saw previously, until finally most of the rays have been defeated and the caster is wounded. It attempts to flee, but Otis shoots it with a ray of frost, and this proves to be enough to knock it unconscious.

Taking stock of their health and resources, our heroes decide to investigate a little and then retire to the apparent safety of the island. Swimming further over the coral, they spot a large metallic hatch with a wheel-like device projecting from its center. The wheel is neither rusted nor corroded.

“Let’s open it,” Otis suggests.

“I’m still pretty wounded from that fish bite,” Sir Colder cautions.

“And several of us were wounded by the devil rays, too,” Sir Jorgen points out.

“Bah, we can handle any problemth that we uncover,” Lord Cedric snorts overconfidently.

Otis nods and attempts to turn the wheel, but to no avail.

“Oh, here, Otith- let me help you!” Lord Cedric throws his arms around the hatch from behind Otis, encircling the wizard in his embrace. He groans as he slowly tugs it open, revealing a shaft that heads upward. Goer swims forward in the shaft to scout it out, and after about five feet he feels a strange stomach-turning sensation. His head breaks water. The shaft continues upward, but there are rungs set into the wall, allowing for a relatively easy climb.

Quickly, Goer swims back to his friends. “I definitely think we should rest before we go to a whole new level of this tower,” Sir Jorgen opines, and the party agrees. While they talk, Kyle pulls out a bottle of peach brandy- they’re still underwater, mind you- and opens it. He tries to breathe it in, but it doesn’t really work; it just makes him cough a little. Ah well, you never know until you try.

The party swims away from the hatch. “At least we know where to go next,” remarks Sir Jorgen. Soon they reach the isle. It is about 40’ or 50’ in length and 20’-30’ in width. Two palm trees, about 15’ tall, are on the isle; near the shorter one is a large boulder. A few shrubs and some tall grass dot the small island as well. All in all, it is enough room to rest comfortably, but not enough room to be very interesting.

Their opinion changes when they search the isle. They uncover the remains of a small fire pit, probably about two months old. Moreover, there is a spot just off the island that has been used as a refuse dump. A few things seem to indicate that Sir Harth’s group passed through here, such as an old, torn, tattered tunic bearing his heraldry. There are also the remains of a couple of rays. They ate them, Sheriff Jorgen realizes.

“We’re on the right track,” he says grimly.

***

Our heroes settle into comfortable places on the little isle, eating some of their rations. Their food will not last forever, they already realize. If the entire land is as devastated as what they have seen so far, it will be hard work finding more.

“We should take some of that fish,” suggests Goer.

“It won’t really keep,” Kyle points out.

“True,” Sir Fwaigo (“Goer”) sighs. “What I really wish we had is some venison.”

Soon enough, our heroes’ musings on food are interrupted. A clicking, clacking sound starts coming from the far side of the isle, emerging from the sea, as crabs begin skittering up on the isle.

Quite a few crabs, and big ones. Over half a dozen emerge, none smaller than 3’ in diameter and several closer to 6’.

“Well, there’s our food right there,” Otis announces, and casts a fireball into their midst. Three of them cook in their shells. The others scream crabby screams and scuttle forward, snapping their claws. The party mostly parries their blows, but Jorgen gates clawed by one of the little ones, which grabs onto his leg and won’t let go. The sheriff cries out, grabbing the claw in both hands and prying it open. The party struggles with the crustacean threat, suffering several decent wounds, before they finish the crabs off. Even Kyle performs strikingly well in melee, using a rapier for nearly the first time!

The party’s planned rest is deferred for a crab feed.

***

After resting- and this time, they are undisturbed- our heroes ascend the shaft. At the top, they find themselves emerging into a large room. It is well-lit, with a domed ceiling 50’ high at the apex. The chamber itself is over 100’ in diameter. Three desiccated corpses lying on the floor.

“Well, well,” says Kyle.

Cautiously, with an eye for traps, our heroes examine the scene. The Sheriff muses aloud, “I hope those corpses don’t jump up and get us.”

Kyle suggests, “Yeah, maybe they’re vampires!”

Jorgen gulps and grips his spear tighter.

Then the corpses shamble up to attack.

Jorgen screams like a little girl and slams his spear forward into one of the corpses. “VAMPIRES!” he shrieks. The animate corpse makes a low grunt as he strikes it. Then a volley of magic missiles from Otis shoots out and takes it down.

The party slays the other two in a flurry of blows, and then Jorgen wipes his brow. “Must not have been vampires,” he says with relief. “That was a close one!”

“Well, we’re at the top,” Kyle states. “There must be something here.”

“Or else Sir Harth took something from here,” Otis hypothesizes.

The party checks the area, as well as the bodies. There are no exits that they can find other than the shaft that leads to the water level, below. The center of the room holds a small raised dais, atop with lays a cushion. Kyle examines it closely and pronounces that something rested on the cushion for a long time- but it is gone now.

“Harth,” Sir Jorgen nods.

“Harth traitor! Crush traitor!” Me snarls.

“He must have gotten what he was after, and now he’s trying to get home,” Kyle suggests. “I mean, think about it: he must think he has a way home, right?”

“Good point,” says Goer. “How are we getting home, if not for him?”

The question hangs in the air.

One of the bodies still has a ppurse (holding 41 cp, 15 sp, 1 gp), a wavy-bladed dagger, a suit of leather armor, robes like those worn by Sir Harth’s cultists, and a crude map of the area around the Ghost Tower. Better still, the corpse has three full water skins and 7 days rations.

“A map,” Cedric breathes. His pulse quickens.

“Show map to Me,” Me demands.

The party passes the map around. Off to the ‘north’ of the map is marked a cave with the notation “(safe from sky?) water!”. The map’s markings indicate it is a two day journey to the cave. One day to the east is what seems to be a wood noted “elfs”. Arrows pointing off the edge of the map are marked “capitol (Litel?) smoke?”.

“My friends, we have a clue,” says Sir Colder.

Next Time: Our heroes leave the Ghost Tower behind them!

 

[the Jester]

Across the Blasted Land

Our heroes march beneath a maroon sky. The ground is shattered and virtually lifeless; a few weeds poke up here and there, and occasionally there is a dying, wilted bit of scrub, but there is no real sign of life. The Ghost Tower of Inverness recedes behind them as they move into the mountains, following Sir Harth’s map towards this alleged safe cave. Dahlia, wild shaped into a bird, scouts in the air; there are no other visible birds or other flying creatures.

The party ascends a mild slope to the ridge surrounding a small dell. When they reach the top, they see a scene of utter devastation. Below them, the blasted remains of a small dell about a half mile long are visible. Splintered remnants of trees dot the cratered ground in places. A huge number of corpses, at least in the hundreds, lie blistered and burnt throughout the dell. The stink of death drifts up from the carnage.

“Ugh,” says Sir Cedric eloquently.

“Should we search?” wonders Sir Colder with distaste.

“No,” Sir Jorgen opines. “We’re on a mission. Besides, it doesn’t really look like there’s anything left out there worth searching. And the last thing we want,” he gulps, “is for more corpses to attack us!”

The party passes quickly through the area. The dead are, to put it mildly, numerous. Here for the first time, our heroes see some evidence of life- flies, insects and other small scavengers feasting on the dead. The sheriff urges the others to hurry, and Colder and Me keep a grim watch for any hidden aggressors. Our heroes’ march through the battlefield is unmolested, but the dead everywhere are unsettling.

A few hours later, there is another field of dead- but this time they are different: some kind of small folk. “They look like the guy who kept the death cows,” Sir Colder muses.

“Gnomes!” exclaims Dahlia.

Dead gnomes, about 100 of them. And scattered in their remains, the shattered metal bodies of about a dozen constructs that look basically like metal skeletons.*

“Odd’s bodkins!” exclaims Colder.

“Thethe thingth look motht unnatural,” Lord Cedric announces.

“Yes they do,” Dahlia confirms. “They’re some kind of machine or something.”

“Constructs,” Otis says grimly.

“Let’s go,” suggests Jorgen.

“Wait a minute,” Otis protests. “We should at least search this area quickly.”

“I don’t think we’ll find anything,” the sheriff demurs.

“Well, I’m willing to try, but if no one wants to help me, I’ll keep whatever I find.”

Jorgen shrugs. “Fair enough.”

The others take a break while Otis searches several areas of the field, returning triumphantly, bearing two rods and some kind of scroll.

“Well, well,” he smirks. “I found these two rods- as well as this map.” He unfurls it. “The writing is in Gnomish,” he adds, gesturing at the strange characters on the parchment. This map shows much more than the area on the map from the corpse (presumably) of one of Harth’s men, and fortunately Otis can read Gnomish. “This,” he points, “is labeled ‘human capitol’... this is ‘Melgith, safety’... ‘mountains this way (danger)’... this jagged gash is just labeled ‘demons’.”

“Fantastic,” says Sir Fwaigo (“Goer” to his friends). “The demons are between us and the capitol.”

“I spotted a chasm far ahead,” Dahlia muses. “I’ll bet that is what the jagged line represents.”

Perusing the map, Otis states, “Going around the demons necessitates going into the woods, here,” he jabs his finger at the map, “or here, into the mountains marked ‘danger’.”

“We can worry about which way to go when we get closer,” Dahlia presses impatiently. “For now let’s get to this cave of safety!”

“I’m getting tired,” Kyle whines. “Isn’t it time to rest for the night?”

The group pauses. With the sky never much changing, with no sun or stars, it is difficult to rate the passage of time. Their muscles are sore, their bones weary. Kyle is right. So our heroes spend a little time finding a reasonably defensible position before making camp for the night, with fair success... not that there seems to be much to defend against, at least so far.

As they bed down, Otis examines the rods he found more closely. Each has a number of glowing crystals on it; each also has a button. The only obvious difference between the two rods is the number of glowing crystals. Otis moves somewhat away from the party and holds one of the rods perpendicular to himself, then presses the button- and he is rewarded by a jet of flame that shoots from the rod! Cackling, he performs the same experiment with the other rod, to similar effect, even as the rest of the party bursts into motion, spooked by the display. Once they realize that it’s just Otis, they relax- but Kyle hurries over. “Master, you should let me have one of the rods,” he pleads.

“No,” Otis declares. “I searched them out; I earned them. Perhaps when you graduate.”

Sullenly, Kyle slinks away, but that night, whilst on watch, he pilfers one of the rods from Otis.

The next morning the party begins to break camp. Otis hurries over to Kyle and demands, “Kyle, where is the rod?”

All innocence, Kyle replies, “What rod?”

Otis glares. “Give me the rod. And give me your spellbook.” Reluctantly, and only after a great deal of complaining, Kyle complies; and Otis scrawls a fat “F” on the first page. Kyle is mortified.

Our heroes move forward. They can all feel their bodies weakening due to some powerful environmental effect; moreover, the few of them with magic items are distressed to see them become worn and tarnished while exposed to the maroon sky.** But there seems to be nothing that they can do about it, at least for the moment.

The party advances into a hazy area where the very air seems to put the group into a malaise. After an hour, they become slightly sick.

“Let’s hope we can get through this fast,” groans Sir Jorgen.

As the party moves through the haze, something gradually resolves into visibility ahead: a row of wooden Xes.

“Oh crikey,” Kyle whispers in horror.

The Xes run in a great long row, receding into the mist and out of sight. There are scores, at the very least, of elves hanging crucified from the wooden Xes.

A gulping sound reaches our heroes. They cast about for its source for a moment, and then Dahlia points.

“Caw! Caw!” Five surprisingly big vultures, with strange, red eyes and odd, slightly twisted shapes, are crouched atop several of the crucified elves, gobbling at tearing at the corpses. The sight makes Kyle and Dahlia slightly ill. It is but a moment’s work to dispatch the mutant vultures, which are surrounded by a stench so strong as to be nauseating; but they are no match for lances couched in a mounted charge, and for one of Otis’ fireballs.

“Search them?” wonders Otis.

“Not me,” protests Kyle.

“They are crucified,” Jorgen points out. “They were alive. Surely whoever had them captive didn’t leave any good loot on them.”

“Good sense, sheriff,” Otis nods approvingly.

As the party moves along, the wizard moves up to walk next to Goer. “Sir Fwaigo,” he announces, “I believe that you should have this.” He produces the wavy-bladed dagger that the party found at the top of the Ghost Tower of Inverness. “My investigations have shown it to be magical.”

“I use a sword,” Goer points out.

“But there may come a time when you will need a dweomered weapon to harm your foe. You may need it.” He sighs. “Besides, it doesn’t appear that it will last for long.”

When Otis drops back by Kyle again, his apprentice begins trying to persuade him to let him carry the second rod. Otis reminds him that he has an F. They squabble for quite a while, until finally Otis turns invisible, finishing the discussion.

“Fine,” Kyle grumps, folding his arms and staring off into the distance. He gives a start. “Hey, look!” he tells the others. “Some of the elves have been taken down!”

The party hurries over to check out the situation and see what, exactly, has happened to the bodies. It turns out that some of the Xes have been ripped from the ground and left to lie; the bodies are partially consumed.

“What did this, I wonder?” Jorgen muses.

“I’ll scout as a hawk,” Dahlia says, and her form changes in just a few seconds. She spreads her wings and launches herself into the sky. Meanwhile, Otis starts searching the elven bodies, finding the predicted not much. Kyle, meanwhile, says a few words over the dead in Elven.

A bottle of whiskey goes around at Cedric’s insistence, burning as it goes into our heroes’ bellies. “Brotherth in armth!” Lord Cedric cries. “Bound together by adventhure!”

The party continues marching after building a small cairn for the elves. Soon, they march on, and almost immediately they see a bird- whom they presume to be Dahlia- flying towards them. It leads the party on. Soon they spy a cave, and below it, a blasted crater.

Dahlia swoops up and circles the crater, then comes back.

Slowly, cautiously, our heroes approach until they can get a glimpse of what Dahlia is trying to tell them. When they do, the thing they see is bizarre and unnatural-looking. A brute of a giant, with three arms and an extra half a face, lounges in the crater. It looks like it’s napping.

“Oh boy,” whispers Goer.

Next Time: The crater giant!

*Think the Terminator without its human outer coating.

**Every day in the current environment, the pcs suffer 1 point of Con damage and put a wear point on all their magic items. Three wear points will ruin or reduce a magic item.

 

[the Jester]

The Story of Athach

The weird mutant giant yawns and stretches its three arms. Our heroes hurriedly drop back and begin whispering amongst themselves. Some feel that Kyle should attempt to sneak up and kill it; others feel that that would be a great way for Kyle to get himself killed. (Well, Kyle feels that, even if nobody else does.)

“Bah,” Otis Optimus snorts, ending the argument, “I shall kill from here- with my mystical powers!” And with that, the wizard stands up, glares at the sleeping mutated giant, and casts fireball.

The group is a good hundred yards from the giant; most of our heroes simply gape as a small red bead streaks out with amazing speed, leaving a trail of smoke twisting behind it in the air, and explodes right over the giant. Orange and yellow flames burst down, scorching the already-shattered crater.

Otis cackles with glee.

The giant roars in anger and wakes up.

Its shaggy hair burns off in an instant. Its skin reddens and blisters, and in places it even briefly ignites. The rough hide it wears blackens and gives off smoke. It survives the blast, however, and appears nothing if not enraged. It lurches to its feet, glares- with two hideous faces- at our heroes, and picks up a big chunk of rock.

“We mutht dethtroy it!” Lord Cedric declares, and begins moving forward as quickly as he can on Thunderpuss, his brawny mare. However, the broken terrain impedes him, and he is soon frowning as he realizes that he won’t be charging anywhere soon. This whole landscape is blasted, he thinks grimly. There is no intact footing, we have seen no living folk- only the dead. There are no children singing here.

“My lord!” cries Sir Fwaigo, aghast, as Cedric moves forward. He spurs his own mount to follow as quickly as possible. The others follow suit; they have no real choice. 100 yards is too great a distance for them to close easily, and to their dismay, the giant is able to throw his rock into their midst, missing Sir Colder by only a couple of feet. The giant mutant begins moving to meet them, pulling up another rock and throwing it as he comes. This one strikes Fwaigo’s horse, which whinnies in pain and distress as the chunk of rubble smashes into it. “Forward, horse!” he cries.

“Come, beatht!” Lord Cedric taunts as he starts circling off to the side. The giant throws another rock, this one at him, but the knight ducks it. “Yeth, that’th it! Wathte your prethiouth rockth on me!”

The giant keeps advancing, but suddenly it finds itself stepping into an area of spike stones that Dahlia has created! It grunts and keeps moving forward, clearly even more angry than before.

“Come, thtupid thing!” Cedric taunts again. “Meet my thword, and we will kill you!”

A bolt of lightning suddenly strikes down from the heavens, momentarily transfixing it. Dahlia has called lightning. The giant roars again; it seems to be weakening, and then a volley of magic missiles strikes it from Otis. It groans, brandishing its weapon- an uprooted tree with a tangle of roots and brambles- and swatting Lord Cedric with it! The Lord Whitewater reels from the impact, but maintains his position in the saddle. Grinning, he moves in and stabs the giant mutant. “Have at thee!” he cries.

The others are starting to get in on things, too. Sheriff Jorgen charges into the foe with his lance, piercing it rather severely. Me is pelting it with sling bullets. Bolt after bolt of lightning is striking the creature. Finally, it drops its weapon and falls to its knees, clearly surrendering.

Our heroes accept the surrender, although they are wary. The creature is a dumb brute; our heroes cannot communicate with it. The closest thing to a shared language they have is Dwarven, and the giant does not speak Dwarven. A few bits of structure sound familiar to those in the party that speak the Dwarven tongue; a few words are shared. But, all in all, our heroes must communicate with the giant- whose name they take to be either Aflek or Athach or something like that- through gestures. Lord Cedric makes a generous gesture almost immediately, casting cure light wounds on Athach.

“My lord, what are you doing?” exclaims Sir Fwaigo. “We can’t trust this thing!”

“Bah,” Cedric responds, “if it cautheth any problemth, we can thlay it eathily! The thmall amount of healing that I jutht gave it would be inthignificant. Bethideth, it hath thurrendered. It ith not going to attempt any thennanigans.”

Athach leads the party first into the crater; but as Kyle (who is in the lead, searching for traps, as the party proceeds) heads in, he immediately recoils, shaken. “Something’s wrong in there. There is some kind of weird energy or something.” He shakes his head. “We shouldn’t go in there.”

The group pantomimes to the giant, and a moment later the three-armed freak shuffles out of the crater. It then guides them to its cave- which Dahlia had previously seen from the air- and our heroes search it. Unfortunately, there is nothing of value or real interest inside; just old bones. Nonetheless, Sir Colder says, “Well, I’d say that encountering this guy is a good sign.”

“Huh?” asks Me.

“What do you mean?” Sir Jorgen elaborates.

“Well,” Colder answers, “he has to eat something, right? In fact, judging from the bones, he has to eat quite a bit.”

“So,” the sheriff realizes, “there must be something for him to eat.”

Sir Colder nods.

The party puts their heads together, debating whether or not to rest for the... well, in this marooned-skied land of madness, there is neither day nor night. But they discuss resting. In the end, despite worries about the loyalty of Athach, the party decides to rest. They set heavy guards, and soon most of them are asleep. Athach seems to nap; perhaps he, too, is worried about being murdered in his sleep.

Too soon, all the watches have passed. Smoked pteranodon meat makes for a tough, stringy breakfast; and then the party presses on.

We must catch Harth, most of them think.

Me crush traitor, thinks Sir Percival.

***

Our heroes approach an area with dark clouds rumbling overhead. Lightning flashes with unnerving frequency. Several times, a bolt of electricity arcs down nearby. Then Kyle is subjected to a literal bolt from the blue, as a lightning bolt zarks down from the sky. He leaps aside, narrowly evading it. “Crikey!” he exclaims.

As they traverse the wasted land in what they are coming to know as the Age of Madness, our heroes are subject to several more random bolts. Another one nearly cooks Kyle, but he dodges it again. Lord Cedric is not so fortunate; a bolt transfixes him for a moment, and he shrieks in pain. It is not lethal, though it might have been to a lesser man; afterward, Dahlia and Cedric tend his burns. His hair is virtually floating with static electricity.

As the party climbs out of a jagged crater, they spot what appears to be a wagon about a hundred yards off. It is turned on its side and appears badly damaged. It appears as though the beasts that pulled it have been slain, though at this distance it is hard to be sure.

“Maybe there’s a person,” Sir Jorgen says hopefully.

The party approaches and examines the scene. Kyle and Jorgen note strange damage to the wood- some sections appear almost melted- and etched bits of metal. Pieces of the horses that once drew the wagon are also melted away. A corpse, apparently of the driver, is within the wagon- or at least most of his corpse is; his legs are missing.

Unfortunately, just as our heroes are getting into a serious search of the wagon, Goer notices the ground beneath him heaving just an instant before a terrible mutant bug erupts from underneath him, biting him across the shoulders! The creature’s mandibles drip acid, and Goer cries out as the thing inflicts a terrific wound on him.

Our heroes react quickly, with Otis using one of the strange rods to fire a blast of flame at the beast. The monster squeals, then bites Jorgen as he moves in to attack. Jorgen, too, screams, for the monster inflicts a huge amount of damage on him.

“Rragh!” Athach attacks.

Which is to say, he attacks Jorgen.

His club smashes down, but the sheriff rolls to the side, crying out, “Athach, no!”

A crack of lightning! The mutated bug squeals again.

Me glares at Athach and growls. He goes into a rage, angered at the thought of traitor! But the bug is in the way.

Whissk. His greatsword clears his baldric, gripped in both hands, and with a roar Me attacks, swinging the blade through the creature’s body and cutting it basically in half.

Athach tries to run, but Dahlia strikes him with another lightning bolt. This time, the giant staggers. Otis and Kyle fire the rods that the party found again and again, hitting the giant with one blast of flame after another, and finally Athach collapses.

Dahlia keeps zapping it for a while just to be sure. “That thing was not natural,” she exclaims. “Two heads? Three arms?” She shakes her head, directing another bolt from her call lightning.

As the party prepares to move on, Otis nods to Kyle. “You did well in that battle,” he acknowledges. “Let me see your spell book.” He raises Kyle’s grade to a D- and allows him to keep the rod. “We might as well use it up,” the wizard says, “before the environment does.”

Our heroes search the wagon. The driver (who was a human) wore fine clothes (Kyle estimates that they’re worth about 5 gp; Colder takes them). He has a purse with some coins in it (85 gp, 20 sp). Moreover, the wagon’s contents are intact. Most of this stuff is rather mystifying to the party- specifically, several boxes of strange, flat metal rectangles measuring about 1/8” thick, 10” wide and 30” long. The metal is a strange, light green alloy that Goer (a journeyman smith) does not recognize. There are four such boxes (measuring 32”x42”x42”), each containing over a thousand treads. Of more interest to our heroes is a lead-lined box that holds what appear to be 20 potions.

Next Time: Our heroes spot a village!

 

[the Jester]

“It is an unbelievable wealth of magic,” Otis declares in wonder. “All of these are magical!”

The lead-lined box, along with a strange, padded interior made of some sort of heavy woven fiber, sits before our heroes, its lid open. Within are twenty small bottles of reddish liquid.

“But how?” wonders Kyle. “This environment seems to suck the magic out of things. How could these have survived?” The lapidary-cum-wizard’s apprentice scratches his head in consternation.

“Hmmm...” Otis contemplates for a moment, and then closes the box. “Aha! The box must have some kind of special properties. When I close it, I can no longer detect the magical radiance of the potions with my magic.”

“Maybe we can tranthport the whole boxth,” Sir Cedric suggests.

“We might even be able to preserve more magic items in there!” Dahlia exclaims excitedly.

There is a crack as a lightning bolt strikes down, not far from the party. Lord Cedric cries out in startlement. Our heroes are reminded again that the very environment itself seems to be set against them in this age of madness.

“We should be coming up on the ‘safe cave’ mentioned on the map of Harth’s that we found back in the Ghost Tower,” Sheriff Jorgen muses. “We can stop there, out of the lightning storm, and check the potions out.”

Indeed, the intrepid adventurers have been following the map since they left the tower, heading towards the cave, and it is not much longer before they reach it. Along the way, however, a lightning bolt stabs down and blasts Otis! He is badly wounded. “Perhaps we should rest when we reach the cave,” Colder says wryly.

The cave, when the party reaches it, turns out to be comfortably large, with no secondary passages. It does, however, have a spring in the back of it, which our heroes find to have a mineral flavor but to be perfectly potable. They fill a few empty skins, but are not too concerned with the issue of water, since Dahlia can create it almost at will. Kyle washes himself off as best he can in the little pool before the spring.

Outside, the lightning continues; but the bolts cannot enter the cave, and so our heroes are safe, at least for the moment. They examine the box of potions. All of the potions look exactly the safe, and it appeared to Otis (while his detect magic was running earlier) that they are all radiating the same kind of magic. Boldly, the wizard drinks one of the potions.

He gasps as some of his wounds knit.

“These are invaluable!” he exclaims.

“And maybe we can fit other stuff in there too,” Kyle smiles.

The party tries inserting a dagger that they found into the empty space where the potion was. Unfortunately, it does not fit correctly, and it begins to tear the inner lining of the box. Otis removes the dagger immediately. “We must be careful not to damage this box,” he declares.

Then rest and recovery- especially for the life-draining aspect of this deadly era- for a period of three days. Healing spells are cast, long term care is performed, and the electrical storm is given time to pass.

It doesn’t.

So, at the end of three days, the party sets off again. The map references an apple tree, but when they find it, it is burnt and destroyed.

The party consults the map. “According to the elf who accompanies us here from our time, Harth is heading to the capitol,” Otis says. “That isn’t on this map, but...” He pulls out the map that he found when he searched part of the field of gnomish bodies that the party found. “It is on this one!” He unrolls the map and jabs his finger down.

“Then let’s go,” cries Sir Colder.

Lightning bolts strike down periodically around our heroes- sometimes at our heroes. Otis is struck by a bolt again, and he again suffers a significant amount of damage. Dahlia heals him as best she can (and then casts protection from lightning on herself as an afterthought), but the party is very nervous about the amount of lightning coming down. “I hope that this storm doesn’t last much longer,” Jorgen thinks aloud.

When it is time to rest, Otis takes the greatsword that the party took from the fire giant in the Ghost Tower and plants it in the ground as a lightning rod. That night, the lightning strikes twice- and each time, it hits the sword. In the morning, our heroes find that the sword is twisted and blasted by the force of the bolts; it looks unlikely to be useable again.

Under a bloody sky cracked with lightning, our heroes keep moving. The lack of any normal life is chilling. There are no birds singing, anywhere. There are no small animals, not even any insects. Here and there a few plants struggle to survive. Dahlia shudders at how unnatural the place feels.

While they travel, of course, our heroes cannot use their makeshift lightning rod technique; again, the bolts strike down. This time, one hits Otis’ horse; another hits Jorgen’s horse, almost killing it. The party extracts a potion from the box and feeds it to the horse, which helps; but the poor beast is still somewhat hurt.

Hours of walking over jumbled terrain... the going is slow. It drags on and on. Lightning almost hits Sir Fwaigo. Broken rocks underfoot. Ankle-turning, if one is not careful. Hard on the shoes, too, Sir Colder reflects.

No people, anywhere, at least so far. At least, alive.

Finally, an end to the day’s walking. Our heroes fall into an exhausted slumber, with only two at a time awake and on watch. Again, they set up a makeshift lightning rod.

Jorgen and Kyle are on watch, deep in the night. They are talking quietly, alert for trouble. Suddenly, in the distance, there is a brilliant yellow burst of light. It is miles off, but still plainly visible in the distance. It is followed by a second, and then a third. The lights fade after about ten seconds. They seem to have originated miles away.

The party snaps alert and begins debating whether to investigate. “It isn’t that far out of our way,” Jorgen argues.

“But we have to catch Harth,” Otis retorts.

“We will invethtigate,” declares Lord Cedric.

The party veers off towards the apparent source of the light when they beginning traveling again. They never even know when they pass through an area whose air is ripe with the plague called the dwimmerills. Fortunately, none of our heroes catch the magic-impairing disease.

As they wander across the blasted plains of the age of madness, our heroes spot a pair of strange clouds of sparks and bursting flames. The two clouds begin moving towards them.

“Are they hostile?” wonders Kyle, casting mage armor and moving back. The clouds are accelerating.

Otis fireballs them, and then draws forth the rod. The clouds are plainly harmed by his spell, but both keep moving forward. The first rushes Sir Colder, who jabs it with his longspear as it comes, but it misses him. The other flows towards the more distant Lord Cedric.

Cedric spurs his horse, and she springs forward. With a glorious crash, the two of them charge away from the approaching cloud and into the one that is attacking Colder, but they are dismayed to discover that they cannot seem to harm it! Their blows simply cut through it ineffectively!

Jorgen charges the one that everyone is starting to dog pile with his lance. The shock of the impact splatters weird cloud-creature all over the place. Otis finishes off the other one with a volley of magic missiles.

“What were those?” Kyle asks in wonder.

Nobody has an answer.

The party continues to move towards the source of the flashes. Now they can spot a weird, reddish forest in the distance ahead of them. Arguments break out about whether or not this is such a good idea, and the closer to the weird forest our heroes come the more the arguments grow. But closer they get, until ahead of the party stretches a strange, warped wood. The deformed, off-colored trees rustle even when there is no wind. A strange, muted sound, like a multitude of sighs and groans, seems to rise from the wood. The trees are strange, twisted things, of no sorts that any of our heroes can recognize. Some are the dark red color of congealed blood, others a strange, fleshy pink-brown. Still others are the grey of meat gone bad. The smell from the weird forest is disconcerting, as well; it smells of earth mixed with blood, rot and feces. Amongst the sounds is the pattering of a gentle rain of suspect-looking fluid that splatters from the tops of the trees.

“We’re not going in there,” announces Sir Fwaigo.

“I think that the source of the flashes was a little further to the right- look!” exclaims Kyle, pointing.

In the distance is a village. But there are no signs of movement. There are cattle in the yards, however.

“You should go check that out,” Goer tells Kyle. “Aren’t you our sneaky guy?”

“I guess so,” Kyle answers, “but...”

“Kyle, I dare you to go tie a rope to one of those cows,” Goer says.

Kyle (who just can’t seem to say no to a dare) reluctantly takes a rope and starts moving towards the nearest cattle herd. “I’m gonna get myself killed,” he grumbles.

Next Time: Will Kyle get himself killed? Will our heroes investigate the village? And what’s the next environmental hazard that they’ll face??

 

[Alcar]

Athach

Afflack

 

[the Jester]

Kyle creeps forward, towards the still village. Closer... closer... closer still. He gulps nervously. He nears the cattle pen. None of the cows move. His eyes flick towards the rest of the village.

Kyle halts. His eyes bulge. “Crikey,” he whispers to himself.

Now that he is a hundred feet closer to the village than he was- than the rest of the party is- Kyle has gone up a subtle rise, and from his new elevation, he can see the bodies. The village is littered with the corpses of (presumably) its previous inhabitants. They lie scattered here and there, with no order, rhyme or reason. Kyle gulps again. He has always had a hard time refusing dares, but walking into this area just might be suicide.

Meanwhile, back at the party, Sir Fwaigo “Goer” Smith frowns. “What’s he waiting for?” he wonders. Scowling, he pulls out his shortbow and nocks an arrow. “Let’s see what happens if I shoot one of the cows!” he suggests cheefully.

Dahlia would normally object to the idea of shooting a cow; however, under the circumstances, she holds her tongue. I doubt very much that these are normal cows, she thinks grimly. She watches as Goer lets fly. The shaft shoots away, arcing up into the sky and then falling to earth, sinking fletching-deep into one of the cows.

“Did you see that? That was perfect!” Sir Fwaigo crows.

“I think Kyle is heading back towards us,” Sheriff Jorgen states, pointing.

“Hey, you didn’t finish the dare!” shouts Goer.

Kyle is hurrying back. “Screw that!” he exclaims. “That cow didn’t even move when you shot it, and there are bodies everywhere in that village! I’m not going any closer to that place- I think we should just avoid it entirely.”

Another short debate breaks out, but Otis points out, “We have no time to waste; we must pursue Harth.” This causes the party to agree that there is no time to waste, and they travel onward, turning back to the northwest. (Our heroes are only sure of which direction is which because of the gnomish map that they found, and because Otis can read the strange, bubble-filled script of the gnomes.)

Soon they find the ground beneath them starting to soften. They leave footprints behind them, obvious ones; but there are no obvious tracks other than theirs that they can see. As they move along, the ground becomes softer and starts to become sticky, almost like mud. Kyle starts to have trouble lifting his feet free of the clinging ground.* In the distance, to the northeast, our heroes can see the strange, red-tinted forest that they spotted earlier. “No thank you,” mutters Sir Colder wryly.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Kyle pants. “I need to rest.”

Otis grumbles.

“Unless someone wants to carry me?” the apprentice asks hopefully.

“ME!” roars Sir Percival. He lifts Kyle onto his shoulders, and the party moves on.

The hours pass. At one point, Me has to put Kyle down in order to try to free one of his boots that the muck is reluctant to release. He cannot manage it, and moves on barefoot. The party members that are mounted find it somewhat difficult going, for their horses’ hooves tend to sink several inches deep into the ground, and any lengthy delay causes them to sink deeper still. It is as if the environment itself conspires against them.

As our heroes proceed across the boggy area, they come to a small marsh about 60’ across. In the center of it is small strange-looking hut raised about 5’ above the water on stilts. The hut appears to be mostly wooden, but has what the party first takes for a stone roof. A rotting mound of vegetation hauls itself up from the marsh to oppose them, but they destroy it quickly and easily, and then they turn their attention to the hut.

It looks to have been the scene of violence. The body of an elf lies within it, savagely decapitated. “She was probably killed about two weeks ago,” Dahlia tells the others after briefly examining it. The interior of the hut is about 10’ in diameter and is strewn with broken effects. It contains a slashed sleeping cot, an overturned and partially burnt bookshelf, a small shelf holding a cup, bowl, knife and spoon and a small dresser that looks ransacked (articles of clothing are strewn about the hut’s interior). Searching it, our heroes find a bottle of fine elven wine that is in the corner on the floor. Otis is ecstatic to discover a partially-burnt spellbook that still has a few usable spells in it. (Later examination shows that it contains three usable spells- Otiluke’s resilient sphere, lead shield and whelming blast, none of which Otis has ever heard of before.)

“Hmm,” he muses. “I am surprised that this spellbook maintained its potency, even inside this hut.”

“Hey, look at this,” Goer calls. “The roof isn’t actually stone- it’s lead.”

“Ahh,” Otis breathes. “Lead shield. I see.” Slowly, he smiles. I must learn this spell!

Meanwhile, Me takes the elf’s boots. Grinning, he comments, “Me has boots.” He begins brushing the mud off of his feet and, after a few moments, he pulls the new boots on. They fit well enough, and Dahlia notes that they appear to be coated in duck oil.

“That’ll keep your feet dry,” she remarks.

“I suspect that we can rest safely here,” Otis announces. “I believe that the lead roof will protect us, and one of the spells that is in this book is called lead shield. Given some time, I may be able to protect some of us from the environment.”

“Thertainly, that would be a worthy uthe of our time,” Sir Cedric lisps.

And so our heroes spend a few days resting, recovering their health, healing and- as best they can in this age of madness- relaxing. They try to stay within the confines of the little hut, making for a very crowded few days, but it is probably better than exposing themselves to the life- and magic-draining environment. Outside, the maroon sky looms overhead, ominous and omnipresent.

Dahlia does spend some time scouting, wild shaping into a bird and circling alone in the sky. Nothing else flies nearby. She beats her wings until she gains enough altitude to see miles ahead.

A chasm, she realizes.

Indeed; there is a great gorge that cuts across the party’s path. Fortunately, a bridge appears to cross it. Unfortunately, at the bottom, Dahlia can see movement. Swooping closer, she is horrified.

The chasm is some 80’ across and easily 200’ deep. The walls are sheer and acrid fumes rise up from below. At the bottom, a field of hundreds of impaled bodies is plainly visible even from her vantage point high above, and large, demonic forms tending them are visible by the dozens.

They’re mostly off to the side of the bridge, on both sides. I wonder...

She calls lightning, and a moment later a bolt of electricity shoots down from the sky at one of the great frog-like creatures. To her shock, there is no effect.

The demon vanishes. A few moments later, it reappears- and about a dozen more appear with it.

Uh-oh, she thinks.

Dahlia swiftly flies away, taking a very circuitous route back to the hut in the small swamp. Her mind spins. How are we going to get across that? she wonders.

Next Time: How will our heroes cross the bridge- or will they fail?? Find out next update!

*Kyle is the low-strength character in the party.