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

[the Jester]

“We will have to be very cautious,” Otis opines grimly. “From Dahlia’s description, if we are not careful, we may be beset by a large number of demonic enemies.”

“If we can get close enough,” Kyle offers, “I can turn invisible and sneak across the bridge to scout it out.”

“Be careful,” warns Sir Colder.

“Oh, believe me,” Kyle replies, “I will.”

***

Under a featureless maroon sky, with no sun or stars, our heroes trek from the sticky, swampy area and move forwards towards the bridge. The great chasm that it crosses comes into view soon enough, and as the party approaches the edge, Dahlia warns them of the horrors that she saw- hundreds of bodies impaled, some of them still alive and tormented by the demons below. It is a sickening garden of pain.

“Perhaps we could try to rescue them,” Sheriff Jorgen muses, but Dahlia shakes her head.

”Believe me, there are too many demons. It would be suicide.”

“I don’t know how much we should interfere with this time anyway,” Kyle adds. “What if we mess up the past, and damage our present?”

The group proceeds in near silence. Shortly, the bridge comes into view- a rickety, wood-and-rope affair that looks unreliable and rather perilous. Gusts of wind shake it, and the creaking sounds of the cords that are strung across to the far side of the gap is all too audible.

“Our hortheth will not be able to croth thith bridge,” Lord Cedric points out.

“We don’t have a choice,” Otis replies. “We must not let Sir Harth escape us! It will take us miles out of our way to go around.”

Cedric remains silent, but he places his hand on Thuderpuss’ flank.

“You’re up, Kyle,” Goer says cheerfully.

With a gulp, Kyle turns invisible and begins to slowly, cautiously cross the bridge. It sways under his slight frame, and the creaking sound seems to grow louder. He swallows nervously, hoping that the bridge can hold his weight (I’m light as a feather, he reassures himself).

Kyle looks down.

Gasping, he squeezes his eyes shut. That was a bad idea, he thinks. Clenching his teeth, he continues his advance, foot by foot working his way towards the other side. His friends are clustered about a dozen feet from the edge of the gorge, where Kyle can easily see them but they should be hidden from view from the demons in the bottom of the chasm. Fortunately, Kyle thinks, there is only one really close by. As long as we don’t make a huge ruckus, we’re probably fine...

He is almost across the bridge, now- no more than 20’ to go. And then he grows cold as a terrible-looking troll emerges from the rocks at the far side. The muscles of its arms are strange; they seem to ripple and flow, almost like liquid.

The troll rumbles out a laugh and coughs, “I can smell you.”*

Otis- back on the near side of the bridge- does not hesitate for even a moment. I hope Kyle isn’t too far forward, he thinks grimly, and launches a fireball.

Everything happens very quickly.

The troll howls, staggering backwards as the flames lick up around it. Simultaneously, caught in the blaze of fire, the ropes at the far end of the bridge crumbles to ash, and Kyle can hear the snap of the ropes breaking apart. “Oh crap,” he whimpers, and wraps several of the ropes around his arm- and then the far end of the bridge drops away, swinging back towards the near wall of the canyon, slamming into it with incredible force and almost bouncing Kyle free and down into the demon gap below. Gasping, the elfblood starts to slowly climb. He glances down just in time to see the demon, which had been idly poking at the impaled victims below, vanish.

Above, where the rest of our heroes stand ready at the top, the demon appears from nowhere is a puff of foul-smelling vapor. It guffaws crudely and opens its large, dagger-toothed mouth in a wide grin. The party and it exchange a few tentative blows, none of which even hit the demon; its casual, backhand claw, on the other hand, nearly tears Jorgen’s arm from its socket.

“Fall back!” shouts Goer.

“What about Kyle?” cries Dahlia.

Cedric, Lord of Whitewater, gives a wild battle cry and charges the demon.

He half-expects it to kill him in a single blow; as he closes with it, it smacks at him, but his shield takes the worst of it. “RAAAAAGHH!!!” he roars, slamming into the demon with all his might, bull rushing it back- and off of the edge of the cliff! He watches triumphantly as the fat, frog-like thing plunges down, down- onto one of the stakes on which the bodies below are impaled!

“Serves you right!” Sir Colder shouts after it.

Kyle, meanwhile, finally reaches the top of the rope bridge, which is hanging rather precariously from its moorings at the near end of the canyon. Gasping, he pulls himself up and announces his presence.

“Uh-oh,” Lord Cedric mutters.

Below, on the stake, the demon twitches. Its arms flail about. And then- it vanishes.

“Let’s get out of here!” cries Jorgen. “Those things seem to be able to move from place to place instantly, like that demon that was working with Sir Harth!”

“It’s probably going to get its friends,” Sir Colder says. “I concur with the sheriff. Let’s get away from here!”

The party moves away as fast as they can, riding double where possible and leaving the fastest on foot to run alongside. The demon gap recedes behind them as they retreat, and no pursuit is apparent. After a few minutes they halt to discuss their next course of action.

“Clearly, we have to go around the canyon,” Sheriff Jorgen states. “I don’t think going through it is an option. What do we know about the terrain?”

Dahlia replies, “Well, as a bird, I could see that there are mountains in one direction and that weird red forest in the other. The forest is closer, and I could tell that the canyon draws to a close a couple of miles inside of it.”

“So we would have to go into that unwholesome place,” muses Goer.

“Me not like woods!” Me exclaims.

“On the other hand, the mountains are back the way we came- in fact, I think that they’re the same mountains that we passed through when we left the Ghost Tower. It’s reverse progress, and I couldn’t see the end of the chasm.”

The party debates for a few moments, but Otis’ argument remains very persuasive: There is no time. We have to catch Harth. No backtracking!

“At leatht we did not have to leave our mountth behind,” Cedric says gratefully as the party turns towards the strange twisted woods.

As they make their way across the mad land, our heroes are alert for signs of pursuit from the demons of the canyon. None seems to be coming, however, and their nervous glances at the chasm to the north almost cause them to miss the next threat coming their way.

Whirring and clicking, two machines come over a rise before the party. They halt and survey our heroes for a moment. Roughly man-sized, roughly man-shaped, they are clearly artificial. Like skeletons of metal and glass, with long sharp blades built into their hands, the things are clearly of the same ilk as the shattered specimens that our heroes found earlier amongst the dead of one of the battlefields that they have stumbled upon here. One of them shows some signs of damage.**

Colder steps up. “Where are your masters!” he barks. “Go back, I command you!”

But the machines seem to focus on him, Dahlia and Kyle- the three of our heroes with elven blood in their veins.

They speak in unison, a single word that our heroes cannot comprehend, but its meaning is quite clear. The machines move to attack.

The battle is furious.

There are only two of the things, but they are fast and deadly, springing into battle, leaving telling wounds and springing back out. The party quickly finds that the machines are deadly precise with their blades. They are also very magic resistant; neither Kyle’s magic missiles, nor Dahlia’s call lightning, can do much of anything to them. No, this is a fight that will only be won with sweat and steel. Thunderpuss, Sir Cedric astride her, throws her chest into one of them, knocking it back, and Cedric strikes at it with his bastard sword. Jorgen, Me and Goer all put their best efforts forward. The constructs are too quick, difficult to damage, almost impossible to stop! When blades do manage to connect, they seem to mostly deflect from the hard metal of the killing machines.

Finally, Sir Fwaigo, using all the strength developed in his arms over years at the forge, manages to land a blow solid enough to crash through one of the constructs’ head. Sparks and smoke flare out, and the first of the creatures seizes up, freezes and topples. The lights glowing behind its eyes dim and die.

Then everyone is able to surround the other one, and though it cuts and thrusts into our heroes with deadly skill, its movements are impeded. Able to focus better, to aid one another in landing solid blows, it only takes our heroes a few more seconds to finish it. With a pair of great hews, Sir Percival (“Me”) cuts the remaining war machine nearly in half!

All around them, wiring, nuts and bolts, springs, broken bits of metal and glass and strange, unidentifiable things litter the ground. Weird oil and lubricating fluids are pooling on the ground, slowly seeping into the cracked and blasted earth.

Kyle starts digging through the mess, looking for anything interesting that he can salvage.

“Me hurt,” comments Me. He is bleeding from several deep wounds. Dahlia and Lord Cedric are tending the party’s worst wounds.

“Perhaps we should rest,” suggests Otis. “My spells are depleted, we are wounded and tired...”

“Let’s at least get away from here first,” suggests Jorgen. “For all we know, there may be more of these things coming.”

That idea is enough for Kyle to give up on trying to extract one of the eyes from the more-intact war machine head. Our heroes move away for about half an hour, then halt, make camp and set watches. Those not on watch settle in to a troubled night’s sleep- at least, as much as it can be called night when there is no difference in the sky from one minute to the next. Their night is uninterrupted; and in the morning, as refreshed as they can be in the life-draining land that they are forced to traverse, they break camp.

As they are packing their gear, Otis casts a spell upon himself: his new discovery, lead shield. He casts another on Kyle. “That should protect you from the disabling properties of this land, as well as preserving the dweomers of your magic,” the wizard tells his apprentice.

And they move on towards the strange forest.

As they travel, they once again come onto a ravaged battlefield. This one is strange and disconcerting, however, for no clothes, armor, weapons or other things remain: only naked corpses, terrifically damaged. They show the signs of battle, including cuts and stab wounds, but nowhere is even a single broken spear or a tattered remnant of a banner. The ground itself looks scoured, and rather than the churned earth one normally finds at the sight of a battle, there are only pitted stones and broken gravel. There are probably several hundred corpses here, all of them apparently human.

“Bad magic,” grunts Me.

“I think you’re right,” Otis says slowly. So far, he has been the one to insist on at least a cursory search of the battlefields that the party has come across; but this time, he decides against it. After all, there is no sign of any treasure (as the only things visible on the field are naked corpses), but there is a real chance of danger.

We must pursue Harth. There is no time.

The party moves on, and soon they are near the horrible wood again. Ahead of the group stretches a strange, warped wood. The deformed, off-colored trees rustle even without wind. From the woods, strange groaning and spattering sounds emerge. The twisted trees are distinctly unnatural, more the colors of meat than of plants, from the dark red color of congealed blood to a strange, fleshy pink-brown or 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 excrement.

“No,” Dahlia murmurs to herself, “I don’t like this at all.”

Next Time: Within the Warped Wood!

*Speaking in Elven.

**Think of them as being similar to the Terminator, once all the human-looking junk is stripped away.

 

[the Jester]

Dahlia shudders as she passes beneath the spoiled trees. She shivers when a droplet of some strange, greasy fluid falls on her from above. Her nostrils flare at the unnatural, strange odors emanating from the place.

It is horribly unnatural. It is abnormal- in fact, it is an abomination.

And yet, there is no choice.

Her gorge rising, she reluctantly follows her friends beneath the pink and grey boughs of the warped wood. Neither the sights, nor the sounds, nor the smells of the place are right. To Dahlia, who is tightly tuned to the normal rhythms of nature, it is an experience both disgusting and terrifying. She glances at her companions; they are all plainly disturbed and unsettled by it, but they simply do not understand just how fundamentally wrong the forest is.

She shudders again. After a moment’s thought, she turns into a bird and flies up, slightly above the canopy. To hell with being in this forest.

***

Pushing through a thick mass of pulsating growth, our heroes see a bizarre creature, like a rabbit but with a single twisted horn coming from its brow, sitting atop a greenish stump, covered in vines with flowers sprouting from the top. It cocks its little bunny head, the sharp-looking horn swiveling around as it looks at them.

“What,” Lord Cedric cries, “ith that??”

“I believe,” Otis replies calmly, “that it is called an al-mi’raj. We should leave it be.”*

“Very well, on your recommendathion,” Lord Cedric says. He glares at the al-mi’raj suspiciously for a moment.

Suddenly, the stump erupts with tentacles that reach out, battering and grabbing- Goer! With a cry, Sir Fwaigo is torn from the saddle and ripped into the air! He yelps and tries to draw his sword as tentacles pummel him, but he is knocked unconscious before he can even finish pulling it from its sheath!

“Goer!” cries Lord Cedric.

Kyle and Otis both blast the weird creature with magic missiles, while Sir Percival- Me- moves forward. Cedric charges in on Thunderpuss, slamming his lance’s tip deep into the stump that the ‘al-mi’raj’ is sitting on. Weird, gravy-like fluid beings flowing sluggishly out of the wound. Thunderpuss slams a hoof down, pounding into one of the tentacles. The creature squeals in pain.

Jorgen, meanwhile, pulls out his rope. It is already tied into a lariat, suitable for catching wrong-doers; as the sheriff, he never knows when he might need it. He whirls it above his head, spreading it open, and then flicks his wrist- and lassos Goer! He begins tugging at him, trying to pull him free of the weird plant-bunny-monster thing’s firm grip.

Then Me charges into the fray. The monster is too distracted by its tug-of-war against Jorgen to land a blow on the pissblood as he rushes in; and then, in a single mighty stroke, Me finishes the thing off, hacking it nearly completely in two! Sick-smelling, gravy-like stuff spews all over. Me roars, Goer falls, released, to the ground, where Dahlia is flittering down to join the group (and thus is able to quickly stabilize his wounds), and everyone heaves a sigh of relief.

“This place,” Sir Colder grimaces, “disturbs me greatly, mangle dangle.”

“You’re not the only one,” Sheriff Jorgen nods with a hollow laugh.

The party continues; what else can they do? The same thought goes through all of their minds: Harth. Must stop Harth. Catch him, stop him. Harth. Harth the traitor. Even simple Percival, who cannot say his own name due to its having three syllables, is on the same line of thought as his companions.

After following a small creek for a moment, the party spies a strange hut sequestered amongst the weird trees of the wood. It is a hovel, really; it looks to be of slipshod make, and that is assessing it generously.

“Could there actually be someone living here? In this forest??” Kyle seems dumbfounded.

“Probably just more corpses,” Sir Colder opines. The party moves up towards the hut and opens the door.

An old, balding half-elf stands up within as the door swings open. He has a silver corona of hair dusting the top of his head, but that is all. Wire spectacles perch atop a crooked nose. His chin is prominent. He is thin but not scrawny, with a suit of armor made of the hide of some thick-skinned beast. He says something in a demanding tone of voice, but none of our heroes can understand it.

“We mean you no harm,” Sir Jorgen says, hurriedly stepping forward before someone else opens their mouth and ruins all hope of making friends with this guy. “We’re hunting some powerful criminals. We need to stop them. Can you help us?”

The half-elf stares at him.

“Who is this guy?” Goer demands. “What is he doing here? I don’t think we can trust him, not if he lives out here.”

“We need to try to talk to him,” Jorgen insists. At his urging, the party tries all the languages that they know collectively. Unfortunately, the hermit doesn’t respond to any of them.

“I don’t trust him,” Goer repeats.

“Well, what do you suggest? We certainly can’t just kill him. For all we know, he is one of the last survivors of the entire kingdom here.” Jorgen shrugs.

Sir Colder adds, “For all we know, he might be your ancestor.”

“That’s a sobering thought,” Kyle says with a nervous chuckle. “We should be very careful about changing things back here, in case it messes up our time.”

“‘Your time’? What do you mean, ‘your time’?” the hermit demands, in perfect Kamendan.

Next Time: The twisted hermit!

*In all fairness, Otis’ player instantly knew what this beastie was.

 

[the Jester]

The Twisted Hermit

Otis bows respectfully to the strange half-elven hermit. “Our situation,” he says gravely, “is complicated... but it is gratifying to find a rational, living person. Tell us, how is it that you have survived here? This forest does not seem... safe.”

The hermit gives Otis a sharp look. “Well, you didn’t answer my question,” he notes.

“You need to answer our questions!” Sir Fwaigo snaps. “How are you surviving out here? Who are you? Whose side are you on?”

“Have you theen,” Lord Cedric interjects, “any other people, traveling? Perhapth with a beholder- that ith, a thtrange ball of eyeth that floatth through the-”

“You should mind your familiar,” the hermit snaps at Otis, ignoring the others. He glares at the bird-form of Dahlia, who was trying to sneak into the hermit’s hut.

Dahlia mentally shrugs. She could play the familiar, and try to trick this weird hermit; but she sort of relates to him, as she is a crazy hermit herself. So she changes back to her normal form and nods to the hermit. “I am no familiar,” she announces.

The hermit frowns darkly. “Well, you stay out of my hut unless I invite you in! Don’t you think that it’s rude to go into someone’s home uninvited? Punks.”

“Look, we mean you no harm,” Goer says, growing exasperated. “We’re trying to catch some criminals from our time that are headed to your capitol.”

“My capitol?” the hermit asks archly. “What makes you think that I have a capitol?”

“The capitol of Palantia,” Lord Cedric throws in.

“Perhaps you could help us pass through this, ah, lovely forest of yours,” Kyle hints. “Then we’d be out of your hair right away.”

“I don’t,” the hermit retorts flatly, “have much hair.”

“Well, figuratively speaking-”

“And what makes you think that this is my forest?”

“Well, you’re living here,” Kyle answers lamely.

“Look, how are you surviving out here?” Goer demands.

“Have you theen thith thymbol?” Cedric queries, producing Harth’s ancestral ring. His symbol- a rose wrapped round a sword- is etched upon the face of it.

“Wait, wait...” The hermit holds up a hand. Everyone goes quiet after a moment, Goer fuming. “You’re all talking too fast. Start over. Who are you, and what do you want?”

Dahlia speaks up. “We’re sorry to bother you- I know you probably just want to be left alone- but we are pursuing a criminal and his beholder ally and his cult. He is trying to capture powerful weapons to take back to our homeland, and we’re trying to stop him. But there’s a big canyon full of demons that we can’t pass through, so we are trying to go around it. This weird, warped wood that we are in seems really dangerous, but you’re doing all right here. We were hoping that you could lead us to a path, or give us directions, or something, so that we can get around the canyon and back out of the woods.”

“You don’t have to talk so loudly,” the hermit complains.

“Sorry,” Dahlia sighs.

The hermit rubs his chin. He seems lost in thought.

“Please,” Otis asks, “if you have any knowledge that would help us-”

“Knowledge? That would help you? Wait here.” The hermit moves back inside his little hut, slamming the door behind him. About five minutes pass before he returns, bearing a book (which he hands to Otis). “This should have some helpful knowledge in it. It’s about art history. Do you know anything about art history?”

“Not much,” admits Otis. “Thank you.” He glances at the book, but cannot understand the script on the cover. A great treasure, he thinks to himself. Knowledge- any knowledge- from this period may prove invaluable.

“Really, I can’t imagine what they teach you kids these days,” the hermit says sourly. “You kids don’t seem to ‘get it’, if you know what I mean.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, yes, I can lead you to a path that will get you out of here, and without you encountering the gibbering heap. I can- I could.”

“The what?” Goer exclaims.

“Do you know anything about those metal skeleton things we keep seeing?” asks Jorgen.

“Have you theen thith thymbol?” repeats Cedric.

“And what do you eat out here?” wonders Dahlia. “Would you like a berry? They’re quite fulfilling.”

He peers at her proffered berry suspiciously. “No,” he snaps. With a shrug, Dahlia eats the goodberry herself.

The hermit frowns, glancing from person to person. “Wait, wait, wait!” he barks. “You’re talking too fast! Slow down, you’re confusing me!”

Our heroes collectively grit their teeth. Getting information from this frustrating old hermit is like pulling teeth from a wild steer!

“Thith thymbol,” Lord Cedric repeats.

“And there is no need to shout!” yells the hermit. And then he adds, “That looks like some kind of symbol of love.”

“It is the heraldry of our foe, Sir Harth,” Jorgen informs him.

“What is your name?” Dahlia asks.

“Me!” pipes up Me.

“I am called Randall,” the half-elf sniffs.

“Has this forest always been like this?” the druid asks again.

“Like this? Of course not!” Randall exclaims. “This happened during the war.”

“The war?” asks Sir Colder.

Randall sighs. “I cannot believe how ignorant you are! Where have you been while the world fell apart?”

Dahlia replies, “We are from... another time.”

“Oh, so you’re finally going to answer my first question,” Randall snorts disdainfully.

“From the future,” the druid goes on. “We are ignorant. In our time, all of this is forgotten. The world is a primitive place, with nowhere near the magical powers you seem to have in this time. All the elves are gone. Please- anything you can tell us would be very helpful. Who was the war with? What was it about?”

Randall nods. “Your story is unbelievable.”

Dahlia shrugs eloquently.

“But then, so is everything else these days,” the strange hermit mutters. He sighs. Goer opens his mouth to talk again, but Randall jabs a finger at him and hushes him. “The war was with the elves, of course. It was all because the stupid humans-” he glares at the party- “thought that the elves knew the secret of immortality, and wouldn’t share it.”

“But isn’t that just because of the way elves are?” Dahlia inquires.

“Yes, but the humans didn’t believe it. They figured it must be some kind of magical potion or ointment given to elven babies. Fools! They understood nothing. Bah, that’s why I am here- no one ever understands me.”

“I can relate to that,” Dahlia muses. “I live alone, away from the townsfolk, in my time. They’re always calling me a witch and they think I’m to blame for whatever misfortune they have.”

“Yes!” Randall shouts. “Three-eyed calves, poisoned wells, ill weather- oh, it must be Randall. Bah!”

“Better to be alone,” nods Dahlia. The two hermits eye each other. It seems as though Dahlia’s words have struck a common chord in Randall. Suddenly he becomes much more helpful, and- although mixed with invective and bitterness- information begins to flow out of the twisted hermit. He tells them that the metal skeleton constructs are called, quite simply, war machines. They are agents of the Palantian military, sent out roving to destroy the elven invaders. Sir Colder wonders why the war machines attacked the (mostly human) party. Randall replies that Palantian citizens are marked magically when they are born; that is how many magical effects know where to propagate, or where not to propagate. He shows Dahlia his secret garden of weird, fleshy plants with fruits that strongly resemble organs.

”But how can you live on this?” she wonders. “Is it harmful?”

“To others, yes. But not to me,” Randall replies smugly, “I’m a twisted hermit.” He scrutinizes her. “I could teach you,” he offers.

She considers the offer as she continues to draw out more information from him. Sheriff Jorgen is relieved to hear that the Warped Wood (as Randall refers to it) is not home to any vampires. Simultaneously, meanwhile, Goer tries to teach Me to play rock paper scissors, with hilarious but unsuccessful results.

“Would you like some apple seeds?” Dahlia offers.

Randall almost chokes up at the offer. It seems to be the deciding factor for him, as he offers to lead our heroes around the ‘gibbering forest’, whatever that is. Soon the party is moving through the weird, meaty forest. Suspect fluids spatter down from above; odd smells drift through the air. After a few hours, they hear a faint gibbering in the distance, but with Randall’s help they circumvent it.

“This wood was once home to many elves,” Randall tells the party. “It weeps for their murders. This was murder, not war. That’s what the fluid is, at least some of it- the blood of the elves.”

Whatever it is, it makes our heroes queasy. Dahlia tries to talk to the woods, and they seem to almost sing a sad dirge to the elves; and then, about five hours after Randall begins to lead them away, he stops. “Just keep going straight along this path,” he directs the group. “It will lead you out. I am going home.”

“Why?” asks Jorgen. “Maybe you should come with us. It might be safer-”

“My home is safe enough,” Randall retorts, “for me.”

The sheriff shrugs. “Very well, then; thank you.”

An hour later, they exit the strange wood.

Next Time: A piece of normal! Another village! And signs of Sir Harth’s group!!

 

[the Jester]

Trudging under the sunless maroon sky, our heroes continue their journey towards the capitol city, or whatever remains of it.

”We’ve been here for weeks, probably,” Kyle says suddenly, “and we’ve only found one friendly person. The elf was right, when we arrived- there’s no help to be had.”

It is a gloomy thought. None of the others respond to his words, leaving them hanging in the air. The only thing that allows the party to feel any hope is the fact that they know that things get better. After all, they are from the future, and though the insane power of magic evident everywhere here has been lost, civilization has rebuilt itself over time.

Our heroes clamber up a pile of blasted rocks- and gasp. They stop in wonder. About 50’ ahead i a beautiful grove of trees, verdant with growth and singing with birds. A ring of standing stones surrounds it. The whole thing is in stark contrast to the devastation all around it, and measures about 30’ in diameter.

“What the hell is this?” demands Sir Fwaigo indignantly. “This can’t be right!”

“No,” Dahlia whispers. “It is right- the rightest thing we have seen since we got here. I can feel Nature in it...” She half-closes her eyes. A smile wanders across her face.

Carefully, the party advances into the circle. Normal plants and animals are thriving in unnatural numbers. A central pool offers water. The great stones- menhirs- loom above them. Dahlia feels an almost-overwhelming desire to touch one, but she resists, casting a suspicious glance at the stones.

The party dallies in the area for a while. Dahlia speaks to some of the animals, who seem frightened of the area surrounding the circle. She also speaks to the trout in the pool, then catches oe for Jorgen, who cooks it.

It is the most relaxed our heroes have been since they plunged through the portal to this terrifying apocalyptic landscape.

After a time, Dahlia begins to frown. Something makes her stomach turn. Something is not right- and, the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes that it is her. She looks at the stones closely; there are similar, ancient standing stones of unknown origin in her home land- could these be the same? Slowly, a sad realization dawns on her. “They reject me,” she groans. “I’m not natural to them- none of us are- because we’re not from this time!”

“Oh. Perhapth we thould leave?” Lord Cedric asks her.

She sighs and nods. Sadly but fairly quickly, our heroes leave the circle of stones behind, and the life that it carries.

“That was cheering,” remarks Sir Colder happily. “We’ve now seen that some life survives fairly well, at least in the short term.”

Sheriff Jorgen nods and smiles. “You’re right. I hadn’t thought about it that way, but that was a wonderfully hopeful sign.”

***

Hours and hours, miles and miles they travel- and then Me grunts and points. “Me see something!” the big dumb loveable half-orc rumbles.

The others stop and peer in the direction that he is pointing. He pulls forth his spyglass for the party when asked, grinning tuskily. It appears as though there is a small walled village ahead.

“We should at least check it out,” Goer says. “Maybe Harth left some signs there.”

The party moves forward. The walls are of an unfamiliar white material that is neither ceramic nor stone nor metal.

”Goer, do you have any idea what this is?” asks Jorgen. “You’re a smith.”

“I am too!” Lord Cedric declares. “By the power of my pinky finger!”

“Well,” Sir Fwaigo “Goer” Smith answers the sheriff, “it’s not metal, I can assure you of that.” He taps on it with his finger. “I don’t know...” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I can’t identify it.”

The party continues moving along the edge of the wall until they come to a damaged section. It shows the signs of great violence. All around it, the ground is scorched and damaged. Bits of rock and metal are actually melted here and there around the area. A section of wall about 10’ wide gapes open, clearly blasted by considerable power.

Carefully, our heroes move through the wall at the destroyed section and look the village over. There is a building that might be some kind of church, with a weird instrument at the top of it, not far from their entry point; a circle of stones is a bit further to the left. Houses and small businesses are also in the town, as well as an orchard, an inn, and a smithy. Over a section of the town are strange, translucent sheets, strung between long poles thrust into the ground.

Otis moves to explore the building with the roof-mounted instrument while Dahlia reluctantly moves towards this new circle of stones. Otis looks over the large building as he approaches. It has the look of a church. It is tall, with stained glass windows that have been shattered, and a high, peaked roof. In the center of the roof is a dome that ‘bubbles’ up from the main body of the church, with broken windows facing up and out. Apparently it is (or was) some kind of observatory.

“Interesting,” the wizard murmurs to himself, and throws open the heavy oaken doors of the thing. Within are metal hounds. Immediately he pulls the doors back shut and begins making his way back towards the others. Best to get the warriors, he thinks.

Behind him, there is a crash! and the doors shudder in their frame.

Ahead of him-

As Dahlia moves into the circle, one of the menhirs begins to uproot itself from the ground. She takes a cautious step back, but suddenly the ground under her feet turns to mud. She spares a glance over her shoulder- the effect has caught several of her friends, as well!

Lord Cedric, mounted on Thunderpuss, leans and gives a wordless cry. Thunderpuss leaps forward out of the mud, and they slog in to melee with the thing. As they do, it lashes out and catches Cedric a glancing blow across the shoulder.

“Aagh!” he cries out, stiffening. For a moment it is as if a skull is superimposed on his face.

“Beware!” he gasps. “It will drain the life from you!”* He returns the elemental creature’s blow with a mighty strike of his sword- and is dismayed to see its stone nature turn most of the blow. Jorgen and Goer rush to the attack through the mud, but both of them find their blows are useless.

Otis, appalled at the way things are going, fires a volley of magic missiles at the weird elemental thing. It looks like a great stone face with arms and legs coming out of it- and yet, from Cedric’s warning, likely tainted with unlife!** Bah, the wizard thinks. Whatever it is, we’ll destroy it. He is just getting ready to hit it with another spell when he hears the sound of shattering wood and the metal hounds come bounding out of the church.

One of them is coming for him.

He fires off a maximized magic missile at the onrushing gear hound. Metal spangs as the force missiles blast into it. It keeps coming.

Meanwhile, the party warriors surround and attack the undead elemental. Jorgen and Goer insist on missing; Cedric’s blow barely scratches it. He froths angrily, spluttering and ranting. Then Me, raging and shouting, smashing his sword into the creature and actually noticeably damages it! Our heroes cheer themselves for a second, but then one of the gear hounds bounds up and bites Otis! The wizard gives a cry as the construct shakes him viciously back and forth, then drops him. The other one lunges into the mud, but seems to have a little bit more difficulty in it than most of our heroes.

Dahlia has fallen back long enough to cast a spell; now, at last, she completes it. A bolt of lightning cracks down from the sky, blasting the elemental- but to no avail. Spell resistance, she realizes. Well, at least I can try the dogs... She stops herself. Better yet! she thinks, and casts heat metal on the metal dogs.

The elemental lashes out, smashing Me and Goer’s horse, but missing Thunderpuss. It is a whirlwind of rocky death energy- not good news, if you’re the one that it is smacking around. Me visibly withers as the pall of negative energy accumulates on him; Goer’s horse screams and tries to rear, but the mud prevents it from completely pulling free.

The metal dog ravaging Otis continues to, well, ravage Otis, biting him, shaking him, rolling him and tearing at him. He knows that there is no way that he can possibly cast a spell under these conditions. Instead, he struggles to draw out his rod, and then fires it. A jet of flame shoots out, catching both gear hounds and damaging them both. The other hound is still struggling to free itself from the mud. Otis groans. There is blood all over him from this beast’s rough treatment! He grits his teeth and does his best to fight back, but the construct has him overpowered. He recognizes the blaze of Kyle’s (less powerful) magic missile zip in on his adversary, and is grateful; yet it is not enough to drop the accursed thing! He blasts with the rod again, but to no avail- it still holds him, still shakes him! Worse yet, its jaws are growing hot- almost red hot! He hisses through his teeth. If it is Dahlia’s work, at least it will hurt the hound more than it hurts me, he fervently hopes.

Now bolts of lightning are shooting down at the stuck dog. It finally manages to get free of the mud, just in time to meet Dahlia’s badger. The two are soon tearing at each other. Fortunately, the badger’s natural armor has been thickened by magic, making it very difficult for the gear hounds to damage it.

Meanwhile, Lord Cedric, Goer, Jorgen and Me keep up their assault on the necromental. Me accompanies his blows with mighty roars; Lord Cedric announces his assault “by the power of my pinky finger!” Bit by bit, they are chipping away at it- but its continued replies to our heroes and their mounts are wearing down their own life energy.

Kyle is down to arrows now, and he is firing into the gear hound-Otis grapple in desperation. “Master!” he cries. The hound gives Otis another vicious shake, and the wizard goes limp. The hound drops his bloody body and gives a tinny bark.

“No! Master!” Kyle cries. His next arrow catches the dog- already glowing orange from the heat of Dahlia’s earlier spell- right in the eye. There is a shower of sparks and smoke begins pouring out of the hound’s head. It collapses.

Almost simultaneously, Lord Cedric lands the pounding blow that finishes off the elemental terror. It shatters into hundreds of small stones. Me turns to the last remaining enemy- the other dog- and destroys it in a single mighty blow!

“Master!” Kyle cries again. He rushes over to the rag doll figure of the wizard.

Still alive. Barely, but still alive. The party quickly applies some first aid.

“We need a place to rest,” opines Sir Jorgen.

“I bet the smithy is defensible,” Goer suggests.

“Let’s check it out.” The sheriff nods.

The smithy has a shingle with a hammer and anvil painted upon it hanging above the door. Large windows, open to the elements, almost fill the front face of the building. Behind the building, a large pool of water sits silently. The back side of the building looks like an attached outbuilding, with some kind of large chimney and a collection of large metal or metal-plated areas. The interior proves to have a number of smithing tools interesting enough for Goer and Cedric to take them.

”No bodies,” muses Jorgen. “Nobody around either, though.”

“Once again: creepy.” Kyle shivers.

“Maybe a houthe would be better,” suggests Cedric. “More comfortable. More thuited to people of our thature and renown.”

Our heroes begin their search.

Next Time: Our heroes continue their search of the town! Where are all the people? And will there be any signs of Sir Harth and his band? Find out- next time!

*Cedric just became the proud owner of a negative level.

**For anyone who’s curious, this was a necromental galeb duhr.

 

[the Jester]

Our Heroes:

Lord Cedric of Whitewater (male human knight 3/cleric 4; Lord Whitewater; bears the rank of Captain)
Sir Fwaigo "Goer" Smith (male human fighter 7; bears the rank of Captain)
Sir Colder (male human fighter 4/rogue 3; bears the rank of Captain)
Sir Percival "Me" (male half-orc barbarian 4/scout 3; bears the rank of Captain)
Sir Jorgen Boatwright (male human fighter 4/rogue 3; bears the rank of Captain; sheriff of Whitewater)
Lady Dahlia Laagos (female elfblood druid 8; gentrified; granted title over the ruins of Castle Laagos)
Kyle Goldenbow (male elfblood rogue 4/wizard 3; gentrified)
Otis Optimus (male human wizard 7; gentrified)

*****

It seemed like a good point to update the party roster...

Please note that the "knight" class used in this campaign is NOT the one in the PH2; I created it as a paladin substitution for this campaign, significantly before the PH2 was out. I've stuck with it for simplicity's sake, though- in all fairness- I prefer the one in the PH2. Oh well, next time.... Also note that an 'elfblood' is mechanically equivalent to a half-elf, but is a human with a reasonable to substantial amount of elven blood; the flavor is different, especially given that there are no elves. Note too that several of our heroes are listed as bearing the rank of Captain. This refers to the decorations that they received after the Battle of Kamenda, and the rank applies in dealings with the Kamendan army. Any pc noted as "Sir" so-and-so has been knighted; this makes him a low-level member of the nobility, and entitles them to many perquisites, including the right to own land, the right to lord over serfs on land that they own or protect, the right to hospitality from other nobles, the right to hunt certain beasts that are off-limits to the peasantry, etc. Several others are "gentrified," which gives them only the right to own land.

 

[the Jester]

Our heroes, at heart, are small-town boys and girls. But they have been drawn into a dangerous chase that none of them will abandon. Trapped in a time of apocalypse, beneath an unnatural, maroon sky, our heroes desperately pursue their arch-foe across a blasted landscape. Sir Harth- their foe- seeks to steal powerful magical weapons from this era and then use them to conquer their own time. In this weird era, there is no sun; there are no stars. Flashes that fill the entire sky occasionally occur, and the very environment itself seems to be a tenacious enemy of the party. The environment drains magic and life; so far, in the- days? Weeks?- that our heroes have been here, they have found only one friendly face... and “friendly” was almost certainly an exaggeration. The landscape is dotted by horrific mutant creatures with extra limbs, strange stigmata or worse.

There have been two villages, including the one that our heroes are now beginning to search. The first one was haunted by some kind of ill-feeling energy and had a large population of corpses; our heroes elected not to venture into it, and simply passed it by. Now, as they move onto the main street of the village, the lead members of the party look in all directions for any sign of movement or life. Nothing. Sir Percival, known as “Me” (for he is too stupid to say words with more than two syllables, such as his own name), sniffs the air, inhaling deeply, searching for the smell of corruption. Nothing.

“I don’t see anyone,” Sheriff Jorgen calls out. He has re-sheathed his sword, but he keeps his hand near it. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle. “This place can’t be safely abandoned,” he mutters to himself, “can it?”

The party spreads out a little, looking over the buildings. Most of them are small houses, composed of bricks of baked clay. Opening one up, Sir Fwaigo finds only a pair of corpses. A search reveals nothing further, and the party moves on to another house.

“I wonder what those tarp things are,” Kyle muses, gesturing. There are thin filmy things stretched above parts of the village. They are translucent but brightly colored.*

The party goes over and examines some of the material, but they can’t figure out what it is. It is relatively fragile, however. The sheets also cover a good chunk of the orchard that is inside the village’s walls. Upon growing tired of messing with the film, the group returns to the matter of the buildings, opening up the door to the nearest house. This time there is no body inside. However, a search turns up a small box under the bed, which our heroes immediately open to find four flasks of weird liquid, each one different from the others.

“Hmm,” Kyle says, and casts detect magic. A grin breaks out on his face. “Hey, these are magical!”

“How?” Goer objects. “The environment should destroy them in a few days, right?”

Kyle throws open the window and looks out and up. “I think those colored tarp things protect us from the environment!” he proclaims. Gesturing, he goes on, “Look, we’re under one- at least partially- when we’re in this building. I bet that’s how the potions kept their enchantment.”

“Well,” Sheriff Jorgen says, “at least we know that there were people here recently.”

“We do?” asks Sir Colder.

Sheriff Jorgen nods. “Yes, because if there wasn’t anyone here when the war happened that started this” –his gesture takes in everything around them- “why would they build protection for some of the houses?”

“Good point,” Sir Colder concedes.

“More to the point, where are they?”

***

The house seems like a safe place, a comfortable place, and a protected place. It is there that our heroes rest, and they spend a couple of days recuperating- since they can. Kyle’s theory proves correct: under the colored tarps, they are protected, and are able to recover their strength.** Otis regains consciousness, Lord Cedric and Dahlia dispense what healing magic they have and everyone enjoys a lazy two days out of the terrible draining maroon sky.

Then they get back to work.

***

The interior of the church- from whence came the gear hounds that wounded Otis so badly when the party first arrived in the village- is a mess. There is a corpse on the ground, obviously a month old or more, wearing heavy armor and with a heavy mace cast aside on the ground nearby. The party looks around and takes the loot that they find, including the gear of the body and a chest of coins that they find. Otis casts detect magic and is pleased to announce that the armor and mace and a scroll are all magical. The party gives the armor to Goer and the mace to Me, and after a quick read magic ascertains that it is a scroll of priestly spells, albeit three copies of the same spell.

“Interethting,” Lord Cedric says. “Thith ith a thpell whothe thecretth have been lotht in our time. It will allow me to thpeak with the dead.” Otis and he confer about it for a few moments, and then the party moves on.

The upper level of the church looks, from outside, like some kind of observatory. A twisted stairway ascends to that area, and our heroes follow it upstairs. They find themselves, indeed, in an observatory. Weird, broken equipment- long metal tubes pointing out of the ceiling and out into the sky, and some kind of broken device for moving it around- almost fills the area.

“What do you suppose this is?” asks Goer, touching the big tube.

Instantly there is a sudden crackle of energy, and a green ball of energy with four long tentacles coming out of it, appears! It immediately attacks Me, lashing out with tentacles that drip acid. It slaps the pissblood. There is a hiss and sizzle as the acid leaves horrendous burns on Me’s arms and chest. He roars.

Goer stabs into it with his longspear, but the shaft just goes right through it, as if it isn’t even there. Immediately our heroes are reminded of the terrible thing in the haunted house they investigated in Kamenda City- they could not even hurt it. “FLEE!!!” shouts Goer, and he and Me begin to move away.

The thing pursues, and the room is too cramped for everyone to get away from it. Its tentacles lash out again, dealing significant wounds to whomever they touch. Lord Cedric grimaces and casts magic weapon on his sword, then manages to score a blow on it. “Hit it with magic!” he cries.

Me, trusting to Lord Cedric’s words, rumbles around and attacks with his new-found mace. He, too, manages to score a blow against it! Suddenly, our heroes- who had seemed on the edge of instant rout- rally, and after a long, hard battle, our heroes- sorely wounded- prevail.

Unfortunately, when they do, the beast explodes in a great spray of acid. Our heroes are doused, and heavily damaged.

What healing they have, they use; but afterwards, they are still in no shape to fight. By necessity, they retreat to the ‘safe house’ to rest again.

Next Time: Our heroes finish checking out the observatory and move on to the inn... but wheat happened to the people?


*Like a big sheet of colored saran wrap going over big chunks of the village.

**Among other things, the environment the party is in does 1 point of Con damage per day.

 

[Seance]

BUMP!!

Come on Jester, you are not running it so write it...

 

[the Jester]

The interior of the observatory- for so Otis calls it- is a shambles. Especially after the acidic explosion of the strange guardian creature that the party fought two days before, the entire area above the church is pocked with holes, burns and scars. The twisted metal of the observing device (or at least, our heroes presume that is what the ruined device is, as it points at the sky outside and dominates the chamber) creaks and groans from time to time. “It’s probably not safe to stay here too long,” Sir Fwaigo warns the others. As a trained smith, he knows the signs of metal fatigue when he sees and hears them. “I’m surprised that more of the place hasn’t collapsed on itself already.”

A quick search turns up a few somewhat interesting, acid-scarred pieces of metal and the ruined remains of a few pieces of clothing, but there is nothing worth looting. Nor are there any signs of the people of this strange abandoned village.

“We’ve barely begun looking,” Sheriff Jorgen mutters to himself.

***

The inn is the next building that our heroes check out. It is three storeys tall. The board out front bears the sign of a howling dog. Hitching posts, for horses, stand unused out front, and windows line the building. Some of these are shuttered, but others are open. Many of them seem to have once had glass in them, but most of that has been shattered. One side of the building looks as though a good-sized fire burned on it, but it still looks structurally sound at a glance.

Written across the front of the building in what looks like blood, in Kamendan, are the words Come out or we will find you!

“Hey!” exclaims Sir Fwaigo. “That’s written in Kamendan! That’s our language!” He looks puzzled. “What do you think that means?”

“It means that Harth was here,” Otis declares. There is venom in his voice.

Sir Colder moves up and examines the wall. “I wonder whose blood that is?” he muses.

“Maybe Harth found one of the villagers,” suggests Sir Jorgen. He is growing angry. Harth, he thinks harshly. We’ll have justice for whatever you did here.

The ground floor of the Inn of the Howling Dog consists of a common room, a kitchen, an office and a curtained off private room. A search of the office turns up many volumes of unreadable papers that have the look of inventories, payroll records, bills, shipping manifests and other documents related to running a business. The kitchen has pretty clearly been looted thoroughly. However, the party’s search yields a tantalizing clue: carved in a wooden table is a crude cut of Harth’s heraldry. They also find a trap door that appears to lead into a basement.

Finally, the party investigates the common room. A number of emptied bottles and dirty wine cups attest to the fact that a group of people spent a number of days here. Dahlia inspects the signs and ascertains that the stuff here is only about two weeks old.

“If that was Harth and his men...” Jorgen smiles grimly. “We’re catching up.”

“‘If?’” exclaims Cedric. “Of courthe it wath Harth! We thaw hith thign in the kitthen!”

The party ascends to the second floor of this building, which appears to consist of a long hallway snaking around the perimeter of the building, with doors along the wall every few paces. Near the end of the hallway where our heroes stand at the top of the stairs, a 10’ diameter hole is disintegrated into the wall.

“Are those blood stains?” Kyle gestures, but before anyone can do more than peer in the direction that he has indicated, a horrendous thing roars from within the room, and the door that leads to the room is thrown wide open!

It is like a nightmare collection of vague threatening features. Spiky blades seem to radiate from it; it has tremendous, dangerous-looking claws; its maw is like that of a shark. Worse yet, its form seems to waver and shift as our heroes look upon it.

Sir Colder instantly fires a crossbow bolt at it, but the shock of its terrifying appearance throws his aim off and he misses. Sir Fwaigo’s hand drops to the hilt of his sword, but then there is a ripple of unseen energy and the smell of burning metal. His hand jerks back, and he reels, numbed and unable to act. The creature has put him in a brain lock!

Sir Colder casts his crossbow aside, pulls forth his longspear and strikes. Again, his blow goes wide. Then Goer, recovering from the brain lock, slams the door shut on the creature!

Our heroes rally, preparing to aid one another against the strange beast as soon as it throws the door open again. It does so, and lashes out at Goer with an ego whip! Sir Fwaigo staggers but recovers himself, and strikes at the monster with his sword- but his blow does nothing! It bounces harmlessly from the beast’s weird, shifting form.

Then Me rushes in, slamming the party’s new-found magical mace (from the ruins of the church) into the creature, slamming it hard.* Upon seeing this, Lord Cedric cries, “Magic ith the key!” and casts magic weapon on his former squire’s blade.

“Thank you, my lord!” cries Sir Fwaigo. He quickly validates Cedric’s hypothesis- now that it is enchanted, his blade does seem effective against the weird monster! Between Goer’s blade and Sir Percival’s brute strength, our heroes manage to defeat the creature rather neatly, although Percival takes a blow to the mind that he can scarce afford!** After they slay it, the monster’s remains seem to... evaporate? Strange.

“Feh,” snorts Lord Cedric. “Let uth return below and theek a better plathe to ekthplore. Thith ith a plath where commonerth would thtay. Perhapth we will find better thingth elthewhere.”

Sir Colder bows. “As you wish, my lord.”

The party files back down the stairs, heads outside onto the street and moves to what appears to be a general store. It looks both abandoned and looted, but the party presses on inside just in case. Within they find a basement.

There, only dimly-lit from the maroon sky outside and a lantern of their own, they find a wine cellar. It appears to have several nice-looking bottles in it. Cedric smacks his lips and cries, “Gather the wine!” He quickly uncorks a bottle and takes a liberal drink before passing it around.

Suddenly something jerks the sheriff’s legs out from under him. Aghast, our heroes look down- to see worms slithering all over their feet and ankles. Almost like a net of long, tough roots made out of stringy flesh, none of the worms seem to have ends. They glow faintly green.

The worms- the net- whatever it is, or they are- starts to tighten.

Next Time: The thing in the cellar! The thing in the house! And the missing villagers!

*Crit for 46 hp of damage. Ouch!!

**Poor Me... he took 4 points of Int damage.

 

[the Jester]

Lord Cedric screams like a girl as the weird, wormy growths that seem to be extending from the floor of the wine cellar tighten around our heroes. “By the power of my pinkie finger, we mutht dethtroy thethe thingth!!” he howls, drawing forth his sword and hewing about him. Sirs Colder and Fwaigo do likewise, cutting the mass of worms and causing them to spew forth a foul ichor.

Sheriff Jorgen stabs at the mass, but several coils wrap themselves wetly around his arms and legs. Struggling, shouting, Jorgen is jerked to the ground. The sheriff jerks and tugs, but it is all he can do to prevent more of the worm-things (or thing?) from looping around his neck and cutting off his breath. “Help!” he shouts.

The others continue to hack at the net of worms. Sir Percival- the half-orc called Me- gives a great smash with his magical mace, pulverizing a writhing mass of the worms. With a great howl of rage, Me continues to lay about him. He sees Jorgen- his friend- struggling to hold off the mass of worm-stuff and leaps to his side. Roaring, he continues to smash the worms

“Get back up the stairs!” Sir Fwaigo cries, slashing some more of the worms near Jorgen. He grabs the sheriff by the hand and hauls him to his feet. Gasping, Jorgen staggers over to the stairs.

“Yeth, up the thtairth, my friendth!” Lord Cedric roars, batting away another glistening greenish cord of worm stuff. Our heroes fall back, and as they retreat up the stairs, the wormy net heaves and settles down, seeming to sense their departure. Shaking his head, Cedric thinks, We had best mark this place in our minds, lest we run out of other alcohol! We might then have to come back here.

Exiting the building, our heroes go back into the street for the moment. “There are a lot of houses, my lord,” Goer points out to Cedric. “We could check some of them out.”

Otis sighs. “I don’t know what we’re hoping to find here,” he grumbles. “Certainly not Harth!”

“No, but perhapth there will be a clue to hith location,” Lord Cedric replies.

The party proceeds to investigate a few of the houses. The first one yields a trio of corpses, but nothing more; the next is infested with a multitude of spiders, big and small, and after a quick battle, our heroes destroy them.*

“Maybe we should rest,” suggests Sir Colder afterward. “Is anyone badly hurt?”

Nobody is. Goer declares, “Forget resting, I want some action!”

“All right, let’s move on to the next house,” Dahlia snaps. “We’re wasting time!” Otis nods in agreement.

The party moves across the street to another house, but they stop. This home is boarded up from the outside. “Well, that’s interesting,” murmurs Sir Colder. “I wonder what’s in there.”

“And who boarded it up,” adds Dahlia. “It could have been the villagers- or it could have been Harth and his gang.”

“Hey, I hear something,” Goer whispers. “There’s something moving around in there!”

The party hushes, and everyone listens intently. Indeed, they can all hear the muffled sound of movement from within.

“Hello?” calls Goer.

The sound within the boarded up house ceases. A voice calls out from within, weakly. Our heroes do not understand the language, but it sounds like a cry for help.

“I’m taking a board off the window,” Goer announces, and begins prying at one of the wooden planks barring the window. It is nailed on quite securely, and it takes several minutes of efforts to pry it loose. When he has done so, Sir Fwaigo tries to peer into the room. “Hello?” he calls.

Something grabs at him. “Hey!!” he shouts, as razor-sharp claws and hooks tear across his skin. The hand that swiped him appears to be metal- a mass of torturous instruments. “Ow!” he cries, jerking back. The thing fails to get a hold on him, but that hand is vicious.

Me roars and throws himself against the door. There is a loud boom! as it shakes on its hinges, but it does not give. Goer, meanwhile, backs off, and Lord Cedric prays over his weapon, imbuing it with magical power.

Otis steps up and unleashes a blast of fire from the strange rod that he has. It shoots into the window and spatters onto the creature, giving off enough light that the wizard can see that it seems to be robed, but its face is some sort of metal mask. A charnel stench is coming from within the house.

Dahlia sees it too, and attempts a heat metal on it. Unfortunately, it resists her magic- but then it has worse things to worry about, as Me smashes the door in with a stout blow from his mace.

Now the party can view more of the interior of the house- and it is appalling. The place has been converted into a torture chamber. Dahlia gasps. The bed has been converted into a fixture onto which victims can be strapped, and there are the remains of several victims in the small house.

Me rages and rushes to meet the thing in battle.

The monster turns and slashes back with the strange metal hand. Its robes flutter, and Cedric’s eyes widen at what he sees as its robes swirl and move: the hand is actually a gauntlet, and its metal face is actually a mask. Its skin is corpse-grey, and the stench is only partially from the dead victims. It is undead, he realizes, and pulls out his holy symbol.

Meanwhile, Goer attacks it through the window, as there is not enough room in the house for him to fit. He thrusts his now-magical sword at the thing but misses, and then it grabs him with that hooked and bladed gauntlet. Goer screams, tearing himself loose at the cost of several bloody tears and rips. His sword whips upward, slicing into the thing’s arm with a meaty thunk!

The creature seems to be focusing on him now, tearing at him in a very painful way, clearly meant to be disabling but not lethal. It wants to take me to torture! he realizes, fear rising in his throat. The hooks and blades on the gauntlet are excruciating, and it seems to feed on his pain, growing more powerful!

But it is not strong enough. Cedric channels holy power, and for an instant it falters; and while it does so, Me roars and smashes it twice in the chest, utterly slaying it. Goer gags and cries out in pain; it has ripped large chunks of skin away. Immediately Cedric and Dahlia tend him with their healing magic. Goer hisses as the pain recedes. “Thanks,” he groans, then glares at the corpse. “Let’s get out of here,” he groans.

“Just a minute,” Sir Colder says, and he bends down and begins unstrapping the torturous gauntlet from the corpse’s hand.

“Are you taking that?” exclaims Goer. “That is so gross.”

“It might be useful,” Sir Colder answers absently. The gauntlet is a mess of bloody dead tissue. Gingerly, he wraps it in a sack and puts it in his backpack.

“Do we continue?” asks Dahlia. She glances at Goer. “You were the one that wanted some action. Are you up for continuing, or should we rest?”

“Let’s go!” Sir Fwaigo replies. “I’m okay, thanks to you and Cedric.”

Lord Cedric claps him on the shoulder and leaves his hand there. “Good, my former thquire! We thall continue.” He rubs Goer’s shoulders for a moment in a very friendly way before withdrawing. “To the nextht houthe!”

“Hey, actually,” Dahlia points out, “that house has its door open.”

“I wonder if that means anything,” wonders Otis. “We should investigate- all of the rest of the buildings that we have seen have their doors shut. Perhaps Harth and his cronies opened the door while they were here.”

The party troops over to the house, but there is nothing unusual about it at a glance. After a thorough search, however, the party turns up a secret trap door.

“Well, well,” Lord Cedric crows. “We have thertainly found thomething!” He leans down and digs his fingers into the cracks around the edge of the trap door. With a manly groan he pulls the door open.

BOOOM!!!!

Next Time: What happened to Cedric? Plus: a tragic misunderstanding as our heroes find the missing villagers at last!


*To be precise: three spider swarms and three medium spiders.

 

[the Jester]

It's short, but it's an update.

***

Smoke boils up from the trap door. Flames lick up, engulfing Lord Cedric’s face. The stink of burnt hair and flesh wash over our startled heroes.

“AAAGHH!!” Lord Cedric cries, staggering back, blood pouring from his blackened lips. He claps a hand to his mouth and howls in agony- then spits out four of his front teeth into his hand!* “My fathe!” he cries. Frantically, he looks from one of his companions’ horrified face to another. “Argh, the pain! Pleathe, Goer, tell me- what hath happened to my fathe??”

His words are mushy and even harder to understand than normal.** Slowly, Cedric’s eyes fall to the teeth on his hand. Aghast, he gapes at them, the bloody jagged stumps in his mouth all too obvious to the others. Slowly, he runs his tongue over them.

After a moment, Cedric casts cure light wounds on his mouth to stop the bleeding. But his curative powers are not nearly strong enough to regrow his missing teeth. Then he growls, “Forthooth! Let uth now thee what lieth beneath thith trap door!” With a mighty kick, he knocks it open and drops down into the gloomy passage below. The others follow him.

They find themselves in a large cave, glistening with moisture. It measures about 25’ across by 30’ long; in the far end of the cave, a wide opening leads out. The whole thing is well-lit by a brightly-glowing rock in the middle of the floor.

“Look at that!” exclaims Sir Fwaigo. “A glowing rock!”

“It’s certainly not natural; there’s no fungus on it,” Dahlia opines.

“Clearly,” declares Otis Optimus, “it is the product of some of this time’s superior magic.” He shakes his head in wonder. “I wonder how long it will glow for?”

The party heads through the wide opening. This leads into a large area, well-lit by a multitude of glowing rocks similar to the one in the previous chamber. There are also glowing torch stubs and other small items set into the walls or scattered on the ground. Six large pavilion tents are set up around a huge central cavern- and about a dozen living, startled-looking people, mostly human, are scattered throughout the cave in small groups.


Next Time: A tragic misunderstanding occurs...

*He fumbled his save against the fire trap.

**And the roleplaying was fantastic.