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

[the Jester]

The poor man who tried to get our heroes to drink some wine has no chance. The fireball that the cloaked figure cast from one of its eyes killed him instantly. After all, it did not matter whether the party accepted the poisoned wine from the man; what mattered was only that he made the offer, that he tried to murder them, that he committed evil. Satisfied, the gleaming skull-faced, gem-eyed monster slew him with its right eye, and now it unleashes a wave of fear from its left.

Our heroes, meanwhile, have already unleashed a devastating volley of magic missiles and weapons at the monster. It looks undead; Cedric moves forward, determined to attempt to turn it and make it flee. To his surprise, he sees Sheriff Jorgen, Me and several of the peasants dash away in a panic. He changes his mind and casts remove fear instead. Meanwhile, the strange gemstone-eyed monster is caught in a grim cross fire of magic missiles between Adelle and Otis and is slammed into by Sir Colder and Benito. The monster staggers back, and a final volley of missiles from Otis destroys it.

“What was that thing?” exclaims Goer. “It was freaky!”

“You’re telling me,” Kyle agrees. “That fireball would have killed me if I hadn’t dived behind you!”*

Shakily, our heroes do some quick healing and then move on quickly. They wish to linger here for as short of a time as possible. Fortunately, the peasants avoided the worst of it; only Angora, their sheriff, died in the blast. Sheriff Jorgen sheds a tear for her; they had grown close over the last few weeks. Now... now she is gone.

But only a half hour later, another group of war machines appears from a side street, and another desperate battle breaks out. This time there are four of the constructs, rather than the trio that our heroes faced before, and they were enough trouble! Immediately, Otis unleashes a fireball, but the war machines are in a widely-separated skirmish formation, and he can only catch two of them. They close in on him swiftly, hitting the party in the flank, and Dahlia catches two of them with a heat metal.

Wisely, Kyle retreats to guard the peasants. But then, to his dismay, one of the war machines stabs Otis twice in the head! There is a shower of blood as the wizard is cut down! “Master!! No!!” Kyle screams.

Dahlia casts another heat metal, catching both of the other war machines. The party begins to move in and fight back, and Sir Percival gives a primal scream as he smashes one to pieces in two mighty blows!

Kyle dashes forward to where Otis lays on the ground. Is he alive? the apprentice wizard wonders hopefully. If he is, I have to save him! When he reaches his master’s body, though, he is forced to spring away from a war machine attack, and cannot even tell whether Otis is alive!

Another of the war machines tumbles over to Me and slices his leg with a sweeping blow, bowling him over. He lands on the smoking ruin of the war machine that he just destroyed, and then cries out as the war machine stabs him again.

Dahlia rushes over to Lord Cedric, who is trying to work his way forward but is impeded by peasants and the need to mount Thunderpuss.** “Cedric, wait!” she cries, and he reins in long enough for her to bless him with the strength of a bull. Thunderpuss rears back and kicks at the air; then, with a mighty roar of both horse and rider, Cedric and Thunderpuss charge forward, smashing into one of the war machines with his lance. The machine shudders back, smashed hard by the blow, and then flips nimbly out of the line of Cedric’s lance and into a fighting stance.

Sir Colder and Sir Jorgen are fiercely battling the war machine that is advancing on Sir Percival, which leaves only the one menacing the unmoving Otis and Kyle. Biting his lip, the lapidary-cum-adventurer darts in and grabs his master under the armpits. He strains with all his feeble muscles, and manages to start dragging him away.

Unfortunately for him, the war machine takes advantage of his burdened movement to run Kyle through. With a warbling cry, the apprentice joins the master in a state of rather profound immobility.

Meanwhile, the war machine facing Lord Cedric neatly unhorses him. With a surprised cry, Cedric crashes to the ground. His eyes widen as he sees another first break one of Me’s hands, then whirl around and cut Colder’s longspear in two! These machines are of consummate skill, he admits to himself. Aloud, he shouts, “We mutht redouble our effortth, my friendth! We cannot let thethe thingth thtop uth from thtopping Harth!” Then he snarls in dismay as the one that he is facing stabs Thunderpuss and neatly slices through a wide slab of muscle. The horse gives out an agonized whinny as blood fountains everywhere.

Me roars as he enters a rage and begins spring attacking, and Colder and Jorgen together bring down the one that they are facing. Even the peasants begin to get into the act, firing crossbows and shortbows at the war machines. A moment later Sir Colder manages to drop another! They are almost all gone-

“Look out!!” shouts Adelle. There is the whump of a fireball exploding down the same alley that the war machines came from. “Three more of them!”

Cedric laughs wildly and takes a quick swig off of his wineskin. “Let them come!” he sneers. “We thall overcome them with eathe!”

One of the newcomers tumbles up to Me and neatly disarms him. He roars and picks his weapon back up and begins smashing angrily at it. Over and over again he hits it; it crashes and stumbles back, until finally he crushes into a ruin of broken metal and smoking wires.

Meanwhile, Kyle’s raven familiar*** digs around in his gear, looking for potions. When it finally finds one, it pulls it free of his belt with its beak, carefully uncorks it and promptly spill it all over Kyle. But as the liquid seeps into his wound, tissues begin to knit. The flowing blood slows, then stops, as veins and arteries reconnect where they have been severed. Kyle’s eyelids flutter and he gasps as consciousness returns to him.

Dahlia begins healing the wounded as they fight, first Sir Colder, then Otis. Otis groggily pulls himself up. “Are you all right?” Dahlia asks the wizard.

“What? What’s happening?” Otis yells, looking somewhat confused. “Hello? HELLO?” He grimaces wildly. “Ahh, I’m deaf!!” His eyes widen as he sees the war machines, and he rises to his feet unsteadily and backpedals away a dozen feet. “KEEP YOUR DISTANCE!” he shouts. “THEY ARE VERY DANGEROUS!”

“We know,” groans Kyle. Dahlia heals Percival- Me- and then moves on to the apprentice wizard. “Thanks,” Kyle sighs, reveling in her touch as she uses her powers to knit his wounds. She doesn’t respond to his flirtations; not right now.

Me and one of the war machines keep struggling together, trading blows and cuts. Finally, the half-orc’s superior endurance and powerful rage wins the day, and Me drops yet another of the war machines. Sir Porthos and Sir Jorgen move together to charge into another, Jorgen using a lance while mounted and Porthos simply charging on foot with his sword.

Adelle curses one again at how spell resistant the things are and, out of magical resources, pulls out her sling. She whirls it around and fires, pegging one of them in the head with a bullet! The thing is already severely damaged, smoking and giving off sparks and leaking weird, oily fluids. The bullet smashes it flat, and the war machine struggles feebly to rise for a moment before going still.

The final machine whirls around madly, springing for Sir Jorgen and only narrowly missing him. But the angry Sir Percival rushes in and begins hacking, ignoring the pain of his broken hand completely, and in a few short seconds he crushes the last remaining war machine.

“Good gods!” moans Kyle. “That was a close one.”

“Clothe?” Lord Cedric scoffs. “We are triumphant, of courthe, ath I knew we would be. We thall overcome all oppothithion and defeat all of our enemies. With contempthuous eathe!”

“As you say, my Lord,” Goer sighs.

“Should we rest, or move on?” inquires Dahlia. “My magical resources are pretty well used up...”

“Perhapth we thould find a thuitable plathe to hole up,” nods Lord Cedric. “We could have a few drinkth.” He tousles Bates’ hair.

“Yes, let’s all keep our eyes peeled,” the sheriff agrees. The party walks along for some time through the blasted city, following the track of the Shadow Train. The sky remains that same dark maroon color the entire time.

“I wonder how that goes away?” remarks Sir Colder. He points at the sky. “What would get rid of it?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Adelle responds. She looks thoughtful for a few moments, then says, “The sky is a side effect of the spell engine destroying all magic not protected. It’s very powerful magic, epic magic in fact; it would require epic magic to destroy it. Either that, or you’d have to starve it.”

“You mean, if it sucked up all the magic in the land-“

“Unprotected magic. Exposed magic.”

Kyle is shocked by the thought. “Maybe that’s what happened! Maybe-“

“Almost certainly.” Otis' brow is furrowed in thought.

“Something else you should think about,” Benito says, “is your tickets. Do you have enough money to buy tickets for everyone to wherever we’re going?”

Puzzled, Goer says, “Buy... what? Tickets? What?”

“Surely you didn’t think that you could ride the Shadow Train for free.” Benito sounds surprised at the very thought.

”How much are thethe ticketth?” asks Lord Cedric.

“Oh, it depends,” Benito answers him. “Where are we going?”

“To the Isle of the Elves,” Sir Porthos answers. Everyone looks at him. “That is where Harth’s goal is.”

“But for now, we need to rest and recover our resources,” Dahlia reminds them. “Remember to keep your eyes open for somewhere that we can rest.”

“So we’re looking for something like... that?” Sir Colder points dramatically.

Ahead of the party is a very colorful building, painted yellow, red, green and blue. Out front, a sign shows an image of the masks of comedy and tragedy. The place looks largely intact.

“Why not?” shrugs Sir Colder.

The party moves to investigate.

Next Time: The Disparager!


*Kyle evaded. Hurray for rogue levels! Especially when your full hp total is 17 at 8th level...

**He actually failed his quick mount check. But you know, dramatic license and all.

***Similar, in many ways, to V’s raven familiar in Order of the Stick. :|

 

[the Jester]

The building, though at first glance abandoned, is clearly some kind of theater. There is a large stage, with props scattered about here and there. Rows of seats face the stage. The curtains are closed. Ropes and rigging dangle from the darkness above. The smell of corruption is as strong inside the building as it is outside.

Suddenly- dramatically- the curtains rise, and mocking laughter rings out through the theater.

“They look as tasty as the dead- and as stupid and slow!”

The voice rings out in the local tongue, but its tone is plain even to those of our heroes who cannot understand it. It comes from the shadows above. Somewhere in the rigging, thinks Dahlia.

Four figures, shambling, grey-skinned ghouls, emerge onto the stage, wheezing laughter. They are costumed brightly in a morbid parody of the theater they are in.

“Ghouls!” she shouts. “Watch out!” She casts barkskin on herself. The ghouls start to creep forward, and then the stench hits Dahlia and she wants to gag.

Sir Colder springs forward, stabbing violently at the closest undead with his longspear. He hits it in the chest, and it staggers back- and laughs. The stink assails him, as well; it makes his gorge rise. What foulness is this? he groans to himself. Behind him, Lord Cedric and Sir Fwaigo move in together, and suddenly the crash of battle is in full swing as our heroes and the hideously odiferous ghouls collide in a shower of violence. Our heroes have grown mighty, and- at least for now- none of them succumb to the paralysis threatened by every small wound the ghouls cause. And the stink! It is ghastly!

Cedric grins as he reaches the ghouls. “By the power of Clymorian!” he cries. “Turn away, foul creatureth!” With that, he channels positive energy, and the nearest pair of the undead cower back away from him. One of them turns to flee, and he cuts it down with his mighty sword, and a glad cry escapes his lips.

The voice cries down from above. “Witch-woman!” it sneers, “You with the tangled hair!” Dahlia stiffens. “You look as though your association with nature is as shallow as your veneer of civilization. I am surprised that you can cast a spell!” She gasps, somehow wounded by his barbed remarks. She bites her lip and gazes resentfully into the shadows.

Where is he? she wonders. She peers... is that a shape? Yes! In the rigging...

But he is too quick. Suddenly silence drops around her. She grimaces and takes a few steps away, until she can hear the battle again. “You want to see me cast a spell?” she yells, and hits him with a flame strike. The ropes he is hanging in burn up in a flash, and the figure- another ghoul, dressed in more fancy costume, drops from the rigging. But, to Dahlia’s surprise, he twists his body and hits the wall, then catches himself and clings to it.

Simultaneously, with the ropes that tied it back burnt away, a heavy bean bag swings out across the stage. Sir Colder dives down and it passes over him, narrowly missing his head. Lord Cedric, Sir Fwaigo and Sir Percival (Me) continue to duel the undead. Cedric slays one with a mighty blow of his blade; Me crushes another with his flail. Finally, he finishes the last one as well.

Cedric growls and hops off of the stage, striking a ready stance. “Thpread out tho that the varlet may not eathily catth uth all in a thpell!” he commands.

Meanwhile, the disparager- the last undead facing our heroes- titters and leaps into more of the rigging. Sir Colder shakes his head in disbelief.

“Fools! Welcome to the show!” the figure above them cries. “I am Xerthos, player of many parts, and I will feast on you all!”

“We have already thlain your lackeyth,” Lord Cedric points out, “and we thall thlay you nektht.”

With that, Dahlia casts another flame strike on Xerthos. The flames engulf the ghoul and the ropes holding him. This time, rather than twisting towards the wall, Xerthos gives a rabid scream and dives directly at Dahlia.

The stench hits her an instant before the bite. She vomits uncontrollably, staggering back; and if it weren’t for Me, she would probably be dead. But Sir Percival steps in, striking at the foul-smelling ghoul with his magical flail. He roars a challenge while Dahlia staggers away, gagging. The stench is horrific near Xerthos, making even Me fight a bout of strong nausea. But, though it is difficult in the extreme to effectively attack the ghoul in melee because of the strong odor, our heroes do manage to deal a significant amount of damage, and then Kyle finally kills Xerthos with a magic missile.

“That guy was a jerk!” exclaims Dahlia.

“Yeah, he kept spouting off mean stuff,” Sir Colder nods.*

Though the playhouse stinks of death and has a number of bodies in it, our heroes decide that it is as good of a place to rest as any. They clean a dressing room up enough that it doesn’t reek of carrion and proceed to get a few precious hours of sleep, banishing fatigue, at least for the moment.

***

“What we need,” Otis muses as they move along, “is a bank.”

“A bank, master?” Kyle is intrigued.

“Yes. Benito and Adelle have told us that we will need a great deal of money to take this ‘Shadow Train’. This city is probably not going to have a much better place to look for money than a bank.”

“That’s a very good point!” Kyle agrees.

All around them, rubble, debris, the dead. Destruction, ruin, craters, broken buildings, battered roads. Here and there a few scavengers. The maroon sky.

Colder shudders. What a terrible, terrible place, he thinks. What a terrible time. I hope we can really escape it. I would hate to be stranded here for the rest of my life...

The heroes find themselves paralleling a stinking canal full of fetid, foul water. This canal runs alongside the metal tracks that they is following. They continue along. After fifteen minutes or so, as they clamber along a large jumbled pile of rocks, several of them spot a figure hiding. They approach, and force a man out into the open. He is slender- scrawny, even- with shaggy brown hair. He has no shirt nor shoes. The only accoutrement he seems to have is a pair of tattered purple pants.

“Who are you?” demands Sir Fwaigo.

“My name is Banner,” the man replies sadly. “Please do not make me angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”

“We can handle ourselves just fine, thank you,” snorts Goer. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m... surviving. I’m a survivor of the war.” As he says this, he seems very sad.

“What’s up with you?” the perceptive Dahlia demands. “You seem... guilty.”

He looks at her. His eyes are green and as deep as the sea. For a long moment, he says nothing. Then, finally, he says, “This is all my fault.”

“What is?”

“This.” He gestures around at the ruin around them. “The death. The war. All of it.”

“How so?” asks Sir Porthos.

“I invented the gamma bomb,” Banner replies.

Next Time: Our heroes recruit- the Hulk!!


*Xerthos was a disparager- a prestige class, pretty much for bards, that gives them to ability to inflict penalties on their enemies by calling them names and such. Oh, and for the record, these were actually ghasts, not ghouls per se. Xerthos was a ghast bard 4/disparager 5.

 

[Alcar]

Typo

“Almost certainly.” Alcar’s brow is furrowed in thought.


Wrong story hour, gotcha hahahahaha.

 

[the Jester]

“Almost certainly.” Alcar’s brow is furrowed in thought.


Wrong story hour, gotcha hahahahaha.

Oops!

Nice catch, thanks!

 

[the Jester]

The Incredible Hulk!

“Maybe the elves were right about us,” Banner muses sadly. “We can’t be trusted. We reached too high. We sought out forbidden knowledge, sure in our hubris that we could handle the burden of knowing too much. But knowledge without wisdom...” He heaves a sigh. “Knowledge without wisdom led us here.” He gestures at the ruined city, stinking of death, stretching all around him. Everywhere there is devastation. Broken chunks of street and building form a massive pile of debris. The skeletons of the many city’s former houses and businesses stand on all sides, but as many do not stand, not any longer. The stench of decaying, rotten flesh fills the air everywhere, along with the stink of greasy fires elsewhere in the city. There are stranger aromas, too. The combination is the smell of defeat, of despair, of the collapse of a great society. The smell of the end.

Sheriff Jorgen shudders. “We have to find Sir Harth,” he mutters to himself. “We can’t let him do this to our time too!”

Wordlessly, Lord Cedric pulls out a bottle of looted whiskey and offers it to Banner. For a moment, the man seems to be considering it; then his face falls. “No,” he whispers. “I don’t dare. If I lose control...” He trails off, his face contorted in agony.

Cedric shrugs. “Thuit yourthelf,” he replies, taking a long pull from the bottle and passing it to Kyle. He tousles Bates’ hair. “Well, Banner, we are from another time, and we are in purthuit of a foul villain who theekth to take powerful weaponth from your war-ravaged time to ourth, whith ith a more peatheful, friendly time. Do you think it ith likely that your ‘gamma bombth’ are what he ith after?”

Banner’s expression twists in horror. “Science,” he whispers, “it could be. You have to stop him! If he-“

“We came back here to stop him,” Kyle interjects. “We’re quite aware of what the consequences could be if he succeeds. We can see.”

“And smell,” adds Dahlia.

“Can you help us?” asks the Sheriff.

“Him?” bursts out Adelle. “Help us? Didn’t you hear him? This is Banner!” Her face is growing red with fury. “He invented the gamma bomb! We don’t want his help!”

“She’s right,” Banner whispers morosely. “I-I’m trouble. I’m dangerous. You can’t trust me.” He stares down at his bare feet.

“Nonthenthe,” Lord Cedric answers magnanimously. “We will not leave anyone here in thith foul time. If you have been an evil man, you will be tried and punithed appropriately, but we will not leave a man behind that witheth to come forward with us.” He looks Banner in the eye. “If you can help uth, it will thpeak well of you.”

“I... you... all right. But... you must be careful. I am dangerous. I have been... exposed. Changed. By gamma radiation.”

“Oh, we’ve already fought some gamma mutant dogs,” Sir Fwaigo dismisses his concern. “We’ll be all right. But what do you mean? Can’t you control yourself when you change?”

“No,” he answers gravely. “I can’t. I can’t even remember what it’s like, to be... the Hulk.”

“The Hulk?” asks Sir Colder.

“That’s what they call his gamma form,” Benito snarls. “Cedric, are you sure about this? I don’t think that it’s wise-”

“I am thertain,” Lord Cedric lisps. Grumbling, Benito, Adelle and the villagers subside.

Joined by Banner, our heroes continue looking for a place to rest.

***

Eventually a ravaged house presents itself. It has no corpses inside of it, and though there are a few vermin within, they scatter as the party appears. Clearly, the scavengers in this ruined city have plenty of easier meat to eat than a large, well-armed group of adventurers (and peasants).

The party moves on under that flat maroon sky. It is maddening, oppressive; how long will it be until our heroes see sun or stars again, or even the blue of sky? Sir Fwaigo grits his teeth. This place angers and frightens him. To think that it was his ancestors, ultimately, that did this to themselves! And worse, to think of Sir Harth bringing the capacity to do this back to Kamenda- it is almost too much to bear.

“Hey, look,” calls Kyle, pointing up the road about a hundred yards. They hurry up to the place his is indicated. Ahead of them alongside the road is the remains of a cook fire and a recent camp. Multiple flat stones show greasy stains, and a pile of guts is on the ground. The remains of some kind of carcass lie a few feet away, but it has been stripped of its meat. Could this be a sign of Harth?

Sheriff Jorgen and Dahlia examines the scene. “This was a horse,” Dahlia announces. “It was slaughtered here. Those are its guts. You can see the blood splash from where they cut its throat.”

“Yeah, and they ate a meal and smoked up its meat,” adds the sheriff. “Whoever they were, they were low on provisions; they came in with one more horse than they left with.”

“Harth,” breathes Lord Cedric. “We almotht have him. Come! We mutht continue!”

The party continues following the metal track in the ground. The fetid canal remains off to their left side. As they move alongside it, something starts to move within the slimy water- something transparent, almost made of water itself. It separates and then there are two of them. They flow out and move swiftly towards their prey, intending to capture a prisoner for their masters.

“Look out!” cries Sir Colder as the things flow down towards the party. He can barely see them, but that just worries him more. Adelle fires a volley of magic missiles but can’t really tell whether they have any effect.

“Banner, stay back!” Benito barks. Then the first of the weird things slams into him- and grabs him! Benito gives a shout of dismay as he is dragged into a crushing, wet, cold embrace, and then worse- it engulfs him completely! He struggles within its form, but cannot free himself!

“What the hell are these things?” shouts Sir Fwaigo. “I can’t even see them!”

The other one rushes up onto Sir Percival- Me- and grapples him as well, trying to crush him into submission. Me gives out a great roar and goes into a blinding rage, struggling mightily to free himself! The creature crushes him mightily, but slowly he manages to force it to open its grasp and release him!

Dahlia, meanwhile, retreats far enough to be out of immediate danger and then outlines one of the creatures with faerie fire. It is revealed to be an undulant mass of four large tentacles joined to a central mound of thick, syrupy liquid. “Gross!” she exclaims.

Sir Colder retreats backwards. “Wizards to the fore!” he shouts. “Our weapons are useless here!”

“Shaboaths!” Ferick (the crotchety old man of the villagers) exclaims. “Beware, boys, they serve aboleths!”

The party redoubles their efforts, landing several blows on the creatures, but not having much effect. Benito is completely submerged within the body of the shaboath that has engulfed him, and though he struggles mightily, he cannot escape. Banner cries out, “No! Let him go!”- and rushes forward, trying to pull him free.

“Banner, NO!” shouts Adelle. “Get back! You know what will happen if they hurt you!”

“I can’t just let him die!” Banner shouts.

The shaboath swipes at him with a tentacle, knocking him back and bloodying his face. “Aargh!” Banner shouts, and collapses to his knees, shaking his head. He wipes his nose and shouts again. He seems to be swelling up, becoming larger. His skin darkens, turning green. The ragged remains of the purple pants that he is wearing tear further, until they resemble tattered shorts on his massively-enlarged frame. “RAGGGHH!!!” the Hulk roars. With a fierce glare, it turns back to the shaboath that hit Banner. “HULK SMASH!!!”

While it is distracted, observing the gamma transformation of Banner, Benito manages to burst free. He is gasping for air and bruised all over; clearly, the creature squeezed him fairly severely.

Our heroes watch in awe as the Hulk rushes in on the shaboath. The shaboath’s tentacles reach out and wrap around the Hulk, but the green goliath peels them off of him. Lord Cedric gives out a cry and rides in to flank the shaboath, striking with his flail.

The other Shaboath, meanwhile, engulfs Me completely. The pissblood doesn’t even have time to shout for help. Benito thrusts his ranseur into it over and over again, and Dahlia has called lightning to strike it. The combination proves to be too much, and finally the first shaboath falls!

Meanwhile, the Hulk is smashing the other one to bits. With a final push from Dahlia’s electric strike, it collapses into a pool of thick liquid too.

Leaving our heroes- and the Hulk.

The Hulk glares at the party. “HULK SMASH!!” he thunders. He takes a threatening step forward.

Our heroes back off. “Whoa, there, big guy, we just want to help,” Sir Colder says in his most soothing voice.

“Indeed!” cries Lord Cedric. “Would you like thome wine?”

“Not wine,” Dahlia says quickly. She pulls some biscuits out of her belt pouch. “Here, Hulk. Do you want a biscuit?” She offers it to him with a smile. The Hulk takes it, then sniffs it, then swallows it in a single gulp. He seems to be calming down, even shrinking a little bit. Soon he is Banner again.

“Wow,” says Goer, with feeling.

Next Time: The Bank Job!

 

[the Jester]

CURRENT PARTY ROSTER

Sir Fwaigo "Goer" Smith- fighter 8
Sir Colder- fighter 5/rogue 3
Lady Dahlia Laagos- elfblood druid 8
Sir Percival "Me"- half-orc barbarian 4/scout 4
Kyle Goldenbow- elfblood rogue 4/wizard 4
Sir Jorgen Boatwright, Sheriff of Whitewater- fighter 4/rogue 4
Sir Cedric Whitewater, Lord of Whitewater- knight 7
Otis Optimus- wizard 8

 

[the Jester]

Ahead of our heroes in the devastated city, a large building looms. It seems mostly intact, though it shows char marks and other signs of attack. The large doors are open, and even in the poor light provided by the sunless, maroon sky, our heroes perceive a sign on the awning out front that shows a stack of coins.

“A bank!” exclaims Benito.

“Maybe we can fund our tickets on the shadow train here,” Kyle suggests slyly.

“That sounds like a fine idea,” Otis smiles.

But when they enter the bank, the party finds that they are not the only ones who have had such an idea.

The interior is 100’ square, with a large lobby that measures 100’x80’. Oddly enough, three small wheeled hand carts are in the lobby. On the extreme left of the back side of the room is an open door that leads behind the counter, and in the space behind the counter is a stairway heading downward. “The vault should be down below,” Adelle opines. The party heads towards the door leading behind the counter.

Two stone statues rise up.

“Hey wait!” exclaims Goer in surprise. Sir Colder just grimaces and thrusts his spear forward, over his friend’s shoulder, but it barely scratches the statue. Still, a concerted attack by our heroes swiftly overwhelms the statues, leaving them shattered on the ground.

A figure starts to emerge from the stairwell. It starts upon spotting our heroes and quickly retreats back down the stairs.

“Orc!” Me cries happily.

Our heroes race down the stairs, but instead of a simple orc, they find themselves in a battle with a formidable orcish fighter, a sneaky halfling rogue and another four of the stone guardians! The battle is fierce, intense, harrowing; but our heroes seem blessed by good luck, and their enemies seem cursed by a malaise of bad luck. Add these together with a healthy dose of good strategy, and soon our heroes have taken the bank, slain most of the enemy and destroyed the statuary. The orc, rendered unconscious, is still alive.

“Kyle,” Otis says gravely, “let me see your spellbook.”

Reluctantly, the apprentice hands his tome over to his master. Otis scratches out Kyle’s grade- presently a D- and writes a C in its place. Kyle beams proudly. Then his practical side takes over, and he suggests a thorough search and inventory of the vault. It proves to measure about 50’ wide by 30’ deep and is lined with shelf after shelf of built-in, elaborately-sculpted boxes. Adelle explains that these are boxes that people would rent and keep valuable items hidden within. At one end, a thick door has been drilled through by the orc and halfling, but another, inner door still remains. It does not look like the robbers had had any luck with it whatsoever. It seems to be built from some kind of weird greenish, metallic-looking material that feels almost like cloth. Some fruitless moments trying to open us turn our heroes to more easily available loot.

Of the most interest are the bags and bags of cash easily available. There is far more wealth than the heroes have ever seen before; there are literally thousands of gold pieces.

Benito and Adelle, on the other hand, think that it’s a pretty petty amount of cash.

Nonetheless, everyone is aware that having plenty of money might help ensure a successful train ride. Therefore, they gather up the loot and load themselves, the peasants and the mounts with all that they can find. A lengthy, strenuous effort finally pries open one of the secure, built-in boxes in the outer vault, only to find- papers.

“Utheleth,” Lord Cedric says in disgust.

The party revives the orc, whose name turns out to be Grulthug. At first he is defiant; but upon learning that his partner, the halfling, is dead, he nearly breaks down in tears. The party questions him, but he is just what he seems: an opportunist, taking advantage of the moment of chaos that he has found himself in. He and the halfling were burglars; in recent weeks, they had gained control of the stone guardians by means of a special ring, which- with the guardians now smashed to rubble- is now useless.

Unless I can learn from it, Otis thinks hungrily. Visions of himself, at the head of a massive band of mobile statues, dance through his head.

However, our heroes get the real payoff from the orc when they inquire about Sir Harth. They describe him and his band, and immediately, Grulthug replies, “Oh, I saw a beholder not long ago. Within the last week or twelve days. We didn’t dare approach, of course.”

“Where?” demands Goer. “Where did you see them?”

“Further towards the center of the city.”

“They’re still ahead of us,” Dahlia laments.

“We’re catching up,” Sheriff Jorgen answers grimly. “It won’t be long.”

In the end, the party not only lets Grulthug live, they even return some of his gear to him. “Good luck,” Me rumbles to him with a smile as the party hurries along. Before long, a small branch of the canal just ahead of them runs into what appears to be a very large bath house. The scum-choked water must have once been clear and fresh, but now the bath house is filled with a disgusting mess of algae, mold and corpses and body parts, some of them floating in the water.

“I bet there are ghouls in there,” Dahlia grimaces.

“Forget them.” Sir Fwaigo shakes his head. “We need to stay focused on Harth.”

“Yeah, I want to get home,” Kyle complains. “This era is horrible!”

The party moves past the bath house, ignoring the ghouls feasting within. They move along for about another half hour, passing down shattered avenues replete with the remains of rich storefronts. The metal tracks in the ground that they are following continue inexorably forward.

And suddenly, with a shout, a figure that several of our heroes recognize as one Sir Helios (one of Sir Harth’s men) rides forth, a longspear couched like a lance, and leads a handful of obviously haggard- and mutated- men-at-arms from Harth’s entourage in a surprise charge on our heroes.

Next Time: Sir Helios comes with a big green surprise!

 

[the Jester]

This is the test, thinks Lord Cedric grimly, as he heaves his bastard sword from its scabbard. Here is where we find out where Sir Porthos’ loyalties really lie!

Indeed, for the ambush that our heroes have walked into was set by Porthos’ former master, Sir Harth- Harth, the traitor. Harth, archenemy of all of our heroes. Harth, the very reason that the party has come here, to this devastated time, where the sky is a featureless cloud of maroon and all sanity seems to have vanished.

Sir Porthos seems caught by surprise. His mouth hangs open in stupefaction. So long as he does not betray us, Cedric thinks, I shall assume his good faith remains.

Then the Lord of Whitewater is distracted as Otis calls out strange, mystical syllables; and suddenly a fireball explodes all around the knight and the onrushing enemies closest to him! They scream and cry in agony as flames lick over them. Sir Helios’ horse whinnies in fear, but dancing out of the way of the blast, behind a large chunk of rubble, then continues to push forward. The mutant men-at-arms howl in agony even as they advance through the flames.

“A nice start!” Sir Colder declares, setting his spear and thrusting into the closest mutant with a feral grin.

Then there is a loud roar, and everyone jerks their attention to Sir Helios.

Though his mount evaded the blast, he did not. Now, wounded, he roars, shaking his head- and starts to grow. He topples from the saddle as his stirrups burst, and he drags himself up to his feet, still roaring. Somehow, he no longer looks as though he will fit on the back of his mount. His armor’s straps stretch and snap; rivets pop. In several places, the metal plates seem to pinch themselves solidly into his flesh, making his anger- and his form- grow. His blond hair shades to a deep swamp green; his skin grows murky, first brown, then grey, and then a jade color.

Sir Helios faces our heroes, a huge, green goliath full of rage.

Adelle cries out a curse, stepping quickly back. “Don’t let him get too close to you, he’s a gamma mutant!” she cries. “Like Banner!” She casts a fireball of her own, and the blast catches Helios, his mount and one of the mutants. The blast throws the mutant down in a sizzling pile of roasted flesh, but both Sir Helios and his horse manage to withstand the blast.

Two of the mutants, their skin covered in strange, seeping blisters, limp forward eagerly towards Otis and Sir Fwaigo. Though they themselves are filthy and unkempt, it is quite clear that they have taken fine care of their bastard swords: the blades shine in the light of the flames from the fireballs.

Kyle backs away nervously, casting mage armor on himself. Then he casts another spell, more complex: invisibility. Suddenly he is gone! The mutants are a little startled, but they are also a little distracted, as the leading edges of the two parties crash into one another. Lord Cedric cries out, “Thir Helioth, thurrender! Harth hath betrayed you all! Throw down your armth and we will thow merthy and help you find your way back home!” The front line fighters of the party- Me, Goer, Jorgen, Colder, Cedric, Benito- stand as a wall, thrusting, cutting, blocking and dodging the blows of the mutants. Inevitably, some get through, and several of our heroes takes wounds. Sir Helios is near the front rank of the enemy troop, though the incredible transformation that he has undergone seems to have slowed his advance for a moment. Now Me steps forward, swinging his magic mace at the great form of the irradiated knight, and lands a telling blow.

But Sir Helios just roars and punches Me with a mighty, mighty blow. Me is knocked sprawling, and barely drags himself up to avoid another blow! Spinning, he swings his mace again, but Sir Helios jerks his arm out of the way.

Biting his lip, Otis hurls another fireball at the battle. This time, he comes inches away from hitting Sir Percival- Me- with it. But the wizard does not care. If a simple dog mutated by this ‘gamma’ sorcery was so dangerous, he thinks grimly, how much more deadly will a trained knight be??

The flames wash over Sir Helios, his mount and a mutant. This time, to Otis’ delight, the horse drops to the ground, its skin blackened and cracked! Otis cackles, but his face falls when he sees the brute rage written all over Helios’ giant green face. He starts to move away, stopping long enough to cast a maximized magic missile at the hulking agent of Harth. He’s still going! Otis thinks in disbelief. That, on top of three fireballs... He shouts, “We have to take out the knight, now!!”

“Surrender, Helios, my friend!” Sir Porthos cries at last. “Please! Do not make us slay you!”

Sir Helios just throws back his head and roars loudly, an earth-shaking roar that can probably be heard a mile away. It makes everyone’s ears ring for a moment.

Lord Cedric, meanwhile, manages to draw back to a well-defended position and begins magically healing Sir Percival. The blow that Helios dealt him was remarkable. If Me were smart enough to feel the full effects of the blow, it might even have killed him!

Several of the mutant men-at-arms, laughing wickedly, begin to close in on the peasantry. Though most of them cringe back and start to retreat, Bates- the lad of 13 summers with whom Lord Cedric has been getting awfully chummy- pulls out a dagger and stands his ground bravely. “Leave my people alone!” he cries.

Dannelle, Adelle’s sister, steps up with a club. “Yes, leave us alone,” she says bravely. She shakes the club in her hand. “Or else we’ll beat you!”

The mutants laugh and attack, but both Bates and Dannelle stand their ground and fight!

Meanwhile, the other mutants have found themselves no match for the fury of Jorgen, Goer and Colder. The three of them together easily slay the mutants facing them, then turn to race to the aid of the peasants.

Watching all of this, Banner clenches his fists tightly. He retreats, but slowly, gradually letting the peasants move away from him... just in case.

Just in case, he thinks sickly. Just in case. Please let them stop him before anyone... before anyone dies. His head swims. His pulse begins to pound. Fear, anxiety, anger all build within him. No! he tells himself. I have to stay calm. I have to! It’s too dangerous! He continues to move slowly away, breathing deeply, trying to relax himself.

But it is almost more than he can take when Sir Helios charges forward at Benito, ignoring the thrust that the warrior lands in his torso on the way. Helios’ fist- the size of an anvil- cleaves through the air and smashes into Benito’s face.

His head veritably explodes.

Benito falls to the ground, clearly- undeniably- dead.

“BENITO!!! NOOOOO!!!!” cries Adelle. With an incoherent shout of rage and grief, she fires another volley of magic missiles into Helios, and the jade juggernaut gives another roar of pain. He turns to face her, shaking his fists and giving a great, wordless scream at her. “Come on, then!!” she screams back, tears flowing down her face. “COME ON!!!”

“Adelle, no!” shouts Otis.

“Do not worry, Otith!” Lord Cedric cries. “For even thith beatht ith no matth for the power of Clymorian!” And with that, he begins to intone a prayer to his god. Sir Helios is advancing on Adelle when Cedric gestures at him, and he simply freezes in place.

“Quickly!” cries Cedric. “I am not thertain how long my powerth will hold him!”

“In a moment, my lord!” cries Goer, running the last mutant through. “There, that’s better!”

Everyone converges on Sir Helios. Sir Porthos cries, “Please, surrender!”

“He’s too dangerous!” shouts Sir Colder, charging up and stabbing Helios viciously. “If we don’t kill him, he’s going to kill us- even if he doesn’t want to! Look at that!!” He gestures at the large, unmoving green form. “It’s so strong that we have to kill it, or it will certainly come out and kill us at some point!”

What does that say about me? Banner wonders coldly. The Hulk is even stronger than this thing. He shudders. His stomach is full of butterflies.

Sir Percival and Sir Jorgen both charge in, striking with all their might. But Sir Helios is healing very, very quickly. As hard as they hit him, they cannot finish him off! Frantic sword and spear and mace blows do no better. Suddenly Kyle appears, as he launches an arrow into the held enemy’s kidney.

Then, of all people, young Bates springs forward. Instead of blind thrusts and cuts such as everyone else has tried, he quickly scales the bulky green form, and simply draws his dagger across its neck. Blood begins to pour out. At first it is green. Then Bates gives a cry of surprise as his footing shifts, and he falls off of the shrinking form of Sir Helios, who is returning to his normal form- with his throat most assuredly cut.

“Well done, lad!” cries Goer, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’ll make a fine squire some day!”

Bates beams at him. Covered in blood, scared for his life- but alive. And more: he is triumphant. He made the kill. Even if he should never again do anything worth speaking of in his life, he deserves a song for that one!

Adelle, on the other hand, is inconsolable. She and the other villagers mourn for Benito, and everyone pitches in to build him a cairn. Clearly, he was someone who meant a lot to them. Before they lay him out, they spend a long time debating whether to take his gear, but in the end, they decide that they really have no choice. It could be the difference between life and death, and as Kyle points out, if they all die, then Benito died in vain. The group piles stones high atop his corpse, many of them weeping as they do. Otis is impatient to move on, but Dahlia shushes him until the burial is done. The scavengers will just dig him out soon enough, he thinks, but wisely, the wizard says nothing.

After it is over, they move on, looking out for a place to rest. They are bone-weary, but the city is so pulverized that they cannot find a suitable place that does not reek of death. “This place sucks,” Sir Fwaigo says, for perhaps the hundredth time. “Do you think we have enough money to buy passage for everyone on the train?” He looks at Adelle.

She shrugs. “I don’t know exactly.”

“Is there any reason why we can’t just overpower the train?”

She stares at him as if he were insane. “Yes,” she answers.

After a moment, Goer asks, slightly annoyed, “Why?”

“First of all, do you know how to drive the Shadow Train?” She shakes her head. “Do you know how to get where we want to go?”

Goer’s face falls. “Good point,” he is forced to admit.

“Wait!” Dahlia exclaims. “Listen!” Everyone falls silent for a moment.

“What the hell?” Sir Colder sputters. “Do you hear that? Is it- it is!” He looks at his friends. “There is a party going on.”

“What?” Sheriff Jorgen is astonished. “A party? Here? Now?”

“I hear it too,” Dahlia nods.

“I think it’s coming from over here,” Kyle declares, and leads the others to a nearby building that has not been blasted to smithereens. With some effort, they manage to find a crack that they can look through, and to their surprise, they see dozens of people inside through the windows, having a great deal of drink and merriment. Platters of food are interspersed throughout the room, with pitchers of various drinks out in abundance.

There is a sign on the building’s front. In Palantian, it reads, “The Party that Never Ends”.

“Who could they be?” wonders Dahlia.

”Who cares?” Goer shrugs. “They aren’t Harth, and they aren’t the Shadow Train. That means that they’re a distraction.”

“What if we can rest in there?” Colder counters. “We need to get some sleep, and heal some.”

“Do you think it’s more likely that we’ll be able to rest in there, or that we’ll find some kind of trouble?” Goer returns.

After another few moments of debate, the group moves on, ignoring the party house. Goer is probably right. It is probably more trouble than it is worth. They walk along for another ten minutes. Then Colder exclaims and points to the side, where a huge building, probably 400’ square, looms. A large empty lot dotted with craters is next to it, and multiple large, colorful signs adorn the place, showing both colorful images of people holding a large variety of food and the characters of the Palantian alphabet.

“That thing is bigger than most castles,” Sir Porthos says. He sounds impressed.

“What is it?” wonders Sir Colder.

“It’s a greater market,” Bates explains. “It’s where you would go to get food.”

“What do the signs say?” asks Kyle.

“The City’s Farm- that’s the name of the place. That’s the big one, there.” He points. “And to the right, it says, ‘Where All Your Food Needs Are Met’. On the left it says ‘Farm Fresh Produce Every Day!’”

“So it’s a big market? All for food? Do you think there’s anything left in there?” Sir Colder inquires.

“Well, I assume that survivors would have gone to the greater markets, but they’re pretty big. There’s probably something, at least in jars and cans.”

“What do you think, my lord?” Colder asks Lord Cedric. “I could go scout it out and take a look around.”

Cedric nods. “Yeth, we might have need of thupplieth. Food, or liquor. Thtrong drink! Yeth, keep your eyeth out for thtrong drink!”

“As you say, my lord,” Colder bows his head. Then he moves into the front of the great market.

Everyone waits for a few minutes. The building is huge. “Colder could be in there for quite a while,” Kyle murmurs. “I wonder if they have anything... interesting... in there.”

Otis shoots him a dark look.

”I was just wonderin’!” he says defensively.

Still, no Colder.

Suddenly Otis’ weasel familiar* starts freaking out, making strange noises and clinging tightly to Otis. “Colder is in trouble,” the wizard announces.

“Of course he’s in trouble,” groans Goer.

Next Time: Colder’s in trouble! Will he make it to the Shadow Train? Because, somebody will!

*Similar to the raven familiar in Order of the Stick, apparently.

 

[Alcar]

Dah

It was fun playing a deaf wizard... for a few.

Don't you forget, I did most of my communication thanks to lip reading.

STOP IT.. DON'T

 

[Alcar]

Stuff

Did Sir Helios' pants turn purple when he "hulked out"?