Menu
News
All News
Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
Pathfinder
Starfinder
Warhammer
2d20 System
Year Zero Engine
Industry News
Reviews
Dragon Reflections
Columns
Weekly Digests
Weekly News Digest
Freebies, Sales & Bundles
RPG Print News
RPG Crowdfunding News
Game Content
ENterplanetary DimENsions
Mythological Figures
Opinion
Worlds of Design
Peregrine's Next
RPG Evolution
Other Columns
From the Freelancing Frontline
Monster ENcyclopedia
WotC/TSR Alumni Look Back
4 Hours w/RSD (Ryan Dancey)
The Road to 3E (Jonathan Tweet)
Greenwood's Realms (Ed Greenwood)
Drawmij's TSR (Jim Ward)
Community
Forums & Topics
Forum List
Latest Posts
Forum list
*Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
D&D Older Editions
*TTRPGs General
*Pathfinder & Starfinder
EN Publishing
*Geek Talk & Media
Search forums
Chat/Discord
Resources
Wiki
Pages
Latest activity
Media
New media
New comments
Search media
Downloads
Latest reviews
Search resources
EN Publishing
Store
EN5ider
Adventures in ZEITGEIST
Awfully Cheerful Engine
What's OLD is NEW
Judge Dredd & The Worlds Of 2000AD
War of the Burning Sky
Level Up: Advanced 5E
Events & Releases
Upcoming Events
Private Events
Featured Events
Socials!
Twitch
YouTube
Facebook (EN Publishing)
Facebook (EN World)
Twitter
Instagram
TikTok
Podcast
Features
Top 5 RPGs Compiled Charts 2004-Present
Adventure Game Industry Market Research Summary (RPGs) V1.0
Ryan Dancey: Acquiring TSR
Q&A With Gary Gygax
D&D Rules FAQs
TSR, WotC, & Paizo: A Comparative History
D&D Pronunciation Guide
Million Dollar TTRPG Kickstarters
Tabletop RPG Podcast Hall of Fame
Eric Noah's Unofficial D&D 3rd Edition News
D&D in the Mainstream
D&D & RPG History
About Morrus
Log in
Register
What's new
Search
Search
Search titles only
By:
Forums & Topics
Forum List
Latest Posts
Forum list
*Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
D&D Older Editions
*TTRPGs General
*Pathfinder & Starfinder
EN Publishing
*Geek Talk & Media
Search forums
Chat/Discord
Menu
Log in
Register
Install the app
Install
Community
Playing the Game
Story Hour
(Cydra) The Year 271 Campaign (Low Magic experiment)
JavaScript is disabled. For a better experience, please enable JavaScript in your browser before proceeding.
You are using an out of date browser. It may not display this or other websites correctly.
You should upgrade or use an
alternative browser
.
Reply to thread
Message
<blockquote data-quote="the Jester" data-source="post: 2882204" data-attributes="member: 1210"><p><strong>Finale: New Year's Eve</strong></p><p></p><p>Sir Cedric moves as quickly as he can. The horses are taken. He moves off on foot, clanking along as quickly as he can in his heavy armor. He is huffing and puffing after a mile, but he perseveres, jogging through the night. </p><p></p><p>Somehow he manages to avoid loose rocks, snagging roots and potholes that might trip him. Despite the darkness, despite his quick pace, Sir Cedric makes good time and avoids injury. Soon dawn is cracking over the eastern horizon. Bone-weary, Sir Cedric nonetheless continues moving on until he finds an outlying farm, whose owner is surprised and happy to make so much money for an old nag of a horse like that. But the important thing is that Sir Cedric is now mounted, and on an unfatigued mount at that! They eat up some more miles, and finally in late afternoon Cedric halts and collapses into exhausted sleep for a few hours. </p><p></p><p>When he wakes up, it’s evening. He rides a few more hours, risking two hours of darkness; but progress is slow and the horse is tired. </p><p></p><p>Dawn seems an eager knight riding hard, and it’s not long before the city of Kamenda comes into view. In the early afternoon, Sir Cedric reaches the walls, where he gives the pass word and moves in, quickly seeking an audience with his father, Sir Martin.</p><p></p><p>“My son!” Martin cries, upon receiving him. “We had feared the worst!” He clasps Cedric to him for a moment. A glimmer of water forms in the corner of his eye. He straightens and blinks it away. “Dahlia returned alone, and told us of Harth and the terrible creature with him.”</p><p></p><p>“Father, he hath my friendth! We mutht go to their aid!” Cedric exclaims.</p><p></p><p>“Of course, my son, we will.” Sir Martin’s face is grim. “We are mustering right now. It will take us another couple of days to get a force big enough to deal with that monster. We may fail entirely. But we will make our best attempt- and, with any luck, we will destroy Sir Harth for good this time.”</p><p></p><p>“And what of Dahlia, father? You thaid that you had thpoken to her?”</p><p></p><p>“Yes. She told us that Sir Harth had captured all of you, and only she had been able to escape. She told us that he planned to sacrifice all of you on New Year ’s Eve. We began summoning men to fight almost immediately. But she is not here. She flew away- perhaps to Whitewater- to plan and heal.”</p><p></p><p>Sir Cedric paces unhappily. “We mutht thuctheed,” he says. “We mutht rethcue them.” </p><p></p><p>“We will do our best,” Sir Martin replies stoically. </p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Time is running short. Days slip past, and the New Year is starting to peek our from beyond the horizon. When they have just enough time left, Sir Martin and Sir Cedric lead out all the troops they have managed to gather- about two hundreds of men. It is a considerable force of soldiers, but many of them are barely-trained rabble. About half are veterans that fought in the most recent war with Tydon. They march forth with deadly serious intent. It is a journey of three days to get to the Ghost Tower, and the afternoon is getting deep when the army arrives. </p><p></p><p>The ruins of the tower and its surrounding wall look uninhabited as they march towards it.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Behind the walls around the tower, the beholder squints, narrowing the focus of its <em>disintegrate</em> beam until it bores a hole just begin enough for one of its small eyestalks to fit into. It drills other pairs of holes here and there along the walls as well, then inserts the appropriate eyes and begins laying the groundwork for the oncoming force’s destruction.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Beams of light shoot out as the army approaches, and the army halts and sets up a shield wall. There is no obvious effect, and after a minute, the army begins advancing closer to the wall. The lead members of the army- whom the rays from the eyes are continuing to bathe- approach the holed walls in several opportune areas. </p><p></p><p>Then-</p><p></p><p>Suddenly, most of the men who have been bathed in the eye rays turn on their fellows and begin to attack. There is a cry of fear as the noteworthy knight Sir Brand begins laying into the rabble he leads with his great axe. </p><p></p><p>“What’s happening!” cries someone near Sir Cedric. </p><p></p><p>“It mutht be the rayth of light!” Sir Cedric snaps his fingers. “We mutht path beyond the wall, quickly!”</p><p></p><p>The army is in disarray, unfortunately. The unexpected turning on their fellows by a dozen of the first wave- and more every moment- is not encouraging to the soldiers. The rays continue to bathe the uncharmed folk, turning more allies to enemies. The press of people starting to move back pushes Cedric away from the walls. He howls in frustration, then forces his way forward. </p><p></p><p>A cloud of living terror boils out through the portcullis, where another score men are bringing a huge ram up to batter their way in. Screaming in fear, they begin to retreat from it, backing off for a few paces, and then turning and fleeing in abject terror.</p><p></p><p>The eye beams stop for a few moments, only to resume again from somewhere else. The army begins to disintegrate as people turn to stone and disintegrate where the beams touch them. More men are turning on each other. The sound of steel clashing on steel and the coppery smell of blood fill the air. </p><p></p><p>Things look very ugly indeed.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Dahlia wings her way beneath a grey sky, heading south and west from Castle Laagos. The clouds overhead are ominous and threatening. The Rise of Battle (once called Inverness) comes into view as evening starts to roll in. A large cloud of dust- as if from a sizeable group of travelers, or a battle- is atop it, near the Ghost Tower.</p><p></p><p>Dahlia circles at a distance, then banks to her left and closes the distance between her and the tower, intending to fly in close enough to get a good look at the situation. But she squawks and banks away again when the beholder comes into view. Bodies and statues of men dot the area near the Ghost Tower, and there is bloody combat where men have seemingly turned on one another. Her stomach twists at the carnage. <em>Things have gone very, very wrong,</em> she thinks in despair. </p><p></p><p>From the air she spies Sir Cedric. She lands near him and transforms into her true form, then hurries over to the knight. </p><p></p><p>“Dahlia!” he cries. </p><p></p><p>“What’s happening?” she asks grimly.</p><p></p><p>“Thith beatht ith overcoming the entire forthe! It guardth actheth to the tower and our friendth! None can approach it without being dethtroyed by itth eye beamth!”</p><p></p><p>Dahlia settles her sight on the beholder. “I’ll do what I can against that thing,” she says, filled with trepidation. She extends her hands and begins making pulling gestures at the sky, muttering to herself like a crazy old hermit. After a long moment there is a flash of lightning as a bolt descends from the looming clouds overhead and strikes the beholder. It gives a harsh cry of surprise and begins heading towards her.</p><p></p><p>“Save our friends!” Dahlia urges Sir Cedric. She begins calling another bolt at the beholder, and with a crack of thunder another lightning bolt zigzags down from the sky to strike it! The stink of ozone fills the air as the beholder grimaces. It is smoking and small electric arcs are still playing over it as it roars and begins firing eye rays at Dahlia. She resists disintegration and death, but the pain of the beams is almost overwhelming. She throws off attempts to petrify her, to make her flee in fear, to charm her. More rays stab out in other directions, charming, petrifying and killing more soldiers.</p><p></p><p>A ray blasts into Sir Cedric and he grits his teeth and staggers, wounded. Another hits him and he falls to the ground asleep. And at last, Dahlia’s luck runs out. A brilliant ray of energy stabs out from one of the eyestalks and hits her in the center of her torso. Dahlia groans and falls. </p><p></p><p>“We can’t hold!” one of the soldiers cries. He throws down his spear and shield and turns to flee. Observing him, the men next to him start to retreat as well. Another man starts to exhort them to firm up, and a ray from the beholder turns him to stone.</p><p></p><p>It’s a rout.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Dahlia’s eyes flutter. She is very uncomfortable and sore, and seems to be in a strange position. She-</p><p></p><p>Her eyes fly open. </p><p></p><p>She is tied up, hands behind her back. She glances around her. Night has fallen. The stars are out, winking down from above. Her friends, similarly bound, are here as well. </p><p></p><p>Dahlia tries to <em>wild shape,</em> but she can’t. The beholder glares at her balefully. Somehow it is negating her powers! </p><p></p><p>Sir Harth stands at the head of a circle of thirteen cultists. A number of glassy-eyed soldiers are there as well, clearly in the beholder’s thrall. One of the cultists holds a pair of leashes that lead to a pair of elfblood youths. The treacherous knight smirks in the light of the torches that the cultists hold, their flames whipping in the wind. The night is cold. </p><p></p><p>“What’s going on?” groans Dahlia. </p><p></p><p>“It looks like Sir Harth has captured us, and is about to perform his ritual.” Sir Colder looks pained. </p><p></p><p>“You fools thought to deprive me of the elf by turning him over to the Keepers,” Sir Harth says suddenly. His voice is loud and mocking. “But we have figured out another way to open the gate. Two elfbloods, with as much elf as possible in them, should suffice. Ahh, my friends, you will witness a great thing tonight!” He grins, walking towards them. Gravel crunches under his boots. “And then, of course, you will die.”</p><p></p><p>Sir Cedric spits at Harth. For an instant the smirk on his face is replaced by a look of malevolence so dark that all of our heroes quail. Then he smiles again and sighs, “Ah, Sir Cedric.” He paces for a moment. Then he turns to the cultists and says, “Come. And bring them.”</p><p></p><p>“What is this ‘great thing’ you want us to witness?” Sir Fwaigo demands. </p><p></p><p>“You will see,” Harth gloats.</p><p></p><p>The soldiers herd our heroes down one of the stairwells surrounding the tower, and soon they are in the chamber in which the mysterious door stands. Sir Harth now has all four pieces of the key, and he presses them, one by one, into the door. There is a thrum of power. With a loud grinding sound, the door slides open.</p><p></p><p>Beyond the mysterious metal door is a 40’ square room with but a single feature: a large archway set into the far wall. </p><p></p><p>The cultists begin unpacking certain unsavory items and set up an altar before the arch. Slowly they decorate it with odd oils and light pungent incenses. A vague, nearly-formless lump of black stone is placed as the centerpiece. Our heroes watch in horrified fascination. The room grows smoky from the thuribles, and their eyes begin to sting and water. There is something strange in the smoke that makes everyone’s head swim.</p><p></p><p>Sir Harth has donned cult robes over his armor and has taken up a long dagger made of what appears to be glass. He and the cultists begin a dark ritual. The soldiers stand behind the party, ready to slay them if they try anything tricky. Sir Cedric scowls helplessly as they take the elfblood youths and prepare them for sacrifice, to spill their blood over the altar and the archway. He struggles against his bonds, but to no avail: a master ropesman has tied these knots. A few blows from the mailed fist of the soldier stops his struggles for the moment.</p><p></p><p>The youths are heavily drugged to prevent their struggling. The first is brought next to the arch. Harth’s glass knife rises and slashes out. Blood sprays over the space beneath the arch, splattering the wall into which the arch is set. </p><p></p><p>Immediately there is a flare of orange light. A vertical line of blazing orange suddenly bisects the arch’s space. </p><p></p><p>The cultists bring the other youth forward. </p><p></p><p>Something wet lands on Cedric, and there is a soft <em>thump</em> behind him. A hand steals across his mouth, urging him to silence, and he can feel a blade cutting through the ropes that hold him tied. He turns his head. A lithe, small figure he does not recognize is seemingly freeing him. She is cowled; her face is only half-visible. </p><p></p><p>Sir Cedric does not question his good fortune. She steals away and, as Cedric watches in amazement, she slits another soldier’s throat from behind without being seen. Then she begins to free Kyle...</p><p></p><p>Sir Cedric smiles and quickly takes the spear from the slain guard behind him. The guards are just starting to realize that something is going wrong as Sirs Cedric and Jorgen lead the attack!</p><p></p><p>But simultaneously, Sir Harth, that villain, has slit the other youth’s throat. Blood splashes across the archway and the space beneath it, sizzling and smoking. Orange light spills out as the line begins to widen like an opening door. Churning, eye-burning light flows forth. The sound of Sir Harth’s laughter rings out maniacally.</p><p></p><p>Then the battle is on, as the soldiers struggle to stop our heroes from bursting free at the last moment. Sir Harth cries out, “You’re too late!” He and his cultists- along with the beholder- move towards the blazing, stomach-churning light beneath the archway. </p><p></p><p>“Stop them!” the lithe figure that freed Sir Cedric cries. She fires a trio of arrows from her bow, his fingers a blur. But it’s too late. The villains escape into the light.</p><p></p><p>She exclaims musically in Elven.</p><p></p><p>“Who are you?” demands Sir Jorgen.</p><p></p><p>She throws back her cowl. She is an elf! Our heroes gape, but she answers none of their questions for the moment. Instead, she cries, “Make ready! This is not over yet!” She gestures. “The villains kept your gear over there. You likely only have a few moments before the elves return. You must be ready to fight them!”</p><p></p><p>“Fight them?” Kyle says incredulously. But most of the party is already sprinting for the pile of equipment that the elf woman indicated. </p><p></p><p>“They have changed in their exile,” she replies ominously.</p><p></p><p>The party straps armor into place and grabs up weapons. The elf nocks an arrow and stands in a position of almost unbearable tension. As the party moves back towards her, she cries, “Hurry! I can see them coming!”</p><p></p><p>“We’ve only met one of your kind before, and he was-” Kyle starts, but the elf interrupts him.</p><p></p><p>“Hurry!! They come!!” </p><p></p><p>“But they’re elves, right?” persists Kyle. “Can’t we talk to them, or...”</p><p></p><p>He trails off in horror as a half dozen figures emerge from the archway. Yes, they are humanoid; but their resemblance to the elf that came out of nowhere to help them ends there. </p><p></p><p>But our heroes have seen them before. Oh, yes. </p><p></p><p>Awkward-looking and unnatural, with the odor of a sick room clinging to them, the creatures are wearing resinous armor and carrying odd ribbon-dagger weapons. The smell brings it back more forcefully than anything: <em>the cyst at Goblin Gorge.</em></p><p></p><p>The elf is already grimly firing arrows into them. “Stop them!” she cries. “Don’t let them come through!”</p><p></p><p>Our heroes charge to the attack. The battle is brief and furious. The creatures can unleash mind-twisting powers that stun or blind. They can create clouds of hypnotic vapor. Their weapons leave nasty cuts. </p><p></p><p>But our heroes, together with the elf, attack fast and furious, and put the strange, warped elves down. </p><p></p><p>The elf turns to them. “I know you have many questions,” she says grimly, “and I will answer them when there is time. But for now, we have to go after Harth and his band and stop them!”</p><p></p><p>“Where does that portal go?” demands Otis. </p><p></p><p>“Into the past,” the elf declares. “They seek to gain a powerful weapon and then come back here to use it to make themselves rulers of the land.”</p><p></p><p>“But-“</p><p></p><p>“I must go to stop them,” she states. “I cannot do it alone; I need your help. Please.” She takes a deep breath. “But either way, I must go.” She puts her bow away and draws out her rapier and dagger. </p><p></p><p>“I’m with you,” says Sir Jorgen.</p><p></p><p>“And I,” announces Sir Cedric.</p><p></p><p>“We all are,” Sir Colder tells him.</p><p></p><p>Otis frowns. “Oh, why not.”</p><p></p><p>Together they go through the blazing portal.</p><p></p><p></p><p><strong>The End</strong> <em>of the Year 271 Campaign: Arc One</em></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="the Jester, post: 2882204, member: 1210"] [b]Finale: New Year's Eve[/b] Sir Cedric moves as quickly as he can. The horses are taken. He moves off on foot, clanking along as quickly as he can in his heavy armor. He is huffing and puffing after a mile, but he perseveres, jogging through the night. Somehow he manages to avoid loose rocks, snagging roots and potholes that might trip him. Despite the darkness, despite his quick pace, Sir Cedric makes good time and avoids injury. Soon dawn is cracking over the eastern horizon. Bone-weary, Sir Cedric nonetheless continues moving on until he finds an outlying farm, whose owner is surprised and happy to make so much money for an old nag of a horse like that. But the important thing is that Sir Cedric is now mounted, and on an unfatigued mount at that! They eat up some more miles, and finally in late afternoon Cedric halts and collapses into exhausted sleep for a few hours. When he wakes up, it’s evening. He rides a few more hours, risking two hours of darkness; but progress is slow and the horse is tired. Dawn seems an eager knight riding hard, and it’s not long before the city of Kamenda comes into view. In the early afternoon, Sir Cedric reaches the walls, where he gives the pass word and moves in, quickly seeking an audience with his father, Sir Martin. “My son!” Martin cries, upon receiving him. “We had feared the worst!” He clasps Cedric to him for a moment. A glimmer of water forms in the corner of his eye. He straightens and blinks it away. “Dahlia returned alone, and told us of Harth and the terrible creature with him.” “Father, he hath my friendth! We mutht go to their aid!” Cedric exclaims. “Of course, my son, we will.” Sir Martin’s face is grim. “We are mustering right now. It will take us another couple of days to get a force big enough to deal with that monster. We may fail entirely. But we will make our best attempt- and, with any luck, we will destroy Sir Harth for good this time.” “And what of Dahlia, father? You thaid that you had thpoken to her?” “Yes. She told us that Sir Harth had captured all of you, and only she had been able to escape. She told us that he planned to sacrifice all of you on New Year ’s Eve. We began summoning men to fight almost immediately. But she is not here. She flew away- perhaps to Whitewater- to plan and heal.” Sir Cedric paces unhappily. “We mutht thuctheed,” he says. “We mutht rethcue them.” “We will do our best,” Sir Martin replies stoically. *** Time is running short. Days slip past, and the New Year is starting to peek our from beyond the horizon. When they have just enough time left, Sir Martin and Sir Cedric lead out all the troops they have managed to gather- about two hundreds of men. It is a considerable force of soldiers, but many of them are barely-trained rabble. About half are veterans that fought in the most recent war with Tydon. They march forth with deadly serious intent. It is a journey of three days to get to the Ghost Tower, and the afternoon is getting deep when the army arrives. The ruins of the tower and its surrounding wall look uninhabited as they march towards it. *** Behind the walls around the tower, the beholder squints, narrowing the focus of its [i]disintegrate[/i] beam until it bores a hole just begin enough for one of its small eyestalks to fit into. It drills other pairs of holes here and there along the walls as well, then inserts the appropriate eyes and begins laying the groundwork for the oncoming force’s destruction. *** Beams of light shoot out as the army approaches, and the army halts and sets up a shield wall. There is no obvious effect, and after a minute, the army begins advancing closer to the wall. The lead members of the army- whom the rays from the eyes are continuing to bathe- approach the holed walls in several opportune areas. Then- Suddenly, most of the men who have been bathed in the eye rays turn on their fellows and begin to attack. There is a cry of fear as the noteworthy knight Sir Brand begins laying into the rabble he leads with his great axe. “What’s happening!” cries someone near Sir Cedric. “It mutht be the rayth of light!” Sir Cedric snaps his fingers. “We mutht path beyond the wall, quickly!” The army is in disarray, unfortunately. The unexpected turning on their fellows by a dozen of the first wave- and more every moment- is not encouraging to the soldiers. The rays continue to bathe the uncharmed folk, turning more allies to enemies. The press of people starting to move back pushes Cedric away from the walls. He howls in frustration, then forces his way forward. A cloud of living terror boils out through the portcullis, where another score men are bringing a huge ram up to batter their way in. Screaming in fear, they begin to retreat from it, backing off for a few paces, and then turning and fleeing in abject terror. The eye beams stop for a few moments, only to resume again from somewhere else. The army begins to disintegrate as people turn to stone and disintegrate where the beams touch them. More men are turning on each other. The sound of steel clashing on steel and the coppery smell of blood fill the air. Things look very ugly indeed. *** Dahlia wings her way beneath a grey sky, heading south and west from Castle Laagos. The clouds overhead are ominous and threatening. The Rise of Battle (once called Inverness) comes into view as evening starts to roll in. A large cloud of dust- as if from a sizeable group of travelers, or a battle- is atop it, near the Ghost Tower. Dahlia circles at a distance, then banks to her left and closes the distance between her and the tower, intending to fly in close enough to get a good look at the situation. But she squawks and banks away again when the beholder comes into view. Bodies and statues of men dot the area near the Ghost Tower, and there is bloody combat where men have seemingly turned on one another. Her stomach twists at the carnage. [i]Things have gone very, very wrong,[/i] she thinks in despair. From the air she spies Sir Cedric. She lands near him and transforms into her true form, then hurries over to the knight. “Dahlia!” he cries. “What’s happening?” she asks grimly. “Thith beatht ith overcoming the entire forthe! It guardth actheth to the tower and our friendth! None can approach it without being dethtroyed by itth eye beamth!” Dahlia settles her sight on the beholder. “I’ll do what I can against that thing,” she says, filled with trepidation. She extends her hands and begins making pulling gestures at the sky, muttering to herself like a crazy old hermit. After a long moment there is a flash of lightning as a bolt descends from the looming clouds overhead and strikes the beholder. It gives a harsh cry of surprise and begins heading towards her. “Save our friends!” Dahlia urges Sir Cedric. She begins calling another bolt at the beholder, and with a crack of thunder another lightning bolt zigzags down from the sky to strike it! The stink of ozone fills the air as the beholder grimaces. It is smoking and small electric arcs are still playing over it as it roars and begins firing eye rays at Dahlia. She resists disintegration and death, but the pain of the beams is almost overwhelming. She throws off attempts to petrify her, to make her flee in fear, to charm her. More rays stab out in other directions, charming, petrifying and killing more soldiers. A ray blasts into Sir Cedric and he grits his teeth and staggers, wounded. Another hits him and he falls to the ground asleep. And at last, Dahlia’s luck runs out. A brilliant ray of energy stabs out from one of the eyestalks and hits her in the center of her torso. Dahlia groans and falls. “We can’t hold!” one of the soldiers cries. He throws down his spear and shield and turns to flee. Observing him, the men next to him start to retreat as well. Another man starts to exhort them to firm up, and a ray from the beholder turns him to stone. It’s a rout. *** Dahlia’s eyes flutter. She is very uncomfortable and sore, and seems to be in a strange position. She- Her eyes fly open. She is tied up, hands behind her back. She glances around her. Night has fallen. The stars are out, winking down from above. Her friends, similarly bound, are here as well. Dahlia tries to [i]wild shape,[/i] but she can’t. The beholder glares at her balefully. Somehow it is negating her powers! Sir Harth stands at the head of a circle of thirteen cultists. A number of glassy-eyed soldiers are there as well, clearly in the beholder’s thrall. One of the cultists holds a pair of leashes that lead to a pair of elfblood youths. The treacherous knight smirks in the light of the torches that the cultists hold, their flames whipping in the wind. The night is cold. “What’s going on?” groans Dahlia. “It looks like Sir Harth has captured us, and is about to perform his ritual.” Sir Colder looks pained. “You fools thought to deprive me of the elf by turning him over to the Keepers,” Sir Harth says suddenly. His voice is loud and mocking. “But we have figured out another way to open the gate. Two elfbloods, with as much elf as possible in them, should suffice. Ahh, my friends, you will witness a great thing tonight!” He grins, walking towards them. Gravel crunches under his boots. “And then, of course, you will die.” Sir Cedric spits at Harth. For an instant the smirk on his face is replaced by a look of malevolence so dark that all of our heroes quail. Then he smiles again and sighs, “Ah, Sir Cedric.” He paces for a moment. Then he turns to the cultists and says, “Come. And bring them.” “What is this ‘great thing’ you want us to witness?” Sir Fwaigo demands. “You will see,” Harth gloats. The soldiers herd our heroes down one of the stairwells surrounding the tower, and soon they are in the chamber in which the mysterious door stands. Sir Harth now has all four pieces of the key, and he presses them, one by one, into the door. There is a thrum of power. With a loud grinding sound, the door slides open. Beyond the mysterious metal door is a 40’ square room with but a single feature: a large archway set into the far wall. The cultists begin unpacking certain unsavory items and set up an altar before the arch. Slowly they decorate it with odd oils and light pungent incenses. A vague, nearly-formless lump of black stone is placed as the centerpiece. Our heroes watch in horrified fascination. The room grows smoky from the thuribles, and their eyes begin to sting and water. There is something strange in the smoke that makes everyone’s head swim. Sir Harth has donned cult robes over his armor and has taken up a long dagger made of what appears to be glass. He and the cultists begin a dark ritual. The soldiers stand behind the party, ready to slay them if they try anything tricky. Sir Cedric scowls helplessly as they take the elfblood youths and prepare them for sacrifice, to spill their blood over the altar and the archway. He struggles against his bonds, but to no avail: a master ropesman has tied these knots. A few blows from the mailed fist of the soldier stops his struggles for the moment. The youths are heavily drugged to prevent their struggling. The first is brought next to the arch. Harth’s glass knife rises and slashes out. Blood sprays over the space beneath the arch, splattering the wall into which the arch is set. Immediately there is a flare of orange light. A vertical line of blazing orange suddenly bisects the arch’s space. The cultists bring the other youth forward. Something wet lands on Cedric, and there is a soft [i]thump[/i] behind him. A hand steals across his mouth, urging him to silence, and he can feel a blade cutting through the ropes that hold him tied. He turns his head. A lithe, small figure he does not recognize is seemingly freeing him. She is cowled; her face is only half-visible. Sir Cedric does not question his good fortune. She steals away and, as Cedric watches in amazement, she slits another soldier’s throat from behind without being seen. Then she begins to free Kyle... Sir Cedric smiles and quickly takes the spear from the slain guard behind him. The guards are just starting to realize that something is going wrong as Sirs Cedric and Jorgen lead the attack! But simultaneously, Sir Harth, that villain, has slit the other youth’s throat. Blood splashes across the archway and the space beneath it, sizzling and smoking. Orange light spills out as the line begins to widen like an opening door. Churning, eye-burning light flows forth. The sound of Sir Harth’s laughter rings out maniacally. Then the battle is on, as the soldiers struggle to stop our heroes from bursting free at the last moment. Sir Harth cries out, “You’re too late!” He and his cultists- along with the beholder- move towards the blazing, stomach-churning light beneath the archway. “Stop them!” the lithe figure that freed Sir Cedric cries. She fires a trio of arrows from her bow, his fingers a blur. But it’s too late. The villains escape into the light. She exclaims musically in Elven. “Who are you?” demands Sir Jorgen. She throws back her cowl. She is an elf! Our heroes gape, but she answers none of their questions for the moment. Instead, she cries, “Make ready! This is not over yet!” She gestures. “The villains kept your gear over there. You likely only have a few moments before the elves return. You must be ready to fight them!” “Fight them?” Kyle says incredulously. But most of the party is already sprinting for the pile of equipment that the elf woman indicated. “They have changed in their exile,” she replies ominously. The party straps armor into place and grabs up weapons. The elf nocks an arrow and stands in a position of almost unbearable tension. As the party moves back towards her, she cries, “Hurry! I can see them coming!” “We’ve only met one of your kind before, and he was-” Kyle starts, but the elf interrupts him. “Hurry!! They come!!” “But they’re elves, right?” persists Kyle. “Can’t we talk to them, or...” He trails off in horror as a half dozen figures emerge from the archway. Yes, they are humanoid; but their resemblance to the elf that came out of nowhere to help them ends there. But our heroes have seen them before. Oh, yes. Awkward-looking and unnatural, with the odor of a sick room clinging to them, the creatures are wearing resinous armor and carrying odd ribbon-dagger weapons. The smell brings it back more forcefully than anything: [i]the cyst at Goblin Gorge.[/i] The elf is already grimly firing arrows into them. “Stop them!” she cries. “Don’t let them come through!” Our heroes charge to the attack. The battle is brief and furious. The creatures can unleash mind-twisting powers that stun or blind. They can create clouds of hypnotic vapor. Their weapons leave nasty cuts. But our heroes, together with the elf, attack fast and furious, and put the strange, warped elves down. The elf turns to them. “I know you have many questions,” she says grimly, “and I will answer them when there is time. But for now, we have to go after Harth and his band and stop them!” “Where does that portal go?” demands Otis. “Into the past,” the elf declares. “They seek to gain a powerful weapon and then come back here to use it to make themselves rulers of the land.” “But-“ “I must go to stop them,” she states. “I cannot do it alone; I need your help. Please.” She takes a deep breath. “But either way, I must go.” She puts her bow away and draws out her rapier and dagger. “I’m with you,” says Sir Jorgen. “And I,” announces Sir Cedric. “We all are,” Sir Colder tells him. Otis frowns. “Oh, why not.” Together they go through the blazing portal. [b]The End[/b] [i]of the Year 271 Campaign: Arc One[/i] [/QUOTE]
Insert quotes…
Verification
Post reply
Community
Playing the Game
Story Hour
(Cydra) The Year 271 Campaign (Low Magic experiment)
Top