Reply to thread

Message: <blockquote data-quote="Richards" data-source="post: 8049098" data-attributes="member: 508">ADVENTURE 1: GOTTA FIND THE QUEEN OF ALL MY DREAMSPC Roster:Alewyth Putterpye, dwarf priestess of Aerik 1             Thurloe Pulver, human fighter 1             Wakuren, half-orc cleric of Cal 1             Xandro Silverstrings, human bard 1             Zander Quilson, elf sorcerer 1Game Session Date: 25 July 2020- - -Xandro stood behind the stage curtain, waiting for the tavernkeeper to announce him.  A young man in his early twenties, he'd been up and down the western part of the small continent, stopping off at inns and taverns, paying for his room and board and perhaps a bit of travel coin by performing songs for the customers.  A bard by trade, he specialized in the lute and had a prodigious memory of hundreds of songs; he also was pretty good at reading a crowd and performing the songs and ballads they'd best like to hear.In a booming voice on the other side of the curtain, the tavernkeeper called out, "Ladies and Gentlemen, we are proud to have with us here tonight the incomparable Xandro Silverstrings!"That was his cue.  Stepping forward onto the stage, lute in hand, Xandro smiled out at the crowd and was ready to sing the first ballad of the evening.  But something was wrong: the audience, instead of settling down in expectant silence, began to laugh.  The laughter built up and everyone started pointing at Xandro, some of them laughing so hard now tears were streaming down the sides of their faces.Looking down, Xandro saw at once what was so funny: he'd apparently forgotten to put on any clothes before tonight's performance – he was standing up on stage completely naked!  His face flushed with embarrassment as he found himself suddenly paralyzed with indecision about what to do - should he cover himself as best he could with his lute, or run off stage?  How could he have forgotten to get dressed?  It didn't make any sense!"Pssst!" came a sudden voice from behind the curtain.  Xandro looked over and saw a strange being hovering in the air: a humanoid figure with kitten features and covered in white fur, with a pair of tiny wings on his shoulders and a large, red ball suspended from a single antenna on his forehead.  "Quick, this way, kupo!" the creature called out, holding the curtain aside with one kittenish paw and motioning for the bard to follow him.Without further hesitation, Xandro rushed off the stage behind the curtain, following behind the flying kitten-thing - only to find the two of them in a meadow filled with colorful butterflies fluttering all around.  They flocked to the startled human - how had they gotten here? - merging together into a normal set of clothing as they alighted upon his naked flesh.  In mere moments, it was as if Xandro had never forgotten to get dressed before his performance."What manner of being are you?" Xandro asked the flying kitten-thing.  "Are you...some kind of angel?""I'm a moogle, kupo!" replied the strange little being - for had he been standing beside the bard, it's likely the top of his fuzzy little head wouldn't have reached more than halfway up the human's thigh.  But he remained hovering in place, his little bat wings flapping furiously."Where are we going?" Xandro asked his strange guide as the moogle led him through the meadow."We're off to see the Queen of Dreams, kupo!" answered the moogle, as if that explained everything.  Oddly enough, it explained enough; Xandro relaxed in the comfort that he hadn't just walked naked onto a stage before an expectant audience after all - it had been (and apparently still was) just a dream.  Contentedly, the bard followed the flying moogle across the field of waving grasses.- - -Zander Quilson found himself standing in the middle of a field of tall grasses and experienced that odd sensation of having forgotten exactly what it was he had just been doing.  Then he raised his hands to the sides of his mouth and called out a name as if expecting to get an answer - but nobody replied.  He recognized the name he'd been calling, though: it was the name of a cooshee he'd had years ago as a small child.  It was odd that he'd be out here in a meadow looking for him, though - that elven dog had died many years ago.Suddenly, a sharp, canine bark came from some distance away.  Zander recalled how far a cooshee's bark could carry and he called the name out again, hearing a faraway bark in reply.Suddenly the grasses parted before the astonished elf.  While he had fully expected the great head of his childhood cooshee to pop out of the tall grasses, what he saw instead was a kittenish face, with a lone red ball dangling from its sole antenna.  The gray-furred creature rose up from the grasses, propelled by rapidly-flitting bat wings."Don't worry about your elven dog," replied the moogle, "we're off to go see the Queen of Dreams, kupo!"Oddly, this didn't seem any less plausible to the elven sorcerer than the far-off call of a cooshee who had been dead for decades, and he allowed the moogle to take him by the hand and lead him out of the meadow.- - -Wakuren washed his face from the water in the basin and dried it with a towel.  Then, stepping outside the washroom, he took a right and headed for the men's barracks shared by the aspirants seeking to follow Cal's calling and enter the priesthood of the God of the Heavens.  Tomorrow, he knew, would be the initiation ceremony, where the new aspirants would be formally entered into the priesthood of Cal."Hold up a moment," called a voice from behind the half-orc.  Turning, Wakuren saw a trio of the other aspirants in his class climbing up the stairs, all three of them full-blooded humans.  They hadn't been friendly to the half-orc during their months of training, barely deeming to talk to him at all; it seemed odd to Wakuren that they wanted to talk to him now.But talk wasn't apparently on their minds, given one of them threw a sudden punch to Wakuren's face as he turned in their direction.  The other two raced to Wakuren's side, flanking him in the wide hallway.Wakuren had done his best to restrain his orcish heritage; he knew he had a fearsome face and constantly did his best to counterbalance his physical appearance with a calm, pleasant demeanor.  But that didn't mean he was a pushover; he countered in kind and smashed his fist into the eminently punchable face of the human who'd just sucker-punched him.  Blood flew from his nose as consciousness fled his body; that was one down, Wakuren thought grimly to himself.  Two more to go!But then the two multiplied into four as a pair of burly dwarves exited the room into which Wakuren had been heading: their shared bunkroom during the time they were in training as clerics of Cal.  If Wakuren expected any help from this quarter he was in for an immediate reawakening, for they punched at the half-orc with their full strength behind their fists.  Under such concentrated attack by so many foes, Wakuren was quickly brought to unconsciousness himself.But not for long, for he fluttered his eyelids after what seemed like only a moment and saw a strange face looking down at him.  This creature was neither human nor dwarf: it had the face of a kitten, with a dangling antenna emerging from his forehead, at the end of which hung a red ball.  The moogle hung suspended in the air over the half-orc, wings flapping to keep him in place."There you are, kupo!" he said, helping Wakuren to his feet.  The half-orc noted with puzzlement he was no longer where he'd been, for the hallway outside the aspirants' barracks in the training quarter of the temple of Cal had given way to an opulent building with elaborate white marble columns; if this was still the temple of Cal it was likely the interior of the head cleric's section, a place Wakuren had never seen before."C'mon, we don't want to keep the Queen of Dreams waiting -  do we, kupo?" asked the moogle, leading Wakuren down a series of strange corridors to an audience chamber.- - -Alewyth Putterpye knew without fear of possible contradiction that she was hopelessly lost.  She wasn't sure where she'd taken the wrong turn, but the familiar tunnels of her underground dwarven city had somehow given way to strange corridors that branched off in all different directions.  And the doors!  There were more doors than she'd ever seen clustered together before; she doubted they could contain anything but narrow, parallel corridors, so closely were they butted up against each other.  Worse yet, each seemed to be locked, not that entering them was likely to help her find her way back to her own familiar home tunnels.No, backtracking the way she'd come seemed eminently more sensible, but every time she turned around and went back the way she'd just come the way seemed strange, completely different from what she'd just seen.  She was starting to wonder if there was something wrong with her; thinking back, she tried to recall if she'd been hit on the head or something.After what seemed like many hours of frustrated wandering, the dwarven woman finally met another living person in the tunnels.  But what a strange being this was: an upright kitten with tiny wings on his shoulders and a red ball dangling by an antenna from his forehead."There you are, kupo!" the moogle exclaimed, grabbing an astonished Alewyth by the hand.  "I've been looking everywhere for you, kupo!  Come on, we need to get to the audience chamber before the Queen of Dreams shows up – it wouldn't be very polite of us to be late, now, would it, kupo?"  Even more confused now than she'd been mere moments before, the priestess of Aerik allowed the moogle to take her through various twisting, turning tunnels, hoping he at least knew how to get her to where she was supposed to be.- - -Thurloe Pulver stepped boldly into the combat circle under the glowering eyes of his combat trainer, Donegal Garabedian.  Across the way from him, his opponent stepped over the edge of the circle into the arena.  This, Thurloe knew, was the test that would send one of them to the next level of swordsmanship training by the grizzled instructor, and the other one home in disgrace.The young human glared at his opponent: a man his own age, with roughly the same level of training.  He nodded at Thurloe and then, at Donegal's curt "Begin!" pulled the bastard sword smoothly from the scabbard on his back.  He took the weapon in a two-handed grip, holding it up straight before him.Thurloe moved his hand to his opposite shoulder and went to do the same - but grabbed only empty air.  With a shock of horror, he realized he'd stepped into the combat ring without bringing his own weapon with him!  A quick glance at Donegal showed the instructor's complete disdain for such a boneheaded maneuver and a complete disinterest in stopping the combat to allow Thurloe to go fetch what he should have brought with him in the first place.  How could he have been so stupid?But then all such thoughts had to be pushed to the back of his brain, for Thurloe's opponent was upon him, his blade slashing down at the young fighter.  Thurloe just barely managed to dodge out of the way of the slashing blade; it was going to take everything he had to defeat his opponent without the use of his own bastard sword!However, there was one obvious ploy Thurloe could use.  Channeling energy into his hand, he struck out at his opponent, activating the touch of fatigue power into his foe's body.  The wince it elicited told Thurloe the maneuver had worked; his enemy would find it just that extra bit harder bringing the full force of his bastard sword into play!  Now, if he could somehow maneuver to wrest his foe's sword away from him somehow....Thurloe dodged another blow, this one coming at him laterally - he was pleased to hear the grunt of effort that accompanied the swing.  Thurloe stepped inside the foe's reach, punching him right on the nose.  He'd hoped the surprise maneuver would have loosened his opponent's grip upon his sword - enough for Thurloe to pull it away, in any case - but it turned out not to have been necessary: the force of the blow knocked his combat foe into instant unconsciousness, his eyes crossing before they closed and he plummeted to the floor.Behind the foe, though was another creature: a flying kitten-thing with a large red pom-pom dangling at the end of an antenna jutting from the creature's brow.  Incongruously, he held a ceramic flowerpot over his head.  "Oh, I thought you needed me to help you - never mind, kupo!" the moogle said, setting down the flower pot he'd been ready to smash over the other swordsman's head at the edge of the combat circle in which Thurloe had just been victorious, without the aid of a weapon of his own."In any case, we've got to get going, kupo!" the little moogle said.  "We don't want to keep the Queen of Dreams waiting, kupo!"  And then, grabbing the fighter's hand, he led Thurloe away from an astonished Donegal Garabedian's training center.- - -The five dreamers met up in a large chamber, each of them having been led there by their own personal moogle guide.  "Where exactly are we?" asked Zander, looking around him.  He couldn't recall when they'd left the meadow and made it indoors."We're in the Dreamlands, kupo!" explained his guide."Then this is all a dream?" asked Alewyth.  That actually explained a lot."It sure is, kupo!  And we're about to go see the ruler of the Dreamlands - come on, kupo!"  A pair of double doors opened up and the ten beings entered the room beyond, half of them by air and the other five on foot.  A wide chamber stood on the other side of the doors, with dark marble floors streaked with swirls of colors.  Seated upon an elevated white throne in the back of the room was a young woman with delicate features.  She wore a silver tiara over her jet-black hair and a fancy gown of midnight blue with a butterfly pattern; it may have only been a trick of the light, but on occasion one or more of these butterflies seemed to flap their wings.  Xandro looked down at his own clothes, recalling how a flock of butterflies had merged together to form them, but they appeared to be nothing more than his own normal clothes."Welcome," said the woman, smiling down at the five visitors from her lofty perch.  "I am the Queen of Dreams.  I have brought you here, to my realm, to set you on a task only you – or those like you – can perform in the Waking World.""Us...Your Majesty?" stammered Alewyth, wondering if that was the proper way to address the Queen of Dreams.  Apparently it sufficed, for the dwarf was offered no corrections."Yes, the five of you.  You may not know it, but each of you is special, a type of person very uncommon among the races of the Waking World.  Not only can each of you use a spark of magic in a special way, completely differently than the spellcasting some of you are also capable of performing, but more importantly: you recall your dreams when you awaken in the morning.  Not only sometimes, not just on special occasions: always.  Is this not true?"The five looked among themselves and admitted that yes, it was true.  "But what of it, Your Majesty?" asked Xandro.  "How does this aid us in this task you mentioned?""Because you can be trained - here, in the Dreamlands, as your bodies rest in slumber - and upon awakening, you will have retained the lessons you have been taught.  I have taught many others in the past, but almost without fail, upon awakening their dreams fade away to nothingness and all the knowledge imparted upon them - gone.  It is, I must admit, very frustrating.""What will we be trained to do while we dream?" asked Thurloe.  He wanted to hear more about the specifics of this "task" they were being given."There is a strange disease making its way known in the Waking World, one in which people are falling asleep and being trapped in their dreams: they cannot awaken on their own and cannot be forcibly awakened by others, not even by those in the Dreamlands.  I know: we have tried.  I will have my moogles train you in dream manipulations, so you may enter the dreams on your own and learn to interact with them, perhaps even shape them to your own will and rescue the dreamers caught within like flies in a spider's web.""Dream warriors," mused Xandro."In a manner of speaking, yes.  During the night, we will see to your training in dream manipulation, while in the Waking World, you will travel to the sites of those who have already succumbed to the dream-sickness.  I believe in many cases it will become necessary for you to enter the dream from the source, at the side of the actual dreamer caught in his or her own dream.""What else can you tell us about this sickness, Your Majesty?" asked Zander."It appears to be confined to your own continent - at least for now.  It does not seem to be communicable; you cannot 'catch it' by being in contact with someone already under its influence.  And this is a strange thing: those afflicted seem to undergo a sort of stasis - they do not waste away from lack of food, nor do they die of thirst, despite taking in no sustenance at all.  But as to how it came to be, we do not know.  In time, as you learn to combat the disease, perhaps we will learn more.  In the meantime, please approach the throne."The five did as asked; the moogles all stayed back, apparently realizing the request had not been made to them.  Oddly, the walls of the throne room began melting, as the floor began flexing and shifting, bucking up as if in the throes of an earthquake.  Alewyth looked up at the ceiling, aware of the dangers of a collapse during an earthquake, but the ceiling was gone; in its place was a vast field of stars and entire galaxies.  Then, as the last of the walls melted away, the butterfly wings formed by the throne room floor fluttered and the throne took off into the night sky.A star-field loomed ahead; as the enraptured visitors watched in awe, the stars each grew in size and took on the appearance of individual bubbles.  "Each of these is a separate dream," the Queen explained.  "Each an entire world unto itself, playing out in the mind of the one dreaming that particular dream.  Come, we will explore."The butterfly throne pierced the skin of a dream-bubble, disappearing as everyone stepped cautiously into the dream itself.  A little girl of about six years old sat swinging back and forth on a swing situated at the very edge of a cliff.  She did not appear to see any of the visitors to her dream, content upon her swinging, nor did she seem overly concerned by her proximity to the cliff's edge.  "Right now, we are merely observers," the Queen explained.  "In time, you will be taught how to enter another's dreams fully, to interact with the dream images directly.""But what about--" began Wakuren before suddenly vanishing, as if instantly teleported away."I see one of you has awoken," the Queen of Dreams said sadly.  "Very well, we will continue this another night.  In the meantime, it would perhaps be best if you decided among yourselves where you should meet in the Waking World, for it would be to your advantage to travel together as a group.  Two of your number – Thurloe and the now-missing Wakuren – are already in Port Duralia, and Aelwyth is headed there directly.  I would therefore recommend that be your point of introduction.”"I'm at an inn ten hours or so away by foot," said Xander."Same here," said Zander."But I've been to Port Duralia before," added the bard.  "Where shall we meet?""How about the Pantheonic Temple, under construction?" suggested Thurloe.  "Alewyth here's headed there anyway, and it'll be easy for those of you who haven't been there before to find.""Sounds good," agreed Zander.  "But what about the half-orc?  He doesn't know where we agreed to meet up.""That was the holy symbol of Cal around his neck," Alewyth observed.  "I'd imagine he's at the temple of Cal, if he's already there in Port Duralia.""Makes sense," agreed Thurloe.  "Okay then, Pantheonic Temple at, say, dinner time?"  The others agreed - and just in time, too, for one by one they began disappearing from the Dreamlands."What's happening?" asked Zander, finding himself suddenly alone with the still-swinging girl at the edge of the cliff."That's easy," said a kittenish voice from behind the elf, "You're all waking up, kupo!"- - -The next morning, Xandro got up, dressed, and said his farewells to the tavernkeeper and his wife.  He now recalled, while he was awake, that the previous evening's session had gone perfectly well; there had been no neglecting the wearing of clothing during his performance and the tavern owner had been pleased enough by the extra business the bard had brought in that besides the free room and board they'd agreed upon he also handed him a small pile of silver coins.  Xandro scooped up his bonus earnings and promised to swing by the tavern for a repeat performance the next time he was passing through this way.A half hour down the road, though, he was accosted by a pair of leather-armored men riding upon horseback.  "Well, what have we here?" asked one of the horsemen before answering his own rhetorical question.  "Looks like a lone traveler who forgot to pay his tax!""What tax?" demanded Xandro, although he was sure he knew what "tax" the man was asking about.  The bard knew full well there was no tax levied for using the common roadways between towns and cities in this part of the kingdom."How much have you got on you?" demanded the other horseback rider.  Xandro didn't fail to notice the rogue's hand had dropped to the hilt of the sword he wore at his belt.Deciding to play along for now, hoping if he stalled long enough another passer-by might come within sight on the stretch of road, Xander replied, "Ten gold."  That was true, too, for besides the ten pieces of silver the tavernkeeper had just given him he had another nine gold crowns in the coin purse he wore at his own belt."Well, ain't that a coincidence?" sneered the first horseman.  "Ten gold, that's the cost of the tax.""And that fancy rapier you got," added his partner.  "And that dagger, too - you can keep the lute; don't none of us play no lute."  If he had any concerns that this "tax increase" completely destroyed any credibility of their status of actual tax collectors, they never actually made it all the way to his brain."Well, I'd be more than happy to pay the coins over," replied Xandro, again stalling for time, "but I've never heard of a tax to include weapons.""Well, this one does," answered the second thief.  "Now hand 'em over!"Down the way a bit, Zander Quilson stepped back from behind a tree, where he'd been relieving himself - "replenishing nature," as he liked to call it.  He'd heard the conversation behind him and had no doubts that this was two highway thieves shaking down a poor traveler.  More likely than not, if the victim turned over his weapons they'd kill him on the spot so he couldn't pass on their descriptions to the law.But Xandro had come to a similar conclusion on his own.  "Here!" he called, hurling his coin pouch at the first thief's face, who had to duck and swipe at the pouch before it fell from his grasp.  And that kept his attention focused long enough for the young bard to whip out his rapier from its place on his belt and send it stabbing at the distracted thief's leg.  The robber cried out in pain, then both thieves sent their horses forward, their own short swords in hand ready to strike down the upstart traveler.Xandro ducked below both sword-strikes as Zander cast a magic missile spell at the thief Xandro had stabbed - the one with the bard's money grasped greedily in his hand.  The thief whirled his horse around at this sudden attack, saw the sorcerer standing in the road behind him, and sent his steed charging at him.  He leaned over to stab at the elf as he passed, but Zander easily dodged the man's clumsy blade.The other thief had better luck, his blade cutting a nick across Xandro's sleeve.  "Never shoulda fought back," the thief called down to the bard.  "Now, we gonna kill ya!"  But his bravado was punctured as rapidly as Xandro sent the point of his rapier into the man's meaty thigh, and he squealed like a stuck pig - which, as Xandro thought about it, wasn't an entirely unfair comparison.Zander brought down the first thief with another casting of a magic missile spell, causing the man to topple off the saddle to land in a lifeless heap on the ground.  Zander curbed his immediate impulse to go after the horse, figuring he'd better help the guy the two thieves had been shaking down.  The heavier of the two thieves struck down at Xandro with his sword, getting in another successful strike, before Xandro pushed the point of his rapier straight through the man's torso, piercing his heart.  "Urk," gurbled the thief, and as last words went it wasn't particularly memorable.  He fell off his horse and the bard caught up the horse's reins, calming it as best he could.  Seeing all was well, Zander got the other horse back under control and leaped up into the saddle, riding to go see if the other guy was okay.  It was only when they met up that they recognized each other."Xandro!""Zander!  Boy, your name's going to be easy to remember!  I didn't realize you'd been staying at the same inn as I was!""Yeah, that'll make it easier for all of us to get together; at least two of us have managed to join up already.""And we each got a free horse out of the deal," replied Xandro.  "Hang on, I want to go get my coin purse back from that guy.  Then we can make much better time to Port Duralia than I'd planned - I know this really nice tavern we can wait in until it's time to go hit the Pantheonic Temple.""Sounds like a deal," replied Zander.- - -Alewyth Putterpye sat in the one-seat cart behind the goat trotting down the road from the north, squinting at the sight before her.  A pony, complete with saddle and loaded saddlebags but missing a rider, came trotting up to her from the opposite direction.  Just beyond, the dwarf could see a man sitting by the side of the road, wincing in pain and holding the back of his head, his fingers wet with blood.  Just beyond the man was a large pile of rocks of various sizes, likely having toppled down the nearly-sheer side of the mountain to the right of the road.  A groaning sound seemed to be coming from the rock-pile, if it wasn't coming from the bloody-headed man.With a word, Alewyth brought the goat to a halt; with another, both goat and cart reverted to their statuette form.  The dwarven priestess pocketed the ivory figurine and made calming motions and gestures to the obviously distraught pony, who eventually allowed the dwarf to turn it around and lead it back south towards the bleeding man."Are you okay?" Alewyth called to the man.  She could see very well that he was not, and while she could very easily stop his bleeding with a simple healing spell she was first and foremost an adherent of Aerik, God of Earth and Protection, and there was no sense in trying to protect anyone else if you couldn't protect yourself first.  Alewyth didn't believe this was a form of subterfuge in support of an ambush, but she recognized it as at least a possibility.  "What happened?""I was headed south, on my pony, when out of nowhere a rock came crashing down in front of us.  The pony was startled and reared up; I fell off the back of the fool thing and hit my head."  Alewyth had cautiously approached during his tale and now stood by the man's side.  His tale was likely true; she could tell, as could any dwarf, just by the sight of the rocks ahead that they'd fallen into that position only recently.  She pried the man's fingers away from his head, his hair sticky with his own blood, and cast a cure light wounds spell on the gash.  Her cautiousness was now dismissed; this was no ambush but a fellow traveler in need.But the moaning continued further to the south.  Helping the man up and giving him back the reins to his pony, Alewyth walked south with him to find a pair of limbs jutting out from beneath the fallen rocks.  The man pinned under the slabs of stone wore nothing more than simple furs, which puzzled the dwarf - the barbarians didn't usually stray this close to the roads, preferring the untamed lands at the continent's center, not along the Shieldwall Mountains that ringed the edges of Armaturia, where the civilized towns and cities were found.Still, whoever he was, he obviously needed assistance.  "Give me a hand with this, if you would," asked Alewyth.  The merchant scrambled into place to help, and with a voiced countdown, they lifted a heavy slab of rock off of the fur-clad individual who had been pinned beneath it.  With a grunt of effort, they shoved it off to the side.The figure crawled away and stood up, looking fearfully at the dwarf and the human with darting eyes.  He stood hunched over, and with a shock Alewyth realized that, despite the fact this person stood almost a head taller than she did, this was just a child: a hill giant child!Alewyth had no love for giants; no dwarf did.  But this was just a mere boy, probably a lad of no more than a dozen years, if even that.  "GYAH!" Aelwyth yelled, raising her arms to make herself seem bigger.  It had the intended effect: the young hill giant scampered off, looking up at the steep mountainside to find the best location with which to regain his higher perch.  For though his face burned crimson with the thought of it, Jarbok knew this was all his fault: he'd been throwing rocks down at the passersby below and had almost hit the human on the pony, when he lost his footing and came tumbling down the mountainside himself, bringing a landslide of stones with him.  But to have been rescued by a dwarf!  His clan, he knew, must never hear of this - or he'd never hear the end of it!Alewyth turned back to the merchant she'd helped.  "Just a fool kid," she replied.  "You going to be okay, then?""I will indeed, thanks to you," he said, opening one of the pony's saddlebags and rummaging around in it.  "But here, I want to give you something to repay you for your assistance," he added."That's not necessary, sir," Alewyth replied, but the merchant was quite insistent.  It ended up being simpler to just accept the man's gift and see him on his way than to try to argue him out of it.  But then, once he'd gone his way, the dwarven priestess pulled the ivory goat cart figurine and brought it back to life with a command word.  She sat back down in the seat and urged the goat forward.  Hidden inside the storage compartment with the rest of her gear was the keystone her Temple had crafted for the Pantheonic Temple of Port Duralia, and the dwarf was eager to get it handed off.  Then she could meet up with these other four men - in person this time, not just in a dream - and see what she could do about these people caught up in this dream-sickness.  The priestess had never imagined dreams were something from which a person might need protection, but if that was Aerik's will for her she was nothing if not a dutiful dwarf.- - -A knock upon the door brought Thurloe begrudgingly back to consciousness.  Despite his earlier dream, he'd been quite successful in the elimination arena the day before - he'd brought his bastard sword into the ring with him and everything - and had graduated from Donegal Garabedian's combat school with top honors.  To celebrate, the young fighter had perhaps imbibed a bit too much ale last night and now his head pounded.  "Hang on, I'm coming!" he called out, rising up from the bed and seeing he was still fully clothed from the night before.  Yeah, that seemed about right.  He shook his head to clear the cobwebs and opened the door to the room he had rented in a tavern in the low quarter of Port Duralia.  And there before him stood a goblin."Oh, hello, Borlick," Thurloe said.  "What are you doing here?"Borlick held a large book in both hands and passed it over to the human.  "Mistress Jandoval expresses her regrets, but she has been suddenly called away for an unknown duration," the goblin stated.  "She has left you with this: a book of simple spells, with several annotations as to their practical application.  She believes you should have the required ability to train yourself in their use, given sufficient study."  The slight sniff the goblin gave at the end of this statement belied the fact he had doubts as to Thuroe's abilities in that regard.  Nonetheless, he dutifully passed over the leatherbound tome, then turned and exited the fighter's rented room."Yeah, thanks," replied Thurloe, dropping the book on the table and turning back to his bed.  He'd no sooner flopped back onto the mattress when he heard signs of a scuffle outside.  Groaning in weary resignation, he opened the door back up and looked outside.A group of kids were amusing themselves by throwing rocks and insults at Borlick and calling him names; they apparently thought he was acting “above his station” given many goblins were slaves and this one was dressed in elegant clothing - as befit the personal servant to a wizard, as he'd been a willing vassal to Mistress Jandoval for as long as Thurloe had known them both.  Borlick tried to ward off the blows but steadfastly refused to fight back, no doubt realizing the law wouldn't take his side if he hurt a human child."Hey!" yelled Thurloe, stepping outside and waving his bastard sword around threateningly.  Then he felt somewhat foolish, for the hand-and-a-half sword was as long as some of these kids were tall and there was no way a fight between a bunch of gutter-rat kids armed with pebbles and an adult human male in his prime wielding a bastard sword was going to make the adult look like anything more than a bully.  "Get out of here, you little snots!" he added.This only had the effect of making him a secondary target, as some of the little snots started throwing rocks his way.  "Go on, get in the room," Thurloe called to Borlick, who instantly complied.  "I'll handle these weasels!""You think?" called back the leader of the kids, this one sporting a long dagger he'd picked up from somewhere.  "You and what army?"Thurloe sprinted forward, his sword on his shoulder as if ready to strike, but then he kicked out - hard - at one of the kids, catching him between the legs with the toe of his boot.  The lad crumpled over in white-faced agony as his other two guttersnipe companions high-tailed it.  So did the leader, but not without calling back, "Ooh, big man, picking on a bunch of little kids!" as he ran away, brandishing his middle finger towards Thurloe.  Thurloe mirrored the gesture right back at him.  "...and stay away, if you know what's good for you!" he called back, immediately regretting making threats to a kid not yet old enough to need to shave.  Aah, screw it, he needed a drink.Walking back inside his rented room, Borlick met him with the dry observation, "It's a good thing you have your sword to fall back on, in case your arcane studies prove to be beyond your capabilities.""Yeah, well, you're welcome," replied the fighter as the goblin butler left his room, closing the door behind him.  Then he went back to bed, certain he'd have plenty of time to meet up with the others at the Pantheonic Temple.  They weren't scheduled to meet there until dinnertime, after all.  Before long, Thurloe was back asleep - and snoring.- - -Wakuren woke up with a start – he was sprawled on the floor at the bottom of a set of stairs, being slapped awake by a stern-faced cleric of Cal.  “Disgraceful!” sneered the scowling old man, looking down at the wine stains on the half-orc's robes and the empty bottle in his hand.Frowning, Wakuren struggled to recall what had happened.  With dawning awareness, he realized his dream the night before - about being ambushed by the other aspirants to the priesthood of the All-Father, Cal - had been no dream at all.   He had been beaten up by the other aspirants and left at the bottom of the stairway; anyone questioning the bruises on his face and body would no doubt assume he'd gotten them from falling down the stairs in a drunken stupor.  The half-orc could smell the reek of wine on his clothes and could taste it in his mouth – it had been poured liberally on the front of his robes and the aspirants had no doubt filled his mouth with wine once he was unconscious at the bottom of the stairs.The old man marched Wakuren straight to the head cleric of the temple and sternly explained how he had found the half-orc, passed out after having gotten drunk on stolen wine and crashing senselessly down the stairs.  He passed the empty bottle to the head cleric.  "This was in his hand," he told him.The head cleric, Father Peartree, frowned intently at the half-orc.  "I believe," he informed Wakuren, "that under the circumstances it would perhaps be best if you left the temple without undergoing the graduation ritual, which would make you an official cleric of the Church of Cal.""Don't you wish to hear my side of the story, Holy Father?" asked Wakuren."I don't think anything you might say would erase the evidence before our eyes," replied the old cleric who had found the half-orc at the bottom of the stairs, but Father Peartree raised his hand and the man drew silent."I don't think it would matter as much as you might imagine," Father Peartree told the half-orc.  "On the one hand, you might be a drunkard, drinking yourself into a stupor on stolen wine.  If not - if we ignore the evidence before us and assume, as you will no doubt attest, that this was a cruel hoax played upon you by others - it only shows that you are a disruptive influence on the other members of the church.  Therefore, for the sake of the overall harmony of this organization, either way the end is the same: it would be best for you to depart from our ranks.""You know a zone of truth spell is well within the ability of the church," countered Wakuren."Indeed it is," agreed Father Peartree.  "Even so."  And that was apparently that.Wakuren fought back the indignant fury that threatened to erupt from his orcish frame.  Instead, swallowing down the roar of rage he felt wanted to burst from his throat, he merely turned his head to the side and asked, "Would you like to strike the other cheek, before I go?"  When that got no response from either of the men, Wakuren merely said, "Karma has a way of returning to the fold."  With that, he turned around and made his way back to the aspirants' barracks, back on course on the trip he had started the evening before but had yet to finish.  He found he had the place to himself; all the other male aspirants had already dressed and gathered in the main temple in preparation of the ceremony ushering them officially into the Church of Cal.The half-orc dressed himself in his best robes, wearing his highly-polished armor and picking up his heavy metal shield, also lovingly polished to a high sheen.  He wore no weapon at his belt; knowing his fearsome appearance already put others ill at ease he'd sworn he would wield no weapon save his shield, a symbol of defense only.  But he wore the holy symbol of the All-Father around his neck just as if he'd been inducted formally into the church; he'd already paid for all of these items with the money he'd earned over the years working for the church, where he'd been abandoned shortly after his birth by a human mother no doubt too ashamed to be associated with a mongrel son she'd never wanted in the first place.  Then, all of his other worldly possessions placed into a simple backpack, he straightened his shoulders and walked proudly through the halls of the temple building that had been his home for most of his life.  If he was forced to leave this place against his will, then by the All-Father he would walk out with his head held high, and through the front door, daring anyone to try to stop him.No one dared; the halls were empty, with everyone preparing for the induction ceremony for the other aspirants.  Wakuren stepped outside through the front doors, not sure where to go and what to do with himself.  He needed to meet up with the others from the Dreamlands, but he'd been pulled from the shared dream when the old cleric had slapped him awake and he had no idea where they'd planned on meeting in person.On a whim, Wakuren closed his eyes for a moment of silent meditation and then placed his finger in his mouth.  Biting down hard, he felt one of his lower tusks pierce the skin and he tasted blood on his tongue.  Removing his finger from his mouth, he looked at it for a moment, watching the blood ooze slowly down the side of his finger.  Then, with a deep breath, he intoned the litany of a cure minor wounds spell, touching the open cut with the pointer finger of his other hand.He gave it a moment, then removed his finger from the self-inflicted wound.  The wound, as he'd hoped, had sealed up completely.  The Church of Cal might have abandoned him but he knew the All-Father had not and that thought, he realized, would see him forward on the path his life would take from this moment on.- - -"There's Alewyth!" Thurloe called out as he spotted a goat cart trundling down Temple Lane, the wide road upon which most of Port Duralia's existing churches, temples, and shrines had been built, and was the site of the half-constructed Pantheonic Temple that would give praise to all the known gods and goddesses in equal measure.  Alewyth studiously ignored the others until after she'd handed over the keystone of Aerik with which she'd been entrusted - then, her official duties finished, she deactivated her ivory goat cart and headed over to meet up with Thurloe, Xandro, and Zander.  "Any sign of Wakuren?" she asked."Not yet," Zander replied.  "But then, he vanished from the dream before we made our meeting arrangements.  I figure we should probably head on over to the Temple of Cal - he's probably there now."But when they stopped at the Temple of Cal and made inquiries, they were brusquely told that there was no cleric or aspirant at the temple named Wakuren, nor were there any half-orcs there."But he used to live here, right?" pressed Thurloe.  With a look of irritation, the cleric of Cal admitted that yes, there was a half-orc aspirant named Wakuren who used to study here at the temple.  "But he is no longer officially associated with the Church of Cal.""Any idea where he might be?" Thurloe pressed."I really have no idea," replied the cleric sternly.  "Now if you will excuse me, I must be about my duties."  And he closed the door in their faces."Friendly sort," snorted Alewyth."Now what?" asked Zander.  "How are we going to find him in a city this size?""We can always wait until we're all asleep," offered Alewyth.  "We're sure to meet up with him in our dreams - those moogle things will probably gather us all together again like they did last night.""Nah, that'll take too long," countered Xandro.  "How many half-orc clerics of Cal can there be in one city?  Let's ask around - I know some places we can hit up for local gossip.  Somebody's got to have seen him recently."  And sure enough, within an hour the friendly bard had tracked down Wakuren to a park, feeding crusts of bread to the pigeons."Oh, hey, guys," said the half-orc, looking up at their approach.  "There you are."  He had a happy, contented look upon his face - it was a look he'd worked hard at mastering, the better to smooth off the rougher edges of his half-orcish countenance, but for once the feeling had come to him naturally.  He'd completed his training and was a cleric of the All-Father, induction ceremony or no induction ceremony."Yep, the team's all assembled," Thurloe agreed.  "Now, let's go find us all some decent lodging and see about starting that dream manipulation stuff!"- - -And that was the first adventure of our new campaign.  I knew I wanted to give each of the PCs an individual dream, only to have them meet up in the Dreamlands and then have a little solo adventure on the way to meeting up in person; it meant chunks of time when four of the five players were mere spectators, but it was an opportunity to do something different and it worked out just fine, considering it took us only a little over an hour and a half to run through this.Harry allowed me to borrow his stuffed animal moogle, "Mog," as a prop for the initial dream sequences.  And as his dream was first, I had him wait in the hallway to be introduced (I told him we were going to try a bit of live-action role-playing), then instructed the other players, in the game room, to start laughing at him when he first appeared because he was unknowingly walking on stage naked in his dream.  Harry was actually okay with that part, especially after I had already assured him ahead of time he wasn't going to have to actually role-play singing on stage - I think that would have been a step too far.I also got the "that part wasn't really a dream" trick past Logan, which had had me worried; we often kid about the shared "wavelength" between us and I was afraid he'd deduce my trick beforehand.  But his backstory for Wakuren was that he'd been abandoned at birth and raised in the temple of Cal, fully expecting to become a cleric when he came of age; he'd decided on Wakuren refusing to wield weapons to counter his fearsome appearance, so I wanted to play upon the fact that he was universally feared and shunned by making him a target of prejudice even among his own ranks.  (But I also didn't want to mess up his ability to play his PC as a full-fledged cleric/paladin.)  He took it better than I had anticipated, staying well within character despite getting screwed out of an initiation ceremony and official recognition from his own church.  (Although there won't be much they can say about the matter when the All-Father grants Wakuren his spells despite their best efforts to keep him out of their temple in an official capacity.)I had Thurloe be given a spellbook by an absent wizardly mentor to explain how he's going to suddenly gain a level of wizard at second level when he won't have been doing any studying along those lines in the meantime; now that he's graduated from a fighter academy I figure he can be studying his "training spellbook" between adventures.  (I plan on the group being on the road, so a wizardly mentor accompanying them would be problematic to explain.)Alewyth won't get to keep that ivory goat cart - it's a "loaner" from her temple that will need to be returned if she'll be taking a leave of absence from her dwarven home city.  (Fortunately it can be sent home on its own.)- - -T-shirt worn: My Einstein shirt, with the smoke from his pipe becoming galaxies.  It seemed a good representation of the Dreamlands.</blockquote>

Verification