G. R. I. P. E.

[MerakSpielman]

Session 2 (part 2 of 2)



The tunnels twist and turn haphazardly, but this is terrain to which all members of the party are accustomed. Soon, they have found their way to the nearby road. This was one of the CanterWays, established by Canter, the famous cleric of Fharlanghn, in the years after the Descent. These roads were clearly marked, and free for the use of all travelers. Without the CanterWay network, the surface races would not have gotten back on their feet as quickly as they had. This particular road was established to connect the Human kingdom of Lower Silleria with the United Clans of the Dwarves. Canter made sure to run his roads through tall, open caverns, widening the way if required with his clerical magic.



The companions can all see signs of heavy traffic, though at the time their tunnel intersects the road there are no other travelers visible. Turning to the north, they begin the long trek into Human territory, hoping they won’t be stopped and interrogated by patrols. The journey proceed quietly, with little conversation, except between Slash and Crystal, who spend a good deal of the time going over their weapons/acrobatics act in low voices.



Though there is no day and night underground, or even on the surface these days, the companions are still slaves of their internal sleep cycles. Like all intelligent creatures, they had since childhood known instinctively when enough time had passed awake, and when it was time to sleep. Though the terms no longer had any meaning in terms of light and darkness, the time of rest was still referred to universally as “night.”



And so the party spent their first night together in a small cave adjoining the main road. They did not build a fire, for wood was far too precious to burn. During the long chill of the sunless winter, travelers brought sacks of coal and braziers with them to heat their food and hands. Now, though, it was half a year before such precautions would need to be taken. It was almost stiflingly hot, and would remain so for several months without reprieve. It does not occur to the companions to complain about this, for this is the way the cycles of weather have been their entire lives.



In the morning, they consume a scant breakfast of crackers, jerky, and strips of dried fungus, and continued on their way. They pass occasional travelers on the CanterWay, but there is no communication. A standard survival trait in the Underdark is, and always has been, to keep your nose out of other peoples business. They pass members of most of the dominant races, most traveling in groups of their own kind, and most also leading teams of pack lizards laden with trade goods.



After another night and day of this sort of travel, the companions reach the Nexus. This is the one area of the Underdark where naturally occurring caverns provide easy access to all the different levels. Essentially, it was tightly-knit region of easy to travel vertical roads. The Nexus, the companions all knew, was the focal point of all inter-level trade, and by common custom, it was considered off-limits to hostility, even during times of war. The Nexus was far too important to the welfare of all civilizations to be jeopardized. Even long-standing racial enemies refuse to be drawn into any sort of serious conflict in the Nexus.



The CanterWay skirts the edge of the Nexus, but goes close enough to provide easy access to cross-level travelers, and then turns sharply to the west, heading directly into Lower Silleria. The number of travelers the companions pass increases.



Several days later, they are well within the sphere of influence of the Humans, but have encountered no annoying patrols of local soldiers. Soon, the Crossroads comes into view. The cavern is small relative to those housing most cities, and is dominated by three large buildings, a trading post, a huge inn, and a bath house. A small shrine to Fharlanghn is nestled off in one corner. A popular stop for many travelers entering and exiting the Human kingdom, the Crossroads can always be depended on to be crowded, if nothing else. The party, though, decides that they have no real reason to stop and presses straight through, continuing their journey.



From here, it is a journey of several more days to the capital city of New Sillar, the greatest city in the Upper Underdark, according to the Humans. Again, the party elects not to stop, traveling by side tunnels around the city until they re-intersect the CanterWay on the other side, and continue their journey.



Ten days have passed since their meeting, and the travelers are now nearing their destination: New Fifechester. Just when they are becoming certain that their journey was to be uneventful, they came under attack.



Suddenly, stepping out from rocks and side passages, a troop of goblins surrounds the party. They’ve clearly been waiting for an opportunity when their victims would be alone on the road, and their purplish-green faces slaver with delight as they behold their catch. There are eight goblins total, each with a short bow leveled at somebody’s heart. They each have a short sword strapped to their belt as well. It is clear from their mannerisms that they do not expect a serious fight.



Out of range of their darkvision, a hidden goblin calls out from behind the party, “You are outnumbered! Surrender, and we will let you live.”



Strak grins, and wordlessly the companions pull out their own weapons, readying for battle. Somewhat surprised, the voice from down the passage calls again, “Have it your way, then.” An arrow flies from his direction, missing everybody so badly the companions are not certain for whom it was intended. More or less simultaneously, the goblins and their prey leap into action. Crystal and Slash fight side-by-side, nunchukus whirling with bone-breaking precision. Strak charges a goblin, thrusting with his rapier, and seems annoying when it misses cleanly. Zya fires her crossbow, wounding a goblin slightly. Beltana casts a spell, and one of the goblins nearest her, which no companion has yet engaged, falls instantly asleep.



The battle continues without pause, more arrows flying from the hidden leader, and both sides taking heavy injuries. Beltana casts another spell, and a goblin turns and flees, but he returns moments later, eager to continue the fight. Zya is forced to stop firing her crossbow and go to the aid of Slash, who is fighting two goblins simultaneously and barely managing to avoid their attacks. Finally, Strak let’s out a shout of triumph as he cleanly impales his opponent, and Crystal, having flanked one of Slash’s goblins, hits it hard over the head with his nunchukus and watches as it crumples limply to the ground.



With these developments, the tide of battle turns. The companions, no longer each engaged by an enemy, begin to gang up several to a goblin. Strak strides over and casually executes the one that fell asleep. Finally, when only two of the things are still standing, the leader, still hidden down the passage, shouts something and they turn and flee.



“Like hell they’re getting away from me,” snorts Strak, taking off after them with blood dripping from his wounds.



“Wait! Come back!” shouts Crystal, “Damn! I better go after him.” He follows Strak, leaving the others to clean up.



Strak, with his short legs, quickly loses sight of the goblins, but not before he notices that the two survivors split up down opposite side passages, apparently to throw him off the scent. He laughs internally – apparently these goblins don’t know that hunting down and killing creatures is his specialty. This is fun! He turns down one of the passages, following a goblin.



Crystal catches up with him, “Strak, they’re too fast. You’ll never catch them.”



“I know what I’m doing. They must have a hideout nearby where they’ll return to lick their wounds. I intend to track them to it.” He continues dashing down the corridor and Crystal is unable to engage him in further conversation. Cursing, he follows.



They arrive at an intersection, and Strak stops suddenly to examine the hard stone of the floor. He seems to take forever, but suddenly exclaims in triumph and takes off down the left hand tunnel. In spite of himself, Crystal finds himself getting caught up in the thrill of the hunt. As they come to another intersection, he doesn’t try to change Strak’s mind, knowing it will be pointless. Strak spends a very long time examining the floor, but Crystal, rather than getting impatient, begins to feel a sort of suspense. Would they find the goblins? How long would it take? Would they surprise them? It all seems suddenly very exciting to him.



It takes Strak over an hour of examining the floor on his hands and knees, nose and eyes a fraction of an inch from the rock, to be sure he has picked up the trail. Finally, he notices a slight scuff, fresh, as if caused by a pebble lodged in a boot. He bursts into motion again, racing down the corridor with Crystal trailing behind.



There are several more intersections like this, and the chase drags on for three hours – then four – most of the time spent at intersections while Strak patiently examins the surface, until finally the pair finds themselves outside a poorly made secret door. Even had the tracks not led to it, Crystal was sure he would have noticed it had he passed this way casually. It looks like it opens by simple pushing – no latch, catch, or key required. Grinning, Strak pushes it open silently and slips into the space beyond.



The hallway continues straight in from the door for about twenty feet, then turns abruptly to the right. The flicker of torchlight can be seen. Crystal sneaks in behind Strak, amazed that they have actually found the hideout. Edging quietly forward, the two peek out quickly around the corner, glimpsing the other side briefly before withdrawing. The passage continues around the corner for about thirty feet and then opens into a small cavern. A torch is wedged in a crack in the wall at the entrance to the room. Crystal, whose darkvision is superior, can see a goblin in the room, keeping watch. He can’t tell if the goblin saw him, but there are no shouts of alarm. The pair move back to the secret door and put their heads together to converse very quietly.



“What’s your plan?” asks Crystal, “I saw one on guard, but we know there’s another grunt and the leader in there. We can’t sneak in with that torch right there.”



“I say we get their attention with a noise and kill whoever comes to investigate.”



Without further ado, they try it. Strak makes a small, strange noise and the two ready their weapons and wait for an inquisitive goblin to poke around the corner. None appears. Strak makes the noise again. No response. Annoyed, he peeks around the corner again, and barely gets his head back out of the way in time to avoid three arrows aimed straight at him.



“I think they know we’re here,” he whispers covertly to Crystal, “New plan” loudly, “Get ‘em!” and he charges around the corner.



Cursing again, Crystal runs after, “Get ‘em? That’s your plan?”



Another volley of arrows flies at them, one striking Crystal in the arm. Then melee is joined. The goblin leader is visible for the first time, bow in hand, short sword at his side. He looks healthier and tougher than the other goblins. He directs his underlings to attack with hand signals and aims his bow again, again at Crystal, but the arrow misses. The leader seems quite willing to let his grunts do the work of actually being in melee. As the fight rages on, he fires another arrow, hitting Crystal again.



Weakened from their prior combat, the two companions are having a bad time of it. Focusing their efforts on one goblin at a time, they manage to bring them down, but then a final arrow from the leader lodges in Strak’s neck. Gurgling, he goes down. Crystal lunges at the leader, nunchukus whirling ominously, and the leader drops his bow and whips out his sword. The resulting battle is fierce. Bones break and blood flows. Crystal is injured nearly to the point of unconsciousness, but fights on. The two opponents are not evenly matched – the leader seems to have the advantage, and presses it ruthlessly, but Crystal, more thorough luck than skill fends him off and gives as good as he gets. Finally, it becomes clear that the next combatant to damage the other will be the victor, and the two battle furiously, knowing what is at stake.



They both know they’re not going to die, they can’t die, but it turns out that the goblin is dead wrong. Crystal smashes the side of the goblin leader’s head with the nunchukus, and something cracks. The leader goes down, a look of astonishment on his face. Quickly, Crystal turns to Strak, still lying on the floor next to the goblin grunts, his blood mingling with theirs in a dark pool. He is still alive, and Crystal hurriedly binds the wounds. Once his companion’s life is no longer in danger, he searches the room.



He is not disappointed. A small steel chest sits in the corner, overlooked during the action. It’s locked, but the dead leader has the key on him. Opening it, Crystal looks inside and smiles. These goblins must not have been totally incompetent raiders after all…





Next, Session 3: The party arrives in New Fifechester, has a brief internal scuffle, and finds many important clues.

 

[MerakSpielman]

It's about time I updated this. If we met to play this campaign more often, I'd be dreadfully behind. As it is, I'm only one session behind after this update:

Session 3​

Crystal rejoins the rest of the party, dragging a half-conscious Strak.



“Bloody Drow. Get off me, will you? I can walk, honestly. Save my life, will you then? That implies that it needed saving, and I resent that.”



“So?” asks Slash as Crystal deposits Strak on the ground.



“They’re dead. All of them.”



“Good. Looks like they did a number on you two.”



“Nothing we couldn’t handle, but it looks like they haven’t always been such incompetent raiders. See?” And he opens up a fold in his cloak and spills out a collection of items onto the cold stone. There is a small pile of wood coins, to which Zya adds what she has found on the nearby bodies, as well as two slender potion vials and a tightly rolled scroll of parchment.



Zya picks up the scroll and examines it. “Divine,” She announces, “I’ll figure out what spells later.”



Beltana picks up the potions. No labels, of course. Shrugging, she sets them back into the pile.



“Party treasure,” says Slash, “We should get those identified and figure out who wants them. Same with the scroll.”



“But only Zya can use it,” observes Crystal, “We might as well just give it to her.”



“We should sell it and divide the proceeds if she doesn’t purchase it out of the party treasure pool,” says Slash, “What’s the point of spending so much time working out an agreement if we just turn our backs on it the first chance we get?”



The party discusses the matter, and eventually they decide to let Zya keep the scroll without payment. Zya manages not to express a firm opinion on the subject, saying only that she’ll take it if they don’t want to sell it. Beltana says nothing, but watches the proceedings with interest.



The next day, the party reaches New Fifechester. None of them have been there before, but as the Canterway draws near there are clear signs indicating which way to go. The main Way continues on to the west, but a side way leads south, straight into the city. Just as in the cities with which the individuals were each familiar, they could smell the city far before they heard or saw it. A large number of people living in close proximity underground develop a particular smell, not particularly strong or foul, but unique. This leg of the Canterway is well traveled, and the party passes a number of travelers going the other way.



Finally the path leads into the city, becoming a road weaving its way between buildings in a small cavern. This cavern is clearly not the entire city, since few caves were large enough to house a city in its entirety. The road goes perhaps fifty yards before turning and heading east into what the companions assume is a larger cave. A guard in half-plate armor stops the party before they get ten feet into the cavern.



“Please state your business in New Fifechester.”



Slash steps forward, “Sir, we are a troupe of traveling entertainers, hoping to bring a bit of joy and excitement to your humble city!”



The guard eyes the group with professional suspicion. Mixed-race traveling companions are rare, but not so rare as to demand specific questioning. Shrugging, he makes a note on the parchment he carries.



“You will need to obtain a Performing License in that building,” he points, “in order to ply your trade legally. For a group of your size it will cost twenty wood pieces per week. You will be allowed to set up in any unoccupied space in the market. Please set down your possessions and stand over there so my men can inspect them for contraband.”



Surprised and a bit started, the party looks at each other, then, apparently deciding they haven’t done anything wrong (yet) and don’t possess anything illegal that they know of, they drop their packs and stand where the guard indicated. Several more guards approach and begin systematically going through their possessions, checking every flap and pouch.



“If you don’t mind me asking, sir,” says Slash tentatively, “what kind of contraband are you looking for?”



The guard captain, who is surveying the search, answers, “Illegal drugs mostly.”



“What sort of drugs?” asks Zya, remembering that they have several unidentified vials lying about in their bags, “What would they look like?”



The guard captain launches into a description of the various outlawed substances, seeming to enjoy educating the outsiders. “Well, there’s Agony. It’s the distilled, magically collected essence of a creature that has been slowly tortured to death. It’s a dark red, thick fluid. And baccaran, of course. It’s yellow, and kept as either a paste or a powder. Devilweed is probably the least bad of the lot, and looks almost like tobacco. Luhix, on the other hand, is the very worst. They say it grows on the Abyss, and is applied into self-inflicted wounds. It’s a flour-like powder that glows green. Dreammist is actually a poison, but addicts put it into boiling water and inhale the vapors. It looks like thin, finger-long leaves. Mushroom powder is grainy and blue, and has a reputation of being commonly abused by wizards. Redflower leaves looks like red leaves, and is used to cheat in martial competition. Then there’s sannish, but it’s easy to spot since the blue color stains the lips. It takes months to fade. Terran Brandy is the magically captured essence of dying Fey, and is abused by all stripes of spellcasters. Vodare is a bitter brown powder, commonly mixed with ale to cut the taste.”



(Note: The characters would probably know most of this, but since the players didn’t know anything about the drugs, I decided to have the guard be helpful rather than suspicious of their interest in the matter. The players took copious notes during this exchange.)



The party stands, thinking, and Zya finally says, “A lot of those seem to derive from plants. How are they…”



The guard answers, “We don’t know. Only the druids know how to grow plants on a large scale. We’ve inspected their gardens – with their permission of course – and found nothing amiss.”



“So you’re having trouble with drugs in town, then?” asks Triesste.


The guard looks at her levelly, and says firmly, “No.”



Strak lets out a low cackle, “Of course they’re not. That’s why their checking our bags, ‘cause they’re having no trouble at all.” The guard glares at him.



“If you require a map, you can purchase one over there,” the guard indicates a booth, “Your possessions have been determined to be free of contraband. Please enjoy your stay in New Fifechester.”



The party retrieves their things and Triesste purchases a map from the booth. Finding an out-of-the-way corner, they peruse it. Roughly, the city occupies four larger caverns and several smaller ones. Two of the larger caverns are labeled as Industry and Commerce. The other large caverns seem full of residences. A narrow river or stream runs through several caverns, becoming a large pool in the commercial district.



“What’s the plan?” whispers Triesste, “Where do you think Ziffendel Manor is?”



“Probably here,” Crystal points at the southwest large cavern, “the residences are larger. The rich people probably live there.”



“What, are we just going to march right up to the door?” asks Slash, “What would we say? ‘Um, a crate of killer-zombie-plant was to be shipped to this address, do you know anything about it?’ That isn’t exactly subtle.”



“Works for me,” shrugs Strak.



“We should probably keep up the appearance of an entertaining troupe,” suggests Zya, “This open place in the Commercial district looks like a market. We can set up there, and while Crystal and Slash perform, the rest of us can be poking around, finding out what we can find out.”



Nobody has any objections to this plan.



“I’m going to see what I can see around his manor,” Beltana says quietly and moves off.



Strak and Triesste move off to the side and start conversing in low tones. Slash and Crystal begin to set up an area for their act. Zya goes off to inquire about Lord Ziffendel in the bad section of town.



A few minutes later, since they don’t really have much in the way of supplies with which to set up, Crystal and Slash announce their weapons/acrobatics spectacle in loud voices. A few curious townsfolk pay attention, but a crowd fails to collect around them. Nonplussed, they launch into their routine, leapfrogging, doing handstands, and whirling their nunchukus impressively throughout. All in all, it’s an interesting performance, but most of the townspeople don’t seem particularly impressed. The bowl they put out collects a couple wood coins, but at this rate they will have to work hard just to break even on the cost of the entertainment license. Slash gives no indication that she is performing to anything other than a huge crowd of appreciative royalty, but Crystal looks a little disappointed.



Zya returns, having discovered only the usual grumblings one expects poor people to mutter about the rich.



Meanwhile, Triesste and Strak’s conversation has become more and more animated and noisy. Finally Triesste says loudly, “Oh yeah? Well your mother was a Drow!”



“You dare?” Growls Strak. Without hesitation he punches Triesste in the face. She stumbles backward, blood welling from her nose. A moment later, she launches herself back at the Derro, but gets thrown aside. Cursing, Triesste pulls out her crossbow and aims it at Strak. The bolt narrowly misses his head, flies up in a perfect arc to near the ceiling of the cavern, and clatters against the stone wall of a shop on the other side of the small lake.



“Okay, now that’s going a bit far,” says Zya, running up, “Fistfights are one thing, but you could have killed him with that…”



Strak draws his rapier, “You will regret that, mongrel,” and he moves up and slaps Triesste across the face with the flat of the blade. A pink welt springs up almost instantly on the half-Drow’s cheek and she cries out in pain. Strak smiles, “I’m going to enjoy this.”



Triesste draws her own rapier and thrusts directly at Strak’s chest. It is obvious that if the strike connects she will cause serious damage, but the Derro’s blade slaps hers aside casually.



The townspeople seem unsure what is going on. Is this part of the weapons act? Another wood piece clinks into the bowl.



Strak slaps Triesste again with the non-lethal side of his rapier, this time on the other side of her head. Triesste is caught off-guard, having expected her last blow to skewer her small opponent, and sees interesting sparkly things pop up, accompanying the stabbing pain. She falls, her head hitting the stone with a loud crack. She is unconscious, a pool of blood forming under her nose. The townspeople lose interest and wander off.



A few minutes later Triesste stirs, groaning, and sits up holding her throbbing head. “Let that be a lesson to you, half-breed,” says Strak, smiling, “not to insult or attack your betters.” It is uncertain whether Triesste even hears him as she tries to get the pounding behind her temples to settle down.



Beltana returns. She gives a little smile as she interprets Triesste’s condition and Strak’s smugness. The robed Drow gestures the group to her and walks off to the side, out of earshot of casual listeners. She speaks.



“I have spoken to Lord Ziffendel and received an invitation to return whenever I like,” she says casually. The others try to interject with questions, but she ignores them, “He is a senile old fool. I do not believe he had the wit to secretly arrange the delivery of that crate. However, there is definitely something suspicious going on in the Manor. He was married, an arranged marriage of course, to a young woman from New Sillar about ten years ago. She only got pregnant recently, but the baby was stillborn and she returned to New Sillar to be with her family in her time of grief. This was about six weeks ago.”


The others start talking, speculating, and scheming all at the same time, but again Beltana cuts them off, “I’m not finished. Another member of the household is also missing. Hubris, his name is, Lord Ziffendel’s pet cleric of Pelor. He arrived from New Sillar shortly after the woman. He left here shortly after she did. He did not tell Lord Ziffendel where he was going. He has been gone longer than is usual for his business trips. There has been no communication. It does not take a genius to come to a reasonable assumption here. Lord Ziffendel suspects nothing. He is worried that Hubris might have had an accident. He believes me to be a cleric of Pelor myself. I can return when I like just so he has somebody to talk to.”



The party thinks over this information. Zya says, “Okay, the obvious assumption is that Hubris and Lady Ziffendel were lovers, perhaps even back in New Sillar before the arranged marriage. He travels here to be with her. Years pass. He impregnates her, the baby isn’t really stillborn, and they run off to be with each other. Mom, Dad, and child. That all sounds reasonable. But what about that crate? Lord Ziffendel didn’t arrange it, unless he’s faking senility,” Beltana snorts as Zya continues, “so that leaves Hubris and Lady Ziffendel. If they’re lovers, I can see them attempting to kill her husband, but there are simpler ways then arranging a top-secret shipment of killer zombifying plants.”



Beltana shrugs, “That mystery remains unsolved.”



Zya replies, “I want to go with you when you return. If you can convince him a Drow is a cleric of Pelor, he shouldn’t be that surprised to see a kobold.”



Beltana shrugs again, “All right. I was planning on returning tomorrow. I see no reason why you can’t come.”



“I wonder,” says Crystal, “if Hubris was really a cleric of Pelor at all? If you could convince him, he probably could be made to believe anything.”



Pondering their new information (at great length) the party finds an inn and spends the night uneventfully. In the morning, Beltana returns to Ziffendel manor with Zya in tow.



A servant opens the door. Recognizing Beltana, he gestures them in. Eyeing the pair with obvious distaste, he hurries off to inform Lord Ziffendel that he has visitors. Soon, the two find themselves in a small sitting room with the frail old Lord himself. He looks like he could keel over dead at any time and can barely hold his head up and speak coherently. He cracks a toothless smile when Beltana enters, and wheezes, “I was wondering if you would return! I so enjoyed our conversation yesterday. And who is the little one?”



“This is Zya,” says Beltana, “another acolyte from the temple of Pelor. How’s your leg?” Zya is amazed at the change in Beltana’s voice. She no longer sounds annoyed, aloof, or quiet. She oozes genuine concern, interest, and friendliness. She looks directly into Lord Ziffendel’s eyes and smiles gently as she talks.



“Oh, fine, fine. You fixed it up just fine. Good as new. So you’re from the temple, too, are you? Did you ever meet Hubris?”



“No,” Zya almost yipped nervously.



“A pity. He was a wonderful man, just wonderful. You’d like him.”



The conversation continues for several minutes. Zya asks a few questions, but no new information comes up.



Finally, at what seems an opportune moment, Zya says, “At the temple we hear many things. I have often heard of the impressive chapel you have here at your manor.”



Ziffendel beams, “It is nice isn’t it? Wait, you haven’t seen it have you?”



“No, but I would dearly love to do so.”



Ziffendel rings a little bell and the servant who had answered the front door appears.



“Please show our guests the chapel.” “Yes, my Lord.”



Ziffendel stays in his chair, looking at nothing, while the servant leads Beltana and Zya down a hallway to a door emblazoned with the sun-symbol of Pelor. Pushing it open, he gestures for them to enter.



It is well appointed, with banners and murals depicting scenes from Pelor mythology. The altar and its appointments look unremarkable, and several candles are burning in sconces around the room. There is seating for perhaps ten people and one of the ubiquitous braziers provides warmth. Everything looks like it should.



They made admiring noises at the decoration, then Zya turns to the servant, “I would dearly love to be able to meditate in this wonderful chapel.”



“Go right ahead,” the servant says, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, “I’ll wait.”



“Well, I could be a while, and I don’t want to keep you from your work…”



The servant glares down at her, “My Lord is senile, not me.”



“Fair enough,” she mutters under her breath.



She makes a show of sitting to meditate, but is peering around the room intently. Suddenly she reacts as if surprised, stands up, and says, “Come, I think it is time for us to make our farewells.”



The servant leads them back to Lord Ziffendel, who is nearly asleep.



“My Lord,” says Beltana, “Your chapel is indeed impressive. I assure you the temple will look into the matter of your missing cleric.”


He looks up at them, eyes slowly focusing, “Oh, yes, of course. You will let me know if you discover anything, won’t you?”



“I’ll contact you in person if we hear anything.”



Zya and Beltana return to the others. Crystal and Slash are again putting on a performance in the marketplace, with no better luck than yesterday. When a free moment presents itself, they all gather around Beltana and Zya.



“Anything?” barks Slash.



“No,” says Beltana, “He didn’t say anything we didn’t already…”



“I found out something,” says Zya, “The chapel is phony. It’s not consecrated or hallowed.”



They turn to look at her.



“Are you sure?” Asks Crystal.



“Is that odd?” Asks Triesste.



“Yes, I am sure,” growls Zya, not explaining how she knows, “and yes, it is odd. All new chapels to Pelor are dedicated in a ceremony involving the nearest High Priest. It’s an expensive, time consuming ritual and includes the Hallowing of the new chapel.



“Keep up the performance,” advises Beltana, “I’m going to see if I can get access to the Civil Records. Things like marriages, births, and deaths should all be recorded there.”



“I’m going to go inquire at the Temple of Pelor,” says Zya.



There is a brief discussion. Crystal and Triesste want to join Zya so they could ask any questions they think of that perhaps she might not. Nobody wants to go with Beltana to the Civil Records building.



The Temple to Pelor is at the opposite end of the commercial district. It is an imposing structure with a white marble façade. Steps lead up to a broad main entrance, which itself is dominated by a very large brazier shaped like the sun and filled with brightly glowing coals. A pair of white-robed acolytes flank the entrance. Zya approaches to speak with one of the acolytes. Crystal and Triesste hang back, listening.



Unfortunately, little is learned during the conversation. The acolyte wouldn’t bring a high-ranking individual unless Zya could demonstrate a real need. He answered her questions somewhat primly, assuring her that all chapels to Pelor were sanctified soon after construction and the caretaker-priest would inform them if something went wrong. Hubris was educated in New Sillar and sent here to serve Lord Ziffendel as a resident cleric. This is not unusual, all rich people like to have their own cleric. His paperwork was in order when he arrived, showing that he was a legitimate priest of Pelor, or else he would never have been allowed to serve Lord Ziffendel in that capacity. Then Zya makes the mistake of asking whether that paperwork can be forged, and the acolyte stiffens, “I rather resent that question, Kobold.” She can’t get anything else out of him.



They gather up Strak and Slash and returned to their inn-room to wait for Beltana. She arrived about an hour later, smelling of book-dust. She was sporting a small, satisfied smile.



“The marriage between Lord Ziffendel and the maiden Tiny Krum is legitimate and on record,” she informed them, “There is not, however, any record of a recent death in the household. I checked, and stillborn children are always given a name and a proper burial. Their records are very thorough, and if a child had been stillborn at that manor, it would have been recorded.”



They debate this and decide that they will have to explore this mystery to its conclusion. They do not know how the deadly crate ties into the affair, but it is clear that something sinister is lurking underneath what would otherwise appear to be a simple romance story. They decide that, in the morning, they will travel to New Sillar and find Lady Ziffendel.





Next Session: A pointless random encounter, New Sillar, and Meeting the Krums.

 

[Look_a_Unicorn]

Great update

How often do you guys play? It HAS been a fair while since your last update, I would have thought you'd be further behind... (not complaining, just surprised)

 

[MerakSpielman]

Good question. Most groups have a problem where everybody wants to play and whoever ends up DMing gets burnt out. It's a pretty busy job, after all, and it's hard coming up with ideas. Our group has the opposite problem. We're currently running four different campaigns with four different DMs. It seems that everybody has an idea for a campaign these days.

So we rotate - every week, we do a different game. So on average we play my campaign once a month. In practice it ends up being even less often, since inevitably we can't play some weekends and the whole schedule gets bumped one week forward. Sometimes it could be as many as 6 weeks between sessions.

This rate should speed up since one of our DMs is taking an extended hiatus from DMing. Her world proved to be larger and more complicated than she had anticipated, and somehow she ended up with the largest group of players. She plays Slash in this campaign. So, with one campaign fewer going on, we'll be playing my campaign once every 3 weeks from now on.

It's good to know the work I put into typing this is being apprecieated! Thanks for reading and posting, Look_a_Unicorn.

 

[BSF]

Merak, nice stuff. I am guessing this is the same group that you referenced in a post a while ago about gaming with a group of women? It sounds a lot like this is going to go to where they are investigating Tiny Krum and trying to determine if she looks like a woman that just lost a child.

Any chance I could get you to elaborate a bit on the Swashbuckling cards?

 

[MerakSpielman]

Not only that, they try to determine, by looking at her, if she is currently caring for a baby personally... That was the night none of the other men could make it. Come to think of it, that was the last night we played. Egads, has it been that long?

The swashbuckling cards are great fun. I assume you read the bit above, but in case somebody else missed it:

Also, I am making use of "Swashbuckling Cards." These are passed out at the beginning of each session, one to each player, and kept hidden from everyone, including the DM. They each contain a title and/or clever movie quote and allow something strange and unusual to happen. Some are mundane, such as "Handy Rope: You character can move anywhere on the battlefield before taking his normal action," and some are extraordinary, such as "Excellent: A cohort or flunky enters with good news," or "Pillows and Hot Baths: The next room you enter will contain comfortable pillows and hot baths. There will be no random encounters while you are in this room." These cards are returned to the deck when played and are intended to introduce a random element to the game, as well as to amuse the players by making the DM think quickly on his feet to make what happens seem reasonable. They also add a light-hearted element to a generally dark game.

I'm attaching the .doc file for the cards. I formatted them better, printed them on cardstock, and put a stylized dragon on the back for actual use. I have no idea who came up with them, but I originally found them posted here at EnWorld.

 

[BSF]

Huh - Pretty interesting. I am assuming that your card is only valid for that session and that all cards are reshuffled before the next game? Also, do you deal out cards for the BBEG's?

 

[MerakSpielman]

They can keep their card for the next session if they want to, but how long are you going to hold on to a card that you never get to play? There are some cards that could have a stunning and irrevocible impact on the game (The BBEG, instead of dying, repents and joins your side), but the opportunities to play them are so few and far between... And are you really certain you want him on your side?

No, the BBEGs don't get cards. The cards, extra sub-racial abilities, and organization feats might be a bit unbalancing in favor of the PCs, but other than the cards, all the NPCs have the same benefits. Plus, the average level of a random NPC in this particular underdark is 5th... It's a harsh place.

 

[Look_a_Unicorn]

Good question. Most groups have a problem where everybody wants to play and whoever ends up DMing gets burnt out. It's a pretty busy job, after all, and it's hard coming up with ideas. Our group has the opposite problem. We're currently running four different campaigns with four different DMs. It seems that everybody has an idea for a campaign these days.

Yeah I know both problems, the DM running the campaign I story-houred here for a while has only just come back from about 6 months off (admittedly he had his final year project to do as well).
However, my brother is also running a campaign I'm playing in, so the campaign I want to run is sitting in the backburner until one or both other campaigns are concluded!

It's good to know the work I put into typing this is being apprecieated! Thanks for reading and posting, Look_a_Unicorn.

hey, my pleasure .

 

[dpdx]

Okay, I recognize Silleria and the Amulet of Sending as hallmarks of a MerakSpielman campaign. Nice story hour!