GREYHAWK CY963 GOLDEN ERA CAMPAIGN: HEROES OF DYVERS: CHAPTER 4

[Aust Thale]

Vale Rides Shotgun

~ Well, there you go, Val. ~

"Val, we move north. We require your dark-sight. Reach out to your limits. We wish no surprises from above us, in front of us, or behind us. Otherwise, we shall use the twilight and dark to our advantage. When we settle in and camp for the evening, continue that sight, as well as blinding light, to prevent any giant spiders from making a meal of us. After all, you would hate to be in their hands instead of ours. Right."

Vale climbs into the wagon next to Sylvar, placing himself in a position to de-wagon should the need arise. The party is at moderate risk until it rests. Vale has several spell scrolls that were intended for a fight against undead, but which might indeed have additional use. These include magical mounts. However, tonight would seem to be better to ride the wagon carefully and keep magic fresh.

The wagon holds about 7900 lbs., a 3/4 load for the 10,000 lb. capacity. The horses should manage this well, and the party should make good time as long as the wagon remains out of the mud and moving. Vale places the gemstones in one of his small pouches and puts them away into his haversack, holding them for magical use or good, ole fashioned gold to split among the rest of the party.

The large sacks of coinage glint nearly on their own without much light. He tightens the opening to the sacks. He also takes a set of the Elven Chainmail, but he stows it in his haversack; amazingly, it rolls neatly into the space.
He then takes one of the Elven Composite Bows (16 Str) and two quivers of regular arrows, stashing one quiver behind him in the wagon, and another on his shoulder lashed to his haversack.

"North." He pulls a pipe and tobacco from his backpack, thinks better of it, puts the pipe back, and snaps up a single share of iron rations to eat on the fly, taking additional for his companions and tossing the small sacks of food gently to each of them. As he eats, he examines the ogre leaders ring (without touching it) with a kerchief, and then the green potion, and then the wand, to attempt to ascertain what these items are.

OOC: Skill Checks: Craft, Stonemasonry = 21 ; Knowledge Arcana (potion) = 21; (wand) = 28: May not get there, but if it's within his bailiwick, perhaps it will be enough

As he finishes, he takes a pinch of tobacco and places between his lip/cheek and his teeth. He swirls the juice, gathering its calming effect, and spits into the small gourd that came with this round of rations. Not over the side, lest he give away their position. He eyes the canyon bluffs, and stands every so often, partly to accommodate the soreness of his gout, and partly to attempt to look ahead.

OOC: Vale has the following scrolls, as a reminder: Lesser Restoration (4); Restoration (2); Speak w/ Dead (2); Remove Curse (1); Continual Flame (1); Command (1); Sanctuary (6); and some anti-undead spells and potions and alchemical substances

 

[Diarmadhim]

Taking a moment after the fight, I focus and channel the healing energy of my enchanted belt.

OOC: 3 charges used, one at a time. Heal for 12, 10, and 3 respectively. Total of 25 healing done, brings me to missing 12 hitpoints. A night of sleep should heal me for all but 2 of those missing points.

“Well done everyone. That could have gone much worse. It appears the merchants and mercenaries were taken completely unaware. It is hard to believe they were either green enough or too brazen to not have a scout or two to ensure their path was safe.”

I cast Detect Magic and focus upon each of the items as they're loaded up.

“North sounds more fun. Hell, maybe we will even find additional wagons and mounts to cart this haul to Gorna! Speaking of loot, I still have the itemized list from our last adventure. I'll hold off on updating it until we safely offload all of this!” I grin wryly. "You all know me. I won't be claiming any of it. I prefer coin to better improve my manor."

 

[MacConnell]

After making a deliberate point of allowing each mount to acquaint itself with him, Lathir straddles the lead horse of the team, coaxing them all forward at a steady pace.

OOC: Handle Animal: Skill = 12 Ride: Skill = 11

GM: Rolls: Handle Animal: 15 Ride: 23 (Success On Both)

 

[Sylvar B.]

Sylvar looks over at Vale... Have you heard the story of the Elf king who was tricked by the human peasant into giving him his prettiest daughter as a bride?

 

[Aust Thale]

Vale Answers Sylvar & More...Riding The Trail

Sylvar looks over at Vale... Have you heard the story of the Elf king who was tricked by the human peasant into giving him his prettiest daughter as a bride?

"Must be a desperate human peasant!" Vale winks at his elven comrade. He is partial to elves, unlike most dwarves, who typically regard them as haughty and arrogant. This Sylvar fellow is a story-teller, caroler, and jokester all rolled up into one. He parries the elf's comedic query, and delivers his own riposte. "I jest, my friend. No, I have not heard the story, and I would like to. However, just a moment. In all our haste getting moving, I almost missed an opportunity. Thallok, who among this lot do you think has the highest rank? The giant? The Ogre? I have a scroll for speaking with the freshly deceased, and I speak Orc & Giant. Are these cretins worth the spell? I'd surely like to know more about their ranks, range, plans, and capabilities. Thoughts anyone?"

OOC: Vale has 2 scrolls of Speak w/ Dead.

 

[Tellerian Hawke]

Val says, “Great idea, my boy! I’d question the biggest Giant, or the biggest Ogre if I were you. Everyone else was either a peon, a subordinate, or a follower.”

 

[Waynan]

Halflings, not comfortable with the whole speaking with the dead/undead thing, Tam-Tam stands at the back of the party, but still ever curious; so, he stands close enough to hear anything that may be said.

 

[Sylvar B.]

Sylvar thinks to himself, "oh for the love of Freya... we'll never get anywhere like this...especially if we end up skewered on an Manticore spike or crushed by a giant's club, I suppose any information we get would be helpful though"... Sylvar halts the wagon, expressionless, but inwardly annoyed.

 

[MacConnell]

Lathir dismounts, as obviously the wagon train will not yet be departing.
"I do not recommend trying to question the trolls."

He laughs.
"Since they are nice burning, bubbling, puddles of goo."

 

[Tellerian Hawke]

INTERLUDE: WHAT HAPPENED TO VEGA!

OOC: Remember when this happened....?

GM: The DM Originally Said: EVERYONE in the party needs to make a Listen check (unknown DC), and post their results in the Facebook OOC channel.

Walking toward the edge of the well, Lathir suddenly stops.
"I knew something was bothering me. I no longer hear that humming sound of the portal we used to arrive. I suspect we have lost our connection!"

Clearing my throat at the unexpected change of events, I quietly ask, "Has anyone else noticed it doesn't sound like the portal is active anymore? If it proves true upon inspection, we really only have one option - forward, or in this case, down," I end with a slight grin.

OOC: This is another one of those "behind the scenes" posts, just to sort of tie up loose ends, and show the party some of what is happening elsewhere while they are taking actions and making decisions. It's a way of storytelling that helps the players feel more immersed in the story, because they (the players, not the characters) gain an ironic form of knowledge that helps them make decisions on how to proceed; I speak here of DRAMATIC IRONY, defined thus: "...a literary technique, originally used in Greek tragedy, by which the full significance of a character's words or actions are clear to the audience or reader although unknown to the character. Thus, without further ado, here is what happened to Vega near the end of the Orc / Succubus battle:

Vega laughs, as she listens to Tam's comment, musing to herself: "A gem of a different cut, indeed! What a cute little Halfling! I hope he ends up sticking around."

Vega is about to speak into the mirror, to remind the party that the portal is still active, when the mirror begins to glow! Before her eyes, the image of the clearing where the party is gathered begins to fade, replaced by the image of a dimly lit, heavily forested glade! Staring back at her, as if he can see through the portal, actually seeing Vega herself, is a regal-looking man, dressed in richly appointed purple robes, wearing a gold diadem, and carrying a gnarled, wooden staff. His skin is bright white, the color of marble, and his eyes are a glowing, pulsing red. He does not look Human at all; he has the look of a monster, in Human form.

The man steps toward the portal, looking as if he intends to step through it, into the tower with Vega! Reacting with her gut instinct, Vega rises to take action!

GM: Initiative: Vega: 26 The Man: 24

The man moves with incredible speed, but somehow, perhaps because of her realization that this moment might determine the fate of the entire party, Vega moves even more quickly, managing to beat him to the punch!

Vega draws her sword and strikes the mirror HARD, a blow that would have shattered a typical mirror of this type, even a magical one; but Margull's mirror is warded against such things, although striking it does have a consequence, which Vega had no way of foreseeing.

There is an explosion of light, sound, and force; Vega is knocked prone by the blast, as is the man, who was too near the portal to avoid it.

As Vega gets to her feet, she sees that the man is already standing. He looks very upset. Vega looks around, still holding her sword in her hand, and sees that she is no longer in the confines of Margull's tower, and that Gus is no longer by her side. She is standing in the middle of a city street, surrounded by curious onlookers. Above her, oddly-shaped towers and spires, all of which are the color of sparkling emeralds, dominate the skyline. The street she is standing on is odd-looking; it is shiny and smooth, like metal. In fact, it has the look of polished brass. As Vega takes a look at the people in the crowd of onlookers, a strange realization washes over her; this is no ordinary city. The onlookers are all manner of beasts and humanoids, some demonic-looking, some angelic, and some strange, and other-worldly. Their attention seems to be focused on the man, rather than upon Vega.

The man says, "Nice going, my little cherub. You've landed us in quite a pickle. That mirror of yours has flung us into a place that is not easy to return from; Plane Shift and similar magicks will not carry us out of this place. We are in the City of Doors, and our arrival here without a Planar Key is likely to attract the attention of The Lady of Pain! Your rash actions may have doomed us both, you stupid child!"

As he says this, he points his staff at Vega, and speaks a cryptic command word, in a magical tongue.

GM: Vega, Will Save, DC 25. Result = 24 (But with a Natural 20!) SAVED!

Vega feels her limbs begin to stiffen, and panics, knowing that this must be some sort of Hold Person spell; she focuses her willpower, desperate to shake off the effects! With supreme effort, she is able to stave off the powerful spell's effects, much to the man's surprise!

"You are something special, my dear." he says, flatly.

"I've got something special for you!" Vega screams, as she charges the man, intending to run him through with her mithral blade!

GM: To-Hit Roll: 13 (Miss)

The man stands calmly, as Vega completes her charge. He does not attempt to move. Instead, he simply moves his staff into position at the last possible second, deflecting her blade easily, and causing her to stumble (but not fall) to his immediate left. The man is obviously well-versed in melee combat, and is clearly Vega's superior in that regard.

The man smiles, "My, you've got a king's courage, even if you have only a squire's skill. Bravo, my dear! Well done!" he taunts.

Before either of them can react further, the crowd parts, making way for a short, thin, handsome-looking, middle-aged Gray Elf, with long, flowing black hair, and luminous, light-red (almost pink) eyes, dressed in blue and red-trimmed robes, and holding an impressive, smooth, black staff, which is crowned with a blue diamond that is the size of a grapefruit! Next to him, hovering above his left shoulder, is an ominous, strange-looking, ghostly black orb, which crackles with static electricity!

The Gray Elf speaks with an aire of confidence: "You two had better have good reason to be fighting in the streets of this place. Our landlady takes a dim view of such things. This one has the excuse of impetuous youthfulness, but you, my good sir, should know better."

The man bows before the Gray Elf, and says: "My apologies, Lord Delbin. I am honored by your presence. I tried to keep her still, but somehow, she resisted. I had not intended to engage in a brawl. I am well aware of the sovereignty of the ground whereupon I stand. Please forgive me."

GM: TO BE CONTINUED!