-
NOW LIVE! Into the Woods--new character species, eerie monsters, and haunting villains to populate the woodlands of your D&D games.
In Hextor's Name (Completed 22 Oct 2004)
- Thread starter Capellan
- Start date
arwink
Clockwork Golem
Nice try, but it wont happen this week. I have a break from teaching, and most of that's spent writing "stuff that will make me money," or packing all my stuff in preperation for moving next month 
Next week, when I'm back at Uni and have a long gap between classes, expect an update.
Next week, when I'm back at Uni and have a long gap between classes, expect an update.
Capellan
Explorer
Kull's Second Report - Part 2
I led the way down into the cellar, following the trail of footprints to the far wall, where they appeared to walk straight into solid rock. Knowing that there was doubtless a secret door present somewhere in the wall, I ordered Troilan forward, to search for it.
For a wonder, the girl obeyed: I had expected her to be busy looting the dead. When I turned, however, I discovered the reason she was not - she had been beaten to the task by Brodnak. The barbarian was already pawing through the man's belongings. He is a fine warrior, but he lacks discipline: it is foolishness to search the fallen when the field of battle is not yet secured.
Suddenly Brodnak jerked back, bellowing "Worms! Worms!" It took a moment to see what caused his alarm, but then I spotted them: fat, white grubs that were burrowing into his hands. I immediately moved to assist him, but even in that short time the creatures had disappeared beneath the skin. Brodnak tried to cut the creatures out with his knife, but succeeded in doing little more than bloodying his blade with his own flesh.
Spotting more of the grubs emerging from the corpse, the druid conjured fire, and charred them to a crisp, though one managed to wriggle far enough to reach Troilan, and burrowed into her leg.
Seeing that fire killed the vermin, I thrust a burning torch against Troilan's wound. She screamed and tried to jerk away, but I held her fast. She swayed and almost blacked out - weakness - but the fire did its job, destroying the grub.
Brodnak too, was then held down, and a torch applied to his flesh. Only once I was sure that he had been cleansed of the vermin did I allow him to stand again. The druid healed Troilan's injuries, while I invoked Hextor's Will to relieve the burns on the barbarian's flesh.
Hale once more, Brodnak lost no time in turning the torch against the corpse, after first dowsing it in oil. Only once the body was completely blackened, and the cellar was filled with the scent of burnt flesh, did he inspect the corpse once more. The man's clothes and perishable items were destroyed by the flames, of course, but his armour and blade had survived unscathed. Both looked of fine make, and the barbarian stowed them in his pack with a grunt of satisfaction.
In the mean time, I had set Troilan back on her task of finding the secret door; a task in which she duly succeeded, discovering a latch hidden behind a loose stone.
Once again, the others' lack of discipline would count against my efforts. Although it was plain that anyone beyond the door must have become aware of our presence - accompanied as it was by the shouts of battle and the smell of burning flesh - the fool girl immediately activated the latch, and then she and Brodnak rushed toward the door, pushing it open without thought of what might lie beyond.
The instant the door swung open, a blast of multi-coloured washed over them, and they both crumpled silently to the ground. From where I stood, I could just see the spell's source: a robed wizard, flanked on either side by armed men.
Over a dozen of them; and just three of us left standing.
I drew my flail and leapt forward, Hextor's name on my lips.
I led the way down into the cellar, following the trail of footprints to the far wall, where they appeared to walk straight into solid rock. Knowing that there was doubtless a secret door present somewhere in the wall, I ordered Troilan forward, to search for it.
For a wonder, the girl obeyed: I had expected her to be busy looting the dead. When I turned, however, I discovered the reason she was not - she had been beaten to the task by Brodnak. The barbarian was already pawing through the man's belongings. He is a fine warrior, but he lacks discipline: it is foolishness to search the fallen when the field of battle is not yet secured.
Suddenly Brodnak jerked back, bellowing "Worms! Worms!" It took a moment to see what caused his alarm, but then I spotted them: fat, white grubs that were burrowing into his hands. I immediately moved to assist him, but even in that short time the creatures had disappeared beneath the skin. Brodnak tried to cut the creatures out with his knife, but succeeded in doing little more than bloodying his blade with his own flesh.
Spotting more of the grubs emerging from the corpse, the druid conjured fire, and charred them to a crisp, though one managed to wriggle far enough to reach Troilan, and burrowed into her leg.
Seeing that fire killed the vermin, I thrust a burning torch against Troilan's wound. She screamed and tried to jerk away, but I held her fast. She swayed and almost blacked out - weakness - but the fire did its job, destroying the grub.
Brodnak too, was then held down, and a torch applied to his flesh. Only once I was sure that he had been cleansed of the vermin did I allow him to stand again. The druid healed Troilan's injuries, while I invoked Hextor's Will to relieve the burns on the barbarian's flesh.
Hale once more, Brodnak lost no time in turning the torch against the corpse, after first dowsing it in oil. Only once the body was completely blackened, and the cellar was filled with the scent of burnt flesh, did he inspect the corpse once more. The man's clothes and perishable items were destroyed by the flames, of course, but his armour and blade had survived unscathed. Both looked of fine make, and the barbarian stowed them in his pack with a grunt of satisfaction.
In the mean time, I had set Troilan back on her task of finding the secret door; a task in which she duly succeeded, discovering a latch hidden behind a loose stone.
Once again, the others' lack of discipline would count against my efforts. Although it was plain that anyone beyond the door must have become aware of our presence - accompanied as it was by the shouts of battle and the smell of burning flesh - the fool girl immediately activated the latch, and then she and Brodnak rushed toward the door, pushing it open without thought of what might lie beyond.
The instant the door swung open, a blast of multi-coloured washed over them, and they both crumpled silently to the ground. From where I stood, I could just see the spell's source: a robed wizard, flanked on either side by armed men.
Over a dozen of them; and just three of us left standing.
I drew my flail and leapt forward, Hextor's name on my lips.
Last edited:
Thomas Hobbes
First Post
Woohoo! First post!
Kull's amusing as always. Now update the Company of the Random Encounter! Er, please?
Kull's amusing as always. Now update the Company of the Random Encounter! Er, please?
arwink
Clockwork Golem
Zalich's Log, Entry Five
We knew the creature was coming back. It hated the heat as much as I loathed the cold, so it was inevitable. Badly wounded as everyone was, we had to keep it from turning of the furnace once again or we'd likely die from cold before the storm was over.
Some barricades were created around the two doors of the cellar, piled high with flamable debris so we could create flaming walls to drive the creature off. Once this was done, it was a simple matter of waiting.
It didn't take long, and at midnight the creature returned to batter its way through the door. I spent several long minutes, sitting by the furnace with my rolling pin in hand, waiting for the wood to splinter. Eventually it did, and a carefully lobbed vial of oil from one of the others create a blazing bonfire in the creatures path. It screamed, writing in pain, before fleeing into the shadows of the night.
The rest of the night was quiet, with the wounded rasping in the dim light of the furnace coals while those of us still conscious kept watch. We'd destroyed the first door in the fire, which proved a sobering thought. Whenever that creature returned, there was only one barricade between it and the furnace. The bonfire tactic, effective as it had been, couldn't be tried again.
What sleep I had was fitfull and nervous, filled with shadowy images of drowning crew, burning flames and the cold touch of death. It did little to inspire me. I was roused in what I assume were the early hours of the day, I could no longer tell. Very few people were looking healthy, even after healing magic was used to bring the unconscious back to the waking world. Not a good sign, particularly with the ice ghoul still out there. I made veryone a cup of tea to keep them warm, and double checked that the furnace was well stoked.
We set about formulating a plan. Fire was probably our best bet, and it turned out a number of the adventuring types were carrying vials of oil. I shudder to think why. The vials were distributed among the others as best they could be, while I spent some time with my spell book. I set aside my normal defensive magics, learning only an arcane shield that would last a single battle, then filled my head with as much magic as I could that would produce fire or energy that harmed the undead.
We arranged ourselves around the room, the fire-hurlers in the corners, Brodnack watching the hall, and myself between the door and the furnace. For hours we waited thus, our breath and fidgeting the only sound to be heard. The fear I felt clenched at my soul, but I kept my mind on the need for warmth.
Time lost its meaning during that wait, but eventually the wait was over. We heard the creature storming down the stairs to the basement, saw Brodnack launch a javelin down the hall. The creatre appeared in our view, unharmed, and Brodnack lept at it with his sword drawn, trying to slow it down. It was still out of range of my fire, but I quickly raised my shield in preperation for its approach. The arcane energy formed before me, a wall of energy that I prayed would keep me safe. Brodnack and his sword proved little distraction to the Ice Ghoul, quickly being brought low by the creatures flailing fists.
it turned towards us, its red eyes glowing with hatred as it saw me standing before the furnace. Around the room, people held small flames near the fuses of oil vials, ready to launch. I summoned the words and gestures of a burning hands at the ready, and waited for the creature to charge.
It lurhced into the room, claws extended and a shriek echoing from its lips. The smell of burning oil filled the room as vials were launched, some setting the creature alight and others crashing to the floor where they became puddles of fire. I rattled off the words necessary for my spell, sending a sheet of flame forth from my fingertips, but the creature was quick enough to duck under the worst of the spell. Even so, it's blue flesh showed some sign of scorching.
Then it was upon me, its claws hammering at my shield and it's fetid breath filling the air. A wave of fear like nothing I've ever known hit me, telling me to flee, but memories of the ice-flow returned. Once more I felt my hands numb and my feet turning blue, and I knew that if the choice came between standing up to the creature with my spells or fleeing to die in the cold, I'd rather it ripped me limb from limb in the warmth of the room. I launched another spell, sent more flames burning forth, even as claws reached around the shield and tore through my flesh. Fresh blood fell on the floor, mine, and I prayed a silent prayer of thanks that my years on the Silver Arrow had taught me more about pain than most spellcasters. More oil flew through the air, the sound of an arrow hammering into the creatures side. It's possible I cast another spell, another burning hands or a cantrip that disrupted the creatures essence, I don't know. My attention was focused only on staying upright, on keeping the creature from the furnace and myself from the cold. My world shrank to nothing but pain and determination.
And then the creature was gone, dropped by some mighty blow by one of the warriors. I cared little for the hows and whys, only that it was done.
"Is it dead?" I asked.
"Yes." Someone answered.
That was all I needed to know. With a resigned sigh, I sat down and shuddered as the pain and desperation I'd been ignoring hit home.
"I think I need a cup of tea," I said, then thought very seriously about fainting.
We knew the creature was coming back. It hated the heat as much as I loathed the cold, so it was inevitable. Badly wounded as everyone was, we had to keep it from turning of the furnace once again or we'd likely die from cold before the storm was over.
Some barricades were created around the two doors of the cellar, piled high with flamable debris so we could create flaming walls to drive the creature off. Once this was done, it was a simple matter of waiting.
It didn't take long, and at midnight the creature returned to batter its way through the door. I spent several long minutes, sitting by the furnace with my rolling pin in hand, waiting for the wood to splinter. Eventually it did, and a carefully lobbed vial of oil from one of the others create a blazing bonfire in the creatures path. It screamed, writing in pain, before fleeing into the shadows of the night.
The rest of the night was quiet, with the wounded rasping in the dim light of the furnace coals while those of us still conscious kept watch. We'd destroyed the first door in the fire, which proved a sobering thought. Whenever that creature returned, there was only one barricade between it and the furnace. The bonfire tactic, effective as it had been, couldn't be tried again.
What sleep I had was fitfull and nervous, filled with shadowy images of drowning crew, burning flames and the cold touch of death. It did little to inspire me. I was roused in what I assume were the early hours of the day, I could no longer tell. Very few people were looking healthy, even after healing magic was used to bring the unconscious back to the waking world. Not a good sign, particularly with the ice ghoul still out there. I made veryone a cup of tea to keep them warm, and double checked that the furnace was well stoked.
We set about formulating a plan. Fire was probably our best bet, and it turned out a number of the adventuring types were carrying vials of oil. I shudder to think why. The vials were distributed among the others as best they could be, while I spent some time with my spell book. I set aside my normal defensive magics, learning only an arcane shield that would last a single battle, then filled my head with as much magic as I could that would produce fire or energy that harmed the undead.
We arranged ourselves around the room, the fire-hurlers in the corners, Brodnack watching the hall, and myself between the door and the furnace. For hours we waited thus, our breath and fidgeting the only sound to be heard. The fear I felt clenched at my soul, but I kept my mind on the need for warmth.
Time lost its meaning during that wait, but eventually the wait was over. We heard the creature storming down the stairs to the basement, saw Brodnack launch a javelin down the hall. The creatre appeared in our view, unharmed, and Brodnack lept at it with his sword drawn, trying to slow it down. It was still out of range of my fire, but I quickly raised my shield in preperation for its approach. The arcane energy formed before me, a wall of energy that I prayed would keep me safe. Brodnack and his sword proved little distraction to the Ice Ghoul, quickly being brought low by the creatures flailing fists.
it turned towards us, its red eyes glowing with hatred as it saw me standing before the furnace. Around the room, people held small flames near the fuses of oil vials, ready to launch. I summoned the words and gestures of a burning hands at the ready, and waited for the creature to charge.
It lurhced into the room, claws extended and a shriek echoing from its lips. The smell of burning oil filled the room as vials were launched, some setting the creature alight and others crashing to the floor where they became puddles of fire. I rattled off the words necessary for my spell, sending a sheet of flame forth from my fingertips, but the creature was quick enough to duck under the worst of the spell. Even so, it's blue flesh showed some sign of scorching.
Then it was upon me, its claws hammering at my shield and it's fetid breath filling the air. A wave of fear like nothing I've ever known hit me, telling me to flee, but memories of the ice-flow returned. Once more I felt my hands numb and my feet turning blue, and I knew that if the choice came between standing up to the creature with my spells or fleeing to die in the cold, I'd rather it ripped me limb from limb in the warmth of the room. I launched another spell, sent more flames burning forth, even as claws reached around the shield and tore through my flesh. Fresh blood fell on the floor, mine, and I prayed a silent prayer of thanks that my years on the Silver Arrow had taught me more about pain than most spellcasters. More oil flew through the air, the sound of an arrow hammering into the creatures side. It's possible I cast another spell, another burning hands or a cantrip that disrupted the creatures essence, I don't know. My attention was focused only on staying upright, on keeping the creature from the furnace and myself from the cold. My world shrank to nothing but pain and determination.
And then the creature was gone, dropped by some mighty blow by one of the warriors. I cared little for the hows and whys, only that it was done.
"Is it dead?" I asked.
"Yes." Someone answered.
That was all I needed to know. With a resigned sigh, I sat down and shuddered as the pain and desperation I'd been ignoring hit home.
"I think I need a cup of tea," I said, then thought very seriously about fainting.
Last edited:
Capellan
Explorer
Kull's 2nd Report - Part 3
Naturally, I leapt only as far as the door. To go into that room would have been arrogance and foolishness: thankfully I had moved quickly enough to prevent any of the others from trying it. At a natural chokepoint like this, I could easily hold back superior numbers, just as Peredion did at White River Crossing.
Like myself, the Druid had recognised the spell that had felled Brodnak and Troilan, and knew that they were merely unconscious, rather than dead. He tried to rouse them. The other female in the group - the quiet one - moved up to my side, just as the enemy charged.
It was a glorious battle. Hextor's strength filled my heart and arms. Every blow of my flail crushed one of the enemy to the ground, while their weak responses did no more than scratch my flesh. Even when two huge gnolls came to their aid, they quailed back from me. As well they might, for the gnolls fell as easily as the men had done.
The wizard, seeing his force being so easily destroyed, hurled his magic against me. Three times I felt his spells try to chain my mind, and three times my faith shattered the bonds. Truly, Hextor was with me. I roared His name as the last of the warriors fled through a panel in the far wall, leaving the wizard alone.
Knowing that he could not stand against Hextor's will, the coward sought to flee, using magic to hide himself from sight. But there could be no escape for him: by now the druid had revived the others, and I swiftly ordered them to each of the entrances of the room, blocking every exit that the wizard might seek.
Twice, he sought to dupe one of the others into abandoning their posts. Each time, I bellowed an order for all to stand firm, and was obeyed. At last they begin to recognise the wisdom of following sound commands.
Thwarted again, the wizard sought to negotiate, but he could offer us nothing we could not simply take. He met the fate of all who oppose Hextor's will, and was crushed and destroyed.
Setting one of the others to guard the panel into which the warrior had fled, I led a search of the room beyond the secret door. It quickly became evident that this was a smuggling operation, long established and well organised. The inefficiency and ineptitude of the sheriff of Saltmarsh knows no bounds. We also uncovered a small mount of treasure - no doubt the profits of their operation - and several items which had been imbued with magic. Most precious of all, though, were instructions for signalling the smuggler's vessel. Armed with those, we would be able to crush the rest of this illicit band.
Other than the panel and the secret door, there were two further exits from the area: one a flight of stairs that led into a ruined part of the house above, the second a door emblazoned with a hand-lettered sign: "Do Not Enter."
There could be no doubt that if the smugglers did not wish an area to be investigated, then we would have to do so. Telling the others to ready their weapons, I threw open the door.
The door opened into a room which was filled with some half-dozen skeletons, each of which immediately animated and moved forward to attack. Brodnak crushed one to powder almost immediately, but I was able to forestall the attacks of the others by raising Hextor's symbol and invoking His will. Instantly the creatures fled back inside the room, except for two, which stood motionless, their blank eye sockets turned to me.
Animating the dead is a coward's trick; the action of one who fears to face combat himself. I will never use such magic, myself. But there is justice in turning the tools of a coward against him, and thus I ordered the pair into the room where their brethren had fled, with instructions to destroy the cowering creatures.
Naturally, I leapt only as far as the door. To go into that room would have been arrogance and foolishness: thankfully I had moved quickly enough to prevent any of the others from trying it. At a natural chokepoint like this, I could easily hold back superior numbers, just as Peredion did at White River Crossing.
Like myself, the Druid had recognised the spell that had felled Brodnak and Troilan, and knew that they were merely unconscious, rather than dead. He tried to rouse them. The other female in the group - the quiet one - moved up to my side, just as the enemy charged.
It was a glorious battle. Hextor's strength filled my heart and arms. Every blow of my flail crushed one of the enemy to the ground, while their weak responses did no more than scratch my flesh. Even when two huge gnolls came to their aid, they quailed back from me. As well they might, for the gnolls fell as easily as the men had done.
The wizard, seeing his force being so easily destroyed, hurled his magic against me. Three times I felt his spells try to chain my mind, and three times my faith shattered the bonds. Truly, Hextor was with me. I roared His name as the last of the warriors fled through a panel in the far wall, leaving the wizard alone.
Knowing that he could not stand against Hextor's will, the coward sought to flee, using magic to hide himself from sight. But there could be no escape for him: by now the druid had revived the others, and I swiftly ordered them to each of the entrances of the room, blocking every exit that the wizard might seek.
Twice, he sought to dupe one of the others into abandoning their posts. Each time, I bellowed an order for all to stand firm, and was obeyed. At last they begin to recognise the wisdom of following sound commands.
Thwarted again, the wizard sought to negotiate, but he could offer us nothing we could not simply take. He met the fate of all who oppose Hextor's will, and was crushed and destroyed.
Setting one of the others to guard the panel into which the warrior had fled, I led a search of the room beyond the secret door. It quickly became evident that this was a smuggling operation, long established and well organised. The inefficiency and ineptitude of the sheriff of Saltmarsh knows no bounds. We also uncovered a small mount of treasure - no doubt the profits of their operation - and several items which had been imbued with magic. Most precious of all, though, were instructions for signalling the smuggler's vessel. Armed with those, we would be able to crush the rest of this illicit band.
Other than the panel and the secret door, there were two further exits from the area: one a flight of stairs that led into a ruined part of the house above, the second a door emblazoned with a hand-lettered sign: "Do Not Enter."
There could be no doubt that if the smugglers did not wish an area to be investigated, then we would have to do so. Telling the others to ready their weapons, I threw open the door.
The door opened into a room which was filled with some half-dozen skeletons, each of which immediately animated and moved forward to attack. Brodnak crushed one to powder almost immediately, but I was able to forestall the attacks of the others by raising Hextor's symbol and invoking His will. Instantly the creatures fled back inside the room, except for two, which stood motionless, their blank eye sockets turned to me.
Animating the dead is a coward's trick; the action of one who fears to face combat himself. I will never use such magic, myself. But there is justice in turning the tools of a coward against him, and thus I ordered the pair into the room where their brethren had fled, with instructions to destroy the cowering creatures.
Last edited:
Thomas Hobbes
First Post
Wow. That was a good description of a battle. I kept on getting images reminding me of the cutscenes from Warcraft III. The Orcish Warleader bellowing orders, etc.
