[Midnight] Dark Tower's Shadow (Updated 12/10)

[Paka]

Midnight Supplemental - Holy Order of the Southern Pelurian Shore

Knights in the Holy Order of the Souther Pelurian Shore are Warrior-Legates, knights errant given leave by Izrador himself to traverse the roads of Eredane leaving despair and Shadow in their wake.

When the final battle of the Third Age took place Izrador's forces needed a beach head and it was this group of warriors who were there to aid in the successful crossing of the Pellurian Sea. Some enacted traitorous deeds against the forts lining the southern shore and others merely guided Gnomish barges filled with Orcs to safe harbor.

These vile bastards were gifted with eternal life, they can die by steel or magic but as long as their bodies remain functioning they will continue existing their horrid, angry lives.

The Southrons are shrouded in mystery and it is said that Vilard Esben, liege-lord of Port Esben, is the Master of the Order, among the first humans to ask for the eternal life-span denied humanity.

The Order's knights are the rare few who can travel the roads of Eredane without a papers. Their Shadow-kissed Weapons act as word from Izrador himself and it is rumored that their dark covenant items were enchanted by the Shadow in the North himself.

Every so often a Legate will distinguish herself in a knight's presence and will be taken as a Squire. When they are knighted the last part of their initiation is a pilgrimmage North, to the dark mountains where Izrador spent thousands of years while marshalling his strength.

A few select young Warrior-Legates have been chosen to become the Holy Order of the Southern Pelurians, often called Southrons. Since Izrador’s victory on the Pelurian, he has not given any of these new knights the honor of eternal life found in the template, Izrador’s Blessed Knight. Mayhaps if a Legate were to distinguish himself, by making some significant progress on the Dwarven Kaladrun or Elven Erethor fronts they would be granted this boon.

Knight Concepts:

Belloush Farrissimi, Gnomish Captain - He was the admiral of the fleet for the crossing and since then has been matching wits with the Pirate Princes all over the Pellurian. Gnomes respect him to his face but when they are out at sea where Izrador's ears are far from hearing they tell a different story.

They say that he has spent too long far from the rivers, sailing the Ebron and this has severed his link with any Gnomishness in him. But none say this to his face, for fear of being fastened to a rock and thrown into the sea.

Sir Jerris Bogia, Questing Knight - Jerris is hunting a herd of Pegasi who uncovered his position during the war to a troop of Dwarves which led to the decimation of his unit, some of whom were his sons.

He travels southern Eredane looking for word or tracks left during one of their rare grazings on the earth. Any word of items that allow one to fly will also draw his fast attention.

Kevin the Silent - Kevin was on tower duty. His partner had fallen asleep and when Kevin saw the black ships break the mist, he said nothing, allowing the guards on the ground who couldn't see through the mist think they were in safety.

The rest of the fort was butchered but Kevin was spared, given the magic blade, black cloak and iron ring of a Knight of the Souther Pelurian Order.

Since that day he has not spoken a word but wanders Eredane in total silence only rarely taking part in a conflict.

Some Legates once whispered that he has turned from Izrador and feels guilt for giving his fort to the Shadow's will but anyone who has stood up to him has been utterly destroyed. Since then they say he is especially blessed by Izrador himself.


Order of the Southern Pelurian Shore - Prestige Class

Based off the Blackguard with a few minor tweaks.

Replaced sneak attack with additional Smites/day, detect good becomes detect fey, and Knowledge (arcana) was added as a class skill.

Knight of the Southern Pellurian Order
Hit Die: d10.
Requirements:
• Alignment: Any evil.
• Base Attack Bonus: +6.
• Knowledge (religion): 2 ranks.
• Hide: 5 ranks.
• Feats: Cleave, Sunder.
• Special: the Knight of the Southern Order must have played some key role in the Last Battle or have been squired by a Knight of the Order, impressing the Knight with his/her cunning and dedication to Izrador. Oftentimes the Squire's final test will be to turn an old friend or family member over to Izrador for torture and death when their lack of faith is uncovered.

Class Skills: The knight’s class skills (and the key ability for each skill) are Concentration (Con), Craft (Int), Diplomacy (Cha), Handle Animal (Cha), Heal (Wis), Intimidate (Cha), Knowledge (arcana), Knowledge (religion) (Int), Profession (Wis), and Ride (Dex).
Weapon and Armor Proficiency: Knights are proficient with all simple and martial weapons, with all types of armor, and with shields.
Table: The Knight
Base
Class Attack Fort Ref Will
Level Bonus Save Save Save Special
----- ------ ---- ---- ---- -------
1st +1 +2 0 0 Detect fey, Poison use
2nd +2 +3 0 0 Dark blessing, Smite (1/day)
3rd +3 +3 +1 +1 Command undead, Aura of despair
4th +4 +4 +1 +1 Smite (2/day)
5th +5 +4 +1 +1 Astirax mount
6th +6 +5 +2 +2
7th +7 +5 +2 +2 Smite (3/day)
8th +8 +6 +2 +2
9th +9 +6 +3 +3
10th +10 +7 +3 +3 Smite (4/day)

Class ———— Spells per Day ————
Level 1st 2nd 3rd 4th
----- --- --- --- ---
1st 0 — — —
2nd 1 — — —
3rd 1 0 — —
4th 1 1 — —
5th 1 1 0 —
6th 1 1 1 —
7th 2 1 1 0
8th 2 1 1 1
9th 2 2 1 1
10th 2 2 2 1

Detect Fey: At will, the knight can detect fey as a spell-like ability. This ability duplicates the effects of the spell detect good except that it applies to fey creatures.

Poison Use: Knights are skilled in the use of poison and never risk accidentally poisoning themselves when applying poison to a blade.

Dark Blessing: A knight applies his Charisma modifier (if positive) as a bonus to all saving throws.

Spells: Beginning at 1st level, a knight gains the ability to cast a small number of divine spells. To cast a spell, the knight must have a Wisdom score of at least 10 + the spell’s level, so a knight with a Wisdom of 10 or lower cannot cast these spells. Knight bonus spells are based on Wisdom, and saving throws against these spells have a DC of 10 + spell level + the knight’s Wisdom modifier. When the knight gets 0 spells of a given level, such as 0 1st-level spells at 1st level, he gets only bonus spells. (A knight without a bonus spell for that level cannot yet cast a spell of that level.) The knight’s spell list appears below. A knight has access to any spell on the list and can freely choose which to prepare, just like a cleric. A knight prepares and casts spells just as a cleric does (though the knight cannot spontaneously cast cure or inflict spells).

Smite: Once a day, a knight of 2nd level or higher may attempt to smite with one normal melee attack. He adds his Charisma modifier (if positive) to his attack roll and deals 1 extra point of damage per class level. For example, a 9th-level knight armed with a longsword would deal 1d8+9 points of damage, plus any additional bonuses from high Strength or magical effects that normally apply. Smite is a supernatural ability.

Aura of Despair: Beginning at 3rd level, the knight radiates a malign aura that causes enemies within 10 feet of him to suffer a –2 morale penalty on all saving throws. Aura of despair is a supernatural ability.

Command Undead: When a knight reaches 3rd level, he gains the supernatural ability to command and rebuke undead. He commands undead as would a cleric of two levels lower.

Knights choose their spells from the following list:
1st level—cause fear, cure light wounds, doom, inflict light wounds, magic weapon, summon monster I*.
2nd level—bull’s strength, cure moderate wounds, darkness, death knell, inflict moderate wounds, shatter, summon monster II*.
3rd level—contagion, cure serious wounds, deeper darkness, inflict serious wounds, protection from elements, summon monster III*.
4th level—cure critical wounds, freedom of movement, inflict critical wounds, poison, summon monster IV*.
*Evil creatures only.

Based off the Lich template:

Izrador’s Blessed Knight - Template

Izrador’s Bleesed Knight is a template that can be added to any humanoid creature (referred to hereafter as the "character"). The creature’s type changes to "undead." It uses all the character’s statistics and special abilities except as noted here.

Hit Dice: Increase to d12

Speed: Same as the character

AC: The Izrador’s Blessed Knight has +3 natural armor or the character’s natural armor, whichever is better.

Damage: Creatures without natural weapons gain a touch attack that uses negative energy to deal 1d6+5 points of damage to living creatures; a Will save with a DC of 10 + 1/2 Izrador’s Blessed Knight’s HD + Izrador’s Blessed Knight’s Charisma modifier reduces the damage by half. Creatures with natural attacks can use their natural weaponry or use the touch attack, as they prefer.

Special Attacks: A Izrador’s Blessed Knight retains all the character’s special attacks and also gains those listed below. Saves have a DC of 10 + 1/2 Izrador’s Blessed Knight’s HD + Izrador’s Blessed Knight’s Charisma modifier unless noted otherwise.

Fear Aura (Su): Izrador’s Blessed Knights are shrouded in a dreadful aura of death and evil. Creatures of less than 5 HD in a 60-foot radius that look at the Izrador’s Blessed Knight must succeed at a Will save or be affected as though by fear as cast by a sorcerer of the Izrador’s Blessed Knight’s level.

Spells: The Izrador’s Blessed Knight can cast any spells it could cast while alive.

Special Qualities: A Izrador’s Blessed Knight retains all the character’s special qualities and those listed below, and also gains the undead type (see page 6).

Turn Resistance (Ex): A Izrador’s Blessed Knight has +4 turn resistance (see page 10).

Damage Reduction (Su): A Izrador’s Blessed Knight’s undead body is tough, giving the creature damage reduction 10/holy.

Immunities (Ex): Izrador’s Blessed Knights are immune to cold, electricity, polymorph, and mind-affecting attacks.

Saves: Same as the character

Abilities: A Izrador’s Blessed Knight being undead, has no Constitution score.

Skills: Izrador’s Blessed Knights receive a +4 racial bonus to Hide, Listen, Move Silently, Search, Sense Motive, and Spot checks. Otherwise same as the character.

Feats: Same as the character

The Izrador’s Blessed Knight’s Phylactery
An integral part of becoming Izrador’s Blessed Knight is the creation of a magic phylactery in which to store its life force. Unless the phylactery is located and destroyed, Izrador’s Blessed Knight reappears 1d10 days after its apparent death.

Izrador ties the Blessed Knight’s lifeforce to it’s Iron Ring. If this iron ring is destroyed then the Blessed Knight is forever destroyed. The iron ring’s are incredibly difficult to destroy. The destruction of each iron ring is done in an individual manner, usually tied to the individual's background.

Special thanks to the gentleman who posts under the name, Siridar over at www.againsttheshadow.org, who took my written idea on those forums and made it a working prestige class and template. Making the immortals, granted life by Izrador a Template was his brilliant idea and it was really cool of him to format the Order as well as he did.

We will see which roads the PC's take and if they will have the misfortune of meeting one of these knights on their roads to come.

 

[Paka]

Story Post #8

Chapter II - As Yet Unnamed

Boots, back from his Legate assigned morning errand, knocked on the stable door and Unaros ordered the Fell aside, letting the Goblin enter.

“They will wait by the broken bridge, Master Legate. I’m not sure but I think many will come to hear you.”

Unaros nodded, “Excellent,” he turned to Karhoun, asleep on a hard wood floor covered with a few pieces of dirty straw, “Wake up, Karhoun, it is time to go.”

Karhoun awoke in the stables and his hands shot to his leg, broken last night in a bad fall from a roof to the cobblestones of Whitecliff.

Unaros assured him, “I healed your leg last night and allowed you to sleep in.. It is time to work again, do the Shadow’s bidding. The Shadow in the North does not reward the weak.”

Karhoun wiped the sleep from his eyes and nodded, remembering Unaros’s healing, the cold touch of Izrador. The Wildlander looked up at the Legate he served, despite his oath to take down the tower of Theros Obsidia, despite his hatred of the Shadow, he served competently and without complaint.

“Unaros, I failed you. I allowed the Elf to get away. He killed Bolus. I was patching up the Gnome for questioning and the Elf got up to the roof somehow. I should have killed him and I hesitated…because of who his father is, I stayed my hand,” Karhoun explained.

The Legate nodded, “I know. Don’t do it again, Karhoun. Izrador has no tolerance for failure, none at all. Now rise, we have one more surprise to prepare for our Elven and Gnomish friends before we leave Whitecliff for your father’s lands.”

The Northman said, “I think the staff warped his mind. He was never this way before then.”

Unaros shrugged, “It doesn’t matter. There is no excuse.”

Boots and Karhoun scouted ahead. Karhoun found Vorden’s departing tracks and pointed them out to Olen, the mastiff inhabited by a sniffer-demon.

“Olen, three people and the dried blood of a fourth dragged away.”

Olin sniffed, “Elf and Gnome scent. They’re heading to the docks, take the morning tide out, no doubt.”

Karhoun looked grave, “Will we follow them?”

“No, track ahead east, Wildlander, tell me what you find. I have one more gift for our old friends.,” Unaros had a rare smile on his lips.

Karhoun’s wilderness lore found traces of Goblin tracks. He thought it was two, or three but after some looking it was impossible to count. A horde of Goblins had come through near here recently, in such a large party that they didn’t care who found them or knew they were there.

When they turned a corner, suddenly, waiting around the base of a broken bridge across a river were the Goblins. There were hundreds of them, Karhoun through he counted seven hundred but he wasn’t entirely sure. The most scarred, cruel and cunning waited by the lip of the broken bridge, to stand by the Shadow Legate while he addressed the horde.

Unaros strode up, allowing his robes to billow, his red collar prominent on his throat, gleaming morning star on his hip. He turned to the Goblins and their chatter stopped, no sound but the breeze.

“An Elf has stolen from me. Would you break fast on Elf this morning?”

This question was met with a roar of approval that was silenced as Unaros raised his hands, the young Legate getting his first taste of his position’s power, “I will head east with my party. The Goblin who brings me the Elf’s staff will not only get Izrador’s most sacred blessing but this,” and the Legate held up Kaza, the beaten and tied servant boy of Prince Vorden, the Night Prince.

“The boy is yours to do with as you will if you bring me the staff. Now go, go before the Gnomish ship leaves on the tide. Make them fear your numbers and your power and the faith in the almighty Izrador!”

The Goblins were already running, high on thoughts of dining on Elf and gaining a human slave to raise, abuse and stick in the stew pot.

“Good luck, Night Princeling,” Unaros said, leaving Whitecliff east towards Port Esben.

 

[Paka]

Story Post #9

The Ballad of Karhoun Esben


The Road to Port Esben

I am Karhoun Esben and I am a servant of the Shadow, a good peon, the Legate's faithful Wildlander.

We were on our way to Port Esben after Whitecliff decimated our party. The Elf and the Gnome left us to find what they consider freedom. Mayhaps freedom will be the death of them and mayhaps it won’t be.

Goblins and Orcs were killed by the Manticore, most assuredly the most frightening beast I have ever met. The Manticore was walking proof of Izrador’s terrible power. There is only one creature in the world that might be more frightening than the Manticore, one animal that comes close: my father.

Picked up to an Orcish pace now that the Gnome and Elf weren’t slowing us down we made good time towards the place that was my home before the dark years of Wildlander training in Theros Obsidia. Boots the Goblin and I were head of the party while Suk and that other Orc waited with Unaros and his demon-mastiff. We found tracks, great ruts in the ground that no normal cart could make. The party guarding the cart was very professional, very well trained. There were thirteen of them and their patterns of scouting were complicated and well thought-out. I was fairly certain I could get closer but some of my approach will be left to luck and trickery, Loki-craft.

On the road I found an oak leaf, not a tree indigenous to this area. I folded it up like a sacred parchment and bought it back to Unaros with news of the cart. The Legate, in his dark wisdom, sent us to get closer to the cart, find out what it might be. Again Boots and I went to the fore.
We made our way to a nearby ridge, careful to avoid their overlapping patrols. I estimated that it would only take about twenty minutes for the party to figure out that one of their number is missing. In the wild that is doing well.

Careful to avoid showing our silhouette to the valley below we peered down at the travelers. There were nine of them around the cart, with a scout coming to report back every so often. Upon inspection it was obvious these were no ordinary Orcs. These were Oruk. Orcs call themselves the Sons of Izrador; Oruk call themselves the True Sons of Izrador. They were brutal warrios with wicked looking Vardatch (Vardatch= Orcish for Cleaver) and well-kept full plate armor, dulled to a smoky tint so’s not to reflect the sunlight. Between their weapons and their armor they were walking king’s ransoms. But who would be willing to collect such treasure? They walked in a perfect formation around the cart, not too bunched up but close enough to support one another. Half carried bows and the other half had their Vardatch at the ready.

The cart itself was a marvel, with an Oak standing upright between its four wheels, pulled by a team of six draft horses. It was placed in the cart carefully, held aloft by pullies and winches so’s not to damage the roots. There were two drivers sitting up front, directing the team and near the tree was a woman, a dark Fey beauty with light brown hair the color of summer wheat. This was what they were transporting, but what and why?

We watched for a while, looking for a clue. Someone from Port Esben arrived by horseback, a woman in mail, carrying a sword. She presented the Esben family banner, a tower breaking on a gray field, as it has always been. The Esben colors were put below the other banner that rides with the oak, an Orcish tribal marker of some kind. Odds are the rider was a kinswoman of mine but I couldn’t recognize her from this distance.

Slowly and carefully, we headed back to the Legate and Boots made his first mistake. He got up too hastily and kicked some stones down the ridge. Everything stopped and the Oruk form a ring around the cart. Now we began to hustle back to Unaros; I would’ve killed the Goblin if he wasn’t our own one remaining. Surely Loki himself must be making me the butt of some epic joke to have been placed with the traveling companions that I have recently endured.

We made our way around a boulder and there was an Oruk scout, bow string notched, having gotten the jump on us. Hands up, weapons given to him, I was taken back to the cart. The captain allowed Boots to return to the Legate. I told the Goblin to run and he runs towards Unaros and bring the Legate.

They seem confused that I am an Esben but not from the city. I explained that I was from Theros Obsidia, part of a Legate’s entourage that was traveling towards Baden’s Bluff. The captain nodded.

The Esben was Valanicia, my sister. She took care of me when I was but a babe, some ten years my senior. Her mail and sword must mean that she grew tried of raising us babes. Tis a shame she left the nursery because she kept many of father’s beatings at bay for the younglings. Maybe she grew tired of sheltering us from his wrath or maybe his anger is directed in new avenues.

It is said father wishes to spawn ninety-nine children, one for each year of Izrador’s reign. It is also said that he is more than halfway to his goal, but none have a clear record of us to be sure. So many of us Esben spawn are spread all over Eredane, serving the Shadow as best we can.

Seeing Val was a cold splash of reality and we received each other coolly. I feel what I have always felt when seeing one of my kin, that they are looking for weakness. I wondered if she found any.

She said, "Father told me you would be here. Izrador sent him a dream in which you arrived with his monument."

"Monument?" I asked and she motioned towards the oak tree.

Now that I was next to the cart I wanted to get a closer look at the dark beauty, the lady of the oak. Mysteriously, I could find no trace of her, I considered what she might be while looking at the oak leaf, before folding it up and putting it away.

After Master Unaros met with the Oruk captain we began our final approach of Port Esben.



[Meta-game Note: Special thanks to JJ, the player of Karhoun for writing extensive notes after this game and sending them to me. I always feel funny writing anything from the POV of the player's characters, thinking that it is there place to put thoughts to their actions. JJ was kind enough to give me a doorway to Karhoun's thoughts. Thanks, JJ.

Also thanks to Akayla, for playing Val this game. It was nice to game with them again and I hope she can make it to more of these games in the future.

And as always, thanks to young 8 month old Jack, who gurgled quietly while his mom and dad gamed.]

 

[Paka]

The Ballad of Karhoun Esben

Story Post #10

Meeting Lord Vildar Esben: Grandmaster, Holy Order of the Southern Pelurian and his three faithful wardens

From the walls of the Esben family fortress, in the middle of the city hanged the bodies of dissidents. One such corpse wore a Legate’s robes. I saw it and looked to my sister for an explanation but she offered none. Unaros grew paler and Olen’s fur bristled.

The fortress is roughly triangular with three main towers on the walls and one on the port to protect against sea attack. The tower to the north is called the Holy Tower and sits snug with a now-finished cathedral to Izrador; it was still being built when I left here as a boy.

There are eastern and western towers. The southern tower was torn down a few years before my birth by my father’s orders. As he said, “Not even a tower will stand in opposition to the Shadow in the North.”

There is also the Sea Tower, warded by Durgen; he was called Durgen the Brave when I was a boy but now he was Durgen the Silent. Val explained to me that he had cut out his tongue a few years ago and hadn’t spoken since, only learning a complicated sign language with which he communicates with his squire.

When I asked her why he had done such a thing, she shrugged, not knowing.

When I was a boy I asked my father why Durgen didn’t have to carry his palanquin and father replied, “Durgen has more difficult burdens to bear than his father’s body.” Durgen was High Captain of father’s fleet was known to be an accomplished warrior.

My father was brought to the gate on a cushioned chair made of a dark wood. Three of his sons carried him. I recognized them:

Orengar the Fat carried from the position of the Warden of the Holy Tower. It was a high position and he wore a Legate’s robes. His tower is said to be the strongest in the port because it has to be in order to hold his tremendous girth.

Calum Giant-Friend was now Warden of the Western Tower. He was no older than me and had risen fast. Calum rose to power, I would later find out, was largely due to his friendship with a tribe of Giants in the hills and a total lack of scruples.

Apparently, one of their boulders found their way to the former Warden of the Western Tower, a cunning sister whose tombstone now reads: Aslinda the Red, Daughter, Wife and Faithful Warden. Her hair wasn’t red but she was called such because of the buckets of blood she spilled in order to gain her position as Warden.

The Warden of the Eastern Tower, as it had been since my living memory, was Hroth the Elder. He had aged and it was a wonder he was alive, it is said that he was among my father’s first sons and looked a good deal older than his father. Izrador hadn't granted Hroth eternal life...yet. It was said that he was always looking for a way to display his loyalty to Izrador. He had poisoned more Esbens and killed more supposed threats to my father than any three of us. Still, he had never left the Port, always the dutiful son.

Seated between the three of them was my father, Lord Vildar Esben: Grandmaster, Order of the Southern Pelurian and blessed by the Shadow in the North. He hadn’t aged a day since before I was born, a gift from Izrador for his faithful service. His face was pock-marked skin stretched over his skull and his blonde hair showing no signs of gray. His black tabard had both the heraldry of Esben and the burning lake of his knightly order.

He wore no weapons. He greeted the Oruk and saw that they were sent a pit in front of the Cathedral, dug for his new monument, the oak.

After this business was seen to he turned his attention to me, “My son returns. Head shaven? Still worshipping your ancestors?”

I bowed and introduced Shadow Legate Unaros and Suk, “I am bald now, father, just a humble servant of Izrador.”

Father snorted and replied while grinning, “Mayhaps they have taught you some manners at Theros Obsidia, a good thing. Have you come to claim Port Esben for your own, to kill your father and take his seat of power?”

My eyes went to the floor, “No, father, only stopped here on the way to Baden’s Bluff where Unaros is to serve. We had a bad time of it in Whitecliff.”

He nodded, “Welcome home, give me your blade.”

I went to my hip but my axe and sword were still with the Oruk, who had left to the courtyard already. When my brothers realized I had no weapons, looks were exchanged, weakness found. I handed father my dagger.

His eyes flared with a dangerous anger, “Where is your blade?”

“Father, I gave them to the Oruk when I met them on the road. I will retrieve them,” I explained.

He nodded and again my brothers sent uneasy glances to each other, making sure to keep the suspicious looks out of my father’s view. My loving lord father caressed my dagger with a damp cloth and said, “May this dagger’s touch give your enemies long nights of agony and suffering,” and he handed the now-poisoned dagger back to me. “We will have dinner tonight to welcome your return. See that you and your Legate are there.”

He turned towards Valencia, “Girl, see that this Legate is cared for. Whatever becomes of him during his stay here will also become of you.”

She nodded, dutifully.

My brothers picked up his chair and took him towards the oak, now being planted in the earth in front of the cathedral. Not wanting to show weakness, knowing full well I was being watched, I went to the Oruk to retrieve my weapons.

 

[Paka]

The Ballad of Karhoun Esben

Story Post #11

Regaining Lost Weapons

I am Karhoun Esben, spawn of Vildar Esben, a good son.

We watched as the oak tree was planted with some ceremony in the courtyard, in front of the Cathedral to Izrador. Unaros said the Lady of the Oak was a Dryad, the Shadow in the North has a grove of such trees he converted and often he sends them to be planted in front of his greatest temples, so the Black Oaks might ward them. It is another beautiful creature wasted to the Shadow but I don’t say any such thing, dare not even think it.

Father sees the Dryad and seems to gain a look of lust in his eye. I wouldn’t want to be his current wife right about now.

I asked Suk, the leader of our Orcs how I should go about approaching the Oruk. He suggested that he goes about getting the gear back but I disagreed, not wanting to appear weak in front of my family. Unaros hem’ed and haw’ed, refusing to pull Legate rank and Olin, the Legate’s Demon-possessed mastiff just laughed. Either this was a test or everyone was scared of these Oruk, these High Orcs. I think they were scared.

The crowd from the oak planting was dispersing, father was chatting with the Dryad and the three warden/brothers were standing around him but watching me out of the corner of their eyes. They trusted me like a brother, which is to say, not at all [ripped that line right off from Zelazny’s Amber series, forgive me].

I approached the Oruk with my weapons and cleared my throat, “Excuse me, sir, you still have my weapons.”

He smiled, a big tusky grin and replied, “They stopped being your weapons when I captured you in the forest and you gave them to me.”

“My father is Lord here. I would recommend that you return them.”

He began yelling, “I am a true son of Izrador and my father is the Shadow in the North! Do you wish to compare lineage!” He beat his chest while he talked, his fist making hard contact against his blackened plate mail. Two of his friends stepped in from behind but the Captain of the troupe and a few other of the older Oruk stood away, near the Oak’s former cart, watching carefully.

A good hunt takes patience, I thought to myself, let him yell, let him think I am a weak, puny human who is going to back down. Another thought came to my head, unbidden: This is going to hurt.

Then Valenicia stepped from behind me, my sister, still standing up for her babe of a brother is at my side. Another unbidden thougth came to my head: It is good to be home again.

He was still yelling, spitting his words, “Go away, Esben-spawn, be thankful that you learned such an easy and valuable lesson from a True Son of Izrador. Get a new blade from your powerful father and rest easy knowing that the Shadow will be using your weapons well.”

I tried to make the following words sound as hollow as possible, “Okay, but I’ll remember you.”

Then I waited, I waited for him to turn around, waited for him to show his back to me. Then he will taste what my father’s gift, I thought. Then the Oruk on the right and then, if I’m still alive, the one on the left. The wait for him to turn around was an eternity but he was going to do it. I convinced him that I was nothing but a weak human, depending on my father’s name for a boon.

May I feast with my ancestors in Valhalla if I die. I found myself wondering if father would have given my a proper send off or would have just let me rot for the crows, to show other Esben children what happens to fools.

The Oruk was set to turn his back to me when my supportive sister spoke, “You can’t take those; they aren’t yours.”

The Oruk sought to backhand her across the face but noone slaps an Esben in this city but another Esben. I drove my dagger into his guts, driving with all I had so that his body went into the Oruk on the right of him. If my sister wished to be involved she could take the Oruk on the left; if she doesn’t, I am dead.

His ribs cracked as I lifted him off of the ground and I held the dagger in, hoping the poison does its work. It did and he died fast of the gut wound and I took my dagger to the Oruk on the left. They allowed themselves to get too close and the Vardatches didn’t draw easily when Dornish folk are right in your face. I tried to put my dagger in its throat but missed, hitting its shoulder.

Suk, eager to test his mettle against his Oruk cousins, was attached to the Oruk on the left. While they wrestled, Suk trying to stop the Oruk from drawing his Vardatch, Valenicia put her bastard sword in the Oruk’s skull.
The last Oruk and I were in a vicious embrace. While I held the dagger in his shoulder he attempted to draw his weapon. When the Vardatch doesn’t come easily he abandoned it and attached his tusks to my face, ripping meat and biting into the bone of my jaw. We were both holding on to each other, refusing to let go. I was waiting for the remaining batch of my father’s poison to go to work and it was attempting to bite its way through my face.

Unaros approached, putting his Legate’s hands on the Oruk's face and said, “I give you the Shadow’s blessing,” and with a cold breeze, the Oruk died.

I eyed the Oruk Captain and said, “No Fell shall rise in my father’s keep,” and proceeded to take off their heads and feet with my regained bastard sword. It was just an excuse, though, I wanted more blood. I tried to say to the Oruk Captain, “Their lives were worth a battle-scar but yours will bring us true glory,” but I’m truly not sure what came out. My jaw was more or less broken from the bite and blood was everywhere.

The Captain of the Oruk approached and said to Unaros, “Thank you, Shadow Legate, for removing these weaklings from our party. Please take their weapons and armor as our thanks for your service.”

I nodded, blood streaming from my Oruk-bitten face. Unaros accepted graciously and healed my face with his cold Shadow-touch. Now my face has another scar, another place where my blond beard will not grow.

I took ears from the ones I killed and the tusk that had lodged into my face. We divvied up the geat, Suk eager to try on his new full-plate. The third suit we gave to the church, as a bribe…no, donation through Unaros.
We decided to tour the Cathedral before dinner, perhaps stopping by the Oak along the way, talk to the beautiful Dryad. I still had blood on me but Unaros assured me that bearing the blood of your enemies into Izrador’s cathedral was far from a bad thing.

I strapped my axe and my sword to my back and hip and walked toward the cathedral. My father and brothers were gone by the time I thought to look for them but they would know of what happened. I will attend dinner in a few hours, my weapons will be worn as a message, a reminder to my family of what I learned while away at Theros Obsidia.

 

[Pillars of Hercules]

Nice

Have I mentioned that this story hour rocks? 'Cause it rocks!

Paka, how did you handle these sessions with Karhoun? Solo play by e-mail? Probably not, since I notice you mention one other player standing in, but what of the rest of the group? A difficult situation arose in your campaign when Karhoun chose to take a different path - you seem to be handling it well, and I am curious as to how.

 

[Paka]

Re: Nice

Have I mentioned that this story hour rocks? 'Cause it rocks!

Thanks, I'm glad you dig it. It is fun to write.

Paka, how did you handle these sessions with Karhoun? Solo play by e-mail? Probably not, since I notice you mention one other player standing in, but what of the rest of the group? A difficult situation arose in your campaign when Karhoun chose to take a different path - you seem to be handling it well, and I am curious as to how.

JJ made the decision to split Karhoun from the party and then, as fate would have it, the rest of hte party couldn't make it to the past three or so games. So, since I started this game for JJ anyway, I ran him solo, with Kayla stepping in for a guest NPC/PC shot.

JJ will run a new character if the group get's back together and we will have a split story group.

I am lucky that JJ is a gamer who I can run solo games with. Also his post-game write-ups make writing a Story Hour really easy and fun to write. I do'nt like writing Story Hours from the PC's perspectives because I feel like I am putting thoughts in their heads when it isn't my place to do so. That is why I often us NPC perspectives. JJ's write-ups give me an insight into what is going on into Karhoun's mind.

Thanks for reading.

 

[Paka]

Karhoun Esben's character sheet

Crunchy Supplemental

I will post the rest of the character sheets when the players of Vorden and Thannil are back in the game. For now it is more or less a solo game for as long as the subject header says, "The Ballad of Karhoun Esben" that you will be reading about for the next 5-7 posts, each post portraying an encounter or two.


Karhun Esben

Character Race: Dorn
Heroic Path: Ironborn
Character Class(es): Wildlander 2nd level

Gender: Male
Age: about 19, I guess
Height: 6ft
Weight: 200 lbs
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Bald, Blonde Beard

Character Level: 2
EXP Points Gained: a bunch
EXP Needed For Next Level: a bunch more

Known Languages: Erenlander, Norther

ABILITY SCORES
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Strength: 20 (+5)
Dexterity: 8 (-1)
Constitution: 14(+2)
Intelligence: 8 (-1)
Wisdom: 14 (+1)
Charisma: 8(-1)

SAVING THROWS
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Fortitude:+6
Reflex:-1
Will:+2

Special Save Notes: Fortitude save includes +1 racial bonus on Fort saves

COMBAT
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hit Points: 19

Armour Class: 15


Initiative Modifier: +2

Base Attack Bonus: +1
Melee Attack Bonus: +5
Ranged Attack Bonus: -1

Special Combat Notes: +1 racial bonus with spears, greataxes, bastard and greatswords;
+1 racial bonus when fighting in groups of 5 or more Dorns

Weapons:
Bastard Sword, Great Axe, Dagger, Vardatch

SKILLS, FEATS & ABILITIES ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Skills:

Name: Ranks = Total

Animal Empathy: 1 = 0
Climb: 1 = 6
Craft (boyer/fletcher): 1 = 0
Handle Animal: 1 = 1
Heal: 2 = 1
Intuit Direction: 2 = 0
Knowledge (Northlands): 1 = 0
Knowledge (Shadow Minions): 1 = 0
Listen: 1 = 0
Profession (Trapper): 1 = 0
Stealth: 3 = 2
Swim: 2 = 7
Use Rope: 1 = 0
Wilderness Lore: 6 = 5 (11 due to Bloodhound class ability) (13 total when in Northlands)

Class Abilities

Tracking
Bloodhound: +6 Competence Checks on Wilderness Lore rolls when tracking

Feats

Power Attack
Mounted Combat

 

[wolff96]

I really like the adventure you have going.

Thanks for posting Karhun's character sheet... pretty cool. Good luck and please, keep posting!

 

[Paka]

The Ballad of Karhoun Esben

Story Post #12

The Shadow Cathedral, the Lady of the Black Oak and the Witch-Eyed Twin

The cathedral smelled of musky incense. The entryway was a stonework chronicle of father’s steps towards the Shadow. Father’s three weapons were stored there, atop the brothers’ tombs, one weapon per tomb. Lord Vildar Highfather Esben, Grandmaster of the Holy Order of the Southern Pelurian, had his dagger shined on a pedestal built into the wall with a bas-relief that displayed his first kinslaying, his youngest brother with a quiet dagger to the spine. The relief behind the bow was a representation of father killing his second brother with an arrow to the throat, shot from a rooftop. The carving behind the sword celebrated him killing his last brother in a duel on a rainy day. The doors into the church showed father bowing to Izrador at the end of the Third Age, a born again man of Shadow.

Inside no sun shined, the stained glass glowed by candlelight. The inner areas of prayer and meditation were open only to Legates but the pulpit area was enough for me.

Unaros said his prayers in the deeper regions of the Cathedral while Boots and Suk headed into town, where the Orcs ruled. The Esben family held the fortress but the greater portions of the town’s guarding went to the Orcs.

Before leaving Suk and I divvied up some of the things found on the Oruk. Oddly, there was a braid of hair and a bag of tea. Oruk took the hair, smelling it and guessing it for a Dwarven braid and I took the tea.

After the divvying up the dead Oruk’s belongings, I visited the black oak; the Lady was hidden and so I knocked gently on her tree three times. A door opened in a shadow of the bough and out she walked. Up close she was so beautiful it hurt to look directly at her. I offered answers to all of her questions but I don’t remember anything we said. I was too smitten, like a stupid boy, I was.

All I recall of our conversation is that her name is Elayle.

I offered her the oak leaf; told her that I found it on the road. She took it in both of her hands and kissed it gently, her lip-print still on the leaf when she gave it back. With a smile she returned it to me.

As I walked away I told myself that I would see her again but at the same time tried to remind myself that she was not only Fey, but also a Shadow-turned Fey planted to ward my father’s cathedral from insurgent harm. Telling myself this, I put the Dryad’s leaf in a cloth close to my heart.

Maybe there is some good in her.

On our to wash up to dinner we met Kylie, with her mis-matched witching eyes of green and gray. She was squire’s uniform, in father’s order, the Holy Order of the Southern Pelurian, an order of knights errant sworn to Izrador himself. Little Kylie had grown into an austere beauty and if the squire’s garb was any indication, would be a woman to be reckoned with before too long. She was bringing a cart full of insurgent’s heads to father from Sir Durgen, Warden of the Sea Tower, and High Captain of the Esben Fleet.

“What is this, little sister, you are a squire now?” I asked.

She responded proudly, “I am squire to Sir Durgen the Silent and I am on important business,” she said with a shake of her red braid towards the mule drawn cart, “bringing father this month’s heads. I hear you are on your way to the Bluff from Theros Obsidia, how was your trip here?”

I shook my bald head, “Whitecliff was terrible. We ran into Gnomish rebels and we met the Manticore.”

She was excited by word of the Manticore and for a moment was a little girl again, “Really? Is he as grand as they say? Durgen will want to speak with you about that, he has been trying to procure the Manticore for his hunt for the pirates.”

“I am in no rush to be close to the Manticore again, none at all. He was a
terrible beast, killed a Goblin and ate two Orc before I could blink. If Durgen wishes to speak about the Manticore, he can speak with Unaros. The Legate did most of the talking with the Manticore, I merely kept my head down and made sure I didn’t get eaten.”

She laughed at that and I told her that I would want to speak to Sir Durgen soon, possibly to procure a ship across the Pellurian to the Bluff. She commented on my shaven head, a sign of humility.

I responded, “We are a conquered people, Kylie. It does me well to remember that.”

While walking away she said over her shoulder, “We aren’t conquered, father converted,” and with that she took her mule draw cart filled with insurgent’s heads to father for inspection.

I didn’t ask about her brother, Kale, thinking that father might’ve killed him and it might be a sore subject. But once she was out of earshot I asked Val, “Valanicia, what happened to Kale?”

Val sniffed, “Kale ran to the insurgents. Father has offered the Shadow’s highest blessings on any who bring his head to Port Esben. Kylie has been working twice as hard at being a particularly vicious knight in the Holy Order of the Southern Pelurian to impress father ever since he left. Some say he went west to the Dwarves and others say he went east to the Elves but the none know the truth of it.”

I asked, “She called him Durgen the Silent, I always knew him as the Brave, why is he now the silent?”

She shrugged, “Noone knows, a few years ago he cut his own tongue out with his dagger. Father says it is because Durgen is a man of action and not words but as always in Port Esben, none know the truth.”

“Sister I have one more question for you, if you may, before I go to dinner.”

She nodded.

“What happened to the Legate, the one strung up to the walls with the Heretic sign hung around his neck?”

She barked a laugh, “That is one story everyone knows the truth of. He told father that the Shadow was within everyone and Legates weren’t the only path to Izrador. Father choked him to death. The Legate took out his morningstar too, hit father several respectable blows but it seemed to do nothing.”

“When did this happen?” I asked.

“Last week at dinner,” she said, as matter of factly.

I excused myself from my sister’s presence and went to my room to wash and prepare for my first Esben family dinner in over ten years.