Nebulous's Keep on the Shadowfell (FR)

[Nebulous]

Adventure #10: The Hobber Barracks

PART THREE

The group decides to take the fight to the hobgoblins. Leaving Splug standing the pressure plate for now, hopefully so that no one can open the portcullis (in theory) they advance to the next room. There are no enemies waiting for them, just two closed doors. Helga inspects to the north door, and gets the idea of jamming something underneath the handle to keep the door wedged shut. She takes Brandis’s polearm and does just that, making it difficult for anyone to turn the handle from the other side.

Splug runs in, terrified to be out there by himself, and jams a dagger in the door frame to slow intruders. That leaves one door to the east…

…and Kerric opens it, expecting the worst.

A hobgoblin archer unleashes a readied arrow, and a hobgoblin warcaster follows with a blast of golden darts from his staff. They zip toward the paladin with unnatural accuracy and shred his armor. A soldier is nearby, hunkered for protection behind an overturned table.

Kerric charges in, but triggers another readied attack from a soldier hiding around the corner. Two more grunts leap into battle, slashing at him with longswords.

Helga pounds turf straight toward the warcaster, which terribly impedes his effectiveness at such close quarters. His staff powers are mostly nerfed. The dwarf is a maelstrom of fury, slashing her axe in numerous opportunity and superiority attacks. The hobber spellcaster is unable to escape her, much less encourage his allies to target the warlock and wizard in the back ranks who are riddling them with curses and magic missiles.

The fight is brutal, but the end comes swiftly for the warcaster and archer when Helga unleashes a devastating (NEW) spin attack, beheading them both! She spins to a halt, glaring at the surviving soldier and wiping the gore from her bloodstained smile.

But all is not quiet in the antechamber. The door to the north wedged shut with the polearm is being hammered from the other side. And then the door to the SOUTH begins to shake!

Reinforcements have arrived.

The grunts soon bash down the southern door, but the delay offers the heroes time to dispatch their current enemies before they’re swarmed by everyone else. Erevan immolates three minions and the last soldier, leaving a single minion running for his life and screaming: “MAGIC! They use MAGIC!” Splug is squealing and wringing his hands in terror, the door next to him shuddering from repeated kicks, but miraculously holding.

Everyone crowds into the room with overturned tables, kicking corpses aside, and waiting with baited breath for the next wave of the assault…

…which doesn’t come.

They wait longer, unsure of what the enemy is planning, or how many there really are. In the downtime, Erevan takes the enchanted staff from the cold, dead hands of the warcaster and tries to identify it, but fails. He will look at it closer (I went ahead and told him what it was: A +1 Staff of Dweomered Darts; 30 charges, expend 1, 2 or 3 charges; 1d4+1 auto-hit damage, and it adds +1 to hit and damage]

Finally, they advance to the doors and look out. The hobgoblins have all retreated. Relieved, they rest and regain their encounter powers, but aren’t otherwise terribly hurt, nothing that a few surges won’t remedy. But they can’t stay here forever. The hobbers must have realized that the PCs were entrenched in a strong position, and even now they might be planning a counterattack to root them out.

They head down the south passage, noting that the portcullis is closed again. They can’t find a mechanism anywhere to open it, but flexing their muscles and spitting into their palms, Brandis and Helga pull the bars apart, so far in fact no one even needs to squeeze.

Kerric the paladin of Kelemvor steps through the ruined portcullis first, listening for the slightest hint of sound. The table before him is littered with plates and mugs and strips of unidentifiable meat. There is a door to his south and east. No sound. No sound at all. He takes another tentative step forward…

…and two swarms of hobgoblins BURST from the doors!

He’s surrounded in a heartbeat, hemmed in by leering hobgoblins wielding cruel swords and spinning flails.

But they’re not alone. A massive hobgoblin storms from the southern chamber, and his orders are explicit:

And there we stopped.

Should be a fun kickoff next session guys!

Just so you know, we’re winding down to the end of this campaign arc. There’s not a whole lot left.

 

[Nebulous]

Adventure #11: Chief Krusk, Sir Keegan & Traps Galore

PART ONE

The party is in a bad spot, and the hobgoblins win initiative, making it even worse. Kerric the paladin is bashed left and right by longswords and flails, severely wounded in the first round of combat. It takes some tactical maneuvering to keep him alive, and he ultimately retreats to Krusk’s ready room, desperately gambling against the opportunity attacks that might usher him to Kelemvor’s early embrace. Chief Krusk nearly impales him, but Kerric manages to evade the attack.

Helga the Fighter valiantly defends herself and her ally, smacking hobber blades left and right, but taking some vicious strikes herself. A chained flail wraps around her thigh, hampering her movement. Brandis jabs through the bars, exchanging blows with the hobgoblin soldier on the other side.

Meanwhile, Erevan, Irann and Splug have heard the sounds of the ambush and run up to help. Erevan unleashes dweomered darts from his new staff and instantly slays two grunts. The warlock curses and eyebites the closest soldier, and Splug does what Splug does best…he cowers behind the spellcasters.

Erevan follows up with Grasping Shadows, and tendrils of mist enwrap the legs of the hobbers, slowing them down and giving Kerric a few extra seconds to collect himself and use Lay on Hands.

Warchief Krusk screams orders at his men and they tactically retreat, trying to avoid further ranged attacks from the mages. Krusk limps into the antechamber and begins to raise the broken portcullis, but the damaged mechanism gets stuck halfway. Hobbers attack Helga and Brandis under the gate, trying to sweep their legs out from under them.

After healing himself, Kerric charges back into battle, his longsword hacking left and right, crushing through hobgoblin armor. The hobgoblins have rolled extremely well this fight and initially had the advantage, but a few concentrated attacks by the heroes shifts the advantage. Two soldiers are cut down and the last retreats to the antechamber with Krusk.

It’s not exactly the best place for a last stand.

Erevan anchors their feet to the floor with ice, and all the bewildered soldier can do is shut the door. (With as many ice spells as Erevan is casting we need to get light blue condition pads).

But the door does not stay shut for long. Kerric flings it open and thrust his blade into the soldier’s gut, killing him. Magic missiles fly into the room, followed by purple eldritch blasts, and then Kerric and Brandis are jabbing through the doorway at the wounded warchief who is now completely alone and decorated by a rainbow of conditions.

Outnumbered and outclassed, Warchief Krusk screams his final defiance and thrusts his spear into Kerric, inflicting significant damage, but it is too little too late. A magic missile explodes between the hobgoblin’s eyes and he is rocked backward into the wall. The group rushes in to finish him off and sees his lips moving. Krusk is mumbling something, but only Brandis Padraig can understand:

“Kalarel…prepare…pre…pare…my…way…*gurgle*

The warchief dies, and the group collectively sighs with relief. That fight could have gone very poorly, and it looked grim for the paladin. Kerric could have easily died if he didn’t retreat. They search the rooms, finding gold and an enchanted shortsword that they temporarily give to Splug. The little goblin turns it over in his hands, admiring the craftsmanship.

Besides the obvious loot, the hobber heads are also worth good coin to Cynthia Padraig, so the group lops off the heads and puts them in burlap sacks to return to Winterhaven, a gory job that Helga fortunately relishes.

 

[Nebulous]

Adventure #11: Chief Krusk, Sir Keegan, and Traps Galore

PART TWO

The group discusses their options: rest or continue? They’re not terribly hurt now that they’ve rested, and the spellcasters are uninjured (as usual). They opt to continue, and head south down the only unexplored passage. They find a large iron door at the end and two unlit torch sconces. Listening at the door they hear nothing, but something about this area fills them with unease. They ask Splug what lies behind it, but the goblin doesn’t know. He’s never been down here, but he does know that Kalarel lives somewhere in the lowest level.

Kalarel.

That name gives them pause. Of course, the priest of Orcus would put his best troops in-between himself and intruders. They decide not to go in the door yet and finish inspecting the top level of the keep first. There’s still a room they haven’t entered yet, the one located at the Shrine of Bahamut just after the Skeleton Trap corridor. So they start heading back that way, and have just reached the room where they killed the boar Achilles when they hear weapons bashing against the door!

Sure enough, the hobgoblin patrol they evaded earlier has returned to find the entrance to the barracks blockaded. They’re smashing through, but the PCs surround the door and prepare an ambush. Hobgoblin deaths come swiftly (the hobbers were just six minions) and the group ascends to the next level, maneuvering through the fear maze and finally reaching the skeleton trap room. Erevan has already memorized the prayer necessary to deactivate the auto-trap, and sure enough, they can hear claws scrabbling inside the upright sarcophagi. The wizard rushes through while the others prepare to bash the skeletons that leap out. Undead warriors clatter into the hall, the lids banging open, and they’re met with a storm of metal from the heroes. But Erevan has piously bowed at the altar, recited the prayer, and the skeletons lower their swords and then crumple to the stone floor, disintegrating to dust until the next time they’re summoned.

The room is the same as they remember it, with the vaulted ceiling above displaying the mosaic of the platinum dragon of Justice, and the altars dedicated to Sir Keegan’s wife Isabel and his two daughters:

Now they have to deal with the door.

They listen at the cold metal, noting prayers to Bahamut scribbled around the perimeter. They don’t hear any sounds, and Irann doesn’t find any traps. Waiting won’t do them any good, so Helga tests the handle, finds it unlocked, and slowly pushes it open on squealing hinges.

A single, small cold chamber lies beyond.

Dust lies thick and undisturbed on the floor. At the back of the room sits a shallow dais upon which rests a stone sarcophagus. The warriors boldly enter, while Irann, Erevan and Splug wait outside. Brandis cautiously approaches the sarcophagus, wondering if this is the final resting place of Sir Keegan, the commander of the keep who went mad and slew nearly everyo—

And then the lid abruptly explodes off the casket.

A skeletal man emerges, a massive battleaxe clutched in his bony fingers.

“THE RIFT MUST NEVER BE RE-OPENED! STATE YOUR BUSINESS OR PREPARE TO DIE!”

From his left and right two apparitions appear through the walls and they repeat the same warning.

Helga, Kerric and Brandis don’t back down from undead hostility, although Kerric is quick to point that he is a follower of Kelemvor, and that their sole purpose in the keep is to prevent the Rift from opening again. Brandis echoes the statement, and Sir Keegan slowly steps down off the sarcophagus, practically oozing menace. But the group holds their ground, ready to strike if necessary.

“I AM SIR KEEGAN…” the undead thing goes on to say, starting straight into Helga’s eyes. “I WAS COMMANDER OF THIS KEEP. IT WAS MY SWORN DUTY TO ENSURE THAT THE SHADOWFELL RIFT NEVER OPENED AGAIN.
I…HAVE FAILED.”

Keegan seems impressed that the heroes are here to make sure that the rift remains closed (although they’re fairly sure the rift is at least partway open; Kalarel’s been a busy necromancer). The dead knight asks them a few questions and insists that the spellcasters loitering in the hall enter the chamber as well. The PCs learn that long, long ago Sir Keegan was possessed by a demonic presence from the rift. It slowly asserted itself over him, and by the time anyone noticed, it was too late. Keegan became a murderous fiend, slaying his wife, his daughters, his lieutenants and friends. He will suffer here forever and cannot leave this chamber, nor can the two lieutenants who have agreed to stand with him in eternal vigilance.

But Keegan thinks the heroes have a chance of accomplishing what he could not do in life. He believes they are honorable, and to aid them, he gives the dwarf his magic battleax, Aceris, and says that it should serve her well.

Keegan slowly climbs back into the crypt, nods to the heroes, and the lid slams shut with a puff of dust.

[GM Note: This was supposed to be a big Skill Challenge where Keegan asks each player questions that are keyed off certain skills. Failure would entice Keegan to attack. Eh…either I just don’t understand skill challenges enough to make them compelling or I didn’t want to bother with it. I portrayed Keegan the way I wanted him to act, and the players asked the questions they want to ask and stayed in character, and that was it. Encounter over].

Well, the group now has only one choice—through the door on the hobber level, but they don’t want to do it just yet. They want to fight Kalarel at full strength, so they decide to return to Winterhaven to rest up, sell some items, maybe find some rituals, and return to the Keep the next day.

There is also some discussion regarding the FROG QUEEN and her mysterious request for Irontooth’s hands, but the next full moon is still several weeks away when the portal to the Feywild on Jade Hill will open under the moonlight.

Back in Winterhaven, the heroes are instantly surrounded at Wrafton’s Inn by curious villagers. Word of their deeds and bravery has spread far and wide, and a few folks are surprised to see them return alive. Questions about the haunted castle abound, and the group is peppered by inquiries. Lord Ernest Padraig shows up and embraces his son Brandis. Thair Coalstriker is here, and he just wants to know how many goblin heads the PCs brought back. He is VERY pleased with the final count. Elian the Old is here with his pet pig, and already well toasted by the time the party arrives.

Erevan retreats to his chamber to study a Detect Secret Doors ritual and commit it to memory from a scroll, while Helga and Kerric decide to visit Ninaran the Half-Elf in the prison. They have a few questions that were not asked last time they encountered her in the graveyard with Lord Maw.

Helga plans intimidate answers out of Ninaran, while Kerric is there to play Good Cop / Bad Cop. It turns out that although Ninaran is sultry, depressed and despondent, she is not averse to answering questions.

In a nutshell, this questioning turns up a few interesting tidbits:

1) Kalarel is a necromancer (they suspected this) who does not like to be around living people. He wants to be immortal and live forever, a gift promised to him by his master Lord Orcus.
2) Ninaran is the bastard daughter of Lord Ernest Padraig (the party also knew this), but it turns out that Kalarel is the bastard son of ERNEST’S father, Brandis’s grandfather! This makes Brandis and Kalarel loosely related, although the lineage cannot be proven. Regardless, Ninaran has no love for the Padraig family and suspects that Brandis’s morals and libido are just as despicable and she despises him just on principle.
3) Ninaran knows that there was a password to safely enter the Hobgoblin Barracks, but the party blasted through there without any such help.

And that sums up what she knows, or is at least willing to tell. The group leaves Ninaran under the careful watch of Rond Kelfern and whatever fate the townsfolk of Winterhaven will pass down on her.

The next day, refreshed and rearmed, they head back to the old keep.

 

[Nebulous]

Adventure #11: Chief Krusk, Sir Keegan, and Traps Galore

PART THREE

There is no sign that anyone else has been here. They descend into the murk for the third time, winding down, down, down through the hobber barracks, and finally reach the door that might very well lead to Kalarel’s inner sanctum. They listen again and search for traps again, and finding nothing, Helga pushes the handle of the iron doors and opens them.
The room beyond is completely dark.

They have the sense of a large, open space, and something HUGE lurks in the room just at the limit of their vision. This seems like a good place to drop a sunrod, so Kerric cracks one open and tosses it out. Virtual sunlight illuminates a large chamber dominated by the statue of a warrior twenty or thirty feet tall. To the east are two dragon statues, and to the south they can just barely see what looks like a few statues of smiling cherubs.

The group does not like this room at all.
It reeks of a great big stinking trap, but their Perceptions don’t notice anything out of the ordinary. They talk amongst themselves and then step forward…


…and that’s when the huge statue swings.

Stone grinds, gritty joints crack, and the sword arcs down at Kerric, slamming him in the chest and driving him to the floor. Helga grabs his arm and pulls him back. At the same time, the big metal doors behind them slam shut and they hear bolts locking into place.

They’re trapped.

The statue returns to its starting position, and they can tell that it easily has three squares of reach in all directions. Erevan suspects that it is a combined mechanical and magical trap, and maybe there is some way they can deactivate it from the statue itself, but it will require getting closer. They opt not to do that quite yet and start skirting the wall toward the northeast dragon statue.

But Helga the Dwarf notices something suspicious about the stone dragon. They decide not to approach any closer, and instead reverse direction back to the entrance and start searching meticulously for some way out of this room, maybe a lever or button or anything. All they can find is a discolored area of stone to the left of the entrance. There are no seams, no handle, no keyhole, nothing to indicate what it is or what might be behind it. Keeping as far from the giant’s reach as they can (which is just one square), they all start skirting the wall, searching for clues.
Irann the Warlock finally decides to put her rogue skills to the test. It is not safe to venture within range of the giant…but it looks safe enough to teleport right on the thing’s head. And that’s just what she does.

“I see something!” the warlock yells down to them. There’s a panel on the back of its helmet, and prying it open, she finds a complex mechanism that controls the trap. She begins trying to disable it, reaching down as far as she can and grabbing the innards. She actually starting to make progress, feeling confident in herself for fixing this problem all on her own—

--until they hear stone grinding.

The discolored stone blocks are beginning to rise, unveiling a hidden door. Splug the goblin is right in front of it and Kerric immediately yanks him away. They see stony feet under the door, and then stony legs, and finally a burly stone chest of something that is flexing granite fists. And this thing is about to enter the room.

To make matters worse, the wall opposite the golem is also rising, but the thing in there is fashioned from solid iron.

This is not good at all.

“BEWARE! GOLEMS!” shouts Erevan as he quickly skirts around the stone creature before it can move. He raises his staff, angling it north and south, and discharges a thin beam of ice from both ends! It strikes the stone and iron golem, temporarily rooting them in their alcoves.

“Hurry up with that panel!” shouts Helga to Irann, who is still trying to disable the giant statue. If these golems manage to throw them within range of that thing…

Kerric doesn’t wait for the golems to come out; he runs at the iron one while Helga slams her magical axe into the stone foe. Kerric swings his sword but the iron golem catches it, and promptly swats him across the jaw with a critical hit, sending him into the Bloodied state for the umpteenth time this adventure. Kerric reels from the strike, but Brandis Padraign intercepts before the golem can do further damage or push Kerric into range of the giant. He hacks into the thing with Wolftooth, carving a chunk of metal from its body.

Helga is handling her golem very well, slamming it backward into its niche every time it tries to exit. Irann finally manages to disable the giant warrior and its arms lower the stone sword. She spends the rest of her time cursing the golems from the safety of her perch on the giant’s head.
The golems can soak up an incredible amount of damage, but they are slow and not particularly hard to hit (and nowhere near as dangerous as a true golem). Helga finally cleaves her foe, shattering its domed skull into fragments, and it collapses into rubble. Irann the warlock deals the final death blow to the iron golem, infecting it with such severe necrotic damage that it begins to rust from the inside out, its skin flaking away into crunchy residue.

All in all, the fight went well and the golems failed to toss their enemies into danger.

The group binds their wounds, and then inspects the niches from which the golems emerged, but find nothing of interest. And no way out. They continue along the perimeter of the room until they reach the opposite alcove and see four little stone cherubs holding urns above their heads. There is water on the floor at the base of a door.

Again, this just doesn’t look safe.

Without passing the threshold of the cherubs, Erevan uses mage hand and scoops up some water and places it in an urn. There is water in the urn already, but no other result. They’re not sure what to do, and this is about when Helga’s patience runs out and she just walks into the alcove.
A shimmering wall of red light instantly springs up behind her, an impenetrable magical forcefield that seamlessly stretches from floor to ceiling and wall to wall. A scant second after that, all four cherubs tip their urns over and a disproportionate amount of water begins gushing forth.

Helga looks back at her friends, who are gazing in shock at what just happened.

“Attack the cherub!” Erevan shouts, who has surmised with his Arcane Knowledge that destroying the cherubs might deactivate the trap. So Helga pulls out Aceris, aims for the smiling chubby little angel, and swings. The rock cracks, yes, but outside where the others are, something else happens simultaneously:

The southeastern dragon statue disgorges several force orbs, narrowly missing the wizard. Everyone thinks they should probably go hide behind the big statue, except for Irann, who bravely attempts to help Helga before she drowns inside the trap. So the half-elf warlock teleports inside with her.

Helga grabs her wrists and asks if Irann can “jump” them both out, but no, her magic does not work like that. Dismayed, Helga raises her axe, Irann focuses a ball of eldritch energy in her hand, and they both lay into the smiling cherub with all they’ve got. An arm is hacked off. The belly cracks and splinters, and then it is finally bashed into a hundred little pieces. Outside, the dragon statues keep trying to target anyone they can see, but the other heroes have completely hidden.

But the destruction of a single cherub is not enough to break the trap, and the other three begin spewing out even more water to compensate. Greenish cold liquid is now up to their waists, and the dwarf and warlock turn upon the next cherub, slamming blade and spells into it.
And then the whirlpool engages.

The dwarf and warlock are knocked off their feet, dunked under the surface and systematically spun around the small chamber, bashing off walls and statues in a rapidly increasing spin cycle. If they can’t get out they’ll be battered to death, and there is nothing their friends can do to help. Irann, at the very least, can probably use magic to escape, but the dwarf cannot.

Helga whacks the damaged cherub as she flounders by, and Irann grabs it with both hands, pumping an intense charge of arcane energy into the stone. The smiling cherub shatters, its urn broken, and that finally disrupts the magic of the trap. The red forcefield flickers and fades, and the dwarf and warlock are unceremoniously disgorged onto the floor, sodden wet, shaking and cold, but otherwise fine.

And that’s where we stopped.

[GM Note: Not much left guys. Kalarel awaits in the Cathedral of Shadow…]

 

[Nebulous]

Side Trek (III): The Fate of Blacksoul

Side Trek (III): The Fate of Blacksoul

[GM Note: This final Side Trek developed slowly alongside the main plotline. The other players (save Douvan’s player) don’t know much about the mirror other than what they have read in the recaps].

After his last unpleasant encounter with Balthazar of the Potion Emporium, Douvan Stahl is not particularly keen about meeting more wizards. Alas, it is necessary if he wishes to retrieve the Mirror of Scarvoss that Grax Steelfeather confiscated the day before, and Douvan doesn’t know if Merple the Moneylender can help Douvan pawn the item off because Merple is currently a large bespectacled, useless green toad. Maybe it’s just temporary.

The ranger and his halfing companion Merric Littlefoot have stayed at the Green Dragon Inn, a comfortable abode that they frequent when in town.

Douvan has told Merric all about the incident—the toad curse and the pseudo-dragon, the sewers and the wererats, etc. But Merric is distracted with his own problems. Apparently, his aunt cannot find her son Shuck Hairfoot, who is a Merric’s cousin, and she wants Merric to look for him. Merric doesn’t particularly like Shuck. He’s a fat, conniving halfling with a bad temper, but Merric has agreed to help his aunt anyway out of respect for her.

Shuck Hairfoot was last seen heading south in the company of a blond female minstrel…

[GM Note: There was actually another Side Trek never played out; Merric and Douvan were supposed to meet Shuck at Salvana Wrafton’s Inn and get into a fistfight, foreshadowing Shuck’s alliance with Kalarel. This session would have involved more interaction with Valthrun the Prescient, which I just summarized instead later on. The only clue that the players have concerning Shuck is a signed note to Kalarel, but I doubt they remembered].

Finishing breakfast, Douvan bids Merric good luck and goodbye, and heads toward the Rookery, which is practically next door to the College of Thaumaturgy across the River Rauvin. The morning air is split by shrill cries from griffons perched on the parapets.

Douvan is asked about his business at the front gate, and he responds that he is here to meet Grax Steelfeather of the Griffon Guard. Before long the purple-plumed warrior appears, sans his mount, and greets Douvan with a curt nod.

“Excellent. You remembered to come. Unfortunately I don’t have an answer for you yet. Our diviner Valsuvius the Blind has only given your mirror a cursory glance…but he DID want to know who brought it here. He would like to speak with you personally.”

“Great.”

Douvan doesn’t know what more he can tell this wizard. Valthrun of Winterhaven didn’t tell Douvan much besides that the mirror was a great threat to the town and had something to do with an evil realm called the Shadowfell. Still, he agrees to help. They step inside the vaulted corridors of the Rookery, which Grax explains is the main training and housing quarters for the Griffon Guard of Silverymoon (including the occasional owl, pegasus and hippogriff).

The lowers levels are still reserved for a few magical endeavors instead of being solely focused in the College of Thaumaturgy. They descend multiple flights of stairs, deeper and deeper into the bowels of the structure, passing numerous glow globes that shed eternal light of varying colors. Eventually they reach some large double doors and Grax knocks.

A moment later they swing open, revealing an older, blind Eladrin mage bearing a staff.

“Ah...” he says, “you must be Douvan Stahl, bringer of our mysterious mirror. I cannot see with my eyes, true, but there are ways to see beyond that, young man. Come, walk with me.”

Valsuvius takes Douvan’s arm, tapping with his staff while Grax follows. Valsuvius talks along the way.

“I was able to cast a few simple enchantments upon the mirror, but it is highly resistant to any sort of divination. Almost as if the mirror actively resists anyone learning its past. If you don’t mind, can you tell me more about where you found it, and the circumstances.”

Sighing, and thinking that this is a waste of time, Douvan recounts the story again, including the kobold clan and the bugbear attack, and Valthrun’s ominous warning that the mirror must be removed as far from Winterhaven as possible.

Nodding, the old diviner doesn’t say much while they walk, other than asking for the occasional clarification. They soon reach a set of iron doors that are guarded by two soldiers. They stand aside as Valsuvius, Douvan and Grax enter a room that doesn’t exactly fill Douvan with confidence.

It is a wizard’s chamber, designed from top to bottom with magical rituals in mind. Bizarre statues line the back wall, and the center of room is dominated by a dais and altar. Fumes rise from two burning braziers and the acrid smoke burns Douvan’s nostrils.

And the Mirror of Scarvoss is waiting here too.

Valsuvius genially taps the mirror with his staff. “What exactly are you, my friend? Will you tell me your secrets now? Eh? I think we should try a new approach.”

Valsuvius asks Grax and Douvan to stand with him on the dais. Douvan can’t imagine why. The old diviner sprinkles silver dust into the air while holding a hefty tome in his hand. Valsuvius begins chanting in a strange tongue, reciting undecipherable words that he must have memorized. The braziers sparkle and burn brighter, filling the room with haze. Douvan begins to feel lightheaded and woozy…

…and then Valsuvius stops speaking.

His blind eyes are squeezed shut. The three of them stand in utter silence and stillness, colored smoke wafting around them in slow, eddying currents. In fact, the mage is SO still and quiet for so long that Douvan thinks he has fallen asleep. But then--

“I see…” Valsuvius says in his cracked, leathery voice, “…a time from long ago. A place shrouded by darkness. Below ground. There are…people here. Many people. Warriors and priests. Wizards and disciples. I see…banners…and emblems…regalia of Bahamut, Meilikki, Kelemvor, Chauntea and more. They are gathered in defense. They are frightened. Frightened of…the shadows.”

The old seer shifts his weight, eyes still closed, as if trying to peel back the veil of years.

“I see a mirror near a large altar. A…cracked mirror. Yes. A…damaged mirror. There are chains on the altar, bands of silvery adamantium. A…a man in robes is approaching the altar. His name…his name…his name…is SCARVOSS. Yes. He is a great mage. Powerful. He has a plan to defeat the shadows. These wizards and priests and holy warriors are all gathered here to help him, on the threshold of the gate, for he needs time…time to complete a dire ritual.”

Valsuvius sways, clearly in an altered state of mind, and Douvan supports the old man’s weight. Grax Steelfeather is looking extremely upset that he was asked to attend this little séance.

“This…wizard…Scarvoss…knows that a rift is open. It is a gateway to a dark realm of undeath and pain, and it has flooded the countryside with unspeakable horrors. They have come here to close the gate through sheer faith and force…but they need…a sacrifice.”

The diviner stumbles, as if what he sees is troublesome.

“They have brought a beast through the rift. A dragon. A black dragon. No! A…shadow dragon. The creature is subdued. It is chained to the altar. Scarvoss must complete this working, but it will take time, and the Rift will not wait! Agh!”

Valsuvius falls to his knees, the book clattering to the floor.

“The Rift,” whispers the diviner. “The Rift is open, disgorging foulness into the world. The dead are restless. Furious. They attack all they can see! A horde of undeath is pouring from the Shadowfell Rift!”

Valsuvius sees a wave of ghosts, ghouls and worse storm the room, clashing with the priests and holy warriors who are defending Scarvoss. The valiant men and women that die are animated as horrible zombies and ghouls, attacking their former friends and comrades. The ritual is a lengthy one, and it culminates with Scarvoss PLUNGING a sacrificial dagger into the dragon’s bosom and cutting its heart out. The creature’s heart and soul is ripped forth and thrust into the waiting receptacle of the mirror, which magically mends itself.

The undead abominations scream as their link to the Shadowfell is disrupted. The shadowy portal wobbles and then closes, and cheers erupt from the survivors.

The Shadowfell Rift has been closed.

Valsuvius’s white eyes flutter open as his otherworldly vision dissipates.

“So this is what happened. They could not seal the gateway permanently, but they could lock it…and they locked it with the mirror we have before us, burying it with the bones of the shadow dragon they sacrificed, praying that it would never be found.”

Grax Steelfeather grunts. “But why? Why not just destroy the key so that no one can open the gateway?”

“No,” the mage answers slowly, thinking. “No. The key is linked to the gate. Destroy the key, and you destroy the bond on the gate. The key must be kept hidden and safe at all co—”

The diviner is interrupted by a horrendous CRACK!

Douvan nearly jumps out of his boots. Grax gasps, hands reaching for his bow.

The Mirror of Scarvoss has ruptured.

Black smoke begins to jet from the crack like steam escaping a kettle, forming into a draconic shadow that circles the mirror, and a rasping voice says:

“WHO…HAS…DISTURBED…MY SLUMBER?”

Douvan pulls his sword, Grax slings a bow off his shoulder, and Valsuvius raises both hands in an imploring gesture.

“Wait! Wait, o’ spirit! I can explain. You are not asleep! You…you have passed beyond, great dragon. You…you are a spirit now, trapped in a mirror. A powerful mirror that acts as a key to the Shadowfell from whence you came.”

The draconic shadow condenses more and coalesces into a something that is not quite solid. Shifting vapors constitute its black eyes, fangs and talons. The temperature in the room has dropped considerably.

“DEAD? WHAT? DEAD? I…I AM…DEAD? IMPOSSIBLE!”

The shadow dragon bellows, but lacking adequate lungs, the sound is more of a hissing screech.

“LIES! LIES! I AM NAR-SHAGGA! I AM BLACKSOUL!
AND I AM NO MAN’S PAWN!”

The creature lunges, its sinewy head striking like a viper at Valsuvius. The diviner falls, screaming, and both Douvan and Grax leap to his aid. The ranger swings his blade, tearing wisps of shadowstuff from the thing’s body, while Grax pulls an arrow and looses it.

The door to the chamber bangs open and the guards enter, but Blacksoul turns on them, unleashing a torrent of putrescence. The necrotic breath weapon dissolves their flesh and the guards liquefy to blackened slush inside their armor, squelching messily through the cracks into black puddles.

Disheartened by that show of power, Douvan grits his teeth and falls upon the shadow dragon with renewed force.

“Hold it off!” Valsuvius shouts, and clambers to the back of the room, rummaging through a chest. His request is easier said than done, Douvan thinks, as Blacksoul’s chilly maw clamps on the ranger’s arm. He is frozen to the bone, pain coursing up and down his arm. Shadowy wings enclose him, sucking the very life from his body, and just as everything begins to grow dark, a hand reaches in and pulls him free! Douvan staggers to his knees beside Grax, who fires three burning arrows in succession, each bursting into a brilliant shower of sparks as they impact the incorporeal shadow dragon.

The dragon’s eyes meet Grax and the archer is suddenly blinded by agonizing pain. Across the room, Douvan pulls out his Bow of Phlegos and launches two missiles into the dragon’s shadowy body. It writhes in pain, twisting and turning, and even as it prepares to attack Douvan, Valsuvius intervenes, holding a glowing bauble in his hands not unlike a large luminescent pearl.

“Return to the mirror, foul spirit!” the diviner shouts. “Return from whence you came and trouble us no more! NOW GO!”

The orb flares, and with another shriek, Blacksoul retreats into the crack, disappearing as quickly as it appeared, and with another CRACK! the mirror reseals.

There is no evidence that anything happened at all other than the liquefied guards.

Valsuvius sighs and lowers the orb. “I…don’t think I’ll be casting any more spells upon that mirror,” he says wearily.

Douvan wholeheartedly agrees.

***

They also agree that the mirror is dangerous. It is a key to unlock a terrible place, and so long as the key remains intact and hidden, the more likely the gate to the Shadowfell will remain shut. The diviner does not know about Kalarel or the heroes currently battling through the bowels of the Keep, but he suspects that the mischief caused by the Rift has yet to see a conclusion.

He is right.

For his troubles, Douvan is given a fat bag of gold, and as far as he’s concerned, Winterhaven, The Mirror of Scarvoss and the Shadowrift Rift are somebody else’s problem.

 

[Antilles1000]

I can't wait to read the last chapter!

The suspense is killing me! This has been really fun to follow. I put a lot of work into prepping and running KotS, but I only made it about half way through before I had to move. It has been fun to live vicariously through you and your group! -Ben

 

[Nebulous]

The suspense is killing me! This has been really fun to follow. I put a lot of work into prepping and running KotS, but I only made it about half way through before I had to move. It has been fun to live vicariously through you and your group! -Ben

Thanks Ben. I've been out sick this week and not posted. I'll try to get to it Friday. We're nearly done!

nebulous

 

[Nebulous]

Adventure #12: The Ghoul Warren

After defeating the room of trapped statues, the party rests before continuing. The murky water from the whirlpool has flooded into the chamber, and the door beyond is rusted from the waist-level down. Double metal doors allow egress from here. They consider trying to destroy the stone dragon statues, but decide not to, it’s not worth the effort and they’re not harming anyone now.

They listen and search for traps, and finding none, slowly open heavy doors that creak on rusty hinges, revealing a corridor curving to the west. Kerric detects the unpleasant whiff of rotten meat.

A hundred feet later the corridor reaches another set of metal double doors, this one with a crack underneath. They all smell rotting meat now. Helga bends down and rattles a dagger under the door, but nothing yanks it from her grasp. With nowhere else to go but onward, the paladin grasps the handles and pushes inward.

Cold, stinking air wafts across them, and instantly they see movement at the edge of their light. Several shambling bodies begin to move toward them, followed by the raspy ululation of the undead.

Halberd, sword and axe crush skulls and hew limbs from the undead monsters. But the creatures are numerous, and no sooner is one wave obliterated that a new one fills its ranks. Filthy claws scratch Helga’s face, but she just screams louder and cleaves a zombie straight down the middle, spewing black, ropy intestines across everyone.

Erevan discharges magic missiles from the back ranks, and Irann curses foes, obliterating the undead in plumes of purple hellfire. And then Erevan begins dropping scorching bursts, immolating pockets of the zombies where they stand. All goes smoothly until a particularly tough zombie with an axe shows its rotten face, and then it and Kerric become engaged in a deadly duel through the door, hacking back and forth at each other.

Furthermore, the group hears the fluttering of wings somewhere in the darkness, and then horrible AGONY bursts behind Kerric’s eyes! He staggers to his knees, and the zombie lands a horrible blow to the side of his helm.

The sunrod is still lying on the floor in the large trap room, so they send Splug scrambling back to retrieve it.

Meanwhile, Erevan enters the room for a better angle on foes in the shadowy recesses of the chamber. His fire magic explodes around several of them, but then a new enemy surges around the corner, one that truly frightens the wizard. Fresh blood slathers its entire body, and feral teeth jut from a barely human face. It moves with predatory speed unlike any of the others, and a quick glimpse tells Kerric that this is a blasphemous ghoul…and extremely dangerous.

The thing’s claws inflict paralysis, and Helga finds out the hard way as the muscles in her legs lock up. The ghoul falls upon her, shredding with its talons, but she manages to keep its horrible fangs from her throat. Brandis keeps stabbing left and right with his halberd, Kerric destroys the armed zombie, Irann zaps in and out of the battlefield with her warlock teleportation, and Helga does her best to defend herself despite her paralyzed legs.

Splug returns with the sunrod, and with the extended range of its light, they see what was flying toward the back of the room: some sort of grayish imp.

And it has been targeting a PC nearly every round with dazing psychic damage. The creature hisses and flaps out of sight, popping around the corner to hit someone with ranged pain, at least until Erevan locks its wings with a spell and it crumples to the floor.

The ghoul is finally destroyed and failed to actually bite anyone, and Kerric surges ahead to slay the little imp before it can escape. To his surprise, it is not flesh and blood and at all, but a man-made homunculus. It dies regardless.

The warren is thoroughly searched, but all they find is a small tunnel in the wall. It would be comfortable for Splug to scramble through, but the goblin refuses. Helga tosses the sunrod into the tunnel far enough to see it land inside a small room. Kerric volunteers to enter, and he squeezes twenty feet down and stands up. He searches the dirty rags and rotten clothes stuffed here and finds a Bag of Holding filled with gold coins.

The group has only one direction to go now: down a wide set of stairs to a large double doors emblazoned with a ram’s skull.

Kalarel surely cannot be far now.

The doors are opened, and the group sees a long, long hallway that opens up into a massive chamber. Someone stands upon a dais at the far end, and his voices echoes out upon their arrival, almost as if expected them:

“WHO DARES TO DEFILE THE HOLY SANCTUM OF LORD ORCUS?”

Kerric raises his hand. “That was me.”

And there we stopped (short session). Next time could very well be the conclusion to Shadowfell Keep.

 

[Nebulous]

Adventure #13: The Claws of Orcus

PART ONE

The group has entered the Cathedral of Shadow, and who do they see through the cracked door within a room lit by sickly green light?

None other than Kalarel, Scion of Orcus.

“WHO DARES INTRUDE UPON THIS HOLY SANCTUM OF ORCUS?”

The PCs stand in a small alcove with a closed door to their left and a shattered door to their right.

Irann the Warlock investigates the smashed doorway, peering into the darkness beyond with the sunrod. She thinks she hears movement. Brandis covers her flank as they ease into the side chamber. Splug is ordered to guard the other door while Erevan the wizard advances. He has just barely passed the threshold when he hears a cry of anger, and a huge, burly man slams a maul into the mage’s chest! Snarling, the human berserker raises the weapon for another strike. He is half-naked and filthy, with a hideous goat’s skull tattooed across his chest. This man, obviously, is a devotee of Orcus.

Kerric moves in to help and stabs the berserker. He staggers, but seems to relish the pain and renews his attacks, focusing now on the paladin instead of the spellcaster.

In the meantime, Kalarel has leapt down from the dais but no one has line of sight to the priest. That’s never good. In the side alcove Irann spots movement along the high ceiling. There are natural partitions up there and anything could be hiding out of sight. She has the sunrod and its glow sheds considerable light, but she doesn’t feel safe exploring further. She maneuvers toward the sound of battle with Brandis and sees the entirety of the Cathedral of Shadow. This place is huge.

A bloody altar at the back of the room deposits slick blood down to a gaping hole in the floor. Four bloody chains descend into the pit, and the warlock is hesitant to see what lies down there. Three crystal columns shed bright light across the room, while a fourth column has been shattered, its pieces littering the floor.

Helga storms into the room and flanks the berserker, avoiding opportunity attacks because the man is dazed and floundering. She hacks into his unprotected shoulder, but is suddenly struck in the back of the head by another maul! There are two naked berserkers now, both frenzied, frothing and fanatical.

Irann curses a foe, but then she hears ragged hissing behind her. She turns, dismayed to see three bone-white women running straight at her! Kerric catches a glimpse too and knows instantly what they are.

“Beware!” the paladin shouts. “Vampires!”

[GM Note: They had been spider climbing on the ceiling behind the partition, waiting to drop on the first person beneath, who was nearly the warlock].

Erevan greets them with a burst of flame, incinerating two of the monsters and they die with hellish shrieks. The third leaps at Irann with unnatural speed and sinks her fangs into the warlock’s forearm. She retaliates with a blast of purple eldritch fire that explodes from the vampire’s eyes, killing it. About that same time, Splug, who has been waiting in the antechamber and guarding the door, is suddenly struck by a crossbow bolt. The little goblin screams and begins crying, and then sees the source of danger…

…it’s Boss Fatty, hiding in the doorway to the Cathedral.

 

[Nebulous]

Adventure #13: The Claws of Orcus

PART TWO

Die you traitor!” shouts the fat goblin boss, and then slinks out of sight, jamming a new bolt into his weapon. But Splug’s problems are just beginning, for there is a very pale woman standing in the shadows, smiling at him with glistening teeth. Splug doesn’t like that and flees to the wizard for protection.

In the main chamber, Helga cleaves into both the berserkers and removes the head from one, but suddenly lurches from a glob of necrotic energy slamming into her back. Kalarel, it seems, has finally entered the fight.

“You shall pay with your lives for coming here!” he shrieks.

“And YOU shall answer to Kelemvor for your vile deeds!” answers Kerric, sprinting up to engage the priest.

His longsword slides through the priest’s armor, eliciting a cry of agony. Helga and Brandis are still exchanging blows with the beserker, who is now staggering from pain and close to death.

More vampires surge into the antechamber where Erevan zaps one in the head with a magic missile, slaying it, but the others converge on Splug and severely wound him. Nearby, Irann is harassed by a new foe that appears out of nowhere, a short ugly humanoid with cloven hooves. She has heard of such creatures, known as Dark Creepers, that dwell and thrive in the Shadow world, but she does not know anything else about them. The vicious monster twirls a black dagger in its hands, and then it leaps at the warlock, sinking the blade deep.

Kerric and Kalarel are engaged in battle, but the paladin is by far the superior warrior and has rained numerous blows upon the priest. His lungs heaving, Kalarel attempts to flee, but the paladin skewers him from behind, splashing more blood on the walls.

Kalarel spins on the paladin, peppering him with feeble blows, but Kerric easily deflects them with his shield.

“You will answer for your sins, priest,” the paladin mutters. “And these abominations you surround yourself with shall meet the same fate!” Blood speckles Kalarel’s lips, and he doesn’t seem so sure of himself anymore.

Nearby, a vampire spawn and the dark creeper are still alive, but between the dwarf, warlock and wizard, the creatures cannot survive for long. But Boss Fatty has stopped his crossbow attacks, and by the time the others notice, the cowardly little goblin is long gone and hobbling through the dark corridors of the Keep, looking desperately for a new place to hide…and what better place than a deep, black, quiet cave…

[GM Note: I can’t believe that guy survived. He always ran when the running was good. This won’t be the last we see of him, no doubt about that…]

The dark creeper is dispatched before it can inflict more damage, and Brandis moves to Kerric’s side to help him bring down Kalarel, but the paladin is doing an outstanding job by himself. He thrusts his blade through the priest’s armor again, and from the expression on Kalarel’s face, Kerric knows that the wound is fatal. Blood gushes from the his side, and the priest slowly slides himself off the sword, falls to his knees, and then crumples backward.

Brandis stands above him, Wolftooth poised to skewer him yet again if necessary, but the priest is mumbling something through bloody lips.

“Kalarel…(cough)…prepare…prepare…my…way…”

And then he dies.

Brandis looks to Kerric in disbelief. “You mean, that’s NOT Kalarel?”

[GM Note: Aha! It worked! This twist caught a few players off guard, but some suspected that “Kalarel” went down too easy].

This news bodes ill for everyone. The high priest must still alive somewhere in the complex, maybe even aware of what just happened and planning a counterattack. They thoroughly search the chamber, including the priest, but he is only carrying one magic item, a Headband of Intellect. He also wears an iron key around his neck. Brandis inspects the shattered crystal, wondering what purpose it holds, but Erevan is sure that this entire room is devoted to reopening the Shadowfell Rift and plunging Winterhaven and its environs into chaos.

They don’t find anything else of interest in the room until they reach the chamber at the back. There are two locked doors, but the wall is shattered so Irann steps inside, but doesn’t feel confident to plunge through alone. Brandis pushes past her, ready for anything.

It is pitch black.

Manacles hang from the walls where prisoners were kept. In the next cell block are two dead farmers from Winterhaven, their bodies rotting. And in the final cell, as Brandis turns the corner…he sees a familiar Halfling from Salvana Wrafton’s Inn.

It is Shuck, who played harp for the elf minstrel Kelrella Sweetleaf.

“Hey! Lemme out of here!” the Halfling squeals, kicking his furry feet against the wall. He’s dangling from his wrists and looking none too happy.

“What are you doing here?” demands Kerric, and the Halfling immediately says that he was captured while taking a walk the other night. He begs again to be let free, but Kerric and the others aren’t so trusting. Something seems…wrong. And then Kerric notices the sheaf of paper in his pocket and pulls it out.

“You foolish halfling! Did you even try to help Lord Maw and Ninaran, or did you just sit on your hairy ass and watch? Return to the Keep at once. I have a new mission for you. – KALAREL”

Kerric points at the letter. “Know anything about this?” But nothing the Halfling can say will remove him from the scene at the graveyard, even though he desperately tries.

“No! LIES! It’s not true! I know nothing! I’ve…I’ve been captured by a lunatic! Just GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

But Shuck fails to persuade anyone, and he finally, dejectedly admits that he is a spy for Kalarel, and he and Ninaran are the only two of whom Shuck is aware. The group asks where the High Priest is, and Shuck says he is down below, in the Inner Sanctum, and he rarely if ever leaves there. Shuck says he can tell them more about Kalarel if they release him, but for now, they party leaves Shuck where he is.

There’s only one way left to go. Straight down.