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Nebulous's Keep on the Shadowfell (FR)
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<blockquote data-quote="Nebulous" data-source="post: 4561669" data-attributes="member: 31465"><p><strong>Nebulous's Keep on the Shadowfell</strong></p><p></p><p><span style="font-size: 15px">Adventure #4: A Dismal Den of Dragon Droppings</span></p><p></p><p><strong>PART THREE</strong></p><p></p><p>The group goes immediately to the estate of Lord Padraig, who is pleased to see them alive and well, although he too is dismayed to hear that one of their own perished in the battle. He pays them the 75 gold coins promised, but the group insists that they need to speak with Lord Padraig in private. They retire to his personal chambers, and the PCs waste no time searching the room for spies, peepholes or magical sensors. Padraig naturally questions their paranoia, and they show him the letter.</p><p></p><p>His brow furrows. Nodding silently, he lets them continue. When sure that no one is watching, they quietly discuss their options. Padraig is dismayed by this turn of events and thinks that they should speak with Valthrun the Prescient before doing anything else. Brandis tries to detect any change in emotion or personality from his father, if indeed the kobolds placed a blood curse on their family. He senses nothing untoward, and is left with the uncomfortable feeling that his mother Cynthia may well be the recipient of a magical madness. Or worse. Perhaps it is best that the enchanted snailwort has been keeping her in a dreamless slumber. </p><p></p><p>They’ll still receive a gold piece per kobold head from Lady Padraig, but they want Sister Linora to preserve them first with Gentle Repose, as well as Irontooth’s hands. They go to see her next at the temple just as she is finishing her evening prayers. The group also asks Sister Linora at the small Temple of Sune what she knows about a being called ORCUS, but she is shocked.</p><p></p><p><img src="http://www.med.unc.edu/~saasha/keep/lin.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /></p><p></p><p>“Do not mention that name in this holy place!” she hisses. “It is an abomination of hate and cruelty that I cannot even fathom.”</p><p></p><p>Sister Linora is otherwise pleased to help them, but very distraught about Kel and the cruelty he suffered. She thinks that the head should be reunited with the body in his grave and then properly blessed. If there IS a curse on the Padraig bloodline, Sister Linora does not know if she is strong enough to remove it. Regardless, Brandis stays with her awhile as she mutters prayers over him, trying to detect any unnatural taint. </p><p></p><p>Helga, Erevan and Irann head toward Wrafton’s Inn, and by now news is slowly spreading that they have been successful eliminating the kobold threat. By the time they reach the inn they hear a familiar voice singing inside, that of Kelrella Sweetleaft, the elf minstrel performing the first night they arrived. At her feet sits the same plump Halfling strumming a harp.</p><p></p><p><img src="http://www.med.unc.edu/~saasha/keep/minstrel.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /></p><p></p><p>The inn is full this evening with patrons, leftovers from Market Day. Elian the Old is here sipping a beer; ugly Gobbo Goodnest is at his side likewise getting inebriated; a few Winterhaven Regulars raise their mugs to salute the PCs, and Salvana Wrafton loudly declares a free round of drinks for everyone. Helga the Dwarf isn’t going to argue with that, and she chugs her beer. Their victory is celebrated for a while, until Brandis returns from Sister Linora, but their joy is only a façade. The PCs are not content with Irontooth’s demise; something worse is brewing, and for Brandis Padraig it could very well mean the demise of his family, home, and friends. </p><p></p><p>Helga requests a dirge from the Halfling harpist for their fallen companion Ash (whose body is at the Temple of Sune, in preparation for burial the next day), but the fat Halfling grunts, “I don’t DO dirges, lady.” </p><p></p><p>Kelrella Sweetleaf slaps his head. “Idiot! Shut up. Of course we’ll do a dirge for your friend. I sing excellent dirges.”</p><p></p><p>As the heroes are enjoying drinks with the locals, a male [undetermined race] approaches them. </p><p></p><p>“My name is [undetermined name] from [undetermined place]. I’ve heard what you did for Winterhaven and the good people here, and I want to help. May I join you?”</p><p></p><p>[GM Note: This is Adam’s new character to replace Ash, currently with no name, class or race].</p><p></p><p>Well, of course the group trusts this stranger! He’s surely not a spy, and they can’t think of a better person they’d like guarding them while they sleep. Maybe some of the others can vouch for him later, just to be on the safe side. </p><p></p><p>Not long afterward, they bid goodbye to the bar patrons as the sun is slipping into a vermillion horizon, and make their way to Valthrun’s tower. They have some business to discuss with the portly sage. </p><p></p><p><img src="http://www.med.unc.edu/~saasha/keep/tower.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /></p><p></p><p>The door is locked, but Valthrun sticks his wide face out a top window and greets them. He comes down, unlocks the door, and leads them up winding steps to the only occupied room in the tower. Hundreds of books like the walls, and the place smells of chemicals, ink and rare spices. </p><p></p><p>The group doesn’t mention anything about a SPY to Valthrun, not fully trusting the sage himself, although they have no reason not to. As he promised the day before, when they first asked him about an old keep in the area, one that Merple the Moneylender wanted them to map, he has consulted his books and unearthed new arcana. </p><p></p><p><img src="http://www.med.unc.edu/~saasha/keep/val.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /></p><p></p><p>But Valthrun looks troubled. His words are heavy with angst, and the tale that slowly unfolds from his lips is one of woe…and dire portent.</p><p></p><p>Valthrun admits to knowing the history of the old keep, known as Shadowfell Keep in days of old, but it is not commonly called that now. In fact, locals consider the place haunted and the name itself an ill omen. It is rarely spoken aloud. </p><p></p><p>Long ago, he says, perhaps hundreds of years, a mysterious rift opened beneath the surface of the earth for reasons he does not know. This rift led directly to a strange parallel realm known as the Shadowfell, not a wholly evil place, but not a wholly pleasant one either. It was a realm of half-thoughts and insubstantial dreams, and a place where the souls of the dead freely roamed. </p><p></p><p>This rift caused horrible problems in the lands above it, and eventually a group of priests and wizards, followers of Chauntea, Lathander, Meilikki and others, united their powers to seal this fissure. They used a magical mirror to focus their energy, but even that was not strong enough to destroy the opening. The best they could do was lock the Shadowfell rift underground, and then they commissioned a garrison of warriors and priests to guard the site, to ensure it never opened again and leak its evil back into the mortal world.</p><p></p><p>The soldiers and paladins built a small keep above the rift, a Keep on the Shadowfell, and this is how it remained for many, many years, manned by warriors brave enough to station themselves in an empty, foreboding land to prevent the darkness from returning. </p><p></p><p>In time, a new leader of these men came to rule the keep, a brave paladin of Bahamut named Sir Keegan.</p><p></p><p><img src="http://www.med.unc.edu/~saasha/keep/keegan.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /></p><p></p><p>He lived at the Keep with his wife and daughters, and all went well for many years…until the one night everything went horribly wrong.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Nebulous, post: 4561669, member: 31465"] [b]Nebulous's Keep on the Shadowfell[/b] [SIZE=4]Adventure #4: A Dismal Den of Dragon Droppings[/SIZE] [B]PART THREE[/B] The group goes immediately to the estate of Lord Padraig, who is pleased to see them alive and well, although he too is dismayed to hear that one of their own perished in the battle. He pays them the 75 gold coins promised, but the group insists that they need to speak with Lord Padraig in private. They retire to his personal chambers, and the PCs waste no time searching the room for spies, peepholes or magical sensors. Padraig naturally questions their paranoia, and they show him the letter. His brow furrows. Nodding silently, he lets them continue. When sure that no one is watching, they quietly discuss their options. Padraig is dismayed by this turn of events and thinks that they should speak with Valthrun the Prescient before doing anything else. Brandis tries to detect any change in emotion or personality from his father, if indeed the kobolds placed a blood curse on their family. He senses nothing untoward, and is left with the uncomfortable feeling that his mother Cynthia may well be the recipient of a magical madness. Or worse. Perhaps it is best that the enchanted snailwort has been keeping her in a dreamless slumber. They’ll still receive a gold piece per kobold head from Lady Padraig, but they want Sister Linora to preserve them first with Gentle Repose, as well as Irontooth’s hands. They go to see her next at the temple just as she is finishing her evening prayers. The group also asks Sister Linora at the small Temple of Sune what she knows about a being called ORCUS, but she is shocked. [img]http://www.med.unc.edu/~saasha/keep/lin.jpg[/img] “Do not mention that name in this holy place!” she hisses. “It is an abomination of hate and cruelty that I cannot even fathom.” Sister Linora is otherwise pleased to help them, but very distraught about Kel and the cruelty he suffered. She thinks that the head should be reunited with the body in his grave and then properly blessed. If there IS a curse on the Padraig bloodline, Sister Linora does not know if she is strong enough to remove it. Regardless, Brandis stays with her awhile as she mutters prayers over him, trying to detect any unnatural taint. Helga, Erevan and Irann head toward Wrafton’s Inn, and by now news is slowly spreading that they have been successful eliminating the kobold threat. By the time they reach the inn they hear a familiar voice singing inside, that of Kelrella Sweetleaft, the elf minstrel performing the first night they arrived. At her feet sits the same plump Halfling strumming a harp. [img]http://www.med.unc.edu/~saasha/keep/minstrel.jpg[/img] The inn is full this evening with patrons, leftovers from Market Day. Elian the Old is here sipping a beer; ugly Gobbo Goodnest is at his side likewise getting inebriated; a few Winterhaven Regulars raise their mugs to salute the PCs, and Salvana Wrafton loudly declares a free round of drinks for everyone. Helga the Dwarf isn’t going to argue with that, and she chugs her beer. Their victory is celebrated for a while, until Brandis returns from Sister Linora, but their joy is only a façade. The PCs are not content with Irontooth’s demise; something worse is brewing, and for Brandis Padraig it could very well mean the demise of his family, home, and friends. Helga requests a dirge from the Halfling harpist for their fallen companion Ash (whose body is at the Temple of Sune, in preparation for burial the next day), but the fat Halfling grunts, “I don’t DO dirges, lady.” Kelrella Sweetleaf slaps his head. “Idiot! Shut up. Of course we’ll do a dirge for your friend. I sing excellent dirges.” As the heroes are enjoying drinks with the locals, a male [undetermined race] approaches them. “My name is [undetermined name] from [undetermined place]. I’ve heard what you did for Winterhaven and the good people here, and I want to help. May I join you?” [GM Note: This is Adam’s new character to replace Ash, currently with no name, class or race]. Well, of course the group trusts this stranger! He’s surely not a spy, and they can’t think of a better person they’d like guarding them while they sleep. Maybe some of the others can vouch for him later, just to be on the safe side. Not long afterward, they bid goodbye to the bar patrons as the sun is slipping into a vermillion horizon, and make their way to Valthrun’s tower. They have some business to discuss with the portly sage. [img]http://www.med.unc.edu/~saasha/keep/tower.jpg[/img] The door is locked, but Valthrun sticks his wide face out a top window and greets them. He comes down, unlocks the door, and leads them up winding steps to the only occupied room in the tower. Hundreds of books like the walls, and the place smells of chemicals, ink and rare spices. The group doesn’t mention anything about a SPY to Valthrun, not fully trusting the sage himself, although they have no reason not to. As he promised the day before, when they first asked him about an old keep in the area, one that Merple the Moneylender wanted them to map, he has consulted his books and unearthed new arcana. [img]http://www.med.unc.edu/~saasha/keep/val.jpg[/img] But Valthrun looks troubled. His words are heavy with angst, and the tale that slowly unfolds from his lips is one of woe…and dire portent. Valthrun admits to knowing the history of the old keep, known as Shadowfell Keep in days of old, but it is not commonly called that now. In fact, locals consider the place haunted and the name itself an ill omen. It is rarely spoken aloud. Long ago, he says, perhaps hundreds of years, a mysterious rift opened beneath the surface of the earth for reasons he does not know. This rift led directly to a strange parallel realm known as the Shadowfell, not a wholly evil place, but not a wholly pleasant one either. It was a realm of half-thoughts and insubstantial dreams, and a place where the souls of the dead freely roamed. This rift caused horrible problems in the lands above it, and eventually a group of priests and wizards, followers of Chauntea, Lathander, Meilikki and others, united their powers to seal this fissure. They used a magical mirror to focus their energy, but even that was not strong enough to destroy the opening. The best they could do was lock the Shadowfell rift underground, and then they commissioned a garrison of warriors and priests to guard the site, to ensure it never opened again and leak its evil back into the mortal world. The soldiers and paladins built a small keep above the rift, a Keep on the Shadowfell, and this is how it remained for many, many years, manned by warriors brave enough to station themselves in an empty, foreboding land to prevent the darkness from returning. In time, a new leader of these men came to rule the keep, a brave paladin of Bahamut named Sir Keegan. [img]http://www.med.unc.edu/~saasha/keep/keegan.jpg[/img] He lived at the Keep with his wife and daughters, and all went well for many years…until the one night everything went horribly wrong. [/QUOTE]
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