el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
Here we go. . .
The end of the re-telling of the "Out of the Frying Pan" Campaign - which just hit its four year anniversary two months ago - will be found in this here thread.
The "Out of the Frying Pan" Aquerra D&D Campaign began in February of 2001 with five people. A sixth member joined six months later. At the point this thread is continuing from, we had lost three players (two due to moves, one due to school being priority), and were about to gain a new forth (introduced in the first installment posted here).
"Out of the Frying Pan"- Book IV: Into the Fire is a continuation of . . . .
"Out of the Frying Pan" - Book III: Fanning the Embers (aka The Fearless Manticore Killers & The Necropolis of Doom!!!).
Which was a continuation of these two threads:
Out of the Frying Pan - Book II: Catching the Spark (Part One)
Out of the Frying Pan - Book II: Catching the Spark (Part Two)
which was a continuation of: Out of the Frying Pan - Book I: Gathering Wood, which covers the first twelve sessions of the game.
Those of you who want to read an overviwe of the game's NPCs can check out the "Portal Thread", which also contains all the above links and downloads of the first two books in word document format.
"Out of the Frying Pan"- Book IV: Into the Fire begins with Session #64, in which the party (known as the Fearless Manticore Killers, but considering a name change), are making their way to the Freetown of Nikar by means of a long trip that will take them both overland and underground from the isolated Little Kingdoms in the north. In Nikar, they seek to train, get other resources like new spells and equipments, gather information, recruit allies and more than anything else repair Karack's shattered jaw.
When this thread was started the game was at Session #94, and we expected 8 to 12 more sessions before the campaign wrapped up - It ended with Session #104 (the session count got messed up when I numbered two session #44 in a row! oops! though there were two more "Reunion Sessions" that were never written up).
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Session #64 (part 1)
Anarié climbed a pile of stone at the edge of the hill and sat there, contemplating the battle in silence, while Kazrack made his way back to the others. Ratchis was awake and carefully poking at his eyeball that hung on his face attacked by frayed threads of sinew. Gritting his teeth he shoved it back in its socket and tied it in place with a strip of his hyenadon hide.
Martin sat there curious about why his mantle of green and black flame was gone and how it might have been triggered. One thing he was certain of, it had been caused by the Book of Black Circles.b
“Wow, those things really exist,” Gunthar said, coming back into the camp. “They aren’t so tough, though.”
Martin shot him a disgusted glance.
“Hey, I told you to stay behind me fat-ass,” Gunthar said to him. “Lotta good growing all green and flashy did for ya. Just makes you a bigger target.”
“I did not do it on purpose,” Martin replied quietly, fear creeping into his voice.
Kazrack tried several times to cast curative miracles upon Beorth, but failed. Eventually, Ratchis came over and took care of it. Kazrack cursed his shattered jaw that made intoning the words of prayer to his gods so difficult, but no one understood him. (1)
The dwarf went over to where Martin the Green had begun to search the dead dark elf for any clues or anything of value.
“Ut duh ya mehk uh dis?” Kazrack asked, holding up a long sword, and showing the mage the gray quality of the metal, and how it shone in places as if filled with speckles of some mineral, and yet turned in a certain way and it seemed to shimmer with shadow.
“I have no idea,” Martin shrugged his shoulders. “Some Plutonic Realms metal, I suppose.”
“We dwarves have talesh uh theesh dark elvesh ushing metal lat eh evil in shum way. Eh is shupposht tuh be potent, how-eh-er,” Kazrack said.
“It is not evil,” Anarié said, suddenly arriving to look at what they might have found.
“Whu ish et ‘en?”
“I cannot say for certain,” Anarié replied. “There is something about it that makes it sharper, stronger, but if I remember correctly, sunlight will make it lose those properties fairly quickly.”
“Do you want to use it?” Martin said, standing and taking the sword from Kazrack.
“No, I would not use such a weapon, no matter how good,” the elf replied.
“I’ll take it,” Gunthar said. “I’ll take anything.”
He swung the sword with satisfaction.
“Can I have the cloak too? It looks great,” Gunthar asked.
Anarié shrugged her shoulders. Kazrack took the cloak off the dark elf, and wondered at its craftsmanship. He could not determine what it was made from, but it seemed to give to his grip, but was tough and sprung back into shape without a crease. Each tiny stitch was in the shape of a gray spider, however, much like the sword, shadows seemed to cling to it when turned against the light of the moon.
“We have to leave this place,” Ratchis announced.
“Uh tink we shoult stay,” Kazrack managed to get out with great difficulty. “Uh kwuguth cun track ush anyway; better tuh shtay uh night un gech uh goot shtarch in uh mornin’.”
“The quaggoth know exactly where we are,” Ratchis countered. “This way I can try to cover our tracks.”
Kazrack nodded.
“Gunthar, help me with Beorth,” Ratchis gestured to the still unconscious paladin.
“What am I, your beast of burden?” Gunthar complained.
“You ur part ub our team,” Kazrack said.
“Go team…” Gunthar grabbed up Beorth’s legs, as Ratchis took him by under his shoulders.
A couple of hours later, they were making camp in a ditch at the bottom of a small gully. Ratchis spent some time scouting the area and trying to cover up any signs of their passing.
“We can stay here tomorrow and rest,” Ratchis said, when he returned. “It will be light soon, and we will only have to worry when it is dark again.”
Kazrack tried to call upon the favor of his gods once again, and this time patience and diligence worked for him, and two orisons were all that were needed for the paladin to cough into wakefulness.
“Who…who brought me back?” Beorth asked, choking.
“Kazrack and I did so, working together,” Ratchis answered.
“Rerax, gurther ‘er witsh,” Kazrack said.
“Ha! That shouldn’t take long,” Gunthar laughed, walking over.
Ratchis explained to Beorth that they had moved from where they had been and why.
“In the future, Beorth, you need to stay with the group when we form a line,” Ratchis added, after a quick overview of the fight. “It is sound tactic against other foes, but the drow, being so deceitful, against them it is especially important.”
“Yes, I know I was a fool for chasing one into the darkness,” Beorth replied.
“You can say that again,” Gunthar added.
“Gunthar, shut up,” Ratchis said.
Gunthar laughed and went over to find a spot in the gully wall to lie in.
Morning came even sooner than they thought.
Balem, the 26th of Sek – 565 H.E.
Martin the Green and Anarie were on the first watch together, as the golden light from Ra’s Glory in the east streaked the indigo sky into a watercolor wash of blue.
“It is a beautiful day,” Martin said. “It does my heart good to see the dawn.”
“When fighting such foes as the betrayers of my race one learns to fully appreciate the coming of dawn, and the brightness of noon,” Anarié said. “Unfortunately, its coming also means that I must now leave you and your companions.”
“Why?” martin turned to the elf, surprised.
“I must return to Aze Nuquenra under the bright eye of the day to warn them of the drow menace,” Anarié explained.
“Will you re-join us when we pass this way again?” Martin asked.
“I cannot say,” Anarié replied. And with that she stood and took her pack, and looked at each of the sleeping Fearless Manticore Killers and then jogged off, hopping up the steep gully wall and climbing over the edge and into the woods.
“Good-bye,” Martin whispered.
“Is she gone?” Thomas asked in the mage’s mind.
“Yes.”
“Did she take that fox with her?” Thomas asked of Anarié’s familiar.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
When Martin woke Ratchis and Kazrack, he explained that Anarié had left. The half-orc shrugged, and Kazrack said something, but no one was sure what it exactly was, but no one bothered to ask him to repeat it.
“What were those swirling colored flames around you during that battle?” Ratchis suddenly barked at Martin, easing the tension by getting back to the familiar.
“I believe it was the book,” Martin replied meekly. “I think it was trying to channel its power through me.”
“Looks like it succeeded,” Beorth said.
“I think it is triggered by certain spells, or certain kinds, though I cannot be sure,” Martin said.
“Then he should stop using magic,” Beorth said to Ratchis.
“Or he should at least stop using magic that forces a challenge to his will,” Ratchis reasoned. Martin looked back and forth between his companions, ignored.
“Or someone who does not use arcane magic should carry it,” Beorth said, and Martin frowned.
“It is my task to do,” Martin said.
“When I picked up the book it… It wounded my soul,” Ratchis said, still ignoring Martin. “It is best no one else touch it.”
“What spells make you feel like you might lose control,” Beorth asked.
“It doesn’t quite feel like that,” Martin replied. “And anyway, I am not sure. I felt something when I summoned that celestial bear, but I don’t know…I focused and it went away.”
“Hmm, I still think you should stop using magic altogether,” Beorth said.
Kazrack nodded.
“I feel useless as it is,” Martin dejectedly. “Without magic I would become a hindrance.”
“Well, we need to move while there is still light,:” Beorth changed the subject. “I hope they do not go after Anarié alone in the wilderness.”
“She’ll be alright,” Ratchis said.
They began to pack up camp to move on.
“Hey Doughboy! Don’t you go all dark powers anywhere near me,” Gunthar laughed, turning to pee against the gully wall. “I may have to sprinkle with some of the Northrop holy water.”
“Martin, do you like being called ‘doughboy’?” Ratchis asked, glaring knives into Gunthar’s back.
“It does not please me,” Martin said.
Gunthar turned back around to find Ratchis’ broad chest in his face. “Do not call Martin ‘doughboy’ again, or you’ll answer to me. Don’t be such a rude boor all the time.”
“Oh no,” Gunthar stepped back, brandishing a smile beneath his full blonde mustache. “I think you are boorish enough for both of us. I should call you, Snuffles.”
“You can call me Snuffles; just don’t call Martin Doughboy.”
“It’s a deal, Snuffles,” Gunthar winked.
“Must you?” Martin asked him.
“How do you all get along without a sense of humor?” Gunthar asked. “Maybe you can pray to you gods for one. Huh, Snuffles?”
“The only gift my god gives is death,” Beorth said.
Gunthar burst out laughing. “You see? Now that’s funny.”
They marched south out of the gully, and then Ratchis began to lead them to a rocky area with very sparse vegetation. It was steady climb, but he hoped it would lead to a place to cross the river, which at this point was far at the bottom of huge wedge-shaped crevasse.
“What do you think the drow attacked us for?” Beorth asked, as they marched. A cold rain began to fall, echoing out across the hills.
“Maybe to kill us because we know their secret,” Ratchis offered.
“How dijg jay chrek ush?” Kazrack asked.
“Maybe they caught our trail at the elf place,” Ratchis said.
“It still does not explain why us and why now,” Beorth said.
“Well, hopefully Anarié can figure it out and she and her brethren can do something about it, while we are in Nikar,” Ratchis said.
“Have we given up our promise to help that poor girl, Rahasia?” Martin asked.
“Und what about Tirhash?” Kazrack asked.
“The Maze is more important than any of that right now,” Ratchis said, stopping to look at everyone. “It presents the biggest and most immediate threat. We cannot let ourselves get distracted. I want to save them, too, and will gladly join a group to go into the very Plutonic Realms to get them, but after we deal with the Maze… after…”
He kept on walking.
The next few days were hard walking, most of it uphill, and when it was down, it was through loose dirt and treacherous roots that led down to jagged plateaus of black basalt that seemed to have burst out of the ground long ago.
The only foliage here was crabby trees, and thick vines on rocks that cracked them to reach the sparse water.
The weather was warming up, but the nights still had a frost to them, and when their trail brought them above the level of the river gorge, a fierce wind would whip down and sting their eyes and chill them to the bone.
They finally reached the gorge after five days of marching, and all were disappointed that there seemed no easy way across. The other side was at higher elevation, and they could see the dark shade of many thick green trees above them. The gorge was as wide as two hundred feet in places, but they could see that further north were the gorge turned west around a black hill atop the opposite cliff, it narrowed some.
“We’ll find a way to cross up there,” Ratchis said with confidence. “But it will be getting dark soon. I’ll bring us another mile or two closer and then we’ll find a place to camp and get a good look in the morning light.”
Everyone agreed wearily. Even Gunthar did not seem to have a quip ready.
Osilem, the 3rd of Ter – 565 H.E.
In the deepest part of night before dawn, Beorth stood and walked around the camp once more, as he and Kazrack kept watch. He had caught the smell of something burning, now he thought he saw sparks flying up into the air from the other side of the crevasse; near where the other side turned away and narrowed.
As usual, Kazrack was busy carving away at his King’s Men pieces.
“Kazrack, did you see that?” Beorth hissed.
“Whut duh you shee?”
“Smoke… Fire…Sparks…” Beorth replied.
Kazrack got up and stretched, but could see nothing through the tall dark trees and gloom.
“Uh dunt shee anytung.”
“Why are you so busy carving when you are supposed to be watching?” Beorth reprimanded.
“There ish nothing there,” Kazrack ignored the question.
“We are not alone, someone is out there and they have a fire,” Beorth insisted, even though he no longer saw a sign of the fire.
“Well, whut duh yuh pehposh we do abut it nah?”
“Remain aware,” Beorth said. “Keep better watch. Make sure to tell the others first thing.”
Kazrack shrugged, but nodded.
-------------------------------
“We should go back southward and find another route,” Ratchis said. It was morning and the news of the smoke had made him reverse himself completely about the best route to take. “We cannot risk running across anything that will delay us.”
“That is unavoidable,” Beorth said.
“It will take tuh lawn tuh guh ‘round,” Kazrack said with great determination.
Ratchis looked to Martin.
“It does stand to reason that we may come across other travelers in the wilderness, and we may not be able to avoid them all if it means we may never get to our destination,” the watch-mage reasoned.
“It sounds like something interesting to break up the monotony of this ridiculous journey,” Gunthar said, hefting his pack. “Right, Snuffles?”
“We’ll approach as a group, but once we get close I’ll go ahead and scout it out,” Ratchis said, and off they marched.
It was an overcast day, but while it threatened rain, and more than once they heard distant thunder, the clouds never actually broke. The ground here was broken, and often at an angle that made keeping a steady footing difficult. The forest grew up around them again, and while not as thick as the forests in western Gothanius, it still managed to obscure the chasm.
It was close to noon when they finally came within sight of something unusual through the trees.
Below them they could see a raised road had been made with mounds of dirt that did not look like it was from this region. They could see most of the top of it had blown away, and other sections had huge chunks ripped from it, but it was clearly a road.
“There was a great fire here, or something,” Ratchis said.
“Huh?” Kazrack made a guttural questioning sound.
“He’s right,” said Martin. The trees here are younger than there were in the other part of the forest.”
“That road seem like it will lead right to the point the opposite cliff starts to turn; where that hill of black stone is,” Ratchis said. “Maybe there is a way across. I’ll check.”
The half-orc jogged ahead, disappearing into the trees. It was not long before he came back.
“There is a tower at the entrance to an old stone bridge that crosses the river chasm,” Ratchis said. “The dirt road goes right up to it, though it looks like maybe that road was once paved with huge stones.
“Who could get such huge stones up here?” Martin asked.
“Whoever built the bridge,” Beorth said, matter-of-factly.
“Yes, well… I meant…”
“Ish kunt be that good if it wushnt beelt by dwarsh,” Kazrack drooled.
“Who else would have built it?” Ratchis asked. “It looks like something dwarves would build. It goes all the way across, and part of it seems to do all the way down to the bottom of the chasm for support. I want Martin to cast his spell of invisibility on me, so I can scout it out, the tower and beyond there is some wide flat area. I am not sure. I did not want to get too close.”
The whole group moved up to the edge of the trees where the road broke out of the trees and through fifty foot clearing to the entrance of the bridge. The bridge itself was made of huge blocks of a smooth white stone, but in most places (especially the seams) it was stained with a deep mottled green, or weathered to gray. It was thirty feet wide and had low walls running along its length that seemed to have once had a wooden rail above it; long rotted away.
Kazrack sucked in a deep breath and let it out. His engineer and stone-mason’s eye saw something that others could not begin to imagine. The curves of the arches! The precision of the stone interlocking and seaming! The stone did not seem indigenous to this reason. The central tower ziggurated by mere inches all the way down, creating a broad base of support in a way that he would have had no idea how to begin doing, and it was this that convinced him that dwarves had not made this bridge.
Martin cast mage armor on Ratchis, who took off his chain shirt, and then he followed it up with invisibility. (2)
Once again, this time, unseen, Ratchis took off.
There was no longer any sign of a door in the tower that guarded the entrance of the bridge on the right side. It was round and had a carved stone roof, like a cap, though it was greatly worn. Ratchis made no sound creeping up the long wide steps up to the bridge. The smooth white stone seemed wiped nearly clean of most small debris by the wind.
The tower was dark. He approached it, but looked quickly across the bridge. It was at least one hundred and eighty feet long, but thick foliage and the flanking stone of the taller cliff obscured the other end. In addition, near the center of the bridge where the ziggurating support held up a slight widening of the bridge, like a small plaza, was a squat building made of the same white stone as the bridge.
He stopped and listened; nothing, but the sound of the distant water below.
He looked in the tower. Inside it smelled of animal musk and mold. Nothing human, or even orcish had been here for a long time. There was a rotted stair that led to the upper level, but even to Ratchis’ untrained eye, it did not look original to the construction.
The ranger let the tower be, and slowly made his way along the bridge towards the plaza and building. Here he could see that the low walls that ran along the bridge’s edge were shattered in places, and others just seemed to be missing. In more than one place cracks went all the way through the thick stone surface of the bridge, making long jagged holes ranging from a few inches to nearly two feet in diameter.
At the plaza Ratchis was taken aback. There was relatively fresh blood here, and a pair of swords and a shield that looked as if they had been dropped hastily. There was a shattered spear and several broken crossbow bolts. The half-orc re-created the battle the best he could, following it around the squat building.
He could look into the gloom within the building, by means of a shattered wall around an empty window casement, and an open doorway. Ratchis walked over to the door way and the broken remains of stone tables and chairs, and a stairway of carved gray stone leading down into the support tower below.
There was another body over by a corner where the low wall had been tore away all together. The white stone next to it was scored as if by great claws.
Ratchis went over to the body and ducked down from instinct, even though he was still invisible. The man’s chain shirt was yanked up nearly over his head. There was a broken long sword just out of his reach, and wore a dented helmet.
The half-orc turned the body around and it let out a gasp, as wound near his neck opened and fresh blood began to come out in gouts.
“He’s alive!” Ratchis could not keep himself from saying aloud. He said a quick prayer to Nephthys and in a moment the man’s life threatening wound was closed. He was stable.
Ratchis risked a couple of more spells and soon the man’s eyes fluttered.
“I am invisible by magical means,” Ratchis whispered in his rasp. “I will carry you off the bridge.”
By this time the others had made their way to the entrance to the bridge, sticking close to the tower entrance as not to be spotted from the higher cliff across the ravine.
Kazrack was astounded by the work he saw and kept mumbling about it, but no one could understand a word of it.
Soon, they saw the strange sight of a body bobbing along towards them six feet in the air.
“What is that?” Beorth asked.
“Uh ashume ish D’nur returning wish shumwun,” Kazrack drooled.
“I found him behind that building,” Ratchis said, still invisible when he had brought the man into the abandoned tower itself. “There was a lot more blood there and claw marks, that I am guessing are from that demonic wyvern that was after Kismet and Schlomo. (3)
The man stirred as everyone gathered around.
He looked up to where Ratchis should have been and fear came into his eyes, and then he looked at Kazrack and then Martin and the look turned to confusion. He had a lean build, and unkempt thick brown hair, and a beard growing in. He had the olive complexion of a Hermanlander, and green eyes.
“What is your name?” Martin asked him.
“I am Dorn,” he replied, choking. “Where is Digger? What happened to Digger?”
“I saw no one else, uh, alive,” Ratchis said.
“I thought I was dead,” Dorn said. “Is everyone else dead?”
“We found no one else with you,” Martin replied.
“Did Digger send you?”
“Nuhwun shent ush,” Kazrack said. “Unlee forchun.”
“Last I remember, Digger said he was going to get help,” Dorn said, finally sitting up. He rubbed his face with his hand, and then gingerly poked at his neck wound. “He was going to get Flora.”
“These are you companions, you are mentioning?” Beorth asked.
“Yes, we had explored an abandoned subterranean fortress, days north of here, “ Dorn explained. “There were six of us: Me, Flora, Bones, Digger, Fleece and Gissa. We lost Gissa to a great spider’s venom. We found a few things down there, but more loss of life was not worth all the treasure in Derome-Delem, so we headed back”
“What was this fortress?” Martin asked.
“It belonged to the Ancients, sometimes called the Mystics,” Dorn explained. “They looked like men, but were here before men. They once had a great empire in Aquerra before a catastrophe of some kind befell them. They made this bridge. It’s probably thousands of years old.”
“What happened here? What gave you these wounds?” Ratchis asked.
“…the three-headed beast,” Dorn began.
“Oh. No,” Martin gulped.
“What?” Kazrack asked.
“Chimera,” was all Martin said.
“Wuzzat?” Kazrack asked.
“A nasty beast that has the head of a dragon, a lion and a goat,” Martin explained. “It is the creation of foul magics.”
“A goat?” Beorth looked at Martin with skepticism.
Martin the Green shrugged.
“Are you sure you saw no sign of Digger?” Dorn asked, worry in his voice. He pointed to Kazrack. “He’s a dwarf like him.”
“I saw no dwarf,” Ratchis said.
“Ish Digger uh fumlee name?” Kazrack asked.
Martin translated.
“I don’t know; that’s just his name,” Dorn replied.
“Maybe you can tell us what happened, so we can stop badgering you with questions,” Beorth suggested.
“Yeah, if we’re gonna have to kill some three-headed freak of nature then I want to do it soon,’ Gunthar said. “I’m itchin’ to fight something.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Dorn said. “We made camp up on that hill on the other side of the bridge, as we were coming from that direction. It was getting dark, and we didn’t want to cross the bridge at night because we were afraid something might use it as a lair. However, in the early morning barbarians overran our camp. They were savage, wearing wolf pelts, and necklaces of human ears and stuff. The worst part was that they attacked to capture, and they got Flora and Bones, right away. Digger, Fleece and I ran to the bridge, hoping to escape to re-group and plan an attack to get our friend back, but that was when the three-headed monster attacked. It swooped down on us as we came across the bridge. I don’t know what happened to Fleece, but I was knocked down by a devastating claw attack as Digger and I tried to get around the building, hoping that since it did not seem to fly well that by sticking close it, it would have to make wide turns. The thing was about to rip my apart with a bite of its dragon-head,, but Digger blocked my body with his and then said he was going to get help. He never came back… I guess.”
“Was Fleece human?” Ratchis’ disembodied growl asked.
“Yes… Was?”
“I’m sorry. I saw a human corpse on the bridge. I think it was probably him.”
“I wonder why barbarians would take prisoners?” Martin asked.
“Slaves,” said Beorth, and Ratchis growled.
“Let’s go take care of them now,” the half-orc barked. “They could not have gotten far.”
“They are probably still at the camp,” Dorn said, finally standing and stretching. He winced in pain. “They said something about that hill being one of their ‘spots’.”
“You stay here,” Beorth said to Dorn. “We will return for you when we haves rescued your friends and have struck down these barbarian slavers.”
“No! I want to come. Those are my friends. I have to go,” Dorn insisted.
Kazrack shook his head.
Invisibly, Ratchis nodded. “Friendship cannot be denied. He can come.”
And with that he called to Nephthys and cured the defeated warrior.
“Nephthys?” Dorn said, with awe.
“Yes,” replied Ratchis roughly. “Now just use a crossbow and stay in the rear. When the fighting starts look for an opportunity to get your friends out of there.”
“I’m pretty good at sneaking,” Dorn said.
The party readied themselves and then with Ratchis in the lead, they hurried across the bridge. After a cursory look into the tower at the end of the bridge, they made their way up the stone embankment of here the bridge was cut into the cliff face. On the right there were bright thick trees and bushes on a layered hill, and Dorn pointed it put. The bushes moved as Ratchis crept through them. The others fanned out slowly making their way to the clearing at the top.
Martin looked down and noticed that the earth here was spill over a manmade stone plateau. In fact, there was a worn wide stairway crawling with manzanita. Centuries ago an avalanche must have covered this part of the bridge complex and trees and other foliage had grown since. He theorized that the flat top of the hill might have once been a plaza.
Ratchis made his way around a tall slab of stone that was half-buried in the earth, and he heard voices ahead of him. But suddenly a huge red and brown dog broke through the trees. It seemed to be drawn right to the half-orc despite being invisible, and it barked a deep bark that sent gouts of flame out either side of its snout.
“Uh, I never saw those things before!” Dorn said, from the rear flank, as two more dogs leapt through the brush at the group.
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Notes:
(1) DM’s Note: Remember, Kazrack now has an 85% chance of spell failure for spells with any verbal components.
(2) House Rule: Despite the switch to 3.5, invisibility has a duration of 10 minutes per level.
(3) See Session #57
The end of the re-telling of the "Out of the Frying Pan" Campaign - which just hit its four year anniversary two months ago - will be found in this here thread.
The "Out of the Frying Pan" Aquerra D&D Campaign began in February of 2001 with five people. A sixth member joined six months later. At the point this thread is continuing from, we had lost three players (two due to moves, one due to school being priority), and were about to gain a new forth (introduced in the first installment posted here).
"Out of the Frying Pan"- Book IV: Into the Fire is a continuation of . . . .
"Out of the Frying Pan" - Book III: Fanning the Embers (aka The Fearless Manticore Killers & The Necropolis of Doom!!!).
Which was a continuation of these two threads:
Out of the Frying Pan - Book II: Catching the Spark (Part One)
Out of the Frying Pan - Book II: Catching the Spark (Part Two)
which was a continuation of: Out of the Frying Pan - Book I: Gathering Wood, which covers the first twelve sessions of the game.
Those of you who want to read an overviwe of the game's NPCs can check out the "Portal Thread", which also contains all the above links and downloads of the first two books in word document format.
"Out of the Frying Pan"- Book IV: Into the Fire begins with Session #64, in which the party (known as the Fearless Manticore Killers, but considering a name change), are making their way to the Freetown of Nikar by means of a long trip that will take them both overland and underground from the isolated Little Kingdoms in the north. In Nikar, they seek to train, get other resources like new spells and equipments, gather information, recruit allies and more than anything else repair Karack's shattered jaw.
When this thread was started the game was at Session #94, and we expected 8 to 12 more sessions before the campaign wrapped up - It ended with Session #104 (the session count got messed up when I numbered two session #44 in a row! oops! though there were two more "Reunion Sessions" that were never written up).
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Session #64 (part 1)
Anarié climbed a pile of stone at the edge of the hill and sat there, contemplating the battle in silence, while Kazrack made his way back to the others. Ratchis was awake and carefully poking at his eyeball that hung on his face attacked by frayed threads of sinew. Gritting his teeth he shoved it back in its socket and tied it in place with a strip of his hyenadon hide.
Martin sat there curious about why his mantle of green and black flame was gone and how it might have been triggered. One thing he was certain of, it had been caused by the Book of Black Circles.b
“Wow, those things really exist,” Gunthar said, coming back into the camp. “They aren’t so tough, though.”
Martin shot him a disgusted glance.
“Hey, I told you to stay behind me fat-ass,” Gunthar said to him. “Lotta good growing all green and flashy did for ya. Just makes you a bigger target.”
“I did not do it on purpose,” Martin replied quietly, fear creeping into his voice.
Kazrack tried several times to cast curative miracles upon Beorth, but failed. Eventually, Ratchis came over and took care of it. Kazrack cursed his shattered jaw that made intoning the words of prayer to his gods so difficult, but no one understood him. (1)
The dwarf went over to where Martin the Green had begun to search the dead dark elf for any clues or anything of value.
“Ut duh ya mehk uh dis?” Kazrack asked, holding up a long sword, and showing the mage the gray quality of the metal, and how it shone in places as if filled with speckles of some mineral, and yet turned in a certain way and it seemed to shimmer with shadow.
“I have no idea,” Martin shrugged his shoulders. “Some Plutonic Realms metal, I suppose.”
“We dwarves have talesh uh theesh dark elvesh ushing metal lat eh evil in shum way. Eh is shupposht tuh be potent, how-eh-er,” Kazrack said.
“It is not evil,” Anarié said, suddenly arriving to look at what they might have found.
“Whu ish et ‘en?”
“I cannot say for certain,” Anarié replied. “There is something about it that makes it sharper, stronger, but if I remember correctly, sunlight will make it lose those properties fairly quickly.”
“Do you want to use it?” Martin said, standing and taking the sword from Kazrack.
“No, I would not use such a weapon, no matter how good,” the elf replied.
“I’ll take it,” Gunthar said. “I’ll take anything.”
He swung the sword with satisfaction.
“Can I have the cloak too? It looks great,” Gunthar asked.
Anarié shrugged her shoulders. Kazrack took the cloak off the dark elf, and wondered at its craftsmanship. He could not determine what it was made from, but it seemed to give to his grip, but was tough and sprung back into shape without a crease. Each tiny stitch was in the shape of a gray spider, however, much like the sword, shadows seemed to cling to it when turned against the light of the moon.
“We have to leave this place,” Ratchis announced.
“Uh tink we shoult stay,” Kazrack managed to get out with great difficulty. “Uh kwuguth cun track ush anyway; better tuh shtay uh night un gech uh goot shtarch in uh mornin’.”
“The quaggoth know exactly where we are,” Ratchis countered. “This way I can try to cover our tracks.”
Kazrack nodded.
“Gunthar, help me with Beorth,” Ratchis gestured to the still unconscious paladin.
“What am I, your beast of burden?” Gunthar complained.
“You ur part ub our team,” Kazrack said.
“Go team…” Gunthar grabbed up Beorth’s legs, as Ratchis took him by under his shoulders.
A couple of hours later, they were making camp in a ditch at the bottom of a small gully. Ratchis spent some time scouting the area and trying to cover up any signs of their passing.
“We can stay here tomorrow and rest,” Ratchis said, when he returned. “It will be light soon, and we will only have to worry when it is dark again.”
Kazrack tried to call upon the favor of his gods once again, and this time patience and diligence worked for him, and two orisons were all that were needed for the paladin to cough into wakefulness.
“Who…who brought me back?” Beorth asked, choking.
“Kazrack and I did so, working together,” Ratchis answered.
“Rerax, gurther ‘er witsh,” Kazrack said.
“Ha! That shouldn’t take long,” Gunthar laughed, walking over.
Ratchis explained to Beorth that they had moved from where they had been and why.
“In the future, Beorth, you need to stay with the group when we form a line,” Ratchis added, after a quick overview of the fight. “It is sound tactic against other foes, but the drow, being so deceitful, against them it is especially important.”
“Yes, I know I was a fool for chasing one into the darkness,” Beorth replied.
“You can say that again,” Gunthar added.
“Gunthar, shut up,” Ratchis said.
Gunthar laughed and went over to find a spot in the gully wall to lie in.
Morning came even sooner than they thought.
Balem, the 26th of Sek – 565 H.E.
Martin the Green and Anarie were on the first watch together, as the golden light from Ra’s Glory in the east streaked the indigo sky into a watercolor wash of blue.
“It is a beautiful day,” Martin said. “It does my heart good to see the dawn.”
“When fighting such foes as the betrayers of my race one learns to fully appreciate the coming of dawn, and the brightness of noon,” Anarié said. “Unfortunately, its coming also means that I must now leave you and your companions.”
“Why?” martin turned to the elf, surprised.
“I must return to Aze Nuquenra under the bright eye of the day to warn them of the drow menace,” Anarié explained.
“Will you re-join us when we pass this way again?” Martin asked.
“I cannot say,” Anarié replied. And with that she stood and took her pack, and looked at each of the sleeping Fearless Manticore Killers and then jogged off, hopping up the steep gully wall and climbing over the edge and into the woods.
“Good-bye,” Martin whispered.
“Is she gone?” Thomas asked in the mage’s mind.
“Yes.”
“Did she take that fox with her?” Thomas asked of Anarié’s familiar.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
When Martin woke Ratchis and Kazrack, he explained that Anarié had left. The half-orc shrugged, and Kazrack said something, but no one was sure what it exactly was, but no one bothered to ask him to repeat it.
“What were those swirling colored flames around you during that battle?” Ratchis suddenly barked at Martin, easing the tension by getting back to the familiar.
“I believe it was the book,” Martin replied meekly. “I think it was trying to channel its power through me.”
“Looks like it succeeded,” Beorth said.
“I think it is triggered by certain spells, or certain kinds, though I cannot be sure,” Martin said.
“Then he should stop using magic,” Beorth said to Ratchis.
“Or he should at least stop using magic that forces a challenge to his will,” Ratchis reasoned. Martin looked back and forth between his companions, ignored.
“Or someone who does not use arcane magic should carry it,” Beorth said, and Martin frowned.
“It is my task to do,” Martin said.
“When I picked up the book it… It wounded my soul,” Ratchis said, still ignoring Martin. “It is best no one else touch it.”
“What spells make you feel like you might lose control,” Beorth asked.
“It doesn’t quite feel like that,” Martin replied. “And anyway, I am not sure. I felt something when I summoned that celestial bear, but I don’t know…I focused and it went away.”
“Hmm, I still think you should stop using magic altogether,” Beorth said.
Kazrack nodded.
“I feel useless as it is,” Martin dejectedly. “Without magic I would become a hindrance.”
“Well, we need to move while there is still light,:” Beorth changed the subject. “I hope they do not go after Anarié alone in the wilderness.”
“She’ll be alright,” Ratchis said.
They began to pack up camp to move on.
“Hey Doughboy! Don’t you go all dark powers anywhere near me,” Gunthar laughed, turning to pee against the gully wall. “I may have to sprinkle with some of the Northrop holy water.”
“Martin, do you like being called ‘doughboy’?” Ratchis asked, glaring knives into Gunthar’s back.
“It does not please me,” Martin said.
Gunthar turned back around to find Ratchis’ broad chest in his face. “Do not call Martin ‘doughboy’ again, or you’ll answer to me. Don’t be such a rude boor all the time.”
“Oh no,” Gunthar stepped back, brandishing a smile beneath his full blonde mustache. “I think you are boorish enough for both of us. I should call you, Snuffles.”
“You can call me Snuffles; just don’t call Martin Doughboy.”
“It’s a deal, Snuffles,” Gunthar winked.
“Must you?” Martin asked him.
“How do you all get along without a sense of humor?” Gunthar asked. “Maybe you can pray to you gods for one. Huh, Snuffles?”
“The only gift my god gives is death,” Beorth said.
Gunthar burst out laughing. “You see? Now that’s funny.”
They marched south out of the gully, and then Ratchis began to lead them to a rocky area with very sparse vegetation. It was steady climb, but he hoped it would lead to a place to cross the river, which at this point was far at the bottom of huge wedge-shaped crevasse.
“What do you think the drow attacked us for?” Beorth asked, as they marched. A cold rain began to fall, echoing out across the hills.
“Maybe to kill us because we know their secret,” Ratchis offered.
“How dijg jay chrek ush?” Kazrack asked.
“Maybe they caught our trail at the elf place,” Ratchis said.
“It still does not explain why us and why now,” Beorth said.
“Well, hopefully Anarié can figure it out and she and her brethren can do something about it, while we are in Nikar,” Ratchis said.
“Have we given up our promise to help that poor girl, Rahasia?” Martin asked.
“Und what about Tirhash?” Kazrack asked.
“The Maze is more important than any of that right now,” Ratchis said, stopping to look at everyone. “It presents the biggest and most immediate threat. We cannot let ourselves get distracted. I want to save them, too, and will gladly join a group to go into the very Plutonic Realms to get them, but after we deal with the Maze… after…”
He kept on walking.
The next few days were hard walking, most of it uphill, and when it was down, it was through loose dirt and treacherous roots that led down to jagged plateaus of black basalt that seemed to have burst out of the ground long ago.
The only foliage here was crabby trees, and thick vines on rocks that cracked them to reach the sparse water.
The weather was warming up, but the nights still had a frost to them, and when their trail brought them above the level of the river gorge, a fierce wind would whip down and sting their eyes and chill them to the bone.
They finally reached the gorge after five days of marching, and all were disappointed that there seemed no easy way across. The other side was at higher elevation, and they could see the dark shade of many thick green trees above them. The gorge was as wide as two hundred feet in places, but they could see that further north were the gorge turned west around a black hill atop the opposite cliff, it narrowed some.
“We’ll find a way to cross up there,” Ratchis said with confidence. “But it will be getting dark soon. I’ll bring us another mile or two closer and then we’ll find a place to camp and get a good look in the morning light.”
Everyone agreed wearily. Even Gunthar did not seem to have a quip ready.
Osilem, the 3rd of Ter – 565 H.E.
In the deepest part of night before dawn, Beorth stood and walked around the camp once more, as he and Kazrack kept watch. He had caught the smell of something burning, now he thought he saw sparks flying up into the air from the other side of the crevasse; near where the other side turned away and narrowed.
As usual, Kazrack was busy carving away at his King’s Men pieces.
“Kazrack, did you see that?” Beorth hissed.
“Whut duh you shee?”
“Smoke… Fire…Sparks…” Beorth replied.
Kazrack got up and stretched, but could see nothing through the tall dark trees and gloom.
“Uh dunt shee anytung.”
“Why are you so busy carving when you are supposed to be watching?” Beorth reprimanded.
“There ish nothing there,” Kazrack ignored the question.
“We are not alone, someone is out there and they have a fire,” Beorth insisted, even though he no longer saw a sign of the fire.
“Well, whut duh yuh pehposh we do abut it nah?”
“Remain aware,” Beorth said. “Keep better watch. Make sure to tell the others first thing.”
Kazrack shrugged, but nodded.
-------------------------------
“We should go back southward and find another route,” Ratchis said. It was morning and the news of the smoke had made him reverse himself completely about the best route to take. “We cannot risk running across anything that will delay us.”
“That is unavoidable,” Beorth said.
“It will take tuh lawn tuh guh ‘round,” Kazrack said with great determination.
Ratchis looked to Martin.
“It does stand to reason that we may come across other travelers in the wilderness, and we may not be able to avoid them all if it means we may never get to our destination,” the watch-mage reasoned.
“It sounds like something interesting to break up the monotony of this ridiculous journey,” Gunthar said, hefting his pack. “Right, Snuffles?”
“We’ll approach as a group, but once we get close I’ll go ahead and scout it out,” Ratchis said, and off they marched.
It was an overcast day, but while it threatened rain, and more than once they heard distant thunder, the clouds never actually broke. The ground here was broken, and often at an angle that made keeping a steady footing difficult. The forest grew up around them again, and while not as thick as the forests in western Gothanius, it still managed to obscure the chasm.
It was close to noon when they finally came within sight of something unusual through the trees.
Below them they could see a raised road had been made with mounds of dirt that did not look like it was from this region. They could see most of the top of it had blown away, and other sections had huge chunks ripped from it, but it was clearly a road.
“There was a great fire here, or something,” Ratchis said.
“Huh?” Kazrack made a guttural questioning sound.
“He’s right,” said Martin. The trees here are younger than there were in the other part of the forest.”
“That road seem like it will lead right to the point the opposite cliff starts to turn; where that hill of black stone is,” Ratchis said. “Maybe there is a way across. I’ll check.”
The half-orc jogged ahead, disappearing into the trees. It was not long before he came back.
“There is a tower at the entrance to an old stone bridge that crosses the river chasm,” Ratchis said. “The dirt road goes right up to it, though it looks like maybe that road was once paved with huge stones.
“Who could get such huge stones up here?” Martin asked.
“Whoever built the bridge,” Beorth said, matter-of-factly.
“Yes, well… I meant…”
“Ish kunt be that good if it wushnt beelt by dwarsh,” Kazrack drooled.
“Who else would have built it?” Ratchis asked. “It looks like something dwarves would build. It goes all the way across, and part of it seems to do all the way down to the bottom of the chasm for support. I want Martin to cast his spell of invisibility on me, so I can scout it out, the tower and beyond there is some wide flat area. I am not sure. I did not want to get too close.”
The whole group moved up to the edge of the trees where the road broke out of the trees and through fifty foot clearing to the entrance of the bridge. The bridge itself was made of huge blocks of a smooth white stone, but in most places (especially the seams) it was stained with a deep mottled green, or weathered to gray. It was thirty feet wide and had low walls running along its length that seemed to have once had a wooden rail above it; long rotted away.
Kazrack sucked in a deep breath and let it out. His engineer and stone-mason’s eye saw something that others could not begin to imagine. The curves of the arches! The precision of the stone interlocking and seaming! The stone did not seem indigenous to this reason. The central tower ziggurated by mere inches all the way down, creating a broad base of support in a way that he would have had no idea how to begin doing, and it was this that convinced him that dwarves had not made this bridge.
Martin cast mage armor on Ratchis, who took off his chain shirt, and then he followed it up with invisibility. (2)
Once again, this time, unseen, Ratchis took off.
There was no longer any sign of a door in the tower that guarded the entrance of the bridge on the right side. It was round and had a carved stone roof, like a cap, though it was greatly worn. Ratchis made no sound creeping up the long wide steps up to the bridge. The smooth white stone seemed wiped nearly clean of most small debris by the wind.
The tower was dark. He approached it, but looked quickly across the bridge. It was at least one hundred and eighty feet long, but thick foliage and the flanking stone of the taller cliff obscured the other end. In addition, near the center of the bridge where the ziggurating support held up a slight widening of the bridge, like a small plaza, was a squat building made of the same white stone as the bridge.
He stopped and listened; nothing, but the sound of the distant water below.
He looked in the tower. Inside it smelled of animal musk and mold. Nothing human, or even orcish had been here for a long time. There was a rotted stair that led to the upper level, but even to Ratchis’ untrained eye, it did not look original to the construction.
The ranger let the tower be, and slowly made his way along the bridge towards the plaza and building. Here he could see that the low walls that ran along the bridge’s edge were shattered in places, and others just seemed to be missing. In more than one place cracks went all the way through the thick stone surface of the bridge, making long jagged holes ranging from a few inches to nearly two feet in diameter.
At the plaza Ratchis was taken aback. There was relatively fresh blood here, and a pair of swords and a shield that looked as if they had been dropped hastily. There was a shattered spear and several broken crossbow bolts. The half-orc re-created the battle the best he could, following it around the squat building.
He could look into the gloom within the building, by means of a shattered wall around an empty window casement, and an open doorway. Ratchis walked over to the door way and the broken remains of stone tables and chairs, and a stairway of carved gray stone leading down into the support tower below.
There was another body over by a corner where the low wall had been tore away all together. The white stone next to it was scored as if by great claws.
Ratchis went over to the body and ducked down from instinct, even though he was still invisible. The man’s chain shirt was yanked up nearly over his head. There was a broken long sword just out of his reach, and wore a dented helmet.
The half-orc turned the body around and it let out a gasp, as wound near his neck opened and fresh blood began to come out in gouts.
“He’s alive!” Ratchis could not keep himself from saying aloud. He said a quick prayer to Nephthys and in a moment the man’s life threatening wound was closed. He was stable.
Ratchis risked a couple of more spells and soon the man’s eyes fluttered.
“I am invisible by magical means,” Ratchis whispered in his rasp. “I will carry you off the bridge.”
By this time the others had made their way to the entrance to the bridge, sticking close to the tower entrance as not to be spotted from the higher cliff across the ravine.
Kazrack was astounded by the work he saw and kept mumbling about it, but no one could understand a word of it.
Soon, they saw the strange sight of a body bobbing along towards them six feet in the air.
“What is that?” Beorth asked.
“Uh ashume ish D’nur returning wish shumwun,” Kazrack drooled.
“I found him behind that building,” Ratchis said, still invisible when he had brought the man into the abandoned tower itself. “There was a lot more blood there and claw marks, that I am guessing are from that demonic wyvern that was after Kismet and Schlomo. (3)
The man stirred as everyone gathered around.
He looked up to where Ratchis should have been and fear came into his eyes, and then he looked at Kazrack and then Martin and the look turned to confusion. He had a lean build, and unkempt thick brown hair, and a beard growing in. He had the olive complexion of a Hermanlander, and green eyes.
“What is your name?” Martin asked him.
“I am Dorn,” he replied, choking. “Where is Digger? What happened to Digger?”
“I saw no one else, uh, alive,” Ratchis said.
“I thought I was dead,” Dorn said. “Is everyone else dead?”
“We found no one else with you,” Martin replied.
“Did Digger send you?”
“Nuhwun shent ush,” Kazrack said. “Unlee forchun.”
“Last I remember, Digger said he was going to get help,” Dorn said, finally sitting up. He rubbed his face with his hand, and then gingerly poked at his neck wound. “He was going to get Flora.”
“These are you companions, you are mentioning?” Beorth asked.
“Yes, we had explored an abandoned subterranean fortress, days north of here, “ Dorn explained. “There were six of us: Me, Flora, Bones, Digger, Fleece and Gissa. We lost Gissa to a great spider’s venom. We found a few things down there, but more loss of life was not worth all the treasure in Derome-Delem, so we headed back”
“What was this fortress?” Martin asked.
“It belonged to the Ancients, sometimes called the Mystics,” Dorn explained. “They looked like men, but were here before men. They once had a great empire in Aquerra before a catastrophe of some kind befell them. They made this bridge. It’s probably thousands of years old.”
“What happened here? What gave you these wounds?” Ratchis asked.
“…the three-headed beast,” Dorn began.
“Oh. No,” Martin gulped.
“What?” Kazrack asked.
“Chimera,” was all Martin said.
“Wuzzat?” Kazrack asked.
“A nasty beast that has the head of a dragon, a lion and a goat,” Martin explained. “It is the creation of foul magics.”
“A goat?” Beorth looked at Martin with skepticism.
Martin the Green shrugged.
“Are you sure you saw no sign of Digger?” Dorn asked, worry in his voice. He pointed to Kazrack. “He’s a dwarf like him.”
“I saw no dwarf,” Ratchis said.
“Ish Digger uh fumlee name?” Kazrack asked.
Martin translated.
“I don’t know; that’s just his name,” Dorn replied.
“Maybe you can tell us what happened, so we can stop badgering you with questions,” Beorth suggested.
“Yeah, if we’re gonna have to kill some three-headed freak of nature then I want to do it soon,’ Gunthar said. “I’m itchin’ to fight something.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Dorn said. “We made camp up on that hill on the other side of the bridge, as we were coming from that direction. It was getting dark, and we didn’t want to cross the bridge at night because we were afraid something might use it as a lair. However, in the early morning barbarians overran our camp. They were savage, wearing wolf pelts, and necklaces of human ears and stuff. The worst part was that they attacked to capture, and they got Flora and Bones, right away. Digger, Fleece and I ran to the bridge, hoping to escape to re-group and plan an attack to get our friend back, but that was when the three-headed monster attacked. It swooped down on us as we came across the bridge. I don’t know what happened to Fleece, but I was knocked down by a devastating claw attack as Digger and I tried to get around the building, hoping that since it did not seem to fly well that by sticking close it, it would have to make wide turns. The thing was about to rip my apart with a bite of its dragon-head,, but Digger blocked my body with his and then said he was going to get help. He never came back… I guess.”
“Was Fleece human?” Ratchis’ disembodied growl asked.
“Yes… Was?”
“I’m sorry. I saw a human corpse on the bridge. I think it was probably him.”
“I wonder why barbarians would take prisoners?” Martin asked.
“Slaves,” said Beorth, and Ratchis growled.
“Let’s go take care of them now,” the half-orc barked. “They could not have gotten far.”
“They are probably still at the camp,” Dorn said, finally standing and stretching. He winced in pain. “They said something about that hill being one of their ‘spots’.”
“You stay here,” Beorth said to Dorn. “We will return for you when we haves rescued your friends and have struck down these barbarian slavers.”
“No! I want to come. Those are my friends. I have to go,” Dorn insisted.
Kazrack shook his head.
Invisibly, Ratchis nodded. “Friendship cannot be denied. He can come.”
And with that he called to Nephthys and cured the defeated warrior.
“Nephthys?” Dorn said, with awe.
“Yes,” replied Ratchis roughly. “Now just use a crossbow and stay in the rear. When the fighting starts look for an opportunity to get your friends out of there.”
“I’m pretty good at sneaking,” Dorn said.
The party readied themselves and then with Ratchis in the lead, they hurried across the bridge. After a cursory look into the tower at the end of the bridge, they made their way up the stone embankment of here the bridge was cut into the cliff face. On the right there were bright thick trees and bushes on a layered hill, and Dorn pointed it put. The bushes moved as Ratchis crept through them. The others fanned out slowly making their way to the clearing at the top.
Martin looked down and noticed that the earth here was spill over a manmade stone plateau. In fact, there was a worn wide stairway crawling with manzanita. Centuries ago an avalanche must have covered this part of the bridge complex and trees and other foliage had grown since. He theorized that the flat top of the hill might have once been a plaza.
Ratchis made his way around a tall slab of stone that was half-buried in the earth, and he heard voices ahead of him. But suddenly a huge red and brown dog broke through the trees. It seemed to be drawn right to the half-orc despite being invisible, and it barked a deep bark that sent gouts of flame out either side of its snout.
“Uh, I never saw those things before!” Dorn said, from the rear flank, as two more dogs leapt through the brush at the group.
-------------------------------------------
Notes:
(1) DM’s Note: Remember, Kazrack now has an 85% chance of spell failure for spells with any verbal components.
(2) House Rule: Despite the switch to 3.5, invisibility has a duration of 10 minutes per level.
(3) See Session #57
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