"Out of the Frying Pan"- Book IV - Into the Fire [STORY HOUR COMPLETED - 12/25/06]
- Thread starter el-remmen
- Start date
Manzanita
First Post
B]Book I[/B]
Where was the party heading when they met Ratchis?
Heading for Gothwhatever...
Why were they headed there?
To escape the draft/fight a dragon
What kind of soldiers had taken Jeremy and Kamir captive?
Mernovian something. That was a disturbing scene; the death of Kamir.
Book II
Name three people who came to Gothanius in the same group as Martin the Green.
The toad, didn't he?
What was Mozek Steamwind's official title among the Garven Gnomes?
He was the rotating leader. title
Which god did the paladin captive of the Circle of the Thorn worship?
I thought he was a cleric? Osiris?
Book III
Who are the Shepherds?
People who look after sheep!
Name the two gnomes that temporarily joined up with the party in the Pit of Bones?
It may come to me....
Where is Hurgun's Maze?
in the necropolis of doom. No. I can't remember...
Bonus Question
What is the Ogre Scar?[/QUOTE]
a mountain.
Gosh. I suck. I think we old timers who read the first books years ago are at a disadvantage here. I am jonesing for an update. In any case. And so far, I'm the winner :\
Where was the party heading when they met Ratchis?
Heading for Gothwhatever...
Why were they headed there?
To escape the draft/fight a dragon
What kind of soldiers had taken Jeremy and Kamir captive?
Mernovian something. That was a disturbing scene; the death of Kamir.
Book II
Name three people who came to Gothanius in the same group as Martin the Green.
The toad, didn't he?
What was Mozek Steamwind's official title among the Garven Gnomes?
He was the rotating leader. title
Which god did the paladin captive of the Circle of the Thorn worship?
I thought he was a cleric? Osiris?
Book III
Who are the Shepherds?
People who look after sheep!
Name the two gnomes that temporarily joined up with the party in the Pit of Bones?
It may come to me....
Where is Hurgun's Maze?
in the necropolis of doom. No. I can't remember...
Bonus Question
What is the Ogre Scar?[/QUOTE]
a mountain.
Gosh. I suck. I think we old timers who read the first books years ago are at a disadvantage here. I am jonesing for an update. In any case. And so far, I'm the winner :\
el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
Hey All!
Just a qucik note to say I'm sorry for the delay in updating. . . It has just been taking me a lot longer to write up than I thought it would and i had the notes of three different sessions mixed up so that didn't help. It seems that this point in the campaign we did not have a set system for keeping notes as Helene (who played Jana, Derek and Anarie) was gone and she had been keeping them before.
I am also trying hard to set the scene of Nikar as the next half dozen sessions or so take place in this town. . . one cool thing I realized is that you will all get to see what a "magic shop" in Aquerra is like when Martin visits one. . . and what wizards go through when trading spells.
Just a qucik note to say I'm sorry for the delay in updating. . . It has just been taking me a lot longer to write up than I thought it would and i had the notes of three different sessions mixed up so that didn't help. It seems that this point in the campaign we did not have a set system for keeping notes as Helene (who played Jana, Derek and Anarie) was gone and she had been keeping them before.
I am also trying hard to set the scene of Nikar as the next half dozen sessions or so take place in this town. . . one cool thing I realized is that you will all get to see what a "magic shop" in Aquerra is like when Martin visits one. . . and what wizards go through when trading spells.
Elrik_DarkFury
First Post
I can't wait to read more about this!
___________________
The Wizard
el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
Session #68 (part ii)
Ralem, the 15th of Ter – 565 H.E.
Early the next morning, Ratchis hurried back to the inn to catch the others and tell them of dinner at Mercy’s that night, but Kazrack had already left.
The dwarf clutched the bag of runestones about his neck as he stood before the great door to the Temple of the Grandfathers. It held one corner of a triangular plaza that had a fountain at its center. The temple of Bast and the Town Hall made the other two points. Kazrack took in the elaborate runic carving about the doors and the impressive statues that flanked the broad steps up from the plaza and bowed his head in silent prayer. He had not been to a true temple of the dwarven gods since his early childhood. (1)
As the first lights of the day came over the mountain from the east, the doors to the temple opened and Kazrack could hear the prayer of the finest hour (2) emanating from within; as did the warm glow of the hearth beyond the altar.
Two temple guards stood in their traditional red robes and axes on either side of the antechamber. Kazrack nodded to both of them as he walked past, stopping to strike a small hammer against a steel anvil twice before he crossed the threshold into the temple proper.
He heard many voices up near the altar forge as he walked up the aisle between the rows of grooves carved into the floor where the congregation’s prayer stones would be laid during a ceremony. The ceiling was adorned with circular patterns of dwarf-carved stalactites that were covered in number runes that retold the making of the world. Squat windows lined the very top of the tall walls, letting in streams of light in oblique angles that kept the place dim, though braziers lined the walls. Huge round columns held up the ceiling and created narrow corridors on either side, where the braziers were.
Kazrack slipped his own prayer stone into one of the grooves right before that and knelt. He could see that an older dwarf was lecturing a group of dwarven girls, too young yet to have chin whiskers, on the forging of metal. (3) He laid his forehead upon the smooth stone and closed his eyes in prayer.
Kazrack did not know how long he had been lost in prayer when he sensed someone standing to his left. He spoke the closing prayer (4) and stood.
“Well met, brethren,” the dwarf said. He wore a simple gray robe, cinched with a leather belt with a broad brass buckle. About his neck was a pouch of rune stones, but he also had a leather thong holding flute about there as well. He had brown beard with highlights of shining red, and a shaved head. “I am Krechkar, host of the Temple of the Grandfathers. Welcome.”
“Um culled Kushrak,” Kazrack said, raising the back of his hand to his chin to keep his drool from spilling over to the floor of the house of worship. “Uz ooh cun tell Uh fund et dishacul tuh shpeak. Uh wut luk tuh shpek tu tuh huh preesht.”
“Um, I am having a hard time understanding you, brethren, but I see you are a rune-thrower, and I assume you wish to see the High Priest, Bedkorak. Follow me, and I will bring you to his Hands and Voice, and see if a meeting can be set up.” (5)
Kazrack followed, leaving his prayer stone in its place. This was the safest place in the world for it.
Krechkar led Kazrack past the altar on the left through a small door and down some stairs to a labyrinth of subterranean rooms, though the room he was led to had a small barred window that looked out on the Central Tier and the Nauglimir Dwarven Merchant Consortium Safehouse below. He could also see the gatehouse and guarded tunnel entrance to the town.
An older dwarf came in nearly an hour late.
“I am called Dalim. I am the Hands and Voice of the High Priest Bedkorak, devotee of Hodanar,” the dwarf said. He wore a simple brown robe the same color as he flowing beard, which was bright red, despite his duller brown locks. His beard had two large braids in it, one woven with silver wires. He had a bag of runestones about his neck and small golden horn at his belt. “Welcome to the Temple of the Grandfathers, Kushrack.”
“Kashrak,” Kazrack said, standing. “Uh wsuh hoping tuh she uh Eye Preesht. Uh have uh important mutter tuh dishcush wish him.”
“Perhaps you can tell me what this matter is and I can pass it on to him,” Dalim suggested.
“Ash you cun tull, Uh have difficulty shpeaking, und would rudder nut repeat myshelf,” Kazrack forced out.
Dalim hesitated. “You may have a long wait.”
“Giff him dish,” Kazrack said, and he reached into his bag and pulled out something wrapped in a cloth, and handed it to the priest.
Dalim nodded and left.
It was less than ten minutes later than he returned to lead Kazrack to the High Priest’s chambers.
In a small office, connected to a small simple alcove that served as a bedchamber. It had a low ceiling like the other rooms on this lower lever, but had a small oven that served a shrine, and a large stone desk, covered with runes. Nooks in the far wall held countless stone tablets and scroll tubes.
High Priest Bedkorak stood as Kazrack walked in. He had thick white hair that flanked his round and young-looking face, and a thick white beard marbled in places by coarse black hairs. He had two round obsidian beads in he hair and beard. He had two silver teeth on the front right side of his mouth.
“Kazrack,” Bedkorak said.
Kazrack got down on one knee and touched his forehead to the back of the High Priest’s hand. Dalim left.
Bedkorak gestured for Kazrack to take a seat next to the desk. He could see the object he had sent him lying unwrapped on the desk. It was the Hand of Natan-Ahb. (6) The High Priest gestured to the mithral and platinum gauntlet.
“This is a great thing you bring to us,” Bedkorak said. “It’s value is priceless. How did you come upon the Hand of Natan-Ahb of the great citadel lost to us in the war with the humans?”
“Muh cumpunions und Uh weredair,” Kazrack mumbled.
“Ah, yes, your wound,” the high priest said. “Dalim mentioned it. Let me call to the gods to re-knit the fractured bone.”
Bedkorak stood and walked over to Kazrack and placed one big calloused hand beneath his mangled chin and one atop his head. He spoke a long chanting prayer to Rivkanal, and Kazrack winced as his flesh healed over very quickly and the shards of jawbone moved about inside his pus-filled flesh.
Bedkorak took his seat again, and Kazrack stretched out his tight-feeling jaw and rubbed it with one hand.
“Rivkanal be praised,” Kazrack said.
The high priest smiled, and then asked his questions again, “Where did you find the Hand of Natan-Ahb of Barak-Rrin-Sonn?” (7)
“My and companions and I were there seeking the map that would show us the location of Hurgun’s Maze,” Kazrack said, trying to keep a smile off his face. It felt good to be able to speak clearly and free of pain.
Bedkorak’s eyes widened. “Hodonar bless your travels! I sense there is a long tale behind this.”
Kazrack nodded.
And so, Kazrack told the tale as best he could of his journey to Gothanius, the gnomes, Mozek, Hurgun’s Maze and the Pit of Bones. Bedkorak asked no questions, but listened silently. In the end, Kazrack added that he felt ready to uncover more of the greater mysteries of his faith, and hope to gain more lore and learn more runes while he was here. Bedkorak agreed, and also agreed to allow Kazrack use of the forge to craft a suit of plate mail of exceptional quality. (8)
Finally, Kazrack had one last request.
“My companion, D’nar, his true name is… Ratchis… He lost an eye in our battle with the dark elves and I was hoping there might be some remedy for it you could provide.”
“You spoke a good deal of him in your tale, but his name… It is not dwarven, in fact it seems like it could be a name in the tongue of our enemy,” Bedkorak said.
“But his is half-man, that is the strong half, and works for the common good,” Kazrack explained.
Bedkorak sighed and shook his head. “Let his own gods deal with his wound. The greater gifts of our pantheon cannot be wasted on such as those.”
“I understand,” Kazrack replied. “As I will be spending much of my time here, I need to return to the inn and tell my companions of my plans.”
“Go and drink and make merry with you companions, and let tomorrow’s finest hour be the beginning of your work and reflection.”
----------------------------------------------------
After breakfast, Martin the Green made his way to the Council Hall. He climbed the broad marble steps, and looked at the stylized bronze oval disk set with diamond-shaped markers about its border, each of a different precious stone.
Through the great metal doors of beaten bronze was a great foyer of immaculate marble lined with corrugated columns. Before him, carved of marble as well, was a tall desk that was unmanned. On the rounded wall to its right was a board covered in notices and signs. On its left were another set of bronzed double doors. Halls curved away to the left and right.
“Hello?” Martin’s voice echoed down the hall, but there was no response. He looked down one hall and then the other, and then shrugging his shoulders walked over to the board to see what was posted there.
It seemed to be a place where the minutes of the council meetings were posted, along with requests for laborers of both the skilled and unskilled variety, and other news and pronouncements. Amind varied and sundry items on the council’s agenda, he found record of a long meeting regarding reported sightings of undead in the Garden of Stones on the cliff above the town. (9) An official warning was given to townsfolk to avoid the area if at all possible, and if not possible to go only by day.
A notice on the bottom right hand corner of the board had a list of the various council member’s public office hours. Lydia of Isis only had office hours on Osilem in the afternoon; two days away. He was looking over the names of the other council members when he heard a voice coming echoing down the left corridor. Whoever it was spoke quietly, but the voice reverberated the hall.
“Bring this directly to [inaudible],” the voice said. “And no getting side-tracked.”
Martin then heard a disturbing sound like cracking and flapping leather, followed by the skittering coming down the marble hallway towards him, and then the flapping again, over and over.
Finally, a disturbing looking small creature came flying out of the hall into the chamber. It was a tiny humanoid with a hunched and emaciated body of yellowish crusty skin. It had large black rheumy eyes, a stubby tail, black claws on its hands and feet, and brownish leathery wings covered in hardened pimply flesh. However, its most noticeable feature, was its large disproportionate nose. It had a piece of black slate tied about its neck and a hunk of chalk fastened to it.
It landed and looked up at Martin. The watch-mage closed his mouth. He had read of such things in the Academy of Wizardry, but had never seen one. It was a homunculus.
The ugly little creature frowned at him and walked closer. It’s ungainly body contorting, ad it was forced to put one hand down before it to keep its balance every few steps. It was clear that one of it legs was half again as long as the other, and had twisted and blackened foot at its end.
“Um, hello… I, uh, was looking…” Martin began.
The creature pulled the slate from around its neck and began to furiously write on the board with its chalk. It opened it mouth as if to say something, but just turned the board around and pointed from it to the watch-mage.
“Who you?” the board asked.
“Uh, I am Martin the Green, Alumnus of the Academy of Wizardry, and Interim Watch-Mage of the Kingdom of Gothanius. I came looking to speak with Lydia the Holy.”
The homunculus squinched up its face like it had just tasted something bad. It erased the board and began to write again, more carefully this time, stopping twice to correct some mistake and write again. He turned the board around. “You big important wizard. Come to Master Mylor. He is smartest, anyway.”
“Well, I was hoping to talk to a council member, however, I am not sure if my current time allows…”
“Follow,” the board was now saying and the homunculus began to hurry the best it could back down the hall.
Martin followed.
The creature stopped before a thick oaken door on the left side and turned. It was writing something on its board. “Wait.”
It went in and came out a moment later, a twisted smile on its wound of a mouth.
It pointed to its board, “Go.”
“Martin the Green? Come in?” came an articulate and nearly sibilant voice from within the office. The homunculus continued on whatever chore it had been sent on.
The office was brightly lit by tall narrow windows on the far wall. Behind a large oak desk, sat a man that was bald, except for curled tufts of black hair behind each ear. He had neat black goatee and a round bright smiling face and big blue eyes. He stood as Martin entered, and revealed himself to be nearly as tall as Ratchis. He reached out a long-fingered hand with long pointed manicured nails.
The man wore soft green silk robes with a multitude of small yellow stars embroidered on it.
“I am Mylor, sometimes called Mylor the Mystical, an esteemed member of the Brotherhood of the Green Necromancers. (10) Perhaps you have heard of it? I had heard of your arrival in town last night and meant to send you an invitation to come speak with me as soon as I thought you had settled, but lo and behold, here you are seeking me out. How fortunate!” He sat back down and gestured to another chair. “Please sit.”
“Um, thank you,” Martin replied, sitting. “But I must be honest I came looking for Lydia the Holy, or perhaps a member of her staff so that I might arrange meeting her.”
Mylor made a face as if a bad smell had wafted into the room, and then it broke open into a wide bright smile. Martin could notice that the council member had painted lips, and wracked his mind to remember where in Aquerra that was common.
“Oh, I am sure Lydia’s aide, Daphne, I think her name is, is off somewhere not to far stuffing that hole beneath her piggish nose with pastries. She is certainly hard to miss, like the proverbial barn,” Mylor let out a hissing laugh. “But while I have you here, I ma sure there are things we can talk about that would be more helpful to you. I have always found that the traveling watch-mage is much more worldly than those who sit around protecting peasants and laborers in their tiny villages.”
“Well, watch-mages fill an important role, that I would not think is all that different from yours and the council’s,” Martin replied.
“Yes… Well, the point of a council is that different members bring different strengths to the rule and prosperity of a town,” Mylor said, his smile never dying. “But all of that aside, I am sure we can help each other whatever our agendas.”
“And what exactly is the agenda of the Brotherhood of Green Necromancers?” Martin asked, finally sitting.
“Oh, you have not heard of us? What are they teaching in that Academy these days? Is it true that necromancy is not taught there are a focus anymore?”
“Not since the days of… the Corruptor,” Martin replied.
“Ah, yes, the Corruptor…,” Mylor shook his. “His rash ways paints all of us who specialize in working with the energies of life and death a bad name. Of course, you know that necromancy can be used to for the benefit and betterment of people.”
“Yes…”
“Will you be staying in Nikar long?”
“Perhaps a month,” Martin replied. “One of my companions hopes to train and gain lore at the dwarven temple.”
“Mmm-hmmm, well… You feel free to come to me if you need anything during your visit. I can see it being very beneficial to the two of us. There is much lore and magic to be shared.”
Mylor the Mystical’s eyes opened wide.
“Yes, thank you, I may take you up on that,” Martin stood and offered his hand. “I have to be going now. My companions will be expecting me and I need to find… Daphne, was it?”
Mylor took Martin’s hand daintily, and frowned.
“I would look in her quaint little college on the central tier, or the bakery that is nearby, wiping pie-filling from her swollen chin.”
Martin smiled weakly.
“Don’t hesitate, Martin,” Mylor said. “You will find that I am versed in a great amount of lore that is useful to one who takes an adventurous road.”
Martin nodded and left.
----------------------------------------------
The watch-mage headed back to the inn to find Ratchis counting coins on the floor, with some gems and other precious items laid out on a sack beside him.
The half-orc looked up at Martin, “What have you got?”
When Kazrack returned he joined them in counting and diving things up. Dorn, Flora and Bones knocked on the door and entered, wanting to get their share of the treasure gained from the orcs and give the party some gems as a gift. Flora and Bones would be leaving the next day with a caravan headed for Cutter Jack’s.
“And what about you?” Ratchis asked Dorn.
“I think it was a sign for me to help you help Nephthys,” the sandy-haired adventurer said. “At least for now.”
Afterwards, Ratchis and Kazrack made for a weapon-smithy on the lower tier, while Martin ran an errand to the general store and the Shop of Fine Sand, as the local magic shop was called.
There was no sign of Gunthar.
------------------------------------------------
Ratchis has been to the weapon-smithy earlier in the morning, and found his interaction with the bigoted dwarf who ran the place to be impediment to haggling, so he wanted Kazrack to come with him. He had been looking at masterwork great swords, and he wanted to purchase one despite the exorbitant price.
The lowest tier of Nikar was very different from the rest of the town. Aside from one bricked plaza outside the Public Baths, everything here was much more crammed together, and the western edge of the tier was a series of closed in streets running between closely packed together hutch-like houses.
By trading the masterwork warhammer that the party had taken off one of Mozek’s brothers, and several hundred more silver pieces, Ratchis was able to get the sword of his dreams. The long broad blade was slightly curved at the top, with an extra sharp edge. The blade seemed to emerge from the mouth of a golden dragon with ruby eyes, which served as the hilt and pommel, with twining golden tail about a large ruby. He swung it around in the open space by the forge and was impressed with it balance. It was well worth the price. (11)
“Here ya go, use it on other orcs,” the dwarven smith said as he passed over the sword.
--------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, Martin went down to the Central Tier. There he could see dwarven and gnomish workmen digging out plots to line the main street with trees. He stopped and talked with one of the gnomish workers, who offered to show him the way to the component shop, and then invited him to come to Fizzlepop’s, an inn in the Gnomish Quarter.
Martin the Green had to ring a bell from the outside if the Shop of Fine Sand to be let in. The door was opened by a tall elf that was as thin as a rail. The elf’s hair was a long bluish-black tied back, and his skin had an alabaster sheen to it. He had long sharp features without a crease or wrinkle that still seemed to suggest a great age, and big green eyes.
Sherinian Felestas’ shop was a cramped little white stucco house, line with urns and glasses cases filled with a myriad of things, from live frogs and crickets, to flowering bushes emerging from the pots. There was paper and ink and book-binding materials for sale here as well, and a variety of scroll tubes, vials and beakers. Many colorful birds sang as they chased each other from perch to perch, and a large snake slithered from an urn, hissing at another glass tank with several lizards and turtles.
As the tall elf led Martin to a large over-stuffed chair that ace another with a tea cozy between them, before a large wooden desk, the watch-mage heard a chicken clucking behind a counter. Yet, despite all the animals, the place smelled of fresh cut flowers, and a cool moist breeze flowed in from a narrow window, high on one wall.
Sherinian sat across from Martin the Green, his fade placid.
”Welcome, Watch-mage,” the elf said. “It does me honor that you have decided to visit my humble shop. I was hoping you’d stop by when I heard of your arrival.”
“You heard of my arrival, already?” Martin was surprised.
”I am a member of the council,” Sherinian said. “We are briefed on the arrival all people of note.”
Martin smiled. “Ah, so Lydia the Holy would already know I was here?”
“I would assume so.”
“I already met another member of the council when I went looking for her, Mylor.”
Sherinian said nothing.
“He offered to help me in my arcane studies,” Martin continued.
“I doubt that would win you many friends,” the elf replied.
“Why do you say that?” Martin cocked an eyebrow, as the elf poured them both tea without asking.
“Well, he openly admits his membership to the Brotherhood of Green Necromancers,” Sherinian said. “And while there has never been an evidence of foul doings on his part, his reputation is not the best, here or among your own order.”
“Have there been other watch-mages through here?”
“Yes, on occasion. Alexandra the Lavender of Bountiful is here at least once a year, and others pass through, as well.”
“Richard the Red?”
“I believe he was here as recently as one passing of the seasons,” the elf replied. “Are you looking for him?”
“Kind of… Uh, it is a matter of our order. I cannot really speak of it,” Martin changed the subject some. “Do you know why there is no representative of the Academy stationed in Nikar?”
“The council keeps voting the proposition down whenever it comes up. I think a couple of members fear that a watch-mage would end up voted onto the council as soon as an opening was available and use the resources of the Academy to exert political control.”
Now it was Martin’s turn to be quiet.
“My condolences on the archmage’s passing,” Sherinian added.
“Thank you,” Martin sipped some tea, happy that he had taken off Lacan’s Demise the night before. “If I may ask, I wondering if you might be available for some training, I am on the cusp of understanding the arcane mysteries of the Fourth House.”
Sherinian shook his head. “I am sorry, but I do not have the time, nor inclination to take on such a responsibility.”
Martin nodded. “Perhaps you can recommend me to someone?”
The elf shook his head again.
“Do you come seeking or bringing me something?” Sherinian asked, putting down his cup and saucer and standing to go behind the desk.
“Uh…Both,” Martin replied, turning in his seat to follow. “I have some things I have gathered along the way. Could you use phase spider venom?”
A long conversation about components ensued, with Sherinian writing down long lists of things Martin needed as he read them off. Martin would return with the money after cashing in some gems at a shop the elf suggested. They also negotiated trading a spell or three, if the elf could have choice from the books Martin had collected along the way. In addition, the watch-mage would lend his book of runes, sigils and wards to the elf for a week or so. Finally, Sherinian told Martin where Daphne’s cottage was, so that he might go looking for her there.
End of Session #68
Ralem, the 15th of Ter – 565 H.E.
Early the next morning, Ratchis hurried back to the inn to catch the others and tell them of dinner at Mercy’s that night, but Kazrack had already left.
The dwarf clutched the bag of runestones about his neck as he stood before the great door to the Temple of the Grandfathers. It held one corner of a triangular plaza that had a fountain at its center. The temple of Bast and the Town Hall made the other two points. Kazrack took in the elaborate runic carving about the doors and the impressive statues that flanked the broad steps up from the plaza and bowed his head in silent prayer. He had not been to a true temple of the dwarven gods since his early childhood. (1)
As the first lights of the day came over the mountain from the east, the doors to the temple opened and Kazrack could hear the prayer of the finest hour (2) emanating from within; as did the warm glow of the hearth beyond the altar.
Two temple guards stood in their traditional red robes and axes on either side of the antechamber. Kazrack nodded to both of them as he walked past, stopping to strike a small hammer against a steel anvil twice before he crossed the threshold into the temple proper.
He heard many voices up near the altar forge as he walked up the aisle between the rows of grooves carved into the floor where the congregation’s prayer stones would be laid during a ceremony. The ceiling was adorned with circular patterns of dwarf-carved stalactites that were covered in number runes that retold the making of the world. Squat windows lined the very top of the tall walls, letting in streams of light in oblique angles that kept the place dim, though braziers lined the walls. Huge round columns held up the ceiling and created narrow corridors on either side, where the braziers were.
Kazrack slipped his own prayer stone into one of the grooves right before that and knelt. He could see that an older dwarf was lecturing a group of dwarven girls, too young yet to have chin whiskers, on the forging of metal. (3) He laid his forehead upon the smooth stone and closed his eyes in prayer.
Kazrack did not know how long he had been lost in prayer when he sensed someone standing to his left. He spoke the closing prayer (4) and stood.
“Well met, brethren,” the dwarf said. He wore a simple gray robe, cinched with a leather belt with a broad brass buckle. About his neck was a pouch of rune stones, but he also had a leather thong holding flute about there as well. He had brown beard with highlights of shining red, and a shaved head. “I am Krechkar, host of the Temple of the Grandfathers. Welcome.”
“Um culled Kushrak,” Kazrack said, raising the back of his hand to his chin to keep his drool from spilling over to the floor of the house of worship. “Uz ooh cun tell Uh fund et dishacul tuh shpeak. Uh wut luk tuh shpek tu tuh huh preesht.”
“Um, I am having a hard time understanding you, brethren, but I see you are a rune-thrower, and I assume you wish to see the High Priest, Bedkorak. Follow me, and I will bring you to his Hands and Voice, and see if a meeting can be set up.” (5)
Kazrack followed, leaving his prayer stone in its place. This was the safest place in the world for it.
Krechkar led Kazrack past the altar on the left through a small door and down some stairs to a labyrinth of subterranean rooms, though the room he was led to had a small barred window that looked out on the Central Tier and the Nauglimir Dwarven Merchant Consortium Safehouse below. He could also see the gatehouse and guarded tunnel entrance to the town.
An older dwarf came in nearly an hour late.
“I am called Dalim. I am the Hands and Voice of the High Priest Bedkorak, devotee of Hodanar,” the dwarf said. He wore a simple brown robe the same color as he flowing beard, which was bright red, despite his duller brown locks. His beard had two large braids in it, one woven with silver wires. He had a bag of runestones about his neck and small golden horn at his belt. “Welcome to the Temple of the Grandfathers, Kushrack.”
“Kashrak,” Kazrack said, standing. “Uh wsuh hoping tuh she uh Eye Preesht. Uh have uh important mutter tuh dishcush wish him.”
“Perhaps you can tell me what this matter is and I can pass it on to him,” Dalim suggested.
“Ash you cun tull, Uh have difficulty shpeaking, und would rudder nut repeat myshelf,” Kazrack forced out.
Dalim hesitated. “You may have a long wait.”
“Giff him dish,” Kazrack said, and he reached into his bag and pulled out something wrapped in a cloth, and handed it to the priest.
Dalim nodded and left.
It was less than ten minutes later than he returned to lead Kazrack to the High Priest’s chambers.
In a small office, connected to a small simple alcove that served as a bedchamber. It had a low ceiling like the other rooms on this lower lever, but had a small oven that served a shrine, and a large stone desk, covered with runes. Nooks in the far wall held countless stone tablets and scroll tubes.
High Priest Bedkorak stood as Kazrack walked in. He had thick white hair that flanked his round and young-looking face, and a thick white beard marbled in places by coarse black hairs. He had two round obsidian beads in he hair and beard. He had two silver teeth on the front right side of his mouth.
“Kazrack,” Bedkorak said.
Kazrack got down on one knee and touched his forehead to the back of the High Priest’s hand. Dalim left.
Bedkorak gestured for Kazrack to take a seat next to the desk. He could see the object he had sent him lying unwrapped on the desk. It was the Hand of Natan-Ahb. (6) The High Priest gestured to the mithral and platinum gauntlet.
“This is a great thing you bring to us,” Bedkorak said. “It’s value is priceless. How did you come upon the Hand of Natan-Ahb of the great citadel lost to us in the war with the humans?”
“Muh cumpunions und Uh weredair,” Kazrack mumbled.
“Ah, yes, your wound,” the high priest said. “Dalim mentioned it. Let me call to the gods to re-knit the fractured bone.”
Bedkorak stood and walked over to Kazrack and placed one big calloused hand beneath his mangled chin and one atop his head. He spoke a long chanting prayer to Rivkanal, and Kazrack winced as his flesh healed over very quickly and the shards of jawbone moved about inside his pus-filled flesh.
Bedkorak took his seat again, and Kazrack stretched out his tight-feeling jaw and rubbed it with one hand.
“Rivkanal be praised,” Kazrack said.
The high priest smiled, and then asked his questions again, “Where did you find the Hand of Natan-Ahb of Barak-Rrin-Sonn?” (7)
“My and companions and I were there seeking the map that would show us the location of Hurgun’s Maze,” Kazrack said, trying to keep a smile off his face. It felt good to be able to speak clearly and free of pain.
Bedkorak’s eyes widened. “Hodonar bless your travels! I sense there is a long tale behind this.”
Kazrack nodded.
And so, Kazrack told the tale as best he could of his journey to Gothanius, the gnomes, Mozek, Hurgun’s Maze and the Pit of Bones. Bedkorak asked no questions, but listened silently. In the end, Kazrack added that he felt ready to uncover more of the greater mysteries of his faith, and hope to gain more lore and learn more runes while he was here. Bedkorak agreed, and also agreed to allow Kazrack use of the forge to craft a suit of plate mail of exceptional quality. (8)
Finally, Kazrack had one last request.
“My companion, D’nar, his true name is… Ratchis… He lost an eye in our battle with the dark elves and I was hoping there might be some remedy for it you could provide.”
“You spoke a good deal of him in your tale, but his name… It is not dwarven, in fact it seems like it could be a name in the tongue of our enemy,” Bedkorak said.
“But his is half-man, that is the strong half, and works for the common good,” Kazrack explained.
Bedkorak sighed and shook his head. “Let his own gods deal with his wound. The greater gifts of our pantheon cannot be wasted on such as those.”
“I understand,” Kazrack replied. “As I will be spending much of my time here, I need to return to the inn and tell my companions of my plans.”
“Go and drink and make merry with you companions, and let tomorrow’s finest hour be the beginning of your work and reflection.”
----------------------------------------------------
After breakfast, Martin the Green made his way to the Council Hall. He climbed the broad marble steps, and looked at the stylized bronze oval disk set with diamond-shaped markers about its border, each of a different precious stone.
Through the great metal doors of beaten bronze was a great foyer of immaculate marble lined with corrugated columns. Before him, carved of marble as well, was a tall desk that was unmanned. On the rounded wall to its right was a board covered in notices and signs. On its left were another set of bronzed double doors. Halls curved away to the left and right.
“Hello?” Martin’s voice echoed down the hall, but there was no response. He looked down one hall and then the other, and then shrugging his shoulders walked over to the board to see what was posted there.
It seemed to be a place where the minutes of the council meetings were posted, along with requests for laborers of both the skilled and unskilled variety, and other news and pronouncements. Amind varied and sundry items on the council’s agenda, he found record of a long meeting regarding reported sightings of undead in the Garden of Stones on the cliff above the town. (9) An official warning was given to townsfolk to avoid the area if at all possible, and if not possible to go only by day.
A notice on the bottom right hand corner of the board had a list of the various council member’s public office hours. Lydia of Isis only had office hours on Osilem in the afternoon; two days away. He was looking over the names of the other council members when he heard a voice coming echoing down the left corridor. Whoever it was spoke quietly, but the voice reverberated the hall.
“Bring this directly to [inaudible],” the voice said. “And no getting side-tracked.”
Martin then heard a disturbing sound like cracking and flapping leather, followed by the skittering coming down the marble hallway towards him, and then the flapping again, over and over.
Finally, a disturbing looking small creature came flying out of the hall into the chamber. It was a tiny humanoid with a hunched and emaciated body of yellowish crusty skin. It had large black rheumy eyes, a stubby tail, black claws on its hands and feet, and brownish leathery wings covered in hardened pimply flesh. However, its most noticeable feature, was its large disproportionate nose. It had a piece of black slate tied about its neck and a hunk of chalk fastened to it.
It landed and looked up at Martin. The watch-mage closed his mouth. He had read of such things in the Academy of Wizardry, but had never seen one. It was a homunculus.
The ugly little creature frowned at him and walked closer. It’s ungainly body contorting, ad it was forced to put one hand down before it to keep its balance every few steps. It was clear that one of it legs was half again as long as the other, and had twisted and blackened foot at its end.
“Um, hello… I, uh, was looking…” Martin began.
The creature pulled the slate from around its neck and began to furiously write on the board with its chalk. It opened it mouth as if to say something, but just turned the board around and pointed from it to the watch-mage.
“Who you?” the board asked.
“Uh, I am Martin the Green, Alumnus of the Academy of Wizardry, and Interim Watch-Mage of the Kingdom of Gothanius. I came looking to speak with Lydia the Holy.”
The homunculus squinched up its face like it had just tasted something bad. It erased the board and began to write again, more carefully this time, stopping twice to correct some mistake and write again. He turned the board around. “You big important wizard. Come to Master Mylor. He is smartest, anyway.”
“Well, I was hoping to talk to a council member, however, I am not sure if my current time allows…”
“Follow,” the board was now saying and the homunculus began to hurry the best it could back down the hall.
Martin followed.
The creature stopped before a thick oaken door on the left side and turned. It was writing something on its board. “Wait.”
It went in and came out a moment later, a twisted smile on its wound of a mouth.
It pointed to its board, “Go.”
“Martin the Green? Come in?” came an articulate and nearly sibilant voice from within the office. The homunculus continued on whatever chore it had been sent on.
The office was brightly lit by tall narrow windows on the far wall. Behind a large oak desk, sat a man that was bald, except for curled tufts of black hair behind each ear. He had neat black goatee and a round bright smiling face and big blue eyes. He stood as Martin entered, and revealed himself to be nearly as tall as Ratchis. He reached out a long-fingered hand with long pointed manicured nails.
The man wore soft green silk robes with a multitude of small yellow stars embroidered on it.
“I am Mylor, sometimes called Mylor the Mystical, an esteemed member of the Brotherhood of the Green Necromancers. (10) Perhaps you have heard of it? I had heard of your arrival in town last night and meant to send you an invitation to come speak with me as soon as I thought you had settled, but lo and behold, here you are seeking me out. How fortunate!” He sat back down and gestured to another chair. “Please sit.”
“Um, thank you,” Martin replied, sitting. “But I must be honest I came looking for Lydia the Holy, or perhaps a member of her staff so that I might arrange meeting her.”
Mylor made a face as if a bad smell had wafted into the room, and then it broke open into a wide bright smile. Martin could notice that the council member had painted lips, and wracked his mind to remember where in Aquerra that was common.
“Oh, I am sure Lydia’s aide, Daphne, I think her name is, is off somewhere not to far stuffing that hole beneath her piggish nose with pastries. She is certainly hard to miss, like the proverbial barn,” Mylor let out a hissing laugh. “But while I have you here, I ma sure there are things we can talk about that would be more helpful to you. I have always found that the traveling watch-mage is much more worldly than those who sit around protecting peasants and laborers in their tiny villages.”
“Well, watch-mages fill an important role, that I would not think is all that different from yours and the council’s,” Martin replied.
“Yes… Well, the point of a council is that different members bring different strengths to the rule and prosperity of a town,” Mylor said, his smile never dying. “But all of that aside, I am sure we can help each other whatever our agendas.”
“And what exactly is the agenda of the Brotherhood of Green Necromancers?” Martin asked, finally sitting.
“Oh, you have not heard of us? What are they teaching in that Academy these days? Is it true that necromancy is not taught there are a focus anymore?”
“Not since the days of… the Corruptor,” Martin replied.
“Ah, yes, the Corruptor…,” Mylor shook his. “His rash ways paints all of us who specialize in working with the energies of life and death a bad name. Of course, you know that necromancy can be used to for the benefit and betterment of people.”
“Yes…”
“Will you be staying in Nikar long?”
“Perhaps a month,” Martin replied. “One of my companions hopes to train and gain lore at the dwarven temple.”
“Mmm-hmmm, well… You feel free to come to me if you need anything during your visit. I can see it being very beneficial to the two of us. There is much lore and magic to be shared.”
Mylor the Mystical’s eyes opened wide.
“Yes, thank you, I may take you up on that,” Martin stood and offered his hand. “I have to be going now. My companions will be expecting me and I need to find… Daphne, was it?”
Mylor took Martin’s hand daintily, and frowned.
“I would look in her quaint little college on the central tier, or the bakery that is nearby, wiping pie-filling from her swollen chin.”
Martin smiled weakly.
“Don’t hesitate, Martin,” Mylor said. “You will find that I am versed in a great amount of lore that is useful to one who takes an adventurous road.”
Martin nodded and left.
----------------------------------------------
The watch-mage headed back to the inn to find Ratchis counting coins on the floor, with some gems and other precious items laid out on a sack beside him.
The half-orc looked up at Martin, “What have you got?”
When Kazrack returned he joined them in counting and diving things up. Dorn, Flora and Bones knocked on the door and entered, wanting to get their share of the treasure gained from the orcs and give the party some gems as a gift. Flora and Bones would be leaving the next day with a caravan headed for Cutter Jack’s.
“And what about you?” Ratchis asked Dorn.
“I think it was a sign for me to help you help Nephthys,” the sandy-haired adventurer said. “At least for now.”
Afterwards, Ratchis and Kazrack made for a weapon-smithy on the lower tier, while Martin ran an errand to the general store and the Shop of Fine Sand, as the local magic shop was called.
There was no sign of Gunthar.
------------------------------------------------
Ratchis has been to the weapon-smithy earlier in the morning, and found his interaction with the bigoted dwarf who ran the place to be impediment to haggling, so he wanted Kazrack to come with him. He had been looking at masterwork great swords, and he wanted to purchase one despite the exorbitant price.
The lowest tier of Nikar was very different from the rest of the town. Aside from one bricked plaza outside the Public Baths, everything here was much more crammed together, and the western edge of the tier was a series of closed in streets running between closely packed together hutch-like houses.
By trading the masterwork warhammer that the party had taken off one of Mozek’s brothers, and several hundred more silver pieces, Ratchis was able to get the sword of his dreams. The long broad blade was slightly curved at the top, with an extra sharp edge. The blade seemed to emerge from the mouth of a golden dragon with ruby eyes, which served as the hilt and pommel, with twining golden tail about a large ruby. He swung it around in the open space by the forge and was impressed with it balance. It was well worth the price. (11)
“Here ya go, use it on other orcs,” the dwarven smith said as he passed over the sword.
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Meanwhile, Martin went down to the Central Tier. There he could see dwarven and gnomish workmen digging out plots to line the main street with trees. He stopped and talked with one of the gnomish workers, who offered to show him the way to the component shop, and then invited him to come to Fizzlepop’s, an inn in the Gnomish Quarter.
Martin the Green had to ring a bell from the outside if the Shop of Fine Sand to be let in. The door was opened by a tall elf that was as thin as a rail. The elf’s hair was a long bluish-black tied back, and his skin had an alabaster sheen to it. He had long sharp features without a crease or wrinkle that still seemed to suggest a great age, and big green eyes.
Sherinian Felestas’ shop was a cramped little white stucco house, line with urns and glasses cases filled with a myriad of things, from live frogs and crickets, to flowering bushes emerging from the pots. There was paper and ink and book-binding materials for sale here as well, and a variety of scroll tubes, vials and beakers. Many colorful birds sang as they chased each other from perch to perch, and a large snake slithered from an urn, hissing at another glass tank with several lizards and turtles.
As the tall elf led Martin to a large over-stuffed chair that ace another with a tea cozy between them, before a large wooden desk, the watch-mage heard a chicken clucking behind a counter. Yet, despite all the animals, the place smelled of fresh cut flowers, and a cool moist breeze flowed in from a narrow window, high on one wall.
Sherinian sat across from Martin the Green, his fade placid.
”Welcome, Watch-mage,” the elf said. “It does me honor that you have decided to visit my humble shop. I was hoping you’d stop by when I heard of your arrival.”
“You heard of my arrival, already?” Martin was surprised.
”I am a member of the council,” Sherinian said. “We are briefed on the arrival all people of note.”
Martin smiled. “Ah, so Lydia the Holy would already know I was here?”
“I would assume so.”
“I already met another member of the council when I went looking for her, Mylor.”
Sherinian said nothing.
“He offered to help me in my arcane studies,” Martin continued.
“I doubt that would win you many friends,” the elf replied.
“Why do you say that?” Martin cocked an eyebrow, as the elf poured them both tea without asking.
“Well, he openly admits his membership to the Brotherhood of Green Necromancers,” Sherinian said. “And while there has never been an evidence of foul doings on his part, his reputation is not the best, here or among your own order.”
“Have there been other watch-mages through here?”
“Yes, on occasion. Alexandra the Lavender of Bountiful is here at least once a year, and others pass through, as well.”
“Richard the Red?”
“I believe he was here as recently as one passing of the seasons,” the elf replied. “Are you looking for him?”
“Kind of… Uh, it is a matter of our order. I cannot really speak of it,” Martin changed the subject some. “Do you know why there is no representative of the Academy stationed in Nikar?”
“The council keeps voting the proposition down whenever it comes up. I think a couple of members fear that a watch-mage would end up voted onto the council as soon as an opening was available and use the resources of the Academy to exert political control.”
Now it was Martin’s turn to be quiet.
“My condolences on the archmage’s passing,” Sherinian added.
“Thank you,” Martin sipped some tea, happy that he had taken off Lacan’s Demise the night before. “If I may ask, I wondering if you might be available for some training, I am on the cusp of understanding the arcane mysteries of the Fourth House.”
Sherinian shook his head. “I am sorry, but I do not have the time, nor inclination to take on such a responsibility.”
Martin nodded. “Perhaps you can recommend me to someone?”
The elf shook his head again.
“Do you come seeking or bringing me something?” Sherinian asked, putting down his cup and saucer and standing to go behind the desk.
“Uh…Both,” Martin replied, turning in his seat to follow. “I have some things I have gathered along the way. Could you use phase spider venom?”
A long conversation about components ensued, with Sherinian writing down long lists of things Martin needed as he read them off. Martin would return with the money after cashing in some gems at a shop the elf suggested. They also negotiated trading a spell or three, if the elf could have choice from the books Martin had collected along the way. In addition, the watch-mage would lend his book of runes, sigils and wards to the elf for a week or so. Finally, Sherinian told Martin where Daphne’s cottage was, so that he might go looking for her there.
End of Session #68
el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
notes for #68 (part 2)
-----------------------------------------------
Notes:
(1) While the dwarven community in Verdun has a temple chamber they gather to pray in. It is not officially a hallowed place.
(2) These are a series of prayers that are sung aloud upon undertaking work for the first time in the morning.
(3) Traditional dwarven education for females includes a basic knowledge of both warcraft and metal and stone craft, as they are expected to fill a support role in times of war or disaster. Male dwarves are not typically taught any of the skills considered to be in the domain of females.
(4) All dwarven prayers are book-ended by opening and closing lines common to all prayers that indicate what is about to be said (and what was just said) was meant for the gods alone.
(5) High Priests of the dwarven faith have one or more direct assistants that serve them in different capacities. One or more dwarves can hold any number of positions. Thus, a high priest with a small staff of immediate servants might have one servant that has the title of “Hands and Voice” of the High Priest, while another could have three servants which act as the “Hands, Voice and Eyes” of the High Priest (one for each title), or some might even have several assistants that hold the same title. These assistants are always priests of note, often holding other useful skills useful to the temple, whether it be orator, historian, bodyguard, tactician or a myriad of others.
(6) The Hand of Natan-Ahb was found in the Pit of Bones (see session #60).
(7) Barak-Rrin-Sonn roughtly translates into “Shield Above Good Stone” and is the name of the citadel that sunk into what is now the Pit of Bones.
(8) DM’s Note: Kazrack was ready for training to gain 3rd level spells and had some skill points to spend. He also would be crafting masterwork full plate.
(9) The Garden of Stones was the cemetery and monastery of Anubis the party passed right outside of Nikar. (see Session #67)
(10) Little is known of the Brotherhood of Green Necromancers, and most of what is known is rumor as opposed to fact. While claiming to want to put a better face on the necromantic profession, they are often accused of worshiping devils, and seeking to build armies of undead.
(11) DM’s Note: This masterwork great sword cost Ratchis, 990 pieces of silver, after the hammer trade-in, he only had to pay 440. The great sword grants a +1 to attack rolls, and a +2 to damage rolls.
-----------------------------------------------
Notes:
(1) While the dwarven community in Verdun has a temple chamber they gather to pray in. It is not officially a hallowed place.
(2) These are a series of prayers that are sung aloud upon undertaking work for the first time in the morning.
(3) Traditional dwarven education for females includes a basic knowledge of both warcraft and metal and stone craft, as they are expected to fill a support role in times of war or disaster. Male dwarves are not typically taught any of the skills considered to be in the domain of females.
(4) All dwarven prayers are book-ended by opening and closing lines common to all prayers that indicate what is about to be said (and what was just said) was meant for the gods alone.
(5) High Priests of the dwarven faith have one or more direct assistants that serve them in different capacities. One or more dwarves can hold any number of positions. Thus, a high priest with a small staff of immediate servants might have one servant that has the title of “Hands and Voice” of the High Priest, while another could have three servants which act as the “Hands, Voice and Eyes” of the High Priest (one for each title), or some might even have several assistants that hold the same title. These assistants are always priests of note, often holding other useful skills useful to the temple, whether it be orator, historian, bodyguard, tactician or a myriad of others.
(6) The Hand of Natan-Ahb was found in the Pit of Bones (see session #60).
(7) Barak-Rrin-Sonn roughtly translates into “Shield Above Good Stone” and is the name of the citadel that sunk into what is now the Pit of Bones.
(8) DM’s Note: Kazrack was ready for training to gain 3rd level spells and had some skill points to spend. He also would be crafting masterwork full plate.
(9) The Garden of Stones was the cemetery and monastery of Anubis the party passed right outside of Nikar. (see Session #67)
(10) Little is known of the Brotherhood of Green Necromancers, and most of what is known is rumor as opposed to fact. While claiming to want to put a better face on the necromantic profession, they are often accused of worshiping devils, and seeking to build armies of undead.
(11) DM’s Note: This masterwork great sword cost Ratchis, 990 pieces of silver, after the hammer trade-in, he only had to pay 440. The great sword grants a +1 to attack rolls, and a +2 to damage rolls.
Graywolf-ELM
Explorer
Thanks for the DM notes too. I like the idea, and will probably use it for future installments of my own story hour.
GW
GW
Graywolf-ELM
Explorer
nemmerle said:
Yes, and I've enjoyed them over time, and commented on them before if I'm not mistaken. You had enough of them for their own post this go round.
I'm just noting that I saw it here best, before I *borrow* it.
GW
el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
Graywolf-ELM said:
Yeah, I use them because I like to avoid exposition in the writing of the story hour, and yet there is info I think people might like to have about background stuff.
Graywolf-ELM said:I'm just noting that I saw it here best, before I *borrow* it.
GW
I hardly invented endnotes for you to be teling me you're borrowing the idea . . .
But I'm glad I could inspire. . .
Dherys Thal
First Post
The gift that keeps on giving
This campaign often depresses me, and yet I keep reading it - the details and the 'realism' are what's so enjoyable I guess. The last couple of posts have been a great deal of fun to read.
It's a very distinctive story hour in terms of its flavor. Realism is probably the right word - the injuries are severe, people die routinely (but not in a campy LoT way - not bagging on LoT) and instead of thinking of the PCs and feeling care-free and mythical, one instead feels surrounded by ominous portents, burdened, tired, injured etc. - which on some level makes the heroism more meaningful.
I'm relieved that Kazrack is finally well again - I was developing an empathic complex for the poor bastard. He truly is the Job of Aquerra.
I really worry about Martin's book and this necromancer in town as well - something in the back of my mind says the party are being used as pawns, but I can't say why.
This campaign often depresses me, and yet I keep reading it - the details and the 'realism' are what's so enjoyable I guess. The last couple of posts have been a great deal of fun to read.
It's a very distinctive story hour in terms of its flavor. Realism is probably the right word - the injuries are severe, people die routinely (but not in a campy LoT way - not bagging on LoT) and instead of thinking of the PCs and feeling care-free and mythical, one instead feels surrounded by ominous portents, burdened, tired, injured etc. - which on some level makes the heroism more meaningful.
I'm relieved that Kazrack is finally well again - I was developing an empathic complex for the poor bastard. He truly is the Job of Aquerra.
I really worry about Martin's book and this necromancer in town as well - something in the back of my mind says the party are being used as pawns, but I can't say why.
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el-remmen
Moderator Emeritus
Dherys Thal said:
Well, thanks for continuing to read despite the depression. . .
Heck, I should thank my players for continuing to play despite the grim atmosphere of the campaign.
As for the distinctive flavor, I work hard to get it to come through in the story - and really want to give the impression that the heroes are struggling in a larger world of which they are a very small (and yet increasinly crucial) part.
I won't comment on the speculation. . .
