Just a question for anyone who has been reading this journal. How difficult is it to follow? I realize that some of the details are being lost, and that with each posting being from a different PC it is a bit like putting a puzzle together to get the whole picture. I'm hoping that it is at least possible to get a pretty good sense of the whole picture, but because I've been running each game session and have a very clear picture of all that has happened my vision is skewed. It is hard for me to discern how difficult it is for the reader to piece together. Feel free to let me know if you have any thoughts on this or if there are any events that you wish more details about (I can try to fill in any holes).
PHDungeons Nentir Vale homebrew
feedback!
Hey PH,
It's a fun read, and usually the letters bring out a nice element. But yeah, at other times, it's difficult to follow. I usually skim through the letters until I reach your summary, then go back and read through them. Both the journals and summaries are pretty well written, and you seem like a creative and talented bunch, but it is a lot like putting together a puzzle: enjoyable, but can be tedious at times. It's almost like reading 4-5 stories at once, counting the summary, which can be overwhelming for lazy readers like me who sometimes want to just cut to the chase
. You may want to consider removing the summaries, or make them smaller or less frequent. The letters usually give enough of an idea of what's going on, especially with three of them together (sometimes more). Most D&D stories only include a single player's (or DM's perspective), and stand well on that alone. I think it's fantastic that all of you are so interested in writing so much, and writing it very well.
Hey PH,
It's a fun read, and usually the letters bring out a nice element. But yeah, at other times, it's difficult to follow. I usually skim through the letters until I reach your summary, then go back and read through them. Both the journals and summaries are pretty well written, and you seem like a creative and talented bunch, but it is a lot like putting together a puzzle: enjoyable, but can be tedious at times. It's almost like reading 4-5 stories at once, counting the summary, which can be overwhelming for lazy readers like me who sometimes want to just cut to the chase
. You may want to consider removing the summaries, or make them smaller or less frequent. The letters usually give enough of an idea of what's going on, especially with three of them together (sometimes more). Most D&D stories only include a single player's (or DM's perspective), and stand well on that alone. I think it's fantastic that all of you are so interested in writing so much, and writing it very well.
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A rare journal from Deryl Androsax...
….written just after a rather bizarre dinner with Nimorzan
Dear Diary,
I had the same dream last night...the one with the pale, eyeless face crying tears of blood…I think it is trying to speak with me. I kept trying to ‘lean in’ closer to hear what it had to say, but then I realized that its lips are stitched together. I refer to it only because I can’t determine if it is male or female. I tried to interact, but like last time, the face faded away and I was left dreaming of my dagger.
I can’t put my finger on why exactly, but with this dagger I feel more complete somehow, and in other ways not completely myself. Take today for example…now I’ve never had much respect for the Church of Rao, or her clergy…but today’s display with the priest en route was definitely out of character. The words came so quickly, but it was like someone was prompting me…and while I’m not exactly apologetic I am a little…surprised. No longer am I hiding behind my brother; saying this I realize something. I have changed. I am no longer looking to reclaim the proud Androsax family history and re-establish the family name; I am becoming my own person, and I will establish my own name. It’s just as well, as Derren is more likely to become a garden statuary long before the Androsax’s name is restored.
Magic flows more easily through me these days too, and this is definitely a result of the dagger. I can feel the magic thrum within my body just by holding the dagger…before I was always a little fearful of my talent…now? I crave more…like a man in the desert craves water.
I’m not sure how much help Nimorzan will be, but he does have an exciting Library. Offering to help him learn how to read seems like a fair enough exchange, simply allowing me access to his books. Experience seems to be the best teacher anyway. I see now why my brother enters into melee with such merry abandon. There is this rush of adrenaline, and then the magic takes over…and it is like everything slows down and you’re watching the battlefield with a bird’s eye view, taking it all in, each sword thrust, each bow shot, each battle cry…and then magic explodes from you! And it is…awesome!
The next thing you know is you are almost spent, drained, but tingling with the residuals of battle magics, surrounded by swamp goblins or troll flesh. And you just know, the magic did that…I did that!
Well, it’s early to bed tonight. The first reading lesson has tapped the last of my reserves and I’m tired from the journey.
….written just after a rather bizarre dinner with Nimorzan
Dear Diary,
I had the same dream last night...the one with the pale, eyeless face crying tears of blood…I think it is trying to speak with me. I kept trying to ‘lean in’ closer to hear what it had to say, but then I realized that its lips are stitched together. I refer to it only because I can’t determine if it is male or female. I tried to interact, but like last time, the face faded away and I was left dreaming of my dagger.
I can’t put my finger on why exactly, but with this dagger I feel more complete somehow, and in other ways not completely myself. Take today for example…now I’ve never had much respect for the Church of Rao, or her clergy…but today’s display with the priest en route was definitely out of character. The words came so quickly, but it was like someone was prompting me…and while I’m not exactly apologetic I am a little…surprised. No longer am I hiding behind my brother; saying this I realize something. I have changed. I am no longer looking to reclaim the proud Androsax family history and re-establish the family name; I am becoming my own person, and I will establish my own name. It’s just as well, as Derren is more likely to become a garden statuary long before the Androsax’s name is restored.
Magic flows more easily through me these days too, and this is definitely a result of the dagger. I can feel the magic thrum within my body just by holding the dagger…before I was always a little fearful of my talent…now? I crave more…like a man in the desert craves water.
I’m not sure how much help Nimorzan will be, but he does have an exciting Library. Offering to help him learn how to read seems like a fair enough exchange, simply allowing me access to his books. Experience seems to be the best teacher anyway. I see now why my brother enters into melee with such merry abandon. There is this rush of adrenaline, and then the magic takes over…and it is like everything slows down and you’re watching the battlefield with a bird’s eye view, taking it all in, each sword thrust, each bow shot, each battle cry…and then magic explodes from you! And it is…awesome!
The next thing you know is you are almost spent, drained, but tingling with the residuals of battle magics, surrounded by swamp goblins or troll flesh. And you just know, the magic did that…I did that!
Well, it’s early to bed tonight. The first reading lesson has tapped the last of my reserves and I’m tired from the journey.
Bella's journal from Session #12.
Session 12 – Thief of Shadows
I seem to have been infected with the foolishness of an Androsax!! The Thief of Shadows came close to taking me today and all because of my bloodlust. It makes me wonder if I shouldn’t tell my companions of my true nature. We are growing in power and if we do not have the ability now we will soon be able to even call back the dead. What would they think if I were to fall and revert back to my true form? Would they even bring me back? If my identity were compromised like that…would I want them to? It is much to think about, but I will leave it for another time.
A relatively small orc raiding party made an assault on the city and awoke Deryl and I from our slumber. We had separated from the party and were staying at Master Nimorzan’s Tower. We hurriedly…well I hurriedly, prepared for battle (Deryl not needing armor or anything didn’t have to) and we rushed out to cut a dangerous path across the city to the inn where our companions were staying.
To my surprise and alarm I realized that I partially understood the warcries of the orcs. It was not only them, I find that the strange tongue that the humans use and the Draconic used in many arcane texts is also being translated by a whisper in my mind that uses my own voice.
When we arrived, the inn was under siege, as was much of high town. I rushed to get a good vantage point on the raiding party and am ashamed to admit, semi-abandoned Deryl to her fate. Looking back I found her surrounded, I did my best to take down her foes but none of my bolts found their mark. I was relieved that, as I have come to expect, the girl could take care of herself. She dispatched her enemies with haste then with a desperate glance around, most likely looking for me, took to air and landed on the roof of the inn.
I spent the remainder of the fight running and taking shots when I could. I found Bjorn had fallen and could see that he was bleeding to death. Unfortunately a group of lowly foot soldiers ambushed me just as I was going to help him. I dealt with them quickly and rushed back to his side. I was just in time to administer a healing potion calling back my companion from the brink of death.
The orcs were using a Hill Giant to stop re-enforcements from climbing up the escarpment stairs from Lowtown. I put several bolts in the thing that caused it great pain and hampered its ability to move, though it was still quite competent at rock hurling. Darren was stupid enough to engage it melee, and suffered a couple of nasty blows from its great club. However, we eventually brought down our first giant with no casualties, and the dwarven mercenaries from Low Town were able to join us. We then learned that the temple of Thor was being burned down and Bjorn rushed off to their aid. We had no choice but to follow.
It was here where I acted rashly and it almost cost me my life. Deryl was able to get me onto the roof of the Church where I found I could pick and choose targets with little threat of retaliation. My mark was the standard bearer, if he fell the moral of the orcs would waver and perhaps they would retreat. After I had harried him with many bolts he retreated from my gaze into the church. I was enraged and could only think of my reputation: No one escapes me. With that thought in mind I leapt off the roof landing gracefully on the ground and letting loose the killing bolt into the standard bearer’s head.
Unfortunately, I did not have much time to celebrate my victory. Enraged by my success the orc chieftain charged from the doorway, and I suffered the full force of his wrath. The last thing I witnessed before letting the darkness take me was his spiked shield slamming into my face dropping me to the ground, and his cry of triumph at taking his revenge. Fortunately, Bjorn was able to get to me and I awoke to find his concerned face looking down on me.
In the time I was incapacitated the battlefield had altered drastically. An iron dragon had joined our fight against the orcs and was engaged in full battle with my assailant. Their standard bearer dead, their leader surrounded and facing a dragon, the orcs moral finally broke. They scattered and abandoned their chieftain to his fate. The chieftain fought to the last, but being outnumbered it was a futile effort and it did not take long before he fell.
The Iron Dragon has landed a little ways off and seems to seek an audience. It is not wise to be involved in the affairs of a dragon, but we have little choice in the matter. Hopefully, whatever it has to say will bode well for us.
Session 12 – Thief of Shadows
I seem to have been infected with the foolishness of an Androsax!! The Thief of Shadows came close to taking me today and all because of my bloodlust. It makes me wonder if I shouldn’t tell my companions of my true nature. We are growing in power and if we do not have the ability now we will soon be able to even call back the dead. What would they think if I were to fall and revert back to my true form? Would they even bring me back? If my identity were compromised like that…would I want them to? It is much to think about, but I will leave it for another time.
A relatively small orc raiding party made an assault on the city and awoke Deryl and I from our slumber. We had separated from the party and were staying at Master Nimorzan’s Tower. We hurriedly…well I hurriedly, prepared for battle (Deryl not needing armor or anything didn’t have to) and we rushed out to cut a dangerous path across the city to the inn where our companions were staying.
To my surprise and alarm I realized that I partially understood the warcries of the orcs. It was not only them, I find that the strange tongue that the humans use and the Draconic used in many arcane texts is also being translated by a whisper in my mind that uses my own voice.
When we arrived, the inn was under siege, as was much of high town. I rushed to get a good vantage point on the raiding party and am ashamed to admit, semi-abandoned Deryl to her fate. Looking back I found her surrounded, I did my best to take down her foes but none of my bolts found their mark. I was relieved that, as I have come to expect, the girl could take care of herself. She dispatched her enemies with haste then with a desperate glance around, most likely looking for me, took to air and landed on the roof of the inn.
I spent the remainder of the fight running and taking shots when I could. I found Bjorn had fallen and could see that he was bleeding to death. Unfortunately a group of lowly foot soldiers ambushed me just as I was going to help him. I dealt with them quickly and rushed back to his side. I was just in time to administer a healing potion calling back my companion from the brink of death.
The orcs were using a Hill Giant to stop re-enforcements from climbing up the escarpment stairs from Lowtown. I put several bolts in the thing that caused it great pain and hampered its ability to move, though it was still quite competent at rock hurling. Darren was stupid enough to engage it melee, and suffered a couple of nasty blows from its great club. However, we eventually brought down our first giant with no casualties, and the dwarven mercenaries from Low Town were able to join us. We then learned that the temple of Thor was being burned down and Bjorn rushed off to their aid. We had no choice but to follow.
It was here where I acted rashly and it almost cost me my life. Deryl was able to get me onto the roof of the Church where I found I could pick and choose targets with little threat of retaliation. My mark was the standard bearer, if he fell the moral of the orcs would waver and perhaps they would retreat. After I had harried him with many bolts he retreated from my gaze into the church. I was enraged and could only think of my reputation: No one escapes me. With that thought in mind I leapt off the roof landing gracefully on the ground and letting loose the killing bolt into the standard bearer’s head.
Unfortunately, I did not have much time to celebrate my victory. Enraged by my success the orc chieftain charged from the doorway, and I suffered the full force of his wrath. The last thing I witnessed before letting the darkness take me was his spiked shield slamming into my face dropping me to the ground, and his cry of triumph at taking his revenge. Fortunately, Bjorn was able to get to me and I awoke to find his concerned face looking down on me.
In the time I was incapacitated the battlefield had altered drastically. An iron dragon had joined our fight against the orcs and was engaged in full battle with my assailant. Their standard bearer dead, their leader surrounded and facing a dragon, the orcs moral finally broke. They scattered and abandoned their chieftain to his fate. The chieftain fought to the last, but being outnumbered it was a futile effort and it did not take long before he fell.
The Iron Dragon has landed a little ways off and seems to seek an audience. It is not wise to be involved in the affairs of a dragon, but we have little choice in the matter. Hopefully, whatever it has to say will bode well for us.
Dear Diary,
I had no time for dreams last night; the city was roused by orc attack and reality quickly turned into a nightmare. I admit that I am bone tired but all things considered I am mostly unscathed from the night’s misadventures. There are many wounded and many more dead but the city defenses hold for now…if rumours be true all this is the result of but one orc clan.
What will we do with the hundreds gathering yet?
I am concerned for Derren; his mind really wasn’t in the battle and he came closer to death than I care to think about. He is paler now than Mama’s best linens; mooning over that librarian I suppose. She’ll mourn him little, I expect, should he get himself killed here in Fallcrest.
I admit a bit of distraction too; I was tremendously curious to see ‘the wizard’ in action but we were too quickly pulled into the thick of things.
The orcs have aligned with the trolls and hill giants; what the forces lack in intelligence they make up for in brute force. I’m convinced though that there is a fourth faction somewhere spearheading these attacks. The initial troll attack, swimming in to penetrate deeper into high-town, was tactically sound and quiet unexpected.
Bella and I made our way back to the Inn but soon found ourselves just outside the periphery of a larger orc force bolstered by one of the hill giants. I immediately thought to get Bella and I onto the roof of the Inn; offering us a better vantage point. She was fleeter of foot than I thought; we were separated and set upon by orcs. So caught up in the battle scene around us we were completely unaware that our three companions were already in the thick of things around front; they facing off against more orcs and a troll.
I don’t have the same battle lust as Derren or Bjorn but thanks to my magic I’ve so far been able to hold my own. I admit that last night I lost track of the number of orcs we felled, so great were their numbers.
Still it wasn’t long before the battle momentum brought us together to face of against the hill giant. By this time I had made it to the roof. The scene below was not a pretty one. Bella and Bjorn were down at different times and Torfin was hard pressed. Still we managed to regain our footing and coordinate to fell the beast and the last of the orcs.
This was but one of many battles though. The cityscape was choked with smoke and the air was thick with the smell of burnt wood and flesh.
We had little time to rest; the orc Standard was in full sight just north of our location. We hazarded its location to be near Thor’s Temple. Indeed the street corridor around the temple was congested with orcs and the temple had already been penetrated by enemy forces. By the time we arrived, the Dwarven forces had joined the fray, and at Bjorn’s command we were able to focus on the temple.
The orcs here were in full battle frenzy, and stronger for it. I again took to the roof with Bella. Things were unfolding well until Bella took to mind that she would fell the banner carrier; a good idea and flawless execution. However, it enraged the orc chieftan, hidden from view in the temple itself. Bella is brilliant with a bow, but she fell quickly to the Chief’s furious onslaught of attacks.
Bjorn and Derren were by this time surrounded by beserkers; Derren seemed to be in bad shape; he was terribly unfocused and his sword arm was sluggish. I feared the worst when I lost sight of him as he fell to a swarm of attacks. Torfin too, was having difficulty and eventually began a fighting retreat.
We were slower to regain our footing but fortunately the gods were with us; quite literally. Our meager force was bolstered by the appearance of an iron dragon who squared off against the orc chief. Let me tell you, that chief dished out a lot of hurt to that dragon, but ultimately fell against superior force.
I’m in awe of the dragon and hope we can encounter it again, if only to say ‘thank you’. Our more immediate attention went to reviving our fallen comrades. We separated again to scout out the city’s security.
And here I am, exhausted…Bella is already snoring.
I had no time for dreams last night; the city was roused by orc attack and reality quickly turned into a nightmare. I admit that I am bone tired but all things considered I am mostly unscathed from the night’s misadventures. There are many wounded and many more dead but the city defenses hold for now…if rumours be true all this is the result of but one orc clan.
What will we do with the hundreds gathering yet?
I am concerned for Derren; his mind really wasn’t in the battle and he came closer to death than I care to think about. He is paler now than Mama’s best linens; mooning over that librarian I suppose. She’ll mourn him little, I expect, should he get himself killed here in Fallcrest.
I admit a bit of distraction too; I was tremendously curious to see ‘the wizard’ in action but we were too quickly pulled into the thick of things.
The orcs have aligned with the trolls and hill giants; what the forces lack in intelligence they make up for in brute force. I’m convinced though that there is a fourth faction somewhere spearheading these attacks. The initial troll attack, swimming in to penetrate deeper into high-town, was tactically sound and quiet unexpected.
Bella and I made our way back to the Inn but soon found ourselves just outside the periphery of a larger orc force bolstered by one of the hill giants. I immediately thought to get Bella and I onto the roof of the Inn; offering us a better vantage point. She was fleeter of foot than I thought; we were separated and set upon by orcs. So caught up in the battle scene around us we were completely unaware that our three companions were already in the thick of things around front; they facing off against more orcs and a troll.
I don’t have the same battle lust as Derren or Bjorn but thanks to my magic I’ve so far been able to hold my own. I admit that last night I lost track of the number of orcs we felled, so great were their numbers.
Still it wasn’t long before the battle momentum brought us together to face of against the hill giant. By this time I had made it to the roof. The scene below was not a pretty one. Bella and Bjorn were down at different times and Torfin was hard pressed. Still we managed to regain our footing and coordinate to fell the beast and the last of the orcs.
This was but one of many battles though. The cityscape was choked with smoke and the air was thick with the smell of burnt wood and flesh.
We had little time to rest; the orc Standard was in full sight just north of our location. We hazarded its location to be near Thor’s Temple. Indeed the street corridor around the temple was congested with orcs and the temple had already been penetrated by enemy forces. By the time we arrived, the Dwarven forces had joined the fray, and at Bjorn’s command we were able to focus on the temple.
The orcs here were in full battle frenzy, and stronger for it. I again took to the roof with Bella. Things were unfolding well until Bella took to mind that she would fell the banner carrier; a good idea and flawless execution. However, it enraged the orc chieftan, hidden from view in the temple itself. Bella is brilliant with a bow, but she fell quickly to the Chief’s furious onslaught of attacks.
Bjorn and Derren were by this time surrounded by beserkers; Derren seemed to be in bad shape; he was terribly unfocused and his sword arm was sluggish. I feared the worst when I lost sight of him as he fell to a swarm of attacks. Torfin too, was having difficulty and eventually began a fighting retreat.
We were slower to regain our footing but fortunately the gods were with us; quite literally. Our meager force was bolstered by the appearance of an iron dragon who squared off against the orc chief. Let me tell you, that chief dished out a lot of hurt to that dragon, but ultimately fell against superior force.
I’m in awe of the dragon and hope we can encounter it again, if only to say ‘thank you’. Our more immediate attention went to reviving our fallen comrades. We separated again to scout out the city’s security.
And here I am, exhausted…Bella is already snoring.
A journal from Bella regarding game session #13
The meeting with the iron dragon went well, but had nothing to do with us. She had been forced out of her home by a rival red dragon named Rathnir, and was now using a nearby silver mine for her lair. She was making a deal with Fallcrest for tribute and protection. Seeing as they were besieged by orc tribes Lord Malkahay had little choice but to accept and was lucky the dragon offered such a fair deal.
One dragon alone could not defeat the massive hoard outside, that apparently was our job.
Their plan was stupid and would only get me killed.
Let me break it down. My companions expected to sneak into the camp of thousands of Orcs, stealth (seriously, they expected to be stealthy) their way to the chieftain’s longhouse, kill the leader of the Blood Spear tribe (the one who had gathered this massive force), and then tip toe out with no one being the wiser.
This was their plan as presented to Lord Malkahay, and they told him that we would discuss it. My recent brush with death weighing heavily on my mind and seeing the suicide mission before me, I felt I had little choice. I revealed myself to my companions. Most had not even heard of changelings, my race merely a rumour. I showed them what I was capable of, becoming a female orc before their eyes, my top stretching against the added girth. They accepted the revelation faster than expected. My only concern is Derren. Deryl and Bjorn are sensible and Torfinn is silent as a grave. If the Androsax lordling reveals my secret to anyone I will have to kill him.
My magical mark appears to be more of a boon then a bane. I awoke this morning fluent in several languages, including the rough language of the orcs. I also was struck with an epiphany and suddenly the rituals in Flagg’s book made complete sense to me. Any time I alter shape it remains on my back, marking me, a curse to any changeling but it may be worth the price. The mark may have figured heavily in my decision to reveal myself.
My ability to alter shape has always been rather useless without being able to prepare ahead of time, something that is lacking in our little group. My body is the only thing I can alter and without the clothes of my twin I would be easily spotted as a fake. I also do not receive any special abilities of the race that I impersonate; the orcs’ darkvision would be a prime example. One of the largest problems though is in communication. I have never had a command of languages and being a mute of any race only draws attention. Finally, I could start using my shape changing as a more potent tool.
It is said that there was a dwarven Lord General that had magical chainmail forged for him that could become any set of clothing he wished. It would have been useful for me, but I can only wear leather armor with confidence. Apparently, only a heavy metal can sustain the magical lattice necessary for sub-structural change. Smokingbeard, my dwarven forgemaster back in Grimsburg, described the process to me in excrutiating detail long ago. Unfortunately, my powers were in their infancy, and I was not able to grasp the basic principles. Now looking back upon my notes I understand, and given my own innate understanding of morphic fields when applied to living matter, I just may be able to apply the magic to my own leather armor. It is a project I intend to dedicate myself to in earnest this coming month.
I acquired the stinking armor off the corpse of an orc and assumed his shape. My own companions disguises were basic, but given the orcs reputation for laziness they would all be focused on me and therefore allow us to pass. Our plan was simple. Bluff our way into the command center as members of the Roteye tribe that had raided the city, once we had gained an audience with the commander, lock the door behind us and attack.
Approaching the gate to the palisade, I appeared more confident then I felt. We were surrounded by thousands of orcs, if anything went wrong we were dead. The guards at the gate questioned us. We had Deryl in a sack, and I showed her to them saying that she was a tribute for the chief. My acting was not at its best, but after a few jabs from the orcs at the failure of the Roteyes we were allowed an audience. Fortunately, Thor had blessed us with a great storm, and they didn’t have much interest from the shelter of the eaves to give us a close inspection.
We were led by a single orc to a longhouse in the center of steading where inside the sound of guttural laughter and merry making issued. When I crested the threshold my eyes watered, and I had to choke back the bile that rose in my throat, the smell of unwashed bodies was unbearable. I disguised my disgust and shock at seeing the leader of the orc army, sitting back in his throne, his pants down and some orcish whore’s mouth busily working away on him right in front of his followers.
Upon seeing us, he waved the women away and covered his “zug, zug” with his quilt, much to my relief. He demanded to see my tribute, and I was only too glad to show him, eager to finish this one way or another. I waved Bjorn forward, and he placed Deryl upon the table and removed the sack.
That was the signal. With a wave of her hand the sorceress and I were whisked up into the air and among the rafters. I unleashed a bolt from my crossbow at the commander. I aimed my bolt carefully to ensure that I would no longer have to suffer any more carnal displays. He howled in pain and rage just as Torfinn was able to place the bar upon the door and lock us in.
It was a hard fight, but that is only to be expected as we were trapped in there with some of the army’s greatest warriors. At one point one of them managed to catch me with a wine cask and knocked me from my perch. I scrambled across the floor, orcs pressing in on me, their cruel blades digging into my flesh. Every time I killed one another would take his place, but with desperate glances I could see their number was dwindling, we were going to win. When I had one last assailant I ended up near Derren, who was able to pull him off of me. Looking past him, I could see that one orc had thought to try and open the door to bring in re-enforcements. Luckily, Deryl and I were able to execute him before he was able to execute his plan.
In the end we were victorious. The only problem left was getting out of there.
I quickly ran over to the orc chief and began stripping off his clothes. While I changed my companions searched the longhouse, using my bag of holding to take as many treasures as possible. When all was ready I threw open the doors to the long house and gathered the entire garrison around me, impersonating their leader. They were afraid of my wrath, and I screamed in outrage at the attempt upon my life by the Roteyes and commanded them to seek out the Roteyes and kill them all for this insult. A few questioned these orders but a single strike was enough to silence them and send them scurrying out into the camp.
All that was left was calling down our Iron Dragon ally to make a distraction and leave us alone to make our escape. We beheaded the orc chief and gave it to the dragon to drop among his army once we were far enough away.
And yet we did not escape.
Deryl had heard that prisoners were being held in one of the buildings somehow and wished to free them. I was sure that the little girl was going to doom us. Both Bjorn and Derren wanted to rescue the prisoners but could not see how we could do so without becoming prisoners ourselves, but Deryl had a plan.
We climbed the wall on the river side of the palisade that did not face the orc camp and used the ladders to provide an easy way to get out. While the rest of us made for the boat, both Derren and Deryl helped the prisoners across the river (forcing them to swim or use pieces of wood to float). They then set about making their way on foot back to Fallcrest. I left them to their fate, their altruism would get them killed one day.
When most of us were away, the dragon dropped his grisly war trophy. It had the affect we wished. The orcs turned on eachother, as the different factions and tribes attempted to assume command. By morning many of the orcs had abandoned the siege and those who remained were still fighting amongst themselves. It was easy for the militia of Fallcrest and the dwarves from Hammerfast to send them running.
Lord Malkahay was ecstatic; we were welcomed back as heroes. I did not join the festivities but instead I made my way to Master Nimorzan’s tower. Finally I believed I was ready to cast a ritual, I had much work to do though I lacked the resources.
The meeting with the iron dragon went well, but had nothing to do with us. She had been forced out of her home by a rival red dragon named Rathnir, and was now using a nearby silver mine for her lair. She was making a deal with Fallcrest for tribute and protection. Seeing as they were besieged by orc tribes Lord Malkahay had little choice but to accept and was lucky the dragon offered such a fair deal.
One dragon alone could not defeat the massive hoard outside, that apparently was our job.
Their plan was stupid and would only get me killed.
Let me break it down. My companions expected to sneak into the camp of thousands of Orcs, stealth (seriously, they expected to be stealthy) their way to the chieftain’s longhouse, kill the leader of the Blood Spear tribe (the one who had gathered this massive force), and then tip toe out with no one being the wiser.
This was their plan as presented to Lord Malkahay, and they told him that we would discuss it. My recent brush with death weighing heavily on my mind and seeing the suicide mission before me, I felt I had little choice. I revealed myself to my companions. Most had not even heard of changelings, my race merely a rumour. I showed them what I was capable of, becoming a female orc before their eyes, my top stretching against the added girth. They accepted the revelation faster than expected. My only concern is Derren. Deryl and Bjorn are sensible and Torfinn is silent as a grave. If the Androsax lordling reveals my secret to anyone I will have to kill him.
My magical mark appears to be more of a boon then a bane. I awoke this morning fluent in several languages, including the rough language of the orcs. I also was struck with an epiphany and suddenly the rituals in Flagg’s book made complete sense to me. Any time I alter shape it remains on my back, marking me, a curse to any changeling but it may be worth the price. The mark may have figured heavily in my decision to reveal myself.
My ability to alter shape has always been rather useless without being able to prepare ahead of time, something that is lacking in our little group. My body is the only thing I can alter and without the clothes of my twin I would be easily spotted as a fake. I also do not receive any special abilities of the race that I impersonate; the orcs’ darkvision would be a prime example. One of the largest problems though is in communication. I have never had a command of languages and being a mute of any race only draws attention. Finally, I could start using my shape changing as a more potent tool.
It is said that there was a dwarven Lord General that had magical chainmail forged for him that could become any set of clothing he wished. It would have been useful for me, but I can only wear leather armor with confidence. Apparently, only a heavy metal can sustain the magical lattice necessary for sub-structural change. Smokingbeard, my dwarven forgemaster back in Grimsburg, described the process to me in excrutiating detail long ago. Unfortunately, my powers were in their infancy, and I was not able to grasp the basic principles. Now looking back upon my notes I understand, and given my own innate understanding of morphic fields when applied to living matter, I just may be able to apply the magic to my own leather armor. It is a project I intend to dedicate myself to in earnest this coming month.
I acquired the stinking armor off the corpse of an orc and assumed his shape. My own companions disguises were basic, but given the orcs reputation for laziness they would all be focused on me and therefore allow us to pass. Our plan was simple. Bluff our way into the command center as members of the Roteye tribe that had raided the city, once we had gained an audience with the commander, lock the door behind us and attack.
Approaching the gate to the palisade, I appeared more confident then I felt. We were surrounded by thousands of orcs, if anything went wrong we were dead. The guards at the gate questioned us. We had Deryl in a sack, and I showed her to them saying that she was a tribute for the chief. My acting was not at its best, but after a few jabs from the orcs at the failure of the Roteyes we were allowed an audience. Fortunately, Thor had blessed us with a great storm, and they didn’t have much interest from the shelter of the eaves to give us a close inspection.
We were led by a single orc to a longhouse in the center of steading where inside the sound of guttural laughter and merry making issued. When I crested the threshold my eyes watered, and I had to choke back the bile that rose in my throat, the smell of unwashed bodies was unbearable. I disguised my disgust and shock at seeing the leader of the orc army, sitting back in his throne, his pants down and some orcish whore’s mouth busily working away on him right in front of his followers.
Upon seeing us, he waved the women away and covered his “zug, zug” with his quilt, much to my relief. He demanded to see my tribute, and I was only too glad to show him, eager to finish this one way or another. I waved Bjorn forward, and he placed Deryl upon the table and removed the sack.
That was the signal. With a wave of her hand the sorceress and I were whisked up into the air and among the rafters. I unleashed a bolt from my crossbow at the commander. I aimed my bolt carefully to ensure that I would no longer have to suffer any more carnal displays. He howled in pain and rage just as Torfinn was able to place the bar upon the door and lock us in.
It was a hard fight, but that is only to be expected as we were trapped in there with some of the army’s greatest warriors. At one point one of them managed to catch me with a wine cask and knocked me from my perch. I scrambled across the floor, orcs pressing in on me, their cruel blades digging into my flesh. Every time I killed one another would take his place, but with desperate glances I could see their number was dwindling, we were going to win. When I had one last assailant I ended up near Derren, who was able to pull him off of me. Looking past him, I could see that one orc had thought to try and open the door to bring in re-enforcements. Luckily, Deryl and I were able to execute him before he was able to execute his plan.
In the end we were victorious. The only problem left was getting out of there.
I quickly ran over to the orc chief and began stripping off his clothes. While I changed my companions searched the longhouse, using my bag of holding to take as many treasures as possible. When all was ready I threw open the doors to the long house and gathered the entire garrison around me, impersonating their leader. They were afraid of my wrath, and I screamed in outrage at the attempt upon my life by the Roteyes and commanded them to seek out the Roteyes and kill them all for this insult. A few questioned these orders but a single strike was enough to silence them and send them scurrying out into the camp.
All that was left was calling down our Iron Dragon ally to make a distraction and leave us alone to make our escape. We beheaded the orc chief and gave it to the dragon to drop among his army once we were far enough away.
And yet we did not escape.
Deryl had heard that prisoners were being held in one of the buildings somehow and wished to free them. I was sure that the little girl was going to doom us. Both Bjorn and Derren wanted to rescue the prisoners but could not see how we could do so without becoming prisoners ourselves, but Deryl had a plan.
We climbed the wall on the river side of the palisade that did not face the orc camp and used the ladders to provide an easy way to get out. While the rest of us made for the boat, both Derren and Deryl helped the prisoners across the river (forcing them to swim or use pieces of wood to float). They then set about making their way on foot back to Fallcrest. I left them to their fate, their altruism would get them killed one day.
When most of us were away, the dragon dropped his grisly war trophy. It had the affect we wished. The orcs turned on eachother, as the different factions and tribes attempted to assume command. By morning many of the orcs had abandoned the siege and those who remained were still fighting amongst themselves. It was easy for the militia of Fallcrest and the dwarves from Hammerfast to send them running.
Lord Malkahay was ecstatic; we were welcomed back as heroes. I did not join the festivities but instead I made my way to Master Nimorzan’s tower. Finally I believed I was ready to cast a ritual, I had much work to do though I lacked the resources.
A journal from Darren regarding events of game sessions 12 and 13
Dear Corvin,
Since I last wrote, we successfully defended Fallcrest form an orc raid, and then struck the viper in the eye, causing their planned invasion to fall apart.
The raid was brutal, and we were divided for a while. I managed to help take down my second troll, and must say I am developing quite a knack for it. Only this time, I knew better than to fight near its hungry maw – instead, I clung to its backside like an overgrown – and handsome, might I add – stirge. Eventually, our party drove the orcs and their giant and troll allies back to the gate. The night was ours!
We parlayed with Kasinth, the first dragon I have had the shock and awe to meet. She seemed calculating, intelligent and was sizing us up all the time. A little like Bella, come to think of it. And while she would kill me if she ever found out I told you, she has more in common with reptiles than just her personality. The girl possesses the abilities of a chameleon.
Anyway, the dragon has fled a more powerful red from the hills north, who in turn is cowed by the great white dragon Ullmir himself. I fear that the evil in the elemental temple of eyes and skulls is behind all this. I cannot wait to test my mettle against a dragon. “Wait”, Bjorn says. And I will listen, for now.
Deryl continues to grow in power at an alarming rate. Her dreams have worsened, and there is little I can do to stop it but pray: Rao, Thor, Odin – it matters not.
After the orc raid, we hatched a daring plan to assassinate their leader, a Bloodspear orc named Turash. Some scouting and Bella’s knack for deception brought us strait into his longhouse. We had to use Deryl as bait, but don’t worry, she was up in a safety of the rafters the moment the fighting began. Do I ever need to worry about Deryl? I think the world needs to worry about her. The fighting was a desperate, bloody mess, but in the end, I cut Turash’s throat and we claimed a spear so mighty that none of use dare to wield it. I may have to take up spear fighting, if only to plunge it down the throat of Rathnir, the red dragon over hill.
Now – for some poetry and dire warnings for Briannah!
Your devoted brother,
Derren
Dear Corvin,
Since I last wrote, we successfully defended Fallcrest form an orc raid, and then struck the viper in the eye, causing their planned invasion to fall apart.
The raid was brutal, and we were divided for a while. I managed to help take down my second troll, and must say I am developing quite a knack for it. Only this time, I knew better than to fight near its hungry maw – instead, I clung to its backside like an overgrown – and handsome, might I add – stirge. Eventually, our party drove the orcs and their giant and troll allies back to the gate. The night was ours!
We parlayed with Kasinth, the first dragon I have had the shock and awe to meet. She seemed calculating, intelligent and was sizing us up all the time. A little like Bella, come to think of it. And while she would kill me if she ever found out I told you, she has more in common with reptiles than just her personality. The girl possesses the abilities of a chameleon.
Anyway, the dragon has fled a more powerful red from the hills north, who in turn is cowed by the great white dragon Ullmir himself. I fear that the evil in the elemental temple of eyes and skulls is behind all this. I cannot wait to test my mettle against a dragon. “Wait”, Bjorn says. And I will listen, for now.
Deryl continues to grow in power at an alarming rate. Her dreams have worsened, and there is little I can do to stop it but pray: Rao, Thor, Odin – it matters not.
After the orc raid, we hatched a daring plan to assassinate their leader, a Bloodspear orc named Turash. Some scouting and Bella’s knack for deception brought us strait into his longhouse. We had to use Deryl as bait, but don’t worry, she was up in a safety of the rafters the moment the fighting began. Do I ever need to worry about Deryl? I think the world needs to worry about her. The fighting was a desperate, bloody mess, but in the end, I cut Turash’s throat and we claimed a spear so mighty that none of use dare to wield it. I may have to take up spear fighting, if only to plunge it down the throat of Rathnir, the red dragon over hill.
Now – for some poetry and dire warnings for Briannah!
Your devoted brother,
Derren
This is Deryl's much more esoteric version of the events that took place during session 13.
….the room is filled with swirling banks of steam and heavily scented with eucalyptus. Deryl languishes in the freshly drawn and heated bath…
“We’ll just wash that hair out, shall we, ma’amselle?” Cheori, one of the housekeeping staff, asks without really waiting for an answer. “Ah, but you’re so tense, you are!! I say again you shouldn’t be out there, its just not right, pardon me for saying so, ma’amselle.”
“It’s okay, Cheori, you’re not the first to tell me, but its not so bad… really.”
Deryl leans forward and lets Cheori begin shampooing her hair. Her body relaxes under the housekeeper’s ministrations but her mind is elsewhere…reliving the events of the night before. Staring into the bath water is like staring into the mystical depths of a scrying pool…
She can see herself running ahead of the contingent of prisoners, wet with rain and sweat, stinking of battle grime. It’s not Derren with her this time, but the ghostly form of the young man from her dreams, he is holding her hand and pacing her easily. He smiles at her, pulling tight the stitches keeping his mouth closed. His form disappears in the flash of a dragon’s wing and suddenly the iron wrymling settles before her.
He slashes at her, rending her with his claws…no, not her, but Bella. The image in the bath shifts and she is suddenly reliving the battle in the long house.
Bella, wearing her true form and not that of an orc, is cut down by one of the brutes. Even as she falls though she is fitting another bolt into her crossbow, ready to fight even unto death.
To her right, Bjorn lays in a pool of his own blood with the Blood Spear Chief menacing above him. His eyes stare lifelessly above him, but he is writing the line ‘Thor will not forsake me’ over and over in the blood, like a child under detention.
Four orcs, hands joined, dance around and around. Blood spills from them too and they revel in it. Derren is in the center crying out “Am I not a good enough dancer Brianna?” He is laughing and smiling as if unaware of his many wounds.
Torfin’s image enters the far corner of the pool’s image. “Shall we dance” he says and lightening jumps from his one hand to the next. Another four orcs accept his invitation and the five take up a bloody Tarantelle.
She sees herself, balanced on the rafter crying out in the arcane tongue. Her hand becomes sheathed in chaotic energy. It burns away the bloody scene below as if it were a storybook illustration…only to replace it with another.
Bella is below her now, a trail of orc bodies in her wake, pierced with bolts. Her form shifts settling on the form of Starke before anchoring back to that of an orc.
Bjorn lies still in a pool of blood, this time by the door. He raises his hammer to the sky and calls upon Thor. Suddenly he is standing, bathed in light and four orcs lay lifeless in front of him.
Derren twirls across the battlefield. “For honor, For Androsax” he cries striking the orc chieftan. The Blood Spear chief is barely moving now, with five of its six strings severed…a marionette only.
On the corpses of four bloodied orcs Torfin continues his bloody Tarantelle, but no lightning dances on his fingertips.
Deryl sees herself in the rafters, the nameless man is in front of her again, smiling. The stitches are gone this time, “Run,” he says.
And she is running, again, leading the prisoners back to Fallcrest…
“God’s above, ma’amselle, but how can you be shivering in such a hot both. Lean back now and relax. I’ll fetch some more hot water.”
And like that the image in the bath water disappears.
….the room is filled with swirling banks of steam and heavily scented with eucalyptus. Deryl languishes in the freshly drawn and heated bath…
“We’ll just wash that hair out, shall we, ma’amselle?” Cheori, one of the housekeeping staff, asks without really waiting for an answer. “Ah, but you’re so tense, you are!! I say again you shouldn’t be out there, its just not right, pardon me for saying so, ma’amselle.”
“It’s okay, Cheori, you’re not the first to tell me, but its not so bad… really.”
Deryl leans forward and lets Cheori begin shampooing her hair. Her body relaxes under the housekeeper’s ministrations but her mind is elsewhere…reliving the events of the night before. Staring into the bath water is like staring into the mystical depths of a scrying pool…
She can see herself running ahead of the contingent of prisoners, wet with rain and sweat, stinking of battle grime. It’s not Derren with her this time, but the ghostly form of the young man from her dreams, he is holding her hand and pacing her easily. He smiles at her, pulling tight the stitches keeping his mouth closed. His form disappears in the flash of a dragon’s wing and suddenly the iron wrymling settles before her.
He slashes at her, rending her with his claws…no, not her, but Bella. The image in the bath shifts and she is suddenly reliving the battle in the long house.
Bella, wearing her true form and not that of an orc, is cut down by one of the brutes. Even as she falls though she is fitting another bolt into her crossbow, ready to fight even unto death.
To her right, Bjorn lays in a pool of his own blood with the Blood Spear Chief menacing above him. His eyes stare lifelessly above him, but he is writing the line ‘Thor will not forsake me’ over and over in the blood, like a child under detention.
Four orcs, hands joined, dance around and around. Blood spills from them too and they revel in it. Derren is in the center crying out “Am I not a good enough dancer Brianna?” He is laughing and smiling as if unaware of his many wounds.
Torfin’s image enters the far corner of the pool’s image. “Shall we dance” he says and lightening jumps from his one hand to the next. Another four orcs accept his invitation and the five take up a bloody Tarantelle.
She sees herself, balanced on the rafter crying out in the arcane tongue. Her hand becomes sheathed in chaotic energy. It burns away the bloody scene below as if it were a storybook illustration…only to replace it with another.
Bella is below her now, a trail of orc bodies in her wake, pierced with bolts. Her form shifts settling on the form of Starke before anchoring back to that of an orc.
Bjorn lies still in a pool of blood, this time by the door. He raises his hammer to the sky and calls upon Thor. Suddenly he is standing, bathed in light and four orcs lay lifeless in front of him.
Derren twirls across the battlefield. “For honor, For Androsax” he cries striking the orc chieftan. The Blood Spear chief is barely moving now, with five of its six strings severed…a marionette only.
On the corpses of four bloodied orcs Torfin continues his bloody Tarantelle, but no lightning dances on his fingertips.
Deryl sees herself in the rafters, the nameless man is in front of her again, smiling. The stitches are gone this time, “Run,” he says.
And she is running, again, leading the prisoners back to Fallcrest…
“God’s above, ma’amselle, but how can you be shivering in such a hot both. Lean back now and relax. I’ll fetch some more hot water.”
And like that the image in the bath water disappears.
Torfinn’s Quiet Reflections...
*Stargazing at Odin’s sacked temple in Fallcrest*
Why is it that I find such comfort in the night sky? That great darkness filled with a horde of distant treasures that none chained to this world can touch or defile gives me an overwhelming sense of….clarity. In-truth, I spent most of my time in Thorsted Monastery stargazing. It was peaceful at Thorsted, nestled in the plain-lands of Uppsala; I could lay in the thick grass for hours and gaze up at the rolling clouds to my heart‘s content.
Odd…I can almost hear the half-blind Rooster that woke me every morning by tapping his beak upon my window. I always found it ’troublesome’ that the devious beast chose to wake me a good hour before he began his crowing. Ahh yes, I would then walk to my favourite spot on top the rolling grass-land and lay amidst the morning dew. I wonder what I used to think about?… Perhaps nothing…
Often I wouldn’t budge until the aroma of breakfast wafted my way. Hmm…Although Lady Maja was a devotee of Freyja and bested many of the lads during martial training, she cooked a delicious porridge. Now that I think harder on the subject of Lady Maja, she would wink and give me an extra large serving when my turn in line arrived; I still don’t quite understand the ritual, but the lads behind would often smirk and snicker.
After breakfast I used to spend some of the afternoon hours in the library with Master Flojnir, the Prophet of Odin. It was easy for me to lose myself in the old parchment and tablets that lay about the dank chamber. I can still recall the earthy smell that rose up from the between the stacks; However….Master Flojnir was a ’strange’ old man wasn’t he…? He would constantly stare at me with an….all-knowing expression. I always wondered what secrets he really knew? He’d occasionally give me cryptic advice when he had the words to spare. I once overheard his pupils using the nickname “Devourer of Mysteries” behind his back, perhaps he thought I was a mystery to be devoured?….Interesting….
One could hardly have any peace during the daily melee. Shouts, hoots and jeers echoed across Thorsted followed by the thunder of practice weapons colliding mercilessly; it was an entertaining spectacle to say the least. Bjorn would try to drag me into combat on occasion, but I didn’t quite have the energy to keep up with the young enthusiastic lads. It’s a surreal sensation watching the fruits of Bjorn’s hard training pay off on the battlefield. The starry-eyed, adventurer seeking child has grown into a man. Perhaps not in physical appearance, but it isn’t hard to see the power he now exhibits.
I wonder why I think of Thorsted now…? Perhaps the shell of this former temple to Odin in Fallcrest is making me the sentimental fool.
Hmm…it’s more then a little unsettling to see with my own eyes just how much Bjorn, Darren, Deryl and Bella have grown. Some of them have become wiser, some stronger but they’ve all magnificently matured in their own way. Isn’t that a mortifying thought? The people that surround me change…yet I remain the same…I appeared in a vicious thunderstorm many years ago with no memories, or identity save the name ‘Torfinn‘. I didn’t train or go through the typical studies of a devotee; I simply knew things by instinct. Although my mind is still filled with an overwhelming darkness, I suppose there is hope in the fragments of knowledge I regain.
I wonder if that makes me as talented as people think me to be….or does that make me dreadfully boring? I wake up and remember ancient spells and languages that I’ve never even heard of before….I’d be frightened if I wasn’t so intrigued.
I guess one can hardly seem boring when they’ve unwillingly been dubbed ‘The Lightning-man’, who would’ve been able to predict that Orc berserker’s dying words would’ve caught on. It’s troublesome not to be able to move around town without a drunkard yelling, ‘Lightning-man’…..
Still, it’s nice to be distracted from darker thoughts…even if it’s for a brief moment…
*Stargazing at Odin’s sacked temple in Fallcrest*
Why is it that I find such comfort in the night sky? That great darkness filled with a horde of distant treasures that none chained to this world can touch or defile gives me an overwhelming sense of….clarity. In-truth, I spent most of my time in Thorsted Monastery stargazing. It was peaceful at Thorsted, nestled in the plain-lands of Uppsala; I could lay in the thick grass for hours and gaze up at the rolling clouds to my heart‘s content.
Odd…I can almost hear the half-blind Rooster that woke me every morning by tapping his beak upon my window. I always found it ’troublesome’ that the devious beast chose to wake me a good hour before he began his crowing. Ahh yes, I would then walk to my favourite spot on top the rolling grass-land and lay amidst the morning dew. I wonder what I used to think about?… Perhaps nothing…
Often I wouldn’t budge until the aroma of breakfast wafted my way. Hmm…Although Lady Maja was a devotee of Freyja and bested many of the lads during martial training, she cooked a delicious porridge. Now that I think harder on the subject of Lady Maja, she would wink and give me an extra large serving when my turn in line arrived; I still don’t quite understand the ritual, but the lads behind would often smirk and snicker.
After breakfast I used to spend some of the afternoon hours in the library with Master Flojnir, the Prophet of Odin. It was easy for me to lose myself in the old parchment and tablets that lay about the dank chamber. I can still recall the earthy smell that rose up from the between the stacks; However….Master Flojnir was a ’strange’ old man wasn’t he…? He would constantly stare at me with an….all-knowing expression. I always wondered what secrets he really knew? He’d occasionally give me cryptic advice when he had the words to spare. I once overheard his pupils using the nickname “Devourer of Mysteries” behind his back, perhaps he thought I was a mystery to be devoured?….Interesting….
One could hardly have any peace during the daily melee. Shouts, hoots and jeers echoed across Thorsted followed by the thunder of practice weapons colliding mercilessly; it was an entertaining spectacle to say the least. Bjorn would try to drag me into combat on occasion, but I didn’t quite have the energy to keep up with the young enthusiastic lads. It’s a surreal sensation watching the fruits of Bjorn’s hard training pay off on the battlefield. The starry-eyed, adventurer seeking child has grown into a man. Perhaps not in physical appearance, but it isn’t hard to see the power he now exhibits.
I wonder why I think of Thorsted now…? Perhaps the shell of this former temple to Odin in Fallcrest is making me the sentimental fool.
Hmm…it’s more then a little unsettling to see with my own eyes just how much Bjorn, Darren, Deryl and Bella have grown. Some of them have become wiser, some stronger but they’ve all magnificently matured in their own way. Isn’t that a mortifying thought? The people that surround me change…yet I remain the same…I appeared in a vicious thunderstorm many years ago with no memories, or identity save the name ‘Torfinn‘. I didn’t train or go through the typical studies of a devotee; I simply knew things by instinct. Although my mind is still filled with an overwhelming darkness, I suppose there is hope in the fragments of knowledge I regain.
I wonder if that makes me as talented as people think me to be….or does that make me dreadfully boring? I wake up and remember ancient spells and languages that I’ve never even heard of before….I’d be frightened if I wasn’t so intrigued.
I guess one can hardly seem boring when they’ve unwillingly been dubbed ‘The Lightning-man’, who would’ve been able to predict that Orc berserker’s dying words would’ve caught on. It’s troublesome not to be able to move around town without a drunkard yelling, ‘Lightning-man’…..
Still, it’s nice to be distracted from darker thoughts…even if it’s for a brief moment…
A journal from Darren Androsax regarding the events of game session #14
Dear Corvin,
Life in the Vale is always an adventure. I write from the light of a cracked lantern under a tree – hopelessly drunk and a little defeated. I have been wandering around town for hours, following an exploration of the crypts below Kamroth’s manor and the strange happenings of the Equinox festival.
As you recall, our little sister is doing her best to be grown up. She found the deed to the Kamroth estate, and has been busy making house. She has great ideas about turning the place into an Inn & Tavern, but is refusing to let me get involved. Every time I try to do my part as her older brother, she flashes me with those cold dead eyes. She plays with that dagger she found in our estate in Grimsburg day and night. She sleeps in the sorcerer’s tower. She even parlayed with Kasinth the dragon on her own.
We found a secret room leading to an old crypt below the Kamroth estate – narrow, musty rooms filled with stone tombs centuries old. One room was dedicated to the worship of Asmodeus, something we suspected since finding Kamroth’s body. We discovered tapestries of our house, as well as the families Kalton, Dragonspear, Nethmar, Shandroth, Gauthmal, Valkrev and even the local lord Sheldon’s line. It looks like the Kamrtoh line took to worship Asmodeus some time in the last few decades – as most of the older tombs honoured the Skanzi gods. We even found a walled off section that we plan on exploring once we reconsecrate the grounds and unobtrusively dispose of the remaining corpses.
While exploring the crypts, we came across an imp named Tyrus, who mistook us for worshippers. I managed to draw some strange information from him before Torfinn blasted him with lightning. The imp claimed that St. Aurieluous Androsax himself once worshipped the Prince of Hell, as well as Crozin Androsax “and many others.” I find this hard to believe – but the more I see of Deryl’s power, the more I worry that our house is truly cursed. Did we really leave the Vale because of the Bloodspear war, as father claims – or were there more reasons, besides?
As the imp stole off behind a narrow passage, we were ambushed by Asmodean undead, risen from scattered tombs. Torfinn was caught by a foul thing’s blasts of hellfire, and Bella spent most of the fight trying to extinguish her robes. We were blessed in that dark place by Bjorn’s hammer, and his holiness shielded us. The man was furious, destroying what Asmodean stonecraft he could between blows meant for the red-robed wights. Torfinn called upon the Valkyries, who blessed us with pale blue light. I leapt between a score of them (dm note- it was more like 3 or 4 undead that he darted amongst), while Tyrus attempted to sting me repeatedly with his tale. Half believing his stories, I dreaded seeing the undead remnants of a forbearer, Corvin. In the end we felled the undead and cleansed the crypts. Unfortunately, the imp managed to escape. We will have to keep a close out out for him, as I'm sure he will seek vengeance.
And for all this, the strangest happenings occurred at the Equinox festival. We sat at Markelhay’s table along with Lord Sheldon and sundry others. Deryl and I managed to ensnare him in our attempts to draw out the Asmodeans in Fallcrest; Farin the cooper and Kelson the tavern owner being among our suspects (though they were not dining at Markelhay's table with us). Kasinth the dragon was in attendance, along with her kobold sycophants. All seemed more or less well until Sigurd Ironballs himself showed up: legendary giant slayer and the man who lost our Androsax sword to Ragnar in a drinking contest. The same man who now claimed to have defeated the very dragon in our midst! If keeping the two of them apart weren’t challenging enough for us, Torfinn began a strange transformation. Even Deryl was wincing in pain. Poor Torfinn was sheathed in ever-growing fire, while his countenance took on a reptilian cast. He quickly ran from the room, Bjorn and Bella in pursuit. Could it be true, what the Church of Rao says about magic? That it corrupts us with the spirit of the serpent? What of the prophecies, Loki’s dark presence and the end of all times? What made the priests of Thor so sure that Torfinn, the foundling in the storm was a son of Odin?
The golden skulls have nearly all been released upon the world. Rumbling can be felt to the south west, where the remains of the Temple of the Elemental Eye stand, and a dark presence lingers. Trolls are on the rise across the Haunt, east of Moonstair. Frost giants and an Ice dragon from the sagas are rumoured to be gathering far to the northwest. And a god walks among the people of Rao to the south. Perhaps there is more than one god who walks among us?
And here I am, excited about rumours from Sigurd that our lost manor can be found north where the Nentir meets the Winter. Sigurd bested me in a wrestling match, and for that, I lost my new bracers. Deryl won’t let me back home. The dogs lick at me, for I am besotted with mutton grease. I am a wretch, and the world will one day pass me by, dousing the weak flame of this all too mortal frame.
Your brother,
Derren
Dear Corvin,
Life in the Vale is always an adventure. I write from the light of a cracked lantern under a tree – hopelessly drunk and a little defeated. I have been wandering around town for hours, following an exploration of the crypts below Kamroth’s manor and the strange happenings of the Equinox festival.
As you recall, our little sister is doing her best to be grown up. She found the deed to the Kamroth estate, and has been busy making house. She has great ideas about turning the place into an Inn & Tavern, but is refusing to let me get involved. Every time I try to do my part as her older brother, she flashes me with those cold dead eyes. She plays with that dagger she found in our estate in Grimsburg day and night. She sleeps in the sorcerer’s tower. She even parlayed with Kasinth the dragon on her own.
We found a secret room leading to an old crypt below the Kamroth estate – narrow, musty rooms filled with stone tombs centuries old. One room was dedicated to the worship of Asmodeus, something we suspected since finding Kamroth’s body. We discovered tapestries of our house, as well as the families Kalton, Dragonspear, Nethmar, Shandroth, Gauthmal, Valkrev and even the local lord Sheldon’s line. It looks like the Kamrtoh line took to worship Asmodeus some time in the last few decades – as most of the older tombs honoured the Skanzi gods. We even found a walled off section that we plan on exploring once we reconsecrate the grounds and unobtrusively dispose of the remaining corpses.
While exploring the crypts, we came across an imp named Tyrus, who mistook us for worshippers. I managed to draw some strange information from him before Torfinn blasted him with lightning. The imp claimed that St. Aurieluous Androsax himself once worshipped the Prince of Hell, as well as Crozin Androsax “and many others.” I find this hard to believe – but the more I see of Deryl’s power, the more I worry that our house is truly cursed. Did we really leave the Vale because of the Bloodspear war, as father claims – or were there more reasons, besides?
As the imp stole off behind a narrow passage, we were ambushed by Asmodean undead, risen from scattered tombs. Torfinn was caught by a foul thing’s blasts of hellfire, and Bella spent most of the fight trying to extinguish her robes. We were blessed in that dark place by Bjorn’s hammer, and his holiness shielded us. The man was furious, destroying what Asmodean stonecraft he could between blows meant for the red-robed wights. Torfinn called upon the Valkyries, who blessed us with pale blue light. I leapt between a score of them (dm note- it was more like 3 or 4 undead that he darted amongst), while Tyrus attempted to sting me repeatedly with his tale. Half believing his stories, I dreaded seeing the undead remnants of a forbearer, Corvin. In the end we felled the undead and cleansed the crypts. Unfortunately, the imp managed to escape. We will have to keep a close out out for him, as I'm sure he will seek vengeance.
And for all this, the strangest happenings occurred at the Equinox festival. We sat at Markelhay’s table along with Lord Sheldon and sundry others. Deryl and I managed to ensnare him in our attempts to draw out the Asmodeans in Fallcrest; Farin the cooper and Kelson the tavern owner being among our suspects (though they were not dining at Markelhay's table with us). Kasinth the dragon was in attendance, along with her kobold sycophants. All seemed more or less well until Sigurd Ironballs himself showed up: legendary giant slayer and the man who lost our Androsax sword to Ragnar in a drinking contest. The same man who now claimed to have defeated the very dragon in our midst! If keeping the two of them apart weren’t challenging enough for us, Torfinn began a strange transformation. Even Deryl was wincing in pain. Poor Torfinn was sheathed in ever-growing fire, while his countenance took on a reptilian cast. He quickly ran from the room, Bjorn and Bella in pursuit. Could it be true, what the Church of Rao says about magic? That it corrupts us with the spirit of the serpent? What of the prophecies, Loki’s dark presence and the end of all times? What made the priests of Thor so sure that Torfinn, the foundling in the storm was a son of Odin?
The golden skulls have nearly all been released upon the world. Rumbling can be felt to the south west, where the remains of the Temple of the Elemental Eye stand, and a dark presence lingers. Trolls are on the rise across the Haunt, east of Moonstair. Frost giants and an Ice dragon from the sagas are rumoured to be gathering far to the northwest. And a god walks among the people of Rao to the south. Perhaps there is more than one god who walks among us?
And here I am, excited about rumours from Sigurd that our lost manor can be found north where the Nentir meets the Winter. Sigurd bested me in a wrestling match, and for that, I lost my new bracers. Deryl won’t let me back home. The dogs lick at me, for I am besotted with mutton grease. I am a wretch, and the world will one day pass me by, dousing the weak flame of this all too mortal frame.
Your brother,
Derren
