Shilsen's Eberron SH (Finished - The Last Word : 9/20/15)

[Furby076]

Speaking of more SH stuff, after we're done with the current campaign, I'm planning to run Paizo's Kingmaker AP, but set it in Eberron, picking up a year or two after the events of the Guardian Angels' campaign. I'm not sure I'll actually do another SH for it, but it's a distinct possibility.

Sounds like we need a campaign petition for this.

 

[Furby076]

Then she turns and lumbers away, pausing only to scratch her back by rubbing herself vigorously against one of the sides of the corridor.

That made me spit my soda. It was funny.

 

[shilsen]

That made me spit my soda. It was funny.

And I didn't even say what she left behind around the corner! She should never have eaten those beans

* * * * * * * * * *
Through the night, while the other Guardian Angels sleep, Six watches as the forces of Xoriat advance towards Flamekeep. Not that he can actually see the aberration army itself in the darkness, but he sees the streams of fire that mark their advance, and the flames of every hamlet and cottage which they leave burning in their wake.

By the time the other Angels arise early, the opposing force is now visible in the steadily increasing light of the spring dawn. Only a few miles from the city, the aberration hordes stretch across miles themselves, slowly moving together into a comparatively more compact formation as they prepare for the actual assault.

The Angels study the enemy and discuss their plans over a hurried breakfast, only indulging in it because it consists of a heroes’ feast provided by Jaela.

“So you two are leaving as soon as you’re done, right?” asks Gareth.

“Yes,” nods Korm. “But we’ll be back as soon as we have the wave on the way.”

“Well, you will,” grumbles Luna. “I have to guide the stupid thing till it hits!” She glares out of the window and then back at her friends, expression not changing. “You better not end the battle without me! And don’t die … again!”

“I shall make a note of that,” rasps Nameless dryly. “I expect we shall have enough enemies to last until your return.” The alienist looks out the window, calculating swiftly, and adds, “If their current movement and re-formation is an accurate guide, then they will be well-placed for the wave. After that … there is not enough data for a reasonable hypothesis.”

Prine, who is present, studies Nameless and chuckles. “I love when you do that! Anyway, I don’t know about all that, so just put me where I’ll be most useful. On the front lines of the defense, I guess?”

“Yes,” Six replies. “You, Nameless and Gareth will be on the fortifications. And Korm and Luna will join you when each of them arrives. I shall be there,” he says, pointing out of the window and up, where an airship hangs motionless above the Cathedral. Another airship floats above the spires of the royal palace nearby. “I shall be able to watch the battlefield and keep you all informed about the enemy movements. And I’ll have the trolls with me, so we can quickly go wherever we’re needed.”

“Sounds good,” says Gareth, “Though I wouldn’t have minded having those trolls with us. What about Jaela? She will be in the Cathedral, right?”

“Yes,” says the Keeper, walking in at this point, followed by her dragonhound Skaravojen, “I shall be in my chambers, from which I can watch the battle. I shall be as safe as possible there, especially with Samarien present.” She looks up at the figure following behind her hound, a green-skinned and bald humanoid who stands nearly ten-feet tall. The planetar nods seriously down at her diminutive charge and then says, addressing Nameless, who had summoned her the previous night, “I shall guard Jaela with my life. And if she is in real danger, I have contingencies in place to transport her to a safe place.”

“Thank you,” rasps Nameless. “That is reassuring. You seem significantly more … intelligent than the last planetar we met.”

Samarien says nothing in response, settling for a shrug of her muscular shoulders, as she takes up a position near Jaela. The Keeper, taking a seat, says, “I have spoken with Cedric. His forces have pulled back to the west, as planned, and will be ready to move in when you command. He should be here in seconds, so that you….”

As she speaks, Cedric appears in the corridor beyond the room, accompanied by the silver dragon Essirise in elven form. The paladin looks well-rested and grins happily as he spots those in the chamber. “I see everyone’s ready,” he says as he walks in, looking around before asking cheerfully, “So – everyone ready to help a lot of aberrations die gloriously for their cause?”

Korm chuckles, “You seem in a good mood!”

“Eh!” Cedric pulls up a chair. “If I’m going to get killed today, I can’t see how being depressed helps. And you guys have breakfast ready! Considering what we’ve been eating in the field, how can I complain?”

Some of the others in the room laugh and the serious atmosphere lightens a bit, perhaps just as Cedric had intended. The paladin settles down with the Angels and digs into the heroes’ feast, as does Essirise, while discussing their battle plans and the various roles which each of them will play.

Near the end of the meal, Gareth notices that Jaela is comparatively silent and seems depressed, though she is hiding it well. He asks quietly, “Is anything wrong, Keeper? Besides the general situation, I mean.”

Jaela begins to shake her head, but then stops and sighs. “I’m just thinking about what the Flame told me when I communed with it earlier this morning.” As everyone pauses in their individual conversations to listen, Jaela smiles wanly. “It said that this battle will be key to the eventual defeat of the daelkyr invasion. And – though even the Flame cannot be certain of the future – that it is very likely these are my last days as the Keeper.”

There is utter silence at these words, nobody really having anything reassuring to say, but Jaela looks around and smiles again, this time with a little more confidence. “Anyway, we have things to do now. I see you are all done with the meal and we need to get ready. Nameless, would you link us as we planned?”

“Yes,” says the alienist, rising to his feet. He casts a telepathic bond, linking Jaela, Cedric, Six, Korm and Luna to himself.

“Thank you,” says Jaela, before she raises her hands in benediction. It is an odd picture, as an eleven-year old girl addresses a shapechanged dragon, an angel, and the most powerful warriors of Khorvaire, “With the power invested in me by the Silver Flame, I bless you….”

* * *
A little over an hour later…

Nameless, Gareth and Prine stand on the battlements that stretch for a mile around the far end of the eastern bridge from Flamekeep, having placed themselves close to the central gate of the defensive wall. Accompanying them, spread over the mile-long fortifications, are over three thousand of the city’s defenders. Priests of the Silver Flame move back and forth, blessing the troops and exhorting them to do their utmost for Thrane, sometimes adding magical aid to their words. Hundreds of archers, wielding the famed longbows of Thrane, look to their arrows. A group of paladins, bearing the insignia of the elite Argent Guard on their gleaming breastplates, kneel in prayer. Above them, the banners of Thrane wave in the spring breeze, bearing an unsheathed sword beneath the flame-wreathed argent arrowhead of the Silver Flame. A single pennant nearby is dramatically different, depicting the three snarling heads of a chimera. Standing silently beneath it are a company of scarred men and women, all veterans of the Last War, warriors of House Deneith fulfilling their contract to defend Flamekeep against any and all who attack it.

But the invaders, whose army spreads in a gigantic, dark crescent across the plain before the wall, is one that few of those present have faced. Outnumbering the defenders more than five-to-one, the aberration forces consist mostly of dolgrims, led as usual by their dolgaunt supervisors. Runehounds lope through the ranks, while nagas slither back and forth, and small squads of athach shock troops loom over them all, waiting in brutish patience for orders from the mind flayers who command the army. Overhead float hundreds of cloakers and scores of ovoid shapes, marking the presence of gauths and even some beholders. But most impressive of all is the form of Mual-Tar, lazily moving towards the city in the rear of the aberration army, even its allies staying well away from its gigantic coils.

Seeing the Chaos Serpent for the first time, Gareth stares worriedly for a few moments and then glances at Nameless. “I think Luna didn’t make it sound big enough! No wonder it could eat a dragon. How do we take something like that down?!”

The alienist responds with characteristic calm, though even he is impressed by the creature’s size. “We shall have to … find a way.”

Prine chuckles sardonically. “You better think of a way soon! If I had known this is what we’d be fighting, I might not have come!”

“I think we will have to deal with some other things first,” says Nameless. “They’re on the move.” As the aberration force begins to advance towards the wall, the alienist speaks over his telepathic bond to all those linked to him, “They’re attacking. Korm – prepare to make the drop. Cedric – hold position till the wave hits and we tell you to come in. Six – let us know if you notice anything strange.” As responses in the affirmative come back over the link, Nameless grips his staff and begins to cast a couple of short-term protective spells. Gareth does the same, while Prine swigs a couple of potions. Around them, similar preparations are made, while cries of alarm and various orders ring out.

The advancing aberrations trot towards the wall and then break into a run. Their line begins to break up as they rush forward, the swifter of the creatures quickly leaving their allies behind. The fragmentation increases as the Thranish archers unleash a volley of arrows, hitting few of the leading attackers but striking many of those in the following ranks. Scores, possibly hundreds, of aberrations go down, but the others continue their charge.

Prine, not having fought aberrations earlier, glances at Nameless. “They seem a little … disorganized. They don’t even have siege weapons.” He glances back at the army and Mual-Tar. “Well, other than that!”

“Yes,” rasps Nameless, “But they have a plan, I’m certain.” His gaze flickers back and forth, trying to discern what is coming next.

As he does so, Six’s mechanical voice rings in his head, magically transported to him from the airship far overhead. “Look out for the flyers!” the warforged says hurriedly, and Nameless loudly shouts the same words to those around him.

Gareth, standing at the ready, looks puzzled. “What flyers? I don’t see any…”

“Precisely!”

Just as Gareth realizes what Nameless means, that the hundreds of flying aberrations which had overshadowed the enemy ranks thus far are suddenly lost to sight, they appear. Arising into view are the cloakers, which had swooped down in unison and flown behind the charging ranks till they were significantly closer to the wall, comparatively protected from arrow fire. Hundreds of them soar forward, flying low to the ground, quickly outpacing the aberrations rushing in on foot.

“Take the flyers down!” Nameless shouts, unleashing a huge fireball which blasts half a dozen cloakers out of the air, as well as incinerating a number of other aberrations. “The cloakers!” he shouts again, “Focus fire on the cloakers!” Some of the commanders in the area take up the cry, and orders flow along the wall. Archers and some of the Thranish spellcasters switch their aim. The cloakers are much tougher than the dolgrims, but dozens of them fall from the sky.

But the defenders are not the only ones with perceptive leaders. Seconds later, there is a sound that actually rises above the tumult of the battle, composed of thousands of crossbows firing at once. A gigantic volley of bolts hammers at the fortifications. The battlements protect the warriors of Flamekeep, reducing their losses, but the sheer number of dolgrims firing ensures that a number of them do fall. And more importantly, it causes many to have to take shelter behind the fortifications and raised shields, causing the rain of arrows to slacken.

Not that crossbows are the only problem for the defenders. Prine, peering over the wall, suddenly turns to grab Gareth’s arm. “Down!”

The paladin doesn’t bother arguing, dropping down beside him. “What?”

The answer comes not from Prine but in a thunderous roar, as dozens of little beads of magical flame – which the keen-eyed scout from Argonnessen had spotted – reach the wall and explode into fireballs. The magical blasts explode above the fortifications and, unlike the crossbow bolts, strike many of those behind them. Screams of fear and pain, many of them cutting off into dying gurgles, erupt all along the wall. Priests and other healers, some of them badly hurt themselves, rush back and forth tending to the wounded.

Nameless, having already warded himself against fire, doesn’t bother dodging, only momentarily closing his eyes as a fireball envelops him. Then he calmly casts another spell, causing a gigantic six-hundred-foot long wall of fire, to appear two hundred feet from the wall, just past the front row of aberrations. Not only does it incinerate a large number of the enemy, but it breaks up their advance in this area, as well as blocking line of sight for the spellcasters and the crossbow-users. While the defenders on other parts of the wall continue to absorb the effects of the assault, those around Nameless leap gratefully back up.

Only to meet the flying assault of the cloakers. As they swoop over the wall, the flying aberrations unleash what seem to only be faint moans. But though the sonic attacks are only barely within the range of human hearing, their effect on the minds and bodies of the defenders is undeniable. Hundreds of the warriors of Thrane are instantly nauseated, falling to the ground as weakness overcomes them. Even more succumb to waves of fear which emanate from the cloakers, dropping their weapons and turning to flee in panic. In seconds, nearly a quarter of the defenders are out of commission.

Damn! “Spellcasters and archers – take down the cloakers!” shouts Nameless, “Warriors – guard the wall!” While speaking, the alienist transmits over the telepathic link to those far from the battle, “Korm – they’re fully committed. Do it now! Luna – stay ready for the wave!”

As his allies send affirmative responses back to him, Nameless focuses on taking cloakers out of the air. Those of the defenders who are capable of it do so as well. Though none of them possess the alienist’s ability, the spellcasters who are present unleash a withering assault, especially the Silver Pyromancers, who send coruscating silver flames aloft to blast cloakers apart.

Some of the flying aberrations respond by rising higher, using other forms of their powerful moans. But, now that they have recovered from the first shock, that only makes it easier for the Thranish archers and casters to target them. Other cloakers drop down into close combat, biting and slashing with their whip-like tails, but that too aids the defenders, many of whom are primarily prepared for melee.

Gareth, grinning fiercely, rushes a cloaker that just sank its fangs into the throat of a nearby soldier. Even before the creature realizes that it is in peril, the Endless Blade flashes down and cuts it into two pieces. Another cloaker, opportunistically dropping down on Gareth’s back suddenly squawks in pain as two holes appear in its center, collapsing at the feet of the hitherto invisible Prine as he appears.

Elsewhere…

Coincidentally, at that very moment, cloaker-like wings extend from Korm’s muscular shoulders as he flaps slowly back and forth above the western edge of Thronehold. Having received Nameless’ command, the Gatekeeper picks his spot, one carefully indicated by markers that the Angels planted the previous day. Then he casts a spell, the most powerful in his repertoire.

As the earthquake takes effect, the earth and rock beneath him tremble and then swiftly break apart, large cracks appearing in a circle a hundred and sixty feet wide. But the cracks do not stop there, as they would normally, but spread rapidly, along the fault lines and weak spots the Angels have painstakingly crafted. The original sound of the spell taking effect only increases, rumbling growing into roaring, as more and more of the surface below Korm collapses.

The Gatekeeper flaps his way higher to rise above the cloud of dust that rises beneath him, watching the effects of his spell with fascination. The rumbling of the tortured earth expands and rises to a thunderous crescendo which must be heard across the island – and then, with a mountainous groan, the entire cliff comes apart and collapses into the bay below, taking many cubic miles of Thronehold with it.

There is a gigantic splash as the cliffside hits the water, and, as more and more of the rock and earth descends, concentric waves of increasing size radiate outwards from the island. Just as the Angels had hoped and planned for, the central and largest swells are aimed directly in the direction of Flamekeep, almost indistinguishable on the horizon at the edge of Korm’s vision.

The Gatekeeper lets out a breath of relief and then hurriedly transmits over the link, “It’s done – the wave’s on the way! It’s all yours, Luna! And I’m on the way, guys!”

As varied messages fly back to his mind from the others on the link, Korm flaps as swiftly as he can to the edge of Thronehold, now much further from him than it was only seconds ago. As he lands, he waves cheerfully at the awed crowd of people who had gathered some distance away, curious to see exactly what the Guardian Angels were doing. “Tell your grandkids,” the Gatekeeper yells loudly, “Korm … was … HERE!”

Then he casts a spell and disappears instantly, sinking into the earth.

Somewhere between Thronehold and Flamekeep…

A large, bulky (some might even say fat, but never, ever within earshot) albatross has been soaring in wide circles, sometimes rising high and sometimes descending near the waves. Once, only a few minutes earlier, it actually settled down to float on the water, leading to an overly aggressive shark going for the easy meal. Pieces of the shark are now scattered across the surface of the water, while some specks of it splatter the albatross’ feathers, and a particularly succulent piece is held in the bird’s beak as it hovers.

Then it cocks its head, swallows the piece of shark, and hurriedly flaps its way east. As it beats its way through the air, rushing to meet it is a gigantic wave, miles in length and seemingly increasing in size. The albatross soars forward to meet the wave, beating its wings with frantic speed. Its beak works constantly, emitting not squawks or any other expected avian sounds, but muttered words: “Stupid shark! I shouldn’t have got distracted! But it’s so boring here! And I was hungry! I bet Korm dropped the stupid island too early! Sh*t!”

Then the muttering cuts off as Luna reaches the first lines of the wave and brakes awkwardly in mid-air, turning to face west. While she does so, the multiple swells that make up the giant wave pass beneath her. Though she cannot say for certain, Luna thinks that they have ceased increasing in size and might even be diminishing. “Not while I’m around,” mutters the druid, as she begins to cast a spell.

A moment later, the air begins to thicken and roil before Luna, as multiple puffs of air spring into existence. They swirl back and forth, quickly strengthening from a breeze to a severe wind. And then growing to a gale, to a hurricane – and beyond. In seconds, a raging tornado roars around Luna, extending a full six hundred feet in each direction. The druid hangs for a moment in the eye of the storm, a calm spot some fifty feet across, and then, flaps her wings. In response, the tornado reshapes itself, the winds suddenly changing from a circular spinning motion to a concerted, directed flow. At Luna’s command, a quarter-mile long wall of two hundred mile per hour wind blasts the tidal wave towards Flamekeep at renewed speed.

“The wave’s still coming, boys!” she transmits, “How are things going?”

On the fortifications near Flamekeep…

Korm appears out of the stone of the battlements near Nameless, Gareth and Prine, shoving a startled Thranish warrior off his feet. “Whoops! Sorry!” says the Gatekeeper, taking a quick look around, before unleashing an arc of lightning, which reduces a line of aberrations before the wall to ashes.

Even though it took less than a minute since Nameless’ message for Korm to join them, the situation has significantly improved for the defenders. The cloaker attack provided more of a temporary setback than inflicting permanent losses, and the Guardian Angels, the Argent Guard and the Deneith battalion held off the assault long enough for the panicked and nauseated defenders to rejoin the battle, leading to the quick decimation of the cloakers.

Similarly, while the aerial attack did allow the aberration ground forces to reach the wall at many places, they have not yet gained a foothold on it. Defenders cut down ropes with grappling hooks as they are thrown up, and do the same to the heads and hands of those attackers who do manage to clamber up to the top. While the assault is strongest at the large central gates, so is the defense, and the bodies of hundreds of attackers lie around the gates, which have taken some damage, but still hold strong.

“Looks like things are all right so far,” says Korm. “Right?”

“Yes, we…,” begins Gareth, before the excited voice of the Endless Blade interrupts. “This is f*cking awesome!” shouts the sword. “I haven’t fought in a battle this big in … in … well, ever!”

As Gareth frowns and begins to speak again, Nameless says peremptorily, “Wait!” The alienist raises both hands to his ears, to prevent the sounds of battle distracting him from Six’s words, which he hears in his head. “Nameless – a division of their army has headed for the broken southern bridge. I can’t be certain, but I think they’re carrying very thick ropes and … I think, floats. They might be trying to create a makeshift bridge to the city. Can you do something?”

“Yes!” says the alienist, before quickly casting a spell.

Its effects appear sixty feet away, on the ground behind the protective wall, in the shape of two huge amorphous forms, apparently constructed of flowing water. The elementals bunch their aqueous fists and look around for an enemy, but Nameless quickly calls commands in gurgling tones. The two summoned creatures nod, similarly responding in Aquan, and then turn and swiftly flow away. Reaching the edge of the area, they immediately leap off. An instant later, two loud splashing sounds indicate that they have hit the five hundred foot wide waterway created by the bay flowing around Flamekeep.

“What was that for?” asks Gareth.

Nameless smirks slightly and says, “Some aberrations are trying to go around the back way. I sent them a greeting party.”

The Guardian Angels return to the defense. Though fighting still continues along the wall, the heavy melee combat that followed the cloaker attack has ended. The aberration forces are still pushing forward, but with less energy than earlier, almost as if to keep the defenders busy more than actually seeking to overwhelm them. The same may be said for the magical assault and the crossbow fire from the dolgrims, which mostly keeps those on the battlements wary and inflicts relatively few casualties now.

After a few minutes of this attrition have passed, Korm says, “What are they planning? And why haven’t they brought that in yet?” he asks, indicating Mual-Tar, which has actually paused about a quarter of a mile from the wall and is doing nothing.

The answer comes swiftly. Nameless is the first to realize it, as his anticipate teleportation spell instantly informs him that four aberrations, one of them large, were about to teleport in some thirty feet from him.

Unfortunately, the alienist’s spell extends only thus far, and as he opens his mouth to yell a warning, half a dozen identical groups of aberrations appear on the battlements among the defenders. Each group includes three mind-flayers, some of them featuring the amputated tentacles with inset dragonshards which indicate that they are spellcasters. But the defenders’ attention is drawn, rather, to the fourth member of each group. They float above the mind-flayers, central eye gaping, while their forests of smaller eyelets gaze in every direction, each of them glowing with magical power which is an instant from being unleashed.

“Sh*t!” says Gareth, as the edge of one’s gaze touches him, feeling all of his magical protections wink out, while the Endless Blade disappears back into his magical hand, which is now reduced to an unmoving metal fist. “Beholders!”

 

[Furby076]

Well written story...lots of action, drama, and comedy...one of the better stories.

 

[carborundum]

WAAAARRRGGGHHH!!!

It's all kicking off and no mistake! Brilliant stuff, can't wait for the next update!

 

[Rackhir]

Since we are drawing to the end of this tale, I am curious to hear from some of the lurkers.

We've got 83 thousand views on this thread and about 3 posters we hear from occasionally. I'm pretty sure that those views aren't just from Shil and I re-reading things. Which means SOMEBODY seems to be reading us.

So Lurkers, tell us what was it you liked about the SH? What were some of your favorite moments, scenes or lines. Who's your favorite Angel? Or is there an NPC you particularly like.

Remember there isn't too many more posts before that Big Red "Complete" tag goes up in the SH header and it starts sinking off into obscurity.

 

[Neurotic]

All are favorites! They wouldn't be what they are without Nameless provoking Gareth, Luna shenanigans, Six caution, Korm's bravado and even NPCs reaction.

Well done!

 

[carborundum]

All are favourites! I agree!
Standouts? The phenomenal ass-kickings, Nameless' 'familiar' mental state and tentacle, Luna and all her psychotic Tigger moments, Gareth and his sword, Six's long-suffering equanimity, Korm eating aberrations, the four-armed sahuagin that got me making my own monsters, Sharn and the million plot lines waiting to be picked up, Xagygyrag, all Shil's mutations, the dialogue...

more when it springs to mind. My real big question - is the whole thing sitting somewhere as doc or pdf?
Since it's no longer possible to get the whole thread as a text file, I foresee a long summer of copying and pasting before I can send a file to Lulu to get this SH on paper.

 

[shilsen]

All are favorites! They wouldn't be what they are without Nameless provoking Gareth, Luna shenanigans, Six caution, Korm's bravado and even NPCs reaction.

Well done!

My perspective is a little skewed, of course, but I do agree that it's the particular mix of all the characters and their interaction with (wrecking of?) the world and NPCs around them which made this campaign so much fun for me. I've been involved with a lot of games, as player and DM, but this one is by far my favorite and most memorable one.

All are favourites! I agree!
Standouts? The phenomenal ass-kickings, Nameless' 'familiar' mental state and tentacle, Luna and all her psychotic Tigger moments, Gareth and his sword, Six's long-suffering equanimity, Korm eating aberrations, the four-armed sahuagin that got me making my own monsters, Sharn and the million plot lines waiting to be picked up, Xagygyrag, all Shil's mutations, the dialogue...

Pfft. I'm not mutated. Just slightly ... um ... aberrant.

more when it springs to mind. My real big question - is the whole thing sitting somewhere as doc or pdf?
Since it's no longer possible to get the whole thread as a text file, I foresee a long summer of copying and pasting before I can send a file to Lulu to get this SH on paper.

I have all the writeups as .doc files, with sessions 1-20 covered in the first one, 21-35 on the next, and batches of 5 sessions on each of the others. So there are currently 14 of them, covering about 5 MB. I'm not even trying to work out how many pages that is

Would you like me to post them on this thread?

BTW, I should mention that the story hour isn't that close to done yet. I'm currently wrapping up the writeup for session 92, and the last session is number 101. I'm averaging about 2-3 posts per session, so that means there are still about 15-25 writeups to go. We'll be here for a while

 

[carborundum]

LOL, yeah, the world-wrecking is indeed something else. That, and being able to buy a newspaper in Sharn!

I'd love a link to the doc files, and if it's too big to add as an attachment to a post you could always put it on a filesharing site. I have a site I could host it on too, if need be. My email address is foolish.child and that's at gmail.com.

It's wonderful to hear that there are still plenty of pages to print out and read in the train to work ;-)