Sniktch's Story Hour - City of the Spider Queen (Updated 04/25)
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Sniktch
First Post
The stranger at the King's Arms
Bruskin stepped into the King’s Arms and surveyed the boisterous afternoon crowd in the hazy, smoke-filled tavern room. This was a daily ritual for the sorcerer and the method he chose to keep in touch with current events. He tuned out the confused babble of conversation and concentrated instead on scanning the surface thoughts of the unsuspecting patrons.
“…can’t believe Lord Bryson’s raising the spice tax again…see the way she fawns over him? They have to be…Harry better watch his fat drunken mouth or I’ll…mm, smell good here, better than dark elf place…”
Bruskin stopped and looked for the source of the last fragment. Aha, over by the bar, the bald, tattooed halfling purchasing a pair of rooms. The sorcerer focused his attention upon the diminutive stranger and probed deeper. The halfling, Welby Hilltopple by name, had just returned from an expedition to the nearby hills. He had been a member of a group dispatched by Lord Bryson to investigate a number of drow raids that had occurred on the farms and villages near the old Dorien Crypts. Bruskin sifted through several mental images of an elf, two dwarves, a half-orc, and a dark robed human wearing the holy symbol of Arawn. Probing further, he learned that the expedition had been a disaster; only the halfling and the servant of Death had returned. Now they searched for reinforcements to return with them to the underdark, seeking to avenge the defeat and annihilate the dark elven settlement responsible.
Perfect, the sorcerer thought. He’d trained to fight the drow his whole life, and now it seemed the opportunity presented itself to him. He broke off the mental contact once he learned everything he wanted to know and began to push his way through the crowd in the direction of the small warrior.
*****
Welby finished haggling with the innkeeper and turned to find a table, two room keys clenched in his fist. He found himself confronted by a tall human youth with flowing golden hair and a fresh, innocent appearance. The lad wore a flowing red robe stitched with weird symbols in golden thread, and the halfling’s first thought was, oh, good, a wizard. He tried to move past the man, but the stranger moved to block his path, extending his hand and asking, “Welby? Welby Hilltopple, is that you? Are you staying here?"
The halfling looked from the man to the pair of keys he carried and answered, "Um, no, not stay here. Sleep in alley after eat."
The stranger ignored the sarcasm. "I’ve been searching all over for you! Lord Bryson sent me to find you concerning –“
Welby cut him off and tried to push past, “Not now. Find table. Eat. Then maybe talk.”
“Oh, allow me.” The robed youth approached one of the tables and leaned over so that he could be heard. Welby couldn’t hear what he said but it must have worked because the seated men’s eyes grew wide and then a small flurry of activity could be seen as they rapidly collected themselves and left. The stranger turned back to him and motioned to one of the emptied seats. Welby shrugged and sat down, and the man took the chair next to him. He started to speak but Welby interrupted again.
“Said talk after food. Welby not think when hungry.”
“I understand, my friend. Allow me to take care of that for you. Eat all you want tonight, good halfling, the bill is on me.” The barbarian’s eyes sparkled at the mention of a free meal. All he could eat, eh? Maybe he could stand to listen to the man.
Except for what the man wanted. He introduced himself as Bruskin, a local sorcerer who had heard of their expedition from Bryson and wanted to help. Welby half-heartedly listened to the man while packing his cheeks with a continuous stream of mutton, ham, cheese, and bread. Bruskin knew a thing or two about dark elves and their tactics, or so he claimed, and felt that he would make an invaluable addition to their expedition. Finally the sorcerer concluded his speech and sat waiting expectantly for a response. “So, am I in?”
Welby shrugged. “Me not decide. You talk to Artie; Artie say yes or no.”
“Where is Artie right now?”
Welby shrugged again, “Not know. Artie be back, you talk to him.”
Bruskin tried a different tact, “OK, but what do you think? You’ve heard my story, broken bread with me. Would you like to have me along? The more the merrier, like they say.”
“Me think you need talk to Artie.” The halfling abruptly rose and headed back to the bar for another plate and drink, signifying that the conversation was at an end. Bruskin sighed; he was an obstinate little fellow, wasn’t he?
The sorcerer rose and called after him, “Alright then, I’ll talk to Artie. I have a few things I need to take care of before I could leave town – if your friend returns before I do, can you keep him from leaving until I get back?”
Welby nodded and waved him away, and Bruskin, not sure if he’d been heard correctly or not, had no choice but to leave and pray that they had not departed by the time he returned. The story he’d told the halfling was not the truth, although much of what he’d said was true, but Bruskin was not a local. He needed to gather his belongings from the inn he’d been rooming in and move them to the King’s Arms so he could be ready to leave at a moment’s notice, and he would prefer to take care of it before he had to pay the other innkeeper for an extra day.
Several hours later, Bruskin headed back to the tavern and discovered that the halfling was still there, but had not seen or heard from his friend yet. After renting a room and depositing his belongings, he attempted once more to try to force the halfling into making a decision with no better results. Finally he settled into a chair near the door and waited. He was still waiting the next morning when Artimas finally arrived in the company of an incredibly ugly halfling.
Bruskin stepped into the King’s Arms and surveyed the boisterous afternoon crowd in the hazy, smoke-filled tavern room. This was a daily ritual for the sorcerer and the method he chose to keep in touch with current events. He tuned out the confused babble of conversation and concentrated instead on scanning the surface thoughts of the unsuspecting patrons.
“…can’t believe Lord Bryson’s raising the spice tax again…see the way she fawns over him? They have to be…Harry better watch his fat drunken mouth or I’ll…mm, smell good here, better than dark elf place…”
Bruskin stopped and looked for the source of the last fragment. Aha, over by the bar, the bald, tattooed halfling purchasing a pair of rooms. The sorcerer focused his attention upon the diminutive stranger and probed deeper. The halfling, Welby Hilltopple by name, had just returned from an expedition to the nearby hills. He had been a member of a group dispatched by Lord Bryson to investigate a number of drow raids that had occurred on the farms and villages near the old Dorien Crypts. Bruskin sifted through several mental images of an elf, two dwarves, a half-orc, and a dark robed human wearing the holy symbol of Arawn. Probing further, he learned that the expedition had been a disaster; only the halfling and the servant of Death had returned. Now they searched for reinforcements to return with them to the underdark, seeking to avenge the defeat and annihilate the dark elven settlement responsible.
Perfect, the sorcerer thought. He’d trained to fight the drow his whole life, and now it seemed the opportunity presented itself to him. He broke off the mental contact once he learned everything he wanted to know and began to push his way through the crowd in the direction of the small warrior.
*****
Welby finished haggling with the innkeeper and turned to find a table, two room keys clenched in his fist. He found himself confronted by a tall human youth with flowing golden hair and a fresh, innocent appearance. The lad wore a flowing red robe stitched with weird symbols in golden thread, and the halfling’s first thought was, oh, good, a wizard. He tried to move past the man, but the stranger moved to block his path, extending his hand and asking, “Welby? Welby Hilltopple, is that you? Are you staying here?"
The halfling looked from the man to the pair of keys he carried and answered, "Um, no, not stay here. Sleep in alley after eat."
The stranger ignored the sarcasm. "I’ve been searching all over for you! Lord Bryson sent me to find you concerning –“
Welby cut him off and tried to push past, “Not now. Find table. Eat. Then maybe talk.”
“Oh, allow me.” The robed youth approached one of the tables and leaned over so that he could be heard. Welby couldn’t hear what he said but it must have worked because the seated men’s eyes grew wide and then a small flurry of activity could be seen as they rapidly collected themselves and left. The stranger turned back to him and motioned to one of the emptied seats. Welby shrugged and sat down, and the man took the chair next to him. He started to speak but Welby interrupted again.
“Said talk after food. Welby not think when hungry.”
“I understand, my friend. Allow me to take care of that for you. Eat all you want tonight, good halfling, the bill is on me.” The barbarian’s eyes sparkled at the mention of a free meal. All he could eat, eh? Maybe he could stand to listen to the man.
Except for what the man wanted. He introduced himself as Bruskin, a local sorcerer who had heard of their expedition from Bryson and wanted to help. Welby half-heartedly listened to the man while packing his cheeks with a continuous stream of mutton, ham, cheese, and bread. Bruskin knew a thing or two about dark elves and their tactics, or so he claimed, and felt that he would make an invaluable addition to their expedition. Finally the sorcerer concluded his speech and sat waiting expectantly for a response. “So, am I in?”
Welby shrugged. “Me not decide. You talk to Artie; Artie say yes or no.”
“Where is Artie right now?”
Welby shrugged again, “Not know. Artie be back, you talk to him.”
Bruskin tried a different tact, “OK, but what do you think? You’ve heard my story, broken bread with me. Would you like to have me along? The more the merrier, like they say.”
“Me think you need talk to Artie.” The halfling abruptly rose and headed back to the bar for another plate and drink, signifying that the conversation was at an end. Bruskin sighed; he was an obstinate little fellow, wasn’t he?
The sorcerer rose and called after him, “Alright then, I’ll talk to Artie. I have a few things I need to take care of before I could leave town – if your friend returns before I do, can you keep him from leaving until I get back?”
Welby nodded and waved him away, and Bruskin, not sure if he’d been heard correctly or not, had no choice but to leave and pray that they had not departed by the time he returned. The story he’d told the halfling was not the truth, although much of what he’d said was true, but Bruskin was not a local. He needed to gather his belongings from the inn he’d been rooming in and move them to the King’s Arms so he could be ready to leave at a moment’s notice, and he would prefer to take care of it before he had to pay the other innkeeper for an extra day.
Several hours later, Bruskin headed back to the tavern and discovered that the halfling was still there, but had not seen or heard from his friend yet. After renting a room and depositing his belongings, he attempted once more to try to force the halfling into making a decision with no better results. Finally he settled into a chair near the door and waited. He was still waiting the next morning when Artimas finally arrived in the company of an incredibly ugly halfling.
Last edited:
Sniktch
First Post
The exceptional goblin.
Earlier that night, Artimas had still been in the temple of the Morrigan, following an acolyte through the dark warren of tunnels. They finally stopped in front of a door and the acolyte knocked forcefully, then waited a minute and knocked again. “Come in,” croaked a voice from inside at last.
The acolyte pushed the portal inward, revealing a dark, gloomy chamber that obviously belonged to a wizard of some variety. Shelves of books on a bizarre variety of subjects lined the one of the walls, and more shelves circled the rest of the room, overloaded with murky glass containers containing preserved organs and other spell components. At one point a brass cage was suspended from the ceiling, containing a disheveled stirge that rested on a perch and stared quizzically at the new entries.
The only other occupant of the room rested upon a heap of pillows piled into one corner. It was a goblin, but ugly and misshapen even for a goblin. Its body was shriveled and obviously weak, its face inordinately wrinkled and pinched, and its creased and lumpy head was so large that Artimas wondered how it remained sitting upright. It was clad in a rust colored skirt and wore a black cape, but was otherwise naked from the waist up. A large iron ring pierced its left nipple, and smaller hoops protruded through its lips, nose, and ears. A fine golden chain connected all of these various adornments.
Artimas took in the surroundings while the acolyte moved across the room and whispered a message to the sickly humanoid and then left, shutting the door behind him. The goblin nodded its head several times and then turned to regard the curious visitor. Meanwhile, Artimas moved over to the bookshelf and started scanning the titles. OK, he mused, so I’m supposed to wait here with this apprentice until its master returns. Oh well, at least I’ll have a chance to check out his stuff. Most of the titles concerned the nature of space and the planes, traveling between planes, and summoning bizarre entities from dimensions located beyond the realm of normal human understanding. He shuddered at several of the titles he glimpsed, including The Necronomicon and Yog-Sothoth: The Key and the Gate.
After a few minutes Artimas began to grow tired of the wait and turned to find the goblin still regarding him thoughtfully. He sniffed disdainfully, “When do you expect your master to return?” The goblin did not answer but continued to sit and stare, so Artimas repeated the question in several different languages, but still failed to elicit a response. The necromancer shrugged, annoyed, and turned back to perusing the contents of the shelves. Well, he thought, whoever this wizard is, from looking at his belongings I’d guess him to be at least as powerful as I.
Thinking to better gauge the power of the mage he hoped to recruit soon, Artimas mumbled an incantation and turned to study the room’s contents again now that could see the magical auras it contained. Several of the books on the shelves contained spells, and Artimas examined those first. He quickly reassessed his opinion of the unknown spellcaster; whoever he was, the man was actually a more advanced mage than Artimas. The necromancer also deduced that the wizard he’d been sent to meet was a specialist in spells from the conjuration and divination schools of magic.
He turned to scan the rest of the chamber again, and that’s when he received his first real shock. The goblin wore several items of great power, including a circlet of greenish metal, the iron ring that pierced its nipple, the black cape draped over its shoulders, and a gold ring set with a red stone on its right ring finger. Could it be? No, he decided, although it was hard to understand why any mage with half an ounce of common sense would trust such items in a goblin’s care.
He moved over to the birdcage and peered in at the stirge resting inside. It stared back at him quizzically, and he sensed intelligence behind its stare, much more than he would expect from such a beast. “Familiar, then,” he decided, and then the stirge did something disturbing and gross. It gave a little shake, ruffling its feather, then opened its beak in a great yawn, continued opening its beak past the point of any jawbone’s endurance or flexibility, and then turned itself inside out. The whole process took less than a second, and now instead of a stirge the necromancer beheld an oddly glistening mass of flesh and undulating tentacles that dripped a thin slime onto the cage bottom.
He shook his head and turned away, murmuring, “Nice pet.”
“Thank you, but I believe being called pet he likes not,” croaked the goblin in reply.
Artimas turned back to the squat, lumpy humanoid. “Oho, so it can speak! I was starting to despair of ever getting any answers. I’ve been guided here with the understanding that I would meet a wizard capable of assisting me in my current quest. Again I must ask you, where is your master and when will he return?”
The goblin resumed its silence, gazing stoically at the necromancer with a small frown creasing its lower lip. In a flash of insight Artimas suddenly understood. “Oh, wait, you’re not the apprentice here, are you?” The creature shook its head and Artimas continued, “My apologies, friend, I didn’t mean – well, you see, I just assumed – “
The goblin cracked a smile and rescued the wizard from his fumbling apology, “Worry not. Used to it I am.”
“Yes, I suppose you must be. Well, anyway, I – I suppose the acolyte already informed you of why I was here.”
“Correct. Battle with drow you do. Help you need in your fight. Aid you I can, yes.” The goblin slowly levitated off of its cushions and floated across the room to stand before him. “Artimas Sendant, pleased am I to meet you. Heard of you, yes. I am Higreld Pel Loathegrot, smartest goblin alive.
Now, tell me: why should Higreld aid you? What, forgive me, is in it for me?”
Artimas stumbled over his reply. He had expected this question, but not this questioner. “Uh, well. During my encounters so far with the dark elves they have proved to be rich in magical power, and I have faced a multitude of drow wizards. Somewhere in that city are the quarters and studies of those wizards, and their spellbooks. You could stand to profit greatly from gaining access to that cache of knowledge. In addition, of course, you’d be accepted as a full member of our adventuring company, thus entitled to an equal share of any loot gained.”
Higreld considered the proposal. “And fighting dark elves you are. Will any squids there be? Terrible power have the squids, terrible.”
Artimas assumed he referred to illithids. “Hmm, well, none that I know of, but I suppose there’s always the possibility.”
A shudder wracked the goblin’s twisted frame and he said, “Cannot be helped I suppose. Very well. Come with you I shall. Now help me pack.”
*****
A short time later the goblin and the necromancer stood side by side within the abandoned warehouse. Artimas looked down at his new companion and frowned. “I’m not sure you should wander around looking like that,” he informed the gnarled conjurer, who floated along two feet off the ground, the stirge back to its normal appearance and perched upon his shoulder.
“Yes, mustn’t forget. Townsfolk like goblins not.” He waved his hands about while reciting a peculiar verse and the his features began to melt and run together, the very pigments of his skin changing noticeably as a new face began to appear. Soon a halfling of hideous appearance stood before the priest of Arawn, a small songbird resting on his shoulder. “One halfling in the group already you said. Now, until town we leave, you have two.”
Artimas shook his head, an ironic smile folding his lips. He wondered how the halfling would react to his new companions when he learned of all of their true natures. “Well, in a couple of days I guess I’ll find out,” he muttered to himself as the two magi headed off to find the inn the barbarian had checked into.
A short time later, Artimas found himself confronted by an eager young sorcerer named Bruskin who was eager to join the fight against the drow. “Please, I can be very valuable to your cause if you would give me the chance. I have researched the dark elves extensively and am strong in my art.”
”Whatever. Welby, what do you think of Bruskin here?”
The halfling paused from his current activity, which was wolfing down an enormous stack of pancakes as quickly as possible. Pancakes that, the halfling considered, Bruskin had paid for. In fact, he’d been eating almost the entire time he’d been at the King’s Arms, and the sorcerer had paid for all of it. Good enough, decided Welby. He nodded at Artimas, “Yeah, he okay.”
“Good enough. But I want you to understand that there are conditions to your membership, although I do not feel like going into the details at this moment. I’m rather exhausted. Do you have my room key, Welby? I need to go to the wagon for one last thing and them I’m off to bed.”
The barbarian handed his friend a key, motioning surreptitiously to the other halfling who stood there. “Oh yes,” Artimas answered the unspoken question. “How rude of me. Welby, meet our new wizard Higreld Pel. Higreld, this is Welby, the person I told you about. Now follow me, H. P., I’ve got someone else I want you to meet.”
‘Someone else?’ wondered Welby, but then a waitress set a fresh plate before him and the thought disappeared.
Next: A round of introductions then the return to the Dorien Crypts.
Earlier that night, Artimas had still been in the temple of the Morrigan, following an acolyte through the dark warren of tunnels. They finally stopped in front of a door and the acolyte knocked forcefully, then waited a minute and knocked again. “Come in,” croaked a voice from inside at last.
The acolyte pushed the portal inward, revealing a dark, gloomy chamber that obviously belonged to a wizard of some variety. Shelves of books on a bizarre variety of subjects lined the one of the walls, and more shelves circled the rest of the room, overloaded with murky glass containers containing preserved organs and other spell components. At one point a brass cage was suspended from the ceiling, containing a disheveled stirge that rested on a perch and stared quizzically at the new entries.
The only other occupant of the room rested upon a heap of pillows piled into one corner. It was a goblin, but ugly and misshapen even for a goblin. Its body was shriveled and obviously weak, its face inordinately wrinkled and pinched, and its creased and lumpy head was so large that Artimas wondered how it remained sitting upright. It was clad in a rust colored skirt and wore a black cape, but was otherwise naked from the waist up. A large iron ring pierced its left nipple, and smaller hoops protruded through its lips, nose, and ears. A fine golden chain connected all of these various adornments.
Artimas took in the surroundings while the acolyte moved across the room and whispered a message to the sickly humanoid and then left, shutting the door behind him. The goblin nodded its head several times and then turned to regard the curious visitor. Meanwhile, Artimas moved over to the bookshelf and started scanning the titles. OK, he mused, so I’m supposed to wait here with this apprentice until its master returns. Oh well, at least I’ll have a chance to check out his stuff. Most of the titles concerned the nature of space and the planes, traveling between planes, and summoning bizarre entities from dimensions located beyond the realm of normal human understanding. He shuddered at several of the titles he glimpsed, including The Necronomicon and Yog-Sothoth: The Key and the Gate.
After a few minutes Artimas began to grow tired of the wait and turned to find the goblin still regarding him thoughtfully. He sniffed disdainfully, “When do you expect your master to return?” The goblin did not answer but continued to sit and stare, so Artimas repeated the question in several different languages, but still failed to elicit a response. The necromancer shrugged, annoyed, and turned back to perusing the contents of the shelves. Well, he thought, whoever this wizard is, from looking at his belongings I’d guess him to be at least as powerful as I.
Thinking to better gauge the power of the mage he hoped to recruit soon, Artimas mumbled an incantation and turned to study the room’s contents again now that could see the magical auras it contained. Several of the books on the shelves contained spells, and Artimas examined those first. He quickly reassessed his opinion of the unknown spellcaster; whoever he was, the man was actually a more advanced mage than Artimas. The necromancer also deduced that the wizard he’d been sent to meet was a specialist in spells from the conjuration and divination schools of magic.
He turned to scan the rest of the chamber again, and that’s when he received his first real shock. The goblin wore several items of great power, including a circlet of greenish metal, the iron ring that pierced its nipple, the black cape draped over its shoulders, and a gold ring set with a red stone on its right ring finger. Could it be? No, he decided, although it was hard to understand why any mage with half an ounce of common sense would trust such items in a goblin’s care.
He moved over to the birdcage and peered in at the stirge resting inside. It stared back at him quizzically, and he sensed intelligence behind its stare, much more than he would expect from such a beast. “Familiar, then,” he decided, and then the stirge did something disturbing and gross. It gave a little shake, ruffling its feather, then opened its beak in a great yawn, continued opening its beak past the point of any jawbone’s endurance or flexibility, and then turned itself inside out. The whole process took less than a second, and now instead of a stirge the necromancer beheld an oddly glistening mass of flesh and undulating tentacles that dripped a thin slime onto the cage bottom.
He shook his head and turned away, murmuring, “Nice pet.”
“Thank you, but I believe being called pet he likes not,” croaked the goblin in reply.
Artimas turned back to the squat, lumpy humanoid. “Oho, so it can speak! I was starting to despair of ever getting any answers. I’ve been guided here with the understanding that I would meet a wizard capable of assisting me in my current quest. Again I must ask you, where is your master and when will he return?”
The goblin resumed its silence, gazing stoically at the necromancer with a small frown creasing its lower lip. In a flash of insight Artimas suddenly understood. “Oh, wait, you’re not the apprentice here, are you?” The creature shook its head and Artimas continued, “My apologies, friend, I didn’t mean – well, you see, I just assumed – “
The goblin cracked a smile and rescued the wizard from his fumbling apology, “Worry not. Used to it I am.”
“Yes, I suppose you must be. Well, anyway, I – I suppose the acolyte already informed you of why I was here.”
“Correct. Battle with drow you do. Help you need in your fight. Aid you I can, yes.” The goblin slowly levitated off of its cushions and floated across the room to stand before him. “Artimas Sendant, pleased am I to meet you. Heard of you, yes. I am Higreld Pel Loathegrot, smartest goblin alive.
Now, tell me: why should Higreld aid you? What, forgive me, is in it for me?”
Artimas stumbled over his reply. He had expected this question, but not this questioner. “Uh, well. During my encounters so far with the dark elves they have proved to be rich in magical power, and I have faced a multitude of drow wizards. Somewhere in that city are the quarters and studies of those wizards, and their spellbooks. You could stand to profit greatly from gaining access to that cache of knowledge. In addition, of course, you’d be accepted as a full member of our adventuring company, thus entitled to an equal share of any loot gained.”
Higreld considered the proposal. “And fighting dark elves you are. Will any squids there be? Terrible power have the squids, terrible.”
Artimas assumed he referred to illithids. “Hmm, well, none that I know of, but I suppose there’s always the possibility.”
A shudder wracked the goblin’s twisted frame and he said, “Cannot be helped I suppose. Very well. Come with you I shall. Now help me pack.”
*****
A short time later the goblin and the necromancer stood side by side within the abandoned warehouse. Artimas looked down at his new companion and frowned. “I’m not sure you should wander around looking like that,” he informed the gnarled conjurer, who floated along two feet off the ground, the stirge back to its normal appearance and perched upon his shoulder.
“Yes, mustn’t forget. Townsfolk like goblins not.” He waved his hands about while reciting a peculiar verse and the his features began to melt and run together, the very pigments of his skin changing noticeably as a new face began to appear. Soon a halfling of hideous appearance stood before the priest of Arawn, a small songbird resting on his shoulder. “One halfling in the group already you said. Now, until town we leave, you have two.”
Artimas shook his head, an ironic smile folding his lips. He wondered how the halfling would react to his new companions when he learned of all of their true natures. “Well, in a couple of days I guess I’ll find out,” he muttered to himself as the two magi headed off to find the inn the barbarian had checked into.
A short time later, Artimas found himself confronted by an eager young sorcerer named Bruskin who was eager to join the fight against the drow. “Please, I can be very valuable to your cause if you would give me the chance. I have researched the dark elves extensively and am strong in my art.”
”Whatever. Welby, what do you think of Bruskin here?”
The halfling paused from his current activity, which was wolfing down an enormous stack of pancakes as quickly as possible. Pancakes that, the halfling considered, Bruskin had paid for. In fact, he’d been eating almost the entire time he’d been at the King’s Arms, and the sorcerer had paid for all of it. Good enough, decided Welby. He nodded at Artimas, “Yeah, he okay.”
“Good enough. But I want you to understand that there are conditions to your membership, although I do not feel like going into the details at this moment. I’m rather exhausted. Do you have my room key, Welby? I need to go to the wagon for one last thing and them I’m off to bed.”
The barbarian handed his friend a key, motioning surreptitiously to the other halfling who stood there. “Oh yes,” Artimas answered the unspoken question. “How rude of me. Welby, meet our new wizard Higreld Pel. Higreld, this is Welby, the person I told you about. Now follow me, H. P., I’ve got someone else I want you to meet.”
‘Someone else?’ wondered Welby, but then a waitress set a fresh plate before him and the thought disappeared.
Next: A round of introductions then the return to the Dorien Crypts.
Broccli_Head
Explorer
So what's this? A goblin who talks like Yoda and is into Cthulu?
HP L.... indeed
HP L.... indeed
Sniktch
First Post
HP Loathegrot
Yes, I'm afraid so. I can't be blamed for this one (well, maybe a little). Since Artimas was recruiting new help, I gave my players the option of creating characters that were a little creepier and off-beat then normal, and opened up a large number of the evil humanoid races for use as PC's. Enter HP Loathegrot, goblin alienist.
I'm not sure the speech was intentional, at first, but we all soon picked up on it and the player is stuck with it now
Oh, btw he's also extremely masochistic, which I'm sure we'll start to see in the next session. *Sigh* I'm afraid my game is degenerating into a creepy comedy.
I've only hinted at it so far, but Bruskin is also not all he appears to be. We'll see his true nature exposed once they leave town. I think the new lineup is interesting - definitely the oddest collection of PC's I've ever run in a game. I'm really looking forward to seeing how the group does in action. Still have two new PC's to introduce (as Jack revealed, at least one is a deep gnome), but we won't see them until the group gets back to the underdark (obviously).
What this does mean is that even though Quinn and Grick survived they won't be rejoining the group. Quinn did some scrying and she does not like the new party at all, so its far more likely that the two of them will head to Travensburg and join Jack and Filthy Ike in my PBEM.
Yes, I'm afraid so. I can't be blamed for this one (well, maybe a little). Since Artimas was recruiting new help, I gave my players the option of creating characters that were a little creepier and off-beat then normal, and opened up a large number of the evil humanoid races for use as PC's. Enter HP Loathegrot, goblin alienist.
I'm not sure the speech was intentional, at first, but we all soon picked up on it and the player is stuck with it now
Oh, btw he's also extremely masochistic, which I'm sure we'll start to see in the next session. *Sigh* I'm afraid my game is degenerating into a creepy comedy.I've only hinted at it so far, but Bruskin is also not all he appears to be. We'll see his true nature exposed once they leave town. I think the new lineup is interesting - definitely the oddest collection of PC's I've ever run in a game. I'm really looking forward to seeing how the group does in action. Still have two new PC's to introduce (as Jack revealed, at least one is a deep gnome), but we won't see them until the group gets back to the underdark (obviously).
What this does mean is that even though Quinn and Grick survived they won't be rejoining the group. Quinn did some scrying and she does not like the new party at all, so its far more likely that the two of them will head to Travensburg and join Jack and Filthy Ike in my PBEM.
Jameumz
First Post
most sorry, I am
My fault! Alllll my fault! Higreld's without a doubt the oddest, non-standard character I've ever stepped into the shoes of.
His original speech boasted impeccable grammar, but featured a voice that sounded like a nightmarish blend of Muppet Babies Animal and that creepy little psychic lady from Poltergeist.
Regardless, I dig 'im. I'll have a background wrote for him someday soon, I swears.
My fault! Alllll my fault! Higreld's without a doubt the oddest, non-standard character I've ever stepped into the shoes of.
His original speech boasted impeccable grammar, but featured a voice that sounded like a nightmarish blend of Muppet Babies Animal and that creepy little psychic lady from Poltergeist.
Regardless, I dig 'im. I'll have a background wrote for him someday soon, I swears.
Last edited:
Sniktch
First Post
A round of introductions
Before I get to the update, I started a second Rogue's Gallery in which to post various NPC's and monsters that the (anti?)heroes face. I'm not going to provide a ling to avoid tempting my players, but otherwise will trust them to stay away from it. I started with Larala and Tierak, two current allies of the group, but I plan on throwing up some of the bad guys soon.
*****
Artimas entered the wagon and found Tierak sitting at the small desk, sleeping with her head resting on the open pages of a book. Artimas shook his head. She looked so peaceful, so beautiful when she was asleep, if only… but never mind. He was unused to such thoughts. It was probably just the lack of sleep taking its toll.
Higreld entered behind him and the necromancer motioned to the sleeping dark elf. “It seems introductions may have to wait. In the meantime, I know your disguise will wear off soon – you can hide in here until we leave town. I’m sure you’ll find plenty to occupy yourself with. If you need sleep you can always climb in here.” He moved over to the small bed and opened a hidden panel on its side. It swung open to reveal a small crawlspace comfortably lined with velvet and felt. The space was originally built to house a vampire servant, but had been empty since that servant was destroyed facing the green dragon Hy’Sharr.
Higreld bobbed his head up and down agreeably, giving Artimas the impression that he was about to collapse under the weight of his over-sized skull, then moved to the bookcase and began unpacking volumes and placing them on the lower, empty shelves. Artimas gently shook Tierak awake and moved her to the bed, then left the drow and goblin to their own devices and headed back into the inn. He did not stop to talk again with Welby or the young, eager sorcerer, but continued straight to his room and collapsed into bed.
That evening Artimas smuggled Tierak out of the wagon and took her to the small chapel of Arawn located near the city crypts. He left her in the care of the resident priest with orders to ordain the dark elf as a full-fledged priestess of Arawn. The man seemed reluctant but had no choice but to follow the order, as Artimas far outranked him in the church hierarchy. Once he was sure his charge was being taken care of, the mage found an acolyte and dictated a letter to be delivered to the leaders of the church in Greystone. It informed them of his desire to prolong his career and asked for their blessing to begin work on his phylactery. He planned to start anyway, confident he knew what his superiors’ decision would be.
He waited until early morning, taking a quick nap after he’d said his prayers at midnight, when at last Tierak reappeared with an expression of exultation, wearing a holy symbol of Arawn. Artimas was not surprised; he’d had no doubt his god would take the opportunity to spread his worship, especially with a talented and charismatic individual like Tierak. They left the temple together and made it back to the King’s Arms just before dawn broke the horizon.
The companions remained at Brian’s Stone for the rest of the week. Artimas kept to his room or the wagon, refusing repeatedly to explain to Bruskin the conditions of his membership or what had happened to the other halfling who’d been with him when they’d met. Each time the sorcerer approached him the necromancer only smiled and said, “All will be revealed when the city walls lie behind us.”
One other strange event occurred in the middle of the week. Artimas, Higreld, and Tierak were discussing the layout of Szith Morcane and possible strategies of attack when suddenly the goblin’s face scrunched up and he peered quizically into the air. All three of the spellcasters felt the intruding presence - they were being watched! Loathegrot exchanged quick glances with his companions and then exerted his will, suddenly severing the connection and driving the spying presence away.
On the last day of their stay a package arrived for Artimas, carried by a young man he recognized as a follower of the Morrigan. He carried it out to the wagon and opened it excitedly while Higreld and Tierak watched, revealing a shiny shirt of mithral links and a fancy rapier, designed specifically for use by the spectral killer hovering near. A second delivery came from the armorsmith - twelve suits of chainmail. One last arrival showed up near dark, and carried thirteen scythes. Artimas loaded all of it onto the cart and informed the others that they would leave in the morning.
They set out as soon as Welby finished his breakfast, and rode until they reached the entrance to the old crypts, stopping for lunch at midday. Night fell as they started to set up camp and Artimas informed them that it was time for all of the companions to be introduced. At his cue, the wagon door opened and an incredibly ugly goblin floated into view and hovered beside the necromancer. “Higreld Pel Loathegrot, the mage I hired,” Artimas explained.
Welby looked at the twisted creature in surprise. “Hey! You not halfling!” The goblin only shook his head and smiled a smile full of small sharp teeth.
Bruskin’s reaction was quite different. His eyes flashed red as the goblin stepped into view, and he nodded absently, as if to himself. “Very well. As long as we are revealing secrets, here is mine.” His features melted and flowed together and became those of a dark haired elf with glowing red eyes. Meanwhile, the bones in his back knitted together, tore themselves back apart and gradually protruded until a great set of batlike wings grew from the sorcerer’s back. “This is why I wanted so badly to fight the drow. Years ago my great grandmother was captured by them and forced to mate with demons in a horrific ritual. She was rescued but by that time already carried my grandfather. Now it is time to pay them back for their wicked acts!”
A crooked smile twisted the necromancer’s lips as Bruskin the fey’ri wrapped up his statement. He motioned to the cart and another figure stepped forth, a tall beautiful drow priestess wearing a shirt of glittering mithral. Bruskin gasped and drew his weapon, and Welby pointed at the dark elf and yelled, “Hey! You not dead!”
A snarl of hatred curled Bruskin’s features but before he could act, a translucent figure coalesced between him and the object of his malice. The ghost held a rapier in its outstretched hand and glared venomously at the fey’ri as it whispered, “Oh, please try it, I would so love to spill your blood.”
Bruskin paled and lowered his weapon, but Welby had a more violent reaction. “Arty, that Mask!” he cried, running over to the necromancer and grasping his black robes. “That Mask!”
Artimas attempted to calm his friend, “Yes, it is, Welby, but he cannot hurt you. He is entirely under my control.” He turned to the sorcerer and continued, “And this should serve as an example to you. Behold the price of betraying me, and should you think to do so, know that you will share his fate - everlasting servitude. And thus, we reach the conditions of your membership. First, that you must cooperate with the individuals seen before you, and second, that I am in charge of this venture and you will defer to my wishes in all matters. I offer you the option of turning back if this does not appeal to you.”
“How can you ask me to work with this being? Her kind is responsible for my condition!” shouted Bruskin. Welby continued to cling to Artimas’ robes and stare at the apparition of the Mask in fear.
Tierak sneered at the sorcerer, “Then you should thank us. Your form is far superior to that of the common, weakling elf. Besides, it could not have been my people who did this. No worshipper of Lolth would ever leave an elf alive - your ancestor was captured by some other faction.”
Bruskin bristled at the insult but Artimas intervened and tried to smooth things over as best he could. “Now, we all are gathered to fight the same foe. All of us are hear to kill drow, and is it not said that the enemy of my enemy is my friend? There are few of us as it is, let us not worsen things by fighting amongst ourselves. In the morning we will attack the city and slay all who stand against us. So what say you Bruskin; is it worth allying with one drow to have the chance to kill dozens?”
The fey’ri found himself drawn to this logic and was somewhat appeased. The Mask faded away, and Welby calmed considerably once the ghost was out of sight. He briefly considered running away from this situation and this gathering of strange and scary people, but he was still too angry at the loss of his friends. He would put up with their company if it meant a chance for vengeance.
With the immediate hostilities diffused the group went about setting up their camp again. Just before returning to the wagon to rest for a couple of hours, Artimas and Tierak entered the crypts alone. They returned shortly followed by a small army of undead - the shadow of the roper slain on their previous visit, thirteen skeletons from the common crypts, and the zombies of Tierak’s former companions. Artimas drifted off to sleep satisfied with his preparations. When he woke, Szith Morcane was going to burn.
(All caught up finally, at least until next session)
Before I get to the update, I started a second Rogue's Gallery in which to post various NPC's and monsters that the (anti?)heroes face. I'm not going to provide a ling to avoid tempting my players, but otherwise will trust them to stay away from it. I started with Larala and Tierak, two current allies of the group, but I plan on throwing up some of the bad guys soon.
*****
Artimas entered the wagon and found Tierak sitting at the small desk, sleeping with her head resting on the open pages of a book. Artimas shook his head. She looked so peaceful, so beautiful when she was asleep, if only… but never mind. He was unused to such thoughts. It was probably just the lack of sleep taking its toll.
Higreld entered behind him and the necromancer motioned to the sleeping dark elf. “It seems introductions may have to wait. In the meantime, I know your disguise will wear off soon – you can hide in here until we leave town. I’m sure you’ll find plenty to occupy yourself with. If you need sleep you can always climb in here.” He moved over to the small bed and opened a hidden panel on its side. It swung open to reveal a small crawlspace comfortably lined with velvet and felt. The space was originally built to house a vampire servant, but had been empty since that servant was destroyed facing the green dragon Hy’Sharr.
Higreld bobbed his head up and down agreeably, giving Artimas the impression that he was about to collapse under the weight of his over-sized skull, then moved to the bookcase and began unpacking volumes and placing them on the lower, empty shelves. Artimas gently shook Tierak awake and moved her to the bed, then left the drow and goblin to their own devices and headed back into the inn. He did not stop to talk again with Welby or the young, eager sorcerer, but continued straight to his room and collapsed into bed.
That evening Artimas smuggled Tierak out of the wagon and took her to the small chapel of Arawn located near the city crypts. He left her in the care of the resident priest with orders to ordain the dark elf as a full-fledged priestess of Arawn. The man seemed reluctant but had no choice but to follow the order, as Artimas far outranked him in the church hierarchy. Once he was sure his charge was being taken care of, the mage found an acolyte and dictated a letter to be delivered to the leaders of the church in Greystone. It informed them of his desire to prolong his career and asked for their blessing to begin work on his phylactery. He planned to start anyway, confident he knew what his superiors’ decision would be.
He waited until early morning, taking a quick nap after he’d said his prayers at midnight, when at last Tierak reappeared with an expression of exultation, wearing a holy symbol of Arawn. Artimas was not surprised; he’d had no doubt his god would take the opportunity to spread his worship, especially with a talented and charismatic individual like Tierak. They left the temple together and made it back to the King’s Arms just before dawn broke the horizon.
The companions remained at Brian’s Stone for the rest of the week. Artimas kept to his room or the wagon, refusing repeatedly to explain to Bruskin the conditions of his membership or what had happened to the other halfling who’d been with him when they’d met. Each time the sorcerer approached him the necromancer only smiled and said, “All will be revealed when the city walls lie behind us.”
One other strange event occurred in the middle of the week. Artimas, Higreld, and Tierak were discussing the layout of Szith Morcane and possible strategies of attack when suddenly the goblin’s face scrunched up and he peered quizically into the air. All three of the spellcasters felt the intruding presence - they were being watched! Loathegrot exchanged quick glances with his companions and then exerted his will, suddenly severing the connection and driving the spying presence away.
On the last day of their stay a package arrived for Artimas, carried by a young man he recognized as a follower of the Morrigan. He carried it out to the wagon and opened it excitedly while Higreld and Tierak watched, revealing a shiny shirt of mithral links and a fancy rapier, designed specifically for use by the spectral killer hovering near. A second delivery came from the armorsmith - twelve suits of chainmail. One last arrival showed up near dark, and carried thirteen scythes. Artimas loaded all of it onto the cart and informed the others that they would leave in the morning.
They set out as soon as Welby finished his breakfast, and rode until they reached the entrance to the old crypts, stopping for lunch at midday. Night fell as they started to set up camp and Artimas informed them that it was time for all of the companions to be introduced. At his cue, the wagon door opened and an incredibly ugly goblin floated into view and hovered beside the necromancer. “Higreld Pel Loathegrot, the mage I hired,” Artimas explained.
Welby looked at the twisted creature in surprise. “Hey! You not halfling!” The goblin only shook his head and smiled a smile full of small sharp teeth.
Bruskin’s reaction was quite different. His eyes flashed red as the goblin stepped into view, and he nodded absently, as if to himself. “Very well. As long as we are revealing secrets, here is mine.” His features melted and flowed together and became those of a dark haired elf with glowing red eyes. Meanwhile, the bones in his back knitted together, tore themselves back apart and gradually protruded until a great set of batlike wings grew from the sorcerer’s back. “This is why I wanted so badly to fight the drow. Years ago my great grandmother was captured by them and forced to mate with demons in a horrific ritual. She was rescued but by that time already carried my grandfather. Now it is time to pay them back for their wicked acts!”
A crooked smile twisted the necromancer’s lips as Bruskin the fey’ri wrapped up his statement. He motioned to the cart and another figure stepped forth, a tall beautiful drow priestess wearing a shirt of glittering mithral. Bruskin gasped and drew his weapon, and Welby pointed at the dark elf and yelled, “Hey! You not dead!”
A snarl of hatred curled Bruskin’s features but before he could act, a translucent figure coalesced between him and the object of his malice. The ghost held a rapier in its outstretched hand and glared venomously at the fey’ri as it whispered, “Oh, please try it, I would so love to spill your blood.”
Bruskin paled and lowered his weapon, but Welby had a more violent reaction. “Arty, that Mask!” he cried, running over to the necromancer and grasping his black robes. “That Mask!”
Artimas attempted to calm his friend, “Yes, it is, Welby, but he cannot hurt you. He is entirely under my control.” He turned to the sorcerer and continued, “And this should serve as an example to you. Behold the price of betraying me, and should you think to do so, know that you will share his fate - everlasting servitude. And thus, we reach the conditions of your membership. First, that you must cooperate with the individuals seen before you, and second, that I am in charge of this venture and you will defer to my wishes in all matters. I offer you the option of turning back if this does not appeal to you.”
“How can you ask me to work with this being? Her kind is responsible for my condition!” shouted Bruskin. Welby continued to cling to Artimas’ robes and stare at the apparition of the Mask in fear.
Tierak sneered at the sorcerer, “Then you should thank us. Your form is far superior to that of the common, weakling elf. Besides, it could not have been my people who did this. No worshipper of Lolth would ever leave an elf alive - your ancestor was captured by some other faction.”
Bruskin bristled at the insult but Artimas intervened and tried to smooth things over as best he could. “Now, we all are gathered to fight the same foe. All of us are hear to kill drow, and is it not said that the enemy of my enemy is my friend? There are few of us as it is, let us not worsen things by fighting amongst ourselves. In the morning we will attack the city and slay all who stand against us. So what say you Bruskin; is it worth allying with one drow to have the chance to kill dozens?”
The fey’ri found himself drawn to this logic and was somewhat appeased. The Mask faded away, and Welby calmed considerably once the ghost was out of sight. He briefly considered running away from this situation and this gathering of strange and scary people, but he was still too angry at the loss of his friends. He would put up with their company if it meant a chance for vengeance.
With the immediate hostilities diffused the group went about setting up their camp again. Just before returning to the wagon to rest for a couple of hours, Artimas and Tierak entered the crypts alone. They returned shortly followed by a small army of undead - the shadow of the roper slain on their previous visit, thirteen skeletons from the common crypts, and the zombies of Tierak’s former companions. Artimas drifted off to sleep satisfied with his preparations. When he woke, Szith Morcane was going to burn.
(All caught up finally, at least until next session)
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Broccli_Head
Explorer
Maybe Welby should run to join Quinn and Grick!
Sniktch
First Post
Re: Welby
He might if he realized they were alive. Quinn sent Artimas a sending to let them know they had survived and wouldn't be coming back any time soon, but the mage has chosen to withhold this information to keep Welby's grief and rage piqued.
I can see Welby's alignment either shifting more towards N (which he's always been closer to IMHO anyway), or who knows? This is a nasty adventure and we may see another house cleaning before its all through.
He might if he realized they were alive. Quinn sent Artimas a sending to let them know they had survived and wouldn't be coming back any time soon, but the mage has chosen to withhold this information to keep Welby's grief and rage piqued.
I can see Welby's alignment either shifting more towards N (which he's always been closer to IMHO anyway), or who knows? This is a nasty adventure and we may see another house cleaning before its all through.
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