The Heroes of Winterhaven - updated 8th June - Ryam Plays Dice
Mathew_Freeman
First Post
You'll have to wait until Monday, I'm afraid. 
Mathew_Freeman
First Post
Rules of Warfare, Part 3
Readers warning: Some of the dialogue in the next scene has been liberally translated from the original Elven, Common, and Goblin, so as not to cause offence. These passages will be marked by an asterisk.
“Come and get some of this, ye goblinoid villains who may well have engaged in intimate relations with thine own parents!”* cried Elwanen as the door fell into splinters.
The hobgoblin archers waiting in the room beyond unleashed a volley that sent him reeling back into the ranks of his own party. Cass, a dainty lass who just happened to know how to swing a really big axe, led the charge forwards as 2 robed hobgoblin warcasters stepped into view at the far end of the chamber. Unleashing powerful blasts of energy from their fully charged staves they sent both the young warrior girl and the warlock beside her flying across the room. Comfy in his large oaken chair, the warchief laughed a loud belly laugh.
“You foolish interlopers who likewise may have doubts cast upon your familial relations! Who wants more of the same?”*
Beneath a barrage of Theron’s magic missiles Aran came tumbling through his party who were sprawling this way and that. He ducked past 2 hobgoblins as they swung their rattling flails at him, and drop-kicked the soup cauldron in just such a way as to tip it onto it’s side with a resounding clang. Boiling hot broth splashed over the archers who had taken cover behind it and were now screaming in pain. Meanwhile the hobgoblin soldiers closed in on the nimble Halfling.
With a single huge stride Fangorn was into melee, batting a shield away with his maul and following up with a heavy blow that hit one of the soldiers square in the chest, sending him back pedalling. Elwanen was close behind, thrusting his sword into a pair of soldiers who were tightly locked in formation. The soldiers dealt out viscious slashing blows from their spiked flails in return.
“This is a really bad idea.” sighed Des, “I must see what’s going on!” He ran to the doorway and beheld the carnage beyond. Half of his party were picking themselves up off the floor, while the rest were surrounded by hobgoblin soldiers and fighting for their lives.
“Does anybody require healing at this point?” He called into the room.
“Nothing more than a flesh wound!” replied Elwanen, not seeking to be a drain on party resources, as he valiantly parried the hobgoblin’s attacks and seized an opportunity to gain another thrust that cut one of the soldiers across the abdomen with a grunt of pain.
“Don’t worry, it was just a bolt of deadly energy to the face.” muttered Fau morbidly, not wishing to lower party moral with apparent vulnerability, whilst staggering to his feet and blasting a hobgoblin soldier who had lined up a flanking strike on Fangorn.
“Oh well, may as well make myself useful!” Des rapidly thumbed through the pages of the heavy book he carried around with him. “Ah yes, this sounds appropriate!” He began to recite a verse.
A wave of dread washed over the backline of the hobgoblin formation, the archers shivered, the soldiers quaked, even the warcasters gripped their staves so tightly their knuckles turned white. Despite their unease, the hobgoblins continued fighting, although their arrows did not fly so straight, nor were their arcane words pronounced with such confidence.
Cass got to her feet and commanded her great axe to burst into flame. Swinging great arcs of trailing fire, she waded into the ranks of hobgoblin soldiers, clashing axe against shield with a burst of flame. Aran tumbled around the battlefield, wielding Talon and Claw in deadly patterns around the knees and the hamstrings of the brutish goblinoids that towered over him, felling a foe from behind. Moving into his fallen allies position, the large figure of a heavily armoured hobgoblin swung his flail down suddenly and caught the Halfling as he dived away.
Meanwhile Elwanen carved a symphony of Eladrin steel into the soldiers that surrounded him, barely managing to fend off rattling blows from their deadly flails in return. Flanked, he was spun around by a blow that smashed into his shoulder. Fangorn, taking mighty strides from foe to foe, pounded and mashed upon the shields of the well-drilled formations around him. Theron’s magic missile barrage found targets in all corners of the room, delicate wraiths of dark energy leaping from his fingertips and soaring through the air with a brutal accuracy.
But as it seemed the battle was level, Aran tumbled past the 2 warcasters who unexpectedly lashed out with their staves in melee. Catching Aran a massive blow to the chest, one of them sent him flying across the room, where he lay motionless.
“Aran!” shouted Elwanen, disappearing as the shield wall closed in around him, and reappearing a second later beside the fallen Halfling. The paladin reached down and healed his comrade with but a touch.
“Right!” shouted the warchief, “It’s time you half-witted hairless apes received a final and resounding rebuke!”* He leapt off his large oaken chair and, wielding a curved serated shortsword, charged into melee with Cass. Fending off the warchief and several soldiers, Cass was slashed, stabbed, and flailed, driven back into the passageway and barely managing to keep on her feet. Seeing this Theron leapt into the melee.
“This had better work, or i’m dead!” he quipped with a toss of the hair, “THUNDERWAVE!”
The sudden sonic shock wave sent the soldiers flying, their broad shields acting like sails in a storm, but the warchief yet stood his ground. Bruised and battered, Cass charged back in, heaving her flaming great axe in a mighty whoosh over the head of the ducking warchief.
Fau was seen walking calmly across the room, picking his way over bodies and debris, blood pouring from many cuts and gashes, stopping occasionally to blast a hobgoblin to smithereens. The last surviving archer picked him out from the far side of the chamber and loosed an arrow, which sent the warlock reeling.
“Would anyone like to be healed at this point?” shouted Des at the top of his voice once more.
Looking around to make sure his compatriots were not watching, Fau plucked the arrow from his shoulder and called upon his inner reserves to drive him onward. Satisfied he had not been seen healing himself, and thus maintaining a confident air of invulnerability, he re-emerged into the battle and looked for his next target.
“I think you might profer Cass your aid.” Elwanen advised Des, since noone else had taken up the offer, before leaping back into melee with a group of hobgoblin soldiers around the remains of the fire on which the soup cauldron had been boiling.
Des looked across the room to where Cass and Theron were battling the warchief and several soldiers. Cass was desperately fending off blows, already riven with many wounds. Turning the page in the thick book he carried around with him, Des offered some words of inspiration:
The hobgoblins facing Cass were suddenly captivated by a fleeting moment of despondency, while Cass found herself invigorated, her wounds disappearing before her very eyes.
Having battled his way to the far side of the guardroom Fangorn found himself beside a large fireplace in the corner, whereupon he set about the 2 lurking warcasters. Swinging his huge maul around his head with both gnarly hands several times in preparation he strode forward a single step and unleashed it in a great humming arc, sending one of the hobgoblin arcanists flying limp and lifeless before he hit the stone floor. The other stepped away just in time and pointed the tip of his staff at the savage tree-creature. Another blast of energy sent Fangorn staggering back, collapsing into the roaring fire. He swiftly emerged, his charred leaves floating off into the air about him as he shook off the flames.
From nowhere, Fau appeared next to the last arcanist.
“You.” he muttered, summoning a great grasping claw of smoke from the fireplace that grabbed the hobgoblin and dragged him, screaming, into the flames. A few moments later the burning figure of the unfortunate warcaster emerged from the fire, still screaming. Blackened to a crisp, it spent it’s dying moments running around the battlefield, still screaming, still on fire, before crashing to the floor and shattering into large chunks of charcoal.
A hobgoblin soldier, who had been bearing down on Fau before he vanished, looked around and found Des, who was quickly leafing through his book for something appropriate to say. Raising his shield he charged, his long flail swinging in viscious circles around him. Des looked up from his study, and quickly drew a mace to defend himself. The soldier swung his flail and missed, Des retaliated with a blow that clanged against the hobgoblin’s shield, knocking it aside for an instant.
As if a silent alarm had rung out warning all rogues of an opportunity, Aran suddenly appeared. Seeing but an inch of unshielded armpit, the Halfling leapt up at the hobgoblin and skewered him under his shoulder in such a way that the tip of his scimitar re-appeared from the poor creatures neck.
“Redeploy!” yelled the hobgoblin warchief seeing his soldiers falling around him. The few remaining warriors under his command suddenly shifted their positions with finely-drilled precision, despite the fact that the tide had turned against them.
Reaching a vantage point in a side passage, the archer that had dealt Fau a near-mortal wound scanned the melee. Seeing Elwanen drop the last soldier he faced with a graceful, 360 degree spinning scythe-like blow that separated the soldiers legs from his feet at the ankle, he took aim and fired. The Eladrin paladin was struck in the chest and fell back with a crash, sword and shield clattering to the stone floor but an instant later.
“Elwanen!” shouted Fangorn, still smoking, as he bounded across the corpses of the paladin’s fallen foes. Retrieving one of the potions the party had acquired in Winterhaven, he poured it down the throat of the dying Eladrin.
Having stepped back from melee, Theron looked across the room and espyed the smirking archer draw another arrow, the sinister figure of Sabbat Fau calmly bearing down on the bowman. Raising a hand, the warlock blasted the hobgoblin with a rolling ball of fire, but when the smoke had cleared the creature was still on it’s feet. With toss of the hair, Theron sent a dancing wraith of black mana soaring through the air, hitting the hobgoblin square on the forehead. The archer fell backwards, rigid, and hit the floor with a smoking hole where once his brain had been.
Both Fangorn and the newly risen Elwanen charged across the room and joined the melee where Cass and Aran were battling the warchief and the last of the soldiers. Axes and mauls clashed against shields, serated shortswords lashed out. The battle, though nearly won, was not over. The barbarian felled a hobgoblin from behind with a downwards swing of his maul, while Cass struck the warchief a serious blow from her flaming axe. An exchange of blows and parries left the hobgoblin Elwanen battled reeling.
Seeing that his force was depleted, the warchief grinned with the fearless intensity of a doomed warrior.
“It has been my honour to lead you!” he declared to the 2 hobgoblin soldiers who still stood by him, “At least i’ll take one of these rotten scoundrels with me!”*
With that he barged through Cass and Des, lunging at the unarmoured wizard beyond. Following a swift feint he stabbed Theron with his shortsword, sending the wizard recoiling in pain.
With his hair all awry, Theron was enraged. The wizard picked himself up and threw himself upon the hulking warchief, who dodged the charge to suddenly find himself staring down the wrong end of a descending fiery great axe.
“Maglubiyarrgh!” he screamed, just before Cass cleaved his skull in two. Having felled one of the 2 soldiers, the party surrounded last surviving hobgoblin.
“Surrender.” muttered the warlock.
“Or be torn apart in a lengthy and scientifically interesting fashion.”* added Elwanen. With that the defeated soldier through down his weapon and shield and surrendered to the adventurers.
Note: Sadly, we didn't get to play on Monday due to the snow in London, so after this we've only one more update before we run out. Sorry!
Next time: The rule is finally revealed!
Readers warning: Some of the dialogue in the next scene has been liberally translated from the original Elven, Common, and Goblin, so as not to cause offence. These passages will be marked by an asterisk.
“Come and get some of this, ye goblinoid villains who may well have engaged in intimate relations with thine own parents!”* cried Elwanen as the door fell into splinters.
The hobgoblin archers waiting in the room beyond unleashed a volley that sent him reeling back into the ranks of his own party. Cass, a dainty lass who just happened to know how to swing a really big axe, led the charge forwards as 2 robed hobgoblin warcasters stepped into view at the far end of the chamber. Unleashing powerful blasts of energy from their fully charged staves they sent both the young warrior girl and the warlock beside her flying across the room. Comfy in his large oaken chair, the warchief laughed a loud belly laugh.
“You foolish interlopers who likewise may have doubts cast upon your familial relations! Who wants more of the same?”*
Beneath a barrage of Theron’s magic missiles Aran came tumbling through his party who were sprawling this way and that. He ducked past 2 hobgoblins as they swung their rattling flails at him, and drop-kicked the soup cauldron in just such a way as to tip it onto it’s side with a resounding clang. Boiling hot broth splashed over the archers who had taken cover behind it and were now screaming in pain. Meanwhile the hobgoblin soldiers closed in on the nimble Halfling.
With a single huge stride Fangorn was into melee, batting a shield away with his maul and following up with a heavy blow that hit one of the soldiers square in the chest, sending him back pedalling. Elwanen was close behind, thrusting his sword into a pair of soldiers who were tightly locked in formation. The soldiers dealt out viscious slashing blows from their spiked flails in return.
“This is a really bad idea.” sighed Des, “I must see what’s going on!” He ran to the doorway and beheld the carnage beyond. Half of his party were picking themselves up off the floor, while the rest were surrounded by hobgoblin soldiers and fighting for their lives.
“Does anybody require healing at this point?” He called into the room.
“Nothing more than a flesh wound!” replied Elwanen, not seeking to be a drain on party resources, as he valiantly parried the hobgoblin’s attacks and seized an opportunity to gain another thrust that cut one of the soldiers across the abdomen with a grunt of pain.
“Don’t worry, it was just a bolt of deadly energy to the face.” muttered Fau morbidly, not wishing to lower party moral with apparent vulnerability, whilst staggering to his feet and blasting a hobgoblin soldier who had lined up a flanking strike on Fangorn.
“Oh well, may as well make myself useful!” Des rapidly thumbed through the pages of the heavy book he carried around with him. “Ah yes, this sounds appropriate!” He began to recite a verse.
Winter again, but below,
The song of swords,
Mine foe is afeared.
The song of swords,
Mine foe is afeared.
A wave of dread washed over the backline of the hobgoblin formation, the archers shivered, the soldiers quaked, even the warcasters gripped their staves so tightly their knuckles turned white. Despite their unease, the hobgoblins continued fighting, although their arrows did not fly so straight, nor were their arcane words pronounced with such confidence.
Cass got to her feet and commanded her great axe to burst into flame. Swinging great arcs of trailing fire, she waded into the ranks of hobgoblin soldiers, clashing axe against shield with a burst of flame. Aran tumbled around the battlefield, wielding Talon and Claw in deadly patterns around the knees and the hamstrings of the brutish goblinoids that towered over him, felling a foe from behind. Moving into his fallen allies position, the large figure of a heavily armoured hobgoblin swung his flail down suddenly and caught the Halfling as he dived away.
Meanwhile Elwanen carved a symphony of Eladrin steel into the soldiers that surrounded him, barely managing to fend off rattling blows from their deadly flails in return. Flanked, he was spun around by a blow that smashed into his shoulder. Fangorn, taking mighty strides from foe to foe, pounded and mashed upon the shields of the well-drilled formations around him. Theron’s magic missile barrage found targets in all corners of the room, delicate wraiths of dark energy leaping from his fingertips and soaring through the air with a brutal accuracy.
But as it seemed the battle was level, Aran tumbled past the 2 warcasters who unexpectedly lashed out with their staves in melee. Catching Aran a massive blow to the chest, one of them sent him flying across the room, where he lay motionless.
“Aran!” shouted Elwanen, disappearing as the shield wall closed in around him, and reappearing a second later beside the fallen Halfling. The paladin reached down and healed his comrade with but a touch.
“Right!” shouted the warchief, “It’s time you half-witted hairless apes received a final and resounding rebuke!”* He leapt off his large oaken chair and, wielding a curved serated shortsword, charged into melee with Cass. Fending off the warchief and several soldiers, Cass was slashed, stabbed, and flailed, driven back into the passageway and barely managing to keep on her feet. Seeing this Theron leapt into the melee.
“This had better work, or i’m dead!” he quipped with a toss of the hair, “THUNDERWAVE!”
The sudden sonic shock wave sent the soldiers flying, their broad shields acting like sails in a storm, but the warchief yet stood his ground. Bruised and battered, Cass charged back in, heaving her flaming great axe in a mighty whoosh over the head of the ducking warchief.
Fau was seen walking calmly across the room, picking his way over bodies and debris, blood pouring from many cuts and gashes, stopping occasionally to blast a hobgoblin to smithereens. The last surviving archer picked him out from the far side of the chamber and loosed an arrow, which sent the warlock reeling.
“Would anyone like to be healed at this point?” shouted Des at the top of his voice once more.
Looking around to make sure his compatriots were not watching, Fau plucked the arrow from his shoulder and called upon his inner reserves to drive him onward. Satisfied he had not been seen healing himself, and thus maintaining a confident air of invulnerability, he re-emerged into the battle and looked for his next target.
“I think you might profer Cass your aid.” Elwanen advised Des, since noone else had taken up the offer, before leaping back into melee with a group of hobgoblin soldiers around the remains of the fire on which the soup cauldron had been boiling.
Des looked across the room to where Cass and Theron were battling the warchief and several soldiers. Cass was desperately fending off blows, already riven with many wounds. Turning the page in the thick book he carried around with him, Des offered some words of inspiration:
Let it be
Never thee Enemy
Better me
Never thee Enemy
Better me
The hobgoblins facing Cass were suddenly captivated by a fleeting moment of despondency, while Cass found herself invigorated, her wounds disappearing before her very eyes.
Having battled his way to the far side of the guardroom Fangorn found himself beside a large fireplace in the corner, whereupon he set about the 2 lurking warcasters. Swinging his huge maul around his head with both gnarly hands several times in preparation he strode forward a single step and unleashed it in a great humming arc, sending one of the hobgoblin arcanists flying limp and lifeless before he hit the stone floor. The other stepped away just in time and pointed the tip of his staff at the savage tree-creature. Another blast of energy sent Fangorn staggering back, collapsing into the roaring fire. He swiftly emerged, his charred leaves floating off into the air about him as he shook off the flames.
From nowhere, Fau appeared next to the last arcanist.
“You.” he muttered, summoning a great grasping claw of smoke from the fireplace that grabbed the hobgoblin and dragged him, screaming, into the flames. A few moments later the burning figure of the unfortunate warcaster emerged from the fire, still screaming. Blackened to a crisp, it spent it’s dying moments running around the battlefield, still screaming, still on fire, before crashing to the floor and shattering into large chunks of charcoal.
A hobgoblin soldier, who had been bearing down on Fau before he vanished, looked around and found Des, who was quickly leafing through his book for something appropriate to say. Raising his shield he charged, his long flail swinging in viscious circles around him. Des looked up from his study, and quickly drew a mace to defend himself. The soldier swung his flail and missed, Des retaliated with a blow that clanged against the hobgoblin’s shield, knocking it aside for an instant.
As if a silent alarm had rung out warning all rogues of an opportunity, Aran suddenly appeared. Seeing but an inch of unshielded armpit, the Halfling leapt up at the hobgoblin and skewered him under his shoulder in such a way that the tip of his scimitar re-appeared from the poor creatures neck.
“Redeploy!” yelled the hobgoblin warchief seeing his soldiers falling around him. The few remaining warriors under his command suddenly shifted their positions with finely-drilled precision, despite the fact that the tide had turned against them.
Reaching a vantage point in a side passage, the archer that had dealt Fau a near-mortal wound scanned the melee. Seeing Elwanen drop the last soldier he faced with a graceful, 360 degree spinning scythe-like blow that separated the soldiers legs from his feet at the ankle, he took aim and fired. The Eladrin paladin was struck in the chest and fell back with a crash, sword and shield clattering to the stone floor but an instant later.
“Elwanen!” shouted Fangorn, still smoking, as he bounded across the corpses of the paladin’s fallen foes. Retrieving one of the potions the party had acquired in Winterhaven, he poured it down the throat of the dying Eladrin.
Having stepped back from melee, Theron looked across the room and espyed the smirking archer draw another arrow, the sinister figure of Sabbat Fau calmly bearing down on the bowman. Raising a hand, the warlock blasted the hobgoblin with a rolling ball of fire, but when the smoke had cleared the creature was still on it’s feet. With toss of the hair, Theron sent a dancing wraith of black mana soaring through the air, hitting the hobgoblin square on the forehead. The archer fell backwards, rigid, and hit the floor with a smoking hole where once his brain had been.
Both Fangorn and the newly risen Elwanen charged across the room and joined the melee where Cass and Aran were battling the warchief and the last of the soldiers. Axes and mauls clashed against shields, serated shortswords lashed out. The battle, though nearly won, was not over. The barbarian felled a hobgoblin from behind with a downwards swing of his maul, while Cass struck the warchief a serious blow from her flaming axe. An exchange of blows and parries left the hobgoblin Elwanen battled reeling.
Seeing that his force was depleted, the warchief grinned with the fearless intensity of a doomed warrior.
“It has been my honour to lead you!” he declared to the 2 hobgoblin soldiers who still stood by him, “At least i’ll take one of these rotten scoundrels with me!”*
With that he barged through Cass and Des, lunging at the unarmoured wizard beyond. Following a swift feint he stabbed Theron with his shortsword, sending the wizard recoiling in pain.
With his hair all awry, Theron was enraged. The wizard picked himself up and threw himself upon the hulking warchief, who dodged the charge to suddenly find himself staring down the wrong end of a descending fiery great axe.
“Maglubiyarrgh!” he screamed, just before Cass cleaved his skull in two. Having felled one of the 2 soldiers, the party surrounded last surviving hobgoblin.
“Surrender.” muttered the warlock.
“Or be torn apart in a lengthy and scientifically interesting fashion.”* added Elwanen. With that the defeated soldier through down his weapon and shield and surrendered to the adventurers.
Note: Sadly, we didn't get to play on Monday due to the snow in London, so after this we've only one more update before we run out. Sorry!
Next time: The rule is finally revealed!
Mathew_Freeman
First Post
The Most Basic Rule of Warfare Part 4
“Ladies and gentlemen, a battle hard fought indeed, well done to everyone, well done,” began Des, “Excellent swordwork may I say Elwanen, and Cass, you held the warchief at bay with vigour and determination. Theron, that was exceptionally brave to engage in melee as you did, and Aran, loved the trick with the cauldron. Fangorn, mobility and maliscious mauling in perfect harmony if I may say so, and Fau… well… very sinister, very sinister indeed! Well done all of you.”
“There is however something I would like to add. May I at this point raise an issue that has been preying on my mind for some time?” spoke Des.
“Is this going to be another critical analysis of our tactics?” responded Elwanen wearily.
“Well, as time is pressing and we are not afforded the luxury of a point-by-point breakdown of our entire battle stratagem, I will [instead if I may] focus on one particular, one single, one individual tactical ploy that struck me as most conspicuous by it’s absence just now.”
“If it’s the one about going for the knees, I was doing that!” explained Aran.
“No, it is not that to which I refer…” continued the Tiefling.
“Do you mean keep them from forming a phalanx? Because we managed to break them up in the end, but it wasn’t easy,” said Fangorn.
“No, no. While these are all fine stratagems in themselves, I am actually talking about something far more fundamental in warfare…”
“Ah!” declared Elwanen, “It’s that one about staying together and not splitting up!”
“Even more important than that, i’m afraid, and as such, a battle tactic sorely lacking from this outfit [in my estimation] as I see it at the moment…”
“Are you perhaps referring to the obscenities uttered in the heat of battle? I can assure you I exercise nothing but the most refined vocabulary as a matter of course,” justified Theron.
“He’s talking about strikers and defenders, I think,” offered Cass
“Is it about charging down a narrow passageway into a well fortified position?” inquired the hobgoblin captive helpfully, although tentatively.
“Is it about taking prisoners? Because I can fix that right now,” said the warlock.
“No, my fine friends, it is none of these. It is something far more crucial to our survival than formation groupings, points of attack, who’s defending who, which vital organ to puncture, the application of harsh language, or the merciless execution of prisoners.”
“You see, I couldn’t help noticing some ‘machismo’ creeping in during the battle…”
“What are they? I only saw hobgoblins!” chirped Aran cheerily.
“Not a ‘they’ as such my stout friend. I am speaking of the manly tendency to embolden oneself infront of ones friends and allies. The masculine urge to hide ones own weakness. Specifically, on no less than 2 separate occasions during the last combat did I inquire whether anyone needed healing, and the each one of you replied negatively.”
“In fact, you all shrugged of my offer with a ‘Not I, i’m tickety-boo”’ or ‘I’ve had much worse than this, don’t you know!” or “Do I look like I need healing!” or some such carry on, and then moments later, but barely moments later…” Des looked around at his comrades, one long eyebrow raised, “No fewer than two of you are lying on the ground, almost dead, and several more of you are staggering around bleeding all over the place. Now, you know who you are so I’m not going to name any names, but I want to take this opportunity to make clear The. Most. Basic. Rule. Of. Warfare.” Pausing for dramatic emphasis, the Tiefling drew a breath.
“If you need healing, say so. Be brave. Own up.”
The adventurers mulled quietly upon this point for a while, as they slowly dispersed and began rifling through the hobgoblins belongings.
“Ladies and gentlemen, a battle hard fought indeed, well done to everyone, well done,” began Des, “Excellent swordwork may I say Elwanen, and Cass, you held the warchief at bay with vigour and determination. Theron, that was exceptionally brave to engage in melee as you did, and Aran, loved the trick with the cauldron. Fangorn, mobility and maliscious mauling in perfect harmony if I may say so, and Fau… well… very sinister, very sinister indeed! Well done all of you.”
“There is however something I would like to add. May I at this point raise an issue that has been preying on my mind for some time?” spoke Des.
“Is this going to be another critical analysis of our tactics?” responded Elwanen wearily.
“Well, as time is pressing and we are not afforded the luxury of a point-by-point breakdown of our entire battle stratagem, I will [instead if I may] focus on one particular, one single, one individual tactical ploy that struck me as most conspicuous by it’s absence just now.”
“If it’s the one about going for the knees, I was doing that!” explained Aran.
“No, it is not that to which I refer…” continued the Tiefling.
“Do you mean keep them from forming a phalanx? Because we managed to break them up in the end, but it wasn’t easy,” said Fangorn.
“No, no. While these are all fine stratagems in themselves, I am actually talking about something far more fundamental in warfare…”
“Ah!” declared Elwanen, “It’s that one about staying together and not splitting up!”
“Even more important than that, i’m afraid, and as such, a battle tactic sorely lacking from this outfit [in my estimation] as I see it at the moment…”
“Are you perhaps referring to the obscenities uttered in the heat of battle? I can assure you I exercise nothing but the most refined vocabulary as a matter of course,” justified Theron.
“He’s talking about strikers and defenders, I think,” offered Cass
“Is it about charging down a narrow passageway into a well fortified position?” inquired the hobgoblin captive helpfully, although tentatively.
“Is it about taking prisoners? Because I can fix that right now,” said the warlock.
“No, my fine friends, it is none of these. It is something far more crucial to our survival than formation groupings, points of attack, who’s defending who, which vital organ to puncture, the application of harsh language, or the merciless execution of prisoners.”
“You see, I couldn’t help noticing some ‘machismo’ creeping in during the battle…”
“What are they? I only saw hobgoblins!” chirped Aran cheerily.
“Not a ‘they’ as such my stout friend. I am speaking of the manly tendency to embolden oneself infront of ones friends and allies. The masculine urge to hide ones own weakness. Specifically, on no less than 2 separate occasions during the last combat did I inquire whether anyone needed healing, and the each one of you replied negatively.”
“In fact, you all shrugged of my offer with a ‘Not I, i’m tickety-boo”’ or ‘I’ve had much worse than this, don’t you know!” or “Do I look like I need healing!” or some such carry on, and then moments later, but barely moments later…” Des looked around at his comrades, one long eyebrow raised, “No fewer than two of you are lying on the ground, almost dead, and several more of you are staggering around bleeding all over the place. Now, you know who you are so I’m not going to name any names, but I want to take this opportunity to make clear The. Most. Basic. Rule. Of. Warfare.” Pausing for dramatic emphasis, the Tiefling drew a breath.
“If you need healing, say so. Be brave. Own up.”
The adventurers mulled quietly upon this point for a while, as they slowly dispersed and began rifling through the hobgoblins belongings.
Mathew_Freeman
First Post
The Cathedral of Blood
After battling the hobgoblins and slaying their Warchief, you have made your way further into the corridors and rooms under the Keep. There are no torches here, no lights to guide your way other than what you bring with you. Theron's magelight pushes back the darkness, but as you walk, nervously scanning the shadows, it almost seems as though the darkness is pushing back against it. Slowly but surely, the circle of light appears to be shrinking – or is it just your eyes playing tricks?
The corridor takes a final twist, and ahead of you it opens out into a larger room. The sense of menace is palpable, hanging dangerously in the air. There is another smell, too, sharp and metallic. Blood.
Crimson streams trail across the floor of the vast room ahead – the biggest you have yet seen under the Keep. They terminate at a grate surrounding a hole in the floor of this shadowy cathedral. From three crystal columns, light blue light flares out – a fourth column lies smashed nearby. The light does not reach the edge of the room, and figures move in the shadows at the edge of vision, clutching axes smeared red with blood.
A dais at the far end of the room appears to be supplying the blood. A human in dark robes stands there, his knife raised high as he speaks words of dark power. Blood drips from the knife onto the dais, running onto the floor. You recognize the Underpriest of Orcus that you fought with yesterday, his tattooed face twisted in hate. The ram's skull almost appears to be laughing at you.
Next to him stands another powerful looking figure, holding a huge axe casually in one hand. The Underpriest looks over at you and cries out "You shall not interrupt my Master's work! Soon he will succeed, the portal will open and all of Winterhaven will be naught but a ruin! The Dead shall rise, and do our bidding – and soon, soon your bodies will join them!"
You can hear movement from out of sight inside the room, and Aran spots that large chains allow access into the central hole in the floor. Distantly, you can hear the sound of chanting from below.
As you step into the room, the shadows bunch and thicken behind you. No way out. Only onwards. Face your fear, and prevail.
Note: I sent this to my players a couple of days before what was going to be the final session of the game. Unfortunately, the UK snow intervened and the game was cancelled - so the next game (and probable final session of Keep on the Shadowfell) is going to be next Monday, February 16th. I've told the players that it's pretty much going to be "Turn Up, Roll Initiative!"
After battling the hobgoblins and slaying their Warchief, you have made your way further into the corridors and rooms under the Keep. There are no torches here, no lights to guide your way other than what you bring with you. Theron's magelight pushes back the darkness, but as you walk, nervously scanning the shadows, it almost seems as though the darkness is pushing back against it. Slowly but surely, the circle of light appears to be shrinking – or is it just your eyes playing tricks?
The corridor takes a final twist, and ahead of you it opens out into a larger room. The sense of menace is palpable, hanging dangerously in the air. There is another smell, too, sharp and metallic. Blood.
Crimson streams trail across the floor of the vast room ahead – the biggest you have yet seen under the Keep. They terminate at a grate surrounding a hole in the floor of this shadowy cathedral. From three crystal columns, light blue light flares out – a fourth column lies smashed nearby. The light does not reach the edge of the room, and figures move in the shadows at the edge of vision, clutching axes smeared red with blood.
A dais at the far end of the room appears to be supplying the blood. A human in dark robes stands there, his knife raised high as he speaks words of dark power. Blood drips from the knife onto the dais, running onto the floor. You recognize the Underpriest of Orcus that you fought with yesterday, his tattooed face twisted in hate. The ram's skull almost appears to be laughing at you.
Next to him stands another powerful looking figure, holding a huge axe casually in one hand. The Underpriest looks over at you and cries out "You shall not interrupt my Master's work! Soon he will succeed, the portal will open and all of Winterhaven will be naught but a ruin! The Dead shall rise, and do our bidding – and soon, soon your bodies will join them!"
You can hear movement from out of sight inside the room, and Aran spots that large chains allow access into the central hole in the floor. Distantly, you can hear the sound of chanting from below.
As you step into the room, the shadows bunch and thicken behind you. No way out. Only onwards. Face your fear, and prevail.
Note: I sent this to my players a couple of days before what was going to be the final session of the game. Unfortunately, the UK snow intervened and the game was cancelled - so the next game (and probable final session of Keep on the Shadowfell) is going to be next Monday, February 16th. I've told the players that it's pretty much going to be "Turn Up, Roll Initiative!"
Mathew_Freeman
First Post
Entering the Cathedral
“Ok team,” began the Tiefling orator, “If our information is correct this should be the final leg of our expedition. It’s been a long and difficult road, and we mean to end well. We shall need the kind of resounding victory worthy of a party of heroic adventurers [such as ourselves]! Now, has everybody prepared their one-liners?”
The adventurers nodded from one to another as they made there way through the passages beyond the hobgoblin guard rooms.
“Once again, I cannot overstate the importance of good delivery,” the Tiefling continued, “and the components of a well delivered one-liner are?”
Having prevented Winterhaven being overrun by undead the journey back to the keep, when not looking out for ambushes, had been spent engaged in vocal training courtesy of Des, who was now looking expectantly around the group. At first noone wanted to volounteer. Finally, from near the front of the marching order, Elwanen, the Eladrin paladin spoke.
”...Posture?”
“Good!” replied Des instantly, “And good posture demands…?”
Elwanen thought for a moment, ”...A wide stance, arms ready as if to grapple, and a… pertinant? ...angle at the neck.”
””Excellent, well remembered!” confirmed Des, “Who’s next?”
After a few moments, Aran, who had been leading the party through a series of junctions, spoke. “Erm… Essential component number two in a good delivery is… projection?”
“Exactly!” congratulated Des, “And projection demands…?”
“Projection demands… good posture… and resoluteness of purpose?” recited the halfling with some difficulty.
“Now I can see your really getting it!” affirmed the Tiefling. The party now descended a short flight of stone stairs. The air had grown cold, very cold. There was a lingering sense of malignant forboding that oozed from the very stones themselves. “What comes next? Come on now, we’ve been over this, you should know it!” he continued.
There was some scratching of heads and blank looks as the party proceeded through a large empty chamber.
“If you are a bit eccentric people might say that you are a bit of a… ” prompted Des, helpfully.
“Druid?” offered Fangorn the tree creature.
“Devil worshipper?” pondered Sabbat Fau the warlock.
“Liability?” improved Cass Breenan the fighter.
“Character!” resounded Theron the blue haired wizard, “Component number three in the good delivery of a one-liner is character. Essential to the conveyance of character are posture, projection, and a phrase or saying with personal or cultural resonance for the speaker or, in many cases, the recipient. This may be adapted within the specific instance of the delivery.” he concluded. Theron was good at this. He reeled off the lines like one might the most simplest and commonplace of alchelmical formulae.
“Fantastic! 10 out of 10!” applauded des, “So we have: Posture precluding Projection, Projection precluding Character, and what does Character preclude?”
“Oh wait, I know this one!” began Ryam Rateater the halfling warlord, “Character precludes Timing!”
“Precisely!” said Des, “And with Posture, Projection, Character and Timing one may effectively deliver a witty and poignant one-liner, thus improving morale within ones own party, lowering morale amongst the opposition, and [of course] ensuring the worthy embellishment of tavern tales once the victors have repaired to the comfy armchairs of a safe and welcoming drinking establishment.”
“Thats the part i’m looking forward to!” added Aran. There were some nods of agreement.
“Now timing is without doubt the most elusive and unpredictable element of the four, and so we should perhaps spend some time looking at the intricies of opportunistic interjections…” began Des eagerly.
“No time!” interrupted Elwanen, “It looks like a crate load of trouble’s just fallen off the back of the ugly cart.”
The party had reached what looked like an antechamber. Ahead, an archway opened into a vast cavern-like space. Peering through the party could make out figures moving amongst the shadows cast by flickering torches. Idols to unnameable entities adorned the walls, and the smell of blood hung in the air. At an altar half-hidden in the darkness on the far side of the chamber the cowled figure of the Orcus Underpriest appeared brandishing a long, wicked looking dagger that dripped with blood. The floor of the room was slick with the sheen of a dark substance, slowly trickling across the flagstones until reaching a large grate in the center. Moving into view from behind formations of glowing quartz obelisks came wild and feral looking creatures, barely human, wielding axes and serated blades.
“Finally, The Cathedral of Blood!” declared Ryam, “On my signal!...”
DM note: Hopefully the updates will come thick and fast this week, and we can get up to date. We played through the final sections of the Keep...but you'll have to wait to find out who lives and who dies...
“Ok team,” began the Tiefling orator, “If our information is correct this should be the final leg of our expedition. It’s been a long and difficult road, and we mean to end well. We shall need the kind of resounding victory worthy of a party of heroic adventurers [such as ourselves]! Now, has everybody prepared their one-liners?”
The adventurers nodded from one to another as they made there way through the passages beyond the hobgoblin guard rooms.
“Once again, I cannot overstate the importance of good delivery,” the Tiefling continued, “and the components of a well delivered one-liner are?”
Having prevented Winterhaven being overrun by undead the journey back to the keep, when not looking out for ambushes, had been spent engaged in vocal training courtesy of Des, who was now looking expectantly around the group. At first noone wanted to volounteer. Finally, from near the front of the marching order, Elwanen, the Eladrin paladin spoke.
”...Posture?”
“Good!” replied Des instantly, “And good posture demands…?”
Elwanen thought for a moment, ”...A wide stance, arms ready as if to grapple, and a… pertinant? ...angle at the neck.”
””Excellent, well remembered!” confirmed Des, “Who’s next?”
After a few moments, Aran, who had been leading the party through a series of junctions, spoke. “Erm… Essential component number two in a good delivery is… projection?”
“Exactly!” congratulated Des, “And projection demands…?”
“Projection demands… good posture… and resoluteness of purpose?” recited the halfling with some difficulty.
“Now I can see your really getting it!” affirmed the Tiefling. The party now descended a short flight of stone stairs. The air had grown cold, very cold. There was a lingering sense of malignant forboding that oozed from the very stones themselves. “What comes next? Come on now, we’ve been over this, you should know it!” he continued.
There was some scratching of heads and blank looks as the party proceeded through a large empty chamber.
“If you are a bit eccentric people might say that you are a bit of a… ” prompted Des, helpfully.
“Druid?” offered Fangorn the tree creature.
“Devil worshipper?” pondered Sabbat Fau the warlock.
“Liability?” improved Cass Breenan the fighter.
“Character!” resounded Theron the blue haired wizard, “Component number three in the good delivery of a one-liner is character. Essential to the conveyance of character are posture, projection, and a phrase or saying with personal or cultural resonance for the speaker or, in many cases, the recipient. This may be adapted within the specific instance of the delivery.” he concluded. Theron was good at this. He reeled off the lines like one might the most simplest and commonplace of alchelmical formulae.
“Fantastic! 10 out of 10!” applauded des, “So we have: Posture precluding Projection, Projection precluding Character, and what does Character preclude?”
“Oh wait, I know this one!” began Ryam Rateater the halfling warlord, “Character precludes Timing!”
“Precisely!” said Des, “And with Posture, Projection, Character and Timing one may effectively deliver a witty and poignant one-liner, thus improving morale within ones own party, lowering morale amongst the opposition, and [of course] ensuring the worthy embellishment of tavern tales once the victors have repaired to the comfy armchairs of a safe and welcoming drinking establishment.”
“Thats the part i’m looking forward to!” added Aran. There were some nods of agreement.
“Now timing is without doubt the most elusive and unpredictable element of the four, and so we should perhaps spend some time looking at the intricies of opportunistic interjections…” began Des eagerly.
“No time!” interrupted Elwanen, “It looks like a crate load of trouble’s just fallen off the back of the ugly cart.”
The party had reached what looked like an antechamber. Ahead, an archway opened into a vast cavern-like space. Peering through the party could make out figures moving amongst the shadows cast by flickering torches. Idols to unnameable entities adorned the walls, and the smell of blood hung in the air. At an altar half-hidden in the darkness on the far side of the chamber the cowled figure of the Orcus Underpriest appeared brandishing a long, wicked looking dagger that dripped with blood. The floor of the room was slick with the sheen of a dark substance, slowly trickling across the flagstones until reaching a large grate in the center. Moving into view from behind formations of glowing quartz obelisks came wild and feral looking creatures, barely human, wielding axes and serated blades.
“Finally, The Cathedral of Blood!” declared Ryam, “On my signal!...”
DM note: Hopefully the updates will come thick and fast this week, and we can get up to date. We played through the final sections of the Keep...but you'll have to wait to find out who lives and who dies...
Mathew_Freeman
First Post
Unfortunately, I have to confess that our erstwhile writer, crater, has been suffering under a very heavy workload in the past few weeks, and as such has not had time to complete the updates as he wanted.
He also missed the last session (the aftermath) and so the player for Elwanen, better known as la bute on these forums, will be taking a crack at some writing.
I also have another chapter of Aran's Tavern Tales waiting to go up in the right place, and if you're hungry for tales of what's been going on you can always check the wiki (link in my sig) and get some news.
He also missed the last session (the aftermath) and so the player for Elwanen, better known as la bute on these forums, will be taking a crack at some writing.
I also have another chapter of Aran's Tavern Tales waiting to go up in the right place, and if you're hungry for tales of what's been going on you can always check the wiki (link in my sig) and get some news.
Mathew_Freeman
First Post
The Cathedral of Blood, Part 2
The adventurers moved warily into the large chamber beyond the archway. In the dim flickering torchlight it was impossible to tell just how ancient this temple of evil was, but it had existed long before the keep was built upon it. The brave soldiers that guarded the outside world from the lingering menace of the Shadowfell were long since destroyed, and all that now stood between the hordes of Orcus and the mortal realms was this small band of heroes for hire.
As they entered, the blood smeared berserker cultists who had been standing ready advanced to intercept them, hefting huge and viscious axes.. At the vanguard of the adventurers, Elwanen let out a battle cry and led the charge. Alongside him, Cass, Fangorn, and Ryam. The two front lines met with a tremendous clash of steel, and the battle for the Cathedral of Blood had begun.
The melee surged throughout the chamber. Fangorn charged right, piling into a pair of berserkers, his maul seen swung high from across the battlefield and then crashed down upon his savage opponents. Cass, Ryam and Elwanen piled through the center, shoulder to shoulder. The feral warriors howled with bloodlust as they piled upon them. The Paladin and the Fighter yelled signals to each other, making well coordinated strikes when their foes were most vulnerable, and raining down crushing sword and axe blows that held the rest at bay in the meantime.
The spell casters took a more circuitous approach. Theron and Sabbat Fau diverged around the north and south edges respectively. Moving through the ruins of ancient crumbling walls that once divided the chamber into what may have been priests quarters, or the prisons where the doomed awaited a horrible death, they picked out targets from amongst the fray and hurled bolts of fire and force. Splug was never far from the warlock, drawing spears from the sheath he had been collecting as the party slaughtered their way through the keep and throwing them at the enemy with surprising accuracy.
Ryam had climbed atop a pile of bodies and lifted a banner bearing the symbol of the broadsword, driving its shaft down into the bloody remains of fallen berserkers.
“I see you have acquired a new friend, since last we met!” sneered the underpriest. “Let us test his mettle!” The underpriest launched a bolt of searing energy into the air. Arcing over the melee it illuminated the combat for an instant before slamming into the halfing warlord. Staggering to his feet Ryam yelled the command words that released the bolstering magic of his standard.
“Rub some dirt on you!”
Screaming from out of the shadows came several packs of feral humanoids. As they entered the dim light they could be seen to bear the fangs and ghastly visages of undead.
“Vampire spawn!” shouted Elwanen in warning. The heroes spun about in the melee to guard against the new assailants. From the large pit in the center of the chamber, the sound of ominous chanting could be heard far below…
DM's note: And we're back!
crater has been horribly busy at work and has been unable to update the Story Hour, but today he sent me through the new material. This will follow Mon - Wed - Fri over the next few weeks as I do my best to catch up.
This particular battle was great fun for me as DM, offering minions, the Underpriest, the barbarians and various bits of interesting terrain. I really enjoyed it - hope you enjoy the write-up!
Next time: The battle continues!
The adventurers moved warily into the large chamber beyond the archway. In the dim flickering torchlight it was impossible to tell just how ancient this temple of evil was, but it had existed long before the keep was built upon it. The brave soldiers that guarded the outside world from the lingering menace of the Shadowfell were long since destroyed, and all that now stood between the hordes of Orcus and the mortal realms was this small band of heroes for hire.
As they entered, the blood smeared berserker cultists who had been standing ready advanced to intercept them, hefting huge and viscious axes.. At the vanguard of the adventurers, Elwanen let out a battle cry and led the charge. Alongside him, Cass, Fangorn, and Ryam. The two front lines met with a tremendous clash of steel, and the battle for the Cathedral of Blood had begun.
The melee surged throughout the chamber. Fangorn charged right, piling into a pair of berserkers, his maul seen swung high from across the battlefield and then crashed down upon his savage opponents. Cass, Ryam and Elwanen piled through the center, shoulder to shoulder. The feral warriors howled with bloodlust as they piled upon them. The Paladin and the Fighter yelled signals to each other, making well coordinated strikes when their foes were most vulnerable, and raining down crushing sword and axe blows that held the rest at bay in the meantime.
The spell casters took a more circuitous approach. Theron and Sabbat Fau diverged around the north and south edges respectively. Moving through the ruins of ancient crumbling walls that once divided the chamber into what may have been priests quarters, or the prisons where the doomed awaited a horrible death, they picked out targets from amongst the fray and hurled bolts of fire and force. Splug was never far from the warlock, drawing spears from the sheath he had been collecting as the party slaughtered their way through the keep and throwing them at the enemy with surprising accuracy.
Ryam had climbed atop a pile of bodies and lifted a banner bearing the symbol of the broadsword, driving its shaft down into the bloody remains of fallen berserkers.
“I see you have acquired a new friend, since last we met!” sneered the underpriest. “Let us test his mettle!” The underpriest launched a bolt of searing energy into the air. Arcing over the melee it illuminated the combat for an instant before slamming into the halfing warlord. Staggering to his feet Ryam yelled the command words that released the bolstering magic of his standard.
“Rub some dirt on you!”
Screaming from out of the shadows came several packs of feral humanoids. As they entered the dim light they could be seen to bear the fangs and ghastly visages of undead.
“Vampire spawn!” shouted Elwanen in warning. The heroes spun about in the melee to guard against the new assailants. From the large pit in the center of the chamber, the sound of ominous chanting could be heard far below…
DM's note: And we're back!
crater has been horribly busy at work and has been unable to update the Story Hour, but today he sent me through the new material. This will follow Mon - Wed - Fri over the next few weeks as I do my best to catch up.
This particular battle was great fun for me as DM, offering minions, the Underpriest, the barbarians and various bits of interesting terrain. I really enjoyed it - hope you enjoy the write-up!
Next time: The battle continues!
Mathew_Freeman
First Post
The Cathedral of Blood, Part 3
“So tell me, brave knight, however did you overcome such odds?’ Lady Markelhay asked, intrigued at the recent successes of the newly arrived group of adventurers.
“Well ma’am,” began the Eladrin Paladin, a glass of fine wine in his mailed hand, “I have often found myself just as comfortable surrounded by my enemies as by my friends. There is a certain keenness that comes to a sure soul in the midsts of such a battle, whereupon overwhelming opposition is nothing more than a precursor to victory.”
The Halfling Warlord sitting across the long dining table from the Eladrin spoke up, “Most people try to avoid being flanked, it’s a tricky position to be in, defensively speaking. Elwanen however thrives in just such a predicament. Outnumbering us was their first mistake.”
“Intriguing,” spoke Lord Markelhay, the imposing patriach of Fallcrest. “How did you slay the underpriest?”
“He was a bit tricky, as a matter of fact!” chirped another Halfling, who had paused from scoffing the niblets that surrounded him like a barricade. “We had to wade through near a dozen savages and just as many of those vampires!”
“Our companion Fangorn, a fellow the like of which I have never seen, has a knack for making progress through ranks of villains,” elaborated Elwanen. “Using the pit to his advantage, he dispatched several of their number and before long we flanked the underpriest. Cass was instrumental in consolidating our position.”
The assembled guests and hosts alike looked down the table to where a young woman was sitting, dressed as a warrior in scale mail, polished to a high shine, a chicken drumstick in one hand.
“I don’t mind telling you I very nearly didn’t make it at all. There were so many of them it was hard to tell friend from foe. But we got there in the end, and the underpriest fell, though not too swiftly.”
“Commendable work indeed,” praised Lord Markelhay, glancing across to another young woman who was wearing a fine white dress, sitting across from Cass. “You are examples to us all!” The finely dressed woman rolled her eyes slightly. This was Marianna Markelhay, niece to the Markelhays, a women of considerable bearing and poise, who wore a rapier at her side.
“But what became of Fangorn, I see him not amongst you now?” asked Lady Markelhay.
A voice was heard from the very far end of the table, where sat a dark-skinned elf with white hair, dressed in light armour. “Let’s just say he had to split.”
“I see, and so what of Kalarel?” continued the noblewoman. “At what point did you face him?”
“My lady,” began the blue-skinned Wizard who had been quietly sipping a glass of wine, “Kalarel was waiting for us below the very chamber in which we fought. As soon as we had gathered our breath we made haste for the final battle, in the hope that we were not too late…”
DM's note: This post does, of course, offer a few spoilers as to the outcome of the fight - but it's in a fine storytelling tradition, so it's all good.
It also serves as an introduction to Waylander. He is a Drow Rogue, and a direct replacement for Fangorn the Barbarian. You'll be getting a more complete introduction to Waylander within a few posts.
Next time: Battling On!
“So tell me, brave knight, however did you overcome such odds?’ Lady Markelhay asked, intrigued at the recent successes of the newly arrived group of adventurers.
“Well ma’am,” began the Eladrin Paladin, a glass of fine wine in his mailed hand, “I have often found myself just as comfortable surrounded by my enemies as by my friends. There is a certain keenness that comes to a sure soul in the midsts of such a battle, whereupon overwhelming opposition is nothing more than a precursor to victory.”
The Halfling Warlord sitting across the long dining table from the Eladrin spoke up, “Most people try to avoid being flanked, it’s a tricky position to be in, defensively speaking. Elwanen however thrives in just such a predicament. Outnumbering us was their first mistake.”
“Intriguing,” spoke Lord Markelhay, the imposing patriach of Fallcrest. “How did you slay the underpriest?”
“He was a bit tricky, as a matter of fact!” chirped another Halfling, who had paused from scoffing the niblets that surrounded him like a barricade. “We had to wade through near a dozen savages and just as many of those vampires!”
“Our companion Fangorn, a fellow the like of which I have never seen, has a knack for making progress through ranks of villains,” elaborated Elwanen. “Using the pit to his advantage, he dispatched several of their number and before long we flanked the underpriest. Cass was instrumental in consolidating our position.”
The assembled guests and hosts alike looked down the table to where a young woman was sitting, dressed as a warrior in scale mail, polished to a high shine, a chicken drumstick in one hand.
“I don’t mind telling you I very nearly didn’t make it at all. There were so many of them it was hard to tell friend from foe. But we got there in the end, and the underpriest fell, though not too swiftly.”
“Commendable work indeed,” praised Lord Markelhay, glancing across to another young woman who was wearing a fine white dress, sitting across from Cass. “You are examples to us all!” The finely dressed woman rolled her eyes slightly. This was Marianna Markelhay, niece to the Markelhays, a women of considerable bearing and poise, who wore a rapier at her side.
“But what became of Fangorn, I see him not amongst you now?” asked Lady Markelhay.
A voice was heard from the very far end of the table, where sat a dark-skinned elf with white hair, dressed in light armour. “Let’s just say he had to split.”
“I see, and so what of Kalarel?” continued the noblewoman. “At what point did you face him?”
“My lady,” began the blue-skinned Wizard who had been quietly sipping a glass of wine, “Kalarel was waiting for us below the very chamber in which we fought. As soon as we had gathered our breath we made haste for the final battle, in the hope that we were not too late…”
DM's note: This post does, of course, offer a few spoilers as to the outcome of the fight - but it's in a fine storytelling tradition, so it's all good.
It also serves as an introduction to Waylander. He is a Drow Rogue, and a direct replacement for Fangorn the Barbarian. You'll be getting a more complete introduction to Waylander within a few posts.
Next time: Battling On!
And yet, everyone tries it on us.
