The Red Hand of Doom - Completed 8 February 2008: Against Tiamat and Epilogue

[Pedestrian]

The speech given by Lord Jarmaath of Brindol on 23 High Summer RF 503.

Hail to thee,

The armies of the Red Hand are defeated, broken at the siege of Brindol. The surviving Wyrmlords have fallen to squabbling, the mass of the Horde dispersed across the Vale. This army will trouble the good peoples of Elsir no more! The battle was not without cost, many good men and women laid down their lives before the Throne. But none of this, none at all, could have been accomplished without the aid of bold Sol and cunning Xerxes!

Heroes from Drellin's Ferry first confronted the Horde. Though succesful in initial skirmishes, they laid down their lives at the Skull Gorge Bridge, leaving only one survivor, Marcus who bore the grim news back to the hamlet. It was here that Sol and Xerxes entered our lands, along with Kayan. Together with the survivor, they ensured that the refugees of the Ferry lived, and that Speaker Wiston and Captain Sorrana could warn we of Brindol, though death's shadow reached out to claim those brave two at the last.

From there, the brave pair, along with Kayan, travelled north, to the bogs of Blackfen, the lost Rhest. Here they thwarted a terrible breeding plan by the Red Hand, to create monsters of terrible draconic might. In doing so, they secured the allegiance of the noble Tiri Kitor, wild elf folk of the fen, and their champions Sellyria, Trellara and Killiar. Today we also remember the name of Trellara, lost in the fight against the giants.

Xerxes and Sol rode south, south to the Thornwaste. On their path, they destroyed Red Hand blockades, battled giantkin and ensured monies for the noble Hammerfist dwarves would reach our staunch allies. Captain Helmbreaker, long may his soul rest, marched to the defence of Brindol on the word of our heroes. They also brought the small folk of Dauth and the strong hearts of Prosser, home of the now lost Six Blades, to Brindol's defence.

In the Thornwaste, they confronted great evil, the evil of the unliving, never dying Ghostlord! This long fallen druid, now an ally of the Red Hand, planned to swell the Horde's ranks with merciless corpse soldiers. For this, the pair brought death to the dead, and laid waste to his lion fortress. And so, they came once more to Brindol.

The battle was against us from the start. The numbers of the Horde were limitless, the skies filled with their monstrous allies, the horizon blackened by chanting savages. In the initial engagement, the heart of our forces would be lost, Captain Ulverth's sacrifice in vain, the lives of the Hammerfists spent for nothing! But for Sol and Xerxes! With their steel and their magic, they saved the north wall from Giant artillery, slaying the beasts. Alone they battled the mighty red dragon, which wrought fiery ruin upon the city, and meted it death in price. Though all else fell before the onrushing horde, the pair held the Dawn way, granting time for we of Brindol to rally at the Temple. I owe them personal thanks, for slaying my would be assassin, killer of the good hearts of my guard and the old Speaker of the Ferry. Finally, they would face the General of the armies of the Red Hand. Hravek Kharn.

A vile brute, encased in Red Dragon armour. An acid spewing, curse throwing monstrosity in service of dark powers. Alone, Sol faced this cur. Alone, Xerxes held off the giants. Though the forces of Brindol, the Ruby Knights and the True Law battled the Horde and the lesser Wyrmlords around them, it was this battle that was to be the decisive one...

We stand here, today, in the square of Brindol, unbeaten. You all know the outcome of that fight. Sol slew the champion, the captain of the Horde! Or so we thought. In Kharn's dying words, he spelled out the doom that was yet to come. "My mistress comes..." he said "and with her comes Hell!"

The augurs of those blessed of the Temple who did not fall alongalongside their mistress High Priestess Goldenbrow of the Temple have unravelled a plot most foul. One more remains, the architect of this evil. The High Wyrmlord Azzar Kul. And he plans yet to open a gate, to the pit, and usher forth the armies of hell, with his fivefold mistress at the head!

I call out to you, good people of the Vale, and those good people who have flocked here from other lands to aid us in our struggle, I call out to you now, to stand beside us again, to walk with our champions into peril! Will you march with them, stand shoulder to shoulder against the darkness? Will you turn it back, close the door, send this shadow back whence it came?

The heroes, Sol and Xerxes, go forth boldly into the peril. But this, they cannot stand against alone. Will you stand with them?

 

[Pedestrian]

Another word from behind the curtain

The Battle of Brindol was resolved in two six hour sessions, played on consecutive days. It was mostly monster bashing, with chances to show off two things. Firsty, how strong the characters and how versatile the players of Sol and Xerxes are. Secondly, to bring home how it was up to them to defeat the Red Hand menace. As you can see both from the events in the Story Hour, and the run-down given by Lord Jarmaath, the body count for NPCs was very, very high. It was also a good opportunity to see how the "per encounter" resources of the Warblade and and the Binder work. While they can do everything all day, some of their tricks were worn out very early. I also tinkered with the ability of Balam, allowing Xerxes to do a 5d8 ray of cold every 5 rounds (instead of 2d8 cold gaze every round, Fort DC, which was quite dull to actually play).

Mentioning that section, I compiled that precis of what had come before, and this most recent session, as our next game will be played in person when I return home for the Christmas holidays. I've invited some former players to join in, hence the call to arms.

During this session, Sol and Xerxes reached level 10, and are just over one thousand exeprience from level 11. Wolsey is the follower of Xerxes, a cleric of Wee Jas (in her Argylean Mother of Secrets and Deep Earth aspect) who is dabbling in Binding magic. Sol switched his focus and specialisation from great axe to Falchion, and has been picking up the feats to move into Master of the Nine, for extreme Kung Fu action. Xerxes continues to accrue a frightening number of meta-spell-like feats.

Where I usually play the sessions directly out of the book, this time I customised Wyrmlord Kharn. Instead of a Favoured Soul, I made him a Crusader/Talon of Tiamat. This made him a fair bit easier to run, cut down on the number of spell-casters in the leadership of the Hand, and dovetailed nicely with him being the general/champion of the Red Hand. I'm going to do something similar with Azarr Kul when he shows up - though more in terms of reducing DM load and increasing flavour than changing him from prophet of the Fivefold.

Thanks for reading.

 

[Pedestrian]

Session 14: The Fane of Tiamat

Only two volunteered to join Sol and Xerxes.

The first was Andel Mor, one of the two surviving Blades of Prosser. A native of the Vale, he wielded a strange silver sword, and stranger still powers. Local gossips had whispered for many years of his fey air, that he could vanish from sight, walk with the storm and see in darkest night. He had been beaten unconscious during the battle at the wall, waking to find the battle won and all but one of his friends dead.

Ben Morris was the other. Brother to Tom, he had been sent from Bereg to see what had stopped Tom’s usually punctual letters home. A capable warrior, he was a Hillman from the Arglanic border, used to fighting hit and run in the mountainous region between his home and the aggressive human kingdom. He had arrived at Brindol in time to chase off goblin battle scavengers, probably saving Andel’s life. Though no-one he had met could recall Tom’s presence, Ben hoped he might find some sign of his brother.

So they were five: Xerxes, practically crackling with netherworldy potency, accompanied still by Wolsey, riding the skeleton of Abithriax, his mind drawn to Xerxes’ mysteries; Sol, now armoured in the red scales Kharn had worn to battle; Andel of the Six, withdrawn and grieving; and Ben Morris, eager for goblin blood on his axes, more eager still for sign of his brother.

It had been arranged that Immerstal the Red would transport the group to Drellin’s Ferry. It took until mid-day before the wizard was roused from his tower. The handsome, reclusive wizard had gained his title from the mane of deep red-brown hair he wore long, and mostly uncared for. Muttering all the while about reckless tomb robbers and the terrible disruption of his ongoing work charting movement of the spheres, Immerstal finally discharged his duty, transporting the group in two parties to their destination – a ‘dead end backwater’ that he had ‘hoped never to see again’. Ben Morris noted the tear in the man’s eye as he looked over the ruins of his childhood home, but decided it better to say nothing. Immerstal provided Andel Mor – who the magus termed an ‘amateur and a dilettante, likely to get himself killed with his imbecilic dabbling’ – with scrolls of teleport to transport themselves away from the Fane once the High Wyrmlord was thwarted. Without a goodbye, or further complaint, the wizard disappeared, back to his tower and his sphinx companion.

They spent the remainder of the day – wasted as it had been by procrastination on Immerstal’s part – searching the ruins of the village. No building had been spared fully from the looters and vandalism of the Horde. Fire blackened wood jutted from blackened ground, shattered glass crunched under foot, and the stink of burnt meat still clung to the air. The river was filled with filth that had yet to wash away, choked with debris from the shattered hamlet. After a slow and careful crossing – the Hand had wrecked all the ferries and the lines they used to cross – they searched out a relatively intact warehouse and made camp for the evening.

 

[Pedestrian]

It was cold. So cold. His teeth chattered, flesh shivered against the bite of it. But every move sent a stab of agony across his many wounds. He could barely stand from the pain, the blood loss. He tried to focus on something else. Rumbling clouds laughed at him high above. No comfort there. There was a crash of thunder. Stone splitting. It opened up a world of sound. Screams of pain, of the dying crashed into his ears, double the agony of his crushed side. The ground sailed away from his feet as a piggish laugh fell about him, only to reach up and grab his rag-doll form. A shadow fell across him, a giant with stinking feet ready to kick and crush him. Weakly, he struggled to get up, to get his sword. Fingertips brushed on something cold. He couldn’t move. He was too cold. Exhausted. Weak. Another crushing blow folded him. Sardith, crushed deep into the dirt, looked at him with dead eyes. “Sorry” he tried to say, couldn’t even shape his lips.

His thoughts scattered away with the clattering of hooves. The death blow never came. Instead, a cool radiance bathed him. It was not warm. If anything, it was colder than the night air, worse than the bludgeoning giant. Yet he grasped it, held on. There was a rider. Man or woman, Andel could not tell, a moon-light figure, hair the eyeless dark between stars, clad in thorns, astride a steed of morning mist. The rider spoke, but the words fell about Andel’s ears more like raindrops than sound.

“I don’t understand” he reached out, his fingers grasping at the pregnant moon high above. Sol and Ben, illuminated by the dying embers of the fireplace, looked over at him. Andel feigned sleep and they went back to their discussion, leaving him to wait out the night. This was not the first time the Rider had visited him in dreams, and he had no desire to return to them.

 

[Pedestrian]

They pressed on. The Witchwood was eerily silent. It was likely it had seemed been scoured clear by goblin hunters. The signs of the Hand’s passage through the area was clear, scarred trees, fire damage. Vraath Keep, which Andel assured them was haunted, they avoided, spending the night in a magical shelter wrenched up from the depths by Xerxes. The night passed safely, and they moved on. Further into the wood, they passed a pile of stripped, cracked bones, further signs of the Hand’s predations.

Xerxes and Wolsey walked together, Wolsey’s ‘pet’ just behind, the Jasite murmuring questions to the northerner, who responded only infrequently. Sol and Ben strode ahead, chatting happily about battles, weaponry and styles. Andel walked apart, partially out of a desire to be alone, partly because of the pull wild places always held for him.

The forest thinned, and was replaced with thorny bush and hardy, yellowed grass. Ahead was the Skull Gorge bridge. Ben gasped. Nailed directly to the stone of the two near towers were a pair of corpses. One had been tall, though nothing more could be said. The body had been blasted, charred and shrivelled. The other had faired a little better, though a month under Elsir’s burning sun had taken its toll. Still, scraggly strands of straw blonde hair stuck our from the skull.

Ben wept.

 

[Pedestrian]

It was four days hard travel through the mountains to reach the Fane. The hard slog left them ill-prepared for what they faced. The mountain in which the Fane rested, nestled deep within the range, had been carved into a likeness of the Chromatic Queen. Wolsey’s pet was sent ahead, the skeletal red dragon skittering along the broad stone path. It reached the massive double doors, nestled under a smaller replica of the sculpture.

“Who dares challenge the might of the Fivefold?” boomed five voices from the heads of the dragon. Sol, Andel, Wolsey and Ben looked about, shocked and terrified.

“It’s a trick,” Xerxes’ mind was shielded by the powers of the nether-realm, and it prevented intrusive mind play, “Wolsey, keep your dragon forward.” The death priest nodded, and his dragon leapt at the gate. A flash of elemental fury scorched the creature.

Then, shadows fell across them as a massive blue dragon, and two smaller drakes, leapt out from the gargantuan statue. They strafed across the skyline, blasting the group with lightning and acid. Only Ben, frighteningly swift, avoided the painful assault. He grabbed Sol by the belt and, nodding reassuringly, hefted the half-Orc into the air, aiming him straight at the blue dragon, before charging off after the green. Wolsey’s monster bounded across the stone, intercepting the black dragon. It jumped at the smaller drake, wrapping itself around the black and plummeting to the canyon floor below.

The fight carried on, with Andel blasting green-gold fire at the dragons, Ben springing and slashing with twin axes. Sol and Xerxes worked as a team, the mystic carrying his friend in the Shadow’s embrace to fling himself bodily at the blue, struggling in mid-air and firing back and forth. During this, Xerxes spotted the lair of the wyrms, but could take no time to explore.

Bellowing mystic words, the dragon would blast them with bolts of lightning, then spilling fire from a wand clutched in one hooked claw, cursing the troublesome half-orc who time and again rose to fight him. The green, smaller and less sure, was driven off, half it’s tail chopped clean away by Ben’s axe.

Xerxes made a gambit to bring the dragon down before his reach into the Shadow faded. Aiming a freezing gust of wind at the serpent’s wings, he brought the beast to ground. Before it fell, the dragon managed one last blast of flame from its wand. Now, however, the battle became a brutal melee along the side of the mountain. Sol and Ben took the fore, with Andel hanging back, assaulting the monster with eldritch power.

A lucky blow from Sol slid through the dragon’s breast, ending the father of the Red Hand. From there, a quick climb revealed great treasure in the shared lairs of the dragons. A veritable fortune in relics and coin. A champion’s belt for Sol. Andel took possession of a charred staff that thrummed with power. Xerxes found a pair of heavy iron gauntlets, spiked and crackling with electricity. Ben grabbed trinkets from the hoard. Wolsey, meanwhile, replaced his pet with the dead blue dragon, calling up the power of She in the Vault of Ruby to give mockery of life to the monster.

Unable to overcome either the lock or the magical wards of the gate, Andel called up his fey bred powers to batter at them. One hand was wreathed with a continuous beam of crackling gold-green, the other clutched the staff of fire. This assault would not go unnoticed.

It did not. As the mountain trembled and shook, the door split open to reveal a surging mass of onyx dragonmen. Yet Xerxes and Andel, levelling lightning and flame, swept them aside swiftly.

The mountain trembled beneath their feet. Andel’s assault had weakened structures already damaged by the profane rite of Azar Kull. Not hesitating, they surged into the collapsing temple. Inside was chaos, as monsters attempted to flee. They progressed unopposed. In one chamber, they found hooded acolytes chanting as part of the ritual. Wolsey’s new dragon was set on them.

Forward, and up, flying with aid of magical scrolls through to the Fane’s sanctum, where Azar Kull enacted black rituals. The hulking hobgoblin-dragon was limned all over in sparking red electricity, his voice raised in deafening roar with the wind that whipped about the room. The hot, stinking air flowed out from a rippling crimson crack, through which was visible the churning wasteland of the Hells. And there, glimpses of a many faced form.

Sol lead the charge, but the High Wyrmlord was not unaware. He disappeared in a choking flash of brimstone, appearing on the flank of the confused party, before erupting in a miasma of elemental fury. Wolsey was consumed in an eyeblink, and Xerxes collapsed.

Flawless, Sol altered his course, and collided with the High Wyrmlord, bringing his hard used blade down in a gleaming arc. Crimson lightning played along the edge, trying to ward off the blow, but to no avail, and the mighty warrior cleaved off the dark cleric’s arm at the shoulder.

The wind died down, and Azar Kull staggered backwards, shock on his horned, hideous face.

“She comes….She comes!” he choked out before collapsing, his thick dark blood coating the floor.

The sound of the wind erupted once more, louder than ever. The tiny red gate opened with an audible ripping sound, accompanied by a flash of light and heat. As their eye’s cleared, Sol, Andel and Ben beheld the terrible, true form of Tiamat.

A roiling black cloud spread across the pedestal. From it, a crackling arc emerged, resolving into a draconic head over the body of the High Wyrmlord, long enough to devour the corpse. Then, a thick trunk of magma erupted upwards, becoming another dragon head, this one gleaming red, existing long enough to blast through the Fane’s ceiling, further weakening the mountain. With a hateful roar, the monstrous devil-god spread ash wings, pushing herself into the sky, stained in revulsion at her touch.

The Fivefold Empress of Terror and Despair had come to Elsir.

 

[Sol.Dragonheart]

Very well written and entertaining story hour. By the way, what happened to Kayan? Last I read of him he was set to join the PCs once more when the Elf Riders showed up at Brindol, yet Sol and Xerxes left without him, or mention of him.

 

[Pedestrian]

Session 15: Against Tiamat

Sol, Xerxes over his shoulder, struggled up out through the roof of the ruined Fane, Andel and Ben just behind him. The miasmic body of the Dragon Queen was fading into the distance, but she left a trail easy to follow. The sky churned at her passing, bloody stained, and the ground below was cracked and scorched.

Angry wails echoed off of the mountainside, as Red Hand warriors began to stream up and out of the trembling mountain. Andel reached into his belt, producing a scroll. His troubled face looked about the group.

“Immerstal’s spell will only carry three of us.”

“Of you go then, boys. I’ll deal with these ‘ere goblins, don’t you worry.” Ben didn’t look at the others as he pulled his twin axes from his back, instead focusing his attention on the horde picking its way from the ruins. They weren’t making a move for them yet, but all of them were battered, Xexes near death. Easy pickings. Andel laid a hand on Sol’s shoulder as he began to chant the words on the scroll.

“Here, Ben, you might use these.” Sol unstrapped his old gauntlets, whose spirit uplifting might had borne him through many a battle. The dwarf smiled up at the half-Orc as he accepted the gift. Then they were gone.

“Well now lads, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.” Ben smiled as he pulled on the chunky gauntlets, tightening them a little. Then, with a Bereg whoop, he ran headlong at the nearest gang.

*

The three appeared in the Jarmaath’s hall. The assembled council looked aghast at the bloodied and burnt trio. The Lord of Brindol hurried forward, calling for Templars to attend them.

“Jarmaath, there is little time,” Xerxes began, his consciousness briefly returned to him. He did not have opportunity to speak further, as the great ashwood doors of the chamber swung open, an irate Immerstal hurrying forward.

“What have you done? What have you dabblers done?” The wizard looked furiously from one haggard face to the other. “My calculations thrown out, the speculum splintered. You’ve forced open a doorway, and neglected to close it!”

“Master Immerstal, calm yourself” commanded Jarmaath. “What do you mean?”

“During the battle with the High Wyrmlord, a gateway to the hells opened and the Dragon Queen forced herself through, Brindol her destination” Xerxes supplied wearily, continuing despite gasps of shock and horror “I think it was probably the result of Kull’s rite, which we interrupted.”

“You have the right of it.” Immerstal nodded, smoothing his long hair with shaking hands. “Fortunate that you interrupted the ritual, then, as likely this is but a fragment of the goddess’ potency, a talon in our world if you will. But she will be able to exert more influence and might if she gains a supply of souls. No doubt why she has cast her hateful gaze on Brindol.”

“Can anything be done Immerstal? Magic to banish the fiend?” The Lord of Brindol looked tired, worn down by the past month. His once black hair was now shot through with grey and white, and his leg had not healed well.

“With the help of the other powers of the city I might be able to raise some warding around the city… the Autarch of this migrant cult might help, perhaps. I suspect she is the only one left with strength sufficient. Presently, this aspect of the goddess is a ravenous thing, hungry for souls, an elemental creature, easily prodded along a course, though not easily contained” The young wizard regarded the three warriors “Ridding us of this infernal wyrm would fall to you three.”

*

The next day, having been healed by the Templars at Brindol, Sol, Xexes and Andel waited at the great gate of Brindol, linked through the wards to Immerstal and one another through a telepatchic bond. The walls had suffered a heavy beating during the siege, and repairs had only been started. Ballista still lined the walls, and a pair of defensive trebuchets had been built within the ground. Finally, massive fail-safe props had been put in place during the siege to offer emergency support to the wall. Rigged to fall at the swing of a sword, the props might damage the wall, but also would support crumbling structures.

The plan was simple. Immerstal and the Autarch would use the powerfulold Tiamat at the gate for as long as they could, battering away at the infernal energy that shielded her. Those protections prevented harm from reaching her body, but also acted as a ravenous extension of her will, tearing and rending any who tried to close.

The scarring sky heralded her arrival. The movement of her choking, smouldering wings snapped across the still dawn with a thunderclap. The vile vapours clinging to her buzzed and hissed, sweeping the ground beneath, polluting land and water beneath her shadow. At moments, a coil of energy might extend from the centre of her, gaining coherent form and draconic semblance for a moment before retreating into the rotten-wound coloured mists that sheltered her.

A whirling chunk of masonry flew up in greeting to the queen, but flew too high. Xexes and Sol rushed to the battlement to fire bolts at the Fivefold, as Andel hurried to set props into readiness to support the damaged wall.

Choking flame, a vortex of heat and ash, washed over the wall, blackening the gate and filling the air. Xerxes tried a bolt of lightning, only to see it absorbed in a flash of lightning. Sol ran to another ballista, sending a bolt into the poisonous mist. Silver sword slashed taut rope, and Andel sent a prop to support the weakened wall.

More of Tiamat’s elemental fury was unleashed, but Sol and Xerxes did not relent in their assault. Every bolt fired seemed to reduce the clawing mists, and soon the deeper darkness, the god herself, was revealed. Andel kept at the props, dropping them when needed, keeping well back of the tearing, terrible darkness.

Not a moment too soon, as a massive crack of lightning split the doors wide open. Tiamat swept through, into the city. Through the link, they could hear a wail of pain from Immerstal as the strength of the wards was tested fiercely. The devil queen surged ahead, unerring in her pursuit of mortal flesh. Any poor soul that was devoured by her would be utterly consumed to bolster her might.

A running battle through the streets. Xerxes teleported ahead, Sol at his side. Together, they hacked and slashed at the swift, low-flying dragon queen. Andel tarried, unsure, bolstering himself with invocation and enchantment. Meanwhile, the many headed monster darted those maws not ravaging the flesh of her assailants into windows and doors, vainly trying to sniff out humans who had fled. Still, the slow and the fearful fed her terrible hunger.

Now she rose, up and up into the sky, spreading her wings broad to darken the sky over all Brindol. Sol and Xerxes, badly hurt, cursed vainly. Andel attempted to strike the monster with bolts of viridian fire, but she was now out of reach. The coiling, crackling, elemental faces of the queen stretched forth from the tenebrous center, raining ruin down on the city.

The warding is rent Immerstal’s voice echoed through their minds but the strains of magic remains. I may be able to help you. The three felt their feet lift off of the ground ever so slightly.

Sol wasted no time, racing up into the heavens in pursuit of the dragon-queen. His sword, gleaming in the rising rays of the sun, slashed thrice across Tiamat. There was an explosion of fire and ice, ashes and water rained down across Brindol as the heads Terror and Savagery were rent from the dragon queen. Tyranny, Cunning and Cruelty remained, and sank their fangs deep into the half-orc, ripping his flesh and flinging him through the sky. Xerxes teleported into the air beside Sol, channelling the healing energy of his relic belt to bolster his old friend’s faltering might, returning him to consciousness. Andel distracted Tiamat, blasting her with his eldritch born might, keeping her from the others as he zipped around.

Sol and Xerxes flew in together, flanking the dragon. Sol’s armband flashed red, warding off a brutal snapping bite from the black Queen, Cruelty. Xerxes attempted to slam his spiked fist into the acid visage of Cunning, but the crackling form of Tyranny bellowed an intercession, sending him spinning through the air.

More sword strokes from, and the acidic heads were cut into oily smoke and slime, falling away from the dragon queen. Tyranny roared in defiance, but the Dragon Queen was overmatched, defeated. A laden silence filled the air, and then a massive explosion roared out from the failing god. Crimson electricity rippled through all three of them, out through the sky. Andel and Xerxes, each in their own way attuned to the dance of worlds, felt something pulse behind unseen doorways. Sol, iron and blood, endured the worst of the searing pain and confused images.

The poisoned light faded, and the three hung over Brindol, finally victorious.

 

[Pedestrian]

Epilogue: Snowflakes and Spiderswebs

In the months that followed, changes would come. Lord Jarmaath, a noble lord, took it upon himself to reward each hero individually.

Andel he guided into the depths of the Jasite shrine, wherein were kept many relics. In a stone coffin that predated the artistry of the Empire, leaves in autumn colours lay. The lord bid young Andel to command the leaves with the word Kinori. As Andel did thus, the leaves swirled up, clothing him in fey armour made of thorns and the old powers dancing in the morning mist.

To Sol, he presented a crown, obtained from the north. The threat to Elsir gone, Jarmaath met the warrior as he prepared a horse to ride out across Elsir and all Crucis, to see the world. Jarmaath’s gift to Sol was Clarity. An iron band set with three sparkling diamonds. When Sol set the pretty thing across his brow, he understood.

Finally, to Xerxes, the old Lord arranged to meet for private council. He explained to the northerner that he was to renounce his place as Lord of the city but he could not, in good conscience, leave the city bereft of protectors. As his last act, he would appoint Xerxes Steward of the Dawn Way, stationed at Vraath Keep. To keep the mystic occupied during his time there, he presented a small trinket, the puzzles of which he left for Xerxes to discover.

Jarmaath stepped down, Lady Kaal took his place. The Temple would be led by High Templar Cohen, and the True Law under the Autarch began construction of the Citadel in Brindol. Dragons – mercenaries bought from Dennovar – took the place of Lions. A statue was erected at Nimon Gap, now known as Mage’s Stand for the heroic last stand of the mage Marcus. Drellin’s Ferry was rebuilt.

Months passed, the snows fell. Soon, the Thunder Son festival would be upon Elsir.

Green eyes, looking out from thick bushes overlooking Starsong Hill, narrowed. Slim fingers, gloved in silk uncannily like a spiders, clenched around thorns.

“We will be avenged.”

 

[Pedestrian]

So that's it, the Red Hand of Doom finished. Only took half a year, and two and a half parties worth of characters. It's been a lot of fun, though some things were a pain - particular as half of the game involved only a half party!

The high point, I think, was probably the raid of the Ghostlord's lair, followed closely by the endurance fight on the Dawn Way. The first showed how resourceful the then group were, the second how potent they had become. Also, battling the whole Red Hand detachment in the ruins of Rhest was a bit mad.

I started off intending to follow the adventure as written loyally, but changed it to include more bits of interest to my players. I also spruced up the NPCs to match my home setting.

Hope you've enjoyed walking beside the heroes on their quests, even though for now we must part.

Very well written and entertaining story hour. By the way, what happened to Kayan? Last I read of him he was set to join the PCs once more when the Elf Riders showed up at Brindol, yet Sol and Xerxes left without him, or mention of him.

Thanks Sol. Glad you've enjoyed the story.

Kayan was played by the same person who played initially as Sir Tarnus, and finally as Andel Mor. The game switched over from in-person play to over MSN, at the same point as Kayan left the party. He rejoined for christmas, when I and my partner (Sol's player) were visiting home, and asked to play as a warlock. We've now returned to play over MSN, and Andel's player has decided to withdraw from the game again.

In the context of the story, Kayan returned to Brindol with the emissaries from the Starsong elves. His fate isn't explored, but he is presumed to have died during the Battle for Brindol, alongside most of the Templars of Brindol.

All the best to all!