GnomesAreArt
2016-01-01, 11:13 PM
So this is a chronicle of my party's misadventures through the 5th Edition adventure path Princes of the Apocalypse. I'm not the GM (so try not to tell me too many spoilers) - I'm playing Branwen/Bryony (I contemplated making you guess, but it's pretty obvious from the first chapter).
The Tiefling Family
Lorcan, more commonly called Azazel, is the eldest brother - who sold his soul to the devil. (Pact of the Chain Warlock)
Branwen (also called Bryony) is the middle child and the only daughter. She was raised in a swamp by a hag. (Pact of the Blade Warlock)
Caith is the youngest child. He was lost early on, and ended up training as a virtuous knight. Oh dear. (Oath of the Ancients Paladin)
Other Player Characters
Zethir is a dragonborn monk who is just learning about the concepts outside his secluded childhood. (Way of the Four Elements Monk)
Norman is a human knight who values Strength and Freedom, and who is always hankering to kill some cultists. (War Cleric)
Itri al-Badr is a human archer traveling from afar as a scout for a massive empire. (Battlemaster Fighter)
This is up to date as of session 16. Each will have a little more introduction as they enter the story - but feel free to ask more questions about them (or other details) if I release details too slowly, or too vaguely.
The game is currently ongoing, but I have a decent backlog of session writeups to start with, so I'll be releasing them somewhat faster than we hold sessions for awhile, until we catch up - starting with a double feature:
Session 1: Not Playing with a Full Deck
Of the three of them, Branwen was the only one who had a large, respectable, cozy house to shelter in.
Had. And when it burned, the dancing red flames and thick black peat smoke had made a striking impression over the snowy white swamp - her two brothers standing over her awkwardly as the three realized their shared lineage.
Caith had been - was still - the youngest, just a child when he was left in the chaos of a bad town visit. Whether it was a con gone bad, or simply unwarranted violence, the caravan had scattered without the time to look for a baby. His siblings, while more willing (or foolish) to go back, had not been more successful - and to her he had been swept away into the great unknown.
Now in his return he was… still a kid, albeit an enormously tall one. His broad red shoulders carried (as well as his shiny chainmail and a broad, much repaired scythe - apparently a weapon he had fended off a monster with, and learned to master since then) a cheery face with laughing gold eyes and dark blue-black hair.
And if Caith was tall, Azazel (his birth name was Lorcan, but he eschewed that long ago) was a giant. At 6 ft 6 inches (she measured) he towered over most men - and he made little attempt to tone down the effect that (or the fiery red hair he shared with Branwen, or his intense purple eyes, or his “nightmarishly” dark skin… or just about every sinew in his body) made on people.
The loss of both siblings had changed him - forcing him to drift between the only people as untrusted as himself; thieves, murderers, and the cultists of the great fiends. Many hoped to use his imposing strength for their own purposes, but Azazel kept his calculating mind as well. He may have sold his soul to a fiend, he would say as he clutched his red spear, but he would have it returned with interest.
Between them, Branwen - or the Witch Bryony, as she was more familiar by now - was like a mouse - barely 5 feet tall, and and pale as a bleached skeleton. With her horns and fiery red hair mostly covered by her wide grey hat, and a touch of makeup applied to match a more human coloration (a trick she quickly learned when her hag-mother disappeared and she found herself dealing with the villagers who sought witchly advice without a hag’s transformational magic), she could almost appear normal - if enigmatically sorcerous.
Beneath the starry cloak, though, her hands constantly played with the crossbow at her side and the mysterious Minor Arcana deck that her hag mother had left when she vanished - the only connection she still had with her kidnapper (aside from an odd bag of teeth), and one with considerably more magic than she was willing to admit.
The family would arrive in Red Larch with the first thaw. Winter was a terrible time to be traveling, but without Branwen’s house there would be few places near the swamp where such a motley band would find shelter. A few early and reckless flowers blossomed at the base of a huge pile of rock - what locals called Lance Rock - and touched at the path into the clamorous town.
Red Larch is a loud town in the center of the crossroads in the land which is known hereabouts as Leonesse, halfway between the bustling city of Caer Lundum and the colder Caer Dydd. Between these metropoli, Leonesse was a hilly lawless area, thriving and falling in local business and the economic booms and busts of trade.
Red Larch is almost built on a quarry, and sitting conveniently on the crossroads of an economic boom - the perfect place to rest without too many questions. Finding an inn, Azazel paid for two nights with a gold piece - a good deal in the rush brought on by the inn’s surprising lack of customers.
“There’s foul magic around,” warned the innkeeper, mentioning rumors of terrible man killing winds to the west and even stranger oddities little talked about. Undeterred, the brothers wandered to the tavern across the street to rat out more of these tales. The room cooled somewhat at the introduction of the two fiend born, but Caith’s singing and cheer warmed the tired laborers to his presence.
When everything was part of the Mists, fathomless and unknowable, a few great powers labored together to illuminate a world of light and structure. Chief among these was The Dagda, who forged the sun itself and gently lead the others with wisdom and a hearty laugh, which Caith strove to emulate. Where light was in the world, Caith swore to preserve it.
Azazel’s presence was less well received, finding him toying his insinuations against a distrustful patron who was, in his own words, “a racist little bastard **** old man”. The patron did tell him about a cavern full of treasure to the north - known as Tricklerock - and seemed keen to get rid of Azazel to this lucrative quest.
Chief among the children of Arawn and the Morrigan are the Great Fiends, who seek to escape from the unknown quiet of Arawn’s womb into the world and Avalon. One of the most famous is definitely Balar of the Evil Eye, whose form is that of a great misshapen giant with a third eye in the middle of his forehead. The eye is Greed, and when he opens the eye it poisons and blights what it sees. Balar and his forces form many legions in Arawn’s womb, and often seek out followers in the world (such as the power hungry Azazel).
Meanwhile, Branwen also heard of this location. She had wandered to a barbershop, looking for people who had time on their hands to discuss rumors. After a few games of chance - less chance than they had hoped, perhaps, given her experience with her cards - the old men talked about the dangers of Tricklerock cave, warning her that whatever fools legend there was of the place, it was not one where she should go.
Moving on from her card playing friends, Branwen found a bathhouse and joined the older women in a common room - only revealing her feet to maintain her humanoid guise, but enjoying what she could (which was free after all, for her first visit - a well appreciated promotion given the long trip to Red Larch).
The bathhouse echoed with rumors, telling of the mysterious danger of Lance Rock, the strange masked people seen by the northern quarry (if those lazy ingrates of miners were being truthful, and not just wanting an early supper, that is), and even ghost stories around the tombs.
Branwen returned to the inn to compare notes with Azazel, while Caith spoke with the innkeeper and learned about the opportunity of Tricklerock. The lonely innkeeper also gave him some of her… quality… crumblecakes to feed him. Setting up a pot of boiling water and soap as a hint for her still filthy brothers, Branwen set up her bedroll in between the two beds of the chamber and went to sleep.
The next day, the family set off for Tricklerock, on Caith’s suspicions (and with Azazel’s suspicions as to the motives of the locals). To avoid sleeping together, Azazel made sure to purchase a second tent before the group left town discretely.
Tricklerock turned out to be a large ravine with a delightful waterfall. The family camped a safe distance away and waited for daylight, while their inn room remained paid for but unoccupied in town.
Before dawn, the crew entered - Caith taking the lead - only to find the cave empty of treasure and full of disgusting stirges. Despite some injury to Caith, the group cleared the cave and escaped largely unharmed. Returning to the town, the brothers decided to veer off to the bathhouse to take baths while Branwen reassured the innkeeper - who had been worried by not seeing them for the last few days.
With one disappointing adventure, the three decided to chance the mysterious Lance Rock. Passing by a sign from a claimed “lord” of the rock who warned people off due to a “disfiguring disease”’s contagion, they found only a small series of tunnels with a dead body.
And then some more dead bodies who started moving to the sound of their shouts. Azazel’s fire only angered them, and the zombies piled over him - dragging him to the ground. Caith kept swinging, and Branwen - unable to get a good hit with her crossbow - covered herself in frost armor and ran into the fray with her dagger. Together, they tore the zombies off of their brother and dragged themselves out of the cave. With a brief rest and patching up, though, the lure of the twisting tunnels drove them back in again, finding skeletons (which the three quickly smashed before they could show signs of liveliness or deadness) and a couple of old swords.
Session 2: The Lord of Lance Rock
When the family returned to the larger cavern, they noticed a light ahead. Having heard about a commotion near the rock, a dragon-blooded man named Zethir had begun investigating the area. Not having the eyesight of other fiend children, he had lit a torch.
Of all the fiend bloods, the dragon blooded are the most physically bizarre. Zethir’s silver scales covered the entirety of his muscular body with a metallic sheen. This brilliance was covered, uncharacteristically for such metals, with a rather simple tan cassock. Born and raised in a remote monastery, Zethir was still unfamiliar with the world around him.
Azazel and Branwen snuck forward towards the intruder - trying and failing to be stealthy (which ended up not mattering, as the naive acolyte was too entranced by his surroundings to notice their approach). Azazel announced his presence loudly, and Zethir put his sword (the biggest possession he had) down in a healthy response to the booming threats from the shadows. Under the threat of crossbows, Zethir declared he was trained in healing and useful - and that if this wasn’t needed, he at least understood enough to leave if he wasn’t wanted.
Through Caith’s negotiation, and Zethir’s composure under pressure, the monk and the tieflings decided to continue together for the near future. Their immediate mission was clear - as they discussed, there were scraping and movement noises down the second hallway. After some waiting, the four pushed through - finding a tunnel full of old blood which opened into another large cavern.
In the back, the team could see three figures - one appeared to be a bear, one a maiden, and one a jester. Upon the group’s entrance, the three figures danced forward awkwardly, revealing the putrid flesh beneath the clothing and makeup (including a full bear costume).
Zethir and Caith charged at the jester, while Branwen and Azazel began firing bolts into the bear. Despite shooting out both eyes, the bear continued to lumber forward while the jester and maiden seemed to brush aside the blows covering them. Finally, though, the bear collapsed, followed by the maiden and jester - each covered in bolts from the backlines. The exhausted group dragged themselves back to town.
When they arrived, the worried innkeeper cooked them a free dinner while Caith regaled her with fictional stories of battles. Zethir rented out a second room, with Caith taking the second bed (allowing Branwen to move off the floor). Caith and Azazel returned to the tavern while Branwen bathed and Zethir meditated in his room.
Returning to Lance Rock, the group passed a small cluster of humans arguing near the road. When Azazel went to help (or so he claimed), the four men drew scimitars and threatened him. In the following fight, Zethir was badly beaten up, but the others burned and tore their way through the bandits.
They were helped by a traveling knight, named Norman, dressed in shining waxed chainmail and a raven marked tabard. While Azazel convinced the final ruffian to throw down his weapon and prepared to run him through, Norman suggested beating him unconscious and dragging him into the town instead - a warning against bandits. After some discussion, the two tied the unconscious body to a nearby tree and pinned his foot to the ground with his own scimitar. Seeing Norman’s value, the group recruited him to join their mission.
Norman had been born a slave, and trained in his bondage to fight. When freed, though, his skills made him an easy choice for a knight’s squire - not yet experienced in fighting alone, and for his own motives, but not requiring all the basic education a squire usually needs. He rose to a knighthood early - and perhaps immaturely in the process - and began to venture out in defense of his creed: to shelter and protect the flame of power - fostering the ability to fight wherever it might be wavering. While his thick black beard, shining armor, and bright red tabard would not indicate his past, the knight still sought out ways to make sure nobody could be overpowered or enslaved.
Going further down the caverns, the band found a narrow - blood covered - hallway with iron chests near the end. When Azazel and Norman went to investigate, rocks fell from above and a voice laughed at their eagerness for treasure.
Retreating back (and with some healing power from Norman), the band pushed through to look for their tormentor. They found a large lit chamber with baskets of old flesh, a dark cloaked figure, and several skeletons standing in formation. Upon further investigation, the dark cloaked figure was revealed to be another disguised zombie. The baskets began crawling, with hands pouring out to attack the heroes. Zethir froze a basket with his breath, while Branwen stabbed and shot at others. As she had thrown her crossbow aside to stab at an attacking hand, Branwen scrambled for her cards - and the 2 of Swords brought green flaming swords flying at her foes.
Meanwhile, Zethir and Azazel managed the zombie, while the skeletons held their formation. A man ambled behind them, stating that he “figured you’d return” and declaring himself the lord of Lance Rock. He left the group as they charged at the skeletons, leaving his minions to clean up after these meddlesome peoples.
As both sides charged forward, Norman shouted for the others to form behind him as the group saw the skeleton’s bows. Branwen quickly took him up on his offer, sticking closely to the knight’s coattails. The resulting battle nearly killed Zethir, but Norman was able to reach and bandage him up before he lost all of his blood, but the skeletons were fully destroyed.
The Morrigan is a name rarely invoked by the mortals of the world, except when battlefields beckon (which is all too often). As Nemain, she is the havoc and confusion of war, seeding terror and chaos of the battlefield among its followers. As Babd, she is the bloodshed and death of war, causing even the stoutest warriors to fall and lose hope. But Norman invoked her as Macha, the rule and conquest of war, sought for new tactics and ways to kill others (as well as more reasons to). War brought strength for Norman, but only in the order of a careful battlefield.
The party dragged Zethir back a room to try to heal up and strategize, with the tiefling warlocks holding guard. Azazel charged ahead, hoping to lash out at his foe, but the necromancer skirmished at a distance, fleeing the party while firing spells behind him. Caith was the first to be hit, as an iron crown formed over his head and his eyes lit up with magically induced madness - striking hard at Norman before realizing what he had done. The two sides exchanged salvos of magical fire - Azazel’s dark magical blasts and Branwen’s swords against the bright missiles of the necromancer.
Azazel fell from the man’s bombardment before he could unleash fury on him, but the racing Caith and Norman had managed to catch the Necromancer and pin him in range of Zethir and Branwen. Zethir’s dart finally took down the menace of Lance Rock, who faded into a black mist.
Left behind was a wand for magic missiles, and a poorly furnished (but clean) room with a glowing orb (and several beautiful gems).
Upon their weary return to town, the group noticed the brigands they had previously fought scattered and chewed on while the tied up man cowered and muttered about “the bear breaking loose”.
The Tiefling Family
Lorcan, more commonly called Azazel, is the eldest brother - who sold his soul to the devil. (Pact of the Chain Warlock)
Branwen (also called Bryony) is the middle child and the only daughter. She was raised in a swamp by a hag. (Pact of the Blade Warlock)
Caith is the youngest child. He was lost early on, and ended up training as a virtuous knight. Oh dear. (Oath of the Ancients Paladin)
Other Player Characters
Zethir is a dragonborn monk who is just learning about the concepts outside his secluded childhood. (Way of the Four Elements Monk)
Norman is a human knight who values Strength and Freedom, and who is always hankering to kill some cultists. (War Cleric)
Itri al-Badr is a human archer traveling from afar as a scout for a massive empire. (Battlemaster Fighter)
This is up to date as of session 16. Each will have a little more introduction as they enter the story - but feel free to ask more questions about them (or other details) if I release details too slowly, or too vaguely.
The game is currently ongoing, but I have a decent backlog of session writeups to start with, so I'll be releasing them somewhat faster than we hold sessions for awhile, until we catch up - starting with a double feature:
Session 1: Not Playing with a Full Deck
Of the three of them, Branwen was the only one who had a large, respectable, cozy house to shelter in.
Had. And when it burned, the dancing red flames and thick black peat smoke had made a striking impression over the snowy white swamp - her two brothers standing over her awkwardly as the three realized their shared lineage.
Caith had been - was still - the youngest, just a child when he was left in the chaos of a bad town visit. Whether it was a con gone bad, or simply unwarranted violence, the caravan had scattered without the time to look for a baby. His siblings, while more willing (or foolish) to go back, had not been more successful - and to her he had been swept away into the great unknown.
Now in his return he was… still a kid, albeit an enormously tall one. His broad red shoulders carried (as well as his shiny chainmail and a broad, much repaired scythe - apparently a weapon he had fended off a monster with, and learned to master since then) a cheery face with laughing gold eyes and dark blue-black hair.
And if Caith was tall, Azazel (his birth name was Lorcan, but he eschewed that long ago) was a giant. At 6 ft 6 inches (she measured) he towered over most men - and he made little attempt to tone down the effect that (or the fiery red hair he shared with Branwen, or his intense purple eyes, or his “nightmarishly” dark skin… or just about every sinew in his body) made on people.
The loss of both siblings had changed him - forcing him to drift between the only people as untrusted as himself; thieves, murderers, and the cultists of the great fiends. Many hoped to use his imposing strength for their own purposes, but Azazel kept his calculating mind as well. He may have sold his soul to a fiend, he would say as he clutched his red spear, but he would have it returned with interest.
Between them, Branwen - or the Witch Bryony, as she was more familiar by now - was like a mouse - barely 5 feet tall, and and pale as a bleached skeleton. With her horns and fiery red hair mostly covered by her wide grey hat, and a touch of makeup applied to match a more human coloration (a trick she quickly learned when her hag-mother disappeared and she found herself dealing with the villagers who sought witchly advice without a hag’s transformational magic), she could almost appear normal - if enigmatically sorcerous.
Beneath the starry cloak, though, her hands constantly played with the crossbow at her side and the mysterious Minor Arcana deck that her hag mother had left when she vanished - the only connection she still had with her kidnapper (aside from an odd bag of teeth), and one with considerably more magic than she was willing to admit.
The family would arrive in Red Larch with the first thaw. Winter was a terrible time to be traveling, but without Branwen’s house there would be few places near the swamp where such a motley band would find shelter. A few early and reckless flowers blossomed at the base of a huge pile of rock - what locals called Lance Rock - and touched at the path into the clamorous town.
Red Larch is a loud town in the center of the crossroads in the land which is known hereabouts as Leonesse, halfway between the bustling city of Caer Lundum and the colder Caer Dydd. Between these metropoli, Leonesse was a hilly lawless area, thriving and falling in local business and the economic booms and busts of trade.
Red Larch is almost built on a quarry, and sitting conveniently on the crossroads of an economic boom - the perfect place to rest without too many questions. Finding an inn, Azazel paid for two nights with a gold piece - a good deal in the rush brought on by the inn’s surprising lack of customers.
“There’s foul magic around,” warned the innkeeper, mentioning rumors of terrible man killing winds to the west and even stranger oddities little talked about. Undeterred, the brothers wandered to the tavern across the street to rat out more of these tales. The room cooled somewhat at the introduction of the two fiend born, but Caith’s singing and cheer warmed the tired laborers to his presence.
When everything was part of the Mists, fathomless and unknowable, a few great powers labored together to illuminate a world of light and structure. Chief among these was The Dagda, who forged the sun itself and gently lead the others with wisdom and a hearty laugh, which Caith strove to emulate. Where light was in the world, Caith swore to preserve it.
Azazel’s presence was less well received, finding him toying his insinuations against a distrustful patron who was, in his own words, “a racist little bastard **** old man”. The patron did tell him about a cavern full of treasure to the north - known as Tricklerock - and seemed keen to get rid of Azazel to this lucrative quest.
Chief among the children of Arawn and the Morrigan are the Great Fiends, who seek to escape from the unknown quiet of Arawn’s womb into the world and Avalon. One of the most famous is definitely Balar of the Evil Eye, whose form is that of a great misshapen giant with a third eye in the middle of his forehead. The eye is Greed, and when he opens the eye it poisons and blights what it sees. Balar and his forces form many legions in Arawn’s womb, and often seek out followers in the world (such as the power hungry Azazel).
Meanwhile, Branwen also heard of this location. She had wandered to a barbershop, looking for people who had time on their hands to discuss rumors. After a few games of chance - less chance than they had hoped, perhaps, given her experience with her cards - the old men talked about the dangers of Tricklerock cave, warning her that whatever fools legend there was of the place, it was not one where she should go.
Moving on from her card playing friends, Branwen found a bathhouse and joined the older women in a common room - only revealing her feet to maintain her humanoid guise, but enjoying what she could (which was free after all, for her first visit - a well appreciated promotion given the long trip to Red Larch).
The bathhouse echoed with rumors, telling of the mysterious danger of Lance Rock, the strange masked people seen by the northern quarry (if those lazy ingrates of miners were being truthful, and not just wanting an early supper, that is), and even ghost stories around the tombs.
Branwen returned to the inn to compare notes with Azazel, while Caith spoke with the innkeeper and learned about the opportunity of Tricklerock. The lonely innkeeper also gave him some of her… quality… crumblecakes to feed him. Setting up a pot of boiling water and soap as a hint for her still filthy brothers, Branwen set up her bedroll in between the two beds of the chamber and went to sleep.
The next day, the family set off for Tricklerock, on Caith’s suspicions (and with Azazel’s suspicions as to the motives of the locals). To avoid sleeping together, Azazel made sure to purchase a second tent before the group left town discretely.
Tricklerock turned out to be a large ravine with a delightful waterfall. The family camped a safe distance away and waited for daylight, while their inn room remained paid for but unoccupied in town.
Before dawn, the crew entered - Caith taking the lead - only to find the cave empty of treasure and full of disgusting stirges. Despite some injury to Caith, the group cleared the cave and escaped largely unharmed. Returning to the town, the brothers decided to veer off to the bathhouse to take baths while Branwen reassured the innkeeper - who had been worried by not seeing them for the last few days.
With one disappointing adventure, the three decided to chance the mysterious Lance Rock. Passing by a sign from a claimed “lord” of the rock who warned people off due to a “disfiguring disease”’s contagion, they found only a small series of tunnels with a dead body.
And then some more dead bodies who started moving to the sound of their shouts. Azazel’s fire only angered them, and the zombies piled over him - dragging him to the ground. Caith kept swinging, and Branwen - unable to get a good hit with her crossbow - covered herself in frost armor and ran into the fray with her dagger. Together, they tore the zombies off of their brother and dragged themselves out of the cave. With a brief rest and patching up, though, the lure of the twisting tunnels drove them back in again, finding skeletons (which the three quickly smashed before they could show signs of liveliness or deadness) and a couple of old swords.
Session 2: The Lord of Lance Rock
When the family returned to the larger cavern, they noticed a light ahead. Having heard about a commotion near the rock, a dragon-blooded man named Zethir had begun investigating the area. Not having the eyesight of other fiend children, he had lit a torch.
Of all the fiend bloods, the dragon blooded are the most physically bizarre. Zethir’s silver scales covered the entirety of his muscular body with a metallic sheen. This brilliance was covered, uncharacteristically for such metals, with a rather simple tan cassock. Born and raised in a remote monastery, Zethir was still unfamiliar with the world around him.
Azazel and Branwen snuck forward towards the intruder - trying and failing to be stealthy (which ended up not mattering, as the naive acolyte was too entranced by his surroundings to notice their approach). Azazel announced his presence loudly, and Zethir put his sword (the biggest possession he had) down in a healthy response to the booming threats from the shadows. Under the threat of crossbows, Zethir declared he was trained in healing and useful - and that if this wasn’t needed, he at least understood enough to leave if he wasn’t wanted.
Through Caith’s negotiation, and Zethir’s composure under pressure, the monk and the tieflings decided to continue together for the near future. Their immediate mission was clear - as they discussed, there were scraping and movement noises down the second hallway. After some waiting, the four pushed through - finding a tunnel full of old blood which opened into another large cavern.
In the back, the team could see three figures - one appeared to be a bear, one a maiden, and one a jester. Upon the group’s entrance, the three figures danced forward awkwardly, revealing the putrid flesh beneath the clothing and makeup (including a full bear costume).
Zethir and Caith charged at the jester, while Branwen and Azazel began firing bolts into the bear. Despite shooting out both eyes, the bear continued to lumber forward while the jester and maiden seemed to brush aside the blows covering them. Finally, though, the bear collapsed, followed by the maiden and jester - each covered in bolts from the backlines. The exhausted group dragged themselves back to town.
When they arrived, the worried innkeeper cooked them a free dinner while Caith regaled her with fictional stories of battles. Zethir rented out a second room, with Caith taking the second bed (allowing Branwen to move off the floor). Caith and Azazel returned to the tavern while Branwen bathed and Zethir meditated in his room.
Returning to Lance Rock, the group passed a small cluster of humans arguing near the road. When Azazel went to help (or so he claimed), the four men drew scimitars and threatened him. In the following fight, Zethir was badly beaten up, but the others burned and tore their way through the bandits.
They were helped by a traveling knight, named Norman, dressed in shining waxed chainmail and a raven marked tabard. While Azazel convinced the final ruffian to throw down his weapon and prepared to run him through, Norman suggested beating him unconscious and dragging him into the town instead - a warning against bandits. After some discussion, the two tied the unconscious body to a nearby tree and pinned his foot to the ground with his own scimitar. Seeing Norman’s value, the group recruited him to join their mission.
Norman had been born a slave, and trained in his bondage to fight. When freed, though, his skills made him an easy choice for a knight’s squire - not yet experienced in fighting alone, and for his own motives, but not requiring all the basic education a squire usually needs. He rose to a knighthood early - and perhaps immaturely in the process - and began to venture out in defense of his creed: to shelter and protect the flame of power - fostering the ability to fight wherever it might be wavering. While his thick black beard, shining armor, and bright red tabard would not indicate his past, the knight still sought out ways to make sure nobody could be overpowered or enslaved.
Going further down the caverns, the band found a narrow - blood covered - hallway with iron chests near the end. When Azazel and Norman went to investigate, rocks fell from above and a voice laughed at their eagerness for treasure.
Retreating back (and with some healing power from Norman), the band pushed through to look for their tormentor. They found a large lit chamber with baskets of old flesh, a dark cloaked figure, and several skeletons standing in formation. Upon further investigation, the dark cloaked figure was revealed to be another disguised zombie. The baskets began crawling, with hands pouring out to attack the heroes. Zethir froze a basket with his breath, while Branwen stabbed and shot at others. As she had thrown her crossbow aside to stab at an attacking hand, Branwen scrambled for her cards - and the 2 of Swords brought green flaming swords flying at her foes.
Meanwhile, Zethir and Azazel managed the zombie, while the skeletons held their formation. A man ambled behind them, stating that he “figured you’d return” and declaring himself the lord of Lance Rock. He left the group as they charged at the skeletons, leaving his minions to clean up after these meddlesome peoples.
As both sides charged forward, Norman shouted for the others to form behind him as the group saw the skeleton’s bows. Branwen quickly took him up on his offer, sticking closely to the knight’s coattails. The resulting battle nearly killed Zethir, but Norman was able to reach and bandage him up before he lost all of his blood, but the skeletons were fully destroyed.
The Morrigan is a name rarely invoked by the mortals of the world, except when battlefields beckon (which is all too often). As Nemain, she is the havoc and confusion of war, seeding terror and chaos of the battlefield among its followers. As Babd, she is the bloodshed and death of war, causing even the stoutest warriors to fall and lose hope. But Norman invoked her as Macha, the rule and conquest of war, sought for new tactics and ways to kill others (as well as more reasons to). War brought strength for Norman, but only in the order of a careful battlefield.
The party dragged Zethir back a room to try to heal up and strategize, with the tiefling warlocks holding guard. Azazel charged ahead, hoping to lash out at his foe, but the necromancer skirmished at a distance, fleeing the party while firing spells behind him. Caith was the first to be hit, as an iron crown formed over his head and his eyes lit up with magically induced madness - striking hard at Norman before realizing what he had done. The two sides exchanged salvos of magical fire - Azazel’s dark magical blasts and Branwen’s swords against the bright missiles of the necromancer.
Azazel fell from the man’s bombardment before he could unleash fury on him, but the racing Caith and Norman had managed to catch the Necromancer and pin him in range of Zethir and Branwen. Zethir’s dart finally took down the menace of Lance Rock, who faded into a black mist.
Left behind was a wand for magic missiles, and a poorly furnished (but clean) room with a glowing orb (and several beautiful gems).
Upon their weary return to town, the group noticed the brigands they had previously fought scattered and chewed on while the tied up man cowered and muttered about “the bear breaking loose”.