Pathfinder Red Hand of Doom in Greyhawk (Sterich)

[Elder_Basilisk]

I'm currently running a Red Hand of Doom game set in the world of Greyhawk using Pathfinder rules. More details of my conversion can be found in the main Red Hand of Doom handbook thread here.

http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?171284-The-3-5-Red-Hand-Of-Doom-Handbook-for-DMs-Major-spoilers!-WIP-PEACH!

I started at first level and turned it into a bit of an adventure path. The characters are about to start the first encounters of the actual Red Hand of Doom campaign next week, but they've had quite a few adventures on their way there. This is how I started the game:

The setting:
The world of Greyhawk, common year 594. The first day of spring.

The land of war-torn earldom of Sterich is starting to recover.
Ten years ago, the largely independent duchy was overwhelmed by a massive invasion of monstrous non-humans--giants, orcs, ogres, hobgoblins, and gnolls that swarmed out of the mountains. The king of Keoland refused to send any troops to assist the earldom of Sterich and within months, the capital fell, and the towns and cities were burned and looted and those inhabitants too slow or stubborn to flee were massacred or enslaved. A year later, the king decided to finally send help--and promised land and wealth for each freed barony. The exiled earl of Sterich re-entered his province with an army and, after three years of tough fighting, liberated the country. Many people entered Sterich and rebuilt much that had been destroyed. Some of them were refugees returning to their homes, rebuilding with the sweat of their brows what they had won back with blood and steel. Others were refugees from nearby lands such as the nearby Duchy of Geoff which is still occupied by the armies of the giants. Others were poor but enterprising people from the surrounding cities like Dyvers, who saw an opportunity to build better lives than they could have in their homelands. There are still conflicts--raids, banditry, and struggles between nobles (or those claiming to be nobles since many of the records were lost during the war) but farms are still being built, roads repairs, crops planted and harvested.

The story:
The story begins in the town of Drellin's Ferry, at the edge of civilized Sterich in the shadow of the Crystalmist mountains near the Elsir river. Six years of rebuilding punctuated by occasional raids from the mountain tribes, has produced a strong and tough frontier town. A generation that is just young enough to remember the desperate flight from King Galmoor's invading hordes is now entering adulthood. The grain is nearly ready for harvest, the cattle are growing fat on the summer grass, and new trouble has come to the earldom. Large numbers of hippogriffs--voracious flying beasts with the wings and head of an eagle and the body of a horse have flown down out of the mountains and are killing cattle and even the odd farmer. Count Jarmaath Bova and his captain Lars Ulverth rode out to hunt them, but there are too many for the nobles alone to make a dent in their numbers, so he has also proclaimed a bounty of 30 golden lions per hippogriff head--until the hippogriffs are gone or his agents run out of money.

Who are you?
You are a group who has gathered to take Count Bova up on his offer. Only a fool or a great hero would go hunting hippogriffs on his own. Many of you are in that younger generation who returned to Sterich with your parents--too young to fight for the liberation of your lands nine years ago, you have grown up and are ready to make a life for yourselves. Perhaps you learned to fight in the militia. Sertieren the Wise--an aged halfling wizard of some repute settled in Drellin’s Ferry with his clan after the war ended and his first few students will have just finished their apprenticeship. Brother Derny, priest of Pelor, has taken in and trained several youths who lost their parents in the war, teaching them the ways of his god. Some disciples of Heironeous, the knight of the gods, have also finished their training at their monastery in Bova and have been sent out into the world to do good and right wrongs. Some of you may be wanderers, come to Sterich looking for a land that has opportunities for anyone strong enough to hold a spear and defend the land that he farms. Maybe you were looking to escape an unjust accusation. Dwarves from the mountain clans periodically pass through Drellin's Ferry trading their metalwork for grain and ale. Perhaps that is you and you couldn't pass up the opportunity for some coin. Occasional elves pass through as well--some are exiled from their tribes, others see traveling the world as a right of passage and some few were growing up in Sterich when it fell ten years ago. Whoever you are, you want to set out on a dangerous expedition to help your community and earn some money at the same time.


The characters:
So given that, what did the players create?

Marquess Tessmon. Human fighter.
Marquess’s was raised in Keoland, but his brothers joined the Army of Liberation when King Skotti finally decided to throw his support behind Marquis Querchard and help him take back Sterich from the armies of the giant king Galmoor. Marquess came to Sterich and joined Count Bova’s army as soon as he was old enough but by then the war was practically over. He spend the next years marching from place to place as a member of the Lion Guard but the closest he came to combat was drunken brawls in the barracks.

His oldest brother, Jonas on the other hand, has always been in the thick of the fighting and is now one of the Lions of Bova. Another brother Neron, served under Baron Ecgtheow of Strake Terrace and perished from an infected wound after recapturing the city.

Shortly before beginning the Red Hand of Doom proper, Marquess was initiated into the Lions of Bova, the elite fighting force and representatives of the Count Bova.

Gladium. Half-orc barbarian. Currently missing, presumed dead.
Gladium was raised in an orc tribe but was cast out due to his human blood. (One can weave many tales from this—perhaps the most likely is that his father took a human slave as a concubine during the short-lived invasion of Sterich but when his father died, the tribe was no longer willing to tolerate a half-breed in their midst. Eventually, he found a place in the Lion guard at Bova as a scout and leatherworker.

Hellek. Human rogue.
Hellek served with honor in the Lion guard scouts but he was always better at stealth than their wilderness skills and spent a short time in Marquess’ glaive unit before mustering out to seek his fortune in the hippogriff hunt.


Penelope “Penn”. Halfling Hunter
Penelope’s father was a successful and unscrupulous merchant who bought his way into the nobility of pre-war Sterich. He fostered his daughter briefly in the late baron Wiston’s family—so she grew up with the current baron Norro Wiston. However when King Galmoor’s armies invaded, her father betrayed the baron, Sterich, and Penelope. She was captured and enslaved by goblins before she escaped into the wild with a wolf she befriended and returned to the outskirts of a civilization she distrusts due to her father’s betrayal. (The current) Baron Wiston is assisting her in the management of her manor and attempting to guide her back to human and halfling society.

Penn started play as a druid/ranger and eventually converted to a Hunter. It took the player a while to get the hang of the mechanics and to learn some useful things to do with the classes that he picked for the character.

Grimmath Coalhewer. Dwarf Wizard
Grimmath is gruff and arrogant for a dwarf and being trapped in an underground clanhold with only fungus beer and the same books and people for over a decade did little to improve his temper. When human adventurers came to his Clanhold with word of the human reconquest of Sterich, he eagerly joined them.

Grimmath began play as a PC. His player left the party unexpectedly so he was converted to a cohort for a while, then left the party to make room for the cohort that the player really wanted and to assist the Count in delaying the Red Hand for long enough for the PCs to accomplish their goals.


“Nameless”/Khan. Human barbarian/oracle
The nameless human was enslaved by goblins for most of his young life and survived the fighting pits by being the angriest and meanest boy there. Eventually he was purchased by a goblin smith and his times in the pits became less and less frequent as he proved to be a helpful slave in the forge. However, several months ago, he had a vision of a man who shone like the Sun—thereafter he could barely see thirty feet but found that he had powers of healing. They served him well when hobgoblins attacked the goblin encampment where he was a prisoner. He slew a hobgoblin and took his equipment in the confusion and used the power of the Shining One to heal his injuries. After two weeks of wandering, a Coalhewer scout found him and brought him back to the Clanhold. When Marquess and his group came to the clanhold, he saw a chance to rejoin human society and joined them.

When he joined the party, he had no name that he remembered. Eventually, Grimmath came up with the name "Deathblinder" for him. In dwarven, that begins with Khan. Khan met his end when he baited Old, Pete, the fiendish crocodile of the Blackfens.

Jozan. Human Inquisitor of Heironeous
Jozan was too young to fight in the war of Liberation but when Kalibac was liberated he joined his family there. He looked up to the brave knights of Count Osric in their shining armor and when Count Osric and Count Bova together established Hillwatch Keep for Master Caedmon’s Knights of the Vale to guard against the undead of the Haunted Valley, he left everything behind and traveled there to join them. Master Caedmon trained him well and he learned to speak the celestial language Master Caedmon spoke when in his battle-trance, how to follow tracks, and pray for Heironeous’ favor. He eagerly learned the precepts of Azmarender. With his training complete, he was sent into the world to do good and return to the keep in a year bringing the tale of his deeds that he might prove himself worthy to advance in the knighthood.

Jozan is an NPC who was initially created as a temporary stopgap since the party was only two members with no spellcasters in the first session. The players liked him and with the addition of Khal and Hellek, he's morphing into the party's archer. Marquess intends to take Leadership and eventually wants to establish a keep so I had initially thought that Jozan might end up as Marquess' cohort. Instead, another player joined the party and took over Jozan as a PC. Since beginning, Jozan has proceeded through several titles--initially simply Vigil, then Stalwart Vigil, and most recently Implacable Rampant Basilisk of the Hillwatch Knights.


Pyrr, High Arcanist of the Tiri Kitor. Elf (Tiri Kitor) Arcanist 6 (currently)
Pyrr was a good friend of Lanikar Nightshadow and the high arcanist of the Tiri Kitor since his mentor’s demise some time ago. He joined the party for vengeance against the harrowblades who killed his friend and those who brought them to the swamp but came to see the necessity of joining forces against the Red Hand and joined the group of heroes trying to stop them.

Pyrr joined the party after the death of one of the characters left an opening and the player wanted to bring an elf Arcanist and had selected my background trait that made him a member of the Tiri Kitor. Since the characters were meeting the Tiri Kitor the session that his new character needed to arrive, that worked out perfectly.

The Glorious Engelhart ap Eddard, Knight Courageous of the Valorous Host, Warden of the North Gate. Cleric 5 (Heironeous)
Engelhart had just completed his novitiate at the Chapel of the Chalice in Istivin before the giant invasion ten years ago. He retreated with the rest of Sterich but returned and fought in several battles in the war of liberation. In the eight years since then, he has been questing or traveling constantly, once going as far as Niole Dra on a pilgrimage. His 6 month stay in Bova as Warden of the North Gate is the longest he had stayed in one place since his novitiate. He almost welcomed the hobgoblin invasion as an opportunity to find adventure and win renoun.

After Grimmath's departure from the party, Marquess was looking for a new cohort and Engelhart is the one who showed up.

[Elder_Basilisk]

I changed styles a few times as I wrote the session writeups and inspired by one of my players who wrote up his first session in the style of Grimmath's journal, I eventually settled on using Jozan's journal as a narrative device.

The Hippogriff hunt was announced with much fanfare and seeing the opportunity to actually challenge his skills, make a name for himself, and serve the people of Sterich, Marquess and his companion--a half-orc barbarian named Gladium made their way to the Lars Ulverth's office and were officially mustered out of the Lion Guard to pursue their fortunes. Stopping briefly at the Heironean chapterhouse, they said their prayers to the Invincible and Valorous Knight and set off on the journey to Drellin's Ferry, where the hippogriff herds were hitting hardest. They encountered a few bandits harassing some travelers just before Terrelton and Marquess took a minor wound in the shoulder when he and his companion followed the precepts of their faith and came to the aid of the defenseless. The minor wound was healed by the time they made it to Drellin's Ferry, but Marquess kept the wound bandaged and poulticed to be sure no infection set in.

It was mid afternoon when they saw the square of Drellin's Ferry and took in the bustling square. Hay bales made a makeshift stage in the center of the square and a few rough-cut boards had been laid across more hay bales to form a table. Heraldry on horses and pages announced the identities of the knights and nobles who had come to participate in the hunt and the well-trained men at arms bustling around the square made the local baron's colors apparent. For those who could read the heraldry, the sigils of House Trask announced the presence of Baron Trask of Elsircross’s unsavory sons.

No sooner had Marquess and his companion taken this all in, than they heard the pounding of hooves approaching from behind them on the road--the sound of heavy warhorses at a gallop. As they turned to look--and led Marquess' light horse out of the way, they saw two men in fluted plate armor, wearing the surcoats of the Lions of Bova. One was carrying a limp man in a bloodsoaked tunic. "Fetch a priest!" shouted one. "Reeve Amanthar is badly wounded!"

From amid the crowd, a man in scale armor rushed forward. "I can offer Heironeous' blessings," he offered and with a prayer, he restored the reeve's wounds. By this time, a group of the local baron's men at arms arrived, led by a massive blonde man in a breastplate who proclaimed himself to be Soren Amroth, the captain of Baron Wiston's guard. Suddenly everyone was talking at once. Soren took charge of the Reeve and the chests of gold the Lions had escorted to fund the hunters' payment, while the Lions—Gareth and Percival—asked him for a tracker to track down the bandits who had ambushed them and bring them the justice offered by cold steel. “Percy Yorke is the best tracker this side of the river, but he’s away in Abbotsford; the next…” began Soren, but just then, a man sailed through a tavern window behind them, and a man at arms ran up to report that the Trasks were causing trouble.

Jozan, the Heironean who had healed the Reeve, said that he had been trained in tracking at Hillwatch Keep and Gareth recognized Marquess and Gladium as reliable men from the Lion Guard. Three men would have to do since the bandits were probably getting further away by the minute. Thus Marquess, Gladium, and Jozan set off to track down the bandits who had attacked the lions.

It was late afternoon when they found the ambush site. Only spent crossbow bolts and the body of a bandit that Percival had run down in there escape were left. Gladium recognized the studded leather armor as new work and after some searching, Marquess found a campfire. From the ashes, it seemed the bandits had only been there a short while before the ambush. Marquess and Jozan tracked the bandits to the Elsir river and they could see a boat on the other side but no way for them to cross. Percival thought the bandits might have been making for Ethelred's ruined keep on the north side of the river and the group made their way east, hoping to find a fisherman who could take them across the river.

They found a fisherman's hut, but the fisherman and his wife were dead in the entry to their sod hut. A rickety raft was left on this shore and investigating the inside of the hut, Marquess saw that a new grain ark and new cooking utensils in a hut that otherwise spoke of poverty. Leaving their horses, the group made their way across the river and picked up the trail again. The trail indeed led to Ethelred's ruined keep and after Gladium scouted and saw a breach in the rear wall, Gareth sent Jozan, Marquess, and the half-orc to watch the rear while he and Percival assaulted the gate. “The rats will come running out the back as soon as we attack—you just need to keep them from getting away.”

True to the Lion's prediction, the bandits fled out the breach as the two plate-armored behemoths forced the front gate. Marquess, Jozan, and the half-orc were hard pressed to stop the bandits from fleeing--especially as the bandit leader demonstrated extraordinary skill at arms, fighting Marquess and the Gladium at once, dropping the half-orc and grievously wounding Marquess before being laid low.

Jozan was able to stabilize both the bandit leader and his half-orc companion and Marquess recognized a tattoo on the bandit leader's shoulder which marked him as a sergeant--current or former—of the Ebon Hawks, a mercenary group operating from Strake Terrace under the command of Ryce Fitzbova. Searching the ruin, they also found letters with the schedule of money shipments to fund the hippogriff hunt. Several of the dead bandits had criminal brands used by the lord of Strake Terrace. The next morning, the group made their way across the river and parted ways after the Lions paid Jozan, Marquess, and the half-orc for their assistance and provided some extra money to pay to heal their injuries. The Lions took the bandit leader to Bova for questioning and to look for the apparent spy in the Count's court. Jozan, Marquess, and Gladium made their way back to Drellin's Ferry to enlist in the hunt.

[Elder_Basilisk]

DM notes on the first session: The interlude with two Lions and the bandits is meant to establish the intrigue between the various counts in Sterich so that it is clear that Bova (the Sterich replacement for Brindol) should not necessarily expect help from their neighbors and to plant seeds for future pre-RHOD proper adventures. Likewise, the presence of the Trasks is there not just to cut the dialogue short but also to establish the character of the Trasks who will play background roles in the campaign as it goes on and may end up being a side-quest prior to the siege of Bova. My players didn't end up following up on those adventure hooks yet, but having them there gave them some agency and having other NPCs follow up on them later, demonstrates that the world doesn't sit around waiting for the PCs which is important in the rest of the game.

[Elder_Basilisk]

As Gladium, Marquess, and Jozan were leaving the temple of Pelor, they met a halfling riding a wolf and trailed by a dog and a horse. She could see from their accouterment that they were hunters and asked to join them on the hippogriff hunt. She must have had some skills to offer because they accepted this proposal without too much thought. Or maybe she was a PC and that's what adventuring parties do. She did seem to know the area though and told Gladium and the others about a rocky pool at the base of a waterfall a day and a half or so south where she had heard one of her tenants saw a whole herd of hippogriffs. So, the group set out that way.

Along the way, the group met a farmer coming up from Clearbrook to the south in a donkey cart with a cage full of chickens in the back and a loaded crossbow in hand. He hailed them and they discussed the hippogriff problem which seemed to be hitting Clearbrook very hard. Farmer Gillis had lost at least a half-dozen head of cattle and the farmer had personally lost a prize pig. After exchanging pleasantries, they parted ways.

A few hours later, they came across a group of bedraggled hunters. One limped along with the aid of a staff and most of the others were heavily bandaged. They exchanged stories and were just hearing about how the attempt to lure hippogriffs with a young goat backfired and drew two hippogriffs which was one more than they could handle when Gladium and Marquess recognized Hellek, one of their old comrades from the Lion Guard. He had come through the ordeal uninjured and was less eager to give up than his companions and it didn't take much to convince Gladium, Marquess, and the others to let him join.

Hellek led the party to the sight of the failed ambush—near an old, burned out and tumbledown one room farmhouse. After some discussion, the halfling reluctantly agreed to leave her horse out as bait while the others concealed themselves in the bushes while Marquess and Jozan concealed themselves in the remains of the house. They waited two hours and no hippogriffs arrived, but a group of villagers with dogs, longspears and crossbows did come up the road. Spotting Marquess and Jozan, they asked them if they'd seen a young couple heading up the road.

It turned out the men were from Clearbrook and they were seeking farmer Gillis' granddaughter, Min and the miller's son, Mutch. The two had been seen last night near the hanging tree but had not been seen since. They might have run away together since Farmer Gillis did not approve of the match, but it was possible the hippogriffs got them too. Ethelred and the others hoped that they'd run off and that they could find them alive.

The group thought about it a bit and giving up on their ambush decided to go on to the hanging tree and see if they could find anything. It was on the way to the waterfall after all. Under the grim oak, they turned up a little bit of blood, "that doesn't prove anything; there's a couple ways that could have got here" and a large pawprint. "Definitely a monster" said Penn.

Gladium found an 12 inch long spine buried in the ground near the roots of the tree. After talking it over, they thought it must be a manticore spine. Penn had heard of manticores. They are cruel and cunning creatures with the body of a lion, the wings of a bat, and the head of a man and a tail of sharp spikes which they can hurl with the force of a crossbow. They like to take their pray alive and toy with with them. This one seemed to be stopping to walk every few hundred yards so they were able to follow its trail into the hills. By dusk, they found a cave that looked to be its lair.

Cautiously they ventured towards it and found it unoccupied save for a horrific stench, a pair of maggot ridden hippogriff heads, a pile of bones including a half-eaten young man, an unconscious and badly mauled girl. On a rock shelf, hanging like a trophy, they saw a suit of gold-chased chain mail and an unsheathed longsword. Jozan called on Heironeous to heal the girl and just then, someone spotted the manticore on the horizon.

Flight never crossed their minds. They hid in the cave and unleashed their bows and crossbows. Gladium prepared to charge when the creature landed, but instead it circled in the air and flicked its tail spikes at them. Eventually, one of Penn's summoned stirges clipped its wing and forced it to the ground where Gladium dealt it a mighty blow and slew it just before passing out himself from blood loss.

The group rested for the night and Gladium tried on the chain mail which magically sized to fit him but his wounds were red and infected. They proceeded back to Clearbrook hoping to find a healer to treat Gladium's wounds. On the way, they were ambushed by a group of hobgoblins who fired bows at them from above a steep slope strewn with boulders. After a bloody fight which saw both Gladium and the scout nearly die and everyone severely injured, the remaining three hobgoblins fled. Penn recognized them as belonging to the Black Knife tribe and tried to pursue with great ferocity but was gave up when their leader called on Maglubiyet and channeled necrotic energy that nearly killed her.

As they rested and tended their wounds, they looked over the hobgoblins. Their boots and clothes were worn and tattered and they had no supplies which is not at all typical for hobgoblin raiding parties. For that matter, it is unusual to see hobgoblins south of the Elsir and west of the tributary. They rarely venture to the eastern edge of the witchwood anymore, much less across the river. Penn thought that she should check her lands which were less than two days' journey to see if her cotters had had any trouble from the hobgoblins, but the next morning, the worsening wounds of the rest of the party convinced them to seek aid in Clearbrook. Gladium's wounds were inflamed and he had broken out in boils and a red rash that left him enervated and barely able to manage the weight of his new armor. Jozan and Hellek weren't doing much better. Slowly, they made their way to Clearbrook and spent a while there recovering. Rumor had it that the bounty fund was running low in Drellin's Ferry and the hunt will soon be over.

After recovering from the red ache in Clearbrook and showing off Hellek's disease-ridden, rotting manticore head trophy, the group headed to Penn's estate to track down the hippogriffs that had been harassing her tenants' herds. Learning from her tenants that a stretch of field next to what passed for a road was the place the hippogriffs had taken their pigs, the group decided to patrol until they found some hippogriffs. Hellek took point with the rest of the group moving cautiously behind him. Carefully sneaking around a thicket, Hellek came face to face with a pair of ill-tempered hippogriffs feasting on a buck. The nearest hippogriff took a bite out of him and Helleck retreated to the group with the hippogriffs in hot pursuit. It took quite a bit of Hellek's blood, but the Marquess and Gladium handily slew the hippogriffs.
Thereafter, they made their way to Drellin's Ferry to claim the reward. Upon arriving, they found the town square surrounded by hippogriff heads on stakes--all branded so that it was clear that they had been paid. The reeve counted out the last 200 gold pieces in the bounty chest and the hunt was over.

[Elder_Basilisk]

DM notes: The hobgoblins were a random encounter but I added the details to imply that they had been driven from their home territory by something and were not simply raiders who planned to loot, pillage, and return home.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Now it was time to decide what to do. Marquess and Gladium hit upon an expedition to find what had become of the three dwarven clanholds that had been in the Crystalmists before the war. Planning turned into a flurry of activity.

Consulting with Morlin Coalhewer, the town's dwarven blacksmith, and a member of the one clan that had so far sent emissaries from up the dwarf road, they determined the distance: 60-100 miles by road or track and planned for a two week expedition. Everyone who didn't have one bought horses and one pack mule each along with two weeks' rations and two weeks' fodder, tents, ropes, twine, a 5 gallon keg of ale, a masterwork battle axe for Jozan (financed by Hellek and Marquess since Morlin did not have a masterwork glaive-guisarme or a masterwork rapier at hand).

They spoke with Captain Soren Amroth about local woodsmen and trackers and were told of Percy Yorke and Old Jorr. Old Jorr lived deep in the Witchwood and sounded somewhat unbalanced, so the group decided to speak with Percy. Percy, it turned out had already been contacted by Iormel to be caravan master for a shipment of timber and other goods going to Bova (and then beyond) and characterized the party's plan as, "lots of danger, no clear plan for profit," but was never-the-less intrigued by the adventure. What seemed to tip his decision towards Iormel's venture was when he spoke with Gladium and Marquess about their exploits with the Lions. He seemed to think that the prisoner from the Ebon Hawks might lead Count Bova or Lars Ulverth to send some spies up to Strake Terrace--that would satisfy his need for adventure as well as giving him a good payday. Marquess asked Percy to deliver a message to his brother in Bova and Percy happily took the letter from him. Marquess and Jozans' wilderness skills would have to be enough.

So, without much further ado, the party set out. They took the ferry over the wide river and ventured into the twisted and sometimes swampy forest. Gnarled oak trees lifted their mossy branches over them—or in some cases, their webbed branches. A strange man with the head of a spider--Marquess recognized it as an ettercap—attacked them with a group of spiders. The pack animals panicked in the fight but Penn was able to round them up without any more than a moment of worry. The spiders' poison was worrisome, but Marquess and Hellek recovered quickly. The spiders did not and the ettercap fled into the trees when his pet spiders fell. That evening, they set a clever watch schedule and past the night unmolested.

The second day of travel, they came across a recently used campfire surrounded by the tracks of a number of goblins. Jozan easily found the trail and they sent Hellek forward to scout the goblins' trail. They caught up to the goblins more quickly than they realized and a hail of arrows from the trees above and a small circle of decaying megaliths greeted Marquess and Jozan—Hellek remained untouched and perhaps unobserved fifty feet ahead as the formerly unseen goblins unleashed their volley. A flash of purplish light around the arrow that struck Marquess' horse seemed to suck the life out of it and it collapsed to the ground bleeding out.

Hellek took careful aim at the goblin who had fired the magical arrow. He was close enough for pinpoint targeting and did not appear to have seen Hellek. He drew back and aimed an arrow at the goblin's eye. At the last moment the goblin ducked to one side and Hellek's arrow merely grazed his cheek drawing a narrow line of blood. The goblin looked Hellek's way, smiled evilly, and unleashed a rapid volley of arrows that left Hellek bleeding on the ground. Jozan rode forward and jumped off his horse next to Hellek's body and Gladium and Marquess ran forward as well, Marquess unloaded his crossbow in the general direction of the goblins as he ran. Jozan healed Hellek, watched him fall again to the goblin with the composite bow and then dragged his body behind a rock and stabilized him.

As Marquess and Gladium lumbered forward, the goblins fled. For a few seconds, Penn rode after them screaming like a madwoman. Her wolf nipped at the goblins' heels but couldn't quite manage to bite them before they slipped ahead again. Gladium called after her, warning her not to let her lust for vengeance lead her into a trap and Jozan picked off the last goblin to turn tail with his longbow. Realizing that they could not magically heal both Hellek and the horse and that, while they could carry Hellek, they could not carry the unconscious horse, the group elected to spend their last curative magic on the horse and retreated to hole up and hide as best they could with five horses and five donkeys. Jozan did his best to obscure their trail. 12 hours' journey--and probably 36 miles along the old dwarf road through the Witchwood, they set watch and rested till the next morning.

[Elder_Basilisk]

DM notes:
1. The party tried to drag another NPC along with them. I hammered the Strake Terrace plot hook pretty hard with Percy, but they wanted to find the dwarves. I think they were also curious what was driving the hippogriffs southeast from the mountains too. Succesful foreshadowing. Huge train of NPCs narrowly averted.

2. If you are going to bring a train of pack animals, it's a good idea to have someone who can keep them in line.

3. If you are going to send the rogue ahead to scout while hidden, it's really a good idea to be at least ten feet per point of difference in your stealth modifiers behind. The rogue didn't see the goblins. The goblins didn't see the rogue. But the goblins did see the five guys on horseback lumbering along behind them.

3.5 Tactical note. When the party is getting their tails handed to them and needs to retreat and regroup, it's not a good idea for the low level rogue to reveal his hiding spot ahead of the rest of the party in order to get a 1d6 shortbow+1d6 sneak attack on a goblin ranger who fired three arrows in the previous turn and won't go down even if you score a critical. Bad plan. The nat 20 on the attack roll probably wouldn't have bailed the plan out even if it had confirmed, but it didn't so it didn't matter.

4. Healing the horse rather than the PC. I haven't had that happen before but it did make sense.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Jozan's Journal

21st. Still more forest. We decided to split up to try to throw the goblins off our trail. Marquess and I led the group along some hard ground while Gladium tried to make it look like we had all gone a different route. Heironeous grant that he evades any pursuit. If successful, we plan to meet up at the northern edge of the Witchwood.

We did not see any signs of pursuit all day, but did come across an owlbear. Penn says that they are very territorial, especially in spring which is their mating season. The owlbear we encountered will not be doing any mating—its aggression turned out to be its downfall.

22nd. Lots of woods, lots of marsh. We are going very slowly, trying to keep out of sight. Though the terrain here is different from the thorn-covered hills that choke the cursed vale, my training with the Knights has stood me in good stead. I think we made six miles today. If Heironeous grants us fortune and we find the dwarves alive, we will need to restock our provisions in order to make the journey home.

23rd. Crossing small rise, we caught sight of Gladium today and he was able to rejoin our party. It seems he was able to shake our pursuers. Heironeous be praised! It was certainly fortunate that he was able rejoin our party, for we encountered some strange, carniverous vines that animated the plants around us and tried to strangle us. They nearly succeeded in killing Gladium and Marquess. Unfortunately, it is too early in the year for them to bear fruit, so even the consolation of their berries was denied us. The Witchwood is well named--a miserable swamp and I shall be glad to be out of it.

24th. Still making slow progress. We saw a few ruined chimneys, broken walls, and other signs that this part of the Witchwood was once inhabited by men, but I believe civilization had abandoned this area even before King Galmoor's armies overran the land. There were some strange totems in places—perhaps it is inhabited by some strange tribe, but unless my estimate is wrong, they were not goblin work.

25th. We finally made it out of the Witchwood and from its eaves, we spied the skull gorge bridge. It is made of stout stone and, though weathered, has held up well. We cautiously approached its forbidding towers but found them entirely deserted. Inscriptions in the cornerstones indicate that several dwarf clans worked together in order to erect this bridge.

Bootprints near the bridge indicate that humanoids have patrolled here since the last rain. Based on their size and gait, they were not dwarves, and men have not lived here for many years, so hobgoblin patrols would make sense.

26th-27th. The mountain trail is slow and treacherous and we came to a hill that seemed to have been the sight of a recent battle. Bones picked clean by vultures, a few scattered arrow-points and broken weapons and a goblin who, based on his tattoos and markings was high in the black knife clan nailed to a tree. Based on the decay, he had been dead for some time. It looked like a large force, pursued a group of goblins and hobgoblins and killed most of them here though some escaped. Based on what we saw, it looks like the Black Knives were utterly defeated.

A short while later, we reached a fork in the road where one path goes further into the mountains and the other paths lead in the direction of the dwarf holds. The mountain path appears to have been traveled by many many creatures recently—perhaps the Black Knives and their pursuers.

28th and 1st, We were challenged by a dwarven scout—Gavin Coalhewer. We explained our quest and he led us to their clanhold where we spent the night with them. We reprovisioned though I doubt the dwarven mushroom rations and dried whatever it is they herd underground will be too appetizing for non-dwarves. Judging by the eagerness with which they bartered for Gladium's keg of ale, it may not be too appetizing for dwarves either.

They were encouraged by the news that their scouts and explorers survived the trek and reached human lands, though Broden Coalhewer, their chief priest and one of the elders of the clan (not their thane--we did not meet the thane), said that they were concerned at the strife among the goblinoids further into the mountains. Some new tribe has defeated the Black Knives who were formerly the most powerful goblin clan. They are making preparations to close their clanhold again by collapsing the entrance if it becomes necessary. Several dwarves asked me to carry letters to members of the expedition they had recently sent out to human lands. We also discussed whether they might be willing to cooperate with the Count's forces if war should come between the new goblin tribes and Sterich. They will most likely have collapsed the entrance to their hold, but were open to cooperating if contacted by magic. Broden affirmed that he is high enough in the Soulforger's favor to be able to use sending magic. I do not know if the Valorous Knight has granted those mysteries to Master Caedmon yet, but I believe that the priestess of Pelor in Bova may have that ability and the count could certainly obtain scrolls from Istivin if she cannot.

These frontier dwarves seem to hold their allegiance to the nation of Sterich lightly--almost as though they thought themselves independent clans rather than vassals of the Count. (Though I suppose none of them have reaffirmed their oaths to Bova since the war, they still hold their lands as fief and ought to take that loyalty more seriously). A dwarf wizard named Grimmath and a human who survived slavery to the Black Knives but was never given a proper name have asked to accompany us. I sensed no Evil or Chaos in their souls though they are hardly powerful enough to radiate it without some connection to the divine. It seemed good to Marquess, Gladium, Penn and Hellek, so they will join us.

2nd. On the morning of the 2nd, we set out with our new companions. The Coalhewer clan hid in time and weathered the storm of King Galmoor's armies. I pray that our quest finds similar good news of the missing clans: the Redsteel and Silverdelve dwarves.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Grimmath’s Journal

Hey, Journal. This is Grimmath. Again. Shut up. Look, hey, it's been a long time since I wrote in this, but things happened for the first time in decades, so, you know, Brightmantle's beard but that's something. Unfortunately that does mean wandering around with a bunch of tall folk, but I've recently discovered that outside is dangerous and one of the many advantages that comes naturally with being a dwarf is attracting less attention. Didn't help the dog any, but it was all yipping and rushing around and getting looked at, so had it coming. Looks like all the cousins and colleagues in the next mountain over are all dead. Yeah. Unlikely anyone lived. Their front door is owned by goblins, and I can't imagine anything getting that far being stopped later. Fortunately the goblins were mostly harmless. Tried to make a trap, but typical goblin ingenuity meant it was a trap that hardly worked and was easy to walk out of. The only danger was our own ambition to break their lines, but we decided it weren't worth the trouble. I'm getting this all out of order though. Let's see.

So, I heard about our doors opening up to admit some travelers, and found out that the human lands nearby were open again. Since that means I can get out of this stodgy old place without being immediately eaten by goblins, I decided to leave. On account of being the third-greatest dwarf wizard to have ever been born, the travelers naturally sought to ally with me in their travels and attain my magical assistance. That talent will surely flourish now that it is no longer restrained by the short-sightedness of my kin and our lack of books on the subject. The travellers had been scouting out the dwarf clanholds, and we made our way to the 'Steels. On our way there, a young dragon* was woken by the band, but seemed satisfied with making off with one of the traveler's pet hounds. She was terribly broken up about it** for some reason, must have been a long time companion or some such. The travelers aren't much good at handling unusual wildlife like that, though, I had to chase it off with my magic since they had no way to harass it or bring it down themselves. Never even scratched the scales.

What next. Oh, right, the 'Steels. Yeah, they were all dead. Probably all dead. Some hellhounds bit into the travelers, and some goblins shot at them, but I did a number with my drubbin' stick and my magic - again. They seem a mite better at handling direct opposition like the hounds, at least, and were even a bit crafty with the goblins before they decided it wasn't worth the trouble of cracking that nut.***

Then we wandered off towards the 'Silvers. Saw a hobbo gobbo fort. Stayed away, as that'd have killed us all. 'Silvers are doing fine, turns out. Talked a bit about going back to break the 'Steel's hold and clean it out, but gobbos would just move back in anyways, and folk around here aren't much for risking their necks to lay bones to rest I suppose. Well, the travelers decided to head back to the lowlands, which suits me fine. Looking forward to perusing bookstores in town.

---------------DM Notes------------------
This is journal was actually written by a player and does a fine job of capturing his dwarf's personality. Unfortunately it was the only recap he wrote, so you'll have to settle for my writing for the rest.

*Actually, it was a wyvern, not a dragon. All the players knew this but Grimmath flubbed his knowledge: arcana check and so did Jozan, so they decided a flying reptile is a dragon.

**Penn still nurses a grudge against that wyvern three months later for eating her dog and getting away.

***The gate to the Redsteel clanhold had some arrow slits and a portcullis blocking the entrance. There were further defenses beyond them but the party never reached them. The party was getting murdered by basic Bestiary goblin archers behind those arrow slits and decided that discretion was the better part of valor. They didn't want to try sneaking in down the chimney either. So, that preparation gets saved for later/another campaign.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Jozan's Journal
19th. I thank the gods we were not attacked in the night as we retreated from the Redsteel clanhold. Our company had agreed that forcing our way into the ruined clanhold seemed likely to be beyond our abilities and that goblins holding the entrance told us what we need to know: the dwarves of the Redsteel clanhold appear to have been wiped out. Heironeous send that some managed to escape or hide in the mines and that the others met their end with honor, and took many goblins with them in their defeat. Were I a full knight, I wonder how this would comport with my oaths and the Precepts. We of the Dispatch recognize that retreat is sometimes required but it still burns my soul to leave evil unvanquished.*

*Perhaps if I were a proper PC, I would have stuck up for my convictions and argued to press or resume the attack.

We began to make our way south across the plain, taking care to avoid exposing ourselves to any hobgoblins that might be patrolling from their fortified encampment. By mid day, we found ourselves on the west side of a steep hill, following a goat path. We eschewed the easy path along the ridge so as not to be silhouetted against the sky and below us, the slope was too steep for our horses. Ahead of us, we found a place without vegetation, where loose rocks and mud made footing treacherous. Penn stole up to the ridge to scout the other side and saw a group of humanoids approaching the hill from the plain. Rather than attempt to hide, Grimmath, came up with a complicated plan to trap the mountainside. Fortunately, it must have been nearly ready to slide or it would never have worked in the time we had. But we underminded some bushes that he judged were holding key rocks in place and gave the ropes to our nameless Pelorite, Gladium, and Hellek who concealed themselves with the horses and the baggage train behind the slope. Marquess, Penn, Grimmath and I concealed ourselves behind boulders and trees near the ridge and waited for the hobgoblin patrol--for that is indeed what it was.

They must have heard our spadework because they came up the hill away from us and approached us along the flattened ridgetop. There were eleven of them: four had armed themselves with longspears and bucklers, four had longbows in hand, one had a shortbow, one a glaive, and one wielded a staff. All wore red tabards and with the exception of the one carrying the staff, were more heavily armored than the black knife hobgoblins we had previously encountered. When they came into range, Penn, Marquess, and I unleashed a volley, dropping one of them. Grimmath and the staff-bearer traded magic missiles. The bow-armed ones returned fire while the others moved forward into our trap. The one with the shortbow hurled a dagger at us which burst into flame and returned to his hand. Fortunately for us, his magical weapon did not make up for poor aim. When their fire became more effective Penn hid us in an obscuring mist.

That seemed to help until a line of scorching fire I can only assume came from the staff bearer caught all of us. Grimmath called for the others to spring the trap and most of the hobgoblins tumbled down the hillside (at least one survived somehow for I heard him winding his horn from the bottom of the slope but he was out of the fight). Unfortunately, the line of fire, and the sound of the avalanche we triggered triggered another avalanche, cutting us off from Gladium, Hellek, the horses, and the pack train. The staff-bearer fell down on the gentle side of the slope (the one the hobgoblins had climbed) and Marquess leaped down the slope to smite him, only to have the lightly armored shortbow wielder stab him in the back with the magic dagger. Things got very dicey then and Penn, Grimmath, and I were all ready to fall when we finally took the last two hobgoblins down.

Penn's magic restored Marquess to consciousness and we set about evaluating our position. Cut off from our companions by the landslides, we urged them to forge ahead and hope to meet up in the Witchwood if we could manage it or at Drellin's Ferry if not. We then evaluated our situation. Most of the rations were on the pack animals, but the five hobgoblins whose bodies had not tumbled down the cliffs had 2 days' rations each. I was nervous about what kind of meat they might eat but I prayed for Heireneous to purify it and it tasted like some kind of beef. Fortunately for my nervous conscience, most of their rations were hard tack anyway. They also had some interesting items. I took a well made composite shortbow with a heavy pull and a chain shirt. Marquess took the magic knife--named Meteor in goblin runes on the blade and a healing potion. Penn took a cloak with a collar of small dragonscales--1 for every color of chromatic dragon. Grimmath took a potion of healing, an arcane scroll, a book written in draconic that seemed to have some kind of unusual spell recorded amidst other writings, and the hobgoblin's staff which seems to be some kind of incomplete or broken tool for empowering fire spells. Grimmath said it would probably break for good if used again, but someone who knew what they were doing got a hold of it, they might be able to use it to make it fully functional.

We washed our wounds with water that my god provided in response to my prayers, bound them as best we could and continued on, keeping to low ground and hiding. Fortunately we didn't encounter anything that night though the next day we saw another dragon like the one that carried off Penn's dog and nearly killed me in the distance. We were under the cover of trees and it gave no sign of seeing us. The next day, we heard some hobgoblin horns in the distance and saw a group of giants of some kind walking up a hill in the distance. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

That night, I slept in the captured hobgoblin chain shirt and was glad I did. Penn was on watch when she spotted a giant--whether one of the ones we saw in the day or another we did not know creeping up on our camp. She called upon nature to throw up a mist which served most of us well. Marquess threw the goblin dagger at it, missing and Penn and I engaged it. It nearly crushed Marquess's ribcage with its club and I got a lucky strike in, splitting its skull open. Once again, we bound our wounds and crept on in the morning. We saw a patrol of goblins on wolves riding along the trail and hoped they did not catch the rest of our company. By the time we camped again, Skull Gorge Bridge was in sight.

In morning, Penn prepared spells to hide our trail going across the bridge. In the distance, we saw a pack of hell-hounds running across the hills on some infernal errand. Fortunately, we were well hidden. As we approached the bridge, we saw buzzards circling in the air and were worried. As we approached the bridge, we saw two torn and mutilated hobgoblin bodies splattered over the stones—and a manticore (healthy this time by all appearances) attempting to hide atop the southeast tower. Having no better plan, we shot at it and discovered that the tailspikes of a healthy manticore are deadlier than our archery skills. One volley dropped Penn in her saddle and grievously injured me. I shot again and retreated around the back of the tower as Grimmath shot magic missiles and attempted to convince the wolf to bring Penn to cover. The wolf just snarled at him.**

Another volley reduced the wolf and Grimmath to death's door and the creature, now bleeding from many arrow wounds flew down, and offered to let us leave in peace if it kept its "morsels." Marquess and I would not dishonor our god that way and charged out to meet it. It's paws nearly broke my arm***, but between Marquess and myself and Grimmath's magic missile spell, we were able to finish it before it finished us. Once again, we bandaged our wounds and limped to the relative safety of the Witchwood's assassin vines, Black Knife goblins and owlbears.

It is the night of the 23rd and I pray that we make it back to Drellin's Ferry.

-------------------------------------------------------------
DM Notes: I had a few sessions here where attendance got really spotty. The players' plan worked out nicely to remove the PCs whose players weren't there and who hadn't given me character sheets.

**Failed handle animal check: Grimmath is not very good at charisma skills--heck, his own journal talks back to him.

***Everyone except Marquess was either bleeding or one hit from dying here. Things did not look good for the players. They didn't look very good for the manticore either which is why he made the offer.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Day 23 continued. We had slain the guardian and crossed skull gorge bridge but on the other side there was no sign of our companions. Grimmath supposed that they must have been slain by the hobgoblins, but Marquess thought they might have been delayed and we should wait for them. So we Grimmath, Marquess and I set about finding a campsite while Penn went out to gather food.

We found a secluded vine-covered hollow. Something bothered me about the vines, but I paid it no mind. When we climbed into the hollow, it became apparent what was wrong: we had stumbled into another assassin vine. It wrapped around Grimmath, slammed him into a tree and squeezed him until he stopped moving then turned its attentions to me. Fortunately, Marquess was able to slay it before it squeezed the life out of me. I used the last of my magic to heal Grimmath and he drifted in and out of consciousness all night. We did find a mithral dagger bearing the sigil of some noble house or other and a few coins (7 gold and 24 silver) on a goblin body that was fertilizing the vine.

The next day passed uneventfully. We saw nothing. Penn and her wolf could not even find game. We decided not to wait any longer but to head back to the ferry. Marquess carved some blazes in a tree to let our companions know that we had left for civilization--some kind of lion guard code. Hellek and Gladium should be able to understand it. I pray that we see them again.

We passed three days of cautious travel before we came across a disturbing sight: a circle of rune-carved stones flecked with veins of a deep red crystal surrounding a paved area and an altar. From a distance, it looked to have been cleared of overgrowth and Grimmath sneaked forward for a closer look. Upon close inspection, the paving stones were skulls and he recognized the runes of Maglubiyet, god of goblins on the stones. I concentrated and felt the evil of the place. Heironeous must have brought us there that we might cleanse it.

Grimmath gave me a light hammer and Marquess took his mace in hand as we moved forward cautiously, alert lest goblins lurk nearby or the spirit of the shrine attack us. As we stepped onto the skulls, I felt the oppressive aura of the place. Marquess struck a mighty blow against the altar and it seemed to split open to emit a foul smoke that coalesced into a giant disembodied ball of a head with a mouth full of sharp teeth. Red sparks lit the eyes of the skulls and bony claws burst from the ground as undead rose to defend their creators.

I did not hesitated but moved forward drawing my axe and struck the creature such a blow that it split in half scattering gems from its gullet onto the cursed ground. Skeletons moved to surround Marquess and me including one in a shining breastplate undimmed by age and weather. Marquess and I fought them bravely scattering their bones as they struggled to rise from the ground and Grimmath invoked a line of fire across three skeletons, burning them to ash. It looks like he learned something from the book we took off the hobgoblins. (I spoke with him later and learned that he had figured out the language and that it seemed not to be a spellbook but rather a draconic copy of a book called "notes on the Pyronomicon" though it did include the one spell. So far, Grimmath has only translated the title and the spell).

When we had toppled and blessed the altar, Grimmath eagerly looked upon the gems and recognized them as soul gems, holding the trapped souls of sacrifices. Though he said it pained him, he suggested we destroy them. We also figured that the breastplate was magic and Marquess suggested I take it.
Three days later, we spotted a pack of black knife goblin wolfriders. Penn wanted to attack them, but Marquess and I restrained her—the valorous knight is not keen on suicide and there was no need for us, outnumbered as we were, to attack if we were not spotted. I don't think she tried too hard at hunting that night—we had to make do with dry rations.

The next day we saw a half dozen figures that looked like seven foot tall, white-furred goblins bearing greataxes moving along the road. Grimmath said they were from a tribe of bugbears called the blood ghosts and that they dye their fur white when they go out to war. We hid behind a ridge and a thick patch of cattails and let them go by.

At the end of the 28th day of our expedition (the 16th of the month), we found an ancient oak tree in a peaceful meadow. Penn thought it might be a dryad tree and Grimmath and Marquess bowed politely though Grimmath muttered about unicorn magic as he did so. A woman clad in a shift of green leaves stepped out of the tree and spoke with us. She told us of a spot we could pass a nearby stream and of several goblin bands that she had seen in the woods around us. They have cleared the shrines they set up to celebrate the invasion and begun sacrificing again.

Four days, and several avoided stirge nests (Grimmath mumbled something about killing them all with fire magic when he mastered the spells) later, we crossed the ferry and stumbled into town. We went straight to the smithy to sell some of our arms and armor and Grimmath recognized the smith, Morlin Coalhewer as a distant cousin. As we were doing business, letting Morlin know who had survived, and discussing why he did not make outdated armors like splint*, one of Baron Wiston's men at arms arrived to invite us to meet the baron.

We briefly stopped by the outfitters' shop and purchased new clothes before heading to the baron's. Baron Wiston greeted us in fashionable clothing with a sword at his side. We showed him the maps we had made and discussed the goblins. Grimmath supposed that the black knives had been driven from their lands by a stronger hobgoblin tribe that was probably uniting the goblins of the mountains and that the blood ghosts were probably allied with that hobgoblin tribe. He was a little perturbed at the news of the dryad too. He sees the Witchwood timber as a source of prosperity for his people and hopes that it does not lead to conflict with any dryads though the one we encountered is still far from his operations.

In gratitude for our service and for the maps and intelligence, he offered us the pick of his stables even including his own steed or armor. Grimmath and I selected fine heavy warhorses, and Marquess took him up on the offer and selected the baron's half-plate as his reward. (The baron thought his gold better spent on outfitting his men than on buying himself fullplate). Thereafter, his servants drew baths for us and we dined with him.

Penn stayed on with the baron to discuss some aspect of her estate—I guess she is a baronet or something though I would not have guessed it, but Marquess wanted to travel to Bova and speak with his brother so Grimmath and I accompanied him in the morning after he bought a horse from Delros Zann at the livery stable. Hopefully, Penn will catch up to us on the way.

The afternoon of the next day—the 22nd—we found ourselves waiting for a herd of cattle to cross a bridge over one of the Elsir's tributary streams while talking with the head herdsman. It seems that the Count has supported some priestess to open a temple in the town and somehow or other that led to cleaning up some of the town's corruption. The herdsman wasn't terribly clear on how that worked, but apparently some member of the regency council or other has been found to be working with the bandits that plague this area and is being sent to Bova for trial. I must admit I was somewhat distracted by a speck that appeared over a large hill and rapidly descended until its full 20 foot wingspan was evident. A three-headed monstrousity (Grimmath called it a Chimera; I must study some of these things with him soon) landed on a cow at the bridge's apex, crushing its spine and then ripping it in half between the lion and the dragon heads. I let my arrow fall back in my quiver and tried to jump my horse over a dry-stone wall to escape the cattle which had begun stampeding towards us. Grimmath attempted to jump the wall away but his horses shied away and he lost his seat. Marquess valiantly maneuvered his horse between where Grimmath fell and the oncoming herd, but as the stampeding cattle buffeted his horse, he was thrown as well. The cattle trampled us, even battering me upon my horse and I pulled Grimmath up from under their hooves. He started to cast a spell at the beast, then thought better of it and we followed the cattle to a safe distance away.

It was dusk by the time the beast left and we were able to make it to Terrelton.

------------------------DM Notes---------------------------
*Pathfinder (and D&D) have a lot of inefficient armor types that don't have any obvious niche. Chain shirts are the best core light armor, breastplates are the best medium armor, and fullplate is the best heavy armor. (Special materials change this a little but you're still looking at mithral chain shirts, mithral breastplates, and mithral or adamantine fullplate). Scale armor is cheap which gives it a good niche for outfitting men at arms and low level characters. Chain mail is only marginally worse than a breastplate (armor check penalty and max dex) so there are a lot of times that the cost advantage might make it a decent choice. Banded mail has a good niche as the best armor short of fullplate for anyone with a +1 or better dex bonus and since it's 1250 gp cheaper than fullplate, that's a pretty good niche. Halfplate is really only worthwhile if you have heavy armor proficiency, no dex bonus (or are a fighter 3+ with a low dex bonus), and don't want to spend the extra 700gp. I rationalize the existence of armors like splint, non-agile breastplates, etc by saying that they are outdated armors--they still exist and may be sold or passed down from one person to another but if you go to Morlin Coalhewers shop and ask if he has a suit of splint armor, he'll say, "No. Why on earth would you want an outdated design like that. Why don't we fit you for some banded armor instead. It's better in every way." Ask him for a breastplate and he'll show you an agile breastplate and say, "you see these joints here? I've managed to improve the traditional design to make it easier to move in. Nobody who's tried these modern breastplates wants to go back to the old designs."

[Elder_Basilisk]

Meanwhile, back in Drellin's Ferry

**The Baron**
Baron Norro Wiston was thinking. That morning, he had dispatched Soren with six of his men at arms and ten militia to patrol the witchwood to a day's march from the lumber camp. His manservant cleared his plate as his halfling vassal, Penelope listened. "Like I told your friends, I shall immediately refresh the assize of arms. Everyone able to bear arms must be ready to serve.
"I think I shall double the drill obligation as well. Everyone able to bear arms must join the drill in the town square twice per month now as well as drilling under the tutelage of their lords. We must be ready to meet these goblins when the time comes."

Penelope put down her buttered roll. "What about the damage the foul beasts do to the woodland while we train? Should we not venture out and exterminate them?"

The baron looked thoughtful for a moment. "I think not. If we're lucky, these new hobgoblins you speak of may do that for us. But if not, I can hardly take the whole muster into the witchwood and hope to find many of the scattered bands of goblins your dryad spoke of. We'd lose men and horses to assassin vines and bogs and wouldn't find anything or would wander into an ambush. No, I swore an oath to protect my people and my land--I cannot squander their lives to chase goblins through the forest. But if the goblins mass, we will know about it and we will be ready to meet them."

"Do you want me to stay and help with patrols my liege? Or should I continue on with my companions" the halfling asked eagerly.

"I ask only that you ensure your tenants are ready to meet their obligations and that you join the battle, should I muster the warhost. Otherwise, you may do as you wish--but traveling with Marquess and Jozan seems to be doing you good."
At that moment, the sensechal entered the chamber again. "My lord, master Coalhewer is here to speak with you about your new armor," he said with a bow.

"Excellent. If you will excuse me, Penelope."

**The veteran**
Olaf One-Eye was nervous. First the hippogriffs, now this. Three nights and three sheep were gone. The dogs that were supposed to guard the sheepfold were whimpering in their kennels--on the opposite side of the sheepfold from where the wall had been breached. The pawprints where the creature had leaped the drystone wall were baked into the ground, the scorched grass untouched by the morning's dew.

"I'm telling you Olga, this is no normal beast. If the lady isn't back soon, we'll have to look to our own protection. Lay in wait for it--or maybe even hire someone to track it for our dogs cannot abide its scent--Percy if he's back in town or Jorr Natharson if he's not."

"And what would we pay him with?" the withered crone responded. "The lady left no gold for this and you pay your rent in produce. If Percy wanted sheep, he wouldn't have sold his flock."

"Whatever we do, we need to do something," said Harold. A thin bead of mead glistened at the end of his moustache. "We'll have neither wool nor mutton for market if this keeps up."

Just then, a well dressed halfling on a lean grey wolf rode between the the hedges bordering the patch of grass that passed for a square.

"Lady Penelope!" exclaimed Olga. Quickly, her tenants laid their problem before her.

"A hellhound!" said Penelope confidently as she saw the scorched grass and baked clay soil where the creature had leapt the sheepfold wall. "Gather your fellows and arm yourselves; I will track it and then we shall hunt." Her wolf sprang into a run and they quickly vanished from sight.

Olaf returned to his house, called his son from his field and buckled on his armor. It was tighter around the waist than it had been when he marched with the army of liberation from Keoland and there were tarnished spots between the scales, but it would still protect him. His son Edward carried two long spears, large round wooden shields with faded paint, and their axes into the main hall. "Today we hunt dangerous game Edward. Though you see the demons of hell, stand your ground and stab them with your spear--or your axe if they get within reach. Aye. If you stand your ground, you may die or be injured. But if you flee, the demons will hunt us all down. And even if you escape death, you will forever be a coward."

Olaf examined the buckles on his son's brass studded sheepskin gambeson. "That'll do, boy." He smiled. "You'll be ready for some new armor soon. Next time we drill, you take mine to help get used to the weight."

It wasn't long before they all stood before the sheepfold. Olaf one-eye and Edward. Theodric of Abbotsford and his son Hrolf--they at least had kept their kit in good condition. The same could not be said for Harold. His armor was stained with beer and he had no spear--just an old wood-axe with a splintering handle. Olaf suspected the sack at his belt held simple rocks rather than lead bullets for his sling. There was good reason the assize required proper bullets. But the lady or the baron would have to deal with him. For now, he was there and Olaf hoped it would be enough.

Soon, the lady returned. She had found the beast's lair a short mile away in a small stand of trees near the foothills. She bade the men arraign themselves with crossbows and slings while she lured the creature out of its den. Olaf loaded his crossbow and squinted through his one eye. A blinding burst of flame enveloped Lady penelope and a huge, ruddy hound with flames for eyes and trailing smoke from its mouth leaped out of its den and bit at her. She retreated towards the militia, leaving a trail of crimson--and a snarling hellhound in her wake.

Slings snapped and crossbow bolts whizzed toward the beast. Someone--maybe Hrolf, lined its scalp with a bolt that drew blood. Olaf grasped for his spear, but the beast was upon him before he could lift it, so he drew an axe from his belt instead. "Invincible Knight, guide my arm!" he cried. The beast snapped at him, but its teeth skittered off the scales of his armor. Edward--good boy!--circled around behind the creature and jammed his spear into its haunches, followed quickly by Theodric and Hrolf who were just a bit slower. Even Harold stepped forward and swung his axe.

A note of desperation crept into the creature's howl. It sprung at Harold, tearing at his neck and the flames of the creature's breath seared his face in a stench of burning beard. Olaf struck again and the lady grazed it with her lance. Olaf saw his Theodric and Hrolf go white but Edward grimly thrust his spear at the creature, creating an opening for his neighbors.
Bleeding from many wounds and its tail dragging on the ground, the foul creature fled. "I'll try to help Harold--kill it!" he called and dropped to his knees, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. A few seconds later, the fleeing creature fell under Penelope's lance and the lady used her magic to close Harold's wounds and enable him to stand groggily on his feet. "My boys and I will help with your fields until you're better" Olaf promised. He hated the thought of helping the lazy wretch but it was the right thing to do.

**The craftsman**
The next day, a somewhat bedraggled lady Penelope walked into his workshop in Terrelton. Master Pierre--sometime of Rel Mord--looked up from the saddle he was tooling with an intricate pattern of knots.

"Barding for a dog? It's been a while since I did any of that, but I made some for the Count's dogs in Bova."

"Wolf," the halfling corrected him.

"A well trained one then. I'll have to take his measurements. You said you want this made suitable for enchantment and that you will provide the hide?"

"Yes," she said. "The hide of a hellhound. I will have it sent to you; have you worked with such materials before?"

"I have not, but I did some work in hippogriff hide last month. Once they're dead, and the tanned, the hide of one beast is much like another except for its thickness. Do you have anyone in mind to work the enchantments?" Pierre pulled out his ledger and started a new entry.

"No; is there someone you would recommend? That's Penelope with an "e." Baronet in the service of Baron Wiston of Drellin's Ferry."

"Ahh. Well, Canoness Leille has the power but I've not heard of her taking on such projects. There's Sertieren the wise in Drellin's Ferry who does enchantments and such. Or you might look up Immerstal the Red in Bova, but it might have to be a bigger job to attract his attention." He completed the entry: 40 weight of gold now with another 110 Keoish lions due upon delivery, and graciously assisted Penelope as she climbed the bench to reach the table and pressed her signet ring onto the page. "Thank you and I'll look forward to your project. My apprentice will take your do---your wolf's measurements."

-------------------------------------DM Notes------------------------------
*The last of the spotty attendance sessions. This time, Penn's player was the only one to show up. She had been separated from the rest of the group in the last session (because her player missed the session), so it gave us an opportunity to let her catch up. Since Jozan was not present, I couldn't write the session down as Jozan's journal so I adopted a different narrative style for this installment. If Jozan acquires a player in the next month (there's a new player joining the game and I offered him the option to create his own character or take over Jozan), I may have to adopt this style more often.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Jozan's Journal.

Flocktime 23rd. Penn arrived late last night and had business with the leatherworker's guild in the morning. Grimmath said he had a splitting headache. This morning was the feast of Stern Alia, so Marquess and I went to the local shrine to pay our respects. Most of our faith's shrines are small, but Terrelton's is sadly neglected. it is a simple altar at the end of the town square before an open air icon of the Invincible and Valorous Knight, covered in faded paint. We prayed and practiced our forms.

When we returned to the inn, we found that the sightless oracle of the sun and Hellek had made to Terrelton. Their escape made a harrowing tale; they seemed to have lost all the spare animals but the ones they rode in on, and had last seen Gladium surrounded by wolfriders and frothing in rage. It seems unlikely that he survived, but if he died, it seems he died well. May the Invincible and Valorous Knight send his angels to carry our erstwhile companion to his reward.

While we reminisced, a boy in a dirty robe came to our table and asked us to attend the canoness. Marquess and I conferred briefly. Canoness is a Cutherbertine title, and I reassured Marquess that Saint Cuthbert is an ally of Heironeous—though his teachings are for commoners rather than rulers and soldiers. So we agreed to meet here and walked across the square to a tavern next to the baron’s hall.

The Canoness is a slight woman. She wore a simple robe and a ring with the Count’s seal and tied her greying hair back with a leather strap. Her proposals were twofold: Sir Reginald Gelb, the treacherous member of the regency council who was just captured has a house in town but she ran into several traps in her search—if we had anyone skilled in disarming such things, she wished to employ us for that. Also, she had seen a vision indicating foulness arising under Valandil’s Mill—a ruined town to the north of the river—and wanted us to check it out if we were willing. After some discussion, we agreed to both tasks. It is fortunate that Hellek survived our escape from the hobgoblins, otherwise we might not have had anyone able to assist her in the first task.

The townhouse was littered with deadly traps and Hellek set the first one off and was severely injured several times before he finally managed to disable it. It seemed everything in the townhouse was trapped, fortunately, Hellek knocked the rust off his skills as the afternoon progressed and when we reached the traitor knight’s study, he disabled several traps on the desk and, after Canoness Leille temporarily dispelled a powerful magical ward on a painting, he was able to disable it. The painting—a scene of primitive bandits overwhelming a group of knights was disturbing, but the what happened as Hellek disabled it was more disturbing. The frame began to bleed as he disabled its warding runes and when he was finally able to pull it from the wall, we could see the bones of a child and his mother—no doubt slain in some vile ritual to power the magic—had been worked into the frame. The canoness will bury them and I pray that their spirits will now be able to find peace.

With the painting disabled, we were able to pass through a door into a lightless secret room. It contained an altar to the Many (Erythnul, Lord of slaughter) and the accouterments of his foul worship. Leille consecrated the area and Marquess and I destroyed the physical altar. Searching around we found records and letters going back decades—more than enough to justify Sir Reginald’s execution, even if he had not been betraying his oaths and working with bandits. (Though I now wonder if the Crimson Tigers are just brigands or if they are something more). Two things stood out to us as we glanced over them. One was a reference from two years before the war—Sir Reginald’s father had sent two victims to Valandil’s Mill “for the cauldron of souls.” I had not heard of such a thing—perhaps an item or perhaps some kind of ritual—but finding a reference to Valandil’s Mill the day after St Cuthbert sent a vision to his priestess warning of that place cannot be a coincidence.

The second was a recent exchange with another cult member—this one in Drellin’s Ferry. The exchange gave no clue as to his identity save that he had disguised his kills as goblin work—the goblins kill enough that it’s easy to add a few more and let them take the blame.

After that, it was back in the saddle. We ferried the horses across the river one at a time—once we had to wait as a large raft of Witchwood timber floated down the river and set out through the ruins and wilderness to find Valandil’s Mill.

Flocktime 24. Our experience navigating the wilds of the Witchwood and the Crystalmist foothills served us in good stead and we reached it around noon. Valandil’s Mill must have been the site of a desperate last stand in the war because we saw nothing but shattered and burned buildings. Looking around, we saw a new saddle lying near the ruined mill and a small dustcloud in the distance as though a group of riders from the northeast were heading towards it as well.

Looking near the saddle, we saw the tracks of a horse and a large dog or wolf go to the edge of the mill. There the horse tracks vanished, replaced by a set of human tracks that led to a trapdoor in the floor. Penn sent Butterfly to keep an eye on the approaching riders and we climbed down the tunnel. Beneath the floor was a short passageway with chains hanging from the ceiling and impaled skulls dangling from the chains or fallen off and shattered on the floor below. As we walked forward, bone shards crunched under our feet. Hellek searched the stone door for traps and, satisfying himself that it was not trapped, opened it.

Beyond, we saw a largish vaulted chamber with an altar to the many and a huge black cauldron filled with the ghosts of its victims, dancing light blue flames within its bowl. Beyond, there was another chamber. A thaumatergic pentacle with candles at each point surrounded a distinguished man with a ceremonial gorget hanging from his neck. He turned as we entered the chamber and said, “greetings” to us, and then, as though to another person we could not see, “it appears you have competitors—the price of my assistance has just gone up.” We started to move forward and suspecting any being bound in a magic circle of being more than he seems, I focused my will to detect evil. All hell broke loose.

A woman appeared and shouted, “stay back, you fools, you’ll ruin everything!” as she cast a spell at Hellek who was in the lead. His face went white but he stood his ground. I staggered against the wall and dropped my bow as the evil auras of the cauldron and creature overwhelmed my mind. Never have I felt such a malevolent presence, though Master Caedmon had told me of such things. “Whatever you do, don’t touch the circle!” I cried out. A huge wolf with flaming eyes also appeared from nowhere and tore at Hellek’s calf, knocking him to the ground. The Sightless oracle dodged as he ran past it and Marquess followed his lead though the wolf’s jaws crumpled his armor and bruised him as he did so. Recovering, I maneuvered to engage the wolf and help Hellek.

The woman conjured a cloud of glittering dust but Marquess and Sightless moved on anyway and Marquess knocked her to the ground. She conjured a cloud of noxious fog to no avail. Her magic warded her for a while but it was as though the gods protected us—nothing she tried to do to us worked. Finally, she fell beneath Sightless’s sword and Marquess’ glaive and did not rise, right as my axe finally split the skull of her familiar.

The creature in the circle offered us whatever we wished if we would free it. Marquess countered by asking whom he served, and the creature claimed to serve Heironeous. He was a smooth liar and I would have believed him were he not an overwhelmingly evil presence trapped in a magic circle against chaos. Armed with this knowledge, we resisted his blandishments. When I was able to explain to my companions that his aura meant that he was either an evil high priest or a greater demon or devil—at least as powerful as what Master Caedmon called “Type three”, we quickly agreed that we could not deal with him. I knew that the magic circle might hold him for as much as a week—barely enough time to reach Bova and alert the Count and for Tredora Goldenbrow or Immerstal the Red to deal with it, if such were even within their power.

We quickly searched the woman, finding a book of research notes that, when we later read it, identified her as Maeve, an apprentice of Argathos, Count Tondhere’s pet arcanist as well as two expended scrolls: one of a planar binding spell and another of dimensional anchor. Overturning the cauldron did nothing to free the spirits within—they simply continued to writhe in a ball, unable to pass more than an inch or so from the cauldron’s mouth. Not wishing to leave it there, we rigged ropes and dragged it up the ladder.

Penn was rigging a cradle for the cauldron to hold it between two horses when Butterfly rushed back. The troop of men was nearly upon us and we could see the banner of the Ebon Hawks floating above them. They rode in with bows in hand (well, except for two who carried glaives) and one climbed a ruined building that overlooked the square and prepared his arrows. They demanded that we hand over the apprentice, the scrolls, and the cauldron she had stolen—though I think they added the last item because they saw us preparing to haul it away. Needless to say, they had no right even to travel the lands of Count Bova, runaway apprentice or stolen items or no, so we defied them to their face. The battle was short and violent. I called Heironeous’ blessings upon us and their standardbearer shouted his inpiration. The archer feathered Sightless and their second glaiveman struck him a mighty blow, tearing through his armor and dropping him bleeding to the ground. Marquess moved forward and struck a perfect blow below their glaiveman’s helmet but above his gorget and cut his head off with a single stroke. Still, we were hard pressed. The archer grievously wounded Marquess and their standardbearer conjured grease below Marquess’ horse causing it to slip and nearly trapping Marquess beneath its weight, then stuck Sightless to the earth with bag of rapidly hardening goo. The other men, drew their wave-bladed greatswords and fought bravely, but though it was a close run thing, we slew them to a man. The archer, seeing his comrades defeated, leapt from the building onto the back of his waiting horse and left us in a cloud of dust.

After licking our wounds, we sent Penn to ride ahead as far and as fast as her wolf could take her and followed more slowly, carrying the cauldron with us.

Flocktime 25. When we finally arrived in Terrelton we learned that Penn roused the Canoness near midnight and, with some difficulty—perhaps we should have sent someone who actually knows something about magic and planar beings—communicated the threat to Leille who immediately dispatched a rider to Bova. We arrived the next day. The cauldron is beyond Leille’s power, so we decided to keep it with us in Terrelton in the hope that Tredora Goldenbrow or Immerstal the Red will come in response to the Canoness' message and will be able to deal with it. (Though the Canoness worries that Immerstal might not be entirely trustworthy with such an artifact.)

-----------------------DM Notes---------------------------
The wizard was supposed to stay invisible and summon a few monsters before supporting them with spells. But it seemed like Hellek was heading for the summoning circle to do who knows what--possibly attack the demon inside it--which would have been disastrous. So, she panicked and hit him with a spell instead. Now, it might have still worked out for her, but the party consistently made their saves against her spells (except for the oracle who was blinded for a few rounds by her glitterdust). So, that fight was easier than I had planned.

The second battle with the Ebon Hawks was a lot tougher. I don't think there's a way the PCs would have made it out without at least one fatality if Marquess hadn't dropped their toughest fighter with the lucky round 1 crit. It was still a pretty close battle and could have gone the other way if the Ebon Hawk archer had not had his dice turn cold on him.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Flocktime 26 In the morning, Jonas Tressmon—Marquess’ older brother—and Percival arrived with two lances of the lion guard to escort Sir Reginald to Bova for his trial. I think the others took some time to transact some business—at least Penn went to the leatherworker’s district to deal with something about hellhound barding. But as soon as we could, we were off. One day’s hard ride took us to Nimon gap where we spent the night at the Cross-Eyed Wyvern because the walled inn is much closer to the road than the baron’s manor. The apple orchards and vineyards on the sunny slope of the hill leading down to the river were pretty and I enjoyed a horn of mead while watching the sun set over the Crystalmists. We kept a close watch on Sir Reginald in his wagon, standing ready to clout him should he wriggle free of his gag and attempt a spell.

Flocktime 27. Having seen skull gorge bridge now, the bridge at Nimon Gap doesn’t seem nearly as impressive as it did the first time I saw it. Still we beheld a welcome sight at the other side of the bridge. The lady Tredora Goldenbrow, Immerstal the Red, Baron Trask of Elsircross, Gareth (the captain of the Lions), and at least a half-dozen of other the Lions all kitted out for battle greeted us but did not tarry long, save to speak with us about what we had seen beneath the ruin of Valandil’s Mill. Immerstal looked grim upon hearing our description and having learned what they could, they hastened on their way, seeking to confront the demon before he could break free of his imprisonment. In their train, I saw the seals of the temple archives--I pray whatever relics they have brought with them are enough to best the demon.

Our way wound along beside the river for most of the day before we turned east to Talar where we spent the evening as guests of the lady Celeria Nestin. That night we feasted but I took care not to drink too much lest I be lax in my watch over our prisoner and I saw the Jonas and Percival do likewise.

Flocktime 28 Bova is still an impressive sight. We arrived mid-afternoon and though I know that it is provincial compared to even Istivin, let alone the great cities of Keoland or Greyhawk etc, its thick, frowning walls are still as strong as anything I can imagine. It certainly dwarfs Kalibac where I grew up. Perhaps someday I shall see those other cities. The guard announced our arrival to the duke; Jonas told us that we would have an audience tomorrow. I went to the shrine of the Valorous Knight and made my devotions then bought a new tabard and hose for the occasion. I later heard that Marquess had spent his time trying to find a magician to enchant his glaive. As we knew, Immerstal was traveling, but he found another magician, Lars Kraki, a wiry northman who often does such work. (Marquess said he learned that, unless he wants to go back to Drellin’s ferry, Strake Terrac, Kalibac, or Istivin, Lars and Immerstal are the only men in town who do such work). However Lars did not seem so hard up for work that he was willing to start the process on the promise of payment with no security. Gold on the touchstone, he said and Marquess departed bitterly.

Wealsun 1 Bova. Our audience with the Count Bova went well. We described our journey and what we had seen. The Count was impressed and worried about some aspects—particularly the incursion of the Ebon Hawks in Valandil’s Mill which he speculated might have been a deliberate provocation designed to provide an excuse for armed conflict between Count Tondhere and his realm. He offered us all positions as his clandestine agents or as Lions of Bova. I was honored by the offer but my previous commitment to Hillwatch Keep kept me from accepting. Marquess did accept and went drinking with his brother and the other lions there to celebrate until they couldn’t walk straight.

Wealsun 2 Bova. The count asked Marquess to escort the young Baron Eldon Corromat of Witchcross back to his home. He had come to Bova to give his oath to the count for his father had died mysteriously earlier in the week. He was accompanied by only one retainer, a longbearded man named Darren who appeared to have been a tutor, advisor, or reeve. Marquess retained our services for the Count who had also given him another mission to investigate mysterious doings at Witchcross and the disappearance of Accalon, one of the Lions who had been sent to investigate last week.

Wealsun 3 The next morning, we departed for Talar. The young Baron seemed like an agreeable if excitable and callow youth. He wanted to hear of all our adventures as we rode the Dawn way. At Talar, we again stayed with the lady Nestin. The young Corromat was clearly taken with her but I could tell that she had her sights set higher.

Wealsun 4 Before midday, we left the Dawn Way and turned north towards Witchcross and Strake Terrace. The road was flatter and less hilly and the grass grew thick along the sides of the road, trailing off into marshes and bogs to the west. We got the story of how his father had awoke one morning unable to move and had passed away after laying insensible and paralyzed for several days, but at one point, he did mumble, “that woman” and had claw marks on his chest as though from a hand. Before that, he and his father and a couple of their men at arms had fought fiendish crocodile—one of “Old Pete’s” get, he said. Apparently Old Pete is some kind of giant fiendish crocodile who crawled out of hell in the wake of the archlich’s ascension or something. Supposedly he lives in the river and occasionally eats people who venture too near to his lair.

That night, Corromat sent Darren to find the Circle of Eth and we looked through the hall but found nothing beyond what one might expect in the hall of a lesser baron. If there is subterfuge at work here, it does not seem to be in Baron Corromat's house.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Wealsun 5 In the morning, most of us—Grimmath claimed to be nursing a hangover from last night’s mead and sat in the corner, drooling over Maeve’s spellbook—set out with the baron to see where he and his father had fought the crocodile. It looked about like you would expect. The ground was still torn from the horses hooves and the death throes of the crocodile but there were no lingering traces of evil or magic—indeed, I would have been most surprised had there been any traces left.

We decided to investigate the town to see if we could find where Accalon had gone before his disappearance. Once there, we found a group of villagers berating an old potter, trying to find where her daughter—who they supposed to be a witch—was hiding. Upon our arrival, they departed, saying, “fine, we’ll start looking at the kiln then.” I followed for a moment and was able to convince them to leave it to us as we were agents of the Count sent to investigate these troubles—if the witch had overcome a Lion of Bova with all his skill and armor, how could they hope to overcome where the Lion had failed. And if the Lion had not failed, what did they think he would have left undone? With such words I made them realize the peril they might stumble into and they departed chastened, but not before they told me some of what made them suspect the girl.

Meanwhile, Marquess and the group spoke with the woman. Her adopted daughter Autumn was the villagers’ target but the woman claimed not to know where she was. I doubted her word but didn’t want to threaten the woman quite yet. In the loft where Autumn slept, we found a small wicker doll, some cat fur, and a few charcoal drawings—one of a young man and the other looked like driftwood at first but we recognized it as the remains of a charred riverboat with the name, “Rann” scrawled in corner. (Ten years ago, Baron Trask and some of the Lions had burned a young woman suspected of being a witch alive in her riverboat—a grisly association). According to the potter, Autumn had been the daughter of thief who lived in the swamp. When he was finally caught and hanged, she took the girl in but did not know who her true mother was. Autumn had recently begun spouting nonsense words from time to time and light flared at her fingertips. So much sounds like a sorceress—or a witch—developing powers, but the boys’ tale was darker. Their leader had told how he awoke in the middle of the night and found her astride him but then she touched him with a clawed hand that drew blood and sapped his strength. When he screamed, she fled. Others told of dead livestock and seeing her with the blood of a slain lamb dripping from her lips.

Not willing to draw any conclusions yet or try to intimidate the potter, we asked around and found that Accalon had set out into the swamp heading for the kiln. We followed.

On our way, we passed the hanging tree where some children were playing some kind of tag, singing,

O’er field and marsh, o’er hill and stream,
See the old witch run, chasin’ after me.
She’s the bride of the marsh by the gallows tree.
Maid, pay me a lamb, and you won’t see me.
She’s faster than the wind and quicker than death
If she catches your scent, she’ll steal your breath
You can’t outrun her or your end,
All you can do is outrun your friend!

We asked them about it and learned of an old witch named Lonni Longshanks who lives in the swamp south of Lake Rhest. Apparently, the local women offer her a lamb before their wedding or she takes them away and eats them. A horrific legend, but a worse moral—better to teach the precept of bravery than such cowardice. The brave man dies once but the coward dies a thousand deaths. Still I did not berate them. Perhaps I or another servant of the valorous knight shall return here someday and teach them a better way.

When we reached the hillock where the kiln lies, we saw two giant, misshapen creatures wearing coats and caps stitched together from smaller folks leathers and carrying tree trunks for clubs. “What have we ‘ere then Muc?” said one.

“I don’t know, brother” replied the other. “Maybe we tastes ‘em and finds out.”

And with that, we came together in battle. One smote Penn and chased her around the battlefield screaming he would make jelly of her. The other struck and Marquess and our nameless oracle. I moved up and aided them with my axe and though Marquess, Penn, and the oracle were sorely wounded we prevailed and called upon the gods for our healing.

The kiln was a small bricked tunnel leading to a large chamber under the hill where dozens of pots or tiles could be fired at once. It was cool and the soot seemed to have been swept out but we found a shawl and a few rough parchments with charcoal drawings—one showed a sympathetic looking old warty woman holding a pearl attached to a fine necklace and another showed a beautiful but sad looking girl holding a cat. Outside we found tracks. The ogres and a number of wolves had come here and then the wolves left with a light, booted figure we took to be the girl.

The tracks were old, but we learned a lot on our journey to the dwarf holds and were able to follow them without problem, even when they entered the swamp and began to be criss-crossed with the tracks of other animals at an unnatural rate. Penn saw some sticks and stones arranged in the language of the druids, warning such people to stay away and not interfere by the rights of the old rituals. Shortly thereafter, we saw a large stone tower that seemed to be sinking into the swamp—perhaps it is a relic of ages past before this plain flooded. Penn found tracks of large booted feet coming in and out.

We approached a makeshift wooden door bolted over the entrance from what looked to have once been a balcony. Taking positions, Marquess shoved the door open, revealing a pair of ogres sheltering behind piles of broken crates and barrels and holding javalins ready. We unleashed our wrath. I caught one in the eye with an arrow. Though it didn’t penetrate to the brain, it was a grievous wound. Grimmath unleashed his magic on the other and Hellek threw his dagger which exploded into flames as it struck the creature and burned him to a crisp. The oracle waded through the stench and traded blows with the wounded ogre but when Marquess strode forward to help him, he crashed through a weak point in the floor and landed with a splash below. A dozen skeletons—perhaps former denizens of the tower stirred to malicious unlife—surrounded and clawed at him. Grimmath moved forward and conjured a lash of fire that obliterated four of them as I struck the ogre down and Hellek lit a torch to illuminate Marquess’ struggle in the depths below and Penn summoned an elemental then leaped down to aid him. It was quickly over and we climbed to the next floor.

As we rounded the wide staircase, we came face to face with a pair of snarling wolves. We moved forward to strike them down and a wolf the size of a horse came out and savaged the oracle while a warty, green-skinned woman in a dirty shift climbed around the wall like a spider and invoked a chill that left Marquess and my armor cold to the touch. I called on the last of my magics to heal the oracle and Marquess struck down the giant wolf as our skin began to stick to our armor. Penn and the hag traded sling bullet for firebolt and another figure came around the corner. Her frame and hands suggested a young woman but she wore a veil. When she pulled it back, her face looked like a waxen carving melted and left to run. I struggled to fight against the horror but Penn and her wolf turned green and began heaving their meagre lunch onto the floor. The vomit was soon joined by our blood By the twelve and the seven, I would not have imagined that a hag could have such strength. Her nails were like iron claws and she tore through Marquess’ armor plate like cloth. Her skin was tough as oak bark and many times my axe or the oracle’s sword were turned aside. We fought though Grimmath exhausted his spells and my flesh tore off as it froze to the inside of my breastplate. Finally, the oracle managed a telling blow before nearly collapsing in exhaustion as the rage left him and I took advantage of her injury to strike her down. The younger hag fought on but to no avail. She fell to the oracle’s sword.

After we struck them down, I was able to dig a scroll out of my pack and restore Marquess to consciousness. We searched the area and examined a variety of flasks and potions and a magic necklace worn by the young woman. Most we identified but the flask and the pearl necklace were mysteries. I jokingly said, “I guess we won’t be able to figure this out unless we use more powerful magic or try it on.” Grimmath promptly put it on—his face turned a shade towards green and hairy warts sprouted from his nose immediately. I could tell from his face that he felt sick as well. He took it off but felt no better.

Wealsun 6 In the morning we were all conscious again—even Penn’s wolf survived the horrific mauling he took at the hands of the hag and I called on Heironeous to restore some of Grimmath’s strength.

[thorr-kan]

Let me note first that I love this campaign journal and I love Red Hand of Doom.


...The lady Tredora Goldenbrow, Immerstal the Red, Baron Trask of Elsircross, Gareth (the captain of the Lions), and at least a half-dozen of other the Lions all kitted out for battle greeted us but did not tarry long, save to speak with us about what we had seen beneath the ruin of Valandil’s Mill. Immerstal looked grim upon hearing our description and having learned what they could, they hastened on their way, seeking to confront the demon before he could break free of his imprisonment. In their train, I saw the seals of the temple archives--I pray whatever relics they have brought with them are enough to best the demon...
But I wanted to comment on this specifically. *This* is how you use high-level NPCs. Too many people complain about high-level characters stealing the PCs spotlight. But characters are part living world, and sometimes they need to call in bigger guns. This is well done.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Thank you for the kind words Thorr-Kann! It's nice to know people are reading and appreciating this log. I'm almost caught up to where we are in game (just had the first actual encounter of Red Hand of Doom) so updates will be a little less frequent once I get caught up. Also, Grimmath's player had to leave the game and we're having another player join who will probably assume Jozan's role. So, I may end up taking Grimmath's voice in the journals once that happens. (Since he was lower level and Marquess is planning to take leadership, he's going to stay on with the party as an NPC until he is formally adopted as Marquess' cohort). But, back to the story:

------------------------Jozan's journal-------------------------------

Wealsun 6 continued. We divided the spoils among ourselves and returned to Witchcross. After some discussion, we decided to destroy the hag’s pearl but kept the gold chain since the evil had faded and it was well-made and beautiful. Grimmath rode as though in a daze and once fell out of his saddle and nearly drowned in the bog before he realized what was happening. When we reached Witchcross, it was late afternoon and patches of his beard were already turning the color of seaweed and falling out. Before we even reached the baron’s hall, he disappeared into a grog shop and I simply asked the bartender to keep an eye on him for me.

The young baron was glad to hear that we had avenged his father upon the hags and gave us a ring of red gold set with a ruby and broke out a case of old Nimon Gap wine from before the war. It had aged to perfection. A caravan carrying timber from Geoff and other goods from the Sheldomar valley reached Witchcross from Strake Terrace. They were bound to Bova and I thought I saw a hawk tattooed on one of the guards, but Marquess wanted to reach Bova and return to Drellin’s Ferry as soon as possible.

Wealsun 7. We set out early and reached Talar by late afternoon. The town was abuzz with rumors. In the morning, the baron had marched out of Bova to the west with most of the Lion Guard. We dined with the lady Celeria Nestin again and inquired. She had received a messenger from the Count commanding her to ensure that her armories were stocked and her vassals were ready to provide their shields as soon as they received the war arrow and to start harvesting and storing as many provisions as possible. However she could not provide news as to what prompted these orders or even if the Count had marched.

Wealsun 8. It was late afternoon when we were greeted by a skeleton guard at the north gate of Bova. We heard many rumors: Goblins had attacked Drellin’s Ferry and burned it to the ground and the Count was setting defenses at Terrelton. Count Tondhere had secretly slipped an army across lake Rhestilar and over the river and besieged Nimon Gap. Count Bova was finally going to stamp out the bandits. When we reached the castle, we learned that the Count had left Sir Gareth to govern the city and reported to him. He of course had already heard that Accalon had perished at the hands of the ogres but was glad that we had avenged the Baron and slain the hags. Marquess was eager to follow the Count, but Gareth informed him there was no rush any longer. The Count had marched to assist Drellin’s Ferry upon receiving a pigeon from Baron Wiston that several hundred goblins had been seen in the Witchwood heading for the town, however, they had attacked nearly immediately and Baron Wiston had been forced to meet them with only his levies. For all that he was at outnumbered and barely mustered, however, the baron had won a great victory and had annihilated the goblins. News reached the Count in Terrelton and he and his army were returning to Bova.

Wealsun 9-10. We took a few days to wait for the Count and conduct business. I sold the hobgoblin shortbow I had been using and bought a larger composite bow with a stronger pull. On the last day, I sold my battered buckler and bought a better made one emblazoned with the lighting of the Invincible and Valorous Knight. Penn picked up the barding she had commissioned in Terrelton. Meanwhile, Khan found some employment with an armorer and joined Bova’s guild of armorers and weaponsmiths as a journeyman.

The Lady Tredora of Pelor, Immerstal the Red, Baron Trask, and the others had returned from dealing with the demon in Valandil’s Mill so we brought the flask we had been unable to identify to Immerstal and managed to secure an audience. He identified it as a flask of curses that would curse anyone nearby when it was opened. It might have some use, but we decided to sell it. Immerstal offered us a cloak of resistance for it and we traded eagerly.

Wealsun 11. Marquess tired of waiting for the Count to arrive, so we set off. On the road to Talar, we met his brother with ten other Lions in the vanguard. They were disappointed to have ridden nearly a week for nothing. Marquess said he feared they would soon see more action than they would like if the Red Hand goblins we saw on the plateau were coming after having driven these goblins before them. Jonas simply laughed and said he hoped that the next batch had the courtesy to wait for him to show up before starting the fight. Shortly later, the main body of the lion guard marched by and Marquess buttonholed Commander Lars Ulverth who confirmed much of what we had already heard and told us that Baron Wiston had been injured by some kind of devil in the battle. Four lions and ten of the lion guard had continued on to Drellin’s Ferry to help chase down the surviving goblins. Scouts had claimed to see some ogres on the north side of the river so the Count himself, disappointed have ridden so far without action had taken two squads of glaives and two squads of archers to see if he could deal with them. We bade the captain safe journeys and spent another happy night at Talar.

Wealsun 12. Concerned that the Count might encounter more than his small force could handle, Marquess insisted that we cross the Elsir in the morning and continue on the north side in the hope of finding the Count. If Count Tondhere knew he was there with such a small force, the assassins would be racing from Strake Terrace—and ogres are nothing to be trifled with. About halfway through the day, we came upon a patch of drying mud with large footprints baking into it in the sun. Penn and I saw two well-shod creatures far too large to be men—ogres or giants then—and about ten more sets of booted tracks. Too few to be the Count’s escort but perhaps there were men or hobgoblins with the ogres the scouts saw. We briefly debated following the tracks to the east (towards lake Rhestilar, the swamp and then to Witchcross), but the trail was cold so we continued west in search of the Count.

Wealsun 13. Still no sign of the Count but we found a camp site with more ogre and humanoid footprints. There were some clawmarks there and scat from a reptile the size of a horse. Based on the claws, I would guess a dragon or a wyvern or something of that ilk. None of us had any desire to meet up with what made the claws.

Wealsun 14. Late in the day, we encountered the Count and his escort riding south out of the Starkmound foothills. The head and feathers of a mountain griffon were carefully strapped to his packhorse. He had not looked to find friends this side of the river but gladly shared our camp.

Wealsun 15. We made our way south to the river and camped opposite Terrelton as we reached it after dark and there were no bargemen to hail. The Count asked us about the Chimera we had seen, speculating that it was a noble’s duty to protect his subjects from such dangerous beasts. Besides, Leille had suggested that some of the bandits and cattle thieves were blaming their thefts on the Chimera so eliminating it would deprive them of the cover they might hide behind. Marquess offered our services to eliminate the beast but the Count did not seem eager to return to Bova. He did express admiration for Baron Wiston’s conduct of the battle and suggested that the baron might have turned into the best general of all his subjects.

Wealsun 16. In the morning, we crossed the Elsir to Terrelton with the Count’s men. A courier stood waiting to greet the Count with a bulging satchel full of scrolls. Upon scanning the first scroll, the Count sighed. “It looks like Chimeras will have to wait. It looks like Gareth needs me in Bova to keep Baron Trask in line. Maybe I could just feed him to the Chimera and hope it dies of indigestion.” Briefly scanning the next missive, he remarked, “well, it looks like Reginald Gelb is demanding trial by combat. Guess who my champion will be. Either way, I win! Though Trask’s sons are just as bad, so I could just win a different headache….”

After the Count and his soldiers marched east, eagerly scanning the hills for some sign of bandits who could provide a good fight and delay their arrival in the city, we hit the taverns looking for any information about the chimera. We had seen it on the bridge west of the city but it didn’t live there so we would need to search for its lair. Before the dwarf drank himself into a stupor (“here, let me buy you a drink, tell me what you know about the Chimera… fine, be that way. Well, I’d better not let this go to waste…”) we narrowed things down a bit. Most of the sightings and stolen cattle were from the west of the town. There were a few isolated tales from the east, but they did not sound as reliable and in one case, Heironeous' power confirmed that the herdsman lying—he probably sold the steer to bandits and then blamed its loss on the Chimera when the owner asked what happened.

Wealsun 17. Searching for a flying predator who hunts over a large area is a challenge. Occasionally you will find tracks when it lands but you can’t follow the tracks back to its lair. Starting with my recollections about Chimeras from reading Frederick of the Pale’s Compleate Mounstrous Compendium—we surmised that it probably has its lair in the hills south and west of the town—the ones separating us from the haunted vale—so we searched the area for signs of the beast, hoping to eventually spot it and be able to engage it immediately or (preferably) follow it back to its lair.

Grimmath did not accompany us. In the morning, we found him outside the tavern, unconscious in a pool of vomit. We did what we could to sober him up, but he seemed to have a relapse of the hags' curse and could barely take two steps without intense concentration.

Wealsun 18. Fortune smiled upon us and in the afternoon, we spotted the creature gripping a young buck in its paws and flying to the south. We trailed it for a few minutes, but it was rapidly outdistancing us. Penn sped ahead on her wolf hoping to keep pace. A couple minutes later, we heard a roar and as we rode forward as quickly as we could manage through the tangled brush and occasional trees. Soon, we could see Penn riding her wolf as fast as she could towards us, bleeding from many bite and claw wounds. I drew back my bow, calling on the Invincible and Valorous Knight to let my weapons be the band of this magical beast and struck true.

Penn eventually evaded its reach, only to be caught in the back by a blast of acid from its dragon head. Hellek rode forward eagerly, loosing wild shafts and the beast dove at him, snapping its jaws. I drew my axe and rode up. It turned and I was barely able to evade some of the hurricane of teeth and claws. Marquess struck a mighty blow with his dwarven glaive then I ended its life with one last swing of my axe. Praise the ever-victorious Knight!

Wealsun 19. We returned to Terrelton in the morning and our pelorite paid a visit to Master Pierre to have the dragon head fashioned into armor for his horse. I took a necklace of claws to lay before the shrine of Heironeous in thanks for our victory and spend some time repairing it—for the shrine in Terrelton is sadly neglected of late. As we celebrated our victory to the cheers of herdsmen who now had one fewer menace to expect from the sky, we heard further rumors of the battle at Drellin’s Ferry. Baron Wiston had been attacked by some kind of demon (though from the description it sounded more like a bearded devil) that appeared magically in the back of his battle line. Though the baron and some of the townsmen were able to strike it down, his wounds were infected and he has not been seen outside since the battle. Some other herdsmen also talked about having seen a dragon in the twilight flying toward the east.

Wealsun 20. In the morning we departed Terrelton and made our way towards Drellin’s Ferry. A few mile out, we came across a grisly sight. Circling buzzards warned us of carnage ahead and advancing cautiously for fear of an ambush, we found four bodies mutilated and left in the road—they looked to have been a family and the youngest boy was still too young to grow a beard. Though there were goblin arrows in the bodies and what looked like a broken horsechopper and goblin scimitar nearby, they did not match the wounds and neither Penn nor I could see any goblin tracks nearby. What we did find were the well-disguised tracks of a human-sized creature that had dragged and carried the bodies to the road from a thicket of thorn bushes to the south of the Dawn Way and several hundred yards distant.

Exploring the thicket, we found a carefully hidden path that led to a crude, concealed altar of black stone with red veins running through it. The place reeked of evil and I called on Heironeous' power and smote the altar, driving it through the bushes till it landed with a crash outside the thicket. Searching, we found a chest buried in a shallow hole and inside, robes marked with the symbol of the Many, a ritual blade, and a bloody chalice crafted from a halfling’s skull. From the signs, it looked as though at least some of the family had been murdered here in the foul rites of that religion then dragged to the road so that it would seem as though they were killed by goblins who escaped the battle.

[Zombimode]

Just to let you know, I'm really enjoying this. Please keep it up :-)

[Elder_Basilisk]

Thanks for the encouragement Zombimode. With this post we're caught up. Next game is next Wednesday from now with the party (presumably) heading in the direction of Vraath Keep. The party had a rough time of it this session; we'll have to see how Vraath keep goes.

---------------------------------------Jozan's journal----------------------------

Wealsun 20, continued. It was late in the evening when we arrived back in Drellin’s Ferry. A small, hastily built stockade to the right of the Dawn Way held a man at arms in the livery of Baron Wiston and the better part of a dozen militia men with their spears and crossbows. He challenged us as we approached but quickly recognized Marquess’ tabard. “Greetings, Sir Lion, he said.”

We spoke briefly and heard much the same story about the recent battle. The goblins had been crushed at the cost of no more than two dozen casualties. The baron himself had been attacked by some kind of demon creature with a wicked hooked glaive who appeared behind the lines in a flash with a puff of brimstone and who swords and arrows could barely scratch. Since the battle, Captain Amroth, the militia, and the lions had been patrolling. A few days after the battle, Captain Amroth and his patrol caught a dozen goblins trying to cross the river to the south at Abbotsford. After returning to Drellin’s Ferry, he had taken Brother Corwin, a few men at arms, and a dozen militia to patrol the Witchwood. The Lions were patrolling the Elsir river to the North and East.

We went to visit the Baron who was still recovering from his wounds at the temple of Pelor. He was asleep, but we got another firsthand description of the battle from Brother Derny—and a short discourse on the planes and fighting devils—who had finally managed to cure the devil chills that had infected the baron. Khan and Pen stayed at the temple while the rest of us took rooms at the Green Apple.

Wealsun 21. The next day, we awoke early and visited Morlin Coalhewer to buy some alchemical silver weapons (since the baron had been attacked by a devil, we should be prepared to deal with such creatures), then visited the baron at the temple. Penn was terribly concerned for him and used her magic to restore the strength he had lost to the disease. He told us what had happened since the battle: he estimated that perhaps threescore goblins had escaped the battle and his patrols had slain two dozen so far but there were still scattered reports of goblins all over his barony.

We told him of the dark alter we had found yesterday and our suspicions that cultists were using the goblin threat to disguise their foul murders. The baron furrowed his brow, clearly disturbed and grew more so, when I told him of the letters we had found the traitor Reginald Gelb’s townhouse. There were signs the wicked cult had been active in Drellin’s Ferry since the war of restoration. Still, Marquess was eager to deal with goblins and practically begged to go on a patrol. The baron thought that would be helpful (and would get Penn out of his hair) and detailed a route that would take us south and west to Abbotsford, then east, past Penn’s estate before returning to the Dawn Way and Drellin’s Ferry in perhaps two days. Marquess made a quick copy of the baron’s map to help guide us in our travel and though we considered waiting for Captain Amroth to return from his patrol of the Witchwood, we set out shortly after noon.

As we rode the track to Clearbrook, we kept an eye out for tracks and, near a rocky whitewater cataract, where the river narrowed, I spotted bootprints in the mud. We stopped and examined them more closely and it looked like there were at least a dozen creatures—men perhaps or hobgoblins but too large to be goblins—and the tracks were no more than a day old. Penn shifted into a wolf to figure out what they were from scent—I had not realized she was a skin-changer—but said she only managed to get a nose full of scentbreaker for her trouble. Marquess speculated that perhaps someone had felled a tree or two to bridge the river here and then hid their passage by casting the log into the current to float downriver. We thought to cross the river to explore a bit on the other side and see if we could figure out more about the tracks. Penn shifted to human form, remounted her wolf and leaped across the river. Once across, she fastened a rope to pitons in the rocks by the river and followed the tracks a few hundred yards to the edge of the Witchwood.

Now, this is where our investigation turned into a comedy of errors more suitable for fools on a Bova stage than champions of the Invincible and Valorous Knight and the Sun Father. Penn later told us she had found a buried latrine pit and a pair of firepits about 50 yards into the wood. [Scrawled in the margin: But the little twit forgot to tell us that she had found a pair of tree stumps, piles of stripped branches, and drag marks confirming Marquess’ theory of a temporary bridge. By the Valorous Knight, that scatterbrained peck is annoying sometimes. She didn’t think to mention that until she had wandered into the hogboblin’s ambush the next day.] Khan thought to cross the river by climbing Penn’s rope hand over hand, but lost his grip as soon as he swung out over the river and was dashed upon the rocks. He sputtered for air and was swept downstream, banging into rocks as he went. I tossed a rope to Hellek and ran downstream after him, calling upon Heironeous to grant me speed. I saw him smash into a large rock and go limp a few seconds later and I cast a healing spell and leaped into the water in an attempt to save him. I couldn’t get a grip, but at least I returned him to consciousness and with a heroic effort, he swam to the shore and grabbed onto the rocks for dear life. I coughed and was swept downstream myself until Hellek pulled me out on the rope.

One would think that might have been the end of it, but when it came time to return, Penn untied the rope from her piton and attempted to leap back. The rocks on the other side must have been a little lower for she didn’t quite make it and nearly drowned herself before we could pull her out. At least she was clean for once.

After that embarrassing incident, we made our way to Clearbrook and found headman Gillis eating with his second and third sons, their families and hired hands with spears and crossbows easily within reach. He was glad to see us again. He told us the same story about Captain Amroth and his patrol annihilating the goblins at Abbotsford. But he also said that his eldest son—Thomas—had seen lights in the Witchwood near the narrows when he returned from Drellin’s Ferry yesterday. Since that was where we had found the tracks, we resolved to speak with Thomas on the following morning.


Wealsun 22. The following morning, we rode to visit Thomas Gillison and confirmed the story. He thought he might have seen Captain Amroth’s patrol camping in the Witchwood but that seemed unlikely. (It seemed most likely to me that he had seen the campfires of a sizeable hobgoblin force that had crossed over the river just today. But I said nothing* and none of my companions did either. If any of us suspected a force of spies or raiders, we said nothing). We thanked him for his time, checked to see how Minn was recovering from her run-in with the manticore two months ago, and rode through Abbotsford without incident then turned east.

Around noon, about an hour before we expected to reach Penn’s manor, we met the hobgoblins in glorious battle. Penn rode ahead of us, as is her wont and had passed along the track past the fieldstones of a ruined farmhouse and several thickets of briars. As the rest of us approached the thickets, we saw glints of steel from among them and while Penn continued oblivious, we fought our way out of the ambush. I invoked the judgement of Heironeous and called upon him to make my bow the bane of these goblins and loosed arrows as they hurled javalins towards us. Khan screamed in rage and hurled himself and his horse at the hobgoblins in the thicket and Marquess spurred himself toward the goblins on the other side of the road. A pair of hell hounds charged at Penn, and left her bleeding and burned before she realized they were there.

A great hobgoblin in banded mail, carrying two shortswords emerged from the thicket as Marquess finished a second goblin there. “You!” he said in common, clashing his swords together and pointing one at Marquess. “Let us see who is better!” He deftly dodged under Marquess’ glaive and stabbed him with a shortsword. Marquess stepped back but the hobgoblin stepped up immediately so Marquess chocked down his grip on his glaive to fight close in.

Grimmath conjured a ball of flame which bounced along the ground, smoking the leaves of the thicket searing the hobogblins and I drew my axe and moved to intercept the them as they left the thicket to attack him. Penn retreated towards us. We were solidifying our position when disaster struck. Another hobgoblin moved around the end of the thicket, clutching a clawlike sigil in his hand. I was later told, he shouted, “Uth Larr, stop screwing around!” and cast a spell that paralyzed Marquess in his saddle. I dodged blows from the two longsword wielding hobgoblins I was engaging and ran to battle the large hobgoblin before he could slit Marquess’ throat. Grimmath and Khan finished one of them and Hellek emerged from hiding, killing one of the hell hounds and finishing another of the hobgoblins.

Then the archers showed up. The evil priest cast a spell and vanished from our sight—I must learn the spell to see invisible foes—and six more hobgoblins, these wielding their bows came at a run from further down the trail where they must have been waiting to ambush travelers coming the other direction. They pelted us mercilessly with their arrows causing Hellek to fall back and panicking Penn who ran off down the trail and summoned some ineffectual monstrous centipedes "to cover our retreat." The bane enchantment faded from my axe and the unseen priest caused an earth elemental to rise from the ground beside Hellek and me. Things looked grim and looked grimmer when the unseen priest healed Uth Larr’s wounds and the archers pelted me with arrows, grazing my scalp and bruising my ribs from the impact on my enchanted breastplate.

Fortunately, the spell of paralysis finally expired and Marquess began to move again, shouldering me aside. I called on Heironeous to heal my wounds** and cast a spell of protection on myself as Grimmath moved up and evoked a line of fire to singe all of the archers.

Their return fire was deadly and Grimmath fell to the ground bleeding from many arrows. Uth Larr looked at me and said, “Looks like I won. Now to finish off this scrub!” and layed into Marquess with his swords. I ignored the foul creatures jibes, healed Grimmath and ran towards the archers with a shout of “Death or Glory!” Death looked more likely. Penn desperately traded blows with the surviving hellhound which pursued her and would not let her escape. Khan panted in exhaustion and called on the Shining One to heal his wounds while the two remaining ambushers pressed him. Marquess fell bleeding beneath Uth Larr’s blades.

The hobgoblin turned mockingly to Hellek. “Let’s make this fair,” he said and dropped one shortsword to draw a dagger and match Hellek’s fighting style. And that idle boast proved to be his undoing. Grimmath clung grimly to his bloodsoaked saddlehorn and evoked a sheet of fire from his hands incinerating three of the hobgoblin archers who were surrounding me, then moved back, pelting Uth Larr with his last force bolts and distracting him with his staff. As Grimmath made the opening, Hellek plunged his dagger between the joints of Uth Larr’s armor and into his heart. I struck down another one of the archers and the last two turned to flee but did not make it far.

For a second, there was silence and Hellek, Khan, Grimmath, Penn and I stood (if just barely) amid a sea of hobgoblin bodies. Then we moved. Khan and I restored Marquess to consciousness with our magic and after looting the bodies, we decided that the nearby villages must be warned. Marquess, Grimmath, and Penn rode directly to her estate to warn them. Hellek, Khan and I rode back to Abbotsford as quickly as our horses could make it, hoping to meet the others at Penn’s estate around dusk.


*Because, at least for now, I’m an NPC, so I don’t get to put two and two together unless it’s REALLY necessary.
**He switched his judgment to healing. In this campaign, Jozan has got a surprising amount of mileage out of the healing judgment.

----------------------------------DM Notes----------------------------------------
The party is a little low level to be starting the adventure. I tried to toss them an investigation into the cult of Erythnul, but they still didn't bite. Jozan reminded them about the letters they found in Reginald Gelb's townhouse. They didn't bite. I don't think they're ever going to do any investigation things unless one of the characters with the golden exclamation point over his head says, "please, go there and do stuff." That was why they went to Witchcross and even there, the investigation was half-hearted at best.

I spot them a free day or two since the adventure is supposed to start with them getting into Drellin's Ferry at the end of Day 1 but the way they were on patrol, they won't get into Drellin's Ferry until at least halfway through Day 2. That's how I set up the adventure so I'll spot them the extra day and have Day 1 be Wealsun 23.

[Eldariel]

I'll have to say, this is a rather enjoyable read thus far. Though I worry a bit about how they'll fare. The adventure is open after all, and much of the point is coming up with ideas in addition to the "easy" ones and figuring out how to best hinder the Horde. It doesn't sound like the players might even play that game. Add to that them being underleveled and things could go south real bad at the Skullgorge Bridge (or even Vraath Keep).

Some things I was left thinking about:
- It's Pathfinder. How much modification are you doing for the encounters? The handbook itself is rather brief about it - are you rewriting all the enemies with PF classes and feats and taking the Pathfinder counterparts for the monsters, or are you doing more in-depth changes?
- Mayhap you throw them a bit of extra XP to catch up for one of these encounters? I doubt they'd notice they got more than they deserved for e.g. Marauder Attack. Also, you could have them encounter more (Hob)goblin patrols on their travels than usual in the book allowing them to pick up leftover XP all the while increasing the sense of dread and urgency as it feels like the outriders are literally everywhere.
- The party is heavily martial. Two of the casters are multiclassed and the third seems to be mostly blowing things up and thus running out of spells fast (not to mention, leaving). Do they have the ranged prowess to fight a Dragon? More to the point, perhaps they could encounter some lesser flyers before the Dragons and see if they could at least get the appropriate equipment? The hand includes Chimeras and Manticores at least as airborne monsters with ranged attacks.

[Elder_Basilisk]

I'll have to say, this is a rather enjoyable read thus far. Though I worry a bit about how they'll fare. The adventure is open after all, and much of the point is coming up with ideas in addition to the "easy" ones and figuring out how to best hinder the Horde. It doesn't sound like the players might even play that game. Add to that them being underleveled and things could go south real bad at the Skullgorge Bridge (or even Vraath Keep).

Some things I was left thinking about:
- It's Pathfinder. How much modification are you doing for the encounters? The handbook itself is rather brief about it - are you rewriting all the enemies with PF classes and feats and taking the Pathfinder counterparts for the monsters, or are you doing more in-depth changes?
- Mayhap you throw them a bit of extra XP to catch up for one of these encounters? I doubt they'd notice they got more than they deserved for e.g. Marauder Attack. Also, you could have them encounter more (Hob)goblin patrols on their travels than usual in the book allowing them to pick up leftover XP all the while increasing the sense of dread and urgency as it feels like the outriders are literally everywhere.
- The party is heavily martial. Two of the casters are multiclassed and the third seems to be mostly blowing things up and thus running out of spells fast (not to mention, leaving). Do they have the ranged prowess to fight a Dragon? More to the point, perhaps they could encounter some lesser flyers before the Dragons and see if they could at least get the appropriate equipment? The hand includes Chimeras and Manticores at least as airborne monsters with ranged attacks.

I don't mind too much about spoilers--I'm pretty sure my players aren't reading this thread.

1. I'm rewriting enemies with PF classes and feats in keeping with the original encounter structures but it's a bit more involved than just "Fighter 4=PF Fighter 4 or Fighter 4=PF Fighter 5." (For one thing, a number of NPCs have prestige classes that don't exist in PF). My rewrite of the monster/NPCs is probably also increasing their overall effectiveness in most cases too. Kharn and the ghostlord are probably the most significant examples of this. As written, they're both pretty pathetic for their CR. My versions will earn their CR.

2. I've been throwing in bonus "Role Playing" XP so far, so I'll probably keep doing it. Throwing in some bonus encounters to bring treasure and xp up to snuff is probably a good idea too.

3. I'm not sure. They did pretty well against the Chimera a few sessions ago even though it was mostly using its claws. Between Grimmath and Jozan (assuming he uses bane weapon on his bow--and especially after he picks up Rapid Shot) and Penn (if she ever starts prepping a produce flame), they should have enough ranged firepower that just strafing the party with breath weapons will be a losing exchange for dragons that don't have fly-by attack and a safe space to start and end their turns. Regiatrix and Saarvith are the exception to that since if Reggie carries Saarvith, he should be a threat to outshoot the PCs. We'll see how it goes. As I told the players when I started the game, my philosophy on party balance is that it's their responsibility. They create their characters an find a way to make them work together. If that doesn't work, they'll die and they can create new characters.

We should get a chance to see how they handle Vraath keep next week (though the manticore is not really a dragon test--they've handled manticores several times before).

[Eldariel]

Yeah, plus Manticores are limited to 24 daily spikes so they can't reasonably finish the party off from the air even though they can do significant damage. And they too have Clumsy maneuverability so their actual prowess for airbound combat is really limited (in spite of their Flyby Attack). Plus PF Manticores are actually a bit weaker than their 3.5 counterpart; limited to 4 vs. 6 spikes per volley. While their spikes have more bonus damage, base 1d6 means INA: Spikes only lands them at 1d8 instead of 2d6 (2d6+2 is average 9 while 1d8+5 is average 9.5 so the individual per shot damage is almost the same).

[Elder_Basilisk]

And we're back. Jozan is now a PC with a real player starting this session and Grimmath is an NPC (soon to be Marquess's cohort) since his player left. So I get to try Grimmath's voice on for a bit.

Penn's player didn't make it to the session, but she's flighty and all the encounters were somewhat random, so she just happened to be off doing her own thing when everything went down. Hellek's player made up for her absence by providing the comic relief though.

Next session is in two weeks, so I need to decide whether Wyrmlord Koth is a Sorcerer 7, a Magus 7, or a Magus 6 (if I decide Magus is not a non-associated class for bugbears).

-----------------------------------------
Grimmath’s Journal.
Wealsun 22. Hey Journal, it’s me again—well, who else would it be writing here. Shut up. It’s only been a month. Awful mouthy for a piece of paper ain’t ya. So, after we annihilated the hobgobbers, Penn, Marquess and I made it to Penn’s estate without getting killed and eaten by the hellhound that got away. And wonders never cease, Jozan, Khan, and Hellek made it to Abbotsford and back without getting killed either. I finally got that mage armor spell figured out and copied into my spellbook, and they had a keg of ale at Penn’s estate. Hah! The peck has an estate! Well, four small huts and a big hut with maybe four people who can grow a beard—being generous as to what counts as a beard, but they’re human so you have to be generous or wouldn’t none of ‘em count as adults—plus a few womenfolk and a bunch a little snotlings running around. Still, they have ale so I can’t complain. Penn was a bit weepy learning that one of her tenants died in the battle of the Witchwood—or so they’re calling it, but I think this day is shaping up great.

Wealsun 23. No sign of those ruddy hobgobbo bastards today. Must be all running back to their filth-holes in the Crystalmists. We made it into town just after noon. Stopped for a bit and talked to the militia at the watchtower. I think they’re trying to make it a proper tower now. Heard the Lions patrolling up north got hit really hard and had to drag one of the Lions back to the temple on a litter. Three of their soldiers didn’t make it back at all. Captain Amroth still isn’t back. Or so they said. Jozan and Khan stopped by the temple and the rest of us went straight to the Baron’s manor. By the horses outside, Hellek said Captain Amroth must have made it back—I don’t know how he tells one of those infernal creatures from another. I have to ride one to keep up but that doesn't mean I like it, you know. Anyhow, we had to wait long enough for Jozan and Khan to get back before we got to go in and see the Baron. Baron Wiston and Soren, took our report—jumbled as it was. I swear, does anyone teach these people to count? Nine hobgoblins said Hellek! Nine! I plainly counted twelve suits of chainmail and one suit of banded mail from their corpses and we rode all the way from Penn’s estate with them banging off our saddlebags. With this quality information, it’s a wonder the baron can figure out which way is North!

Anyway, we heard that the Lions got mauled by another ambush and Captain Amroth ran into Old Jorr in the Witchwood who said, “Wanna go kill some hobgoblins? There’s a bunch would be real easy to sneak up on but there’s two more than I can handle by myself.” So Captain Amroth and his militia bagged a dozen hobgoblins and a bugbear with barely a scratch while we get ambushed and beat to the nine hells. Must be nice to be the captain. Anyway, where was I. Oh yeah. So seeing all these hobgoblins, he decides to take an extra day and go talk to the dryad as if unicorn and tree lady will be any good when there are hobgoblins that need killing. She farts a rainbow and tells him that her woodland critters saw a whole bunch of hobgoblins—at least 100 (I guess squirrels count about as well as Marquess and Hellek, so there’s somewhere between 50 and 500) that came into the forest, drove the goblins out of Vraath Keep about a week before the big fight and now they’ve split up and gone out in big groups all over the place with a few staying at the ruined keep. So, the Baron figures there’s 100 to 200 of them—I guess he’s a little more confident in the squirrels’ count than I am and they’ve come into his land in small groups either as reconnaissance in force or as raiders and they’ve left their supply depot and maybe their commander exposed. So since we know the Witchwood, and didn’t get mauled like the other Lions, he asks us to go attack their command post and figure out if they’re just raiders or the vanguard of a larger force. Great! Just because we’ve had the misfortune to travel that misbegotten wood before, we get the chance to do it again. And we’re doing it on information Acorns and unicorns lady gathered from squirrels. If that doesn’t ensure success, nothing will.

So, we spend an hour or so buying provisions and talking to my cousin Morlin—trading the armor and gold we found for a magic chain shirt, and a magic axe and he agrees to put a hook on the baatorian green steel glaive the Baron took off the dead devil that attacked him during the battle for Marquess. Glaive or Glaive-Guisarme—they all look the same to me but Marquess and Morlin insist it’s an important distinction. Whatever. I managed to swig a tankard of mead at the Green Apple before we set out and get a refill for the road. I may be going back to the forest on horseback again, but I’m damned if I’ll do so sober. I’m along for the ride but I hear something about finding Old Jorr to guide us to Vraath Keep. I guess this keep thingee was destroyed twelve years or so before the war. Actually I think I remember hearing about that back in the clanhold. Used to be we worked with young Avery Vraath’s men at arms to garrison Skull Gorge Bridge. Then one day the elders tell us, it’s all off, Avery Vraath went and got himself killed by forest giants. That’s why you build your forts underground where giants don’t fit like a sensible person. Anyhow, I guess this “old” Jorr used to live there before the war or something. I’m hearing all this and then there’s this horrible buzzing and wasps the size of horses attack us. I hate this wood/swamp/whatever it is! Mage armor came in handy though. We killed the wasps then Hellek squirted venom into his eye while trying to milk poison from the wasps and runs around shouting “It burns!” and “I can’t feel my face!” Hillarious.

It was raining by the time we make it to old Jorr’s which made this miserable swamp even more miserable. Run down little shack with some nasty looking dogs hiding under the porch. I think their fleas could eat stirges for breakfast. But there was a goblin skin tanning on one of the tanning racks outside so I thought, maybe he’s allright for a human. Jozan yelled that we want to talk so this old, one-eyed guy with a respectable beard (for a human) opened a window, pointed a bow at us then when he decided we weren’t goblins, told us to come in. He even disabled the trap over the door for us. He offered to share his moonshine with us—I guess he was still celebrating thirteen dead goblins and a dead bugbear from the other day—so I got started on that while Marquess and Jozan dicker with him over how long it’ll take and whether or he’s being paid to “pull your sorry asses out of the fire if you stick your pecker stirge nest.” I didn’t hear the rest. Maybe it’s the booze but I think I like this guy.

Next thing you know, we were on our way again. We made it to the blackwater causeway which is a fancy name for a bunch of rotting, slimy logs going over the river. Halfway across, Hellek spotted a snake lazing in the water next to a broken cart. Jorr yelled, “that’s not a snake!” as Hellek hopped into the bog to “cover us in case it attacks.” Sure enough, it’s wasn’t a snake. It was seven snakes or something attached to a slug body with legs. Ugly critters, hydras. So, Hellek gots bitten*, Khan started frothing at the mouth and got bitten a lot, Hellek ran away and Marquess gots bitten a lot, I smote it with my magic and Jozan finally came up and whacked it with his axe, then it stopped moving and fell into the water, then started moving again and swam away. We all ran across the causeway and then Jozan and Hellek went to check out the wagon. There were a couple dead hobgoblins there with magic armor and stuff and after thinking about how to get them out of their armor, Marquess just told ‘em to quit ******* around and bring the whole bodies before the hydra came back. We could sort the stuff out later. You tell ‘em Marquess. So there was magic armor, a magic cloak, and a magic belt there but of course no one else could tell what they were, not even Jozan with his god-magic stuff. I waved my fingers and told everyone what they are, all sage like.** You shoulda seen the respect on their faces. But of course you didn’t because you’re just a journal and don’t got no eyes. So, we hotfooted it away from the hydra and traveled until dark. Amazingly, nothing else tried to kill us. We set a complicated watch, and for once, nothing tried to kill us in our sleep. I’m not sure I believe it though. Maybe I’m just dreaming I woke up and nothing in this swamp had tried to kill me for half a day and a night.

Wealsun 24. Jorr gives me a bit more “moonshine” from his bottle and we travel through even more trees, bogs, fetid pools, vines, trees, and even more mosquito infested pools of algae covered water. Still, nothing tried to kill us. The forest must be saving its strength for something really bad. And then Jorr up front said, “we’re there, so stop moving and shut your traps.” We could see some ruined walls in between the mossy trees, so we decided to send Hellek around the perimeter to see if he can see any hobgoblins and how many ways in there are and stuff. Marquess thinks that just because Hellek was a scout or something back in the Lion guard, he must be sneaky. So Hellek sets off and ten seconds later, he’s found the only ten dry twigs in the whole Witchwood and stepped on them all then stomped in a puddle for good measure.*** We see another stupid manticore poke its head over the ruined battlement and look right at Hellek. How many of those damn things are there?

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*I forgot Hydras have pounce or this would have hurt a lot more. Probably wouldn't have changed anything since Hellek could have taken another 25 hp or so and he retreated for a few rounds before coming back to the fight anyway, but it would have hurt more. He did end up making a very important contribution by moving some of the horses out of the way so that Jozan could make it in to the fight.

**+2 cloak of resistance, +1 banded mail, and belt of one mighty blow. (I'm using a bunch of 3.5 Magic Item Compendium items--I like it a lot better than the magic items in Pathfinder's Ultimate Equipment). The mithral breastplate would have been appreciated but Khan just paid Morlin to enchant his breastplate and Jozan already has a +1 breastplate. I wanted the treasure to be more useful.

***Hellek had some terrible luck with his stealth rolls.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Wealsun 24. Continued.

The manticore took off from its perch above the ruined parapet and circled in front of Hellek, lazily flicking its tail and shooting its spines into the rogue. Hellek ran back towards us, leaping over a fallen log but absorbed another set of spines before he Jozan and Khan could reach him with their healing prayers. Meanwhile, the manticore flew over the ruined gatehouse and disappeared into the courtyard of the ruined keep.

Khan and Hellek walked slowly towards the keep while Marquess retrieved his bow and walked forward, bow in one hand, glaive-guisarme in the other. I found a nice, thick tree to hide behind and prepared the arcane formula for a magic missile when the ugly beast showed its face again.

Penn rode to the edge of the thicket on her wolf and shouted “goblins!” She always sees goblins, but this time she was right. I didn’t see them for another few seconds but soon, arrows started whizzing towards us from both sides of the gateway, and I saw their warty green faces. Khan picked his way over the shattered gates and other rubble and reached the inside of the gatehouse only to be greeted by snarling worgs and a squad of hobgoblins. I saw the manticore fly back to its perch on the parapet to the left of the gatehouse and peppered it with magic missiles. It shot tailspikes back at me but only succeeded in putting its spikes into the tree. Ha! I was winning!

Things were working out pretty well for me. Not so much for Khan. Hellek must have gotten some fool idea about climbing the wall and trying to engage the manticore into his head because he found his way to the right of the gatehouse and started drinking potions. So Khan was all by himself in the gatehouse when the hobgoblins showed up and then a freaking minotaur walked into the courtyard, bounced Khan’s head off the wall with his hammer and Khan stopped moving.

I’m not sure what came over me. I guess I figured the manticore had to be close to running out of spikes on its tail and I saw there were a bunch of hobgoblins lined up just begging for a scorcher if Marquess and Penn could get out of the way so I left cover and walked towards the gate. I promptly caught a manticore spine in the throat for my troubles. That’ll teach me to be heroic. If it hadn’t been for Jozan and his god, I would have choked in my own blood right there. It’s the kind of thing that makes a dwarf think. Anyhow, I wasn’t out long, so I saw Hellek go down trying to drag Khan’s body back to the group and then the damn manticore must have just fired his last spikes when he dropped me because he flew down and decided to try to bite me instead. That proved to be its undoing. Jozan, gestured and his axe flared with golden fire and he nearly cut the thing in half. It still managed to twitch enough to give Hellek* some nasty scars on his cheek as he tried to move behind it, but a second blow from Jozan’s axe splattered its skull and brains across the mossy stones of the keep.

That still left the goblins, the wolves, the hobgoblins, and the minotaur, and they were kicking our ass. Even Marquess was having trouble getting through the hobgoblin shieldwall to hurt them and though the goblins stopped firing and one ran to the big building in the back, it didn’t help. A few arrows started coming from back among the trees. At first we worried, but they were falling among our foes so we figured Jorr must have decided he wouldn’t get paid if we all died. Man after me own heart. Not that they were doing a lot of good. Lots of “almost killed him but got caught in his shield or bounced of his helmet or ricocheted off the wall right next to him” and not a lot of “shot the damn goblin through the eye.”

Now that Jozan and Marquess had closed with the hobgoblin shield wall, the goblins weren’t hitting anything anymore. They shot their quivers dry and ran to the stable to get more arrows. Then one of them took position behind one of the old boulders in the courtyard and started his futile firing again—which made him a mark for Jorr whose fire was not futile for once, while the other ran into the tower. Soon we saw why he had gone as a hobgoblin in formal robes carrying a morning star came out and fired magic missiles from a wand. Three of them—that’s a pretty good wand! Hellek fired an arrow at him and it just scored his robes revealing chain armor underneath while that damn minotaur pounded Jozan and Marquess and the surviving hobgoblins dropped their swords and tangled Marquess in a net.

Right then, Marquess went all stiff for a second and shouted, “who is this?” Weird. I later found out that he got some kind a magical message—probably a sending spell—in dwarven. Said something about a thousand—or was it thousands, he couldn’t remember?—hobgoblins and giants and a dragon—or was it dragons?—mustering by Cinder Hill. He asked who could do that and I reminded him that he’d asked Broden Coalhewer to contact him magically if there was trouble with the hogboblins. He’d forgotten. Heh.**

Anyway, back to the battle, it was a funny thing. The whole battle felt like we were just barely staving off total defeat until all, of a sudden, we won. Jorr finally felled the minotaur with an arrow to the eye and the bugbear mage or whatever he was only landed one of his scorching rays on Marquess. Then Penn conjured a pair of stirges and one of those nasty buggers attached its straw to the bugbear’s neck. Jozan and Marquess both came up to threaten him and though he splattered the stirge and cast a spell of invisibility before we could land more blows, Penn’s wolf sniffed out where he was standing and Marquess, Jozan, and Penn cut him into pieces before he could move, surrender, or even think. I evoked a fan of flames over the area he disappeared for good measure, but I suspect I only succeeded at charring his corpse.*** Just like that, the tide turned and we were victorious. I think one of the goblin archers got away with his worg but the rest lay dead beneath our feet.

The courtyard was eerily silent in the aftermath of the battle, and our blood dripping into the dirt was the only sound. Penn, Jozan, Khan and I set about stripping the bodies and figuring out what their magical equipment was and Hellek and Marquess went to explore some of the rooms in the keep. Jorr cut the ear off the goblin he had killed, pierced it with his dagger and strung it onto a necklace. Like I said, he’s my kind of guy.

After a half hour or so, we’d figured out that the bugbear had been wearing a headband of intellect and that we’d killed him before he could drink his potion of cure serious wounds. Heh. These guys carry a lot of potions but they never seem to live long enough to drink ‘em. I was about ready to look around and see if these hobgoblins had a stash of grog somewhere when Penn said “it’s been a while since we’ve seen Marquess and Hellek, maybe we should go see if they’ve gotten in trouble.” OK, fine. We eventually found them. It turned out they’d found some kind of secret passage to a hidden vault beneath the tower and there were three locked alcoves there. Hellek was performing at his expected level, so he was about halfway through the second lock. He said the rust makes it harder after all these years. Sure, that’s it.

Anyway, there was quite a haul. Apparently the last Vraath lord died down here and brought his fancy magic greatsword and magic gauntlets with him. And all of his clan's fancy loot was down here too. Enough gold to make a dwarf smile and even a dragon skull. Heck, there was enough to spread it out and sleep on it like a dragon if we wanted to.

Upstairs, we found a map showing some kind of invasion plan aimed at all of Bova county and stacks and stacks of supplies. There was a portable forge—not up to Coalhewer standards of course, but serviceable—a half-repaired wagon, a couple wagon wheels, several dozen bales of hay stacked one on top of another, dozens of smoked hams or bacons or something--what kind of animals do hobgoblins raise anyway?--hanging from rafters, hundreds of bags of meal, barrels and barrels full of arrows and javalins, a small barrel of beer that Jorr said oughta be poured back into the horse it came out of (I ain’t complainin, mind you; Jorr and I drank the last of his moonshine this mornin and dwarves ain't meant to drink water), and a couple small kegs of ale that were still fermentin in the back of the barracks. Marquess said it must be a forward supply base or somethin. Then he and Penn fell to discussin if he could use his ring to alert the Count and if she should cast an animal messenger spell tomorrow to send word to the Baron or turn into a hawk right now and fly to Skull gorge bridge to scout and how long it would take Khan to fit the old Baron Vraath’s armor to Marquess. Me, I decided to investigate the bottom of the keg of hobgoblin ale.

------------------------------------------DM Notes-------------------------------
*Jozan put bane on is axe and hit the manticore for nearly 30 points of damage, nearly dropping it. Hellek's luck continued. Rather than attacking with sword and dagger and finishing it, he decided to acrobatics his way into a flank. He promptly missed the acrobatics check, got clobbered by the manticore for most of his remaining hit points and missed the manticore. And to make matters worse, his new position prevented the manticore from withdrawing on its turn.

**I'd prepared the sending because Marquess had asked the Coalhewers to keep an eye out for hobgoblin movement and they'd specifically discussed the sending spell. So I gave the message (Hobgoblins marching south. Thousands camping at Cinder Hill--our side of Skull Gorge--with giants and godsdamneddragon. Will block entrance if trouble. Regards to Morlin.) and told Marquess' player he could respond with 25 words or less. He looked confused for a moment, and then, "who is this?" Hilarious. And of course, despite my having said the message verbally in front of all the players, no one could remember exactly what I'd said. Some of them were convinced I'd said there were multiple dragons. And it was hundreds of hobgoblins or a thousand or thousands.

During the council at Drellin's Ferry, I plan to have Baron Wiston say something like, "are you sure that's the number of hobgoblins? When you reported the ambush from your patrol, you reported six, eight, nine, and twelve hobgoblins at various points in the conversation, despite the fact that you brought back twelve suits of hobgoblin chainmail and one suit of hobgoblin banded mail and you all agreed that one got away. That made at least 14 hobgoblins in addition to however many hell-hounds there were. I checked with Morlin and that's what you traded him. So, since you're all completely useless when it comes to counting, do you have any other indications of how many there are?"

***It really did happen just like that. I'd gone with Magus 7 for Koth so I only had one lightning bolt and I didn't have a good angle on his third round in the fight so I used scorching ray on Marquess instead and scared the pants off the players when the one ray that hit scored 20 damage. He had about 60 hit points at that time. The next round, he had 1 hp and a stirge attached to him. I tried spell combat, to kill the stirge, back away and cast invisibility. No dice. Every single attack hit while he was invisible--what 50% miss chance?--and he took another 60 or so damage. The only consolation was that the round before, they had been trying to take Koth alive. Marquess had yelled, "take him alive" and they'd smacked him for 15 non-lethal or so. When he went invisible, everyone forgot about doing non-lethal and he took two attacks and a burning hands after the first hit dropped him unconscious. When it was done, they didn't even have an intact corpse, let alone a prisoner.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Grimmath's Journal
Wealsun 24, continued.
So, I found a beautiful headband of intellect with a single blue dragonscale set in the center. The obvious thing to do is put it on. The second obvious thing to do is search the bugbear’s body till I found his spellbook. And the third thing to do is to start copying spells from it.

Hellek came up to me waving a huge stack of papers he found in the tower chamber. I glanced at them. “Written in infernal.” Hey, I can understand it—sort of. The letters are clear but the words are gibberish. Must be the new headband. Then Hellek says, maybe it’s some kind of code and can I help him decode it since he doesn’t read infernal. “Maybe later. Got a mug o’ hobgoblin ale and a spellbook to copy first.” He went off in a huff and stuffed the papers into his saddlebags. Some people just don’t have proper priorities.

Marquess and Penn were busy discussing whether there might be other supply depots, whether this is really a forward supply depot or all the supplies we found were for the hobgoblins scout parties based here, and whether they should collapse skull gorge bridge. Then she turned into a bird and flew off to the north. Came back in about four hours—I was near the end of my first candle and just couldn’t make sense of the lightning bolt spell. (Good thing the bugbear didn’t use it on us—guess we were never lined up quite right or the shieldwall and minotaur were in the way). She says there’s a burned giant steading up a couple hours to the northwest and there’s a live giant there. Not sure what kind—whether it’s the nasty kind who’ll spit you on a pole and eat you, the nasty kind who’ll enslave you and burn you till you make their weapons, or the sort who’ll just throw rocks at you and tell you to go away. Jorr made a few choice comments about the murderous giants around these parts—I guess he or his parents or someone grew up in Vraath keep before the giants burned it and before the war.* But Khan was optimistic—maybe the giants could be recruited to help against the hobgoblins. Hah. I though we could try and then we’d just kill them when they say no which is just fine by me. But there was still that lightning bolt formula and I was on the verge of ruining a page in my spellbook so I kept my mouth shut. Marquess used his ring to summon some small pest or other and send it off with a message to Count Bova.**

Wealsun 25. The next morning, we establishing that Jorr was not interested in trying to take a wagon full of captured supplies back over the blackwater causeway (and past the hydra) by himself while we went on. Oh yeah, Jorr. We gave him a 100gp bonus and one of the hobgoblins’ masterwork swords. He’s really helped us out. Then we set out. It looked like some of the bad patches in the old road had been recently patched up, but it wasn’t long before Penn’s wolf stepped in a stirge nest. The darn things swarmed out and I was tempted to just fire a burning hands spell over the halfling, wolf, and stirges and apologize later, but I magic missiled some of them instead. In retrospect, maybe I should have just burned them. Anyway, Jorr and Jozan shot several of them off her and Marquess slashed a couple more and my magic finished the last few.

We found the side track just like Penn had seen in her aerial expedition and followed it to the burned steading—Avery Vraath’s work, I gather. Jorr, Penn, Hellek, and I moved into the woods and prepared ourselves for when things went bad. Amazingly, they didn’t go bad. The giant jumped up, grabbed a rock and started saying he wouldn’t go down without a fight, but Khan fished the massive ugly gauntlet we recovered from the keep out and gave it to him. Between him and Jozan, that calmed him right down. We shared his meal of smoked dire boar and discussed the area. He had no love for the goblins he still though lived in the hills to the north of the bridge nor for the brutish hill giants and ogres that share the mountain caves. Marquess spoke up—he must have been studying rhetoric recently because it was inspiring—and managed to convince the giant (Warkelgnaw was his name) to help us oppose the hobgoblins. He said he’d leave this evening and see if he could convince his grandsons to help him make things difficult for them. We parted friends—or at least allies for the moment. Allied with a giant. Who’d have guessed?

Anyway, it was dusk when we made it to the bridge. Hellek and Penn moved up to the edge of the brush to watch and see if there was a garrison. Sure enough, there was. A hobgoblin atop each of the towers, several tents and a fire on the other side of the gorge, and a dragon the size of a horse sitting atop the tower. Needless to say, the news of the dragon hit us hard. Penn turned into a bird and flew around the bridge, never getting too close to the dragon or anything else, but she got a count. In addition to the ones atop the towers, another 6-10 hobgoblins in the tents and a few barded hell-hounds. And she got a decent look at the dragon. Without light she couldn’t tell me what color it was but based on her description, I could tell it must be a green dragon. As she was circling, she saw a goblin with a bandage on its shoulder mount a worg and ride north up the road.*** She followed for an hour or so but turned around just in time to get back to us before she returned to halfling form.

So, we kept watch all night, thinking to maybe make an assault in the morning. We discussed it with Jorr and he seems to have acquired a sensible taste for gold because he offered to join us if we made him a full partner in the expedition with a full share of the treasure including what we found in Vraath keep. There were still a half dozen plans floating around (Marquess wondered how many fireballs it would take to kill a dragon that size, Penn was worried about the barded hellhounds and Khan was thinking of ways Penn could fly us all across the gorge in the bag of holding we picked up from the bugbear. We didn’t decide anything.

Wealsun 26. Penn had been on watch duty for about an hour and had seen the morning guard change and the dragon fly down to the hobgoblin camp and apparently discuss some things there. Then the dragon circled once around the bridge, and flew off south over the road towards Vraath Keep. Marquess could barely contain his excitement upon hearing the news. Now is our chance! We’ll wait five minutes, spell up and kill the hobgoblins before the dragon gets back!

“Not to get too excited,” said Jorr, “but did you want my help or not?” Penn was skeptical, but Hellek, Marquess and Khan were eager for his assistance. Shortly, they settled on giving him the magic chain shirt Hellek had bought in Drellin’s Ferry and an even share of the coin and he was with us. Now comes the hour of reckoning.

-----------------------------------------------DM Notes---------------------------------------------------------
*I narrowed the time frame between Avery Vraath's death and the present a bit, partially as a way to make sense of the suggestion that the PCs who had spent over a month traversing the Witchwood might want to seek out Jorr. In this setting, Vraath keep was destroyed some ten to twenty years before the war. That puts Jorr Natharson in his late 40's or early 50's--quite old for a pseudo medieval setting--if he's a survivor from the destruction of Vraath Keep.

**Marquess’ message: Greetings Count Bova. We have found a lg squad of mix monsters scouting party at Vaarth keep. We have intell of a larger force at Cinder Hill. 1000 goblins estimation. First to hit Drelling’s ferry in 5 days and Bova in 35 days once on march. The forgemaster from Coalhewer clan informed us. Dragons and giants were mentioned. War may be on us again. Prepare! Checking on giant encampment in Witchwood.

***The goblin ranger who escaped the battle at Vraath Keep. I figured that the most logical thing for him to do was to go to Skull Gorge bridge and report the death of Koth and capture of the keep. Ozzy sent him on to the horde with the same message. Logically then, the one day delay for killing Koth will be caused by reworking the chain of command for the attack Koth was supposed to be in charge of and reshuffling the Red Hand order of battle. (And I guess it moves the delay up a bit which is fortunate for the PCs since they would otherwise probably see the Red Hand on the march towards the bridge rather than at Cinder Hill). Also, I figured that Ozzy might want to confirm the goblin's story and see if he could spot the human forces responsible for it. Unfortunately for him, Penn rolled a really high hide check, so he's likely to come back and find all of his soldiers dead. Planning for the future, assuming that the PCs succeed in killing the bridge guard, it will be interesting to see what happens next.

They could destroy the bridge and head back to Drellin's Ferry immediately in which case they'll probably encounter Ozzy on the road, skirmish with him and drive him off.
The more interesting and more likely scenario is that they then continue on to Cinder Hill to scout the horde. Now, Kharn upon hearing that Koth is dead and Vraath keep captured and Ozzy will be scouting to confirm that, Kharn will probably send at least a couple patrols to reinforce the bridge. Those patrols will probably arrive at the bridge around the time that the PCs arrive at Cinder Hill and will meet up with Ozzy there. At that point, Ozzy probably isn't leaving the bridge again and unless the PCs get into a fight with the patrols (entirely possible I suppose) and prevent them from reinforcing the bridge, it will probably be too tough for them to take on and they'll have to go the long way around. That will put them getting back to the road about the same time the horde crosses the bridge. If that happens, it'll be day 13 when they arrive in Drellin's Ferry--just two days ahead of the horde! If they can take the bridge back and destroy it on the other hand, they arrive on day 11 and are seven days ahead of the horde.

Either way, that makes a bit more sense of the Goblin Raid encounter. It can be a surprise attack meant to seize the north bank and the ferry (assuming the ferry is docked on the south bank, I guess they'll need to land some forces there to capture it and send it back across the river) before the people of Drellin's Ferry can destroy it or send it floating downstream. That makes a lot more sense than simple marauders and scouts ranging a week ahead of the main body of the Red Hand army deciding to attack a town that far outnumbers them for the joy of slaughter.

[Eldariel]

Hm, that Manticore engaging them right off the bat seems to have put quite the hurt on them. Though coming down to Bite alone was practically committing suicide: then again, it isn't too bright. Love the style, by the way. Grimmath makes for a great PoV character. Also glad to see that Sending hilarity isn't limited only to OotS :smallsmile:

Now it seems like Ozzy at least will likely turn into a recurring problem for them. This also postpones their "can we deal with fliers"-test yet another encounter. Without Ozzy, the bridge garrison is a walkover for them. What follows after is the interesting part... :smallbiggrin:

[Elder_Basilisk]

Yeah, landing in order to box Grimmath in didn't really work out well for the manticore. But the PCs may be in for a harder fight than you think at the bridge. Between the luring cavalier sergeant giving 8 level 2 fighters volley fire then disrupting spellcasting with the benefit of far challenge and my addition of a bard hasting and inspiring the group, they should be able to dish out some serious damage even as essentially) a large group of mooks.

The things I need to decide now are:
A. Assuming that one of the lookouts blows a horn to give the alarm, will Ozzy hear it and if he does, will he come back? (probably two to three times as quickly as he left if he does come back so we'd be looking at 1 1/2 to 2 minutes if we assume Ozzy left at a normal pace but comes back at a run).
A1. If Ozzy does come back, presumably he would chase them away from the bridge but I would guess he would not pursue since he doesn't want to leave the bridge exposed a second time.
A2. If Ozzy doesn't hear or hears but doesn't come back, the have the chance to destroy the bridge but probably won't because they will plan to use it to cross back after scouting the horde. Thus we're on to item B being important again.

B. What forces would Kharn send to reinforce the bridge upon receiving the goblin's message about Koth being dead and Vraath Keep captured. He has a few options:
B1. Dramatic over-reaction. Send Abithriax, Skather, Ulwai, and Varanthian to hold the bridge along with all seven doom hand warpriests mounted on wyverns.
B2. Send quick reaction forces. His fastest forces are Abithriax, the wyverns, the Hieracosphynxes, the manticores, and the Barghests and wolf riders. Since we're not going with a dramatic overreaction here, I'll assume that Abithriax is out since his absence at the assembly would be noted and might be seen as a bad omen or a sign that things are not going well. The manticores are better suited to holding a defensive position than the other flying troops, so they seem like the logical choice if he sends fliers. If he doesn't send fliers, a unit of goblin worgriders--maybe led by a greater barghest looks like the next best choice.
B3. Send a heavy unit--blackspawn raiders, blood ghost beserkers, hill giants, or veterans and regulars etc possibly led by a war adept or one of the warpriests. Of these options, neither the blackspawn nor the blood ghosts are well suited to holding a defensive position, so a platoon of twelve to thirty regulars--mixed polearms and archers with a couple sergeants, a cleric, and a war adept--possibly with a bladebearer to lead them might be the best option.
B4. Combine B2 and B3. B2 arrives 4-6 hours ahead of the heavy squad. When B3 arrives, if there is no trouble, that leaves Ozzy a full squad of wolf-riders to use as scouts and gives Ozzy a small scout force to track down the human warband that killed Koth.
B5. As D but shoot for 150 troops or so in total. The report Kharn received would have been that a relatively small group of highly skilled humans took down Vraath Keep but they could easily have just been the elite/vanguard or a larger force. Kharn would know that Drellin's Ferry can muster about 150 soldiers if they call up a full muster and would also have known that Baron Wiston annihilated what was left of the Black Knife goblins a couple weeks ago even though they outnumbered him, so I think he would have to consider the possibility that Wiston defeated Koth's attempt at reconnaissance in force, learned the location of Koth's base and immediately mobilized his full force to go on the offense. They aren't a threat to the horde, of course, but they could put a serious wrench in his schedule by destroying the bridge which might end up stretching his supplies. So, in scenario E, he dispatches enough forces to hold the bridge against the worst case scenario. Say, a dozen manticores as the initial force (if we're going big, we might as well send flyers) and 100 regulars, 50 warriors, with a few clerics, a dozen ogres, a kulkor zhul war adept, and one of the Doom Hand warpriests to command.

I think I'm leaning towards having Ozzy come back and then the response be B4. That gives the Red Hand good strategic flexibility but keeps all of Kharn's major players at Cinder Hill, ready to be displayed and to display their might for the campaign's kickoff. And it doesn't involve such a large or noticeable portion of his forces that the hobgoblins will start talking. Also, if the players see the heavy force on the road, that gives them a chance to hightail it back to the bridge, fight the quick reaction force (probably along with Ozzy), and wreck it before it becomes truly impregnable. But B5 is pretty good too.

[Eldariel]

I'd say you can make a game of it: roll Listen (or rather, Perception) for Ozzy from the distance he is at (depending on how long the PCs wait) and see if he can make out the Horn (a distinctive sound). The distance between the Keep and the Bridge is maybe like 20 miles so if they wait long enough, chances of him hearing anything are slim indeed; still, a horn carries far particularly in good weather (maybe ~5-6 miles in clear weather?) so if he hasn't been gone for more than 30 mins or something I'd say chances are good he will be returning. Fly 150' puts him at about 1 hour 20 mins to cover that distance at normal speed, or ~40 mins if hustling, 20 mins if running; though with his Con, running that kinds of amounts of time isn't happening - he can run 17 rounds and take 10 on 3 Con-checks to go for 22 rounds or 2 mins at a time; though 2 mins of running already allows him to cover some 13200 feet or 2½ miles (if he's been gone for 10 mins at normal speed, he could potentially run back in 2½ mins).

As for Kharn's response, the initial assumption is that a dragon combined with a forward base and warg rider patrols would suffice. Said forward base falling would immediately inform him that:
1) There is a powerful foe on the move.
2) If the foe is intelligent, it will likely try to take the bridge very soon, either as a strategic chokepoint (if they intend to hold) or to destroy it, neither of which Kharn is willing to allow happen.

As for the quick response force, I think Kharn would dispatch his strongest fast units short of Abithriax. I think there's a reason Abithriax is kept with the Horde at all times; the presence creature with Dragon's Spot/Listen, Blindsense and so on makes any kinds of infiltration or assassination attempts much more difficult. In addition to a huge morale booster, Abithriax serves as the ultimate sentry, plus a unit that can be deployed against any flying magi who would threaten to damage the army's morale with magical bombardment or such.

Interestingly, PF alters the response dynamics somewhat: in 3.5, the fastest non-Dragon unit by far are the Hieracosphinxes at their 90' fly speed. In PF though, their speed is only 60', tied with Wyverns, and only 10' faster than Manticores. Whatever the unit though, I think the fast fliers and Warg Riders are the obvious fast response force. The expeditionary force needs a trustworthy commander; I'd say the most likely choice is a Warpriest (isn't Ulwai in Thornwastes?). The units need to be elites as there's a highly limited amount of carrying capacity available particularly if the beasts aren't trained as mounts (I think he'd improvise and have the Wyverns and Hieracosphinxes carry ground forces). I'd say at the same time, Kharn doesn't want to risk all his elite units before he knows what he's up against so a limited number of fliers (your point of the defensive benefits of Manticores is sound; I'd say he'd use Wyverns/Hieracosphinxes as carriers and a couple of Manticores as an actual reinforcing units) complete with one Warpriest, one or two War Adepts, one Doom Hand Cleric and the rest as Veterans alongside one Sergeant accompanied by a squad of Warg Riders. Sergeant as the commander of the Veterans and nominally the Doom Hand Cleric and Warg Riders (though they will probably mostly act on their own - this is why I prefer to write a commander type for the Riders as well), Warpriest as the overall commander with the two War Adepts forming an artillery unit. Then send a reinforcing hustling force of the 40' ground movers: a couple of Hill Giants, and a significant force of Blood Ghost Berserkers and Ogres. Finally, probably a significant number of Regulars, Warriors and so on commanded by another Warpriest, Skather or some other trusted high ranking Horde member currently stationed with the Horde proper. Then the Horde itself follows. The reinforcements should forced march if necessary, while the Horde maintains normal march schedule to ensure it can punch through any unforeseen force it might encounter. I don't think Kharn is the like to get complacent - he feels like the kind of commander who prefers to ensure he has overwhelming advantage in the final push.

It's also worth noting; the book notes that there's a 50% daily chance that scout groups are returning to Vraath Keep. I'd say after they find the Keep abandoned, they would immediately head towards the Bridge, suddenly alone in the middle of nowhere with no idea of what's going on. Thus I'd also add a 50% chance of some Warg Riders or potentially Regulars reinforcing the Bridge.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Grimmath's Journal: Wealsun 26, Continued.

We were all in a rush to get the assault started. I was going to haste the group and cast fireball on the tents and Penn was going to magic fang her wolf and cast barkskin on the wolf and Marquess and then we were going to attack. Or something. Somehow, even though we took time to plan, we overlooked a few key details. We worked out the order of our spells, then attempted to quietly ride our horses up to the treeline to begin prepping.

It didn’t work of course. Someone—Jozan, Marquess, Penn’s wolf, some of the horses, or maybe all of them, why did we think it would be a good idea to ride our horses right up to the treeline anyway?—got spotted and the hobgoblins on the near parapets blew horns. That’s when it all went into the Otyugh's gullet. We heard the hobgoblin lieutenant trying to inspire his men and his sergeant calling out for volley fire. Arrows bounced around us like pebbles in a cave-in and found their mark as often as not. I think I was only conscious for about half the battle but it went something like this: after I cast my haste spell, the gobbos started firing arrows at me and even all the way across the canyon, several found my mark. Someone cast a haste spell on the other side of the canyon and I dropped a fireball into the haste cluster, sending several burning hobgoblins staggering off toward the hills. Another couple arrows put me face down in the dirt until Jozan brought me back to consciousness.

Marquess and Penn charged up, followed by Jozan and Khan while Jorr traded arrows with the hobgoblin forces nearly putting down a hellhound and dropping a few hobgoblins on the towers. Hellek spent most of the battle either pouring potions down my throat, pouring them into my belly through an arrow hole in my throat, or bleeding on the ground waiting for Jorr to pour a potion down his throat. Marquess made it to the far side of the bridge, got hit by a flurry of tanglefoot bags, then the hobgoblin sergeant called him out and dropped him unconscious with a half-dozen arrows while he fought the second hellhound, Penn healed him with the gloves, and the sergeant dropped him again. He spent the rest of the battle bleeding while stuck to the back of his horse. Penn healed Marquess then decided that there were too many archers up front so she told her wolf to guard Jozan, turned into a bird, cast a spell to let her throw fire bolts and was promptly targeted by the hobgoblin archers in the towers fell forty feet, and exploded like a blood sausage when she landed on the edge of the bridge. That reminds me, I’ll have to ask Morlin if the humans make any decent blood sausages when I get back to Drellin’s Ferry.

Jozan made it to the edge of the bridge, killed one of the hobgoblin archers who stayed below, then moved to engage the hobgoblin officers, stopping for a moment to heal Khan who had followed, slain a couple hobgoblins, and then collapsed to the ground, bleeding from half a dozen arrow wounds*. I didn’t see much of the fight but I did see a fiendish crocodile appear. Jozan’s spell of protection from evil thwarted it, but I’m told it nearly killed Khan and savaged Penn’s wolf. For his part, Jozan traded blows with the two officers and emerged victorious, though in the end, he could barely stand for loss of blood. I was there for that—Jorr and I had finally finished off the hobgoblins in the towers with his arrows and the bugbear’s wand while taking cover behind someone’s horse, then Jorr mounted up and rode ahead to strike the final blows against the hobgoblin lieutenant right as Jozan finished off the sergeant with a mighty blow of his goblin bane axe.

At first we thought Khan was as dead as Penn but then someone noticed he was breathing, if only barely,** and Jozan recalled him to consciousness with Heironeous’ power.

I guess we all felt obligated to the halfling because even though she drives us all nuts, so Khan dug out the scroll of Raise Dead that we found in the Vraath vault and read it over Penn, restoring her to life. Well, actually he read it, it didn’t do anything, then he read it again, louder and more slowly and it worked. I think he’d skipped a line the first time and was lucky the thing didn’t call down fire from heaven or turn him to stone. And imagining the kind of stick in the mud holy type that Marquess might have recruited to fill Penn’s place***, it’s probably for the best that it worked. Never think things can’t get worse.

We scoured the slain hobgoblins and their encampment for any healing magics and turned up a partially charged wand on the lieutenant which we used till it crumbled to dust and a bunch of potions which Marquess chugged like a man seeing beer for the first time after a long journey. Then, as the blood dried on out clothes, we fell to arguing over what to do about the bridge: Cross over, then destroy it, cross over and hope to destroy it on the way back (or more likely find it garrisoned by the dragon and hundreds of hobgoblins), or just destroy it and head for Drellin’s Ferry. Eventually, Penn had enough of the discussion and just cast a spell at the earth supporting the bridge’s foundations which caused a small landslide and the bridge visibly cracked. We decided to scout to Cinder Hill to see exactly how many hobgoblins are marching on us so that we can let the count know if we are screwed, totally screwed, or screwed beyond all hope of saving.

So, we rode up the road toward Cinder Hill to discover how much worse the news could get. The first bit of bad news came when Jozan spotted dark shapes in the sky above. We barely found cover in a copse of scraggly trees by the slope before they passed by us. Hellek stayed under the shadow of a rock and watched as they passed by: two dozen (so he says, but remember, my companions aren’t really known to be that good at counting) manticores with humanoid riders and one of them carrying a black banner with a severed wyvern’s head and some hobgoblin numbers on it. First a dragon, then more manticores. You would think that things couldn’t get worse, but you’d be wrong. Things can always get worse.

A couple hours later, we see a cloud of dust approaching us on the road and make sure to get out of sight over a nearby ridge. Again, Hellek crawled up to the ridgeline to watch. And the news got worse. A company of hobgoblins with some kind of leader riding a gigantic dire wolf of some sort marching under two banners: a red hand on a yellow field and, beneath it, a severed wyvern’s head on a black field. Bad news indeed. But things could always get worse. And they did.

An hour later, Jorr said we’d be coming up on Cinder Hill, so we dismounted and crawled up to the ridgeline. And there was the bad news. Three giant stockades full of tents and milling and drilling hobgoblins; a group of several hundred wolfriders performing maneuvers on the plains before the hill, several opulent pavilions atop the hill with a stand of some kind where the leaders viewed the manuevers and drums and flags to signal and, worst of all, another dragon—this one the crimson of flame and even at this distance, bigger than the green at the bridge. Beyond the hill was a less orderly encampment of giant figures—perhaps ogres or giants though it was hard to tell at our distance, and on the slope, another group of winged figures of a green-brown color. Marquess estimated the number at 3500 based on the number of tents and their layout, etc. Which, I think translates to screwed beyond all hope of saving, but I’m an optimist. It can always get worse.

------------------------------DM Notes------------------------
My pathfinderization seriously upped the difficulty on this encounter. I had 12 Fighter 2 archers, a luring cavalier 4 for a sergeant, and a bard 5 for a lieutenant. They came within a couple die rolls of a TPK. Partly, this was due to poor tactical choices on the players' part (including using the last fireball on the tower with two hobgoblins on it rather than the one with three), in a couple situations due to bad rolls (Grimmath's fireballs both came out at 17 damage exactly--enough to stagger the hobgoblins, but not enough to kill them which meant they pulled their potions of cure light wounds and were back in the fight two rounds later), partly it was due to forgetting abilities (it wouldn't have been quite as close had Jozan remembered that he had the bane ability some time in the first seven rounds and he would have finished with more cushion than 3hp if he'd remembered his persistence inquisition gives him a souped up lay on hands 1/day, Khan would have finished off the summoned crocodile rather than been finished by it if he'd thought to use his belt of one mighty blow, etc), but a lot of it was just due to well-buffed low-level hobgoblin archers being nasty nasty customers.

* My hobgoblin sergeant, a luring cavalier 4 with the volley fire feat, turned out to be a seriously nasty customer. After the bard hasted and inspired him, he was running at +10 to +14 (depending upon the volley fire bonus) for three attacks at 1d8+11 (+3 str, +1 enhancement, +2 competence from the bard, +4 from challenge, +1 point blank shot) within 30 feet against his challenged target. Once he got stuck in melee with Jozan, he still hit like a truck (1d8+9 (+3 str, +2 competence from the bard, +4 challenge) with his longsword).

**Khan bled out while Jozan and Penn's wolf were fighting the sergeant, lieutenant, and summoned crocodile, but got retconned to life due to an easily remedied bookkeeping error. Jozan's player had forgotten that his cure moderate wounds is 2d8+6 rather than 2d8+3. Just before Khan bled out, he's rolled a 19 on his con check when he was at -10. Close but no cigar! Except he should have had 3 more hit points, so he should have been alive and stable at -7 rather than bled out at -Con.

***With no one able to read the raise dead, Penn's player was discussing his replacement character--despite the party's urgent need for some full casters, he was initially going for a fighter and had been talked into a paladin when we discovered the error and Khan turned out to be alive. Grimmath would have loved that. He's thinking about reworking his character into a hunter at this point since the class more closely models what he has in mind for his character though I'm not sure he'll really see an uptick in effectiveness from it unless he is very careful about how he builds it.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Grimmath’s Journal. Wealsun 27

Hey Journal! Today was a special day. Yesterday, we rode hard and made it back to the Witchwood. The ford had manticore tracks and looks to be quite passable. So the Hobgoblins know where it is and will probably be able to get their army across. Marquess spent a little time trying to see if there was anything we could do to make the crossing more difficult but we didn’t want to spend days driving sharpened stakes into the riverbed and even if we did, it probably wouldn’t slow them down too much. Taking out the bridge probably bought Baron Wiston an extra two days. Not much but better than burning off your beard.

We pushed our horses to the brink of exhaustion and rode a couple hours past Vraath keep, but not without stopping to take a look. Penn crept up and saw that the gate had been barricaded and a dragon roosting on the roof. She came back to us with a haunted look on her face and since we weren’t snatched into the air and acid didn’t melt our flesh from our bones, she must have managed it without being seen. I guess she was useful for once.

But that bad news was from yesterday. Today was a good day. See, we were riding quickly through the Witchwood and Marquess’ glaive clipped a stirge nest that had escaped his notice. Before anyone could do anything, the counfounded creatures swarmed and started sucking the life out of Marquess, Jozan, Jorr, and Khan. So I roasted the lot of them with a fireball. Marquess even thanked me for my quick thinking! See what I mean about a good day. I got nearly twenty creatures in a fireball and the survivors thanked me for it. You don’t get to do that just any day!

Before sleeping, I finally cracked the code on all those papers we salvaged from Vraath keep too. It looks like these Red Hand hobgoblins are fanatical followers of Tiamat. Khan and Jozan say she’s the queen or goddess of evil dragons. Whatever. One evil god is much like the next if you ask me. They’ve got some commanders—High Wyrmlord Kharn—some hobgoblin priest or something is the leader of the horde. Azarr Kuul, the “azure prince” is the high priest and ultimate leader but he’s doing something at the “fane of Tiamat” in the mountains. And then there are a couple other dragons—Ozzyrandion had command of the forces at Skull gorge bridge so he must have been the green dragon we saw at the bridge and now at Vraath keep. There are several other Wyrmlords too: the hobgoblin we killed—Koth according to the correspondence was one but he must have been from the shallow, furry end of their gene pool. He was going to lead the assault on Drellin’s Ferry but that’s off the table now unless they decide to animate his corpse. The letters mentioned two others: Saarvith, some kind of goblin archer and Ulwai Stormcaller, a hobgoblin princess but were less forthcoming about what they were up to.

Grimmath’s Journal. Wealsun 28
A good day yesterday, a bad day today and tomorrow we’ll probably all be killed and eaten by hobgoblins. I always said this wood is trying to kill us and while we camped the night—with a little thing that barely qualifies as a fire dug into a small hill of what passes for dry grounds in this miserable excuse for a woodland—two bunches of rotting leaves and vines decided to try to kill us and our horses. They stretched out four horses on the ground before any of us even knew they were there and then proceeded to try to pull Marquess apart. They didn’t even burn properly when I fireballed them. I mean I knew they were fire resistant—I’ve read Hobnock’s Magical Herbs and Fantastikal Plants—but I still expected more than I got out of a third circle spell. Anyway, we cut them apart and then spent all of our remaining magic restoring us and our horses to consciousness and putting Marquess arms back in their sockets.

And of course, since we’re in a hurry, we couldn’t avoid that damned Blackwater Causeway, and of course the Hydra was still there. Penn was her usual self. She cleverly lured the hydra away from the causeway with summoned creatures but stopped before it was quite far enough so when Hellek tried to cross, the hydra swam upstream faster than she could blink and left only shattered bones behind where there was once a horse before anyone could react. Jorr fired a few arrows and Hellek retreated, then Penn decided to try jumping the stream. I can only think she forgot about the slow, stagnant portions of the stream when she was calculating if she could make it. Her wolf made an impressive jump and promptly landed in the mire. The hydra did not leave her long to bemoan her misfortune and, with Hellek out of its reach, swam back and tore chunks out of Penn and Butterfly. Penn desperately swam for shore and Butterfly sank into the bog. Jorr and Jozan peppered it with arrows and I contributed my magic. This time, we finished the creature for good. At least politeness requires me to consider finishing it before it could rid us of the peck “good.” See, journal. I’m learning how to be diplomatic.

So, we pushed our remaining horses hard made it to Drellin’s Ferry about an hour after dusk. Marquess was thinking of getting the baron another half-day of warning before the horde broke upon him and trying to convince Jorr to come to Bova and take the Count’s service. I was just thinking about the barrels of ale I remembered in the Green Apple’s taproom.

The watchmen at the lumber camp challenged us and escorted us to the ferry when Marquess identified himself. It looks like they’ve widened the ditch around the lumber camp and added sharpened stakes to the berm since we left. Once they summoned the ferry to the west side of the river and we crossed, several of the baron’s men at arms escorted us to his manor where he greeted us and heard our report.

We pulled out the map and papers and discussed our situation. Well, the baron and the others did. The baron had a keg of Keoish stout in the hall where we met to discuss what we had seen and I was halfway through my third stein by the time we got past the preliminaries, so the details are a little hazy. The baron was puzzled by the hobgoblins plan on the map since it went as far as Bova and then stopped with nothing to account for the Marquessas’ forces or those that might be marshaled by the other counts. Bova will be hard pressed to hold off the Red Hand’s assault but the full muster of Sterich should crush them handily—even if Count Tondhere does hold his forces back until they have defeated Bova. Perhaps those lizardmen the map says are near Lake Rhest or this mysterious "ghostlord" that the map places in the haunted vale (well, something has to be making those undead, why not a ghostlord?) are a part of that plan. There was also something about “what is Tyrgarun” and how will it hold off the Marquessa’s forces too but I think that’s where I blacked out.

Day 6

Grimmath’s Journal. Richfest
It was far too early--perhaps 10 bells--when I woke up in the Old Bridge Inn and my companions told me that we all had to go to the baron’s council at noon. And since we were all nursing hangovers (except somehow Jozan), of course the first place they wanted to go was cousin Morlin’s forge. Of course. I swear that blackbearded scoundrel kept hammering on his anvil while we talked just to spite me. By the time we’d picked up Khan’s breastplate and Marquess’ glaive guisarme, and left the fullplate from Vraath keep to be enchanted, bought a new horse to replace the hydra snack, and another quart of ale (I’m only counting mine—Marquess and the others can keep track of their own intoxication).

Then we met with the Baron’s council and I soon wished for the hammering rather than all the incessant yammering of voices. The little halfling weasel wondered if the Red Hand could perhaps be bought off. The old ferret thought they might hold them at the river, but eventually all came to the conclusion that they must evacuate. One day to send notice to all the baron’s vassals. A second day to prepare and gather in the harvest and they would meet in the square. All of the timber at the camp as well as the ferry were to float downstream with as much of the harvest as they could fit. We would pick them up again at Nimon Gap before the falls and rapids.

That was when the horns sounded. As if the day weren’t loud enough already. We ran outside and saw wolfriders attacking the town from all sides, fighting at the watchposts with more streaming through to reach the ferry building and a troop assaulting the palisade of the lumber camp. Marquess said they must mean to seize the ferry and west side of the river to facilitate the crossing of their army. I drained my tankard and climbed onto my horse. At least it was quieter outside and there was a good chance I would be able to burn something or blast it apart. We rode straight for the ferry while the baron’s men fought at the guardposts and the baron himself snatched an armored jacket and ran for the stables.

It was fortunate that we were already equipped for battle. When we reached the square, wolfriders and a hellhound were already racing towards the ferry building. Spotting us, they peppered Marquess with arrows. I cast a spell to speed us up and Jozan, hearing spellcasting to our left but seeing nothing cast a spell to let him see invisible foes. And we joined the battle. Jozan saw a priest of Tiamat hidden by his spell of invisibility and calling upon Heironeous to make his axe the bane of goblins, slew him in two blows. Marquess took down the hellhound with little effort but fell wounded by dozens of goblin arrows as the wolfriders dodged around, doing their best to avoid him, Khan, and Hellek. Just as Khan finally cornered one of the wolfriders, we caught a glimpse of a crude boat packed with hobgoblins moving between patches of fog on the river. A goblin ducked behind his wolf to avoid Khan’s swing and six hobgoblins wielding polehammers and one scarred robe-wearing hobgoblin leaped out. I caught several of them in a fireball, but none of them fell and then one of the goblins slipped around the back of the ferry building and pinned me between his slavering wolf and the Old Bridge inn. I tried to put the wolf and scimitar out of my mind and drop a second fireball on the group but there were too many distractions and I felt the arcane formula slip through my grasp.

The robed hobgoblin gestured and a lightning bolt blasted Marquess from his feet again and scorched Khan and two of our horses. I ran away, dodging the worg’s teeth and peppered the goblin with force missiles to little effect. Jozan stepped around the ferry building and was promptly surrounded by hobgoblin polehammers while Hellek desperately dueled another one of the new hobgoblins. The hobgoblin sorcerer reached for his components and conjured an angry stormcloud that rained lightning on my head. One of the wolfriders began prodding the oxen to wheel the ferry to the other side. We were all going to die.

Then, right as the hobgoblin sorcerer was about to cast another spell, the tip of an arrow emerged from his throat and another from his chest for good measure. Jorr stepped out from behind the old toll house, bow in hand, and looking for more targets. He soon found them. I conjured a scorcher that finished off three of the new polearm wielding hobgoblins and looked up to see one of the baron’s men at arms charge all the way across town and impale the last wolfrider on his lance. And then there was a moment of blessed silence.

---------------------------------------------DM Notes---------------------------------------
The players seem to be grabbing onto the story well without any need for additional motivation. They've decided on their own with only the information that the adventure gave them at Cinder Hill and Vraath keep that they need to evacuate Drellin's Ferry (not that that's a hard call), and that they should find out what Saarvith is up to at Lake Rhest and find out what's going on with the Ghostlord. On the story level, I think this is working very well.

On the other hand, the encounters are roughing them up pretty badly. This writeup has two sessions and it didn't help that Penn's player didn't make the second session (the goblin raid battle; fortunately her absence was readily explained by her going to visit her estate and secure a new animal companion), but I ended up pulling my punches and had Jorr and the baron's man at arms bail them out of what looked very likely to be a TPK, and I didn't even punch the difficulty up too much. My worgriders are a little tougher than the default book worgriders, I gave the hellhound leather barding, and added a hobgoblin inquisitor 4 to the first wave (he went down like a punk and accomplished nothing beyond separating Jozan from the party). The second wave I gave lucerne hammers to and added a 4th level hobgoblin fighter as a sergeant but my additions mostly just serve to even out the ELs which would otherwise be lower due to pathfinder dropping the CR of NPCs by one across the board. It should not have been that hard. At least Jorr and the men at arms were very organic additions--my players were already wondering, "where's everyone else?" by the time they showed up. Still, the Goblin Raid is supposed to be more of a warm-up encounter than a desperate, climactic fight. I'm starting to think that the Pathfinder increases in player power don't make up for pathfinderizing all the enemies and effectively letting me add another EL worth of them to every fight.

[Elder_Basilisk]

We're back. After a long hiatus with Christmas and vacation, my daughters being sick, and going a while between some sessions while the other DM finished up part one of Return to the Temple of Elemental Evil, I've finally caught up with the write-ups for the game. Hopefully this doesn't run afoul of the thread necromancy rules. If it does, I can start a new thread and link to this one.

Grimmath’s Journal. Richfest 2.

After the attack yesterday, it was clear to everyone that evacuating was the best idea. Marquess and Penn have got it into their head that we must be on day 5 of the Red Hand schedule since they attacked Drellin’s Ferry. So that’s less than a month till we all die. On the positive side, and I do always try to be an optimist—Shut up Journal!—it was quite clear to everyone that they wouldn’t be able to take all their ale and liquor with them. So, after the felled trees were rafted up and floated down the river with as much as the townspeople could fit on them and they’d spent the rest of the day gathering all the crops they could, they had a big party to eat and drink everything they couldn’t take with them. Since I won’t be there for the repeat tonight, I had to drink three days’ worth. Anything less and there might be something left over for the hobgoblins.

So, there I was this morning, at an ungodly hour, bundled onto the sadistic torture beast these sunlanders call a horse. We rode all day, and barely stopped to piss. Around nightfall, we barged into the chapel of Saint Cuthbert and ended up interrupting their Richfest fest to tell Cannoness Leille what we had discovered. She saw the danger immediately and sent a runner to call the regency council to meet in the morning. We agreed to come with her and provide an eyewitness report to the council, but Leille warned that they were timorous and corrupt and might need common sense cudgeled into them. In the meantime, Penn picked up some hell-hound barding that Pierre of Rel Mord had made for her. At least the Cuthbertites had some good ale at their feast.

Richfest 3.

Well, the cannoness was right about the regency council being pigheaded. They kept us waiting as they had apparently all overeaten—and probably overdrunk too (I am told such a thing is possible for humans; it must be a sorry life)—last night. They seemed skeptical and inclined to disbelieve our warnings and wanted to discuss the possibility of buying the raiders off. I used my most polite words and told them that if they didn’t get out now, hobgoblins would spend the next month roasting their ample limbs over dragonfire before eating them. I wasn’t thrown out of the council chambers though. I had said what needed to be said and left so that we could get on the road sooner. Leille sent the others to join me after half an hour. Marquess said something about her (and maybe Baron Wiston) taking care of it and that we had to ride and warn the baron of Nimon Gap. So, I crawled back up on the hellbeast and we pushed on through the dark until we reached the baron’s manor.

The moon rising over the baron’s vineyards on the south slope of the hills was an impressive sight. The baron’s manor was once well fortified and the breaches in the wall from the previous war are mostly repaired, and might hold out for some time unless the Red Hand brings their dragons and giants against it. Marquess pointed out that it probably doesn’t matter though. Its very defensibility makes it easily invested and its distance from the road and the bridge means that should the horde not wish to delay its dragons and giants, they could man a circumvallation with a company or so and march on. The mangonel on the gatehouse and ballista on the donjon could not reach the road or impede the horde’s progress.

When we reached the gate, a man at arms escorted us to the Baron Alaric Nimon’s table. He was enjoying a desert of goat cheese and a wine that, while a little fruity for my taste still packed a better kick than anything short of our whiskey. The baron and the rest discussed the strategic situation—I think he said something about hiding and sealing his winecaves again. Before I became engrossed with the bottom of the wine bottle, I heard something about fewer travelers coming from Bova and bandits or ogres or something on the road to Witchcross and Talar.

Grimmath’s Journal: Richfest 4

We set out to go to Witchcross—I don’t recall exactly why. I think because it is on the way to the Rhest swamp on the map where “Lizardmen” and “Saarvith” were written and Penn had got it into her head that those must indicate additional forces beyond the horde we had seen at Cinder Hill, so we wanted to investigate. Around mid-morning, we spotted a group of mounted figures in the distance. Hellek thought it to be about a dozen wolf-riding goblins and a pair of ogres. Naturally, Penn wanted to kill them all then and there and I’d been riding the horse long enough that I would enjoy killing something—especially if it let me stand on my own two feet for five minutes. But Marquess and Jozan persuaded us to evade them by going off the road and following a streambed between the hills until we were well away from the goblins.

When we arrived at Witchcross, we worried it had perhaps been taken. The earth rampart was several feet higher than it was last month. Stakes studded the lower reaches of the rampart and heads moldered on spears at the gate. Several buildings were mere shells of blackened fieldstone and charred timbers. As we came closer, Penn made out the Corromat colors still flying on a soot-stained banner above the bailey and we could all see the flayed goblin skin staked to the rampart next to the gate. The gates were blackened hunks of charcoal but a wagon studded with shields and soaked oxhides had been rolled into the gap. As we approached, a motley squad of men at arms and militia stepped out and challenged us. Several wore bandages and two wore repaired chainmail in the style of the Red Hand soldiers. When they recognized us, they sighed with relief and escorted us to see the young baron.

When we reached Corromat house, we saw Eldon bears the scars of a veteran rather than the callow youth we had seen. His nose was broken in several places and his cheekbone crushed. But his eyes were bright as he sat at the end of the smoke-filled hall, his men at arms surrounding him like a dwarven thane in our stone chambers under the mountain. We warned him of the incoming horde and heard what had happened to his fief.

Three days ago, they had heard rumors of goblins and giants in the hills to the south and the lizardmen in the north and west were becoming more aggressive, hurling javalins at hunters who strayed near their territory in the Rhest swamp. There was no warning however when a force of two-score goblin warg-riders and hobgoblins with a pair of ogres stormed the gates of Witchcross with sword and flame and pressed their attack to the gates of the bailey. The baron’s men at arms closed and barred the gates with seconds to spare and drove the raiders from the town, leaving their priest, both ogres, and all but a few warg-riders dead beneath the walls of the bailey and none of the defenders escaped without injury. They also said that nearly one hundred goblins and wargs had erected a fortified camp in the hills near the Nimon Gap bridge and were waylaying all travelers.
Rather than rest, Penn, Hellek, and I rode to the hill and scouted the fortified camp. The goblins had dug a shallow ditch and raised a low earthen rampart around the top of the hill and erected a low wooden tower and with two bailies enclosed by wooden palisades to each side. A sloping cliff defended the east side of the hill.

I rendered Penn and Hellek invisible and they ran to the rampart. Staying well away from the wolves, they walked along the top of the rampart to the palisades and climbed to the top. Inside the southern palisade, they saw several ogres and wolf the size of a horse. As Penn climbed, the dire wolf twitched and rolled toward her, then its eyes opened and it howled. I heard Penn and Hellek’s feet as they ran to where I was hidden at the base of the hill. Penn cast a spell to hide our tracks and we rode back to Witchcross as soon as we could.

------------------------------------------------------------DM Notes---------------------------------------------------
A very rare non-combat session. Lots of fun role-playing and one of the parts where my Greyhawk adjustments to the adventure as well as using Witching Season in the lead-up to are starting to effect the adventure.

There's no council scene at Terrelton in the original adventure but there really should be. Since Terrelton is largely non-functional (which is why banditry is rife around there), that council meeting (a regency council in my adaptation since the "Baron" is only eight years old due to the untimely death of the previous baron--another move to make the weak and ineffective government make sense) it provides an opportunity for me to show the PCs that Sterich is not politically united and organized in order to respond to the attack in an ideal way--Bova county isn't even all able to make the proper coordinated response.

At the end, the PCs are scouting the Roadblock encounter which is heavily scaled up in order to make sense in Sterich. (Heck, I don't think it really makes sense in the base game. If it's just a roadblock with a small squad of Red Hand soldiers, people would just go around. It only really makes sense as an operating base for a company sized group of raiders who are there to prevent communication and coordination as the Red Hand approaches. A couple patrols went off-reservation and attacked Witchcross itself and paid the price for their impetuosity. As the next session makes clear, this means that at least this party has to coordinate with the local baron in order to take out the roadblock.

[Eldariel]

Ah, I thought this had died already. Glad to see I was wrong! A fine read, extra points for the consistent writing of Grimmath. The council at Terrelton makes perfect sense and indeed, I agree there should be one to start with. It's one of those locations that got neglected in the original adventure, much like the Hammerfast Holds and such and it's definitely worth expanding upon. Leille is certainly an important character and a rather powerful addition to the Vale's side - and yet, the adventure mentions her exactly once. Your expansions certainly make the world feel more vivid; just because there's doom coming upon the Vale doesn't mean people don't have the time to be greedy and barter for their own ends - particularly those who don't believe in the whole "Dragons and Giants"-fable. There's much and more to do besides just the things detailed in the adventure, particularly far as unifying the Vale and strengthening their ranks goes.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Thanks for commenting Eldariel. My players want to make sure to speak with every baron or council they come across which is good because it means they're invested in the story, but tempts me to break with some of the characters I'd planned on since they don't always have the complete picture. Eldon Corromat had to shed a lot of his youthful naiveté and a month of battles and studying his responsibilities probably doesn't really account for it. (If I had a do over, I would add a wise old counselor to provide plans and analysis. Still, its a good thing I developed the rulers of the various towns before I started the campaign. Even so, it was fun to see the looks on my players' faces when they were discussing if anyone to the north could help them and Eldon says, "well I think the Ebon Hawks could be ready to march from Strake Terrace in a couple days if Count Tondhere wanted to help us..." and one of the players says, "hey, didn't we run into the Ebon Hawks at Valandil's Mill. Oh, I see."

------------------------------------------------Grimmath's Journal-----------------------------------------
Richfest 5
We discussed many plans—Gods above and below, we discussed many plans and there wasn’t even a full keg of ale to drown out the buzzing sound of bad suggestions. Eventually, settled on a plan suggested by Baron Corromat’s reading of the Naelax’s War in the Aerdy. That young man has been hitting the books hard since the attack. I haven’t read that one, so if we have time after all this is over, perhaps he’ll let me borrow a copy. The good news is that the plan didn’t sound like quite certain death. We would wait until night, then march with all of the baron’s fyrd to the base of the hill. Since Penn and Hellek did not see any spring or water storage in the goblin lager, we presumed that they went down to the stream regularly in order to drink and water their wargs. The baron and his fyrd would arrive before dawn and dig a small ditch and earthen palisade, forcing the goblins to brave their arrows to reach the stream. While they provided a distraction, we would scale the eastward cliff invisibly and take the wooden tower. Caught between the tower and the circumvallation at the base of the hill, the goblins would be cut to pieces or route. That was the plan. And, as it turned out, it didn’t quite kill us all though it came remarkably close.

As dawn broke, I rendered Hellek invisible and he climbed the east face and lowered ropes to the rest of us. I rendered most of us invisible and we climbed to the rear side of the palisade. That is where things started to go wrong. The plan had been for Hellek to climb the palisade still invisible and for us to climb to the top of the tower before we sprang our ambush. Though we could not see what happened, after the battle I spoke with my companions and I pieced together what happened.

Things started to go wrong when Hellek started climbing the wall. He made slow progress at first and Khan decided to get a head start on climbing by climbing in the corner between the tower and the palisade. Then Hellek fell, and the noise must have alerted the hobgoblins at the top of the tower because the one wearing a breastplate and a five colored sash of office yelled for the ogres to help his wolf to the top of the tower. A pair of ogres lifted the huge dire wolf onto the roof of the tower where it sniffed the air and moved towards Khan’s hiding place. Khan started things off by slicing it with his greatsword and we made our way to the top of the tower as Hellek finally made it to the top and lowered a rope. The dire wolf and hobgoblin soldiers tore us apart and I gritted my teeth to complete a haste spell through the dazzling display of hobgoblin swordplay.

Two ogres joined the fray and the wooden tower creaked dangerously under all of our combined weight and the leading hobgoblin commanded the other ogres to stay in the baileys lest they collapse the tower. Hellek appeared last of all, his shortsword and dagger glanced off the leaders’ armor and the leader turned and nearly spitted Hellek’s head on his warpick. Things were looking down for us but as the hobgoblin leader rushed forward, Marquess took his head off with a single slice of his glaive. Penn summoned fire elementals that scorched the already dangerously overladen floor and as Jozan slew the last ogre, it fell hard to the floor, splintering a cracked beam and sending us all to the ground floor in a pile of bodies, fur, weapons, blood, and shattered wood. A hobgoblin lieutenant scrambled to his feet and beat back Vengeance—Penn’s new wolf, but Jozan finally finished him off. Hellek peered through an arrow slit and saw the courtyard empty. The warg-riders had routed and their bodies littered the slope of the hill between their fort and the Witchcross fyrd’s encampment.

We healed our wounds before marching down the hill—we desired to look the part of the conquering heroes rather than the injured survivors of a desperate battle. When we reached the fyrd, we conferred with the baron while his men at arms pursued the scattered warg-riders hoping to whittle down their numbers and keep them from regrouping. The baron and his men would return to Witchcross and gather as many supplies as they could before marching south to Bova in the hope that its strong walls would enable the Count and all his vassals to withstand the coming storm. We would travel north to the swamp to try to find if the lizardmen were allied to the Red Hand, what Saarvith is, and if there is any truth to the tales that a dragon had been seen over the swamp.

We interrogated the baron at length to see if we could find a woodsman or guide who knew the swamp. Ordinarily he would have advised us to seek the Circle of Eth—the leaders of the Old Faith who tend to the swamp and have given guidance to the lords of Witchcross since time immemorial. However, he had been unable to find any of the Circle for over a month—shortly before our encounters with the witches last month, they vanished and no amount of searching has found them. Finally, we got a name out of him. There is an old poacher who lives by the river on the southern edge of the swamp. The baron didn’t advise us to seek him out but he is the only one who lives close unless we wanted to seek out the witch Lonni Longshanks--the witch that children sing about and young maids placate with sacrificed lambs.

It was early afternoon by the time we found Guffrey’s shack. It was a ramshackle affair filled with stuffed boars, eagles, and other hunting trophies. A wicker doll lay on the porch and we saw numerous fetishes and ritual items scattered between them along with more dust than a decades abandoned clanhold. We spoke to the old man and might have been able to get him to guide us if we had any alcohol left—not that I would have countenanced giving any perfectly good alcohol away if we had any which we didn’t. Speaking with the unfriendly old man gave us the definite impression that something was wrong—though I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing when he suggested stuffing the peck's wolf. He seemed to speak in two voices, one of which hated “her sisters” and the pretty young girl they had brought to replace her. But that didn’t work out for Groa, did it now? And how he had once bound Old Pete to his will. Definitely insane or something worse. Jozan sensed two evil auras around him—one weak and one moderate. That left me with the impression he might be possessed by some fiend or ghost. Or both. No matter how bad you think it is, it can always be worse. Still, we coaxed the location of Old Pete’s lair out of him and set out north into the swamp.

----------------------------------DM Notes-----------------------------------
Grimmath's journal ends here for now. We still have a saving throw to roll next session (due to events in the played but not yet posted session) to determine if Grimmath survives to pick up the role of my mouthpiece again.

Old Pete, Guffrey, Lonni Longshanks etc aren't in the Red Hand of Doom adventure. They all come from the Witching Hour adventure that I ran for my players in the run-up to Red Hand of Doom. Because the PCs were pretty straightforwardly task oriented and accepted the townsfolk's "burn the witch" interpretation of events at face value right away and then made the relatively easy survival check to track the ogres and skip straight to the sinking tower, there were still several unused encounters. With the players really pushing the baron hard for someone they could ask about deeper into the swamp, Guffrey came up.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Jozan’s journal. Richfest 5.

We reached Old Pete’s lair that evening. The charred top of a houseboat stuck out the water and a rotting dock extended from the shore into a slow and wide bend in the river. The shadows were lengthening and I could sense an evil presence just upstream of the houseboat. Khan decided to see if he could lure out Old Pete by borrowing a fish-hook and walking toward the shore with a rod and twine. If only we had listened to Grimmath’s premonitions of doom. I think we had come here with a vague plan to talk to ancient devil crocodile and ask him about the lizardmen. Instead, he burst from the water like the wrath of a greater devil, seized Khan in his teeth, dragged him below the water, and tore him in half. At the same time, the ghostly presence of a young woman whose once beautiful features were twisted into a horrific wreck floated across the water towards us. Grimmath sent his last magic missiles towards the ghost and while Penn was ready to flee and I ready to tactically retreat, Marquess strode forward to battle Old Pete for Khan’s body.

The ghost fixed Grimmath with her gaze and he fell into a cursed sleep from which he may not awaken. I fear it may be the same curse which slew the old lord Corromat just over a month ago. Old Pete seized Marquess and they thrashed about in the water, Marquess stabbing Old Pete with the enchanted hobgoblin shortsword we seized from the scouting party and old Pete grinding his teeth into Marquess’ enchanted armor. I came forward to help Marquess and Penn fled, terrified by the ghost. Hellek stood firm but his arrows glanced off Old Pete’s hide and even his enchanted blades barely scratched the ghost. Heironeous help me, I though all was lost when the water before me stopped roiling, but Marquess stood up, his shortsword buried to its hilt in Old Pete’s throat. My axe sent the hungry ghost back to the ethereal plane for now, though probably not for good. We mourned Khan’s passing and thought of what we could do for Grimmath. With no priests in Witchcross, and no time to go to Bova—or even Talar though we knew not if any priests there could help him—and Khan who could have helped him slain, we decided to press on and hope for the best.

Jozan’s journal. Richfest 6 and 7.

Most of the day saw us pick our way through stinking fens and trying to keep our horses from breaking their legs or dropping Grimmath to drown in the dark waters. At the end of the day, we had come to a particularly swampy patch where occasional hillocks of dry ground broke out from the weed-choked waters. Ahead, between two trees, we saw a giant owl, freshly killed by some fell beast with acid melted feathers and torn body. We approached cautiously but some of us still didn’t spot the creature until it leaped at us from under the fetid water. I recognized it as a magical beast related to dragons and surmised that it would be resistant to acid and unenchanted weapons but did not know its name until I later heard the Tiri Kitor refer to it as a harrowblade. It is certainly not listed in Frederick of the Pale’s Compleat Monstrous Compendium which I studied a seeming eternity ago back at Hillwatch Keep. Those Pholtans think they know everything but there is much that is beyond their ken.

Perhaps it was Heironeous judgement for my hesitation against Old Pete. Or perhaps we were all shaken by the loss of Khan and Grimmath’s curse. The creature repeatedly sprang from the water, struck at us or breathed acid on us, and then returned to the water before we could react. We waited for it, but our shots went wild. It struck down Marquess, nearly severed Vengeance’s head with a single blow from its wing and gave Hellek a devilish cut that left him bleeding on the ground.

Verily, I fear we all would have perished to the beast were it not for the elves who approached silently on their great owls as we fought and unleashed a fusillade of arrows, magic missiles, and fiery rays against it. Finally, I struck it down in the end and by the grace of the gods we all lived. By the precepts, it was close though. The elves were suspicious and we spoke with the leader—a Killiar Arrowswift—and the high arcanist of his tribe who assisted the hunt leader with the common tongue. They had been looking for one Lanikar Nightshadow, one of their scouts who had disappeared. A jade bracelet identified the dead owl as Lanikar’s mount. Penn kept her head about her during the conversation and spotted a finger poking out from where my axe had split open the harrowblade’s gizzard. Heironeous grant that Lanikar met his fate with courage and has joined Correllon’s host.

Penn also saw the disturbed earth on a nearby hillock where the harrowblade had hidden its horde including an enchanted battle axe but the accumulation of wealth is not the point of this tale.

Upon hearing word of our mission and the Red Hand, Killiar declared that these weighty matters must be brought before the elders of the Tiri Kitor. Leaving two elves to guide our horses back to human lands—the elves blindfolded us and we mounted their owls to fly to Starsong Hill where their tribe gathers.

----------------------------------------------DM Notes--------------------------------------------------------------
Day 15. Main Red Hand force is still five days from Drellin’s Ferry (thanks to the party destroying the bridge and successfully recruiting the forest giants). Baron Wiston and the evacuees of Drellin’s Ferry reached Terrelton.

When I wrote this, it wasn't clear if Grimmath would survive the Sea Hag's evil omen and obviously since he had spent the majority of the session unconscious, I couldn't write in his voice. Fortunately, Jozan's player didn't mind me appropriating Jozan's voice for a little bit in the writeup.

Jozan's player did provide this re-enactment of Khan's last stand to show off the new Heroforge mini that he bought for Jozan.

https://scontent-lax3-2.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t31.0-8/18121860_10212873661854705_339113704982745907_o.jp g?oh=5b1e286ccd8f4cc909abd08c3639c651&oe=599593A1

Now on to my commentary on how it's going: Khan is the first character who died and stayed dead and his player was planning an elf arcanist as his backup. That worked very well storywise since the players were about to meet the Tiri Kitor and their intervention ended up saving the party's bacon since the Harrowblade/Greenspawn razorfiend was rolling pretty well and the players rolled very poorly (I think Jozan rolled 1s on his first three attack rolls and no one else did much better). In general, the players' tendency to get their tails handed to them is continuing even though I've actually toned down the difficulty in my pathfinder conversion. One factor is that the party is slightly behind in terms of level. I've been running medium progression Pathfinder using the fixed XP for monsters variant and giving roughly 50% extra xp as roleplaying/story award, but I think the party as a whole is about 1/3 to 1/2 a level behind where they should be at this point. I guess maybe I should have found a way to run a couple more of the section two encounters before where they are. Right now, I'm posting one session behind where we actually are and Marquess and Jozan just made 7th level. Penn and Hellek are one or two encounters from 7th level and Pyr is nearly 6th level. Grimmath is a cohort now so he'll be staying at 5th level till Marquess makes level 8. I started Pyr (the replacement for Khan) at the midpoint of 5th-6th level but thinking about it, I probably should have started him at the beginning of level 6 or even half-way to 7. So, the party being slightly underlevel is contributing to the difficulty but I think making increasingly foolish decisions is contributing more. In the next post, you'll see a rather reckless assault on the Rhest Bell Tower and there's a fairly good chance they'll all end up being eaten by lizardmen. The party that wisely waited for the green dragon to leave Skull Gorge bridge to confirm what happened at Vraath Keep (and then ruined the plan by trying to stealth up on horseback) didn't think to observe Rhest or wait for the Regiatrix and Saarvith to go hunting. And there's more downside if the party ends up getting mauled here and does not get the phylactery. That will mean they need to kill the Ghostlord if they want to keep him out of the battle of Bova (Brindol in the original) and even then, without their destroying his phylactery, he will reform to menace them later.

[Eldariel]

Mhm, the party does seem to be repeatedly getting their backs handed to them due to a combination of poor luck, poor strategic decisions and a rather weak party setup. These are the levels where magic really begins to eclipse other options and while Grimmath provides his part of support, lacking 4th level spells entirely does hurt. Lacking a full advancement Wizard/Witch and Druid/Cleric (or equivalents) are putting quite the hurt on them. The Arcanist might help with good spell selection, but the divine side will still be lacking.

That said, this does certainly make the story feel all the more dire and of course, the Vale does feature a good number of NPCs of sufficient levels to potentially replace fallen party members. Thus, as long as the party survives, the campaign can go on. However, yeah, taking the whole Rhest all at once will probably be the end of them. Who knows - maybe you can give them some hail Mary rescue or perhaps they'll manage a retreat or even a victory through tactical acumen and breaking the enemy's morale. If they manage to slay Regiarix, Saarvith will probably stop fighting and that would throw the Hand forces into disarray.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Grimmath's Journal

------------------Reaping 1----------------------------

Journal, I am writing this to you so as to dispel the numerous false and scandalous rumors that sprung up today. Lannikar’s funeral was an elf thing. There was singing, then they burned the little of him that the harrowblade had not digested along with some mementos and things. I did not shed a single tear. That must be said. Now, after they put the ashes in an urn, there was feasting, dancing, and storytelling to celebrate his life and the end of Richfest—I guess the elves had put off the last day of the feast to search for him.

Now, for all the other things you can say about these elves, they did roll out the good stuff for the funeral party. I did sample a lot of their mead. The differentiate between clover and wildflower and a bunch of other kinds of mead. I had to sample them all of course and after a tastes, I was able to distinguish some of the differences. There is no truth to the rumor that I passed out. It was warm and I might have taken a short rest but it was entirely voluntary. Now Hellek, that boy passed out before noon. There is also absolutely no truth to the rumors that I spend the morning dancing with the peck when I wasn’t drinking. First, journal you must consider the source: Penn is hardly what we would call a reliable witness. Second, I do not know the foxtrot, the waltz, or any elven line dancing. Of course I have seen the descriptions of such dances in books, but I’ve never done any such thing in my life and it’s impossible that I should have done it while drunk. Now, I did hear Jozan and Marquess grumbling about losing a whole day to drinking. They can’t have been that serious though because I remember Jozan shrugging and going to get himself a horn of mead.

Reaping 2
The elves definitely brought the good stuff out for the festival yesterday and their traveling mead is decidedly second rate. Barely better than water. (1) But as you know Journal, I am unfailingly polite, so I am drinking the mead they packed with our provisions. It would be rude not to.

At first when I was told that we had left the horses behind when the elves flew us to Starsong Hill upon their owls, I breathed a prayer of thanks to the soul-forger. Free of those hell-beasts at last. Little did I anticipate the horror that awaited me. Boats. The Blackfens as the elves call this miserable swamp gets more and more watery the further west you go until at last you find yourself in the lake and amidst the ruins of Rhest. So the elves gave us two light skiffs or punts or something and we were poling along with nothing but some thin—and probably leaky—planks of wood between us and a watery doom. There is no way that such a thing ends well. If the gods wanted us to swim, they’d have given us gills and if I wanted to swim anyway, I’d learn magic to give myself gills. I didn’t research those spells because I don’t want to swim, damn it!

Marquess was still bothered and impatient about losing a whole day to the funeral, so he insisted on moving quickly without even making a pretense of stealth—moving between bits of cover. So it was no surprise that we ran straight into a lizardman ambush. On land, it would have been over in seconds, but with the water for them to hide in, they turned out to be formiddable. One lizardman was muscled like an ox and roared in rage as he laid into us with his rock-studded greatclub and beat Vengeance—that’s Penn’s new wolf, by the way—into a bloody sack of wolf-steaks. Though Penn’s timely intervention kept the wolf from actually dying, that many open wounds in this filthy water will no doubt lead to infection. I took a scratch from one of their flint-tipped javalins, but that was all they did to us. We quickly mopped them up though one did get away underwater. Or at least we assume so. Penn had summoned a small water elemental and it chased after some underwater lizardman and didn’t come back and we never saw a body. Still, the prospect of the lizardman warning the Red Hand or even his tribe unnerved Jozan.

It was dusk when we reached the edge of Lake Rhest—not that it’s really an edge, it’s just the point where you no longer see little hillocks in the water and see a great expanse dotted with the ruins of ziggurats and buildings. There were two mostly intact bits sticking up from the water: a tall tower and a wide, squat building. As we discussed what to do, we saw movement and the glint of steel from the tower and gradually realized that the entire lake was dotted with little clusters of mud and reed huts and reed rafts. Lizardman huts, we assumed. Now, Marquess had initially been for simply poling out to the tower in our elvish skiffs and fighting all comers. In the end, we settled on stealing a lizardman raft and all of us hiding under cloaks and reeds in the raft except for the elf who would wear one of the hobgoblin cloaks we had recovered and disguise himself as a hobgoblin. Pyr wanted to wait until morning so he could prepare his magic to make a really effective disguise, but Marquess wouldn’t brook any further delays and Jozan was convinced that the lizardman who got away must have warned the Red Hand, so trying to rest would just let the dragon and the hobgoblins kill us in our sleep. So, it all went down tonight.

Hellek said the raft stealing went perfectly according to plan. If that’s true then the lizardmen must have been using the raft for target practice before he stole it. But he wasn’t bleeding so I guess any theft you can paddle away from is a success. Our plan went about as well as that. After an eternity hiding under a pile of dirty reeds with Vengeance’s tail hairs sticking up my nose, I heard a hogboglin challenge Pyr. He said something about his patrol having been wiped out and having come here with a message for Saarvith. They talked for a few more seconds before another hobgoblin yelled, “that’s not one of us; he’s an elf!” and the arrows started flying. Marquess, Jozan, Hellek, and even Penn started paddling as fast as they could while the hobgoblins poured volleys of arrows into our boat wounding Hellek and me. Pyr unleashed magic missiles at them from a wand and I threw two fireballs at the upper level eventually incinerating all four hobgoblins there. By that time, we had reached the rickety wooden walkway at the base of the tower and the hobgoblins had struck their giant gong sending a warning echoing from one side of the lake to the other. I was bleeding from a bunch of arrows and made the mistake of listening to Penn who suggested I jump into the water to avoid the hobgoblin archery. By Moradin, there must have been more kick to that mead than I thought if I actually listened to the peck. I spluttered and thrashed about for nearly thirty seconds trying to make it the ten feet to the walkway.

Meanwhile, I could hear what was going on inside. Some hobgoblin must have seen Hellek draw his shortsword and challenged him (2), saying he was not worthy to bear that blade. By the time I made it to the window, the hobgoblin had proven his point and left Hellek bleeding to death in the midst of their card game on the floor, then opened up gushing wounds above Jozan’s eye and along his arm. Marquess’ entry to the battle forced the hobgoblin—I think the others called him Decurion Korkulan—to retreat where he fought Vengeance for quite a while. Meanwhile, the last hobgoblin from upstairs came down and attempted to sunder Pyr’s wand. If he’d landed a solid blow, I think he would have got it too but it was a glancing blow and the hobgoblin sword only carved a small divot out of the polished hardwood. Marquess and Jozan finished off the last of the soldiers and my haste and mage armor spells proved their worth as Vengeance tore out the Decurion’s throat.

There was a brief silence but we could see countless lizardmen embarking for the center of the lakes in rafts and, more immediately, a goblin riding a black dragon winging his way towards us.

------------------------------------------DM notes--------------------------------
Day 17. The Red Hand forces are three days out from Drellin’s Ferry. The refugees from Drellin’s Ferry are just leaving Terrelton (three days from the bridge at Nimon Gap). The Cuthbertites of Nimon gap have joined them but the majority of the regency council and guildsmen were just convinced by Baron Wiston and will not be ready to leave for another couple days.

It was a great session but boy have my players painted themselves into a corner. Jozan's player was convinced that the lizardman who got away would have warned the Red Hand and that the dragon would be looking for them and that they have no hope of evading him, so they might as well go now. (Actually, the lizardman was at 0hp when the water elemental vanished and crawled away while staggered. He won't make it back to his tribe until well into the night and they might not inform the Red Hand at all--possibilities that the arcanists' player pointed out in discussion to no avail). Marquess' player seemed tired and impatient and just wanted to go. The new arcanist's player wanted to hide and wait until morning and with Penn's player was coming up with some schemes to get them to the tower without raising the alarm. It was lucky that they at least managed to get Marquess to go with the disguise plan or things would be even worse off.

(1) After seeing Grimmath lay into the mead and fail two fortitude saves in a row, Jozan, Marquess, and Penn approached the elves and asked them to hide the mead on the next day. The elves did one better and severely watered down the mead that they gave to Grimmath for traveling and that they had near Grimmath. Also, you can see why Grimmath keeps forgetting to scribe spells into his spellbook and has sometimes failed when he tried: scribing spells competes with getting drunk and getting drunk usually wins. Plus, when you’re drunk, it’s hard to scribe spells properly.

(2) This was another hobgoblin bladebearer. In statting up the encounter, I had decided to go easy on the party and run with another hobgoblin dual wielding weapon master fighter rather than a bard or cavalier lieutenant who would boost them all. I made the bladebearer's swords from the initial encounter distinctive with the idea that they are special blades wielded only by the true elite of Red Hand and that the kind of blade they bear indicates their rank and skill. Since Hellek had one of the +1 shortswords and Marquess (who was not visible at the time) had the other, this seemed like a good opportunity to have the hobgoblins' taunts and combat behavior give some clues as to their society and practices. This hobgoblin bladebearer has a +2 shortsword and a +1 shortsword (I wanted to give Hellek an upgrade--Hellek certainly ended up paying for the upgrade). Well, he went and kicked the party's tails. Round 1, he critted Hellek and dropped him from "nicked" to "bleeding out on the ground." The next round, he critted Jozan twice and left him in single digit hit points and only retreated a little bit to get out of Marquess' reach. (Marquess had just jumped through the window and moved up, but the lone remaining regular from upstairs tagged Marquess with a tanglefoot bag so evading his reach meant rendering him useless). He then found himself fighting Vengeance for a few rounds and landed one or two good hits but the wolf's AC of 26 or 27 (barkskin, mage armor, and eventually haste--the party is doing something right) meant that even my souped up bladebearer needed to roll well to hit and he stopped rolling well. (He missed by one two or three times).

[Elder_Basilisk]

Boards are back! Let's celebrate with another post:

Reaping 2 Continued.

I’ll say Journal, I didn’t expect us all to make it. The dragon flew towards us and my companions quickly downed their last healing potions and ran for the second floor. We had almost made it into position when the dragon spat a gout of acid across four of us and the goblin on its back sent three quarrels into Jozan that punched through his enchanted breastplate as though it weren’t even there. He circled around the tower as the goblin pelted us with crossbow bolts, Jozan desperately healed himself, and Pyr and I employed our wands of magic missile to the dragon. The beast and goblin filth made it three quarters of the way around the tower and scraped the side of the tower as the dragon took a bite out of Pyr and the goblin sent a crossbow bolt into him that left him bleeding to death on the ground. That was when I saw my opportunity. I used my last spell to render Hellek invisible and he charged at the dragon and finally struck true, leaving a gushing wound that continued to weep blood.

About this time, Penn had stopped dithering about whether she wanted to be on the top floor or the floor we were on and dashed past the great bell to the edge of the tower and hurled a tanglefoot bag at the goblin, spoiling his aim. The dragon sped away from the tower and Jozan and Marquess finally found their marks with their bows.

We snatched a few arrows and fled back to our stolen lizard boat while Penn burned the last charges off the wand of curing until it finally crumpled into dust. Fortunately, most of the lizardmen were not near enough to see us, but about halfway to what passes for shore around here, a group of their warriors came from nowhere and rammed our boat, knocking Jozan into the neck-deep water. They leaped at us and one of the larger ones, a great brute with a two-handed, stone-spiked club struck Pyr hard enough to knock him unconscious and nearly stave in his skull. Which is to say he hit him like an arthritic mouse with a bad attitude. I always did hear that daisy-eaters can’t take a punch and for once our lore is right. Hah! Well, even beat up as we were, the lizards were no match for Marquess. Even my wand was enough to bring them near the brink of death. They fled into the murky waters and we paddled on, leaving Penn’s summoned elemental to hunt them down.

When we got to the shore, we hid the boat and thanking the gods for Penn’s pass without trace spell, we poled our elf-boat a couple hours east to a small island in the muck where a single tree, a tall rock, and a sea of reeds made a sheltered spot that would be hard to see without looking like a good hiding spot.

Reaping 3.

The hiding spot served us well. At some point in the night, the dragon must have passed by without seeing us because nothing ate us while we slept. The day was already going better than I’d expected. I had a word with Pyr about the quality of his peoples’ traveling mead, and he seemed perplexed at how weak it was. I guess they must have drank all the good stuff after Richfest.

There was a lot of talking about what we should do. Marquess wanted to attack because they’d never expect another attack so soon. As the discussion wore on—and believe me, Journal, it did wear on with only the elves' weak mead to take the edge off the pain of so many stupid ideas flying by at once, Penn and Hellek saw the dragon flying out and circling the lake to the south. We made our way slowly and carefully back to the shore and saw smoke rising from the shore to our north and lizardman boats going back and forth from the big building.

And then the discussion started up again. And here I thought we had made a decision. Humans and their committees, councils, diets, and parliaments! The day we sealed our clanhold against the first invasion, I remember the Thane saying, "at least I won't have to go to the council of barons for a few years. Maybe it's worth it." Now I know what he was talking about.

We couldn’t quite decide whether to wait until nightfall or attack during the day. I’m not sure why “attack when the dragon and the damn goblin are gone” didn’t sound like a good idea to Marquess but sometimes he can have a pretty thick skull. Anyhow, we sent Penn and Hellek to find another reed boat. They came back with one so badly rotted that it barely floated. Apparently there was a small lagoon to the north filled with lizard boats from end to end but Hellek didn’t want to go near that many lizardmen so they took the boat that was too badly damaged to be worth taking. Pyr thought he could use the reeds to disguise our elf-boat as a lizardboat though and that it would also create a false deck for us to hide beneath while Pyrr and Jozan used their magic to disguise themselves as lizardmen. Somehow, the rest convinced Marquess that their disguise would get us to the building without arousing suspicion and we might as well go during the day when we know the dragon is away searching the swamp to the west.

Clever as it was, I’d never have agreed to the plan if I’d known what it would be like. My head was jammed into Hellek’s armpit and even magically shrunk to the size of a dire rat, Penn’s wolf smells worse than an expedition returning from the deep mines after a week with only the water they took with them. I was nearly ready to give up on the idea and try to swim for shore when I heard a dull, rumbling voice call out in giant and Pyrr try to answer in Draconic. The dull voice came again, more slowly and a bit louder. I could almost understand what it was saying. As we closed, I was able to make out a few words. “Get Nurglenak…. Me no speak Lizard….” A few seconds later, Pyrr stomped three times—our signal to know that things were going down.

I pushed aside the reeds that were covering me in time to see a half-dozen ogres atop the ruined stone building hurling javalins at us. They were in perfect fireball formation but as I saw, Pyrr begin the incantation, he suddenly froze paralyzed—the robed hobgoblin on the roof had been quicker. Well, what can you expect from an elf. As weak in mind as in body. I took a couple scratches from the ogre javalins before I remembered my giant-fighting training and then I unleashed a fireball that dropped an ogre and badly burned the hobgoblin and the rest of them. For some reason I couldn’t determine, Marquess and Jozan ran along the rickety boardwalk to the back of the building and Hellek shot the hobgoblin as he hauled out a scroll to begin casting. It was a good thing he did that too—I recognized the first few syllables as a spell of domination that might have turned one of us to his side had it succeeded.

The hobgoblin cursed and retreated back down the stairs as Pyrr shook off his spell—took him long enough—and finished off most of the ogres with another fireball. Then, just as Marquess and Jozan went out of sight, and Hellek climbed the side of the building, another of those gods-damned harrowblades leaped out of the small building to our right and cornered Penn, Pyrr, and me in the boat. Penn and his dog distracted it—and I dodged out of the boat and hit it with a magic missile spell. Pyrr vanished—I found out later, he teleported next to Jozan—who did heal him, not that it really helped him too much. An ogre found him anyway and nearly brained him. I dropped a lightning bolt across the harrowblade but it hardly fazed it and instead sliced into Penn and her wolf, leaving both nearly dead. Penn ran again and the creature leaped up onto the roof where Hellek charged it. It nearly decapitated him with its wing, but he did get one hit in before he collapsed into a puddle of blood. I wasn’t doing much better so I rendered myself invisible. Meanwhile, I found out later, Marquess and Jozan had followed the hobgoblin down the stairs and found themselves face to face with an ettin and two ogres. In the end, though we managed to defeat them all.

There was not any clear reaction from the shore—maybe the lizardmen were already marching into the swamp to hunt us or to attack the elves or something, so we took a moment to loot the building. Lots of good stuff and one necklace that we couldn’t quite identify. It was necromantic but it looked like druid work from the symbols scrimshawed onto the teeth. When Hellek found a note in the goblins room that referred to the Ghostlord’s phylactery, some things fell into place. It was the only thing here that could conceivably be a phylactery and didn’t have any other discernable magical function.

----------------------DM notes-----------------------
Day 18. The Red Hand forces reach Drellin’s Ferry (I miscounted in my previous post). The refugees from Drellin’s Ferry and Cuthbertites of Terrelton are two days from Nimon gap, but the majority of the regency council and guildsmen will not be ready to leave until the next day. Baron Corromat and his men are ready to leave Witchcross.

(2) Losing the dominate scroll to Hellek’s readied action (and a terrible concentration roll—it wasn’t as though Hellek really did a lot of damage) was a key moment in the battle, but it was an even exchange for knocking Pyrr’s perfect fireball out with a readied hold person. Saving throws were pretty bizarre in this battle. Marquess made saves against three hold person spells but Pyrr and Jozan both failed theirs and both took multiple rounds to finally break out. Marquess missed something like nine attacks in a row and only three of them were missed due to Nurklenak’s displacement spell. On the other hand, after dropping Hellek to 0 hp with a wing crit on its first attack, the harrowblade proceeded to roll ones on his other wing and his bite so Hellek lived and was able to get a hit in before Nurklenak called for it to help him against Jozan and Marquess downstairs.

My players are also convinced that they are a lot further behind than they really are in terms of time. I think I’m going to have some flavor text to explain that Count Bova’s forces are harrassing the Red Hand scouts and otherwise fighting delaying actions which will account for why the horde takes so long to reach Bova. It will also make the NPCs seem more competent. I think the explanation will be that Count Bova will position a force at Nimon Gap to slow the enemy advance. At least half of his archers, and all of the Lions who are not gathering forces along with the baron Trask of Elsircross and his sons, Cannoness Leille, and some of the better militia members from Drellin’s Ferry (Father Derny, Morlin Coalhewer, Jorr Natharson, Soren Amroth, et al, and Baron Wiston to command—need someone to keep the baron Trask in line). Some teleport scrolls from the Bova wizard (what, you don’t expect him to take the field himself do you?) and a low-level wizard to get them out if things go bad and they could slow down the Red Hand advance pretty successfully. Since Marquess’ player now wants to switch out Grimmath for a cleric, (for party balance and to avoid stepping on the new Arcanist’s toes, I think I may have Grimmath elect to join his cousin in the group that is going to slow down the advance. Alternately, I might have him work with Immerstal the Red to coordinate some dwarven raids on the Red Hand supply line.

Plans for the future: I think that my players will probably cross paths with the Drellin's Ferry refugees on the road. That would be a good opportunity to stage the encounter with Miha Serani. There's also a good chance that they'll cross paths with the Lions and Lion guard contingent who are on their way to slow down the Red Hand advance from Nimon Gap. The idea is that they have enough men to make the Red Hand take the fortifications and the bridge seriously, but they withdraw before being forced into battle. Maybe they also manage to lure the Red Hand manticores and/or wyverns into an ambush and kill them, but at the cost of some NPCs the players have met. I think maybe I'll kill off Kellin Shadowbanks, one or two Lions the party has met, and several of baron Trask's sons. Maybe Sertieren the wise and/or Canoness Leille as well.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Another game tomorrow, but let's get the last session up first:

Reaping 3 continued
Well Journal, after looting enough gold and silver and new magic fullplate from the dragon’s horde to make even Mr Holy, “Possessions are a gift from Heironeous”’s eyes light up with greed and excitement, we bundled ourselves back into the skiff and made our way across the lake. It was hotter than the forgechambers back in the clanhold. The air was thick with gnats and the tiny stirge swarms humans call mosquitoes. As we made the shore, we saw that the lagoon filled with lizardman boats was empty. A sign of something to be sure, but what? Had they all packed up and walked home or were they on the warpath? Ah well, we’d fight them or we wouldn’t. I had some more mead. Paddling this skiff is thirsty work.

Penn was in the bow, directing us through the marsh like she was communing with the land or something—well don’t ask me what she was doing other than telling us where to go and sounding very confident we should make it back to Starsong Hill by dusk. So, we were poling along through the reeds and rushes when someone yelled something about lizardmen and I saw a javalin or two fly and Jozan fire his bow. Some lizardman sounded a shell horn and being nearly out of spells, I was reaching for my wand when a big, brawny lizardman pointed his stick in our general direction and shouted, “you, me, [something unintelligble], fight.” Language don’t get in the way of arrangin’ a fight it turns out. The scalies drew out a square on one of the larger patches of mud and Marquess stepped into it with their champion. Marquess furrowed his brow and stared at the lizardman but somehow it’s not nearly as scary when he does it as when Jozan does. The lizardman roared and thumped his chest, but I think it lost something in the translation. Then it was over. The lizardman stepped into Marquess reach and bounced his stick of Marquess’ armor. Marquess choked up on his glaive, whipped the lizard’s feet from under him and sliced him pretty good. In desperation, the lizard grabbed at Marquess who coolly drew the blue dragon hilted shortsword we had taken from the bladebearer and ran it through his chest. And that was that. The lizards left their sticks behind and went on their way.

It was late that day and I could swear that we’d poled by the same patch of reeds twice already but everyone is convinced that Penn knows what she’s doing, so I wasn’t going to say anything. What do I know about the surface? It all looks the same to me anyway. The damned hellspawned insects were swarming and I was seriously thinking about expending my last spell to burn them all to tiny crisps, when someone again yelled, “Ware! Lizardmen!” I saw a half dozen of the biggest lizardmen I’ve seen with their stone-spiked greatclubs leaping towards us when a spindly one in the back covered with fetishes gestured and our skiff was surrounded in a thick fog. I made my way to the back of the skiff so that Jozan could step forward and I saw him staggered by the impact of the lizard’s thick clubs. Pyrr cast a spell of enlargement—must have been on Marquess because I couldn’t see the target and then, right when things were looking very grim indeed with Jozan barely conscious, he conjured a cloud of glittering dust that must have caught nearly all of the lizards. I moved up and invoked a cone of flame over the only two I could get without burning Jozan and that was it. We never did see what happened to the spindly lizardman but with them blinded by Pyr’s dust and with my flames burning away the fog that had concealed the last one, we made short work of the rest.

We were a pretty sorry lot—blood bandages and naught but watery mead to drown our sorrows when we bedded down in the muck without a fire. Penn had argued for building a fire despite the risk of the dragon spotting us. We didn’t understand why until she hauled a harrowblade egg out of her pack—apparently she wanted to make an omelet out of it. Marquess promptly shattered the egg with his glaive and Penn sulked the rest of the night. Well, at least she was quiet, but I noticed that it was dusk and we weren’t yet enjoying a horn of mead at Starsong Hill.

Reaping 4
In the morning, Marquess and Pyrr were sweaty and feverish. Pyrr’s hands were shaking worse than mine do after a week with naught to drink but water. To make matters worse, the sun blazed down on us like a forge-fire and water nearly sizzled when it splashed onto Marquess or Jozans’ armor.

It was around noon when we saw the dragon in the sky. We readied our bows and spells but it dived down into the swamp. We beached our boat, cast spells, and waited. And waited. I know that some of our spells expired before we saw a sinuous neck and horned head poke out of the water then disappear before anyone could target it. Then a cloud of darkness appeared. A minute later, another one. The creature was toying with us. We decided to leave and pushed the skiff back into the water. Then they struck. A crossbow bolt thudded into Pyrr’s neck with a blue flash I recognized as an enchantment of bane and Pyrr fell bleeding to the ground. The dragon burst out of the water and spat a gout of acid over Penn, Jozan, and me. Now that the goblin had revealed his position, even I could see him. The goblin unleashed his deadly bolts at us and I cast a spell to make us all faster. Jozan gritted his teeth through the pain of his acid burns and sent arrows toward the dragon with deadly accuracy and Penn spurred her wolf into a mad dash toward the goblin and splattered a tanglefoot bag on him.

Well, journal, I know what you’re thinking. The goblin and the dragon will make Penn into halfling jerky in about six seconds and that will be it—the best the rest of us could do would be to try to take advantage of her brave sacrifice to escape. Believe me, journal, I considered it. But the peck’s reckless impetuousness worked out for once. The dragon did fly back and nearly bite her head off. The goblin did fill her wolf full of crossbow bolts with one missing its jugular by only the narrowest of margins. But Marquess was following her—a little more slowly for not being mounted and having to pick up his glaive, but he was following. And my fireballs and Jozan’s arrows were having a little effect. Seeing their injuries mounting, the goblin leaped on the dragon’s back and they flew off toward the lake at a speed we could not match.

So we survived another day. Even so, I can’t help but notice that we’re still not at Starsong Hill. Maybe it’s not that all this damnable swamp looks alike. Maybe we really are going in circles.

Reaping 5.
Last night, Hellek complained of fever and this morning, he couldn’t see. Still, he and the others had enough sense to realize that we’d somehow gotten off track. It was hellishly hot again but we finally found some of the Tiri Kitor scouts around noon.

They brought us back to Starsong Hill where we met their council—well I guess I met their council; everyone else had met them before. We discussed what we had found. Their elder—Silliera Starsinger or something elven like that—knew some tales of the “Ghostlord” but her lore was not entirely consistent. Apparently he was some nature priest gone bad in the days of the Ur-Flan when this miserable swamp was still an actually inhabitable city. Maybe he destroyed Rhest, maybe he didn’t. He was supposedly sealed in his fortress—a giant stone lion or griffon or hippogriff or something lionish in the mountains to the south where Jozan says the cursed vale is today. Penn and Jozan made some eloquent requests for assistance against the Red Hand. I hadn’t had enough mead yet to be willing to speak at one of these things, but it turns out Pyrr is one of this tribe’s elders. Who’d have thought? So, Pyrr decided to stick with us and see the fight against the Red Hand through and the elves agreed to send some of their hunters to aid Bova. Would’ve been nice to have some owl-riders but I guess the elves need to keep the Red Hand and their pet lizards out of their mead-fields. I guess I can understand that. My people are looking out for themselves too.

Starmantle, their priest restored Hellek’s sight and cured Marquess, but we decided to spend the rest of the day at Starsong Hill anyway in hopes that he might cure the rest of our illnesses in the morning. Well, that, and the fact that they had the non-watery travel mead here. That evening I tried copying another spell into my spellbook but somehow I didn’t quite get it right. Maybe I should have another drink to steady my hands.

Reaping 6.
In the morning, Hellek was still feverish and he complained his vision was dimming again. Soulforger’s beard, humans are frail! Starmantle restored his sight and cast spells to cure Pyr and Hellek’s diseases but somehow the spell seemed to fail against Hellek’s affliction and he remained feverish and sweaty. Unwilling to waste any more time, we took the elves’ up on the offer and flew to Witchcross on owl-back.

The day was hot when we arrived and the town was entirely abandoned except for a small group of elves who had taken over the baron’s bailey with our horses. I never expected to look forward to riding those hellbeasts but after the better part of a week on skiffs and fetid water, traveling by horseback will be a welcome relief.

---------------------DM Notes----------------------------------

Day 21. Red Hand 4 days from Terrelton. Drellin’s Ferry Refugees at Nimon Gap bridge with Cuthbertines from Terrelton and Nimon Gap evacuees. Terrelton guildsmen at Nimon gap.

DM Notes: There were a lot of bad rolls on survival checks here. Penn rolled a 2 on both her survival checks to find her way back to Starsong Hill. Then she rolled a 3 on her check to evade pursuit.

I made any characters who went into the water while swimming roll fort saves vs infection and then had everyone do one fort save vs infection due to insects, etc. Previously, everyone had passed since the saves were relatively easy; this time everyone except Penn, her wolf, and Jozan failed. I rolled randomly to determine the exact disease. Pyrr ended up with the Shakes, Grimmath and Hellek ended up with blinding sickness though it looks like Grimmath is going to ace all his saves and never notice anything wrong. Hellek didn’t have any stealth rolls to make so it appears that his bad luck has transferred over to Fort saves.

One thing that I'm noticing seems to be different between my Red Hand journal and most of the ones I've read (as well as my play-through) is that I've got a lot of wilderness and on-the-road encounters that aren't necessarily in the book. Things like sicknesses, random encounters, etc I think add a lot to the game--they make the swamp feel like swamp and help to differentiate the different adventure settings from each other. And especially in this next session, the scenery the players ride through on the way back and forth from their destinations is going to have some significant changes as the campaign progresses. The timing works out that the players will come across a lot of the groups of evacuees on the road as they travel south from Witchcross and that will add some nice flavor to the spy encounter and some of the others. They'll probably also come across the Lion Guard who are moving West to attempt to delay the oncoming horde with manuevers which will also give them some perspective on the situation and make the setting seem more real and less static.

This next session may be Grimmath's last session with the group. There's a good exit ramp for him and the players want to bring on a cleric cohort to round out the party and to keep the cohort from stepping on the wizard player's toes. I'll miss writing from Grimmath's perspective, but the new Heironean should be an interesting challenge. One of the things I've learned from adopting Grimmath's perspective is how a strong and distinctive point of view can add to the storytelling. It's not necessarily easy to do but I think I'll try a mix of Arthurian knight and Geoffrey de Villehardouin (memoirs of the fourth crusade) and see how it turns out.

[Elder_Basilisk]

A somewhat belated writeup for our new(er) arcanist:

Pyrr, High Arcanist of the Tiri Kitor. Elf (Tiri Kitor) Arcanist 6 (currently)
Pyrr was a good friend of Lanikar Nightshadow and the high arcanist of the Tiri Kitor since his mentor’s demise some time ago. He joined the party for vengeance against the harrowblades who killed his friend and those who brought them to the swamp but came to see the necessity of joining forces against the Red Hand and joined the group of heroes trying to stop them.

A new cohort joined the party this last week:

The Glorious Engelhart ap Eddard, Knight Courageous of the Valorous Host, Warden of the North Gate. Cleric 5 (Heironeous)
Engelhart had just completed his novitiate at the Chapel of the Chalice in Istivin before the giant invasion ten years ago. He retreated with the rest of Sterich but returned and fought in several battles in the war of liberation. In the eight years since then, he has been questing or traveling constantly, once going as far as Niole Dra on a pilgrimage. His 6 month stay in Bova as Warden of the North Gate is the longest he had stayed in one place since his novitiate. He almost welcomed the hobgoblin invasion as an opportunity to find adventure and win renoun.

-------------------------------Journals---------------------------------
Reaping 6 continued. Grimmath's journal

So we hop on the horses and the elves hop on their owls. A good trade to my mind. Then we light out south along the road to Talar. Right about when we’re passing the Red Hand encampment we destroyed with the Baron, a group of ragged goblins on mangy wargs and an ogre jump out of the bushes and attack us. I’d been thinking about which spells I wanted to copy into by book tonight and it was nearly over before I realized what was going on. Jozan played arrowcatcher for a few seconds then Pyrr dropped a fireball on the whole lot of them. The ogre was just stepping out of the thicket to fight us, swinging a monstrous flail about his head and I finished off a warg with a magic missile. Then as Marquess stumbled and nearly tripped trying to hit the ogre, Jozan struck its head off with his axe and the whole lot of them broke and ran. Penn charged off after one of them, screaming unintelligibly and none of us could match her wolf’s speed. She came back several minutes later looking dejected and sporting a couple new bloodstains where the fleeing goblin had hit her with arrows. So I guess the goblin got away. The heat and dusk were getting to me and Marquess asked me if I’d like some water since we were by a stream. Seriously? Water? I was thirsty, not dirty. I had another drink of Tiri Kitor mead. They hadn’t skimped this time.

The sun was low when we were able to see the crossroads where the Strake Terrace road meets the Dawn Way. Down in the distance, it looked like the entire road as well as the bridge and the western shore of the Elsir river were covered in ants. Ants moving slowly to the south and east. One big group of ants going against the stream and moving up the dawn way towards us. Steel glinted off those ants.

When we finally reached the crossroads, we saw a group of horsemen and a dozen crossbowmen wearing Drellin’s Ferry colors lined up in a skirmish line facing towards us. One of them called out a challenge and by the time Marquess responded, we could see Redgar, one of Baron Wiston’s men at arms wearing the magic banded armor Marquess had given the baron a couple weeks ago. Greetings were exchanged and we could see herds of sheep and cattle passing in front of us with the people of Drellin’s Ferry. I recognized the leatherworker from the Terrelton temple of Saint Cuthbert among them too. Redgar said the Baron and the Count along with Baron Trask, Immerstal, the Lions, and High Priestess Goldenbrow were with Baron Alaric Nimon at Frostedge Keep.

A ways into the conversation, we saw the sea of evacuees parting as a column of the Lion Guard marched north towards the bridge. Seeing our opportunity, we fell in behind them and made for Frostedge Keep. At the bridge, they branched off and began digging earthworks and setting up tents, but since Frostedge Keep is not on the Dawn Way, we were able to escape the press of people and beasts and make our way there.

By the time we reached the keep, twilight was darkening into night. The guard challenged us at the gate and it turned out to be my cousin Morlin. Soulforger, it was good to see another dwarven face after all the humans and elves. I subtly hid the horn of elven mead as I stumbled off the horse and fell into conversation with him while Marquess and the rest went into the great hall to the war council. Morlin was just telling me about his march from Drellin’s Ferry and how the guildmasters at Terrelton probably still weren’t ready to leave and how he was going to be riding back west with the Baron, Father Derny, Soren Amroth, and a bunch of lions when a man at arms in Baron Nimon’s colors came to summon me to the council.

As soon as I get in, I see the Count Bova and his lords and this stunning woman in Pelorite robes—leastwise I assume they’re Pelorite robes. They were the same robes Khan used to wear only fancier. Now, human women don’t normally do anything for me but this one was different. Her hair wasn’t just yellow; I could swear it was actual gold. In fact, it even smelled like gold from across the room.

So, there I was, staring at the priestess and the Count was saying something about his men needing a wizard who was not Immerstal to help kill the Red Hand’s scouts and slow them down. Well, my cousin Morlin was going to be there and well, he was the Count and all, so I said I’d go. If Marquess can keep him from bleeding all over everything, Pyrr should be able to roast Marquess and Jozan’s enemies just fine. Anyway, you don’t say “no” to Counts anymore than to Thanes.

And the wisdom of my decision was immediately confirmed because next the Count says, “And now that we have resolved that matter, let us speak of this ghostlord on the map and the relic you found.” Immerstal looks at it and tells everyone what I already told them: It’s probably a lich’s phylactery made by some tree-buggerer who has rejected the paths of nature. The letter tells us that the Red Hand was using it to blackmail this creature—we’ll call him the Ghostlord since that’s what they seem to be calling him—into joining their war on us. Now that we have it, we should either seek to destroy the creature or to perhaps use the phylactery to persuade it to break that alliance. I could tell the golden-haired priestess lady found the idea of negotiation repugnant and the Count didn’t seem to happy with the idea either but what with Immerstal telling us that the necromantic rituals to extend life with such a device require mastery of the sixth circle of spells, and figuring that this creature has been around a long time since then, destroying it didn’t seem like it was in the ore. So, the count says, “then we will need someone to go to this lich and persuade it to break off the alliance.” Everyone looks around uncomfortably and shifts their chair back a little except for Marquess who’s off in his own little world at that moment, and the Baron looks at him and says, “since your valor acquired this object, this task shall fall to you and your companions.” Heh! Not me anymore, thank the Soulforger! I’m only going to mostly certain doom. After that, I found Morlin and his watch was over so we helped Baron Nimon make sure that none of his new wine fell into hobgoblin hands.

Reaping 7. The Count, the High Priestess, Baron Nimon, and a couple lions rode out in the morning and Marquess and my friends went a little later. We said our goodbyes, and a little dust got in my eyes so it almost looked like I shed a tear. Later, Morlin and I were helping ourselves to a few slightly sour yellow grapes along with some hot porridge when light flashed in the courtyard and Immerstal appeared. He handed me an armful of scrolls and told me to familiarize myself with them. So I sat down and figured them out—They’re a little beyond my skill at the moment, but I should be able to manage the scrolls. Most of them were in his script but he shows me one he says he got from the Marquis himself before he disappeared. The Marquis disappeared years ago? It seems Sterich has not been doing well in our absence. As I’m putting them away, he sees the copy of Notes on the Pyronomicon that I got off that hobgoblin sorcerer and asked to borrower it. He even stopped being supercillious for a while. So we negotiated a deal. After this is over, I get to look over his spellbooks.

In the afternoon, I was still going over Immerstal’s scrolls when a messenger rode in from the bridge. It seems Jozan and Penn (that’s right, Journal, Penn—apparently I leave and she decides to start being useful) chased away some kind of shapeshifting Red Hand spy from the hospital brother Edmund had set up on the east side of the bridge. We’re supposed to check everyone for magic as they come in and out of the castle just in case there are more or in case she makes her way here. Sounds like my friends were busy.

Reaping 8 Journal of the Glorious Engelhardt ap Eddard, Knight Courageous of the Valorous Host

Bova is bustling with activity. Everywhere, forges are ringing as smiths pound steel into arrowheads and quarrels and repair armor. The count’s fyrd and the musters of Red Rock and Elsircross drill in the Cathedral Square while the women gather stores from the fields. The very stones of the walls ring from the blows of carpenters and masons as they reinforce the weak spots, build hoardings for the walls, and carve the wood from Drellin’s Ferry into trebuchets and ballistae and Not since the War of Reclamation have I seen such a host as this. I heard that a traveler near the Moneychanger’s gate saw the muster of the Hammerfist dwarves coming to fill their duty to their liege as well.

Now, I’ll grant, there are exceptions. The Lady Kaal has sent her treasury to Kalibac or perhaps beyond and if rumors are to believed intends to leave with her entire guard. And if the rumors are to be believed, the half dozen men from Marthon are all that the dragon left alive in that town. Less disgraceful than the behavior of House Kaal, but the dead are of no assistance to us, however valorously they died. No more help shall come from that direction unless the Marquessa or her generals stir themselves from their complacency and slay the beast.

Perhaps Marshall Verthundle, Commander Terpin, or Frush O’Suggil will manage to bring it to bay and slay it so that the army of the March can come to our aid. Assuming that we can send a message to the Marquessa and that she sees fit to aid us. No aid will come from Count Tondhere in the north but perhaps Count Osric will send aid from Kalibac. Nevertheless, I have it from no lesser source than the very Paragon of Bova himself that the army coming outnumbers the full muster of Bova county by at least three to one and numbers dragons, giants and other fell beasts among their ranks. No matter what aid we receive from Count Osric, only the walls of Bova give us a chance to prevail against such numbers. What an opportunity to reach toward immortal glory! If this is my test of the fourth circle, I welcome it!

Nevertheless, it galls me to have to simply wait. The Paragon has put all of the Glorious Host at the service of the Count, yet he did not deign to take us with him when he marched north. A mere delaying action to be sure—sixteen lances cannot hope to meet the coming horde in open battle—yet even a delaying action offers the chance of glory and the Glorious Host ought to be involved. So here I am, standing watch at the North gate with the Blessed and the Lion Guard. Perhaps if one of the Lions comes through on some mission, they will see fit to let me join them. The Paragon did put us at the service of the Count and the Lions are the Count's representatives, so I would not be abandoning my duty.

And praise be to the Valorous Knight, I did indeed have such an opportunity today! At evening, I stood at the gate and a lion carrying a sinister green glaive and wearing a dusty tabard rode in along with one of the Hillwatch Knights, and three other companions. I begged a moment of his time and compelled him to admit that he had received a great quest from the Count. Despite the Hillwatch Knight, he clearly had need of the aid of one of the Valorous Host though he insisted on dueling me first to test my mettle. I must admit, it was not my finest moment, but I did not yield at the first opportunity and struck him such a blow that, had I not turned my axe, it might have split his head. Still, he demonstrated the skills I would expect from a Lion and bested me. I look forward to hearing of the quest that I may know how we shall win renoun for certainly no foe shall be able to stand against such a group as we shall be.

--------------------------------DM Notes--------------------------------------
Timeline Day 23. Red Hand 2 days from Terrelton. Drellin’s Ferry Refugees halfway from Nimon gap bridge to Talar with cuthbertines and Nimon Gap. Terrelton guildsmen at Nimon gap bridge. Lion guard fortifying bridge. Baron Wiston’s force moving west to engage Red Hand’s aerial scouts.

It was an interesting session: the only combat was an "Easy Skirmish." I replaced the hobgoblins with goblins and wargs--survivors of the force that the PCs and the Witchcross militia destroyed. The PCs destroyed them quickly but of course they didn't know it was an easy skirmish so they were surprised when it was over in round 2. Lots of roleplaying and planning and almost some combat with Miha. Jozan got suspicious that she was asking too many questions. Her bluff was still better than his sense motive but the misdirection spell she had up was worse than useless since Penn and Jozan both made their saves and detected magic and evil. The only good news was that they sneaked around the corner of the tent to do it and she heard the spell and the party talking and cast invisibility and high tailed it. Penn's wolf tracked her by sense but she was able to stay ahead and lose them. Fortunately for her, Penn tried to snare her with a plant growth but I'd made her a fey bloodline sorcerer and her woodland stride meant that the plant growth slowed the party and let her get away. She then doubled back, cast disguise self and walked past the Drellin's Ferry militia and joined the host of evacuees heading to Bova. She may show up again in the future.

[Eldariel]

I have to admit I quite enjoy your style of writing in-character. It certainly adds to the verisimilitude of the story and colours the whole narrative in a rather pleasant way. This should be interesting, going from one grumpy drunken dwarf to a rather polar opposite.

Easy skirmish is just that, easy. PCs need to know they are strong after all. Miha Serani is one of the more interesting figures in the whole path and I'm delighted to see what mischief she manages to cause.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Reaping 8 continued
Upon being welcomed to join Marquess’ group, I inquired the nature of our glorious quest as we walked to Red Magic and Sundries. Marquess was a little cagey—no doubt it is wise if there are spies about—but Stalwart Vigil Jozan (I am told that is his title as one of the Hillwatch Knights) explained to me that we would be traveling to the haunted vale. No doubt we shall smite the undead there and destroy them before they can join the Red Hand’s assault on our fair county. It shall be a glorious battle.

Until we can reach that battle, apparently there is shopping. Marquess traded me a suit of magical fullplate armor for my agile half-plate, a deal that I most gladly made. I bought some sealing wax, copper inks, and fine scraped vellum to inscribe the analects of Heironeous and affix the proper purity seals to my armor. It would not do to face the forces of evil unprepared. Marquess and Jozan inquired if Immerstal was in and the attendant, a businesslike woman replied that he would be back tomorrow morning. Marquess however was able to find an enchanted lance for Penn. Apparently it had been the lance of some halfling knight before King Galmoor’s invasion for it had been found shortly after the invasion in a battlefield near the village of Prosser. It is well that such a weapon should taste goblin blood once more.

After the brief expedition we repaired to Bova castle and Captain Lars Ulverth found us rooms. The Hillwatch Knight then explained the true nature of our mission. I was surprised to say the least. Our "glorious quest" appears to be to return a lich’s phylactery. Of course, I understand the Count’s reasoning and the scriptures admit that fighting enemies one at time is the path of wisdom, but it is hard to wax enthusiastic about diplomatic overtures to such wicked creatures. Nevertheless, I do not doubt that glory shall attend this quest. To boldly travel to such evil’s lair shall be a great undertaking and ought to afford us opportunities to win fame.


Reaping 9
Immerstal is prompt, knowledgable, and almost insufferably arrogant. What’s worse is that he is right.

Immerstal met us in his laboratory shortly after dawn. His laboratory is above the storefront in his tower. It’s an immaculately organized room that looked like a library with several tables for alchemy or writing and a large thaumaturgic triangle carved into the floor and inlaid with silver and iron. A large high-backed chair was on one side and he had placed six canvas chairs on the other side. He began our meeting by laying out the choices before us. We intend to negotiate with this Ghostlord rather than attempting to destroy it. Therefore, we must decide what we intend to obtain from that negotiation. Do we simply want the ghostlord to break his alliance with the Red Hand or do we want him to pledge to remain outside Bova and Crystalmist counties and not trouble them either directly or through his minions for one hundred years and a day? Once we have decided what we want to negotiate for, we must decide how to proceed. If we bring the phylactery, we have to look strong enough that he does not simply decide to take it from us and we will need some means to guarantee that he upholds his end of the bargain. Relying upon the good graces of a lich—or even that his hatred of the hobgoblins who compelled him will outweigh his hatred of life and virtue—is a slender reed upon which to hang our survival. On the other hand, if we do not bring the phylactery with us, we will need to be able to demonstrate that it is in our possession and then the ghostlord will undoubtedly desire some means to guarantee that we will uphold our part of the bargain, whatever that may be.

Immerstal seems to have some experience negotiating with powerful and hostile beings. He thinks this makes him better than the jumped up bravos and guttersnipes who seek adventure, but not all who adventure are thus. And calling Powers to our existence always carries a price. I wonder what prices they have exacted from Immerstal.

“Oh, and by the way,” he said, “High Priestess Goldenbrow undertook to obtain a divination from Pelor. First, if you care about such things, it will not be a sin to negotiate with this ghostlord. Secondly, if we bring the phylactery, he will not allow it to leave his domain and if we do not, he will demand hostages if no better means can guarantee our end of the compact.” I gritted my teeth and held my tongue. He ought not to speak of sins so lightly, but he serves the Count for now and we shall endure his mockery to secure his aid.

Almost as an afterthought, he described what he had learned of the ghostlord in his library. One of his many tomes contained the tale of a traveler in the lands that are now the Haunted Vale. This traveler, some indeterminate time before King Galmoor’s war, had become lost in the many winding valleys and had come to the northern edge of the Vale—somewhere south and on the other side of the mountains from Drellin’s Ferry. There he saw a great stone lion in a field surrounded by monoliths. The monoliths bore the symbol of the sun and were inscribed with a great many magical runes that glowed with a golden light. Within the monoliths, nothing stirred and neither creature nor plant drew breath. That account, he said, matched up well with what our High Arcanist of the Tiri Kitor related from the lore of his people: that the Ghostlord had occupied and had possibly been bound in a great statue of a lion-like beast. Since the Red Hand has allied with him, it appears that he is bound no longer but the symbols the traveler described could have been bindings wrought by the followers of the Sun Father who was the chief god of the Ur-flan before their descent into decadence and corruption.

What else had he learned of the Ghostlord? He was definitely a druid. (Immerstal uses a rather profane circumlocution for this and never refers to druids by name or even to the Old Faith directly. I wonder why he hates them so.) Since the War of Reclamation, the Ghostlord has presumably been corrupting the land of the haunted vale and creating undead but has not personally been seen by anyone, from which Immerstal concludes that he has kept close to the area of his old confinement and does not have a particular enmity for Bova, Crystalmist County, or Sterich in general. On this, I think Immerstal may be too optimistic. He has not been personally seen by anyone who survived to tell the tale. In my travels through the counties, I have heard tales of dark deeds that could easily have been his work and who can tell whether wolves, griffins, ogres, or something more sinister is behind the periodic disappearances in these lands.

But I digress. Immerstal’s information was useful and his counsel sound. We had to choose our course, so we fell to talking. Immerstal suggested that one way we could demonstrate that we have the phylactery would be to submerge it in a font of holy water and call an Azer or other extraplanar being to guard it. We then take a drop of its blood to the ghostlord so that he can scry the guardian and see the phylactery—and also that he cannot hope to reform near it. Immerstal did not seem worried that the ghostlord might use magic to seize the phylactery from afar.* As to an enforcer of our compact with the ghostlord, that is much more tricky. It would need to be a being that we would both fear—and a being the ghostlord would fear is harder to come by than one that we would fear—and that has temperment to uphold the letter of the agreement. No doubt an Inevitable like a marut would be ideal, but since the gods have not gifted any of us with the power to call one, such talk is idle.

Then Immerstal had an idea. Though none of us can call a creature the ghost lord would fear, but there is a possibility that we might be able to obtain an enforcer by traveling to the fabled City of Brass in the elemental plane of fire and paying one of the emirs of the Efreeti to enforce our compact. Such would only require a scroll of plane shift to get there. Well, that and payment, but Immerstal suggested that the copy of Notes on the Pyronomicon that Grimmath had in his possession might well be valuable enough.** That book, and the copy he had just made are the only even secondhand and partial copy of Keraptis’ legendary Pyronomicon. Pyrr pointed out a flaw in his plan: the plane shift spell is not accurate enough to reach the City of Brass reliably but Immerstal claimed that he had learned enough from the notes on Keraptis’ tome to make a superior planar fork that would overcome that challenge and take us directly to the fabled city. An interesting plan. The city and its inhabitants have a sinister reputation but we could hardly expect the Ghostlord to agree to travel to the Seven Heavens, cross the sea of holy water and apply to the courts of the Archons to enforce our agreement.

Marquess initially wanted to just give the phylactery to the ghostlord and hope for the best, but Jozan and Pyrr were convinced that doing so would forfeit any leverage we had over him and like Immerstal, they were not inclined to trust any lich’s good graces. So, it was decided. I will not say Immerstal’s plan seemed good to us, but it did seem to be the best of a plethora of bad options. We would leave the phylactery in Bova. Since none of us were willing to serve as hostage, we would travel to the fabled City of Brass and attempt to obtain an Efreeti Emir to enforce our bargain. Though I know of its reputation, the thought that I shall visit such a storied place still fills my heart with wonder. I look forward to gazing on its beauty even as I shrink from the wickedness that dwells there. So, that was it. Immerstal called an Azer and caught some its burning sweat in a vial. He promised to meet us tomorrow morning in the tavern at Dauth with his superior planar fork.

We left his tower and traveled to the Chapterhouse of Heironeous to seek counsel and indulgence from the Paragon for our plans. We apparently planned to negotiate with a being of pure evil and contract with prince of evil spirits to enforce our bargain. It seems to make sense given our situation, but I have to admit when you put it that way, it doesn’t sound very good. We found only a pair of the blessed there but they kindly directed us to where the Paragon was drilling with Bova’s fyrd in Cathedral square. After hearing our plan, he frowned and thought a little bit. “It is most disturbing to traffic with darkness as you plan to, but your goals appear to be noble. If you are honest and honorable in your dealings and do not agree to pay any wicked price, I think there is no peril to your standing with the Archpaladin. I cannot say that I approve of this plan, but neither will I condemn it.” It’s not exactly a ringing endorsement, but not all of the work in a great and noble quest is glorious. No doubt, many men struggle with pigs in the mud in order to feed the soldiers who fight King Belvor’s great Crusade against Old Wicked. This week, it appears that I have joined the pig wrestling contest. But at least we will wrestle with pigs in a place of otherworldly splendor.

Fortuitously, we were already in Cathedral square and were able to proceed directly to the cathedral of Pelor. It is truly a beautiful sight—easily the most beautiful edifice of Pelor outside of Istivin and it does not appear to be afflicted by the curse of Istivin that, if rumor is to be believed, causes the statuary to weep tears of blood fall away to injure worshippers. That Pelor and the gods of Good appear to be watching over us was evidenced by the providence we found there. They did indeed have a scroll of plane shift in their archives and, now the evidence of providence, they had just received a replacement for the scroll of banishment that the high priestess used to banish a demon in a ruined town to the north of the Elsir. I believe my companions were involved in that incident. The group of acolytes and templars carrying the scroll had left the very morning that the great dragon burned Marthon and without it, we would most likely have been stuck on the plane of fire for some time unless the Valorous Knight deems me worthy of the fourth circle by then. Truly, the gods provide for us.

It was late morning, by the time we departed throught he moneychanger’s gate and passed over the mighty bridges that span the Elsir amid a steady stream of women, children, and the aged traveling towards what they hope is safety in Kalibac. A few able-bodied cowards went with them of course. I invoked Heironeous’ traveling chant to grant our horses endurance as we rode hard for Dauth.

It was not long before we reached the crossroads. Prosser and, beyond that Kalibac lay to the south while the westerly route led to Dauth and Hillwatch Keep, and beyond that, the haunted, thorn-choked wilds of the Cursed Vale. However, just to the south, of the crossroads by a patch of aspen, we spotted an overturned cart and a small group of goblins and a pair of ettins making sport of several dead men. We rushed forward to meet them. Pyrr cursed the quick reactions of the Ettins that enabled them to charge forward and evoked a fireball that burned the goblins though without killing any of them. Penn rode forward and chanted a spell that turned the grass to caltrops beneath the goblins feet and was cut down by an ettin wielding two swords for her trouble. The goblins peppered Marquess’ destrier with arrows and the Ettin he fought bounced its flail off the horse’s head and into his breastplate, leaving a large dent in the enchanted steel and (I don’t doubt) cracked ribs beneath. In return, the lion sweeping the ettin’s legs from beneath it and striking off both its heads with a single masterful stroke. I rode forward to channel the Valorous Knight’s healing to Penn, Marquess, and their mounts, then spurred my mount toward the sword-wielding ogre which was struggling to regain its feet as Penn’s dire wolf savaged it and Hellek came from behind it with his dragon-hilted shortswords. I buried my axe in its chest, shattering bones and spraying blood across my tabard and the battle was over.

It is always sad to see people you know die or to come across their bodies. I had met Amanthar, the count’s Reeve several times as Warden of the North Gate. He seemed a good man—a Cuthbertine if I remember our conversation when he rode out with the Lions to pay hippogriff bounties correctly—and Bova will miss his plain and honest dealing. There he was with a goblin arrow in his throat and a crushed leg where he had fallen under the cart. There were four Lion Guards with him—all dead. I did not recognize them but Marquess recognized one of them—Wulf, a quiet man who had served with him in the glaives. He had a young wife and two children back in the city—or maybe already gone to Kalibac now. However, aside from the small tragedies of war, they had also been carrying letters and three chests of treasure. The letter of introduction requested an audience with Count Osric of Crystalmist county and permission to hire mercenaries in Kalibac as well as to beg the Count for any aid he could send. The instructions said to seek out Ebbelard of the War Dogs company who were known to be honorable and were reputed to be in Kalibac as a training cadre.

What to do? Penn and Hellek thought of delaying our quest for four days to deliver the gold and the message to Kalibac, but that plan died quickly when I asked who would meet Immerstal tomorrow morning in Dauth. There was some talk of sending Penn with the gold and messages—no doubt she could make good time but even having known this group as short a time as I have, sending her to speak to Count Osric did not seem likely to end well. And there were clearly dangers on the road such that one woman—even one as redoubtable as she no doubt is—ought not to travel alone laden with gold and important messages. But since we were to meet Immerstal tomorrow, Jozan suggested we dump the task on his shoulders and his suggestion met with instant and universal acclaim. Knowing what we must now do, we buried the Wulf, Amanthar and the three unknown soldiers. Jozan and I performed the last rites and then we left them in their roadside graves. The ettins and goblins, we left as food for the beasts of the field and the birds of the air. They will have many more such feasts in the days to come.

We set out along the winding westward road and though we made it to Dauth without further incident—indeed we hardly even saw anyone on the road—it was a very eventful day. As we rested at the Starcloak Inn in Dauth, I transcribed the passages from the Book of the Code to my sanctified vellum scrolls and affixed them to my breastplate, belt, shield, greaves, axe, and helmet with consecrated wax melted over a holy candle. My temple instructors would no doubt be disappointed in my calligraphy, but it is slowly improving.

Reaping 10

In the morning, I rose before dawn to say my prayers and practice my forms and I met the others for breakfast in the common room. I was just finishing my porridge and sausages when there was a flash and Immerstal the Red appeared in center of the common room. Glancing around he saw us and presented me with a long tuning fork made of red steel and carved all around and about with arcane runes that were filled with a dark, clotted ink that seemed to radiate heat. “As promised,” he said, “a superior planar focus bound to the gates of the City of Brass. It will take you nowhere else on that elemental plane, but it should ensure that you arrive near your destination.”

Before he could leave, we addressed him with the Reeve’s mission. He sighed and acquiesced. (“Gods, negotiating with mercenaries will be tedious! But I suppose I must.”) Our contention only made sense and he had been to Kalibac before. Hopefully the Count and Grimmath can wait another day or two for their scrolls. He struggled to pick up one of the chests and then asked us if we had any strengthening magic. Pyrr enlarged him and joked, “now you truly are the greatest wizard in all Sterich!” I also prayed for him to gain the strength of a bull. And with that, he was able to lift the iron coffers and mumble out his spell. He vanished. I pray that he arrived in Kalibac.

Not long after that, we set out. The road was barely a one-horse track now and wound up and down the hillside as we climbed into the foothills of the Crystalmists. Again, I sang the marching chant as long as I could and we were able to make Hillwatch Keep well before nightfall. It is a small fortress built mostly of wood and earth with stone gradually being laid to complete the towers and chapels. The banner of the chapter (Halved: Sinister argent owl on sable field and dexter, a frowning sable keep on argent field) hung from the gatehouse. The guards recognized Jozan and greeted him as a Stalwart Vigil. He was to recite the tale of his deeds and his journey to the brother knights at supper.

The supper was quite good. We sang a hymn to the Invincible and Valourous Knight before dinner and then there was roast beef and a moderate serving of red Keoish wine—a good vintage. Jozan’s tale was not so well told. Perhaps speaking in front of his brothers made him nervous, but the telling did not live up to the heroic deeds it described. Never-the-less, the Master Caedmon—All Seeing Victorious Griffin to use his proper title—called him forward and pronounced his deeds to have been worthy. No longer would Jozan be Stalwart Vigil, but his name would be entered into the rolls as Implaccable Rampant Basilisk of the Knights of Hillwatch Keep. Having kept the twelve and been worthy of the first precept, he would be taught the second and the third precepts after his initiation tonight. And, as a token of his rank, Master Caedmon presented him with an amulet that shone and shimmered like liquid copper. I recognized the meersalm amulet*** for I bear one myself. It is a gift most worthy of a knight.

After this, we had opportunity to speak with Master Caedmon while the brother knights prepared for Jozan’s vigil and initiation. He was familiar with the passage that Immerstal had found but had not seen the Stone lion himself. None of the patrols travels more than a couple days beyond the keep—most of the time, the patrols do not even go a full day’s travel before returning and the stone lion would be at least three or four days to the northwest. We made arrangements, then repaired to the guest chambers to slumber. Tomorrow, our valiant company shall pass into untamed haunted lands where the powers of darkness hold sway. I pray that our courage and skill at arms and the blessings of the gods we bear enable us to conquer and ride victorious to the end of our quest.

----------------------------------------DM notes-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Day 25 Red Hand loots Terrelton. Baron Wiston, Trask, Jorr, Grimmath, Morlin, the lions et al ambush and destroy the Heiracosphynx scouts.

*Immerstal said, “First, simply scrying a person will not generally give sufficient information to teleport unless you recognize a landmark within ten feet of them. To teleport, you need to know where they are, not merely what the room looks like. Secondly, treebuggerers cannot teleport. And thirdly, of course the chamber is warded against teleportation. Do I look like an idiot?

** “Typical adventuring wizard. He learns one spell and thinks that’s all the book has to offer. He had no idea the treasure he had in his backpack. No, he won’t miss it. I could make him an everful mug of ale to offer in its place and he would think he had cheated me. But I have had a copy made as well. I would not give up the only copy of this knowledge.”

***This Meersalm amulet is an amulet of natural armor +2 that functions as a holy symbol of Heironeous. Twice ever it will enable its wearer to turn a confirmed critical hit into a normal hit. Once those charges are expended, it retains its other functions.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Journal of the Glorious Engelhardt ap Eddard, Knight Courageous of the Valorous Host

Reaping 11
We had intended to begin our quest at daybreak but we actually spent a couple hours provisioning before we set out on our quest. Knowing that our animals would not be able to graze in the cursed vale, we loaded them down with sacks of oats and bought two more horses to help shoulder the load. I acquired four bottles of the keep’s Keoish Red to for our meals and rituals on the way. We set out with high hopes as the sun rose in the sky.

By early afternoon, our hopes were dashed. Sir Jozan had warned us that the lands of the haunted vale were choked with thorny vines but we had not truly realized how much they would hamper us. Every mile, one or more horses would lame themselves on one of the myriad of vicious thornbushes that grow here. By noon, we had spent over an hour tending to our horses.* Then, disaster struck. As we halted to clean and poultice yet another bleeding hoof, Jozan and Hellek shouted warning. Large lions with the wings and heads of hawks dived towards us—I had initially thought them to be griffins but examining the bodies later and comparing them to the Compleate Monstrous Compendium at Hillwatch Keep, we confirmed them to be Heiracosphynxes instead.

We did not cover ourselves with glory on that day for Pyrr whose knowledge had proved key to our planning and choosing our course of action immediately fell to the claws and beaks of the creatures.** We avenged our friend but the sudden and bloody loss of our boon companion deadened our spirits. We debated moving on without him but since bodies in these lands seem to rise as undead sooner or later, we laboriously returned to the keep to lay our friend to rest on hallowed ground.

Reaping 12
It was with heavy hearts that we resumed our quest. This time, our entourage was much smaller. We left the pack animals behind us and rode with only one horse each, thus hoping to better guide them and spend less time tending to injured beasts. Our faces were grim and we spoke but little as we marched to the northwest, heading once more towards the last village mentioned by the ancient traveler in the account we had read: Dourstone Keep, seat of the lord of Stonefields. Riding, we hoped to reach there by nightfall if we pushed ourselves hard—a task I might facilitate with the blessings of the Valorous Knight.

Again we did not make as good time as I hoped and by the seventh hour, I realized that we had now thrice passed by the spot where Pyrr met his untimely end. I pray that this is not an omen. Nevertheless, I struck up the cheerful pilgrim’s chant that I learned in the archives of Rel Astra and we made good time in the nineth hour of our journey before our horses fell exhausted and we stopped to camp.


Reaping 13
It is fortunate that we prepared well and bought many herbs and poultices with us, else I think we would run out of means to treat our beasts. As we traveled, we had to continue to treat our horses as the thorns tore at their legs and hooves. Only Penn and the great wolf that she rides seemed to escape their pricks. It was noon when we arrived at the ruins of a village with a small stone tower. Honestly I cannot tell one ruined village from another but Penn, Marquess and Jozan seemed certain that this must be Stonefields where our traveler’s tale began. Our tale nearly ended there.

What was once a road was now as overgrown with thistles and briars as everything else but it was at least a path through the dozen buildings whose skeletons made the ghost town. So, we rode by it, hoping to find some remnants of the trail our traveler followed. What we found instead was a herd of shambling monstrousities that were once aurochs or bison or some such beasts. Their bellies swelled in death and their skin hung from them in strips like beggars’ rags. I drew a small circle in holy water and powdered silver to consecrate*** the ground upon which we stood and I felt the holy energies thrum through the fingerbone of Saint Ferrante in my buckler. The beasts shook the ground as they moved forward and from beside the buildings, a great skeletal bear joined the fray as well. We fought bravely and they exploded in hunks of gore as Jozan struck them down with his enchanted axe.**** Marquess dropped his glaive and drew a mace to strike at the bear. Several times it grappled him, but he slipped from its grasp.

Things were going our way when Penn charged her wolf into one of the zombies and knocked it back into the dire bear. There was a cloud of dust and the earth gave way a little, opening up a cellar under what remained of an inn. From that cellar crawled a hideous lizard with eight legs and glowing eyes. Jozan shouted to beware the basilisk’s gaze, so I averted my eyes from it and desperately channeled the power of our god to heal my allies as I struck desperately at the zombie near me and Marquess. Hellek was not so quick on the uptake and must have met the beast’s eyes for his skin turned to grey stone before my eyes. In retrospect, desperation led me to neglect my form and I was unable to land solid blows with my axe. Jozan struck down the skeletal bear and moved up to the greater of the two basilisks. The one that I suppose to have been its mate circled around behind Penn and her wolf.

Then Marquess attempted to lean down in his saddle and snatch his glaive from where he had dropped it. Perhaps it was the gore from the zombies, but he slipped and fell from his saddle and the last bison dealt him a savage blow, ramming its horns into the space between his pauldrons and cuirass. He fell. I leaped forward, thinking of my most powerful curative spell but just at that moment the basilisk raised its head and I froze, unable to move or complete my thought.

Thanks be to the Invincible and Valorous Knight, Jozan and Penn—or to be more precise, her wolf—managed to finish off both basilisks and the last zombie. I regained consciousness as Penn stood on the back of her wolf to reach my head and wrung a blanket soaked in basilisk blood over me. No doubt I shall stay up late in the night praying for water and washing everything I own, but it would be churlish for me to complain at being delivered from a living death. Searching the cellar, we found some ruined armor as well as an enchanted sword, helm, and prayer cord. There was also a statue of a gnome buried in the cave in. Since there was basilisk blood to spare, we coated the gnome in it. Evidently fresh basilisk blood can make petrified flesh into skin once more.

The gnome screamed. However, we were soon able to calm him down and hear his story. His name is Rastix and he is a champion of Garl Glittergold who had been traveling with a human of our faith. They had heard rumors of giants and such creatures attacking the frontiers but they had barely begun preparations when the storm broke upon them. Thank the Valorous Knight that I had more warning in Istivin. A giant and his pet basilisks forced them back into the cellar and the last thing Rastix remembered was his friend striking the giant and being stuck down in turn as the giant’s dying stroke cleaved through his friend and shattered a support pillar in the cellar. Rastix caught the basilisk’s eye and was petrified as stone and earth rained down upon him. I suppose that saved him from being eaten.

Well, it is a most fortunate rescue for our new friend. We cannot delay our quest even further to take him to Hillwatch Keep so I guess he is stuck with us for the moment. But he seems to be a good company and I am glad to have him as a companion. That night, I shared one of my bottles of Keoish red with my brothers in arms and we raised a cup to the mercies of the good gods and to absent friends.

----------DM Note---------------
Day 28: In a skirmish with the remaining manticore scouts, Grimmath loses an eye, Svindhelm Fitztrask and two Lions—Bors and Kay are slain, but they do finish off the last manticore scouts and one of the Kulkor Zhul War Adepts for good measure.

Reaping 14
A new day greeted us with thorns, gullies, ravines, briars and a few patches of assassin vines—or so Jozan said they were. For my part, they looked much like any other vine and I would have been tempted to try gathering their berries had Jozan and Penn not steered us away from them. We are fortunate to have such wise guides with us. Truly we are a bold and valiant company and I cannot think but that our might shall cow this ghostlord into accepting terms. Even the ritual of binding and poulticing our horses wounds no longer bears the sense of menace it did when we set out the second time.

As shadows began to creep over the landscape, we passed a small ruined farmhouse—only parts of the walls and doorposts remained and through its walls a ghostly lion glided, stalking us as though we were prey. Ghost or not, it and its partner soon learned that the followers of the Invincible and Valorous Knight are not easy prey. Our enchanted weapons tore their incorporeal forms to tattered threads which vanished towards the northeast as though blown by a strong wind. This lends credence to our goal for something must have drawn them that way. The wind was blowing southeast and in any event such ethereal shards would not be effected by wind.

Our spirits bouyed by the swift and glorious victory, we pressed on until dark. Once, I thought I caught a glimpse of the stone lion’s head against the mountains to the north but it could be wishful thinking. Still, Penn and Jozan say that we should reach it tomorrow, so I might have seen it. Soon the hour will come wherein our courage shall be tested. It shall prove to be as purest gold.

---------DM Note--------
Day 29 Red Hand nears Nimon Gap. High Priestess Goldenbrow invokes the most powerful scroll in the temple archives and summons an archon to strike down the Red Hand’s wyverns.

---------------------------DM Notes----------------------------
* This is an interesting artifact of the conversion to Pathfinder. In 3.5, heavy warhorses have +4 natural armor and are immune to the Thornwaste's damaging and slowing effects. Since almost all parties will either be riding horses or flying on owls that means that almost no-one will wind up rolling reflex saves against the thorns. In Pathfinder, however, heavy horses only have +2 natural armor and are still vulnerable. I actually quite like the way it works out even though having everyone roll reflex saves for all their mounts can be tedious. It forces the characters to interact with the environment (and the adventure has now had three very different hostile environments--the Witchwood, the Blackfens, and now the Haunted Vale/Thornwaste), reinforces that the haunted vale is a very unfriendly and cursed place, and I'm sure will make the players as well as the characters breathe a sigh of relief when they reach Hillwatch Keep on the way back and get to travel on roads that don't make their mounts roll reflex saves.

** The Heiracosphynx saw Pyrr was chargeable and didn't have on armor like everyone else and pounced. With power attack active, it hit three times and dropped Pyrr past negative con. Pro tip: Con is not a dump stat, even, no especially, if you're an elf. It's really a shame that Pyrr kicked the bucket here since he's a great character and ties into the story really well. Talking with the player afterward, we may end up bringing him back. They have some scrolls of Raise Dead in the Cathedral of Pelor. Maybe I'll have them do it behind the scenes while the party is away in order to explain him gaining enough xp to still be a viable party member when they get back.

***The combination of consecrate and prayer saved the party something like 150 damage over the course of the battle. I needed to roll somewhere between an 11 and a 13 to land most of my attacks and my dice went cold after the first round of the battle. A few late hits and some key petrifications made the battle close though.

****Jozan nearly singlehandedly destroyed the entire encounter. No-one else was having much luck (though Penn's animal companion finally came through in the end and did some work on the basilisks) and Jozan rolled three or four battleaxe crits, all of which were entirely superfluous since undead with 5 remaining hit points don't really need 45 damage crits to take them out. Still it was impressive.

The party doesn't know it yet, but both Penn and Vengeance ended up getting zombie fever from the plague zombies.

[Eldariel]

It is really the scenery and the attention to detail that brings a story to life. Also the functional, living campaign world and the fact that characters are not expendable.

All of that makes this journal a pleasure to read, and indeed, the setup of RHoD caters to this superbly. It isn't even that much work to flesh out the details. Also, it is much more interesting when the PCs are not trouncing every encounter. Indeed, the game and the story both feel much more engaging when PCs and NPCs alike can die and that matters for the whole of the story. This kind of a campaign of two forces colliding is thus a rather perfect backdrop.

How did you handle Pyrr's early, sudden demise? That gnome serves as a temporary PC, but did you initially grant her the control of e.g. Penn's companion or the storyteller cohort? Or did he participate otherwise?

[Elder_Basilisk]

Journal of the Glorious Engelhardt ap Eddard, Knight Courageous of the Valorous Host

Reaping 15.
Last night, Lady Underfoot cast several spells to surround our camp with a ring of sharp thorns and we bedded down in the middle of the ring secure in Rastix’s spell to alert us if anyone approached our camp. Faith in nature and faith in arcane power proved equally ill-founded.

I was standing first watch with Hellek and examining the holy blade that my companions have for the moment entrusted to my keeping. It has a long blade of dark steel covered in wave patterns from its forging and with a lightning bolt etched on the inside of the blood grooves, running up over the curved guard, and ending on the pommel. It is a fine blade but there is otherwise no outward sign of its power.

Hellek’s shout ended my reverie. “It’s under the ground!” Soon, I could see it for myself as a giant creature larger than the biggest horse and covered bony plates burst from the ground, scattering the embers of our low fire and nearly bit Lady Underfoot’s leg off. Jozan struggled to his feet and grasped his axe and Hellek fired arrows at its armor as I ran over to Marquess and struck him to wake him and at the same time armor him with a shield of faith. He rolled over as I leaned down to slap him and I think I nearly broke his nose, but he woke, shook the cobwebs out of his ears, and grabbed his baatorian glaive. (Some time I must ask him why a devout follower of the archpaladin bears a blade from the realm of his faithless brother).

The beast was surprisingly quick for something so large and nearly killed the Lady Underfoot, her wolf vengeance, and Jozan before we were finally able to bring it down. Covered in its blood and ours, it attempted to pick up the halfling’s bleeding body and flee which afforded Jozan the opportunity to leap onto its back and sink his axe into the soft tissue under its neck plates. While Rastix, Jozan, and I struggled to remember anything about these creatures, Hellek, who must have been up all night studying the Compleat Monstrous Compendium at Hillwatch Keep mentioned that these beasts have a taste for halfling flesh and that in times past, dwarves used to craft shields from the armor plates behind their heads, should they be unlucky enough to encounter such a beast and fortunate enough to slay it. Hearing that, Jozan hewed and yanked until he finally got both neck-plates free of the corpse.

Then it was time to walk after our horses and tend to their bloodied fetlocks and injured hooves once more for Penelope’s spell had shredded them as they fled the bulette.

In the morning, we made haste to abandon camp before the beast’s body began to stink even more in the heat of the day. The Lady Underfoot had a sinister rash and her neck is covered in seeping boils—she seems to have contracted zombie fever—perhaps from the bloated plague zombies we fought the other day—but there was little that we could do about it in the morning. Had I time to treat her, I could probably find herbs but we cannot afford to spend days or weeks while she rests and I tend her. The armies of the Red Hand will not afford us such luxury. On the morrow, should the gods allow our mission to succeed, I shall pray to the Invincible and Valorous Knight to cure her disease.

Still, having bested such a fierce predator and sensing that we must be close to our destination, there was a lightness in most of our steps as we marched forward. It turned out we were still not wary enough for a pair of great insects dripping green ichor from their mandibles burst from the ground around us and spewed a vicious acid across our entire group. I invoked a prayer to the Archpaladin but before I could do anything more, Jozan’s arrows, Marquess’ glaive, and Hellek’s sword put an end to them. I think we decided that they had been ankhegs.

A few hours and several injured hooves later, we arrived at the site described by the traveler. A great stone lion on a rocky mesa, silhouetted against the mountains behind it and ringed by a forest of rune-carved monoliths and surrounded by a desolation so great that not even fleas crawled on the dusty earth between the monoliths and the lion. Unlike the traveler’s account, the runes were mere dead carvings and several of the pillars were shattered or thrown down. Rastix and Jozan said that, when they invoked their divinations to see the unseen, they could see the spirits of tortured lions flying about it in the ether, sometimes passing through the dread monolith. There were also signs of movement in the bare earth before the stone lion. Claw marks and booted feet.

Lady Underfoot gave her eyepatch to Marquess—she explained that it was enchanted to allow the wearer to see invisible creatures like the ghosts that circled the tower if worn over the left eye or to fight without vision if worn over the right eye. A valuable tool indeed. I have a scroll stored to purge foes of dishonorable invisibility but I must save it for a time of dire need. It proved its worth today.

As we approached the monument, the footprints faded in our consciousness as we saw a hollow like a cave in its chest, between its paws. A steep stair led up to it and basalt carvings of skeletal lions stood on pedestals on either side like guardians. Jozan and Rastix both cast a spell to disrupt the undead and test the skeletons to be sure if they were carvings or not. The spell did nothing, but shortly thereafter, a creature from our darkest nightmares emerged from the cave.

It scuttled on eight legs to the entrance and launched itself in the air on white, batlike wings. Frost trailed from between its teeth and its eyes blazed with a mesmerizing blue fire. Upon its underbelly, we saw a brand like a five headed dragon. Rastix stood transfixed and, as we realized that danger was upon us, his skin turned grey and hard as granite. Then a blast of cold washed over us, chilling us to the bone. We averted our gaze from its eyes and as we wondered what to do, Lady Underfoot took it on herself to lure it away from us. Hellek was barely able to gasp out; “It’s a dracolisk—if you value your lives do not meet its gaze!” before he too was petrified by its unholy power.

Realizing that we could not hope to prevail standing in the open as it flew above us and bit us or turned us to stone at will, I called out that we should make for the cave and ran there as quickly as I could in my armor. Marquess and Jozan followed with the Lady Underfoot and her dire wolf just a little behind them. We made it to the cavern and prepared to make our stand. Its hide was like adamantine and its claws cut through our armor as though it were not there, but Marquess and Jozan’s blades and Vengeance’s teeth still took their toll on it. I called upon Heironeous to heal us many times and slashed at it with my sword but even the holy blade could not penetrate its scales. Marquess and Jozan were more skilled than I and though it stuck several of us down so that only the power of the Archpaladin kept us from dying, we eventually slew the beast and took a strand of black pearls that it held laced around its right foreclaws.

Gathering its blood, we were able to restore Rastix and Hellek to flesh. Something has gotten here before us, but we must see our quest through to the end. Woe to any villains who stand in our path!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Day 30 on the Red Hand of Doom timeline. Tredora Goldenbrow's shield archon will have killed most of the wyverns and returned to the seven heavens. The Lion Guard has drawn up their battle lines as though they were going to hold the bridge at Nimon Gap against the Red Hand but they will retreat over the bridge and destroy it behind them rather than actually offer battle. Doing it this way makes the Red Hand waste their time deploying from marching to battle formation and if they get lucky, the count figures that Abiathrax might fly over the river and try to harass the retreating army (it would be a bad idea since Abiathrax alone would not be able to stand up to the heroes of the Elsir Vale, most of whom will be there). Kharn can do the math though and is not about to allow Abiathrax to charge into that trap so that won't happen.

DM notes: no one other than Hellek could roll above a 3 or so on knowledge checks this session. Hellek got nothing but 19s and 20s. The only explanation we could think of was that he'd spent his time at Hillwatch Keep studying the Monstrous Compendium. Jozan's player joked that he had apparently just looked at the pictures. (Most likely the succubus, dryad, nymph, and erinyes entries).
XP For Hellek: 3200. Marquess, Rastix and Jozan include RP XP. Penn include RP XP and 300 bonus XP

Treasure: 2 bulette back plates, strand of black pearls worth 3,500 gp (Rastix’ estimate)

Now, about Pyrr. It turns out that his death was a math penalty. The player had forgotten to add several levels of hit favored class hit points and should have been at -7 or -8 rather than dead at -11. We didn't realize that until the next week though. As far as his player having something to do, Hellek's player has actually missed the last 3 sessions or so due to a variety of reasons. Pyrr's player was already running Hellek that evening, so things worked out alright.

The player likes Pyrr and he was really an ideal character for the story with his connection to the Tiri Kitor, so he wants to get him raised when it's a possibility. In order to keep him with the party (who should be 8th-9th level by the time they finish with the Ghostlord), it's probably best to do it offscreen so that he can I could have Tredora Goldenbrow use a scroll, but I think it will be much more interesting to promote Immerstal a level (Pathfinderizing him could legitimately bump him to level 10 and he's been doing quite a bit behind the scenes during the adventure so having him make level 11 is not entirely unreasonable) and have him use planar binding to get an efreet or something to do it. So Pyrr may end up coming back owing favors to both Immerstal and an efreet. Any ideas on that? What kind of favors would Immerstal and his conjured outsider want? Ideally, I'd like something somewhat questionable where Pyrr will have to think about whether he wants to do it or not--not necessarily a side quest, but maybe something more along the lines of a year 1 or year 2 Living Arcanis faction mission (before they sanitized them).

[Eldariel]

I take the Dracolisk was Varranthian? An interesting substitution and reinforces the theme - also quite brutal though petrification being so easily undone does cut a bit into the risk. Still, I suppose it's necessary to not essentially lose the whole party in a won encounter, especially since petrification occurs so quickly in the game.

Yeah, you could certainly level-up Immerstal though level 6 spells can wreak all sorts of havoc on the Horde. Owing two favours though, well, Immerstal would most likely only be interested in something to further his power or perhaps to use the PCs as a tool in the intercity power struggle; perhaps vs. Lady Kaal or so, though I suppose that might fall out a bit differently in your campaign than in the grand scheme of things. The Efreet would probably want some item or something - perhaps a promise to acquire something that's currently held in the Fane of Tiamat for instance. Though for immediate payment, the old-but-reliable gold would work.

Yeah, it's probably good to revive Pyrr - and convenient that the players worked out this way so it can all work out in the long term.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Reaping 15 countinued.

Beyond the hidden door lay a wide stone passage that wound slowly to my right and up into the belly of the stone behemoth. We evoked magical lights and strode forward boldly, ready for anything that might happen. And it turned out that we were ready, but only by the narrowest of margins.

Ahead of us, the tattered spirit fragments of lions flew through the corridors from time to time interrupting the light of the gods with their unwholesome witchlight. Hiding their ethereal forms in the midst of this glow, several ghostly lions lay in wait for us and sprung out catching us—well, at least Marquess and me—unaware. The far lion was horribly disfigured as though it had spent hours under Old Wicked’s interrogators. Even catching its ghastly eyes for a brief moment, I felt its torments strike me to my soul. Hellek’s skin melted like wax at the sight of its horrific visage. As another ghost lion howled out its damned torments, the supernatural chill that passed through us struck Marquess to the quick and he turned and ran towards the wholesome sunlight. Hellek hurled his dagger as he shouted an imprecation and it exploded in a burst of fire, nearly consuming one of the lions. Jozan called upon the Valorous Knight to smite undead and struck the creatures to wispy tatters of witchlight that flowed into the stone up and away from us like fingers of mist on a windy day.

Jozan then called out, “A hobgoblin sneak!” and ran forward to strike at a hobgoblin hidden around the curve of the passage. The rest of us surged forward—all except Hellek who ran back and started dragging the cowering Marquess back towards us.

The hobgoblin was dressed in hooded red robes and carried a long chain with heavy iron dragon heads on each end. He spun around and kicked Jozan in the back of the head before he ran down the passage. At the end, we saw a heavy door that would have been cunningly hidden had it not been open and beyond it stairs going down and several passageways beyond. The red-robed hobgoblin and took refuge behind a larger one who dressed in green robes and girded with a magnificent belt of adamant links studded with precious stones. The red robed hobgoblin called out in their twisted language. The green robed hobgoblin snarled at Jozan, lady Underfoot and her wolf and saluted them with his fists which immediately burst into flame before he struck them in a blur of sudden motion.

Later, as we bound our wounds, I learned that several of my valiant companions are well versed in the speech of these verminous creatures. The first hobgoblin had called out—“the humans from Skull Gorge are here!” The green-robed hobgoblin was apparently named Master Doomfist and he very nearly proved worthy of that name. Rastix suggested that the red robed hobgoblins must have been his disciples and it makes sense. Properly, that knowledge would be for later when it came to me, but I recount it here that my tale may be easier to follow.

So, Master Doomfist and his disciple fought with Jozan and Vengeance while I ran to catch up and say a prayer to the Archpaladin for our victory. The dire wolf and our Impaccable Rampant Basilisk had the upper hand for a short moment but two hobgoblins dressed in banded armor and carrying the picks and pendants of the queen of dragons descended the stairs to our right while a strikingly beautiful hobgoblin—and writing those words, I realize how impossible such a thing may seem, yet upon my honor she was so—stepped up behind them singing an aria that they must have found inspiring. Then she stuck a high note and the hobgoblins discarded potion bottles on the floor shattered and an answering thunder exploded around us. Lady Underfoot called lightning upon the wicked priests and as they healed themselves, we saw three more red robed disciples descending a long stair at the opposite side of the room.

Injured and with one of Bova county’s best fighters cowering in the dracolisk’s lair, Jozan and the Lady Underfoot judged themselves to be outmatched and retreated, closing the door behind them. I prayed fervently for healing and even the small Rastix cured some of our injuries by the power of his gnomish god. But it was too little. Before we were able to establish a proper defensive cordon, the door opened and the hobgboblins spilled out. Marquess had just barely returned but in truth his glaive made little difference this fight. He and Jozan had just begun to fight the red robed hobgoblins when Master Doomfist appeared in a flash of green fire, wrapped his dragon-weighted chain around Jozan’s neck and dragged him into a waiting crowd of hobgoblins. The Knight of the Vale did not shake free, but struck the green robed hobgoblin with his enchanted axe and sent his head rolling away in a shower of gore.

Our encouragement was short-lived. One of the disciples avenged his fallen master. He struck Jozan with his fists and feet, denting his breastplate, shattering his nose, and finally sending our friend and ally sprawling on the ground, with his neck bent at an unnatural angle. Another red-robed disciple ducked under Marquess’ glaive and struck the Lion of Bova a blow that rung his helmet like a bell and sent him reeling back towards me as his greensteel glaive clattered on the floor. Vengeance and Hellek fought valiantly and Rastix poured magic missiles into them, but then Hellek fell beneath their fists while Marquess drew his shortsword and wrestled with another monk on the ground, stabbing at him.

It was a bloody fight. Marquess fell in a pool of his blood, was revived by my prayers, and fell down again, bleeding from many wounds. The red-robed disciples of the doomfist fell one by one beneath vengeance’s fangs and Rastix magic missiles—and I think Marquess accounted for one before he fell as well. The lady hobgobling moved up, calling thunder and lightning down upon our ranks and even her priests drew their picks and charged towards us. I called upon Heironeous to strike down the hobgoblin woman and met the priest’s pick with my holy blade. Even as I struck down one priest, the Lady Underfoot fell to despair and, calling her wolf to her, ran towards the sunlight. Then the last of Doomfist’s disciples afforded me an opening as he ran past me to catch the fleeing halfling and I struck him a mighty blow. He wrapped his chain around Penelope’s neck and held her fast, but Vengeance came back and between Rastix, the wolf and I, we struck him down.

That was it. Of our stalward companions, only Lady Underfoot, her wolf, Rastix and I yet stood and all of us bled from many wounds. The Lady Underfoot’s resolve was shattered and she sought escape. Rastix was ready to oppose our wicked foes to the death but his magics paled before the hobgoblin’s. And yet, only the hobgoblin woman endured of all our foes, dodging the spiritual axe I had conjured and bleeding from a few wounds but uncowed and confident.

I saw the spiritual axe of the Invincible and Valorous Knight strike a mighty blow against the hobgoblin witch that sent her reeling. No more, any thought of retreat! Not for me. (And in truth, I had no hope of escape anyway. Though Lady Underfoot might outdistance the hobgoblin, there was no way that I would outdistance her deadly lightnings.) This was the moment! I shouted, “Death or Glory!” and charged her with the holy sword of Rastix unfortunate friend. With all my weight and faith behind it, the blade struck true, rending her armor and biting deep into her neck and shoulder. She collapsed and for a moment, I exulted in the victory Heironeous had granted us. Then I used the last of my miracles to restore Marquess consciousness and we began the slow process of healing and deciding how to proceed.

We found a few meager stores in the rooms that the hobgoblins had occupied—a near-empty water cask, some largely empty sacks of grain and a few strips of jerky. There was a finely appointed room with some half-burned documents in infernal lettering and some manner of code, and a thick sheaf of musical notation—the hobgoblin woman’s I believe. Marquess wonders who they are, but it seems clear to me that we have found more of the Red Hand’s soldiers. The dracolisk had the symbol of Tiamat branded into its chest and here we found more hobgoblins carrying draconic iconography and accompanied by two priests of the dragon queen. In their possession are documents in infernal lettering and a cypher which, if Hellek is right was used by the bugbear leader at their ruined keep in the Witchwood. Who else could it be? After much discussion, we decided to make our camp in the hobgoblins’ lair. Nowhere seems safe but the ghostly lions roam outside the walls as well as within and at least inside this stone monument, we should not have to worry about landsharks.

----------------------------DM Notes--------------------------------
The dracolisk was indeed Varanthian. I wanted to reinforce the chromatic theme without going all the way to a white dragon. That I could use the Varanthian artwork from the book was a nice bonus.

Treasure: 2 potions of cure moderate wounds, 2 potions of cure light wounds, scroll of cure moderate wounds, 2 scrolls of invisibility purge, +4 belt of dexterity, +2 mithral chain shirt, 20 +1 shock arrows, staff of , +3 cloak of resistance, +2 cloak of resistance, +2 belt of physical perfection, mithral jewelry worth 1000gp (Rastix’ estimate)

DM notes: Master Doomfist was an addition of mine to add interest to the encounter (six identical monks is boring; a master and four disciples is more interesting), and to give me an excuse to drop some valuable and interesting loot on the part (who is a little behind the curve). By the book, the monks all had bracers of armor +1 which is quite possibly the biggest waste of gold ever from any perspective. (They don’t make the NPCs much tougher, no player in his right mind will want one, and even though the rules imply NPCs would be willing to pay the PCs 500gp for them, it doesn’t seem like anyone should really want it at that price. It’s like a suit of +1 splint mail: a white elephant of the item creation formulas). So I gave the monks potions of mage armor and then, I added Master Doomfist and gave him a belt of physical perfection +2.

It was a nailbiter of a fight and it was a mess mechanically. Towards the end, I thought that I had overtuned the fight and started leaving off some of the bonus damage. Later, as I thought about the encounter, I realized that I had double dipped on several bonuses and had been incorrectly allowing lingering performance to extend Ulwai’s inspire courage bonuses while she moved and used her thundercall and call lightning abilities. Thundercaller is a great match to what Ulwai was in the original adventure and is a very powerful archetype but it calls up a lot of complicated rules. As far as I can tell, what she should have been able to do is something like this:

Round 1: Inspire Courage (move), Haste (std); 2: Maintain inspire courage (free), move, slow (standard); 3. Thundercall (move), inspire courage (std). 4+ repeat round 3 or, when she has to move, maintain inspire courage, move, and cast a spell.

Or, for maximum damage effect: Round A. Thundercall (move), call lightning performance (std); Round B. Maintain call lightning performance (free for one bolt upon maintenance), Thundercall (move—end call lightning), call lightning (std) *Note that this depends upon the more powerful interpretations of the thundercaller’s call lightning performance where the bardic performance start time replaces the 1 round casting time and the text is read to give the thundercaller a bolt of lightning every time the call lightning performance is maintained.

Or, for maximum stunning: Thundercall as a move plus thundercall as a standard. *It’s not exactly clear this is RAI but it seems RAW that you can use thundercall twice when you hit bard 7.

On the whole, I think the bad guys had more bonuses than they should have through the fight and I think it made a difference on a few important moments in the fight like Master Doomfist’s crit on Jozan that later enabled the Doom Fist monks to take him down. So despite my leaving some bonuses off on the end, I don’t think that I made the encounter easier than it should have been—more bonuses at the beginning and less at the end probably worked in the Red Hand’s favor.

There was a lot going on tactically as well. It was bad luck that Marquess failed his save against the ghost brute’s roar and had to flee and worse luck that he was out for the maximum 8 rounds. Then the party managed to put themselves in what was very nearly the worst of all tactical worlds. They pursued the doomfist monk who had tried to sneak up and see what was going on, but didn’t manage to inflict any casualties on the Red Hand before the three monks heard and came down from the lion’s mouth. Then, it turned out that the Red Hand could heal up faster than the players and the retreating players bunched themselves up for Ulwai to destroy them with her thundercaller abilities while the 10 foot corridor made it impossible for Hellek to move around into a flank and get sneak attack. If it had worked as the players intended, Penn, Vengeance, and Hellek would have been useless. They only got to mix it up when Master Doomfist dragged Jozan out of the line and then when he and Marquess went down. The 10 foot corridor did keep a couple of the Doomfist monks from engaging for a while but on the whole I think it favored the Red Hand. And then, to top it all off it was something of a bad matchup for the group. Penn’s big offensive spell was Call Lighting and Rastix was Scorching Ray and those are not the spells you want to try to use on monks of any variety.

[Elder_Basilisk]

I'm a little behind here. Two sessions at once this time.

Reaping 16.
In the morning, I prayed and thanked Heironeous that we had passed the night undisturbed by ghosts, ghouls, goblins, or aught else wicked save our dreams. The invincible and valorous knight saw fit to answer my prayer and remove the plague of zombie fever from Lady Penelope, but it seems that her wolf had also contracted the plague as patches of his fur were falling out exposing pustulent boils beneath. Perhaps I should have expected this after seeing him bite the plague zombies, but I was too busy worrying about the basilisks and too distracted by the discovery of our new noble gnome companion to consider it. Then after praying and breaking our fast, we began to explore the interior of the Ghostlord’s stone lion.

First, we found a secret passage and explored through it, finding two chambers: one containing an onyx orb glowing with energy and surrounded by the misty forms of lions and necromantic energy. The other contained a pool of viscous black liquid with a submerged lion inside it. When we ventured in to explore it, we discovered that it was inhabited by a type of undead that Sir Jozan referred to as “Bone drinkers.” For future reference, bone drinkers look something like ghouls with long tentacles coming from their torsos and sharp elongated fingers. As the Implaccable Rampant Basilisk discovered, they will wrap their prey with their tentacles and suck the bones from their bodies through those fingers. It was a short but brutal conflict. They caught us somewhat out of position and mobbed Jozan and the lady Underfoot. Penelope and Vengeance largely escaped harm in the initial wave but Jozan was mobbed and wrapped in many tentacles. I had been examining the orb in the other chamber and it cost me precious seconds to reach the conflict but I struck one down with the holy sword of Rastix’s erstwhile companion when I did finally reach the fray. It made a satisfying splortch sound as the two halves fell away engulfed in holy fire.

Slowly, we forced the bonedrinkers away from Jozan and back into the pool, when Hellek bravely—and foolishly as it turned out—leaped into the pool to stab one in the back. As he touched the black water, his aura seemed to shrivel and he cried out. The bonedrinkers grabbed him with their tentacles but with a heroic effort, he squirmed out of their grasp and escaped to the stone floor above.

Thereafter, we found several rooms, each more vile than the last. One contained a deep pit and eager to see if there was any treasure we lowered the lady Underfoot into it on a rope. When she reported that there was a source of magic at its base, we added another rope to enable her to reach the bottom. It was nearly the last thing she ever did as the clear liquid at the bottom turned out to be some manner of ooze or elemental. It engulfed her and its caustic body dissolved the rope, leaving her stranded at the bottom of a pit, slowly being crushed and disolved as its body oozed over her. Fortunately for her, it did not resist arrows and it lost its form and sloshed apart before it could quite slay our companion. I suspect she will not be so eager to explore a pit again though as they say, the burnt fools finger goes warbling back to the fire so no doubt she shall find some other way to court death.

Exploring further we found a mockery of a nature shrine with a twisted and tree sustained by blasphemous energies and inhabited by the tortured ghost of a lion. We swiftly destroyed it and moved on. We came to a cobweb filled chamber filled with coins and a few scattered items, some moth-eaten and ruined but some still splendid and clearly valuable and filled our sacks.

Finally, we reached a chamber covered with carvings of living lions. I’m sure there was some signifcance to the carvings for throughout the rest of the tomb, the reliefs had shown lions dead and disfigured but there was no time to consider their meaning for amid them stood a gaunt skeletal form arrayed in rotting hides and moth-eaten robes and with a staff of worm-eaten ebony in his hands. In a voice like the rasping of the wind over bare tree branches and dried leaves, he demanded to know why we defiled his lair with our presence. Jozan and Marquess endeavored to explain. We had taken his phylactery from the Red Hand and wanted to negotiate a deal. He soon realized that we did not have it on us but did not seem to doubt our word that we had it. As soon as we handed over the vial of Azer sweat that would enable him to scry its guardian, we began discussing terms.

The Lady Underfoot is full of surprises. When he resorted to threatening us and called his ghost lions to aid the intimidation, she spoke as the voice of reason. Killing us would not get us the phylactery back—it would simply ensure that he did not get it. Perhaps that swayed him. Perhaps it was Marquess’s acquiesence to a mere year and a day of non-aggression that swayed him just as his offer to extend the truce to all of Sterich rather than Bova and Crystalmist counties as initially requested. Regardless, he agreed and we joined hands as I intoned the scroll that shifted us to the fabled City of Brass.

We arrived in the middle of the gate as a large caravan passed through with giant flaming scorpion centaurs marching alongside chained dwarf-like beings with beards of fire—many carrying baskets of stones and precious metals. We slipped in among them and were not challenged by the haughty horned and red-skinned giant with a flaming scimitar who seemed to command the portal’s defenses.

Once inside, we wasted no time gawking though the sight would have been worth gawking at. Rivers of fire flowed through channels like canals and buildings of brass and black stone rose high above our heads and ended in spires and minarets silohetted against a sky of smoke and ash occasionally marred by a streak of fire. Asking, we were directed to the palace of the nearest Pasha—I suspect that even the inhabitants of this dreadful city were eager to leave the ghostlord’s presence. We made arrangements to obtain an audience with the Pasha’s representatives and sat down in the magnificent courtyard of his mansion to wait.

Most were content to wait in silence, but the Lady Underfoot seemed determined to stir something up. She asked the ghostlord if he knew of a way to bind or destroy a soul. Transformation into a ghost has that effect, he answered. Would she like to try it? No. Apparently there was someone else that she hated but he was not interested in her prattle or her questions. Thrice she tried to approach him and thrice she fled in terror as his aura overwhelmed her. Finally, he invoked a wall of fire between them. She shouted questions across it as the rest of us edged away from her or found an excuse to examine the gatehouse. He threw a bag of stinking rotten holly berries at her and bade her hold her tongue or he would still it forever.

I don’t think that would have shut her up for long, but at that moment, the Pasha’s guards returned and informed us that his Vizier would see us now. So we went into the opulent reception chamber of the palace. Scented smokes rose from braziers of living fire and the lights reflected dimly off polished brass or gold on nearly every surface. A great genie sat upon a crimson cushion in front of an empty dais. He was Callatus Bin Hassan, Vizier of the great Pasha, Nasser Ali the Munificent.

We presented him with our agreement and showed him the tome we offered in return for its enforcement. His eyes lit up with smokeless fire. But what penalty clause did we wish? We had not discussed it and ended up accepting his penalty: we wished that whoever violated the agreement before him, him and his party would be consumed in a cataclysm of fiery destruction. Yes, we wished that if the ghostlord broke faith with us, he and his phylactery would be consumed. And if we break faith with him, let all of Bova be consumed with fire. Again, he asked if we wished for the Pasha to visit fiery doom upon those who broke the contract. And again, we acceeded. A third time, he asked if we wished for the party that offended the agreement to be consumed in a rain of fire. And a third time we and the ghostlord replied that we did. “Let it be so!” he answered. “The pact is sealed and woe to the one who breaks it. Woe to their friends and the inhabitants of their city. Woe to those near them for it will be to them as to the cities of the Bakluni! Our business is concluded, now be gone!”

Reaping 17
I don’t remember where we slept. We must have found an inn somewhere, but the heat and haze of smoke made my head ache and we wondered what we had done. At least we had negotiated two weeks of time to deliver the phylactery to the Ghostlord a mile outside of Hillwatch Keep. If we could not deliver, then we would have done more harm to the city of Bova—or perhaps the entire county—than even the Red Hand hoped to do.

Still, we must have slept. Somehow. We asked around and I gritted my teeth as Hellek made an offering at the temple of Imix in order to secure restoration of the swiftness drained out of him by the Ghostlord’s pool. In the cinderspires, beneath dark clouds of smoke and ash, we bargained with Azer slaves and secured enchanted rings and armor. We heard rumor of a salamander who was looking to sell and enchanted headband that interested us and walked among the alleys to reach him.

It was almost the death of us. Rastix was the only one of us who saw the dull glow of a giant fiery snake-centaur slithering across the rooftops towards us as we inched down an alley that bordered a canal of fire. Suddenly it dropped to the ground beside us and hissed angry words in the sibilant language of fire creatures. Then a ball of fire erupted in the middle of us. We fought desperately and the thing conjured a wall of fire between us as Marquess approached it. The lady Underfoot enchanted him to resist fire and he leaped through it as two smaller salamanders appeared from around the corner and attacked Rastix and me. From the other side of the wall, I heard Marquess cry out in agony and a fiery cry of exaltation. Drawing his axe, Jozan leaped through the wall of fire. Howling in pain and rage, he brought the axe down upon the creature and slew it as it drew back its spear for one last fatal thrust at Marquess. Recalling my chaining at the chapel of the chalice, I repeated the chant of the chalice in my mind as I struck out at the salamanders nearby. They quickly perished.

We never found the salamander that was supposed to be selling the headband. Perhaps he was simply a story to lure us into an ambush. But we did find another merchant who had something similar though at a slightly higher price. Fortunately, with the enchanted spear of the salamander, we were able to pay that price. Its splendor notwithstanding, we had no desire to spend another minute in the city. I pulled out the scroll of banishment that we had received from the temple of Pelor and sent us home.

Reaping 18-20. We arrived back at the stone lion and found our horses in the dracolisk’s lair, unmolested if somewhat hungry and thirsty. After three days of riding, our healers kits gave out and we began to rely upon the magic of the gods to heal our horses injuries from the thorns that cover this accursed vale, but we were able to reach Hillwatch Keep without incident. The gods of good smile upon our quest.

Reaping 20
At the keep, we were surprised to find Pyrr waiting for us, alive, but it took us several minutes to realize that we should ask what had happened. We were too busy telling the Castellan about the bargain and ensuring that messengers be sent to Master Caedmon’s patrol in the haunted vale letting him know to avoid the ghostlord until we should return with his phylactery. No one wanted Bova to be consumed in elemental fire simply because the Knights of the Vale ran into the ghostlord on patrol.

The urgent news being said, we began explaining what had happened to Pyrr who suddenly became interested in the exact words that the Vizier had spoken to us. “Did he ask if you wished for the agreement to be enforced like that?” I don’t think any of us were expecting that. There are legends and fables of many men who were laid low by getting what they wished for from malevolent forces. I suddenly wished that we had taken more time to write out the agreement carefully and that we had made an exact copy of the actual agreement. All we had to go on was Hellek’s rough draft. Was there a loophole somewhere? We had better make certain to uphold our end of the bargain.

Reaping 21
Pyrr joined us as we began our journey to Bova. The mystery of his life was answered: Immerstal had taken him to the Paragon of Heironeous in Kalibac. (It appears that his last illness was not fatal then. He was in very poor health when I traveled through Kalibac around midwinter and even the magic of the gods only does so much against the ravages of time). Then they had returned to Nimon gap and he had helped the Count and the Lion Guard delay the approaching army. My companions asked for news of Grimmath—I gather he is a dwarf who had accompanied them before—but Pyrr was not able to say if he yet lived. He could only say that the dwarf was among a group of nearly a dozen picked heroes holding Frostedge Keep until the Red Hand should bring an unstoppable force against it. A valiant effort and I pray that he is able to draw off that force and then escape.

We made our way to the inn at Dauth and stopped for the night—a decision that I was glad we made. After a week of sleeping in the haunted vale and on the elemental plane of fire, and then on the hard pallets at Hillwatch Keep, I was eager to sleep in a soft bed once again. We were just getting ready to retire from the common room when five men came into the inn—four Lions and a priest of Pelor that the others recognized as Father Derny of Drellin’s Ferry. Immerstal had sent them with the phylactery—Marquess thought that perhaps he scried on us but I judge it more likely that Master Caedmon sent him word by the power of the Heironeous. Regardless, I dispelled the ward on the box and we examined the necklace carefully to ensure that we really had the phylactery. It was not that we though Immerstal might try to trick us—only that we needed to be certain since all of Bova could perish if we handed the Ghostlord an empty box or a fake. Marquess wants all of us to escort the phylactery back to Hillwatch Keep in the morning. Rastix volunteered to go himself with Father Derny and the Lions so that we could be back in the fray more quickly. I’m not sure how we’ll feel about it in the morning, but for now Marquess is loathe to let the box out of his sight. I think our dealings in the City of Brass have unnerved us all a little bit.

-------------------------DM Notes-----------------------
On Reaping 17, there was the phony battle at Nimon Gap Bridge. Bridge destroyed. It was a strategic success for Bova. They forced the Red Hand to spend the better part of a day arraying their army for battle, then denied the Red Hand battle and retreated across the river. Casualties on both sides were light but Sertieren the Wise and maybe a score of others were killed on the Bova side along with a few dozen hobgoblins including three of the Red Hand war sorcerers and two ogres.

Day 36 (delayed 6 days by chp 1 events). Red Hand has bridged the Elsir at Nimon Gap and crossed. 2 days to sack of Talar.

The actual agreement was rather simple. “The Ghost Lord will agree to break off alliance with the Red Hand and remove all Red Hand personnel from his lands. He will not attack the March of Sterich (which includes all of Bova and Crystalmist counties, but for the purpose of this agreement does not include the haunted vale) for a period of a year and a day.

Once this is agreed and approved by all parties, the phylactery will be returned to the Ghostlord by the representatives of Bova at a location approximately 1 mile northwest of Hillwatch Keep. The phylactery will be returned no later than two weeks from the consummation of this agreement.”

The agreement has a few significant loopholes on both sides. No part of the agreement specifies that the representatives of Bova may not attack the Ghostlord. On the other hand, “attacking the March of Sterich” is somewhat vague and could be interpreted to mean an attack upon the land or a significant incursion that would cause damage to the political unit, allowing the Ghostlord to attack individuals within Bova without necessarily violating the agreement. (It almost certainly would allow him to attack the Red Hand forces even within the March of Sterich because such an action could hardly be construed as an attack on Bova. Attacks on subjects of the Marquis are iffier. Even on the ghostlord's land, an attack on a subject of Sterich could be construed as an attack on Sterich. The phylactery is understood to be the lich’s phylactery but the text of the agreement does not actually specify which phylactery is going to be given. The ghostlord definitely got the worse end of the agreement but it doesn't seem like it's really in his nature to have carefully lawyered the deal. Evidently my players weren't really inclined to carefully lawyer it either. Otherwise the wording would have been much tighter.

On the other hand, understanding the agreement to be enforced by an efreeti wish with no preliminary discussion or court of appeal, I don’t think any party is inclined to test the limits of the agreement. In fact, the party is quite concerned to adhere to the spirit of the agreement (a truce for 1 year and a day minimum) just in case the efreeti wish is biased towards adopting the interpretation that most allows them to destroy something on the prime material plane. (Which I think is in fact their bias. Efreeti are known for being legalistic word-twisters when dealing with wishes, but the question is how they would twist the words. To Bova’s favor? To the Ghostlord’s favor? They don't care about either party. I figure their bias is in fact going to be towards whatever lets the wish destroy something. So, trying to hedge around the letter of the agreement and adhere to the spirit is probably the right move. The Efreeti wish is just looking for an excuse to destroy them).

[Eldariel]

I definitely like this take on the Ghostlord more than the others. Though City of Brass is a bit of a thing to throw in and a whole other campaign waiting to happen, certainly having an actual treaty with actual enforcement is very, very key. I agree that the efreeti are mostly just interested in either side breaking the treaty in any way, shape or form. There are loopholes but I doubt either side could even think about risking it. But yeah, having the horrors of Ghostlord's abode actually affect the party and having the party scouting the place and nearly getting themselves killed in the process is kinda awesome. The only part that's weird is how they managed to rest at that location with none of the ghost lions bothering them.

But yeah, this'll definitely make things tense for some sessions - perhaps the efreeti themselves would somehow try and stop the phylactery from being taken in order to have an excuse to rain destruction on Bova so I could see the party having to fight some Planeshifted underlings under their control. Definitely a major step up from the vanilla adventure, and this also burns time so the schedule isn't too loose for the party.

[Elder_Basilisk]

The party rested in the rooms abandoned by the hobgoblins. I figured that since the ghostlord was tolerating the red hand presence and does not really exert direct control over the ghost lions most of the time, he had simply directed them to leave those areas alone. If they had rested somewhere else they might have had some trouble.

I was tempted to buy necromancer games city of brass and run a mini Adventure at this point but ultimately decided I didn't want to buy a multi-book box set for a one to two session adventure.

I'm not sure about plane-shifted efreeti minions. I figure the party is up for the official marked for death encounter plus another one with the best devil's azarr kul can call. High priestess golden brown started the planar ally calling to kill the red hand wyverns (in my take on things). The red hand is going to retaliate against Bova's most strategically troublesome forces: namely the PCs.

[Elder_Basilisk]

I fell a little behind in these posts. This is the first of three sessions. No deaths here, just close calls. Things get a lot bloodier in the future installments though. It turns out the party's balance was very short lived.

Journal of the Glorious Engelhardt ap Eddard, Knight Courageous of the Valorous Host

Reaping 22 Thank Heironeous for the opportunity to sleep in a soft bed again. Of course, my soul still thrills to the call of adventure and the thrill of the campaign—to always being ready to test my mettle against the worst villainy that any world has to offer and to send it screaming to the pits of hell. But once a week or so, it is good to rest my head on soft goose down rather than a rock.

After we said our prayers and ate breakfast we all set our backs to the rising sun and once again rode the long and winding path to Hillwatch Keep. We thought that, given the stakes if we failed to deliver it to the Ghostlord, we could not have too many of us guarding the phylactery. It was probably fortunate that we did. As our long caravan snaked around the hills with a particularly nasty precipice to our left, Pyrr cried out a warning. “Devils!”

With an explosion of brimstone, a group of devils—bearded devils if I recall my lessons correctly—appeared among us, hacking with their glaives. One in front had the same snaky, tangled beard as the others but carried a black scythe and had scaly crimson wings that Pyrr later explained marked it as one of the special servants of the queen of wicked dragons. It exhaled a gout of fire that scorched our front ranks and nearly slew several horses, sending Marquess toppling to the ground. It was skilled and though the Lady Underfoot, her wolf and Marquess gave a good account of themselves up front the wounds of their blades continued to bleed and resisted magical healing. Over time, this caused them to grow increasingly desperate. Behind us, Father Derny, Agrivar, and the other three lions struggled to hold their own against another group of the barbazu. Only Father Derny’s skill at channeling and the Sun Father’s blessing kept them from being overwhelmed.

Jozan, Hellek, and I squared off against a couple of the foul beasts that had teleported into our midst but soon found that a much larger threat overhead as the gaunt form of a bone devil appeared overhead and speared Jozan’s shoulder with its poisoned stinger. A wave of terror washed over us and several horses and Hellek fled in uncontrolled panic, only to fall beneath the blades of the waiting bearded devils. Brother Derny invoked Pelor to remove Hellek’s fear and I struck down the barbed devil we had been fighting. As he came to his senses—or at least as he stopped blindly panicking, Hellek called, “Rastix, guard the phylactery!”

At that, the shape of the battle shifted. The large devil floated higher in the air and called a wall of ice separating Jozan, Marquess, Penn, Pyrr, and me from Rastix and Hellek. I dispelled the evocation only to see a bearded devil drop its glaive and, absorbing what would have been a nasty cut from Hellek if Hellek’s weapon had been properly blessed, shove Rastix off the edge of the cliff. Pyrr took a moment to concentrate his mind on the proper spells, then promptly leaped off the cliff after the champion of Garl Glittergold.

On the cliff, we faced a tough battle, but even with the poison sapping Jozan’s strength, we began to prevail. Marquess and Vengeance felled a bearded devil in front of us, and Agrivar slew the devil who was menacing Father Derny as I struck down the one that had shoved Rastix off the cliff. I don’t recall who slew the bone devil—perhaps it was Jozan. In any event, we proved worthy followers of the Invincible and Valorous Knight and soon the decaying ichor of slain devils stained the path to Hillwatch Keep. A few seconds later, Pyrr and Rastix appeared on the slope above us. The High Arcanist’s quick thinking and daring action may well have saved all of Bova.

Upon reaching the frowning walls of Hillwatch Keep, I discussed the attack briefly with Pyrr and the All Seeing Griffon (Master Caedmon). Since the bodies of the devils remained, they were truly slain and not merely driven back to their home planes. Someone must have spent considerable magic to have called them all to our plane. Well I suppose if High Priestess Goldenbrow called the Archons of the Sun Father to her aid against their Wyverns, the Red Hand was going to bring the minions of Tiamat to bear in turn. Did they come for the phylactery or was that simply a coincidence? I wonder. And either way, how did they know where to seek for us? That night, we slept in the great hall under the watchful eye of Heironeous’ statues. The hallowed ground should offer some protection should the forces of darkness attempt any further deviltry.

Reaping 23. In the morning, we traveled to the meeting spot and found the Ghostlord. We fulfilled our part of the bargain and delivered the phylactery to him, trusting his fear of the efreeti Pasha’s power to keep the foul creature true to his word. He transformed into a rotting undead bird and flew away towards his accursed lair with his disfigured ghost lions trailing behind him. If he intends to betray us, it does not seem he will do so today.

We mounted our trusty horses and returned to Dauth without incident, passing by the decaying bodies of the devils upon the way. Though the few remaining inhabitants were clearly packing their belongings for a trip to the supposed safety of Kalibac, we were once more able to find warm and clean beds at the inn.

[Eldariel]

Heh, all of this seems quite logical and I'm looking forward to learning more about the additions you make, as well as the future bloodiness. Yeah, your view that the Red Hand quarters would be safe is probably validated; certainly Ghostlord would never risk attacking them himself. Great going!

[Elder_Basilisk]

Reaping 24
We pressed our horses hard and crossed the bridges over the Elsir, though the Moneychanger’s gate, and into Bova mid afternoon. The streets rang with the sound of hammers and axes as men hammered hoardings into place above the walls, repaired armor, and assembled barricades in the street. The barons’ militias drilled in Cathedral square, but we went straight to the Castle. On our way in, we nearly ran into Grimmath Coalhewer. He was sprawled in the corridor, drinking with two archers I didn’t recognize and Odrik Whitebow of the Lions. A long scar, still pink from healing stretched down his face behind an eyepatch over one eye.

Marquess spoke with him at length and he related the tale of how he, Baron Wiston, Baron Trask, and some others had held Frostedge keep until the red dragon came against it and then they had retreated through the plane of shadows where the Red Hand could not follow. Rastix and the others joined their table, but Marquess, Hellek, Pyrr, Lady Underfoot, Sir Jozan and I made our way to the council chamber.

I immediately recognized the Count, Captain Ulverth, Baron Trask, Baron Wiston, High Priestess Goldenbrow, Immerstal the Red, and Osric the Younger of Crystalmist county. But there were others who needed introduction. Two rangy elves who looked remarkably similar to Pyrr were introduced as Trellara Nightshadow and Killiar Arrowswift, High Singer and Chief Hunter of the Tiri Kitor respectively. A tall dark haired man clad in a breastplate was Erik MacKenzie of the Schwartzenbrun Crimson Company. They must be the mercenaries hired away from Crystalmist County. The Lady Verassa Kaal, an older but still remarkably beautiful red haired woman in a green and white gown rounded out the group. I suspect I am glad not to know what price she obtained for her support. Several maps lay on the great table in the center of the chamber with small blocks of wood painted with the heraldry of the various baronial, mercenary, and monstrous forces. The hobgoblin forces were marked with the crude red hand in front of a golden sun that we had seen on their dread banners and outnumbered the human and demihuman forces by nearly two to one. The bulk of those red and gold blocks were haphazardly piled around Talar with several more spread out along the plains below. Several servants brought ale and wine and bread to us and the other assembled worthies as we discussed. Baron Trask called for more wine several times. I don’t think he likes our situation. It could be sorrow at the loss of his son last week but I suspect it is more that he finds his courage most readily when the odd s are in his favor.

There was much to discuss. There was little word of Marquessa Emondrav’s forces and still no messengers through the pass at Marthon. Magical communication was strained—it seemed that Marshal Verthundle and her cavalry are trying to chase down or ambush a blue dragon in the plains to the west of Istivin so that the General Commander Terpin can marshal his forces but the earliest they could aid us is two weeks if they were already mustered and marching from Istivin. Since they are not, we will probably have to hold out for at least a month. Everyone seemed convinced that the Red Hand will besiege Bova. Even against their monsters and fell beasts, we should be able to defend ourselves well behind the walls and typically attackers would need at least a three to one advantage to take such a fortress by storm. They do not quite have such an advantage and even if they did, they should expect to take such losses that it would be impossible for them to hold out against the army of the March when it gets here—especially if supported by Count Osric from the south and Count Tondhere from the north. Yes, even assuming that the Lizard tribes of lake Rhest maintain their alliance with the Red Hand. It seems the hobgoblins have overplayed their strategic hand. I am not so certain . Something deeper may be at play here.

Nevertheless, everyone is aware that we must acquit ourselves well if we are to survive. Otherwise the victory of man will come too late to do us any good. We discussed the progress of the harvest, how the Red Hand has responded to the ambush of their airborne scouts (they have concentrated their wolfriders into groups numbering 60-100 which are too numerous to ambush without exposing all of our forces to pitched battle and are now moving more slowly as they rely on their infantry to forage for supplies). We made plans to barricade the streets with wagons and chains should the Red Hand beach the walls and to set up a central hospital at the Cathedral of the Sun where all the priests will tend to the wounded from every quarter. The Glorious of the Valorous Host will be there too as guard in case our foes should strike at them. Except for me apparently. Marquess, I and our companions shall be one of several reserve forces whom the Count or Captain—Captain General now, I suppose—Ulverth dispatches to reinforce wherever the fighting is most fierce.

However, all of these plans take time—and the more time the better. If nothing is done, the Captain General guesses the Red Hand will be at the gates in three days. We might be able to delay them another three days—long enough to prepare more wards for the gates, more hoardings for the walls, and more barricades for the streets as well as to gather in more food. Every bushel of harvest that we gather in is a bushel of harvest that the Red Hand cannot eat as they sit entrenched outside our walls. And every day of supplies they consume while marching towards us is one day sooner they will need to lift the siege. We explored many possibilities. We simply don’t have enough troops skilled in stealth to be confident in sneaking by the goblin scouts. Count Bova will have some small teams in the field to keep them honest—he mentioned that two left tonight, but they won’t slow them down. Someone—I don’t remember who—suggested that Immerstal might teleport a small group behind the Red Hand’s lines and force them to stop and commit some substantial forces to tracking them down which should slow their advance. Enough wizards working together might also be able to make a convincing illusion that would seem like we are offering battle along the Dawn Way and make them line up for battle. That would be a challenge to pull off but even so they may attempt it. Our part will be to teleport behind the enemy lines and force the Red Hand to pay attention to us—the crossroads where the road to Witchcross and Strake Terrace splits from the Dawn Way should do the trick. Then when they make the area too hot for us, Pyrr reads one of Immerstal’s scrolls and I read a scroll from the Cathedral Archives and we all arrive back at the Cathedral. It is a bold plan and I pray that it meets with success.

Oh, in between all of that, Immerstal is going to work on a special project. If it works as planned, he should have just enough time to enchant Marquess’ glaive to be the bane of dragons. That should be a nasty surprise for them when the dragons show up above our roofs!

Reaping 25

In the morning, we met with Immerstal and trouble started immediately. Somehow, we had forgotten about Vengeance and there was not going to be enough capacity in Immerstal’s teleports to get us all where we wanted to go. That was solved when Immerstal realized that, if she could hold her breath for a little bit, the Lady Underfoot is small enough to stuff into his extradimensional haversack. So, we did that and scant seconds after the red wizard intoned the spell’s syllables, Vengeance, Marquess and I arrived at the crossroads. Immerstal opened his haversack and hauled the halfling out, then cast another spell and vanished from our sight. Then nothing. After three minutes, we began to wonder if something had gone wrong and discuss what to do. If we left the crossroads, Immerstal and our companions wouldn’t know where to find us. But if we just stayed here, sooner or later we would face the hobgoblins without assistance. Lady Underfoot bristled with impatience, swung herself into her wolf’s saddle and began to ride about, looking to see any hobgoblins.

She did not have to look long. We heard the sound of a group approaching and as she rode forward to see what it was, everything happened at once. A large hobgoblin on riding a huge, shaggy creature that seemed like a cross between a bull and a mountain ram charged at her with his lance lowered, trampling her and her wolf under his mount’s hooves. She gritted her teeth and cast a spell. Nothing visible happened, but I recognized the magic and its effect soon became apparent as a cart drawn by two more of the strange cattle charged out from behind a stand of trees, bellowing with each step as though they trod caltrops. The cart held a barred cage with several terrified young girls, and, as I later realized, a chained dwarf. Another cart containing more humans pulled off the road a good hundred and thirty or so feet from us and the hobgoblin footsoldiers escorting them took cover behind boulders, bushes, and the cart and began shooting arrows at us to some good effect. I prayed Heironeous’ blessing over us and Marquess fired arrows at the hobgoblin rider who wheeled his steed around, clipped Penn with his lance and trampled her wolf underfoot once more. She called on her magic to heal herself and rode behind Marquess and me, but it was to no avail. The hobgoblin charged once more and his mount caught her on its horns like a rag doll and tossed her broken form ten feet where she landed with a sickening crunch, clearly beyond any holy power I can wield. Four more red skinned hobgoblins came around the corner of a bush and charged Marquess and me while one blew a charge on his trumpet. The hobgoblin prison wagon that had charged towards us took a sharp turn and headed on down the Dawn Way toward Nimon Gap and the ruined bridge.

Things were desperate. I briefly fell beneath the hobgoblins’ blades and arrows but Marquess commanded Vengeance to avenge his mistress and bravely revived me with a potion. I slew the hobgoblin soldiers while Marquess fought with their leader who we now saw had claimed the ring of a Lion as booty. Suddenly arrows started hitting the hobgoblins from behind the cart and the hobgoblin archers found their attention drawn away from us. Vengeance was battered and his fur was matted in his own blood. I heard his ribs crack as their champion’s beast kicked him and our wolf tucked its tail between its legs and ran into the thickets. At the time I was angry but really, you can ask no more of a dumb beast whose master has been slain. If I ever see that wolf again, I shall try to find something to give it. He gave nearly all he had for us.

Their champion, who had turned invisible briefly while his ally healed him, challenged Marquess and struck him a dolorous blow such that blood streamed from both of them and they both teetered on the edge of consciousness. It was then that an arrow sped from out of my line of sight and piercing through his head, came out of his mouth. He collapsed dead and the hobgoblin bannerman sprinted away.

I thanked the Invincible and Valorous Knight for our victory and looked up to see whose timely assistance had turned the tide. It was Odrik Whitebow who had apparently been shackled in the rearmost cart. Though I did not see it, I shall relate his part here for it is quite worthy. When he saw the guards charge to attack us, he braced himself against the cart and splintered the bars to which his shackles were chained. He then ripped the broken wooden bar from the cart and used it to crush the skull of his armed and armored hobgoblin guard—the one who had been firing at us from behind the cart. Then he grabbed the key from the guard’s belt and undid his shackles, then took the guard’s bow in his hand and slew the three hobgoblins who had been shooting at us from cover and then made an amazing shot to slay the hobgoblin champion who had been giving us so much trouble.

Such a stalwart companion is an unexpected gift from the gods but his tale of woe gave us pause. He, a dwarf champion and the gnome Rastix had ridden out yesterday afternoon to keep tabs on the Red Hand’s wolfrider vanguard and to occasionally toss an arrow or a spell their way and force them to be wary of ambushes. Rastix had a scroll of teleport to enable them to escape if they ended up fighting all of the wolfriders. But no one had foreseen that we were not the only people capable of scheming. One second they had been watching the woflriders retreat from them in fear of an ambush (or so they thought) and the next second, the world was consumed in a gout of flame. The red dragon suddenly appeared from invisibility behind them along with a group of supremely skilled hobgoblins and other creatures including one with the shape of a man but scales and horns like a black dragon. Rastix had perished in the initial burst of flame and even men as stout as Odrik and the dwarf fell to the Red Hand. Then, surprisingly he awoke. He was in the cart, stripped and shackled but with his wounds bandaged. He could see his dwarf companion in another cart. The sun was rising and he overheard a massive hobgoblin wearing armor made of red dragon scales telling the mounted champion he had just slain to take the prisoners to the fane for sacrifice but to take care that they did not escape for the man and dwarf were doughty champions.

Some minutes later, a hobgoblin cart came back towards us from the west. The dwarf was driving it and carrying a hobgoblin longsword and the girls walked free beside it. I did not recognize him, but Odrik introduced him as Ankalan, a champion of Moradin who had come to lead the Hammerfist clanholds levies to battle on behalf of their liege-count.

Joy and sorrow must no doubt mingle in time of war but the day’s dour news was not yet complete. We tended to our wounds as best we could and I must admit it stretched my powers to the utmost. We stripped the hobgoblin dead and gave armor to the girls, though it was too heavy for them and most clearly did not know how to wear it. We did not wish for them to fight, but the armor might protect them from a stray arrow. Then Immerstal, Sir Jozan, and Hellek appeared. They were on foot and covered in blood and Pyrr was not with them. Now I shall relate what happened to them as it was told to me.

Scant seconds after we departed, Immerstal reappeared in Bova in a flash of light and cast his spell again to take them to join us. However, it was not our fate to have such success. They appeared in a dusty street surrounded by a few abandoned buildings. They could see the steep gorge of the Elsir rapids to the west and Hellek recognized it as a thorp in the domain of Talar. However, they did not take time to discuss it because they had found themselves in the middle of a group of Red Hand foragers. The hobgoblins shouted defiance and charged but they were not merely a group of hobgoblin soldiers. There were three wolves with the faces of goblins with them—foul fiends (not technically devils though they hail from the Lawful and Evil planes of existence) known to scholars as barghests. Immerstal transformed into a giant terror bird and attempted to slay them with his beak and claws before eventually unleashing his evocations. Pyrr cast a spell and burned the hobgoblin sergeant badly before being caught up by the barghests’ magic which caused him to foam at the mouth in rage. He had become separated from the group and was confronted by one of the barghests. He shoved his wand in its eye and shouted the command words. Even when it was only his anger keeping him on his feet, he kept beating the creature with his wand and shooting arrows of magic force at it. The torn and bloodied creature knocked him to the ground just as Immerstal obliterated the last several hobgoblins with a fireball and as Jozan watched, unable to reach him, it opened its mouth impossibly wide and swallowed Pyrr’s entire body. As it did so, its skin rippled and its fur turned white and it seemed to grow larger and more sinister. Like all of the barghests, it had been blinking in and out of reality and it stepped through the wall into one of the buildings. When Hellek opened the door to slay it, it was not inside and neither Immerstal nor Jozan who could see into the ethereal plane could see it.

Thus it was that Pyrr perished, not just in body but in soul, consumed by the foul creatures that we fight. The High Arcanist of the Tiri Kitor perished fighting his foes but will be denied his proper reward by the side of Correllon. What happens to souls consumed by barghests? Immerstal does not know. Perhaps they are sent to the lower planes to be tormented. Or perhaps they are simply gone forever like the fools who follow the teachings of the Divine Man in Urnst believe happens to all men when they die. I know not but if it ever enters my power, I shall endeavor to rescue him with all my might. So valiant an elf deserves his eternal reward.

But I get ahead of myself. We had found a small magical bag in the cart with the dwarf and two of the girls could fit inside of it if they held their breaths. That enabled Immerstal to take all but one of the girls back to Bova with him. At least I hope his magic carried him safely there and did not miscarry again. The five girls carried chain mail, swords, bows, arrows—as much of the hobgoblins equipment as they could lift. They will need every last bit in Bova when the Red Hand arrives. We found ourselves in a sticky situation since we had been counting on Pyrr to take us back to Bova when the Red Hand’s pursuit got too close but now both Pyrr and his scroll had been consumed and the scroll I had from the cathedral archives would only carry me and four companions to safety yet with Whitebow, the Ankalan and the girl—Miss Eleanor Tanner as it turns out, the daughter of the master of Terrelton’s Tanner’s guild—there were now seven of us.

After some discussion, we arranged to meet Immerstal at the crossroads before Frostedge Keep at nightfall in two days. He described a vineyard there on the track from the Dawn Way to the keep where it crosses the old track leading to the inn and the new town of Nimon Gap from the castle. Her remembers the place and we should be able to reach it without being immediately spotted if the hobgoblins have garrisoned Frostedge Keep. (They may not have—it is out of the way so Nimon Gap itself would surely be a better supply depot for them and they have no need of a strong point in their rear). If the hobgoblins have repaired but not garrisoned the bridge, we shall take that. If it is still destroyed or if the garrison is too strong, we shall wait until the morrow and I shall pray to Heironeous to let us walk across the water.

It turned out the hobgoblins have repaired the Nimon gap bridge and they have stationed a strong garrison there. Hellek and Odrik counted enough tents for around two score hobgoblins or wolfriders situated strongly in the earthworks the Lion Guard built when they feigned the offer of battle to the Red Hand army. Not wishing to tempt fate—certainly not while we are as injured as we are, we sent the carts and the hobgoblins’ mounts and draft beasts on their way—perhaps the tracks will confuse the hobgoblins and made our way down the hills toward the Elsir rapids south of the bridge. We hid our tracks as best we could—Jozan, Odrik and Marquess are skilled woodsmen, but would have given a lot to have Lady Underfoot’s magic to conceal our trail. Late afternoon, Odrick said he saw a large force of mounted hobgoblins following one riding a massive dire wolf traveling north up the Dawn Way toward the crossroads. Perhaps they are trying to follow us. If they don’t find us by tomorrow morning, we shall lose them when we cross the river. Or so I hope and pray.

---------------------------DM Notes------------------------
Day 40, so by the book's timeline, modified for their actions they have six days before the Red Hand reaches Bova and eight before the Red Hand attacks. Given the geography, it really shouldn't take the Red Hand that long, so in my opinion, it assumes the success of this mission and some low level, low-risk harassment of the Red Hand vanguard by the Count's forces. If the PCs didn't take the "go behind enemy lines to slow things down a bit" mission, I would have just moved the timeline up three days.

This combines two sessions. In the first session, Immerstal's teleport misfired (by 2%) and he would up six miles to the southwest. I had been planning to run Barghest Marauders and follow it up with Marked for Death as the Red Hand tried to lure out the raiders behind their lines. Since I had it prepped and it made sense given the geography, I just ran Barghest marauders for the group that teleported. I had several missing players anyway, so we put a character sheet together for Immerstal really quickly and had Marquess's player run him. The encounter worked out well, but it went bad for the players when Pyrr managed to be intimidated by the hobgoblin sergeant with dazzling display then failed his save against crushing despair and then because of the penalties failed his save against rage. Hellek managed to go something like 1/8 against the barghests' blink too. So bad luck and a character I really liked kicked the bucket. But I think that works out for the story. A few deaths make the stakes more clear and the party's current reverses make the campaign feel more like the ebb and flow of a close contest/desperate battle. When I played it (as written since we were using Living Greyhawk rules back in the day), the string of unbroken PC successes made it feel a lot more like a foregone conclusion.

So after Pyrr kicked the bucket I was left with the challenge of bringing in his new character. The player was tired of playing a spellcaster and had just had spellcasters die in two other campaigns so he wanted to bring in a martial. Going for another Lion is a call that I really like since it ties the party more strongly to the setting. And an archer can fill the artillery role that a wizard would have though the battlefield control/support/utility aspects of the wizard will be missing.

In order to bring the new character in, I decided to give the players a chance to free some prisoners. This should also serve as foreshadowing for the portal since I let fall a few hints that about blood sacrifices and the fane. By the time I wrote the session up, I realized I had a chance to give Wyrmlord Kharn a cameo and I think that will work out well when the players face him in a few sessions. I was pretty happy about that and was even more pleased with how the escape worked. Breaking the bars on the cart, beating the guard to death with a broken bar, then taking the guard's bow and killing the rest of the hobgoblin escort is the kind of awesome stuff that high level martials ought to do. Odrik is bad ass.

The split party session also worked out well because Hellek and Jozan's players had to miss the game.

Of course, it was a surprise when Penn kicked the bucket and the 5th level hobgoblin samurai lieutenant with a war Yzubo mount nearly soloed the entire group (or all of them who were present). Trample can be really nasty though it wouldn't have worked if Penn had dismissed the reduce animal on Vengeance. She didn't want to spend the standard action though so down she went. When that happened, the second wagon which I had planned to just hold a group of commoner sacrifices for the fane suddenly got a high level PC class occupant. Storywise it worked well though since the two person team with just Rastix and Odrik was a little undermanned and there should have been another hero with them.

Speaking of Rastix, Khal/Pyrr/Rastix/Ordrik's player was not happy with how Rastix worked in his brief sojourn with the group and since he didn't want to pick him back up, I figured he was fair game to kill off. NPCs need to die in this (IMO, that's another thing that a DM should amend in this scenario--by the time the battle of Bova/Brindol is over, there should be a number of named NPCs the players have interacted with who are dead. The way the module is written, they're all likely to survive which really reduces the impact of the battle. So far I've killed off Sertieren the Wise, a couple lions I didn't name, one or two of Baron Trask's sons, and now Rastix. I need to find a few more casualties of war by the time I'm done. Baron Wiston, Baron Corromat, Cannoness Leille, Father Derny, Killear Arrowswift, Trellara Nightshadow, Gareth (leader of the Lions), Immerstal, Morlin Coalhewer, and Marquess's brother Jonas are all possibilities. Baron Trask is to but the players aren't supposed to like him so his death won't contribute to to the impact. Maybe I'll make a list of named NPCs and have the players roll for each of them. That could be fun but I'm not sure if it should be a straight percentage or if I should break out the Mordheim injury tables. They would be more fun and evocative but maybe not as lethal as things should be.

[Eldariel]

Yeah, I find the adventure doesn't feel nearly as engaging nor dire if the PCs go from victory to victory. I might've said as much in this thread already but eh, given the session it seems salient. I find that's one of the big causes higher level players tend to have for complacency. It feels like it causes disconnect with the gameworld, and boredom as well. In this case, the enemy is quite powerful and I find the whole campaign should come down to smart PC & NPC play and planning, and overall victory should be slightly over 50/50 at best.

Speaking of, on which level are you bringing the replacements in? It feels like it might begin to stray the suspension of disbelief if the replacement characters keep arriving at the average party level - though admittedly the whole Vale is at war so the survivors gaining some levels only makes sense.

Though I have to say, Odrik is pretty awesome at least based on his showing here. That said, the party seems to be running lower and lower on magic as the levels grow and the power and importance of magic increases, which I have to say might cause them some problems against the Hobgoblin casters and particularly some of the Wyrmlords and Dragons later on. The best counter to magic is magic, while martial characters really benefit of force multipliers. Perhaps more changes occur in time or perhaps the party gets some NPC caster support or such - but as it stands, things look rather challenging for them.

[Elder_Basilisk]

I brought on Odrik and Anakalan at lvl 8 which is average party level at the moment though the highest lvl characters just hit 9 after last session. My future plan is that replacement characters at high level are named NPCs of the vale so we'd be looking at Immerstal, captain ulverth, Baron Trask, Master Caedmon, Tredora Goldenbrow, Grimmath or potentially the forgepriest of the coalhewer clan.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Journal of the Glorious Engelhard ap Eddard, Knight Courageous of the Valorous Host

Reaping 26

Praise the Valorous Knight! Our beds were uncomfortable and the spray from the rapids at the bottom of the gorge dampened my blanket in the night but neither hobgoblins nor dragons found us. Now, with one day left, we had to decide what to do.

Marquess was still tempted to try to attack the bridge across the Elsir gorge, but the rest of us were nervous about the two-score, six lances, or fifty—the number we had seen changed every time we mentioned it—hobgoblins at the bridge. I did not think of it at the time, but it is possible that the numbers actually were changing. The mounted troop of hobgoblins could easily have reinforced the bridge in the night. In the end, it was logistics that settled it. Without our horses, our mobility is more limited than we are used to. Even with my marching chant, we would have been hard pressed to cross the river, find our way to the bridge without being detected, assault it, and still make it to the crossroads by Frostedge keep by nightfall. We wanted to be there before dawn so that there was no chance that we would miss Immerstal. And without our horses, we did not have any real way of breaking contact with the hobgoblin garrison if we either wanted to feign an attack or if a genuine assault did not go our way. There was also the issue of the keep. Was it garrisoned or not? We wanted to know before we committed to an attack.

So, in the morning, I prayed for Heironeous to guide our step across the water and we walked above the raging rapids to the other side of the Elsir and climbed the gorge on the other side. Even Eleanor made it wearing the hobgoblin chainmail that was much too big for her slight build. We made our way through the hills towards Frostedge Keep. Sir Jozan readily found the old trails that led there and soon we found the trail we were looking for. By the time we reached the crossroads, it had widened to a respectable and reasonably well maintained road—not up to the standards of the Dawn Way of course, but Baron Alaric Nimon is not slack in his duties.

As we reached the crossroads, we saw row after row of vines, the leaves on just a few staring to turn brilliant shades of yellow or red. To the west, the road to Frostedge Keep was lined with pear trees, but the bucolic scene was pierced by the harsh goblin tongue and we saw several peasants tied to the trunks of the trees with a group of hobgoblins and an ogre tormenting them. Well, that settled the question of whether the Red Hand had forces here. We sprang into action: I ran forward and called for the Invincible and Valorous Knight to bless us in our struggle and grant us victory in battle. Hellek gestured for Elaine to hide among the vines on the opposite side of the road.

It was well that Hellek sounded his note of caution for things were not as they appeared. Our first warning was when the hobgoblins suddenly grew to giant size and the ogre became a towering colossus. Then black-scaled men with the horned heads of dragons appeared and breathed gouts of acid across us and seconds later, two huge barghests the size of dire wolves appeared next to Jozan and Odrik. We fought for our lives. Ankalakan invoked a spell to shield Odrik’s life with his own and Marquess who had moved ahead of us struck down the ogre and most of the hobgoblins. The barghests tore into Odrik and opened great bleeding wounds in beneath Anakalakan’s armor but they fought with cunning. First, one bit nearly through Odrik’s great bow, splintering the wood and exposing the ebon wood beneath its rune-inlaid white paint. The other snatched Jozan’s axe away from him in its jaws and flung it behind it. (Ankalakan later picked up Jozan’s axe when the barghests snatched his holy axe from his grasp). Soon, all of us but myself were disarmed and trying to distract our foes while we grasped at weapons on the ground or attempted to fight with sidearms. Then, just after the last hobgoblin fell to Marquess’ glaive, third barghest—a great white furred monstrosity the size of the two that the rest of us fought appeared behind Marquess and the largest and evidently most skilled of the strange dragonmen stepped up to our valiant leader and struck two mighty blows that cut through his enchanted armor and left him bleeding on the ground.

I was struck with fear as the barghest near Marquess sniffed briefly at his fallen form. For such a valiant man to perish in battle is one thing but for two of my friends to have their souls consumed would be unbearable. I did not know it then, but since consulting with Immerstal this evening, I learned that scholars believe that once those foul fiends molt into their greater form they can no longer consume souls for they have already reached the limits of their growth. I do not know if that is true but from Hellek and Jozan’s reactions, this creature looked like the very one that had consumed the High Arcanist of the Tiri Kitor on the previous morn and even in their lesser form, such creatures can only feed rarely. The Bestiary of Fantastik Beasts states once per month but it is an unreliable tome. For whatever reason, it did not consume Marquess but hastened towards us and joined the assault on Odrik and Ankalakan—Sir Jozan, one of the dragonmen and the third barghest had been drawn away towards the other side of the trail.

Ankalakan was white from loss of blood and Odrik was bleeding from wounds that should have killed him several times over had Ankalakan’s magic not sustained him. Things were looking grim for us, but Hellek had made his way over and cut his way through both dragonkin and barghests with the red-dragon hilted sword I am told he took from a hobgoblin champion in the swamps of Lake Rhest. Alone and arrayed against all of us, the white-furred barghest invoked its powers and vanished from our sight. I called on Heironeous to purge the invisibility and Jozan prayed to see things unseen which enabled him to see it concentrate briefly and vanish as though stepping through a doorway into ether. The battle was over.

It was fortunate that we had two wands of curing but another such battle could exhaust them. It was noon and we had 16 hours before we expected Immerstal. The Red Hand had been waiting for us. Ankalakan is convinced that they must have a spy or a traitor in our councils and after our attempts to harass their scouts and supply lines have been so well anticipated and even our retreat turned into an ambush, I am inclined to agree. But there was precious little we could do about that from the vineyards of Baron Nimon. Hellek and Odrik stealthily observed Frostedge Keep and saw the scars of Baron Wiston, Baron Trask, Grimmath and their company’s battle with the dragons and the hobgoblins but nothing living. We found a number of potions on the dragonmen some well made swords but little else. Now we had to decide what to do.

To many peoples’ amazement, Marquess still thought of assaulting the bridge but when we realized that even making a token effort at harassment there and retreating here would have us marching through half the night, he gave up. My own analysis of the situation which matches with Odrik’s and convinced Marquess is this: we would appear to have caught enough of the Red Hand’s attention that they dispatched one elite force to ambush us and sent another elite force along the road yesterday to head us off. They are probably not worried that we will garrison Frostedge Keep—even if we held it against them, its only value would be as a base of operations to harass their supply line along the Dawn Way. So if I were in their position, I would worry that we might move to attack the bridge or any supply depots that they may have established in the town of Nimon Gap to the north. Since the white barghest escaped, they know that we are here and will probably try to send a strong force to eliminate us since together we represent some of the strongest defenders Bova has to offer. As fast as we’ve seen those barghests move, the one that escaped can probably reach the bridge or the town in three hours or so. Depending upon what forces they have available, they might then send for reinforcements, but they will probably not abandon the bridge and they will probably be sure to send an even stronger force than this ambush team. If they left immediately and on foot, they could be here by midnight. If mounted, they might be here by dusk.

We thought our options were try to use the dragonmens’ potions of pass without trace and hide ourselves in the hills near here then sneak back to the crossroads before dawn tomorrow to meet Immerstal or to fortify Frostedge Keep as best we could and see if we could hold until Immerstal arrived. Then someone—Odrik or Ankalakan suggested that we could use the scroll to send six of us home right now and we arrived at a plan. Six of us would travel north for a few hours, make a camp and then walk another half hour or so before using the scroll to recall us to the Cathedral of Pelor in Bova. Meanwhile, two of us—it ended up being Odrik and Sir Jozan—will take the potions to conceal their tracks and hide in the hills for the night then use the potions of invisibility to sneak down to the crossroads before dawn and hope to meet with Immerstal. There was much argument as to who might have the honor of joining Odrik in this endeavor but we ended up deciding on the Implaccable Rampant Basilisk. For my part, there was never any question of me joining Odrik since I am the only one who could read the scroll. And much as I would have liked the honor, I am not much good at stealth and woodcraft either. So, we followed the plan and walked north until dusk without encountering any Red Hand soldiers. The word of recall is a complex spell and even with the scroll holding the words of power, it took me two tries before I got it right but we appeared in the Cathedral of Pelor that night. I pray that Immerstal finds our friends well tomorrow.

-------------------------DM Notes------------------
Day 41

It was a fun session. Lots of planning and strategizing and one big battle: marked for death. There's only a few more days until the battle of Bova. I'm going to give them a chance to try to find Miha (who is actually in Bova and is now feeding the Red Hand info on the plans) and then we'll have the battle.

My current theory is that Miha has worked her way into the councils by replacing a servant. She is using her magic to impersonate one of the count's servants and is listening at keyholes, picking up anything that is left around, and hearing planning and looking at maps whenever she brings drinks into the councils. The players are already suspecting that there is a spy but if they don't start looking or don't come up with good ideas, I may have someone--probably one of Baron Trask's sons come to them. He comes to them because they were ambushed so he's pretty sure that they're not in on it. The defenders of Bova have been having a lot less success since the fall of Talar so he's been suspecting a spy too. Then a serving girl had caught his eye, so he'd gone to her home to wait for her (with dishonorable intentions--this is one of Baron Trask's sons we're talking about) and he'd noticed a dead and dessicated body hanging from webbing in the bedroom. So now he has an idea who one spy is but nothing more.

Thinking about it, that might be handing everything to the players on a platter. Any other ideas of clues that I could use? How is Miha doing her spying and what will she do when she thinks she might be caught?

[Eldariel]

...so why did the Barghest not devour Marquess in the end? Was it the same one and sated?

Miha Serani clues, eh? Well, first, let's see what she does:
- Changes shape; spider form is inconvenient in a town, as is hybrid. I'd assume she mostly uses humanoid forms and takes disguises. Webs at her home are too much of a dead giveaway and she isn't that dumb - some spiderous shapeshifter having lured and killed someone of consequence in a back alley might be more interesting. Preparing back alley traps for her prey with her spider powers is more than logical and of course, the usual "tempting femme" card gets you great many male victims of some significance.
- Invisibility; most notably this means she'll be sneaking around places she shouldn't be. Detect Magic might catch a glimpse of an illusion aura occasionally. In places where this is actually not okay, that might tip someone off.
- Charm Person and Suggestion; someone new of little account getting accepted quickly in certain circles causes word to go around. She's probably used any number of personas she's Grand Theft Persona'd and charmed and suggestioned people into giving extra information occasionally - particularly the ones she's killed. But people she's kinda stolen into will cause others to perhaps feel jealous and perhaps notice people acting weird at places.
- She has a Fiendish Viper familiar that can do all sorts of eavesdropping a humanoid cannot. However, someone spotting a viper in e.g. royal halls slipping between rocks or whatever is quite the tip. Of course, others may or may not laugh it off, particularly with some choice words from a Miha persona.
- Disguise Self grants a massive but not insurmountable bonus. Someone may have seen through it

[Elder_Basilisk]

The game isn't dead. I've just fallen a bit behind on the writeup. We're one session into the Battle of Bova now. I hope to find some time to catch the narrative up to where we really are in game in the next couple of weeks.

As to why the barghest didn't devour Marquess: I decided it was the same one that previously ate Pyrr so it was sated and cannot use the ability again for another month. Also, since I advanced it to a greater barghest, in Pathfinder barghests lose the devour ability when they become greater barghests--which is rather disappointing really.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Reaping 27
Journal of the Glorious Engelhardt ap Eddard, Knight Courageous of the Valorous Host

Marquess awoke before dawn while I was still at my prayers. Immerstal had come to our apartments in the castle and they spoke in hushed tones while eating a short breakfast. Immerstal must have wanted to seem generous, so he asked Marquess how long he wanted to wait for Jozan and Odrick if they weren’t at the appointed meeting spot. Marquess said, “two hours” which shocked the wizard. They ended up compromising on 30 minutes unless something dangerous came along. Then, as the sun touched the spire of the Cathedral of the Sun Father, he cast the spell and vanished.

A few minutes later, they reappeared.

Later I was able to tease some details out of them. Immerstal and Marquess arrived invisibly to find that dawn had not yet touched the hills to the west of the Elsir river. Jozan and Odrick had drunk potions and were still sneaking through the rows of grapevines toward the crossroads. A dragon also showed up with a huge hobgoblin on its back. They stopped near the site of the battle and searched around the mass of shattered shields and broken arrows before flying towards the keep. The dragon and rider must have arrived before Marquess and Immerstal or else they would have spotted the pair and would not have left for the castle. As it happened, however, they spotted Jozan and Odrick despite the invisibility potions that they drank—one of them must have been able to see invisible creatures—and sped back, unloading a barrage of arrows as they came. Between the arrows and a blast of dragonfire just as our allies reached Immerstal, everyone arrived scorched and Odrick was covered in such burns and arrow wounds that he might have perished had I not been there to provide Heironeous’ aid.

Afterwards, we discussed among ourselves. It appeared that someone had been telling our plans to the Red Hand—either that or scrying on us. Immerstal opined that scrying creates a magical sensor that can be seen if you know what to look for, and he both knows what to look for and regularly wards himself against scrying. If he had been scried upon, he would have noticed. Satisfied for the moment, with the august wizard’s opinion, we concentrated on the theory that there was a spy among us and went to Gareth with a plan. He was to call another council so that we could observe everyone with magical detection and explain our theory to them. Marquess thought the idea made sense at the time, but I don’t think we had actually discussed how we planned to unmask the spy. That oversight came back to bite us that evening.

In the great hall of the old keep, the servants provided wine and ale as the eminences—the Count Bova, General Ulverth, Immerstal the Red, Baron Wiston, Baron Trask, Priestess Goldenbrow, Lady Kaal, Eric MacKenzie of the Schwartzenbrun Crimson Company, Osric the Younger of Crystalmist County, et al arrived. Some of my companions found it curious that of all of them, Immerstal was the only one who radiated no magic. Baron Trask apparently radiated faint evil which is not terribly surprising given what we have heard of him. Somehow one of the servants drew Jozan and Hellek’s attention while Marquess explained his theory to the assembly. She looked similar to the Red Hand spy we had encountered at the hospital by the Nimon Gap bridge though at least five to ten years older. I later heard that they followed her into the kitchen and questioned her at length and then, seeing neither magic nor evil on her, Jozan ventured to dispel any magical wards she might have. He still sensed nothing but she excused herself to use the privy. Following shortly thereafter, Hellek swore he heard spellcasting from behind the closed door and fetched Immerstal who, upon arriving a minute or so later could not detect any trace of magic behind the door.

That settled it in Immerstal’s mind. If there were magic, he would have sensed it. Certainly there are warding magics that can misdirect divinations but those only fool the weak willed. And there are other magics that can render one non-detectable, however those require expensive magical reagents and will only fool mages of lesser skill. Since Immerstal detected nothing, and he is neither weak willed nor of lesser skill, there was clearly nothing there to detect. By this time, in the hall, the Lady Kaal had had enough. She castigated the Count and Marquess for wasting her time and left. The others left shortly thereafter and Gareth informed Marquess that one more screw up like this would have him and his companions under the command of Odrick or some other Lion more suited to situations that cannot simply be solved by chopping something up with a glaive.

--------------------------DM Notes--------------------------
Yeah, it was Kharn and Abithriax there. I wanted to introduce them to the party so that there is more of an expectation when they show up at the battle of Bova. Also, the Red Hand had enough resources to realize that they had been taken in by the trick where most of the party went north, left a false trail and then word of recalled back to Bova. However since figuring out there was no-one at the end of that trail, Abithriax was really the only Red Hand asset with the speed to make it to Frostedge keep in time and the strongest thing the could do was send Kharn and Abithriax. So that's what happened.

It worked out pretty darn well. Kharn demonstrated that he is a deadly effective archer and the party figures he's toting an unholy bow around with him (really it was human bane--being an Inquisitor is nice sometimes) and Abithriax's fire breath did some serious damage, dropping Odrick into negatives right before the teleport went off.

Once they got back, I was able to go back to the saga of Miha Serani. The party was considerably less adept at finding her than I anticipated. It did not help that everyone--even Jozan and Immerstal--failed their saves against her misdirection spell. So, Marquess got his Captain's office moment direct from Lethal Weapon. And next session, the players got to roll up some characters old school. 4d6 drop lowest, in order (minimum 14 strength).

[Eldariel]

Heh, I love it when PCs implement half-thought plans and they have to think on their feet. Here they did an awful job of it to be honest though. Particularly since they managed to isolate Miha but still had to let her go. Working within the confines of the law is tricky at times and it might've served them better to lie or bribe a bit.

Still, the players' misfortune is the readers' fortune. This saga should prove entertaining particularly with the coming invasion and everything. It's great to read a journal that so seamlessly ties the events in the adventure booklet itself to everything else in the world - it feels like everything flows smoothly and the player contributions and original ideas are a natural part of the continuum. I have to applaud you for world building in general: this is an example of it done right.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Goodmonth 1
Journal of the Glorious Engelhardt ap Eddard, Knight Courageous of the Valorous Host

We still felt like we didn’t have any proof but we decided to go to the general with out suspicions. When he heard that she had been in his office, he decided to toss her in the dungeon—even if she’s not a witch or a spellcaster, she’s got no business in here! He dispatched four guards to bring her in.
Hellek was still stealthily following her on her routine around the castle, and it was fortunate for those guards that he was. When they called on her to stop, she turned and spoke words of power. Hailstones fell from the ceiling dropping a couple of the guards. Hellek attacked with his swords and though one of the guards was slain, he inflicted a nasty bleeding wound and forced her to flee invisibly. The rest of us heard eventually heard the thunder of her spells, but by the time we heard and were able to arrive, she was already gone.

Taking the surviving guards, we searched through the city for her. At the cathedral of Pelor, we met a young acolyte who had seen a badly injured woman earlier today but something about her story had seemed off and when he questioned her further rather than healing her immediately, she had made hasty excuses and fled. There was a similar story at the Gate of Valor, except that the priest there had seen her pass though the gate on her way out the city.

Goodmonth 2

I hear that the hobgoblin horde is moving closer but they have not yet come within sight of the city. Marquess and I prayed and trained with the muster in Cathedral square. We were meeting with the Count when he received a sending. Marshall Verthundle has brought the blue dragon to battle and has driven it away. General Terpin’s soldiers are now marching to our aid. Welcome news! They won’t arrive before the Red Hand of course, but we have more than enough food to hold out until they arrive and walls strong enough that the Red Hand will pay dearly should they attempt to storm them. Checkmate!

Goodmonth 3

The horde of the Red Hand arrived today and arrayed themselves in an arc investing the city from the north, but they have remained just out of range of our bows. The discipline of their marching and the splendor of their banners would be glorious were they not devoted to wickedness and the extermination of men from these lands. As they arrayed themselves around our wall, they brought up obelisks of a strange black rock streaked with red like arteries and erected them around our city. As they did so, runes on the obelisks began to glow. I was standing on west tower of the Gate of Valor along with the Count, Immerstal, and the captain general. Discovering the sorceress in our midst had put us back in the Count’s good graces for the moment. Marquess asked Immerstal what the obelisks were for. Immerstal handed him a sketchbook and asked him if he could map out their location and sketch them. The Red Hand was using a ritual of a kind that had not been seen since the days before the Twin Cataclysms and however crude their reproduction was, this was historic. What exactly was this ritual? Well, that was a little hard to say. It looked like they were erecting some kind of soul net—it had something to do with harvesting the power of souls slain here and transmitting it elsewhere. I don’t think anyone asked what they were going to do with that power. I don’t see how we would be able to tell and it’s pretty clear that whatever it is, it cannot be good for the county, or for all of Sterich for that matter. Disrupting it seems a bit beyond our power too—Immerstal said that we would have to find a way to damage the majority of the foci. Damaging or destroying one of the obelisks would put a hole in the soul net but they would still capture more than a few souls. But again, being outnumbered two to one, it doesn’t look like that’s a realistic possibility anyway. I guess we’ll just have to avoid dying.

At dusk, two giants and several hobgoblins, including the massive red-armored hobgoblin Odrick, Jozan, and Marquess had seen outside Frostedge keep strode forward under a banner of truce. The large hobgoblin—Wyrmlord Khaarn as his herald introduced him—made a boastful and blasphemous offer. We were doomed, he boasted that our gods would not help us anymore than the gods of the goblin tribes had helped them. But if we cast our Count from the walls, opened our gates, and came out, he would cast lots for our fate and allow half of us to live as slaves of the giants to the north. The others, he would sacrifice to his dark goddess. To that, Count Bova replied, “he who puts on his armor should not boast like he who takes it off.” Marquess and Jozan were mystified by what they called a cryptic utterance, but I thought it a bold and concise defiance. The Count may be devoted to the Sun Father, but he has clearly heard some of the scriptures of the Invincible and Valorous Knight. The hobgoblins returned to their lines and, as the sun sets I hear the horns of battle. I pray that the Invincible and Valorous Knight grant us favor and victory.

-----------------------------DM Notes------------------------
So the players finally came up with the idea that they could probably convince the Count or captain general to lock up Miha on suspicion which was good. Then the general sent a squad to bring her in and they thought "good idea." So I had them all roll up a 1st level martial character and they got to play the squad that went to bring her in. I was pleasantly surprised that most of the squad survived--largely due to Hellek landing a sneak attack with bleed damage rider.

Then I figured she would try to get healed at the temple and the spy who had been slaughtering all the party's sense motive checks promptly rolled a 1 to a 1st level acolyte's natural 20 sense motive and triggered his suspicions. She ended up getting away but we'll still chalk it as a win for the PCs since she won't be feeding the Red Hand any further info.

Funny thing about my really short cut scene: last week, nearly a month after the session, when I posted this to my group, I have a player say, "oh, now I get that "puts on his armor thing, that's pretty cool."

[Elder_Basilisk]

Note. The journal of Engelhardt for Goodmonth 3 ends here. I suppose he must have been to busy to record his exploits and those of his companions. The following are accounts recorded by Arthur of Woodsedge after the battle of Bova.

The Wyrnlord opened the battle with a pair of probing attacks to the east and west of the gate of valor. In the darkness, small forces of giants moved forward and silenced the catapults and ballistae on the towers with their rocks then began to hammer the walls from as far away at they could throw stones. The darkness of the night prevented the human archers on the walls from targeting them and Captain General Ulverth sent in reserve forces. To the western wall, he dispatched Marquess of the Green Glaive, Odrick Whitebow, Ankalakan, Sir Jozan of the Hillwatch Knights and their companions. To the east, he dispatched Baron Trask, the dwarf Grimmath of the Coalhewer clanhold, One-eyed Jorr of the Witchwood, and several other champions.

Marquess called upon the aid of the Tiri Kitor and his brother, the Lion Jonas, but eventually came up with a scheme to directly attack the giants hand to club rather than attempt to outshoot them. The champions climbed down the wall, drank potions of invisibility and crept towards the giants before engaging them in close combat. The fighting was fierce; the elves had expected to support them with archery once the battle began but Laurel Bloodleaf reported that, as soon as the first volley of arrows struck the giants, a wall of wind sprung up and drove their arrows into the ground. After a desperate battle, Marquess and his companions ran back to the walls just ahead of a company of hobgoblins who advanced from their lines at the signs of battle but did not arrive in time to save the giants.

To the east, Grimmath rendered himself invisible and advanced just far enough to illuminate the giants with his magic. The champions there and the lion guard on the wall showered arrows on the giants, but like in the west, there was a hobgoblin warpriest with them and the power of the dragon queen deflected their arrows. Before they could organize a sortie, the giants had broken through the wall and several companies of hobgoblins charged towards the breach.

Captain General Ulverth reacted quickly and dispatched the Crimson company to hold the breach. They moved wagons to form barricades and wheeled a catapult over and sighted it in on the gap in the walls. The Crimson company arrayed itself as a semicircle of pikes protecting arbalesters and Baron Trask and the other champions stood ready to answer any monsters or champions the hobgoblins might bring. Erik MacKenzie’s catapult was well sighted and the giants and hobgoblins that pushed through the breach were pushed back with heavy losses.

However, the giants and the breaches in the wall were only probing attacks. Wyrmlord Khaarn and the dragon Abithriax brought the heaviest attack against the gate of valor. The dragon warded himself with magic and swooped over the gate and incinerated the catapults and ballistae atop it with his fiery breath. Immerstal did manage to land one dragon bane bolt from the great ballista, but it was not enough and the dragon rapidly flew out of range and unleashed his fury on the streets near the castle. Unwilling to allow the town to be burned, General Ulverth dispatched Marquess of the Green Glaive, Odrick, Sir Jozan, Ankalakan, and their companions to defeat the dragon while he himself reinforced the main gate with Baron Wiston the fyrd of Drellin’s Ferry, and a reserve company of Lion Guard. Being much more adept with sword and lance than with a bow, Jonas rode to aid the captain general at the gates.

A runner met Ankalakan with a potion of fly halfway down the dawn way. They confronted the dragon in a maze of tenements where it used its speed to the fullest, circling through the narrow alleyways and over roofs, forcing them to wait for it to appear before they could shoot. The priest of Heironeous who accompanied them was able to heal most of the burns inflicted by its first blast of dragonfire, but Ankalakan discovered that the limited speed afforded by his fly spell did not enable him to catch the dragon which savagely tore the dwarf with its bite and repeatedly darted away before he could respond. However, the dragon could not entirely evade Odrick Whitebow’s arrows—or Sir Jozan’s for that matter. Even in the maze of moonlight, smoke, and dancing shadows cast by burning tenements, his holy bow found its mark in the dragon’s hide. At one point, the dragon attempted to snatch his bow Odrick was saved by a timely updraft as flames burst through the shuttered window nearby and the rush of air drove the dragon harmlessly above the Lion of Bova. The dragon put out the fire with a spell that transformed it into a bright burst of light. The explosion blinded Ankalakan, Marquess, and Engelhardt, the priest of Heironeous, but did not avail the beast against the Whitebow. Finally, in frustration, the dragon breathed fire across the group, nearly killing Engelhardt but thanks to the prayers of Ankalakan, Odrick was largely unharmed. Witnesses think that the dragon might have planned to evade the Lions again, but its wing clipped the roof of a burning building and rather than turning, it plunged towards Odrick and Jozan. Had those two been alone, that might have been a good move. Had his pyrotechnic spell been more effective, the dragon might have survived. However, Marquess and Ankalakan’s sight returned rapidly and by the time the dragon had caught his wings again and hovered above the two archers, savagely beating them, Marquess was able to land a blow with the glaive Immerstal had enchanted to be the bane of dragons and Ankalakan finally caught up to the beast and delivered a blow with all Moradin’s hatred for evil dragons behind it, ending the dragon’s life with a single smite.

By this time, the hobgoblins had won through the gate of valor. Wyrnlord Kharn and his hill giant bodyguards were terrifying fighters and they had massed much heavier forces at the gate than at the eastern breach. There was even a manticore who must have somehow survived the earlier ambush. The Lion Guard and the men of Drellin’s Ferry were driven back in disarray and the Count hurried to dispatch more forces to stymie their advance into the city. On the Dawn Way, near the beergarden all of the Witchcross Fyrd who could be spared from the walls assembled behind a barricade of carts, barrels and crates. Though battle tested, their leader was still young, so hearing that Marquess and his group of champions had prevailed over the dragon, Count Bova directed them to join them at the barricade. It was well that he did. Another lion of Bova came to their aid as well. Marquess’ older brother Jonas, had been separated from his companions in the battle at the gate and seeing the young Baron Corromat, attached himself to their soldiers. Shortly after he and Marquess arrived, a hobgoblin knight and his retainers attacked.

The hobgoblin knight rode his great beast—a war Yzubo—across the barricade, splintering it under his hooves and his men followed close behind him. Hellek and Whitebow climbed to the roof and balcony of the beergarden intending to rain arrows on the enemy as they approached but instead found themselves face to face with a manticore. (Reportedly Hellek was surprised to see a manticore because they were all reported to be killed in an earlier ambush. However, it is no surprise that the success of Baron Wiston, Baron Trask, and Grimmath’s ambushes may have been exaggerated. If one were to count all the manticores that various groups reported slain in each battle as the Red Hand advanced through the upper Elsir Vale, the number is at least twice as many as ever swore allegiance to the Red Hand. It is a matter of record when Marquess and Hellek's made their report of the first Red Hand ambush to Baron Wiston, they reported different numbers of hobgoblins encountered and slain and that their tallies varied between half as many and twice as many as the captured arms they took from the slain would indicate. Reliable reports are difficult to come by in war).

There was savage hand to hand fighting as the hobgoblin knight and his retainers attacked and several of Baron Corromat’s men at arms were struck down gravely wounded, however they were soon slain and Engelhardt ap Eddard, the priest of Heironeous who had attached himself to the Green Glaive’s companions was able to restore them to health. Seeing its companions slain and their spirits sucked out into the net of souls, the manticore fled—only to return a few seconds later as a group of howling, lime covered bugbears burst from the darkness. Their fur mated white with lime, the blood ghosts burst onto the line—one leaped up a broken cart onto the beergarden’s balcony to confront Jozan. Jozan had climbed there to ensure that Odrick would not have to face the manticore alone if it returned but as the manticore did return but Odrick did not, instead found himself facing both a blood ghost beserker and a manticore without assistance.

Engelhardt called down the wrath of Heironeous and a burst of holy energy struck the bugbears as they came and must have disrupted their charge. Hellek took grave injuries from their axes and Jozan fought for his life against the foes on the beergarden balcony, but the Fyrd of Witchcross formed a shieldwall and stood firm. One man at arms took wounds from two greataxes and fell bleeding to the ground, but the men of Witchcross held firm and several beserkers met an end against the thicket of swords and spears. With the aid of Heironeous, even that man at arms who fell lived to fight in later skirmishes.

The manticore flew past the back wall of the beergarden—perhaps to cut off Jozan’s retreat and Baron Corromat and Jonas both struck it with their lances before Odrick was able to finish it off with an arrow from his famed white bow. The body struck the cobblestones with a squelch and a sickening crunch and it skidded into the wall of a nearby tailor’s shop. Hellek and Marquess held their own against the bugbears before them and struck down their leader while on the other side of the beergarden, Ankalakan struck down two beserkers. Suddenly there was silence as the last echoes of the bugbear’s howling faded.

The ground shook beneath clawed feet and up the dawn way, a bolt of lightning breath briefly illuminated a line of five massive creatures the size of bulls with blue scales and horns like a rhinoceros. As if in sympathy with the lightning stroke, smaller nimbuses of electricity arced between them before being lost in the darkness. There were still more foes to fight.

------------------------DM Notes--------------------------------
I liked bringing Marquess' brother in as the lion who may assist the party. The elves in the story were busy elsewhere--I think they were called away to help defend the eastern breach in the wall--but the numbers worked out to replace them with Baron Corromat and his men at arms while the soldiers at the barricade were the Witchcross Fyrd/militia. Doing it this way doesn't tie the players' previous actions into the action quite as well as having the elves there but encountering NPCs that they like and care about and have fought with before adds a certain something to it and ties it in to the rest of the story. Besides, they already asked the elves to help them with the giants.

As far as the encounters go, I made a few changes.

I replaced one giant with four hobgoblin regulars, a sergeant, and a hobgoblin priest (5th level). Doing the math, and thinking about how it would make sense, four hill giants would be cut to pieces by any group of massed archers well before they could destroy the walls unless they had someone there to protect them with windwall or a similar effect or to heal them up from the one to four hits they would take on average each round from a group of archers fishing for 20s. (40 archers with rapid shot (or 80 archers without)=4 hits per round and a crit every five rounds--all they need is to be able to see the targets). So, just putting four hill giants there and saying, "go at it" wasn't going to work. The other advantage to reworking the encounter is that it makes sense of the actions on the other side of the wall. Trying to make a cavalry sortie as the book has them do it is stupid. How are the cavalry going to get out? Any force good enough to hope to beat four hill giants (heck, any force that has horses really--postern gates are small for a reason) is going to have to go out through the main gates which are not where the attack is. The assaulting hobgoblins could easily see the sortie coming and advance a force of infantry to block it--assuming that, like in my game, their worgriders have been rendered combat ineffective; otherwise they have cavalry superiority so it's really not an option. On the other hand, "the other side tried to mass archers and by the time they realized there was a cleric keeping them up, it was too late" makes sense. It's the logical first response and shows that the PCs likely choice to engage directly was necessary. Doing it that way also keeps the encounter from turning into a super dull dice fest as the PCs just shoot arrows and the giants throw rocks at the wall.

The result was of my changes was that it actually turned into a rather challenging encounter. The giants, having both low-light and darkvision saw the PCs climb down the walls, then saw them drink their potions and disappear, so the cleric cast invisibility purge. The hobgoblin regulars beat some of the PCs in initiative and readied actions to use their tanglefoot bags. That ruined Marquess' charge and pretty nearly kept Ankalakan out of the fight for several rounds. It turns out that the rage spell is also pretty nasty for an NPC cleric with some hill giants and hobgoblin mooks around. +4 strength, +1 morale (battle cry), +1 luck (prayer), and even the mooks were hitting half the time--and that adds up.

The dragon didn't get many changes--what undid the dragon was failing a fly check. He had been planning to do a 180 degree turn and fly back to safety while his breath weapon recharged but failed his check and had to fly into the party instead. No problem--he hit them with the pyrotechnics so some of them are blind and his breath weapon isn't really hurting the archer anyway (darn resist energy: fire). Except that I rolled minimum on the blindness and it wore off at the end of that round. Oops.

Still, at that point, the party had burned through about 47 charges on one of the wands of cure light wounds and used 7 or 8 out of 9 positive channels so Abithriax did some serious damage. (The party would be in a better spot if they had stopped to pick up the wand of cure light wounds from the hobgoblin cleric, but a hobgoblin company three hundred feet away and closing was pretty scary).

On the Blood in the Streets encounter I used a map that I got from a D&D minis community tournament showing a battleground in a city rather than the map in the book which with its dirt street looks much more rural. The map I used places a small building with a balcony in the middle and has two streets approaching from the west and northwest and one exiting the square to the east.

wave 1, I replaced one manticore with the hobgoblin knight (Cav 5), partly because the manticores were mostly killed and partly to make the hobgoblins more than just the mooks. Since I had given them a champion, I then replaced a sergeant or a couple mooks with a low level bard. (Now they're a proper unit--they have a champion and a standardbearer/musician). On the whole it was a step up from the original in interest and getting another shot at a hobgoblin knight, the party got to demonstrate that they had figured out a few things about how to not get killed by him.

The Witchcross Fyrd and men at arms were moderately effective. They held the attention of quite a few of the regulars, Baron Corromat absorbed an attack from the hobgoblin knight (who couldn't get at anyone else), and whittled down the knight and his steed pretty well. But they had trouble hitting the hobgoblin regulars with their shield wall teamwork feat.

Wave 2. I dropped one of the blood ghosts to give them a champion and gave another one an earthbreaker rather than a greataxe. Mostly, this was because I only had five blood ghost beserker minis handy but I had a bugbear charging with a massive mace and an alt-paint grey bugbear with two hammers. I had expected the blood ghosts to hammer the party but Hellek was the only one to really get knocked about. Jozan got a bit of a scare but that was mostly the players worrying about what could happen rather than what actually did happen. They only managed to score two hits on Witchcross men at arms and that man at arms survived by some miracle. (Warrior 2 with 17hp due to Toughness--the blood ghost rolled near minimum damage both times). On the other hand, the men at arms and fyrd tore through the blood ghosts and I think downed three of them without help from the PCs.

Wave 3. That hasn't happened yet since this post catches us up the action. I've statted it out as a pure vanilla from the book encounter but I'm wondering about changing it up again. If the bluespawn were smart, they'd just lightning blast everything and make the PCs eat 30d6 lightning damage (save for half). My party isn't really equipped to handle that and more importantly, neither is the militia/men at arms and it would be bad play to let the PCs jump into harms way to save the NPCs for two waves, let the NPCs prove helpful and competent and then just DM fiat, "yeah, lightning falls and all the NPCs die anyway." Maybe I'll give characters behind the barricade total cover or something.

Looking forward. Skather and Kharn are going to be tough fights for the group. They're already ready to start chugging hobgoblin potions and hope that they're healing. Fortunately the hobgoblins were carrying a lot of potions. I expect that Lars Ulverth and the NPCs in the final battle will be a lot more significant in this game than they were when I played through it or in most of the logs I've read.

[Elder_Basilisk]

From the memoirs of Baron Eldon Corromat: The Battle of Bova

When the last bugbear fell, my fyrd immediately pulled themselves to their feet and started reloading their crossbows. Jonas drank a potion and readied his lance. Sir Jozan and Hellek gulped down whatever potions they could find on the hobgoblins and bugbears. From the sick look on Hellek’s face, I thought he might have been poisoned but his wounds closed. Marquess valiantly dashed out to the bugbears who had fallen beyond the barricade to grab potions. He had just finished drinking one when the first of the great thunderlizards appeared from the smokey darkness.

They were the size of bulls with blue scales and a huge ivory horn atop their snout. Lightning crackled around them and the goblins on the back carried small recurve bows. My men took cover behind the barricade and loosed their bolts but few found their marks. Marquess called out to his companions to target the riders and with a few arrows, the Odrick and Jozan dropped two riders and slew the first thunderlizard to step from the smoke. I have never seen archers fire so quickly or with such deadly aim. Their enchanted arrows had a deadly impact on the creature and Odrick nimbly climbed to the top of the beer garden’s pitched slate roof to find a better angle to fire on the creatures approaching the alley to the right of it.

Then the lizards belched lightning—and I thank the Sun Father that they had focused on the heroes ahead of us and that my men were spared the worst of their wrath. The beer garden was not so lucky. Several blasts caught the front wall and it collapsed in a shower of exploding stones. A hail of slate shingles fell to the ground narrowly missing Hellek and Odrick fell with them and landed right in front of the thunderlizards. Then it was time to put aside our crossbows and test our blades against their skin--to see if we could live up to the example Marquess, Odrick, Jonas, and the others set. Without the enchanted blades that those heroes wielded, my men and I found it difficult to injure the lizards—their skin was like the knotty boles of the swamp trees, but with my destrier’s strength, I managed to drive my lance into one of them and one of my men at arms finished it off with his sword.

On the other side of the beer garden, Ankalakan stood heroically and smote them right and left—eventually striding beyond the barricade and striking them down before the barricade. When the last one fell bleeding at our feet, having nearly broken past us, we thanked the gods of men and dwarves and the heroes busied themselves with the last charges of their healing wands.

I regret that I was not there at the fateful stand in Cathedral square. I cannot help but think that, perhaps if Jonas had been there, or even if I were there with my fyrd, things might have been different. Marquess had been a part of some mystical link with the Count and the leaders of the army and he was commanded to return to Cathedral Square while Jonas, my Fyrd and I continued to hold the Dawn Way. The Captain General was evidently attempting to re-form a reserve so that he could counter-attack wherever the Red Hand attacked next. For my part, my men and I stayed at the barricade, but no hobgoblin dared assault us again.


From a memorial speech by the Glorious Engelhard ap Eddard, Knight Valorous of the Glorious Host

Concerning events that occurred Goodmonth 3

Much has been said about the heroism of my companions and others were in a better place to describe the final confrontation than I. Never-the-less I owe it to their memory to record the events that led up to that fateful battle on the steps of the cathedral so that the memory of their deeds may be written in the scroll of heroes and echo through the streets of Mount Celestia.

After holding the line on the Dawn Way, my companions and I were summoned back to Cathedral square to act as reserves.

As we approached Cathedral Square, Marquess gave a cry of alarm—the Count stopped speaking through their mental link mid-sentence. The dutiful Lion Guards on the steps of the Cathedral cried out, “Archer!” and dragged the count’s body behind a pillar then fished out their crossbows.

My heart stuttered in shock, but I was thrilled: yet another chance to prove our mettle in battle. Never had we been so tested. I galloped to the Count’s side while Marquess and the others heroically rode forward into the square, casting their eyes about for this hidden archer. We did not have to wait long before he revealed himself. Marquess caught a poisoned arrow in the gap between his breastplate and backplate. The arrow itself did not dig deep but the cowardly hobgoblin had coated it with the venom of a purple worm and it spread its noxious poison through the valiant Lion’s blood, sapping his strength. The sacrifice did not go unrewarded, Odrick’s sharp eyes spotted the hidden archer in the second story of the coffin-maker’s shop. Jozan, Odrick, and Marquess spurred their horses towards it and leaped from their saddles near the door. Hellek climbed to stand on his saddle as his horse moved and nearly slipped, then righted himself and leaped through the window on the upper story.

As I examined the Count’s wound and found him suffering from the same venom as Marquess, I saw explosions of fire and lightning from inside the coffin-shop. Two hobgoblin sorcerers had concealed themselves in the first story and their magical blasts staggered our Implaccable Rampant Basilisk and knocked the valiant Marquess of the Green Glaive to the ground—his skin blistered and smoking. I gather that Sir Jozan saved Marquess’s life with one of his last prayers while Odrick unleashed his holy arrows on the two sorcerers and slew them both within the space of a few seconds. Upstairs, however, one of the blackscaled dragon kin was slowly cutting Hellek apart. Hellek retreated through the stairs, barely able to see from the blood streaming into his eyes and just as Jozan and Odrick came up the stairs, however the dragon scaled warrior vanished into thin air and pinpointed the weak points of their armor with uncanny accuracy and forced both of them to retreat as well.

Having ascertained that there was nothing I could do to aid the Count but that he was not in any immediate danger, I remounted my horse and galloped across the square to assist. I just managed to reach the first floor just as Hellek and Odrick came back down the stairs. The creature stabbed at us and then retreated through the door to our right, just as Ankalakan stepped into that room from the outside. The slippery villain came back through the door and the dwarf moved through an empty workshop to head him off in case he attempted to escape through the room where both sorcerers had been slain. Meanwhile, Jozan leaped from the second story window and filled the hole Ankalakan left. His supply of poison arrows and dirty tricks at an end, the skillful scoundrel fell beneath our righteous blades but our supply of divine blessings was all but gone and the night held yet greater terrors for all of us.

---------EDIT: minor changes to Engelhart's section to better capture his voice and be consistent with the previous statement that Engelhart didn't write more about Goodmonth 3 in his journal----------

[Elder_Basilisk]

----------------------DM Commentary-----------------------------
The party was running low on resources after the Streets of Blood fight. Most of their spells, channels, smites, lay on hands, rounds of bane and judgments were gone and they were depending upon scavenged potions for healing since their wands were running out. I made the snap decision that the bugbear healing potions are not quite compatible with human physiology and require a fort save to avoid being sickened for one round. Fun but not too punishing.

The battle with Skather was a very fun, dynamic battle. Rogue vs ninja was a little bit of a slap fight since neither party had a way to get sneak attack, but Skather did OK damage without it--especially with his bow and he had enough attacks for it to add up quickly. Skather's ninja abilities enabled him to maneuver pretty freely which led to the battle being a bit of a chase.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Sergeant Hadrada, Lion Guard: The Last Stand of the Green Glaive and the Champion of the Hammerfist Holds

They were some right heroes, the Green Glaive, Whitebow, Sir Jozan, and their companions! Figured out where that archer was hiding and charged right in! I saw the flashes of fire and lightning magic from the Cathedral steps but they emerged just a minute or two later with blood and ichor dripping from their swords. A couple priests from the temple still had some spells and came out and healed us—well, mostly them. The scratch I’d taken from a goblin arrow was scarcely worth calling a wound though I recall it still hurt like the hells.

Anyway, thank the Sun Father they were there. Just a few moments later, I saw the Captain General himself—don’t let the gray hairs fool you, by the way, he is dangerous. No disrespect to the Count or Baron Trask, but that night, he fought like the best swordsman I’ve ever seen. The captain general was riding hard and yelled, “ware! They come!” Then all of a sudden, the biggest hobgoblin I’d ever seen, dressed in this red dragonscale armor steps out into view and unleashed an arrow at us. Then giants and ogres appeared from thin air charging the general and this huge thing that looked a cross between a white wolf the size of a horse with a goblin’s face appeared out of nowhere with a giant and that hobgoblin like he just took a single step and he was in our faces.

Well, I dropped my crossbow and grabbed my glaive and my men did too. The heroes there reacted quickly too. The dwarf charged the giant and took a blow that looked like it was going to smash him into paste but kept coming. The whitebow tried to step away from the hobgoblin and in just that fraction of a second, that hobgoblin—later we learned from prisoners that he was High Wyrmlord Kharn himself—punched a heavy pick right through his breastplate and into his lung. Another second and Hellek was down as well. My men and I fought as best we could and landed a few blows on the giants. Captain Ulverth killed a few of the ogres.

The battle seemed evenly matched for a moment, then the goblin appeared. He worked his crossbow more quickly than any archer I’ve ever seen and dropped a bolt into every seam in the dwarf’s armor. There was a flash of light and the dwarf fell to his knees as some divine power kicked in and healed him. The goblin wolf thing mauled Sir Jozan and the Heironean priest while Lars Ulverth killed the second giant. I don’t remember who killed the first giant—the dwarf, and the Heironean priest were both fighting him and Marquess of the Green Glaive faced the Wyrmlord.

The Captain General charged that little goblin and fought him for a few seconds, but we couldn’t hold out on the steps. Someone yelled for help and saw the sky light up on the other side of the cathedral as fires roared from the heavens in whatever battle the priests were fighting. Still they managed to spare one priest to help us: Father Derny of Drellin’s Ferry opened the doors and hefted his mace. The Wyrmlord grimaced as Marquess’s glaive drew a bloody line across his face but he had managed to duck just enough to live and then he punched that enchanted pick right through both sides of Marquess’ helmet. The green glaive clattered to the ground. I picked up the green glaive as the wyrmlord moved to the dwarf. They struggled briefly and then his deadly pick claimed another victim, right as I screamed a battle cry and charged.

Well, I can’t say I fared as well as Ankalakan or Marquess of the Green Glaive, but at least I did not disgrace his weapon by fleeing with it. It was barely a moment before he struck me down but a few seconds later, I felt the healing power of the Sun Father flood into me and was able to struggle back to my feet.

I saw Sir Jozan and Odrick Whitebow and the blessed Engelhardt struggling to their feet as well, just in time to see Father Derny smashed down by the goblin-wolf’s paws. They tried heroically, but they could not quite finish the Wyrmlord and he struck them down one after the other. He struck me down too. I remember holding my guts in, unable to move or to help as the Wyrmlord struck down every hope we had. The only thing that was going right was the Captain General’s fight against the goblin archer. The goblin shot his horse out from under him, but he chopped him in half. Then the captain was back, just as the Whitebow fell. The captain drove his sword through the goblin-wolf’s heart, grimaced as the Wyrmlord’s pick pierced his arm, then turned and cut off the hobgoblin general’s head. At that point, I passed out.

------------------------DM Notes------------------
I converted Kharn as an Inquisitor 11 with the Persistence Inquisition. He and his heavy pick proved deadly and would have been even deadlier except for a math error in the player's favor. The giants rolled hot as well. The tone was set for the battle when a hill giant double-twentied Ankalakan to hit with an AoO as he closed. Then Odrick gave Kharn an AoO so he could step back and shoot and Kharn critted and dropped him. Fortunately Odrick was nearly full hp or he would have been dead. Then Kharn nearly critted Hellek--in session, I forgot that Justice judgment gives him an additional +3 to confirm crits so Hellek skated by on a confirmation roll that failed by one. As a consequence, Hellek was merely knocked unconscious and dying and was later stabilized by Father Derny. Then Kharn critted Marquess. He didn't crit Ankalakan, but I was using a 3.5 version of wounding on the pick (con damage makes wounding worth using; bleed damage is not close to being worth a +2 enhancement) and the Con damage took him well below negative con. It was an epic battle with an appropriately epic bodycount.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Goodmonth 4. Journal of the Glorious Engelhard ap Eddard, Knight Valorous of the Glorious Host

This morning I awoke on a straw pallet laid on the floor of the Cathedral of Dawn. The stench of smoke and blood filled the air and the moans of the injured echoed where chants of praise should have. We were clearly victorious, but at a great cost. It was difficult to get any answers about what was going on beyond that we had shattered the Red Hand’s attack and driven them back. I prayed and expended all the divine power given to me aiding the other injured. Hellek, Odrick Whitebow, and Jozan were there with me along with Father Derny but there was no sign of Marquess or Ankalakan.

At noon, I saw the Paragon of Heironeous. (Ed. The Paragon is the title of the Heironean High Priest). What remained of his left arm was wrapped in bandages. He told me that General Ulverth and High Priestess Goldenbrow along with Jonas and what was left of the Lions were pursuing the fleeing hobgoblin forces. We had won. Marquess and Ankalakan were gone—slain by the Wyrmlord Kharn and their souls sucked away to power whatever devilish ritual the hobgoblins were plotting. They died well, but I fear that the foul magic may deny them their rightful reward. Soren Amroth, the captain of the Baron Wiston’s men at arms was also slain, along with Stonesinger Flamehair. Hargil Trask II was seen being dragged away by hobgoblins—a fate I would not wish even upon a wicked man. Many other defenders had suffered grievous injuries but thanks to our decision to guard and preserve the priests in the cathedral, they will live. It may take several days for us to channel enough of the gods’ blessings to put them on their feet again, but we shall do so.

Baron Hargil Trask lost his shield arm to blood ghost axe. Delros Zahn and Canoness Leille suffer from some kind of curse and though they live, we have been unable to heal their injuries. Percival of the Lions lost an eye to a hobgoblin arrow but seems likely to live. Erik MacKenzie of the Schwartzenbruin Crimson Company lost a leg to a giant’s club. Once our powers were restored by the dawn, we were able to restore Killiar Arrowswift, Celeria Starsinger, and most of the Lady Verassa Kaal’s elite guards. The Lady Kaal herself will recover, but it may be that her fortunes will not. Her mansion was incinerated by dragonfire and she herself was robbed of all but the clothes on her back—and I think those are borrowed—before the search parties found her and brought her to the cathedral for healing.

Immerstal the Red survived—he was buried under a collapsing house when the Red Hand took the gate of Valor and we could not find him until this morning. I suppose that explains why he did not take more of a hand in the battle. The lady Trellara Nightshadow had been separated from the rest of the Tiri Kitor but scouts found her this morning in the cellar of a collapsed bakery behind a wall of hobgoblin corpses. All told, nearly one third of the defenders of Bova were casualties, but through the power of the gods, most of them will live and many of them will be able to fight again. The same cannot be said for the hobgoblins. No one has a good count of their dead, but the Paragon thinks that they lost at least a thousand—perhaps twice that. They still outnumber us but we will have a decisive advantage when the Marquessa’s forces arrive. There are even rumors that Count Tondhere is marching to our assistance too—no doubt it was his intention to be too late to keep us from being defeated but to be here in time to share credit for any ultimate victory.

In the evening, my companions and I were summoned to attend the Count. He was still weak from the Red Hand’s poison—barely able to walk to his chair with crutches (I heard that he insisted that we heal his vassals and soldiers before restoring his strength). But his mind still works and that is needed more than his sword arm at the moment. The hobgoblins have fallen back to the vicinity of Talar and since Osric the Younger, Master Caedmon, Captain Gareth, Agrivar, and the remaining Lions had managed to seize the Keep, Count Bova believes that General Ulverth will be able to drive them back to the bridge at Nimon Gap before they can regroup. To dislodge them from the bridge, we will probably need to wait for reinforcements—either Count Tondhere or General Commander Terpin and Marshal Verthundle with the Marquessa’s forces. But with those reinforcements, we will have a decisive military advantage as a result of our heroic victory at the battle of Bova. However, the hobgoblin’s obelisks and their ritual trouble the count. The High Mourner held back some mystic powers from healing our injured in order to converse with the spirits of slain hobgoblin sorcerers and was able to confirm that the High Wyrmlord, the Son of the Dragon, or Azar Kuul is using that soul energy for a ritual to empower a gate at some place called the Fane of Tiamat. Should he succeed in bringing unnumbered devils to his aid, our future will be grim indeed for we possess nothing comparable to the Crook of Rao to drive them from out world en masse.

Immerstal told us that, given the scale of the magic being discussed and the ancient ritual used to empower it, it is likely that the ritual itself will take weeks to complete. He couched his analysis in weasel words and I suspect that most of it is guesswork, but if he is right there is still time to disrupt the ritual, just not enough time to wait for reinforcements and bring an entire army through the Witchwood and into the hobgoblin’s mountain valleys. And that brought us to the Count’s quest: he needs a group of heroes to travel to the Fane of Tiamat and stop the ritual. He asked Odrick Whitebow to lead the group—Hellek who is now the newest Lion of Bova and Grimmath will join him, as will Jonas Tessmon, and of course, Sir Jozan. Baron Wiston has recommended that Lady Penelope who appears to have recovered from the ordeal of being brought back to life. Of course, I could not allow such a quest to depart without me. Marquess may have passed beyond earthly battles, but my swordarm is still strong.

Goodmonth 5. Grimmath’s Journal

Hey Journal! Yeah, I know it’s been a while, but what can I say, I’ve been busy. Killing goblins with Jorr, fighting for my life at the eastern breach. You know, that kind of thing. And no sooner do I finish up with that, than I have to go help stop some stupid ritual.

Yeah, of course it’s me. You didn’t think Immerstal is going to do this kind of thing, did you. He might get his robes dirty again and after that wall collapsed on his best robe, he’s down to his last robe. He did give me a nice scroll of teleport though—so I can get back if I need to. Well, it’s not just that Immerstal is too lazy and doesn’t much like fighting. You see, nobody actually knows where this Fane of Tiamat is, so they’ll need someone who knows the mountains. And someone who the Coalhewers and Silverdelves trust. You’re right journal, that’s not me. But I’m someone they are familiar with. So anyway, here we are, making plans again.

Fighting our way through the hobgoblin army is probably not going to work so we’ll either need to use magic to walk across the Elsir—probably north of the bridge, close to Witchcross since everyone expects they will have occupied Frostedge Keep and Nimon Gap and we’d run right into them if we tried to cross south of the bridge. Or we need Immerstal to teleport us somewhere. He said that he can manage Valandil’s Mill where Argathos’ runaway apprentice summoned the Glabrezu. If we try somewhere like Frostedge Keep, it’s probably crawling with hobgoblins and he can’t do Drellin’s Ferry or Terrelton because odds are good the hobgoblins burned them down and he doesn’t want to risk a mishap. Yeah journal. If an area has changed since you last saw it, you can’t teleport there. We can’t take horses that way, but this afternoon, I sat down with a couple bottles of the Count’s ice wine and copied a spell to summon horses into my spellbook.

This presents some real possibilities. Now, to get everyone Immerstal is going to need to make three trips. I have a magic bag that can hold 250 pounds. That’s eight thirty pound kegs of ale. If I give the bag to Immerstal and unload it after each trip, that leaves me with sixteen kegs to distribute on the various horses. That should be enough to keep me from going thirsty on the trip. There might even be enough left over to sell a couple kegs my kin when we get to the clanholds. Everyone else ran about buying hard tack and cured meat and magic wands and what not. The halfling has taken a bath and got some nice clothes but I swear she has an entire dead cow bundled up into packs and strapped onto her dire wolf. Maybe the meat is really one of those hobgoblin yak thingees. Sounds disgusting but it is an animal afterall. I guess you can’t expect a wolf to eat oats like Jonas’ horse. And really, who wants to waste good beer grain by feeding it to a horse?

Tonight, Immerstal cast the spells and managed to get us all more or less into the middle of Valandil’s Mill. We set up camp and waited till morning. Everyone else is looking forward to killing some hobgoblins but I’m sure Marquess and Ankalakan won’t be the last to die in this war. I’ve got to make it back though. Someone has to make sure the statues they get at the gate of Valor look like them.

Goodmonth 6.

Well, I wasn’t expecting to be proved right so quickly. Immerstal teleported home first thing in the morning without even waiting to have breakfast with us. Engelhardt the gloriously stuck up had the brilliant idea to cast some spell to let our horses march faster—well, they may not get tired of trotting along with his spell, but by the second hour my ass was sore and by the third, every muscle in my back and legs was screaming like one the Peck’s Harrowblade eggs had hatched and it was eating me in tiny little bites. Even my journal was screaming. Yes you were, journal. Don’t talk back to me. Now, the peck didn’t care because brambles politely get out of her way and bushes bow down before her, so she could take a breather whenever she wanted and still keep up, but Jozan was getting annoyed. I guess it hurts even more if you’re in armor.

Now, I’ve known Jozan for a while and he’s not going to just say, “Odrick, let’s slow down a bit—this pace is making my armor chafe in uncomfortably private spots.” No, he says, “this pace is exhausting us and I’m afraid we won’t be able to defend ourselves well if we run into hobgoblins or hungry manticores.” Odrick was a little distant—probably thinking about how much his ass hurt—so we stop for a few minutes and Jonas tries to tell us all that this is the fastest way for us to go so we need to keep it up. If we keep it up all day, we can be inside the Witchwood before dark while it will take us two days at a normal pace. One would think Hellek would speak up at some point but he didn’t have the chance. As if to prove Jozan’s point, the earth shook and this giant purple worm-thing erupted from the ground and snatched Penn’s wolf off the ground. I guess carrying a month’s worth of raw meat attracts predators or something.

I burned it with a couple scorching rays and a fireball—pretty good work too if I do say so myself, that was tight and focused magic. Now, I did let my horse bolt and distract then big thing’s stinger for a second. No problem, I’ll just summon another one I thought. Anyhow, Jozan and Jonas and Odrick all stab at the thing but are too exhausted land any real telling blows—and the damn thing is a good thirty feet long so it’s not exactly easy to hurt it with a sword or bow. Penn summoned some lightning at it and then it swallowed the wolf. Next thing, Jozan lands a good blow with his axe—I swear I saw a bit of wolf fur poke out through the gash and then the thing decided it wasn’t hungry anymore and burrowed down into the ground. We all ran for the nearest rocks—anywhere the thing can’t burrow through to think of our next move.

So here we are, in the middle of a purple worm’s hunting ground, a little more than a day’s march from the Witchwood on horseback. We’re tired. We’re sore. Penn had a bunch of bottles of fancy wine in her saddlebags, so the damn worm is getting drunk on our liquor. The only lucky bit is that, when my summoned horse vanished, none of the ale casks it was carrying split. Since we’d lost one of the carriers, I figured I’d lighten the load a little and opened one. I generously offered Penn some of the ale, but she just stalked off into the hills. Halflings.

-------------------------------DM Notes-----------------------------
Hellek took leadership and claimed Grimmath as a cohort. Marquess's player brought in his brother Jonas and Engelhardt translated his loyalty to the new PC. So now the party is:
Cavalier, rogue, inquisitor, hunter, fighter with wizard and cleric cohorts. Sorta balanced but weak on magic.

After the battle, I had the party roll dice for all the major NPCs to see what kinds of nasty things happened to them. I used an initial survival check of D20 plus the NPC's level at DC 16 (very loosely based on the victory points they gathered) and then I made everyone who failed roll on the Mordheim injuries table to get some appropriately gruesome results. Just because PCs etc don't lose limbs in combat doesn't mean it can't happen to NPCs off screen.

Running this section makes me realize that the adventure really shortchanges the final chapter as written. Getting past the retreating hobgoblin army and finding out where the fane of Tiamat is should be an adventure, not just "handwavium, here's the dungeon." Right now, it's all random encounters and improvisation, but I can see some good potential moments coming out of it.

As for the purple worm--well, a 99 on the random encounter table has to be something interesting, right? Penn/Ankalakan's player is not catching any breaks though.

[Elder_Basilisk]

The Journal of Grimmath Coalhewer
Goodmonth 7

We camped on the rocky ground where we figured the purple worm couldn’t burrow. The only good news is we didn’t get eaten by a purple worm. Jonas and I had first watch. We were sitting on the rock near a small fire hidden by a depression in the middle of our camp, looking out at the darkness and trying not to fall asleep. I was telling him about my journey back from the clanholds with Marquess. The first warning was a sharp pain and warm blood leaking through my robes. Somehow two manticores had flown into range and launched their quills at me. I conjured some magical light to illuminate them and managed to scorch one with a fireball, before they felled me with their tailspikes. I felt Engelhardt’s healing magic course through me and roasted another one, then lost consciousness again as several more quills slammed into me. The next thing I knew, I was getting healed again and Jozan was digging himself out from under the body of one of the manticores. Engelhardt said that Odrik got up and put an arrow straight through its eye. The other manticore got away.

None of us could sleep for a while. I poured another ale to calm down. Magical healing always makes me thirsty. Meanwhile Jozan was muttering something about that spider spy they tracked down before the battle of Bova. The manticores did seem to be focusing on me. Maybe I just looked like a soft target. He seems to think the Red Hand know we’re here. If so, it’s only going to get harder from here on out. It does make sense though. The Red Hand probably drills some simple doctrine into their no-so bright monsters—things like “kill the guy in robes first.” I don’t know about the spy though. Before the manticores showed up, Jozan was telling us all that the Red Hand would have seen the fireballs I hit the purple worm with from across the river.

In the morning, I had a thundering headache so I poured some more ale to chase it away and conjured up some more horses. Then we got the ale packed on their saddles and made our way to the Witchwood. There was no sign of the halfling but we did hear a low and eerie wail echoing through the woods from time to time. Only one plant tried to eat us before we reached the north fork of the Elsir—or at least that’s what Jozan and Odrik thought it was. Jonas and Odrik had a fight about who had the honor of riding point or something stupid like that. I don’t think Jonas liked being rearguard. We made camp and waited for Heironeous to give Engelhardt the spell to let us cross the river.

No doubt the Red Hand is taking their time to cook something really nasty for us.

Goodmonth 8

Well Journal, do you want the good news or the bad news first. The peck is back. I’m enjoying some nice fresh pork ribs. And I’ve acquired some legendary boar tusks to make something out of. Well, I guess we haven’t really decided who owns the tusks of the legendary razor boar of the Witchwood, but really, who else has the spells to do anything useful with them?

Oh, I see. You want me to start from the beginning. Well, we woke up without having hobgoblins creep into our camp and murder us in our sleep. That’s a positive. Then Engelhardt cast his spell and our horses all rode across the river to the west side of the swamp. Odrik thinks we’ll make better time if we can follow the dawn way. I suppose it’ll also be harder to get lost. In the morning, we found the dawn way which is good because I had started to suspect Jozan was leading us in circles. No, journal, I’m not always too pessimistic. Usually, I’m right. You’ll see.

Sometime around lunch, we spotted a decapitated owlbear by the side of the dawn way and Jozan told us that there were signs of a large boar. He must have been hungry because he decided to follow the tracks. It wasn’t long before we found the creature. Now, when I was just a young lad back under the mountains, I had heard stories about the razor boar of the witchwood: a boar so fierce that its tusks can decapitate a dwarf right through an adamant gorget; a boar whose wounds close seconds after you open it, whose skin shrugs off axes and bolts as though it were enchanted and whose very essence is proof against spells.

I suppose it lived up to its billing. I wove a spell of invisibility onto Hellek and he ran forward and stuck an enchanted blade into the creature’s neck. It turned and grazed his neck with its tusks. The battle was starting to be fierce and the scorching rays I struck it with vanished at the touch of its skin. Then Jonas charged by it and transfixed it on his lance. The wound started to close but the damage was done. A few seconds later, we had slain the razor boar of the witchwood.

We felt so proud of this accomplishment that we stopped for the day, unlimbered another cask of ale, and cooked ourselves a good meal. Around nightfall, Penn wandered into the camp riding on some kind of a lion. She barely said a few words to herself and helped herself to the lion’s share of our meat.

----------------------------DM Notes-----------------------
The party is moving through the Witchwood at a pretty fast clip though they seem to stop before the end of the day as often as they hustle or forced march. They have 17 days left till Azar Kuul opens the portal so they should make it with plenty of time--assuming they make it at all. They haven't really given any thought to how to find the Fane of Tiamat yet.

Also, Odrik's player got promoted at work and his schedule doesn't work with the rest of the group now. Right after I'd had the count appoint him to lead the group too. Fortunately him being an inept and reticent leader works fairly well with his stats (charisma is a dump stat, his other mental stats aren't far ahead and he doesn't have any mechanical abilities, skills, or feats, that would help him lead). Count Bova must have not been thinking too well when he made that decision. It's the Peter principle in action. For now, he's an NPC tagging along with the group and offering his "leader" endorsement to whatever the res of them decide.

[Elder_Basilisk]

Goodmonth 9. Journal of Grimmath Coalhewer

Journal, I should really get myself a new position in our watch order. I’ll start from where things went wrong. OK, Journal, you're right. I'll start from things went really wrong. I asked what we planned to do about Vraath Keep. We figured that the Red Hand probably re garrisoned it so we decided to leave the road for a few miles and give it a wide berth. Now, once you’re off the path, the Witchwood all looks the same to me—big ugly trees covered in moss and lichen, stirge nests, giant puddles of water, and patches of bog that will swallow a horse and not even notice. But Jozan and the Peck are supposed to be good at this kind of thing. But come nightfall, we still hadn’t made our way back to the dawn way. Penn said something about making sure we didn’t run into any trouble. She must mean any trouble other than the stirge nest she nearly walked into. That was fun, it’s not every day I get to burn my friends even if it is only a burning hands spell.

Well, you know me, Journal. I could easily lose track of how long we’ve been traveling—on these horses every minute seems like an eternity and we’re riding all the Moradin loving day. You know, it's probably profanity like that that has me stuck with these humans riding their horses. But back to how things went wrong. I’m still pretty sure we’ve gone a lot further than we should have before getting back to the trail. But, Jozan agreed that we were on track and I guess I have to believe the experts. We were definitely not lost.

So, we made camp in the witchwood and Jonas and I had first watch again. That’s where it happened. One second, I’m calculating how much ale I can afford to sell my clanmates at the Coalhewer clanhold and still be sure to have enough to last me all the way to this Fane of Tiamat and back. The next second, our entire camp is a blast of magical fire and we’re being charged by screaming, mud-coated bugbears again. One of the biggest bugbears with a warhammer and a mace struck me a glancing blow on the shoulder and I tried to cast a spell to get myself and Odrik out of harms way, but I couldn’t manage to hold the mystic runes in my mind while dodging the bugbear’s hammer. Odrik tried to evade the bugbear, but they spat foam and followed him. Meanwhile, other bugbears circled behind us and struck Engelhardt to the ground. Jonas managed to drop one then spent precious seconds trying to maneuver and find a way to charge the spellcasting hobgoblin only to find his path blocked at every turn. Trees, branches, rocks, bugbears, and me at one point when I retreated to let Hellek fight the bugbear: two swords and finesse against hammer, mace, and frothing rage is an interesting study in styles. I think I distracted the bugbear for a couple blows—enough for Hellek to gain a decisive advantage.

The fight did not go so well anywhere else. Odrik found himself surrounded by bugbears. He shot them as they circled around him and fought Jonas, Jozan, and occasionally Penn and her new lion, Noble in a confused starlit melee, but he took dreadful wounds from their axes. The moment it seemed like we were gaining the upper hand—Penn and Noble managed to draw blood from the hobgoblin sorcerer behind the rock, Jozan and Jonas managed to slay several hobgoblins, and I had managed to get away from the bugbear fighting Hellek, we found ourselves suddenly standing in a small circle with both surviving bugbears on opposite sides of the circle. And that’s when it happened. The hobgoblin adept managed to step away from Penn and Noble for the few seconds it took to conjure a ball of dragonfire in our midst. I gritted my teeth and barely held on to consciousness. Jonas swayed in his saddle. Jozan called to his god for protection. Odrik was burned to a smoking corpse and his holy whitebow fell from his nerveless fingers and clattered to the ground. And that was that. Noble got his claws into the sorcerer and didn’t leave more than a half dozen bones attached to each other in any single clump. Jozan and Hellek eviscerated two of the remaining bugbears and Jonas impaled one on his lance. We were able to save Engelhardt, but there was nothing to be done for Odrik.

In the end, my calculations were for naught. We left all but three kegs of ale, (plus the eight kegs in my bag of holding) and Penn cast a spell and grew a massive thicket to hide the bodies of the bugbears. We walked in the dark for what seemed like hours before making another camp.

Goodmonth 10.

Journal, I think this is going to be the kind of expedition that ends with the companions knifing each other in an argument about who is in charge then the portal opening and demons consuming the winner of the fight. Odrik didn’t turn out to be a very good leader, but at least the Count had appointed him so everyone knew he was the leader Now, everyone thinks they should be in charge—well everyone except me and Engelhardt who have too much sense to be angling for that job. (It didn’t turn out so well for Marquess or Odrik, did it Journal). Jonas is the senior lion remaining. Jozan is the last surviving member of the adventuring company that he, Gladium, and Marquess founded back in Drellin’s Ferry. The peck is “Lady Penelope Underfoot” and is the only noble of Sterich in the group. Hellek is second or third in seniority in the adventuring company and is also a Lion of Bova—and, I should add, is not Jonas. We never really settled that but we did have to move.

Penn had spent some time last night tracking the bugbears who ambushed us and she thinks they had been tracking us for some time. We might have lost them yesterday except that Penn and Jozan’s evasive tack through the woods brought us back to where we started—not that Penn is admitting that, but I heard Jozan berating himself in his prayers tonight and when we brought out the map we didn’t make any progress after leaving the trail yesterday. Jozan thinks they must have been tracking our horses—no one else in the Witchwood has horses and Penn didn’t start covering our tracks with magic until we got lost. We certainly need to find a better watch order and develop better defenses for our camp.

Well, it’s hard to go worse than yesterday so today has gone better. We made our way around Vraath keep and found the dawn way again. We passed the road to the ruined giant stedding and were nearing Skull Gorge when we saw a new trail leading northwest. Jozan and Penn say that the dawn way had hardly been used but the fresh-cut trail to the northwest looks like it sees several wagons each day. It looks like the Red Hand hasn’t replaced the Skull Gorge bridge—they must be using the ford a day to the northwest. I suppose it’s half a day now that they’ve cut a road. There was some discussion about what to do, not that I really paid attention, I was drinking to Odrik’s memory. I think the plan is to follow the gorge northwest until we find a place we can get down to the bottom of the gorge and then to use Engelhardt’s magic to walk across the river in the morning.

----------------------------DM Notes----------------------------
Well, that was a bit unexpected. There was some bad luck, some poor tactics (mostly Jonas riding around the field, trying to set up a spirited charge which never worked out due to trees and bad guys in his way rather than just ganking the bugbear that was right next to him and was tearing the cleric a new one), and some rage powers ("No Retreat!" "But I just withdrew to get away from the bugbear" "His immediate action says that didn't work out for you") which added up to a character death. The upside is that I'm no longer responsible for an NPC. The downside is that I liked Odrik and he added quite a bit to the party.

We'll see how things work out for them from here.