World of Prime: Campaign Journal #1

[Yahzi]

I started a campaign using my World of Prime stuff (available free from DriveThruRPG) and decided to write it up for your enjoyment. Also because I need to write it down or I'll totally forget it all before the next session.

We started with my beginner's adventure (cleverly called Humble Beginnings), which is a bit different than usual. Rather than spend the first session drawing up 1st level characters, the group began as 0th level peasants. They got to pick their father's profession, which gave them 2 points in a craft skill and a single attribute at 12 (with the rest at 10). We had two miners, two farmers, a lumberjack, and a shepherd.

They each got a sheet of paper, wrote down their profession, their bonus attribute, and their name. And then we started playing.

Humble Beginnings

I was a bit rusty - it's been a few years - and I had some trouble getting into the first few NPC characters. Fortunately my players were even rustier (including three total newbs) so they didn't notice.

A group of young people, just a few days or weeks before the age of majority when they will become adults with adult responsibilities and therefore consigned to the bleak, miserable future of serfdom, are standing outside the village tavern, looking disconsolately at the one poor consolation that adult offers. When they turn sixteen they'll be allowed inside, to spend what few copper coins they can scrape together on trying to drink away the meaningless of their short, hard lives.

The worst of it is knowing that when they die, Baron Darcio will harvest their souls to fuel his sorcery. There is no escape from servitude, in this life or the next.

A traveling peddler by the name of Gareth takes a bit of pity on them. He offers them a drink - but not at the tavern's prices. He has a couple of kegs with his mules in the tavern's stable.

The players were instantly suspicious and had a bit of debate about whether they should go into a dark stable with a creepy old man. Kids these days... no respect for their elders.

While they have a drink, Gareth drops a few hints about the wider world. There's Wild Lords out there, making their own fortune, and always eager to hire ambitious lads. It means running away from home and becoming a fugitive, but it also offers a chance to rise up in the world, without Baron Darcio's foot on their heads. He's had a few mules go lame, so if the boys are willing to carry his supplies, he'll put in a good word for them. And if they don't like it, they can come home in a few days. Sure, it'll mean a whipping, but that's a small price to pay for a bit of adventure.

The players very kindly took the adventure hook and ran with it. Otherwise it would have been a pretty dull campaign.

So in the middle of the night they creep out of bed and out of town. They were allowed to take a winter cloak and one item from their homes, without any harm to their families' economic situation: a choice between a) a bag and three torches, b) a knife, c) flint and steel. The stuff of grand adventures! Over the next few days they walk through the wilderness, following the old man's lead.

At this point I asked if anyone wanted to make a Survival check to see if they could mark the way home. The goal was to slowly introduce aspects of the game, such as skill checks. Instead, the players refused. They were all-in; they didn't want to know how to back out. I was very happy to see this level of role-playing from even the newbs so early on.

Also, it became obvious that the party would be playing for Team Good, as no one tried to rob their families blind.

As they're strolling through the forest on the third day, a shower of rocks flies out of the bushes. Gareth, their NPC leader and guide, takes a plot-coupon to the head and drops unconscious, and eight hobgoblins charge out waving stone-tipped spears. A tense and yet hilarious battle ensues, as the party realizes they have no weapons. The shepherd starts picking up rocks and throwing them back with incredible effectiveness, murdering two hobbos in a row. Two characters pull out torches and put that flint and steel to use lighting them. The two with knives draw them and charge into combat. The last one runs over to the unconscious Gareth and takes his shortsword. He starts to toss it to another character, thinks better of it, and just hands it off instead of throwing a sharp piece of steel around.

It's a good combat, what with people getting stabbed, some flanking and maneuvering, flaming hobgoblins, and lots of hunting for rocks to throw. The lumberjack goes down, having fought bravely but futilely - against uncooperative dice the dogs themselves contend in vain. At least he makes his roll to not bleed to death. It looks dicey for a moment, but then several hobbos drop in a single round. The last two try to flee but don't get more than twenty feet.

Hobgoblins on Prime are short, stunted semi-intelligent humanoids, more akin to traditional goblins but less sophisticated. My goblins are a civilized but evil race of medium-sized humanoids known for their stealth and trickery.

They patch up the wounded lumberjack, leaving him at negative HP but conscious (as long as he only takes partial actions). He reasonably suggests they head for the hills in the distance and try to find some high ground to fortify. On the way, he spots a blue gleam in the hills. They toss him on one mule and the unconscious Gareth on another and keep moving - but not before collecting all the hobgoblin heads. Turns out taking a sack was a great idea.

In the World of Prime, players don't get experience points. Instead, they harvest the souls of the dead to fuel the supernatural powers of rank and class. They do this by boiling the brains of sentient creatures for a purple dust called tael.

A storm blows in and it starts getting dark. Hobgoblins in large numbers begin shadowing them a few hundred feet out. The lumberjack directs them towards the blue flash he saw, which leads to a cave mouth. They have a brief discussion, but as more and more hobbos are appearing, they quickly decide they have little choice. The torch-bearers fire up their torches and follow the brave miner inside.

It's a smallish cave, perhaps forty feet across, full of old bones and dust. At the back of the cave a gleaming sword with a blue sapphire is stuck upright in the ground. While most of the peasants are smart enough not to touch anything valuable, knowing they'll just get hung for stealing, the brave miner proves a bit too brave. After some hesitation he reaches for the sword.

At the same time, the hobgoblins make a mad charge for the cave. The sword disappears from under the miner's grasp and reappears in the hands of a ghost at the mouth of the cave. The ghost swings; several hobbos explode and die; the rest run off into the night, howling in fear.

The ghost is Tyvek, a paladin who led his party into this cave years ago, only to fall prey to hobgoblins. He soon realizes he is a ghost, and after a bit of grief, tells the party to help themselves to what is left of his. Which is to say, sufficient tael to advance each party member to the second apprentice rank of a class. The shepherd becomes a bard; the lumberjack goes for ranger; one miner goes for priest and another one for wizard; the brave farmer becomes a barbarian and another chooses druid. He also heals the lumberjack, but declines to heal the comatose Gareth, saying he doesn't play for that team. However, he makes it clear the party cannot murder Gareth, as the man is their sworn leader.

At this low rank they have only the attribute point-buy, weapon proficiency, and skills of their class, but none of the other goodies. There was a pause in the action as we worked all this out. I hadn't succeeded in developing skills on the fly; instead they spent most of their points here. It was all a bit confusing but rather than focus on the details I kept the game moving. After the session I reviewed the character sheets and corrected a few minor details.

In the morning the ghost is gone. The party spends the day exploring and getting a feel for how safe they are; a lucky roll finds the goblin village, though they don't get too close. That night the ghost reappears, but with no memory of the previous night. He goes through the whole ritual of grief and acceptance again, including the part where he refuses to discuss the existence of the sword and his eyes turn red if anyone gets within a few feet of it.

The next day Gareth comes around. He sees the sword and immediately advances on it. The party, having concealed the existence of the ghost and the fact that they now have some apprentice ranks, keeps mum. They want to see what happens.

Much to their surprise, nothing happens. Gareth claims the sword and explains the Wild Lord will pay handsomely for it. But he's still too wounded to travel, so he sits down again to rest.

The party isn't sure what to do next. They absolutely don't trust Gareth, but they haven't got a better plan yet. Most of them go out foraging and exploring; while hunting a rabbit they sneak up on a pair of bandits hunting the same rabbit. To his everlasting credit, the wizard talks everyone into applying diplomacy rather than violence. He and the priest stand up and say "Hi."

A brief conversation ensues, which does not go well, as the two bandits are half-mad with hunger. Violence follows as they argue over who owns the rabbit that no one actually caught. One of the bandits draws a sword and charges; the other fires his bow at the priest and misses. The ranger and barbarian try to sneak into position to attack the archer, fail miserably, and the ranger gets rewarded with an arrow to the shoulder. That guy has no luck at all.

But the party has blossomed, thanks to their apprentice ranks; both bandits go down to one hit each. The party strips them of weapons, armor, and boots; the druid even takes one's clothes. The archer wakes up, being at only 0 HP, and proceeds to pledge his loyalty in exchange for an apple. He's really hungry. He terrifies them with tales of how vindictive his Wild Lord is.

They take their prisoners home to see what Gareth's reaction is. It's as bad as they feared; the vicious Wild Lord that Par the archer tried to threaten them with is the same Wild Lord Gareth has been leading them too. Both Par and Gareth immediately fall to bickering, asserting that the Wild Lord Boros will kill the other one for being such a failure (one for getting captured by peasant boys, the other for not showing up with the supplies). Much swearing and arguing occurs, and the sun starts going down; the party discreetly retreats outside the cave.

As soon as it gets dark, a blue flash explodes in the cave. Par the archer comes running out, screaming for his life, and throws himself at their feet. Eventually the barbarian sneaks back up to the cave mouth (did I mention he was brave? Perhaps foolhardy is a better word). The ghost is there, but he's red now; no one dares approach him any closer. They all sleep under the stars.

In the morning the ghost is gone. Gareth and the unconscious bandit they had left in the cave are scattered around the floor in pieces. The wizard makes his Knowlege: Arcane check and realizes they need to move the sword back to its original place to reset the ghost. Par tells them they're in deep trouble, because the Wild Lord is going to hate them for stealing his supplies; he's come completely over to their side - well, as loyal as a man of his character can be - due to the fact that they have food and apparently a pet ghost.

Now they're plotting their next move. Should they flee into the wilderness? Although they seem rather under-equppied for that. Should they sneak to a different town and try to buy gear? They don't know the way and they don't have a lot of gold. They do have some left-over tael, which represents a fortune, but peasants dealing in tael would be extremely suspicious. Should they attack the goblins? They had been inclined to ignore them, since the hobbos weren't actively hurting their kingdom, but now they think they may need their tael to take on Boros, who absolutely is preying on people from their home. Should they confront Boros now, either with violence or to try and make a deal?

Tune in next month for another thrilling installment!

All in all, the game went quite smoothly, though we only got through half as much adventure as I had expected. Mostly I was worried that the very small scale of the game would make it too boring, given that D&D is often very High Fantasy, but I think the spareness of the process really worked to put them in the role. It's a very sandbox world; I've used my Sandbox World Generator app to map out the entire continent, so they can totally march off in whatever direction they want; but it would be nice to get them to 1st level before they do that.

[haplot]

Seems like a great beginning. I would be interested in how it all pans out

[Yahzi]

Seems like a great beginning. I would be interested in how it all pans out
Hopefully they end up running their own kingdoms, because that's what I wrote all those rules for. :smallbiggrin:

[SpamCreateWater]

I've always had a soft spot for starting out as an apprentice dirt farmer :smalltongue: It'll makes it a bit sweeter when they look back at how far they've come.

Looking forward to next instalment.

[Yahzi]

It'll makes it a bit sweeter when they look back at how far they've come.
I agree! Unfortunately the next installment will be a month or so. We all have jobs and families, so we don't get to play like we're in college. :smallbiggrin:

[weckar]

Why did they have to return the sword? Seems to me the ghost was limited to the cave.

[Quarian Rex]

I'm really glad to see this. I'm planning a campaign using World of Prime as a basis (but using ACKS for kingdom building and mass combat, modified by some prime bits, and a bunch of other elements that I'll never get to see in use unless I run a game with them) and it will be great to see how some of the 'prime' aspects play out.

Seems like you had a great start and I'm looking forward to more.

[Yahzi]

Humble Beginnings (Continued)

The party decides to deal with the hobgoblins first, as a stepping stone to the rank necessary to take on the Wild Lord. They track the horde through the grass while the trail is still (relatively) fresh and find a dilapidated village, taking their new bestest buddy Par the Archer with them because they don't trust leaving him behind with the mules and the food. And this despite the fact the ghost Tyvek now heals Par. If that's not a stamp of approval/alignment change, what is?

Hiding in the grass on a rise about 500 yards away, they spend an inordinate amount of time discussing tactics, torn between a full frontal assault during the day while the hobbos are Dazzled, or waiting to ambush their hunting parties at night. Finally they decide on the latter, or perhaps they just argue so long the sun goes down and they don't have a choice.

And thus we see a D&D trope seamlessly blended into the narrative. The Side Quest is a staple of the DM's art, but in this case the players chose it themselves. Making XP a concrete quantity that the players control puts them in charge of the pacing.

The party is a bit disconcerted to discover that the hobgoblins, who sleep during the day and hunt during the night, use no light. It's hard to spy on a village at 500 yards at night when the village doesn't so much as strike a match. Still, they hold their course, and eventually a hunting group wanders out to their position.

The ranger and barbarian move to flank; the ranger (who has the worst luck with the dice) totally gives away their position. Par stands up and shoots a hobbo with his longbow, the group's only missile weapon. Most everybody else throws rocks and javelins, save for the wizard who lights a couple of torches. As usual, the bard is the only one who inflicts any real damage, killing another hobbo with a rock. Why does this guy even want a weapon?

The hobgoblins respond with a shower of javelins, knocking Par out of the fight. Melee is joined; the hobbos lose, of course, but give a good accounting of themselves. After three or four rounds it's all over, and the party belatedly realizes that lighting torches in the plains in the middle of the night gives your location away to everything within ten miles. They snuff the torches, and after only a lengthy discussion, decide to retreat.

The next day they head back to the village, simultaneously emboldened by their victory and worried over how much damage they had suffered. They notice that the central fire pit of the village contains a large chunk of roasted meat. While trying to get close enough to determine what it is, they are discovered; the hobbos marshal for war, forming into four squads, and advance at a measured pace.

The party falls back slowly, letting Par fire into the oncoming formations. Because the hobbos move slower than the party, the archer gets off all 19 remaining arrows, killing ten hobbos. The rest charge through the party's final javelin assault (again, only the bard does any real damage) and melee is joined.

My squad rules makes the hobbos less dangerous, in that I don't have to roll thirty attacks per turn, but also frustrates the players a bit as the hobbo squads are harder to hit now that they are helping each other out. A classic battle line is formed, with the players strategically retreating their wounded to prevent fatalities, but then the wounded step back up, realizing that if they get knocked out the party can probably save them with a Cure Minor Wounds spell - but only if the party wins. Things could have gone either way, but the party is sporting several short-swords now, and Par's arrows hurt a lot more than I realized. One of the hobbo squads is reduced to two figures; they break out of squad formation and attack as individuals, only to get immediately murderized, and the party rolls up the hobbo line from the flank in true battlefield style.

To their credit the party had carried on a long discussion of whether or not to murder the hobgoblin's children. To their relief, there are none; the village had fallen on hard times and was not capable of spawning (goblins lay eggs, which they treat more as commodities than as children, not that the party knows that). The village yields little treasure, just ten rabbit skins and a wicker basket full of throwing rocks. The meat on the spit turns out to be the remains of the hobgoblins they killed the night before. Meat is definitely not back on the menu.

The next day they are lounging around outside their cave when three bandits come out of the woods, shouting for Par. They have been sent to rescue Par and his fellow, who had been sent out hunting a few days ago. Par suggests turning the men to their side; the bard comes up with the perfect line to open negotiations: "Are you hungry, boys?" An easy die roll later, three more hirelings are stuffing their faces with salted pork and porridge, made extra delicious by a Prestidigitation spell.

Now they have more information about their foe. Boros is down to a few days of supplies; he will soon lead a raid on a village for more. Some members of the party (you know who you are!) think this is an excellent opportunity; they'll wait for Boros to leave, occupy the keep, and surprise him on his return. Other members note that this will allow innocent villagers to suffer, which is not really acceptable for Team Good. The druid appropriates the wicker basket of rocks, turning it into a rattan shield with his Survival skills, and then gives it to the barbarian. Hey, it's a +1 to AC, so you know, that's something.

They give it another day to see if they can catch anymore of Boros' men out of the keep. My module calls for the remaining five to show up in force, which seemed like a good idea when I wrote it, but doesn't work out now. All five come marching through the woods; they are met by the entire party plus their bandit turncoats armed with pork sandwiches; and now the entire enemy team (save the one unfortunate slain by Tyvek) is working for the party.

They take their new lads back to the cave, feed and rest them, and return the next day to beard the Wild Lord in his den. Boros is not completely stupid; he tries to make use of his fortifications, but most of the party goes around behind the keep to climb in the back window while the bard, the druid, and bandits hang out in front. Boros then makes an extremely poor choice: he charges out to fight.

The bandits are fighting in squads, Par can't get a clear shot, and the rest of the party is still in back of the keep. Things look decent for a whole round. Boros targets his turncoats first, because he's mad at them, and besides they're the ones who look dangerous (some of the party is still fighting with stone weapons). The bandits do some pathetic stabbing, Boros kills one of them, and then everything goes south.

Boros, scourge of the Wild, muffs his rather easy Will save against the druid's Daze spell. He loses a round while the party flanks him. Suddenly the party has figured out how to roll dice; they are flanking, aiding each other, and throwing sixteens all over the place. Boros gets hit hard by the barbarian, among a few other successful attacks.

Next round Boros hits the barbarian, rolls a bit low, and leaves him with one hit point. Then he muffs another easy Will save. More important than the unanswered attacks is the fact that Boros keeps losing his chance to retreat to the keep, where he can at least be protected from flankers.

Combat continues; Boris swings again at the person who hurt him the most, the barbarian, and misses by exactly one. The rattan shield saves the barbarian's life! The party responds with a flurry of attacks and Boros goes down, another BBEG brought low by the action economy.

They cut off his head rather quickly, concerned that he might spring back up again. The tales of how dangerous he was seemed to have stuck with them, despite his poor showing at the end. They are now wealthy beyond their dreams, with enough tael to get everyone to first rank. Much to my surprise, they spend a lot of time talking about how much to share with their new bandit army, even though this would leave one of them below first rank. Unfortunately, they do this out of the hearing of said bandit army, having sent them with Par back to the cave to fetch the mules and supplies to their new headquarters, the keep.

The bandits are not at all impressed with Par's new-found outlook on life. Once at the cave, surrounded by food, and free of any influence by the party, they murder Par, steal everything (except the sword, assuming its curse is what messed up their ex-buddy's head), and run for their lives. The party comes looking for them the next morning, only to find Par's stripped corpse.

Now they face a moral decision: chase the bandits, or go back and take care of the handful of women that Boros had kept imprisoned in the keep to do the bandit's laundry (hey now, we have a pre-teen in our player group). Ultimately they choose justice over mercy and set out after the murderers. The druid's hawk does invaluable service here, telling the party which way to go. The bandits, realizing they are being tracked and that they have no Animal Handling skill, abandon the mules so they can move faster.

The trick works; the party, retrieving their valuable mules and supplies, suddenly loses the appetite for justice (funny how that works). They return to the keep and the prisoners. Old Bob, the crazy hermit who sewed up the bandit's clothes and wounds, says he'll stay in the keep and take his chances in the wild. The three women are escorted to the nearest village on the edge of the county of Edersarr and released with a gold piece each to find their way back to their homes. Not exactly the triumphant return of paladins, but the party is trying to lay low at the moment, still adapting to their new-found identities as nobles.

They spend the night in the local inn, living it up. A whole gold piece for food, drink, and board! This is the high life, at least as peasants conceive it. While they're partying, the bard ferrets out an interesting story about a lake monster snatching a young couple out of the very room they will be sleeping in

You know you've succeeded when a roast chicken and several pints of cheap ale excites your players.

Despite being ennobled, they are still quite poor, down to their last three gold pieces. They sell off the mules and spend the money on shields, staves, and a spear and a warhammer. Only the barbarian looks the part, wearing the chainmail and masterwork longsword they looted from Boros. Now they're trying to figure out how to make money for equipment, and their finely tuned senses smell an adventure opportunity in the lake. Tune in next time, when we discover that only the barbarian thought to take Swimming as a skill.

[Yahzi]

I'm really glad to see this. I'm planning a campaign using World of Prime as a basis (but using ACKS for kingdom building
If I had ACKS before I started all this, I might never have created all this. :smallbiggrin: But once I had the concept of tael, I didn't need ACKS; everything else fell into place quite naturally.



Why did they have to return the sword? Seems to me the ghost was limited to the cave.
They wanted to sleep in the cave. :smallbiggrin: For the record, the ghost travels with the sword; he will manifest wherever it is, but will be homocidal unless it's in the proper spot in the cave. They briefly discussed using it to deal with Boros, but ultimately decided that was just too unpredictable.

[Quarian Rex]

Glad to see this continuing. I've never been able to do low level adventuring well (either as a player or as a DM) so seeing how this is playing out (especially with sub-first level characters) is fascinating. Btw, what level was Boros? I'm curious what you thought was a good balance point considering a single longsword hit could drop any given character.



If I had ACKS before I started all this, I might never have created all this. :smallbiggrin: But once I had the concept of tael, I didn't need ACKS; everything else fell into place quite naturally.


I actually find that the two systems complement each other extremely well. Right now I'm just trying to find a way to apply the government and economy modifiers from Prime to kingdoms in ACKS in a way that I'm happy with.

[Yahzi]

what level was Boros?
3rd. I had him primed to go after any turncoats first. It was a good fight, in that they were very scared, but he went down way too easily. Lesson learned: more mooks! :smallbiggrin:


I actually find that the two systems complement each other extremely well.
That's neat! Now that I've finished writing all my stuff, I ought to get a copy of ACKS and compare it.

[Quarian Rex]

3rd. I had him primed to go after any turncoats first. It was a good fight, in that they were very scared, but he went down way too easily. Lesson learned: more mooks! :smallbiggrin:


To be fair, you had plenty of mooks. They were just defeated by the overwhelming power of a well made sandwich.

[Yahzi]

The Devil's Handmaiden

The party decides to investigate this local legend. Ancient history claims a high rank priest tried to baptize an idol in the river, but it was not deep enough to submerge the ten foot tall statue of pure gold, so he called an earthquake to damn up the river and create the lake. Rumor insists the statue is still there, under the lake, an affront to the god and therefore the source of the curse upon the lake. The locals will not fish from the lake or even enter it.

The druid goes fishing, hoping to find some physical evidence; the bard is chatting up the inhabitants; and the rest of the gang heads out into the woods to do some old-fashioned legwork - save for the cleric who holes up in the inn to study his new-found religion (the player couldn't make it to this session).

Naturally they find the secret dungeon entrance on the first day, because fate! (And because players always roll 20's when it's least convenient.) The ranger casts a light spell (possibly the first time I've ever seen that spell used) and he, the barbarian, and the wizard push aside the hanging vines to enter a small cave.

There are suspicious looking lumps on the ground and an iron grate in the middle of the floor. The ranger carefully investigates and determines that the lumps are the remains of bodies, decayed and grown over with mold and fungus. He finds the tael still in the skull; these men (women? humanoids?) died of something other than violence, as their souls have not been harvested.

The barbarian immediately trashes the rest of the lumps, kicking up more tael, several silver bracelets, and a cloud of dust. Of course the barbarian makes his Fortitude save (despite having no CON bonus - this is a very slender barbarian), but the other two are not so lucky. They develop a nasty hacking cough.

Peering through the grate they can see a ladder descending into darkness. As the day is getting late, they return back to the inn, just in time to find the druid trying to give away fresh grilled trout. He's getting no takers, and the bard is explaining why: another local legend tells of a man whose entire family turned into fish-people after eating from the cursed lake. Their house still stands abandoned and empty.

The new arrivals are trying to break into this fascinating discussion about provincial mythology to reveal their discovery, communicated around a series of coughs. While this impromptu conference is occurring at the edge of the lake, the bard witnesses an epic battle: an old homeless woman has crept up on a raven helping itself to discarded fish guts and ambushed it.

The old lady is losing, because ravens are actually pretty tough (it is a staple of D&D that the average housecat can beat a commoner in a straight fight). The druid intervenes, mostly to rescue the raven, and the bard extracts her story.

She claims that the raven murdered her husband, a beekeeper who used to live three miles outside of town. The druid, concerned, asks if she means this particular raven, to which she confesses she can't actually tell one raven from another, but they're all in on it anyway. She also happily devours the trout, which should question her sanity but only endears her to the druid.

The party nobly invites the woman back to the inn, where they argue with the innkeeper about adding her to their bill without increasing it. Yes, our heroes are quibbling over silver pieces. They are now faced with several options: pursue the cave entrance, investigate the abandoned house, hike out to the beekeeper's cottage, or spy on the haughty Grayson Palek, a fire sorcerer with a summer mansion in the village.

(Always give them too many options. It keeps them from doing anything clever.)

Pity moves their hearts and they decide to help the old woman. She gives them clear directions to her cottage and stays behind in the inn with the cleric - the ranger was leery of leaving her on her own, in case she developed a sudden case of gills and fins.

In the morning they pool their skills and spells very resourcefully to give the two infected characters the best possible saves against disease, and both make it. Only two more successful saves and they will have beaten the disease. There's been a discussion about how they are nobles now, subject to the Law of Arms, and the villagers are treating them differently now. While they are still very young men, the old innkeeper calls them "sir" and the farmers smile and hide their daughters. Everybody likes having nobles around, because they kill monsters, but nobody wants to get too close to dangerous men who do danger for a living. So they set off for the beehives full of vim and vigor. And then, of course, everything goes south.

The cottage is ransacked and contains nothing interesting. The beehives themselves seem normal, until the druid's hawk alerts them to the presence of a raven in a very large tree. Once again fate favors their die rolls and they all instantly realize this raven is behaving in completely unnatural ways. The ranger takes a shot at it, but misses (as expected - he really does have terrible luck with dice).

The raven flies into the tree and caws; a half-dozen giant bees fly out of the tree and attack. Now we're talking about really giant bees here; three feet long, in fact. On top of that, the ordinary bees are forming themselves into a huge swarm. The party falls out into battle formation.

It turns out the party really doesn't understand battle formation yet. The ranger is on one flank, the barbarian on another, both too far to help the center, where the wizard is holding the fort. He casts a Sleep spell and chooses to target the natural bee swarm (a mercy on two fronts, as he rolls incredibly low, not even enough to knock out one giant bee but just enough to subdue the swarm, which makes the DM happy because now we don't have to look up the Swarm rules).

The giant bees descend to battle; one stings the wizard right in the chest. He fails his pretty easy Fortitude save (which of course is already diminished because he's sick) and the bee's poison rips through his system. Now his CON score is even lower.

The barbarian gets stung, but as usual seems immune to poison. The ranger is doing his typically ineffective thing. The druid has discovered the joy of the Shillelagh spell and wades into battle. The bard rushes up to help the wizard.

By the end of the fight almost everyone in the party is half (or worse) dead and poisoned. Only the bard is untouched; at this point we realize the bard has never actually suffered any damage, in any battle. Apparently his face really is too pretty to hit. While the druid and bard try to collect more poison, which is futile because all of bee's poison currently resides in the party, the barbarian saws off the heads of the bees and makes his knowledge roll to realize that none of these are queens. The druid sends his hawk up to see if there are still more in the tree, and when the answer is yes, the party beats a hasty retreat.

They boil the heads down in the cottage and are gratified to discover a substantial amount of tael. Under cover of darkness they retreat to the inn, where the cleric mostly heals them. In the morning, the wizard fails his Fortitude save; so while he recovers a bit from the bee's poison, he gets worse from the disease. (This is a man with a CON of 10, so he didn't have a lot of room from the start.)

They talk about going back and finishing off the bees, but instead wind up searching through the woods for a herb that will give their sick guys a better chance to beat the disease. While there out there, they get the drop on a band of ruffians with a pair of pack mules - yes, the same two mules they had sold before. Being good guys, they decide to parley rather than commit unprovoked homicide.

There happens to be a raven sitting on one of the pack mules, so the bard, in his charming way, calls out, "Nice bird you've got there." Surprisingly, this results in immediate hostilities. The raven points them out to the men, who form up into a line and charge.

Our heroes are concerned about this fight for all of six seconds. The very first round shows how far they've come. These mooks are essentially the same quality of troop that the Wild Lord Boros had intimidated them with, but our heroes are no longer common farmboys. They drop three of enemy with fatal injuries, and the remaining two immediately surrender. The raven caws in disgust and flies off.

Bluster and intimidation can't get the survivors to explain the significance of the raven. "It's worth my life to tell you," says one. The prisoners want to be taken to town and handed over to local law enforcement, which at this point seems like a better option than summary execution in the woods. The party plies them with the beer the mules are carrying on the way back to town, and eventually one warms up enough to the bard to offer him some advice. "Join us - I'll put in a good word with the boss, and you guys are so tough you can probably sign in at the second level." Turns out he's a member of a secret demonic cult that is patterned off a good multi-level marketing scheme.

In town they decide to dump the prisoners on Grayson Palek, because he's the closest representative of the crown (outside of themselves) and because they think it might clarify the man's relationship to the matter. He radiates suspicion every time they talk to him. It doesn't help that they saw a raven on top of his mansion.

That night the bard is awakened by his dear mule's annoyed snort. The party peeks out the window and sees ruffians making off with their animals. They sensibly take a few rounds to armor up before sneaking down the hall to the main room. Just as they start to open the door, it opens from the outside: a whole squad of thugs is staring them in the face.

The ranger sensibly fights them from the doorway, where they can't overwhelm him. The barbarian takes up a position against the wall, so that if the enemy does charge into the room, he can attack them from the flank. (He's already picked up on Attacks of Opportunity, which is neat because he is the youngest player.) The bard and druid head out the back, and then he wizard casts a Sleep spell, knocking out the entire enemy squad. (Too bad he acts last every round.)

The ranger and the wizard charge out to start murdering helpless men before they can wake. Except there's a second squad out there, and the back door has a squad too. There are lot more thugs this time, and they are fighting in formation, so they don't fold quite so quickly; but the party chews through them, with only one dramatic moment: the bard actually gets hit! And almost dies. But he doesn't, and a song of healing later, he's heading for the front door.

Where some excitement finally occurs. The wizard chases down a straggler and clubs him from behind, only to be surprised himself when a demonic imp plunges its poisoned tail into his back. Now he's suffering CON damage from sickness and bee poison, and also suffering DEX damage from Quasit poison. The barbarian finishes off the last squad - his Cleave feat is turning out to be the perfect counter to squads of mooks - and both he and the ranger leap into battle against the imp.

Only to discover their swords don't seem to hurt it.

The imp spends a few rounds murdering the merely wounded on the ground - making sure the party won't have any prisoners who can talk. Everyone else sensibly retreats into the inn, but the barbarian won't fall back, and finally lands a solid blow on the imp, injuring it slightly. That's enough to scare it off and it flees.

Lord Grayson finally shows up with his half-dozen bodyguards, long after the fight is over. He doesn't really have satisfactory answers for the party, but they're in no shape to press the issue. Their cleric heals them all again (save for the various poisons, which are beyond his power) and in the morning, after long discussion and many covetous glances cast toward the city where they could buy healing, they head into the bush to find the rest of the bandits and their mule.

They find a cave with thugs lounging around outside, and despite being out-numbered three to one, decide to give battle. This time the bard and barbarian flank, the wizard prepares Magic Weapon spells, and the ranger sneaks into position where he can fire on the imp when it appears. The wizard realizes he hasn't enchanted the ranger's bow yet, so he sneaks up to the ranger... and of course gives their position away.

More men come out of the cave and form up squads. Now they're facing twenty armed men and a imp hovering just behind the battle line. The ranger shoots but as usual can't hit the broad side of a barn while the line advances. Still, once melee is joined, the barbarian springs out and gets a flanking attack which decimates a squad, and the bard remembers to sing Inspire Courage, giving everyone a better fighting chance.

The plan works; the barbarian and druid bring down the imp with their magic weapons. This inspires the remaining thugs to a berserk fury, as they've just seen their promised hopes of power and glory brought low. They lay into the barbarian, cutting him to an inch of his life, and he retreats behind the wizard and the druid.

Two men with sticks is not tenable defense against two squads. The wizard goes down, bleeding to death; the ranger is back to being useless, and the bard is tanking an entire squad by himself on the other side of the field. The party starts seriously discussing how to retreat, until the barbarian throws caution to the wind and leaps back into battle. He makes short work of another squad, even though a single hit will take him out; the druid gets the wizard back on his feet with some healing spells; and the remaining two squads see the writing on the wall. They break off and flee; the party retreats into the cave.

They find their mules, a bunch of useless junk, and a receipt for six kegs of beer made out to... Grayson Palek.

Battered, bruised, out of spells, and many still sick and poisoned, they limp back to town again, planning to give it a wide berth and head on into the city for healing and possibly reinforcements. The ranger sneaks into the village to get the cleric, and of course muffs his die roll. But it doesn't matter, because the town is deserted. The cleric comes out of hiding to tell them that Palek's soldiers forced the villagers into the mansion, where even now a scream of agony can be heard. Palek appears to be trying to summon another, possibly larger demon.

Tune in next time for the thrilling conclusion... but hopefully only to The Devils' Handmaiden, not the entire campaign. Those imps are pretty tough, and they are out of spells. Only true heroes would wade into such a dangerous battle in such poor shape. Are they true heroes? Will they risk a TPK in only the fourth session? Can the ranger finally roll some decent dice? Find out next month!

[SpamCreateWater]

I am liking the use of status effects at low levels along with a multitude of "quests". It really makes them think on their choices and do some of the plebeian foraging work that they'll never do (again) in a few levels.
Also, fighting things like Imps that, once they have access to a bit more magic, become speed bumps. BEEEEEEES!

[Yahzi]

BEEEEEEES!
I was panicking when the wizard started casting sleep at the bees, because I had forgotten they were 3HD, so Sleep was never that much of a danger. On the squads of cultists, though, it was absolutely devestating.

Oops I forgot that that the sleep spell at the inn also knocked out the barbarian and the ranger.

The status effects are definitely fun. They are generally under-used, I think.

[Yahzi]

The Devil's Handmaiden (cont.)

The party struggles into town, bleeding, sick, and poisoned. Nonetheless they know their duty and charge into battle. Well, first they scout around the house a lot and break in through a second floor window - turns out the Ranger rolls great dice when it's not combat related. None of it matters, though, since the action is all in the basement.

They charge down the stairs. The Barbarian wipes out a fistful of guards, leaking hit points like a sieve; the rest of the party is following his lead and forming a decent battle line. Finally, they've learned some tactics... but the wrong ones. Pro tip: always, always, always take out the spell caster first. The party discovers the power of area-effect spells when they eat a Flaming Hands spell. For max damage. And no one saves.

Now most of the party is inches from death and in no shape for combat. The Ranger grabs the unconscious Barbarian and they all retreat up the stairs. There's some last minute healing from the Bard, getting everyone at least back to functional and enchanting a sword. The guards decide to interrupt the chanting and counter-charge up the stairs but get creamed in a tight corridor face to face with the Barbarian and Ranger.

The party counter-counter-charges downstairs again. They play hot potato with the only sword capable of hurting the imp as one by one their front-line combatants fall, and eventually the Ranger brings the demon down.

Lord Grayson promptly surrenders. A fair number of the party votes for summary execution, but he talks them into delivering him to justice in the city.

Another pro tip: never let the sorcerer get a word in edge-wise. They have a high CHA stat for a reason.

The dead guards yield up some decent chainmail armor and shields. The party also loots the house, stealing the silver and cracking open a safe with a few pounds of gold. Only the lack of a wagon stops them from hauling off the furniture. On the way out, the Druid somehow convinces the rest of them to burn down the mansion, in case the sorcerer gets let off by the law and wants to return to his demon-summoning ways, I guess? I don't know, but mad props to the Druid for striking a blow against conspicuous consumption.

An uneventful trip to the city ensues. They deliver their prisoner to the castle and find an inn to rest in, still suffering from disease and poison. In the morning they meet Count Kird, paladin and Minister of War. He has a not unfavorable impression; after all, they've done for a fair number of monsters on their own initiative with relatively little damage to the realm. He cures their various ailments and pays them the tael value of the sorcerer as a reward. Sadly, as the more cynical ones had feared, the sorcerer will be facing a court trial rather than an immediate execution. This is going to come back to haunt them, and they all know it.

Kird wants to keep these guys on-side, since adventurers are always an asset to the realm, and having them on the border is a double-plus. He offers them the sorcerer's house as a base of operations. A few sheepish mumbles later, they confess the place was rendered collateral damage. Kird is not overly put off, but he does remark on how the house was essentially worth the price of a first-rank.

After only a day in the big city, perusing the markets and walking the streets, the party is eager to get away. Partly because they are village kids, but also because their Cleric is a heretic, their caster is a Wizard (instead of the nationally approved practice of fire sorcery), and their Barbarian is a loaded crossbow with a hair trigger. And also because the city is expensive.

They return to the village, where the innkeeper offers them a free room for as long as they like. After all, these kids just saved everybody... well, most everybody from a horrific death and the enslavement of their souls to a demon. They could have been a little quicker on the whole interrupt-the-demon-summoning ritual and reduced the body count, but nobody is impolite enough to mention it.

(And thus concludes The Devil's Handmaiden, a free adventure available on DriveThruRPG (http://www.drivethrurpg.com/product/239074/The-Devils-Handmaiden)).

Now they are free to investigate the mysterious cave. Their first challenge is a rickety old ladder and a Cleric in armor with no Climb skill. He makes it down, but not without taking some of the ladder with him.

They follow a dark, damp, low tunnel under the lake and into a barrow. While investigating the decaying skeletons laid out on the biers, one sits up and bites the Druid in the face. A brief combat ensues with several animated but legless skeletons. The Barbarian very quickly figures out what Damage Reduction 5/Blunt means, and switches from sword work to shield-bashing.

This was a great moment where the rules really worked to drive a creative solution - and by our youngest player.

After this, they actually sit down and rest while two of them go back to town for more supplies. Rope and torches, mostly, but also a few spare hammers. How... heroic.

After three more rooms of increasingly functional skeletons and traps, they are low on health and spells, and decide to call a retreat. Wisely, they bring the Cleric up the ladder last; it does not survive the attempt (and he almost doesn't - at first level you can still die from a simple fall). The Ranger was prepared with a rope, so they winch their metal-clad mate out of the hole and troop back to the inn. Just another hard day of dungeon delving - such is the life of an adventurer.

[Yahzi]

The Lake of Ill Repute

(The lazy, bad DM didn't get around to posting the last recap until the day of the next session, so now you get two in one day.)

The Cleric and the Druid are heavily involved in religious observances, or perhaps just having a religious argument (their players missed this session). The rest of the party sneaks out the back of the inn and heads off for some real adventure. The Wizard, who was still recovering from his many illnesses last time (i.e. he missed the last session), is keen to revisit the site of the infection - the mysterious hole in the ground.

The Ranger sensibly loads up on adventuring gear: tools, rope, and torches. He makes sure everyone has food and water, since you never know how long you'll be trapped underground surrounded by ravenous undead monsters. And off they go, singing hi-ho, hi-ho.

They quickly pass through the rooms they had already explored and immediately come to a fork. Now they have a choice: carefully and methodically empty every room, or charge heedlessly into the lair, taking turns at random. Obviously, they choose caution. Just kidding! Headlong rush into danger it is.

Passing through a half-collapsed meeting hall, they loot the corpse of some previous hapless adventurer. The Shadow hanging around in the rubble at the back of the room avoids their lights, but otherwise gives them no trouble. They let it be and press on. But not before picking up a brass jug with three ounces of mysterious liquid.

Another room with a pair of skeletons wearing silver crowns gives them little trouble, mostly inflicting Fatigue on the Barbarian. They wander through a large natural cavern with a pool of water that appears to connect to the lake through some underground channel. A dozen dead fish are laid out neatly on the bank; the party considers this unappetizing treasure and leaves them undisturbed.

Continuing on they finally encounter some trouble. In the hall of a larger and more elaborate barrow, a skeletal huntsman summons a Fiendish Wolf with a magic whistle. The wolf knocks the Bard to the ground (yay Improved Trip!) and the huntsman is heavily armored in bronze. It looks to be a good fight... until Wizard happens. Color Spray shuts down the wolf while the melee team stalls the huntsman. The Ranger continues to be nigh-worthless at melee, while the Wizard deploys his staff to surprisingly good effect. The wolf actually survives through the first few phases of the spell, but the Bard and Wizard beat it down before it recovers enough to act again. Then they all surround the skeletal huntsman and bash it. It never even lands a blow.

The Wizard turns out to be the only one who can pick locks; he opens a large wooden chest to find three ancient scrolls. Those will go straight into his spell-book.

(A nice find, as I had just finished explaining how wizards get their spells to the Wizard's player.)

The Barbarian, always willing to take a risk, tries the magic whistle but nothing happens. The Bard realizes it needs to recharge and drops it in his pocket for another day.

Next up is a room shrouded in magical darkness and a floor covered in spikes. The Wizard tears up the wooden biers and gets the team to lay planks over the spikes, building a bridge through the room. Halfway through they are jumped by skeletal wolves lunging out of the dark, which have a nice scare factor but get crushed without too much effort.

A bit of a change of scenery; the tunnel connecting the next barrow is lower than the rest and infested with vines, mold, and fleshy pink flowers. The party notices its one torch guttering (their other light is a magical lightstone, a torch that never goes out) but presses on. Another pair of skeletal wolves is even less trouble, as their room has no magical or mundane defenses.

(This room inflicts a secret status condition which goes completely unnoticed in this particular game - though, if they had done different actions, it would have mattered! This the nature of sandbox worlds vs narrative worlds. Narrative games are perfectly efficient: nothing is wasted or lost, everything affects the story. In sandbox games the players can walk past a door and leave it unopened. The DM's preparation for that door then ceases to matter. While this is expensive, in terms of DM effort, it is also rewarding, in that the DM doesn't know what's going to happen either. The game is truly driven by the player's choices, even when they don't know they are making them.)

The next room gives them some difficulty. A skeletal Adept stands at the back of the hall, casting Fear spells. It is flanked by a pair of skeletons with suspicious silver claws. The Barbarian shrugs off the Fear effect - he's nothing if not brave - and then lobs a javelin across the room. The Ranger joins him in this game of darts. Needless to say, these attacks have no impact, and the next round the Barbarian fails his Will save. He turns and flees in utter terror back through the room of vines and flowers.

The party takes this very calmly - apparently they consider the Barbarian to be nigh-indestructible. They let him go and continue chucking odd bits of stone at the skeletons. The Bard fails next, running off in terror, and finally the remaining two (Ranger and Wizard) decide to retreat. They catch the Bard just in time; he's trying to open a new door in his panicked flight. The Wizard wrestles him to the ground until he recovers, and then they go in search of the Barbarian, who sensibly (i.e. randomly) retraced their old path. Fortunately they left nothing dangerous behind them, so the Barbarian is also safe and sound once the Fear wears off, though not exactly thrilled with his companion's lack of concern for his well-being.

Back to the room they go. The Ranger has come up with a plan. Their Cleric had cast a blessing on three vials of water (an ad hoc ruling that allows the party to use his Turn Undead ability even though he isn't present for the adventure, as it's a bit much to send them into a dungeon of undead without it). The Bard, famous for his throwing ability, steps into the room and lobs a vial at the enemy. It's a simple attack, so naturally he completely muffs it, dropping the vial at his feet and immediately falling victim to the Adept's magic. Off the Bard runs in utter terror with the Wizard in hot pursuit.

The Ranger realizes that if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. He tosses a second vial; the skeletons shudder and go inert. The two warriors wait, but when the Wizard and Bard don't return after a few rounds, they enter the room, take careful aim, and obliterate the skeletal adept in a single murderous round.

They know the skeletons will only be inactive for a few more rounds, so they quickly move on to the next one. This turns out to be a different proposition. The creature is not nearly so easily defeated, and a general melee ensues.

The Wizard had caught the Bard opening the same door, and this time had failed to stop him, his grappling attack simply shrugged off by the panicked Bard. The Bard thus charges into a new and uncleared room. Fortunately it's a court full of dead bodies; the Wizard keeps tackling the Bard and succeeds this time as he's struggling with the next door. This one would lead to a new Hall, almost certainly containing some deadly new foe, so it's good that the Wizard holds the Bard down until the spell lapses. Together they race back to the sounds of combat just in time to see the Turn Undead wearing off and the other skeleton moving to join the fight.

The Wizard takes a blow from the silver-tipped skeletons, but easily makes his saving throw - he's developing some resistance to various diseases and poisons, it seems. However, the damage is enough to knock him out. The skeletons fall to the rest of the party quickly, and they spend all the rest of their magic healing the Wizard back up to disabled (0 HPs).

Robbed of their pretend rogue - the Wizard is too injured to concentrate on lock-picking - the Barbarian simply smashes down the door to the court. The roof shakes alarmingly, but nothing worse than a temporary trickle of water occurs. Searching this room yields a pair of potions in clay vials. Wounded, tired, and out of spells, they decide to rest, in a room full of corpses, stealing their shrouds for pillows. Now that's chutzpah. If there were a roll for "bad dreams," surely they would fail it; but these are heroes now, and sleeping the sleep of the dead literally with the dead doesn't bother them.

This is a classic D&D trope: out of spells and low on health, the party simply camps in the middle of the dungeon. I'm actually proud of this, because it means I've recreated the classic D&D experience even while I've adhered to World of Prime rules.

In the morning they have enough minor magic to get the Wizard up to 1 HP. He can cast and fight now (though with a house-ruled -2 for his lingering injuries). They press on, drawn by the lure of treasure - so far they've filled their pockets with silver, gold, and tael, without ever once feeling like they were all going to die.

A curious sight greets them in the next room: a large iron bird-cage hanging from the ceiling, containing a small kobold skeleton. The kobold emits a thin green ray which the Barbarian easily dodges. The party charges into the room and begins battering the bird cage and the kobold inside. The Wizard ignores the fight and starts trying to pick the lock on the next door.

The kobold is hard to hit, protected as it is by the iron cage. The Barbarian breaks out his pick and starts trying to batter open the bird cage; the Ranger and Bard attack through the bars with sword and halberd. (This means piercing damage only, which is reduced by the skeleton's DR, but this is no new handicap to the Ranger - he has simply refused to acknowledge this unpleasant fact and used his sword throughout. Everyone else switched to hammers or halberds, but apparently Rangers are very traditional and make up for Damage Resistance by just hitting harder). The Ranger gets in a glancing blow, knocking a few chips off the skeleton. It responds by finally scoring a hit with its Enfeebling Ray, and the Ranger loses a point of strength .

The Bard finally stops his ineffective attacks and switches to Inspire Courage, boosting the rest of the party's efforts. The Wizard almost picks the lock; the Barbarian inflicts minor damage on the bird cage; the Ranger misses; and the kobold lands a good roll, knocking the Ranger's strength down to 7 - roughly equivalent to a strong child.

At the other end of the room, a delayed trap goes off, dropping a heavy iron portcullis over the entrance. They're trapped!

Now the party is concerned. Fortunately the Wizard gets the next door open; they all dash through and slam it shut behind them. Wisely, they are on their guard and prepared for a new attack, but this room is merely storage for bodies. A careful search turns up a locked iron chest, two gold bracelets, and some unharvested tael - but for the first time, no hidden exit. During the search the Ranger recovers his strength. Realizing the damage is only temporary, they charge out, surround the bird-cage, and prepare to administer a savage beat-down. Instead the Ranger destroys the kobold on his first attack.

The Barbarian vents his rage by smashing open the cage and then demonstrates his wisdom by searching it. He turns up a gold key, which opens the iron chest, which yields three more potions in clay vials. The party then attempts to open the portcullis, as it is the only way out. The Ranger heaves to, but it's too heavy, even with help from all the rest of the party; the Barbarian tries and fails. Now things are bit worrying; they take a second try (with an increasing penalty) and the Barbarian just barely forces it open. The Wizard cleverly props it open with the Ranger's crowbar, and the entire party slips out to safety.

Oddly, this final challenge is the last straw, despite inflicting no damage. The party decides to retreat and collect the rest of their team. The Wizard claims to remember the way out, but the issue is moot as the Ranger can easily track their own footsteps in the undisturbed dust of the ancient tunnels.

As they are re-entering the collapsed meeting hall, the Shadow attacks them. Apparently it was fine with them entering the barrow complex, but has a problem with them leaving.

The Ranger wants to ignore its clumsy, incorporeal lunges, and simply rush on through the tunnels, but the Wizard is curious about this strange yet hostile unlife-form. He enchants the Ranger's sword and convinces him to give battle. The Barbarian needs no encouragement, of course, and the Bard is equally willing.

The enchantment turns out to be necessary. Mundane attacks pass through the Shadow with no effect. The Bard tries a basic energy attack (i.e. a burning torch) to no avail; only the Ranger's enchanted sword has a chance of hurting the Shadow, and even it fails half the time. The party's fate hangs on the Ranger's swordsmanship, sheer luck, and the durability of the Wizard's enchantment.

Since one of those is a proven non-starter (i.e. the Ranger's combat skills), the Bard pulls out the magic whistle, reasoning that a summoned creature might count as a magical attack. It's not bad logic, just poor judgment, because the magically summoned Fiendish Wolf immediately attacks every non-Orc in the room, starting with the Bard.

The wolf hits hard, dropping the Bard in a single bite. Now the Barbarian has something useful to do - wolf-fighting! The Ranger is actually doing surprisingly well, landing a serious blow on the Shadow, but it's a CR 3 Undead creature, which means a lot of HPs. The Wizard has finally worked through his spell list and discovered the cantrip Disrupt Undead - that's 1d6 damage to an undead creature with no chance of failure, three times a day. Nice to discover this on the way out!

The Shadow strikes, weakening the Ranger. He lands another solid hit, inflicting plenty of damage, and the Wizard's cantrips add up. The Shadow is looking ragged but it strikes again. The danger here is not the slow loss of strength, but the expiration of the enchantment. Without it, the Shadow can pick them off at its leisure.

The Ranger is finally rolling well, but his third hit is negated by the Shadow's incorporeality. The Barbarian gets a face-full of Fiendish Wolf, dropping him to a single hit-point. The Bard heroically rolls to stabilize, stopping his own bleeding by sheer force of will despite being unconscious.

On the last round of enchantment, the Ranger lands another hit and sticks it. The Shadow evaporates in a shower of purple dust, releasing all of the tael it has gathered for its next spawn. This is a fortune - half again of everything they've won so far! A comical battle of misses ensues with the Fiendish Wolf, until suddenly everyone hits at once, obliterating it. The Barbarian shoulders the incapacitated Bard and they trudge back to the inn, bleeding, battered, and spell-less - and this all from merely trying to leave the dungeon.

"Anything I should be worried about?" the innkeeper asks as they stumble in.

"Just... bandits," they reply. Dungeons are precious resources, and they don't want to share this one with any other Free Companies (like the ones they saw hanging around in the city). Of course, that also means that if they fail to come home next time, no one will know where to send the rescue party to, or even that they should send a rescue.

But that's an adventurer's life. Thankless toiling in dark tunnels fighting undead monsters, and nothing to show for it but fistfuls of bright purple tael. And silver. And gold. And magic items. But mostly tael - surely by now they have enough to purchase the most valuable prize in the world - another rank!

[Yahzi]

So we missed several sessions of recap as Bad DM was busy meeting a book deadline. The good news is Black Harvest is with my editor; the bad news is I don't have a release date yet.

The Wet Wedding

We last left our intrepid band after they had defeated the Shadow in the orcish beer hall. Many, many days were spent crawling through the increasingly sophisticated and dangerous layers of orcish tombs. There was the eight-armed water troll that was supposed to be a fearsome foe; the party chased it into the water and mercilessly beat it to death. On the other hand a kobold skeleton in a bird-cage shooting Magic Missiles almost did for them all.

It was while they were exploring the koboldic era of the dungeon (built when the orcs had dealings with a kobold tribe) that they met Asha the water naga. She told them her tale of woe: falling for a silver-tongued bard who stole her Pearl of the Sirens. In human hands this artifact makes breathing and moving underwater easy (though you still can't smoke a pipe); in her hands it did the same for living above the surface. She was the source of the innkeeper's broken window; it was not a young couple being carried off, but rather a broken-hearted sea creature pursing her thieving paramour. Being chaotic she is unwilling to make deals or bargains, but she does give them the ability to breathe water for a few hours and accepts a present in return. The Bard got a bit of a workout coming up with a succession of interesting but different presents as they re-visited Asha several times over the next few weeks. And the Wizard discovered the joys of Command Undead; now one of the barrow's best skeletal temple guardians carries his laundry around when it's not dicing his enemies.

Eventually they passed into the clerical era, built when the orcs had adopted religion for a while. The curses and undead guardians were not much of a challenge to our intrepid band, though a well full of octopi (regular old octopi, not magical or anything) almost claimed the life of several of them. Then they discovered four locathah smoking weeds in one of the tombs. Restraining their immediate murderous impulses, they managed to get themselves invited to a party. They went home, freshened up, got more water-breathing from Asha, and went to town... well, went to the underwater village.

As they had suspected, Lars, erstwhile paramour of Asha the water naga, made an appearance. He stood on a stage and warbled incomprehensibly, which is what passes for entertainment at the bottom of a dirty lake. Apparently he had fallen for the charms of a nixie and had spent the last ten years playing house with her in an underwater graveyard of orcs. At this point he was clearly deranged but the party was more interested in the unnatural bulge in his throat. They started trying to get closer to the stage when the chieftain announced the bad news. The celebration was supposed to be a wedding between one of the locathah girls and a handsome villager from the surface. Unfortunately the human had succumbed to the horrible curse that just randomly kills people in the village. He had turned blue, waved his hands frantically, blown some bubbles, and then stopped moving. This curse, the chieftain noted, had struck the last five surface dwellers who had moved into the village over the years: two other suitors and a young family, all suddenly struck down by evil magic.

Not one to waste an opportunity, the chieftain put the poor deceased fellow on the dinner menu (literally, he was served in tiny bits as hors d'oeuvres) and continued with the gala. Then he offered the handsomest of the visitors the chance to marry into the village without going through the normal time-consuming background checks.

This, of course, meant the Bard. Much to everyone's surprise the young Bard was willing to give it a try. However, once the rather quick ceremony was concluded and events moved to the nuptial chamber, everything fell apart. It turned out the two newlywed's conceptual ideas of what occurred in said chamber were horrifically incompatible.

The Bard came swimming out in a hurry, pursued by a shrieking jilted bride. Hell hath no fury like a locathah scorned! This commotion interrupted the rest of the party, who had finally gotten into Lars' presence. Thinking quickly the Ranger performed a tracheotomy, freeing the pearl from where it had lodged in Lars' throat, and amazingly not killing him in the process. The party then beat a hasty retreat, aided by summoned dolphins. Lars, unfortunately, was suddenly struck by the village's curse despite being immune to it for all these years, and soon blew a few final bubbles and stopped moving.

The locathah were unwilling to chase the party through the barrows, so they made their way back to Asha and returned her property. She rewarded them with sacks of gold she had collected from the barrows over the years and promptly fled, returning to her distant sea-borne kingdom. Our heroes trudged back to the inn, loaded down with gold and the pleasure of doing a good deed - which was, despite their alleged alignments, a surprisingly rare occurrence.

That night the locathah struck back. The entire village swarmed up from the lake, armed with spears and supported by the nixie's magic, and attacked the inn. Unfortunately locathah are as handicapped out of the water as humans are in it, and all of them died ingloriously. The Barbarian did get a nasty scratch on his ankle while stomping the fish-men into paste but otherwise the fight was anti-clamatic.

A Business Proposition (or two)

While the party rested up and dried out, Old Bob wandered in. They had last seen him the Wild Lord's broken down keep, where he chose to stay rather than submit to civilization. He had been driven out, he said, by all the singing. The keep had new occupants, a bandit gang of some kind, and they sang all the damn time.

Before the party could respond to this appropriation of property they had abandoned, a sly fellow also appeared at the inn. He had heard of a new adventuring party and wanted to offer them a job. He purported to represent the merchants of House Tempest, who allegedly wanted to find a land route to Varsoulou. This was a dangerous proposition because technically Edersarr and Varsoulou are still at war, though active hostilities had ended twenty years ago when King Rogonar the Ambitious had gotten himself killed on one of his many invasions. His son and heir, Cardinal Ragnar, was not nearly so keen on the exhausting and impoverishing continual war, and hence peace had reigned, especially since the invasions only ever went one way, from Edersarr to Varsoulou. Now some people, such as the Cardinal, were happy with this state of affairs; and some people, notably the Earl Theodorick, were not.

The party seemed to be leaning towards the peace faction, but mostly they were so sick of crawling around in dead orcs that they decided to take the job. But first, the most exciting awesome adventure ever conceived of in any epic ballad of heroism (or D&D campaign): they made a trip up north to Pay Their Taxes.

The King, you see, gets a quarter of whatever tael you take out of the Wild. This is the price you pay for having somewhere safe to rest up and heal after your adventures. You don't have to pay the tax, but then, you don't have to come home again either. (As a DM I am obviously tickled pink to have successfully imposed taxation on my players. I am sure all the other DMs out there know exactly how I feel.) The cost left them bankrupt, though they had gotten everyone but the barbarian and ranger to third level first.

They also blew some gold on stuff like better armor and weapons but that's just boring.

So a few days later they set off to the east, with two donkeys, supplies, and a full load of adventuring gear (the seasoned players revealed themselves when they spent fifteen minutes discussing how to carry their gold so it wouldn't all get stolen at once). Quite a step up from their poverty-stricken origins only a few seasons ago. (Seriously, it's been like three or four months of game-time.)

Along the way they had a few adventures. (This is where my Sandbox World Generator (https://www.drivethrurpg.com/product/217951/Sandbox-World-Generator) app really came into its own: they picked a map direction and marched, and I just looked up what was in the way.) At first the two undead dinosaurs looked like it could be a dramatic fight, but then the Druid discovered the power of Entangle (the spell that defines OP, and at 1st level!). The Ranger destroyed one immobilized dinosaur through archery with his new strength bow; the other one successfully resisted the wizard's attempts to Command it (thus sparing the DM a heart-attack) and was destroyed by arrows and Barbarian axery.

Next they encountered a mysterious wheeled machine that drove around in circles. Dissuaded by its thick iron armor (and a few hints from the DM who hadn't finished writing up the adventure that creature leads to), they avoided it and moved on. Just when they were thinking this whole exploring thing was a piece of cake they met a couple of other people leading donkeys.

Their practiced eye recognized them as bandits, or perhaps it was just the dirty clothes and heavy weaponry. These bandits, however, were incredibly welcoming. Recognizing the party as heroes by the simple expedient of noting that they came from the west and thus had passed through un-tracked, monster-infested wilderness, the bandits invited them to a free dinner. All they would have to do is attend a short lecture on an exciting multi-level marketing business opportunity.

For some inexplicable reason the party politely declined. The bandits shook their head in dismay, but offered helpful traveler's advice, pointing out a good camping spot just a short way ahead. Again, the party behaved unreasonably, setting camp in the suggested spot but stuffing their bedrolls with hay and hiding on the hill above while wearing their armor. In the middle of the night the Druid's hawk started staring at the sky while emitting small, terrified sounds; but the Druid was preoccupied with the company of bandits sneaking up on their campfire.

Once again Entangle struck, trapping half the bandits in its grasp. They fired their crossbows but in the dark it was completely ineffective. The Wizard sent his killing machine Sir Rattles to intercept one of the two remaining squads; the Ranger started exchanging fire with the other and winning handily. Then the Druid decided to summon a swarm of bats and sent them after the helplessly immobilized bandits, an act that will go down in the annals of unnecessary force and over-kill. Swarms are one of the more dangerous foes as they require area-effect damage to destroy them, and this is not easily come by in a medieval world. The bandits, unarmored and defenseless, were stripped to the bones in a bloody cloud of screaming horror. The Druid was thinking about maybe feeling bad when he was distracted by his own screaming horror.

A skeletal, winged demon with a scorpion's tail dropped out of the sky. It bellowed a magically terrifying sonic attack and lashed into the Ranger with claws, fangs, and poisoned tail. Well... it was supposed to. What actually happened is that the party uniformly shrugged off the fear, dodged most of the attacks, cast Magic Weapon on their swords and axes, and chopped the thing into bits.

Two of the cultists managed to slip away in the dark. The party moved its camp to a different location and tried to sleep, the sounds of men being flayed alive by tiny sharp bat teeth still ringing in their ears. In the morning they tracked the bandits back to their cleverly concealed cavern complex (cursed Ranger!).

The Wizard bravely sent his toad in to scout. It reported nothing of interest, save for a brief sound that let them know the cave was in fact occupied. Now they stand on the precipice of danger, preparing to march yet again under the earth.

[Quarian Rex]

I'm enjoying this, and quite glad to see that it didn't die.

[Yahzi]

I had to improvise the adventure last time; while my Sandbox World Generator (https://www.drivethrurpg.com/product/217951/Sandbox-World-Generator)told me what was in the square it didn't provide all the details. Between sessions I fleshed out the cult and discovered that it had a name, in addition to a signature calling card in the form of golden crossbow quarrels. Eventually I'll publish this adventure on DriveThruRPG like all the rest. The only reason The Lake of Ill Repute isn't up there is that they haven't finished going through it yet.

The Brotherhood of the Golden Arrow

The party (retroactively) marveled over all the golden crossbow quarrels they looted off of the bandits that had attacked their camp, until the Wizard made his Appraise check and realized they were just well-polished bronze.

The party sent in Sir Rattles, again to no effect. Now that they had two independent reports that the tunnel was empty it only took them twenty minutes to raise the courage necessary to actually enter the tunnel, and even then they only went in because the Barbarian got tired of "strategizing."

Once inside they were greeted by ten skeletons. The toad had not noticed them because they don't move, breathe, emit heat, or otherwise appear differently than dead bones, and they hadn't attacked Sir Rattles out of professional courtesy. Undead make excellent ambushers.

The Barbarian smashed one while the Cleric looked up the rules on Turn Undead. A few dice rolls later and all of the skeletons collapsed, utterly destroyed by the puissance of the Cleric's holy words. Sadly this cleansing of the unnatural also included Sir Rattles (a tip o' the hat to the Bard for pointing that out!). It turns (haha) out that the Cleric had missed the latest dungeon runs, so no one was aware of just how potent he was against low-level undead.

After that they briefly examined a closed door but decided to push further into the cavern. They didn't get very far before being greeted by a company of guards with a spell-casting senior office. Twenty cultists, fighting in formation: the ones in front knelt defensively behind their shields while the back row fired over their heads with crossbows. The Ranger cleverly pocketed his light-stone and started sniping from the Dark while the Barbarian charged; the Wizard and Druid summoned acid-spitting beetles; and the Bard and Cleric went down a side tunnel hoping flank the attacking group but instead ran into a smaller group which included an junior officer of the cult.

The absence of treacherous vegetation and the presence of spell-casters turned the battle around. Expecting the relentless slaughter of the previous engagement, the party found they had a fight on their hands. Fear spells were particularly useful, sending the the Ranger, the Bard, and the Barbarian (twice!) in and out of combat like yo-yos. The Barbarian made it all the way to the front line and slew three foes in a single great blow before eating half-a-dozen quarrels and being sent running by magic. Healing also paid off as the two cult spell-casters put men who had been incapacitated but not outright killed back into the fight; when the Barbarian came back half the men he had killed were alive again.

Finally the Druid decided to unleash the swarm. Thousands of spiders crawled up out of the sandy cavern floor, biting and stinging. Fortunately their poison weakened before it killed, so the men's shrieks of horror as they were devoured alive were slightly muted. The senior officer, revealing a sophisticated understanding spellcraft, got the swarm's attention and led it away from his men. This took him out of the fight but not out of the battle as he succeeded in healing himself several times even in the midst of the swarm. It was a fair trade, as concentrating on the swarm kept the Druid busy.

The advance party came back to the main battle, having been chased off by Fear after killing all but the junior officer in the side passageway. The Wizard called up another acid beetle after the first one exploded and dissolved several men's faces in acid. Fortunately this horrific sight was only poorly illuminated by torch-light so likely the party won't have too many nightmares. The Barbarian, operating off of courage rather than intellect, charged the line once again, and this time they broke and fled. Just in time, as the side passage was once again active after the officer had healed several casualties. The Wizard, Cleric, and Bard ran to deal with that while the Ranger followed the fleeing remnants of the main group. The Druid sat in a corner and concentrated fiercely on his swarm of vicious insects, no doubt struggling with remorse over the horrible deaths he had caused.

The junior officer in the side-passage turned out to be wearing decent armor (note to self: more bronze breastplates!). Half the party beat on him while the Wizard kept him dazed and yet he remained standing. The side passage did indeed join up with the other one, as both passages opened into a vast cavern. Which contained another entire company of troops, all bearing torches and charging the swarm.

The Ranger picked off a few men while they dealt with the spiders by beating their torches against the ground and occasionally the officer in the middle of the swarm. This bought the rest of the party enough time to finally finish off the junior officer. They looked up just in time to see the retreat stemmed by demonic authority. Which is to say, a nine-foot-tall demon bit the head off of one of the retreating men, and the other two decided to go back into battle. Not the typically recommended courage-inducing rally cry but it worked. Beside the demon stood the cult's leader, a wild-haired shaggy man in bronze armor and wearing a golden crossbow quarrel around his neck.

Everything froze in that movie-style magic where the really dramatic bits seem to take forever. (Meaning we broke for pizza.) After a surprisingly lengthy discussion which included checking the side-door for a defensible position (spoiler alert: it wasn't) the party decided to retreat, having run out of spells and hit-points. The cultists, for their part, were not about to take lightly an enemy who had caused so much slaughter, and advanced with caution, allowing our heroes to escape.

Outside, under the open sky, the party set their own ambush, hoping to bottle their pursuers up in the narrow tunnel. While the Wizard was asking if there likely to be any other entrances to the lair he noticed a company of men coming out of the ground about a quarter-mile away. Again the party chose retreat, heading west (back the way they had come). The cult pursued them, but not aggressively, as the party was walking into wilderness rather than towards the nearest city. At the banks of a river the cult stopped and watched them go.

But it was not retreat, merely a strategic advance to the rear. The party camped, healed their wounds, refreshed their spells, and came creeping back under the cover of darkness.

Now they found the entrances guarded by cultists armed with gongs. The Ranger tried some diversions (oddly including throwing a desert tortoise) and sniper fire, but only succeeded in setting off the alarm. Discouraged, the party began retreating again.

The cult did not let them go so easily this time. The Druid's hawk stared nervously at the sky as they fled. This time the Druid paid attention and realized they were being followed. Trapped on the open plain under a star-lit sky (the world of Prime does not have a moon, but it does have so many stars that clear nights are as illuminated as a full moon), stalked by a flying demon, they had few options. They stood in a circle, back to back, like heroes facing the horde. Soon enough a black cloud swelled up from the ground, resolving into the fearsome visage of the demon.

The party responded quickly, with spells and arrows. The monster continued to advance and the Barbarian bravely leapt forward to strike with his temporarily magic-blessed sword. The blow passed through the creature without harm; the Barbarian realized it was merely illusion.

The party lowered their arms but the damage was done. Those spells were wasted. Tense minutes passed as the demon's allies came into position. Again, crossbow quarrels flew through the night. In the darkness accuracy was difficult and it wasn't clear whom the battle of attrition would favor. Until the demon struck from behind.

The Cleric was its chosen target. He proved hardy enough to survive the claws and fangs, but the poisoned stinger in its tail left him as weak as a baby. The fighting men turned bows and swords on the creature and it immediately fled. But as they resumed their archery contest with the cultists, the demon returned, having been fully healed by unknown powers.

This time the Bard went down in a spray of blood, and only a timely spell from the Cleric kept him from bleeding to death in the grass. Once again the warriors drove it off. The Wizard luckily caught a hint of chanting. He quickly called up some illusionary lights and sent them forth, discovering the hiding cult leader (the only time I have ever seen Dancing Lights actually used). As the demon left his side to fly back to the battle, the Wizard starting summoning apes (apparently impressed by the 1d6+5 damage roll) and sent them to attack the leader.

Now the cult leader was well-prepared, having certain spells of devastating effect against human foes. Which unfortunately expressly did not include animals. He sound found himself wrestling in a most undignified manner with two apes and the Druid's wolf as the spell-casters charged him (the warriors were still occupied with the demon). The cult leader called his demon back to save him; it broke off and flew threw the air, snatching up the leader on its way.

Until the mess of animals pounced on him, sinking claws and fangs into flesh and holding on for dear life. It proved too much weight; as the warriors charged, the demon shrugged its shoulders and let go. It flew off into the night while its erstwhile master screamed for mercy. "I'll let you in!" he cried, hoping to buy them off; the Wizard and Druid, unmoved, did not call off their beasts. Consequently by the time they got to the man he had been torn limb from limb.

The remains of the cultists fled after seeing (well, hearing) their leader so savagely destroyed. The party tallied up the enemy's losses and grimly resolved to end the threat of the demon once and for all. In the morning they marched east, covering the familiar ground they had already twice retreated over, until they stood at the mouth of the entrance, with vengeance on their minds and blood on their hands.

[Yahzi]

I'm enjoying this, and quite glad to see that it didn't die.
I'm enjoying the fact that someone else is enjoying it. :smallbiggrin: Eventually I hope to get to some political action too, not just massive running battles that rage back and forth over the desert for three days. :smallsmile:

[Yahzi]

The Brotherhood of the Golden Arrow (conclusion)

In an act of either divine grace or random chance, our heroes were washed clean by a summer storm as the approached the cave mouth that led to the demonic cult's lair. Soaking wet, they un-bundled the Cleric from the donkey he had been strapped to. In the night he had succumbed to the secondary effects of the demon's poisoned sting and was now completely paralyzed.

Reviewing their resources they considered using their three strength potions to restore him to temporary vitality; or just using one to get him mobile enough to walk and cast (though too weak to wear armor or fight) and use the other two potions on the swordsmen. After a lengthy discussion, much of which was disparaging to the Cleric's martial capabilities, someone had the clever idea of casting Delay Poison, thus temporarily negating the effects (this is not strictly according to the rules but DMs always flex a bit when players are being creative). Then the Cleric and Druid realized they could cast the Strength spell themselves, thus gaining the effects of the potions without using them up. However, in typical fashion, they delayed casting these spells until they were sure they wanted to use them. (The end result was the most typical D&D experience ever; none of the potions got used. It is a universal maxim that adventurers are penny-pinching skinflints that would put Scrooge to shame.)

Thus prepared with plans and strategies they crept into the cave mouth and were immediately confronted with... a campfire. Someone had left a small fire burning in the middle of the room. This fearsome and ingenious barrier kept our brave demon-killing adventurers hiding in the shadows for a good twenty minutes while they discussed what to do about an unexpected campfire. Eventually the Wizard summoned Dancing Lights in the fire while the Ranger used Create Water to douse it. The illusionary fire then moved slowly forward while the party followed, still hidden in darkness. This clever plan was abetted by the cultists' miserable Spot checks, and the party managed to move the illumination to cover the squad of men before they were aware anything had changed.

The Ranger, granted a clear shot for once, put an arrow straight through a cultist's head. The others scrambled to their feet as the illusionary campfire changed into a glowing humanoid figure. This would have been a clever ruse, drawing the panicked crossbowmen's fire, except that the Barbarian charged right through it and gave them something else to think about. With a mighty swing he bashed three heads together like Moe slapping the Three Stooges around, but with more blood.

Two enemy officers appeared and cast at the Barbarian, who shrugged off their paltry attempts to frighten him. The Druid, emboldened by the example, charged into melee accompanied by his faithful wolf du jour. Falling upon the surprised crossbowmen the pair made a hash of the squad, killing them all as they attempted to reload. The officers, realizing the Barbarian was fearless, transferred their attention to the Druid and his bloody-muzzled wolf, and sent both of them fleeing in terror.

The Cleric stopped the fleeing Druid with a comforting hand (and a Remove Fear spell) while the rest of the party supported the Barbarian. The enemy troops fell quickly, entirely unable to deal with the out-of-control Barbarian. But before the party could enjoy their easy victory, more troops rushed from the darkness while hordes of skeletons poured in behind them (they really should stop walking past closed doors without investigating).

Not to worry; with a word the Cleric sent a dozen undead monsters to their eternal rest. Confidently he strode forward into the hordes that remained, chanting his holy words. The Wizard, trusting to the Cleric to hold the rear, knocked out a squad of archers with Sleep; the Druid summoned his dreaded swarm and the shrieks of men being murdered by a thousand tiny razor cuts echoed through the cavern.

The enemy officers switched tactics. They stepped up to the Barbarian, reaching out with grasping hands. Every time they touched him black energy flowed from their fingertips, flaying his life-force away. He fought back, battling through their heavy bronze armor, but these were not common soldiers. As fast as he battered them they were healed by their fellow officers.

Then two dramatic developments: the Cleric stumbled over a phrase and the horde of undead pressed forward, clawing eagerly for living flesh. The Bard's music filled in the silence, preventing a total disaster (the Cleric's roll would have failed utterly if it hadn't been for the Barid Music bonus); the front wave of undead, confused, fell back for the time being. The next wave, however, reached the party's rear lines and began flaying the Wizard like ginsu knives. And in the front line the demon made its dramatic appearance from the shadows and pouncing on the Barbarian.

The Cleric recovered, though his divine authority remained shaken - he could only send the skeletal hordes fleeing now instead of reducing them to dust. The cultists, made of merely mortal flesh, soon disintegrated in the blender of intense melee, leaving only the officers and the demon as foes. Which proved to be a potent combo: supported by healing spells the demon could stand toe-to-toe with the Barbarian, slowly wearing him down. Eventually the monster figured out the Barbarian's tactics; the fight went from the Barbarian administering a beat-down to the demon landing a massive combo on the Barbarian, though the poision was only moderately effective. If not for his own healing support team that would have been the end of the Barbarian's brief but rage-filled career. The Druid stepped up, using his magic (Barkskin and Shillegleah) to fill in as a front-line fighter when the Barbarian was chased off by Fear and Doom effects - once again to be saved by the Cleric. The Ranger proved he could hit when he got a clear shot, but as the Barbarian returned to the battle the Ranger drew his sword and joined him, tired of trying to shoot past a milling crowd.

The demon had one last surprise - he waved his hand and animated the corpses of his slain soldiers, who rose up all around the party forming a confused mob of men and monsters. The Cleric chanted one last time but his power was growing weak; only half the undead fell. Yet this last gambit could not tilt the balance; with everyone swinging wildly the remaining undead were quickly destroyed, and worse, the officers had finally run out of spells. They drew maces and bravely waded into combat, but the demon finally went down to the Barbarian's mighty hammer and the officers followed scant seconds later.

Save for one, whom upon seeing the golden crossbow quarrel around the Wizard's neck, threw himself to the ground prostrate. "Spare me, oh glorious leader," he cried. In a slightly uncharacteristic act the party tamed its blood-lust while the Wizard interrogated the man. It turned out that "Z", as he was quickly nick-named (his official title being both too long and pretentious) assumed the demon's destruction had followed from the Wizard's use of the magic crossbow quarrel rather than the Barbarian's hammer. They decided that Z would be a handy source of information and spared his life - for the time being. Their first demand: a guided tour of their newly acquired property. In the leader's quarters they found two pieces of treasure: a chest full of gold and the scraps of hastily burnt correspondence.

The letter spoke to conspiracy against the Queen:


should not have told him the Queen has a demon paramour. He is beside himself with wrath – no pun intended – and moves daily closer to rebellion. He is still too weak, though; the Queen will defeat and replace him; and I will lose my grip on the spice harvest. If you do not want the money to run out you must...


While they did not understand this information they knew it had to be useful to someone.

The Cinnamon War

The party mission was to find a land-route to the spice fields, either for trade or invasion. In either case a large and comfortable cave complex well-hidden and stocked with dried supplies would be a wonderful bonus. After only a week of hard labor, transporting bodies out to the plains to bury in shallow graves, the effects of the poison wore off enough that all of their party were ready to finish the journey and finally see fabled Varsoulou. Dressing in the local costume they loaded up their donkeys with gold and set off, following their guide Z. The man had proven to be a obsequious and disgusting servant but had not otherwise given them cause to end his life.

Reaching town they tried to lay low, succeeding mostly with the help of Z, who as a local naturally fit in. Taking up residence in a cheap inn they were surprised to discover exotic cinnamon served in even common meals. They tried to arrange a meeting with the principals of the Amalgamated Spice Company though without much success, finding the corporate bureaucracy difficult to engage. Searching for more sources of information, several members decide to brave the fearsome skeletal guards and visit the local Church of the Shepard. Though, obviously, the Cleric was not among them - nor was Z, who steered well clear of the clergy on account of him being a criminal and them being able to detect lies.

Here the Druid found himself the target of the hard sell, as a junior priest offered him a divine reading and personality test for the low price of a single silver. The result of the test was a lecture on self-discipline and an offer of a long-term but affordable program designed to put the Druid on the correct path to a higher-floor apartment in the Tiered City, where all souls go after death. In the meantime the Bard had extracted some useful information from the conversation, such as the oddity that the local Curate was not part of the feudal government, that Curate Wulseth blessed the spice harvests and hence received 10% of the income, and that the local ruler and owner of the spice fields was Count Wrathfus. Or "Wrathful Wrathfus," as he was sometimes named by people who weren't afraid of having their necks stretched for insubordination.

So now the party has put together the outlines of a plot. They have a piece of paper that shows that the Count is plotting treachery against his Queen. They know that the Curate is wrapped up in it somehow. And they are sitting in the Curate's chapel, a short stroll from the Count's stone keep. Suddenly the Wizard's desire to visit the capital and see the fabled Golden Library of Arcane Arts seems like a brilliant idea.

Only a few days easy travel through civilized countryside finds them staring at the sea for the first time, the salt spray in their faces as sailors from many nations buy and sold fortunes in cinnamon and cloves on the docks. The Golden Library, a tall stone tower framed at night by neon lights of many colors, is the most exotic thing they have ever seen. They have momentous decisions to make: will they back war or peace between their home of Edersarr and the technically evil but not actually all that bad Varsoulou? Should they help the Queen against her plotters or help the coup against the possibility that the Queen is herself demon-compromised?

[Dawgmoah]

The Brotherhood of the Golden Arrow (conclusion)

Soaking wet, they un-bundled the Cleric from the donkey he had been strapped to. In the night he had succumbed to the secondary effects of the demon's poisoned sting and was now completely paralyzed.

How did the player of the cleric react to being paralyzed?

First time seeing any of this: I like how you started them off at 0-level. Reminds me of the old 1st edition days.

[Yahzi]

The Company of Glorious Destiny

The lure of the city lights proves too strong for some - the Wizard disappears into the bowels of the Golden Library with a sack of gold, hoping to be inducted into the secret mysteries. Meanwhile the rest of the party wanders the docks, trying to appear as merely some of the many travelers from distant lands.

Laying low is hard, though, when your tour guide is a border-line sociopath. Z, the sole remaining member of the Brotherhood of the Golden Arrow and now reluctant (on both sides) party minion, is bumped into by a distracted townsmen hurrying to an appointment. Z reacts with immediate offense, back-handing the poor man and absentmindedly including a Cause Wounds spell along with it. The man's face turns grey and rots instantly as he collapses to the ground, dead.

A cry goes up for the watch as Z, belatedly realizing what he's done, bolts for the alleyway. The party decides that the man knows far too much to fall into the hands of the authorities, in addition to being a cold-blooded murderer. They give chase and a very brief battle ensues. The Cleric and Druid keep guard in mouth of the alley, trying to keep their hands clean or least keep the blood off of their boots. Just as Z goes down two local guardsmen come around the corner. One of the party (we can't say who) discreetly shivs the unconscious Z, ensuring he's beyond healing.

The guardsmen recognize that these are adventurers, aka nobles, and thus out of their league. They do claim the body and its tael for the family of the slain. The party chips in a few gold, too, out of "charity," and get off with no more than an admonition to not leave town for a few days.

Later that night they are hanging out in a seedy tavern, as adventurers are wont to do, mostly because reputable establishments would rather have nothing to do with them, when they get a visit from the cool-as-a-cucumber and obviously well-fed Erligil the Dealer. Nobody knows what he deals in but it's clear he makes deals. In fact, after he leaves the bartender pretends not to have seen him, despite having served him a mug of ale.

Erligil chats them up and establishes that they are available for hire. He lets them know he'll get back to them later with a job. It won't be pretty or clean but then, neither are they. He also helpfully suggests a few tourist attractions - for instance, there will be an open training session of the Varsoulou cavalry the next day. The townspeople love to watch a few friendly jousting matches in the same way townspeople love to watch young men batter their heads together while chasing a leather ball. Even better, one of the vaunted members of the Hammer of the Desert will be there. This is a troop of ten knights, all of whom are Baronets or higher, and all clad in the best armor money can buy.

The party is justifiably impressed when the knights take to the lists. They may be third ranked heroes but just one of those lance charges could kill them immediately. The desert knights ride fast, nimble coursers instead of the huge plodding destriers of Edersarr but that doesn't seem to lessen their effectiveness. Erligil meets them in the crowd, appraising their appraisal of the military prowess of Varsoulou.

He takes them back to a tavern and fills them in on the job he's lined up for them. The Castle (meaning the national government), he says, has gotten word of Edersarrian spies hanging around the city, evaluating the defenses, and otherwise scoping out the lay of the land. Given that Varsoulou is still technically at war with Edersarr, this is obviously a problem. Erligil suggests that if the party could round up these spies before the Castle does, they could sell them to the Castle for a pretty penny.

Now this is a sticky wicket for our team! Much to my surprise, they go for it. The Ranger convinces the Bard to eavesdrop around town, looking for the kind of Edersarrian give-a ways that only an Edersarrian would catch. (DM's note: I had not actually intended for there to be another group of Edersarrians - Erligil was clearly just messing with them. But when they readily agreed I changed plans and whipped out one of my pre-generated adventuring parties from Edersarr to play the role - that is, the aforementioned Company of Glorious Destiny.) And lo and behold, after a few days they come across hints of a man who likes pickles with his breakfast - a uniquely Edersarrian preference.

They track the rumors down to an inn and confront the fellow at his table. He's accompanied by a sturdy warrior in heavy armor, and since he is a bard of rank himself he quickly realizes that he is dealing with fellow countrymen. "Not so loud," he says, "You'll give us all away. Why did you even try to make contact? Do you have new orders?"

The Druid, who doesn't like being indoors in the best of times and is also the only party member who is appropriately paranoid, goes outside to see if they are being followed, only to discover an entire squad of knights just hanging around on the other side of the street. In full armor. Quickly he passes back through the building, past the deep discussion in the corner of the room, and out the back, only to find an entire company of halberdiers slowly filling up the back garden.

He returns to the barroom and warns the others. "We're surrounded!" Now the party faces a difficult choice: fight their way out past the ranked knights in front, the common but numerous soldiers out back, or find some way to slip out the side unnoticed. The warrior, Branford, charges out the back to check it out, followed by the Barbarian who recognizes a fellow hot-head.

The Ranger, thinking well outside of the box, decides they are in the soup and they have no choice but to fulfill their commission. He attacks the leader of the other group (Dacey, though I'm not sure anyone bothered to learn his name). A confused fight follows, during which many members of the party are not entirely sure which side they are on. The Druid is holding the front door against the knights hammering on it, the Barbarian is out back mixing it up with the halberdiers along with Branford, and the Ranger and Bard are trying to murderize Dacey. The enemy bard cries out for help; Branford comes charging back in, laying waste with his massive two-handed sword, forcing the Cleric to get involved before his people start dying. In the middle of the fight the enemy party's servant turns out to be a master assassin and almost brings down the Ranger with a surprise double-knife attack. The Barbarian abandons the losing battle out back and rejoins the party just in time to watch the Bard chop Branford to the ground.

Then the knights force open the door and the fighting stops as Varsoulouean soldiers swarm the room from fore and aft. The last one in the room is Erligil, and the party has the pleasure of discovering that first, he is in fact the Queen's Minister of Coin (a position that traditionally encompasses spy-master and head torturer, among other duties), and second, that they have managed to surprise and disappoint him at the same time. He reveals that he knew they were Edersarrian all along, of course; he just wanted to see what color of cloth they wore. Now that he knows, he's not particularly happy (since they're clearly willing to be traitors) but at the same time he's got an even bigger job for them.

This is no penny-ante step-and-fetch it quest; this is the real deal. Erligil knows there is a faction in Edersarr agitating for restarting the war. He wants the party to terminate their influence with extreme prejudice. The Order of the Tower is a small knightly order on the edge of Edersarr (with, of course, their own tower). Their commander, Godard, is a Viscount but most of them are only first rank knights, If the party can kill Godard, either by assassination, siege, or duel, they can keep his tael and Erligil will pay them 5,000 gold pieces. Each. Whatever other members of the Order they kill are just a bonus.

The Ranger readily agrees to the deal. The rest of the party is perhaps less enthusiastic but once Erligil throws open the Castle armory and outfits the Barbarian in full plate armor he's won over the swords, and the spell-casters come along for the ride. After only a few more days they set off again, this time heading west. The Ranger decides to lead them on a different path than the one they've already cleared, just for the sake of adventure.


The Black Knight

Only three days into the wilderness they discover a bridge, a ferry, and a challenge. A knight has a small wooden keep (really more of a manor house) with a working village. He is a foreigner from far away who had come to fight in the Edersarr-Varsoulou war, only to discover it had effectively ended. Annoyed, he set up his own domain and intends to become a new state, profiting as a power-broker between the two nations.

In the meantime he challenges passer-byes to jousting tournaments, both for excitement and to relieve them of the excess coin in their pockets.

The Barbarian almost goes for it, especially once the Knight offers to lend him a horse and lance. But wiser heads (i.e. the Druid) prevail and they convince the Barbarian that it's obviously a trap. More to the point, a potentially fatal trap despite his fancy new armor, as they have already seen how deadly lances can be. (DM's note: they were right.) The Knight won't take no for an answer, though, and summons his company of glaivemen to a general attack.

The Druid launches the cursed Entangle spell followed up by the horrifying Swarm spell, thus condemning half the common men to a screaming death as they are pinned to the ground while their flesh is slowly ripped away by thousands of vicious insects. He also calms the Knight's horse, taking it out of the battle. The Knight is nonetheless a fearsome foe and he drives the Barbarian back with furious sword fighting from atop his immobile but still advantageous mount. The rest of the party is engaged with the remaining soldiers which is going pretty well for them. Until the Black Knight swaps horses, mounting the spare he'd brought out to lend to his challenger. One sword-charge later the Barbarian is looking death in the face close at hand.

The Druid shuts down the new horse, and worse, the Bard shuts down the Knight with a magically induced laughing fit. Even so the man is hard to kill, having plenty of HP and good armor. As he crawls across the ground trying to avoid the blows the Cleric summons an acid beetle. The Knight cleverly provokes the beetle into spraying acid on him... and splashing his horse.

The attack breaks the spell and beast reacts with fury, stomping the beetle into paste. It then proceeds to put the fear of hooves into the party, dishing out plenty of damage. It buys the Knight enough time to get to his feet; but before he can start killing people, the Bard chases the horse off with a Fear spell and Barbarian and Ranger cut the Knight into pieces.

Somehow during the battle literally every other common soldier was also killed. This leaves the small village with only women and children, since the soldiers were also the farmers. The party takes possession of the keep and spend a few days recovering from their battle. They also loot the vault, collecting a thousand gold pieces of treasure, and doling out a handful of gold to each woman to sustain the village until they return. Then they set off to the west again on their murderous quest, promising to return in due time to protect their new holdings. The women of the village are oddly eager to see them go, even though it leaves them alone and undefended in the wilderness. Perhaps they did not consider a pack of sixteen-year-old bravos to be a suitable replacement for the men they had lost.

(DM's note: The Black Knight can be found in Brigands of the Stinging Sea (https://www.drivethrurpg.com/product/260995/Brigands-of-the-Stinging-Sea)at DriveThruRPG. It's on sale for 99 cents right now, mostly because I know my players are too cheap to cheat even at that low price. I'll make it free once they've dealt with or out-leveled all the encounters in that book.)

[Yahzi]

How did the player of the cleric react to being paralyzed?

First time seeing any of this: I like how you started them off at 0-level. Reminds me of the old 1st edition days.
He took it in stride, but probably because everybody else looked out for him. Half the group are newbies and all of them are friends outside of the group, so we don't have the usual one-up-manship narcissistic power squabbles. Yet. :smalleek:

Starting them at 0th was the smartest thing I've ever done. Especially for newbies, but even the seasoned players were hooked by it. It does limit character creation (it would be hard to work in another race, for instance) but it pays off huge in party cohesion.

[Dawgmoah]

He took it in stride, but probably because everybody else looked out for him. Half the group are newbies and all of them are friends outside of the group, so we don't have the usual one-up-manship narcissistic power squabbles. Yet. :smalleek:

Starting them at 0th was the smartest thing I've ever done. Especially for newbies, but even the seasoned players were hooked by it. It does limit character creation (it would be hard to work in another race, for instance) but it pays off huge in party cohesion.

Those type of situations have always been a mixed bag for me. Sometimes the players will cooperate with each other. Then other times someone is ignored or left behind. Glad it worked out for him.

Next time I start a game I may try the 0 level bit; get them to roleplay into whatever class they want to play in.

[Endarire]

This feels like an awesome experience!

I also tried your Sandbox World Generator but it kept crashing when clicking 'Apply' since I didn't click 'New' first. May we get that fixed?

(This was my first time using it.)

[Yahzi]

I also tried your Sandbox World Generator but it kept crashing when clicking 'Apply' since I didn't click 'New' first. May we get that fixed?
Ok, I will look into that. Though I am not sure why you would click Apply first? You need a world to apply changes to. :smallsmile:

I am more than happy to answer any questions or fix any bugs (if I can - the program is a bit of a bear). Don't hesitate to PM me.

[Yahzi Coyote]

Apparently the user Yahzi doesn't exist anymore :( So I created a new account to continue this thread. If any admin wants to fix that, it would be awesome. :)

A minor detail from the previous entry; the players assured me the reward was 10,000 gold pieces, not 5,000. Trust players to remember a little thing like that.

A new mission

The party continues traveling west through new territory. This is the stuff of adventuring! Even if it is occurring in the relatively safe area between two major kingdoms.

And rendered safer by a dose of extreme caution. They discover a beast most foul, a huge lizard surrounded by broken statues, and like heroes of old they... bravely fled. A minor encounter with a ghost of a woman trapped by an ancient tragedy - she lacks the strength to close the valve that is drowning her husband - is resolved by the Barbarian's rage against injustice. (This was supposed to be the start of a quest for a minor magic item but I didn't have it properly planned out, the party brute-forced the solution, and they already have too many open threads anyway.) After a few more uneventful days they reach civilized lands again, finding a stone tower commanding the plain.

The tower is aware of their approach, sending out a herald to greet them. People don't normally come out of the west, after all, other than invading Varsoulouean armies. Their native Edersarrian accents establish their right to be there; meanwhile, the platoon of knights that have formed up in front of the tower establishes the the balance of power. Our brave party looks upon its quest target, encased in steel, mounted on a massive warhorse, and surrounded by a dozen other such figures, and... bravely flees. "Just passing through," they assure the herald, and quickly head to the village behind the tower to have a drink in a tavern full of pictures and stories about how totally awesome the Order of the Tower is. After much consideration they decide their true duty lies in finishing their first quest, i.e. to find a safe path to Varsoulou (safe being defined as the absence of monsters). Thus they head back east on their original path, deciding that the mysterious wheeled creature would be easier to resolve than the petrifying lizard.

They find the machine's tracks and discover a blockage: a log is preventing it from crossing a ford in the river. The machine keeps driving around in a huge loop, always returning to this spot. Curious, they remove the log and wait in hiding for the machine to come around again. The machine detects them, however, and provokes a confrontation (I had to fudge it a bit here as the party was being pretty cautious), eventually resulting in one of them being caught by its huge stone fist and pinned against its side by dozens of stone clamps. The rest ride to the rescue and are soon captured as well. Only the Druid is safe, for mysterious reasons, and yet as he watches the machine begin to trundle away with his companions to some unknown destination, he attacks it, knowing it means his own capture. Sadly he watches as the machine carries him away from the party's two mules, treasured pets and companions and not incidentally carrying all of the party's gold.

The machine trundles south at incredible speed, never tiring and never stopping, for an entire day an night. Our heroes begin to fear they will die of exposure or thirst before the fiendish journey ends, until it turns down into a shallow valley that houses the ruins of a once-great city. The machine delivers them to center of town, where automated prisoner processing in the form of stone tubes and hands strips them of their weapons and armor and deposits them in an ancient stone prison.

But they are proper adventurers now and not to be undone by simple traps; one Soften Stone spell later they are free. They find their equipment on roof in an old stone box full of rusted metal. A careful search reveals that a mace and a dozen arrows are buried under the detritus but still in perfect shape - certain proof that they are magical. Re-armed and armored, they quickly work out how to avoid the wandering patrol cars (there are two other machines already patrolling the city, and their new one returns to its duties without any fanfare) and set out to explore the ruins.

Whereupon they stumble upon many and various beasties and... bravely flee. They climb a tower and rob a harpy's nest of her gems but don't wait around for her to return. They spot some owlbears engaged in a mysterious ritual but decide not to interfere. The Barbarian does attempt to play with a pride of lions, but after they begin to flay him the Druid turns the party invisible to animals and they creep away. They find an old library inhabited by ogres and politely decline to stay for dinner. (This is entirely my fault for creating a sandbox world. The players know that there is no plot and thus no plot armor; if they pick a fight with a dragon they'll have no one to blame for their deaths but themselves. So they keep looking for the easy marks, like any professional criminal gang would.) When they spot some lizardfolk in a grove of trees it looks like there might be a little action, but the lizardfolk run away from the bard's opening chords and the party runs the other way. Eventually the lizardfolk return in force and the party has the brilliant idea of setting the lizards against the ogres. They lead their pursuers to the ogre's door, only to find the ogres and lizardfolk are apparently old friends. Trapped between two sets of monsters, they choose to charge the ogres and seal the doorway behind them with magical mist, hoping it will dissuade the lizardfolk for a least a little while.

A pair of ogres proves to be an engaging but short fight, made more exciting when another pair of ogres joins in. The Druid's wolf pet rips out the throat of all four ogres, which is just as well as the Barbarian takes a tree branch to the face and almost dies. (The party has discovered one of the major weaknesses of D&D as a game system: an attack that can credibly threaten one of the martial classes would extirpate one of the casters. This is a flaw I'm not even attempting to mediate; it's on them to adapt to the nature of the world as created by the rules.) When the mist expires they are relieved to see that the sounds of combat (and their victory) have apparently convinced the lizardfolk to retreat. Obviously they search the library for treasure, turning up a set of arcane scrolls only the Wizard can use (but he's still back in the Golden Library in Varsoulou, where he has plenty of scrolls without ogre stench all over them). They spend the night being bitten by tiny poisonous spiders and wake up in the morning cranky, hungry, and surrounded by rotting giant corpses.

[Yahzi Coyote]

The City of Tomorrow

(Note: this recap will be a spoiler for the adventure The City of Tomorrow, available at DriveThruRpg.)

The Bard steps outside to answer a call of nature, only to be ambushed by a harpy that snatches him up and carries him away. It's not a total loss, as the harpy drops its previous victim, preferring the handsome bard to the scrawny Wizard it had snatched off the streets of Varsoulou in the middle of the night. He doesn't remember a thing, having been dazed by the harpy's song through the long flight. The party is thrilled to welcome him back, heroically overlooking the sheer unlikeliness of the event and also the fact that their friend is now trapped in the untracked wilderness just like they are. (This was my clever DM trick to bring the Wizard back in and take the Bard out, as their respective players had missed the previous and current sessions.)

The party sets out to rescue their mate and are immediately jumped by hungry owlbears (yay for random encounter tables!). Once again they retreat behind library doors, the warriors bravely taking up a front battle line with the casters far behind. This works wonderfully for about twelve seconds. Then one of the owlbears gets a claw into the Ranger, pulls him into its deadly embrace, and flays him like a fish fillet.

The Wizard had been futilely casting spells, running up against the twin problems of magic being all-or-nothing (known as save-or-die, as in the target either shrugs off your spell with no effect or is wholly incapacitated by it) and infinitely finicky (i.e., he was targeting the owlbear's Fortitude saves, which is a poor choice against twelve-hundred pound beasties). Now he gets creative; he casts Grease on the Ranger, giving the poor man a fighting chance against the owlbear's deadly embrace. A spot late, however, as the Ranger is already unconscious and bleeding out by the end of the round.

The Ranger slips from the owlbear's grasp and it steps over him to attack the Cleric. Meanwhile the Druid bravely ducks in and heals the Ranger. Only the smallest of spells, but enough to bring him back to the waking world. The Ranger, apparently channeling the Barbarian, draws his dagger and stabs the owlbear standing above him, despite the near-certain knowledge that it could stomp him to death without even trying. As it happens he finds a vein and the beast collapses in a howl of dying agony (i.e. he delivered the killing blow - a trivial amount of damage and yet just enough to finish off the monster. This is the same way the wolf got the credit for the ogre kills and one of the more amusing quirks of the rules). He's till in danger of smothering under the corpse, so the Druid pulls him free. While being dragged to safety the Ranger throws his dagger at the other owlbear, still battling the Barbarian, and pierces its brain right through an eye-socket, killing it instantly. (Again with the last point of damage - a joke that never gets old.)

After cleaning off and healing up a bit they go to the owlbear's lair, but can make nothing out of the old stone dais the creatures had been circling. Traveling slowly and stealthily they make their way to the far end of the city to examine what turns out to be a graveyard. As it's night they choose to camp here rather than returning to the stinky library. The weather changes unpredictably as the temperature drops to freezing. Of course, this turns out to be the effect of a ghost haunting. Natch!

The Barbarian is on watch when the ghost arrives, and he chooses to wake the Wizard. They let everyone else sleep, on account of they want a fresh set of spells the next day. Apparently the Wizard has a calming effect on the Barbarian, because he doesn't try to attack the ghost. Instead they listen to its complaint and debate what they can do to help it.

In the morning they fill everyone in on the ghost's quest. They recite its monologue from memory (and the Wizard decides that from now on his character will be writing things down, since the wicked DM made him actually recite the monologue from memory). They dig up its grave, looking for a body, but that is long lost to dust. The Cleric assures them a handful of grave-soil will serve well enough, and they set off to the north to deliver the remains to the Hall of Refuge, thus releasing the ghost from its unfinished task.

The Hall of Refuge starts out as a small tunnel in a cliff face which leads to a marble and iron grate, long since broken open. Behind it is a vast cavern the size of a large football stadium, shrouded in darkness. Upon the ground are row after row of empty stone circles, each about three feet across. A huge iron pot and a load of firewood clearly don't belong here, but there they are, right behind the gate. A path leads back into the darkness; after finding the two sides of the cavern hundreds of feet to either side, they follow the path.

The last quarter or so of the cave reveals a change; now the stone circles are occupied by statues of men on one side and women on the other. At the very end of the path is a statue in the middle; a regal man with the scepter of a king. While the party debates what this all means, lizardfolk begin coming in through the gate.

At this point they are half a mile from the entrance, so they extinguish their lights and hide. The lizardfolk seem to be having an argument; after a while several dozen of them come walking down the path. Eventually they reach the kingly statue. The lizard chief rolls his eyes and assures his fellow tribesmen that all men taste the same, but they are adamant. They want a special treat for dinner tonight. The chieftain lifts a silver censer that hangs around his neck, mutters a mysterious word, and suddenly the statue is a living and breathing man again.

Before the king can speak the lizard warriors leap on him and bind and gag him. The party is understandably distraught and ready to intervene. However, they are scattered in the darkness, heavily outnumbered, and concerned that the lizards might just retreat and seal them in the cave; the confusion (and a little nudging from the DM to make sure his cut-scene went off as planned) result in the lizards reaching the entrance, where they leave the helpless man in the hands of a group of lizard women clearly preparing to cook dinner. Listening to the squirming man, one says, "There, there, it'll all be over in a few minutes," while another one observes, "As long as he's been standing up, you'd think he'd appreciate a bit of a lie-down."

Now that the enemy is reduced to scullions and kitchen drudges, our party feels confident enough to attack. A quick spell and few slit throats later they release the man. His first question - "Does Theronius the Doge still rule?" When the answer is confusion - the party has never heard of such a person, and in any case the ruins outside are ruled by no one, the man relaxes.

He introduces himself as Rialto, a noble of a long dead civilization. Having come to an impasse with the rulers of his day, he and his followers chose retreat rather than civil war. Specifically, they retreated to the cavern, turned themselves to stone, and set a timer for a thousand years. They would then come forth into a world which had never heard of their foes, let alone bowed to their rule. With the equipment they had set by they would issue forth and build a new kingdom.

Unfortunately, at some point the lizardfolk chieftain had discovered them and figured out how to activate the magic item that restored them to flesh. He and his tribe had consequently been eating a few people a day for the last several decades. Rialto is beside himself with rage and the need to save what remains of his people. The party quickly convinces him that they can be trusted to help. He opens a secret door and arms them with potions of Healing and rods of Scorching Ray.

Issuing forth from the tunnel, they find the lizards on their way to dinner. A huge battle ensues, or tries to ensue; most of the lizardfolk get trapped by the Druid's Entangle spell (still the most OP first level spell ever) and are slowly consumed by various swarms of vicious vermin, as the Wizard has now joined the Druid in inflicting the most horrifying death imaginable.

Several squads of lizardfolk do break free and give the Barbarian and Ranger a tough time. Turns out these guys are no mooks; they are hard to hurt and hit like pros (though still not as hard as ogres or owlbears). Another Entangle from the Ranger (who has graduated to real magic now) and a couple of spells from Rialto (who is apparently a high-level wizard), plus some blasts from the rods, finishes them off. But reinforcements are spotted in the distance.

And finally, the unintended consequences of magic: they can't harvest the souls of most of the fallen, because they're still trapped inside the writhing grasses of the Entangle spell, which would trap the party as effectively as it did their foes. Frustrated, they loot what they can, and flee the oncoming horde which looks to be even stronger than the one they just defeated.

Retreating to the library for lack of a better fortification, with the druid covering their tracks, they buy a night of relief. Rialto gives them a bit of history, revealing their actual location on the map of the continent they gained several months ago. In the middle of the night they receive a knock on what remains of the library doors (mostly destroyed by several battles). An attractive and refined young woman, by all appearances unarmed and harmless, wants to make an alliance against the lizardfolk. She desires the Censor of Animation, the item that turns stone to flesh, and is willing to let them have all the rest of the treasure in exchange for their help in destroying the chieftain. Much to everyone's surprise it is the Ranger who coldly rebuffs her in favor of helping Rialto. (By the way, this is perfect Chaotic Good behavior - the Ranger is fair and just with people he has a personal relationship with. Selling out random Edersarrian nobles doesn't bother him because he doesn't consider them part of his peer group. But Rialto is a brother-in-arms, the closest personal relationship a professional murder can form.) The Wizard stalls, asking her to come back the next day after they've had a chance to discuss things. She is dubious, but leaves with a warning that she doubts they can deal with the lizards on their own - it appears she has mistaken Rialto for merely one more of their merry band, rather than the kingly figure (and dispenser of powerful magic items) that he is.

[Yahzi Coyote]

The City of Tomorrow, Cont.

(Note: this recap will be a spoiler for the adventure The City of Tomorrow, available at DriveThruRpg).


The last few days have had a musical accompaniment from the bell tower as the bard and harpy sang duets. But this morning the bard finds himself alone and finally shrugs off the harpy's magically-induced fascination.

He calls out for help and soon the rest of the party is at the foot of the tower. There are a few words of recrimination, but as the bard was not being attacked by hordes of cannibalistic lizardfolk, and as the party agrees never to discuss the events of the last few days (in the same way they have agreed never to discuss the unfortunate affair of his fish-wife marriage), he quickly moves on to the problem of getting back on the ground. (In true D&D fashion he considers just jumping; it's only a five-story fall, after all. What's 5D6 damage among friends? As it turns out, quite a lot for a bard who only has 4D6 hit points.) Considerable discussion is had as the party attempts to find the most convoluted magical method for resolving the problem because why not? Eventually the bard decides to take his chances; he leaps from the window, trusting the wizard to time his Levitate spell to catch him halfway down (the spell's range doesn't reach to the top of tower). One dramatic Spellcraft roll later the bard executes a perfect landing. Now that's an entrance!

So much so that it elicits a round of applause from everyone, including the lizardfolk ambush party that has crept up during all the shouting back and forth. Quickly remembering their true purpose, they hurl a round of javelins and then charge. The wizard casts Sleep, knocking out four of the five attackers, and the fifth one is tripped by the druid's wolf. A comedy ensues as the lizardfolk manages to awaken one of his fellows before succumbing to the assault, and each lizardfolk does the same in turn. Eventually, though, all of them are accounted for.

The party then fills in the bard on the exciting events he's missed, including introducing Rialto and a quick re-telling of the ranger's epic duel with two owlbears armed only with a dagger while the rest of the party watches from behind cover, unable to assist. (The tale might have grown a bit in the telling). This discussion is interrupted by another lizardfolk ambush apparently armed with a plethora of luck. Not only have they crept past the druid's hawk undetected (no mean feat), they manage to land three critical hits from their opening salvo. The barbarian suddenly finds himself with a face-full of javelins. Nonetheless he bravely charges into battle, only to eat another critical. Now the bard has to sneak in and heal the barbarian before he bleeds out while the rest of the party beats down the foe, slinging spells with abandon.

They have gained another audience; the harpy has returned from hunting only to discover the party has stolen her bard. When they reasonably point out that the bard was theirs in the first place, she reminds them that the sack of jewels they took from her nest was hers in the first place. A mutually satisfying deal is struck with the return of each party's property, though the bard is somewhat disappointed to discover that apparently the harpy valued her jewels more than his company. They do try recruit the harpy to attack the lizardfolk, but she is totally unwilling - after some verbal sparring they discover that she is wary of the witch-doctors in the lizardfolk camp.

The only real sticking point in the negotiations is the harpy's insistence that they clear away all the dead lizardfolk from the base of her tower. The wizard takes umbrage at being harangued to take out the garbage by a (literal) harpy, perhaps reflecting some past-life trauma. In the end they leave with only one corpse and a vague promise to "take care of it."

The party has hatched a plan to recruit the lions to their lizard war (the things players come up with while the DM is fetching the pizza) and are taking one dead lizardfolk as an offering. Along the way they are jumped by yet another lizardfolk ambush; this time they rely on the rods of Scorching Ray Rialto armed them with and make short work of the enemy. The ranger uses his magic to talk to the lions and negotiates an alliance; at dawn the lions will attack the lizardfolk camp from the rear while the party charges from the front. As always an alliance with cats is a tenuous thing, assuming as it does that they will remember to show up and also remember whose side they are on, but the party leaves with a good feeling about their chances the next day. They retire to the library for the night, dispatching yet another lizardfolk ambush on the way.

As they are cooking dinner in the library they hear scratching on the walls outside. The ranger puts his stealth skill to use and creeps out to see what is going on. Turns out a squad of lizardfolk are scaling the walls, while an indeterminate number of additional squads are hiding in the forest. The party waits until the lizardfolk reach the top of the walls of the roofless ruin and engage in a missile duel. Though the lizardfolk receive a significant bonus by use the wall as a cover, their javelins are still no match for magic and they inflict only minor damage before being shot off the walls.

Several of the party then lay out their bed-rolls, planning to get a good night's sleep so they can refresh their spells. Their nap is rudely interrupted when a squad of lizardfolk bust down the doors and charge in to the attack. This fight ends like all the others, of course, but several members of the party are out of spells and the warriors are low on hit points.

So they are gratified that their next visitor, just after the sun goes down, is merely Lady Night rather than a squad of angry lizards. She compliments them on their success so far, but assures them the night has only just begun. Once more she tries to make an alliance that would see the Censer of Animation in her hands, but the party balks at her terms since she is unwilling to tell them to what purpose she would put that powerful artifact. Also, it would mean screwing over Rialto, who is right there in the library with them, and hasn't cast any of his spells yet (during the ambushes he mostly hung back, only employing his rod occasionally). She takes her leave with regret.

Only minutes go by before the next assault. A flood of wolves charges through the open doorway. The druid tries to defuse the situation with Animal Empathy, only to discover these are not real wolves but summoned creatures. He calculates how much magic would be required to summon so many animals and starts to slightly freak out. Not for long, though, as yet another squad of lizardfolk follow the wolves in. Now the library is a chaotic swirling mess of dogs, lizards, and men. The party struggles to end the battle; while none of the threats are terribly overwhelming, there are a lot of them.

Inevitably, there are even more. Next two squads charge through the door. No worries, mate; Rialto fireballs the library entrance, destroying the reinforcements of lizardfolk before they can engage. Two more squads immediately follow, but these are different; they are clearly ranked warriors, not merely common soldiers. They are also crap at saving throws and succumb ingloriously to Rialto's second fireball.

But even the puissant Rialto has limits; when the chieftain and his four witch-doctors appear in the entrance, the warlock is out of spells and distracted by wolves. The bard, recently having discovered a way to engage in combat without fearing instant death, summons up five copies of himself and leaps into battle (Mirror Image is one of the stronger low-level spells in the game). The cleric shoots the chieftain with a Scorching Ray; the witch-doctors respond with Magic Missiles until the cleric takes a dirt nap. Then the witch-doctors turn their attention to the bard, slowly chipping away at his defenses. The druid and wizard summon help, in the form of wolves and a swarm of bats, to attack the witch-doctors from behind.

Meanwhile the chieftain proves to be a formidable foe. Even toe to toe with all of the martial prowess of the party - the barbarian, ranger, and bard - he keeps standing. Worse, he hits like a ton of bricks (by sheer luck all of his damage rolls come up at the maximum). The barbarian takes a hit and goes down in a jangle of metal, his full plate armor no match for the chieftain's brutal strikes. Then the ranger gets slammed, taking him as close to death as any of the party has ever been. Three members of the party are now on the ground, the druid and bard are completely out of spells, and things look quite dire - until the druid's wolf manages to trip the chieftain and the wizard Dazes him. In that moment of opportunity the bard draws a bead and scorches the chieftain, ending his reign of terror in a gruesome, smoking barbecue.

A few healing potions later, every is at least awake and mobile. They quickly harvest the dead, dredging up the last of their cantrips to extract the tael from the corpses rather than going through the grisly and time-consuming process of boiling their heads. They barely have time for this before the return of Lady Night.

She looks over the broken and burnt party and makes one more offer: surrender the censer or have it taken. The party, in no mood for provocation, responds with a fusillade of Scorching Rays, and Lady Night disintegrates into a cloud of black smoke. Curiously, the same kind of smoke that the summoned wolves gave off when they were destroyed. The cleric finally makes his Knowledge: Religion check and deduces that Lady Night is a vampire. The fact that she left behind neither corpse nor tael when reduced to smoke tells the party that she is not done with them yet.

Rialto suggests retreating to the Cave of Refuge for the night, as the library is on fire, full of corpses, and no longer even remotely defensible. The party has a rare moment of disunion when half vote to stay, fearing the trek through the woods in darkness, and half vote to leave, fearing what might come to the library next. They let Rialto's vote swing the balance and set off into the night, carrying the heads of the chieftain and his witch-doctors as trophies.

Only to be met by the harpy. She congratulates them on dispatching the witch-doctors, whose spells were longer range than her song. As she clearly mulls whether or not the party is weak enough to attack, the druid, out of patience for threats pretending to be diplomacy, snaps off a quick shot from his rod. (Some people just can't be trusted with assault rifles.) He misses and the harpy flees into the darkness. Now music comes drifting out of the darkness, captivating half the party - the bard, ranger, and barbarian. The charmed characters begin trudging back to the harpy's tower, bemused looks on their faces. Rialto offers his profoundest sympathies, but now that the censer is in his hands, his duty is to his people. He continues on to the Cave of Refuge, leaving the party with the magic items he had lent them for the fight, and a standing invitation to return at any time.

The three spell-casters follow their friends through the night, trying to come up with a plan that doesn't involve magic (which they are virtually out of) or melee (which they are no good at). At the foot of the tower, watching their friends begin the dangerous climb, knowing that in their current state even one fall might kill them, to say nothing of the harpy that waits at the top, the wizard casts his last two spells: he Deafens both the barbarian and ranger. This is a brilliant defense, save for the minor fact that it is permanent.

This immediately breaks the harpy's control. The ranger easily plucks the bard from the wall and holds him down. The harpy soon realizes that she's lost; she stops singing so she can hurl insults and curses at them. The party trudges back to the Cave of Refuge, reaching it as the sun comes up. Rialto greets them warmly, offering a stew coated in enough magic to disguise its actual contents.

When they finally emerge from the cave a few days later, with spells and hit-points fully refreshed, they return to the lizardfolk camp, only to find a pride of lions lounging around and gnawing on bones. The lions kept to their agreement and attacked the camp at dawn, several days ago. Finding only womenfolk and hatchlings, the lions rampaged unopposed, exterminating the tribe and incidentally acquiring enough tael to promote the leader of the pride to a Dire Lion. Fortunately the creature remembers the profitable alliance with the party and greets them with reserve, issuing only a low warning growl when they get too close.

Rialto has reanimated half a dozen of his people now, men and women armed with swords and armor and steely glares, and his own spells are renewed, so the cave is a safe place to rest; but for the journey home he has little to offer the party beyond a few day's worth of boiled lizard meat. He can do nothing about their loss of hearing; for that they need to return to civilization and a priest of sufficient rank. It is a long trek through unknown wilderness, with an angry air-borne harpy and a vampire at their back, but at least the barbarian doesn't have to listen to any of the bard's songs.

[Endarire]

When the party got their first class levels (Cleric, etc.) did they also get the associated ability scores?

[Elkad]

I'm using this (Tael - physical xp) for my own new campaign, along with some other things (Burning Sky for one - no teleport/summons/extradimensional spaces).

Started my party as peasants as well. We've only played the first intro session (and still have a couple sessions to wrap up my prior campaign - so we won't get back to it for at least a month).
3d6 stats, 4hp, 1 skillpoint, plus 2 skillpoints for craft/profession only, no class abilities at all (or even a feat).

The existence of Tael is a state secret, protected by Geas - and the upper levels of government are very Lawful Evil, so they'll wipe a whole village to protect the secret. When the party finds the secret and hits 1st level to pick a class, I intend to dump a huge stat bonus on them. Probably +4 to every stat. I considered a pointbuy (on top of their rolled stats) and discarded it.

The players mostly made the meta-leap that the practice of the government taking the head of everyone dead is to keep them from rising as undead in some sort of "everyone is infected" Walking Dead scenario. One thinks the heads are used for some sort of necromancy, but the other players shut him down. He's the closest to correct though.

I intend to be both generous with XP and very lethal. They'll have to spend harvested tael to level up replacement characters (or later to power Raise Dead), but I'm not going to tell them that. Plus fueling every spell that normally has a gold/gem/xp cost.

[Yahzi Coyote]

Haggling Friends

(Note: this recap will be a spoiler for the adventure Haggling Friends, available at DriveThruRpg).

On their way out of town the party decides to indulge in the druid's favorite hobby, burning buildings. They work all day to pile wood inside the harpy's tower, ignoring her insults now that the burly fighting men are immune to her song. When they finally ignite the conflagration, the harpy rolls her eyes and flies away. Convincing themselves that they have won the encounter, they set out for home, following the distinctive tracks of the wheeled police golem that originally brought them here.

In the middle of the night they are (not) surprised by the return of the harpy, but the presence of Lady Night is different matter. The druid, demonstrating good instincts, offers a ransom if she will let them go. Surprised herself, the lady agrees to call off the harpy circling overhead in exchange for precious tael. Coming from the notoriously tight-fisted druid, this is a real sacrifice. But the party will have none of it; they hurled insults and then javelins and arrows when the harpy dives into an attack.

The harpy dies pretty quickly. Without her song she is no match for the barbarian and ranger. Lady Night, on the other hand, turns out to be an incredibly dangerous foe (especially considering she is only a ECL 4 encounter!). She immediately summons multiple swarms of bats, which prove to be as debilitating to the party as all the swarms they have sent against their enemies. The druid struggles to get off a spell, the barbarian can't get past her armor and damage resistance, and the ranger is almost immediately dominated by her vampiric charm. Once again deafness plays to their advantage; she can't order him to attack his companions. It all comes down to a desperate Turn Undead from the cleric (who succeeds only after adding every imaginable bonus the party could scrape together). Even so the bats she left behind might have caused a death or two but for the druid wielding summoned flame - the only effective weapon they have against swarms.

The next day they hustle to put distance between themselves and Lady Night's resting place, which they assume must be somewhere in the City of Tomorrow. They know she won't risk being caught out at dawn, so if they can just get far enough away they'll be safe from her attentions. Of course this leaves Rialto to deal with the creature, but they seem remarkably unconcerned for his safety.

The plains stretch out wide and long before them, broken up by forests. In the distance they see a sphinx on the wing and decide not to head in its direction. When the golem tracks lead them into a forest, they hesitate; the dangers of the open plains and the sphinx seem less intimidating than whatever the trees are hiding. However, home, and more importantly the donkeys carrying all of their gold, lay on the other side, so in they go,

Where they are immediately attacked by what appears to be a tribe of pixies, small blue creatures that cast annoying spells on them and then disappear. They seriously consider retreating and detouring around the forest when they are saved by an attractive young woman who frightens the invisible creatures off.

Her name is Abby and she is currently engaged in some arcane magical research, hence the isolation of living in the forest. She invites them back to her humble hut for dinner and offers to brew up a potion to cure the two warrior's deafness - if they can provide her with the necessary ingredients of tael and an owlbear feather. The druid is carrying a bag full of various monster parts like a demented kind of trophy case, but Abby turns her nose up at the feather he produces. She says it must be fresh; and as luck would have it, she can give them directions to an owlbear's lair not too far away.

The party is pretty confident of their owlbear hunting skills, and as usual this one barely puts up a fight before the ranger kills it with his dagger. Seriously, that guy is just showboating now. The potion is successful and the party enjoys a nice dinner cooked over the fireplace outside her hut. The wizard engages her in interesting arcane discussions and the bard engages her in his usual ribaldry, both of which seem well-received.

In the morning Abby asks them for a favor in return. It turns out that she is not completely alone here; she has two sisters, one to the north and one to the south, who used to live with her. However, they had a falling out and not spoken for a few years. Her sister Bella accused her of stealing a precious unicorn horn and a set of wereboar teeth. While she maintains her innocence, she is ready to bury the hatchet, and the party can help. If they could rustle up a horn or some teeth, and take them to Bella with a note of contrition from Abby, perhaps the two sisters could repair their relationship. And as luck would have it, she can give them directions...

The druid and the cleric put their foot down at hunting unicorns. They are Good, after all. Most of the party sets out in search of the wereboars, leaving behind the wizard and bard who seem otherwise occupied (and whose player's missed this session). After a long day's hike they find the were-brothers digging for truffles in the dirt like a pair of half-naked savages (which, in fact, they are). Like any meeting in the wild, far from the influence of law and order, the situation is tense. The brothers are wary but are not overtly hostile. The druid becomes slightly uneasy and opens a discussion with the brothers to determine if they are evil enough to be murdered. Within a few minutes both sides are exchanging foodstuffs (mushrooms for ale) and in general having a good time.

So that puts that murder-for-hire contract off the table. The party decides to go off-script and search out the third sister (since they happen to be close to her territory) and see what she wants. (Again, this is both the danger and glory of the sandbox approach. Even when the rails are plainly marked - like three sisters named A, B, and C - the players can get themselves completely lost.) They find Crissy, a beautiful red-headed woman who frankly looks nothing like the younger black-haired Abby, and introduce themselves. She tells them a similar tale of woe, suggesting that they fetch a Dire Lion skin for their cousin, Mar, who lives to the west. And as luck would have it...

The Dire Lions, despite being huge carnivorous bags of teeth and claws, are no match for the dreaded Entangle spell coupled with the ranger's bow. Finally equipped with a suitable gift, the party heads for Mar's place. Along the way they get assaulted by a rogue air elemental, which gives them a serious beating and would have carried the cleric off to be murdered if the barbarian hadn't rescued him from the whirlwind with a well-timed grab.

Mar does not look like her cousins. She is a hideously ugly creature with yellowed, leathery skin and rotting seaweed for hair. She is also obviously deranged. The lion skin prompts a confession out of her; she was the one who stole all of the sister's missing components. But she had a good reason; she is trying to open a portal to the plane of water so as to flood the area and create a new sea. Apparently a band of Dark Naga had driven her away from the ocean far to the west, and living in a river just wasn't good enough. Mar has had some success, due to ancient text on gate magic called the Tome of Doors. Unfortunately her spellcraft is abysmal and what she accomplished was to open a portal to the plane of air, which accounts for all the rogue air elementals roaming around. She swears she knows how to fix it; if the party will help her in a new ritual she will convert the portal to water and reward them with as many pearls as they can carry.

The party is dubious but they agree to help her, secretly planning to wait until she goes through the portal to collect the pearls and then smash the portal, trapping her on the other side. She casts Water Breathing on all of them and leads them up-river to where the portal is located. They travel underwater so as to avoid the detection of the air elementals, who will surely view any attack on their doorway home as provocative. This, at last, is properly heroic - sacrificing their promised treasure to shut down a gateway to a hostile plane of monsters. But will they be able to pull it off? And what will they tell cousin Abby, when they go back to recover their mates?

[Yahzi Coyote]

When the party got their first class levels (Cleric, etc.) did they also get the associated ability scores?
They did, and all their skill points too. I let them spend skill points as they need them. My players are not exactly high char op. :smallbiggrin:



I'm using this (Tael - physical xp) for my own new campaign, along with some other things (Burning Sky for one - no teleport/summons/extradimensional spaces).
I think Teleport doesn't exist in my world. It's just too game-breaking. I think I can handle the lesser bits like Dimension Door, though.


The existence of Tael is a state secret, protected by Geas
That is hilarious. If I'd had a group of established players I'd like to think I would have thought of such a clever twist. But since half my group never played D&D before, the surprise wouldn't have meant anything to them. I commend you on your genius. :smallsmile:


They'll have to spend harvested tael to level up replacement characters (or later to power Raise Dead)
I think my rule is that your new character gets the reward for your old character (effectively meaning you come in 4 levels lower) but so far it hasn't come up. Using tael instead of gold for magic items just makes so much more sense.

I wish I could play in your campaign!

[Elkad]

Along with the state secret in my world.

Babies die. Unless you feed them their first Tael before they reach the age of speech.

In practice, this means you MUST pay the birth tax (at which point someone in on the secret feeds the baby a Tael as part of a christening ceremony).

I started them off in a hamlet/mining town on the edge of the frontier, at the harvest festival. A couple NPCs got kidnapped by dogmen (goblins). Party set off in pursuit. That was the first session.

Second session. After a few minor encounters with these poor impoverished goblins (among other things, they don't own anything metal, it's all slings and clubs and stone handaxes), they found the lair. Cleared the guards. Next room they found goblin mothers feeding their infants a porridge made of human brains and milk. The goblins know the essence of the secret (eat brains of sentients). Party still doesn't. Goblins didn't have any Tael, so they raided the human village as the easiest target (snatching a few people who had wandered off from the festival), rather than sacrificing one of their own.

Upon seeing the goblins eating their friends from town, the party went off the deep end. They killed everything, even if it surrendered, including the infants. These are players who have consistently picked Good alignments for a decade now.

Boss room. Bugbear, and a couple more goblins, one of which had 3 cantrips. Party manages to scout it somewhat. They get a peek, but the bugbear spots them. They retreat and plan briefly. Bugbear also plans a hasty ambush. Party rushes in and THROWS GOBLIN BABIES as a distraction. Daze cantrip from the goblin in the back and some greatclub action from the Bugbear have both sides reduced to near-death One party member standing. Bugbear at 1hp. Everyone else on both sides is bleeding out. Bugbear speaks a few words of common. He negotiates a retreat for the remainder of his tribe (dragging their unconscious forms away himself), and releases the last human captive.

They still haven't figured it out. One character found a small amount of Tael (a tiny blue gemstone). Privately I informed him he had a strong desire to eat it. He did. Privately I informed him he'd gotten a bit of XP. He's holding the secret from the rest of the party. And he hasn't made the link to brains. Lair is a long-abandoned temple to some random order. They found the secret room behind the boss room (after some major hinting on my part). They couldn't figure out how to open the door (failing utterly at the puzzle I laid on them). Armed with clubs and spears, they weren't going to knock it down either. Then my one new player revealed she'd taken mining as a background, and had a mining pick. Which was enough to chip through the stone, revealing a tomb. 2nd session ended.

Inside will be some basic equipment (getting them up to 1st level standards), and a Tael stash to level them all to 1st. Guarded by a few skeletons.

They'll have a choice when they get back to town. Admit they know the secret and submit to the Geas (and pay the Tael taxes, which they may not have). If they run their mouths to the wrong people, they may see the rest of the town get wiped. Or they could go rogue. I'm ready either way. Since they elected to butcher a bunch of non-combatants, I'm betting they'll take the 2nd option. I'm just not sure if they will strike out into the wilderness, or try to harvest their own village themselves.

My other restrictions (Burning Sky -esque). I'll put ways in around it for tactical stuff. Shadow plane teleports. Short Ethereal jaunts. But every time they open a Bag of Holding, it'll just be a Bag of Fire Damage. I imagine at some point they'll try to stuff a bad guy in one. I'm more interested in the long-range teleport restriction, and the lack of extra-dimensional space (including Rope Trick).

[Palanan]

Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
I wish I could play in your campaign!

Meanwhile, I wish I could play in yours. I keep meaning to post and mention how much I love the concept and the resulting campaign journal.

[Yahzi Coyote]

Meanwhile, I wish I could play in yours.
Thank you!

You know there's tons of free stuff on DriveThruRPG, right? (Just search for MC Planck.) And I wrote an entire fantasy series set in this world (Sword of the Bright Lady, on Amazon). I have six players in my group (3 of whom were newbs); I expected after a while some of them would drop out, but they haven't. After a year and a half they are only now reaching 4th level, and yet they are still keen.

[Yahzi Coyote]

My world...
That sounds fascinating and quite spooky! Although I'm not sure about babies need tael; I always thought that was the source. Where does it all come from, or is this a seed-corn scenario? You put a little in, you get more out at the harvest...

My alignment system would totally let Chaotic Good characters commit that kind of mayhem, and probably even Lawful Good (except for the part about throwing babies as a distraction - exterminating a dangerous threat is one thing, torture is a step too far for LG). Only NG characters would have a problem with cross-race genocide, and they're pretty rare in my world. I absolutely love that it ended in negotiation - that is what makes tabletop different that computer games. Anything can happen!

[Elkad]

Yeah, just seed corn.

It's the push you need to achieve full sentience. Or get a soul. Or a functional frontal cortex. However you want to look at it. Then you gain very slowly through life absent more.
Makes a nice solution to magical beasts as well. Carnivore cub got some at the right time.

[Yahzi Coyote]

Haggling Friends, abandoned

Mar the sea hag convinces the party to take off their metal armor and weapons and participate in a ludicrous arcane ritual (never underestimate the power of a hideous face). This does not go unchallenged; two air elementals come shrieking down out of the sky to put a stop to proceedings.

This does mean the elementals have to drop their latest victims - our missing wizard and bard! After several days of not hearing from their friends, the two ventured out to find them and were immediately snatched up by wandering elementals. Fortunately the elementals got distracted before they could carry out their plan of "drop two humans from 10,000 feet and see if the heavier one lands first."

Mar curses the elementals with her hideousness and then immediately jumps in the river. The party dashes back to their pile of weapons and begins to fight an exciting, danger-laden battle (the details of which I have forgotten since it was a month ago). A spell from the wizard blinds one of the elementals, which ultimately tilts the contest in favor of the party. The wizard also closes the portal to the elemental plane of air with an Arcane Lock spell, reasoning that it "holds portals."

When Mar returns she is upset that her portal is gone. She tries to convince the druid to sacrifice the two warriors for tael to re-open the portal. He considers the idea but ultimately rejects it. Instead, the party convinces Mar to wait until tomorrow, after they've healed and recharged their spells. The bard, true to form, strikes up a friendly conversation with the sea hag and accompanies her back to her underwater lair, where he entertains her until she falls asleep and then steals the Tome of Doors. She wakes up as he's sneaking out, but he placates her with another performance.

Meanwhile the party is attacked by a pack of rogue shadows. The cleric sends them packing easily enough. When the bard returns in the wee hours of the morning, the party has had enough. They immediately start hiking east to pick up the trail home. Along the way they are attacked by shadows every night, and eventually the cleric mispronounces one of the esoteric syllables of his protective chant. A brief battle ensues, only to end anticlimactically when the cleric properly invokes the power of his god and vaporizes most of the shadows. Heat rays from Rialto's rods finish off the last of them, but the rods are beginning to run out of charges.

This resolves the random attacks at night, but the area is still dangerous (and never mind they are trying to avoid Mar and her cousins). An air elemental shows up and is easy pickings after the wizard blinds it. Encouraged and greedy, the bard casts Summon Hostile Monster - a spell which consists of waving around a gold coin while shouting the mystical orcish phrase, "Meat's back on the menu, boys!" The spell works better than anticipated - three elementals descend from the sky in a fury. A tremendous battle ensues, with the cleric, barbarian, and ranger all going to negatives at one point or another. The ranger finally uncorks his mystic Dagger of Slaying and dissipates the last one, leaving the party severely depleted and out of spells. On the other hand they've managed to eliminate most of the wandering monsters in the area, earning enough tael to raise everyone to fourth level.

They pick up the golem's trail and evade every other potential encounter, making a beeline for home and their lost donkeys of gold. This journey is interrupted by a tower appearing out of nowhere in the middle of the plain (another random encounter provided by Sandbox World Generator). Five lamias in matching armor march out and the leader demands a toll for trespassing on their land - the party must choose one of their companions as a sacrifice. The party, however, is in no mood for this, and immediately attacks. An Entangle spell pins the foe in place, insect swarms reveal four of the lamia to be mere mirror images that are instantly destroyed, and barbarian and ranger swords put the lamia on the ground in record time (and it was supposed to be a CL 6 encounter!). The lamia begs for his life and the druid intervenes, sparing him. Unfortunately this is not due to some moral concern but rather due to the lamia's promise of hidden treasure.

The lamia almost makes it work, explaining that he knows where to acquire mass quantities of tael if only he had a few strong hands to help collect it, but the cleric thinks to ask if the collection of this treasure would be an evil act. "I guess," says the lamia, "but since you're in the business of wandering onto people's lands and beating them up, does it matter?" Realizing the moral hazard, the ranger puts an end to the lamia's tempting lies with his dagger. (Seriously, that thing should get a magical bonus by now.)

The very next day they cross the river from which they were originally kidnapped. Much to their dismay their horses and donkeys are long gone, and even the ranger can't find their tracks after the many weeks that have passed. The party decides to return to their original stomping grounds and finish exploring the dungeon under the lake, mostly because the wizard wants another skeleton to boss around.

[Coidzor]

Oh, this is neat to find. I was just talking to someone who wanted to pull a Yankee in King Arthur's Court story in Golarion the other day and mentioned World of Prime to them.

I'll be looking forward to reading this later when I have a bit more time.

[Yahzi Coyote]

Return to the Lake of Ill Repute

(This is a short recap because the party spent the whole session in a dungeon, which turns out to be really boring to write about)

The party returns to a warm welcome at their old village inn. He has kept their room open, as promised, though given that this village is on the border of the kingdom and nothing but wilderness lies beyond it, there aren’t any other guests. There used to be various people visiting the sorcerer Grayson and the occasional merchant in the honey business, but those sources of revenue are gone now. On the other hand, the demons and giant bees are gone, so the innkeeper doesn’t complain. Instead he hands the party a package that had been mysteriously left on his doorstop. Although he can’t read the writing on the box he knows it’s obviously meant for adventurers.

The box contains a jar, and the jar contains a head: the boiled and burnt head of their old contact Lodvun, who had hired them to find a clear path to Varsoulou for the spice trade. The party doesn’t know what to make of this message. The cleric feels guilty that they took his down-payment and didn’t deliver, but mostly the party seems happy to consider that plot thread snipped off and sewn up.

Meanwhile the innkeeper, after serving them dinner for free, mentions that there is a small favour the village would like to ask of them. The victims from Grayson’s murder spree have crawled out of their graves and into the lake, and their relatives would appreciate the party returning their corpses for proper re-burial. Everyone would sleep more soundly if they knew their recently departed weren’t cavorting with a bunch of orcs and fishmen at the bottom of the lake, you know?

The next day the party descends into the dungeon and spends several days doing battle with various traps and undead monsters, including a giant spider, but with their advanced rank and the remains of the blasting rods from Rialto they are never particularly in danger. One notable battle involves fifty heavily armed and armored zombies in a small room, which the party struggles to beat down with several wave attacks – and all to virtually no profit, as the constructs yield little tael and less gold. They do collect a sufficiency of corpse dust to return to the village, some of which even comes from the corpses of the villagers that got dusted during one of the cleric's many Turn Undead chants. When they find another room of full of the creatures they sensibly retreat and close the door. The monsters remain quiescent and the party moves on to the final room, where they encounter the master of the dungeon, the undead orc lord Xerxes and his massive undead wolf pet.

The wizard magically seizes control of the pet, and the skeletal lord goes down in the second round under a barrage of attacks. The party collects a handful of tael and the thousand gold coins that made up the studs on the skeleton’s armor. Exhausted with being underground in foul air and surrounded by dead things, they retreat to the inn where they left the bard to drink off his most recent romantic disaster.

They join him at the bar, hoping for a dramatic song about their exploits, but even in his cups the bard has a strong sense of the dramatic. “That can’t be right,” he slurs from the bottom of a mug of ale. “All that dungeon for a sack of gold coins? Something doesn’t add up…”

[Yahzi Coyote]

mentioned World of Prime to them
Thank you! Word of mouth is still the best advertising. :smallsmile:

[Palanan]

Always glad to see another installment of this journal.

So, was the armor made of overlapping gold coins? That would be quite a spectacle.

[Endarire]

Google "Zelda Magic Armor."

[Yahzi Coyote]

The Lake of Ill Repute: final chapter.

The party takes the bard's words seriously. Rather than plunge directly back into the dungeon, they decide to rest up and regain spells first. This proves to be a fateful decision.

In the morning their leisurely breakfast is interrupted by a scream. The barbarian heroically rushes out to the rescue. The druid takes a moment to finish off the barbarian's scrambled eggs while the rest of the party casually makes their way to the door.

A group of villagers are running up from the shore, pursued by a squad of heavily armored zombies. The ranger takes a firing position on the roof of the inn while the rest of the party fans out. Their plans for an easy battle are disrupted when the ranger calls out that there are two other squads of zombies up and down the beach. Despite this, the party seems quite unconcerned and most of them stand around waiting for the zombies to get closer.

The barbarian decides to intercept one squad all by himself. As he passes a house the occupants wave a cheery greeting. He tells them to shut and bar their door, for danger is afoot. However, he soon reverses course as the squad of zombies he was going to attack turns into three. More and more zombies are staggering out of the lake.

The ranger hits upon a clever plan: lure the zombies into the barn and then burn it down. Naturally the druid thinks this is brilliant, and he runs out banging pots and pans to capture the monster’s attention. Meanwhile the wizard and cleric start getting people out of their houses as zombies begin battering down the doors, attracted to the smell of live flesh. A good use of the Web spell traps a squad of zombies at the door to a hovel while the wizard sneaks the family out through the window. The cleric stands in the street and begins chanting, aiming to catch as many zombies as possible in his holy aura.

The barbarian realizes the plan is to set the barn on fire. He runs to save the animals, leaving the cleric and druid to play zombie-bait. Eventually they lure a dozen or so zombies in the barn, along with the cleric, barbarian, and ranger. The barbarian scuttles up to the hayloft, hauls the cleric up on a rope, and jumps out the window to the outside to close the barn doors. The cleric gingerly climbs down a rope to the outside while the ranger strikes a torch. Or rather, tries to. After three rounds of failure (apparently starting a fire with flint and steel while orc zombies mill claw at the wall trying to climb up and eat you is distracting), the ranger gives up and resorts to magic. A blast from one of Rialto’s rods sets the hay ablaze, and the ranger falls out of the window to the outside as gracefully as a sack of potatoes.

The town is now fully invested and the inn besieged. When zombies begin bashing at the inn door the party tries to come up with a plan. They hide the children in the cellar and the peasants on the second floor while watching the door slowly disintegrate under the continued assault. Finally the barbarian can’t stand it anymore; throwing the door open, he engages the zombies axe to axe.

The ranger is still on the roof and gives a good account of himself with his bow. This particular gang of zombies is defeated and the barbarian is pulled back inside while the others slam the door. Now it is a matter of stealth; the bard tells stories to keep the children quiet and calm while zombies wander around outside at random.

There are still villagers trapped in their houses, though. The party splits up and slips out to brave the streets, looking to lead villagers back to safety. The cleric discovers the power of Invisibility to Undead, while everyone else wishes they had invested more skill points in Move Silently. Every party member gets a chance to shine as they employ all the tricks up their sleeves to get the families safely back to the barn. One highlight among many: the wizard selflessly risks himself to cover a family’s retreat.

Once the villagers are all safely inside, the party tries to wait out the plague. Every hour or so zombies notice the inn and try to break in. At first the party uses magic like Ghost Sounds to lure the monsters away, but eventually they start worrying about running out of spells and switch to swords and arrows and clever tactics (at one point the wizard fights a zombie solo, relying on cantrips to destroy it). The ranger keeps sneaking out to recover arrows, only to stumble and attract more zombies.

At nightfall everything changes. The zombies begin systematically destroying buildings and it is clear they are under some kind of intelligent control. The party decides to sneak all the villages out to the cave above the lake. Once again ranger completely and utterly fails an easy Move Silently check.

The horde of zombies is now marching towards the party. After only a moment’s indecision the party stands its ground, covering the retreat of the villagers. The druid entangles about half of the monsters while the cleric and wizard go invisible and try to seek out their leader in the darkness.

Meanwhile the leader, the wight Xerxes, is seeking out the party who just the night before had destroyed the ordinary zombie he had left on a fake throne in the room above his real lair. His skeletal dire wolf flanks the party’s main battle line and drops the ranger in a single bite. The barbarian fights defensively, properly terrified of the creature’s incredibly brutal attacks. The bard heals the ranger, getting him back into action, but for once the mystical dagger of slaying does not appear to be enough. The druid and ranger burn through Rialto’s rods with abandon, fire off precious charges against the hulking undead wolf.

The cleric and wizard have indeed found the wight on his way to attack the party from the other side. Just like that scene in Game of Thrones (because obviously Aria had some kind of invisibility, right?), the undead stream around our two heroes without noticing them. They bravely back-stab the wight as he walks past… and miss.

Undeterred, they chase after him and try again. This time they inflict surprising damage between their Cure Light Wounds and Shocking Grasps. Finally the wight lands a good blow, dropping the wizard into negatives, and the cleric has to use his last spell to hide himself or face the wight and his zombie flunkies alone. Once invisible he uses a cantrip to stop the wizard from bleeding to death, but dares not do anything offensive lest it break the spell.

From across the field the druid turns his attention from the smoking pile of bones that was once the most fearsome monster the party had ever faced and uses the last charge of his rod to kill the wight. The foe is dead! And yet the party is still in dire straights. Squads of uncontrolled but still vicious zombies are staggering out of the Entangle spell, more are coming from the village, and the party is out of magic, items, and hit points.

They brace themselves for a final stand, knowing that some actual fatalities are almost certain given the depleted state of their hit points. A growing thunder emanates from the village; what new foe is this? Out of the village charges a troop of knights, led by the paladin Count Kird, Minster of War for the King of Edersarr. Magic and lances make short work of the remaining shambling monsters, and the Count rides up to greet the relieved party with unexpected words.

“You are… under arrest for treason!”


(GM Notes: the siege worked out wonderfully, with the roll for an encounter every hour building tension as they slowly ran out of resources. All of the players got to do something heroic at one point or another, whether it was rescuing villagers or battling monsters. And the final battle was properly terrifying; the wizard and cleric's sneak attack was both comical and effective. This was one of the most successful sessions we've had.)

[Yahzi Coyote]

So, was the armor made of overlapping gold coins? That would be quite a spectacle.
With that many coins it would have to be. Apparently it was spectacular, so much so that the party fell for it, and left thinking the dungeon had been defeated - and obviously disappointed at how lame the final boss was. :smallbiggrin: Half the group are newbies, but I didn't expect the old hands to fall for the "fake throne" bit too!

[Palanan]

Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
This was one of the most successful sessions we've had.

Always great to see another installment of your campaign journal. This sounds like it was a fantastic session, with intelligent use of a classic monster type.

And what exactly was the undead wolf that the party barely defeated? Now I'm picturing Hela's wolf from Thor: Ragnarok.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
The ranger hits upon a clever plan: lure the zombies into the barn and then burn it down.

What could possibly go wrong? :smalltongue:


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
Rather than plunge directly back into the dungeon, they decide to rest up and regain spells first. This proves to be a fateful decision.

What would’ve happened if they’ve gone right back in? Would the wight and the zombies have steamrolled them for a brutally quick TPK?

[Yahzi Coyote]

Death of a spymaster

Count Kird, it seems, is very well informed. He knows that the party accepted a commission to murder the leader of the Order of the Tower. He confiscates all the tael from the battlefield and demands that the party surrender into his custody.

They agree, and not just because they are currently weak. They think they can face a court trial and prove that they were only acting under duress. The ranger asserts they were going to be double agents. This faith in the system convinces Kird of their honesty, though he doesn't tell them that.

Instead, Kird points out that they are terrible double agents, in that they didn't come and report to him, but instead spent the last few weeks larking about in a dungeon. "But..." he adds, "if you are willing to prove your loyalty to Edersarr, I do have a proposition in mind."

He offers them a job: murder the man who hired them for murder. They are to travel back to Varsoulou, meet the Minister of Coin, and kill him. Then they must fight their way past the city's defenses and escape as best they can. Kird can only offer them the most minimal aid: he will convince the Order of the Tower to seal its doors and fly the mourning flag, so as to convince Varsouloean spies that the Viscount is dead. He tell the party he can maintain the deception for only three weeks; this gives them enough cover to at least arrange a meeting with Erligil.

The party is dubious; Erligil seems like a dangerous and well protected foe. Count Kird sweetens the pot: if they succeed, he will enoble them as landlords. They will receive the village and as much land to the south as they can hold. More importantly from their point of view, they will no longer be subject to the king's tax. All of their old tax debt will be wiped away, and even their status as escaped peasants will cease to matter.

After this, they bargain only for the mundane necessities. Horses, rations, and more arrows for the ranger. Kird readily agrees to such simple requests. He rides away, cautioning them to lay low, and the next day a trader wanders into town with six horses to sell. The trader takes only a single copper piece to make it a legitimate transaction. The party, now rested, recovered, and respelled, mount up and travel west again, with murder on their mind. They take poor Lodvun's head as a prop, knowing that pretending it is the Viscount's head will only buy then a brief opening.

The journey is without incident (they've already cleared a path, and new monsters have not had time to move in). In County Kaewaey they trade their foreign horses for local ones, recognizing that the Edersarrian beasts are dead giveaways. They also split up, seeking to hide the barbarian, their most powerful weapon, from Erligil's spies. The cleric goes with the barbarian to keep him out of trouble with his diplomatic skill, the wizard goes alone since he is a member of the Golden Library and thus has a legitimate reason to be in Varsoulou, and the ranger and druid travel under the bard's guidance. Since the bard can speak with the local accent, they still have their desert robes from last time, and they are on local horses, they travel into the capital without any trouble.

There the three members take up residence in the inn they had patronized before. The wizard also stays at the inn, but in disguise and separate from the group. The other two find lesser quarters down by the docks.

The bard spends money freely, seeking to appear as a man about to come into wealth and thus unconcerned with penny-pitching. Although this physically pains the druid, it is a good plan. The innkeeper gives them the best of everything and they rest in luxury for a day. At lunchtime a messenger arrives and lets them know that an old friend will be at a popular theater later that night. This is obviously an invitation from Erligil.

The party comes up with a complex plan to meet Erligil and try and win his trust. Still split up, the wizard goes to the bawdy house but is denied entry; unable to warn his mates he has to watch helplessly as the three enter and find a seat at one of the long tables. Shortly after that, ten knights in armor march in and take a table near them. Erligil appears next to the party, casting off his disguise.

"You look well," he says. "Though fewer in number."

They acknowledge the fact. "There were losses," the bard says.

"So you succeeded? Did you bring proof?"

"We might have a head hidden somewhere," the bard answers. "Did you bring our gold?"

There is a brief discussion over terms. The bard is adamant that the party is owed 60,000 gold; Erligil contends that the deal was 10,000 each, and since there are only three of them, that is 30,000. In the end he offers a compromise: a half-share for the dead, bringing the total to 45,000 gold. This is over 200 lbs of the stuff, so it's literally a staggering fortune. Despite that the bard is annoyed, and only concedes once he realizes it's the best deal he'll get.

"Tomorrow, then," Erligil says. "Bring your proof and I will take it to the castle. If it checks out, you can come to the castle and collect your pay. I might even arrange a meeting with the queen, if you ask nicely."

He leaves then, suggesting the party do the same, as the quality of the house's entertainment leaves much to be desired. The druid sticks around till closing time so he can scope out the entrances and exits. The bard hatches a clever plot; he approaches the barkeep and asks how much it would cost to rent out the entire hall for tomorrow night. "A private party," he says, "Just me and my friends." The barkeep suggests the outrageous price of five gold; the bard slides ten across the counter.

When they reunite with the wizard, he tells them that he couldn't get inside. They realize that virtually everyone in the bar was an agent of Erligil's. The three show up half an hour early the next night to make sure the barman keeps his word, but he silently slides the ten gold coins back across the bar. He forgot that he had a "prior engagement." To appease the bard he gives them free drinks all night.

At the appointed time the bar fills up with rough-looking men. Among them are the wizard in disguise and the cleric and barbarian, all at different tables. Ten armored knights march in, surrounding Erligil. Four take a seat at each table. The spymaster joins the main party at their table with six knights at his back.

The bard mentions that he's slightly offended by the show of force. Erligil apologizes; he never goes anywhere without a honor guard, and as for the rowdies, if a troop of the Queen's dragoons wants a night out on the town, who is he to say no?

The bard distracts Erligil by bringing up Count Wraythas' name. Erligil admits he would pay well for proof of the man's treachery, but first they should conclude the current deal. The bard slides a sack under the table; Erligil peeks inside to see the severed, preserved head; and the party attacks.

They win initiative, which turns out to be crucial. The bard casts Hideous Laughter on Erligil and the man collapses in a heap, unable to fight, flee, or even give orders (a classic trope of D&D: the save-or-die spell). The cleric casts a strength spell on the barbarian and tells him to cut loose. He does, literally. Leaping on top of a table, he draws his axe and spins, killing five men in a single continuous blow (the Great Cleave feat was expressly designed for murdering mooks). Blood spatters everywhere and the rampage only stops on the knight, who staggers back barely alive. The ranger also leaps on his table and stabs at the laughing Erligil, though the outcome is not quite as impressive as the barbarian's.

The knights spend the first round readying weapons and shields, as they had relaxed a bit when Erligil appeared to be in friendly conversation. The soldiers, being common men, are even slower to react.

The ranger continues stabbing at the helpless Erligil, and for once his dice do not betray him. The druid summons his most potent weapon, the dreaded bat swarm. It temporarily cripples two of the knights but the rest battle on. The barbarian murders another five men like a farmer reaping wheat. The wizard starts throwing sleep spells around, which is a mercy compared to many horrible ways to die currently being employed.

Now the knights react, rushing to cover Erligil and hacking at the ranger. They are well armored and well-trained (and first level), so the ranger finds himself in a proper fight. The barbarian tries to intimidate his foes; it buys him only a momentary advantage as the wounded knight at his table backs up until he is joined by more knights.

Two separate battles occur, with most of the party trying to kill Erligil through his screen of knights and soldiers, and the barbarian fighting half the army on the other side of the room. The soldiers have gotten into formation now, so the barbarian's slaughter spree has trickled into mere murderosity.

The party can no longer reach Erligil, so the druid summons wolves behind him. They leap on the helpless man, biting him; yet Erligil is a hero of some rank. He survives the round, the crippling spell is about to wear off, and he has a healing potion hidden in his jacket. The wizard blinds him, which is not as debilitating to a master rogue as one would think; but then the cleric sends in a ghostly hammer, the physical manifestation of his war god's wrath. This puts Erligil deep into negative hit points. But he's still not dead yet; a knight might break off the combat and sprint the bleeding man out of the room; until one of the summoned wolves sinks its teeth into Erligil's neck. The cleverest man in the kingdom has died in half a minute, unable to resist a simple spell from a low-level caster. Truly, the bard has discovered the Killing Joke.

The ranger is struggling with the remaining knights, a task not made easier when the druid's swarm moves onto him, seeking fresh flesh after killing several of the knights. The druid lets the swarm dissipate and the wizard ends the fight by putting the knights to sleep.

The bard cuts off Erligil's head and makes his own intimidation check, raising the severed head high. The common soldiers throw down their weapons and flee. A few knights remain on the other side of the room, fighting the barbarian, but the party's combined might dispatches them quickly.

Now it is time to retreat. The wizard pleads mightily for the chance to loot the tael from all the bodies, asserting that a few paltry seconds spent picking up loot is worth the risk, but the party has learned to value caution over greed. They grab only the tael from the ranked knights and Erligil's head, not even searching his body for treasure.

They rush back to their inn, with the druid summoning water to try and clean up the blood-soaked barbarian so as to not draw more attention that absolutely necessary. The party almost makes it out of town before a squad of mounted knights spots them, sets lances, and charges.

Despite the surprisingly easy fight in the bar, the party knows that lance charges are a thing to fear. They burn through magic, throwing up a web across the road, turning the dirt to mud, and flooding the area with opaque mist. All of this allows them to escape in the night.

Now they face hourly checks for patrols. Several they hide from, despite their miserable skills; two they avoid by use of the Entangle spell. Only at a check point do they find the need to fight another troop of dragoons. The ranger sneaks off to steal their horses while the barbarian simply wades into battle.

These men are armored and prepared. They are not nearly so easy a target as their mates in the bar. Still, the druid's flames and the barbarian's axe are too powerful, and the wizard still has sleep spells. The troop is broken and destroyed with only minor damage to the party - though the barbarian and ranger are running dangerously low on vitality.

Across the border, however, the pressure drops off and the patrols are less frequent as they have more territory to cover. The party finds a place to hide, avoiding one patrol, and only being confronted by another dragoon troop in the morning.

The casters have not yet had time to prepare spells, so the party forms a battle line. This fight is a drudging affair, with heavily armored troops in good formation. The party is slowly being whittled down, but the bard has regained his magic (since he doesn't have to prepare spells) and the barbarian makes his intimidate check. Soon half the dragoon troop is retreating, leaving the other half dead on the ground.

The party steals as many of the dragoon's horses as they can handle and press on. The next challenge gives them pause: ten armored knights, but not the Queen's. These men belong to Count Wraythas, and the leader of the troop is a highly ranked paladin. The party prepares for a desperate fight, but the paladin wants to talk.

"We had no love for that miserable sneak-thief you murdered," the paladin tells them. "From our perspective you have done us a favor. In return I can offer you a small favor. I will have you escorted to the borders of our lands without interference, on the condition that you never return."

The party, fearing both the lances of the paladin's knights and continued attacks by royal forces, agrees. The paladin has a wagon brought up, with a deaf and mute driver. The party is instructed to hide under the hay, where they must remain for two days. They bargain only for a set of horses and the bard's right to ride with the wagon-driver, as his disguise skill and ability to speak the accent makes him unlikely to be discovered. Of course the bard has to toss his weapons and armor under the hay, but he trusts to the power of his wit more than his halberd anyway.

The wagon travels without incident, avoiding detection by several royal patrols. Their driver takes them into the city of Kaewaey, where the bard spends the night shoveling out stables while the rest of the party hides uncomfortably in the hay. At least they have a chance to heal up and renew spells.

The next day the wagon reaches the border of civilized lands. The bard sees a mounted party waiting for them on the other side. It is Count Wraythas himself, with his priest and a troop of knights. The party is concerned but decides to hope he has come to offer them a bonus.

Instead, the moment they cross over into wilderness, the priest casts the dreaded Entangle spell, trapping the wagon in a sea of grasping grasses. Two troops of crossbowmen rise up on either side of the road, having successfully hidden from the bard's view (they rolled a 20 for their ambush!). The bowmen begin launching flaming bolts, setting the wagon on fire and killing the driver, while the Count and his knights wait to ride down anyone escaping the Entangle spell.

This is a bleak moment, with the powerful Count and his well-executed ambush being the most dangerous battle the party has ever faced. If they stay in the wagon they will burn; if the leap out they will be caught by the grass and become targets for the archers; if they escape the grass the knights will run them through. And then (in classic D&D fashion) the wizard makes it all go away with a spell. Under the cover of the smoke from the burning wagon he casts Rope Trick, creating an extra-dimensional hiding place. The party climbs inside and seals themselves off from the rest of the world. The trick works because the Count's priest is a Warrior Monk, the kind of cleric who favors practical theology over academics and thus has the spell-craft skill of a squirrel. After a brief search the Count's men leave, unable to guess where the villains have gone.

Four hours later the party drops back into the real world, into a pile of cold ashes and dead horses, and begins the long trek home.

Back in Edersarr they stop at their little village inn, where they are greeted warmly. In the morning they march up to the city. Count Kird pays them no special attention in public; he can hardly admit that he sent them on a mission to assassinate a foreign minister without starting a the very war he was trying to avoid. But in private he expresses his gratitude, summoning a clerk and writing out their patents of land on the spot. Tonight they will dine with the king as new nobles of the realm, recognized for their general and unspecified activities to the benefit of the kingdom, and of course for their specific and very visible rank.

Our boys have risen from peasant to peerage, and they still haven't turned 17.

[Yahzi Coyote]

This sounds like it was a fantastic session
It was quite popular, especially since the previous session was just a dungeon slog. Tonight's session (for once I am putting up the recap immediately after the session instead of the morning before the next session :smallredface:) was even more popular, as they got to do lots of tactical plotting, some political role playing, and pull off classic bad-assery like slaughtering half a dozen soldiers in one blow. And yet at the end they were still convinced they were all going to die.

Also, they got land rights, which excited them as much as winning the Keep on the Borderlands always excites old-school parties. There's just something about having your own base that is intoxicating.


And what exactly was the undead wolf that the party barely defeated?
A bolstered Skeletal Dire Wolf. It's only CR 4 but it is a player-killing machine. Its bite is +11 for 1d8+12!


What would’ve happened if they’ve gone right back in? Would the wight and the zombies have steamrolled them for a brutally quick TPK?
Actually, it would have been an easier fight. The zombies would have stayed in their barracks and they would have fought just the wight and his wolf, in an underground chamber where the wolf would suffer a -2 to its attacks. On the other hand they were mostly out of spells, so it would have been harder than the usual 4-encounter workday.

I'll put the whole dungeon on DriveThruRPG tomorrow, now that the party has finished it.

[Palanan]

Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
Death of a spymaster…

You, sir, run one hella game. This is classic gaming done right.

Also, you seem to have a great group of players, motivated and invested in their characters. And they seem to be getting better at their crazy plans.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
The bard spends money freely, seeking to appear as a man about to come into wealth and thus unconcerned with penny-pitching. Although this physically pains the druid, it is a good plan.

Why would the druid be concerned about a little free spending? Seems a little unusual for a devotee of nature, but I don’t know the character or the assumptions about druids in your world.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
In the end he offers a compromise: a half-share for the dead, bringing the total to 45,000 gold. This is over 200 lbs of the stuff, so it's literally a staggering fortune.

Did they ever get this money? I saw that a head changed hands, but not sure if the money was delivered or if that was lost in the ensuing melee.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
The cleverest man in the kingdom has died in half a minute, unable to resist a simple spell from a low-level caster.

Out of curiosity, what level was Erligil?

My general sense is fifth or sixth level, but that’s just a wild guess.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
Our boys have risen from peasant to peerage, and they still haven't turned 17.

And now they need wives from the nobility to solidify their position. It’s time for The Bachelor: Prime Edition.

:smalltongue:


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
Also, they got land rights, which excited them as much as winning the Keep on the Borderlands always excites old-school parties. There's just something about having your own base that is intoxicating.

It really is. That’s one of my favorite feelings as a player, knowing I’ve got my own place.

It’s also a cost-effective way for nobles to reward local heroes without spending too much cash, since the burden for improving and working the land falls on the new landowners. As I'm sure your players will discover....


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
I'll put the whole dungeon on DriveThruRPG tomorrow, now that the party has finished it.

What title should I look for? I’ve never more than casually glanced at DriveThruRPG, but I’d love to see how you put this together.

[Elkad]

What title should I look for? I’ve never more than casually glanced at DriveThruRPG, but I’d love to see how you put this together.

His stuff is here (https://www.drivethrurpg.com/browse.php?keywords=&x=0&y=0&author=planck&artist=&pfrom=&pto=). Not sure what the title of the new one is.

[Endarire]

How did Barbarian get Greave Cleave at level 4ish? Normally, feats come at levels 1, 3, 6, (every +3 more).

[Yahzi Coyote]

[While rereading this thread I discovered that somehow #20 was missing! So I've restored it here.)

Welcome to the Jungle

Our young heroes rush into the city to buy appropriate clothes for their introduction to society. Astounding how rough and ready heroes known for their attention to weaponry can suddenly become obsessed with haute couture merely by the presence of nobility.

The tailor wants to dress them silk (think of the comissions!) but ultimately counsels them to wear wool, as Cardinal Ragnar and Count Kird are practical fellows. And what they wear matters: wool indicates they are with the throne and thus the Peace faction, while silk would mean they were aligning with Earl Theodorick and the War faction.

They are formally presented at the dinner as merely "... of the Wild," meaning they don't have to publicly declare a rank or profession yet. Since they won't be lords until the end of the dinner this fiction suffices. Given a choice of three tables, they pick the Peace faction with their ally Count Kird.

Unfortunately not all allies are created equally. Vicar Bernard, the second major member of the Peace faction, has brought one of his subjects as a guest: Ser Branford. They last saw Ser Branford when they were betraying and murdering his boss, the bard Dacey, in a bar in Varsoulou. Vicar Bernard has some earnest questions about their affiliation and strongly suggests they sit for a religious interview.

They are well aware of the difficulties this could cause - their cleric is heretic and wizardry is widely viewed as demonic - so they politely beg off. Brandford, however, has a matter of honor to settle with the barbarian who once fought by his side only to turn on him. Betrayal is a worse crime than murder to the Green.

The King's Courtesy holds, however, and no violence erupts at the dinner table. The duel is scheduled for the next morning. In the meantime the party tries to avoid the War faction, despite the Earl expressing his delight that some swordplay will soon be provided for entertainment, and chats up the Neutral faction. Only representatives of these lesser thrones have attended the dinner, but the leader of House Chadwick bends their ears about how hard he has been searching for a land route to trade spice with Varsoulou. He even had a line on some adventurer who claimed to mapping a route, but the poor fellow disappeared after a while. The party declines to point out that they know anything about this (if you recall, the contact that was trying to hire them to do this was mysteriously murdered and his head was left in a jar in their inn; they later tried to fob this preserved skull off on Count Erligil as evidence they had murdered the leader of the Order of the Tower). However, they are interested in the merchant's complains that House Marconi is secretly trading spice by sea despite public avowals. They leave open the possibility of future discussions vis a vie the land trade in spices. Now that they are lords they are suddenly interested in money as opposed to mere power.

The duel is not as one-sided as feared. Though Brandon is only 3rd rank, he is specialized in dueling, and he gives the barbarian a real run for his money in a fight that sees him delivering two critical strikes and getting the barbarian to within a sword's blow of losing. However, the barbarian's rage proves to be a powerful enhancement, luckily lasting just long enough to finish the fight. The barbarian adds Brandon's masterwork greatsword to his weapon collection but allows Vicar Bernard to ransom the man's armor. Bernard's magic also means that Brandon doesn't bleed out on the spot, so this threat will return again in the future. Especially since the Vicar still wants that interview...

The party decides to get out of town before they get any more attention. Back at their inn they discover that rumor travels fast; an enterprising stonemason is eager to begin planning and building the fortress that any landlord must necessarily have. When he finds out they have a ruined keep to start with, he explains that will save them significantly on the cost of materials. He estimates they only need to spend 84,000 gp over the next five years to acquire a small stone keep.

The party signs up with the first minimal payment - his salary while he puts together a crew - and heads out to check on the status of their ruined keep. As they were warned some time ago, it already has new occupants. They find two score of women, children, and old men living in tents inside the ruins of the walls. Rather than murder them all for the tael in their heads (our heroes are still technically on Team Good), they decide to hang out with the peasants until their menfolk return. The bard uses magic to make the daily meal more exciting, and is somewhat disappointed that the peasants are actually used to it.

A few days later two score of armored men march into camp, backed by a pair of bards - the twin brothers Archilochus and Aristeas, whom the party quickly dubs the "A-team." These brothers, leaders of the bandit gang The Argossey (detailed in Bandits of the Stinging Sea) spin a yarn about being descended from Odysseys and on a quest to sack the fabled city of Troy. They only have one warship at the moment but are eager to bring the party into their fleet.

There's a bit of posturing as the party bard tries to enforce some kind of rent payment while the rest of the party tries to figure out how to chase off the bandits without a fight (thereby annoying the DM who had assumed this was going to be the big battle of the night), but eventually the party decides to recruit the bandits to help them recover the women they left behind in the Black Knight's manor (see Journal #11). A short sea voyage is just the thing to see if the two groups can work together - especially since the party would like the brigand's help in disrupting House Marconi's spice trade (though they'll need a lot more information to make that happen).

Sailing around the coast of Edersarr, they quickly cover ground that took weeks to walk over. Landing near the Black Knight's manor they borrow ten of the brigand's common soldiers and march inland. Almost immediately they encounter a hag bathing in the river. Her horrific appearance cripples the bard and all the common men, while her evil eye almost kills the cleric and druid outright. The ranger is doing his usual bad dice rolling while the barbarian tries to rush into the river to close with her. Just as he gets there the ranger decides to lower his chances of hitting by firing two arrows at once; both hit, of course, killing the hag instantly. No need to resort to the ranger's mythical dagger of slaying!

They send the weakened and sickened common soldiers back to the boat and press on alone, only to be severely threatened by a flock of birds. Stirges - the bane of adventurers everywhere! By the end of the short battle almost everyone is suffering from CON damage. If not for the cleric's fear and the druid's hawk it would have gone even worse. Nonetheless, they persist.

(Both of these encounters, like all of the encounters so far, were pre-generated by my Sandbox World Generator program. Having basically level-appropriate encounters for every possible place the party could randomly decide to go is quite helpful. Whew!)

The manor house, as it turns out, is not a ruined tombstone for a bunch of helpless commoners. Instead, it's under new management. The original Black Knight had a retainer in the form of the bard Pascale (who was not in the encounter because the DM forgot about him despite having the entire encounter written out in advance). This fellow had been out spying on Varsoulou and sourcing supplies (and getting a drink out from under his rather dour boss's nose). When he came back and found the women all alone and helpless he started packing his things, but then the Black Knight's warhorses came ambling home, followed by a pair of donkeys loaded with saddlebags full of gold - the party's gold, not that he knew that (this occurred when the party was kidnapped for the City of Tomorrow, in Journal #12). Pascale took this as a sign from the gods that the manor was a money-making position and decided to stay.

He spent the money on attracting a new band of brigands. Vignetta, a fire sorcerer from Edersar, and her gang of bowmen known as Vengence Inc. (also from Brigands of the Stinging Sea) have moved in. The band has grown to twenty men and both Pascale and Vignetta have gained a rank, largely due to the unintended generosity of the party. When the party sees a score of longbows staring done at them from the walls of the fortified manor, they balk. Still suffering from weakness from their previous encounters they can do little but talk. The bard in particular begs for the return of his beloved donkeys. Much to his surprise, Vignetta agrees - after all, the price of a pair of donkeys is a small investment against the possibility that these yahoos will load them with gold and then lose them again. Dispirited, they trudge away in defeat.

The pall of failure beings to rankle, though. Days later when they reach the boat and find the bandit crew restored to health they have changed their minds. As lords they are in need of peasants; as subjects of a kingdom they are naturally at war with all bandits; and these arguments serve to justify their base desire to get revenge for their recent humiliation. They talk up the treasure they lost to the manor and convince the A-team to mount a joint raid on the manor. With all their men and rank it should be an easy fight, especially since they won't be crippled this time.

Join us next month when the party discovers just how much a DM can do with 2 low-rank NPCs, given time to plan a proper defense.

[Yahzi Coyote]

This is classic gaming done right. Thanks! :smallsmile:


And they seem to be getting better at their crazy plans.
They are getting better. It's a nice mix of old hands and newbies, but the newbs are coming along great.


Why would the druid be concerned about a little free spending?
It's not the character, it's the player. He's one of the old hands and thus views gold pieces as a resource that should only be expended to kill monsters. :smallbiggrin:


Did they ever get this money?
They did not get the money. They kept dreaming about it but the bard told them, in no uncertain terms, that there was no way they were getting the money. He was, of course, right, which was both because he had the political skills of the group and because he is one of the old hands and can smell a set-up from a mile away. :smallbiggrin:


Out of curiosity, what level was Erligil?
5th, but he went down like a total chump.



It’s time for The Bachelor: Prime Edition.
Lol! But no, we have a teenager in the group, so all of the bard's romantic escapades have been described in pretty delicate language.




It’s also a cost-effective way for nobles to reward local heroes without spending too much cash, since the burden for improving and working the land falls on the new landowners.
Exactly! They are now on the front line between civilization and the monsters of the wild... but now they can't run away. :smallbiggrin:


What title should I look for?
"The Lake of Ill Repute", but I haven't actually put it up yet. Will try this weekend.

[Palanan]

Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
5th, but he went down like a total chump.

Oh gawd, I know that feeling. That happened in my last session a couple days ago.

Alas, poor minotaur, we barely knew ye....


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
Lol! But no, we have a teenager in the group, so all of the bard's romantic escapades have been described in pretty delicate language.

Interesting. For whatever reason, most of the groups I’ve gamed with tend to gloss over any romantic encounters. (“The rogue takes the farmer’s daughter into the barn. Meanwhile, the rest of the party….”)


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
"The Lake of Ill Repute", but I haven't actually put it up yet. Will try this weekend.

I’ll be looking for it. And in the meantime, I’ll be looking forward to the next installment of your campaign journal.

[Endarire]

May we get an update for this campaign remembering the forum was down for a notable while?

Thankee!

[Palanan]

I saw this thread was back and I rushed over in hopes of an update.

Alas, nothing yet, but hope springs eternal. This is one of my hands-down favorite campaign journals.

[Yahzi Coyote]

The Battle of Four Bards

The party agrees to share the rewards evenly with the bandits from the Argossey, the twin bardic brothers Archilochus & Aristeas and their twenty men, who agree to a raid on the Black Knight's old manor now occupied by Vignetta the fire-witch and Pascale the bard because they are convinced that battle will be easy. An inordinate amount of tactics discussion follows, resulting in a straight-forward advance on the building at night. The disposition of the four squads of common soldiers is the largest part of the discussion. Ultimately two of them are assigned to protect their bardic employers, one will protect the druid, and the last will carry a siege ladder.

The invading army crosses through the cattle gate at the edge of the manor's domain, marked off by a thick and wild hedge of thorns. In the distance the manor house stands alone, a bullseye lantern hanging off the roof like a single eye peering into the darkness (this imagery is helped by the fact that the DM built the front of the manor out of Lego). They begin the long trudge across the fields, armoured men clinking and clanking. Just before they enter the edges of the lantern's illumination, the house wakes up: nine more lanterns flare into life and the strains of a battle hymn can be heard from across the field. Ironically, this is the only bardic music in the entire battle, despite the unnatural quantity of singing men involved.

Things soon go from bad to worse. Two of the squads of soldiers fall into pit traps, trapping Aristeas and the druid. The squad with the ladder gets hit by a flaming sphere and a storm of arrows. The cleric uses a minor spell to counter the flaming sphere by dousing it in water (a clever tactic the DM will remember and make use of in the future!). The last squad diverts to help their comrades out of the pit. So the main advance has collapsed at literally the first contact with the enemy.

Vignetta launches her best tactic, using Pyrotechnics to blind everyone on the battlefield. Her men are trained to close their eyes at the sound of the preceding warning bell. Unfortunately only the ranger is affected and he crumples to the ground, rubbing his eyes.

The barbarian (rendered invisible by bardic magic) attacks the door with his axe and seems disappointed when it does not collapse, instead emitting a fan of flame hot enough to slay ordinary men on touch. To add insult to injury a barrel of oil is tipped out of the second floor onto his head, soaking the flagstones in slippery doom. The barbarian is sturdier than all that (he's actually sturdier than the door itself) and steps to the side to ready his crossbow, planning on shooting through the peephole. He narrowly avoids the bear trap in the bushes (in general he proves immune to all the traps, saving against everything except the Flaming Hands spell).

The bard has pulled the druid from the pit and now the druid runs forward to play his part. He chants in a mystical tongue, calling the door to remember its wild nature, and door twists and warps and falls from its hinges, revealing Vignetta and Pascale. They make a fateful decision to stand their ground instead of retreating immediately, based solely on the fact that the barbarian is invisible and thus concealing the closeness of danger. She calls out a command; arrows rain down; and the druid collapses like a pincushion so thoroughly pricked that she turns her attention to the soldier squads, blasting another one of her flaming spheres.

The cleric douses this sphere one while the bard heals the druid from the brink of death. The barbarian readies his great axe again and charges through the open door, easily navigating the oily terrain. He slashes at Vignetta, sending chainmail links and blood flying. Pascale bravely tries to save his mistress, casting a spell that would render the barbarian utterly helpless with hideous laughter. Despite the heavy odds the barbarian shrugs off the effect and smashes Pascale with his axe, almost killing the man in one hit. Vignetta sees the lay of the land, and with a hastily muttered apology, slips through the door behind her, closing and locking it in her wake. Then she casts again through the narrow peephole, flooding the entrance chamber in flames.

This is too much for Pascale, who succumbs in wailing agony. The first enemy casualty is an act of friendly fire. Speaking of fire, the barbarian is now on fire thanks to his oil bath, in addition to the effects of the spell. He drops to the ground, trying to snuff out the flames.

Outside the druid sits up and starts to cast another spell, then looks up at the manor house full of archers and decides not to draw more attention to himself. The archers turn their aim to the squad with the ladder, driving the last of that squad to the ground with more arrows. The ranger has returned to the battle; he takes a shot at a figure in the dark but hits only its shadow. Still this challenge draws an answer and the ranger sprouts several arrows from his chest. Severely depleted, the ranger calls for a medic. The cleric summons a fog to hide himself, and his companions quickly sprint to its safety, leaving Archilochus and his squad as the only viable targets. They are still rescuing Aristeas and some of their fellows from the pit.

The barbarian picks himself up and smashes through the next door with pure force, eschewing the surer but slower process of chopping it down with an axe since he's decide to switch to his new favourite murder implement, the greatsword he won off of Ser Brandford. This door is a more ordinary affair than the heavily fortified front entrance but it's still a feat of impressive strength. He plunges through the darkened house to the main stairwell (recall that all of the party spent several days in the house only a few months ago, so they know the layout). Dashing up the twisting stairs he finds Vignetta and two archers at the top. She kicks a barrel of oil over, drenching the stairs in oil which once again fails to take the barbarian off his feet, and steps back. Her men shoot - one hits, and again, these arrows hurt - then drop their bows and ready sword and shield for a desperate defence. The barbarian charges them but in the narrow confines of the stairwell his greatsword proves unwieldy, causing him to miss both targets completely.

Vignetta responds once again with flame. Now the barbarian is really in the soup; the oil-soaked wooden staircase turns into an inferno. He forces his way onto the second floor, the ordinary soldiers no match for his brute strength and their feeble shortswords ineffective against his heavy armour. Vignetta summons light and shadow to blind and stun him, but only succeeds in disabling her own men.

Meanwhile, the rest of the party has hatched a new plan. The recently healed ranger and the bard run out to pick up the ladder while the archers are focused on the squad of soldiers marching towards the door in good formation. However, the squad cannot yet enter the house, as the front entrance is covered in burning oil. The archers bring both Aristeas and Archilochus to the ground in one round with lucky volley of shots (thus neatly disabling the DM’s plot trigger for when one of the brothers died) and then switch to the new threat of the ladder, where the bard is ascending and the ranger is covering him with his bow. Just before they can shoot the sitting duck on the ladder, the cleric moves forward and summons another fog, concealing the ranger and bard.

The bard makes it to the top unscathed and rises out of the mist. Armed only with his old spear - his fancy halberd requires two hands, one of which is currently clinging to the ladder - he engages an archer in melee and wins! Arrows sing past his head and he rolls onto the roof, followed by the ranger. Two archers rush to hold them while the rest spread out, trying to fire around their fellows. The ranger and bard quickly dispatch this weak opposition, but this leaves them fully exposed to the archers without any cover. At that moment the center of the roof caves in, sending a column of flame into the sky. The stairwell is now a vortex of pure flame and the house is well and truly on fire.

Downstairs the entrance has abated; the druid and cleric enter the house with the remains of the last squad. They see that the interior of the house is in flames and immediately begin searching for the peasants they came to claim. Discovering a locked trap door in the kitchen, the cleric calls out that the house is on fire and the sorceress cannot contain it. This is the magic phrase - the trap door bursts open and the women begin handing their children up, following in a mad panic.

On the roof, the bard reverses course and surrenders the ground he fought so hard to claim, recognizing that the entire house has become a death trap. Summing up magic, he casts a spell as he pushes the ranger back over the wall and leaps after him. They gently float to the ground, escaping the flaming building and protected from the hail of arrows by the mist. Soon they are followed by a rain of helmets and swords, as the archers on the roof signal their surrender and scamper down the ladder.

In the middle of the house the barbarian is in the thick of it. As he pushes his way past a blinded man, Vignetta wails in outrage. "Why won't you die!" she screams, and closes to melee, the last place in the world any spell caster wants to be. She avoids the barbarian's sword and reaches out to touch him; lighting flows through her fingers and the barbarian lights up like a Christmas tree. Her Shocking Grasp does a ton of damage, none of which he can avoid, and suddenly the barbarian finds himself in very real danger, his once-inexhaustible pool of supernatural vitality now merely a memory. More archers are pouring into the hall to defend their mistress and she is clearly readying another spell.

Just then the wall to his right caves into the bonfire that was the stairwell. Heat washes out, licking at the fighters, and air rushes in, trying to suck all of them into the inferno. The barbarian blunders back past the man he had just pushed past, finds an open door, and charges for a window. His strength does not fail him; he bursts through the narrow window frame, taking half of it out with him, and plunges into the rose bushes below. The fall proves to be the final blow; he hits the ground and does not get up.

Vignetta and her archers follow close behind. They are more interested in escape than the inert form of the barbarian. Vignetta, with her supernatural vitality, hits the ground running, leaving her men to fend for themselves. Just as it looks as if she will escape, the druid and cleric come around to the rear of the building, attracted by the sounds of splintering wood. While the cleric heals the barbarian, the druid reaches into his bag of tricks and pulls out an Entangle spell. Vignetta pushes through the grasping weeds but her flight is slowed. The barbarian, back on his feet, runs around to cut off her retreat. The druid pulls out his other worst trick, a swarm of bloodthirsty bats.

Vignetta, seeing the end is near, has one final play. "See you in hell," she snarls to the barbarian, and raises her hand, crackling with power, to her own head. In a burst of energy the fire-witch's bandit career ends as fiercely as the manor's own fiery demise. The three men retreat from the angry swarm, abandoning the wounded archers to a dilemma of deaths: the bonfire behind them or the angry grass and hungry bats. No one is around to record their choice.

In the morning the sun rises over the smoking ashes as the fire finally burns itself out. Only five of Vignetta's men remain, having surrendered to the bard and ranger after the roof battle. Only four of the crew of the Argossey are left alive. This leaves all of the treasure in the hands of the party, a development they are not unhappy with. However, the crew points out two salient facts: 1) there are not enough of them to sail the ship, and 2) by tradition they are entitled to a quarter share of booty. Given how many of them died fighting the party's battle, they have a strong point. Nonetheless they are met with some opposition and the party considers cutting them loose with nothing but the now-useless ship for their share. One of the party suggests sending them to the nearest port to raise a crew for the boat, but this means sending them alone, since the nearest port is in Varsoulou. Pooling all of the booty the men would be entitled to yields enough to promote one of them to the knighthood, which is of course every mercenary's rasion de etre. Once this is on the table, the soldiers eagerly volunteer for the mission. It looks like the party is about to hand over a sack of gold and a promotion to four men who will then march off to enemy territory, with nothing more than the promise of a career as a castle guard to return to, until everyone belatedly remembers that half of the Argossey's crew is still back at the ruined keep.

The party decides to promote one of the men anyway, since they want to keep up morale. The archers from Vignetta's band are suitably moved by this generosity and pledge to our heroes' service without qualms. The group returns to the boat, collects what food and supplies they can carry, and begin the now-familiar trek home, planning to return later with enough men to rescue the ship. The women and children of the manor are not at all pleased with this development, but since they literally have nowhere else to go, they make the best of it. And they can’t even blame the party for their homelessness; this time, much to everyone’s surprise, the arson of a fine manor house was not the druid’s fault.

Along the way they encounter a basilisk they have avoided several times before. The creature gets the drop on them and creeps into their camp in the middle of the night. The bard tries to scare it off but fails; the ranger shoots at it but misses; and just before they have to suffer the ravages of its deadly gaze the barbarian intimidates it into running off. This buys them a round to prepare and when it comes back they open fire with spells and arrows. Even so it is going badly until the bard finally finds the right pitch and drives the creature off with a piercing whistle, dragging one of the druid's bat swarms in its wake.

Hours later the swarm returns and druid lets the spell lapse. Now they have conundrum: leave well enough alone, or go trekking through the bushes looking for a dead or possibly just severely wounded basilisk? The bard suggests caution but greed for treasure (and the desire to get rid of the monster while they have the upper hand) sends the party out into the bushes. This time they are luckier and the creature does not catch them by surprise. Its sluggish response gives them time to get an initial attack off and the creature succumbs to the force of the cleric's spiritual weapon (which is the most useful that spell has ever been).

A few days later they break out of the forest into the open plains of Edersarr, dominated by the Order of the Tower's stone spire. The Viscount Godard greets them warmly enough, sending stableboys to escort their peasants into the village for a meal and a rest and inviting them in for a drink. Here his true purpose comes out: he is feeling stung by playing dead to fool the Varsouloueans and desires revenge. And the party pretty obviously knows a safe path through the wilderness, given that they've just walked a bunch of peasants out of the woods. He forcefully invites them to lead his troops on a raid.

The party is not interested in returning to Varsoulou to slaughter a village for tael, judging that fighting bandits is morally distinguishable from wanton murder. Nor do they care about the Viscount's injured honor. They manage to escape the tower without provoking a duel, but it is clear the Order means more trouble for the party in the future. They march deeper into Edersarr with their army of refugees as the winds of war whistle across the plains at their heels, threatening fire and flame for more than just a manor house of bandits.

(P.S. All in all I was please at how this battle turned out - several people almost died and everyone was forced to go beyond their comfort zone and find new tactics or take new risks. The vast disparity in levels really can be smoothed out with enough planning and preparation - at some point I'll put the Manor House up on DriveThruRPG as a minor adventure in the style of Tucker's Kobolds. This adventure also gave me a chance to show how the world changes in reaction to what they do. Finally, giving them a keep and peasants to go with it anchors them - if your party seems disaffected or unconcerned with the fate of world around them, just give them a source of profits to protect!)

P.S.S. Still working on uploading The Lake of Ill Repute. :smallredface:)

[Yahzi Coyote]

For whatever reason, most of the groups I’ve gamed with tend to gloss over any romantic encounters. (“The rogue takes the farmer’s daughter into the barn. Meanwhile, the rest of the party….”)
That's really the only way to handle it. After all, it's a single-player encounter, similar to "The rogue goes shopping and buys some boots. Meanwhile..."

That and there are no mechanics to game or dice to roll. What's the fun in that? :smallbiggrin:

[Palanan]

Great as always to see another journal entry, and once again you don’t disappoint. Excellent writeup of what sounds like an intense and fantastic session. I don’t think I’ve ever read a campaign journal where I wanted so much to be one of the players.

I like the Greek touches for the ship’s crew and their leaders, but it reminds me that I don’t know the PC’s names. I’m also interested in why Vignetta went down by her own hand—was this pride alone, or did she want to deny her tael to the party?

Overall another thoroughly enjoyable entry, classic gaming at its best. Thanks for writing this up, and I’ll be looking forward to the next installment.

[Yahzi Coyote]

I don’t think I’ve ever read a campaign journal where I wanted so much to be one of the players.
Same here. It is a truism that every DM runs the game he wishes he could play in. :smallbiggrin:


I like the Greek touches for the ship’s crew and their leaders, but it reminds me that I don’t know the PC’s names.
All of the stats for the bandit gangs came from my random generator, but when I wrote them up I added the flavoring. I don't remember how those guys got Greekified.

I also can't remember why I never used the character's names; they're just referred to by class. But now that I've done that for so long I think it would be confusing to change it. Also, my players can barely remember their character's names, why would I expect an audience to? :smallbiggrin: But everybody wants to know the character class.


I’m also interested in why Vignetta went down by her own hand—was this pride alone, or did she want to deny her tael to the party?
They still get the tael from her corpse. But I had written her up with this suicidal burning building plan, so I figured she was the kind that would not be taken alive. It was the end of the adventure and the outcome was not in doubt, so it was time to draw the curtains closed.


Thanks for writing this up, and I’ll be looking forward to the next installment.
Thanks for reading!

I am surprised at how many words a single battle took; the whole story is approaching novel length. But it would make a terrible novel; there's no over-arching plot. It doesn't even quality as a picaresque because there's no theme. Stiil, I recently went back and re-read it all and it was a fun read. I'm glad I stuck with it.

[Palanan]

Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
Stiil, I recently went back and re-read it all and it was a fun read.

Sometimes that's all you want from a novel. :smalltongue:

[Yahzi Coyote]

The Journey Home

Traveling west, the party gets tired of answering questions about their horde of peasants. They stock up on supplies and cut through the woods as a shortcut. However, they decide to cut through their old hometown of Irlyd to say hello to their families. Just after they enter the county, they see a fleeing peasant family. "Help us!" the peasants cry. "Bandits are attacking our village!"

The party decides to help after only a brief discussion of their legal and moral obligations. They leave the cleric and their new soldiers to guard their peasants and rush north into danger. They soon encounter a woman fleeing from a squad of cruelly laughing knights. These men have plain shields and are not wearing identifying tabards, thus effectively marking them as criminals.

The barbarian leaps on a rock and challenges the intruders while the ranger casts entangle, preventing a simple charge. The enemy begins circling around the affected area. As they charge in the druid spooks a horse and the knight fails his ride check; an embarrassment that costs the knight both his pride and his life as the druid's wolf leaps onto the man.

The barbarian finds himself surrounded by horsemen while one of their number hangs off and readies a lance. He bursts into a rage and cleaves his way through three opponents, then takes refuge behind their horses, forcing the lancer to ride around looking for an opening. However, the warhorses are trained to defend their masters, and they begin kicking the stuffing out of the barbarian.

Meanwhile the druid uses Entangle to trap the half of the knights coming from the other side of the original entangle. Several forces their way out, compelling the druid to use a third Entangle. Free space is becoming hard to find, as the bard finds himself in a sword fight with the enemy captain. He delivers the most powerful blow of his career, but it only makes his ranked foe angry. The bard decides to armor up with multiple images. Those images save the bard's life as the captain expertly flays into him. Meanwhile, several knights have won free of the Entangle, and the druid, seeing armed men in every direction, turns into a tree

Nonetheless, the fight is not going well for the knights; despite the damage they have inflicted, half of them are down while the party is still all on their feet. When the tree-shaped druid summons a swarm of poisonous spiders, the enemy captain calls for a retreat. He leaps into the empty saddle of the nearest horse and disappears into the forest with what is left of his men.

This leaves the swarm without any other targets, so it turns on the party! The barbarian, faced with a choice between pushing past the horses defending their fallen masters and running through the swarm, chooses the spiders; with a maximum damage roll they bring the barbarian down. Fortunately the ranger shrugs off the nauseating poison and grabs his compatriot, dragging him to safety as the swarm turns on two horses trapped in the Entangle. The remaining horses then flee, the swarm too horrifying for even their staunch loyalty.

After a few minutes the Entangle spells expire, allowing the party to rescue the peasant woman. She begs them to continue east to rescue her village from the raiders; meanwhile the druid's hawk alerts him to more riders coming from the south. The party discusses it but ultimately chooses to do the heroic thing. They run off to the village, despite the damage they have already suffered.

The village is a terrifying sight, with scores of bodies scattered around. However, the raiders are gone. As the party puts out fires and tends to those few wounded who managed to hide, more horsemen charge into the village, and their red-headed leader shouts, "Kill the invaders!" As lances are leveled for a charge, the peasant woman they rescued calls out, "They are our saviors, Lord Irlyd!"

Baron Irlyd is not at all happy to find his long-lost peasants standing in the middle of a destroyed village. He blames them for the damage, citing their rumored forays into the east. The bard smooths things over by offering to pay their peasant's ransom, though he deducts one for the woman they saved from the raiders. Irlyd is unsatisfied, but duty calls: with a snarl he leads his knights east, in pursuit of the retreating raiders.

The party heads off to Irlyd town, meeting up with their cleric and refugees at the gates. The guards don't want to let in a band of heavily armed ruffians; after the party agrees to surrender their weapons and armor, they are granted admittance to the town. They rent an inn and a barn for their traveling horde and treat everyone to a good meal. A few locals drop by, the bard sings, and in general a nice little party is going on. Until an attractive woman joins the fun.

The reason this woman is such a downer is that she's a dead weight. Literally, as in, she's dead. Worse, she's someone they hoped never to see again, alive or dead. This marks the return of Lady Night, the low-rank vampire that singlehandedly put them in more fear for their lives than any foe save for Count Wraythas and his ambush of knights and crossbowmen.

The bard orders garlic soup, with extra garlic, only to be told that Baron Irlyd banned garlic a few weeks ago as it was suspected to be the cause of a number of sudden and otherwise inexplicable deaths in the town. Now they know Lady Night is in cahoots with the Baron.

Unsure of what to do with this information, and unable to solve the problem then and there because they are unarmed, they endure her taunts until she takes her leave. In the morning they set out early, after counting all their peasants to make sure the Lady didn't help herself to a snack.

The last stop in Iryld is their hometown, the small village they were born and raised in. Surprisingly, almost all of them receive a cold welcome from their families. In their parent's view, they are runaways who left their families in the lurch while they went off to have adventures. Only the barbarian's father is happy to see that his boy has made good in the world. The party tries to make amends by distributing pouches of gold, which go a long way in a peasant's world. With a few sweet words from the bard, they put things right. Then it's back on the road.

When they finally struggle into their ruined keep, they face one more hurdle: the remainder of the Argossey's crew. One might excuse a certain amount of suspicion, as the party marched out with the masters of the Argossey and half its crew, only to return with a handful. But all is forgiven the instant it is discovered that the party has promoted one of the crew to the knighthood. This, after all, is the thresher in action: many must die so that a few might advance.

Their travels are not over, though. After a few days rest they pack up again, leading the Argossey crew north into Edersarr to hire a ride to their boat. The keep will have to rely on their cleric and the handful of Vignetta's bandits they recruited for defense. In Edersarr they are accosted by the Baron of the Order of the Edge, another knightly order that is also keen on restarting the war. The Baron assumes the armored barbarian is obviously the group's leader, and presses hard on him to lead a raid into Varsoulou. The barbarian, having just seen the devastation raiders leave behind, is horrified. Murdering peasants is not his idea of heroic deeds. This attitude mystifies the Baron, but as long as King Ragnar is not actively pressing for war, there is little pressure he can apply at the moment.

House Marconi turns out to be the only boat in town. They are happy to give the party and their crew a ride, for only the outrageous price of 5,000 gp. The bard disputes the level of danger involved, asserting that the party killed off the harpies known to haunt the coast. (The DM reminds the bard that he's thinking of a different harpy the party slew, and that these harpies are still alive and well, but the bard decides to stick with his story). They talk the price down to 1,000 gp. Again they put their armor and weapons into a locked chest - they do not yet have enough reputation that House Marconi will trust them quite that far. Fortunately the harpies give the boat a miss this time and the party arrives at the shore safe and sound, with House Marconi none the wiser about how they have been cheated.

The two boats make their separate ways back home; the harpies do fly by the party's longship but after one glance at the sails turn away without even trying. After all, from the harpy's memory, this boat belongs to a pair of bards.

They return home, exhausted from constant traveling. They have quite a few peasants milling around the ruined keep and the villagers from Luthorn are eager to join them and leave their cursed lake behind. The party contracts their architect to build them a village, with houses and a well. This will serve as the lure to attract more peasants. However, it costs money - 2,000 gp to be exact - and the party is finally out of cash.

They decide to put their longship to work and sail south to the Yellow Coast, where wars and rumors of wars seem to mention goblins a lot. Perhaps there will be honest work there for a mercenary band; at least, more honest than murdering helpless peasants.

This was our first remote game, with Google Hangouts for video chat and Roll20 for a map. It went really well, though I felt like the only combat took longer than usual. It should speed up as people get used to it. Roll20 has a lot of options and the amount of possible customization is daunting, but when stripped back to its bare essentials of putting some figures on a grid and rolling some dice, it works great.

Also, the party has decided to set out to a part of the world I haven't detailed exhaustively yet, which probably means at some point you can expect a new product on DriveThruRPG: Scorpus - the Yellow Coast.

[Yahzi Coyote]

Just a quick note that I (finally!) got around to uploading The Lake of Ill Repute. It's at DriveThruRPG, along with a couple of other new short adventures.

[Elkad]

Just started reading Lake.

Did I miss the rules for Tael from dispelling permanent spells/traps in your earlier stuff, or is it in here somewhere?

Edit: NVM, it's likely just a mechanic to provide the XP for the trap. Which would be weird for a purely mechanical trap, have to seed prior victims or some other form of loot around them (or just add it to later treasure).

[Yahzi Coyote]

Edit: NVM, it's likely just a mechanic to provide the XP for the trap.
Exactly. I don't do XP for mechanical traps because of my weird tael system.

LoIR is not my best work (blush); it could use a few more clues to foreshadow the boss mob at the end. And frankly it's too long; my players took a break from it for half a dozen sessions. But they also really enjoyed the beginning, the social bits in the middle, and the big finish when I had all the zombies come up out of the lake and attack the town.

Just had another session (The Factory) so I'll write that up tmw.

[Yahzi Coyote]

The Factory

This recap will be a spoiler for the short adventure The Factory, available on DriveThruRPG.

Faced with a plethora of political problems at home, our stalwart heroes choose the better part of valour - and flee into the wild in search of adventure, leaving their cleric and five archers to guard their tumble-down keep.

They have a ship now and they mean to use it. Strapped for cash to fund the infrastructure development of their new county, they set off for the fabled Gold Coast in search of sweet, sweet mercenary wages. Travelling by sea is safer than travelling by land on the World of Prime because the ocean is an empty place (encounter checks are made half as often). Their very first day, however, is the exception that proves the rule.

As the sun begins to sink and the captain begins to search for a likely cove to anchor for the night. There is no sailing after dark here; the dangers of unseen reefs and shoals is too great close to shore, and the danger of getting lost is too great further out. Prime does not have a moon, but it has so many stars that the average night is as illuminated as a full moon. This makes navigation by the stars impossible, so most vessels are coast-huggers unless they have magic or a superlative captain.

His search is interrupted when a tentacle flops onto the deck, grabbing a crewman by the ankle. More tentacles follow and the party leaps into action.

The foe – a giant octopus – is merely searching for dinner. It grabs several crewmen and begins battering them against the deck, unwilling to drag anything still moving into its maw. It lashes out at the barbarian, who promptly severs a tentacle. The ranger also charges into the fray but with his usual luck with dice we need not concern our narrative with him for the rest of the battle. The druid tries magic but the animal is too hungry to be calmed.

One of the sailors has gone limp and is dragged overboard. The barbarian frees another by hewing through a tentacle; the octopus grabs three more. The druid sensibly ties a rope around his waist, anchored on the mast, before going to fight a grabby beast. The bard trusts to his nimble feet and lays too with his halberd. Another sailor is knocked unconscious and disappears over the edge.

The barbarian pushes past the tentacles and leans over the edge of the ship to attack the huge, rubbery body of the beast, stabbing fiercely. The druid summons flame to his hand – prompting a Will save on the part of the crew to not douse him with a bucket – and starts trying to free sailors from the sucker grasp of death. He and the bard succeed in severing two more tentacles and the creature withdraws. The party has now traded two sailors for a large pile of fresh calamari. This is not a good bargain but they make the best of it as the bard slices off rings and spices them while the druid roasts them over his open hand.

On shore they break out the grog as a morale booster for the men, passing a bottle of rum around their campfire. The bard is suddenly disturbed to realize that the fellow who takes the bottle from him has horns, goat feet, and far too much fur. A band of satyrs have stealthily joined the party, drawn by the smell of alcohol. They are boisterous and quite friendly, at least until the ranger cuts off the flow of booze.

As they grumpily prepare to take their leave, one of them notices the barbarian’s masterwork greatsword and asks him how he got it. The barbarian says he won in a duel, to which the satyrs respond with evident astonishment.

“You mean, one on one? You beat the guardian mano a mano?” When the barbarian nods agreement, apparently having mistaken “guardian” for “Ser Branford” (to be fair, he had been drinking too), the satyrs explode with glee.

“The gang will want to hear this. You have to come with us!”

They plead with the party until the suspicious ranger finally relents, and the four heroes follow a group of drunken goat-men into the darkness, never to be seen again.

Next week we’ll start a new – oh, wait, that’s not what happened.

After a short journey they come to a glade inhabited by a tribe of grigs (two foot tall fey with an Irish accent). The grigs are none too happy with the surprise guests; after all, the satyrs drink enough on their own. But when they see the sword and hear the tale of how it was won in single combat, they are just as excited as the satyrs.

“This could be our chance to finally smash the factory!” one them exclaims. “And thus the end of Grubazor and his evil plans!” cries another.

The barbarian notices that the grigs are themselves all sporting masterwork greatswords, though on a scale of only a few inches long. The party interrogates the grigs as best they can, though fey are notoriously inexact when talking about mundane details. They uncover that there is a magical factory that produces greatswords, and that some ogerish “big folk” creature named Grubazor wants to seize it to his own ends. They are opposed to this; it is the tribe’s sacred duty to either destroy the factory or at least see that its weapons of destruction are not loosed upon the world.

When the ranger notes the quality of their many tiny swords implies these too are products of the factory, they change the subject. Their leader strikes up a merry jig on a tiny fiddle, causing the satyrs to immediately form a mosh pit. Tiny bottles of wine are emptied and a good time is had by all, until the ranger, once again the voice of sober adulthood, compels the party to return to their boat and reassure their sailors. They promise to return in the morning, hoping to resolve the mystery of what the heck the grigs were talking about.

However, the morning finds more complications. They set out with a squad of marines but a handsome, exceedingly tall blue-haired man intercepts them before they reach the grig glade. He looks over the party and likes what he sees enough to offer them a job. There’s a band of grigs, apparently, that are standing in the way of Industrial Progress and his plans to raise an army of greatsword wielding warriors. The party, deeply suspicious of Grubazor because his appearance does not quite match what the grigs had lead them to expect, decide that he must be under a disguise spell. One by one they manufacture an excuse to shake his hand, clap him on the back, or perform a mighty fist-bump. The end of their investigation is a few bruises – Grubazor responds to a hearty slap on the back with a clubbing blow that would kill a sheep, though apparently without any malice on his part – and no new information.

Grubazor asks them their price. The barbarian shouts out a large sum – 5,000 gold! Grubazor considers it and then agrees, causing the barbarian to realize he’d started too low. They follow Grubazor through the forest to a small open patch where a series of animated machines are busily cold-forging a sword. There was once a building here, and indeed an entire city, but all of that has faded away from the ravages of time, leaving only this self-contained automated assembly line.

The factory is not unoccupied, however. The mysterious guardian finally makes its appearance. And it appears as nine-foot tall bronze and marble statue of a blocky man-shape in full armor. However, it is not the factory that is the target of its protection, but rather the Frankenstienian monster wandering around the machines as the work. A flesh golem, grotesque beyond measure, seems to treat the factory like its home.

While the party watches the machines complete their task, falling quiet as a gleaming sword falls out of the assembly line at the end. The flesh golem picks up the sword, ambles back to the start of the line, and drops it into a hopper. Immediately the sword is mangled into a mere slab of iron, the machines rumble into life, and the entire process starts over.

“What a waste,” Grubazor says, shaking his head.

The party inquires what would happen if one were to dart out and grab the completed sword before the flesh golem recycled it.

“You’d get your arms ripped off,” he replies. “At least, that’s what happened when I got this sword,” indicating the blade he wears across his back.

The party looks at him with surprise. “Well,” he clarifies, “not my arms.”

The party proceeds to devising some manner of destroying the rather fearsome guardians of the place. While they are debating the depth of the pit that would be required to subdue the creatures, and also the small matter of who would dig said pit (with many side-eyed looks at the squad of marines), a troll comes bounding out of the woods at them, slavering manically.

The party bursts into flight, cleverly moving so as to draw the creature through the factory and thus trigger the guardians on its head. The troll does not take their bait; instead, it leaps on Grubazor and bites his face.

Grubazor responds by punching the troll repeatedly and shouting, “Down, Kato!” Eventually it kneels at his feet, whining. The party returns, somewhat concerned by the fact that Grubazor appears to be none the worse for wear despite having worn troll fangs all over his face just a moment ago. They are also none to happy to discover that their erstwhile employer has a pet troll. In their book that’s pretty much proof of playing for Team Evil.

Nonetheless they hatch a decent plan. If Grubazor and the troll can keep the guardian occupied, they will endeavour to destroy the flesh golem, on the theory that once it is dead the guardian will cease to function. This fits with what they know of arcane science, though at this point they are really missing their wizard or even their cleric (both of whom have missed the last few sessions). They bemoan their lack of magical attacks until bardic knowledge assures them that the golem and guardian are immune to magic anyway.

But all is not ready. A harpy swoops down to land in a tree and opens a bag of pine nuts. She’s waiting for the fun to start so she can enjoy the show. There are more arrivals when the grig tribe and their satyr allies appear on the other side of the clearing.

The ranger goes over to talk to them. They are openly dismayed that the party seems to be working for Grubazor, but the ranger assures them the party intends to double-cross Grubazor the instant the flesh golem is destroyed. (This guy seems pretty flexible about his hiring arrangements, you know?). The grigs agree to send in a squad of flying dagger-men to help.

Now that the plan is fully in place, they spell up, take their positions, and charge to the attack. The troll goes in first, jumping on the guardian in an impressive flurry of claws and fangs. The barbarian dashes to the flesh golem and slices into it with a mighty blow (he has so many bonuses on him right now that it takes the party a minute to add them all up). The marines assist him in combat, the bard summons images and moves to attack, and the ranger does his usual terrible dice rolling. A squad of grigs flitters about the flesh golem’s head, doing surprisingly little damage despite their tiny sharp swords. Then Grubazor swings his mighty great-sword against the guardian… but it blocks his strike with a stony fist.

Now the creatures react to the onslaught with their own. The guardian jackhammers the troll in the face, both arms pumping like pistons, while the flesh golem swings its meaty arms wildly, knocking the stuffing out of the barbarian.

The druid decides its time to break out the big guns. Convinced that the flesh golem is massive enough to occupy the attention of an entire swarm, he calls spiders out of the ground. For once this is not a fight-ending move; the golem is immune to the various nauseas and poisons of the swarm and its damage, even when boosted by his feats, remains in the single-dice range. Mostly it serves to drive the grigs off for fear of being eaten alive, and they cast no shortage of nasty looks in the druid’s direction.

The barbarian continues to trade blows with the golem. He deals out a ton of damage but the thing seems nigh-indestructible. Worse, its return strikes are crushing, and though the guardian doesn’t hit as hard, it never seems to miss. The bard breaks off his attacks to act as emergency healer for the barbarian when the druid runs out of spells; this turns out to be the difference between life and death as the golem’s next strike reduces the barbarian to negatives.

After only three rounds the troll is reduced to a pile of green paste. Grubazor now faces the guardian without allies, and while his sword is deadly, the monster is visibly repairing itself even as it fights. He is taking might blows to the face faster than he is dealing them out. The barbarian gets back on his feet and strikes at the flesh golem; the swarm retreats into the ground allowing the grigs to fly back in and the satyrs to charge the flesh golem like bowling balls only to bounce off with minor effect; then the golem strikes back, driving the barbarian into the ground again and catching the ranger with a haymaker. The druid, driven to desperation, summons flame and moves into combat range, his life flashing before his eyes.

The situation is so dire the party, normally tight-fisted as a Scotsman on a French vacation, resorts to expensive healing potions. This gets the barbarian back on his feet just in time to deliver the killing blow – the golem falls!

Immediately the guardian grinds to a halt. But before anyone can so much as let out a cheer, Grubazor makes his move – catching most of the party, half of the grig tribe, and all of the satyrs in a freezing cone of ice. This spares the party the shame of backstabbing a battlefield ally, because he backstabbed them first, but the bard and barbarian are now unconscious, leaving the ranger with a handful of hit-points and the druid with a handful of fire to face their new foe, an eight-foot tall horned blue ogre magi. At some point in the fight he resumed his true form, though everyone was too busy to notice.

However, Grubazor has been incautious. His spell has caught the guardian in its effect. And while the spell does no damage to the creature, it still interprets it as an attack. It resumes jackhammering his face and the ogre falls to the ground.

Immediately the squad of marines pounces on his corpse, stabbing like mad. The ranger takes a shot with his bow, totally unconvinced that just because the ogre is on the ground means the fight is over. And his suspicion is for once entirely appropriate; the next round, Grubazor rises to his feet again. The troll is also reforming; apparently everything here except our heroes and their allies regenerates. And worse, the guardian has gone still, reset to pacificism after having defeated its attacker.

But the ranger delivers in the end, putting an arrow through Grubazor’s throat. The druid leaps into action, tossing flame at the two fallen bodies until all signs of unnatural life are extinguished.

“Well done,” says a sweet voice, “though I am sorry the show is over. Still, I’ll take the spoils.” The harpy, all but forgotten, has merely been waiting for the right moment.

The ranger covers his ears, remembering too well how dangerous these creatures are, but for once our party is saved by their alliances. The grig chieftain breaks out his fiddle, sending most of the satyrs into a mad dance (which is unfortunate, as they were at exactly zero hit-points and hence this sudden exertion causes them to collapse from injury). The harpy counters with her song for a stalemate. Then the sole remaining satyr plays his pipes, causing fear to all who do not dance on goat hooves. This drives off everyone but the ranger. When the druid finally comes creeping out of the woods, the spell exhausted, he finds the ranger on guard with his bow while the grigs take turns stabbing the burnt corpses and striking heroic poses.

The druid gathers the tael from their fallen foes, his eyes agog from their sudden wealth. These were powerful creatures and the reward is correspondingly great. Uncharacteristically, the druid is slow to loot the corpses for mundane treasure, and only notices that the grigs have helped themselves to a crystal earring after it’s too late, one of them adding it to his vest as a button. The earring, of course, is worth a pittance… but its faint purple glow hints at more. The party hastily assembles all the gemstones it has, which consist of a single crystal each from the early days in the dungeon under the lake when they used them to store tael. They engage the grigs in a dice game, gambling for the many varied shiny buttons, and out of sheer luck walk way with a pearl, a jacinth, and Grubazor’s crystal. Which contains the tael he was saving to promote another ogre to the magihood – another fortune! (On Prime, the treasure tables that gave monsters random amounts of gold coins and jewellery are replaced by tael, because monsters need to collect tael to reproduce, while they literally have no use for gold.)

Once everyone is restored to health, the barbarian has the bright idea of tossing his masterwork greatsword into the machine along with a handful of silver. His intuition is rewarded when a silvered sword, proof against werewolves and other such creatures, comes out of the machine the next day. The ranger follows his lead though he’s not normally one for using a greatsword. The party hangs around for another two weeks, accumulating a dozen extra swords as trade goods. The remaining grigs look a little askance at this use of the factory but for now say nothing, preferring to dance and party with their new friends and the recently healed satyrs.

Tune in next month when the party reaches the fabled Gold Coast – assuming of course the DM has finished writing it up and doesn’t need to throw another side-adventure at them to stall for time.

[Endarire]

May we get a world map and another annotated so we know where the group has been?

What happened to Wizard?

[Palanan]

Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
The Factory

Once again, another great session of classic gaming done right. Sounds like a ton of fun for all.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
…leaving their cleric and five archers to guard their tumble-down keep.

And we know that’ll end well. :smalltongue:


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
Prime does not have a moon, but it has so many stars that the average night is as illuminated as a full moon. This makes navigation by the stars impossible….

Unless all the stars are a uniform brightness, the closest and brightest should still stand out enough to be useful navigational aids, especially if they’re different colors like the stars in our own sky.

Even if the stars aren’t suitable for whatever reason, if there are as many nebulae and dark clouds as in our own sky, navigators could make use of those simply as spots where the stars aren’t as bright. In the Australian Outback, where the air is exceptionally dry and clear, the stars are so dense that the aboriginal peoples construct “constellations” from the dark masses rather than the bright field of stars.

Of course Prime may inhabit a completely different cosmological scheme, and if you want navigation to be especially hazardous this is fine, just some thoughts that occurred to me based on real-world navigation.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
A harpy swoops down to land in a tree and opens a bag of pine nuts. She’s waiting for the fun to start so she can enjoy the show.

One of the best of many hilarious touches.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
However, Grubazor has been incautious. His spell has caught the guardian in its effect. And while the spell does no damage to the creature, it still interprets it as an attack. It resumes jackhammering his face and the ogre falls to the ground.

I’m curious—was this an on-the-fly adjustment on your part to avoid a TPK? If the guardian hadn’t reactivated, the ranger and druid probably would have joined the troll as comrades-in-paste.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
Once everyone is restored to health, the barbarian has the bright idea of tossing his masterwork greatsword into the machine along with a handful of silver. His intuition is rewarded when a silvered sword, proof against werewolves and other such creatures, comes out of the machine the next day.

Were you expecting this use of the machine, or did you just run with your player’s idea? The end result is very cool indeed.


Originally Posted by Endarire
May we get a world map and another annotated so we know where the group has been?

Seconded. I have only the vaguest sense of where everything is, and it would be great to be able to follow the party's progress.

[Yahzi Coyote]

I can't post images, but I put up some maps on my blog: World of Prime: Campaign Maps (https://mcplanck.blogspot.com/).

Or you can download the Sandbox World Generator, enter the seed, and regenerate the world in all its detail. :smallbiggrin: Of course, I've made some edits as I did the write-ups.



Prime may inhabit a completely different cosmological scheme

It is at the center of the galaxy. The idea is that there aren't even blank spots because there's just too many stars. There's not any real good reason for this, I just wanted an excuse for why so many intelligent creatures live in the dark (because it's never really that dark).



And we know that’ll end well

I haven't messed with them like that. It would be too cruel right now, and besides, it's barely more than a village. The wizard has missed several sessions and might be our first table casualty (though after two years that's an incredibly good attrition rate); the cleric was just at home with a leaky roof.



was this an on-the-fly adjustment on your part to avoid a TPK?

Not really; the battle map just worked out that way, and the NPC was in a hurry to move fast to backstab them before they could backstab him. The only break I gave them was letting the bard heal the barbarian before he went to -22, instead of after. :smallbiggrin:



Were you expecting this use of the machine

No. I had written it up to accept cold iron and mithiral, but when the barbarian did that I went along with it, because why not?

[Yahzi Coyote]

Against the Gnolls, part 1

Eventually the allure of constant partying begins to pall, or perhaps the grigs just run out of wine. The party returns to their ship and their journey west, looking for the fabled Gold Coast.

The next night, as the sun is setting and the captain is searching for a suitable beach to camp on, a half-dozen canoes are spotted making directly for them. The captain asks, fight or flight? While some of the party lean toward the better part of valor, the wizard points out that they came here looking for war. Running away from the first clash of blades seems inauspicious.

The wizard proves correct. The canoes are full of gnoll buccaneers, large powerful hyena-men well armed with bows and axes. A dozen of these creatures should be a stiff fight for a half-crewed longship. Instead, the gnolls proceed to lose badly at the ranged portion of the combat, being decimated by spells and arrows. Only two manage to reach the vessel, where they are quickly dispatched by the barbarian. Most of the tael is even recovered from the bodies still in their canoes, so the affair is pure profit.

The next day, however, sees a remarkable change of course. In the distance a naked woman can be seen sun-bathing on a rock a mile from shore. The party unanimously votes to steer clear of this terrifying threat, going deeper out to sea to avoid even cursory contact with the mysterious figure. This is, of course, a perfectly reasonable reaction.

Their next berthing is on an island. Not content to simply camp, the wizard again drives them out to explore. This random encounter is with an four-armed white gorilla, timely spotted by the druid as it lays in wait in a tree. The druid spends some time trying to chat the beast up, only to find it is a dull conversationalist. An inordinate amount of party discussion is had over whether or not to attack the beast, which is short-circuited by the impatient wizard continuing on with the hike once it becomes clear the party is unwilling to commit random violence against dangerous natural predators.

The wizard is rewarded by being immediately snatched up by a second gorilla hiding a few yards further on. This spurs the first gorilla to leap onto the party, fangs and claws flashing.

The first round of combat results in nothing more than posturing, feinting, and flashy displays of swordsmanship and clawmanship that nonetheless result in zero bloodshed. Then the druid charms both gorillas (druids are good with animals like that). Finally there is a successful combat check - the gorillas spring on the druid and lick him happily.

They tour the rest of the island under the protection of the beasts, which occasionally bring them dead animals as presents. The druid is happy enough to share raw meat, but the rest of the party is relieved when the spell begins to expire and they can retreat to their boat without worrying about a pair of curious 800 lb gorillas rummaging through their stuff. They leave the beasts in peace; a rare ending for an encounter in the wild.

And in the morning, less than a day's sail brings them to a new port. The kingdom of Flefliequelp, one of the six major nations that make up the Gold Coast (and not one of my random name generator's best efforts). A dark and brooding forest shelters a realm of rustic humans, where the men are hunters and magic is reserved to women. The party is soon approached by a pair of longbow-armed guards who challenge the ranger to prove he is entitled to wear the bow on his shoulder. They set up a target, not terribly difficult but sufficient to prove some minimal level of skill. The ranger wisely decides to make the easy shot rather than risk an impressive trick that might fail.

After this the ranger is treated as the leader of the group. The barbarian is somewhat miffed that his shiny armor apparently counts for nothing in the local's eyes. The rest of the party, being spell-casters, wisely keep their comments to themselves.

They catch a ride on a barge that takes them down the river from the small port village to the capital. As usual a young lad hanging out at the docks offers to guide them around, for a bit of coin. They explore this new city, amazed by the number of master blacksmiths. In true adventurous fashion they spend a solid two days window-shopping, culminating in the purchase of a single longbow for 15 gp. Even that is fraught; the bowyer refuses to sell the weapon to the barbarian until he passes the same test.

Finally equipped for adventuring, they seek out the local bardic hall, run by a woman named Alys, who quickly recognizes their accent as Edersarrian. She and the bard engage in a riddle game, establishing that they are both of an equal rank. After that Alys is happy to talk, filling them on the three sisters that run her nation in exchange for the recent news from Edersarr. And of course, she offers them a job (what else are bardic halls for, if not to hand out quests?).

It turns out there is a bounty on gnoll ears: 100 gp per pair. This is a surprising amount of coin for a worthless trophy, but the state is financing a free-lance war against a tribe of gnolls to the south. Alys hints darkly at mysterious reasons why the kingdom can't just march an army down there and solve the problem themselves, but the party is not particularly interested in politics at the moment. Instead, they are eager to fulfill their mission and fill their purses.

They spend a pleasant week traveling by barge across the river system that serves as the kingdom's highway, made only slightly less comfortable by spending the last two days traveling through mosquito-filled swamps. However, as these bloodsuckers do not also drain constitution like the stirges, they bear up under the assault.

At last they are left to their own devices on the edge of civilized lands. They have declined to hire a local guard, trusting to the woodland skills of their ranger and druid. The directions are simple enough; go due south. The gnoll tribe lives on the edge of a lake at the foot of the mountains.

Even our intrepid adventurers can't mess this one up. Their days of travel through the woods are uninterrupted; these lands are denuded of serious threats by the constant passage of other hunting parties, and low-challenge encounters instinctively know to keep their distance.

The party soon finds their prey. They ambush a huge patrol of gnolls, having been singularly unimpressed by their previous encounter with the dog-men. Two score of unranked but still dangerous fighters are obliterated by entangles, swarms, and the terrifying meat-blender that the barbarian has become thanks to his new whirlwind combat style. When the creatures try to charge, the druid and ranger entangle them; when they resort to archery, swarms decimate them; and the few that break free are destroyed by the barbarian whole squads at a time.

The only thorn in the bush is that the druid at one point cast thorns, meaning they need to wait several hours for the spell to expire before they can harvest most of the tael of the battle. They do send the druid's hawk in to collect ears, though. A very patient bird chews through ears one at a time, bringing them out to fill the druid's rather disgusting back-pack full of various creature parts.

Before the spell expires, however, they are attacked again. A smaller group, only a score, but this group is led by a gnoll with class ranks. What a difference it makes. This gnoll can shoot, and shoot he does, defeating the ranger in an archery duel and leaving the man on the ground at zero hit points.

Concerned that they may need to beat a hasty retreat, the cleric uses his newest spell to forcibly dispel the thorns. The rest of the party then dashes in to harvest what they can before they have to run, trusting to their fighters to hold off the current threat.

The barbarian tries an intimidating charge, which works, insomuch as it intimidates the gnoll leader. He responds with his own entangle spell, catching the whole of the party in its effect. And then, with the barbarian temporarily neutralized, turns his fire on the spell-casters.

The cleric puts up an obscuring mist, which saves them from the arrows. However, it leaves the fragile spell-casters in the middle of a circle of entangling plants with two squads of angry, murderous gnolls. Blundering around in the thick white mist, the bard and wizard both find themselves engaged in hand-to-hand combat. This does not go well for the wizard who barely escapes with his life.

The barbarian, however, has broken free of the spell. He charges the gnoll leader, only to be intercepted by a squad of gnolls. Leaping into their midst, spinning like a top with his greatsword lashing out, the barbarian destroys the squad in a single round.

This is enough for the gnoll leader; he knows he is outclassed. He turns and runs. The barbarian, to his credit, considers chasing him; but the rest of the party calls him back. Running after a gnoll in gnoll woods is unlikely to end well for anybody but the gnoll.

The party gathers up the tael from the new combat and retreats, binding their wounds and counting their remaining spells. They know the war is far from over; the gnolls will return to avenge this defeat, and in greater strength than before. Their goal is not so much escape as delay; a chance to renew spells and restore their strength before facing a foe that now knows their tactics. Deep in gnoll territory, in the creature's own backyard as it were, and pursued by ranked foes, the party is in grave danger.

[Yahzi Coyote]

Against the gnolls, part 2

This was an interesting session for me because I got to use my house rules in Explorers of Prime for wilderness encounters. We stuck to the rules as written and trusted to the dice to generate drama - and they did.

The party is faced with a choice: do they abandon their armor and run light, hoping to get out of gnoll territory before they are caught, or do they move more slowly but with a better chance to fight? Ironically the barbarian with his heavy plate isn't even the issue; it's the cleric, ranger, and bard in their chain mail that are slow pokes.

They choose the slower path. Random fate, in the form of a d4, is invoked... and turns up a 1 on the very first roll. Vengeance has come for the party, borne on the crooked legs of gnolls.

Squads of gnolls charge out of the woods. The barbarian charges up to hold a forward position while the rest of the party engages in various forms of ranged combat. While ordinary gnolls, even in squad formation, have failed against the party, this battle includes several obviously ranked individuals. These officers can shoot, and they have spell-casting defenders who have prepared precisely those spells best suited to shut down the party's best attacks: conjure water, to quench the rolling fireballs of the druid; protection from good, to block the swarms; and entangle, to counter-spell the party's attempt at battlefield control.

Naturally, the party uses none of these techniques in this battle. Instead they exchange several rounds of largely ineffective arrow fire while the barbarian slowly whittles down the squads of axe-men (axe-gnolls?). The enemy spell-casters grow desperate and begin burning through their spell slots in offensive ways, mostly magic missiles which while weak still chip away at the party's health. The bard, perhaps high on his own supply of heroic ballads, suddenly launches a flank charge into the spell-casters and archers.

This works out far better than it should have. The bard reaches the enemy and kills a shaman on an attack of opportunity when it tries to cast, his halberd's high damage potential finally paying off. The next round the bard kills another caster, and then slays an archer with an AoO when he goes to draw his axe for melee. This is serious damage to the gnoll force; half their magic and ranged support are shut down in seconds by a single singing hero.

One of the other shaman attempts to contain the damage with an Entangle spell; as has become typical, the barbarian simply ignores the spell (throughout the entire combat he never missed a single save vs the Entangle) and murders the last two archers. The entire battle has become a complete debacle on the part of the gnolls... until the other half of their force shows up.

The bard's heroics are quickly shut down as a squad of axe-men charge in and knock him to the ground. The barbarian goes into high gear, dancing through the Entangle as if he were immune and murdering another entire squad of axe-men in a single whirling attack.

But the gnoll war-leader is here. His bow is a true threat; he puts an arrow through the barbarian's neck, driving him to the ground and well on his way to staying there permanently. The druid, unpleasantly trapped by the Entangle, gives up trying to flee and starts trying to save the barbarian's life. Miraculously the gnoll archers lose their focus, their arrows landing without effect in the writhing vines and weeds of the forest floor. The barbarian, for once, chooses the better part of valor. Slinging the bard's bleeding body over his shoulder he quickly disengages. The druid finally struggles out of the grass with him, following the path of uprooted grasses.

The spell now works against the gnolls, giving the party a momentary respite as the gnolls circle the affected area. The cleric and druid pour healing and buffing spells into the barbarian, despite the arrows raining down on all of them. Retreat is not an option; there are still four archers on the gnoll side, one of whom is truly deadly. The barbarian charges into the advancing gnolls in a rage while the ranger returns to the archery battle.

The barbarian's whirlwind attack fails to completely demolish the squad of gnolls providing cover for their archers. He is now sucking up arrows, his still-diminished vitality fading fast. And then the gnolls make a fatal mistake.

The squad in front of the barbarian go on full defense, making themselves a harder target so that they might last longer and give their archers more time to win. This seemed like a good idea, right up until the barbarian realizes what they are doing. Since Total Defense does not allow attacks of opportunity, he seizes the opportunity and charges past them, into the line of archers, where his whirling blade does its usual devastation.

The gnoll position has gone from expensive victory to total defeat in an instant. The war-leader and what remains of the gnolls - a squad or two of axe-men, a pair of low-rank shamans - flee. The ranger tackles the barbarian to the ground, to stop him from giving chase. As broken as the gnolls are, breaking the party's formation will still lead to disaster.

The party loots the battlefield, collecting even more gnoll ears, and resumes their march homeward. Now a game of cat and mouse ensues, as each party stalks the other. A brief encounter results in the druid being badly injured by an arrow before the gnolls break off and flee again. Obviously they intend a battle of attrition.

The ranger puts an end to this strategy, however, by tracking the gnolls. Improbably, the cleric manages a miracle of stealth, and the party surprises the gnolls while they are resting. The party charges into close combat, murdering what remains of the axe-man and shamans, while the ranger proves his worth by closing with the enemy captain and slaying him at sword point while the gnoll is still trying to use his bow.

After that night, having rested and respelled, they are no longer in any real danger. They return to Flefliequelp without incident, riding the river barges upstream to the capital. At Alys' bardic hall they dump a sack full of gnoll ears on the table, causing an audible gasp. Well over a hundred gnolls have died, including a considerable chunk of the enemy leadership.

Alys tells them she cannot possibly pay them such a large bounty; instead, they must receive it directly from the queen. She arranges an invitation to the palace the next day.

The queen is a staggeringly beautiful woman, which keeps the party on its best behavior. They seem to equate beauty with danger, at least when it comes to the female gender. Perhaps the reputation of the queen's Minister of Arcane, who is said to be so lethal she can kill men in their dreams, has something to do with that.

The queen is in her turn properly gracious to these wandering heroes. She asks them what their future plans are. When the evidence a desire to return to the gnoll camp and finish the job, she regretfully informs them that the royal treasury cannot afford to continue the bounty on the same terms. A bout of haggling ensues and ultimately the party settles for a future reward of only 25 gold per gnoll, though without any question of taxes, and more importantly the queen offers the old rate if the party is willing to take her services in trade instead of cash.

As it turns out, the queen is the only known source of magic rings on this side of the continent (at least, for those restricted to non-goblin kingdoms). The party realizes they should take this opportunity to acquire some magic items, as they have so far been getting by with a +1 mace and a handful of potions.

After the royal reception and dinner the bard and Alys have a somewhat more frank discussion. Alys has a far more rewarding and interesting offer for them, though it must come from unofficial channels. A kingdom down the coast harbors a family of witches whose power derives from an ancestral artifact: a Helm of Brilliance. This is a staggeringly powerful device. Alys would very much like to make a present of it to the queen. So much so that she offers the party 50,000 gp if they can obtain it - though they must swear to keep the bloodshed to an absolute minimum.

The bard is suspicious: what does Alys stand to gain from this? She eventually confides that her goal is to be promoted to the government as Minister of Coin, as success in such a mission would inevitably result. The queen, on her part, will use possession of the helm to lure the witches who can best operate it to relocate to her kingdom, thus allowing Flefliequelp to utterly dominate its two human rivals and become the sole (human) power in the domain.

Later that night, the mystery deepens. The party returns to their rooms at the inn to find them already occupied by another shady woman, a rogue named Esyllt. She offers them a somewhat different deal: 250,000 gp for the helm, and never mind the blood. In fact, she'll pay an additional bounty for every dead witch.

The party, once again, has many paths to choose from. But the ranger successfully argues against the spy mission; the party, as he accurately notes, is not exactly well-represented in the stealth and intrigue department. Perhaps he also fears being drawn into political entanglements with repercussions beyond their ken. He convinces the party to return south, to wipe out the weakened gnolls and reap the bounty of tael and gold that has been promised.

They disperse through the town, seeking to spend some of their current wealth on the magic and equipment that will enable them to sieze more wealth, and only the bard is left to ponder the curious fact that while tael can be sold for the standard price of 5 gp, no one he talks to will let him buy it for that price. This is an economic absurdity; the exchange rate of tael is fixed across all the known planes; so why should it vary here?

[Palanan]

Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
Squads of gnolls charge out of the woods….

Another enjoyable installment, and it sounds like the combat was extremely touch-and-go for a while. As always, I find myself wishing I could play in your campaign, because it sounds like tremendous fun.

It also sounds like you put a lot of work into building the gnolls and their leaders, as well as working out their tactics. I’m guessing the gnoll shamans and war-leader were third or fourth level? I’d be very interested to see the composition of the gnoll squads you used, in terms of numbers and class levels.


Originally Posted by Yazhi Coyote
The entire battle has become a complete debacle on the part of the gnolls... until the other half of their force shows up.

Were you planning this from the start, or did you decide to add reinforcements after the initial engagement went so well for the party?


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
The ranger puts an end to this strategy, however, by tracking the gnolls.

At last! A lovely demonstration that tracking is a useful and tactically vital skill. Too often tracking is shrugged off, so I'm glad to see it given the chance to shine.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
As it turns out, the queen is the only known source of magic rings on this side of the continent….

Does the queen craft them herself, or is there someone else in her government who does this at her behest?


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
…tael can be sold for the standard price of 5 gp….

Is this 5 gp for 1 XP? Can you elaborate on this aspect of the setting, and how the price has come to be standardized almost everywhere?

[Elkad]

5gp to 1xp is the standard rate even without Tael.
Ask your own players of they'd take that deal (selling their XP). Probably in the form of a friendly item maker offering a discount if the party throws in the XP. I bet you'll find they actually value it more highly.

[Yahzi Coyote]

I’m guessing the gnoll shamans and war-leader were third or fourth level? I’d be very interested to see the composition of the gnoll squads you used, in terms of numbers and class levels.
They will all be detailed in Scorpus - The Gold Coast when I finish writing it up. Standard doctrine calls for meeting alien threats with about half your firepower, so the gnolls sent six of their 1st level shaman/ranger pairs with their 2nd in command, a 3rd level ranger. The other gnolls were just common soldiers organized into squads of 5.

We just had another game; I'll write that up soon. The entire session was a 30-round battle against the gnoll shaman (7th adept), her remaining ranks (six more shaman/ranger pairs), and half of the remaining army (52 squads of troopers) on top of a giant ziggurat. Spoiler alert: the party wins, but not without some dire moments.


Were you planning this from the start, or did you decide to add reinforcements after the initial engagement went so well for the party?
It was planned. I don't change encounters based on what the party does (well... not much). But in D&D, spacing out your battles is a good plan, because it burns off spells.


A lovely demonstration that tracking is a useful and tactically vital skill. Too often tracking is shrugged off, so I'm glad to see it given the chance to shine.
It's actually written up to work that way in my Explorers of Prime, so I was happy to see it come into play.


Does the queen craft them herself, or is there someone else in her government who does this at her behest?
On Prime the rulers are the high-ranks. She's actually the first 9th level person they have encountered (though they don't know her exact level). Because I made XP double at every step, there aren't a lot of people higher than 9th. However, monsters are more plentiful, because they tend to live a very long time and thus break the rules I use for the turn-over of tael in humanoid societies.


Is this 5 gp for 1 XP? Can you elaborate on this aspect of the setting, and how the price has come to be standardized almost everywhere?
Elkad is correct; this is the rate established by the DMG.

Now here's a nice bit of symmetry: given 1 cp = 1 lb of wheat, it basically costs 160 gp to feed a peasant to the age (16) where you can harvest him for the 32 XP that a 1/2 CR encounter yields. So the reason 1 Xp = 5 gp is because that's what it costs to produce it! I don't think the authors meant for this to be the case, but the fact is with a little work you can make the entire economy hang together (which is what Merchants of Prime and Lords of Prime tries to do).

Elkad is also correct that players never sell tael. On the other hand, they will often give it to their NPCs.

[Yahzi Coyote]

Against the gnolls, part 3

The party equips itself with some basic magic gear - a few pieces of enchanted armor, a couple of magic weapons, and a Pearl of Power for the wizard. These are all basic items and easily available to the swaggering heroes from the local spell-casters. Honestly, it's long overdue; they are still under the standard wealth for characters of their rank in the world of Prime.

Then it's an easy march back to the gnoll kingdom, but this time they don't stop at the water's edge. Circling around the lake, they come upon a ragged city of dirt huts with a huge stone ziggurat in the center.

Nervous gnoll eyes watch them from the huts but issue no challenges. Grygar the Terrible, the headman of the village and a shaman of advanced rank, waits for them at the top of the ziggurat. There are four levels to climb, and each level is defended by a horde of gnolls. There is a knot of axemen at each stair, supported by a Hunt Lord and a minor shaman; and each level also has two squads of archers at the far ends.

The gnolls politely wait for the party to initiate combat, preferring to settle everything with one big set piece instead of losing a battle of attrition in the woods. The party spells up and charges into battle, following their heroic barbarian. This defense is a little better situated; the barbarian can't quite murder whole squads at once. While he and the ranger trade blows with the axe-men, the cleric uses magic to slay the minor shaman. The druid, not interested in being pin-cushioned while the warriors play around, summons a wall of wind to block the incoming arrows.

Several rounds of combat go by, with the ranger putting steady results and the druid doing remarkable precision damage with handfuls of fire, before the barbarian hits his stride and wipes out the rest of the opposition in one vicious whirlwind attack. The party charges up the cleared stairway just as the windwall drops.

On the next level they run straight ahead into a squad of gnoll archers. This level is long enough that they can't reach the archers before they fire, so the druid summons an obscuring mist. When that still doesn't provide total cover, the cleric casts a mist as well. Now the barbarian can reach the archers without being exposed and he quickly decimates them. The wizard, thinking ahead, sends a swarm of bats to the next level.

The ranger and his wolf help finish off the archers, and the party turns the corner and heads east to the next stairwell. Again the cleric summons a mist to cover their advance, and positions it to help with their next level as well. While the barbarian charges up the stairwell, the ranger makes use of the mist to climb onto the next level unopposed. However, this leaves the barbarian a little too exposed; as he's forcing his way up the stairs, a squad of gnolls leaps down behind him, and suddenly he's a kettledrum in a gnollish orchestra. Axes are raining down on him as he battles the gnolls; the wizard and druid are busy summoning more swarms, leaving only the bard to heal the barbarian.

Now the ranger steps out of the mist and engages in an archery duel with the hunt lord for several rounds. By the time he wins it, the barbarian has finished off the stairwell and is seeking the cover of the mist. Finally, Grygar the Shaman acts: he shakes his snake-headed stick, intones to the heavens, and curses the barbarian with blindness.

The barbarian, however, has consistently proven immune to magic and this time is no different. He shrugs off the spell and runs into the mist. The druid knocks Grygar down with a sleet storm and also flees into the mist.

Whereupon the wizard's original swarm descends, seeking fresh blood, and latching onto the barbarian. Over the next two rounds it tears at the barbarian (for maximum damage, no less!) before finally dissipating back into the ether. But the party has regrouped now and the cleric begins healing.

When they come out of the mist again things begin to look a little dire. The gnolls have selected brave heroes to jump off the edge of the ziggurat, taking the swarms with the, and in any case Grygar is simply immune to the spell. The barbarian takes an arrow to the face. The cleric is struck by magic missiles from the minor shaman, a small amount of damage but concerning as there is simply no way to avoid it.

The party strikes back. The barbarian charges into melee while the druid summons lighting and vaporizes the minor shaman. Grygar realizes his magic will not work on the warriors, so he turns to the spell-casters instead. He thrusts his hand out towards the druid, some sixty feet away and a level below him, and the shaman's hand comes off his arm and flies through the air to strike the druid in the forehead. This curse reduces the druid to near-babbling idiocy, the chief effect of which is he can no longer cast spells!

The druid still has command of his lightning, though. He turns it on Grygar while the shaman repeats his hand trick, this time rendering the cleric nearly as stupid. As the barbarian clears the stairwell Grygar pauses to heal himself, undoing the effect of the lightning. He then tries to curse the bard, but that agile trickster ducks the flying hand.

Now the barbarian pauses to drink a healing potion, as all of the party's remaining casters are engaged in trying to finish off a few axe-men at the head of the last set of stairs. Grygar sends a fistful of magic missiles into the ranger, who has climbed again to the next level where he can shoot at the shaman. He fires back, but his arrow simply turns away at the last moment - the shaman is immune to arrows as well as swarms!

The party is fighting on the last stairwell now. Their wolves have slipped past the axe-men the barbarian is still murdering, to attack Grygar directly, while the druid continues to pour lighting into their foe. Grygar alternates between firing off his punishing missiles and healing himself, until a wolf knocks him to the ground. The shaman shoots the wolf, but the beast is sturdier than that, and doesn't die. Now the ranger has cleared a path and charges forward, sword in hand, to strike the killing blow (sadly, it was not with his magic dagger this time).

The shaman is dead! Immediately the remaining gnolls begin jumping off the ziggurat to join the rest of the camp in fleeing. The party gives chase, running down a random handful before the beast-men disappear into the wilderness.

The camp is now theirs, though it contains almost nothing of value. However, the tael from Grygar's head is a veritable fortune, not to mention the valuable magic they loot from his body - a Periapt of Wisdom for the cleric and an Brooch of Shielding for the wizard. And of course the souls of the scores of slain warriors.

When they return to Flefliequelp they are feted as heroes. The queen redeems the bounty with a matching set of rings for each hero - a Ring of Protection +1 and a Ring of Sustenance. No longer will the party have to carry food or forage for sustenance; they have now joined the ranks of Those Who Eat Only When The Plot Demands It. This is a real boon for adventurers who make a living in the wilderness.

The gnoll threat is destroyed; the path to the goblin kingdoms is now open again. Immediately petitioners begin flattering our heroes, seeking to recruit the party to hair-raising schemes, each more outrageous than the last.

This session was just one long 30-round battle, but an interesting one in that the ziggarut made it like a mini-dungeon. At first I was worried that the party was expending too many resources too soon, but ultimately all the mists worked to their advantage. The shaman was programmed to cast three spells per level, but the lack of visibility forced him to compress those spells at the end of the levels instead of the beginning.

The adventure will eventually appear in Scorpus: the Gold Coast when I finish writing up all its many locations. This will be the most expansive adventure supplement I've written, with several very high level adventures, so it will unfortunately be a while in the making.

[Palanan]

Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
This session was just one long 30-round battle, but an interesting one in that the ziggarut made it like a mini-dungeon.

Another fun read, and it sounds like one hella fight. I personally enjoy the longer battles, and this one must have felt a little chancy at times.

I never would’ve thought of a ziggurat as a mini-dungeon, but it does seem to have that effect. Were all of the gnoll squads arrayed in full view on each platform? And I’m guessing they didn’t think to put anything on the steps to impede the party's progress towards the top?


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
He thrusts his hand out towards the druid, some sixty feet away and a level below him, and the shaman's hand comes off his arm and flies through the air to strike the druid in the forehead. This curse reduces the druid to near-babbling idiocy, the chief effect of which is he can no longer cast spells!

What spell is this? At first glance I thought it was an inventively described Bestow Curse, but that doesn’t seem to have a sixty-foot range. Is this something else entirely?


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
However, the tael from Grygar's head is a veritable fortune….

What level was he? Grygar seems to have been the most powerful individual the party has faced to date, so I’m guessing somewhere around seventh or eighth level?


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
Immediately petitioners begin flattering our heroes, seeking to recruit the party to hair-raising schemes, each more outrageous than the last.

This is a nice touch, and a great way to end the session. As always, you manage to capture that feeling when players really do feel heroic.

[Yahzi Coyote]

this one must have felt a little chancy at times.
The druid was quite freaked out about losing spell-casting, but actually, it was never quite as threatening as some of their other fights.

The ziggurat worked out nicely; it allowed me to deploy lots of foes but not in an overwhelming mass. And it's not tactically unsound; the gnolls were hoping the party's magic would wear off over time (and some of it did). Only the head shaman attacked down to lower levels, which was a nice effect: magic bombs from on high from time to time to keep everyone on their toes. :smallbiggrin:

There were troops fighting them at each stair but no traps or anything. They're only gnolls. Now, next session, when they face goblins... :smallsmile:


What spell is this?
Spectral Hand + Touch of Idiocy. None of them seemed to recognize it, either, which was a great surprise. It was also nice that I could subject each character to exactly one magical attack.


What level was he?
A 7th level Adept. Although my house rules triple the number of spells an adept can cast, so as to make them even vaguely worthwhile.


This is a nice touch, and a great way to end the session. As always, you manage to capture that feeling when players really do feel heroic.
It was really just "What do you want me to write up next?" :smallbiggrin:

My random generator provides the basics, but to get the most out of an encounter I need to spend time fleshing out the details. Especially as they go up in level. High-level play is a real challenge for a DM.

[Yahzi Coyote]

Against the goblins, part 1

After several days, two offers stand above the rest as serious enterprises.

Count Hooliliolae will underwrite a hunting expedition. He will send a troop of yeomen under the command of his paladin to hunt hobgoblins until their arrows run out. The party will screen the hunters from the goblin city and defeat whatever forces are sent out to dislodge them. In exchange they will get 1/2 of the tael from the hobgoblin hunt, and of course whatever tael and treasure they take off of the goblin defenders.

The Count of Eicoarraecae has a far more ambitious plan. In addition to his troop of ranked marksmen, he has a mercenary troop of heavy cavalry from the west and an alliance with a Free Company of heavy infantry. He believes that their combined strength is enough to take the goblin city itself. He will also dispatch three troops of archers to the rear, to hunt hobgoblins while the main forces assault and sack the city of Iryrr.

The party's task is to open the keep gates, in addition to battling the forces of the city. Their reward will be 1/3 of the booty from the city, plus 1/2 of the winnings from a troop of hobgoblin hunters, and of course the tael and magic from any foes they defeat.

The ranger and bard both vote for the hobgoblin hunt, as it sounds like the safer path. The rest of the party, however, are all-in on glory and adventure, even despite a warning from the bard Alys that the mission is dangerously risky. (The wizard pretends to be against the plan, but that is soon revealed as reverse psychology to trick the DM into increasing the rewards for the quest. Unfortunately for him the gambit fails, as all of the adventures are pre-generated by the Sandbox program.)

So early one morning, six separate groups set out from the southernmost county of Flefliquelp, all traveling independently so as to attract less attention. The party has been given an guide, a young man of no rank (or name) who knows the way; in previous adventures the Count has actually caught sight of the city before being forced to retreat.

They travel south through the wilderness without incident. These are, after all, relatively patrolled lands as they are directly between two kingdoms, and whatever monsters do live there are smart enough to attack retreating armies, not advancing ones. After eight days they cross a major river and are now within the goblin's domain.

The next day they make contact: a large patrol of goblin archers and two bugbear knights. The archers open fire and inflict measurable damage on the barbarian while the knights move to flank from either side. After that the fight is anti-climatic; their foes simply cannot stand long against a 5th level party. In particular the cleric's spiritual war-hammer has become a potent force, smashing through the knight's armor with abandon. We also learn that the bugbear knights aren't as dangerous as their fierce warhorses, whose hooves inflict most of the damage the party suffers.

A few hours later they encounter a swarm of rabid hobgoblins and three squads of rogues. The swarm proves to be less than impressive as the barbarian cuts through it like a blender. The carpet of waist-high creatures floods around the barbarian and ranger, trying to pull them down, but both men shrug off the creature's grasping claws and continue to slaughter the diminutive horrors. The ranger's wolf is not so lucky; it sinks beneath the waves of green flesh, where the hobgoblins pummel it with sticks and stones.

Perhaps concerned about the animal's welfare, the druid summons spiky plants upon the swarm. This quickly reduces the hobgoblins to a sea of corpses while the ranger and druid easily slip out of the area of effect.

The inevitable Entangle discomfits the rogues, who soon find themselves under swarm attack as well. However, they are actually 1st level, so two of them quickly escape the grasping grass. One dashes around from the left, leading the wizard's swarm back into the party's own lines; the other advances on the right and engages the barbarian in melee. He is surprised to discover that the rogue's fancy footwork and light rapiers make them very difficult to hit; on the other hand, as they prize defense over offense, they are not particularly effective at stabbing him either.

The rogue squad still stuck in the Entangle turn their crossbows on the druid, who discovers that the bolt is poisoned. His hands begin to shake uncontrollably, but as dexterity doesn't affect spell-casting, he ignores the effect.

Once the ranger begins shooting at the rogues fighting with the barbarian, it becomes clear that the battle is decided. One squad manages to flee, leaving a swarm that actually attacks the barbarian before the wizard can return it to the ether from whence it came, but that doesn't stop him from cutting down the rogues with a deadly whirlwind attack. The squad still stuck in the grass dies to another swarm.

The party is now showing some signs of damage, but a night's rest and the rest of the cleric's spells restores them to their full glory the next day. Which is just as well, as they face a larger force: five archer squads, three bugbear knights, and an ogre covered in well-crafted plate armor.

Another long battle ensues, the details of which are not worth recounting (mostly because the DM can't remember them - it was the third battle of the night, after all). Suffice to say it is a strong enough force that the party is somewhat concerned about proceeding.

Yet the morning finds them restored, and as they are packing up and preparing to advance, the druid spots an odd sight in the sky. It looks a bit like a golden-scaled alligator with wings flying a few hundred feet up. The creature is headed north, the direction they had just come from. After watching it for a few minutes they come to a horrifying realization. It is not a few hundred feet away, but rather, a few miles; meaning it must be the size of a city bus. It is, in fact, a yellow dragon.

The bard suddenly realizes why the domain is called the Gold Coast, and why every kingdom in the area seems to be some variant of the Yellow faith. This creature clearly has some kind of influence over local politics.

In the night they smell smoke. Surely they could not be sensing an attack on human lands, a hundred miles or more to the north! In the morning the druid turns into an eagle and sets out to investigate. What he finds only ten miles away is a scar in the forest, a long patch of burnt and blasted trees, and goblins cleaning up the pieces left behind, mostly chunks of well-charred horse meat.

He returns to the party with his findings and they rapidly agree that this evidence points to the destruction of the Count's force at the hands of the dragon. Now they must decide whether to continue with the plan or call it off. Ironically, the two who were most against the plan in the beginning are now the loudest voices for continuing. Neither the bard nor the ranger want to retreat without at least seeing the goblin city for themselves. And there is some concern that the Free Company may arrive at the rendezvous alone.

They march on, though cautiously. Nothing opposes them and they find themselves on the edge of a wood, looking into a goblin town. The houses are tall and narrow, with walls that slope out as they go up and a decided lack of windows. In the center of the town is a stone keep. Otherwise, the place seems deserted; a goblin city during the day is a ghost town.

As the day wanes on, no other troops appear. Neither the Count nor the Free Company will be keeping this date with destiny. The party discusses a full retreat, but again the ranger convinces them to wait out the night and see what's what.

This proves to be a bad decision. Once darkness falls the goblins send out an entire company under the leadership of a Director of the kleptocracy. Unbeknownst to the party, the messenger the Free Company sent to meet them and warn them off after the death of the Count has been captured by the goblins, so the goblins know what they are looking for. And they find it - the party, hiding in the woods, caught before they could run.

The darkness imposes certain constraints. Fighting by starlight underneath a heavy forest canopy implies at best shadowy illumination; their attacks will have a 20% miss chance. The goblins, of course, are immune, as they have Darkvision. On the other hand the goblins cannot see more than 60', so the combat is guaranteed to be at close range.

The party could use their light-stones, but this would mean that the goblins could see them at much longer range. And since the goblins have brought an entire troop of archers, the party decides this is a bad idea. There are also two squads of bugbear knights, two ogres, and a troll, in addition to the Director himself.

The archers are quickly trapped by an Entangle spell, which takes them out of the fight for the entire battle. The two squads of knights are reduced to two knights, thanks to the wizard's two fireballs and poor saving throws. This leaves the barbarian fighting face-to-face with a troll (thought somewhat protected as it is still stuck in the edge of the Entangle) while the ranger squares off with an ogre. The other ogre tries to flank and is faced by the druid, bard, and cleric.

Much glory ensues, including the wizard surviving a direct full attack from a vengeful bugbear knight and his deadly horse. Reduced to a single hit-point, the wizard retreats behind the cleric, who himself soon retreats behind the bard.

At one point the bard tries to get in on the swarm business, using bardic magic to call his own horde of bats down on the troll. Much to everyone's surprise the swarm simply ignores both troll and ogre and descends on the barbarian. The cleric realizes the monsters are protected by magic and quickly casts a potent dispel, rendering the creatures far more exposed than he realizes. The barbarian, recognizing that the troll is regenerating almost as fast as he hits it, steps back and resorts a Greek Fire grenade (in true D&D fashion he carries a small armory with him at all times). Because the troll's Resist Energy protection has just been dispelled, the troll begins to burn.

Enraged, the troll breaks free of the Entangle, catches the barbarian in both claws, and tears open his belly with its horrible fangs. The barbarian drops to the ground, deep into negative hit points.

Meanwhile the Director has shot a few poisoned crossbow quarrels into the cleric, and decides to come down out of his hiding place in a tree and finish off the bard with his deadly rapier. This proves to be a poor decision, as the bard is currently layered in magical buffs and surprisingly hard to kill. They trade ineffective blows for a while, until the bard has the bright idea of casting Blindess on the goblin. And of course it sticks - once again a foe of rank is crippled by a single spell.

The situation is still dire; the troll, in particular, is a rampaging beast. The druid shape-shifts into a dire bear and wades into combat, backed up the ranger's archery. Because the troll is on fire it no longer benefits from the darkness, and the two heroes manage put the troll on the ground before the fire goes out. However, it's still regenerating. The wizard solves that problem with a Flaming Hands spell.

On the other front the bard has gotten off a Sonic Shout, which is enough to finally bring down the last ogre. The Director, blind as he is, nevertheless dashes into the woods and tries to hide. The cleric and bard pursue, but even with a huge penalty, the goblin manages to elude them. He is a high-level rogue, after all.

But the cleric has been spending his skill points wisely, and on the second round of searching he overcomes the increasingly bad odds to stumble across the Director hiding under a log. Quickly he and the bard finish the goblin off before it can pull some other clever trick.

The barbarian is healed enough to become ambulatory (fortunately he made his save to stop bleeding, as no one was able to render him aid for several rounds), but the party is very low on magic and vitality. They move to a new camp and luckily there are no more goblin patrols that night. In the morning they consider whether they should stay and screen their hobgoblin hunting archers for more days, or just run now while the running is good. After all, they've scored thousands of tael and even some decent magic from the goblins; the barbarian appropriates the Director's magic rapier for his collection, while the ranger acquires Gloves of Dexterity +2. That leaves only a suit of magical studded leather, which no one in the party wants (it's worse than their magical chain mail). On a whim they give it to their brave nameless NPC guide, for whom it is truly a magnificent gift.

They choose to run, knowing that whatever force the goblins send after them next will likely be twice as bad as the last one. On their way out they run across their hobgoblin hunting yeomen and convince them to flee as well, relating the sad news that the men's lord is dead.

Back in Flefliquelp they discover their popularity has suffered. They are now associated with a failed campaign, and worse, the government has lost a Count and all of his retinue. This is a serious blow. The bard mitigates the damage somewhat by composing a song that makes it clear the goblins also lost the equivalent of a count; and their generosity to the un-ranked soldier does not go unnoticed by the common people. Reports of the dragon, however, are met with a shrug; everyone knew that was a possibility, which is why nobody marches armies around: it tends to attract the dragon. The bard, realizing that no one bothered to tell them about the dragon, immediately wonders if they were supposed to be the dragon-bait.

Briefly they debate cashing in their chips and returning home, but the ranger is keen on revenge. Goblins are among his favored enemies now and he longs to see their city in flames. The wizard is deeply intrigued by the dragon; he seems to have a developed passion for discovering artifacts or other ancient magic treasures, and a dragon seems like a likely place to start. Eventually they talk themselves into another try at the city of Iryrr. But they know they can't go alone.

So now the bard is researching the local lords, looking for who else they can rope into an assault on the city. They have damaged its forces; if they strike soon, the goblins won't have time to recover. If he can turn the misery of failure into a longing for fiery revenge, perhaps the party can add "sacking a goblin city" to their list of bloody accomplishments.

[Yahzi Coyote]

Weekend at Phorcys

(This recap will be a spoiler for the adventure Weekend at Phorcys (https://www.drivethrurpg.com/product/332506/Weekend-at-Phorcys), available on DriveThruRPG for free).

After diligent investigation, involving drinking in many different taverns, the bard has uncovered two different paths to striking back at the goblins.

The Path of Night

The rogue Esyllt knows a secret entrance into a goblin keep; not the one they’ve just returned from, but its neighbor. If they can get to the city walls, she will lead them past all the common soldiers and into the keep itself, where they can face principals directly with only their personal guards. Though it won’t be as profitable as sacking the whole town but it will yield tael and magic items. Esyllt will provide guidance and invisibility potions in exchange for 1/3 of the treasure.

The Path of War

The bard Alys has heard rumors of an ancient and evil underwater temple not too far to the east. They may possess a sacred spice that, when burned while praying, causes a cleric's spells to operate at the fullest possible effect. If the Vicar Neve had this item, she believes she could actually turn the dragon and force it to flee (as a priestess of Earth, she can turn or destroy creatures of Air). With this protection, the queen would surely authorize a military mission to destroy the already weakened goblin district. The local heroes have not investigated this temple, as they are all archers and fighting underwater is not ideal for them. Alys will provide water-breathing options at normal price, but otherwise the party is on its own.



The party chooses war, apparently because they are just that keen on burning down an entire goblin city.

So it’s back up river to their boat, where they roust their sailors from seedy taverns and inns and set sail back to the east. There is some trepidation when they realize it’s the same area they saw the siren sunning on a rock, but they find the beach described by Alys (who got her information from a ship-wrecked fisherman). They did not like the price tag on her potions, instead choosing to rely on their own spells. The druid casts water-breathing on everyone and turns himself into an octopus, and they trudge under the sea, looking for a glimpse of lights that cannot be seen from the surface.

What they find astounds them: an entire Greek-style temple lit by torches and occupied by handsome young men and women in green togas lies at the bottom of the ocean. Seeing their friendly faces the bard dashes forward and begs for aid, as he can tell his water-breathing spell is about to expire.

A handsome man in a gold and pearl crown parts the crowed and says, “Come,” striding into the temple. The bard follows him into a small room with a font and a stone button. Pressing the button releases a fragrant green gas that suffuses through the water, and suddenly the bard can breathe again. The rest of the party follows (the druid turning human again now that there is air on offer) and the master of the house belatedly makes introductions.

“I am Phorcys, a minor demigod of the sea. You are welcome in my domain as long as your intentions are peaceful.”

He explains that the gas will only last for three hours, and shows them how to activate it when they need a refresher. Then lunch is served, sea plants and sushi. Afterwards everyone retires to the main room to dance.

The cleric declines a dance partner and engages Phorcys in conversation, mentioning that their gratitude for his hospitality and asking if there is anything they can do in return. As it turns out, a hideous monster has laired in a cave that overlooks a certain sea-flower that the temple denizens like. If the party could dispatch the beast, Phorcys would be happy to supply them with some of his special spice.

The lair is a long walk away, so Phorcys summons up some sea-bass outfitted with harnesses. The party tops up on green gas and sets off, riding their underwater mounts and traveling at great speed. They reach the lair in an hour and twenty minutes, leaving them a good twenty minutes of fighting time with still enough air to get back to the temple.

But the entrance of the cave is guarded by two huge sharks. The party attempts to advance through them without trouble but the creatures dive in for a bite. The druid gets stuck in a shark’s mouth and takes a terrible beating until in desperation he turns himself invisible to animals. The creature lets him go, confused, and turns to bite the cleric before eventually succumbing to the combined efforts of the party. The other shark, meanwhile, has been long-speared by the barbarian, who is making good use of his portable armory (fighting underwater imposes penalties on slashing and bludgeoning damage).

At some point in the fight they try to distract the sharks, only succeeding in driving one into their herd of sea-bass mounts which immediately scatter. The party doesn’t take much notice of this detail and head into the cave to find the true monster.

Once there the wizard immediately spots the hidden treasure, proving his high Appraise skill was definitely an in-character choice. Before they can evaluate it, however, the bard is snatched up by the octopus hidden on the ground and dragged deeper into the cave.

A pretty epic battle occurs, with the bard actually winning a grapple check to escape before the octopus can constrict him to death and the mass of tentacles applying a serious beat-down to the barbarian. Eventually, though, the creature has to think of defence, and it emits a cloud of ink.

The barbarian has been so badly mauled that even after being healed he is reluctant to wade into the darkness and finish the creature off. The ranger is shooting blindly into the ink cloud under the delusion he can actually hit something he can’t even see, until the bard convinces the barbarian to charge by charging in first. They find the beast and attack it with gusto, unaware that a stray arrow from the ranger actually found its mark several rounds ago.

The treasure turns out to be a pouch from a long-dead adventurer, with some gold, a few jewels, and a much-appreciated potion of water-breathing. Between that and the rest of the cleric’s third-rank spells they have just enough air to make the long march home, now that their sea-bass mounts have deserted them.

The people of the temple greet them warmly, though without any obvious concern over their longer-than-expected absence. In general the inhabitants of the temple seem oblivious to the hurly-burly of the outside world. And their age is problematic, as they have clearly been here a long time. Long enough to be eager to offer companionship to new-comers when the sun begins to sink. The wizard accepts a companion, though for inexplicable reasons he chooses to sleep in a storage closet instead of a sleeping chamber; the bard, keeping in form, accepts three companions, and everyone retires for the night – or rather, for the two hours our heroes need now that they are all wearing Rings of Sustenance.

Yet their sleep is troubled by a terrible nightmare, in which the temple decays into ruin and their beautiful companions rot into foul creatures of undeath. In horror they snap awake, realizing the dream has become reality!

Both the wizard and the bard win their initiative checks, allowing them to escape the clutches of the ghastly monsters next to them. (This would have gone quite poorly for the bard, outnumbered three-to-one as he was, but as usual dumb luck lets him skate out of the consequences of his ill-advised romantic decisions). They race for the main hall, shouting through the water for their fellows. The barbarian and bard get stuck in hallway, fighting a ghast; the ranger holds the entrance-way against three more. The druid, thinking ahead, runs to the small chamber where the air supply is, only to discover it now emits a foul stench.

Phorcys’ bronze throne begins to glimmer in fascinating colors, but as usual the party simply shrugs off the enemy spell. The cleric begins chanting holy words against the undead creatures, sending five running, followed by two more, and finally dusting another two. Meanwhile the bard and barbarian are still in the hallway, their battle against a lone ghast complicated by a huge shark that keeps making swim-by attacks from overhead. The temple is in fact in ruins, all of the roofs caved in and many of the walls shattered.

Phorcys appears, cursing and taunting the party. The druid, still in bear form, comes back into the hall and immediately falls prey to the hypnotic effect of the throne. This does not last, however, as the ghast that was chasing the wizard comes up behind him and attacks, breaking the spell.

The bard and barbarian defeat their ghast and decide to ignore the shark, which has so far proven unable to hit anything. They enter the main hall, shrugging off the disco lights from the throne, and now the party is all together and thinking they can probably take the remaining ghasts. Just in time for four huge tentacles to burst up through the floor.

These things hit like a ton of bricks. The ranger and wizard in particular are knocked into negatives. Only the cleric seems immune to the tentacles, which never land a sucker on him. His spells put his fallen comrades back into battle, which is good, because the handful of remaining ghasts are prowling around looking for easy prey. The wizard gets off a Magic Missile at Phorcys but then has to summon sharks to hold the ghasts off. The bear-druid tears two tentacles off and lays into Phorcys himself, only to finally realize the man is merely a projected image.

Then a cloud of ink covers the entire room, blinding the ranger, bard, and wizard. As usual the barbarian makes his save vs spell (he really is quite lucky that way) and chops off the last two tentacles.

Now things come to a bit of stand-still. Phorcys is out of tentacles, ghasts, and tricks, but the party is low on hit-points, spells, and air. A negotiation ensues. Phorcys offers to pay a ransom and to tell them where the promised incense is hidden if they agree to leave. The bard counters with a demand for his crown. After a brief bit of resistance, Phorcys agrees to take his crown off and hand it to the bard as part of the deal. Still, the party is unsure of whether to take this bargain or press on, until the druid resumes human form and tells them that the air supply is broken.

Phorcys offers to give them one more hit of the green gas, and that seals the deal. They file into the small chamber. This time the gas is foul and sickening, but it does allow them to breathe water. They search the storage room and find the incense. As they are trudging out the front door, the bard demands the crown. Phorcys rolls his eyes, takes off his crown, and hands it over – whereupon it immediately disappears, because of course it was illusion just like his body.

The party marches for two hours back to the shore, only slightly disconsolate that they received very little profit. Phorcys’ ransom is significant, but they are used to huge sums these days, and the only real treasure is the incense which they are planning on handing over to someone else. At the edge of the water they receive one more nasty surprise – they have forgotten how to breathe air!

The wizard is convinced that the effect will disappear at the same time the effect of the gas wears off. Despite a less-than-authorative spellcraft roll he convinces the rest of the party to simply wait, perhaps because they don’t really have any other options – the temple is two hours away and in any case they can’t expect to find respite there. In the end he is proved right, and they stand up in the cold dark, coughing out salty water and terrifying their poor sailors who temporarily mistook them for sea monsters.

Now they are keen to return to the Queen and make a present of the incense as the opening bid in negotiating a role in the war to come. The gravity of the situation has become clear: the human and goblin kingdoms have experienced a Pax Draconis, a peace compelled by the dragon’s tendency to eat armies. If Vicar Neve can compel it to retreat, then open war may engulf the entire domain, instead of merely low-scale raids and skirmishes. The party views this outcome with satisfaction. A blood-thirsty view, to be sure, but one no doubt shared by the human and goblin kingdoms themselves.

[Palanan]

Somehow I missed the previous recap, but as always I enjoyed reading these.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
…and they rapidly agree that this evidence points to the destruction of the Count's force at the hands of the dragon.

You did a nice job with that “Oh —“ moment when the party realizes the dragon took out half their supporting army.

In terms of world-building, the Director of the kleptocracy is a nice touch. Also:


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
The Director, blind as he is, nevertheless dashes into the woods and tries to hide…. He is a high-level rogue, after all.

Out of curiosity, what level was the Director? I’m guessing seventh or eighth, going by similar encounters.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
The bear-druid tears two tentacles off and lays into Phorcys himself, only to finally realize the man is merely a projected image.

So what exactly was Phorcys? Not clear if he was a tentacle monster or something else.

And why, if the man-form was only a projected image, would the bard still insist on the crown, which was part of that image?


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
The bard Alys has heard rumors of an ancient and evil underwater temple not too far to the east.

So if they knew from the start it was an evil underwater temple, why was everyone so eager to cozy up to the inhabitants? It seemed rather too good to be true from the very first, especially when you mentioned torches burning underwater.

[Yahzi Coyote]

In terms of world-building, the Director of the kleptocracy is a nice touch.
That's from Lords of Prime, which details several different government styles.


Out of curiosity, what level was the Director?
The Directors are only 6th level. Hopefully they'll get to fight a Vice President one-on-one, and I can see how effective I made my 8th level rogues. It's not easy; the things rogues are good at (leaping out of the shadows and murdering people) are not particularly fun for players to face.


So what exactly was Phorcys?
An Aboleth - not that the party ever figured that out. They have crazy illusion powers, so I tried to make the most of it.


And why, if the man-form was only a projected image, would the bard still insist on the crown, which was part of that image?
Most of them never quite caught on to his status as an image. The whole adventure was chock-full of illusions, and yet nobody every tried to disbelieve. So, well done, DM! :smallbiggrin:


It seemed rather too good to be true from the very first...
I was also surprised at their lack of suspicion. Perhaps its because I have succeeded at getting them to view some NPCs as allies; not everything is hostile (for instance, the grigs back the Factory turned out to be good guys, and they resolved an encounter with gorillas through diplomacy). I think they thought the temple might be a way-station to the actual quest.

[remetagross]

Just chanced upon this thread and read everything from the beginning. Laughed out loud more than once from your snarky comments :smallbiggrin: Very nice recountings, Yahzi :smallsmile:

[Yahzi Coyote]

nice recountings
Thanks! I'm glad I started writing this all down two years ago.

If you want to read more of my writing, check out the Member-Produced-Commercial-Content thread in the forum. :smallbiggrin:

[Palanan]

Speaking of writing it down, looking forward to the next installment.

:smalltongue:

[Yahzi Coyote]

COVID and general laziness have conspired against me. But we have another session today, so its time to put up the last session, where we used Generals of Prime to run a massive battle with reasonable success.

The Irryrian Invasion

The party returns to court and presents its present of incense. Vicar Neve is thrilled to the heavens; Queen Rian, however, plays her cards close to her chest.

Warfare in a feudal society is less a matter of state policy than of personal choices. The queen gives the party licence to recruit for their attack on the goblins, but refrains from making her own commitment until they have raised a sizable private force.

This is the Bard’s territory, and the party follows him on a whirlwind tour of the kingdom. They discover a wide range of attitudes. County Eicoarraecae is decimated, its count destroyed in the party’s last goblin adventure. However, soldiers must eat, and they like successful leaders: after all, the party returned from that foray intact. The party raises a company of yeomen and a troop of ranked marksmen as permanent household guards for only a signing bonus of 2,500 gp, the promise of 5,000 gp a year in salary and upkeep, and a standard share of the booty. Added to the sailors they already employ, the party has now crossed the threshold: they are no longer a free company, but a political entity.

However, both the free companies of the county are hard ”No’s”. Baronet Hubert, of the armored Iron Company that accompanied the late Count on that fatal venture, does not care to face the dragon again. Baronet Gabriel of the Lance Company tells them to their face that they underestimate the power of the dragon and that their mission is suicidal. But why would they listen to some small-time adventurer from distant lands with a reputation for defeating strange and powerful beasts? They shrug off his warning and move on.

Count Garth of Hoolliolae is keen; he, his personal retinue, and his company of cataphracti are all available for merely their share of the spoils. The party funds the temporary formation of another free company from the local gentry for 1,750 gp, bringing another troop of marksmen on-board complete with their own cleric.

Oorlournearsio, the swamp county they keep passing through on their way to the goblins, is regretfully unable to contribute at the moment. The Curate Siagny is struggling to hold her misfit county together as it is.

Lady Irwen, the sometimes erratic ruler of Ameappaoqua, is ambiguous. She wants to see what the queen commits before she commits her own forces, and even then she is asking for cash to get involved. The party extracts a compromise: the lady, half her retinue, and her cataphracti company will accompany them for only 1,500 gp if the queen sends at least an entire regiment. The party, concerned about raising enough force, decide to meet the Arrow Company’s signing fee of 2,000 gp, and add another free company to their coalition.

Flodaighoast gives them the cold shoulder. Curate Anna faces too many raids from the human kingdom to her west to worry about goblins. Only a substantial inducement of 2,000 gp convinces the resident free company, the Company of the Long Shaft, to join them.

With these lists of names in their hands they return to the capital. The Order of the Stag, the most powerful non-governmental body in the kingdom, meets their invitation with nothing but frowns. They cannot be swayed, and the party settles for buying the much smaller Order of the Hound for another 2,000 gp. Still worried about impressing the queen, they hand over another 4,500 gp to organize three temporary troops of ranked marksmen from the free gentry of the town, each of which comes with its own Troubadour. Lady Alys the Jongleur is waiting only for an invitation, and gladly jumps to be of service to the realm.

Now they approach the throne with only slight trepidation. Neve greets them warmly; the queen is still reserved. Yet she will not send her sister unprotected into danger. She grants them a regiment, a third of her entire army. Four companies of yeomen, one company of dragoons, and two troops of marksmen.

However, she extracts a promise: after the goblins are reduced, the party will undertake to retrieve the Helm of Brilliance for her realm. The party is uncertain as to how this can be accomplished, but they want her troops too much to say no.

She also makes it clear that the party is to return with Neve, or not at all.

The party has now invested a vast sum into making this happen, for which they get only their fair share of the spoils. Still, they have traded gold for the chance of tael, and that is the engine which drives the lives of the ranked. They set forth with banners flying, as a substantial portion of the power of the realm falls in behind them.

The march south is uneventful; the way is well-known and the goblin patrols have already been smashed once. On the morning of battle, when the next advance will bring the army to close with the goblin city, the dragon appears in the sky, glowing more golden than the sunrise.

Neve stands in the saddle, refulgent with the power of the incense, and chants with the confidence of conviction. The dragon draws close; the party is granted their first proper look at the creature. And that look shakes them to their bones. In a flash of inspiration the Cleric realizes that Neve is completely insane; her paltry rank cannot possibly compel a monster of this power. (I made the Cleric look up the rules for turning while the Bard made a roll to determine the dragon’s CR. The party immediately began casting every spell they could think of to boost her chances, but even that was not enough).

The party looks left and right, but there is nowhere to hide. Flight is not possible from the flying freight train bearing down on them. Neve chants louder, still unconcerned; the army holds its collective breath; and then… the dragon turns away.

As it flies south, out of sight, the army leaps to its feet. Divine providence has blessed their cause and they press on with bloodlust heightened to a burning edge. Only the party looks at each other, wondering what has just transpired; only they seem aware that the dragon chose to withdraw for reasons unknown but undoubtedly nefarious.

The ensuing battle is somewhat anticlimactic. The party has brought overwhelming force against the depleted goblins, including two land-holders whose retinues include healers and are therefore nigh-indestructible. The army’s advance is contested but never truly in doubt. Even the trolls cannot inflict much damage before the Barbarian knocks them down.

At the gates of the city the goblins mount a desperate defense. The Barbarian, eager as always, scrambles over the walls and attempts to engage an entire company of spearmen single-handedly. This appears to be the limit of his abilities, as they stab him to the ground with a hundred thrusts. Fortunately Count Garth is unwilling to cede all the glory, and his troop smashes through the gates and captures the city. The party finds the Barbarian, unconscious but fortunately not in danger of bleeding out, lying in the rubble.

The common troops rampage through the city, killing everything that breathes. Even the goblin’s horses are destroyed, as they are unmanageable by human hands. The high lords gather in the goblin keep and oversee the collection of treasure.

The other lords look to the party for guidance, as this is their operation. The party decides to occupy the city for at least nine more days while the yeoman hunt hobgoblins in the forest, yielding sizeable portions of tael. After that their food will run out, and they are not willing to chance goblin fodder. The retreat home, like the march here, will require no rations, as the army is almost entirely composed of huntsmen who can forage with ease in the wild; but the goblins have long since hunted their own lands into depletion.

[Yahzi Coyote]

After the War Began

The losses from the war are light; only 58 men are dead, due largely to the considerable amount of healing power in the army. The next day the common and low-ranked bowmen rush out to the woods to hunt hobgoblins while the high lords convene to talk strategy.

A pair of knights ride into camp. The queen has sent couriers to bring back a report from the front. The knights are pleased to see that all is well. Before they depart they drop off a welcome addition: the party’s Wizard, keen to rejoin his comrades in the field.

The party decides to send out scouts to the west and south, looking to get a lay of the land. After four days the scouts from the south return to report nothing of interest; hobgoblin villages stretch on for another ten miles but after that is only wilderness.

The scouts from the west, however, report nothing, because they do not return.

The party considers sending Count Garth to scout, but decide that they should go themselves. They follow the river west a single day before encountering goblin forces in the form of four ogres and two trolls.

The party opens with the usual Entangle, immobilizing half the enemy. One troll charges up to the Barbarian and lays into him with a full attack. Another crawls out of the entangle and tries to close, along with one the ogres.

The Ranger finds himself fencing with a troll, not losing but not winning either. The Wizard sends a swarm against an entangled ogre… only to see it foiled by magical protection. The Druid summons lighting, the Bard begins to sing, and the Cleric calls forth a spiritual hammer.

All of this is wholly inadequate preparation for the fight to come. As the monsters close, the Wizard ups his game, fireballing a troll, an ogre, and the rogue swarm that is now seeking something it can feed on. The Ranger tries another entangle, trapping one ogre that had gotten free, but leaving him still facing a troll. The others make largely ineffective attacks, though a lightening bolt finishes off one ogre.

Meanwhile, hidden assassins keep shooting heavy crossbow bolts. While the damage isn’t terribly threatening, the constant saves vs. poison are beginning to be a problem.

Then the troll tears into the Barbarian with both claws, then leaping into the air to rake with his rear claws again. The Barbarian goes down hard. A single point more and he would be dead! The Bard, the only one close enough, dashes in to heal the Barbarian with potions. The troll batters at him but somehow only lands a lame bite. The Bard uses another potion to bring the Barbarian back to consciousness (though he wisely pretends to still be incapacitated), but then the troll lands a brutal claw and tears his throat out. The Bard is dead!

The Druid has turned into a bear; the troll leaves its fallen foes and rushes to attack something worthy of its claws. The Bard, no longer the direct target of the fearsome beast, stops playing dead and protects himself with mirror images. (I made all the other players make a Will save, and when they all failed, told them the Bard was dead. A few of them were even fooled briefly.)

The Bear-ized Druid and the troll are a fair match for each other. Meanwhile the Ranger is still fighting his troll. The Wizard pauses to detect magic, having realized that the creatures are protected from both summons and fire. The Cleric dispels all of the spells on one of the assassins and gets shot for his trouble. He decides to deal with the poison before it leaves him paralysed.

The Wizard then dispels the troll’s protections, allowing the Cleric to summon a celestial hippogriff to finish it off. The Druid-bear charges to engage the remaining troll and ogre and engages them in battle. The two goblin assassins, seeing how the fight must end, order the last ogre to cover their retreat and disappear into the wilderness.

This was an epic battle, with everyone damaged and over half the party in single-digit hit-points. The trolls in particular were very dynamic, either doing minimal bite damage or landing massive amounts of claw and rend damage. And of course the Barbarian’s Greek Fire grenades were desperately necessary to keep the trolls down. The ogres were so heavily armored that magic was almost the only effective way to deal with them.

Battered, bruised, and spell-less, the party cuts their recon short and return to the army. Their sorry state causes some concern, and they decide to end the mission. But in the morning the Druid notes that only four more days of hobgoblin hunting will see yet another member of their party gaining a rank (three have already gone up from the previous battle), so they choose to stay.

It is a fateful decision, because the goblin assault lands on the 8th day. Over four hundred goblins besiege the keep. The humans decide that time is not on their side, and immediately try to break through. The party, along with the free companies, takes the lead, while the Vicar Neve and her royals are in the van, with the other land-holders bringing up the rear. (This was mostly so we could reduce the battle to just a few units, since we were back on Roll20 instead of staring over a huge map in person.)

The battle is lopsided, though. The Wizard ignores the threat of arrows and fireballs the goblin archer units into oblivion. After he kills each one, the others manage to drop him with long-range indirect fire, only to see the Cleric patch him up again so he can kill the next company.

The bugbear knights prove rather hardier, and once they engage the free companies in melee begin to do serious damage. The free companies are all archer units and are heavily outclassed by heavy cavalry. Meanwhile, the bugbears prove they can even pound the Barbarian into negative hit-points. It begins to look almost like a fight, but the Cleric’s healing pulls the Arrow Free company out of a steep dive and the dice finally break our hero’s way. Entangle and spiky roots dominate the battlefield, preventing the hobgoblin hordes from being a threat.

They continue their retreat to the capital, not desiring to see if the goblins have any more attacks planned. But the further the army gets from the battlefield, the less they fear retribution and the more they desire another victorious slaughter. By the time the army presents itself to the Queen, it is already eager to return to the field.

The Queen reminds the party of their promise. She points out that sacking goblin cities would be a lot easier with a Helm of Brilliance on their side. She also notes that there are three goblin kingdoms, just like there are three human ones; if the human realm could unite under a single throne then they could strike with the force of three against each of the goblins in turn. And if Queen Rian gained the helm, along with her sister’s apparent command of the dragon, it would not be long before every human knee was bent to her.

The party must now decide if they want to pursue diplomacy and intrigue, or return to the bloody battlefield. They could also choose a stealthy strike mission into goblin lands, as the rogue Eslyt’s offer to sneak them into a goblin court still stands.

While the Druid surprisingly has had enough of blood for the moment, the party can’t help but notice that however unwieldy, expensive, and time-consuming armies are, their actions yield staggering amounts of tael. All but one of them has reached 6th rank from this war, and it has only begun. Even if they decide to pursue the helm, it will only be a stepping stone to more war.

[Yahzi Coyote]

The Heist: Part 1

The party considers their new mission with trepidation: steal a magic item without killing anyone. This is far outside their normal operating method. However, they are all ready for a respite from the chaos of the battlefield. Well, perhaps not all; the Barbarian asks if maybe they can just kill a little bit.

After considerable discussion, the party decides to disguise themselves as merchants. They spend 2,000 gp on silk (Eslyt arranges the purchase in her name and has the crates transported to their boat in the dark of night, to foil any Arkooian spies). The Druid recommends investing in a few other trinkets like a merchant’s scale and yardstick, and they all get enough training from a local merchant to be able to pass at least a cursory question or two. They spend another 2,000 gp on healing potions and spider climb potions, apparently expecting to drop down from the ceiling like a heist movie.

The voyage is calm and undisturbed (the GM didn’t want to roll for random encounters) and after a week they hail around the coast and land on Arkoommeamn soil. The Bard easily talks his way past the port authorities, presenting the party as simple merchants. The fact that they are heavily armed is not at all surprising, since the merchant trade is perilously close to adventuring.

After hiring a cart and loading up their crates of silk, they travel through a small county and into the capital. The city is well patrolled; the guards on the gatehouse in the stone wall look in their crates and hand them a small card with the local rules printed on it: no nudity, no pearls on commoners, and trial by combat is a legal right. The town has wide roads, fit for horsemen, and a solid castle in the center. The party trundles right up to the drawbridge, past a troop of pikemen, and attempts to talk their way through the knights on gate duty.

“Do you have a trading license?” a knight asks.

The Bard notes that this is not on the rules card.

“It’s not a bloody law book, is it?” the knight answers. “Come back on market day and maybe you’ll have a better chance.”

After learning that market day is four days off, they search out accommodations and are quickly referred to the Golden Wing Inn. The inn specializes in a chicken dish that is drenched in saffron to give it a unique golden color. The effect on the flavor is not entirely felicitous but the dish remains a staple of local culture.

The proprietoress, Gizela, is also a bard of some skill. She takes an interest in her latest customers and their foreign accents. A brief bard-off ensues, where the Bard totally gets the better of the innkeeper, and the information only flows one way. The party sells their cover as merchants while discovering that the only person in the castle who would be interested in their silks is… the Countess Malgorzata.

Gizela goes so far as to suggest she will introduce them to the local merchant house where they can acquire a trading license. She buys them a round and the party relaxes a bit. Meanwhile she flirts with the Barbarian, and soon sends him up to his room to fetch a trophy from one of his many adventures. Upon entering he discovers a burglar rifling through their things.

“Excuse me,” he says, “but that’s mine.”

“Oh, sorry,” says the burglar. “Here you go,” and grabbing a random weapon out of the Barbarian’s sack, stabs him with it.

The weapon is +1 rapier. The Barbarian is sixth rank. The stab barely annoys him; he pummels the burglar into unconsciousness in a single round, then grabs his bag in one hand and the burglar in another, and drags the man down the stairs. By the time they reach the ground floor the burglar is a bad way; the Druid crouches at his side and begins to tend his wounds while Gizela apologizes profusely.

It is terribly embarrassing for an innkeeper to have her guests burgled. “I put out traps and everything,” she says, “but you know how it is.” In recompense she comps them their rooms and meals, and then asks… “So what are you going to do with him?”

“What do you normally do with burglars?” the Cleric asks.

“We stab them,” she answers. The Barbarian perks up at this and starts searching his bag for a knife. Meanwhile the Druid has restored the wounded man to consciousness and is helping him to the door. “Although usually, we stab them while they’re actually in the act, not five minutes later in a different room on a different floor,” Gizela continues, frowning at the Druid.

“Can I demand trial-by-combat?” the Barbarian asks.

“You could,” she replies, “although that seems a bit predictable.” Then she is hit with an idea. “How many times did you hit him?”

“Well, twice,” the Barbarian admits.

She runs a hand across his rippling muscles. “That means he must be ranked; no common man could stand a single blow from such an arm. So… you could duel him!” Gizela makes a compelling case, and soon the Barbarian has agreed to a duel under unusual terms: the Barbarian will be unarmed and unarmoured, while the burglar will have the purloined rapier. The duel will be fought the next night, on the inn stage, as an entertainment.

Gizela has her men throw the burglar into a room to heal up, and begins plying the Barbarian with alcohol and compliments. She keeps him up all night, and starts in again the very next morning, clearly intending to send the Barbarian into the ring exhausted and drunk. This is, after all, the only way to make the fight even remotely interesting.

The rest of the party shakes their head but decides to use the event as cover while they snoop around town. The Bard trawls through town looking for rumors and eventually discovers that the Countess Malgorzata will be traveling out of town just after market day, to visit her sister in another county. He also arranges for a trading license from House Staszewski, but rather than pay the 100 gp fee offers a bit of betting advice: the Barbarian, regardless of odds. The merchant brothers Fortunat and Eryk are men of swords and action themselves, so they agree to terms. They will attend the fight and bet on the Barbarian. If he wins, the party gets their trading license for free; if he loses, they will pay double.

That night a drunk and staggered Barbarian takes the stage with a healed and clearly hopped up on alchemy burglar. The rogue wins initiative, stabbing the Barbarian for what would be serious damage to an ordinary man but is barely a scratch for him. The Barbarian responds with a flurry of fists, but his impaired state means he misses half the time.

The next round the poison kicks in. The Barbarian for once fails to shrug it off and suffers the maximum penalty, losing 6 points of DEX. Another result like that will see him paralysed! He flies into a rage, knowing that in his weakened state he will simply collapse into unconsciousness when the rage ends. The fight lasts all of five rounds before the Barbarian beats down the rogue, taking only minimal damage as the rogue fails to land any critical hits or sneak attack damage.

At the conclusion of the fight, surrounded by a madly cheering crowd, drunk, exhausted, and poisoned, the Barbarian gives into his rage and beats the rogue to death before passing out.

While this violence disturbs the party, it wins Gizela’s approval. She takes the rest of the party aside and makes them an astounding offer: a huge bounty of gold for every witch they slay. The astounding part is that it is exactly the same offer the shadowy rogue Esyllt made them back in Flefliequelp.

The Druid had already been forced to sell a little tael for pocket money, and had discovered that tael also sold for more than normal here as well. This cannot be a coincidence. Something odd is going on throughout the entire domain.

Gizela’s motive is clear enough; she wants to weaken the local government so she can take its place. But who could want the helm neutralized through such violent means and with such a wealth to pay for it? The party can tell Gizela does not have the money just lying around, though she adamantly will not reveal where it might come from.

Somewhat disconcertingly, the allegedly Team Good party spends a considerable time considering the murder-for-hire proposition. But on market day they take their silk to the castle and are reminded of their real quest.

Their trading license gets them onto the castle grounds, and soon the Countess comes down to inspect their wares. She is accompanied by four knights, a baronet, and two lady’s maids. The cleric notices that one of the guards is carrying a finely made wooden box, but astonishingly fails to draw the obvious inference. Fortunately the bard picks up the thread; while haggling over the price of their silk he asks the lady if she might have other rare goods to trade instead of coin, a perfectly legitimate question coming from a merchant. She laughs and answers, “Well, yes, and also no,” with a glance towards the box. The rest of the party notices that said box is exactly large enough to hold a helmet.

In a fit of inspiration the bard trades their 2,000 gp of silk for 1,000 gp and an invitation to dinner at the court, allegedly in the hopes of making a good impression on the king for the sake of future business.

That night they return to the castle for a sumptuous meal. The King is friendly enough, asking them about their travels, and is taken by the Bard’s recounting of their adventures in the City of Tomorrow, though he clearly doesn’t believe it. Meanwhile the Ranger has been trying to get the guard holding the box drunk, the Druid is trying to talk finance with the Master of Coin, and the Barbarian has challenged the King to an arm-wrestling match (which, much to his surprise, the Barbarian loses).

The Bard takes this opportunity to fascinate the rest of the King’s retinue, Master Rafal, Countess Fabolia, and Malgorzata. Only the witch fails her save and sits enraptured with his music, but this is good enough: he works in a suggestion that she should show them the Helm, as he greatly desires to look on an object of such beauty and power.

The wizard Rafal perhaps notices this use of spell power, but as it is so mundane in its request he cannot be certain. Malgorzata smiles and casually reaches out to the guard standing behind her with the box; he tries to stop her but has the box in one hand and the Ranger’s mug of ale in the other. She opens the box and pulls out the Helm and places it on her head.

The entire room pauses in appreciation; the Helm is indeed beautiful, studded with diamonds and rubies and opals in a frame of red and yellow gold. But is the sheer staggering power it represents that takes the breath away.

The Cleric, who had been observing quietly in the background, makes a holy gesture in appreciation and smoothly works in a Detect Magic spell. He discovers the Helm indeed is magical, and also that the box all but screams “trapped!”

This is enough for the party; they have found what they came to find. They retire for the night and immediately begin making plans to carjack the Countess on the road. They watch her ride out with a troop of knights and know that they have six days to plan an ambush. The party follows her road until they find a spot far from any village or other habitation.

The Druid, upon discovering the sorry state of the local vegetation (the GM’s attempt to weaken the overpowering Entangle spell), spends his time casting Plant Growth until he has a battlefield full of weeds. He also turns the hard packed dirt road into a soggy mud pit. The Barbarian kicks a wheel off their cart and the Bard makes camp a short distance away. Then they wait.

The column of horses eventually returns, but stops a distance off. Three men ride forward and their leader, a Baronet, issues a command. “Get that cart off the road or lose it.”

“We’re working as fast as we can,” says the Ranger.

The Bard ventures a question. “Is the Countess Malgorzata in your train?”

“Why would you ask,” the Baronet replies, “and why would I tell you?” He reaches for his sword.

“We’re friends of hers,” the Bard hastily explains with enough grace that the Baronet pauses.

“Your name,” he demands, and when supplied, shouts it back to the column.

“Yes, I know the man,” comes the Countess’ reply.

The Baronet decides not to murder the Bard and instead sends five of his men to dismount and help move the cart. This turns out to be surprisingly difficult as the party is actually trying to keep the cart on the road while the knights are trying to push it off.

Meanwhile the Bard slips back to where he can see the lady. “I apologize for the delay,” he says, “would you like a cup of tea while we wait?”

The Countess seems willing but the Captain at her side grunts, “No, she would not.”

“Well,” the Bard says, “might I counsel you to ride around? The road has gone to mud and I would not see your clothing stained.”

Again the Countess starts to agree, but her keeper grows even surlier. “No.”

The cart is almost clear; in desperation the Bard asks, “Then may I play you off, as a token of gratitude for your help?”

This time the Countess answers before her guard can. “That would nice.”

Once armed with song, the Bard quickly enraptures the Captain, the Countess, and the knight holding the box. He works in a suggestion: “Perhaps you would spare your horses the danger of an uneven road.” This time it works; the Captain nods absently while staring at his horse. Just as the knights remount after moving the cart, the Captain waves them all off the road and around it.

Of course it is a trap. As the column rides past the Bard he snatches the box from the still-befuddled knight, and the Druid and Ranger entangle the mounted column in writhing over-grown weeds.

The Baronet breaks free, as do four other knights down the column. The Cleric and Barbarian race to their horses and mount, leading the other’s horses back to where the Druid and Ranger are casting spells. The Druid casts another entangle, trapping one of the free knights, but the other three break free again although now they are quite a distance away.

The Baronet looks over his shoulder at the disaster and… spurs his horse to the west, in full flight. “A message for the King!” he shouts as he flees. The Ranger leaps into the saddle and gives chase, his lighter and faster horse hopefully a match for the Baronet’s heavy destrier. The Druid and Bard reach their horses and mount up, but can see the three knights coming back at them with lowered lances. Meanwhile the rest of the column has dismounted and is cutting their way out of the grass, a slow but steady process.

And the Countess Malgorzata stands in her stirrups and cries out. “I counted you friends!” Her red hair billows out around her, charged with magic. She may not have the Helm but she is still a pyromancer of not inconsiderable power.

The party is in the soup: split, flanked, and in the crosshairs of a fire-witch. Not a good situation, but not exactly a new one either.

[Palanan]

Hiya, Yahzi. I always love to see another one of your entries—and two sessions’ worth this time!




Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
The losses from the war are light; only 58 men are dead, due largely to the considerable amount of healing power in the army.

How did you arrive at this number? Did you work out a certain percentage of losses, or did you do a lot of rolling?


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
I made all the other players make a Will save, and when they all failed, told them the Bard was dead. A few of them were even fooled briefly.

Nicely played. Did the bard’s player make a show of distress?


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
This was an epic battle, with everyone damaged and over half the party in single-digit hit-points. The trolls in particular were very dynamic, either doing minimal bite damage or landing massive amounts of claw and rend damage.

This is especially impressive, given how easily the party went through the trolls during the battle in the previous session. Were these trolls with class levels, or templates, or something else?


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
…we were back on Roll20 instead of staring over a huge map in person.

When you're gaming in person, do you have a map which shows each individual soldier and archer, or do you represent them by companies? And if by companies, how do you switch between scales to account for the usual PC-scale combat?


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
And if Queen Rian gained the helm, along with her sister’s apparent command of the dragon, it would not be long before every human knee was bent to her.

I have a feeling this part won’t be going her way. :smalltongue:


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
…and trial by combat is a legal right.

As soon as I read this I knew we'd be seeing it soon. Was the burglar second level? He hit with the +1 rapier back in the room, but seemed to survive as long as he did in the fight purely on luck.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
…and the Barbarian has challenged the King to an arm-wrestling match (which, much to his surprise, he loses).

Not clear here—was it the barbarian who lost? And how did you run the match? Opposed Strength checks, or something more involved?


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
And the Countess Malgorzata stands in her stirrups and cries out. “I counted you friends!” Her red hair billows out around her, charged with magic. She may not have the Helm but she is still a pyromancer of not inconsiderable power.

Great cliffhanger to end another great session. Classic gaming fun, and as always I'm looking forward to the next installment.

But any way you slice it, Team Good is definitely not-so-good here. What would be the objection to their using diplomacy to secure an alliance and allow the Countess to use the Helm as an ally? Why are they doing the Queen's dirty work again?

[Yahzi Coyote]

Hiya, Yahzi. I always love to see another one of your entries—and two sessions’ worth this time!
Thank you. We actually had a session six weeks ago but I didn't get around to posting it until now. I have to admit knowing that you might read it is half the reason I still post them. :smallsmile:


How did you arrive at this number? Did you work out a certain percentage of losses, or did you do a lot of rolling?
I have rules for everything :smallbiggrin:. In this case, Generals of Prime lays out how to calculate fatalities from mass combat, with a generous helping of fudge.


Nicely played. Did the bard’s player make a show of distress?
Not particularly, but with six players at the table there's always a bit of confusion.


Were these trolls with class levels, or templates, or something else?
Na, the same ones they had fought before. I think it was just the weight of opposition. The old action economy at play. If you leave a troll alive long enough to land a rake, it starts to look scary.

Honestly I kinda expected them to steam-roll this encounter, so I was glad it stood up so well.


And if by companies, how do you switch between scales to account for the usual PC-scale combat?
Again, Generals of Prime has all the answers. I've been putting single figures down to represent squads and companies for a while. This was the first time we had combat on a map where each square was 50' though.


I have a feeling this part won’t be going her way.
There's actually a whole plot thing going on, which I could probably tell you since I doubt my players read this. Suffice to say for now the dragon is gonna sit back and see what happens. It has an end-game in mind...


As soon as I read this I knew we'd be seeing it soon. Was the burglar second level?
The trial-by-combat law was already written up from the stuff generated by the sandbox world generator, but in the end it was actually just a standard duel between nobles. I gave the rogue some bonus HPs for potions or something, but at 1st lvl he never really had a chance.

In sheer point of fact the burglar being in their room and being caught was also pre-written in the guidebook Scorpus - The Gold Coast, which I will eventually release when I finish it.


Not clear here—was it the barbarian who lost?
Good catch, I should clarify that the Barb lost. Just a simple STR check, roll D20 and add your STR. The Barbarian actually had a 50/50 chance.


Great cliffhanger to end another great session. Classic gaming fun, and as always I'm looking forward to the next installment.
When we broke off the session mid-combat (which we don't usually do but one of the players has a new baby at home so timing matters) I had actually not realized that the fire-watch was back in action. They found out about the next day on Messenger. :smallbiggrin: Going to be an interesting session next time. I've actually written up rules on the various defenses of the Helm (which will show up in the guide book, too). Like what I did with the Fire Witch's Manor: take what I've got and see what I can do with it. The party is in for a few surprises yet. :smallsmile:


But any way you slice it, Team Good is definitely not-so-good here. What would be the objection to their using diplomacy to secure an alliance and allow the Countess to use the Helm as an ally? Why are they doing the Queen's dirty work again?
The Barbarian made a good case that he's just being chaotic. But yes, they do tend to let their greed get the better of them. The Queen is promising them rings, gold, and armies to harvest tael. The only one whose alignment really matters is the Cleric, and so far he's been careful. Most of them occasionally have flashes of conscience, but the Barbarian and Ranger don't.

On the other hand, given the rules of my world, where rank doubles at every step, mass slaughter is kind of the best way to advance. I mean, they could go off into the wild and fight high-rank monsters, but the one time they tried that (Haggling Friends) they got scared and bailed early. :smallredface:

[Yahzi Coyote]

The Heist, part II

Malgorzata puts her feelings into action and launches a fireball against the Bard, incidentally catching the Barbarian in the blast. The Bard, given the option of hiding the behind the stolen box (for a +2 to his save), does so; the box takes the brunt of the blast and is destroyed, spilling molten gold and cracked glass at his feet. The helm in the box was clearly fake!

The Druid decides that’s enough of that and drops a fog cloud over the witch. The Barbarian turns to deal with the three charging knights, taking a defensive stance as they charge. It mostly works; he only gets hit by one lance, and then dashes behind them and cleaves two from the saddles.

The Baronet has realized he cannot outrun the Ranger, so he turns to fight, lowering his lance and charging back up the road. The Ranger draws his bow, doing serious damage as the Baronet closes.

The Wizard mysteriously appears, having been practicing his Invisibility spell for the last week (i.e. he missed the last session), and summons a swarm of bats against the entangled knights. But these men are ranked and do not fall easily to such attacks. Then the swarm dies, caught in a burst of flame: the fire-witch is burning a path through the entangling grass. Her men and horses suffer from the flames but their rank keeps them in the battle.

Soon men, horses, and an angry fire-witch are pouring out of the entangle. The Bard then turns the tide of the entire battle with a single spell; he blinds the witch with a well-turned curse. The lady cannot see to target her foes with her deadly fire magic now. The Bard and Cleric move into capture her while the Barbarian battles more knights, the Druid transforms into a great bear, and the Wizard summons another swarm.

But Malgorzata is not out of tricks yet. Sensing the approach of her enemies she targets the only thing she can with her next fireball – herself! The blast knocks the Cleric and Bard to the ground, unconscious and close to death, and kills Malgorzata’s horse. It does her no harm, though, as she has already cast a defensive spell.

The Ranger engages in a protracted duel with his Baronet, slowly losing to the man’s inferior swordsmanship despite needing only one more solid blow to end the fight. The Barbarian finds himself surrounded by knights and the Captain raining down blows on his head. One knight makes it to the Wizard and stabs him badly. The Wizard risks a spell, getting stabbed again for his efforts, and manages to put the knight into a magical slumber just in time, as the next blow would have seen his death.

The battle seems to be going in the knight’s favour, until the dire bear joins in. The great beast tears through the knights like paper. Even two lance charges are not enough to stop the monster. A knight breaks free and scoops up his mistress to carry her to safety, but the bear gets him too. The Wizard is trying to revive his companions with healing potions when the Barbarian goes down to the combined assault of the Captain, a knight, and their warhorses. The bear turns its attention to the witch, grappling her to stop a repeat explosion. He smothers her but the woman is surprisingly sturdy, stabbing at him with her dagger. The Wizard shoots her with a magic missile, ending her resistance. The bear immediately turns to engage another pair of knights.

The Ranger has finally dispatched his foe and gallops back to the main battle. Half the party is on the ground and even the bear is looking the worse for wear when the Captain gallops through the battle, snatching the unconscious witch from the ground in an epic feat of horsemanship. For a moment his way is clear, and then more magic missiles bring him to the ground.

The fight is over but not without cost. Over a dozen knights and two Baronets are dead; the lady’s maids are long gone, fleeing back the way they came; and the party is almost out of spells and badly injured. Once everyone is at least restored to consciousness they search the bodies carefully, but the only items of value are on the witch: a few magic trinkets (including a Cloak of Charisma that the Bard greedily appropriates) and an iron key. But no helm.

The party is at a loss. They bind the witch and toss her in the cart, heading back towards the city. Eventually Malgorzata wakes up. Blind, stripped of armour and finery, with hands bound behind her back, she still retains her spirit.

“You are all dead men,” she tells them. “King Sylwester will see to that.”

The Bard earnestly explains that they mean her no harm; indeed, they are here to rescue her and offer her refuge in far-away Flefiquielp.

“All that will gain me is the assassin’s blade,” she spits. “Sylwester will see me a corpse before the season’s end and give the helm to one of my cousins.”

When the Bard argues that they intend to get the helm as well, she scoffs at them. “You have done it in rather the wrong order, don’t you think?”

Nonetheless, realizing the precariousness of her situation, she grudgingly concedes that if they can gain the helm, she will still be of value. To that end she gives them the bare minimum necessary: the location of a secret gate into the castle. If they succeed, she will be a valuable prize to deliver to Queen Rian; if they fail, then she will be free to return to Sylwester.

The Bard easily bluffs their way back into the city and the Golden Wing Inn, with no one the wiser about the witch hidden in their cart. Shortly after midnight they sneak out of their rooms, fully healed and spelled, and are off to the castle.

The first obstacle is a simple moat. The Ranger leaps it easily, opens the secret door, and slides out a handy beam obviously meant for crossing it. Uncertain of their ability, most of the party consumes Spider Climb potions and thus traverse the beam easily. The Barbarian trusts to his own skill and fails badly, falling into the moat with a splash. He crawls up the other side, soaking wet but otherwise unharmed.

Now the party strolls through a castle in the middle of the night, looking for passage to the dungeons. They encounter a pair of washerwomen who step aside to let them pass without comment… until the Barbarian squelches past. Immediately they open their mouths to scream, stopped only by a timely sleep spell from the Wizard.

Deeper they go, encountering a pair of guards that are also alerted by the Barbarian’s bedraggled state. This time the Bard sleeps them, forestalling the Barbarian’s murderous impulse. They evade several other encounters, until finally they reach their destination.

Four knights stand guard in front of an iron portcullis. The Wizard casts sleep; two fall to the ground. The Bard casts as well, and a third falls. The fourth, however, draws breath to raise the alarm. The Barbarian charges forward and cuts the man down.

A careful inspection reveals that the gate is magically trapped. The Cleric tries to dispel the magic but fails; the Bard, in an astounding feat of intuition, guesses the magical password and puts key to lock to open the gate.

Now they face a small room with eight iron-bound chests and one silver-lidded pedestal. A small metal panel labelled “Emergency Procedure” hangs on the back wall.

The Druid begins dismantling the chests via magic, and gold coins spill across the floor. The Barbarian, realizing that time is running out, steps forward and snatches up the silver lid, shrugging off the effect of its cursed defence. Underneath is a golden pillow with the indent where a helm used to rest… but no helm.

He turns to the metal panel and opens it, but cannot read the instructions held within. The Bard steps forward and reads, “In case of emergency… explode.” This triggers the Explosive Runes spell, almost killing the Bard and injuring the Barbarian. As they stagger back the Ranger enters and makes a careful search of the room, discovering a false panel in the wall which opens to reveal, finally, the Helm of Brilliance. He snatches it, only to involuntarily yelp out, “I am a thief!” But the fit passes, and he strides from the room with the prize in his hands.

The rest of the party stops scooping loose gold coins into bags and they all head back upstairs. They almost reach the postern gate without incident, but then encounter another pair of guards. These men pass the now-dried off Barbarian without comment, but when they come abreast of the Ranger, he suddenly shouts, “I am a thief!” It appears the Confessional Curse has stuck.

A brief round of fist-fighting ensues before the party can flee out of the gate and back across the moat. Realizing they have at most minutes before the sleeping guards awake and raise the alarm, they find a deserted stretch of city wall. The Ranger and Barbarian now put their own Spider Climb potions to good use, scaling the wall and tossing down a rope to haul the others over.

Walking back to their boat, Malgorzata finally surrenders. “Put me down,” she says, as the Barbarian has been carrying her over his shoulder, “and show me the helm.” They let her touch it, and she sighs. “Very well, then.”

A patrol of knights catches up to them shortly after sunrise, galloping down on them before they can react. The Barbarian takes up a defensive stance and invites their charge. He appears to have learned from the previous encounter, as this time every single lance is turned aside by his shield and armor. Now the party has a crowd of horsemen upon them, but the Wizard simply drops a fireball on the knot of horsemen with the Barbarian at the center. The spell only singes him, but it means death for the low-ranked knights, and the two remaining knights are easily dispatched. This time the party is merciful; they loot the dead, but leave the merely injured to recover on their own. Then it’s on the boat and out to the safety of the sea, where the Cleric restores Malgorzata's sight and frees the Ranger from the Confessional Curse. The Barbarian passes the time by intimidating the fire-witch, assuming she won’t blast him on a wooden boat in the middle of the ocean.

At Queen Rian’s court they receive a royal welcome. The Queen is honey and sugar to Countess Malgorzata, explaining that it is time for the three human kingdoms to unite under a single ruler, and that ruler is Queen Rian. With the aid of Malgorzata’s helm, none can stand against them; and then once united, the full force of the human realms can be hurled against the splintered goblin kingdoms.

Malgorzata is dubious… until Vicar Neve assures her that yes, she can in fact repel the dragon. This confirms the new international order. When Rian asks for a final time what Malgorzata wants to become a willing ally, she answers.

“First, I want this man“– she points at the Barbarian – “whipped until he cannot walk. Then I want my daughter, my sister, my cousins, and my husband brought out.”

As a crowd of knights springs on the Barbarian to carry out the punishment, Rian turns to the rest of the party. “You have fairly earned your reward, though perhaps not as cleanly as could be hoped. But now I have another favour to ask. Return to Arkoommeamn and bring out the Countess’s kin. This time, however, feel no need to spare your swords. Should you slay King Slywester himself I would count it a boon.”

[Palanan]

Always glad to see another installment. And perfect timing, I was just thinking about this a day or two ago, wondering when the next one would show up.

Great fight at the beginning, with that on-the-edge sense of desperate back-and-forth that you and your players manage so well…if probably not intentionally. And the party certainly fits like a glove with the theft-and-retrieval missions, give or take the barbarian.




Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
The helm in the box was clearly fake!

You got me there, didn’t see that coming, although I probably should have.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
The Bard then turns the tide of the entire battle with a single spell; he blinds the witch with a well-turned curse. The lady cannot see to target her foes with her deadly fire magic now.

Nicely done. The Bard is shaping up to be MVP for this encounter.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
…when the Captain gallops through the battle, snatching the unconscious witch from the ground in an epic feat of horsemanship.

Did you roll for this, or was this allowed to be part of the narrative? Just curious how you approached this particular action.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
They encounter a pair of washerwomen who step aside to let them pass without comment… until the Barbarian squelches past. Immediately they open their mouths to scream, stopped only by a timely sleep spell from the Wizard.

Hilarious, and also nice to see that we’re back to being Team Good, however briefly—


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
The fourth, however, draws breath to raise the alarm. The Barbarian charges forward and cuts the man down.

—yeah, that didn’t last long. Is the Barbarian CN, or just Chaotic Stabby?


Originaily Posted by Yahzi Coyote
…the Bard, in an astounding feat of intuition, guesses the magical password and puts key to lock to open the gate.

More details would be great here. What sort of skill check did you use for this? And even with an insanely high roll, how could he randomly guess the correct password on the first try? Did he social-engineer the name of the king’s first pony while they were at the last banquet?


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
A small metal panel labelled “Emergency Procedure” hangs on the back wall.

Obvious trap is very, very obvious. And yet they always fall for it. :smalltongue:


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
…he suddenly shouts, “I am a thief!” It appears the Confessional Curse has stuck.

Is this a conditional Bestow Curse, or some other spell? I’m dimly recalling something from the rules but can’t bring it to mind now.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
“First, I want this man“– she points at the Barbarian – “whipped until he cannot walk. Then I want my daughter, my sister, my cousins, and my husband brought out.”

I’m almost starting to like Malgorzata. (Except she listed her husband after her cousins….)


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
“…This time, however, feel no need to spare your swords. Should you slay King Slywester himself I would count it a boon.”

And it’s on. Really looking forward to next time.

Post more, Yahzi! Post like the wind!

:smalltongue:

[Yahzi Coyote]

(Lazy DM forgot to write up the last two adventures. I can't recall all the details of the battles - rest assured they were glorious - but I do want to record the plot advancement.)

Second Invasion of Drield

The bard has risen to the ranks of the silver-tongued; he is positively glib these days. He talks Queen Rian into a diversion: an assault on the goblins to demonstrate the power of the helm is Rian's to command. In truth the party is afraid of confronting King Sylwester and seeks more rank before taking on a mission of such magnitude.

Malgorzata objects, but Vicar Neve sides with the bard, perhaps eager for the glory that has so long eluded her as the lesser power of the sister's triumvirate. Half the Royal army marchers out, accompanied only those peers whose stature and prior attendance entitle them to a place in the expedition: Vicar Irwen, Count Gareth, and the Order of the Hound. And, of course, the party's troops of Yeoman and Marksmen. The queen also sends her personal guard of cataphracti to protect Neve. While these men are unranked, they are well-equipped and as fanatically loyal as gold and magic can make them.

The week-long approach (remember that on Prime, a week is ten days) is unmarred by incident or dragon. The assault on the keep of Eichouboomnea is a foregone conclusion, though the surprise deployment of ballistae discomfort the cleric to a considerable degree. More concerning is the liberal use of poison and the horde of bugbear knights. Nonetheless, the battle is won and the ranked nobles force their way into the throne room... only to find it deserted. The Flefliequelpians are well-versed in goblin trickery and sweep the keep for traps before establishing a temporary headquarters for the army.

Over the next few days the army leaves at morning's light to harvest hobgoblins while the noble leaders plot their next move. This is the second goblin keep to fall, and the tally of the dead implies the remaining goblin districts have been seriously bled as well. A final thrust on the capital should break the organized resistance of the nation. However, time is an issue, as the goblin lands are too depleted to provide game for the human army, and absolutely no one is prepared to live off of goblin food. The ten days of supplies the army carries is the limit of their stay. The question is whether that time should be spent profiting off of the hobgoblin hunt or marching on the capital.

Before a decision can be reached, the goblins force the issue. On the second day reports come of significant goblin forces engaging the army in the field. Vicar Neve rushes off to the front, where her magic will render fatal wounds into mere inconveniences for her soldiers. Malgorzata, whose participation so far has been a few fireballs on the battlefield, is not worth risking for a minor engagement. When the party decides to stay at the keep to guard Mal, Vicar Irwen and Count Gareth accompany Neve to battle.

As evening falls, the party sits down to a meal in the heart of the keep. Malgorzata's ceaseless complaints that all of this is a waste of time while her family remains in danger are suddenly cut off when she turns white and falls to the floor, dropping the glass of wine she had just been poured. The servant drops the wine bottle and its disguise at the same time, producing a pair of daggers and stabbing at the nearest party member. Meanwhile, the rest of the goblin assassins break their invisibility spell with a collection of ranged attacks.

The goblin nobles of this nation are high level rogues, and in past encounters they have seriously under-performed. This time, working in a large group inside a building against high-value targets, they finally show their worth. Both the barbarian and the ranger are left bleeding on the floor before the battle finishes. Absent the wizard's spells, this might have gone quite badly; as it is, the druid only barely prevents the last goblin from escaping with the incapacitated Mal. No one is quite certain why the goblins wanted to capture Mal rather than simply murder her, but everyone agrees that outcome would have been disastrous. The cleric's spells manage to keep Mal alive, but absent an antidote the woman will soon perish.

When Neve returns in the morning from the diversionary attack on the army, her magic restores the party and Mal back to health. Now it is agreed that the capital is the next and immediate target, as the rank of the slain goblin assassins indicate there might not be any nobles left at all. However, once again fate intervenes: a message from the Queen arrives.

Rescuing Witches

King Sylwester has descended to the basest level; he has hung a witch from his castle battlement and promised to hang one a week until Malgorzata returns. The rest of her female kin are interred in his dungeon, robbed of their spells and denied the ability to regenerate them. For good measure, Mal's husband - formerly the King's Master of Foot - is in chains with them.

Mal goes ballistic. There is no longer any possibility of delay; the witch will turn the Helm on the party if they so much as suggest it. Reluctantly they saddle up for a solitary journey into danger. None of the other nobility can accompany them without a formal declaration of war, and while Mal is eager to ride to her kin's rescue, the queen's soldiers will not allow the witch to return to her homeland where, after all, she could easily have a change of heart and return to Sylwester's service to save her family.

Nor could any common men keep pace with our heroes, who no longer require sleep or food due to the magic they wield. At least they have brought everyone up to sixth rank. Thanks to their number they are now as pussiant as most royal courts. Which is well, as they are about to single-handedly assault a royal court in its own castle.

They ride directly to Arkoommeamn, as it is closer from their current position than returning to Flef and sailing out. The queen's messenger assures them their boat has already been dispatched with instructions to meet them at the same location as before, ready to transport the rescued women back to the safety of Rian's court.

No one challenges them in the wilderness, the fields, or even the city gates. They stop by Gizela's inn to quench their thirst before the big battle. She is slightly apoplectic to see them so brazenly implicate her in their coup, but now that they are here, she takes advantage of the situation, extracting a very large sack of gold from the party in exchange for a promise to turn the king's lancers.

Only at the castle do they encounter resistance, and it is everything the king has. A square of pikemen guard the gate, backed by companies of crossbowmen on the walls, and troops of lancers waiting to charge the party from either side.

As promised, the lancers suddenly turn and flee. The remaining common soldiers are almost useless; the druid and bard's swarms of toxic vermin drive off the square of pikemen, who are keenly aware that the barbarian would likely slaughter them all if they did try to stand. The crossbowmen are more effective than they should be, raining down hordes of bolts and trusting to luck (i.e. crit-fishing) to score a hit. The ranger and barbarian engage in an archery duel that numbers ensure they cannot win, until the cleric shuts it down with a wall of mist.

This gets them into the gatehouse. In the courtyard beyond they face two squares of pikes and more crossbowmen on the roof of the keep itself. The bard attempts to open the keep door while the barbarian tries to force it; both fail until the druid warps the wood in the door to weaken it. He is, after all, the one with the record of building kills. More swarms dispense with the pikemen, and the party escapes the hail of bolts by entering the keep.

In the great hall on the first floor they are met by fifty first-rank knights. These men would be far more dangerous on horseback, but the battle is here, inside, and they are true to their oaths. The barbarian is humbled by the immense amount of damage these men manage to inflict on him before magic and his whirling greatsword demolishes the knights.

On the second floor they face the officers of the realm. A score of captains and a squad of baronets fight with more dispatch and hardiness than the first-ranks, but the barbarian is slightly more circumspect and the battle eventually concludes without any crippling damage.

On the third floor Slywester and his court await them. This is a true battle, and the party is already seriously depleted from the previous engagements. The king's wizard summons a fire-breathing hound from hell and disappears, his contribution to the battle already concluded in the preparatory spells he as cast on the rest of the retinue. The King is indeed formidable, dealing out terrible damage and surprisingly hard to hurt. Only the Master of Horse and the hell hound are easy prey; the others acquit themselves well. The Minister of Coin/Royal Assassin springs out of hiding from a corner and inflicts terrible damage on the bear (the druid, having run out of spells, resorted to melee combat in the last battle). The king manages to reduce half the party to negative hit-points, while the cleric desperately patches them up and sends them back into battle. Finally he falls, leaving only his paladin standing; she spends her last action trying to heal her liege before the ranger strikes her down.

At this point any more serious resistance would probably be fatal, but there is no one left to resist. The wizard is gone, the soldiers are dead, and the witches are quickly freed. No one opposes their departure from the castle or the city or the realm; they reach their boat without difficulty, and return by sea to the court of Queen Rian once again.

If they thought to find respite from their labors, they are mistaken. The queen can see her new throne as Empress of the Human Realm in the Gold Coast just waiting for her. Only one obstacle stands in her way; the royal court of Iesiequerr. A formal war of succession is not in her interests; she wants to amalgamate three kingdoms into one, not annex a devastated nation into her own war-torn country. The queen asks the party to resolve the issue, though like all royal requests it is not conceivable to refuse. In exchange she pays them 12,000 gp of magic... in advance.

The cleric is dubious about this murder-for-hire arrangement, but the queen's personal guard of cataphracti - all mercenaries from Iesiequerr - testify to the corruption and degradation of their former royal court. In their unbiased opinion their home country would be liberated to serve under the wise and powerful Queen Rian, who, it must be said, is the only force in the domain the party is still afraid of save for the dragon itself.

The iron law of landrule is that the ruler who cannot defend their land is not entitled to it. The party will now put that strength to the test, as it is done again and again across the face of Prime. The blade of the thresher turns, separating the common from the noble.

[Yahzi Coyote]

Always glad to see another installment. And perfect timing, I was just thinking about this a day or two ago, wondering when the next one would show up.
I have been terribly lax, but we are having another session this weekend, so I finally had to get these recaps out.



And the party certainly fits like a glove with the theft-and-retrieval missions, give or take the barbarian.
It is nice to have some varied missions.


You got me there, didn’t see that coming, although I probably should have.
My daughter actually came up with a number of these twists. The mind of an 11-year-old is devious!


Did you roll for this,
I roll for almost everything. The only time I have used cut-scenes is to get them to stand still until the BBEG finishes his monologue - or to get a player who missed the last session back to the battlefield. (Oh, and the very first adventure, where the NPC gets knocked out so they can fight the battle themselves.)


back to being Team Good, however briefyl
They do have a bit of trouble with that part. But in my alignment system, Green (i.e. Chaotic Good) can be quite bloodthirsty, as long as they are nice to their friends. Only the cleric's alignment actually matters, and he's done pretty good with sticking to Blue. The Ranger is danger of drifting to Lawful Evil, and the Barbarian could wind up Chaotic Evil if the cleric didn't reign him in.


What sort of skill check did you use for this?
Bardic Lore, of course. "Gold rules here" was the passphrase, which, honestly, isn't beyond reason for a Gold kingdom. I have notes on the helm's defenses and intend to write them up as part of the adventure supplement for The Gold Coast guidebook. The Curse was a creative use of Bestow Curse, ideal since it isn't obvious until it does its damage.

We are working our way to them facing the dragon, but there's 2 more goblin kingdoms and a necromancer's lair to get through first. :D They don't know that yet, though.

[remetagross]

If they thought to find respite from their labors, they are mistaken. The queen can see her new throne as Empress of the Human Realm in the Gold Coast just waiting for her. Only one obstacle stands in her way; the royal court of Iesiequerr. A formal war of succession is not in her interests; she wants to amalgamate three kingdoms into one, not annex a devastated nation into her own war-torn country.

Awesome. If I have followed correctly, the party is now level 6, right? I'm glad to see how that means they now deal with problems of international status. And they are still shy of turning 18, right? :smallbiggrin:

[Yahzi Coyote]

A Noh Play in One Act

The party decides to go with their traveling merchant disguise again, purchasing a thousand gold pieces of silk (the Ranger tries to write it off as an expense but the Queen’s accountants deny him). They sail into Isiequerr and are immediately discomfited… by the orderliness and cleanliness of the realm.

Isiequerr is a place where everyone knows their place. Peasants rush out of the way of lords; civil servants without rank wear placards and wield authority without meeting the gaze of nobles. The absence of hunger and violence makes the party begin to question their allegiance to the wily and wild beauty of Queen Rian.

Checking into an inn, they once again inquire as to how best to approach the royal castle with their rare goods. Market day is only a few days out, so the party prepares to run the same play they had success with in Arkoommeamn. But the locals have a different idea.

After a day of sight-seeing, weapon-shopping, and watching the local theater (and being discreetly tailed by commoners), they retire to the inn for dinner. The waitress brings them a message as she clears the table: they should check on their horses in the stable. This is an intriguing message because they don’t have horses. After a mercifully brief discussion of the possible dangers, the party finally decides to go out to the barn. There they find the waitress waiting for them.

“Not everyone is of the same mind,” she explains. There are those who would like to see a change of rule in the realm. The Bard is of course suspicious but the waitress knows enough catch-phrases to sound convincingly like a member of the shadowy network that the party has encountered in both other kingdoms (the rogue Esyllt in Flef and the bard Gizela in Arko). For 5,000 gp she offers them the same deal Gizela did: to turn aside the low ranked knights and let the party contest against the king’s retinue directly. Again the Ranger tries to haggle, but the waitress just rolls her eyes. The Druid pays her fee in tael; she instructs them to be return to the barn the same time tomorrow night.

The next day they wander the town attempting to purchase healing potions, but the temple is closed for a local holiday. That evening they gather in the barn and ready themselves for battle.

The waitress appears and calmly leads them through the dark, silent streets. She pauses at a street corner and informs them that battle is but a minute away; they should cast whatever long-term spells they desire. The party is only 7th level; at this stage they only have one or two preparations to make. The waitress then leads them directly to the castle gates.

The guards at the gate stare out into the street, apparently unaware of the party’s existence. When someone inquires, the waitress explains they have been blinded by the oldest spell in the book: gold. The Bard observes that is actually the second oldest spell, but his wit is not appreciated.

The party walks unopposed through the gates and into the courtyard. As they approach the steps up to the central palace a troop of men form a line behind them: knights armed with a long sword, a short sword, and a bow. The waitress calms the party and explains. “They will allow you to leave uncontested if you provide them with proof of the king’s defeat.” Then she pushes open the heavy door and steps inside.

They follow, eager to get to the heart of the matter without having to slaughter dozens or hundreds of men of little account. Inside they are greeted by an unexpected sight: King Tsuneuji and his Minister of Divinity, Vicar Masamori, sit alone at the far end of a long table in a dark hall. The only light in the hall is the lantern on table in front of the two men. The King has obviously been expecting them; he uses the initiative to stand up and monologue.

First, a single candle is lit in the balcony that surrounds the room. A man sits behind the candle and begins to strum a lyre, casting Bardic Inspiration. The observant members of the party realize there are a number of people around him, armed with musical instruments.

Second, the king stands up and places an ivory mask on his face. He declaims a ritual piece of dialogue from a classic play: “A noble ruler contemplates the vicissitudes of fate.”

Third, Vicar Masamori stands up beside the king, also placing an ivory mask over his face, and reciting “The favor of the gods stand with him.” The Cleric identifies this as the Prayer spell, though the party is too far away to suffer the negative effects.

Fourth, stagehands in the balcony then turn spotlights onto six knights kneeling on either side of the table, between the party and the king. These men are in a staggered line, so that there are four in front with dual swords ready and two behind them with bows ready. They recite in unison, “His loyal retainers stand with him,” and stand up. All of them are clearly wearing ivory masks.

Finally, spotlights illuminate each member of the part. The king fires two arrows, one at the Ranger and one at the Barbarian, clearly testing their defenses. And then initiative passes to the party.

This is clearly a set-up; on the other hand, it’s a set-up the party wanted. The party is higher-rank than the defenders, and only out-numbered by the addition of a half-dozen 3rd rank fighters. This is a fairer fight than they could have hoped for, and they leap into battle.

The Barbarian charges up the left side of the room, engaging the knights. They are hardy enough to slow him down, though clearly outmatched. The Ranger engages shoots an arrow into the bard in the balcony; the entire room hisses in disapproval. Fortunately the arrow is not enough to kill a man of rank; the bard ignores it and continues the show. The rest of the party begins casting their short-term combat spells: mirror images, magic hammers, and the like.

And things immediately go south. A spotlight illuminates an elaborately dressed man on the left side of the room as he recites a terrible joke. "A barbarian walks into a tavern. Ouch! says the tavern; why don't you use the door like normal people?" A drum roll from the orchestra accompanies the punch line. The Barbarian chuckles, then laughs, then collapses to the ground under a gale of guffaws. The king begins shooting spell-casters, and his arrows hit like guided missiles.

The Bard tries to advance on the right side. These knights are only 3rd rank but they are still dangerous. The Cleric tries to cast a spell, and suddenly spotlights illuminate a woman on the right side of the room. She cries out, “Denied!” punctuated by a crash of cymbals, and the Cleric’s spell is countered.

The next round sees the Ranger targeted with a joke. "Two rangers are walking in the woods when they discover a set of tracks. One says it is bear tracks; the other says it is wolf tracks. They are still arguing when the wagon train runs over them." He also collapses in helpless amusement. This is cruel pay-back for when the party crippled the master spy of Varsoulou with Tasha’s Hideous Laughter.

Faced with a line of advancing knights, the Druid decides its bear time. He easily takes out the remaining knights on the left side, saving the Barbarian from being stabbed to death while helpless, but is in turn devastated by the waitress back-stabbing him with dual daggers. They notice the waitress is now wearing an ivory mask. No one saw her put it on; in fact, no one saw her since the battle started.

Unfortunately Lady Senko, like all rogues, is a one-hit wonder: the ursine druid smashes her into the wall, killing her in a single brutal attack.

Somehow the party remains fighting until the Barbarian’s spell wears off. Each turn Baron Kane the jokester targets another party member, but these jokes all fail and hence are too lame to repeat. (Ironically, the only failed saving throws accompanied the only jokes the table laughed at. Obviously I needed to work on the jokes more.) The king does great work with arrows, but mostly succeeds in stripping the Bard of images and reducing the Cleric to single digits.

Once the Barbarian is back on his feet things start looking up. He charges the joking sorcerer… only to run face-first into both an invisible set of iron bars and a Glyph of Warding. The explosion knocks him down again. The bear charges forward and uses its reach to reach inside the invisible cage, taking Baron Kane out of the battle in an instant. The Ranger stands up, finally recovered, and the Cleric runs up to heal the Barbarian.

Meanwhile the Cleric’s hammer has been beating on Lady Tome, forcing her to leave off counter-spelling to drink a healing potion. More importantly, Vicar Masamori has to run to her side and heal her as well. The Bard is still duelling a line of knights and slowly winning, but not without cost.

The king turns his arrows to the bear. Already wounded from the backstab, the bear falls to negative. The Cleric, having just healed the Barbarian, quickly turns to healing the Druid.

The Barbarian knows it is time to end this. He puts one foot on the table, prepared to charge over it to get to the king, but then his innate sense of decorum convinces him to run around the table instead (ha! What actually happened is the DM told him to make a reflex save, and he changed his mind. The DM wrote this off to the barbarian class’s innate trap sense ability). This results in more sonic glyphs, leaving him on the ground unconscious a second time.

Meanwhile, the Cleric’s Spiritual Hammer does more good than it ever has, knocking Lady Tome out. The Ranger has finished off the last of the knights, and the Bard, seeing that the fight is now moving to the king, decides to evade the Vicar and charge up the table.

He fails his reflex save; the table collapses under his weight, dropping him forty feet into a spiked pit. (No do-overs for the Bard – he should have been paying attention!). Much wailing ensues, but the Ranger has a rope, of course. He wraps it around his leg and tosses one end down, leaving his hands free to continue the archery battle.

Which is good, because the next round sees the king put the Ranger on the floor. Those arrows really hurt!

The Bard climbs out of the pit, anchored by the unconscious Ranger’s body. He uses his magic to heal the Ranger, while the Cleric is healing the Druid. Then the Bard heroically charges Vicar Masomori. The Glyphs of Warding are not enough to stop him (on account of his hardly taking any damage so far, thanks to the Mirror Images). The Druid crawls forward to heal the Barbarian before throwing fire around heedless of the risk of arson, and the Cleric leaps the table to double-team Masomori.

The party is in dire straights. Half of them have been knocked out, one of them twice; they are almost out of spells, and all of them are low on vitality. But the king is only 7th rank, and his retinue are lower. To the extent they have focused on offense, they have sacrificed defense.

Masomori goes down to the combined assault. The Barbarian lays into the king, reducing him to single hit points. However, the Barbarian is equally low and the king draws his two swords, preparing to deal out a fatal response. The Ranger dramatically ends the encounter with a single arrow, killing the king just in time to save the Barbarian’s life.

The orchestra wails once in deafening grief and then goes silent. The spotlights wink out, replaced by the gentle illumination of house lights. A brief pause while the party deals out mercy to the not yet dead, rather than waiting for them to bleed out (though it must be said the Druid was not inclined to mercy). The party finds a small box with 10,000 tael on the table next to the king;s lantern. A search of the bodies reveals a bunch of minor magic items and the most precious gift of all: a scroll of Raise Dead!

Then servants file into the room with mops and brooms. Two junior clerics offer to heal the party, and a servant shows them to the guest rooms, explaining that the master suites will not be safe for the party until they clear out the many glyphs surrounding every part of the castle that should never be entered by mere visitors.

The party has passed the test. They are both powerful enough to rule (as demonstrated by their destruction of the king’s retinue) and civilized enough to be tolerated (shown by their adherence to the rules of the battle designed to minimize the collateral damage). In the morning they find themselves addressed as Lords. A temporary position, as they make it clear that they intend to turn the realm over to Queen Rian. Yet the staff are eager to change their minds; the barons and counts will soon make their journey to the capital to swear to their new lieges, and the life of the realm can continue much as before but with different rulers. After all, better the devil you have than a mad sorceress who they already know can never be tamed to their idea of civilization.

(This was their closest battle yet, despite the clear imbalance of levels, and the players were genuinely concerned at several points. I think their sense of danger was also fueled by the fact that I had a plan for if they lost that would not result in a TPK. Due to that, I probably seemed far more sanguine about their difficulties than they are used to.)

[Yahzi Coyote]

Awesome. If I have followed correctly, the party is now level 6, right? I'm glad to see how that means they now deal with problems of international status. And they are still shy of turning 18, right? :smallbiggrin:
Level 7, actually. This last adventure saw them decapitate yet another kingdom. They are solidly in the Realm phase, where the prizes and battlefields are kingdoms. The end game is in sight, though; confronting the dragon. Which will see them on the Domain stage.

And yes, we haven't properly kept track of time but they aren't quite 18 yet. :smallbiggrin:

EDIT: Oops only 2 of them are 7th - the cleric and the bard. The rest are 6th. They promoted the bard 2 lvls last time, because he was the last one to get promoted above 5th.

[remetagross]

Oh oh, so 4th-level spells are on the table now. By the way, did the Wizard miss that big session? The party would have appreciated his help in this fight, I'm sure.

Congrats on the thematic battle, with the spotlights and poetics and disguise! I guess they were pleased to see that was quite different from their previous kingslaying adventure.

[Yahzi Coyote]

By the way, did the Wizard miss that big session?
The wizard has missed quite a few sessions. But he'll be back this weekend, I hear. They are going to face a giant - which will probably fall to a single spell (that's how these things go!).

The Noh play was my second-best set piece battle (the zombie attack on the village was the best, I think).

[remetagross]

Can't wait to see what happens next :smallsmile: I've been wondering: is this game core-only?

[Yahzi Coyote]

Can't wait to see what happens next :smallsmile: I've been wondering: is this game core-only?

It is core-only, though I've made a few house rules (mostly to pump up fighters and nerf wizards/druids/clerics). All of my house rules are in the Heroes of Prime stuff on DriveThruRPG. The single biggest change is that XP is a tangible resource, like gold.

[Yahzi Coyote]

Against the Giants: prologue

The party is relaxing in Iseiquerr, enjoying being treated like royals, when a panicked rider stumbles into court. Arkoommeamn is under attack by goblins! The queen is sending the party as they are all she has to send. They must delay the monsters until help – in the form of the Queen’s army and the Helm of Fire - can arrive in 12 days.

The party has a brief discussion about whether they should ask for payment for this task, but a consultation with the local legal experts reminds them that the noble right to bear arms is also a duty; the local landlord can deputize any noble to defend the realm when it is attacked. As the acknowledged overlord of Arkoommeamn, Queen Rian can command them to the defense. Also, there is the small matter of morality, as the nation is without noble protection because of the party.

However, the lawyer makes an equally compelling point: it would foolish to leave Iseiquerr equally undefended. He persuades the party to leave two of its members behind, the Druid and the Bard (those players couldn’t make this session).

Facing a journey of 130 miles overland, the party realizes the fastest way they can travel is simply walking. Given their magic rings, they need no food or water and only two hours of sleep a day. Even horses cannot travel so consistently. Just like the scene in Lord of the Rings, when Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli pick up their packs and start running after an entire orc army, the party pulls on their boots and starts walking.

There is nothing in these woods that can challenge the party, so after a long day and a half of walking through forests and plains, they enter civilized lands without incident.

They stop in a tavern in the county of Edalt for refreshments (even if they don’t have to drink, they still like to) and to listen in on the local gossip. They pass unrecognized, but recognize themselves in the talk around the bar as the patrons discuss the terrible news from the west.

“This happened because of those murder hobos,” one asserts. “If the King were still alive, the goblins would never dare raid our borders so brazenly.”

“I heard it be a wee bit more than a raid,” says another. “We might be next.”

“Bah,” answers the bartender. “If the gobbos brought an army, the dragon will eat them soon enough. The only thing we need to worry about is how you’re going to pay your bar tab.”

The party decides not to correct this bit of local lore, and moves on. Next they pass through the tiny county of Eimaeroud, where they are at least identified as adventurers. Lord Oscar offers them horses and supplies if they will ride to the realm’s defense. He, however, prefers to stay at home.

“I have too few troops to make a difference,” he explains, “and should I step over the border, I would have to choose sides between the two contenders for the throne. And I would not willingly do that, as I think both of them are unworthy.”

Refreshed by free wine, cheese, and bread, the party rides across the land to the capital. At last they come to familiar territory, passing over the bridge where they laid ambush to Malgorzata and her escort. As the sun sinks they arrive at the city gates, where they are finally recognized in all their glory. The gate guards take one look at them, shriek in terror, and flee.

The party rides unopposed through the town, only slightly concerned by the signs of disorder. They decide to complete their tavern crawl by checking into Gizela’s famous Golden Wing Inn. She is thrilled to see them. “You’ve come to help! I knew it!” Before they can clarify, she drags them out of the inn and down the road to a most unlikely sight: a keep besieged.

Besieged by the common troops formerly of the king and now serving Gizela. This is the headquarters of the Order of the Lance, a noble guild with as much military power as smaller counties. The commander, Baron Anatol, has holed up with thirty knights and enough supplies to last a season.

Gizela grins in excitement. “This is what you do, right? Clean out castles infested with rotten nobles. Well, hop to it, boys!”

The Ranger tries to talk sense into her. “Aren’t the goblins the real enemy? Shouldn’t we take these soldiers and march west to the border?”

She is unmoved. “A divided realm cannot defend against outside threats. Anatol will kill me the moment he leaves that keep, and lose the commoners in the process. But if you wipe out that traitorous pig, you can enrich yourselves and stabilize the kingdom at the same time. Then we’ll go deal with this goblin raid or whatever.”

The Cleric suggests, “We heard it was a wee bit more than a raid.”

“Pfft,” Gizela responds. “Peasants will say anything to get sympathy. I’m sure it’s nothing out of the ordinary. First problems first – end the threat of these murderous nobles, and then I’ll risk my life against goblins if you like. Wait – I get it – of course.” She considers, eyeing the party appraisingly. “I can do… 4,000? No, wait – 5,000 gold.”

“Gobins,” says the Ranger with annoyance.

“Of course,” she replies. “You drive a hard bargin. 10,000 is my final offer.”

Annoyed, and lacking the persuasive power of their own bard, the party decides to scout out the situation to the west for themselves. They ride halfway to the border, set their borrowed horses free, and begin stalking through the countryside.

Stumbling over a group of refugees yields their first evidence that the situation is truly dire. Despite the reports from the mixed group of peasants and craftsmen, the Ranger feels the party needs a closer look. They continue until they can see the burnt-out husk of the town. Again the Ranger drives them on for a closer look. Just beyond the town they discover a crude dirt fort with goblins patrolling the walls. The Ranger, still gripped by the need to see for himself, sneaks forward to peak over the dirt walls, and finds a treasure trove of goblinoid forces.

Mostly common archers, of course, but the amount of heavy iron in the form of bugbear knights, ogres, and trolls is surprising. Worse is the twelve-foot-tall armor-plated giant in the middle of the camp. Even worse is the bugbear patrol that is issuing out of the gates.

The Ranger proves his worth, though, by sneaking away again undetected. (Apparently he can roll dice for anything but combat.) The party decides to ambush the patrol to soften up the battle to come. The knights go down fairly easily, and the party decides to wait for the second round. After a couple of hours the goblin fort notices their patrol isn’t returning and sends out a stronger force.

This time the squad of knights are accompanied by two ogres. The Wizard decides that giving away their position is a necessary evil and casts a fireball. This has immediate and catastrophic effects, mostly for the Wizard who becomes the principal target of all enemy attention. He starts blinding bugbears, but their horses are almost as dangerous, and at one point the Wizard is engaged in a fist-fight with a goblinoid warhorse, which he only wins due to a well-placed Vampiric Touch. The additional vitality saves his life as the next round finds him on the receiving end of a bugbear mace that would have killed him outright without the boost. As it is, the Wizard is unconscious on the ground while the party finishes off the ogres.

After this the party decides to beat a retreat. They are soon spotted by yet another bugbear patrol, but this one chooses to shadow them rather than attack. After several hours of travel the party realizes the patrol has shrunk by one; individual members are obviously reporting back to the main goblin army on the party’s whereabouts. They decide this needs to stop.

Once again the Ranger proves his mettle, hiding in the grass while the party continues to retreat. The bugbear patrol passes him unnoticed, and now the party can turn and attack from both sides. The bugbears try to flee to either side, but archery and magic cut them down. The party then hastens onward.

When they finally return to Gizeal at the besieged keep they find nothing has changed. Gizela takes them at their word that the neighboring town of Udriem has burned, but she reckons it’s worth her life to release the knights inside.

The Cleric tries reason again. “Suppose we convince Anatole to leave off killing you long enough to fight the goblins. Afterwards we will sort out this line of succession. Let us go in and talk to him.”

Gizella agrees excitedly. “An excellent plan! Once you’re inside, you can murder them all.” She shouts up at the castle. “Hey, you. Tell your arrogant lord that we want to send in a negotiator.”

The knight shouts a string of obscenities back, but eventually the drawbridge is lowered. A knight standing behind the portcullis points at the Barbarian and says, “not him.” The other three advance to the gate, which opens to admit them into the castle.

Baron Anatole is no more amenable than Gizela. When the party implores him to sign a truce and ride out to face the goblins, he readily agrees. “Yes! Let’s put those traitors in the ground, and then we can go west to Udriem and kill the green ones.”

When the party protests, he reacts with shock. “Don’t you know that witch is working for the goblins? She summoned them to crush Udriem because Baron Dobro wouldn’t support her claim to the throne. Fighting her is fighting the goblins.”

The party finds this disconcertingly possible. The Cleric decides that diplomacy is just a fancy word for deceit, and suggests conducting further investigation under a Zone of Truth.

Anatol readily agrees, assuring them that Gizela’s treachery will be easily uncovered. When they return to the drawbridge they are surprised to see Gizela quickly accept, provided she gets to question Anatole in return.

Now both factions stand on either side of the drawbridge, with the party in the middle. The Cleric casts his spell, and Anatol pounces.

“Are you working for the goblins?” he demands.

“What? Of course not.” Gizela seems genuinely surprised by the question.

Anatol is a man of swords and action, not word games. He fumes silently until the party takes over the interrogation.

The Ranger speaks from the interests closest to his hear. “Did you take any money from the goblins?”

“No,” Gizela replies triumphantly, “not so much as a single copper coin.”

The Cleric tries a different tack. “Why do you think Anatole wants to kill you?”

“Isn’t it obvious? He thinks he should take over the realm, and I am the only one who can challenge him.” All of Gizela’s answers have come easily, without hesitation, indicating that she is telling the truth (or has somehow evaded the power of the spell).

“Now it’s my turn,” she says, and addresses her questions to Anatole. “Did you swear to your knights that you would kill me the first chance you got?”

“A thousand times yes, you miserable harlot,” is Anatole’s immediate response.

Gizela smiles sweetly. “Did you also swear to kill the adventurers who slew your lord in his castle?” she asks as she points at the party.

Anatole glowers. “I did so swear,” he admits.

Now the bardess grins with anticipated victory. “Have you taken any money from the goblins?”

Anatole opens his mouth to deny it, but no sound comes out! The spell blocks him from speaking a lie.

“You see!” cries Gizela. “Kill him now! He works against us all!”

The Cleric, however, is not so easily swayed. He orders everyone to stand down until a red-faced Anatole manages an answer. “I take their money and their tael after I kill them,” the Baron finally spits out. “Like I have always done.”

“That’s enough,” says the Ranger. “None of you are going to rule the realm if you don’t do something about those goblins. We’re riding out to battle tomorrow, with one of you on the left side and the other on the right side. Whoever doesn’t come automatically loses their right to the throne. Whoever kills the most goblins wins our support for the throne.”

This edict pleases neither faction. Both Anatole and Gizela appear to be considering their chances of simply destroying the party, since at the moment they are significantly reduced in number and possibly still light on spells after fighting the goblins. Until a pair of horses thunder up to the keep.

The Druid and Bard, having wiggled out of their duties back in Isiequerr, bringing with them the fruits of their labors: a handful of magic wands.

[Palanan]

Really great to see another installment. I wasn’t able to comment on the previous one, but I loved the Noh play encounter—a stylized, theatrical fight that’s sure to be memorable for your players.

As for the new session….



Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
However, the lawyer makes an equally compelling point: it would foolish to leave Iseiquerr equally undefended. He persuades the party to leave two of its members behind, the Druid and the Bard (those players couldn’t make this session).

Great solution to the problem of missing players. Much better than my old group’s standby of “they’re watching the horses.”


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
As the sun sinks they arrive at the city gates, where they are finally recognized in all their glory. The gate guards take one look at them, shriek in terror, and flee.

It’s the little things. :smalltongue:


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
Mostly common archers, of course, but the amount of heavy iron in the form of bugbear knights, ogres, and trolls is surprising. Worse is the twelve-foot-tall armor-plated giant in the middle of the camp. Even worse is the bugbear patrol that is issuing out of the gates.

Did you work up stats for each of these enemy types? And did you have them all on hand in case they swarmed the Ranger?


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
(Apparently he can roll dice for anything but combat.)

I feel this. In the last session of my game, my monsters kept rolling 2s and 3s for just about every attack.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
The Wizard decides that giving away their position is a necessary evil and casts a fireball. This has immediate and catastrophic effects, mostly for the Wizard who becomes the principal target of all enemy attention.

High Int, low Wis? :smalltongue:


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
The Cleric decides that diplomacy is just a fancy word for deceit, and suggests conducting further investigation under a Zone of Truth.

Excellent scene here—great RP and great use of the spell.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
The Druid and Bard, having wiggled out of their duties back in Isiequerr, bringing with them the fruits of their labors: a handful of magic wands.

I assume these players didn’t just show up right at the end of the session. Did you have their characters appear with extra magic to prevent the reduced party from being steamrolled?


Overall sounds like another fun session, with a solid mix of combat and RP. The Ranger seemed like MVP for much of this session, although the Cleric had some good moments at the end.

Also, is it just me, or was there a little more patience and teamwork this time around?

[remetagross]

Woah, very nice session! The Cleric needs to be commended first for thinking about the Zone of Truth and setting up a reasonably fair round of negociations; second for not jumping at the throat of Anatol at the second it appears he has traded with the goblins. It's nice to see the players taking the time to unravel the situation and not jumping in to butcher everything.

[Yahzi Coyote]

Great solution to the problem of missing players.
The best one I did was during the City of Tomorrow, where the Harpy snatched one player and dropped off another.


Did you work up stats for each of these enemy types?
That's the worst part of 3.5. In 2E you just wrote down class, level, hps, and you were done!

The session we just had was a massive battle betwen the rest of the goblin forces and the players backed up by 40 knights. Still writing it up...


Did you have their characters appear with extra magic to prevent the reduced party from being steamrolled?
No, the Druid wanted to make wands. I have to figure out how to nerf wands, though. They absolutely break the game.


Also, is it just me, or was there a little more patience and teamwork this time around?
The Barbarian does seem to be less hair-trigger.



It's nice to see the players taking the time to unravel the situation and not jumping in to butcher everything
They are slowly learning this. I think the last adventure, the Noh play, sent them reeling a bit. They're not sure they were doing the right thing.

[Yahzi Coyote]

Against the Giants: epilogue

Gizela successfully convinces the party of the wisdom of restraint, or perhaps they just get tired of arguing with her. They ride back to face the goblins with only a portion of her army: a troop of noble knights, three troops of common lancers, and a crossbow troop. The other half of their army is Baron Anatole and his three troops of knights, with their mounted Red priestesses scowling at the party over their glaives.

Once on the road, Anatole urges the horsemen to ride ahead and scout. The party is keen to lure the goblin forces into a trap, so they split their army: the ranked will ride ahead, and the common men will follow. The idea is that the noble horsemen will engage the enemy and then lead them back to where the commoners have prepared an ambush. However, this plan is doomed to fail for the same reason so many other medieval battle strategies failed: lack of communication and misjudgement of noble pride.

At first the party is worried that Anatole will be difficult, but he is the opposite. He welcomes Gizela’s knights with hearty smiles. These are free knights from the town, many of whom had either tried to enlist or thought about trying to enlist with the Order of the Lance at some point in the past. When the cavalry column stops for the night, Anatole shares his ale and food with the free knights. Many stories of valor and adventure are told around the fire; Anatole makes it clear that these men’s attendance on this glorious mission is causing him to re-evaluate their worthiness for the Order.

In the morning Anatole is eager to press ahead. Despite not having contact with the van of their army for over eighteen hours, the party agrees, perhaps just as eager for the clash of arms.

Very quickly they encounter bugbear patrols, which fall back in the face of so much steel. The party pursues, hoping to catch them before they reach the safety of their fort. But this is not to be; instead, the party suddenly finds the entire goblin army in front of them. It is the goblins who have led their foes to a prepared battlefield.

The sight of so many monsters does not deter Anatole, and perhaps inspired by his example, the party decides to attack. The Ranger orders a general charge against the enemy’s right flank, hoping to smash those forces before the left half of the army can engage. The goblins are mostly infantry, after all; the knights will use their mobility to overwhelm each troop in detail.

Bugbear knights fan out, seeking to flank the charging cavalry. The Wizard begins shelling them with fireballs, confident that the army of knights between him and the bugbears will keep him alive. However, the bugbears are hardier than that; they largely shrug off the fireballs and stick to their mission. Piqued, the Wizard turns his arcane fury on the crossbow troops and murders several of them as they are trying to march into effective range.

Anatole’s knights smash the goblin infantry. These men are ranked and hence a few crossbow quarrels are not enough to bring them down. When the ogres and trolls plow through the crossbow troops to get at the knights, Anatole cleverly retreats, wheels around, and charges again. Lances tear the big monsters apart, with significant help from the Ranger and the Barbarian in the front lines.

The casters, in danger of being engaged by bugbears, throw around Entangle spells with abandon. Soon half the battlefield is snarling grass, their profligate magic enabled by the wands the Bard and Wizard brought. Nonetheless a few bugbears manage to close, only to be frightened off by magic.

Everything seems to be going our heroes’ way until the giant finally makes contact with a knight troop. Swinging a triple-headed flail in a wicked circle, he lays waste to the entire unit, killing them in a single devastating attack.

The knights respond with more lance charges while the party throws spells. The giant destroys another knight troop and then knocks the stuffing out of the Barbarian. The Bard sings a song of terror, and it works – the giant begins to retreat! But the monster only takes a few steps before shrugging off the magic and returning to battle.

The Druid is calling down lightning, the Wizard is reduced to arcane missiles, and the Bard is playing hide and seek to stay alive. The giant manages to destroy the troop of free knights before the combined assault of magic and arms brings him down. The Barbarian, returned to battle by the Cleric’s magic, strikes the killing blow. The party is horrified at how difficult it was to damage the monster through its many layers of iron and stony hide; they shudder to think of facing two of the things at once. Crushed men and broken horses are scattered around, mixed with the riven and burnt corpses of goblinoids.

From across the field, where he had been preparing another lance charge at the giant with his last troop of knights, Anatole congratulates them.

“Our mutual association has been profitable. Alas, it is now at an end; the terms of our agreement are concluded.” With that, he and his men couch lances, and charge.

The Barbarian is caught in the field. Several lances pin him to the ground; only the immediate efforts of the Cleric keep him from dying on the spot. The Druid turns his lightning storm on the Baron and turns himself into a bear. Before the knights can withdraw and charge again, the bear and the Cleric’s army of divine ghostly hammers destroy the Baron and his troop.

The battlefield yields a huge prize, and the party are the only ones left alive to claim it. Yet the cost weighs heavily on their souls, as does the knowledge that absent these men’s sacrifices, the giant would have made paste out of even the Barbarian.

They hastily ride for home, encountering the remainder of their common army on the way. The soldiers are confused to see that no monsters are pursing the party, and even more confused to see that no knights are with them. The Ranger tersely explains.

“Anatole was not to be trusted; he turned on us after the battle. Nothing behind us remains alive, so stop looking.”

It is a subdued group that returns to the city, despite their victory. Gisela is happy to see them back, and ecstatic to see them unaccompanied by any knights. She has eliminated her competition for the small cost of a handful of mercenary knights of dubious loyalty. The Ranger crudely demands payment, but Gisela is not dismayed. She smiles as she hands over 5,000 gold pieces.

“You will recommend us to the Queen, yes, lads? Since we are the only game in town now.” Her odious retinue swells with anticipation; one can almost see them licking their chops.

The party is non-committal, telling Gisela to make her case to the Queen personally, since she will be arriving with her army in a few days. As the sun sinks on a loud and raucous victory celebration the party stands in the shadows, considering.

The Druid is uncomfortable; he fears for their alignment. They have done more than kill monsters; they have destroyed entire civilizations. The Cleric notes that their profits have been purchased with barrels of human blood, too; the tael from Baron Anatole and his men is mixed in with all the rest, indistinguishable from honest loot once it is harvested. The Ranger cannot help but feel that while they have always made their own decisions, they somehow seem to have always served Queen Rian’s interests.

The prospect of being mulched by giants under the eye of an unpredictable dragon while allied with a manipulative sorceress has lost its appeal. The party wants to settle down and build a castle… but not here, on this gold-accursed coast. The fratricide of Yellow on Yellow threatens to drag them down into Yellow with it.

Quietly they slip away. A small party of adventurers led by a highly skilled Ranger has no trouble avoiding the advancing army, slipping past the border patrols, and rousting their crew from the bars and inns the men have been carousing in for the last few months. In the dead of night the party takes its leave, turning their sails to familiar home. Green Edersarr! Eagerly they wonder how far their keep rebuilding project has progressed in their absence, and what demonic foes they can save the kingdom from without squelching through rivers of human blood.

[Palanan]

Only just noticed this, and it sounds like an absolutely epic sesssion.



Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
Very quickly they encounter bugbear patrols, which fall back in the face of so much steel. The party pursues, hoping to catch them before they reach the safety of their fort. But this is not to be; instead, the party suddenly finds the entire goblin army in front of them. It is the goblins who have led their foes to a prepared battlefield.

Nicely done. Did the party really walk into the trap that easily?

…although at this point I probably shouldn’t have to ask.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
The casters, in danger of being engaged by bugbears, throw around Entangle spells with abandon. Soon half the battlefield is snarling grass, their profligate magic enabled by the wands the Bard and Wizard brought. Nonetheless a few bugbears manage to close, only to be frightened off by magic.

How large was your battlespace on the table? And how did you keep track of which areas were under the effect of Entangle and other spells?


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
Everything seems to be going our heroes’ way until the giant finally makes contact with a knight troop. Swinging a triple-headed flail in a wicked circle, he lays waste to the entire unit, killing them in a single devastating attack.

This thing sounds like it was truly monstrous, a well-nigh unstoppable juggernaut. What kind of giant was this?


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
“Our mutual association has been profitable. Alas, it is now at an end; the terms of our agreement are concluded.” With that, he and his men couch lances, and charge.

Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal! :smalltongue:

Did the party have any real reason to trust him? Was this a betrayal the players didn't see coming, or were they halfway expecting it?


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
The Druid is uncomfortable; he fears for their alignment. They have done more than kill monsters; they have destroyed entire civilizations. The Cleric notes that their profits have been purchased with barrels of human blood, too; the tael from Baron Anatole and his men is mixed in with all the rest, indistinguishable from honest loot once it is harvested. The Ranger cannot help but feel that while they have always made their own decisions, they somehow seem to have always served Queen Rian’s interests.

Can this be? An actual moral awakening?

Did the players come to this point themselves, or was there some nudging and broad hintery from the DM?

[Elkad]

How large was your battlespace on the table? And how did you keep track of which areas were under the effect of Entangle and other spells?

Dunno about him, but my space is a full 48"x96" sheet I can use dry-erase markers on. Wargaming place I played D&D at in the 80's had tables that were about 96"x144" everywhere, you used a croupier rake to move stuff on the far side so you didn't have to walk all the way around.

And now with VTTs you can use any size you want of course.




This thing sounds like it was truly monstrous, a well-nigh unstoppable juggernaut. What kind of giant was this?

A standard hill giant with one featswap for Great Cleave would do for a bunch of 1st and 2nd level guys with even average luck.
Stone giant with a Barbarian level (rage and 3rd attack) could probably kill all the guys, plus most of the warhorses in a single round.

[Yahzi Coyote]

Nicely done. Did the party really walk into the trap that easily?
They did. It was funny because it was the trap they were trying to lay.

We just had a session yesterday - I am still writing it up - but I turned the tables on them again. Back in the day they used bat swarms to great effect, and yesterday I did the same in return. It was fun. :smallbiggrin:


How large was your battlespace on the table?
I have one of those huge mats from Chessex, and we often cut out paper circles. But in this case it was online (Roll20).


What kind of giant was this?
A Stone Giant, with a little goblin magic and equipment...


Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal!
They were not surprised. But if things had gone differently - if he had 2 troops and they had take more damage - they could have been in real trouble. They kinda don't think about this much, as the next session will show. On the other hand, it is pretty much in-character.


Did the players come to this point themselves, or was there some nudging and broad hintery from the DM?
Not me - I wanted them to finish my dragon quest! Instead they took advantage of my open world and just decided to bail.

Only half the party is morally conflicted. The Barbarian happily went back to murdering humans in the next session, and the Ranger remains a very mercenary character.

OK, gotta try and finish the next right-up now.

[Yahzi Coyote]

Return to Edersarr

The party’s boat crew are happy enough to head home, as they have left women and families there for the last year. Not a terribly responsible thing to do, but then, they are sailors. The party’s new acquisitions – the troop of ranked marksmen and the troop of common yeoman – are dubious, despite the Bard’s best sales pitch, until the Ranger notes that the Stinging Sea is free of dragons.

So some seventy men crowd onto the longship and set sail back the way they came. They do not stop to visit any of their old adventures and nothing new troubles them on the way. After a few weeks at sea the ship finally draws into their old familiar harbour, a little jetty where they hide their ship. The men march eagerly to the site of the old keep… and find nothing but a pile of stones.

The site is abandoned. It is clear that work had started, but then stopped months ago. The villagers and sailor’s families have disappeared without trace. The Ranger can only find a few old dire wolf tracks, but this does not explain their absence, as a pack of wolves would have left bones behind.

After a disappointing night, the men press on to the village by the lake. Perhaps the villagers just returned home once the party had been absent too long.

But this is not the case, either. The village is virtually empty and has been for months. Only the innkeeper of the Soggy Mistress remains, with his barmaid Anna Beeman and perpetual non-paying customer Old Bob. The innkeeper welcomes them back with real joy and serves up his best ale, or at least what he has left.

“Not much in the cellar,” he explains. “Been no business since the demons carried off half the town.”

This prompts many questions but the innkeeper is a poor source of information. He can say that demons from Varsoulou have been raiding the kingdom, that he’s never seen one, and that after several families disappeared from the village in the middle of the night, Lord Darcio (their neighbour and once liege) showed up and took the rest back to his town.

Darcio also declared their lands forfeit and under his control, and took their two old donkeys as a tax payment. Of all the thousand and one insults Darcio has inflicted on them, this last may be the worst.

The party is intrigued by this talk of demons – they are, after all, old hands at the profession of demon-slaying. Consequently they spend the night in the woods, hoping to attract a demonic attack. When that subjects them to nothing worse than mosquitoes, they return to the village and set their men to fortifying it. They also dispatch Captain Abel and the innkeeper to the city to buy supplies, trusting to Abel the professional smuggler to keep a low profile.

A week passes without incident as they rebuild the village and run a palisade wall around it. Their new soldiers are proficient hunters, Abel has returned with plenty of ale, and life is pleasant. But soon enough the sailors start asking for leave to search out their families in Darcio’s town.

The party has two choices: go to the city and check in with Count Kird, their contact in the royal court; or head directly to Darcio’s to see what’s up. They choose the path of direction action.

After a long day’s walk they enter Irlyd county – the land of their birth. With dismay they see that the town is significantly depopulated and the iron mine seems to be shut down. The local innkeeper welcomes them back in, remembering their last visit when they paid in gold and didn’t stab anyone – always a positive recommendation for a hotelier. When he finds out they just arrived from the lake, he is shocked.

“You were outside all day? But that’s illegal!” The innkeeper explains that King Ragnar passed a law requiring all commoners to be inside during the night, and all nobles to be inside during the day. The idea is to make sure the nobility are out and about at night, so as to intercept the demon raids. And the plan seems to be working; the raids have mostly stopped now.

Once they realize that Darcio will be awake all night, they head off to the castle as soon as the sun sets. They tell the gate guard that they are travelling nobles and paying a courtesy call on the local landlord. After cooling their heels for half an hour in the street (a calculated insult), Darcio’s butler opens the castle gates for them.

The butler suggests that if they don’t have appropriate dress for dinner, he can supply some. While every noble has the right and duty to be armed at all times, even in the presence of the king, it would be considered rude to show up in full armour. The party quickly agrees to this reasonable demand and are soon sitting in Darcio’s hall dressed almost like normal people – except for the Druid, who cannot help but look like a homeless bum even on the best of days.

Darcio and his retinue, the Minister of War Viscount Thorn and the Minister of Coin Lady Charis, sit at the high table. The party is given the next best table on the main floor, directly in front of the court, allowing for a public conversation.

They make mostly small talk, trying to suss out the true nature of the demon threat and finding Darcio frustratingly vague on the details. A brief protocol lesson from the Bard reminds them that while they can offer to help fight the demons, they cannot in anyway suggest that Darcio needs their help in defending his people. To do so is to directly challenge his right to rule. By the same token, he has claimed their lands because they failed to defend them. At the moment they are not willing to make an issue of it, as long as their people are safe.

At one point Lady Charis’ maid serves them a fine wine directly from the Baron’s table, and makes eyes at the Bard. Soon enough he has excused himself and slunk off to the back kitchen to canoodle with the young woman. All is progressing well until she looks him in the eyes and asks him to make a Will save.

Which he fails! (At this point I was contacting him on a separate chat channel.) He suddenly realizes that she is the love of his life and he needs to convince his party to leave him behind so he can take a seat in the Baron’s court. When the two of them discreetly return to dinner by different doors, the Bard discovers the rest of the party in the process of making a Fortitude save.

The Cleric and Druid succeed, while the Ranger and Barbarian fail. Apparently the latter two indulged in the wine far more freely. It is a minor poison, hardly noticeable, inflicting a small Strength penalty. The Bard begins suggesting that the party should retire for the night, only to find Darcio has suddenly become very interested in continuing the conversation.

The Druid realizes something is up. He rises from the table and agrees it is time to go. Placing his hand on the Barbarian’s shoulder, he discreetly casts a Delay Poison spell. Well, he tries; the spell works, of course, but it’s not at all discreet.

Darcio’s eyebrows shoot up. The Druid casts in Sylvan, rather than the national priestly standard of Aqueos or the sorcerous tongue of Arcanus. Seizing the moment, Darcio makes a scene.

“Heretic!” he shouts. “Guards, arrest that man at once!”

The rest of the party shrugs off of the effect of the wine (that is, they all made their Save vs the poison that would have put them to sleep) and stands up. But the Druid surprises everyone.

“I surrender!” he immediately says. “Take me to the dungeon.”

Apparently the Druid is under the impression that he can easily escape mere iron bars and stone walls, and if all else fails, he’ll need to be tried in the capital where the King and his retinue are friends, rather than here in Darcio’s own land.

The Bard pipes up, offering to stay and watch over the Druid to make sure he is treated fairly, while exchanging a knowing glance with the lady’s maid. The rest of the party is nonplussed and let themselves be shown the door.

The Cleric, Ranger, and Barbarian are standing out on the street in front of the keep, trying to decide what to do. The Cleric wants to rush to the capital; the Ranger suggests returning to the inn and seeing what transpires; and the Barbarian is casing the walls to see how hard it would be to fight his way back tonight.

Meanwhile, the Bard is watching the Druid be escorted to a cell. The guards lock the Druid in, leaving the Bard on the other side of the bars, and then withdraw to the dungeon entrance. Before the two can have a talk, though, Lady Charis and her maid show up.

The Lady is concerned. “You poor boy,” she says, “losing your way in false religion. But do not despair: I can help you. I can safe you from this fate.” She stares intently at the Druid through the bars.

The Druid scrapes mud off his boots and blocks his ears. “Sorry, I can’t hear you,” he says, apparently under the impression that will block a Charm spell. Apparently it works well enough, because the Druid makes his Will save.

The Lady is upset; she doesn’t like failure. But she has another plan. Producing the key, she unlocks the cell and enters. The Druid shys away until he runs up against the wall and can retreat no further.

“Be calm, boy, I mean you no harm,” the Lady says, placing her hands on either side of his face.

This sentiment is rather belied by the dark energy flowing out of the Druid and into Lady Charis’ fingers. The Energy Drain reduces the Druid two levels, and he finally realizes that the rules of hospitality have failed. He turns into a bear and tears into Lady Charis with his claws. (To be honest, I’m amazed the party took this long to resort to violence.)

The Lady punches back with her bare fists, knowing that if she can land a blow she can drain the Druid back into commoner status. For a few rounds it looks like she might win, but then the Druid scores a critical and knocks her to the ground. The lady’s maid, who had been restraining the Bard with whispered promises that no harm would come to the Druid, suddenly snaps.

“Kill that monster!” she hisses, and in that moment, her face a feral mask of cruelty, the Bard wonders what he ever saw in her. (He makes his second Will save, when compelled to do something against his nature.) When she turns on him, he tries to hold her off, only to discover that her touch is almost as draining as Lady Charis’.

The Druid, having taken animal form, acts with animal savagery. He tears Lady Charis’ head off. But much to his shock, the result is not a bloody mangled body but a column of smoke. The lady disintegrates into black smoke! When the Druid charges out of the cave and saves the Bard by smashing the maid up against the wall and tearing her in half with his claws, she also turns to smoke.

“Hey now,” says one of the guards from outside the door. “Is everything all right in there, ma’am?”

The Bard is a smooth talker. “Uh, ya, but I need to take the prisoner back upstairs now.”

The guard pops his head in. “Wait, where did the Lady go?”

“Oh, she left,” the Bard says, waving vaguely in an indefinite direction.

As the woman is manifestly not in the room, this suffices. The guard lets them out, and the Bard quickly talks their way to the kitchen via back hallways and then out the postern gate. He and the Druid start back to the inn, only to stumble upon the rest of the party standing in the street, still arguing. (Interestingly, in four years of campaigning, this is the first time we’ve split the party.)

The Cleric luckily can repair their lost levels, though it costs him all of his 4th level spells for the day. The Druid is all for running for the capital, but the Ranger makes him stop long enough to explain what just happened. The Bard finally puts the pieces together and realizes that Lady Charis and her maid must be vampires. They had known that Lady Night had taken up with the Baron, when they were last in this town, so really it shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise.

After considerable discussion the party decides to return immediately to the castle and either rescue Darcio if he is under the vampire’s control; or destroy him if he is in league with the monsters. Better to strike now while at least two of them are disabled.

The Ranger and Barbarian are prepared to storm the walls, but the Bard raps on the gate. “Uh, excuse me,” he says, “but I forgot my armour.” This ruse works because it is true; the Bard’s fine studded leather armour is still hanging in the gatehouse where he had left it to go to dinner. He failed to retrieve it when the rest of the party was retrieving theirs because he didn’t come out of the gate.

This gets the entire party back inside the keep walls. As soon as the Bard is dressed for battle, they charge the keep door. “We’re just going to say goodnight,” the Bard shouts over his shoulder, but the truth is there is nothing the common gate guards can do to stop them.

The Barbarian and Ranger smash into the keep door and simply bust it down. (In an interesting bit of gamesmanship, I let the Barbarian have a natural 20 on his roll for the price of sacrificing his next natural 20. This lead to a nice cinematic moment.)

Darcio is not overly surprised to see them, though he is annoyed to see all of them when he thought two were still in his dungeon. “Well,” he shouts, “don’t just sit there. Get them!” His ten knights and dozen lancers draw weapons and advance.

The party rushes into the room. The Cleric chants a holy hymn; Viscount Thorn shouts, “Damnation! They have a priest!” and bolts out the back. The Ranger and Barbarian open fire with bows, killing the butler instantly. To no one’s surprise he turns into smoke. The Bard casts powerful magic to encourage his foes. The Druid, for once, cannot rely on Entangle or Call Lightning, and does not want to become a bear because he is afraid of being touched by the bad lady. Instead, he dedicates himself to dousing the flaming spheres that Darcio keeps sending against the party.

Then several swarms of bats come streaming in through the broken door. The party has used these to great effect in the past, and are discomfited to be on the receiving end. Darcio has more surprises: “Release the hounds!” he shouts, and five dire wolves rush in from the kennels behind him.

A battle ensues, with the Ranger killing swarms of bats with a torch he snatched off the wall and, true to form, slaying a Dire Wolf with a dagger while rolling around on the ground, the Bard soloing a Dire Wolf with Mirror Images and his Shocking halberd, the Cleric taking out several wolves with his army of Spiritual Hammers, and the Barbarian returning to form and absolutely slaughtering the knights and common soldiers. The Druid actually finds himself in danger as wolves and bats gang up on him – this seems wholly unfair, since they are animals and he is normally good with dogs. Finally the party forces their way to Darcio himself, only to discover the Baron has formidable defences (i.e. an AC of 31). The Barbarian is undaunted; he hurtles himself at the Baron with fire in his eyes. In the face of such an intimidating charge, the Baron – turns to smoke!

The party is victorious, but not celebratory. They know that the vampires are merely disabled, not destroyed. They fan out into the grounds, looking for the hidden coffins. The Bard casually informs the remnants of the common guardsmen that their lord was a vampire. They do not seem overly surprised – “That explains a lot,” one says – but are aggrieved when the Ranger sends them in to clean up the remains of their fellows.

Their search yields nothing, despite being backed up by magic. As the sun rises the head into the town, looking for likely spots – the local graveyard, any secret caves, an otherwise abandoned warehouse. This search is also futile, and the spreading news that Darcio was vampire is also not entirely shocking. He was never a popular lord in the best of times. The populace is concerned, though, until the party reassures them that they won’t be going anywhere. They are claiming Darcio’s lands by right of strength, a perfectly legal manoeuvre even when the lord isn’t a hideous bloodsucking undead monster.

They send two of their new guardsmen out to retrieve the rest of their army, but this will take at least two days. Which means as night falls, they find themselves sitting at the high table, served by a single kitchen maid too traumatized by the previous battle to have enough sense to go and hide like every other commoner in the castle has.

The party discusses strategy, tactics, and options late into the night, waiting for the assault they know must come. They have barred all the doors and windows, so Darcio is forced to break into his own keep. He knocks the front door down with fiery magic (the second time in two nights it has been destroyed), and he and his vampiric retinue charge in.

Once again archery slays the butler before he can act. Darcio sends in more bat swarms and two more dire wolves. The Cleric chants, forcing Lady Charis to retreat; the rest of the party attacks the wolves and bats. But Darcio is playing for keeps: he and Thorn charge the party, trusting to their insane defences. Once at the table the Baron stares directly into the Barbarian’s eyes. This time he wins the contest of wills.

The Barbarian swings his deadly sword, only to discover he’s struck the Ranger! This puts him on the ground, in danger of dying just from the ambient assaults of bats, fires, and various other effects. The Cleric dashes in to save the Ranger with a spell; when Darcio commands the Barbarian to slay the Cleric, this time he shrugs off the command and returns to himself. Eventually the party beats the vampires back into smoke. As the columns of darkness drift up to the ceiling, the Bard turns himself into gaseous form and follows!

This is an inspired strategy; the vampires are matched evenly, and the Bard tracks them to their lair, down a narrow drainage pipe to a secret chamber thirty feet underground. There Darcio resumes material form and attempts to command the Bard, but he escapes back up the pipe and puts his hat over it, to trap the smoke below.

The party debates whether to attack now or wait for morning. They summon their new guardsmen and hand out shovels. At this the men rebel; they are not going to dig through the night into a vampire’s lair. The Druid uses magic to help, and the Barbarian and Ranger do the labor themselves. By morning they have a wide shaft that drops into the secret room below.

Time is no longer of the essence; the party stands on the lip of the shaft and prepares themselves with spells and potions until the noon sun is high. Then, like true heroes, they leap thirty feet down into a battle with no possibility of retreat. The Ranger and Barbarian rappel down ropes, the Cleric walks on air, the Druid uses a potion of Spider Climb, and the Bard falls like a feather.

Of course it’s not as bad as that; whey they reach the ground they are standing in full daylight, looking at the vampires huddling in the edges of the room. Leisurely the archers feather the butler again, expecting this to be a turkey shoot.

But Darcio has a surprise for them. Summoning all of his and his minion’s bat swarms, he clogs the shaft with so many that the sun is blocked. Now the fight is on equal terms!

Or so it must have seemed, for a moment. Instead the Barbarian charges in with a whirlwind of slashing steel while spells and magic slam into the vampires. There is one brief moment of danger when all of the vampires try to grapple the Barbarian and pile on him, where their mere touch would rapidly destroy him; but he blocks their attempts and in the next moment cuts them down.

Then it is a simple matter to stake the vampires as they reform in their broken coffins, ending their undead existence for once and forever.

They climb back out of the pit. The soldiers and servants come out of hiding and cheer. The party has won themselves a keep; but more, it is the keep they once thought to serve. Yet this victory is not uppermost on their minds: instead, they are weighted with a greater concern.

Lady Night was not among the monsters they slew. How much further has her taint spread? How many other county lords are vampires now? Has the infection spread even to the royal court?

[remetagross]

I'm sorry for your plotlines that the party has decided to forego dealing with the dragon. Fighting a dragon is always a crowning moment in any adventuring party :smallsmile: However, that was, all things considered, a really interesting choice from your PCs. They have mostly evolved out of the murderhobbo stage at this point, and have become more aware of their political weight in the country! I always like it when the party reaches the moment where it realizes it is politically powerful enough to be the master of its own fate (I just reached that in one of my campaigns)!

The plot is captivating as ever. Well done for having plugged in Lady Night into the mix and turned old faces into formidable foes, instead of introducing new elements to match their new level of power :smallsmile:

[Yahzi Coyote]

I'm sorry for your plotlines
They are planning on coming back to the dragon, once they are higher level and can face it on their own.

As for old faces, Baron Wraythus of Varsoulou is also slated for a big comeback. Basically, all of the plot threads they dropped when they ran off to the Gold Coast have festered and grown into greater problems... :smallbiggrin:

[Yahzi Coyote]

Vampire Neighbors, part I

The nearest neighboring counties are Gaebbalea and Aechoamoapp (apparently the Markov chain in my name generator was feeling Welishish), the latter of which is home to the Order of the Tower, a frenemie of old. The party resolves to test these lesser courts before investigating the royal throne.

First they indulge their perpetual hobby of fortifying. The peasantry are drafted into diverting a stream to flow around the keep, on the theory that vampires cannot cross running water. The morale penalty for the draft corvee is waived, as the keep is where the people expect to hide from vampires and thus they are doing this in their own interest. The Druid relieves the townsmen of a year of taxes on the condition that they surrender their silver coinage to be beaten into arrowheads for the two companies of archers, a far more tangible defense than esoteric theories. The question of castellan is resolved by installing the perpetually book-distracted wizard in a room of the keep.

With the town thus secured, the party sets out at the onset of night to visit the nearest court.

The town of Gaebbalea is in as sorry a state as Irlyd, with at least half the houses sitting vacant. The county was always struggling, having lost its previous lord and significant amounts of land to a poorly conducted dispute with Earl Theodorick some years in the past; the deprivations of the Varsoulouean demons have broken it in half. The innkeeper is roused from sleep, but happy enough to host nobles and their gold, a rare enough occurrence in the best of times. The Bard engages in light conversation and receives several concerning rumors, such as the fact that the local knights now ride Dire Wolves rather than horses and the opinion that Viscount Anazel has undergone a complete personality reversal since the King’s Curfew. He also uncovers that a demonic attack occurred only two weeks ago. After several hours of debate, the party decides to investigate the location.

A peasant hut, with the roof torn off, scattered scorch marks, and a single hoof-print in the ground, do not provide much in the way of clues. Reluctantly the Ranger accedes to the party’s original plan, which is simply to walk up to the keep and ask if the inhabitants are now vampires.

They arrange to arrive at the keep gates at the tail end of curfew, just before the sunrise. Announcing themselves as simple adventurers, they receive an invitation to the keep and the morning meal that is now dinner for the night-dwelling nobility. The Viscount is in good cheer and happy to have visitors, especially when they assert they are adept demon hunters. As it turns out, the Viscount has a demon problem, and he’s happy to house and feed mercenaries if they will help patrol his lands.

The Bard then explains that they already destroyed four demons in Irlyd. Anazel is confused; he explicitly is concerned about three flying demons that appear as clouds of smoke. If they slew four, that would seem excessive to requirements. It also means he no longer needs their help, but he is not graceless enough to immediately withdraw his invitation.

The Barbarian, feeling that the investigation is not really generating results, challenges Anazel to an arm-wrestling contest. Being a knight of prowess himself, Anazel thinks this is a grand idea, but only if they bet a purse of gold on the match. The Druid, as keeper of the treasury, is thus paying keen attention to the contest to make sure their gold is fairly lost. Which is why he sees the black energy flowing out of the Barbarian and into Viscount Anazel as the Viscount smashes the Barbarian’s hand to the table and traps it there. The Druid staggers back, his hand thrust out in accusation, as he shrieks “Vampire!”

The rest of the party is quick to join the battle. The Ranger leaps onto the table and stabs at the Lady Floressa. She blocks the thrust with a pewter goblet and stares back into his eyes but his will survives the challenge. The Cleric begins chanting and two of the six knights on guard behind the table break and flee, cowering in the corners. The Barbarian draws a dagger with his free hand and stabs at Anazel, but to no effect: the man is in full armor and protected by the unnatural nature of vampirism to boot. In response Anazel squeezes tighter, flowing yet more black energy from his victim. The Bard, of course, sings a rousing marching song.

The Ranger ignores the knights rushing to their lady’s aid, and stabs her directly through the heart. As expected, she turns to smoke. The Bard assume gaseous form while the Druid outlines her insubstantial form with Fairie Fire, their tried and true vampire-lair finding technique. The Barbarian puts his feet on the table and jumps backwards, freeing himself from Anazel’s powerful grip. In response the Viscount leaps on the table, draws his sword, and clobbers the Ranger well and proper but still not enough to incapacitate him. The Cleric chants harder, and two vampire knights simply turn into smoke on the spot.

One of the remaining knights runs to the door behind the table and throws it open, despite the first rays of sun creeping over the horizon. The other moves to flank the Barbarian. The Barbarian, having been drained of four ranks, discovers that he is no longer the death-dealing whirlwind of destruction he is accustomed to being. His feeble attacks accomplish nothing. Nonetheless, the battle seems to be solidly in the party’s favor.

Then half a dozen Dire wolves rush into the room, snarling and biting. Worse, two more Dire Wolves appear from nowhere on the other side of the room. The Ranger is now beset by fangs and a vampire knight, the Barbarian is surround by wolves summoned and real and the fury of Lord Anazel, the Cleric has a face full of fangs, and the Bard is drifting above it all and looking down in dismay as he slowly chases the Lady Floressa through a vent in the ceiling.

The Druid decides to provide classic medieval entertainment, in the form of a bear-baiting. He turns into a Dire Bear and plows into a knot of Dire Wolves, and both sides engage in a bloody melee. The bear destroys a wolf with every attack, but there are lot of wolves, and they do tremendous damage, as the Ranger can attest when one almost pulls him off the table. He kills it, but then the vampire knight stabs him and he collapses bleeding, now just a table setting for vampires. The Cleric manages to dispel one of the summoned wolves, and attacks the other with hammers physical and spiritual. Meanwhile, the Barbarian cowers in the midst of the melee, being beaten like a drum. Only his defensive blocking keeps him alive through it all.

Upstairs the Bard has found that the Lady’s crypt is in fact her bedroom. As her form solidifies and begins to regenerate, he dismisses his spell, breaks off a bed post, and hammers it through her heart. Then he readies another and waits for Anazel to appear. However, after several tense moments wherein he can hear the sound of heavy combat below, he decides that waiting might be in vain, and dashes for the stairs to rejoin the battle. In fact he returns just in time, to see Anazel mounted on a summoned Dire Wolf storming around the room and clobbering people with his glowing sword. The Bard charges across the room, leaping off of the table, his halberd sparking with electrical energy and his mirror images trailing in his wake like an 80’s Bionic Man action shot, and cuts the Viscount’s head clean off.

Before the party can even cheer, he turns around and runs upstairs again to finish the job.

In short order the vampire knights’ regenerating bodies are found in their barracks beds and destroyed. The party once again assembles a town to inform them of the change of management. And again few are surprised; the last year has been disastrous, and blaming the previous lord for either being the cause of it or failing to prevent it is a distinction without a difference. After a brief discussion the party suggests that what remains of this town should relocate to what remains of Iryld town, where there is a functioning and staffed keep. The townspeople readily agree. The peasants, of course, remain in their villages, but nonetheless are satisfied as Irlyd keep is hardly any further away than this one. While the town packs its bags, the party heads east to Aechoamoapp, expecting the worst.

This county was always larger than the other two, and seems slightly less despoiled. A brief stop in the inn reveals a town that is still functioning, and also that Count Forianus keeps to the King’s Curfew scrupulously. This is slightly mitigated by the fact that Forianus has a reputation for scruples in all contexts, as he and his pyromancer wife represent the ideal of Edersarrian nobility. Still, the party has seen fit to up their game: they are now bearing vials of holy water manufactured by their Cleric. Thus armed they journey again just before dawn to a keep they assume will be crawling with vampires.

This time they identify themselves as neighboring lords. Lady Margaretha, the Minister of Coin, greets them with fair if noncommittal words but the mood of the room is hostile. The Bard responds in equally discursive terms, each side trying to suss out the other’s secret agenda. Finally it comes down to brass tacks: the party asserts they have been killing entire courts of vampires, while Forianus presumes that is just an excuse for them to add to their lands.

Mind you, he’s not particularly disturbed by their murder of two low-level courts. It is a legal and acceptable act: a lord who cannot defend his own is no lord. They have gained the right of land-rule by the right of force, and as long as they obey the King, pay their taxes, and limit abuse of the common folk to some reasonable standard, they are no different than any other lord. Still, he would rather not be added to their ledger.

The Bard argues for the reality of vampires but realizes they have no compelling evidence. The conversation turns tense and it begins to look like swords might be drawn, until the Barbarian once again decides to cut through the niceties and straight up challenges Forianus to prove he is not a vampire.

The lord is too confused to be angry. “How, exactly, would I do that?” he asks.

The Barbarian responds by producing a flask of holy water. “Drink this!”

Forianus is a reasonable man. If he can avoid bloodshed by drinking a glass of water, he will, despite the borderline rudeness of the demand. But he’s no fool; he hands the flask to his Curate first, who divines it for magic and poison.

This open spell-casting looks like a potential to disarm the trap, but the Cleric’s spellcraft tells him the Curate cast naught but simple detections. When Forianus downs the pint in a single draught, the party relaxes. But before the court can do the same, the Bard brings up the next sticking point.

“We’ve heard rumors that the Order of the Tower has fallen to the vampires,” he says.

This is a bridge too far for the Count. “Though we have had our differences in the past,” he thunders, “Baron Godard is an honorable man. I will not tolerate calumny of his good name on the strength of idle talk.”

“Of course not,” interjects Margaretha, “The Baron’s honor is sufficient, after all, to allow your own son into his service. Yet it has been seasons since we have had word from the Tower. The King’s Curfew makes it impossible to travel hence and return in a single night, and of course your Lordship cannot abandon his post even for a night in these troubled times. Yet these wandering lords might well travel that way, and perhaps could do us the favor of delivering a letter from a mother to a son; and perhaps, even, return a reply.”

The Bard instantly sees the value of this ruse. It is an iron-clad excuse to knock on the door of the Tower and idle a few hours in their vestibule, with the imprimatur of the landlord while risking none of his authority.

While the Barbarian challenges the Count to another arm-wrestling contest (in which the bets are drinks, and which the Barbarian loses quite dramatically), the Bard confers with his counterpart, Margaretha. In private, as she hands over said letter, Margaretha makes it clear that there is no good way to tell the lord and lady that their son is a monster. Better that the party return with news that all is well, or at least inclusiveness, rather than with a tale of undead and death. The Bard realizes he cannot promise that; the party’s track record of walking away without leaving behind utter destruction is quite poor betting odds. He only asserts that they will do their best. While marching westward the party discusses the various deceits they might employ on their return, such as “when we got there, everybody was already dead,” which, while having the benefit of being true, is still nonetheless not particularly helpful.

This discussion of etiquette is cut short by the Druid’s hawk, shivering in the light snow on his shoulder and plucking at the Druid’s ear. In the distance he can see what looks like three clouds, moving low and fast. This time he points silently, and half the party immediately responds by trying to hide in a snow-drift.

Not the Barbarian, of course; he straps a lightstone to his helmet so he can see despite the darkness and snow. That this makes him a target does not bother him in the least. He readies his greatsword and waits with little more than a sneer of contempt.

The Cleric backs him up, preparing a prayer, while the rest of the party carries on a taxonomic discussion about the smoky clouds. Before they can reach any firm conclusions, the clouds are upon them; they dive down to the ground at fantastic speeds and swoop past their targets, the Barbarian, the Cleric, and the Druid (whose Hide skill is not as great as he thinks it is).

The clouds are revealed as Nightmares, each bearing a knight of the Order of the Tower. Improbably, their lances all miss, and they streak back up into the sky and wheel around for another pass. The Ranger shoots blindly into one of the clouds, and with his usual perverse luck, actually scores a hit; the Druid calls lightening down on another of the clouds, unaware that their undead nature makes the nigh-immune to that attack. As the three threats swoop down again for another potentially deadly pass, the Cleric rebukes them. The Nightmares change course, climbing high and soon disappearing into the snow-choked darkness.

Realizing they only have a few minutes of respite, the party quickly comes to a new strategy. The Bard reaches deep into his repertoire, exhausting all his skill and art to render them all invisible. The Druid flicks his fingers and makes them untraceable. Now they continue their six-hour journey to the tower without fear of discovery.

Once there, they repeat themselves. They hide in the bar until the sun comes up. After that they approach the silent and dead keep with a degree of stealth they have hitherto not displayed. The Bard casts a sphere of silence, allowing the Barbarian to chop down the keep’s door by force without alerting the occupants. They slip inside, and go room to room, opening doors and staking vampires. The first one has a brief moment of risk when the Ranger falls under the compulsion of the vampire knight hanging upside down from the ceiling, but due to the effects of the silence spell the vampire cannot command him, so the Ranger simply stands there while the Barbarian and Druid chop and burn the vampire to dust. After that the Barbarian dispatches each vampire before they can even act.

A room with a several Dire Wolves is simply avoided; the sorceress of the Tower manages to get off a few freezing spells but she is low rank and the damage is trivial. Her attempt to flee out the window is blocked by the rays of the sun, and the Ranger stabs her to death in the next instant (he seems to have a thing about that). Then they reach the third floor and the heart of the resistance.

Faced with three Nightmares and five vampires, one would expect an epic battle. Instead it is a rout, literally. The Cleric sends the Nightmares fleeing, breaking out the windows and taking a good part of the wall with them. In return the vampires identify him as the single greatest threat, and subject him to five successive and increasingly powerful domination attempts, all of which he easily refutes.

The Ranger feathers the Tower’s bardess (again with that thing), the Bard riddles the lesser of the vampire knights with arcane missiles, and the Barbarian charges forward with a whirling attack. The remnants of the vampires attempt to subjugate the Barbarian next, but their success is thwarted when the Cleric simply casts Protection on the Barbarian. And then all the vampires die.

The Order of the Tower, which has stood against Varsoulou and the wild for decades, has fallen twice in a year: once to vampires, and now again to heroes. All that is left is the looting, and the search for an adequate apology to the Lady Floressa for the second death of her only son.

[Yahzi Coyote]

Vampire Neighbors, part II

The party debates how to convey the sad news to Lady Floressa, ranging from empathy to scientific proof of vampires to simple intimidation (“How dare you question my word!”). In the end they settle for a business-like approach. In the Count’s throne room they present him with the swords of Viscount Godard (the leader) and Sir Jared (the son) of the Tower.

“Your vampire problem is resolved. We regretfully bring you these tokens of fallen heroes.”

They also hand over the keys to the tower as a sign that they are forgoing any claim on the building or its land.
Lady Kalyn is devastated and retires for the night. Count Forianus is grief-stricken, but duty calls. He explains that it is not just the loss of his son that hurts; but also, the loss of the Tower, which has been a bulwark against the Wild and Varsoulou and its demons.

At this the Bard digs in his heels. “There are no demons,” he repeats. “Just vampires.”

The Count chooses not to argue. “Regardless; the threat from Varsoulou remains real. Many times their raids have been blocked by the strength of the Tower. If the Hammer of the Desert (Varsoulou’s famous troop of high-ranked knights) comes to knock on my door, I will be hard-pressed to answer. And your own lands lie exposed to the East; you too may find yourself disturbed at odd hours.”

He proposes an agreement: should Varsoulou move against either of them, the other will come to their aid. He also suggests that the party travel to the remaining counties, both to introduce themselves as new peers of the realm and to warn of the danger from Varsoulou. His bard Margaretha, however, asks them not to travel to the capital at present, as she wishes some time to best frame the news about the Tower in a way that will not diminish her lord’s influence.

The party finds this accords with their own plans. The Cleric heads home to their keep in Irlyd, as he has no desire to encounter the zealous Vicar again (and also because the player couldn’t make this session). The rest slip north through the hinterlands of County Edersarr to the sea, where they hire House Marconi’s boat again. This time they are welcome to keep their weapons on hand, though, their reputation still intact from their previous dealings. The fee for a quick jaunt up to Ieppyxoox and then Dearl is only 100 gp, a small sum compared to their last travel fee but one the Druid still tries to haggle over.

However, at the port of Ieppyxoox, the crew refuse to dock, doing no more than pulling alongside a pier. The docks are empty of life, to all appearances abandoned. The party investigates first a warehouse and then the town, finding nothing living in the fresh snow. A few clues are uncovered: a headless body that the Druid determines died of smoke inhalation, a wolf-print in a garden, and the tracks of what could be zombies at a battleground with more headless bodies. A barn on the edge of town is stacked with headless peasants; the entire county seems to have been carried off by a series of raids from indeterminate sources over the last year. The party spends the night in the keep, expecting an attack at any moment, but finding nothing but emptiness.

They return to the dock and signal their boat, which comes in to pick them up. A day at sea gives the Druid time to try a new spell: scrying, the art of spying on your enemies. After an hour of intense concentration over a bucket, the water suddenly stills and reflects the image of a beautiful woman in a fine evening gown lying in a satin-padded coffin. The lady does not open her eyes, but she does make a rude gesture with her fingers; for this is Lady Night, and she knows that she is being observed. The Druid is disappointed at how little information his spell reveals, aside from the brute fact that the vampiress is still an active foe. And also that she’s doing quite well for herself, judging from all the jewellery.

In Dearl they receive a more normal welcome. Hustling off the boat at dusk, they march south to the town by midnight, mindful of the King’s Curfew. Announcing themselves as the new rulers of Irlyd, they are greeted by the Vicar, his retinue, and a room full of knights.

As the Bard recounts their warning about vampires, the Vicar’s face turns to stone. It comes out later that someone suggested King Ragnar might be somehow be associated with vampires, and the Vicar considers such talk treasonous. However, a contemptuous mention of alleged demons energizes the Vicar immediately.

“The Varsouloueans are demon-lovers, always have been. We all know that. And now they send the monsters against us!”

“There are no demons,” the Bard repeats with exasperation. “The courts we cleared out were vampires.”

The Vicar is astounded. “Varsoulou can use their demons to turn people into vampires? We are truly beset by evil! And with the loss of the Tower, I fear they will raid my lands even more.”

A little quizzing discovers that while Dearl has suffered some losses, the Vicar has not in fact actually seen a demon yet. However, he says that every night he and his retinue camp in a different village, hoping to interrupt a demon attack. He invites the party to do the same, offering the tael of the foes they destroy without tax, in addition to his appreciation and a tentative alliance against Varsoulou.

The party, sensing an Adventure Hook, agree. Soon they are standing in a village square, enjoying a small fire against the cold night, with bottles of holy water in their hands. They are certain they will soon be attacked by vampires: the only question is whether the vampires will turn out to be Vicar Dearl and his court.

A scream from the edge of the village sends them dashing to the rescue. What appear to be half a dozen zombies are trying to break into a house. The Ranger begins firing arrows while the Bard and Barbarian rush into battle.

They quickly discover these are not zombies, as their weapons are strangely ineffective and the creatures keep emitting clouds of poisonous gas. The Ranger is rendered helpless almost immediately, and three of the monsters tackle him to the ground, biting and clawing. The Barbarian does enough damage to cut through their strange resilience, but the Bard finds himself also on the ground, sickened and grappled.

The Barbarian destroys the creatures around him. Ignoring both their stench and the danger, he begins chopping at the pile swarming the Bard. He dispatches one, but then his next strike goes awry and he almost kills the Bard!

The Druid turns into a bear. Much to his surprise, his claws bypass their defenses and he begins decimating them at will. The Ranger realizes that innate goodness is the only effective weapon, and promptly punches a monster to death with his bare hands.

And then the real monster shows up. A winged demon drops from the sky and attacks the Druid-bear from behind, unleashing a fury of attacks and ton of damage. When the Druid and the Barbarian attack back, they are discomfited to find the monster is protected by many shifting images. Worse, it breathes spores instead of poisonous gas, and now the two heroes are covered in a web of viny growths that burrow into their skin. They shrug off the damage and its attempted stunning attack, but the images absorb many of their blows. Once they finally dispatch all the images, the monster shrugs and summons more. And then tears huge bloody chunks out of the bear.

Despite all of this, the two of them are successfully inflicting pain on the monster. After only two rounds of combat it decides to retreat, flying out of reach. The Barbarian jumps after it, trying to catch it, but it shrugs him off. However, thirty feet above them, it stops fleeing. Instead it glares at the Barbarian, and he begins to rise into the air!

The Druid catches him by the ankles, stopping his ascent (though the Barbarian was not particularly concerned, as a simple fall from 1,000 feet would probably not kill him). Both the Barbarian and the Ranger hit the monster with arrows, and do damage despite its formidable defense. This is enough; the creature flees into the night. The few remaining lesser monsters are quickly dispatched. A dose of holy water cures the viny growths, though the Bard delays telling the Barbarian this for several rounds, due to a grudge over his indiscriminate swordery.

The party gains little treasure from this encounter as the main foe has escaped, but they have learned much. Lady Night is indeed still a danger; County Dearl is still among the living; and there really are demons that can fly in, summon a horde of lesser demons, and lay waste to whole villages. This was the fate of Ieppyxoox, apparently, and may soon be the fate of Dearl.

Belatedly they realize that the Nightmare-flying vampires of the Tower may have actually protected Aechoamoapp from actual flying demons. The status of the throne is now more urgent than ever. Demons and vampires threaten the realm; is King Ragnar a friend or foe in this existential fight?

[Yahzi Coyote]

Vampire Neighbors, part III

The party heads for the last county of unknown status: Iochoarr, home of the Earl Theodoric, a paladin of high rank. They know him as the leader of the War Party back in the days of the Spice Wars.

He welcomes them into his castle and takes their news about Irlyd well; he never thought much of Baron Darcio anyway. Mostly he seems intent on sounding out their views on possible contenders for the throne, should something untoward happened to King Ragnar. He gets as blunt as preparing to challenge any of them to a deadly joust if they do not recognize his superiority.

Surprisingly, none of the party wants the job of king; they’re happy to let Theodoric do it. This ends what could have been a potentially dangerous encounter on good terms. When he receives the news about the utter devastation of Ieppyxoox, his words begin to border on treason. For one party to seize the throne from another is just life as usual; for an entire county to be exterminated is a failure of royal duty.

The party then leaves for the capital, promising to report back to Theodoric on the state of affairs therein, and potentially with evidence sufficient for Theodoric to declare for the throne. As they are leaving the Earl happens to mention that his fellow paladin Count Kird died at the beginning of the demon war, a fact that grieves the party as he was a true ally.

The capital seems healthy enough, having suffered only moderate despoilment in the on-going demonic attacks. Rumors abound, though, such as the conflicting claims that Ragnar’s sister has been abducted by or sought refuge with the Order of the Edge, a knightly house even more powerful than the Order of the Tower. Faced with three options – seek an audience with the king, investigate the Order, or call on the new Minister of War to pay their respects – sees them choose the least committal of these actions. After all, they know how to get into the royal stables where the Minister holds court, having visited Kird there many times.

They are unpleasantly surprised to find the stables full of Dire Wolves instead of noble war horses, but this is the least of the unpleasant surprises for the night. When they meet the new Minister in a barn full of large dangerous canines, he turns out to be none other than Payson Graylek! (Long-time readers will recall him as the demon-summoning sorcerer from the start of their adventuring career – they arrested him and turned him over to royal justice, only to see him wriggle out from consequences. Well, other than the fact that they burnt his house down.) To see this vile creature in the office of the noble Count Kird is an insult.

But Graylek is not alone; the Minister of the Arcane, Yeron the Skald, is also in the barn. He quizzes the party on their adventures, and interrupts their war of words with Graylek to have a side-conversation with the Bard. At this moment things are put into motion that will have far-reaching consequences.

The Bard has suspicion only for Graylek, and thus is completely unprepared with Yeron stares into his eyes and crushes his will with vampiric domination. Only the Cleric notices that something has changed in the Bard’s manner. He can tell that something has happened, but cannot distinguish whether it is arcane enchantment or supernatural domination. Smoothly he maneuvers next to the Bard and places his hand on his shoulder as if to say, “Time to leave,” but in fact he casts Protection from Evil, risking everything on a choice between two spells, one to foil arcane and the other to foil vampires.

He makes the right choice. The Bard immediately begins casting a defensive spell, aware that only seconds ago Yeron was in his head. Yeron begins a spell, Graylek notices and starts his own, as does the Druid, and the Barbarian leaps into the middle of the room attacking an entire knot of Dire Wolves. The Ranger also decides to stab a random wolf because it seems to be the thing to do.

Then the wolves start biting. And they bite hard! Mirror Images save the Bard, but the Cleric takes a tremendous bite and eats a heat ray from Graylek. One round into combat and the Cleric is already facing death. The Barbarian saves him by stabbing the attacking wolf, and then in an astonishing feat of swordsmanship uses the attack to cleave into the rest of the wolves, killing them all. This frees the Cleric to Rebuke Undead, which sends Grayson cowering into a corner. Yeron responds by dominating the Cleric and ordering him to kill the Barbarian.

The Bard and the Barbarian attack Yeron, but the man is now protected by several layers of magic and all they succeed in doing is eliminating a few of his images. Yeron’s response is to dominate the Barbarian and order him to kill the Cleric! Fortunately the Bard strikes an enchanting note on his lyre and breaks the curse before the Barbarian can carry out the command. Yeron then attempts several area-effect spells, none of which have any effect on his foes, while the Barbarian simply ignores the Cleric’s feeble attacks and the Bard whittles down Yeron’s images.

Meanwhile the Ranger and Druid finish off the rest of the wolves. The Druid then charges the cowering Graylek, hoping to destroy him in a single attack. The Barbarian, frustrated by so much magic defense, pauses to intimidate Yeron. Much to everyone’s surprise, it works: Yeron simply disintegrates into a cloud of smoke. Graylek follows suit and soon both of them have gone down a drain pipe.

Not to worry, because the Bard goes gaseous and follows them (apparently forgetting that both of them are in fact still combat capable). However, he comes to fork in the pipe; choosing the left hand, he soon runs into a sealed end. Going back and choosing the other fork dumps him in a small basement room with an old servant whiling away the time whittling and half a dozen pipe entrances; the servant appears to be waiting for a signal from the cloud of gas, and when it doesn’t come, he places an end-cap on the pipe behind the Bard’s gaseous form.

The Bard becomes solid and easily bluffs the servant into answering a few questions. He finds out there are several rooms like this under the castle, staffed by other servants, who close or open the pipes according to signals from the clouds of gas that sometimes pass through. He also confirms that no other gas has appeared in this room tonight, meaning that the vampires the Bard was pursuing went to a different room and shut the pipe behind them. Foiled, he returns to the stable, where the party is planning their next move.

At some point the Protection from Evil spell lapses… but no one remembers. The Bard is now secretly under the command of Yeron the vampire, as is the Cleric. (Notes are passed under the table between the DM and a player!) The Bard suddenly goes from arguing for a hasty retreat to arguing for an immediate assault on the Order of the Edge. Since his arguments about maintaining the element of surprise are sound, he wins the day, and the party quickly rushes through the night to the gates of the keep.

It is there, just as they are about to assault another tranche of vampires, that the Druid asks the Cleric what actually happens when the Protection from Evil spell expires. In response… the Bard casts Doom on the party and the Cleric summons a hammer to kill the Barbarian. A full-on party on party fight begins, with comic results. The Cleric Air-walks towards higher ground, trying to get room to hammer the Barbarian to death; while the Bard and Barbarian begin chopping at each other with swords and halberds. The Druid turns into a bear and unleashes a deadly blizzard of claws and fangs on the Cleric, only to be foiled at the last second by the Bard blinding him and causing him to miss (the Druid had rolled a critical hit and would have killed the Cleric outright by accident!). Then the Bard casts Fear and drives the Barbarian into the night.

The Druid turns his attention to the Bard and knocks him out easily, remembering at the last minute to switch to non-lethal damage. The Ranger follows the misty form of the Cleric through the streets, firing arrows up at him while he vainly tries to find the fleeing Barbarian and complete his command. Eventually the Ranger manages a bring down the Cleric, although another critical hit provides a momentary bit of drama.

Now that both their dominated fellows are unconscious, the party binds them and makes a total retreat, running all the way back to the safety of Earl Theodoric and his Curate. They stagger back into the Earl’s hall in terrible shape: one member blind and two raving of vampires. The Curate puts them all in order pretty quickly, and then Theodoric calls a war council.

It is clear that King Ragnar must be a vampire; it is impossible that two members of his retinue are vampires and he, a high-ranking cleric, does not know. It is not yet certain whether the Order of the Edge is compromised, though the party strongly suspects they are. The party considers fleeing once again, but realizing that any foes they face now will be just as dangerous and at least here they have some allies, decide to try again. They load up on potions and precautions (making the Curate very happy and very rich) and plot to return to the Order and determine the truth. Meanwhile, Theodoric will travel north to county Dearl, make his peace with the Vicar, and recruit the man to rebellion. For rebellion it must be; a vampire king cannot be allowed to stand!

This was the most unprofitable and dangerous mission the party ever faced, with the potential for a total party kill while there were no actual enemies on the board at all! Everything depended on a few key moments, from the Cleric noticing that the Bard had been dominated to the Druid remembering that the counter spells only temporarily stopped the effect before the next combat started to the Bard blinding the Druid before he murdered someone. It was both frustrating and hilarious at the same time.

[Palanan]

Perfect timing with your latest post; I’ve been meaning to catch up, and coffee and vampires is a great way to start the day. As always, this is just solid, classic D&D fun.



Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
Anazel is confused; he explicitly is concerned about three flying demons that appear as clouds of smoke.

As written this is a little confusing. The Viscount and Anazel are the same individual? And if he’s a vampire, is he worried about other vampires, or something else entirely?


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
…and two vampire knights simply turn into smoke on the spot.

What rules are you using for vampire spawn, and what level were these?


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
The Barbarian, having been drained of four ranks….

!!!!

Four negative levels is no joke. I don't think I've ever seen that many from a single encounter.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
As her form solidifies and begins to regenerate, he dismisses his spell, breaks off a bed post, and hammers it through her heart.

That’s how you do it. But how did this work in terms of initiative and mechanics? Was she committed to resuming physical form before he broke off the bedpost? And were you ruling that as an improvised weapon?


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
…his halberd sparking with electrical energy and his mirror images trailing in his wake like an 80’s Bionic Man action shot….

This image is both epic and hopelessly hilarious.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
Her attempt to flee out the window is blocked by the rays of the sun, and the Ranger stabs her to death in the next instant….

https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/9a5d9640-9845-4ee4-9a57-1a9d4515fc26/scale-to-width/755


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
The party, sensing an Adventure Hook, agree.

Nothing like a party that knows when and where to bite. You have some good players here.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
And then the real monster shows up. A winged demon drops from the sky….

Heh. So much for the party’s “there are no demons” line. What was this thing?


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
Worse, it breathes spores instead of poisonous gas, and now the two heroes are covered in a web of viny growths that burrow into their skin.

I feel like I should know what this is, but can’t quite recall.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
…though the Barbarian was not particularly concerned, as a simple fall from 1,000 feet would probably not kill him….

A little confused at this part. How can the barbarian ignore 100d6 of falling damage? Or are you using a different approach?


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
He makes the right choice.

Was this down to any particular roll on the cleric’s part, or was it just the player’s intuition and/or lucky guess?


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
The Bard is now secretly under the command of Yeron the vampire, as is the Cleric. (Notes are passed under the table between the DM and a player!)

Good of your players to go along with this, rather than derailing the session by loudly arguing against it. Nicely done all around.


Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
Everything depended on a few key moments, from the Cleric noticing that the Bard had been dominated to the Druid remembering that the counter spells only temporarily stopped the effect before the next combat started to the Bard blinding the Druid before he murdered someone. It was both frustrating and hilarious at the same time.

Sounds like a fantastic session, although probably quite tense for everyone at the time.

What would have happened if the cleric hadn’t realized the bard was being dominated?

[Elkad]

A little confused at this part. How can the barbarian ignore 100d6 of falling damage? Or are you using a different approach?

20d6 cap on falling in the standard rules. A mere 70 average damage, and only a 1% chance (1.05% actually) of exceeding 87 damage.

[Palanan]

Aha, thanks. Clearly I’ve been remiss in not dropping my PCs from higher altitudes.

[Elkad]

Aha, thanks. Clearly I’ve been remiss in not dropping my PCs from higher altitudes.

Really? Having their Flying Carpet vaporized out from under them* is a standard experience - should happen about as often as getting eaten by a Purple Worm.


*or pegasus killed, overland flight dispelled, zombie dragon Turned to dust, etc...

[Yahzi Coyote]

The Viscount and Anazel are the same individual?
Yes. He was worried about the Order of the Tower vampires who have been poaching his peasants. The knights are actually full vampires but from 1st level characters. The Barbarian did not seem to mind the negative levels until he suddenly couldn't hit anything.

The reason he could so easily stake the vampires in the bed is because they had been reduced to 0 hit points and forced into gaseous mode. If they voluntarily go gaseous, then when they resolidify they still have their hitpoints - a fact he overlooked in the last session. The bedpost spike was just an auto coup-de-grace.


This image is both epic and hopelessly hilarious.
It really was.


So much for the party’s “there are no demons” line.
A Vrock, and the Bard was still going on about it at the last session.


Was this down to any particular roll on the cleric’s part, or was it just the player’s intuition and/or lucky guess?
He had to make a judgment call after he failed his spellcraft check.


Good of your players to go along with this, rather than derailing the session by loudly arguing against it. Nicely done all around.
That is is true; the players were quite game. If anything the Druid was too game. :D


What would have happened if the cleric hadn’t realized the bard was being dominated?
I hadn't planned for that at that point, so I'm not sure! Some kind of betrayal that would have led to a big fight, of course. I am honestly glad I didn't have to make that up on the fly!

But it does show we've hit the level of D&D where it's all "save-or-die" rolls.

The other possibility is that they would have all woken up as vampires. They actually discussed it and were almost ready to vote for a vampire game. They only backed off once I explained what "ECL" does to getting your next rank of spells...

[Yahzi Coyote]

Vampire Neighbors, part IV

The party returns to the capital in the dead of night, avoiding the innocent soldiers and townsmen. Their only target is the ruling class.

They return to the Order of the Edge's private keep at midnight. The gates open at their touch; the keep appears deserted, or at least lifeless. Cautiously they creep onto the grounds and begin to search for monsters, prisoners, or just clues. They have prepared by drinking Hide from Undead potions, but in the end this turns out not to really matter, as the vampires generally see through it for the rest of the battle.

After a few minutes of investigating a barn door that is mysteriously barred from within, the Barbarian loses patience. Going to the next building, he pushes open the door, unwraps his light stone, and has a look around. The armory seems to have been used recently, implying that someone in the keep still cares about weapons and armor. Meanwhile the Ranger has climbed into the barn through a 2nd story window (it's only combat rolls he can't make) and discovered the barn is dusty with disuse and neglect. While he's opening the barn door for the rest of the party, the Barbarian comes out of the armory and makes a discovery.

Specifically, he discovers a critical strike from a lance wielded by a vampire on a nightmare. Two more make a pass with the lance, their mounts traveling on clouds of smoke five feet above the ground, and one of them hits. The Barbarian is now bleeding real blood, reduced to merely mortal flesh, and for once in his soon-to-be-brief life, chooses the better part of valor. He runs back into the armory to hide. The rest of the party, caught in the open and watching the three vampire knights wheel around for another charge, rush to join him, leaving the Ranger alone in an empty barn.

The knights land in front of the armory, issuing taunts and laughter. One has his horse knock down the door with a powerful lash of hooves. The others send in swarms of bats, but the Druid foils this with a simple spell while the Cleric and Bard put the Barbarian back into fighting shape. The Cleric then chants, driving two of the nightmares away; the knights, secure in their confidence, dismount to carry out the battle on foot.

A halting melee occurs at the door, with the Barbarian lunging out to attack the nightmare while dodging sword thrusts and hooves. The Ranger is sniping from the barn door, his arrows contributing damage but not revealing his location to the knights, who it must be said were not the sharpest fangs in the drawer. Eventually the nightmare is slain, enraging the knights; one walks around to the side of the building and begins smashing a hole in the shutters. Since the windows are barred with iron, the party wonders what he is doing. When they see him turn into mist so he can float through the hole and flank the doorway, the Druid sends his gaseous form packing with a Gust of Wind. Meanwhile, the party is winning the fight at the doorway; the Barbarian destroys one and the Bard drops another with Magic Missiles. They turn to mist and the Bard immediately follows.

The third knight solidifies on the other side of the courtyard, where the wind sent him, but finally realizes the fight is against him. He flees through a gate, locking it behind him.

The gaseous vampires float into the main building on the second floor, with the Bard following. Rather than deal with the gate and then the main hall door, the rest of the party decides to climb up to the second floor. This is easy for the Cleric, who Air Walks; the Ranger, who can climb; and the Druid, who cheats and uses a Spider Climb potion; but it is comically difficult for the Barbarian who fails his first attempt and falls to the ground. His second attempt is more successful, and he smashes open the window the Ranger was attempting to unlock.

The party climbs through onto a balcony over a perfectly dark room. The Barbarian throws his light stone into the darkness, only to reveal an empty hall.

"Try that again," comes a voice from the end of the hall. The Ranger does, hurtling his light stone in the direction of the voice.

This reveals a line of seven vampire knights waiting for them, along with their old foe Palek the sorcerer. The Cleric rebukes four of the lesser knights, driving them into the corner. Another one picks up the lightstone and puts it into his pocket while one summons a wolf and the others begin crawling up the support pillars to attack.

The Bard takes solid form, leaving him on the far side of the room from the party. He casts Sunlight on the nearest support pillar, thus solving the party's vision problems, but winds up in a fist-fight with a vampire. Somehow he manages to avoid losing any levels while still getting beaten unconscious over the next few rounds.

Palek the fire-sorcerer is blasting away at anything and everyone, and missing. Several vampires are on the balcony slogging it out with the Barbarian, Ranger and Cleric (who has successfully paralyzed one with Hold Person), when a wraith comes through the wall and strikes the Cleric. This is CON drain, not damage; another hit like that will suck the life-force out of the Cleric and leave him a rotting husk!

The Barbarian demonstrates his tactical wisdom by grabbing the cleric in one hand and throwing him off of the balcony. Sure, he takes damage from the fall, and sure, he lands sprawled at the feet of the vampire sorcerer; but neither of those is going to immediately kill him like the wraith might.

The Druid is equally concerned about the wraith, but has a different solution. He turns into a giant bear with the constitution of, well, a giant bear. Having previously cast Magic Fang on himself, he easily shreds the wraith (and the wall it is partially occupying). The Barbarian does the same for a second wraith that lunged out of the wall but fortunately missed.

The vampires realize they are not winning. Their leader crawls to the middle of the room, clinging to the ceiling like a bat and summons another wolf. However, the wolf is limited in its targets; only the Ranger is open to its attacks (the others are still protected by the Hide from Animals cast by the Druid back in the armory). Instead, the wolf grabs the paralyzed vampire and throws it off the balcony, thus damaging it and breaking the Hold Person spell. The Druid leaps from the balcony (which trembles but does not collapse) to a pillar near the leader (which also quivers but holds) and claws him into bits, using that Spider Climb potion to good effect.

But the Cleric is in trouble; he's on the ground, surrounded by vampires, and Palek finally manages to scorch him with a ray. The Druid-bear drops to the ground, where Palek futilely blasts it before being eviscerated by a flurry of claws.

Just as it looks like the heros are winning, the main door flies open and two nightmares charge into the room! Then the Barbarian obliterates them in two rounds with Whirlwind attacks, incidentally taking out a poor vampire who happened to get caught in the carnage.

At this point an invisible rogue stabs the Druid-bear in the back twice, but even her advanced Level Drain has no hope of affecting the bear. Still, her daggers do real damage, and he has to turn his attention to her, leaving the Cleric open to a level-draining sucker-punch from vampire that already beat the Bard unconscious. This turns out to matter because the other vampires that had been previously turned are now rejoining the fight, and the Cleric's new turn attempt is rendered totally ineffective. Perhaps you can't intimidate vampires when you are on the ground, bleeding, smoking around the edges, and pathetically low level - who knew?

The Druid-bear finally finishes off the rogue, whom by deduction must be the Marichoness, and by observation is clearly a vampire rather than a prisoner, and the Ranger has brought the Bard around with a healing potion, so the remaining low-level vampire knights have no real chance. The Barbarian and Druid-bear crush them in short order.

The mist forms of the Marichoness and Palek float up and out a window, while the others float down to the floor. The party discovers ten graves crudely concealed beneath the flooring, and stake the Order of the Edge's vampiric inhabitants while they are still reforming. The Bard, for once, does not go chasing after wisps of smoke, because he knows where they are going (the royal castle) and he fears following them in his depleted state.

Next comes the assault on the throne, as the evidence for Ragnar's corruption is no longer questionable. The party debates waiting for Theodoric's arrival and his allied armies, but is swayed to immediate action by two concerns. First, that Theodoric's civil war will kill hundreds of innocent soldiers on both sides; and second, that waiting for Theodoric's help means splitting the loot.

[Yahzi Coyote]

Vampire Neighbors, part V

By daylight the keep is rendered sad and neglected, rather than haunted and spooky. The party wiles away the hours, waiting for darkness. Attacking vampires at night is dangerous, but also the only way to find their true lair. Also, this delay gives their Wizard time to wander into the city and join them, having finally been pulled away from Theodoric’s library by the call of duty (the Wizard’s player was able to make this session).

At sunset they head for the royal castle. As nobles known to the realm they easily talk their way through the gates. Just outside the throne room they pause to prepare spells and drink potions, knowing that on the other side of the wall Ragnar is surely making his own preparations. Then the Barbarian bravely opens the door and marches inside, where he is greeted by… a little old lady offering him a tray of teacups.

“No thanks,” he says, and continues into the room. The rest of the party follows, save for the Druid, who stays in the hall and continues casting predatory spells, and the Ranger, who elbows the little old lady in the face as he walks by. Ragnar and his retinue wait at the other end of the hall, at the end of a gauntlet of a half-dozen servants bearing trays of sweetmeats, pastries, and candies. The friendly image is only slightly disturbed by the hulking man-bull zombie hybrid abominations lurking at the edges of the room.

But the pleasantries are immediately discarded when Ragnar’s opening statement is a Dispel spell. He strips a few minor protections from some of the party while his servants turn out the lights, plunging the room into total darkness. The Bard rushes to a pillar and turns it into a giant neon tube of light, but this leaves him facing one of the zombie monsters and several servants. The Barbarian charges across the room to engage the second zombie; the Cleric blasts Ragnar in the face with a beam of light before the Wizard casts Wall of Fire and splits the room in half, trapping the third zombie on the other side. This turns out to be crucial, as it delays Ragnar’s retinue for two rounds and consumes two precious spells before the vampire king can bring down the wall.

The Bard finds himself in over his head as the zombie tears into his images; meanwhile, the Barbarian discovers his hit points are not unlimited as a zombie hacks at him with a massive axe. The Cleric and Wizard are left to fight off the vampire spawn, which they do poorly. The Ranger is still dealing with the old lady, and the Druid is still out of the room preparing.

Once the wall is down, Ragnar’s people join the fight. The third zombie charges in while Palek the sorcerer throws around scorching rays without hitting anything. Yeron the Skald provides musical accompaniment for his side, making the zombies even more painful. The Marichoness disappears into hiding, looking for a chance to backstab. Lady Night stands by, preparing to counter-spell the party. Ragnar starts throwing out Spiritual Hammers, because he has a lot of them.

The Cleric is casting his own hammers, while the Bard is renewing his images and getting seriously concerned for his health. The Barbarian is winning against the zombies but at considerable cost. Eventually the Druid-bear enters the battle, eviscerating one zombie, only to be ambushed by wraiths in the doorway. In the general melee that follows, the Barbarian is knocked unconscious three times, the Druid-bear once, the Wizard almost dies while fireballing Ragnar and others, the Cleric loses several levels, gets them back with a Remove Curse potion, loses some more, and gets those back with another potion. The Ranger is the only one who manages to avoid life-threatening injuries.

When Yeron and Palek finally wade into the melee, the skald proves to be formidable, slapping levels off of the party left and right, and even the Druid begins to look weak after a surprise wraith attack. Eventually, however, all of Ragnar’s retinue are beaten down, leaving only himself and Lady Night. Tired of waiting for the party to charge his throne and trigger all the traps he has laid, he strides forward confidently to face the party mano-a-undead-cleric-o. He is layered in protections the party cannot even guess at and unconcerned about the death of his retinue, since after all they will return the next night; and the party is vastly weakened, low on spells, vitality, and even potions. Surely he can finish the fight on his own terms.

But no. The Druid-bear tears Lady Night apart in a single round while the Bard and Wizard riddle Ragnar with Magic Missiles, thus bypassing his fantastic armor. The Druid-bear even lands a claw attack, weakening the vampire king further; Ragnar responds by dominating the Druid (having earlier dispelled his Protection from Evil) and ordering it to kill the Barbarian. Out of spells and options, the Bard solves the problem with brute force: Magic Missiles reduce the Druid-bear to unconsciousness without quite killing him. And then the Cleric ends it all as it began: with a beam of light to the face.

(Note: Ragnar had various defences and traps against all the tactics they had employed in previous battles, none of which they used in this one.)

The vampiric smoke flees the room, once again chased by the Bard in gaseous form. And again he is foiled by the system of tubes running under the castle. The party splits up and searches far and wide for the vampire’s coffins: the Wizard searches for secret lairs beneath the castle dungeon, the Cleric searches the attics and towers, the Ranger searches the sewers in and out of the castle, the Barbarian returns to the Order’s keep, and the Bard roots through the Castle cemetery looking for fresh graves. All of these turn up empty and the party fears it might have to wait until the next night and do it all again, until the Druid recruits rats and sends them down the various tubes. One rat does not return; when the next two sent down the same tube also do not return, the party assumes there is a vampire on the other end (and not, say, a cat or rat-trap).

In an act of astonishing bravery, the Bard turns them all gaseous and they blindly enter the tube, to see where it will lead.

At the other end they find themselves in a small tunnel. This leads to a locked grate, which the Barbarian tries to force, only to suffer a crippling curse; after several rounds of unnecessary caution the party manages to make it through the gate and up the stairs into the crypt of Count Kird, their old friend and the kingdom’s most beloved hero.

Here they are flummoxed. Could the vampires have passed through Kird’s crypt and into the Church cemetery or the Church itself? Or does the answer lie closer to hand? The Bard convinces the handful of townspeople visiting the graves of their loved ones to leave, and the party steels itself to the unpleasant task of disrupting Count Kird’s mortal remains. But as they go to haul the first coffin out into the sunlight to inspect it, King Ragnar steps out of it and attacks, joined by the rest of his retinue stepping out of their coffins.

Everyone is all jammed together in a small stone crypt, which is made more claustrophobic by the fact that one of them is a giant dire bear. This should be a fight that favors the vampires and their close melee attacks, but what actually happens is the bear tears a hole in roof of the crypt, climbs on top, and jumps up and down until the entire roof caves in, crushing everyone underneath and exposing the interior to direct sunlight.

Of course our mighty heroes are barely discomfited by having a stone crypt collapse on them, while the vampires are almost instantly reduced to ash by the sun. The fight is well and truly done. The party returns to the castle, where a spirited discussion ends in a vote to liberate the entire royal treasury by 4 to 2. Having sequestered the cash, magic items, and tael, the party is happy to welcome the paladin Theodric and his armies a few days later and turn the crown over to him.

They have all the responsibility they want with their own county, and besides, someone needs to go straighten out Varsoulou before this demon thing gets out of hand.

[truemane]

Metamagic Mod: thread re-opened.

[Yahzi Coyote]

{Scrubbed} this will be the last entry in this thread.

If you are interested in the continuation of the campaign, please google for MCPlanck Rebooted; recaps will continue to appear on my blog.

Thank you to those of you who have followed this for so many years, and good gaming!

[icefractal]

Sorry to see this thread end; I'll keep following on the blog, but it was nice to see it here. It's been an interesting journey.