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Stitching the Rays (A campaign journal)Stitching the Rays
An excessively boring and badly overthought campaign narrativeAugust, 2010
The multiverse is coming apart, and it’s the Gods’ second pick who have to stop it.
I, the author of this narrative, am fulfilling the role of DM. The players, two of whom are members of this site (MrFuzzy and Pyrotwister, if I'm not mistaken), number four and know hardly what you do by reading this post when they start or as they play. The identities of the PCs should become apparent, but this journal is structured as a story rather than a diary, so don't expect the players to be named outright. Enjoy it as a book, not as an insight into the lives of others.
One hundred men and women from all over the New Continent find themselves suddenly under a massive white domed ceiling. None know any other person there. And, at first, none recognize the looming shapes grouped together on a central stone platform, apparently arguing in earnest. As the humans mill about in confusion- Where’d the bowl of porridge I was carrying go? Did the fish I was pulling in take my best pole back with it?- one huge shape detaches itself from the group. It resolves itself into the shape of a muscular and handsome man, albeit twenty feet tall, as it addresses the unlikely assembly: “Heroes. You have been chosen to be tested for a quest of the most dreadful importance. Those who fail or die will be placed back in their rightful place as if nothing had happened. Those who succeed may never see their homes again. Instead, they will see a palace of their choosing and fifty servants at their feet, and their families at their side, once they have completed their task. You shall be tested thrice, and will be observed. The first test is the test of self devotion. The second is the test of composure. The third is the test of might.
Those who please us most in these tests will embark on this dire quest, and return heroes of legend. The rest will resume their regular lives.
Begin.”The first test
The six least likely and least promising subjects appeared in the first room Kord had filled, and the first he would observe. He spoke his appointed prompt: “The last one to leave will die.” Strangely, though, the now nearly naked men didn’t move. Neither did the not quite so naked one in that strange, lightweight armor- Kord couldn’t find exactly where it came apart, so he had just placed a spell on it to prevent any magical effects from helping the unseen man inside. The man next to him- a professional thief- had a strange look about him, as if he didn’t consider himself as a living thing. The next man was exceedingly strange and no more promising- The man considered himself a pirate and a ship captain, though he owned no such craft or title. Quite the opposite, he rode in a massive wagon through the desert. Mortals were so difficult to understand. The man next to him was not as puzzling, but Kord still didn’t fully understand him or any other of those vow-taking pacifists. This old priest certainly would not pass this test, much less the next, judging by his stringy frame. The next was again peculiar: a one-time medical officer raised Captain Crusader of the early Blackshields, he had no business fishing the coasts of Seratol like he had when he was a boy. Especially with a head like that on his shoulders. The sixth and last was the most promising, a Paladin of Kord’s goody-goody brother Pelor. Kord wished he’d been placed with a more capable group.
Something seemed to be happening. The strange group seemed to be gathering closer to the pedestal upon which the Portal Stone rested. None seemed to think it was anything more than a huge but clouded ruby. Finally the thief darted forward and seized the stone, but looked mildly surprised when he dissolved into nothing. Kord knew he was just in the next test, waiting for the others, but they seemed to think he’d been destroyed. Kord reminded them of the instructions: “The last one to leave will die.” The confusing pirate took a step forward, but leapt back as the metallic man- if man he was- seemed to slide to the Stone without moving his legs. An assassin, Kord thought with slight relief. As he disappeared, the pirate seemed to lose confidence again and stepped back another pace. The fisherman, who had been regarding the others with a measuring look, finally stepped forward and touched the stone with one finger. He’d known what it was to start with! Kord was momentarily frustrated, but that soon changed to mild satisfaction. Maybe he wasn’t such a fool as to fail the other tests utterly. The pirate finally moved forth, and touched the stone with a salty farewell to the last two. Now comes the boring part, Kord thought, as the two zealots looked at each other. He decided to listen in on the proceedings:“You must know I cannot aid much in any violent quest such as this,” the pacifist said. “You’re simply the better choice. Besides, I have the orphans to attend to. That is my Calling.” The paladin looked startled, and then penitent. Indeed, a paladin. “You have the humility I’ve always strived for,” he said with a sigh. “When I return, I shall remember nothing, but I shall remember this:” He cast Arcane Mark on himself- did paladins even learn that spell?- and the word “Orphan” was etched, bleeding slightly, into the skin on his forearm. As far as Kord knew, it couldn’t be used on a living creature. What a strange paladin, but the more promising for his ability. Then he did the single most disappointing think Kord could have thought of- The calmly reached out and grasped the pacifist priest’s forearm, and smoothly tugged the man to the stone. Looking him in the eye, he pressed the man’s hand onto the stone. Self-sacrifice. Kord knew he ought to appreciate the virtue, but that wasn’t the purpose of this test. The Gods could never get anything done if their heroes kept running off and dying for Causes before they finished their quest. At least the paladin couldn’t throw things off by doing that now, but the God didn’t know about the pacifist. That one still had an unsettling amount of virtue.
The second test
The blackness under Ekev resolved into stone, and five of the strange dirt-kissers stood in a line to his left. To the right, the stone abruptly stopped, and blackness remained to that side, above, and on the left beyond the sandsitters. Even now, the ground still shook like his wagon; he’d regain his land legs soon enough, he hoped. The pirate then looked forward, where the stone ground stretched on ahead, narrowing as it reached a shimmering archway, past the row of five casks on pedestals. That was where he had to go, it seemed, as he looked behind him at the stark drop into blackness. The pirate walked toward the gate and found himself stopped by something invisible. A Magic, he thought it was called, where people did things without touching what they moved, or made things out of nothing. Ekev didn’t understand it, but as he pressed a hand against the unseen wall, it slowly grew hotter and hotter. Finally, the heat discouraged his efforts to push through, and he turned to the octagonal cask. Inside the gold-fringed box was an opalescent sphere about three inches in diameter. Definitely valuable. On it were inscribed the words, “Don’t Drop Me.” He reached in and took the sphere, and was surprised when it did not rise from the box. He tried to roll it around to see if something held it fast, but it moved only slowly, despite his efforts. He took it with both hands, pulling with all his strength, lifting it slowly- it must have weighed a hundred pounds! - and staggered under the weight as he again walked toward the wall of nothing. Nothing indeed- he didn’t meet a wall this time, and continued slowly forward. This stone must be another Magic, he thought as he lugged the miserable but valuable thing toward the gate. And then he heard a crack. Looking behind him, he found that there was no longer a space of rock behind the pedestals, and that the other men were either staggering along behind him or pulling themselves back up onto the bridge with their fingers. Returning to his slow progress forth, he began singing an old sailing ditty to himself.
“Oh! the gold’s heavy, it makes a man think,
Would he leave the bag b‘hind, or fall in and sink?”
Test subject 0006734 A12 followed the filthy brigand toward the gate. One might die for it, but one’s Prize and one's Profession outweigh one’s life. The Prize caused one to move slowly. The bridge- no stone that one knew- had fallen into the blackness which one must understand meant termination. The Prize would not be abandoned. A second ten feet fell, the ten feet one had only just stepped from. At this rate, one could reach the glowing arch with the Prize as long as one did not falter. One would not falter.
[init (Weight of Stone, Depth of approaching blackness)]; [reg (Slow: Arch)];[Ref ID 103985 (“You shall not fail. If you do, you Are not, and Nothingness fails. You only succeed. Kill without prejudice, work without fear. Initiate.”)];
The orphans, the Vows, the Devotion. These things passed again through the old pacifist’s mind as his back cracked again under the weight. “I shall not fail, Pelor. I am steadfast, my Lord.” He took one more staggering step forward, and then another. “My friend Paladin, we will see each other soon. I will not, however, throw away your sacrifice.” The sphere weighed fully as much as the old priest, but he lugged it on anyway, step by step, as the stone behind him tumbled into the darkness. I shall not give up to the Dark. The orphans…
Kord watched as the five men struggled toward the gate. He was still quite surprised at how none had dropped the stone and run for the Gate, only to find it impenetrable. All the other groups he watched had done similarly; he wasn’t sure this shouldn’t be the last test. Well, it was the last test they actually had to pass, or were expected to. The old pacifist was barely going to make it, his gnarled frame bent under the weight, but staggered on anyway. The armored shape seemed not to be feeling the weight of the stone at all, despite his creeping pace. The fisherman was only doing so much better than the priest, but seemed just as determined. The pirate and the unfeeling thief moved with the definite gait of devoted burglars, with a hard-earned prize rightfully stolen and not to be returned. More of the bridge cracked off and fell away, and the priest almost lost his footing as the ground fell away from his heel. They all pushed on, though, and the pirate made it to the gate. Next was the armored thing, then the thoughtless thief, and the fisherman. The priest fell through the white film of air just as the last foot of stone crumpled. Kord was surprised at their success, as he shifted his conscience to his favored band. Half were creeping along, and the remaining few were industriously beating their fists on the white glowing wall as the ground where they’d left their Stones fell into the darkness. How disappointing!
The third test
The five were startled when the blackness of waiting dissolved to reveal a roughly rectangular cavern room, stalactites and stalagmites reaching toward each other from ceiling to floor. They were equally startled when there came a crack from the opposite wall, and a grinding sound as the floor there slid down, hinged on a line twenty feet before the men. The opposite edge of the floor, halting forty feet below, pressed up against a newly exposed grating that ran the length of that wall and began spewing brownish water into the angular pit. Soon, the five stood at the shallow edge of a wedge-shaped lake. The rush of water stopped, and was replaced by an ominous burbling sound.
They noticed that they were again dressed, and now armed with their own weapons: The thief with a dagger and a sickle, the armored man with a scimitar, down the length of which a long opening was bored that exposed a loose-woven rope to the air on either side that followed the weapon’s curved blade. The man seemed to relax, if any emotion was shown on his frame, as he turned a small black wheel on the hilt with his thumb. In a flurry of sparks that shot from the stone as from a struck flint and played against this in-built rope, flame spread along its length, flaring on either side from the long openings. The man inverted the sword, and poured oil from a flask into a small hole in the pommel that he then re-stoppered. The pirate, Ekev, was definitely relieved to find a heavy cutlass at his hip, and reached back to seek out an odd, bulky crossbow on his back. He dislodged two small boxes from the thing that were fitted on top and bottom respectively, and loaded several quarrels from his belt pouch into each. Replacing them carefully, he drew back the topmost and heavier bow and laid the string in its notch. A second bow, below the first and the size of a regular part for that weapon’s average cousin, remained relaxed. The old priest wore nothing in the way of weapons, and owned only the simple breeches and shirt he wore. The fisherman appeared with the strangest assortment of all: A vest with entirely too many pockets, all of which were full of various items. A bulging rucksack with an opening in each lower corner, held shut by small doors. Several leather pouches around his belt. Two scabbards at his left hip, from one of which protruded a rapier’s curved pommel; a strange grip that seemed to be a reversed swordhilt came from the other. The sleeves of his coat swung and bulged as if containing several objects.
“I only got me weapons back, meself,” said the Ekev upon seeing the equipment. “Wherefore did ye regain allo yer swag?” The fisherman looked at him under the edge of his wide, conical hat. “I did only get weapons, my friend.” With a sigh, he turned back to the water. As Ekev uneasily returned his gaze to the lake, he noticed a stream of large bubbles emerging from its murky depths at a point about twenty feet from the far wall- and getting closer. The burbling sound grew louder as they stood together, awaiting this Test of Might. Finally the water parted about twenty feet from the shore, sliding down a glistening, ridged back, mottled and scaly. The stink of decay filled the room as the mass moved up the underwater slope. Of a sudden, twin wolf-like heads burst from the shallows, spewing water and rough, unintelligible curses. The four eyes scanned the five men as a limber torso rose from the water. A thick tentacle sprouted from each shoulder, and the long body stretched past the legs to a long, snakelike tail. The men, frightened or at leased somewhat concerned, looked at each other and took action. All but the thief, who sunk into the shadows, charged toward the thing, the pirate firing his strange crossbow. As the first bolt was cast forth by the thick bow, the lower bow suddenly leapt back, and the man fired again. Both quarrels found their mark, but the monster didn't seem to notice. The armored thing lunged forward and left a steaming gash in the thing’s midriff with the flaming scimitar. The fisherman reached to the hatch in the right corner of his backpack, withdrawing two flasks marked with Suns, which he hurled at the thing. Above the quarrels and seared slash, this made the thing screech, as it set upon the four with twin heads snapping and twin tentacles knocking the men about. From the dark, a knife split the air as it whirled and buried itself a full six inches in the monster's left throat. It didn’t seem to be pained, beyond a deep gurgling sound the respective head made as it snaked around to dislodge the annoyance. A barked laugh echoed from behind the men at the sound. "One claims a Speaking!" Even as the men fought it, the creature’s wounds could be seen closing up, the quarrels falling from their holes, the hole in its neck writhing shut. The pirate was knocked flat by a slap from a tentacle. Then the priest, trying as he might to hit the thing in a weak point with his fist- he appearantly could do battle with such evil things, though he was not any considerable help- was laid low by a bite to the shoulder. The armored man crumpled when both tentacles impacted him at once. The thief finally appeared from behind the fisherman, his sickle darting in and out but only leaving nicks in the monster’s thick flesh. He, too, was flattened by a whipping tail, and the fisherman was left alone. As he looked up from his fallen comrade, he saw the thing’s full attention pass to him, and hurled the two flasks in his hands into the thing’s faces. It shrieked, and lunged forward as its heads simultaneously snaked out for his throat…
The room was quite white that the men found themselves standing in. Kord gazed down at them with a befuddled look on his handsome face. He turned away as the five examined where they had been struck and bitten; the injuries were gone. The thief stepped forward soundlessly, his eyes fixed on the god’s belt pouch, which was large enough to accommodate a child comfortably. Kord turned and asked simply, “You had a question?” A look of mild surprise passed across the seemingly mindless thief’s face, but he rallied magnificently. “One requires one’s knife to be an adequate servant.” The God looked down at the man thoughtfully, extending his hand, which dwarfed the dagger that appeared within. “Yes. A servant. But of whom?”
“One cannot say.” The man replied dully. The God didn’t seem satisfied. “One simply cannot Speak His name in the current circumstances.” The God gave him a questioning look. The thief said, finally, “The name of the true God whom one serves cannot be pronounced by one without a dagger in one’s larynx. This one cannot Speak it yet, but has heard one’s God’s name Spoken sixteen- seventeen times, now. A prestigious achievement for one. It is ironic that only the unworthy may be made to Speak the name. But one ensures that they always are.”
Kord recovered quickly, which could not be said for the others. The armored thing didn’t flinch, but the others were taken aback. The priest was as much appalled anything. “You mortals do know how much trouble you’ve caused, do you not?” The god turned to face the five, his huge countenance a show of resigned frustration. “There were bands of much more qualified and powerful inductees, but only one in three had surviving members by the time the third test came around, and were already cowed. My illusion of Demogorgon sent them cowering. Your weak and unimpressive group survived entirely the second test. On the third test, you excelled. By these merits, you are far more qualified for our grand errand than any other group, but I still cannot see how you- a pacifistic priest who doesn’t know when to roll over, a mindless thief and killer, a fisherman with entirely too much standing to have returned to the docks. A sadly confused pirate, and—What are you,?” This last was addressed to the metallic creature, standing resolute and absolutely still behind the group. The strangely wrought faceplate swiveled toward the God, and there came a clicking and grinding of metal. “I AM… MYSELF,” it said in a harsh, low monotone. Kord attempted to read the thing’s surface thoughts, but might as well have been listening to a spoon. “Are you a human? What manner of creature are you?” The God felt foolish at having chosen something that was only arguably alive as a hero. He resolved to search for living minds rather than heroic-looking individuals. At first, he attributed the failure of a Sense Evil incantation to the absence of evil motives, but now considered the absence of any emotion at all. The grinding came again, and then, “I AM CALLED EFREY CONS, ‘LIFE’S SHADOW’ IN THE DISTANT TOUNGUE. NOT A SHADOW THAT TAKES LIFE, THOUGH THAT IS METAPHORICALLY ACCURITE, BUT THE IMITATION OF LIFE. MY CREATOR HAS CEASED TO LIVE. I CARRY ON HIS COMMAND.”
“And what might that be?”
“TO STEM FROM THE CHOSEN THOSE UNWORTHY OF LIFE; TO OBEY THE COMMANDS OF THE LIVING GODS; TO BE STEADFAST; TO SUCCEED AT ALL THE CREATOR HAD FAILED TO ACCOMPLISH. SHOULD I FAIL AT ANY TIME, I SHALL CEASE TO BE. THUS FAR, I STILL AM.”
The other four men took a step away from the thing, and tried to act like they hadn’t. A Warforged? A Golem of some sort? None knew much of these things, but knew that this iron-clad thing was going to put a damper on sociality among them if they were to proceed together. The God spoke once more, after a long pause of staring into space. “The last inductees have been restored to their proper places, with no memory of being called or tested. You will not be so lucky.”
“Wait! Methinks I recall some talk of palaces and heroship! Be that all just banter?” Kord turned to look at the pirate. With a sigh, he said, “I’m afraid you didn’t understand. These rewards can only come once you have completed this dire quest for us. Come, and we will explain.” The men didn’t have much choice as to whether to come; The God and then the men dissolved into nothingness. The five again found themselves in the domed room, in which they had first arrived. Now deserted, it accentuated the size of the five shapes on the central platform. One rather aloof-looking God, dressed as a traveler, reclined on a throne at the opposite edge of the area. An armored and very handsome one stood to the right, arms crossed and a scowl across his perfectly-shaped countenance. Kord stood at the front, looking at the men below. To the left stood a benevolent, kindly-looking God who seemed to give off a soft, white light from his body. The one God who really caught the men's eyes was the one standing rather sulkily in the center, a huge but decrepit creature with the look of withering and decay about him. His left hand was severed at the wrist, and he had only a black pit where his left eye should be. Kord spoke.
“You may be wondering, if you’re any less witless than you seem, why so many of my brothers are here gathered. The circumstances are indeed dire, and even we Gods can’t handle the trouble afoot. The multiverse is coming undone, and we were forbidden at the beginning of time to manipulate the elements of this unraveling, and directly stop it. Indeed, the fabric of reality is separating and blistering, and our physical intervention even in the Mortal Plane could destroy the fragile state of things. I know very little of the specifics, but you are charged to pull the elements of nature back into place and seal them there. You are charged to Stitch the Rays."
Explanations and Assignments
The five men- four men and a machine, as they thought now- watched as the lich-like God came forward, a look of loathing reluctance clear in his remaining eye. Kord introduced him. “My brother Vecna is the keeper of such knowledge as I do not posses. Heed his words.” The handsome God stepped back as the decrepit one stood straighter. The God spoke with a surprisingly eloquent and melodious voice, albeit laden with resentment. “So long as I am to render assistance, understand that I only appear here for my own preservation. Do not consider it a familiar compulsion, brothers, that brings me to share the secret of our survival.” Kord looked at him levelly and reminded him, “Speak not unto me, brother, but unto our saviors.” Even his voice carried a measure of sarcasm as he addressed the men such. The shriveled God resumed. “As for you, mortals, do not expect that I will patronize you so. You will return to the mortal plane together, and there carry out your task, correct? The trouble for the multiverse is such: The true Creator was the one who constructed the Planes and all of us Gods. We claim the credit to conceal His existence, so that no meddlesome wizards or liches would seek him out. He arranged reality, though, in a number of three-dimensional layers, fitted together and within each other, and being totally homologous. Each layer, called now a Ray, carries an integral law of nature, such as Gravitation, the Conservation of Matter, and so on. He fastened them in place with third-dimensional grommets- Nodes, we call them, that anchor theses laws into the physical world. He then set each Node to exist physically only in its corresponding Ray. The original Creation set all of this properly, but two of our brothers recently decided to cause mischief that none of us could control. Erythnul and Nerull displaced a few of the Nodes five hundred years ago, shifted them to inappropriate Rays. They have continued finding and disaligning Nodes since, a few at a time. This destabilization has caused a reaction that none of us expected, causing other Nodes in this and other planes to slide out of place. The Rays separate, and in a fashion similar to ripping one stitch from a seam, the adjacent Nodes begin to come loose, and the hole grows larger. Should the Rays become entirely separated, all of Creation will be undone, and the Creator will have to start anew. Even we Gods could not preserve ourselves if the very particles of our being lose cohesion.
“As to what to do to repair the damage, I have a single idea. The Creator built a mechanism into the Rays that should help the Nodes realign, with only a small push in the right direction. Not a physical push, since it travels In, not To. I’ve constructed an instrument to aid you- Simply touch the object with this-“ The god extended his gnarled hand, in which a black rod with a grip at one end appeared, “- and the Node should be pulled back into place. Note, though, that this instrument will apply this push- a Shift effect- to anything. The object touched will be moved into a Ray based on which Node it most resembles, until all Nodes for that Ray are refastened. Therefore, store it carefully. Not that it would affect my preservation if it Shifts a few thousand platinum worth of your petty equipment. Above all, however, you must prevent the rod from being lost or taken. No other like it exists, and the creation of another would take several years. That is much longer than we may have- I expect the multiverse to fall apart in no more than two.” The God seemed to be done, and Kord stepped forward. “You see, we cannot interfere with the nodes, not only because of our vows but also because our presence or influence in the other planes could make them come apart even faster. We cannot do more than watch and Assume you once in a while. However, there are a few things we can do for you.” The God looked down, and a thin gold ring appeared on the floor at the priest’s feet. “The knob on that ring may be turned once a week. We will immediately Assume you all at that point, just as we did the first time, wherever you are. In addition to that, we may assume you at any other time that would not otherwise interfere with your activities. This would be to… remind you… of your quest, or to give you any information we find or any supplies you might desperately need. Do not expect many gifts, because there is not much we can do even here, in our own Plane, that will not speed the unraveling. We- I, at least, think we should do all we can to aid you in your quest, so I have acquired a few things that may be of great importance to you later. Take these. The Mechanus plane has many wonders, but this is the only one who’s function will not affect any nearby Node, potentially displacing it further with its discharge.” A fully metallic crossbow appeared at the Thief’s feet. Next to it, a glass ball with a band of metal surrounding it and three long panels pointing the same direction, attached equidistantly to the band, popped into being. The thief picked up both, and experimentally fitted the ball into the bow’s tip- a perfect fit. “Fire that ball into the air if ever you need a map, and cannot find a cartographer. I am sure it will be useful.” The God turned away as if done, but the glowing man, the kind lord Pelor, stood up and took his place. “I, too, have gifts for you, heroes. You may find yourselves facing demon lords, like Demogorgon, whom you have more or less already encountered. As a matter of fact, you may even be confronted by our evil brothers, coming to thwart your attempts to repair the Rays. In that case, I have an option. Take these, my son,” he said as he reached down and handed several scrolls to the old priest. With a fond pat, the God told the man, “I give you, and only you, the authority to use these. These are the Scrolls of Eos, Dismas, and Mesimeri. The scrolls of Dawn, Dusk, and Noonday. Open any scroll as the sun enters that phase of the day. The scroll will disappear, and you will be able to draw upon the energies of the sun- my symbol, but the Creator’s final and beloved work. There will be almost no limit to the power you can wield when you activate it. Enough to defeat or even destroy completely either of the two traitors. The only restraint to this power is your own moral strength, and I expect you to use it, my son. I am proud of your devotion to the orphans, but that is no longer your Cause. The Paladin you spoke to has already set out for your orphanage in Ol’s mountains.” The God stepped back onto the platform, leaving the priest seeming to radiate virtuous determination. The God returned his attention to the group as a whole. “Go with no burden but your quest, heroes, and set right the Creator’s work.” As the glowing Pelor raised his hand, imitated by Kord, the reclining God in the back suddenly straightened, saying in an oddly hoarse voice, “Travelers ye shall be, then. Expect thee my protection, but not in the way ye would think. I sh’ll be yer guide ere ye at yer destination arrive. Thy destination, though, be yet a mystery, eh? Whall, ye must to Cold Cave proceed, and fear not the tide wilst within. There within may ye find the first Node, deep inside its bowels. Nary a man gone in its depths made it out, an’ no man alive kens its interior. There be, I tell ye, only those who need not hunt to live in the cavern. Every man to hear of its stories think but its victims be drowned by its cruel tide, but there be much more dangerous things within. An’ Ekev, whar have ye been since yer ship were sunk ten years agone? I’ve heard nary a word from ye, nor seen yer salty ol’ hide since!” At this, the pirate shifted his feet. He had obviously been of some interest to this God at some point. “Milord Fharlanghn, I can but say that I’ve been cut from the sea by a most cruel knife o’ fate. I miss her beauty bitter, ye ken, though I live far from water for this misfortune. But I remain true, and do what I can tae keep the old ways. I still sail, but by the horses tied to me mast, rather than the wind in the bellies of my sails. My ship be tossed aboot by waves of sand where I wish there’d be water, and I still plunder Merchants’ vessels, but of the wheeled variety. My ship be a wagon on a sea of sand, Lord, but I yet sail.”
Fharlanghn stood now and strode to the front of the platform. “Then sail once more these sands, Ekev, ye brinebelly, an’ ferget me nary again, an’ yer travels be nae so dry! Now, off wit’ ye all, get! Ye’ve the world tae save, an’ enough time’s been squandered. Sail to Cold Cave, Ekev, allo ye, an’ find ye tha Node. Here- I’ve picked this up in me travels, an’ it’ll help ye. Dawdle nae more, and fail us not!” A bundle was suddenly in Ekev’s arms, and as Pelor, Kord and Fharlanghn raised their arms over the travelers, the Priest noticed a smoldering glance from the one God who had not spoken, the armored one with twin lightning bolts across his breastplate. Vecna had dissolved some time ago, though the pacifist had not taken note until now. Then the room, the platform, and the gods became dim, and with a flash as of lightning, the priest was again on solid ground, but not where he had been taken from. He was in the middle of the desert, and the other men were grouped around. And there stood the largest wagon the old man had ever seen.
Last edited by OoOgAlOoOk; 2010-08-11 at 06:29 PM. Reason: adding the intro, to be found near the top@G&
- Join Date
- Mar 2007
- In the land of Ten-Thousand Puns!
Re: Stitching the Rays (A campaign journal)
This is interesting, but extremely confusing to me. A whole, heaping helping of explanation would be greatly appreciated.
EDIT For example:
- Which characters are the players controlling?
- Are you the DM or a player? (I assume DM)
- What system is this?
- What setting is this?
- What are the PCs? (Races, classes, levels, anything)
- Join Date
- May 2009
- Join Date
- Mar 2007
- In the land of Ten-Thousand Puns!
Re: Stitching the Rays (A campaign journal)
Things have become significantly less confusing, though that first test post was a doozy.
I think I will continue to follow this campaign journal, despite (or maybe because of) its oddness.
- Join Date
- Sep 2009
Re: Stitching the Rays (A campaign journal)
The group is weird.
We have me... "The priest" A human diviner/monk-LV2/1, Who has taken the sacred vows from the book of exalted deeds. I have virtually no offensive capabilities but I can withstand more then the rest of the party combined. I also took a special feat giving me some divine of the healing domain.
Mrfuzzy plays "the pirate". A Elf or Human swashbuckler who commands a large wagon pulled by eight horses and a siege machine on the roof.
My brother "the thief" plays a human rogue who was raised by elves in a laboratory, to make the greatest thief. He is called by a test code name and his pet rat is to. He believes in a greater god with a name unpronounceable unless your gurgling on you own blood.
"The robot" is not a war-forged strangely enough. But is a man in a magical suite of armor that is powered off of him, to keep him alive. The player loves to just kill things so being an assassin was just a natural choice.
The fisherman is an Npc and the campaign journal writer is the dm.
Last edited by Pyrotwister; 2010-08-09 at 03:19 PM.Being a pyromaniac has its own benefits... like the added irony when your enemies burn you to death.
- Join Date
- May 2010
Re: Stitching the Rays (A campaign journal)
Twelve horses.... I have twelve horses
Last edited by Mr.Fuzzy; 2010-08-31 at 05:40 PM.Forward the Meat Shields!