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  1. - Top - End - #211
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    Griffon

    Join Date
    Jun 2012
    Location
    Queensland, Australia
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Three Coins, Two Birds and a Gilded Sword: A Norbayne Campaign Log

    Session 7.2: Harvest Moon Rising

    ”We come to it at last, the rise of the Harvest Moon. All our long journeys, the various paths which have lead us to this point have culminated, together, here, on this night. Through nights filled with wolven terrors, to storms on the open ocean, underground in the depths of the world to the mountain passes of the far north and the sunken depths of ancient temples, we’ve finally come back, full circle.

    This is it, we win, or we die.”

    - Excerpted from the journal of Maebh Preachain-Eite, dated to mid-1650 CE.

    Welcome to session 7.2 of Three Coins, Two Birds and a Gilded Sword.

    “This may be the end of an era here ladies and gentlemen.” – Dev.
    “There’ll be another session yet.” – Sins.
    “I had high hopes we’d be able to drag this out for a decade. I’m slightly disappointed.” – LD.
    “You know, the game doesn’t stop until we let him go.” – Sins.
    “That seems like most GM’s experiences to me. ‘This is how my story is,’ they cry. No its not.” – Yohan.
    “Write monkey, write!” – LD.


    Exhausted, the companions encamp behind a slight hilly rise on the eaves of a copse of woodland. They share the watch through the night, but nothing interrupts their rest. On the field below, most of the Elspeth troop formations have either encamped in a city of tents before the city walls, or have retreated inside to rest. Moving torchlights indicate the presence of a significant force upon the walls of the city, and the tents are both guarded and regularly patrolled by over one hundred soldiers at a time, split between a picket line set and small squads moving between the tents.

    The camp and the city both appear to be on high alert, but thankfully the companions’ presence goes unnoticed.

    The dawn light starts to gently peak out over the hills to the east, casting a dim silvery light over the grassy plain and the white stone city walls. The light glints on the armour of the Elspeth heavy infantry as the tent city stirs into life. Labourers exit the city and begin disassembling the shelters, removing them from the field with startling efficiency. Within twenty minutes, the Elspeth army is formed up and ready, their camp broken and packed away, non-combatants retreated away and back within the city walls.

    Xander, Harold and Maebh, using the cover of the treeline, stand on the rise and observe the legions in action.

    “They’re waiting for something.” – Xander, quietly.

    “Not us, surely.” – Harold, wondering out loud.

    “No, not us.” – Maebh, pointing towards the east.

    Just cresting the hills to the east, the companions can see the fluttering of banners as an army approaches. Over a thousand infantry, accompanied by a small contingent of cavalry and some siege weapons. As they get closer, the companions recognise the banners, a red bird of some kind on a green field. Naille’s army has arrived.

    The new army forms up, almost a mile from the Elspeth formations. The Naillish force seems a fair margin smaller than that of Elspeth, and most of their force is made up of light spearmen and archers.

    Spoiler: Map of the Battlefield
    Show

    INSERT MAP HERE


    It just wouldn’t be right to not have another Insert Map Here.


    The city of Elspeth is protected by a curtain wall almost 20 metres tall, anchored by tall towers arranged in almost a hexagon-shape. Atop each tower sits a heavy ballista, which, from this distance, appear to be mounted on some kind of device which allows the machine to rotate in place, giving a 360 degree shooting arc.

    The keep itself is situated well within the walls, abutting the cliffs overlooking the Sea of Claws to the west. The keep’s walls are much higher, over 50 feet, the four towers taller and broader than those anchoring the curtain wall. Atop each of the keep’s towers sits a large trebuchet. Jutting out from the centre of the keep is a tall marble spire, almost like a stretched pyramid, adorned with a massive sculpture of an eagle, presumably cast in gold, wings spread back over the spire.

    “A bit pretentious, no?” – Maebh, under her breath.

    Kel’Serrar and Breanna join their companions on the rise, and observe the Naillish forces forming up. Neither of the armies seem to be eager to engage, both content to hold their formations out of range of the enemy artillery.

    “I can see a banner down there with a crown on it.” – The keen-eyed Kel’Serrar, looking down at the massed Naillish forces.

    “Must be their king.” – Harold.

    “We should probably try and gain an audience with the commander down there, king or not. As tempting as it is to go down there and cause as much havoc as we can by ourselves, we should try to coordinate with them if they share our goals.” – Xander, to the general agreement of the rest of the party.

    “Hopefully the commander is not the king. I think the king is just a boy.” – Harold, concerned.

    “Inexperience would certainly explain their decision to try and besiege a major city with a smaller army than that of the defenders.” – Xander, shaking his head.

    “This may well be everyone Naille could muster. They may have no others.” – Maebh, darkly.

    “That might be true. If so, they’ll be desperate for aid. Could give us an advantage. I presume you have all pissed this king off at some time?” – Xander.

    “I think the only thing we’ve really done which might have pissed him off is kill his ambassador in Summer Hill. With that said, Carhold was a traitor and in no fit state to fulfil his duties, so I feel like that may gain us some social credit instead.” – Harold, hopeful.

    “If we are agreed on sending someone to parlay, I suggest we only send two. Don’t want panic them.” – Maebh.

    “Aye, Harold and I will go. Harold to talk, me to get us out in case it goes poorly. Besides, both of us have military backgrounds, they may respond more positively to us.” – Xander.

    Spoiler: Charisma and Strength
    Show
    “Who has the best Charisma and Charm Skill?” – Ladyhawk.
    “Harold on both counts.” – Yohan.
    “Oh hell.” – LD.
    “Harold is better at talking, I’m better at hitting. Out of game, I think it may be the other way around.” – Yohan.
    “Can you just, and this is in game and out of game, make sure that you keep a handle on what he says?” – Ladyhawk, to Yohan, about Dev.
    “Hey, Harold’s our diplomat and party face.” – Yohan.
    “That is a terrifying thought.” – Ladyhawk.
    “I think, despite our looks, Harold and I are probably the least off-putting members of the group.” – Yohan, to nods from Dev, Sins and Ladyhawk.
    “I’m small and furry.” – LD, laughing.
    “Yeah, sure, and if you took off your hood, cloak, all your leathers, knives and poisons, then yes, you would probably not be too intimidating.” – Yohan.
    “Actually scratch that, I’m jacked. Breanna’s terrifying without clothes. I am literally the reason there’s racial hard caps on stats now.” – LD.
    “Breanna was physically the strongest member of the party until Xander showed up.”
    “Didn’t she nearly break her wrist trying to pick a lock once though?” – Dev.
    “That’s when her story started, lifting every day, smashing the protein powder.” – Ladyhawk.
    “I never skip leg day either guys.” – LD.

    A few moments later LD bursts out laughing.
    “Sins just showed me that when I started smashing out Strength, so did he. So I had a mental image of Breanna lifting weights, then the camera zooms out and Kel’s lifting Bree and then it zooms out again and there’s Xander lifting Kel.” – LD, to raucous laughter.


    A warhorn rings out over the field.
    Yohan provides the requisite warhorn noise, very cinematic.
    “That was very good.” – Ladyhawk.
    “It was, but now a real warhorn.”
    Yohan provides an adjusted sound, one which devolves into a broken note at the end, like a real warhorn, which sounds, to be frank, not much like those in the movies.
    “It almost turns into a screaming goat by the end. I’m imagining the company musician may in fact have an actual goat tucked under one arm and through a mixture of squeezing and stretching it, creates the noise.” – Yohan, who then mimes doing exactly that, almost playing a goat like an accordion.

    “Alright everyone, Perception Checks with Evaluation bonuses if you have any.”
    Everyone passes except Xander, who fails by a lot.
    “Xander looks in entirely the wrong direction.” – Dev.
    “When Breanna moved to get a better look, she knocked my helm around and now it is over my eyes.” – Yohan, eyes closed and arms outstretched.


    Approximately half of the Naillish forces start to move forward a touch, forming a defensive line in front of the field trebuchets, which are being unpacked and made ready to launch. The other half seems to be helping the baggage train in setting up tents and pavilions, well behind the siege equipment.

    “I don’t understand, they’re well out of range…” – Harold, confused, gesturing towards the field trebuchets.

    “They’re just trying to stay out of range of the city’s engines.” – Xander.

    “No, look at them. These things are advanced. They may be in range after all.” – Kel’Serrar, pointing out the steel contraptions on the Naillish siege engines.

    “They look like they’re setting up for a prolonged siege. They wouldn’t bother with so many tents unless they intended to stick around for a while.” – Maebh, quietly.

    “We should try and gain our audience before they engage, Xander. Let’s get ready to go.” – Harold.

    The companions head back to their camp and prepare. Xander takes his two greatswords, binding the hilt of the Corpsewalker Blade with a spare rag, obscuring the iconography upon the hilt. To the other sword he attaches a bolt of white cloth, like a flag. Harold takes the Gilded Sword and a smattering of other weapons, but both men feel that the less weapons they openly carry, the better, and leave the better part of the armaments behind at the camp.

    Together, the Invarrian and Feartarbh make their way to the Naillish camp.

    * * *

    A small squad of five horsemen detach from the Naillish infantry, urging their mounts towards the hills, where an Invarrian and Feartarbh can be seen descending, waving an improvised white flag. The cavalry, clad in green and gleaming steel cuirasses and armed with long lances, gallop up to the two companions and circle around them, lances levelled.

    One of the cavalry, a bearded Midlander with a green feather attached to an open-faced steel helm speaks. Harold recognises that the feathered helm denotes the Naillish military officers.

    “State your intentions.” – The cavalry captain.

    “I am Harold Oakenshield and this is Xander Rothgar. We would like to ask an audience with your commander. We have important news.” – Harold, speaking up.

    “I see you are both heavily armed. If you will surrender your weapons, that meeting can possibly be arranged.” – Naillish captain.

    “I would understand if you intend to try and restrain us, but I fear you have no bonds which could hold me.” – Xander, tall enough to look the mounted captain directly in the eye.

    “Do I have your word that you will do no harm?” – The Naillish captain, with an appraising look at the two companions.

    “You have my word, upon my life and the honour of my clan.” – Xander, solemnly.

    “That is good enough for me.” – Naillish captain, nodding in satisfaction.

    Xander is loaded up like a pack mule, with all the weapons they saw fit to bring with them slung over his back, out of easy access. Then the riders slowly escort Harold and Xander to the rear of the Naillish forces.

    The game was then interrupted by the players comparing their respective armouries. As expected, Harold’s collection was the greatest, but Breanna’s massive selection of knives came a close second. Yohan suggested that the saddle on his shoulder may have possibly incorporated a closed compartment of some sort, which acted as a handy storage space for Breanna’s various weapons.

    The scouts lead Harold and Xander past the artillery and then through the camp. Closer to, they can see the trebuchets are very advanced, with sophisticated pulley systems allowing a swift reload, a steel-reinforced launching arm and a system which increases the momentum of the counterbalance when the payload is launched. Speaking of the payload, neither of the companions can determine exactly what they are. They look almost like large clay pots rather than a more traditional missile, but there is no way of knowing from this distance what is inside.

    “Those things are going to range over a mile.” – Xander, in an undertone to Harold.

    Eventually Harold and Xander are led to a large green and white striped pavilion, flags waving proudly in the morning breeze, bearing red sparrows on a green field, replete with golden crowns. A troop of soldiers in heavy armour, tall shields at their backs and halberds in hand, guard the tent and, after a brief conversation with the scout captain, allow Xander and Harold into the tent, relieving Xander of their weapons before they enter.
    “And I just let it happen.” – Yohan, laughing.

    Entering the command tent, the first thing they notice is the large table set in the middle of the room. Upon it sits a fairly accurate representation of Elspeth City, along with several coloured wooden blocks, which look as if they indicate the troop positions on the field before the city. Opposite the door is a high, intricately carved wooden chair, flanked by two men, one a heavily armoured, shaggy brown-furred Feartarbh, the hilt of a large greatsword visible over his shoulder and a truly massive axe, the blade of which is embedded in the patchy grass beside him. Even bigger than Xander, the Feartarbh looks over the new arrivals with a keen interest, scarred and heavily muscled arms crossed over his enormous chest. The other man is a Midlander, tall for his race, clad in a dark green robe, middle-aged and bearded. He is generally nondescript in appearance, but he does have a rather thick golden chain clasping a grey cloak.

    Upon the chair between the two is a small, dark-haired Midlander boy, perhaps 12 years old. The expression on his face is that of someone who is unsure of every move he makes. His clothes are rich, and he wears a nice coat with an ermine fur trim on his thin shoulders. His hands bear three rings, all of which seem slightly too large for his slender fingers. Upon his head sits a thin crown of silvered steel, and this suits him well, unlike the other regalia he wears.

    Around the table, three Midlander men stand in debate, two in the rich green officer’s uniform of the Nailish command, the third in steel plate armour, a feathered helm carried under his arm. All three have the bearing of long military service. Attending them are a scattered handful of pages, girls and boys ranging from 10 to 16 years of age, predominantly Midlanders, each carrying platters of food and drink.

    As Harold and Xander enter the room accompanied by another page, the robed man is stooped slightly, whispering something to the boy on the chair. The mood in the room seems grim, and the officers are arguing around the table.

    “My king, lords, may I present Harold Oakenshield and Xander Rothgar at the bequest of Captain Matthias.” – The page, ushering the companions into the pavilion.

    The boy is given a gentle nudge by the robed man and, after a brief pause while he remembers his line, speaks.

    “Come forward then, and speak.” – The king of Naille, in a surprisingly confident voice.

    Xander and Harold walk past the war-table and approach the king, halting at a respectful distance. Behind them, the argument begins anew, but in more hushed tones. Harold bows to the king.

    “King, I am Harold Oakenshield of Varr, my companion is Xander Rothgar. To get right to the point, my companions and I offer you our aid.” – Harold, straightening again, maintaining eye-contact with the young king.

    “I appreciate it. How many do you bring?” – The king, already perking up a little.

    “Ah, well, five.” – Harold.

    The disappointment on the face of the king is palpable.

    “My company is five battle-hardened veterans, one of them, one of the greatest mages of our age.” – Harold, trying to salvage the situation a little.

    “I mean no disrespect to you or your companions, Sir Oakenshield, but I fear five soldiers will not avail us greatly.” – The king, disappointed.

    “King, have you ever heard of The Crag?” – Harold.

    The boy shakes his head, but the robed man leans down and starts to whisper in his ear. His eyes widen and his jaw drops.

    “I had not heard of The Crag, but my advisor here has. Your mage… They say she destroyed a mountain?” – The king, wide-eyed and awe-struck.

    “Stories are always exaggerated. In truth, she almost single-handedly took the main gate to the fortress. However, between us, we took the fortress as a whole.” – Harold.

    “You see-“ – The king, who looks up at his advisor and receives an almost imperceptible shake of the head.

    The king’s jaw sets and his eyes harden slightly as he turns back to the companions.

    “We are here to prevent something from coming to pass.” – The king, ignoring the slight nudge from his advisor.

    “The Greyflood Prophecy?” – Harold.

    Now he has their attention. Silence descends over the tent as the captains’ debate turns still. All eyes are on the Invarrian as the king slowly nods.

    “An old prophecy of my people. King, with your permission, may my companion retrieve one of our belongings from outside the tent?” – Harold, entreating the king.

    “Is it a weapon?” – The king’s robed advisor, to Harold’s nod of affirmation.

    “Would you allow Heriman here to retrieve it for you?” – The robed advisor, gesturing to the massive Feartarbh standing on the other side of the king.

    “Obtaining that weapon came at incredible cost and hardship. We would prefer to have no others touch it. If your efforts are aligned with ours, then there is nothing to fear from us.” – Xander, quietly.

    “This weapon is also an ancient artefact of my people, an heirloom of the first Stormlord of Varr.” – Harold, shaking his head.

    I asked for a Charm Check here, which was very narrowly passed.

    “Very well, please allow Ser Rothgar to retrieve their belongings.” – The king, projecting his voice to the guards outside the pavilion, who nod as Xander lumbers over to them.

    The hulking Feartarbh picks up both Gilded Swords from their small pile of undisturbed arms, and returns the true Gilded Sword to Harold, who draws it gently from its makeshift sheathe.

    “This is the sword from the Greyflood Prophecy, recovered at great cost from a sunken temple on Varr.” – Harold, presenting the blade to the young king.

    For his part, the king is absolutely captivated by the artefact, the swirling designs on the golden, leaf-shaped blade, the intricate hilt, the almost magnetic pull it exudes and the razor-sharp edge. The king, it would appear, is a bit of a sword nerd.

    “Oh, it’s beautiful.” – The king, softly.

    “This entire scene almost seems like a bit of, ‘All hail King PG,’ to me.” – Sins.
    “I’ll admit, at the moment, his reactions are basically me just looking at Albion’s catalogue.”


    The king’s advisor however is looking at Xander, still holding his own massive blade.

    “I see you retrieved a second weapon, Ser Rothgar. Should we be concerned?” – The advisor, clearly starting to worry a little.

    “No need to be concerned, I simply felt we should be entirely forthright with you. This blade was captured in Summer Hill, from a man I believe, from what my companions have told me at least, was once one of your own.” – Xander, withdrawing the rag tied around the iconography on the hilt and presenting the offending designs to the king and advisor both.

    Between the quillons on one side sits the inscribed and enamelled sigil of the Carhold family, on the other, in brilliant blue, the banner of Elspeth.

    “I see. We had heard a little of what occurred in Summer Hill and as such had some idea of what became of Edmond Carhold. Clearly, this is the final proof, if it was needed, of him being in league with Elspeth. You won it through force of arms. May it serve you well.” – The king’s advisor.

    Xander nods, and slings the sword over his shoulder with a thoughtful expression on his face, stepping back.

    “So this is the sword which the prophecy speaks of… What do you need?” – The king, at first still a little lost in the beauty of the sword before him before looking up at Harold, a determined look in his eye.

    “Honestly, we need the biggest distraction you can provide while we get inside the city to disrupt whatever ritual is happening in there. Any information you might have from spies in the city would be handy as well.” – Harold, wrapping the Gilded Sword up again.

    “Unfortunately our spies are, well, they’re dead. We had five people in the city, but two weeks ago we received word of a public execution within the walls. Our insurgents were put to death and we began the march immediately.” – The king, sadly.

    “But your spies got into the city easily enough?” – Harold.

    “Sure, but that was probably over a month ago and the city was not on war-footing at the time, with an army outside the gates. It will be an entirely different task today.” – Xander, interjecting, to nods from the king’s advisor and the captains behind.

    “Indeed, you will likely need cover of darkness to get into the city, and even that will be difficult.” – King’s advisor.

    “We do not doubt it, hence why the bigger the distraction caused by your forces, the better. My lord, I’m sure you trust your commanders, and they appear competent men, but we might be able to provide assistance with the tactical planning. This is not the first fortified location my companions have taken.” – Xander, gesturing to the model city on the war-table.

    “That’s right, we are professional poor decision makers.” – Sins.

    “With that said, what would you suggest? Seeing what we have done so far, what would you have us do?” – The armoured Naillish captain, honestly curious.

    “It may be best if we summon all our companions to get their input. They’re smarter than us…” – Xander, the last bit whispered under his breath.

    “That can be arranged.” – The king’s advisor, clapping his hands together.

    “I must warn you, they are two Danann and a Leathe, and are known to be both abrasive and up-front in their criticism and comments.” – Xander, with a tone of suffering.

    “We are the most tactful members of our company.” – Harold, making a truly horrific statement, as in a statement which is both true and horrific.

    “So I apologise in advance for their behaviour, because I can almost guarantee they’re going to piss someone off. If someone here takes offence to something one of them says, I won’t say they don’t mean it, because they probably do, but rather I hope that it won’t come to blows. ” – Xander, in a blanket statement to the room.

    “I prefer to think of it as honesty rather than poor behaviour.” – Sins.

    Xander accompanies a small squad of horsemen back to the companions’ encampment while Harold remains in the command tent, talking with the king. Before he leaves, the Feartarbh leans in to the Invarrian.

    “Don’t let that sword out of your sight.” – Xander, whispering to Harold before clapping the Invarrian on the shoulder and leaving the pavilion.

    * * *

    Within the hour, the cavalry return. Amongst them a Feartarbh, with a Leathe upon his shoulder, a Danann riding a large black horse and an Invarrian, hooded and cloaked with a powerful longbow in hand. Two pony-sized marcwolves race amongst the horses and a large, armoured lizard lays across the back of Maebh’s horse, basking in the morning sun. Their motley band receives no small number of questioning looks from the Naillish soldiers and members of the supply train, as they are led to the command tent. Along the way, Kel’Serrar’s keen sight picks up wisps of spirit magic surrounding a small cabal of robed figures, sitting away from the rest of the army.

    Approaching the command tent, the guards almost instinctively move to bar Xander’s way before letting him through. Upon arriving back in the tent, the king nods to Xander, with a somewhat surprised look at Breanna, who nimbly leaps down from the Feartarbh’s shoulder and grabs a piece of fruit from one of the serving pages. Then the two marcwolves come bounding in, to the sound of muffled shouts from outside the tent. Bach makes a beeline straight for Harold, while Wolfgang fairly tackles one of the pages and starts devouring the spilled food from the platter.

    Xander helps the young boy to his feet and then retrieves a sack of dried meat from his pack.

    “It’s okay, they’re trained, they’re trained.” – Breanna, having found a spare seat in the corner of the tent, she now lounges in it, eating her fruit.

    Maebh and Kel’Serrar enter the room too, the latter looking identical to Harold, save for the ranger’s thick black cloak. Crithtaluin is laid across Maebh’s shoulders, sleeping.

    Seeing Xander pulling meat out of the sack, Bach and Wolfgang immediately run to the corner, where Xander piles up the food for them. Draped over Maebh’s shoulders, Crithtaluin stirs, tongue flicking out to taste the air, then goes back to sleep.

    “Could you spare a piece Xander?” – Maebh, absent-mindedly stroking the mantikor’s tail hanging over her shoulder. It gently takes the meat from the mage’s fingers when she offers it.

    The captains move aside from the table and allow the companions to see the war-table clearly.

    “First things first, we’ll need a distraction to get into the city.” – Harold, almost to himself.

    “Has anyone seen the Queen?” – Maebh.

    “Not on the field. Our spies’ last reports had her in the city, but that information is old.” – One of the unarmoured captains.

    “What range do you have on your siege equipment?” – Xander, looking around at the gathered captains, who all turn to look at the other unarmoured captain, a shorter, grey-haired man with spectacles.

    “I cannot say exactly, but we are confident that our engines outrange the city’s defences. At the very least, we should be able to draw a bead on the curtain wall while still outside their capacity to strike at us.” – The siege engineer captain.

    “You should ask about what’s in the clay pots too.” – Dev, to Yohan.
    “You’re here though, you could ask…” – Yohan, confused.
    “Yeah, but… No, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.” – Dev.
    “Xander, ask about the pots. I am too regal to do so myself. Do it for me, slave.” – Yohan, in as posh an accent as he could muster.
    “Dim the lights, Xander dear.” – LD, following suit.


    “If you don’t mind me asking, what do you intend to launch from those trebuchets? We saw some clay pots of some kind as we came in…” – Harold, directing his question to the engineer captain.

    The captain glances towards the king’s advisor before responding.

    “Yes, many of those clay pots you would have seen are incendiaries, but we have a few other options too.” – Engineer captain.

    “You would possibly be the man to talk to about this. Do you have some way of sending you a signal from within the city if need be?” – Xander, to the engineer captain.

    “Ah, well, yes, I guess I do.” – The engineer captain who turns and sends a page out of the tent.

    Moments later, the page returns with small device and a leather pouch. Essentially, the device is like a slingshot, and the pouch contains a handful of balls made of some alchemical substance which flares with a bright coloured flame when set alight.

    “It isn’t military, it’s my personal device, but it should do the job.” – Engineer captain, inspecting the device before offering it to the Feartarbh.

    “Tell you what, I may not return from this venture alive. I’d like to compensate you for your work.” – Xander, who takes his coin-pouch and hands it to the man, who gasps a little at the weight.

    Xander just gave this captain all his money, which included five Crowns. A truly exorbitant figure. As you can imagine, the captain is astounded at this generosity, and so he should be, but it is let down a little by the fact that Xander himself has very little concept of the worth of money. He understands how it works, but has no real idea just how much he has given away.

    Xander then removes his vambrace and asks the man if it would be possible to have the device attached to the plate armour. The captain readily agrees and proceeds to leave the tent.

    “So then, let us plan.” – The king’s advisor.

    * * *

    Back with Part 2 soon.
    Last edited by Phoenixguard09; 2020-03-27 at 08:20 AM.
    Campaign Logs:
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    Seven Stones and a Pale Shadow: JUST BEGINNING

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  2. - Top - End - #212
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    Griffon

    Join Date
    Jun 2012
    Location
    Queensland, Australia
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Three Coins, Two Birds and a Gilded Sword: A Norbayne Campaign Log

    And we're back.

    The next few hours pass swiftly as the companions plan the assault with the aid of the Naillish commanders. At some stage in this, the king feels as if the discussions are starting to get into the real minutiae and approaches a visibly bored Breanna, asking her if she will supervise him while he meets the marcwolves. She does so, and is unable to restrain an excited Wolfgang from pouncing on the boy, knocking him to the ground and licking him furiously. At first, the king laughs, but Wolfgang’s claws are long and sharp and the marcwolf is heavy, and the king’s laughing quickly turns into slight cries of pain. After some time, Breanna and Xander are able to restrain the young wolf and the king rights himself, wiping the drool, tears and blood away as best he can. He gives them a somewhat weak smile and retreats back to his seat.

    Discussion turns to what the companions must leave behind if they are to infiltrate the fortress. They determine they shall take only the weapons they absolutely need, and leave all their various animals behind. To best infiltrate the fortress, they decide to hide in the woodland to the south of the city, and they will leave their animals and all their belongings they will not carry behind at a campsite there.

    Xander personally presents his own sword to the king, the Feartarbh’s claymore a fine example of the swordsmith’s art in its own right.

    “Good king, please take this blade as a gift. I understand it cannot serve you as a blade should, but it is not something which will assist me greatly in the fight to come, and it deserves a finer home than I can give it.” – Xander, with the massive weapon, sheathed and held in two hands before him.

    “This is a kingly gift. I accept it, but if one day you should seek its return, come to me and it is yours.” – The king, who reverently takes the weapon, and then grunts slightly at the weight as the hulking Feartarbh hands it over.

    The king personally shakes the hand of each and every one of the companions, or attempts to anyway, as Xander’s massive grasp makes the assignment rather difficult. He wishes them well, as do all the captains, the engineer having returned with Xander’s bracer, now with the slingshot hastily riveted in place to a small bracket.

    The companions make their way out of the encampment, as the afternoon sun starts to dip in the sky…

    * * *

    Back in the southern copse of woodland, at Xander’s suggestion, the companions pack their belongings together into their respective tents and, with Breanna’s help, sling the bundles in the trees with some lengths of rope.

    Maebh takes some time with Toirneach as the afternoon sun starts to set. There is a little sadness and trepidation at their parting, but the horse understands the reasons for which his master must leave. He nuzzles her and sends a mental pulse that he will not allow any harm to befall the two marcwolves or her mantikor.

    As the afternoon draws on, the Naillish army starts to mobilise, wheeling towards the fortified city. Their artillery slowly draws into position, dragged by teams of leathery-skinned great beasts at first, then adjusted by hand by the crews. Arranged outside the city, the Elspeth legions start to adjust their positions too, setting themselves into something of a crescent, designed to envelope the smaller Naillish force.

    The dusk glow of the sunset as it fades into the western ocean behind the city provides ample illumination as the Naillish artillery lets loose their opening salvo, at what seems at first to be a distance well beyond their range. A wave of projectiles sails forth, and they travel significantly beyond the walls of the city, and over the cliffs on the far side. The crews hastily begin to make adjustments to their engines, and the next volley is more effective, a good few projectiles smashing into the near curtain wall and others deeper in the city itself. Smoke and the tell-tale glow of fire begins to emanate from within the city walls, and outside the sound of bells, shouts and screaming can be heard. The incendiaries are proving effective. The Elspeth legions move forward at a swifter rate, and the Naillish army moves likewise to meet them on the field between the city and the siege engines, under a darkening, blood-red sky.

    Upon the wall, relatively evenly interspersed and generally taking cover from the bombardment are what seems like uniformed soldiery, clad in steel helms and mail hauberks with liveried surcoats. Most carry crossbows, some carry spears and all seem to have a shield over their backs. Many of these well-trained soldiers have left their posts to assist in the firefighting efforts, particularly those on the southern stretch of wall, the section of the wall closest to the still-hidden companions.

    “Remember, we don’t want to reveal our presence until we have no other choice.” – Maebh, rasping a whetstone over the blade of her spear.

    “Very well, I’ll be with you every step of the way.” – Kel’Serrar, who then appears to blink out of existence.

    There is silence for a few moments, with only the sounds of the conflict in and around the city to be heard.

    “Also, perhaps we should hide the big one.” – Kel’Serrar’s disembodied voice as Xander feels a hand rest upon his upper arm.

    Xander too, disappears.

    * * *

    As the shadows spread over the fields outside the city, the companions make their move. Xander and Breanna reach the wall first, and the hulking Feartarbh holds his hands out to the Leathe, boosting her up and over the crenellations. The black-furred assassin, a small bolt clenched between her teeth, sails over the wall, and can see three faces beneath her, upturned and looking directly at her, three guards watching this immediate section of the wall. As she glides through the air, the Leathe takes her hand-crossbow and looses the already loaded bolt, taking one of the startled Midlander guards in the eye. The man hasn’t even fallen before the Leathe’s hands move in a blur, taking the bolt she held in her teeth and loading her weapon, and she shoots again, the little steel projectile punching into another guard’s throat.

    Without even touching the top of the wall, Breanna sails over, landing on the ground on the other side of the wall, rolling with the impact and immediately seeking shelter in the gathering shadows behind a nearby building.

    “Go, go, go!” – Harold, exhorting the others over the wall, as Xander prepares to launch Maebh to the top of the wall.

    One by one, Maebh, Harold and lastly an invisible Kel, are propelled up by Xander and swiftly drop down to the other side. The body of one of the slain guards slowly slumps to the ground and topples off the edge of the wall to the ground below. The surviving guard scrabbles at his belt, face panicked, his fingers tightening on a simple horn. He raises it to his lips and blows, three short, staccato notes, and a nearby troop of guards from a different section of the wall make their way over at a steady pace.

    “By the way Dev, we have the name of Harold’s next ship. The Flying Dogman.” – Sins.

    A patrol of guards, at least twenty strong rounds a corner and moves down the street towards the hidden companions at a steady jog, intent on investigating the horn-call. At the fore, a bearded captain of the guard, an eagle etched onto his steel helm and a well-made sword in hand. He holds up his other hand, and orders the company to halt.

    “Hold on, I’ve got this.” – Breanna, whose eyes gleam briefly red before she closes them.

    The horn blast rings out in the night air once more, accompanied by the sounds of screaming, this time from a location closer to the main gate. The captain of the patrol raises his sword.

    “That’s the signal lads, go, go, go!” – The captain, breaking into a run and leading the patrol away from the hidden party.

    Breanna’s eyes open and she grins, her phantom noise successful.

    “Very good Bree. Now what?” – Maebh.

    “We wait for Xander, no?” – Harold, looking furtively for further guard movement.

    They do not have to wait long before a horrible clanking sound, that of iron or steel being smashed heavily into worked stone, can be heard echoing up from the outside of the wall. The surviving guard on the top of the wall, looks down, but can see nothing. An arrow flashes through the night air, catching the guard in the back of the neck and sending him tumbling over the wall, to land on the grass outside the city.

    The clanking ceases as the invisible Xander heaves himself to the top of the wall. The Feartarbh looks for a way down, but is convinced that dropping down from the top of the wall would be too loud, and he himself may be too heavy to do so without injury. He turns to his left, towards the closed door of a tower, trusting that there will be a flight of stairs he can take. Just as he reaches out towards the door, it opens outwards into him, and there is a surprised yelp and a solid thud.

    Down on the ground, the companions see the gigantic Feartarbh blink back into existence as the impact of the door breaks Kel’Serrar’s illusion upon Xander.

    “Who is that?” – Elspeth guard, trying to open the door enough to see who would be blocking his way. Unsurprisingly, the door does not budge, as Xander’s formidable weight is far too great for the guard to shift.

    “****, can someone take him out? If I do, the whole city will know about it.” – Maebh, in a quiet hiss to the rest of the party.

    “Yeah, we’re not at that point yet. We might be soon, but not quite yet.” – Yohan, laughing.

    Breanna takes up her crossbow and looses another bolt, aiming for the sliver of the guard’s face she can barely see. The bolt sails wide, over the wall, missing completely. She gives the small contraption a swift rap against her thigh.

    “Seriously? How could you miss that badly?” – Breanna, quietly blaming her weapon.

    Xander listens carefully, and he thinks he can pick out the voices of three separate individuals in the tower.

    “Well, I could try to lie to them, but my Charisma is god-awful. So then we go to my next idea, which is violence.” – Yohan.
    “I thought we were keeping quiet?” – Ladyhawk.
    “I’m thinking loud violence for like a split second and then I can try to disappear into the streets. Definitely more likely to work than trying to lie to them. Full strength cow-kick the door in, hopefully distract them and dive off the wall while they’re not looking.” – Yohan.
    “That could just decapitate the first bloke with the door.” – Dev.
    “That’s fine. Just collateral damage. Proceeding with the plan. Hmm, only one degree of success on the Strength Check. Can I spend a Luck Point to re-roll?” – Yohan.
    “Absolutely. One degree wouldn’t do much.”
    “That’s better. 04 under 105. Ten degrees of success.” – Yohan.


    The wooden door is pulverised by the impact, as a giant, cloven hoof blasts through the wood, catching the guard in the chest. His ribs are shattered as he is propelled backwards, through the opposite door of the tower, over the wall and then off the cliff, too surprised to even scream on the way down. For a split second, Xander can see the horrified expressions on the faces of the other two guards in the tower before he takes his shield and dives shoulder-first into the ground beneath the wall. The impact is loud and bone-rattling as Xander’s shield and then his shoulder absorbs the dive, before noisily picking himself up, left arm hanging loosely at his side, to attempt to disappear into the darkened streets.

    From their hiding place, the other companions can hear a swiftly approaching patrol, and they round the corner, approaching the source of the commotion. Seven guards, Midlanders all, three armed with crossbows, the others with spears and shields at the ready, a captain at their forefront, the only one amongst them with a sword at his belt, a mustard yellow-dyed leather covering over his left shoulder. They approach cautiously, weapons trained on the strange sight ahead of them.

    Back against the stone wall, Xander stands, entirely covered by two gigantic tower shields held together before him, concealed by them, save for his huge, curving horns, which jut out and above the upper-most rim of the shields. The patrol edges forward, and the captain directs the crossbowmen to advance. The crossbowmen raise their weapons to shoot.

    “In my defence, I was left unsupervised.” – Yohan.

    In the split second before they loose, a grizzled Invarrian breaks cover, sword and sabre in hand, cleaving into the small phalanx of spearmen. The first blow opens a gaping wound in the captain’s chest before the return swing comes back and practically bisects the man. Turning, the Invarrian jams a sword through the chest of a second victim and lashes out at a third before facing down the last two spearmen, putting himself in between them and the crossbowmen.

    Behind him, the three crossbowmen loose at Xander. Three bolts flash across the intervening distance, punching into the shields, and one skids up and over the rim of the right-most shield, tearing a bloody groove into the Feartarbh’s cheek.

    Breanna darts into the midst of the crossbowmen, silvery dagger in hand. She has never used this particular weapon before, since obtaining it in the ancient, submerged temple of Werencha, and therefore what it does next surprises her. She punches the blade through the knee of one of the crossbowmen, withdrawing it swiftly with a spurt of blood. The guard screams, and moves to clutch at his knee. The spurting blood coalesces in the air, forming into a blade of sorts, almost a shard of magically hardened blood, which shoots into the neck of wounded guard, neatly severing the man’s head. It carries through, punching through the chest of another crossbowman, who sinks to his knees, desperately trying to control the blood pouring from a gaping wound in his torso.

    An arrow flashes across the street, punching through the back of the final crossbowman’s head, as Kel’Serrar flickers back into view, lowering his bow after loosing the arrow.

    Seeing his companions assault the guards, Xander drops both shields and draws the Corpsewalker Blade from over his shoulder, crossing the handful of paces between himself and the patrol with frightening speed and literally cutting the uninjured spearman in half with a single powerful strike, cleaving through the shield the man hastily tried to raise in protection.

    “How about you lay down that spear, go home, and try to forget everything that’s happened to you so far tonight?” – Harold, to the final guard, himself bleeding profusely from a wound in his side.

    The spearman looks from Harold to the spear in his hand, and then back to Harold, whereupon the Invarrian punches him straight in the face, knocking the man unconscious in a single blow.

    “Just wouldn’t be a Charm Check without someone getting punched.” – Dev.

    * * *

    Having hidden the bodies and taken a few moments to patch up Xander and Harold, the companions gather not far from the wall of the inner keep. A sharp horn blast carries through the night air from the field outside the city, a charge signal, and significant numbers of Elspeth troops held in reserve within the city begin to move out the gates.

    “They’re moving out.” – Breanna, from her vantage point clinging to the chimney of a house.

    “If we go quickly, we might be able use this to our advantage. If they’re heading out into the field, they won’t be looking for insurgents within the city.” – Maebh, to the others as Breanna drops down to the city street.

    Swiftly and silently, the party moves through the streets towards the closest stretch of the high, white marble wall of the inner keep. They have to dodge a few patrols along the way, but luckily are able to do so with little difficulty. Finally they find themselves huddled behind the corner of a house, looking up at the high wall, and the crossbow armed guards upon it.

    This battalion of keep-guard looks to be more heavily armoured than the general guard of the city, with chainmail veils riveted to their steel helms, obscuring their features below their eyes. Crews nervously wait near tower-mounted trebuchets, awaiting the order to loose.

    One guard leans over the wall to spit, and for a moment, sees a tall, slender, spear-armed figure standing next to a house. He spits, and starts to continue on his patrol along the wall, but turns and looks back out. The tall figure is gone, and the streets appear empty.

    “Did anyone see anything?” – The startled guard, peering into the darkness below, to the rest of the patrol. The other guards give answers in the negative, and the patrol moves on.

    Below, huddled against the house, Maebh breathes heavily. She’d been a little careless, and it had nearly brought them to ruin.

    “Okay, how do we want to do this? We’ve been standing here wasting time for a while now, but we’re no closer to getting in.” – Kel’Serrar, peering up at the top of the wall from around the corner of the house.

    “Who is in favour of me going to the front gate and lying my arse off?” – Harold, visibly frustrated.

    “Honestly, no worse a plan than many others we might have.” – Kel’Serrar, nodding.

    “If we can just get the patrols cleared off the top of the walls for a bit, we can get a grappling hook up there and we can climb over.” – Xander, patting the gigantic iron contraption at his belt.

    “Okay, Bree and I can do that then. We’ll get to the top and try to clear it, then Xander throws the hook and the rest of you come up to join us.” – Kel, who pulls two steel claw-like devices out of his pack, and affixes them to his wrists.

    “Now, hold on a minute, look at this grappling hook here. I’m strong, but I don’t think I can throw this fifty yards straight up in the air.” – Xander, gesturing to the hook, which began life as a small ship’s anchor.

    “Okay, give it here, I’ll climb up with it, set it and throw the rope down to you.” – Breanna, her small frame belying her insane strength.

    “I’ll set my own hook up on the other side so we have a direct path down too. See you at the top, maybe.” – Kel’Serrar, who grins and then blinks out of sight.

    * * *

    The invisible Leathe and Danann make swift process up the stone wall, almost silently other than the slight metallic rasp of Kel’s climbing claws. Breanna makes it to the top first, and is startled by the presence of a guard, mere feet away. He passes by, and together, silently, Breanna and Kel’Serrar step onto the top of the wall.

    The invisible Danann takes his own grappling hook off his belt, and silently affixes it to the wall, gently lowering a rope down on the far side. Behind him, Breanna hefts the gigantic grappling hook Xander gave her, and her strength fails her. The steel anchor rasps on the stone crenellation and the guard which had passed their point turns, and spots a small figure shrouded in darkness, guiltily adjusting the position of a gigantic grappling hook.

    “Who goes there? Halt!” – The guard, swiftly marching towards the disturbance, torch in one hand and spear in the other. He is a tall man, for a Midlander, his face masked by a veil of chainmail. He is also clearly confused by what he is seeing.

    “****!” – Maebh, who then mutters an incantation under her breath.

    The guard stops, a slight golden frost riming him. He is held entirely in place by Maebh’s power. Unbeknownst to all, an invisible Kel slowly sidles up to the helpless guard, concentrating on maintaining his spell and lays his fingertips on the man’s back, the chill of Maebh’s spell quite uncomfortable. Slowly, using only the most minimal effort, Kel slides the guard towards the crenellations and tips him over the wall.

    “I don’t even question the weird **** that happens around me anymore. What’s happened to me?” – Breanna, muttering to herself.

    “I can catch him right? I’d be the only one that could, yes?” – Yohan.
    “Yes, this is a fully armoured man falling approximately 50 metres. I’d say that Maebh or Harold would definitely be crushed, but Xander might be able to.”
    “Okay, what would I roll against?” – Yohan.
    “Hand eye coordination is normally Dexterity man.”
    “Okay, but, like, I use Combat Skill to block incoming attacks. In a way, that’s kind of what I’m doing.” – Yohan.
    “You want to, Parry him?” – Dev.
    “Yeah, use that Guardian ability to parry an attack on an ally. The ground is the ally, the guard is my projectile weapon.” – Sins, who is very good at finding loopholes. an ass-hat.
    “Yohan, what’s your Dex?”
    “28.” – Yohan, dejected, to the disappointed sighs of the rest of the table.
    “Yeah sorry man, roll away.”

    He rolled a 06.


    A faint golden glowing statue of a guard slowly tips over the side of the wall, to be safely caught in the gigantic arms of Xander Rothgar, who honestly looks surprised. One gigantic hand rests on the captive man’s chest, the other supports his head. The Feartarbh, holding the guard

    “Hurry, there’s more guards coming.” – Breanna, in a quiet, hissing whisper down to her companions at the base of the wall. She then hugs the now affixed anchor, hoping that the shroud of her daemonic magic will hide the massive steel object from any approaching guards.

    Below, Xander looks at the guard in his hands, unsure if the cold, statue-like figure is still alive after such a fall.

    “I take no pleasure in this, but we can’t have you raising the alarm. I am sorry.” – Xander, who attempts to break the man’s neck, but is perhaps a little too strong for his own good, and twists the guard’s head entirely off, ripping through flesh and bone. The Feartarbh retches a little, drops the two pieces of the guard, and follows Harold and Maebh up the thick rope, as quietly as he can manage.

    “I guess, I tried to pull a little more because of the armour, but, well, too much pull. Way, way too much pull.” – Yohan.

    “Bree, quiet now. I’m going to try something. You’re going to look like that guard. Just don’t try any speaking or anything, cause it won’t be right.” – Kel, still invisible, who lays a hand on the shrouded figure of Breanna. To anyone watching, Breanna is now the mirror image of the now deceased guard.

    “What do you mean it won’t be right?” – Breanna, in a confused whisper.

    “Your voice is basically coming out of his sternum Bree, and you still sound like a little girl. Now quiet!” – Kel, his disembodied voice whispering back.

    As an aside, and fittingly for our last real adventure together, Dev rolled a 99 on his Climb Check for Harold here. He re-rolled it with a Luck Point, but we got to crack out the good old, ‘Which one’s the tens?’ again, one last time.

    “Wait a minute, I don’t think that worked properly…” – Kel, muttering to himself.

    Before him, there’s a shadowy figure still clinging to the anchor, but protruding from the top of it, the illusory shape of the top half of the guard, from approximately the bottom of his ribcage up. It looks unnatural, and that is what Harold, Maebh and Xander see as they reach the top of the wall.

    “Oh gods, Bree, what are you doing?” – Harold, disturbed.

    “Shhh, just get over the wall. Kel’s set up the hook on the other side, go, go, go.” – Breanna, whispering back.

    Harold darts over the wall and begins his descent, and Maebh begins to clamber her way up onto the wall.

    “Stop, Maebh, stop! Stay still, someone’s coming.” – The disembodied voice of Kel, in a hissed whisper as a guard, torch in hand, approaches along the wall from the east.

    The guard spots Breanna, or rather, can see a bit of another guard in the darkness, leaning out over the wall, and calls out.

    “Harry, is that you?” – The guard.

    Mindful of Kel’s advice, Breanna does not speak, but merely waves in response.

    “Are you… Are you drunk on duty Harry? We’re at war, there’s literally a battle outside the gates, you can’t be drinking on duty!” – The guard.

    Breanna, sweating profusely, just waves at the guard, in a somewhat non-committal fashion.

    “Look, Harry, are you okay?” – The guard, clearly concerned. He starts to move closer to Breanna, but she just waves her hand again, and nods.

    “Okay LD, I’ll get you to roll Deception please, with some pretty hefty negatives.”
    “But you do get a bonus +20 from Mislead.” – Sins.
    “Sweet, means a +40 bonus all up.” – LD, who proceeds to roll a 03.
    “I cannot believe this is working.”


    “Well, alright Harry, if you say so. Stay out of trouble, and keep your eyes peeled.” – The guard, who turns around and heads back the way he came.

    Maebh alights on the top of the wall and immediately begins her climb down on the other side, joining Harold in the shadows at the base of the wall inside the keep. Following her, Xander finally clambers to the top and huddles next to the shaky Breanna.

    “Well done. I can’t believe that worked. You look like an abomination.” – Xander, quietly.

    “I can’t believe it either. This is a hot mess.” – Breanna, to a confused expression from Xander, who doesn’t understand what the young people say these days, or something like that.

    As they sit there together, they can see the faint, almost golden glimmer of the Harvest Moon rising out over the ocean.

    “It won’t be long now then. The queen’s probably starting her ritual.” – Xander, quietly.

    “I don’t think my grappling hook is going to hold you Xander.” – The still invisible Kel’Serrar, who is keeping watch in both directions for more guards.

    “No, it won’t. This thing barely did. I’m going to shift it over. Xander, wait here, don’t move.” – Breanna, who awkwardly takes the massive grappling hook, taking it over to the other side of the wall and tries to set it in place there. The sight is bizarre, as the upper half of a crouched Elspeth Queensguard appears to be projected from a vague shadowy shape hauling a small anchor.

    “Okay, I’ll leave you to it then.” – Kel’Serrar, who slides down the rope of his own grappling hook and joins Maebh and Harold at the base of the wall. The three huddle in the shadows at the base of the wall, looking out over an empty, wide, stone courtyard.

    Breanna tries to affix the hook again, and yet again it scrapes on the stone, and the noise rings out in the night air. It draws the attention of the inquisitive guard from before, who turns and starts making his way back. Seeing this, Xander immediately drops down from the top of the wall, holding onto the edge of the crenellations by his fingertips, hoping that he wasn’t seen.

    “Harry! We need to talk!” – The guard, returning.

    Breanna sighs, and releases the hold on her own magic, allowing the shadowy shroud around her to fall away, relying entirely on the Kel’Serrar’s arcane workings. She straightens, leaving the anchor unsecured, and stands in front of it, hoping to hide it with her illusory body.

    “Harry, are you okay? I know we’ve had this talk already, and it has only been a week, but we really need to see you making some changes, yeah?” – The guard, who comes entirely too close to Breanna, the light emanating from the torch he holds down in his hand, just about blinding the Leathe, who is about a foot shorter in height than the man she’s impersonating.

    “Can I just say, this has been our most successful mission by a ****ing mile. I mean, for starters, we haven’t resorted to nuking the city yet.” – Yohan.
    “You’re just saying that to distract everyone from the fact that you murdered Harry.” – Dev.
    “Xander’s a monster.” – LD.
    “Xander’s a beast. He’d kill at cross-fit.” – Yohan.
    “I think most cross-fit classes frown upon in-class murder.”


    “Look, Harry, are you back on the crash again?” – The guard, concerned.

    Breanna just shakes her head.

    “No, don’t give me that rubbish, look at you. You’re falling asleep on the job, falling over, you’re always unsteady, hurting yourself. You’re breaking our hearts Harry!” – The guard, starting to become rather animated.

    Spoiler: Crash
    Show
    Crash is a colloquial term for a relatively common narcotic in the Midlands. It goes a by a few other names, but it is relatively inexpensive, highly addictive and considered an illicit substance in most lands. While not directly dangerous to the user’s health, the effects it has on the user can lead to one getting into all sorts of trouble as they become lethargic, unsteady and, after extensive periods of use, they start to suffer hallucinations.

    “Sounds like you might have performed a mercy killing.” – Sins, to Yohan.


    “Look, Laurel told me if you don’t give it up, she’ll take the kids and go. You need to stop.” – The guard, voice starting to choke up.

    Breanna nods, and holds a hand up to her throat as if she too is choking up.

    “Why won’t you talk to me Harry!?” – The guard, clearly distraught.

    Bree can’t think of anything, so she just shrugs. She can see that, while the guard is still buying it, none of this is making sense to him. He’s starting to get suspicious.

    “Harry, we just want what’s best for you. We’re your friends, your family.” – The guard, trying to get closer to Breanna / Harry, but the disguised Leathe subtly, imperceptibly, backs away. Slowly but surely, she’s getting closer and closer to where Xander is still hanging, muscles straining to stay on the wall, as still and silent as possible.

    “Bree, offer him a hug.” – Xander, under his breath, as quietly as he can, hoping that Breanna is able to hear him.

    Thankfully, the Leathe’s hearing is keen. She holds out her arms to the guard, as if to embrace him. The guard accepts, stepping forward to take ‘Harry’ in his arms, but the hug goes awry as his arms pass through the illusion, completely clearing the Leathe’s head. The illusion fades, leaving only a crouching, black-furred Leathe where ‘Harry’ once stood.

    “Wait, what?” – The guard, who immediately reaches for the horn at his belt. As he does so, a massive, horned, black-furred shape rushes up onto the top of the wall.

    Xander’s massive fist punches the man in the head and he goes flying.

    “You crushed his head like a tomato can.” – In my best Texan accent.

    Together, Breanna and Xander climb down the other side of the wall, joining their companions in the courtyard of the keep. Ahead lies the Eagle Palace, and presumably, somewhere within it, the Queen Esmerelda of Elspeth. So close now, to achieving their goal, the five companions steal away into the shadows, seeking a back entrance into the palace.

    Out on the fields outside the city, the battle has been joined in earnest, as formations of troops from Elspeth and Naille meet on the grassy fields. Siege engines whip flaming projectiles through the otherwise still air, many of which crash into the city itself. The cries of panic, the roar of flames and the clamour of alarms has overtaken the night, and out in the city proper, chaos reigns. Within the confines of the keep however, everything is quiet, still, like the calm before the storm, or perhaps, the pocket of calm in the centre of the storm.

    Overhead, beholding it all, the Harvest Moon continues its inexorable rise into the night-sky.

    And we left it there…

    The Wrap-Up:
    My apologies again for how long this took to write up. I have been extraordinarily busy trying to organise everything in my life at the moment. I suppose in addition to that, there’s the sadness that comes with telling the end of a story. I’ve never been very good at finishing things, but this is one thing that I have. Or at least, I have for those who played it, and lived it with me for the last seven years.

    With that out of the way, I think this might have been one of my favourite sessions we have ever played. It was tense, with moments of light-heartedness and some very touching scenes at times. There was also some really good teamwork, as they worked together to ensure that everyone got through. I believe we saved one of the best to the very end.

    So, with that, we’re very close now to the end.

    See you soon, hopefully, with the next instalment.
    Thank you for reading,
    Last edited by Phoenixguard09; 2020-03-27 at 08:22 AM.
    Campaign Logs:
    Three Coins, Two Birds and a Gilded Sword: COMPLETE
    The Great Maw: NEARLY COMPLETE
    Seven Stones and a Pale Shadow: JUST BEGINNING

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  3. - Top - End - #213
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    Griffon

    Join Date
    Jun 2012
    Location
    Queensland, Australia
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Three Coins, Two Birds and a Gilded Sword: A Norbayne Campaign Log

    Session 7.3: Endgame

    “If success they can achieve, the Devourer’s reaping will be postponed for two-score, four-score or fifteen-score years, but one cannot halt destiny forever. Thrice before has the Devourer been defeated, but it is ever poised to swing the Scythe of Doom and unleash the Greyflood.”
    - The final stanza of the Greyflood Prophecy, as foretold by the Invarrian seer, Raelda of Meleret in the year 1127 CE.

    Welcome to Session 7.3 of Three Coins, Two Birds and a Gilded Sword.

    We begin with the companions huddled together in the shadows beneath a tower, hidden within the inner keep of Elspeth City, doing their best to get into the palace while remaining hidden. In the courtyard before the palace, a contingent of the Queensguard are gathering, an officer gathering them into a unit for an excursion into the city proper to find and eliminate a band of insurgents.

    At the great double-doors leading into the palace, two individuals stand at ease, clad in the armour of the Queensguard. One, a Feartarbh carries a spear and a massive shield, the other, a silver-furred Invarrian, carries a greatsword in a scabbard, held easily at his side.

    “We’ve still got some way to go before we can afford to get loud.” – Xander, as quietly as he can manage.

    “No way of knowing how many they might have directly on the other side of that door. We might, and I say might, be able to take those two down quickly, but with no guarantee that we can do that before they alert whoever might be waiting as backup.” – Kel’Serrar, staring intently at the two door-wards.

    “So we send a scout to find another entrance. Bree, you’re up again.” – Xander, prodding the Leathe.

    “Man, I straight up do not want to be here.” – Breanna, as she limbers up.

    “You go round, try to find another way in. We’ll wait here and remain as inconspicuous as possible.” – Harold.

    Behind him, Xander does his best impression of a hedge. It is not particularly accurate.

    * * *

    The Leathe returns mere moments later, shrouded in wisps of shadow, having avoided a patrol of guards.

    “I found a door around the side. It’s locked. Looks like a servants’ entrance or something like that. No guard posted, or none I could see anyway.” – Breanna, who then leads the group around to the aforementioned point of ingress.

    The assassin takes out her dagger and jams it into the lock, her tongue protruding from the corner of her mouth, and within seconds, she has the lock undone. She swiftly swings the door open, and ushers her companions inside, and Xander closes it behind them.

    Before the party lies a long hallway, made of worked grey stone, very different from the white marble-like façade of the exterior. The hallway is entirely dark, with a tall ceiling, and wide enough for most of the party to traverse two-abreast.

    “This is it, we’re inside.” – Maebh, quietly, to herself.

    “Kel, can you spot any traps by any chance?” – Xander, his eyes having difficulty adjusting to the pitch-black.

    “Cause I’m bad at finding traps. Actually, you know, I’m good at finding them, just my version of doing so can get noisy and pretty dangerous.” – Yohan.

    “If this is in fact a servants’ entrance, which I agree that it probably is, it would not make much sense to put down traps. On the other hand, if you can all give me a few minutes to sit down, I should be able to tell if there’s anyone in the immediate area.” – Kel’Serrar, who promptly sits down against the wall with his eyes closed, focusing his mind’s eye on his surroundings.

    “My almighty nap powers come to the fore once again.” – Sins.

    “On the other hand, don’t step on this stone here. I think it is hooked up to a pressure plate.” – Breanna, who had scampered ahead a little and found a potential trap.

    Maebh focuses her power for a moment and her eyes flash with a faint amber light. To her sight, the shadows and illusions around Breanna and Kel respectively, fade away. She looks down the corridor and spies a faint sigil of ice-blue magic seemingly carved into the stone wall on the right, a good twenty yards away.

    Kel’s senses, honed by years of survival out in the woods, reveal to him that the doors down the hallway open into various small rooms, many of which are inhabited. Many of those within, for the most part, sound as if they are sleeping.

    Maebh carefully steps over the trapped flagstone and inspects the arcane sigil upon the wall. Closer to, she can see that it is a cunningly wrought alarm spell, and is independent from the trapped stone. She dismissively waves her hand and a light shower of golden sparks essentially erases the sigil off the wall.

    “We can continue.” – Maebh, quietly to the rest of the party. Breanna nods in response and takes point.

    “Come on Kel. Time to go.” – Xander, gently picking the Danann up and carrying him down the hallway. Other than a slightly difficult moment getting past the trapped flagstone, the Feartarbh has no difficulty with this. As this happens, Kel keeps up a constant whispered commentary of everything he senses, which is mainly the sleepers and a surprisingly small population of vermin all around.

    “That is one loud snorer…” – Kel, trailing off as they carefully make their way down the hall.

    “Which one is it? Left or right?” – Xander, halting.

    “Two doors down, on the right.” – Kel, slightly puzzled.

    The Feartarbh takes one of the padlocks off his belt, unknowing and uncaring which one of the two locks he carries it is. He affixes it to the door, with a slight smile lightening his features.

    It is the lock without a key by the way, but Xander does not know this.

    After a good few minutes of sneaking, the companions come to a large, wooden double door, clearly the portal between the servants’ hallway they are in and the rest of the palace. The doors are over six feet tall and banded with steel reinforcement. As they approach, only ten yards from the double doors, Xander’s gigantic hoof scrapes on the edge of one of the flagstones, making a distinctive grinding scuff noise.

    “Is someone there?” – A male voice on the other side of a servant’s door to the right.
    “Housekeeping!” – LD.

    “Sorry ser, just going to the toilet.” – Harold, thinking quickly.

    “Oh no matter then. Take care out there.” – The voice from the other side of the door.
    Harold’s Deception Check was pretty good, and the guard behind the door rolled an abysmal 89 on his corresponding Intelligence Check.

    With the crisis averted, Breanna peeks through under the double doors, the others very slowly and carefully joining her over the next minute or so. The first thing the Leathe notices is that the room is empty and quite dark, illuminated only by the natural moon-light from a window, set high in the wall to the right. The ceiling is much higher than the hallway the companions are currently in, and while there are no people within the room, there are quite a few benches and cupboards. To Breanna’s, admittedly untrained, eye, it looks like the palace kitchen. She comes to her feet and gently tries the door, but it is locked.

    “It is locked. Do we want to go through?” – Breanna, in a hoarse whisper.

    “Could you see a door leading through?” – Xander, also whispering.

    “I couldn’t see, but it looks like a kitchen, so there probably should be one. Shall I do the picket-pick?” – Breanna, producing her thin dagger and an anchor.

    “There’s no one in there…” – Kel’Serrar, voice slow and detached, still carried safely in Xander’s arms.

    “Do it. We’ll just hope there’s a door on the other side.” – Harold, to Breanna, who promptly sets herself to the task of prying the lock open.

    It takes the diminutive Leathe all of about ten seconds before there’s a soft click and the door gently swings open.

    Upon entering the room, the companions see there are a few doors, one directly on their left and two more ahead, on the opposite side of the kitchen.

    “Left seems like more servants’ quarters, much like those we just came through. Of the two ahead, one is a small room, the other a long corridor. I can’t sense anyone moving around in any direction. No wait, the corridor on the right, there’s two guards standing on the other side of the door.” – Kel’Serrar, still focusing intently on his surroundings.

    “Sounds like that’s the way we want to go to get to our goal.” – Xander, under his breath.

    Breanna creeps over to the door as quickly as she dares and peers through the keyhole. Two Queensguard stand on the other side of the door, black-furred Invarrians both of them, one armed with a crossbow, the other with some kind of long wooden stave. They are illuminated by a handful of fitfully blazing torches, ensconced in the stone wall to their left, which provides some light to the length of the corridor beyond.

    “Alright, how do we want to do this?” – Harold, quietly.

    “I’ll take one of them.” – Kel’Serrar, emerging from his trance.

    “I’ll throw the Leathe at the other.” – Xander, nodding.

    “Before you do that, let me check this first.” – Breanna, gently trying the handle of the door. It is locked.

    “Good thing you checked.” – Xander, with a wry grin.

    The Leathe expertly picks the lock with her dagger once more, her skill making the process almost silent as Harold holds the door completely still.

    “Maybe we should lock the door behind us before we continue? This might be loud.” – Harold, gesturing towards the door they just came through.

    “Good idea.” – Xander, who passes his other lock to Maebh. The Danann takes it and affixes it to the door, hopefully barring anyone from following them.

    “Alright, I’ll shoot the one on the right, you throw her at the one on the left.” – Kel’Serrar to Xander, nocking an arrow to the string of his longbow.

    “Three, two, one.” – Harold, opening the door swiftly.

    A grey-fletched arrow and a black-furred streak flash through the open doorway and the two guards drop, one of them with their head removed by the flying Leathe’s knife.

    “Sort of paraphrasing Arc 1, but the door is no longer between the Feartarbh and the guard the Feartarbh wishes to throw a possum at.” – Sins.

    “Should we try and hide the bodies, maintain stealth?” – Maebh, quietly.

    “Bree’s made a mess in there. The head’s come off and there’s blood everywhere. We’ll try to stay stealthy, but there’s no time to really clean up. Let’s just keep moving.” – Xander, shaking his head.

    “No witnesses guys, now let’s go.” – Breanna, with a slight edge to her voice.

    With Kel’Serrar now capable of moving for himself, the companions redress their order of approach swiftly in the corridor. Breanna goes first as the scout, with Maebh and then Harold following her, the Invarrian ready to leap to the fore if they are discovered. Kel’Serrar comes next, with Xander making up the rearguard as the least nimble and light-footed of the group. With weapons ready, they progress down the grey-stone corridor, ignoring the chambers on either side, instead making a bee-line towards the great double-doors at the end of the hall, which gradually widens as they get closer to the doors, themselves seemingly a heavy affair of black hardwood.

    Approximately forty feet from the doors, Xander halts, all too aware of the clamour his approach makes. Looking back over her shoulder warily, Breanna sees this and nods approvingly to the hulking guardian. Reaching the doors, the Leathe inspects the way for traps, but finds none, nor does she find a lock or latch. Rather these doors are intended to swing rather freely. On her hands and knees, she peers through the gap between the door and the stone floor and can make out the prodigious room beyond, the rather octagonal shape of the chamber, the rows of long tables and bench-seats lining them. An extensive array of windows lining the left side of the room allows the gleaming golden moonlight to wash through into the chamber, and a sconce upon the window-sill is home to a large amount of lit candles, they too providing some light to the room beyond. At the far end of the chamber lies a raised platform, upon which stands a large and grand wooden table.

    “Seems like some kind of dining room. The queen’s personal dinner chamber perhaps?” – Breanna, in a hushed whisper to the rest of the party.

    “No one in there?” – Xander, his own loud whisper carrying in the still night air from where he stands in the hallway, some forty feet back.

    “No, but plenty of windows and light, so we’ll need to be careful.” – Breanna, ushering the Feartarbh up to join them.

    “We go in and hug the walls then, can’t be too careful. Look for a way through.” – Harold, to a quiet chorus of agreement.

    “Okay. I’ll go first then.” – Breanna, who slips her way through the doors.

    Shrouded by the darkness, the Leathe softly pads her way through the doorway and towards the great window. Hanging overhead, the pale golden disc of the Harvest Moon sits in the sky, illuminating the waves of the Sea of Claws as they crash against the mighty cliffs below. In the distance, stormclouds gather, and the water is rough. Breanna’s keen eyes pick out shapes, grey, gliding just beneath the surface of the water, and far away in the distance, no, it can’t be. But it is. Sails, and there it is, one tiny little boat, a vast distance away, but approaching rapidly, propelled by the swelling storm winds.

    In an almost detached kind of way, Breanna notes the lit candles on the window-sill look to have been aflame for approximately an hour, judging by the pools of wax which have settled around them.

    On the right-hand side of the room there are three doorways, and one of them a rather large double wooden door, that same black hardwood that seems to be used for most furniture in the palace, but reinforced with iron bands, hidden in the intricate scrollwork and engravings which adorn it. It is unlocked.

    “This way, quickly, quickly.” – Harold, ushering Breanna to take point once more.

    Her eyes flashing with amber power, Maebh scans the room over before leaving, satisfied there are no traps or alarms. She looks up and can see an intricate glass chandelier, hanging more than thirty feet overhead. It flickers with a fell light in her vision, almost as if some daemonic power is playing within its translucent confines.

    The Danann shivers, and follows her companions through the doorway.

    * * *

    The next few minutes are slow and nerve-wracking, as the companions make their way as quietly as possible through bare, stone hallways, sneaking past doors and various groups and patrols of guards. They manage to do so without incident, though it is a close-run thing at times.

    Eventually, Breanna leads them to a great, carved doorway. Double doors, crafted from that same blackened hardwood, carved with intricate imagery depicting a triumphant eagle and great armies, victorious on the field of battle, picked out in ostentatious gold leaf. There is no visible locking mechanism upon the doors, and so Breanna carefully, cautiously, pushes her way through, revealing a long, wide room, or hall.

    On either side of the room stands a row of marble pillars, which stretch all the way up to the towering ceiling above. Inlaid in each pillar, facing inwards towards the centre of the room and carved with considerable skill, statuesque figures, depicting the likenesses of personages of a regal and dignified air. Between these pillars and the side walls, two long pools of dark water are set into the stone ground, still and seemingly undisturbed, stretching the length of the hallway, itself nearly 200 yards long.

    At the far end of the room sits a small throne on a raised stone platform, crafted from that same dark hardwood. It is quite simple and unadorned, practically bare save for the eagle’s heads carved into the arm-rests and a shining emerald set into the backrest. Beyond the throne itself, a tall spiralling staircase stretches upwards into the darkness.

    The companions enter the throneroom cautiously, Xander taking point now. Breanna’s eyes dart around in the shadows, looking for any daemonic influence, but she finds nothing. Maebh’s own eyes however are drawn by the emerald set into the throne, and she swiftly recognises the arcane aura around it, and the thin tendril of emerald magic which floats away from the stone and up the spiral staircase.

    “How deep is this water? Can anyone tell?” – Xander, in a nervous whisper, clearly on edge.

    “Wait here a moment then.” – Kel’Serrar, who sits and slips back into his familiar trance.

    To the ranger’s keen senses, it is clear that the water is churning beneath the still surface, and is connected to a much larger body of water. While the pools themselves here might only be about nine feet deep, he feels that they may in fact be connected to the ocean itself. Certainly there is a powerful magic at work here.

    Within the pools he can sense the presence of two living beings, though he cannot tell what they are, or even how big they may be, as still as they are beneath the surface of the water. Also, far above, he can vaguely sense a large group of people, but can tell no more than that with how far away they are.

    “There’s things in the water…” – Kel, trailing off.

    As he says this, Maebh’s form crackles with golden lightning and the surface of the water in both pools erupts with movement, churning white.

    “Oh hell. I need a Willpower Check from Xander.”
    “Am I being attacked?” – Yohan.
    “These things have mind control powers mate. It’s probably that.” – Ladyhawk.
    “Can I parry it?” – Yohan, to general laughter.


    Xander feels a malicious presence within his mind, inveigling its way through his psyche. He fights against it, but suddenly his body is moving, against his will. He tries to stop it as he raises his hand, the handle of his shield clenched tightly in his meaty fist, ready to crash down on the unaware Kel’Serrar. He swings, a wild haymaker with the shield, but his desperate efforts to prevent himself from landing the blow are just enough, and the strike goes wide. The presence in his mind fades, leaving behind only a sick feeling and a flash of intense pain.

    Harold looks back, seeing the concerned look on the face of Kel’Serrar as he is disturbed from his trance and the way Xander is holding his own head. The Invarrian turns back towards the pool to his right and raises his sword. A bolt of pale blue lightning crackles around his hand and blade and shoots away into the water. The pools pulses with light as the bolt strikes it, the shadowy shape of the Beast illuminated for a moment as it is wracked with electricity.

    A susurrating influence pushes its way into Breanna’s mind, and she finds herself attempting to summon more daemonic power. She panics as she realises that she cannot stop herself. Overhead, stormclouds start to gather in the ceiling, tiny arcs of golden energy playing through them. Thunder cracks in the room as twin lightning bolts flash down from the ceiling, one into each pool, causing them to glow with golden light momentarily. The windows shatter with the thunderclap, and a light rain blows in from outside.

    Kel’Serrar, standing, quickly casts a spell, turning invisible but leaving an illusory copy of himself standing where he was before. With an arrow nocked and ready, the ranger keeps his eyes fixed upon the surface of the pools, waiting for one of the Beasts to make themselves visible.

    Holding his shields, Xander crashes them together with a shout, forging an arcane link between himself and his companions. Tendrils of familiar golden energy tether themselves in a chain of magic between Xander and his friends, before turning black. Xander’s eyes blaze with a black light as he completes his spell, the magic clearly taxing the great warrior’s strength.

    Channelling his power once more, Harold hurls another bolt of energy into the pool on the right with a savage snarl. A horrific screeching noise fills the room as the Beast breaks the surface of the water, its cartilaginous grey body whipping through the air, electricity coruscating around it. Enraged, it flexes its razor-sharp claws and rakes them at Harold, the black claws ripping into the flesh of the Invarrian’s throat. It is not blood which pours out however, but a strong golden light, as the thin golden chain which binds Harold to Xander flares. A tiny rivulet of blood falls from a thin gash on Xander’s own neck, a shallow furrow dug into the sleek black fur.

    Behind him, Breanna draws her knife and, not knowing why she does this, aims specifically for a gap between two heavy plates on the Feartarbh’s back. She thrusts her blade, but as she does, Xander moves slightly, causing the plates to shift, and the knife skates off the edge, reducing the impact of her strike considerably. She withdraws the knife, and a thin trickle of blood comes with it, which itself coalesces into a thin, reddish sliver and slams back into the wound. Xander growls a little, but he ignores the pain as best he can. Behind him, Breanna shakes her head and comes to her senses, blood trickling from her nose and eyes and pain coursing through her head and neck.

    The grey form of the Beast rises from the surface of the water once more, claws flexing as it faces Harold. It shrieks its defiance at the old Invarrian, and moves towards him, tail propelling it forward with an unearthly grace. Suddenly, as it lunges, a ball of amber fire flashes across the hall, conjured by the outstretched hand of Maebh, and crashes into the head of the Beast. It flails wildly, and its ear-piercing screams of agony set everyone on edge as it enters its death-throes.

    The party gather around the other pool, waiting for the remaining Beast to re-emerge with weapons and spells at the ready, but nothing happens. Eventually Maebh, keeping her eyes trained on the surface of the water and a spell at the ready, backs her way up to the throne to inspect the emerald set within it more closely. Several more minutes pass, the stormclouds in the ceiling dissipate, and the water remains undisturbed. Harold strides to the throne to join Maebh.

    “What have you found?” – Harold, to the mage, eyes flicking between her and the pool behind them.

    “There’s a link, almost like a tether of magic between the stone and someone upstairs. Maybe if I…” – Maebh, trailing off as her eyes flash with amber light. Suddenly, she gives out a shocked gasp, and the light peters out.

    “What happened? What’s wrong?” – Harold, frantically looking around the room for a new threat.

    “No, no, I tried breaking the bond. I managed to damage it, but then whoever it is upstairs pulsed more power into the bond and I couldn’t hold it. I’m sorry. They know we’re here.” – Maebh, breathing heavily.

    Kel’Serrar sits down on the floor, while Breanna and Xander stand watch over him, sinking into his trance once more.

    “I think it might be gone. I can’t sense it.” – Kel’Serrar, faintly, his eyes closed.

    “It’s okay Maebh, these creatures probably communicate with their minds and one just got away anyway. That, plus all the commotion we just made, there’s no way they wouldn’t know we were here by now.” – Xander, slowly making his way up to the throne with Harold and Maebh.

    The mage shrugs, shakes her head and redoubles her efforts. Her fingers glint with sparks of golden light and her eyes flare once more as she pits herself against the will of the caster upstairs. This time, the Danann is successful, sawing through the link and causing the faint shining glow within the emerald to sputter and die.

    “There, it is done.” – Maebh, the light fading away as she withdraws. She nods to Xander. Who hefts his claymore.

    The Feartarbh brings the massive sword down upon the throne, carving a massive rent through the back of the heavy, wooden seat. The emerald cracks into several pieces, some of which remain fixed in the throne, but several of them tumble free. Harold grabs one of pieces and tucks it away in a pouch hanging from his belt.

    “Okay, they know we’re here.” – Harold, adjusting his armour.

    “We know where they are.” – Breanna, cleaning her dagger.

    “Let’s go knock on the door.” – Xander.

    * * *

    The party makes their move upstairs, Xander at the fore with the small shape of Breanna following closely behind. Maebh comes next, then Kel’Serrar with Harold bringing up the rear. The spiralling staircase seems to take an age to traverse, the tension and nerves building, until finally the stairs give way to a short, wide hallway, at the end of which stands a tall, unadorned double door, crafted from that now familiar dark hardwood. There is no lock upon it, nor is there any guard stationed here. The hallway is quiet, and, if it weren’t for both the single torch burning fitfully in a sconce on the left-hand wall and the faint silvery-golden glow emanating from under the door from the room beyond, it is featureless worked grey stone for its entire length and breadth.

    Within sight of the door, Xander gestures to the party to halt for a moment and he draws upon his magic once more. A faint golden light ripples around them, which turns black for a moment, leaving the Feartarbh hoping that his spell worked correctly. Shrugging, he takes up his weapons once more, nods to the others and places one gauntleted hand upon the door.

    “Everyone ready?” – Harold, in a low mutter.

    “Let’s do this.” – Maebh, hand beginning to crackle once more with golden energies.

    “On three then. One, two, three.” – Xander, heaving the door open with a slam.

    Back soon with Part 2
    Last edited by Phoenixguard09; 2020-03-27 at 08:23 AM.
    Campaign Logs:
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  4. - Top - End - #214
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    Griffon

    Join Date
    Jun 2012
    Location
    Queensland, Australia
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Three Coins, Two Birds and a Gilded Sword: A Norbayne Campaign Log

    Welcome back.

    Before them stretches a wide room, roughly like a blunt triangle in shape. A short stairway, five steps in all, leading to a slightly raised platform begins on the far side of the room, maybe sixty yards away from the doors the companions have burst through. The stone floor directly before them is covered in a carved design like a pentagram, itself just over thirty yards in diameter. The room is predominantly lit by the multitude of windows which line the walls, overlooking the storm-wracked bay beneath, the majority of the room overhanging the great cliffs below. Maybe a full hundred captives kneel over the carved design of the pentagram on the floor, none of which stir as the companions burst in. Each of the captives has a number of bloody designs carved into their flesh. On the right hand side of the room lies a rectangular pool, the water in which appears almost black to the eye.

    Atop the raised platform at the rear of the room stands a woman, tall for a Midlander with blonde hair and pale skin, her back turned to their entrance. She wears pristine white and red robes with ornate gilt-edging and a thin, golden circlet for a crown. A light, ornate steel longsword, engraved and glowing with runes along the blade is carried in her hand, the other hand raised above her head, crackling a sickly green with dark energies. As they enter the room, she screams out a long, complex incantation. Outside, thunder rumbles and lightning crashes, setting the whole tower shaking. A tall, ragged Invarrian, patchy black fur and clad in black robes stalks through the kneeling captives, a bloodied curved steel knife in hand. He slits the throat of one of the captives, a young Midlander man, and as he slumps, the blood flows in a thick red sheet to fill the carved grooves upon the floor.

    As the lightning flashes and the queen’s incantation starts to reach a crescendo, a vast shadowy figure can be seen in the centre of the room, for only a moment. To the keen eyes of Maebh and Kel’Serrar, it looks almost as if the shadows themselves are tearing free of the darkened corners of the room, to meet in the centre, where they join the whole, coalescing into some almost indeterminate shape. A flicker of a dark hood, ragged robes and a wicked looking scythe are all that can be made out of the gloom.

    Xander was the only party member to fail the Perception Check to perceive this manifestation.
    “Clearly Xander is still too focused on the queen herself perhaps.”
    “Got to get that booty.” – Yohan.
    “I might be bovine but you’re bo-fine!” – LD.


    Around her stand the members of her personal guard, six in total, the most striking of which are the two heavily armed and armoured Feartarbh which flank her. Of the others, two are Midlanders, the taller of which is bearing a sword and shield and wearing a fine chain hauberk and a finely detailed steel helm fashioned in the shape of an eagle’s head, his right pauldron covered in a patch of golden-yellow leather, marking him as a captain. The other MIdlander is a smaller, slighter man carrying a thin wand and wearing rich dark red and golden-brown robes. Another guard is a tall Northmann, clad in dark chain and black robes, carrying a wicked looking sickle at his belt and a light roundshield in his left hand. The last of the guards is an Invarrian, scruffy brown fur peeking out from under well-forged half plate. As he stands there, magic flashes in his hands, coalescing into shining blades which flicker and shift with every movement the Invarrian makes. All the guards move towards the companions, their attention garnered by this approaching threat as Xander hefts his shield and charges forward, followed closely by Harold and Breanna. The queen herself turns and sneers at them, the strong features on her tanned face twisted into a mocking expression.

    “You’re too late.” – Queen Esmerelda, her eyes flashing with power, identical in shade to the flaring emerald upon her breast.

    Lightning cracks above, and electricity surges and crackles around the walls of the spire, glinting with fell energies. In the flash, the queen disappears. One second she is there, savouring her victory, the next, she is gone.

    Maebh throws herself into action immediately, closing her eyes and calling upon the power of the storm once more. Outside, lightning crashes again, this time a rich, golden amber in colour and crackling black stormclouds begin to gather within the chamber too. The queen’s robed Midlander mage in her guard frantically waves his wand, desperately trying to disrupt the energies Maebh is gathering to her, but her sheer force of will cannot be denied. Arms outstretched, the Danann lifts several inches into the air, and despite her closed eyes, golden light floods out from under her eyelids. Golden energy arcs and crackles, the lightning playing all around her and her hair swirls in the strong storm winds as she is lifted by the sheer power she brings to bear.

    The culmination of Maebh’s power here as she blasts her way through the attempted Dispel attempt and unleashes six separate bolts of lightning in a single round, each one causing a total of 31 Lightning Damage to a target, ignoring Armour. A total of 186 Damage caused in a single round before Damage Reduction was applied. That was just one spell too, as she then used Dual Casting to also throw up her Lightning Shield to protect herself from anything coming back at her. Truly, Maebh is scary.

    The first bolt, Maebh directs at the Northmann, standing as close as he is. As the searing golden energies streak towards him, the tall, gaunt man waves his free hand from one side to the other, and the bolt deflects towards a knot of deceased captives, kneeling within the carven pentagram. Their bodies twitch in an unnatural fashion as they are almost simultaneously risen to unlife and then pulverised by the sheer power of Maebh’s blast, their bodies ripped apart by the roiling magic.

    The black-robed Invarrian priest within the pentagram is annihilated too, a second bolt ripping down from the unnatural clouds above to strike him as he slit the throat of yet another captive. When the light clears, all that is left of the Invarrian is a few burnt scraps of clothing, the curved knife and a dense pile of smoking ash.

    The third bolt arcs down for the queen’s mage. He stands under it, throwing a hand up reflexively, and a thin shimmering shield of force springs into existence around him. He grins as he sees that, for now at least, his shield is holding the full brunt of Maebh’s magic. He turns towards the Danann and begins to build a roiling ball of flame in his other hand.

    “Oh no. Oh no.”
    “Wow. That’s quite remarkable.” – Sins.
    “Three 1’s to cast.” – LD.
    I am completely stunned.
    “In true PG fashion, the enemy caster blows up the whole encounter for us on a Miscast.” – Yohan.
    I roll on the appropriate Miscast Chart, and, lo and behold, we get the result that makes the caster roll on the Catastrophic Chart.
    “Oh no. Oh. No.”
    “This may just be unprecedented.” – Sins.
    “I’ve played Warhammer with the man. I can tell you now, this is probably not even in the top ten worst Miscast moments he’s had.” – Dev.
    “PG, never play a caster, yeah?” – LD.


    Cackling maniacally, the mage hurls the ball of fire from his hand, fully expecting it to engulf Maebh in a roaring inferno, but in fact, it launches from his hand and peters out of existence mere inches away. Above him, the shimmering shield strains, cracks and then shatters into millions of tiny shards. The amber lightning rips down and in a deafening explosion, tears his body in half at the shoulder to the waist. Horrified, the companions watch as the mage does not fall, but rather dark tendrils of daemonic energy start to try and knit the ruined flesh back together. The blackened and utterly burnt head of the mage snaps forward with a horrific crack, and the eyes blaze with daemonic light. The mouth distends now into a gaping maw, within which swirling dark energy can be seen, pooling, seeping out and dripping onto the ground where it sizzles and burns like molten rock. The shambling creature hauls itself forward, leaving slick trails of viscera and shining gobbets of daemonic essence on the stone floor. A low humming cackles emanates from the maw of the creature, which gradually builds into a maddening howl.

    The other lightning bolts crash down amidst the guards, held somewhat in check by a glowing bright blue shield the Invarrian guard cast around the two Feartarbh and the captain. The magics war with each other, and all three of the warriors are rocked by the impact, but the damage dealt by the strikes is significantly lessened.

    Shaking off the impact of Maebh’s magic, the captain of the guard strides forward through the pentagram, engaging Xander, Harold and Kel with a flurry of blows. His first strike bounces off Xander’s massive shield, which the captain expertly turns into a thrust at Harold. The Invarrian misses the parry, and the blade would sink into Harold’s side but golden energy flashes, and the blade is turned away by Xander’s enchantment. Frustrated, the captain turns and throws a wild cut at Kel, but the Danann nimbly dodges away.

    Or at least, that is how it appears. In fact, Kel’Serrar is standing maybe ten yards away, invisible, while his illusory copy dances away from the captain’s strikes. He swiftly nocks an arrow to his bow and draws, but then he hesitates. The invisible ranger’s aim shifts between the captain engaged with Xander and Harold and the two Feartarbh on the other side of the chamber. Who to shoot? Who to shoot indeed?

    “Can I get a Willpower Check from Xander please mate?”
    “Can you please stop asking for them?” – Yohan, who rolls a 02.


    Xander feels that familiar insidious presence in his mind, but shrugs it off. He grits his teeth, plants his shoulder against the inside of his tower shield and pushes with all his force into the captain, buffeting the smaller man, sending him sprawling. As the captain falls to the side, he twists out of the way of the worst of the blow, and his own blade flashes out, cutting towards the momentarily exposed Feartarbh. There is another flash of golden energy as the guardian’s enchantments flare to life once more, and the strike does not connect with Xander’s flesh.

    From the rear of the chamber, there is a brilliant ice-blue flash of light as the windows are shattered with the sound of tinkling glass. A multitude of spirit wisps flit and dance into the room, their soft, ephemeral forms swirling around the companions.

    “Ice-blue magic? Spirits? Is Aeva actually helping us?” – Dev.
    “I will neither confirm nor deny, but everyone gets +1 Damage Reduction on all hit locations.”


    Seeing the flare of magic around the captain, Kel’Serrar turns his attention to the Invarrian binder hanging back somewhat. The arrow streaks across the room, but in a flare of brilliant blue light, the arrow halts its flight, turns in mid-air, and then flies back to where Kel flickers back into existence. The arrow hits the ranger with an audible thud as golden light flares once more, Kel kept safe by Xander’s magic. He is winded, but the arrow didn’t touch him, and it drops to the ground with a tink.

    “There’s too many different effects going on here.” – Dev.
    “Tell me about it.”
    “This is legitimately messy.” – Yohan.
    “I’m slowly building up an idea of what each enemy has up though. I think I’m following it.” – Ladyhawk.
    “I can’t even keep track of what we have up.” – LD, laughing.

    Yohan is completely right, this combat got really messy as we had to figure out what up to four different spells interacting with each other would do, not to mention the possessed mage everyone seemed to just straight up forget about momentarily.


    A small black shape flits across the stone floor, low to the ground and leaps towards the queen’s captain. Breanna’s wicked knife plunges deep into the man’s knee, tearing and ripping, causing him to stumble once more. She withdraws the blade, and a thin stream of blood swirls out and up somewhat, coalescing into a shining, red blade of solid blood which then shoots straight back down into his neck, killing him.

    A thunderous impact rocks the chamber as one of the Feartarbh guards clashes with Xander in the middle of the room. Shields and weapons almost forgotten, both of the black-furred gigantic warriors stand there, horns locked, vying against each other in the most primal way. Xander’s eyes narrow and he grits his teeth as he lets out a bellowing roar, adrenaline pumping through his veins as the red rage of bloodlust descends on his vision.

    “As he did damage to me, I’d like to Frenzy.” – Yohan.
    “He did damage to you?” – Ladyhawk, surprised.
    “Yeah, at the moment, with spells and everything, my Damage Reduction was 27, he did 33 damage. So I took 5. But now I’m Frenzied, which means I have +10 Strength, +10 Toughness and +10 Temporary Health. So I actually came out of his attack with +1 Damage Reduction and +5 Health” – Yohan.
    “Holy ****, Xander’s un-killable.” – LD.


    The Invarrian binder hurls a bolt of blue light up into the roiling stormclouds above, hoping to disperse them, but Maebh feels the attempt and crushes it contemptuously. Turning his attentions back to the ground before him, the Invarrian summons crystalline shards of ice. Thick, blue-white hoarfrost grows and spreads up Maebh and Harold, encasing their lower halves in the freezing cold ice. Flickering golden light flares beneath the frost, and Xander gasps as blood starts to trickle down his legs from several thin cuts and scratches, the link between him and his companions opening the wounds on him, and saving Maebh and Harold from the same fate.

    The tall Northmann raises his hand and barks a word of power, and a handful of corpses jerk unsteadily to their feet. Together, they hurl themselves at Harold, Xander and Maebh, trying to swamp them under weight of numbers. Any that draw near to Maebh are instantly annihilated by her crackling nimbus of amber lightning. A sickly pall washes over the fray as the Northmann casts a spell, weakening the companions significantly as rot and entropy sets into their muscles and flesh.

    “Alright, he Dual Casts…”
    “Rude.” – Ladyhawk.
    “Yeah, doesn’t he know that ability is for PC’s only? NPC’s aren’t allowed to have it.” – Sins.
    “Okay, now for the possessed mage. This really did not go to plan.”


    As the second Feartarbh guard, this one even larger than the first, auburn-furred and armed with a massive dark steel greatsword prepares to charge into the fray and cleave Xander apart, the possessed mage turns, its ruined body jerking and twisting as it levitates first five, then swiftly ten feet in the air. The deafening howl grows once more as a torrent of daemonic flame ripples across the room, briefly consuming the Feartarbh berserker in a flood of chittering fire. When the flames subside, all present can see the berserker standing there, still, flesh charred, armour and fur smoking. Parts of the flesh have melted away, revealing bone beneath, the damage perhaps most noticeable on the face, where much of the flesh has burnt away, revealing the singed skull beneath. One eye is ruined, now just a smoking sludge dripping from the socket. Roaring, the Feartarbh charges at the mage, all thoughts of Xander driven from his pain-wracked mind. He thunders towards the possessed corpse, reaching up and grasping the floating daemon host by the ankle before flinging it to the ground, kneeling beside it and literally tearing the body into pieces with a show of extreme strength and brutality. When he is done, Breanna can see the daemonic entity has withdrawn to the Otherworld and the corpse of the mage is maybe two dozen small, bloodied chunks.

    Several of the captives still alive and kneeling on the carvings of the pentagram, closest to the fray, suddenly stand, and then the creature in the centre, formed of black smoke appears once more. There is a flash of silver and the captives fall into pieces, their bodies transitioning to nothing but dust which swirls away in the heavy winds within the chamber. Those other captives which still live, do not stir. That same strike carries through into Xander, who grits his teeth and wears the heavy blow as best he can, trusting to his enchantments. Despite that, he feels the otherworldly scythe rip through him, the wound ephemeral, but no less real somehow, and terrible. The scythe-strike continues, cutting through the wards of the Invarrian binder. There is a flash of warring magic before the brilliant blue light fades and the binder stumbles, holding his abdomen. He falls back, back and then over the edge of the pool and into the black water. He does not resurface.

    Another flurry of amber lightning bolts streak down from the ceiling as Maebh, ignoring the encroaching frost, directs her power upon her enemies. The first again is directed at the necromancer, and again he waves a hand and the bolt is redirected towards a small knot of risen corpses, obliterating them immediately.

    Two more bolts flash down into the black pool of water. The water is briefly lit by two consecutive flashes of amber light, but if anything is still within, they can’t be seen.

    Another bolt streaks down towards the ruined berserker. Unbelievably, he still stands, though the impact of the lightning absolutely should have killed him. He staggers, blearily looking around for something nearby to kill in the next ten seconds or so before he finally loses his grip on life.

    Two more bolts flash down on opposite sides of the carven pentagram, cracking the stone floor and disrupting the pattern. If the ritual has been disrupted by this at this late stage though, there is no way of telling. The captives who remain alive do not stir.

    The lightning around Maebh flares and the frost pinning her is shattered in a blaze of light. She then turns and conjures a ball of amber flame in her hand and hurls it at the ruined Feartarbh berserker, the fires consuming the terribly wounded warrior. The Danann turns back, to look for her next target when suddenly the figure of the queen appears by her side, a slender longsword in hand. The woman thrusts at Maebh, who watches as the blade sinks into her side and then withdraws, a flood of golden light rippling out as it does so. Before their eyes, the wound closes. The anger in Esmerelda’s eyes is briefly overtaken by perhaps a shadow of fear before the lightning coruscating around Maebh flashes again and cracks against the queen. In the flash of blinding light, she disappears once more. Unbeknownst to them, under the thick, segmented armour of his cuirass, Xander now bears an identical wound to the one briefly inflicted on Maebh, blood beginning to sheet from the laceration in his sleek, black hide.

    Kel stares at the space where the queen disappeared, an arrow nocked and ready. He can see no sign of her, despite the power of his ring, a worrying circumstance. He has a feeling that she is probably in and around the same area she was when she appeared to strike Maebh, though perhaps she backed off a few steps after being hit by the mage’s field of lightning. He takes a guess, invokes the most powerful enchantment he knows upon the arrow nocked to his bow, draws, and shoots.

    “True Shot is cast.” – Sins.
    “DO IT!” – Ladyhawk, excited.
    “Should have known the campaign would end with Kel True Shotting it to death.” – LD.


    The golden streak burns its way across the room, aiming for a point five yards behind Maebh. Suddenly, where empty air once was, the space is filled by a sleek, grey shape, long, finned tail whipping frantically, spraying saltwater everywhere as it flails wildly. Long, taloned fingers spread, seeking purchase on anything as it falls into the path of Kel’s arrow. There is a brilliant explosion as the concussive force of the magic arrow caves in the creature’s chest, a golden light ripping forth from every orifice as the Beast is burned alive from the inside. It drops to the ground, still weakly writhing in its death throes, smoking and charred. As it dies, around the room, a handful of the still living captives begin to stir, groggily, as if waking from a deep sleep, though even they do not move beyond that. The rest, maybe a little more than a dozen, remain completely motionless.

    “She’s probably transposed her location with the Beast in the pool.” – Yohan, to the agreement of the rest of the table.

    Locked in tight with the other Feartarbh, Xander pushes hard with his horns, knocking the warrior back enough for the guardian to draw the Carhold Blade from over his shoulder. Loosing a ferocious roar, Xander cleaves at the other Feartarbh, two massive strokes which cleave through shield, armour and flesh. Badly wounded, the warrior grits his teeth and pushes back against Xander, trying to cramp him up to keep the huge blade at bay.

    Outside, the pale golden face of the Harvest Moon shines brightly down from above, the somewhat sickly light bursting through the thick stormclouds. To Maebh’s keen eyes, it looks almost as if it is growing larger, almost like it is approaching slowly. On the surface of the moon, faint shadows can be seen, just a shade darker than the moon itself, flitting and writhing across its surface like snakes. As Maebh watches, a thin sliver of pale, ice-blue magic shoots directly up to the moon from below the cliffs, likely from a point upon the surface of the storm-tossed ocean waters below. The shadows flitting across the moon almost ripple and fade with the magic, as whoever the caster below may be brings their full power to bear.

    Crackling energy ripples around Harold, brilliant blue lightning arcing from the Invarrian, ripping into the Feartarbh warrior engaged with Xander. Still buzzing with power, Harold shoots another bolt off at the necromancer, the lighting tearing forth from the nimbus of power gathered around the Gilded Sword.

    Watching the events unfold before her, Breanna focuses as keenly as she can on the ritual itself. She has seen things like this before, not the least of which being the attempt to bind the Lord of Winter in Summer Hill, which they disrupted at the very last moment a few years ago. This though, tonight, is an undertaking of far greater magnitude again, and the entity is already drawn to the place, and bound. Now though, it must be given corporeal form for the ritual to be complete and the entity to cross over from the Otherworld entirely. A faint whisper tickles the back of her mind, and her thoughts drift to the Three Coins. She sits down on the edge of the pentagram, trying to avoid the wash of blood around it, and frantically fishes around in her pack for the Three Coins, drawing them out and beginning the invocation necessary to draw this creature, whatever it is, into the Coins. As she does so, she scans the room and notices two slivers of daemonic energy, like tethers almost, binding the entity in the centre of the chamber to both the Northmann necromancer and to a point in the corner of the room which appears to be otherwise unoccupied. Pushing the thought aside, the Leathe continues to will the magic of the Coins into being to disrupt the ritual taking place.

    Xander gives out a roar of frustration as the other Feartarbh attacks once more, the fearsome warrior thrusting a heavy broadsword deep into Xander’s side. The golden light flares once more, but the sheer quantity of ferocious blows is really starting to tell, and the strike leaves a significant bleeding gash in the guardian’s black-furred side.

    “Bring down the Feartarbh!” – A woman’s voice rings out across the chamber.

    The gaunt, black-robed Northmann puts his hands down to his sides, fingers outstretched. He clenches them into fists and pulls upwards, a strained snarl ripping forth from his throat as his arms slowly, halting rise upwards. Around the room, corpses rise, two dozen coming to their feet, standing jerkily upwards. Together, two groups rush forward, piling towards the companions in a flood of dead flesh, mouths wide and fingers outstretched. The necromancer gives a tired smile and clicks his fingers.

    A deafening explosion shakes the spire and everything turns to white.

    Maebh’s vision slowly returns and she looks around from where she is sprawled, prone on the floor. She sees Breanna, stunned, lying on her back near the edge of the pentagram, the tell-tale gleam of the Coins still clenched tightly in her furred grip. The smouldering shape of Harold, still buzzing with the storm’s aegis is to her left, the Invarrian’s tabard and fur blackened and scorched. Where Xander and the other Feartarbh had been standing, only a single black lump remained, slumped on the ground, flesh and fur cooked, scorched blood streaming in rivulets from the seared flesh. She sees the tall Northmann, black robes whipping about him in the strong wind, slowly stride towards her and her fallen comrades. Her eyes blaze amber, she outstretches her hand and the golden lightning strikes again. One bolt crashes into the pool once more, and the others she wrenches, with great force of will, almost into a cage around the necromancer. The coruscating energies rip the tall man apart in a shower of golden light.

    As an aside, each lightning bolt did 41 Damage. Normally Furious Storm cannot hit the same target more than once per Round, but I asked Ladyhawk for a Channelling Check to see if she could get any more of her five bolts to hit him as he walked towards her. She duly rolled a 06 under 87, so I ruled that a total of three lightning bolts hit him, for a total of 123 Damage.

    The shadowy entity in the centre of the room roars and swings its mighty scythe down at Maebh, but the black blade is halted by an invisible wall. As it impacts however, she can see the edges of the material world buckle and tear slightly as the impossibly sharp blade tries to rip through. It seeps a foul, black mist, and it looks both solid and very sharp.

    Shaking his head, Harold slowly picks himself up. In his hand, the Gilded Sword almost twitches and, in a daze, the Invarrian staggers towards the entity in the centre of the room, following the directions of the blade. Almost guiding itself, the Sword thrusts towards the entity, the golden blade shining with light as it pierces the veil between worlds. Where it strikes, whatever smoke-like substance the creature is made of burns and shrivels, and it shrieks hideously in anger and frustration and recoils slightly in pain. It beats at the barrier once more with its scythe, furiously trying to strike down those who dare stand against it.

    Breanna, coins in hand, begins the invocation once more, body battered and bruised by the sheer force brought to bear in the necromancer’s assault. She sees that same tethering line of Black magic between the entity in the centre of the room and a point on the far side of the darkened pool of water.

    “No, this can’t happen!” – That same woman’s voice, disembodied from the corner of the chamber. The shape of Queen Esmerelda flickers back into reality on the far side of the darkened pool, the point to which the tether of magic led. Her hand gathers energy, a dark emerald in colour, almost dripping and sizzling as it pools there, shining with a sickly light.

    “Suck a ****!” – Breanna, in a shrill voice, willing the power to siphon into the coins more quickly through the rents in reality, hoping to finish the invocation before the queen’s sorcery is cast.

    The black dart flicks from Esmerelda’s outstretched fingers, straight towards the vulnerable Leathe. It strikes and sinks into the black-furred flesh, and Breanna gasps in pain as her flesh rends and starts to necrotise around the wound. She falls back to the stone floor beneath her, her efforts disrupted and looks at the terrible wound in her side. As she watches, the wound starts to close, and shine with a faint golden light. The light grows stronger and stronger, the pain starts to dissipate and the wound closes over. She turns around, still prone on the ground and stares at the shifting, blackened mound of smoking flesh where Xander once stood. The flesh shifts, and the utterly ruined body of the queen’s Feartarbh warrior is shoved aside by Xander, himself a terribly burned mess. The guardian struggles to his knees as golden light faintly shines from a horrific wound in his chest, the equal of the one inflicted on Breanna. He roars, the golden light gutters out, his tremendous strength finally gives way and Xander slumps to the stone floor once more, unmoving and on his face.

    Kel’Serrar, seeing this, takes his opportunity as soon as it presents itself, applying an enchantment of seeking to the arrow he has nocked and loosing it at the queen. The arrow flashes across the chamber but Esmerelda sees the shot made and weaves a hasty enchantment of her own. One of the kneeling captives, one of less than half a dozen still alive in the chamber, appears in her place and the arrow punches directly through the ribcage of the captive. Esmerelda is nowhere to be seen. Cursing under his breath, the ranger runs to the fallen Xander and starts to assess the damage. The massive guardian has taken a ridiculous amount of punishment and Kel is not entirely sure where to even begin. He starts to apply bandages and salves, almost in a daze, but there’s just so much blood. On the other hand, Xander is still technically alive, if only just, and Kel is determined to save him.

    In the centre of the room, the entity roars once more, and it smashes its scythe at Harold. The wily Invarrian manages to dodge out of the way, just, and throws his own cut at the creature in return. After the initial moment after the great explosion, Harold has thrown himself entirely into his instincts, dodging, weaving, slashing and thrusting at the creature, guided by the power of the Gilded Sword. The Sword itself gleams against the darkness, as do the countless small wounds inflicted on the entity, seeping golden light.

    “All up, 45 Damage with the Gilded Sword.” – Dev, sounding disappointed.
    “That’s 45 Damage, ignoring all Damage Reduction. Mate, that’s heaps. That’s not too much off one-shotting Xander at full health.” – Yohan, shaking his head.
    “Yeah, but most of it is from the sword itself, not me.” – Dev, still disappointed.
    “Most of my damage comes from lightning, not me.” – Ladyhawk.
    “The sword itself ignores Damage Reduction and does 9 Damage. You’d still have done 36 with any other sword, which is hardly nothing. That would kill me twice over.” – Sins, laughing.
    “I get up and kill Harold.” – Yohan, laughing.


    After one particularly powerful cut, the entity rears back and then leans forward, its ghostly, skull-like face under the hood right in Harold’s own, pushing up as closely as it can to the veil between its realm the material plane. It screams in Harold’s face, and the Invarrian sees, before his vision goes red, that the entity’s shining, smoke-like skin almost seems to be made of tiny fanged maws, each of them gnashing together, slavering and gibbering in a hellish, maddening way. The Invarrian staggers back, blood streaming from his eyes, ears and nose, momentarily blinded, the sheer force of the scream almost concussing the old reaver.

    Still lying on the cold floor, Breanna scrabbles desperately for the Three Coins again and begins the invocation once more. Doing so, she sees that same tether of magic on the far side of the room, the opposite side this time from the darkened pool. She inspects the tether of magic a little more closely, the clamour of battle subsiding somewhat as her focus is drawn by the weave of magic before her. She realises that, while this line of magic provides an anchor of sorts, she cannot draw the entity into the Coins. The tether must be broken.

    Breanna watches on as Maebh steps forward and a golden torrent of water washes out over the pentagram, blood washing away in a great wave as the mage sweeps it clean in an attempt to disrupt the ritual. Several of the last captives are caught in the flood and torn apart by the blast, ripped into pieces by the titanic forces she brings to bear. The creature above however, what must be the Devourer, is unaffected.

    “Maebh, the tether! Break the tether!” – Breanna, screaming at the mage, pointing at the corner of the room.

    Clutching the Coins in her hand, the Leathe leaps forward, using the stunned Harold as cover and uses the daemonic power stored within them to attempt to seal up the cracks in the veil. The Devourer roars at her from its many mouths, and swings its scythe, but the Leathe is able to nimbly duck under the sweeping blow, pulling Harold down with her. The Coins burn with power in her hand as she holds them aloft, daemonic power streaming into the void. Hunkered down, her sheer will to succeed escapes her in a scream of rage, as beside her, Harold gets to his feet, clears the blood from his eyes and engages the Devourer once more.

    One after another, six lightning bolts smash into the stone floor in the corner of the room Breanna indicated. If it has any effect on the hidden woman there, Maebh cannot tell. She starts to cast another spell, gathering the energies in her hand and readies it for the moment the queen flickers back into reality.

    The Devourer rears back with its mighty scythe and unleashes a terrible blow, sweeping through the veil and into the material plane, the otherworldly blade seeping black corruption. Harold, clearly still hampered by the entity’s scream, is too slow, and the weapon catches him, a mere winging blow enough to cause immense damage to the Invarran. He falls back, his cuirass rent asunder by the strike, his flesh steaming as the corruption sets in, the wound starting just below his right collarbone and ending halfway down his left thigh. He pants, slowly trying to get back on his feet, determined to sell his life dearly. He spits at the creature, the bloody gobbet disappearing into the void and strikes at its face with the Gilded Sword, the keen blade striking truly, causing the Devourer to recoil once more.

    Seeing this, Esmerelda flickers materialises once more, amidst the cracked and blackened stone flags on the floor, evidence of Maebh’s arcane assault. She looks a little singed, and is clearly hurt, but not terribly, and she begins to gather daemonic power in her hand once more, screaming a curse at Harold in a language none of the companions can understand. As she draws her hand back, suddenly amber energy flickers around her and golden ice emanates from her form, freezing her in place. Staring at the queen from across the room, Maebh hands are outstretched, blood trickling from one nostril as the magic takes hold and the two casters engage in a mental battle of will. For now at least, Maebh’s magic holds the queen in place.

    “Yes! She can’t get away now!” – Dev.
    “Quick, someone get her!” – LD.
    “That’s only a half action to cast, can I-“ – Ladyhawk, who stops herself. What followed is probably the biggest sign of growth we’ve seen in any player since we began the campaign.
    “Yes, do it! Get her!” – LD.
    “I only held that particular spell. I can’t use my other half action now, I can only hold it for a reaction. That’s the end of my turn.” – Ladyhawk, demonstrating both her mastery of the system and her own growth as a player. In the heat of the moment, with this, perhaps the most intense combat we’ve ever had, the table screaming at her to end it and the fate of the entire world on the line, she held to the rules instead of trying to barter for something more.

    I was very proud.


    “Kel, get her!” – Maebh, screaming, eyes aglow with amber light.

    From where he is knelt on the floor, applying bandages and salves to the terribly wounded Xander, Kel’Serrar looks up and sees the situation before him. He grabs his longbow from the floor beside him, from where he had discarded the weapon to treat Xander. He looks at it closely, his eye drawn by the intricate carvings, and for an instant, as he nocks an arrow to the string, his mind wanders to all the many and varied places this weapon has seen. This bow has been with him from the very beginning, since he set out from Dev’Iere all those years ago. He draws, the fletching of the arrow tickling his cheek as he unconsciously factors in all the variables. Range, a little more than thirty yards. Wind, considerable, a swirling gale. Movement, none, thanks to Maebh. He breathes in, mutters a word under his breath, and golden light starts to coalesce around the arrowhead, building, thrumming with power. Kel exhales, and watches as the arrow streaks across the room, an intense golden blur, burning brightly, aimed directly at the head of the blonde-haired queen.

    Upon her chest, set into her ornate steel cuirass, the bright green energies of the emerald there flicker, flare and then dull. For a brief moment, the snarling rage on her face transforms into a stunned look of horror, and then there is a blinding flash of light, and yet another explosion shakes the spire, this one strangely muffled by comparison to some of those which had come before, the sound accompanied by the sound of cracking and shattered ice.

    When the swirling light clears, the body of the queen still stands, held in place by the vestiges of the icy prison Maebh had encased her in, but her head is gone. Slowly but inexorably, her body falls as gravity claims it and the remnants of Maebh’s ice shatters.

    “79 Damage, ignoring Armour. And, just so everyone’s aware, she misses her next turn.” – Sins, laughing.

    To Breanna’s eyes, the tether which linked the queen to the Devourer shrivels and burns as her life fades. The creature roars, and, looking closer, the Leathe can see a contingency of sorts built into the tether. With the queen’s death, the very last of her power travels down the line and to the entity. Fuelled by this power, it takes its scythe back in one hand and delivers two, swift, sweeping strikes, attempting to hit both Harold and Breanna in the arc. Bree dodges under the first blow, as does Harold, but the second connects with the badly wounded Invarrian on the backswing, knocking him away and cracking a rib or two and knocking the Gilded Sword out of his grasp. From within the void, the Devourer roars in triumph and its black, taloned hand reaches through the rent in reality and starts to pull it forward, through the cracks in the veil and towards a terrified, huddled Breanna.

    Slowly picking himself up again, Harold winces in pain, feeling every single one of his fifty-six years gnawing at him, every single wound he has taken in a pretty violent life, every ache and pain he has ignored every day flooding back to him now. His strength sapped, he manages to sit up and he looks around for the Gilded Sword, which blessedly is not far away. Harold crawls over to it and picks it up, feeling a fresh wave of vigour flow through him. The pain of his freshly cracked ribs fades a little, just enough to allow him to think, and he looks up, seeing Breanna crouched, helpless before the otherworldly behemoth looming over her, breaching the material world. He sees the black talon, the many little fanged mouth snapping and gnashing in its flesh. He hefts the Gilded Sword once more and springs forward, the golden blade cutting through the air to strike at the clawed hand. There is little to no artistry in the stroke as the Invarrian pushes himself past his physical limits, a clumsy cut which is effective for all that. The Sword cleaves through the talons as if they were made of butter and the Devourer recoils yet again from these mortals which dare to stand against it. It screams in agony and lunges forward once again, the deafening keening shriek piercing the ears and minds of all who hear it. Harold takes the brunt of it and he simply screams back, a terrible death-howl conveying the sheer desperation and rage he feels.

    Calling upon the power of the Coins once more, Breanna tries again but she can still feel a faint anchoring presence somewhere. She casts her gaze around the chamber, desperately searching for whatever could be preventing her from completing the ritual. Finally, after agonising seconds, she sees it, that faint sliver of power connecting the Devourer to the still in-tact emerald upon the breast of the slain queen.

    “Maebh, the emerald! Destroy the emerald!” – Breanna, vaulting over a wild scythe strike.

    Yet another flurry of amber lightning bolts rip down from the ceiling, lighting up the void in which the Devourer dwells. Its body is wracked by her power, though it does not seem to be lasting damage, the blackened rents closing up slowly as the entity begins to regain its composure. The last bolt however strikes the corpse of Esmerelda upon the chest, blowing the body asunder. Breanna watches as the tether fades completely and grits her teeth, readying herself for another assault upon the entity. She feels a hand on her shoulder and looks up to see Maebh looking at her, eyes blazing with golden light, a feral grin on her face, sharp teeth showing.

    “Do it Bree. I will help you.” – Maebh, quietly.

    Harold lunges forward and into the void with the Gilded Sword as the Devourer itself leans in towards him. Its great fanged face roaring towards him. The Invarrian thrusts at its hideous face, the Gilded Sword tearing through its flesh as Harold drives the blade through its face and down into its chest, golden light streaming forth in blazing ray. The Devourer flails wildly with one arm, knocking Harold back and through the rent in reality as it screams again. The Invarrian tumbles back into the material plane, a black mist seeping off his flesh and armour, and he groans as he comes to a halt, his wounds screaming at him.

    Breanna, with Maebh’s help, calls upon the power of the Coins once more, and this time, the magic within them takes hold. The daemonic energy rips forth from them in a blinding stream, repairing the cracks in reality, filling in the portal to the void. The howl of the Devourer, deafening in intensity, slowly starts to fade as its doorway closes. There’s a crack and the Coins become dormant once more, simply smoking in Breanna’s burnt hand. Silence descends on the chamber, and then lightning crashes outside, in the distance.

    Some way away, they can hear a muffled explosion as the battle between the armies of Elspeth and Naille rages on outside the city. There’s no way of telling for sure from here, but it seems as if the Naillish forces have not simply been swept from the field. Overhead, the pale golden moon starts to slowly recede in size. The shadows which roiled upon it have faded and there is no sign of that pale blue magic.

    Maebh walks slowly to the blown-out window, the rain blowing in starting to drench her. She looks down at the open ocean beneath at the base of the cliffs, searching for any sign of life, but she sees nothing. No sign of the Beasts Under the Waves, no sign of who that caster may have been. The spirit wisps which had aided the companions during the battle, fade away, back to the wraith-realm.

    A feeling of peace starts to descend on the chamber, but it is broken by Kel’s strained voice.

    “I’m not sure if I can save him.” – Kel’Serrar, kneeling beside the body of Xander Wrothgar.

    The Wrap-Up:
    Wow, what an amazing session. While at the time I intended to have this session be the very end of the campaign, it became apparent in the following weeks that the players needed more closure. In addition to this, after the event we determined a mathematical error which occurred in this combat which would have a significant effect on what would happen next.

    As such, we do still have one more session to come.

    I’d like to take this opportunity to thank my players for being the people they are. Flawed we may all be, but I would wish for no other group of lunatics to share this story with.

    With that said, the final session and epilogue will be coming very soon, so please, stay tuned and we will see you then.

    Thanks for reading,
    Last edited by Phoenixguard09; 2020-03-27 at 08:25 AM.
    Campaign Logs:
    Three Coins, Two Birds and a Gilded Sword: COMPLETE
    The Great Maw: NEARLY COMPLETE
    Seven Stones and a Pale Shadow: JUST BEGINNING

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    The Norbayne Campaign

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  5. - Top - End - #215
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    Griffon

    Join Date
    Jun 2012
    Location
    Queensland, Australia
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Three Coins, Two Birds and a Gilded Sword: A Norbayne Campaign Log

    Session 7.4: We Bid You All a Very Fond Farewell

    “I saw danger and I passed,
    Along the enchanted way,
    And I said, ‘Let grief be a falling leaf,’
    At the dawning of the day.”

    - An old Leathe rhyme, often recited at funerals.

    Welcome to the final session of Three Coins. For real this time.

    “Don’t worry, the next final session will be in about two months time.” – Sins.
    “Are you telling me that this is the final session of, The Game?” – Dev.
    “I hate you.”
    “That was pretty good actually. Rather clever.” – Ladyhawk.
    “Yeah, it was integrated.” – LD.


    Darkness. That is all Xander can perceive around him. Absolute darkness. Weightless and silent, Xander floats through the void. Freed from the troubles and pain of what he has just experienced, the Feartarbh relaxes, embracing the nothingness. Whether he closes his eyes or not, he does not know. Not that it matters…

    “I’m sorry that this is the first time we have met my lad. I’m afraid I just never seemed to find the time.” – The reedy voice of an old man.

    Xander looks, and suddenly instead of the void, he seems to be in a wooded clearing. Overhead, the sun shines pleasantly and a cool breeze touches the bristly fur upon his face. The air is filled with the gentle sounds of birds, singing in the morning sun. Before him, on a tree-stump, sits an old man with a long grey beard, by the look of him, a Midlander, in grey robes. He has a small wooden board in one hand, several sheaves of parchment upon it. In the other hand he holds a long quill, like an eagle feather.

    “That’s okay.” – Xander, somewhat puzzled, sitting on a tree-stump of his own.

    The old man reaches out and puts a gentle, comforting hand on Xander’s shoulder.

    “I fear your time has come.” – The old man, sadly.

    Xander shrugs and gives a sad smile in return.

    “If my time has come, then so be it.” – Xander, feeling a weight start to lift from him.

    “A noble sentiment, and one that speaks volumes of your character. However, I come to you with a choice. There is one last task for you to fulfil, one last role you can play in shaping the future of the world. I can send you back, for a short time only, but enough for you to see this through.” – The old man. This close, Xander can see the whirling of stars in the man’s eyes, an eternity of celestial movements bound up in this entity.

    “What are you?” – Xander, in a whisper.

    “Will you do it?” – The Grey Scribe, ignoring Xander’s question, his tone just a little sharper.

    “Yes. If I can help, I will.” – Xander, solemnly.

    The Grey Scribe’s hand glows with a shining silver light as he presses it to Xander’s chest. Everything starts to fade away into darkness once more, the clearing, the blue sky, the flitting birds. Everything, save for the blinding silvery light, almost like the face of the moon.

    “Be strong my boy. It will be over soon.” – The voice of the Grey Scribe, faintly, as Xander’s vision turns black once more.

    * * *

    Xander heaves a shuddering breath and he opens his eyes to nothing but red. He dashes the blood away, and painfully, slowly starts to regain control of his body, turning over onto his back. Over him, the face of Kel’Serrar, for once not obscured by some illusory spell, and, perhaps even more unusually, smiling, the Danann’s fangs gleaming in the moonlight streaming through the shattered window as he tucks a needle and spool of thread back into a pouch at his belt. The others are nearby, save for Maebh, who he sees is standing at the end of the chamber, looking out over the ocean, her slender form silhouetted against the night sky.

    Overhead, the Harvest Moon has receded somewhat, and the pale golden glow it gave off is now a comforting silvery sheen, obscured a little by the dark clouds which scud across the night-sky.

    “We need to leave.” – Harold, ears pricked as his gaze turns towards the doorway they came through, and the stairway which leads down to the greater palace.

    As the Invarrian speaks, they can hear the distant sound of marching feet on stone, the clatter of armour and shouted instructions. Queensguard, and they are approaching swiftly.

    “Maebh, how much do you have left in you?” – Kel, looking back towards the mage standing at the great window overlooking the cliffs.

    “Not much I am afraid.” – Maebh, quiet, yet calm, her amber cat-like eyes glinting slightly with the reflected moonlight.

    “How much rope have we got? Can we rappel down the cliffs?” – Harold, looking to the rest of the group.

    “Even between us, there’s no way we have enough rope to get to the bottom of the cliffs, and when these soldiers reach this room, they’ll just cut the rope and we’ll fall anyway.” – Kel, shaking his head.

    “If you take the head off the snake, the snake dies. We’ve taken the head off, they just don’t know it yet.” – Xander, groaning as he sits up.

    “So we just need to show them the head, or rather, the body, because the head’s been completely destroyed.” – Breanna, inspecting her knives.

    “Whatever we’re going to do, let’s do it quickly, they’re nearly here and there’s a lot of them.” – Harold, having moved to the doorway to hear the approaching soldiers more easily.

    “Well, we can at least lay the groundwork.” – Xander, standing with great effort and moving to join Harold at the door.

    “Find the body Bree, we’ll give them what they’re after.” – Maebh, herself striding closer to the doorway, her hands glimmering once more with amber flame.

    “Your queen has fallen! Stand down!” – Xander’s roaring voice does not belie his badly wounded state as it echoes down the stairway.

    “For the queen! Kill the invaders!” - The answering cry from the onrushing Queensguard. There is a guttural roar and a few howls, betraying the presence of at least one Feartarbh and a few Invarrians amidst the soldiery.

    Breanna hauls the corpse of Queen Esmerelda to the doorway and heaves it partway down the staircase, standing back to allow Xander to close the heavy doors.

    “That didn’t work. Harold, take this, we might as well try rappelling down to a safe point on the cliff-side. There’s a chance we survive that way, but if we stay up here we certainly die.” – Xander, taking his grappling hook from his belt and handing both the hook and his length of rope to the Invarrian.

    Harold nods and takes the tool from the Feartarbh, carrying it to the window at the rear of the room and begins to set it in place.

    The Queensguard reach the door and start to pound upon it, the thick wood braced against Xander’s shields, the Feartarbh’s strength still formidable despite his wounds.

    “They’ve barricaded it! Bring up Morius, quick!” – An accented voice, possibly an Invarrian.

    “Quickly Bree, go down, see if you can find something helpful.” – Harold, urgent, ushering the Leathe over to the grappling hook he has fixed in place.

    Swiftly, Breanna slides down the length of the rope, her descent a scarcely controlled fall until she suddenly comes to a stop, clinging to the very end of the wildly swinging rope. A little way below, she can see signs of a narrow ledge jutting out from the rock wall of the cliff-face. It might hold two, maybe three of them, and she doubted Xander would find purchase, but it was better than nothing. She takes a piton from her belt and smashes it once, twice, a third time, into the rock wall, until it holds firmly enough for her to trust it with her weight. She keeps going, planting more of the thick iron spikes into the rock, all the while trying to ignore the dark water crashing over the rocks below…

    Above, in the shattered window, Harold sees her progress and follows more cautiously, using the rope to rappel down slowly.

    “Don’t tell me I took 90-odd damage just for you ****s to die falling down a cliff.” – Yohan.

    * * *

    Meanwhile, at the door, a heavy impact slams into the wood and Xander slowly, inexorably, begins to give ground. From what little he can see between the doors from behind his shields, it looks like at least a score of guards are packed on the stairway, most clad in the heavy armour and veiled helms of the Queensguard. A massive chestnut-furred Feartarbh takes a step back and then slams into the doors once more, and Xander is forced back another inch. Caught between the titanic strength of the two warriors, the wood of the doors starts to splinter and crack. They will not hold for long.

    Seeing this, Xander roars in rage and frustration and redoubles his efforts, putting every ounce of his being into the task of holding the doorway. His vision turns red as blood continues to stream steadily from his many wounds, the once-white bandages turning a sodden red as Kel’s hasty sutures are ripped by the Feartarbh’s exertions. On the stairway, several of the Queensguard are overborne by the force of Xander’s charge, and fall down the stairs, tripping others on their own way up.

    “YOU WILL NOT PASS!” – Xander, all his focus on this one task, to hold the door at any cost.

    I feel the need to note down for posterity that the impact of Xander’s blow outright killed a handful of the Queensguard, as two were pulverised by the impact and another three died in the fall down the stairs. At this point, as likely mentioned before, with Frenzy activated, Xander’s Strength is 115.

    Kel’Serrar runs to the shattered window and sees Harold slowly making his way down. Cursing, he nocks an arrow to his bow and sets his sights on the doorway, ready to loose at the first one to break through Xander’s defence.

    “Maebh, go, I’ll cover the door.” – Kel’Serrar, calling to his fellow Danann.

    The mage, herself preparing to cast, stops and turns back to Kel’Serrar. She looks around the room, noting both Breanna and Harold are gone and makes her way closer to Kel’Serrar, but stops halfway, a few paces from the slowly draining pool on the eastern side of the room. The water level has dropped enough to reveal the mangled corpse of one of the Beasts Under the Waves.

    “Have they reached the bottom?” – Maebh, to Kel, her eyes locked on the swirling waters of the pool as they drain away.

    “Not yet, Breanna’s planting spikes beyond the end of the rope, but there’s still a fair distance to go.” – Kel, taking a swift look back outside to confirm that.

    “And what is the plan once we’re all down there? Is there any kind of path up, or do we throw ourselves upon the ocean’s mercy?” – Maebh, intent upon the draining water of the pool.

    “I do not know. There’s a dock to the east, with at least a small fleet. We may be able to stay on the rocks at the base of the cliffs and make our way round, or perhaps swim if we have to, then steal a ship. Hard to say, but whatever we do, we must move quickly.” – Kel, starting to get impatient, the stress of the situation clearly fraying even the ranger’s steely nerves.

    “This pool is draining. The tunnel leads down, through the palace. It must be the way the Beasts were able to move through the structure. It might be safer.” – Maebh, thoughtful.

    Kel is about to respond but another bone-rattling impacts smashes into the doors and Xander roars in agony as he desperately holds his ground.

    * * *
    Below, clinging to the cliff-face and gripping an iron spike with grim determination, Breanna looks down at the crashing waves beneath her. She sighs, and tucks the piton back into her belt. With only two left, she knows it is pointless to go any further. Even if she reaches the relative safety of the ledge, it will not hold all her companions, nor would they be likely to survive the dive into the treacherous waters below.

    “Harold, this is pointless!” – Bree, calling up to the Invarrian, still rappelling down above her.

    “What do you mean!?” – Harold, calling back.

    “I’m running out of spikes for handholds! I’m going to come back up, there must be a better way!” – Breanna, who starts her ascent.

    Groaning with pain, Harold does the same, and the two companions make their way back up the rope, Breanna eventually deigning to overtake the Invarrian, scampering over him with ease.

    Kel looks back out the shattered window and his keen eyes perceive both Breanna and Harold climbing back up. Dropping his bow to the floor, he takes the rope in both hands and starts to pull the rope up to assist their climb, careful not to jolt it as best he can.

    * * *

    Another impact rocks Xander. The doors cannot take too much more of this abuse, and the Queensguard outside know it. A chorus of ragged cheers go up as the chestnut Feartarbh slams into the wood once more. Xander knows he cannot hold much longer, and grits his teeth, his frenzied strength ebbing as his blood flows in deep crimson rivulets down to the floor.

    “GO!” – Xander, exhorting his companions.

    “Quick, down here!” – Maebh, calling to her companions as Breanna and Harold reach the top of the ledge and Kel’Serrar throws the rope down, to appear as if the companions did in fact go down the cliff themselves.

    Kel’Serrar picks up his bow and slings it over his shoulder, joining Harold and Breanna in heading towards the tunnel entrance. The ranger stops however, when he sees a golden gleam on the ground, the Carhold Blade, lying abandoned where Xander had fallen before. The ranger picks it up, and then runs to the tunnel to join his companions.

    Another impact hits the doors, and they finally shatter, the chestnut-furred Feartarbh’s charge carrying him through into the shields of Xander behind them. The Queensguard surge forward, and Xander takes a few steps back, to disengage from them. Silence descends over the chamber, as the Elspeth soldiery prepares to finally engage the hulking guardian properly.

    Xander looks back, and sees the faces of his companions, his vision red at the edges and dimming rapidly, and notes that the four of them are within the tunnel, the tunnel far too small to allow him access. He nods, his golden eyes gleaming in the darkness against his jet black fur, and gently tosses his shields down, over the tunnel entrance.

    “It’s been a pleasure fighting with you all.” – Xander, quietly, only just loud enough for the others to hear.

    The Feartarbh turns back to the Queensguard and starts to gather the last of his power. Golden light flashes through the chamber as energy gathers in and around the form of Xander. The scent of ozone permeate the area, the air fills with a nascent hum.

    “Tu certē pedicabere iste.” – Xander, to the other Feartarbh in the ancestral language of their people. Whether he understood Xander, no one will ever know.

    * * *

    Back shortly.
    Last edited by Phoenixguard09; 2020-03-27 at 08:26 AM.
    Campaign Logs:
    Three Coins, Two Birds and a Gilded Sword: COMPLETE
    The Great Maw: NEARLY COMPLETE
    Seven Stones and a Pale Shadow: JUST BEGINNING

    Follow us on Instagram for artwork and updates:
    The Norbayne Campaign

    Exilian: A friendly place for gamers and repository of interesting content: A link to Exilian. Sign up and say hi!

  6. - Top - End - #216
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    Griffon

    Join Date
    Jun 2012
    Location
    Queensland, Australia
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Three Coins, Two Birds and a Gilded Sword: A Norbayne Campaign Log

    * * *

    Even in the tunnel, protected by the heavy steel shields, the companions must shield their eyes from the blinding light which erupts as the guardian releases his spell. The entirety of the chamber begins to crumble, as stone is cracked and shattered by the titanic power Xander has unleashed. Not a few screams can be heard in amidst the sounds of crumbling masonry, and heavy chunks of rock fall from the ceiling upon the shields he placed to protect them one last time.

    “No, Xander!” – Breanna, her fingers scrabbling desperately at the shields to try and go back to him.

    “Bree, come, we need to move.” – Harold, grabbing the Leathe around the waist with one arm and pulling her along with him.

    “We need to follow his last wishes. Down, further. We must find a way out now.” – Kel, quietly, carefully picking his way through the pitch-black, water-slicked tunnel.

    Maebh is silent, but after a few moments, lights their way with a softly glinting amber light in her hand.

    The way is treacherous, the rock wet and slippery underfoot, and several times, members of the party find themselves sliding a few feet before they right themselves, but eventually, after what may have been an hour or a year as much as they can tell, they find themselves in a cavern at sea-level, overlooking the bay. They take a moment to reassess, and rest, relatively safe here, though they keep a watchful eye on the water’s edge in case a Beast appears. They hardly speak however, each silently dealing with the heartache of losing their friend.

    Only a short distance away, the glimmer of lantern-light can be seen, betraying the location of both the docks and the small fleet moored there. Above, the sounds of panic can still be heard in and around the city, screams carrying on the wind.

    “That is where we must go. Steal a smallboat and I can pilot it somewhere safe, away from the conflict.” – Harold, gesturing to the docks.

    As they watch, bands of figures start to make vessels ready to depart. In the moonlight, the silhouettes betray the ships’ identities, the distinct shapes of Invarrian longships. Harold considers announcing his presence to them and claiming their loyalty, but decides against it for now, and instead the companions continue to rest, warily watching the ships move out into the bay.

    Within the hour, the docks are deserted, save for two smallboats. There appears to be no guard presence on the pier. Above, most of the sounds of panic have died down. The companions can hear no sign of conflict either, the regular explosions of the Naillish artillery crashing down in the city having stopped some time ago, and the clash of weapons now faded.

    “During that hour, Harold has to piss.” – Dev, who leaves the table to go to the bathroom.
    “Harold just walks to the edge of the ocean and unzips. ‘I am the Stormlord.” – Yohan.
    “I am the Stormlord, guardian of the sand.” – Ladyhawk.
    “Poseidon quivers before him.” – LD.
    “**** OFF!” – LD and Ladyhawk together.


    Abandoning their original plan to steal a boat, the companions make their way to the docks and then up the road, to come to the cliff-top. To the west, the high walls of Elspeth City jut into the sky, a tall and imposing presence. The great central spire, denoting the location of the queen’s palace, is now gone, presumably brought down by Xander’s sacrifice. Golden fires still burn fitfully across the city.

    On the field before the city, the companions can see the Naillish forces taking prisoners amongst what remains of the Elspeth hosts. Both armies are bloodied and battered and seem relatively even in numbers, but the Elspeth forces are clearly demoralised by the night’s events. Some few pockets of resistance hold out across the battlefield, but these are a rarity, and most of the Elspeth legionnaires display a grim fatalism as they are almost herded away in groups by the Naillish soldiery, having thrown down their weapons.

    Slowly, painfully, wearily, the four make their way towards the Naillish camp, seeking an audience with the king. They are stopped by a mounted patrol after only a few minutes, and are recognised by none other than Captain Matthias, who brought them to the Naillish camp, only hours ago.

    Taking in their state and appearance, the captain doesn’t question them, but merely nods, a solemn greeting, a nod which Harold returns, with but the merest tilt of his head.

    “Well met friends. We shall take you to the king. I imagine that there will be many questions for you there.” – Matthias, whose company closes ranks around the companions.

    Safe, at last, though the cost was so very dear.

    * * *

    At first it appears as if the patrol is leading them to the king’s pavilion, but then they take a turn to the right and pass further through the camp, coming eventually to the medical tents on the south-side of the camp. The pained groans of the injured and the dying fill the air and the scent of blood and mass death fills Harold’s keen nose.

    Ushered inside, the companions pick their way through the rows of cots, upon which lie many bloodied soldiers, bearing a variety of injuries, though most are grievous. They are brought to a compartment, curtained off and separate from the rest of the patients, and inside lies the king, pale and wan upon a simple cot. He bears a serious cut, from his temple, down the right-side of his face and down his neck too. His eyes are open and clear however, though the young man is clearly in some pain. Beside him, the hilt still clutched in one white fist, lies Xander’s claymore.

    His eyes flicker over the party, and there is a slight glimmer of excitement and recognition as they pass over each of the companions in turn, and then they continue to search for a moment for one last large shape in the doorway, but it is in vain. He turns back to Harold, who shakes his head sadly.

    “He sacrificed his life for all of us. Without him, we would have surely failed.” – Harold, quietly. Behind him, Kel’Serrar nods, and Breanna dashes tears from her eyes.

    “We will ensure his name is remembered. He will be a hero of the kingdom of Naille.” – The young king.

    “He will be a hero of many kingdoms, but he will never come home.” – Harold, his head bowed.

    “I cannot give you what you so deserve right now, but I would see you all rewarded properly for your efforts and sacrifice-“ – The king, who holds a handkerchief to his mouth and gives a wet, wracking series of coughs.

    The young man gives the cloth a distasteful look, seeing the clumps of blood upon it, and looks back to the companions.

    “My apologies, but I must rest. I will have my guard escort you away. Reports suggest there have been Elspeth detachments which fled the battlefield and took to the woods.” – The young king.

    “My lord, that scar is going to look badass when it heals.” – Breanna, quietly, before turning to take her leave.

    “Rest would do us all good.” – Harold, who allows himself, along with the rest of the party, to be lead away by the king’s guard.

    “An escort? Normally we only get these when we’ve done something wrong.” – Kel’Serrar, sarcastically under his breath.

    * * *

    The companions are brought to their small encampment on edge of the forest, where they are enthusiastically greeted by the marcwolves. Toirneach trots over to Maebh and nuzzles her with his snout.

    ”See, told you I’d look after them.” – Toirneach, mentally communicating with Maebh.

    The campsite is a quiet affair, as they settle themselves in to rest. Dawn is not far off now, but the night has taken a heavy toll. As bedrolls are laid out, Harold stands and raises his flask, containing maybe only a mouthful of whiskey.

    “To a life well lived. May you rest in piece.” – Harold, tipping the liquor out on the forest-floor.

    Kel’Serrar takes a small keg of wine out of his pack, taken from the cultist gathering on Varr and portions it out to each of the four.

    “To Xander.” – Kel, Harold and Maebh together, knocking back their portion.

    “To my friend.” – Breanna, quietly to herself, joining the toast. Beside her sits the shoulder-saddle Xander left behind at the encampment, and her little furred hand rests upon the well-worn leather.

    “Kel, how old is this?” – Harold, grimacing with distaste after downing his wine.

    “I took it from that cultist gathering we crashed back on Varr. The first time we saw one of the Beasts Under the Waves.” – Kel’Serrar, tipping out the rest of the keg.

    “Kel, that was almost a year ago.” – Harold, disgusted.

    “It’s ****ing awful.” – Breanna, spitting it out.

    * * *

    Wan, pale sunlight streams through the canopy overhead in the morning. Birds sing in the branches, unaware of how close their world came to ending mere hours before, drowned under the power of the Greyflood.

    The companions awaken in the later hours of the morning and start to break camp. Not long after, the campsite is approached by a small company of Naillish horsemen, at their head, the familiar, exhausted form of Captain Matthias, and trailing behind, a handful of rider-less horses.

    “Friends, I have come to extend warm invitation to you to come with us back Naille for a celebratory parade to be held in your honour through the streets of the city. The king wishes to reward you for your efforts and allow our people to pay respect to your courage and your losses.” – Matthias, dismounting and clasping Harold’s hand firmly.

    The companions look around at each other and slowly nod.

    “We will come.” – Maebh, quietly, mounting Toirneach.

    Matthias offers horses to the rest of the party, which Kel’Serrar and Harold accept. Breanna rides Wolfgang alongside them.

    Several hours pass on the ride, and the pale light of morning, by noon, turns into a grey and overcast sky. The companions travel in relative silence, following Captain Matthias’ company. Less than a mile north, the main body of the Naillish army marches back home. Come afternoon, the grey clouds have dissipated somewhat, and the sunset bathes the rolling green hills of eastern Elspeth in warm reddish light. Suddenly, Kel’Serrar fades from view, both horse and rider disappearing. The other companions do not halt.

    “Goodbye Kel.” – Maebh, in a quiet whisper. There is no response, the ranger of course, left their company hours ago.

    * * *

    Many days later, the three remaining companions arrive in Haven, the capital of Naille. The stone-walled city stretches before them in the bright midday sun, the gates open to receive the home-coming army. Citizens line the streets, throwing flowers down upon the cobblestones as the vanguard of the army enters the city, behind their king. The young man is somewhat recovered, and while close-to, still appears a little weak and pale, he puts on a strong façade, and rides along at the head of the column, clad in the armour he wore on the battlefield.

    The companions are granted a place of honour in the vanguard, behind the king’s personal guard, and while their deeds are not common knowledge yet, they receive the cheers and adulation of the crowd. While Harold is somewhat used to events such as these, Maebh is rather more uncomfortable with so much attention focused on her and Breanna, while naturally extroverted, finds herself trying to hide away a little.

    Some hours later, the three find themselves in a quiet tavern. Outside, the crack of fireworks can be heard rhythmically as the celebrations continue through the afternoon and into the night. Sitting together in a booth, they reflect on where they’ve come from, what they have done and where they will go now. On the wooden floor at the end of the table, Wolfgang and Bach huddle together in sleep, and while the tavern-owner was at first hesitant to allow the two wolves inside, pony-sized as they are, Harold’s offer to pay for any damages was well received.

    “What will you do Bree?” – Maebh, quietly sipping on a mug of water and feeding strips of meat to Crithtaluin, who lies sprawled across her slender shoulders.

    “I guess I’ll go back to Greenstone and pay off my bounty. I have more than enough now. I’ll find my brothers, probably set up a little shop in the village I guess. What about you Harold?” – Breanna, eating a peach.

    “There were Invarrians all through these lands, working as mercenaries, and not a few of them are probably out of employment now. I might go looking for them, offer to provide them safe passage back to Varr. Better that than trying to scratch out a living as deserters in the wilds. Deserters don’t last long. Then, once back on Varr, I’ll go see my sister, make sure she’s safe and help the election of the new Stormlord go smoothly, whoever that might be. Maebh?” – Harold, downing an ale.

    “East. To the Wardenfells.” – Maebh, quietly.

    “Home? You’ve never really spoken about your home before.” – Breanna, curious.

    “I don’t have a home anymore, but I do have a goal, and it lies to the east.” – Maebh, finishing her water and standing. She takes her spear from where it had been rested next to their booth. She looks at it, taking in the intricate engravings on the ancient steel head and the magically preserved feathers attached to the haft, remembering the day Aeva had gifted it to her.

    The Danann grasps the weapon tightly.

    “I must go now. We will meet again I feel, but not for some time. Farewell.” – Maebh, who turns and stalks out of the establishment, leaving Breanna and Harold behind.

    “This is it then?” – Breanna, offering her own mug of water out to the grizzled Invarrian in a toast.

    “It is. Farewell Bree.” Harold, who clinks his own mug to hers.

    * * *

    Two mounted figures, hooded and cloaked, ride at a slow, even pace through the heavy undergrowth. To the east, the high peaks of the Wardenfells loom overhead, ominous and imposing. The canopy is thick overhead, allowing only a little light to pierce through.

    Reaching a clearing, alike to almost any other, one figure dismounts and pushes their hood back, revealing a shock of white hair and the pointed ears of a Danann.

    “Now, where is it… So long ago, I don’t even know how I did it…” – The male Danann, under his breath as he moves from tree to tree on the edge of the clearing, his slender fingers gently running over the bark.

    His search stops, and his fingers trace over a sigil carved into the tree. He closes his black eyes and recites an incantation, almost silently. The wind changes, and brings with it just the faintest scent of smoke. He opens his eyes, and there before the two figures, rather than the green clearing, lies a small village, or rather, the burnt-out ruin which remains.

    “I told you I had something to show you. This is it. Welcome home, sister.” – Kel’Serrar Naya to Chirya.

    * * *

    Epilogue

    - Tremor Ironfist: The Ironfist family’s legacy continued apace in the northern lands of Nordtarnet, long after Tremor’s death in 1648. Tremor’s half-brother, Bain, was successful in expanding Nordtarnet into Southreach, making the dwarven kingdom the most powerful realm in its immediate area. Eventually Bain himself was assassinated in 1686, but Nordtarnet remains a constant trouble to the north for the people of Southreach. The whereabouts of Tremor’s sister, Marya, after the events of 1648 are unknown. (Tremor Godriksson Ironfist was 50 years old when he met the party in mid-1647 and died in battle at the hands of Ragnak the Butcher, at the age of 51 in late 1648, mere days before his 52nd birthday)

    - Aeva Aett’kviss Nordur-Vatn: After fare-welling the companions in the early months of 1650 in the town of Urik’s Landing on the southern coast of Unterguardt, Aeva spent some time with her family, wracked with guilt. Unable to allow her friends to finish this journey without her, she took a smallboat and sailed south, alone and arrived off the coast of Elspeth during the final battle against the Grey Devourer in the middle of 1650. During that final conflict, she lent her own might to the struggle, entreating the spirits in the area to provide aid as best they could. Unfortunately, it seems as if she perished in the struggle, and, if she did indeed fall, her vessel and remains were never recovered. (Aeva Aett’kviss Nordur-Vatn was 22 years old when she met the party in mid-1648 and supposedly died, whether by drowning or at the talons of the Beasts Under the Waves, at the age of 24 in the conflict of mid-1650)

    - Xander Rothgar: Brought down by the great powers unleashed by Queen Esmerelda’s minions in the final battle, Xander hovered on the threshold between life and death, and was given an opportunity by an unknown, powerful entity, to return and complete his task. He sacrificed himself, bringing down most of the palace to ensure the escape of his companions. After his death, the young king of Naille, Manden II, has the great claymore gifted to him by Xander, re-forged, keeping the cross-guard with the bull’s head motif engraving upon it intact. Manden II became known as the Bull King over the course of his long reign, and was considered a just and temperate ruler, a fitting legacy to the noble guardian who gifted him his sword. (Xander Rothgar was 50 years old when he met the companions in late 1649 and, though he did not know it, had turned 51 only a few weeks before his death in the conflict of mid-1650)

    - Harold Oakenshield: Leaving the Midlands of Norbayne with over a hundred Invarrian soldiers, gathered mainly from those who fought as allies of the armies of Elspeth, Harold went back to Varr. While he found Ravnsalm largely intact, and his sister Helga, safe, he was dismayed to learn that Helga had sent her litter, Sherbald, Bakli and Skye, away to keep them safe. Sadly, the caravan they had been sent with had been lost in the civil war, and despite their best efforts, the three children could not be found. After a brief period of internecine struggle on the island, Harold himself took up the mantle of Stormlord on the island in the year 1651, whereupon he married and had a litter of nine pups. Harold subsequently ruled for twenty-two years, eventually abdicating in 1673 and was succeeded as Stormlord by his daughter, Godiva. In the year 1679, Harold is visited in Ravnsalm by none other than Maebh. It is rumoured on Varr that Harold had Maebh summoned, but those with knowledge of the mage know well that she cannot be summoned, and goes when and where she wills. What they spoke of during her visit, none know. It is rumoured that Harold requested the working of some great magic from her, but whether she agreed or no, not even the rumours say. (Harold Oakenshield was 53 years old when he met the party in mid-1647 and eventually died peacefully at the age of 86 in the year 1680)

    - Breanna Blackrose: The Leathe returned to Greenstone and paid off her bounty with the substantial fortune she had collected from her travels. Most of her money went to her brothers, but she retained enough to start a little apothecary in Greenstone, Easy Peasy Pots With Breezy. She never saw Harold or Kel’Serrar again, but over forty years later, when the Leathe was nearing the end of her days, her black fur now almost entirely a dark silver-grey, she was visited in her shop by Maebh. They spent several days together, recounting the stories of their youth. Three days after Maebh’s departure, Breanna herself died. While she had no children of her own, she often looked after her brothers’ children, and was well-loved by all in Greenstone. (Breanna Blackrose was 20 years old when she met the party in mid-1647 and died peacefully in Greenstone, at the age of 65 in 1692)

    - Therressa Bannimagen: Therressa spent considerable time as a reaver, journeying far afield. She was successful, and built up significant wealth. It is unknown whether or not Theressa ever sought to reconcile with her estranged son. (Therressa Bannimagen was 22 years old when she met the party in early 1648 and passed sometime after 1700)

    - Kel’Serrar Naya: Next to nothing is known of Kel’Serrar’s whereabouts following the banishment of the Grey Devourer. It is worth noting that Chirya also vanishes from the record at approximately the same time. (Kel’Serrar Naya was 27 years old when he met the rest of the party in mid-1647. His fate is unknown)

    - Maebh Preachain-Eite: Upon leaving Elspeth, news of Maebh was few and far between. Rumours told of her fascination and obsession with the Formoraigh, and most suspected that her future plans would involve them in some way. Reports told of a Danann mage, accompanied by a mantikor, heading to the Dragain’s Tail and entering the depths of the Merigund there. From that underground realm, she swiftly passed into legend. (Maebh Preachain-Eite was 28 years old when she met the party in mid-1647 and disappeared from the record sometime after 1650. She did resurface twice since then, to visit both Breanna and Harold before their respective deaths)

    The Wrap-Up:
    And there we have it, Three Coins, Two Birds and a Gilded Sword finally completed. Once again, I must thank everyone who came on this journey with us, from my players who put up with everything from the start, to those intrepid readers who kept up with this cluster-**** of a tale over the years. We’ve been through a lot together, so if you have read any of this at all, thank you so much.

    If you’re interested, please go check out The Norbayne Campaign on Instagram.
    The Norbayne Campaign There’s constantly new photographs and artwork being uploaded to it, so give that a cheeky follow if you’d like to get that stuff. There’s a bunch of photographs from this very session on there, complete with reflective comments from each of the players, which is well worth reading.

    One final announcement, we do actually have a new campaign, which I will be running, set in Norbayne, approximately 80 years after the events of this game. Seven Stones and a Pale Shadow is the name, so keep your eyes out for that one. We have eight players, some very interesting characters and the return of some fan-favourites. I for one, can’t wait to start sharing those new adventures with you.

    Anyway, that’s it for now I guess. Once again, thank you, dear reader, and goodbye.
    Last edited by Phoenixguard09; 2020-03-27 at 08:28 AM.
    Campaign Logs:
    Three Coins, Two Birds and a Gilded Sword: COMPLETE
    The Great Maw: NEARLY COMPLETE
    Seven Stones and a Pale Shadow: JUST BEGINNING

    Follow us on Instagram for artwork and updates:
    The Norbayne Campaign

    Exilian: A friendly place for gamers and repository of interesting content: A link to Exilian. Sign up and say hi!

  7. - Top - End - #217
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    Griffon

    Join Date
    Jun 2012
    Location
    Queensland, Australia
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Three Coins, Two Birds and a Gilded Sword: A Norbayne Campaign Log

    For anyone interested, the absurdly talented Lamaendiir streams his artwork on a semi-regular basis.

    At the time of posting, he is working on a portrait of Florian Glasdyrain, Owlshifter's character from Great Maw and Forgotten Glories.

    http://www.twitch.tv/lamaendirr

    Check it out guys, it's very neat, and there'll be more Norbayne content coming in future, including sneak peaks at the comics.
    Campaign Logs:
    Three Coins, Two Birds and a Gilded Sword: COMPLETE
    The Great Maw: NEARLY COMPLETE
    Seven Stones and a Pale Shadow: JUST BEGINNING

    Follow us on Instagram for artwork and updates:
    The Norbayne Campaign

    Exilian: A friendly place for gamers and repository of interesting content: A link to Exilian. Sign up and say hi!

  8. - Top - End - #218
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
    Griffon

    Join Date
    Jun 2012
    Location
    Queensland, Australia
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Three Coins, Two Birds and a Gilded Sword: A Norbayne Campaign Log

    It has been quite some time since we finished Three Coins off. In that time, we have progressed to some other games, still set in Norbayne, the write-ups of which will be available in the future.

    If you're interested, the first few sessions of our next main game, Seven Stones and Pale Shadow can be found at this link: https://exilian.co.uk/forum/index.php?topic=6104.0

    In the meantime, the following spoiler tags contain images of each of the Three Coins characters as crafted in Heroforge. These images are all probably accurate for the characters during Arc 3, save Aeva and Xander, who the company had not met yet, and so therefore are depicted as they are when they join the party.

    Spoiler: Breanna Blackrose
    Show


    Spoiler: Harold Oakenshield
    Show


    Spoiler: Maebh Preachain-Eite
    Show


    Spoiler: Kel'Serrar Naya
    Show


    Spoiler: Xander Wrothgar
    Show


    Spoiler: Tremor Godriksson Ironfist
    Show


    Spoiler: Therressa Bannimagen
    Show


    Spoiler: Aeva Aett'kvis Nordur-Vatn
    Show


    Also, here's some versions of each of the characters as of the end of the campaign.

    Spoiler: Breanna Blackrose
    Show


    Spoiler: Harold Oakenshield
    Show


    Spoiler: Kel'Serrar Naya
    Show


    Spoiler: Maebh Preachain-Eite
    Show


    Spoiler: Xander Wrothgar
    Show
    Last edited by Phoenixguard09; 2021-04-14 at 09:35 PM.
    Campaign Logs:
    Three Coins, Two Birds and a Gilded Sword: COMPLETE
    The Great Maw: NEARLY COMPLETE
    Seven Stones and a Pale Shadow: JUST BEGINNING

    Follow us on Instagram for artwork and updates:
    The Norbayne Campaign

    Exilian: A friendly place for gamers and repository of interesting content: A link to Exilian. Sign up and say hi!

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