World of Prime: Campaign Journal #1

[Yahzi Coyote]

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

That's really the only way to handle it. After all, it's a single-player encounter, similar to "The rogue goes shopping and buys some boots. Meanwhile..."

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

[Palanan]

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

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

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

[Yahzi Coyote]

I don’t think I’ve ever read a campaign journal where I wanted so much to be one of the players.

Same here. It is a truism that every DM runs the game he wishes he could play in.

I like the Greek touches for the ship’s crew and their leaders, but it reminds me that I don’t know the PC’s names.

All of the stats for the bandit gangs came from my random generator, but when I wrote them up I added the flavoring. I don't remember how those guys got Greekified.

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

I’m also interested in why Vignetta went down by her own hand—was this pride alone, or did she want to deny her tael to the party?

They still get the tael from her corpse. But I had written her up with this suicidal burning building plan, so I figured she was the kind that would not be taken alive. It was the end of the adventure and the outcome was not in doubt, so it was time to draw the curtains closed.

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

Thanks for reading!

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

[Palanan]

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

Sometimes that's all you want from a novel.

[Yahzi Coyote]

The Journey Home

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Yahzi Coyote]

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

[Elkad]

Just started reading Lake.

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

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

[Yahzi Coyote]

Edit: NVM, it's likely just a mechanic to provide the XP for the trap.

Exactly. I don't do XP for mechanical traps because of my weird tael system.

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

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

[Yahzi Coyote]

The Factory

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Endarire]

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

What happened to Wizard?

[Palanan]

Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
The Factory

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

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

And we know that’ll end well.

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

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

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

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

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

One of the best of many hilarious touches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Yahzi Coyote]

I can't post images, but I put up some maps on my blog: World of Prime: Campaign Maps.

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

Prime may inhabit a completely different cosmological scheme

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

And we know that’ll end well

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

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

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

Were you expecting this use of the machine

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

[Yahzi Coyote]

Against the Gnolls, part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Yahzi Coyote]

Against the gnolls, part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Palanan]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Elkad]

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

[Yahzi Coyote]

I’m guessing the gnoll shamans and war-leader were third or fourth level? I’d be very interested to see the composition of the gnoll squads you used, in terms of numbers and class levels.

They will all be detailed in Scorpus - The Gold Coast when I finish writing it up. Standard doctrine calls for meeting alien threats with about half your firepower, so the gnolls sent six of their 1st level shaman/ranger pairs with their 2nd in command, a 3rd level ranger. The other gnolls were just common soldiers organized into squads of 5.

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

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

It was planned. I don't change encounters based on what the party does (well... not much). But in D&D, spacing out your battles is a good plan, because it burns off spells.

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

It's actually written up to work that way in my Explorers of Prime, so I was happy to see it come into play.

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

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

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

Elkad is correct; this is the rate established by the DMG.

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

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

[Yahzi Coyote]

Against the gnolls, part 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Palanan]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Yahzi Coyote]

this one must have felt a little chancy at times.

The druid was quite freaked out about losing spell-casting, but actually, it was never quite as threatening as some of their other fights.

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

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

What spell is this?

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

What level was he?

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

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

It was really just "What do you want me to write up next?"

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

[Yahzi Coyote]

Against the goblins, part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On the other front the bard has gotten off a Sonic Shout, which is enough to finally bring down the last ogre. The Director, blind as he is, nevertheless dashes into the woods and tries to hide. The cleric and bard pursue, but even with a huge penalty, the goblin manages to elude them. He is a high-level rogue, after all.

But the cleric has been spending his skill points wisely, and on the second round of searching he overcomes the increasingly bad odds to stumble across the Director hiding under a log. Quickly he and the bard finish the goblin off before it can pull some other clever trick.

The barbarian is healed enough to become ambulatory (fortunately he made his save to stop bleeding, as no one was able to render him aid for several rounds), but the party is very low on magic and vitality. They move to a new camp and luckily there are no more goblin patrols that night. In the morning they consider whether they should stay and screen their hobgoblin hunting archers for more days, or just run now while the running is good. After all, they've scored thousands of tael and even some decent magic from the goblins; the barbarian appropriates the Director's magic rapier for his collection, while the ranger acquires Gloves of Dexterity +2. That leaves only a suit of magical studded leather, which no one in the party wants (it's worse than their magical chain mail). On a whim they give it to their brave nameless NPC guide, for whom it is truly a magnificent gift.

They choose to run, knowing that whatever force the goblins send after them next will likely be twice as bad as the last one. On their way out they run across their hobgoblin hunting yeomen and convince them to flee as well, relating the sad news that the men's lord is dead.

Back in Flefliquelp they discover their popularity has suffered. They are now associated with a failed campaign, and worse, the government has lost a Count and all of his retinue. This is a serious blow. The bard mitigates the damage somewhat by composing a song that makes it clear the goblins also lost the equivalent of a count; and their generosity to the un-ranked soldier does not go unnoticed by the common people. Reports of the dragon, however, are met with a shrug; everyone knew that was a possibility, which is why nobody marches armies around: it tends to attract the dragon. The bard, realizing that no one bothered to tell them about the dragon, immediately wonders if they were supposed to be the dragon-bait.

Briefly they debate cashing in their chips and returning home, but the ranger is keen on revenge. Goblins are among his favored enemies now and he longs to see their city in flames. The wizard is deeply intrigued by the dragon; he seems to have a developed passion for discovering artifacts or other ancient magic treasures, and a dragon seems like a likely place to start. Eventually they talk themselves into another try at the city of Iryrr. But they know they can't go alone.

So now the bard is researching the local lords, looking for who else they can rope into an assault on the city. They have damaged its forces; if they strike soon, the goblins won't have time to recover. If he can turn the misery of failure into a longing for fiery revenge, perhaps the party can add "sacking a goblin city" to their list of bloody accomplishments.

[Yahzi Coyote]

Weekend at Phorcys

(This recap will be a spoiler for the adventure Weekend at Phorcys, available on DriveThruRPG for free).

After diligent investigation, involving drinking in many different taverns, the bard has uncovered two different paths to striking back at the goblins.

The Path of Night

The rogue Esyllt knows a secret entrance into a goblin keep; not the one they’ve just returned from, but its neighbor. If they can get to the city walls, she will lead them past all the common soldiers and into the keep itself, where they can face principals directly with only their personal guards. Though it won’t be as profitable as sacking the whole town but it will yield tael and magic items. Esyllt will provide guidance and invisibility potions in exchange for 1/3 of the treasure.

The Path of War

The bard Alys has heard rumors of an ancient and evil underwater temple not too far to the east. They may possess a sacred spice that, when burned while praying, causes a cleric's spells to operate at the fullest possible effect. If the Vicar Neve had this item, she believes she could actually turn the dragon and force it to flee (as a priestess of Earth, she can turn or destroy creatures of Air). With this protection, the queen would surely authorize a military mission to destroy the already weakened goblin district. The local heroes have not investigated this temple, as they are all archers and fighting underwater is not ideal for them. Alys will provide water-breathing options at normal price, but otherwise the party is on its own.



The party chooses war, apparently because they are just that keen on burning down an entire goblin city.

So it’s back up river to their boat, where they roust their sailors from seedy taverns and inns and set sail back to the east. There is some trepidation when they realize it’s the same area they saw the siren sunning on a rock, but they find the beach described by Alys (who got her information from a ship-wrecked fisherman). They did not like the price tag on her potions, instead choosing to rely on their own spells. The druid casts water-breathing on everyone and turns himself into an octopus, and they trudge under the sea, looking for a glimpse of lights that cannot be seen from the surface.

What they find astounds them: an entire Greek-style temple lit by torches and occupied by handsome young men and women in green togas lies at the bottom of the ocean. Seeing their friendly faces the bard dashes forward and begs for aid, as he can tell his water-breathing spell is about to expire.

A handsome man in a gold and pearl crown parts the crowed and says, “Come,” striding into the temple. The bard follows him into a small room with a font and a stone button. Pressing the button releases a fragrant green gas that suffuses through the water, and suddenly the bard can breathe again. The rest of the party follows (the druid turning human again now that there is air on offer) and the master of the house belatedly makes introductions.

“I am Phorcys, a minor demigod of the sea. You are welcome in my domain as long as your intentions are peaceful.”

He explains that the gas will only last for three hours, and shows them how to activate it when they need a refresher. Then lunch is served, sea plants and sushi. Afterwards everyone retires to the main room to dance.

The cleric declines a dance partner and engages Phorcys in conversation, mentioning that their gratitude for his hospitality and asking if there is anything they can do in return. As it turns out, a hideous monster has laired in a cave that overlooks a certain sea-flower that the temple denizens like. If the party could dispatch the beast, Phorcys would be happy to supply them with some of his special spice.

The lair is a long walk away, so Phorcys summons up some sea-bass outfitted with harnesses. The party tops up on green gas and sets off, riding their underwater mounts and traveling at great speed. They reach the lair in an hour and twenty minutes, leaving them a good twenty minutes of fighting time with still enough air to get back to the temple.

But the entrance of the cave is guarded by two huge sharks. The party attempts to advance through them without trouble but the creatures dive in for a bite. The druid gets stuck in a shark’s mouth and takes a terrible beating until in desperation he turns himself invisible to animals. The creature lets him go, confused, and turns to bite the cleric before eventually succumbing to the combined efforts of the party. The other shark, meanwhile, has been long-speared by the barbarian, who is making good use of his portable armory (fighting underwater imposes penalties on slashing and bludgeoning damage).

At some point in the fight they try to distract the sharks, only succeeding in driving one into their herd of sea-bass mounts which immediately scatter. The party doesn’t take much notice of this detail and head into the cave to find the true monster.

Once there the wizard immediately spots the hidden treasure, proving his high Appraise skill was definitely an in-character choice. Before they can evaluate it, however, the bard is snatched up by the octopus hidden on the ground and dragged deeper into the cave.

A pretty epic battle occurs, with the bard actually winning a grapple check to escape before the octopus can constrict him to death and the mass of tentacles applying a serious beat-down to the barbarian. Eventually, though, the creature has to think of defence, and it emits a cloud of ink.

The barbarian has been so badly mauled that even after being healed he is reluctant to wade into the darkness and finish the creature off. The ranger is shooting blindly into the ink cloud under the delusion he can actually hit something he can’t even see, until the bard convinces the barbarian to charge by charging in first. They find the beast and attack it with gusto, unaware that a stray arrow from the ranger actually found its mark several rounds ago.

The treasure turns out to be a pouch from a long-dead adventurer, with some gold, a few jewels, and a much-appreciated potion of water-breathing. Between that and the rest of the cleric’s third-rank spells they have just enough air to make the long march home, now that their sea-bass mounts have deserted them.

The people of the temple greet them warmly, though without any obvious concern over their longer-than-expected absence. In general the inhabitants of the temple seem oblivious to the hurly-burly of the outside world. And their age is problematic, as they have clearly been here a long time. Long enough to be eager to offer companionship to new-comers when the sun begins to sink. The wizard accepts a companion, though for inexplicable reasons he chooses to sleep in a storage closet instead of a sleeping chamber; the bard, keeping in form, accepts three companions, and everyone retires for the night – or rather, for the two hours our heroes need now that they are all wearing Rings of Sustenance.

Yet their sleep is troubled by a terrible nightmare, in which the temple decays into ruin and their beautiful companions rot into foul creatures of undeath. In horror they snap awake, realizing the dream has become reality!

Both the wizard and the bard win their initiative checks, allowing them to escape the clutches of the ghastly monsters next to them. (This would have gone quite poorly for the bard, outnumbered three-to-one as he was, but as usual dumb luck lets him skate out of the consequences of his ill-advised romantic decisions). They race for the main hall, shouting through the water for their fellows. The barbarian and bard get stuck in hallway, fighting a ghast; the ranger holds the entrance-way against three more. The druid, thinking ahead, runs to the small chamber where the air supply is, only to discover it now emits a foul stench.

Phorcys’ bronze throne begins to glimmer in fascinating colors, but as usual the party simply shrugs off the enemy spell. The cleric begins chanting holy words against the undead creatures, sending five running, followed by two more, and finally dusting another two. Meanwhile the bard and barbarian are still in the hallway, their battle against a lone ghast complicated by a huge shark that keeps making swim-by attacks from overhead. The temple is in fact in ruins, all of the roofs caved in and many of the walls shattered.

Phorcys appears, cursing and taunting the party. The druid, still in bear form, comes back into the hall and immediately falls prey to the hypnotic effect of the throne. This does not last, however, as the ghast that was chasing the wizard comes up behind him and attacks, breaking the spell.

The bard and barbarian defeat their ghast and decide to ignore the shark, which has so far proven unable to hit anything. They enter the main hall, shrugging off the disco lights from the throne, and now the party is all together and thinking they can probably take the remaining ghasts. Just in time for four huge tentacles to burst up through the floor.

These things hit like a ton of bricks. The ranger and wizard in particular are knocked into negatives. Only the cleric seems immune to the tentacles, which never land a sucker on him. His spells put his fallen comrades back into battle, which is good, because the handful of remaining ghasts are prowling around looking for easy prey. The wizard gets off a Magic Missile at Phorcys but then has to summon sharks to hold the ghasts off. The bear-druid tears two tentacles off and lays into Phorcys himself, only to finally realize the man is merely a projected image.

Then a cloud of ink covers the entire room, blinding the ranger, bard, and wizard. As usual the barbarian makes his save vs spell (he really is quite lucky that way) and chops off the last two tentacles.

Now things come to a bit of stand-still. Phorcys is out of tentacles, ghasts, and tricks, but the party is low on hit-points, spells, and air. A negotiation ensues. Phorcys offers to pay a ransom and to tell them where the promised incense is hidden if they agree to leave. The bard counters with a demand for his crown. After a brief bit of resistance, Phorcys agrees to take his crown off and hand it to the bard as part of the deal. Still, the party is unsure of whether to take this bargain or press on, until the druid resumes human form and tells them that the air supply is broken.

Phorcys offers to give them one more hit of the green gas, and that seals the deal. They file into the small chamber. This time the gas is foul and sickening, but it does allow them to breathe water. They search the storage room and find the incense. As they are trudging out the front door, the bard demands the crown. Phorcys rolls his eyes, takes off his crown, and hands it over – whereupon it immediately disappears, because of course it was illusion just like his body.

The party marches for two hours back to the shore, only slightly disconsolate that they received very little profit. Phorcys’ ransom is significant, but they are used to huge sums these days, and the only real treasure is the incense which they are planning on handing over to someone else. At the edge of the water they receive one more nasty surprise – they have forgotten how to breathe air!

The wizard is convinced that the effect will disappear at the same time the effect of the gas wears off. Despite a less-than-authorative spellcraft roll he convinces the rest of the party to simply wait, perhaps because they don’t really have any other options – the temple is two hours away and in any case they can’t expect to find respite there. In the end he is proved right, and they stand up in the cold dark, coughing out salty water and terrifying their poor sailors who temporarily mistook them for sea monsters.

Now they are keen to return to the Queen and make a present of the incense as the opening bid in negotiating a role in the war to come. The gravity of the situation has become clear: the human and goblin kingdoms have experienced a Pax Draconis, a peace compelled by the dragon’s tendency to eat armies. If Vicar Neve can compel it to retreat, then open war may engulf the entire domain, instead of merely low-scale raids and skirmishes. The party views this outcome with satisfaction. A blood-thirsty view, to be sure, but one no doubt shared by the human and goblin kingdoms themselves.

[Palanan]

Somehow I missed the previous recap, but as always I enjoyed reading these.

Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
…and they rapidly agree that this evidence points to the destruction of the Count's force at the hands of the dragon.

You did a nice job with that “Oh —“ moment when the party realizes the dragon took out half their supporting army.

In terms of world-building, the Director of the kleptocracy is a nice touch. Also:

Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
The Director, blind as he is, nevertheless dashes into the woods and tries to hide…. He is a high-level rogue, after all.

Out of curiosity, what level was the Director? I’m guessing seventh or eighth, going by similar encounters.

Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
The bear-druid tears two tentacles off and lays into Phorcys himself, only to finally realize the man is merely a projected image.

So what exactly was Phorcys? Not clear if he was a tentacle monster or something else.

And why, if the man-form was only a projected image, would the bard still insist on the crown, which was part of that image?

Originally Posted by Yahzi Coyote
The bard Alys has heard rumors of an ancient and evil underwater temple not too far to the east.

So if they knew from the start it was an evil underwater temple, why was everyone so eager to cozy up to the inhabitants? It seemed rather too good to be true from the very first, especially when you mentioned torches burning underwater.

[Yahzi Coyote]

In terms of world-building, the Director of the kleptocracy is a nice touch.

That's from Lords of Prime, which details several different government styles.

Out of curiosity, what level was the Director?

The Directors are only 6th level. Hopefully they'll get to fight a Vice President one-on-one, and I can see how effective I made my 8th level rogues. It's not easy; the things rogues are good at (leaping out of the shadows and murdering people) are not particularly fun for players to face.

So what exactly was Phorcys?

An Aboleth - not that the party ever figured that out. They have crazy illusion powers, so I tried to make the most of it.

And why, if the man-form was only a projected image, would the bard still insist on the crown, which was part of that image?

Most of them never quite caught on to his status as an image. The whole adventure was chock-full of illusions, and yet nobody every tried to disbelieve. So, well done, DM!

It seemed rather too good to be true from the very first...

I was also surprised at their lack of suspicion. Perhaps its because I have succeeded at getting them to view some NPCs as allies; not everything is hostile (for instance, the grigs back the Factory turned out to be good guys, and they resolved an encounter with gorillas through diplomacy). I think they thought the temple might be a way-station to the actual quest.

[remetagross]

Just chanced upon this thread and read everything from the beginning. Laughed out loud more than once from your snarky comments Very nice recountings, Yahzi

[Yahzi Coyote]

nice recountings

Thanks! I'm glad I started writing this all down two years ago.

If you want to read more of my writing, check out the Member-Produced-Commercial-Content thread in the forum.

[Palanan]

Speaking of writing it down, looking forward to the next installment.

[Yahzi Coyote]

COVID and general laziness have conspired against me. But we have another session today, so its time to put up the last session, where we used Generals of Prime to run a massive battle with reasonable success.

The Irryrian Invasion

The party returns to court and presents its present of incense. Vicar Neve is thrilled to the heavens; Queen Rian, however, plays her cards close to her chest.

Warfare in a feudal society is less a matter of state policy than of personal choices. The queen gives the party licence to recruit for their attack on the goblins, but refrains from making her own commitment until they have raised a sizable private force.

This is the Bard’s territory, and the party follows him on a whirlwind tour of the kingdom. They discover a wide range of attitudes. County Eicoarraecae is decimated, its count destroyed in the party’s last goblin adventure. However, soldiers must eat, and they like successful leaders: after all, the party returned from that foray intact. The party raises a company of yeomen and a troop of ranked marksmen as permanent household guards for only a signing bonus of 2,500 gp, the promise of 5,000 gp a year in salary and upkeep, and a standard share of the booty. Added to the sailors they already employ, the party has now crossed the threshold: they are no longer a free company, but a political entity.

However, both the free companies of the county are hard ”No’s”. Baronet Hubert, of the armored Iron Company that accompanied the late Count on that fatal venture, does not care to face the dragon again. Baronet Gabriel of the Lance Company tells them to their face that they underestimate the power of the dragon and that their mission is suicidal. But why would they listen to some small-time adventurer from distant lands with a reputation for defeating strange and powerful beasts? They shrug off his warning and move on.

Count Garth of Hoolliolae is keen; he, his personal retinue, and his company of cataphracti are all available for merely their share of the spoils. The party funds the temporary formation of another free company from the local gentry for 1,750 gp, bringing another troop of marksmen on-board complete with their own cleric.

Oorlournearsio, the swamp county they keep passing through on their way to the goblins, is regretfully unable to contribute at the moment. The Curate Siagny is struggling to hold her misfit county together as it is.

Lady Irwen, the sometimes erratic ruler of Ameappaoqua, is ambiguous. She wants to see what the queen commits before she commits her own forces, and even then she is asking for cash to get involved. The party extracts a compromise: the lady, half her retinue, and her cataphracti company will accompany them for only 1,500 gp if the queen sends at least an entire regiment. The party, concerned about raising enough force, decide to meet the Arrow Company’s signing fee of 2,000 gp, and add another free company to their coalition.

Flodaighoast gives them the cold shoulder. Curate Anna faces too many raids from the human kingdom to her west to worry about goblins. Only a substantial inducement of 2,000 gp convinces the resident free company, the Company of the Long Shaft, to join them.

With these lists of names in their hands they return to the capital. The Order of the Stag, the most powerful non-governmental body in the kingdom, meets their invitation with nothing but frowns. They cannot be swayed, and the party settles for buying the much smaller Order of the Hound for another 2,000 gp. Still worried about impressing the queen, they hand over another 4,500 gp to organize three temporary troops of ranked marksmen from the free gentry of the town, each of which comes with its own Troubadour. Lady Alys the Jongleur is waiting only for an invitation, and gladly jumps to be of service to the realm.

Now they approach the throne with only slight trepidation. Neve greets them warmly; the queen is still reserved. Yet she will not send her sister unprotected into danger. She grants them a regiment, a third of her entire army. Four companies of yeomen, one company of dragoons, and two troops of marksmen.

However, she extracts a promise: after the goblins are reduced, the party will undertake to retrieve the Helm of Brilliance for her realm. The party is uncertain as to how this can be accomplished, but they want her troops too much to say no.

She also makes it clear that the party is to return with Neve, or not at all.

The party has now invested a vast sum into making this happen, for which they get only their fair share of the spoils. Still, they have traded gold for the chance of tael, and that is the engine which drives the lives of the ranked. They set forth with banners flying, as a substantial portion of the power of the realm falls in behind them.

The march south is uneventful; the way is well-known and the goblin patrols have already been smashed once. On the morning of battle, when the next advance will bring the army to close with the goblin city, the dragon appears in the sky, glowing more golden than the sunrise.

Neve stands in the saddle, refulgent with the power of the incense, and chants with the confidence of conviction. The dragon draws close; the party is granted their first proper look at the creature. And that look shakes them to their bones. In a flash of inspiration the Cleric realizes that Neve is completely insane; her paltry rank cannot possibly compel a monster of this power. (I made the Cleric look up the rules for turning while the Bard made a roll to determine the dragon’s CR. The party immediately began casting every spell they could think of to boost her chances, but even that was not enough).

The party looks left and right, but there is nowhere to hide. Flight is not possible from the flying freight train bearing down on them. Neve chants louder, still unconcerned; the army holds its collective breath; and then… the dragon turns away.

As it flies south, out of sight, the army leaps to its feet. Divine providence has blessed their cause and they press on with bloodlust heightened to a burning edge. Only the party looks at each other, wondering what has just transpired; only they seem aware that the dragon chose to withdraw for reasons unknown but undoubtedly nefarious.

The ensuing battle is somewhat anticlimactic. The party has brought overwhelming force against the depleted goblins, including two land-holders whose retinues include healers and are therefore nigh-indestructible. The army’s advance is contested but never truly in doubt. Even the trolls cannot inflict much damage before the Barbarian knocks them down.

At the gates of the city the goblins mount a desperate defense. The Barbarian, eager as always, scrambles over the walls and attempts to engage an entire company of spearmen single-handedly. This appears to be the limit of his abilities, as they stab him to the ground with a hundred thrusts. Fortunately Count Garth is unwilling to cede all the glory, and his troop smashes through the gates and captures the city. The party finds the Barbarian, unconscious but fortunately not in danger of bleeding out, lying in the rubble.

The common troops rampage through the city, killing everything that breathes. Even the goblin’s horses are destroyed, as they are unmanageable by human hands. The high lords gather in the goblin keep and oversee the collection of treasure.

The other lords look to the party for guidance, as this is their operation. The party decides to occupy the city for at least nine more days while the yeoman hunt hobgoblins in the forest, yielding sizeable portions of tael. After that their food will run out, and they are not willing to chance goblin fodder. The retreat home, like the march here, will require no rations, as the army is almost entirely composed of huntsmen who can forage with ease in the wild; but the goblins have long since hunted their own lands into depletion.

[Yahzi Coyote]

After the War Began

The losses from the war are light; only 58 men are dead, due largely to the considerable amount of healing power in the army. The next day the common and low-ranked bowmen rush out to the woods to hunt hobgoblins while the high lords convene to talk strategy.

A pair of knights ride into camp. The queen has sent couriers to bring back a report from the front. The knights are pleased to see that all is well. Before they depart they drop off a welcome addition: the party’s Wizard, keen to rejoin his comrades in the field.

The party decides to send out scouts to the west and south, looking to get a lay of the land. After four days the scouts from the south return to report nothing of interest; hobgoblin villages stretch on for another ten miles but after that is only wilderness.

The scouts from the west, however, report nothing, because they do not return.

The party considers sending Count Garth to scout, but decide that they should go themselves. They follow the river west a single day before encountering goblin forces in the form of four ogres and two trolls.

The party opens with the usual Entangle, immobilizing half the enemy. One troll charges up to the Barbarian and lays into him with a full attack. Another crawls out of the entangle and tries to close, along with one the ogres.

The Ranger finds himself fencing with a troll, not losing but not winning either. The Wizard sends a swarm against an entangled ogre… only to see it foiled by magical protection. The Druid summons lighting, the Bard begins to sing, and the Cleric calls forth a spiritual hammer.

All of this is wholly inadequate preparation for the fight to come. As the monsters close, the Wizard ups his game, fireballing a troll, an ogre, and the rogue swarm that is now seeking something it can feed on. The Ranger tries another entangle, trapping one ogre that had gotten free, but leaving him still facing a troll. The others make largely ineffective attacks, though a lightening bolt finishes off one ogre.

Meanwhile, hidden assassins keep shooting heavy crossbow bolts. While the damage isn’t terribly threatening, the constant saves vs. poison are beginning to be a problem.

Then the troll tears into the Barbarian with both claws, then leaping into the air to rake with his rear claws again. The Barbarian goes down hard. A single point more and he would be dead! The Bard, the only one close enough, dashes in to heal the Barbarian with potions. The troll batters at him but somehow only lands a lame bite. The Bard uses another potion to bring the Barbarian back to consciousness (though he wisely pretends to still be incapacitated), but then the troll lands a brutal claw and tears his throat out. The Bard is dead!

The Druid has turned into a bear; the troll leaves its fallen foes and rushes to attack something worthy of its claws. The Bard, no longer the direct target of the fearsome beast, stops playing dead and protects himself with mirror images. (I made all the other players make a Will save, and when they all failed, told them the Bard was dead. A few of them were even fooled briefly.)

The Bear-ized Druid and the troll are a fair match for each other. Meanwhile the Ranger is still fighting his troll. The Wizard pauses to detect magic, having realized that the creatures are protected from both summons and fire. The Cleric dispels all of the spells on one of the assassins and gets shot for his trouble. He decides to deal with the poison before it leaves him paralysed.

The Wizard then dispels the troll’s protections, allowing the Cleric to summon a celestial hippogriff to finish it off. The Druid-bear charges to engage the remaining troll and ogre and engages them in battle. The two goblin assassins, seeing how the fight must end, order the last ogre to cover their retreat and disappear into the wilderness.

This was an epic battle, with everyone damaged and over half the party in single-digit hit-points. The trolls in particular were very dynamic, either doing minimal bite damage or landing massive amounts of claw and rend damage. And of course the Barbarian’s Greek Fire grenades were desperately necessary to keep the trolls down. The ogres were so heavily armored that magic was almost the only effective way to deal with them.

Battered, bruised, and spell-less, the party cuts their recon short and return to the army. Their sorry state causes some concern, and they decide to end the mission. But in the morning the Druid notes that only four more days of hobgoblin hunting will see yet another member of their party gaining a rank (three have already gone up from the previous battle), so they choose to stay.

It is a fateful decision, because the goblin assault lands on the 8th day. Over four hundred goblins besiege the keep. The humans decide that time is not on their side, and immediately try to break through. The party, along with the free companies, takes the lead, while the Vicar Neve and her royals are in the van, with the other land-holders bringing up the rear. (This was mostly so we could reduce the battle to just a few units, since we were back on Roll20 instead of staring over a huge map in person.)

The battle is lopsided, though. The Wizard ignores the threat of arrows and fireballs the goblin archer units into oblivion. After he kills each one, the others manage to drop him with long-range indirect fire, only to see the Cleric patch him up again so he can kill the next company.

The bugbear knights prove rather hardier, and once they engage the free companies in melee begin to do serious damage. The free companies are all archer units and are heavily outclassed by heavy cavalry. Meanwhile, the bugbears prove they can even pound the Barbarian into negative hit-points. It begins to look almost like a fight, but the Cleric’s healing pulls the Arrow Free company out of a steep dive and the dice finally break our hero’s way. Entangle and spiky roots dominate the battlefield, preventing the hobgoblin hordes from being a threat.

They continue their retreat to the capital, not desiring to see if the goblins have any more attacks planned. But the further the army gets from the battlefield, the less they fear retribution and the more they desire another victorious slaughter. By the time the army presents itself to the Queen, it is already eager to return to the field.

The Queen reminds the party of their promise. She points out that sacking goblin cities would be a lot easier with a Helm of Brilliance on their side. She also notes that there are three goblin kingdoms, just like there are three human ones; if the human realm could unite under a single throne then they could strike with the force of three against each of the goblins in turn. And if Queen Rian gained the helm, along with her sister’s apparent command of the dragon, it would not be long before every human knee was bent to her.

The party must now decide if they want to pursue diplomacy and intrigue, or return to the bloody battlefield. They could also choose a stealthy strike mission into goblin lands, as the rogue Eslyt’s offer to sneak them into a goblin court still stands.

While the Druid surprisingly has had enough of blood for the moment, the party can’t help but notice that however unwieldy, expensive, and time-consuming armies are, their actions yield staggering amounts of tael. All but one of them has reached 6th rank from this war, and it has only begun. Even if they decide to pursue the helm, it will only be a stepping stone to more war.

[Yahzi Coyote]

The Heist: Part 1

The party considers their new mission with trepidation: steal a magic item without killing anyone. This is far outside their normal operating method. However, they are all ready for a respite from the chaos of the battlefield. Well, perhaps not all; the Barbarian asks if maybe they can just kill a little bit.

After considerable discussion, the party decides to disguise themselves as merchants. They spend 2,000 gp on silk (Eslyt arranges the purchase in her name and has the crates transported to their boat in the dark of night, to foil any Arkooian spies). The Druid recommends investing in a few other trinkets like a merchant’s scale and yardstick, and they all get enough training from a local merchant to be able to pass at least a cursory question or two. They spend another 2,000 gp on healing potions and spider climb potions, apparently expecting to drop down from the ceiling like a heist movie.

The voyage is calm and undisturbed (the GM didn’t want to roll for random encounters) and after a week they hail around the coast and land on Arkoommeamn soil. The Bard easily talks his way past the port authorities, presenting the party as simple merchants. The fact that they are heavily armed is not at all surprising, since the merchant trade is perilously close to adventuring.

After hiring a cart and loading up their crates of silk, they travel through a small county and into the capital. The city is well patrolled; the guards on the gatehouse in the stone wall look in their crates and hand them a small card with the local rules printed on it: no nudity, no pearls on commoners, and trial by combat is a legal right. The town has wide roads, fit for horsemen, and a solid castle in the center. The party trundles right up to the drawbridge, past a troop of pikemen, and attempts to talk their way through the knights on gate duty.

“Do you have a trading license?” a knight asks.

The Bard notes that this is not on the rules card.

“It’s not a bloody law book, is it?” the knight answers. “Come back on market day and maybe you’ll have a better chance.”

After learning that market day is four days off, they search out accommodations and are quickly referred to the Golden Wing Inn. The inn specializes in a chicken dish that is drenched in saffron to give it a unique golden color. The effect on the flavor is not entirely felicitous but the dish remains a staple of local culture.

The proprietoress, Gizela, is also a bard of some skill. She takes an interest in her latest customers and their foreign accents. A brief bard-off ensues, where the Bard totally gets the better of the innkeeper, and the information only flows one way. The party sells their cover as merchants while discovering that the only person in the castle who would be interested in their silks is… the Countess Malgorzata.

Gizela goes so far as to suggest she will introduce them to the local merchant house where they can acquire a trading license. She buys them a round and the party relaxes a bit. Meanwhile she flirts with the Barbarian, and soon sends him up to his room to fetch a trophy from one of his many adventures. Upon entering he discovers a burglar rifling through their things.

“Excuse me,” he says, “but that’s mine.”

“Oh, sorry,” says the burglar. “Here you go,” and grabbing a random weapon out of the Barbarian’s sack, stabs him with it.

The weapon is +1 rapier. The Barbarian is sixth rank. The stab barely annoys him; he pummels the burglar into unconsciousness in a single round, then grabs his bag in one hand and the burglar in another, and drags the man down the stairs. By the time they reach the ground floor the burglar is a bad way; the Druid crouches at his side and begins to tend his wounds while Gizela apologizes profusely.

It is terribly embarrassing for an innkeeper to have her guests burgled. “I put out traps and everything,” she says, “but you know how it is.” In recompense she comps them their rooms and meals, and then asks… “So what are you going to do with him?”

“What do you normally do with burglars?” the Cleric asks.

“We stab them,” she answers. The Barbarian perks up at this and starts searching his bag for a knife. Meanwhile the Druid has restored the wounded man to consciousness and is helping him to the door. “Although usually, we stab them while they’re actually in the act, not five minutes later in a different room on a different floor,” Gizela continues, frowning at the Druid.

“Can I demand trial-by-combat?” the Barbarian asks.

“You could,” she replies, “although that seems a bit predictable.” Then she is hit with an idea. “How many times did you hit him?”

“Well, twice,” the Barbarian admits.

She runs a hand across his rippling muscles. “That means he must be ranked; no common man could stand a single blow from such an arm. So… you could duel him!” Gizela makes a compelling case, and soon the Barbarian has agreed to a duel under unusual terms: the Barbarian will be unarmed and unarmoured, while the burglar will have the purloined rapier. The duel will be fought the next night, on the inn stage, as an entertainment.

Gizela has her men throw the burglar into a room to heal up, and begins plying the Barbarian with alcohol and compliments. She keeps him up all night, and starts in again the very next morning, clearly intending to send the Barbarian into the ring exhausted and drunk. This is, after all, the only way to make the fight even remotely interesting.

The rest of the party shakes their head but decides to use the event as cover while they snoop around town. The Bard trawls through town looking for rumors and eventually discovers that the Countess Malgorzata will be traveling out of town just after market day, to visit her sister in another county. He also arranges for a trading license from House Staszewski, but rather than pay the 100 gp fee offers a bit of betting advice: the Barbarian, regardless of odds. The merchant brothers Fortunat and Eryk are men of swords and action themselves, so they agree to terms. They will attend the fight and bet on the Barbarian. If he wins, the party gets their trading license for free; if he loses, they will pay double.

That night a drunk and staggered Barbarian takes the stage with a healed and clearly hopped up on alchemy burglar. The rogue wins initiative, stabbing the Barbarian for what would be serious damage to an ordinary man but is barely a scratch for him. The Barbarian responds with a flurry of fists, but his impaired state means he misses half the time.

The next round the poison kicks in. The Barbarian for once fails to shrug it off and suffers the maximum penalty, losing 6 points of DEX. Another result like that will see him paralysed! He flies into a rage, knowing that in his weakened state he will simply collapse into unconsciousness when the rage ends. The fight lasts all of five rounds before the Barbarian beats down the rogue, taking only minimal damage as the rogue fails to land any critical hits or sneak attack damage.

At the conclusion of the fight, surrounded by a madly cheering crowd, drunk, exhausted, and poisoned, the Barbarian gives into his rage and beats the rogue to death before passing out.

While this violence disturbs the party, it wins Gizela’s approval. She takes the rest of the party aside and makes them an astounding offer: a huge bounty of gold for every witch they slay. The astounding part is that it is exactly the same offer the shadowy rogue Esyllt made them back in Flefliequelp.

The Druid had already been forced to sell a little tael for pocket money, and had discovered that tael also sold for more than normal here as well. This cannot be a coincidence. Something odd is going on throughout the entire domain.

Gizela’s motive is clear enough; she wants to weaken the local government so she can take its place. But who could want the helm neutralized through such violent means and with such a wealth to pay for it? The party can tell Gizela does not have the money just lying around, though she adamantly will not reveal where it might come from.

Somewhat disconcertingly, the allegedly Team Good party spends a considerable time considering the murder-for-hire proposition. But on market day they take their silk to the castle and are reminded of their real quest.

Their trading license gets them onto the castle grounds, and soon the Countess comes down to inspect their wares. She is accompanied by four knights, a baronet, and two lady’s maids. The cleric notices that one of the guards is carrying a finely made wooden box, but astonishingly fails to draw the obvious inference. Fortunately the bard picks up the thread; while haggling over the price of their silk he asks the lady if she might have other rare goods to trade instead of coin, a perfectly legitimate question coming from a merchant. She laughs and answers, “Well, yes, and also no,” with a glance towards the box. The rest of the party notices that said box is exactly large enough to hold a helmet.

In a fit of inspiration the bard trades their 2,000 gp of silk for 1,000 gp and an invitation to dinner at the court, allegedly in the hopes of making a good impression on the king for the sake of future business.

That night they return to the castle for a sumptuous meal. The King is friendly enough, asking them about their travels, and is taken by the Bard’s recounting of their adventures in the City of Tomorrow, though he clearly doesn’t believe it. Meanwhile the Ranger has been trying to get the guard holding the box drunk, the Druid is trying to talk finance with the Master of Coin, and the Barbarian has challenged the King to an arm-wrestling match (which, much to his surprise, the Barbarian loses).

The Bard takes this opportunity to fascinate the rest of the King’s retinue, Master Rafal, Countess Fabolia, and Malgorzata. Only the witch fails her save and sits enraptured with his music, but this is good enough: he works in a suggestion that she should show them the Helm, as he greatly desires to look on an object of such beauty and power.

The wizard Rafal perhaps notices this use of spell power, but as it is so mundane in its request he cannot be certain. Malgorzata smiles and casually reaches out to the guard standing behind her with the box; he tries to stop her but has the box in one hand and the Ranger’s mug of ale in the other. She opens the box and pulls out the Helm and places it on her head.

The entire room pauses in appreciation; the Helm is indeed beautiful, studded with diamonds and rubies and opals in a frame of red and yellow gold. But is the sheer staggering power it represents that takes the breath away.

The Cleric, who had been observing quietly in the background, makes a holy gesture in appreciation and smoothly works in a Detect Magic spell. He discovers the Helm indeed is magical, and also that the box all but screams “trapped!”

This is enough for the party; they have found what they came to find. They retire for the night and immediately begin making plans to carjack the Countess on the road. They watch her ride out with a troop of knights and know that they have six days to plan an ambush. The party follows her road until they find a spot far from any village or other habitation.

The Druid, upon discovering the sorry state of the local vegetation (the GM’s attempt to weaken the overpowering Entangle spell), spends his time casting Plant Growth until he has a battlefield full of weeds. He also turns the hard packed dirt road into a soggy mud pit. The Barbarian kicks a wheel off their cart and the Bard makes camp a short distance away. Then they wait.

The column of horses eventually returns, but stops a distance off. Three men ride forward and their leader, a Baronet, issues a command. “Get that cart off the road or lose it.”

“We’re working as fast as we can,” says the Ranger.

The Bard ventures a question. “Is the Countess Malgorzata in your train?”

“Why would you ask,” the Baronet replies, “and why would I tell you?” He reaches for his sword.

“We’re friends of hers,” the Bard hastily explains with enough grace that the Baronet pauses.

“Your name,” he demands, and when supplied, shouts it back to the column.

“Yes, I know the man,” comes the Countess’ reply.

The Baronet decides not to murder the Bard and instead sends five of his men to dismount and help move the cart. This turns out to be surprisingly difficult as the party is actually trying to keep the cart on the road while the knights are trying to push it off.

Meanwhile the Bard slips back to where he can see the lady. “I apologize for the delay,” he says, “would you like a cup of tea while we wait?”

The Countess seems willing but the Captain at her side grunts, “No, she would not.”

“Well,” the Bard says, “might I counsel you to ride around? The road has gone to mud and I would not see your clothing stained.”

Again the Countess starts to agree, but her keeper grows even surlier. “No.”

The cart is almost clear; in desperation the Bard asks, “Then may I play you off, as a token of gratitude for your help?”

This time the Countess answers before her guard can. “That would nice.”

Once armed with song, the Bard quickly enraptures the Captain, the Countess, and the knight holding the box. He works in a suggestion: “Perhaps you would spare your horses the danger of an uneven road.” This time it works; the Captain nods absently while staring at his horse. Just as the knights remount after moving the cart, the Captain waves them all off the road and around it.

Of course it is a trap. As the column rides past the Bard he snatches the box from the still-befuddled knight, and the Druid and Ranger entangle the mounted column in writhing over-grown weeds.

The Baronet breaks free, as do four other knights down the column. The Cleric and Barbarian race to their horses and mount, leading the other’s horses back to where the Druid and Ranger are casting spells. The Druid casts another entangle, trapping one of the free knights, but the other three break free again although now they are quite a distance away.

The Baronet looks over his shoulder at the disaster and… spurs his horse to the west, in full flight. “A message for the King!” he shouts as he flees. The Ranger leaps into the saddle and gives chase, his lighter and faster horse hopefully a match for the Baronet’s heavy destrier. The Druid and Bard reach their horses and mount up, but can see the three knights coming back at them with lowered lances. Meanwhile the rest of the column has dismounted and is cutting their way out of the grass, a slow but steady process.

And the Countess Malgorzata stands in her stirrups and cries out. “I counted you friends!” Her red hair billows out around her, charged with magic. She may not have the Helm but she is still a pyromancer of not inconsiderable power.

The party is in the soup: split, flanked, and in the crosshairs of a fire-witch. Not a good situation, but not exactly a new one either.