Wrath of the Righteous (Inactive)

Game Master Daxter

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GM Dot

Liberty's Edge

.

Grand Lodge

Male Human Father 6 / Tinkerer 3 / Aspiring Polymath 1

Righteous dot?


Male Human Suel Arcane Duelist 1

d.o.t


Male Hobgoblin Monk (Ironskin Monk) 15 / Champion (Mythic 7) l HP: 110/206 l AC: 33 [T: 20, FF: 28] l Fort: +25, Ref: +19, Will: +17 (+19 v Enchantments) l Init: +12 l Per: +20 l DR: 4/- l Ki: 9/9 l MP: 13/17

Viva Namaris!


Female Human Paladin (Holy Tactician) 14 [ HP 137/140 (0 NL) | AC 35 Tch 18 FF 30 | Fort +18 Ref +16 Will +20 | CMD 37 | Init +10 | Perc +12 | 13/13 LoH | 12/15 Mythic | Effects: 1 str damage, 6 cha damage ]

ledot.


Male worg 5 [ HP 63/63 (0 NL) | AC 18 Tch 12 FF 17 | Fort +8 Ref +6 Will +5* | CMD 25* | Init +1 | Perc +8 | Effects: none ]

Dot 2.0


Div-Spawn Ninja 3 HP: 27/27; AC: 18, T: 13, FF: 15; Fort: +3, Ref: +6, Will: +2; Init: +5, Perception +6

Woof dot


Frekhi Introduction:
You are in a dark place. Your head throbs with thunderous headaches. Your ears ring, and you are having trouble breathing. After a few moments, the sounds of rocks clattering, coughing, and moans of pain, as well as the choking smell of dust, become apparent as their senses seem to return, but it remains pitch black. As your eyes adjust, you are covered in dirt and filth. Your arms and legs are bound, wrapped in masterwork manacles. You seem to be in a large underground cavern, one wall of which is an enormous mound of rubble. The air is filled with dust, and now and then small rockslides of gravel tumble down the mound.

As your headache begins to clear, your memories of what happened moments go flood back. You were only trying to keep to yourself, living off the land, always on the run. Keeping to yourself didn’t stop people from running from you when they saw you, or crying out “Demon!” when they had nowhere to go. The knights of Mendev never stopped searching for that rogue wolfish demon running around. Only the fact that they discovered you were no demon nor have you ever taken a humanoid life spared you from the sword.

Bound in chains, you were sent to Kenabres, a large walled city near where you were caught. You were on your way to the prison just when Armasse officially began at noon, with the blessing of the festival by Lord Huirun himself, ruler of Kenabres. The crowd gathered in
Clydwell Plaza quieted as the aged inquisitor took t he stage, clad in shining, resplendent armor. He cleared his throat, but just as he was about to speak, a bright light shone from the west, as if the sun were rising from the wrong direction. Hulrun’s shadow fell huge and distorted across the cathedral’s façade. A moment later, the sound of a thunderous explosion ripped through the air and earth, along with a violent tremor.

To the west, the fortress known as the Kite – the location of Kenabres’s wardstone-had vanished. In its place, a brilliant plume of red fire, lightning, and smoke erupted into the heavens.
A moment later, a powerful roar accompanied a welcome sight rising from the crowd – Kenabres’s greatest guardian, the ancient silver dragon Terendelev, who had until that moment been attending the opening ceremony disguised as a human. Above, another form appeared, as nightmarish as the dragon was breathtaking. A humanoid shape three times the size of any man, with skin coated in fire and lightning, gripped a flaming sword and whip. The creature’s identity was immediately obvious: Khorramzadeh, the Storm King of the Worldwound, had come to Kenabres!

As the ground continued to shake and disgorge demons into the streets, the dragon and the balor lord clashed above. The fight was over in a few harrowing moments, as the balor cut deep into Terendelv’s body, swooping down to strike the dragon and arresting her charge. A few more blows, and the titanic duo spiraled downward toward the ground.
The sight of the dragon smashing into the façade of the Cathedral of St. Clydwell is one no witness would ever forget. At that moment, a titanic demon erupted at the far end of the plaza, reducing several building to ruins as it smashed into this world. The rift created shot across the plaza, and this time there was no escape – it opened below your feet, angling away into darkness.

Even as you fell, the dragon noticed your plight. Though she saw death standing over her, she seized this final chance to save a few more souls. After she uttered a few arcane words and stretched out a bleeding talon, you felt her magic take hold of you, slowing your plummet into the darkness as if you were feathers falling into a pit. Yet the fall remained as inexorable, and as you drifted downward into the depths, the last thing you saw was the Storm King standing before the ancient silver dragon, his sword lashing out and cleaving full through her neck. As her severed head fell, the rift above you slammed shut, and the light of the world above was gone.

Bright light suddenly floods your eyes. A human woman sitting on the floor has just lighted a torch and is now looking around the cave. She has a scar on her face and is fairly well armed. Her experienced eyes show pain and determination, even though her leg is bent in an unnatural angle.

Directly next to you is your fellow prisoner, a massively built man with a physique that makes his shoanti blood clearly visible. However, his ears are slightly pointed, and his brow is just a little heavier than fits his face. A long dark braided mane trails past broad shoulders and down his wide back. His facial hair is similarly dressed.

Nearby is another person of elven stock with long silver hair cascading down his back. He is dressed in a dark furs still feeling around blindly looking for his staff despite the light. He finds it, and mutters a few arcane words. Light begins to illuminate from the tip of his staff, but he still can’t see. His face and hair is covered in blood. A closer examination shows that his eyes have been completely destroyed. He brings his hands to his destroyed eyes, realizes what has happened, and wails in despair.

A moan from nearby you catches your attention. A middle aged slightly obese man seems to be, clutching his head, dazed. He is wearing very expensive and colorful clothes, though they are dirty from the filth and blood from the cave.

Picking himself up from some rubble is what appears to be a hobgoblin. Tall, for a hobgoblin, and well muscled -- he is a mixture of orcish and hobgoblin features that are almost but not quite attractive to the majority of human sensibilities. He does however appear rather striking. His black gaze is intense and his powerful facial features are finely carved.

Another elf, this one with hair as white as snow and skin to match, moans and begins to dust himself off. Dressed in simple traveler’s clothes and wearing white studded leather armor, he stares around the cavern with his blue, almost violet eyes.

The last one to start moving, just now sitting up and clutching her head, is a young human female. She is wearing a hide shirt and carrying a bow on her body. A guisarme as well as Numerous arrows are on the floor around her, her 4 empty quivers indicating they came from her. You guess she is about 5 ft tall. She possesses thick, corded muscles and a swarthy complexion uncommon on humans.

The gear that was taken from you when you were captured now lies on the crashed wagon a few feet from you, the horses and the guards that held you prisoner dead from the fall.


Na'shok's Introduction:
You are in a dark place. Your head throbs with thunderous headaches. Your ears ring, and you are having trouble breathing. After a few moments, the sounds of rocks clattering, coughing, and moans of pain, as well as the choking smell of dust, become apparent as their senses seem to return, but it remains pitch black. As your eyes adjust, you are covered in dirt and filth. Your arms and legs are bound, wrapped in masterwork manacles. You seem to be in a large underground cavern, one wall of which is an enormous mound of rubble. The air is filled with dust, and now and then small rockslides of gravel tumble down the mound.

As your headache begins to clear, your memories of what happened moments go flood back. You were out seeking revenge against those demon worshiping cultists when you encountered a small party of paladins. They viciously butchered your demon, and quickly subdued you, taking your weapons, your armor, your equipment, and destroying the spell components you used to summon your demon.

Bound in chains, you were sent to Kenabres, a large walled city near where you were caught. You were on your way to the prison just when Armasse officially began at noon, with the blessing of the festival by Lord Huirun himself, ruler of Kenabres. The crowd gathered in Clydwell Plaza quieted as the aged inquisitor took t he stage, clad in shining, resplendent armor. He cleared his throat, but just as he was about to speak, a bright light shone from the west, as if the sun were rising from the wrong direction. Hulrun’s shadow fell huge and distorted across the cathedral’s façade. A moment later, the sound of a thunderous explosion ripped through the air and earth, along with a violent tremor.

To the west, the fortress known as the Kite – the location of Kenabres’s wardstone-had vanished. In its place, a brilliant plume of red fire, lightning, and smoke erupted into the heavens.

A moment later, a powerful roar accompanied a welcome sight rising from the crowd – Kenabres’s greatest guardian, the ancient silver dragon Terendelev, who had until that moment been attending the opening ceremony disguised as a human. Above, another form appeared, as nightmarish as the dragon was breathtaking. A humanoid shape three times the size of any man, with skin coated in fire and lightning, gripped a flaming sword and whip. The creature’s identity was immediately obvious: Khorramzadeh, the Storm King of the Worldwound, had come to Kenabres!

As the ground continued to shake and disgorge demons into the streets, the dragon and the balor lord clashed above. The fight was over in a few harrowing moments, as the balor cut deep into Terendelv’s body, swooping down to strike the dragon and arresting her charge. A few more blows, and the titanic duo spiraled downward toward the ground.

The sight of the dragon smashing into the façade of the Cathedral of St. Clydwell is one no witness would ever forget. At that moment, a titanic demon erupted at the far end of the plaza, reducing several building to ruins as it smashed into this world. The rift created shot across the plaza, and this time there was no escape – it opened below your feet, angling away into darkness.

Even as you fell, the dragon noticed your plight. Though she saw death standing over her, she seized this final chance to save a few more souls. After she uttered a few arcane words and stretched out a bleeding talon, you felt her magic take hold of you, slowing your plummet into the darkness as if you were feathers falling into a pit. Yet the fall remained as inexorable, and as you drifted downward into the depths, the last thing you saw was the Storm King standing before the ancient silver dragon, his sword lashing out and cleaving full through her neck. As her severed head fell, the rift above you slammed shut, and the light of the world above was gone.

Bright light suddenly floods your eyes. A human woman sitting on the floor has just lighted a torch and is now looking around the cave. She has a scar on her face and is fairly well armed. Her experienced eyes show pain and determination, even though her leg is bent in an unnatural angle.

Your fellow prisoner is directly next to you; a half man, half wolf creature. He is about 6 feet tall with dark brown fur and wide shoulders. He has piercing green eyes and a wet nose. And despite it covering all of his body, he is wearing a simple brown tunic and breeches, like a well traveled wonderer, though his large feet lack boots.

Nearby is another person of elven stock with long silver hair cascading down his back. He is dressed in a dark furs still feeling around blindly looking for his staff despite the light. He finds it, and mutters a few arcane words. Light begins to illuminate from the tip of his staff, but he still can’t see. His face and hair is covered in blood. A closer examination shows that his eyes have been completely destroyed. He brings his hands to his destroyed eyes, realizes what has happened, and wails in despair.

A moan from nearby you catches your attention. A middle aged slightly obese man seems to be, clutching his head, dazed. He is wearing very expensive and colorful clothes, though they are dirty from the filth and blood from the cave.

Picking himself up from some rubble is what appears to be a hobgoblin. Tall, for a hobgoblin, and well muscled -- he is a mixture of orcish and hobgoblin features that are almost but not quite attractive to the majority of human sensibilities. He does however appear rather striking. His black gaze is intense and his powerful facial features are finely carved.

Another elf, this one with hair as white as snow and skin to match, moans and begins to dust himself off. Dressed in simple traveler’s clothes and wearing white studded leather armor, he stares around the cavern with his blue, almost violet eyes.

The last one to start moving, just now sitting up and clutching her head, is a young human female. She is wearing a hide shirt and carrying a bow on her body. A guisarme as well as Numerous arrows are on the floor around her, her 4 empty quivers indicating they came from her. You guess she is about 5 ft tall. She possesses thick, corded muscles and a swarthy complexion uncommon on humans.

The gear that was taken from you when you were captured now lies on the crashed wagon a few feet from you, the horses and the guards that held you prisoner dead from the fall.


Gorn'Rel's Introduction:
You are in a dark place. Your head throbs with thunderous headaches. Your ears ring, and you are having trouble breathing. After a few moments, the sounds of rocks clattering, coughing, and moans of pain, as well as the choking smell of dust, become apparent as their senses seem to return, but it remains pitch black.

As your headache begins to clear, your memories of what happened moments go flood back. For close to two years Namaris has imposed self-isolation. Its strong walls and hobgoblin warriors defending it from the random demons that attempt to breach its walls. However, it could not survive on its own. While the Hobgoblins were strong and disciplined, and food was relatively plentiful thanks to the fertile lands around it, the lack of metal, building materials, and creature comforts was dropping morale within the city. In addition, your father, Hok-Rel, in his wisdom, realized that tackling the demon horde of the Worldwound was impossible for the Hobgoblins of the Black Crown clan by themselves. Furthermore, it is wise to not antagonize the human neighbors, who seem to have an ancient silver dragon as an ally. He therefore sent you to the nearest human city, Kenabres to negotiate trade and an alliance with the humans.

Unfortunately, hobgoblins have a reputation in this side of the spine of the world to be evil. You were stonewalled by the burocracy and lower nobility. They said that Lord Hulrun Shappok, who is known for being a fair and just ruler, was simply just too busy preparing for the Armasse, and that you should approach him later. Frustrated at your lack of progress, you decided to wait out the festival in Kenabres and try to enjoy it, despite the distrustful stares by the humans.

Armasse officially began at noon the following day, with the blessing of the festival by Lord Huirun himself. The crowd gathered in Clydwell Plaza quieted as the aged inquisitor took the stage, clad in shining, resplendent armor. He cleared his throat, but just as he was about to speak, a bright light shone from the west, as if the sun were rising from the wrong direction. Hulrun’s shadow fell huge and distorted across the cathedral’s façade. A moment later, the sound of a thunderous explosion ripped through the air and earth, along with a violent tremor.

To the west, the fortress known as the Kite – the location of Kenabres’s wardstone-had vanished. In its place, a brilliant plume of red fire, lightning, and smoke erupted into the heavens.

A moment later, a powerful roar accompanied a welcome sight rising from the crowd – Kenabres’s greatest guardian, the ancient silver dragon Terendelev, who had until that moment been attending the opening ceremony disguised as a human. Above, another form appeared, as nightmarish as the dragon was breathtaking. A humanoid shape three times the size of any man, with skin coated in fire and lightning, gripped a flaming sword and whip. The creature’s identity was immediately obvious: Khorramzadeh, the Storm King of the Worldwound, had come to Kenabres!

As the ground continued to shake and disgorge demons into the streets, the dragon and the balor lord clashed above. The fight was over in a few harrowing moments, as the balor cut deep into Terendelv’s body, swooping down to strike the dragon and arresting her charge. A few more blows, and the titanic duo spiraled downward toward the ground.

The sight of the dragon smashing into the façade of the Cathedral of St. Clydwell is one no witness would ever forget. At that moment, a titanic demon erupted at the far end of the plaza, reducing several building to ruins as it smashed into this world. The rift created shot across the plaza, and this time there was no escape – it opened below your feet, angling away into darkness.

Even as you fell, the dragon noticed your plight. Though she saw death standing over her, she seized this final chance to save a few more souls. After she uttered a few arcane words and stretched out a bleeding talon, you felt her magic take hold of you, slowing your plummet into the darkness as if you were feathers falling into a pit. Yet the fall remained as inexorable, and as you drifted downward into the depths, the last thing you saw was the Storm King standing before the ancient silver dragon, his sword lashing out and cleaving full through her neck. As her severed head fell, the rift above you slammed shut, and the light of the world above was gone.

Bright light suddenly floods your eyes. A human woman sitting on the floor has just lighted a torch and is now looking around the cave. She has a scar on her face and is fairly well armed. Her experienced eyes show pain and determination, even though her leg is bent in an unnatural angle.

In the middle of the room appear to be two people bound hands and feet in masterwork manacles. One is a half man, half wolf creature. He is about 6 feet tall with dark brown fur and wide shoulders. He has piercing green eyes and a wet nose. And despite it covering all of his body, he is wearing a simple brown tunic and breeches, like a well traveled wonderer, though his large feet lack boots.

The other is a massively built man with a physique that makes his shoanti blood visible at first glance. Aside from his brawny physique initially seems to be from his shoanti blood, but his ears are slightly pointed, and his brow is just a little heavier than fits his face. A long dark braided mane trails past broad shoulders and down his wide back. His facial hair is similarly dressed. You have this feeling you have met this person before from somewhere. You can’t quite remember where, but seeing him digs up old feelings of desperation.

Nearby is another person of elven stock with long silver hair cascading down his back. He is dressed in a dark furs still feeling around blindly looking for his staff despite the light. He finds it, and mutters a few arcane words. Light begins to illuminate from the tip of his staff, but he still can’t see. His face is covered in blood. A closer examination shows that his eyes have been completely destroyed. He brings his hands to his destroyed eyes, realizes what has happened, and wails in despair.

A moan from behind you catches your attention. A middle aged slightly obese man seems to be clutching his head, dazed. He is dressed in finely decorated clothes, now caked with dirt and mud.

Another elf, this one with hair as white as snow and skin to match, moans and begins to dust himself off. Dressed in simple traveler’s clothes and wearing white studded leather armor, he stares around the cavern with his blue, almost violet eyes.

The last one to start moving, just now sitting up and clutching her head, is a young human female. She is wearing a hide shirt and carrying a bow on her body. A guisarme as well as Numerous arrows are on the floor around her, her 4 empty quivers indicating they came from her. You guess she is about 5 ft tall. She possesses thick, corded muscles and a swarthy complexion uncommon on humans.

You seem to be in a large underground cavern, one wall of which is an enormous mound of rubble. The air is filled with dust, and now and then small rockslides of gravel tumble down the mound.


Varda Beardedheart's Introduction:
You are in a dark place. Your head throbs with thunderous headaches. Your ears ring, and you are having trouble breathing. After a few moments, the sounds of rocks clattering, coughing, and moans of pain, as well as the choking smell of dust, become apparent as their senses seem to return, but it remains pitch black.

As your headache begins to clear, your memories of what happened moments go flood back. You were escorting Dolek Beardedheart, your youngest brother, to the Clydwell plaza, where the opening ceremony was slated to start. You were both extremely excited. The yearly festival is a welcome break from the Academy you work at, and you looked forward to playing at the booths, observing shows, and perhaps finding a suitable partner for dancing that evening. That said, this is Kanabres, where the threat of demon invasion is ever present, so you are always equipped in case you are called upon to fight.

Armasse officially began at noon, with the blessing of the festival by Lord Huirun himself. The crowd gathered in Clydwell Plaza quieted as the aged inquisitor took the stage, clad in shining, resplendent armor. He cleared his throat, but just as he was about to speak, a bright light shone from the west, as if the sun were rising from the wrong direction. Hulrun’s shadow fell huge and distorted across the cathedral’s façade. A moment later, the sound of a thunderous explosion ripped through the air and earth, along with a violent tremor.

To the west, the fortress known as the Kite – the location of Kenabres’s wardstone-had vanished. In its place, a brilliant plume of red fire, lightning, and smoke erupted into the heavens. The crowd began to panic. The ground began to crack in numerous places around you, demons spilling forth from them. In the confusion, you were separated from your brother.

A moment later, a powerful roar accompanied a welcome sight rising from the crowd – Kenabres’s greatest guardian, the ancient silver dragon Terendelev, who had until that moment been attending the opening ceremony disguised as a human. Above, another form appeared, as nightmarish as the dragon was breathtaking. A humanoid shape three times the size of any man, with skin coated in fire and lightning, gripped a flaming sword and whip. The creature’s identity was immediately obvious: Khorramzadeh, the Storm King of the Worldwound, had come to Kenabres!

As the ground continued to shake and disgorge demons into the streets, the dragon and the balor lord clashed above. The fight was over in a few harrowing moments, as the balor cut deep into Terendelv’s body, swooping down to strike the dragon and arresting her charge. A few more blows, and the titanic duo spiraled downward toward the ground.

The sight of the dragon smashing into the façade of the Cathedral of St. Clydwell is one no witness would ever forget. At that moment, a titanic demon erupted at the far end of the plaza, reducing several building to ruins as it smashed into this world. The rift created shot across the plaza, and this time there was no escape – it opened below your feet, angling away into darkness.

Even as you fell, the dragon noticed your plight. Though she saw death standing over her, she seized this final chance to save a few more souls. After she uttered a few arcane words and stretched out a bleeding talon, you felt her magic take hold of you, slowing your plummet into the darkness as if you were feathers falling into a pit. Yet the fall remained as inexorable, and as you drifted downward into the depths, the last thing you saw was the Storm King standing before the ancient silver dragon, his sword lashing out and cleaving full through her neck. As her severed head fell, the rift above you slammed shut, and the light of the world above was gone.

Bright light suddenly floods your eyes. A human woman sitting on the floor has just lighted a torch and is now looking around the cave. She has a scar on her face and is fairly well armed. Her experienced eyes show pain and determination, even though her leg is bent in an unnatural angle.

In the middle of the room appear to be two people bound hands and feet in masterwork manacles. One is a half man, half wolf creature. He is about 6 feet tall with dark brown fur and wide shoulders. He has piercing green eyes and a wet nose. And despite it covering all of his body, he is wearing a simple brown tunic and breeches, like a well traveled wonderer, though his large feet lack boots.

The other is a massively built man with a physique that makes his shoanti blood visible at first glance. Aside from his brawny physique initially seems to be from his shoanti blood, but his ears are slightly pointed, and his brow is just a little heavier than fits his face. A long dark braided mane trails past broad shoulders and down his wide back. His facial hair is similarly dressed. You have this feeling you have met this person before from somewhere. You can’t quite remember where, but seeing him digs up old feelings of desperation.

Nearby is another person of elven stock with long silver hair cascading down his back. He is dressed in a dark furs still feeling around blindly looking for his staff despite the light. He finds it, and mutters a few arcane words. Light begins to illuminate from the tip of his staff, but he still can’t see. His face is covered in blood. A closer examination shows that his eyes have been completely destroyed. He brings his hands to his destroyed eyes, realizes what has happened, and wails in despair.

A moan from behind you catches your attention. A middle aged, slightly obese man seems to be clutching his head, dazed. He is dressed in finely decorated clothes, now caked with dirt and mud.

Picking himself up from some rubble is what appears to be a hobgoblin. Tall, for a hobgoblin, and well muscled -- he is a mixture of orcish and hobgoblin features that are almost but not quite attractive to the majority of human sensibilities. He does however appear rather striking. His black gaze is intense and his powerful facial features are finely carved.

Another elf, this one with hair as white as snow and skin to match, groans and begins to dust himself off. Dressed in simple traveler’s clothes and wearing white studded leather armor, he stares around the cavern with his blue, almost violet eyes.

You seem to be in a large underground cavern, one wall of which is an enormous mound of rubble. The air is filled with dust, and now and then small rockslides of gravel tumble down the mound. Your equipment is loosely scattered along the ground floor, your arrows scattered around you for 10 feet. Thankfully, the gisarme that you were holding when the demons attacked is next to you, and the bow across your body doesn’t appear to be damaged.


Aenthurien's Introduction:
You are in a dark place. Your head throbs with thunderous headaches. Your ears ring, and you are having trouble breathing. After a few moments, the sounds of rocks clattering, coughing, and moans of pain, as well as the choking smell of dust, become apparent as their senses seem to return, but it remains pitch black.

As your headache begins to clear, your memories of what happened moments go flood back. You remember you were in Kenabres, on a break from the battlefront to attend the Armasse festival. Armasse officially began at noon, with the blessing of the festival by Lord Huirun himself. The crowd gathered in Clydwell Plaza quieted as the aged inquisitor took the stage, clad in shining, resplendent armor. He cleared his throat, but just as he was about to speak, a bright light shone from the west, as if the sun were rising from the wrong direction. Hulrun’s shadow fell huge and distorted across the cathedral’s façade. A moment later, the sound of a thunderous explosion ripped through the air and earth, along with a violent tremor.

To the west, the fortress known as the Kite – the location of Kenabres’s wardstone-had vanished. In its place, a brilliant plume of red fire, lightning, and smoke erupted into the heavens. The crowd began to panic. The ground began to crack in numerous places around you, demons spilling forth from them. In the confusion, you were separated from your brother.

A moment later, a powerful roar accompanied a welcome sight rising from the crowd – Kenabres’s greatest guardian, the ancient silver dragon Terendelev, who had until that moment been attending the opening ceremony disguised as a human. Above, another form appeared, as nightmarish as the dragon was breathtaking. A humanoid shape three times the size of any man, with skin coated in fire and lightning, gripped a flaming sword and whip. The creature’s identity was immediately obvious: Khorramzadeh, the Storm King of the Worldwound, had come to Kenabres!

As the ground continued to shake and disgorge demons into the streets, the dragon and the balor lord clashed above. The fight was over in a few harrowing moments, as the balor cut deep into Terendelv’s body, swooping down to strike the dragon and arresting her charge. A few more blows, and the titanic duo spiraled downward toward the ground.

The sight of the dragon smashing into the façade of the Cathedral of St. Clydwell is one no witness would ever forget. At that moment, a titanic demon erupted at the far end of the plaza, reducing several building to ruins as it smashed into this world. The rift created shot across the plaza, and this time there was no escape – it opened below your feet, angling away into darkness.

Even as you fell, the dragon noticed your plight. Though she saw death standing over her, she seized this final chance to save a few more souls. After she uttered a few arcane words and stretched out a bleeding talon, you felt her magic take hold of you, slowing your plummet into the darkness as if you were feathers falling into a pit. Yet the fall remained as inexorable, and as you drifted downward into the depths, the last thing you saw was the Storm King standing before the ancient silver dragon, his sword lashing out and cleaving full through her neck. As her severed head fell, the rift above you slammed shut, and the light of the world above was gone.

Bright light suddenly floods your eyes. A human woman sitting on the floor has just lighted a torch and is now looking around the cave. She has a scar on her face and is fairly well armed. Her experienced eyes show pain and determination, even though her leg is bent in an unnatural angle.

In the middle of the room appear to be two people bound hands and feet in masterwork manacles. One is a half man, half wolf creature. He is about 6 feet tall with dark brown fur and wide shoulders. He has piercing green eyes and a wet nose. And despite it covering all of his body, he is wearing a simple brown tunic and breeches, like a well traveled wonderer, though his large feet lack boots.

The other is a massively built man with a physique that makes his shoanti blood visible at first glance. Aside from his brawny physique initially seems to be from his shoanti blood, but his ears are slightly pointed, and his brow is just a little heavier than fits his face. A long dark braided mane trails past broad shoulders and down his wide back. His facial hair is similarly dressed. You have this feeling you have met this person before from somewhere. You can’t quite remember where, but seeing him digs up old feelings of desperation.

Nearby is another person of elven stock with long silver hair cascading down his back. He is dressed in a dark furs still feeling around blindly looking for his staff despite the light. He finds it, and mutters a few arcane words. Light begins to illuminate from the tip of his staff, but he still can’t see. His face is covered in blood. A closer examination shows that his eyes have been completely destroyed. He brings his hands to his destroyed eyes, realizes what has happened, and wails in despair.

A moan from behind you catches your attention. A middle aged, slightly obese man seems to be clutching his head, dazed. He is dressed in finely decorated clothes, now caked with dirt and mud.

Picking himself up from some rubble is what appears to be a hobgoblin. Tall, for a hobgoblin, and well muscled -- he is a mixture of orcish and hobgoblin features that are almost but not quite attractive to the majority of human sensibilities. He does however appear rather striking. His black gaze is intense and his powerful facial features are finely carved.

The last one to start moving, just now sitting up and clutching her head, is a young human female. She is wearing a hide shirt and carrying a bow on her body. A guisarme as well as Numerous arrows are on the floor around her, her 4 empty quivers indicating they came from her. You guess she is about 5 ft tall. She possesses thick, corded muscles and a swarthy complexion uncommon on humans.

You seem to be in a large underground cavern, one wall of which is an enormous mound of rubble. The air is filled with dust, and now and then small rockslides of gravel tumble down the mound.


I'm going to discuss magic item and gold tracking in the discussion forum later tonight. We will be using Rolld20.net for Maps. It will be up shortly.

GAME START!


Male Hobgoblin Monk (Ironskin Monk) 15 / Champion (Mythic 7) l HP: 110/206 l AC: 33 [T: 20, FF: 28] l Fort: +25, Ref: +19, Will: +17 (+19 v Enchantments) l Init: +12 l Per: +20 l DR: 4/- l Ki: 9/9 l MP: 13/17

Taking advantage of the light, Gorn-Rel looks around.

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (14) + 4 = 18

The death of the silver dragon is a great blow to this city. In their weakened state, they might be more willing to listen to talk of an alliance with Namaris. Their loss may become our mutual gain.


Div-Spawn Ninja 3 HP: 27/27; AC: 18, T: 13, FF: 15; Fort: +3, Ref: +6, Will: +2; Init: +5, Perception +6

"This day just keeps getting better and better..." Frekhi brings his hands to his head at the constant ringing in his ears. After it subsides, he looks around at his surroundings. "More people die while I'm still alive. Why? Why me? I'm just a monster."

He stands up, gingerly at first, before shaking off all the dirt on his fur."Your leg is broken." He says to the woman with a torch before wiping the dirt off his nose.


The two sources of light in the room extend out to 40' from their sources, so you can's see very far.
The ceiling and far walls of this vast cavern recede into the darnkess. On one side, the wall has collapsed in an enormous mound of rubble- her and there there are arms or legs of victims who didn't survive the fall protrude.

Frekhi:
Your darkvision lets you see further into the darkness, and you notice something disturbing. In the back of the cavern, a disturbing shape looms. Nearly the size of a horse, what appears to be an immense black spider crouches silently and still on the ground.

Frekhi and Na'shok are still chained in Masterwork Manacles. They can't move more than 5 ft from each other.


Male worg 5 [ HP 63/63 (0 NL) | AC 18 Tch 12 FF 17 | Fort +8 Ref +6 Will +5* | CMD 25* | Init +1 | Perc +8 | Effects: none ]

Nash doesn't have Darkvision. Working on a post.


Male Hobgoblin Monk (Ironskin Monk) 15 / Champion (Mythic 7) l HP: 110/206 l AC: 33 [T: 20, FF: 28] l Fort: +25, Ref: +19, Will: +17 (+19 v Enchantments) l Init: +12 l Per: +20 l DR: 4/- l Ki: 9/9 l MP: 13/17

"Why are you imprisoned?" the hobgoblin inquires of the two men.


Div-Spawn Ninja 3 HP: 27/27; AC: 18, T: 13, FF: 15; Fort: +3, Ref: +6, Will: +2; Init: +5, Perception +6

"Shut up, questions later. There's a giant spider over there. It's as big as a horse." Frekhi points with a manacled claw in that direction as he inches over to it, still chained to Na'shok.


Male worg 5 [ HP 63/63 (0 NL) | AC 18 Tch 12 FF 17 | Fort +8 Ref +6 Will +5* | CMD 25* | Init +1 | Perc +8 | Effects: none ]

Na’ashok’s silent brooding comes to abrupt end when literally all hell break’s loose and the Worldwound’s wrath pours into paladin’s shining city square. The brawny half-orc struggles against his bindings but the iron links hold fast. He curses his captors loudly even as the chains chafe his wrists bloody.

When the world crumbles around him and he lands among the others, Na’shok takes a moment to examine his fellow survivors - a monster, women, and cripples. In any other situation he would have left them to their fate but he would need their help or he would remain trapped here until the invaders above found him. He rattles his chains to get their attention.

”Free me”, he growls. ”I can help you escape this.”


The poultry noble yells out, "What! Somebody do something!" he moves in the opposite direction you were pointing at. The female human pulls out a short sword and attempts to stand, but she cries out and falls back down, her leg unable to support her weight.


Male Hobgoblin Monk (Ironskin Monk) 15 / Champion (Mythic 7) l HP: 110/206 l AC: 33 [T: 20, FF: 28] l Fort: +25, Ref: +19, Will: +17 (+19 v Enchantments) l Init: +12 l Per: +20 l DR: 4/- l Ki: 9/9 l MP: 13/17

It's a chicken?

"I will free you if you are worth being freed just as I will destroy the spider if it enters into the light. I find the justice of human lands to cleave too closely to their prejudices than it does to sense. So, tell me, why did they bind you."


Male worg 5 [ HP 63/63 (0 NL) | AC 18 Tch 12 FF 17 | Fort +8 Ref +6 Will +5* | CMD 25* | Init +1 | Perc +8 | Effects: none ]

”Mastering the power of their enemies”, the brawny orcish man boasts. He narrows his gaze to study the goblinoid questioning him.

”I know you. We met months ago - north of here. You were captured when I was by those #$@#ing cultists.”


Div-Spawn Ninja 3 HP: 27/27; AC: 18, T: 13, FF: 15; Fort: +3, Ref: +6, Will: +2; Init: +5, Perception +6

"You'd rather ask stupid questions? I'm a monster. That's reason enough. Now go squash that spider or unchain one us so we can do it." This hobgoblin was quickly annoying him. Frekhi tugs at his chains. They were still as sturdy as when they were put on.


Na'shok & Frekhi:
You arn't chained to anything except each other at the moment. You are free to move as a unit if you wish.


Na'shok wrote:


”I know you. We met months ago - south of here. You were captured when I was by those #$@#ing cultists.”

It was actually north of here.


Male worg 5 [ HP 63/63 (0 NL) | AC 18 Tch 12 FF 17 | Fort +8 Ref +6 Will +5* | CMD 25* | Init +1 | Perc +8 | Effects: none ]

Fixt.


Div-Spawn Ninja 3 HP: 27/27; AC: 18, T: 13, FF: 15; Fort: +3, Ref: +6, Will: +2; Init: +5, Perception +6

Frekhi looks to Na'shok. "Let's go, we have a wall-crawler to squash." He tugs at the chains to try to pull the man along.


AC29/T18/F21/CMD30||HP121[121]F:+8 R:+21 W:+12|Init.+14|Percept.+18(+24 traps) Elf (Snowcaster) Investigator 13 / Mythic 6

The snowcaster elf shakes his head, peering around, trying to get his bearings. How could this have happened? Who are these people? Why is the hairy one in chains? How did that one get here? Aenthurien stares at the hobgoblin, not sure if he has come to his full senses.

Hearing the wolfman's claim of a spider, Aenthurien comes to full alertness. Searching the room, he assesses all present in their ability in combat. He eyes falling on the two manacled men and galvanized to action, the snowcaster begins to move slowly.

Rolling up to the balls of his feet and hunched over, he pads over to the two manacled men. Digging into his pouch, he produces a set of narrow tools. "Let me see your hands, I will free you." He whispers, then pauses staring at the manacled men in the eyes. I know not what has caused you to be chained so, and I am not the one to judge you, but it would seem we have need for your arms. Starting with Frekhi, Aenthurien sets to work furtively.

Stealth: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (10) + 3 = 13
Disable Frekhi: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (16) + 4 = 20
Disable Na'shok: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (11) + 4 = 15

I assume we have all our gear?


Frekhi wrote:
He stands up, gingerly at first, before shaking off all the dirt on his fur."Your leg is broken." He says to the woman with a torch before wiping the dirt off his nose.

Seeing that the spider hasn't moved even with all the noise, the soman responds wearily, "I can see that. My name is Anevia Tirabade. Who are all of you?" She continues to hold her blade in a defensive posture as best she can.


Male Hobgoblin Monk (Ironskin Monk) 15 / Champion (Mythic 7) l HP: 110/206 l AC: 33 [T: 20, FF: 28] l Fort: +25, Ref: +19, Will: +17 (+19 v Enchantments) l Init: +12 l Per: +20 l DR: 4/- l Ki: 9/9 l MP: 13/17

"What is a monster?" The hobgoblin asks philosophically. "Are you saying that you are chained because you look different than humans look? That is not a sufficient reason to be chained."


Aenthurien wrote:

The snowcaster elf shakes his head, peering around, trying to get his bearings. How could this have happened? Who are these people? Why is the hairy one in chains? How did that one get here? Aenthurien stares at the hobgoblin, not sure if he has come to his full senses.

Hearing the wolfman's claim of a spider, Aenthurien comes to full alertness. Searching the room, he assesses all present in their ability in combat. He eyes falling on the two manacled men and galvanized to action, the snowcaster begins to move slowly.

Rolling up to the balls of his feet and hunched over, he pads over to the two manacled men. Digging into his pouch, he produces a set of narrow tools. "Let me see your hands, I will free you." He whispers, then pauses staring at the manacled men in the eyes. I know not what has caused you to be chained so, and I am not the one to judge you, but it would seem we have need for your arms. Starting with Frekhi, Aenthurien sets to work furtively.

I assume we have all our gear?

Frekhi and Na'shok's gear is in the cart in an unlocked chest. Most of Varda's gear spilled out onto the floor. Everyone else is fully equiped.

time: 1d4 + 1d4 ⇒ (2) + (2) = 4

Aenthurien is able to unlock the simple lock on Frekhi in about 15 seconds. However, he is unable to unlock Na'shok's lock just yet (DC 20).


The elf with the silver hair and destroyed eyes looks around blindly. "What is going on? Who is out there?!"


AC29/T18/F21/CMD30||HP121[121]F:+8 R:+21 W:+12|Init.+14|Percept.+18(+24 traps) Elf (Snowcaster) Investigator 13 / Mythic 6

The elf furrows his brow in frustration and continues to work at Na'shok's manacles. Looking to Frekhi, he says. Do you have a weapon?

Disable: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (12) + 4 = 16
Disable: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 11
Disable: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (14) + 4 = 18
Disable: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 = 5
Disable: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (16) + 4 = 20


Div-Spawn Ninja 3 HP: 27/27; AC: 18, T: 13, FF: 15; Fort: +3, Ref: +6, Will: +2; Init: +5, Perception +6

Frekhi shakes his head. "Look at me. I'm a vicious werewolf. You can't trust me to do anything but kill. " As he hears the sound of his manacles being unlocked, he looks at the albino elf and nods his head in thanks before rushing off the meet the spider. "I don't need a weapon."


Male Hobgoblin Monk (Ironskin Monk) 15 / Champion (Mythic 7) l HP: 110/206 l AC: 33 [T: 20, FF: 28] l Fort: +25, Ref: +19, Will: +17 (+19 v Enchantments) l Init: +12 l Per: +20 l DR: 4/- l Ki: 9/9 l MP: 13/17

"We have fallen into a cave, elf. After the Storm King attacked your city. Supposedly, there is a spider in the darkness. Do not worry. It will not eat you."

The Hobgoblin moves towards where the supposed spider is, though he will remain in the light.


Male Hobgoblin Monk (Ironskin Monk) 15 / Champion (Mythic 7) l HP: 110/206 l AC: 33 [T: 20, FF: 28] l Fort: +25, Ref: +19, Will: +17 (+19 v Enchantments) l Init: +12 l Per: +20 l DR: 4/- l Ki: 9/9 l MP: 13/17

The hobgoblin laughs at those words. "So vicious you ended up in chains? Mad animals are never taken alive."


AC29/T18/F21/CMD30||HP121[121]F:+8 R:+21 W:+12|Init.+14|Percept.+18(+24 traps) Elf (Snowcaster) Investigator 13 / Mythic 6

At the hobgoblin's words, Aenthurien glances over his shoulder. Yes, I see the spider.


Male Hobgoblin Monk (Ironskin Monk) 15 / Champion (Mythic 7) l HP: 110/206 l AC: 33 [T: 20, FF: 28] l Fort: +25, Ref: +19, Will: +17 (+19 v Enchantments) l Init: +12 l Per: +20 l DR: 4/- l Ki: 9/9 l MP: 13/17

"Is it moving or are they quaking over the dead?"


As Freki approaches the giant spider, it quickly becomes apparent from the smell that it is dead. However, Frekhi also notices a muffled chewing sound and a bulge wriggling inside the spider's abdomen. The bulge bursts outward, spilling spider gore around it. Two maggots emerge from the spider's abdomen, covered in blood and move to engage their newest meal.

Initiative:

Gorn-Rel: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (14) + 5 = 19
Frekhi: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (10) + 3 = 13
Aenthurien: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 2 = 22
Na'shok: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (19) + 0 = 19
Varda Beardedheart: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 2 = 8
Maggot 1: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (8) - 1 = 7
Maggot 2 & NPCs: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (4) - 1 = 3

Initiative Order:
Aenthurien
Gorn-Rel
Na'shok
Frekhi
Varda Beardedheart
Maggots
NPCs

PARTY UP!


AC29/T18/F21/CMD30||HP121[121]F:+8 R:+21 W:+12|Init.+14|Percept.+18(+24 traps) Elf (Snowcaster) Investigator 13 / Mythic 6

Did Aenthurien manage to free Na'shok beforehand?


Male Hobgoblin Monk (Ironskin Monk) 15 / Champion (Mythic 7) l HP: 110/206 l AC: 33 [T: 20, FF: 28] l Fort: +25, Ref: +19, Will: +17 (+19 v Enchantments) l Init: +12 l Per: +20 l DR: 4/- l Ki: 9/9 l MP: 13/17

Can the maggots be seen? By those without blessed darkvision?


Div-Spawn Ninja 3 HP: 27/27; AC: 18, T: 13, FF: 15; Fort: +3, Ref: +6, Will: +2; Init: +5, Perception +6

Frekhi swipes at one of the maggots. "Wasn't expecting that."

Claw: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (13) + 3 = 16

1d4 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5

Claw: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (5) + 3 = 8


Gorn-Rel wrote:
Can the maggots be seen? By those without blessed darkvision?

You are currently using torchlight from Anevia and the blinded wizard (0-20' normal, 20-40' dim). The spider is just beyond that light. You can You can see it if you have low-light vision, though it is in dim light.


Frekhi's claws gouges deep into the carapace of the maggot, and it thrashes in pain.


Male Hobgoblin Monk (Ironskin Monk) 15 / Champion (Mythic 7) l HP: 110/206 l AC: 33 [T: 20, FF: 28] l Fort: +25, Ref: +19, Will: +17 (+19 v Enchantments) l Init: +12 l Per: +20 l DR: 4/- l Ki: 9/9 l MP: 13/17

Gorn-Rel removes and lights a torch of his own. He will also move towards the maggots if able.

Move action to retrieve the torch, what kind of action to light it?


AC29/T18/F21/CMD30||HP121[121]F:+8 R:+21 W:+12|Init.+14|Percept.+18(+24 traps) Elf (Snowcaster) Investigator 13 / Mythic 6

Not sure if he managed to unlock the other man's manacles, Aenthurien drops his tools and moves to an open position while drawing his bow. He nocks and arrow and fires at the uninjured maggot.

Attack, PBS: 1d20 + 2 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 2 + 1 = 10
Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 5


Gorn-Rel wrote:

Gorn-Rel removes and lights a torch of his own. He will also move towards the maggots if able.

Move action to retrieve the torch, what kind of action to light it?

Standard to light. They don't light themselves


Aenthurien shoots at the uninjured maggot, but fires wide.

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