Brother Faust the Elder's page

Great and terrible things were put into motion by the unwitting actions of mortals and immortals alike. Let us recall the most important of these in the tales to come.

Prologue

The inky black waters of the Abyssal layer known as the Shadowsea obscured even the vision of the Prince of the Darkened Depths. He could feel the subsiding churning of the waters ahead of him, inside an inky blot more than 50 yards across beginning to dissipate in the waters between himself and the aquatic access to the aeons-old edifice known as Wat Dagon.

Dagon’s glistening, writhing bulk slowly approached the darkened gloom ahead of him. He could scent Demogorgon’s death in the waters, bits of hair and grue tainted with an inexplicable grey flaky substance dissolving in the waters about him as they floated past him. With the patience of eons he waited for the darkness to dissipate. Perhaps an opportunistic tanar’ri-tainted kraken had come across the corpse of his ‘ally’ and ate its fill.

The inky cloud in the waters, now still, slowly dissolved in the current – suddenly revealing an abomination that even he did not expect to ever see. A putrescent yellow kraken only in name, with far too many eyes and tentacles and unidentifiable anatomical extras floated in the waters ahead of him. A slow cascade of ashen-colored grue from the midst of the main tentacular mass proved that this thing had devoured Demogorgon. The last fading glow of the Crown of the Prince of Demons merged into it as Dagon took in the monstrosity’s form.

“Daring to claim the Crown of the Prince of Demons is bold. Dare you presume to be able to hold it ?” Dagon thought at the putrescent creature in the waters before it.

“The same as I dare claim your crown, Prince of the Darkened Depths!” was the reply, also telepathic.

Out of sixteen enormous tentacles, the first squeezed an artifact, similar to the one Demogorgon had employed moments before against the band of powerful mortals that brought him low. As the object was squeezed an anti-magical field sprung forth, enveloping them both. The other fifteen tentacles lashed out and nearly rendered Dagon into grue in his own right, bringing him writhing to the thing’s curved beak.

As the enormous beak devoured him alive, the last thing Dagon knew was a final thought from the creature.

“Given how easy you are to devour, I doubt much on the Great Wheel or scattered across the many worlds of mortals will fare better.”

The promised expansion on the currently small body of work regarding Dardaptoerebus is in the works Gentlecritters. The daily encounter checks with the dreaded Real Life Monster are slowing things down on that front considerably, sad to say.

Once the RLM has been banished back to its cave for a spell, further horrors will be forthcoming.

DAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Believes Sir Allen just failed that DC 70 Will save to retain his fragile mortal sanity after perusing the 2nd stat block for Dardaptoerebus...

"Permit me to convey the events that would shatter the bodies of those who would oppose the Spawn of Tharizdun and the mewling mortal followers of Entropy and Madness.

"The emissary of right and proper Entropy and Madness did set out to assert the cultists' desires to terrorize the waterfront of the decrepit city known as the Styes. Whilst the weak-minded vermin who failed twice previously to oppose Him were once more returned to the lands of the living by an egregious and most wayward High Priest of goodly bent. Some short time before they were handily slaughtered by a single blasphemous Word uttered by a well-prepared Praetanos. After which the infamous fey-touched mercenary Sir Sean's quick work with the removal of heads from shoulders into proper baskets.

"Having ascertained the identities and certainty of the 'heroes' aboard the newly-built replacement ship lost to them months before, He elected at this time either drive off or otherwise dispatch those who would dare oppose Him. Ideally, of course, they would be driven off, deprived of easy naval transport and thusly motivated to smash the Cult who yet retained some measure of command over such a magnificent engine of change, entropy and madness as has ever been seen on any material world.

"Making use of his now unstoppable mastery over weather and wind, He used the driving force of near-hurricane winds to usher these self-propelled field rations some 36 miles out to sea. With great effort and consummate seamanship did the mortals largely preserve the integrity of their vessel, albiet at the expense of the main mast and its attendant rigging. As He lapsed His command of the weather into utter calm - with even the ocean current cooperating and growing quite still -, the wind utterly dying in the remaining aft and fore sails, did He elect to finally make His presence known.

"The first clue was deliberately releasing an enormous cloud of ink from directly below the ship, spreading out in an enormous blot to many yards in all directions. Yet strangely, the 'heroes' elected to scratch their collective noses.

"From the starboard side He emerged from the water in His full size, torrents of water pouring off of His Colossal form, the full physicality of His being in clear view of the insectile vermin who had twice before feebly attempted to halt His growth and assumption of His Fell and True Power.

"And he introduced himself: "I AM DARTDAPTOEREBUS, VENGEANCE IS MINE". Astute scholars here will note that His name roughly translates as 'Devourer from the Nether Darkness', as befits such a magnificent entity.

"The lich Polymorphed itself into a Huge Hippogriff and moved to permit 3 of his erstwhile allies to climb aboard. One of them, a Skulk Rogue I believe, did so before Dardaptoerebus struck.

"The first of six tentacles reached out, easily ensaring the lichogriff in its mighty grasp and squeezed once, rendering the spell caster into a shower of dust and meal. A Contingent Teleport wisked away the belongings of said Lich along with the fortunate Rogue, whose Will was insufficient to retain his presence aboard the doomed ship. This cur was the first of only two to escape Dardaptoerebus' unpleasant attentions.

"As the vermin snapped out of their shock and horror, one elected to hide beneath the starboard stairwell leading to the deck below, a half-dragon of small power. Another morsel, having visibly contemplated diving overboard or perhaps doing something else similarly foolish, elected to step into the captain's cabin and secure the door shut. The Cleric-Paladin with a fondness for divine metamagic and flame strikes was the second and last soul to escape Dardaptoerebus' wrath, saving his miserable existence without even a thought or move to rescue any of his boon comrades at arms with a Word of Recall. The final duo, dwarven brothers, elected to make ready to fight or flee with a Water Breathing spell cast by the cleric of the duo upon the pair.

"Alas, these actions were wholly insufficient. Dardaptoerebus' six tentacles and six arms lashed out. Guided by blindsight and other sensory means, an Arm lashed out and handily shattered the feeble door that sheltered the fool who withdrew into the captain's cabin - after which a tentacle snaked in and lassoed the morsel within, bringing him within snacking range of His beak. A second tentacle fished out the half-dragon who held two massive Necklaces of Fireballs which gave no concern whatsoever to Dardaptoerebus, as even the mightiest of such baubles would do little more than irritate Him. A third tentacle snared and pulverized the dwarven cleric while the fourth did the same to the dwarven barbarian beside him, the sucker-shredded long pork added to the dinner plate alongside the few remaining crew easily snared and crushed by the other shorter arms.

"In a heroic bid to drive off the Devourer from the Nether Darkness, the half-dragon exhaled upon his two Necklaces, which did in turn detonate en masse. Before accounting for Fire Resistance, the combined fire damage of breath weapon and fireballs was 271 hit points - not enough to do more than irk mighty Dardaptoerebus. This much fire damage did of course incinerate the mortal remains of all others aboard the ship save the half-dragon itself, who was the only soul aboard the vessel to be eaten for his temerity.

"No living sapient being remained to view the utter destruction of the ship, what wasn't already badly damaged by the volley of fireball blasts was shortly torn asunder into so much flotsam.

"Gliding over the waters 39 miles out to sea, Dardaptoerebus turned His attentions once more to the city so close by, eager to see the Cult shattered and their despicable command of His desires to achieve such ... meager ambitions as control of a retched city of meals.

"Entropy and Madness would spread into full blossom once the pesky cultists were wiped out by the vengeful Cleric, Rogue and Lich - and that irritant goody-goody cleric's penchant for True Ressurrection spells would likely be at an end given the cost Charon levied for returning those otherwise properly en route to the afterlife to answer for their miserable existence..."

Lo, and behold the twin faces of madness and savagery. Know ye now the true meaning of Fear, savoring your eminent death. For at no other time in your miserable mortal existences shall ye truly appreciate what it is to be alive.

By the by, Olangru sends his regards...

Lo, and behold the twin faces of madness and savagery. Know ye now the true meaning of Fear, savoring your eminent deaths. For at no other time in your miserable mortal existences shall ye truly appreciate what it is to be alive.

Hmmm. I detect a skipping of certain encounters and a high probability chance that certain nasty creatures are due to close in upon the PCs from the rear if they take too long about their business....

Correct Sir Charles, all is not quite as rosy a picture as it would otherwise seem for Our Heroes. They have but to wend their way through a winding passage, get past a rather durable door and another change of direction or two. Makes an innocent face.

Naturally, since no one bothered to think of establishing any kind of communications protocol with any of the other factors in the assault, things are not going nearly as well as 'scripted' for the big series of battles as Our Heroes would desire.

And two great eyes within the Shadowsea burning with red hatred and putrescent malevolence eagerly anticipate the mortals' forthcoming clash with Demogorgon...

23rd February 2008, Crew 2, Session 10: “Today is a Good Day to Die”, Shattered Gates of Slaughtergarde, Conclusion.

“The vermin, having successfully incinerated the gnoll cleric with its pair of Flaming Spheres, saw Agent J and Ebil Mark withdraw from the complex to take the place of Da Pimp’s minions outside with the carriage.” Ebil Mark was once again absent, while Agent J was quite late, arriving at the end of the first big battle of the day. He was rather grateful to have missed this one I think.

“Da Pimp along with his five (5) named elven warriors joined Sir Al of N’s nefarious archer Nameless, the NE red-dragon bloodline human sorceror Xavier Meravanchi, the NE cloistered cleric/wizard of Boccob, the wizard Larz Drinkin and the Favored Soul of Kord in the aftermath of barbecued dawg hair just moments before. The vermin moved further up the hallway leading from the fang dragon’s former lair, generally staying in a clump. Xavier Meravanchi and Larz Drinkin were up at the front rank along with one of Da Pimp’s spear-elves, the rest of the party spread along the rest of the hallway, with Nameless and the hireling archer bringing up the rear of the party at the corner of the hallway where the elevator promised an escape route with but a short delay of wait with an amulet about the neck. All the characters at this point had such an amulet, so they were confident of their ability to deal with what the defenders responding to the alarm could bring to bear against them. They could not know that the flaming spheres were dispelled in short order by way of a scroll from one of the four clerics responding to the alarm.”

“They of course could not anticipate that the female troll mercenary would emerge first, hewing Xavier Meravanchi down with a single swing of her enchanted Greatsword.” This character was, without a critical hit, hacked in one mighty 6 point power attack blow to -9 hit points. “From behind her two troglodyte barbarians, slimily frothing at their fanged mouths, skittered forward to engage the spear-elf, whiffing mightily. Two troglodyte soldiers positioned themselves on the western side of the stair way, two troglodyte thugs moved to the troll’s right flank, 3 female gnoll clerics lined up behind the troglodyte soldiers while the troglodyte cleric positioned itself near the soldiers. In the chamber beneath, the mezzoloth concluded its terms of service with the gnoll blackguard in the service of a particular gnollish demon lord, and they shared a chuckle.”

“Larz under benefit of invisibility moved forward and administered a potion down the gullet of the fallen fiery Meravanchi, whilst the Favored Soul of Kord moved into position to act in assistance to the sorely pressed spear-elf. Nameless drilled two arrows into the troglodyte barbarian standing over the now-conscious Meravanchi, who finished him off with a critically-placed Combustion spell. Other actions I cannot recall were taken, and then it came time for the she-troll to act.”

“The she-troll hacked down the Favored Soul of Kord in one mighty blow, cleaving him in twain along with the spear-elf in a single mighty sweep of her blade. On the back-swing she cleaved through both Larz and the crawling Meravanchi, slaying them both in a second mighty swipe of that gore-slicked blade. Altogether, in 12 seconds of glorious slaughter, she slew 3 of the 6 heroes as well as the trio of summoned shocker lizards brought forth by Da Pimp. The heroes had managed to dispatch all but the she-troll, the two troglodyte rogues (being throttled to death in a scroll-cast Evard’s Black Tentacles courtesy of the soon-to-be mystic theurge item-crafter) and the horrifying arrival of the mezzoloth in the rear ranks of the party.”

“Said mezzoloth had teleported in a scant 20’ from the elf warrior-archer and Nameless, charged the archer on the next round scoring a critical hit that reduced said elf to 2 hp. On the mezzoloth’s third round of action, it centered a cloudkill on the floor at its feet, outright slaying all the remaining elven warriors in Da Pimp’s employ. At this point, the she-troll was operating under the duress of a 5-point Ray of Enfeeblement, contentedly regenerating in the chamber with the gnoll blackguard (who hacked off the two stirges that had latched onto her before they could suck any blood from her), waiting for the black tentacles to expire before once more sallying forth to kill more intruders. Nameless seemed rather distraught at the almost-negligible efficacy of his formidable arrows against the yugoloth, noting from a comment by Da Pimp that blessed, holy or sacred arms would be required to dispatch the fiend with fullest efficacy.”

“In short order, the theurge dimensioned door out of the complex to depart the surface environs of the Slaughtergarde Armoury whilst Nameless used his one-shot Teleportation item to extricate himself and Da Pimp from certain death in either direction. My minions easily collected the corpses of the fallen and all their loot.”

“Upon returning to town, selling off what swag they had, spending a ten-day crafting many magical items and recruiting the only 3 sorry bastiches left in town willing to sign on with a group that seems certain to get everyone they employ dead with no burial – the 3 new aspiring heroes joined the 3 surviving heroes and once again went against the defenders of the armoury, totaling 2 weeks’ time between when they fled and when they returned.”

“Scouring the complex, they eventually arrive at the massive vaulted chamber within which the single remaining Abyssal gate was active. Since they could make out the gnoll blackguard’s chanting beyond the four portals ahead of them, many spells that greatly bolstered their capabilities are cast, sacred oils are applied to weapons, potions are ingested and then they pop open one of the four bronze doors. Ahead they see the familiar mezzoloth, although they cannot perceive whom is chanting within the chamber beyond.”

“The new fighter immediately moved in, remaining a scant distance outside of the reach of the vicious trident wielded by the daemon. Behind him traipsed the theurge, Da Pimp, Sir Al of N’s new cleric – the elf archer seeming to have concluded that he could outlive the demoniac threats poised to bring him low should they get the opportunity – and Agent J’s formidable fighter. Da Pimp sent a flock of summoned stirges over the balcony railing, poised to glomm onto any suitable victim they could sink their probosci into. Joyously, the mezzoloth latched its infamous cloudkill upon itself, promptly slaying Da Pimp with its poisonous vapor and saturating Sir Al of N’s body with lethal toxins, held in abeyance solely by the grace of poison-delaying magic. Only Sir M’s and Agent J’s robust fortitudes held off the lethal fog for the next 18 long seconds.”

“During the ensuing struggle, the vermin drive the mezzoloth onto its back, its trident forgotten, the balcony silenced by a mis-aimed magical spell, it teleported itself into the hallway outside, its killing vapors instantly slaying the red tunic-wearing warlock and nearly killing the theurge as well. The gnoll blackguard, its chant to bring a hezrou through from the Abyss ruined by the unknowingly well-timed silence, moved to engage those who would dare interfere – and paid for it with his miserable life.”

Altogether, the final tally of the last session of the Shattered Gates of Slaughtergarde claimed 5 player characters and 5 hirelings. Mwahahahhah!! The characters are all now 5th and 6th level, with about 19,000 gp or so apiece of magical goodies, heading south to Sasserine to witness the 2nd annual Wormfood Gathering parade and set sail into the azure seas leading towards the Isle of Dread…

Since the 2nd of January 2008, Slaughtergarde claimed a grand total of 5 hench-elves and 10 player characters. Only Sir Red of Neck and Sir Al of N have escaped character deaths unscathed, largely due to rear-echelon deployments. A rather excellent body count for the Diet-RP sub-genre of the game. ^^

12th January 2008, Crew 2, Session 5, Slaughtergarde Temple (almost concluded):

“The vermin, sending Da Pimp back upstairs along with the dwarven fighter Lint Cleastwood and the carcass of the “elf” paladin, set to return to the worthless frontier speck of dirt on my map that passes for the local city.

“Having regrouped once more in the entry chamber, the vermin were quick to notice the remaining defenders massing in the passageway through the copper-plated double doors to their north. Rather aghast, they saw half a dozen wolf-sized spiders, a half-dozen tamed stirges and 4 wererats packing light crossbows, a couple of throwing daggers and rapiers. Audible but out of sight, at trio of women could be heard completing a soft chanting. Naturally, I broke out the popcorn and set the tee-view-crystal to record the carnage that would assuredly ensue. The vermin could not see the high priestess and her tame Wight making an end-run around to what had become the rear rank of the vermin’s group.

“The vermin wisely moved quickly to bottle up their foes in the 10’ wide hallway beyond the copper doors that still stood open in the aftermath of the initial response group’s deaths. Agent J and Pit Jumper moved into the frontline positions, backed up by Sir Red of Neck and Baron Morose. Sir Al of N took up a supporting position on the stairs leading up to the hunting lodge above, with Ebil Mark’s new elven wizard in support.

“In the space of the next 90 seconds, the carnage was glorious. The first few seconds pass as spiders swarm in to munch (generally missing mightily) while stirges fly in over them hungry for surface dwellers’ blood. Agent J hacks one of his trio of dungeon-skeeters out of the air on their attack run, easily warding off the critters’ eager probisci. Pit Jumper is not so fortunate, finding a trio of dungeon-skeeters eagerly crawling upon him, hungry for refreshing oxygenated biological fluids. Arrows fly and steel flashes wet with the ichor of arachnids and dungeon-skeeters as magic missiles flash in between flailing limbs. Baron Morose saw fit to pluck a dungeon-skeeter off the poor Pit Jumper, clobbering it rather thoroughly.

“Moments later, the spiders, wererats and drow acolytes have forced the vermin into the entry chamber of the temple proper. Pit Jumper lay nestled on the threshold of those northern doors, using a stirge as an impromptu pillow. 3 spider bite wounds and a hand crossbow bolt protrude from various anatomical parts, bearing testimony to how he fell into his unwelcome slumber. Baron Morose’s brave stand at that threshold was cut short in a hail of light crossbow bolts from the wererats, his blood seeping onto the gore-and-ichor slicked stone floor, a dim pulse of life still beating within his pathetic form. Across the way, at the southern doors’ threshold into that same chamber, lay the bleeding form of Sir Red of Neck, brought low after a vicious spell-duel with the high priestess that saw a ‘draw’, a wererat’s opportune skewering then vicious backstabbing via rapier spelling his fall onto the floor of what is fast becoming a magnificent abattoir. Within Sir Red of Neck’s entrails festers a contagion-delivered slimy doom. Three of the vermin remained standing: Sir Al of N, Ebil Mark and Agent J. The drow cleric and a single wererat remain, the wight driven off by an early turn courtesy of Sir Red of Neck. The six spiders, six stirges, three drow acolytes and three of the four wererats lay bleeding or deceased upon the flagstones.

“The priestess shifts her spiritual weapon whip over to attempt to flail Agent J into submission, or preferably death, and starts blasting the trio of roaches with sound bursts from her wand. During her attempts to pulverize the intruders with this remarkably unpleasant device, Agent J was laboring under the unpleasant consequences of a hold person gripping his mind courtesy of that same priestess.

“Ebil Mark bravely jumps down from the stairs, dragging Baron Morose in his unconscious state out of easy blasting radius of the drow cleric. Sound blasts fly, arrows reciprocate in an unfavorable ratio of returned damage and the last wererat falls to another silver arrow courtesy of Sir Al of N.

“Ebil Mark crams a cure light wounds potion down Baron Morose’s maw while Pit Jumper awakens – noticeably weakened by the spider venom coursing through his veins – from the drow sleep poison-induced nap, cleverly remaining prone while imbibing a healing potion. Sir Al of N perforates the priestess with yet another one of his infamously deadly yew shafts, although she is in bad shape, she is not quite finished. Her spiritual weapon’s final round of effective existence gleefully results in a critical blow, slaying Agent J in a spray of brains, ocular fluid, blood and other fluids. She taps her one prepared cure light wounds spell to bring her vital force up above the bare minimum necessary to retain consciousness.

“Disgustingly, Pit Jumper in a ferocious display of whoop-a$$, charges pell-mell down the corridor to her, cutting her belly open in a gratuitous spray of entrails, dropping her to the stones. Ebil Mark immediately followed in his wake, carving out a Columbian Neck Tie at what proved to be the drow cleric’s last expense.

“They also manage to extirpate the huge demon-spider in the altar room, as well as the wight that had been turned earlier, before electing to wisely retire for the evening to rest and recuperate from their many wounds and difficulties.

“Now the vermin have gained much from their travails within the Slaughtergarde Temple, so it shall remain to be seen if they can continue to prosecute hostilities with the inhabitants remaining therein, let alone against the more formidable and noteworthy foes that eagerly await their presence upon the supper table at the Armory ahead of them.”

Player Highlights (in no particular order of importance or superiority):

Lord Red of Neck: A crucial Turn repelled the Wight from the combat completely, occupied the 5th level drow cleric’s attention for some rounds by himself (catching a contagion spell and a critically-delivered dagger thrust into his soft palate backed by a destruction domain smite) before the attempted removal of his delicate person from hostile intention was brought low by a wererat.

Baron Morose: Numerous timely interventions, including manfully plucking a stirge off of Pit Jumper (and gleefully mashing it into the wall) and attempting to get the group to form a four-man front line that would only permit two foes to come forward into melee with them. He even lightly roasted his own feet to free himself of the entangling webbing of a web-tossing spider by way of his own alchemists’ fire.

Pit Jumper: Bravery, plenty of bravery. He stood manfully against multitudes of fangs and crossbow bolts, and as a player very pleasantly endured the full 10 rounds of unconsciousness induced by that failed poison saving throw against the one drow hand crossbow bolt that hit him.

Ebil Mark: While not discoursed in Brother Fausts’ journal entry above, he did well this day. A wisely purchased magic missile wand lent well-timed and unerringly delivered damage, felling a third of the tame stirges by his lonesome. A barely executed defensively cast burning hands incinerated two wererats and one of the three acolytes in a single brutal blast. Heroic risk to life and limb rescued Baron Morose from potential coup de gras.

Agent J: Did well, brought low by a combination of attrition and the 20 hp critical hit by the cleric’s spiritual weapon whip. He has been a trooper of a player, as it is clear he would desire more RP in a Diet-RP campaign.

Sir Al of N: What more need we say than “hideous attack bonus with that ferocious masterwork bow-and-arrow combination”? Ah, such things as retaining the looted silver longbow arrows (from the laboratory), which greatly exacerbated the prosecution of wererat deaths, in the players’ favor.

Close Calls: Baron Morose, stabilized at -4 hp, revived by potion of cure light wounds fed to him by Ebil Mark. Lord Red of Neck, stabilized at -5 hp, was not revived during the combat. Pit Jumper, brought to single-digit hp then took a stirge pillow nap for 10 rounds before awakening.

" Ahhh, the sweet carnage of the death of mortals. Few things make a headier nectar than the shrieks of agony heralded by reckless youth. For some reason the Favored Soul of Pelor was ill ... mayhap the fell ethereal winds within this place did not sit well on his weak mind...

" The vermin had concluded a rest without disturbance in the hunting lodge above the Shattergarde Temple. While the head of said fane was mildly perturbed at the intrusion, another group was tasked to await the return of the intruders.

" Return they did, lights aglow, once more descending the steep stairs from behind the concealing millstone, chattering merrily about swag and other sundry dreams.

" The wretched mortals were in for a rude surprise from the Arcane Guard of the Temple section of shattered Slaughtergarde. In the course of the melee, two 5th level fireballs were unleashed from scrolls, a deeper slumber spell dropped Lint Cleastwood for a short nap and asundry injuries from assorted weapons were distributed. The party, licking thier wounds and administering plentiful curatives from rapidly-diminishing Wands, pressed onward, opening the southern pair of copper doors from the entry chamber now crusted with the burnt blood of felled half-drow.

" Inching forward, they failed to note the grimlocks hiding in the shadows beyond the light of another Slaughtergarde demon arch. Four of the beasties launched themselves from the shadows, scoring mighty blows with thier greataxes all four grimlocks scored blows on both Ebil Mark's dwarven paladin and Agent J's dwarven fighter, grievously wounding the front-line dwarves.

" Moments later, 3 of the 4 grimlocks were swimming in thier own entrails, while the 4th beat a hasty retreat, never to be seen again. A quarter minute ticked by, wounds were starting to be cured when from the shadows of the hallway down which the grimlock fled came a mated pair of raging quaggoths named Smash (the male) and Squish (the female).

" The opening seconds were pure horror for the vermin, as with a single mighty blow Smash literally brained the dwarven paladin of Moradin, knocking that vital organ forth from his skull into the pool of water from which minutes before the grimlocks had been busying themselves with filling buckets and pails. The melee was furious and brutal, with a second dwarven brain from Agent J's dwarven fighter scattered into the pool from its housing courtesy of the quaggoth Smash. Alas, despite the defenders' valiant efforts to smash more skull, the roaches were quick to put them down, with the elven archer quick to coup de gras them both vis a vis hand-held arrow to thier eye sockets, thence into tiny brain pans.

" Tucking thier tails firmly betwixt hindquarters, I watched them hasten back to town. Bemusedly, they contracted a local druid to reincarnate the fallen dwarves, with the result of rebirthing two young adult ... elves into the world. Ah, irony... the tang is bittersweet I find.

" After a week's repast, they sojourned once more to the forlorn hunting lodge, once again securing the carraige, dawgs and now FIVE elven sellswords in the lodge (with the sellswords keeping an ear open to respond to thier employer's command). Naturally, even more irked at the repeated incursions, the head of the fane decided to place what should have been a more durable welcoming committee to finally annihilate the pests.

" Sadly, it seems the rebirth from short, stout and hairy to taller, thinner and nigh-hairless unhinged the Ebil Mark's paladin's mind, for he immediately pranced down the stairs and at a healthy sprint towards another pair of Arcane Guards. This 'committee' did not fair so well as the last, sadly, although the combination of two fireball scrolls did incinerate the chosen of Moradin, sending him off to roast merrily in the coals of said gawd's profane forge. Afterwards, the scum policed up the loot and patched up another assortment of wounds before eating a quick lunch.

" I do believe that the one in charge of this place shall be taking exception to thier presence at this juncture ... "

Crew 2, Session 3: Conclusion of the Howling Horde, Beginning the Slaughtergarde Temple

What was really disappointing was that out of eight players, only two were known to be unable to attend the game a scant 5 miles' distance from our usual venue, leaving what should have been 6 persons present for this session. The other two, notified well in advance of the new lcoation both at the table at the end of last session as well as by e-mail communication, failed to neither show nor contact anyone on thier own accord regarding any inability to attend. Thus, only Sir Al of N, Lord Red of Neck, Da Pimp and one of the three dwarven brothers put in appearances for this session.

"The pests continue thier infestatious devouring of all that come before them, justifying an aggressive adaptation of all minions to certain... eldritch properties.

"After resting the night, they set forth to continue cleansing the Howling Cave of any remaining foes while smashing open chests, getting perforated by darts and other entertaining traps and generally leaving plentiful cloning materials in messy abundance all over the place.

"Upon determining that the Howling Cave appeared to have been defiled by the now-deceased current inhabitants' Maglubiyet-worshippers, the scum discerned not only that the location was once sacred to the clergy of the Bearded One Moradin, it was also in some form or fashion once a check point either into or out of the Underdark.

"Eventually, they elected to confront an unidentified 'thing' beyond a barred portal. They sallied forth, hefting the bar from its cradles, clattering it upon the flagstones beneath thier feet and readied torches to throw into the chamber beyond to gain greater illumination of what goblin-devouring horror waits within.

"The mighty portals are flung open, two torches sail into the chamber, sputtering fitfully in the actinic air slightly tickling thier nose hairs from beneath them. Bravely the dwarf fighter proceeded Sir Al of N and Lord Red of Neck into the dank cave, noting the larger sink hole to thier right. Sadly, they failed to note the small dragon's Take 10 Hide check in the shadowly light beyond the torch.

"In a scurry of claws gouging small chunks of native stone from the floor, a dog-sized beast of scale, claw, fang and horn scuttled forth, vomiting a stream of acid upon two of Da Pimp's mooks! Who had made Warrior 2 in thier adventures with Da Pimp. Failing to avoid the brunt of the corrosive spew, they suffered magnificently.

"The dwarf fighter bravely engaged the fell beast, crossbow bolts peppered its durable hide but the worst of the struggle to defend its pitiful horde was Sir Al of N's formidable archer, scoring a deadly shaft of steel-tipped yew every few seconds' with disgustingly well-aimed shots. While the beasts' durability meant it held onto its precious existence for almost 8 full rounds, bringing one of the mook elf warriors into negative hit points from a 2nd breath weapon. The beast fought and fought well, but in the end the fell shafts of that accursed goblinoid-bait archer spelled out its doom. Humiliated, they kept the beast unconscious and hauled it back to Sumberton to be sold off as a mere 'pet'.

"After a week more carrying them into mid-April'ish they completed thier return to Sumberton, sold off the dragon to yours truly for the paltry sum of 8,000 gold coins and collected thier promised reward of 600 more gold coin per adventurer. All told, they collected in the neighborhood of about 3800 or so gold coin a head in the aftermath of the expedition.

"Eventually, they recalled the crude map to the noble family's hunting lodge a few miles from some worthless pile of stone that yet remained inhabited. Setting forth, full of self-confidence and nigh-glowing with inexpensive magical trinkets, they enter the lodge and descend the steep 50' stairway into the darkness. Shining a bullseye lantern down, they note a dim violet light.

"Bent on flapping jaws, Lord Red of Neck and the dwarf fighter now dubbed Lint Cleastwood lead the approach along with Sir Al of N, the trio of elven mooks and Da Pimp bringing up the rear. Two half-drow rangers with a noted fondness for elf flesh and readied long bows rather easily noted the lamp light and readied shafts, hopeful of a pointy-eared target to perforate.

"Fortuitously, Sir Al of N provided an excellent target, eating a yard-long steel-tipped shaft to the chest on the opening salvo. After shooting, that marksdrow backed down the corridor 20' shouting 'Rider! Make Ready!'

"As usual, the carnage ensued almost immediately, with a trio of Da Pimp's summoned stirges yes - I know - shaddap quickly making short work of first one then the other archer. The wanna-be cavalier drow fighter was almost successful in impaling Lint Cleastwood upon his lance, but the return of the sentiment by Lint was brutal and swift, making timely and brutal use of his new Belt of One Mighty Blow to cleave the sorry bastard clean out of his saddle.

"As one would expect, they eventually made numerous sets of luggage out of the 4 riding lizards. The vermin did note the lack of hunger and thirst within the Temple, as well as shrugging it off and electing to sample both mushrooms and lizardflesh, deciding that it was indeed quite tasty fare. The surveillance fades after noting commentary that 'this was rougher than we thought it would be'."

KaeYoss wrote:

And I also want to say, for no particular reason, that my players said yesterday, after our first session of Pathfinder (lot to catch up!), that they're anything but squeamish if it comes to horror and horrible things. I would be remiss in my duties of Game master if I wouldn't make them regret that statement.

I would have to second that, having a group of players who keep saying "bring it on".....

Believes the eight brave souls who would dare thwart his long-term plans and minion-training-regime practices are in dire need of education at the expense of their false sense of invulnerability.

"Will minion groups Graul and Ogre please deploy to the Valley of Obelisks. Repeat, will minion groups Graul and Ogre please deploy to the Valley of Obelisks. Thank you."

Notes the recommended upgrades in training regimes for minions, hirelings, hangers-on, miscellaneous followers and acolytes.

"Yasha spake the Dread Name, waking me from disconcerting slumber of a pleasant foulness. Irked that the days-long 'training' of young lasses was so rudely interrupted, the question was put forth.

Lyssa and Ryssa are my nominees for POV NPCs. Now leave me to once more pontificate upon the deserved fate of those who would torment my properly fevered brain..."

Yasha0006 wrote:

Since I see you here Allen here he is...

Allengru

Before you stands a hulking ape-like creature. Thick muscles cover its hunched body, which is covered in matted, rust-colored fur. Even more frightening than its thick black claws, is the horrific visage worn by this mange-ridden beast. A leering countenance...replete with a smirk of such terrible glee that it is sickening to look upon. Perverse in the extreme, its gaze roves over you in contemplation of your eventual demise, and what it might then do to your remains. It bounds forward to attack, laughing maniacally all the way.

There. A bit over the top, but there.

Actually, a Killer GM, needs to sport a friendly smile and a compassionate persona. That helps you to reel the poor souls in before you obliterate their characters and send them home crying!

Yasha's description is pretty good for Allengru. For a Killer GM, the appearance must needs be rather bland and decidedly nonthreatening before the carnage gets underway - preferably with an inescapable mindset on the players' part established by hubris...

Crew 2, Session 2:
" Ever eager for swag and learning at the school of hard knocks, my surveillance of these eight pests and thier entourage continues unabated. After spending a week pawning the materials hauled back into town, Da Pimp saw fit to order a carraige from the best known local wainwright, a few days' travel to the frontier of new civilization, a 100-adult speck of a hamlet whose name I presently do not recall. Along with notification that the carraige was ready came the news that adventurous sorts were desperately needed to deal with unspecified problems.

11 homids gear up and go marching off to said town. They liberate a hobbit merchant from a brutal goblin ambush (slaughtering all the goblins - I must remember to get better minions, goblinoids are just not up to the task), escorting said hobbit merchant to that nigh-worthless moldy bread crumb of a hamlet and earning in turn 100 gp of credit at her store.

After intense negotiations with the very old dwarven moneylender-mayor of that speck on a map, they are humming a happy tune with the fat promise of earning 4,800 gold for ensuring by whatever means necessary that the goblin menace ceases and desists.

Having learned of the Howling Cave that serves as the goblins' lair, they purchase a few guard dogs and sally forth with a carraige (pulled by 2 light horse) and becoming an amusing spectacle to watch. Preferring to approach the cave mouth from the opening's left face, the carnage begins. Despite the valiant struggle, the half-dozen guard dogs and four goblins are overwhelmed by these hooligans ... until near the end when a single, wounded goblin manages to effect escape beyond the entry door and begin sounding the alarm.

The second guard room held 4 goblins gambling, and while they were quickly felled, they did buy the wounded goblin time to continue deeper into the complex and sound the alarm. Eager to gut the wounded female, Pit Jumper led the pursuit into the bowels of the complex.

The wounded female goblin managed to get to the pair of double doors crudely scrawled with " Bronk and Stonk's Place " in both Goblin and Common, open one and sound the alert. Sadly, the valiant effort of the goblin female to survive ended at that threshold, mowed down by an arrow through her back.

Bronk and Stonk - identifiable as such by the names so scrawled on the wooden shields strapped to thier forearms - chucked javelins and sorely wounded some party member or another, and further exacerbated the alarm by bellowing down the hallway. They were also able to effect another volley of javelins (running out) and readying morning stars while the bulk of the party moved into position.

Bronk and Stonk proceeded to beat Ebil M's dwarven paladin into not-yet-dead mush and savage several other party members before a sleep spell dropped Stonk. Lord Red of Neck, taking great risk, belly-flopped atop the pile that was a sleeping bugbear and said dwarven paladin then bleeding out on the floor, effecting a cure spell sufficient to prevent the fallen dwarf's death in the very near future.

Bronk swatted J's dwarven fighter, not quite bringing him low. The rear guard of the group - Sir Al of N's elven ranger-fighter, Pit Jumper's human two-weapons fighter and Da Pimp's elven conjurer - noted one pair of the double doors to the north opening and spilling light out into the hallway.

As Bronk was laid low and Lord Red of Neck coup de grace'd Stonk with his staff, a hobgoblin wizard (under a potion of invisibility) tossed a sleep spell (putting Pit Jumper into la la land) only to eat Sir Al of N's readied shot. Two hobgoblin elite guard-goblins stepped forth and hucked javelins into Da Pimp, felling him - sadly failing to slay the irritant - and lastly a hobgoblin fighter - clad in banded mail and heavy shield, wielding a battle axe - moved into the front guard position.

Sadly for the hobgoblins, the two elite guards-goblins were sent once more to la la land via Da Pimp's third and final sleep spell of the day (after being resuscitated by Baron Morose) then crawling off down the hallway. The hobgoblin wizard, perhaps ballsier than he should have been, moved into a dangerous forward position and blasted the two dwarven fighters with a color spray. Most unfortunately, they both near-maxxed out thier Will save rolls and ignored the spell, then made short work of the wizard. The fighter, scoring mighty (but not a critical) blows with his battleaxe laid into the party, only to be hacked down in turn.

All in all, while multiple members of these irksome pests were sent into negative hit points, none were outright slain nor bled out on the floor. Of course, they have not yet managed to complete the exploration of this complex, so all hope is not yet lost.

Granted, thier purchasing both healing spell casters wands of cure light wounds was fundamentally contributive of thier successful denial of death once more... Soon enough those sticks will be depleted, so it is a matter of timing I think... "

" Martel liked to make friends. " A most enjoyable turn of phrase, simple, yet in this case delectably laced with potent treachery and worse. Well done.

Turin the Mad wrote:

Allen Stewart wrote:

Yasha, there weren't a ton of monsters left in the city of Kuluth Mar, in the Killer AoW campaign I ran, after the PC's finished the adventure. Those that did remain would have been freed when Kyuss succeeded in beginning the Age of Worms. Until that point, the occupants of the city were trapped therein. Once freedom was achieved, I suspect that many (if not all) of the remaining residents, would have abandoned their 'prison' and made the trek northward. Turin could naturally decide that a few of them remained. Naturally, I'll be denying Turin any peek at my AoW Dungeon Magazines for the stats for any creature of Kyuss, should he get any creative ideas:)

Weeell, the funny thing about critters being able to run amok is ... they are free to run amok ... maybe, say, nibble on a certain pearl or something too ... you know, just to spice things up a bit...

And good Sir Al of N, surely you do not believe I won't soon be acquiring the Age of Worms in its entirety ... therein lies far too much entertaining material not to acquire and eventually make use of, at the Saturday crew's ... expense, shall we say...

Turin: If you need any stats. before you can obtain the aforementioned hard-copies, feel free to make requests here on the threads; I'm sure that some of us, who like to see... lively... encounters that either bring out the best in a group of PCs or force them to die swiftly will be delighted to oblige.

A most excellent proposal good Sir Charles of E, one which I suspect Sir Al of N will find ... disconcerting to contemplate...

Turin the Mad wrote:

Allen Stewart wrote:

Yasha, there weren't a ton of monsters left in the city of Kuluth Mar, in the Killer AoW campaign I ran, after the PC's finished the adventure. Those that did remain would have been freed when Kyuss succeeded in beginning the Age of Worms. Until that point, the occupants of the city were trapped therein. Once freedom was achieved, I suspect that many (if not all) of the remaining residents, would have abandoned their 'prison' and made the trek northward. Turin could naturally decide that a few of them remained. Naturally, I'll be denying Turin any peek at my AoW Dungeon Magazines for the stats for any creature of Kyuss, should he get any creative ideas:)

Weeell, the funny thing about critters being able to run amok is ... they are free to run amok ... maybe, say, nibble on a certain pearl or something too ... you know, just to spice things up a bit...

And good Sir Al of N, surely you do not believe I won't soon be acquiring the Age of Worms in its entirety ... therein lies far too much entertaining material not to acquire and eventually make use of, at the Saturday crew's ... expense, shall we say...

I'm not cooperating, period, end of story.... Wait, what's that, you'll be using these Kyuss monsters on Crew #1? OKAY, I'LL FAX COPIES OF THE MONSTERS TO YOU A.S.A.P.!!!

We'll need to work on an agreement however to disallow any use of said minions of Kyuss on Crew #2, in exchange for said creatures stats for use on Crew #1...

Interesting that there seems to be a 'requirement' I get them from you my good friend. Why, this very website has the means to acquire the necessary information at my fingertips...

Learn from the lessons of alternative lives oh Journalist, mayhap valuable information can be gleaned from such ... tutelage.

" Eight there are, with 3 mercenary veterans in tow, hired to recover a shipment of spices from a long-abandoned laboratory. I wonder if they realize they'll need a wagon to extricate everything when all is said and done? The place is just over a day's travel South-southwest of the final destination of those shipped north for the Wormfood Gathering prior to the Last March, a small latrine of a town called Slumberton I believe.

" At first things proceed predictably enough, the inattentive goblinoids not being too dense did hear the nigh-cacaphonous din of a dwarven paladin of Moradin and 2 dwarven fighters - all beer swilling brothers of course - tromping down the sloped passage from the surface, along with an elven wizard with the trio of veteran elven mercenaries, an elven ranger, a human cleric of Boccob, a human favored soul of Kord and a human bastard-and-short sword fighter.

" The welcoming committee of four half-plate and heavy pick wielding hobgoblins with a duo of archers was quickly butchered in place. The next room, with a smaller guard of 3 goblin ambushers, was also quickly put to rest - permanently. Minor wounds were doled out by the vigorously foolhardy defenders. I am certain the blackhearted creatures would have fled had they lived long enough to regret thier final few moments of existance before being shuffled off to a sudden and unexpected audience with Gawd unknown...

" They bear right, down a hall to a muddy chamber guarded by a monitor lizard that is rapidly rendered into substitute chicken and luggage, followed by a slightly more durable goblin ranger and his hyena getting similarly rendered into broth components. After these first 4 fights, they rest the night to regain thier strength and prosecute hostilities anew.

" The elven ranger, crawling across the narrow plankage of a room o' quicksand, after two or three tries and bieng drug through the muck by brute force and a rope around his waist, recognizes goblin chanting echoing down the hall from a chamber ahead. He does not particularly understand what is being said.

" However, at least one dwarf did, who promptly taunted the chanter mightily, and in rather provocative phrasings in Goblin. Once the ranger was returned to the folds of the party, the group elected to use the bookshelves in the previous room to provide themselves a sturdier means of crossing the quicksand in order to take the fight to the goblin foe ahead.

" Naturally, the goblin, hearing the commotion of the room being dismantled, was not a total idiot. He went and gathered every warrior and creature he could get to quickly, setting a battle formation against the hard-to-miss entry point of the party.

" The first line was 4 zombified hobgoblins, wearing leather armor and packing battle axes. Behind them a trio of 3 spear-wielding skeletons. The 2 dark creepers took up flanking positions out of immediate line of sight of the entry way. The rooms illumination was shadowy ... at first, and especially in thier vicinity. A break and another line of 3 goblin skirmishers, javelins at the ready. The last line was the goblin cleric and his 2 half-plate clad goblin veterans.

" The plan was successful at first, bottlenecking the intruders within the passageway for about 30 seconds or so. All too soon however, the defense unravelled, a trio of turn undead attempts (the latter two sufficiently honest in thier faith to Boccob to overcome the hobgoblin cleric's own bolstering), two memorized sleep spells ~the first slumbering the 3 goblin skirmishers {who had already discharged thier 3 javelins apiece} and the second similarly the 2 dark creepers who were almost utterly useless~ dealt the twin hammer blows of the assault. The defenders put up a valiant defense, the one zombie that was never turned brought down at the very last. Four of the intruding party was brought to within a morning star's cranial smash of death, but close does not count unless one has flame strikes or fireballs.

An impressive tactical performance in spite of starting out in the weaker position. I must make certain to recruit better minions tomorrow... "

All told, the carnage for the first session was staggering. Going on memory, 9 CR 1/3rds, 12 CR 1/2s, 6 CR 1s, a CR 2 and 4 CR 3s totalled the tally of the first session, awarding EIGHT PC's a total of 1,088 - rounded up - xp apeice, and thus 2nd level.

Behold, the gawds reveal unto Me those who stir the threads of destiny intertwined with Fate.

From an insignificant hole of a valley littered with ancient obelisks they rustle, irritating my dreams like unto a chancer of the brain.

They must be nutured, yet remain lean and hungry, ever eager to secure thier ambitions. Better still if the baser sins motivate them to achieve what My Lord needs them to achieve, what I need them to achieve.

I turn to the font of blessed vitae, focussing my Will to observe them in more detail, mayhap even to discern the essential salts of those who may some day become a new threat to my most sacred existence...

Sam Gamgee was nice and devoted to Frodo. This little bastard is mean, honry, and sadistic. And if any 'Frodo prototype' threatens me over his insane fears of my trying to take his ring, I'll be serving him his kidneys for dinner.

"It rubs the lard on its skin or it gets the flail again..."

Allen Stewart wrote:

Sam Gamgee was nice and devoted to Frodo. This little bastard is mean, honry, and sadistic. And if any 'Frodo prototype' threatens me over his insane fears of my trying to take his ring, I'll be serving him his kidneys for dinner.

Simply genius. So no... "Have you had enough bacon Mr. Frodo?"...more like this?

"Have some more bacon you ungrateful little git!" said Samfoul, waiting "Its all laced with Strychnine, just so you know."

I have been having visions of vicious little hobbits ever since Turin mentioned his Carnivorous one...wonderful imagery.

Quinfoul Skillethammer ... could be rather catchy I imagine...

Update: I believe that the thread that I may have been thinking of was ** spoiler omitted **. Although this differs by two from the 'nine' that you mention, some of the posts mention a Dragon article, although it appears that the only 'stat blocks' given for any of the critters in question are for those already encountered in the Adventure Path. Some of those who post on the thread are kind enough to give their home-brew interpretations of some of the other critters in question, and since I see that Turin the Mad posted on the thread, this may have been at the back of your mind when thinking of the legendary critters in question...

Sorry I can't directly supply any more useful information, but it has been a while since I actually bought, much less read a Dragon magazine.

EDIT: ** spoiler omitted **

And do you prefer to be addressed as Brother Faust or Turin on this thread?

Charles,

I would stand corrected regarding the Seven Infamous Critters of the Isle of Dread - at the time, I for some infathomable reason thought there were nine of them... must be tropical brain fever...

Either name will be sufficient - Brother Faust will be the narrator for this campaign journal, while posts as Turin (should) be "OOC" as a commentator/spectator of one stripe or another.

And Good Sir Al of N, please be so kind as to use Quin the Cook instead of the vanilla archer... the more entertaining the hobbit, the likelier the hilarity to ensue. Granted, some small amount of this may come at the expense (funereal or otherwise) of one's fellow player characters... ^_^

I can see it now ... Fort Blackwell's inhabitants all have a disturbingly amphibian cast to thier features .... there's a new lodge in the place with the mysterious anacronym B.P.o.F. on the entryway ... yet, the place has a reputation for impeccible churigury using a minimum amount of leeching... not to mention a nice, new sanitarium...

Of the detailed entries along the coast, what exactly laid waste to Fort Greenrock? Is it a certainty that only mere lizardfolk are responsible ... or are there a few small dried crusts of some kind of resin on the occassional roof edge and windowsill? And just what exactly resides atop the jungle-crowned thousand-foot cliffs of the isle of Ruja? Based on the map in SWW, Ruja is not tiny ... at a guesstimation, the place measures roughly 80 miles SW to NE by a minimum of 10 miles, for 800 square MILES of unexplored island, none of which has a beach. And what of its nameless 25 - 50 square mile companion, roughly 25 leagues to the west?

Of the mentioned entries:
* The Great Web - Who is to say that its sole inhabitants are unintelligent? A one Rhan-Tegoth could lurk in the mist-and-web shrouded jungle not too far inland...

* The Sacred Forest - Lizardfolk are fairly hardy, especially in thier native habitat. Yet, for a 10 mile stretch of coastline, enormous Kapok trees are filled with strange totems, dessicated lizardfolk carcasses, fetishes and masks. What strangeness indeed could do so readily yet not find the carcasses removed and attented to by lizardfolk's customary funeral rites?

* The Vast Burning - A decade or more aged 'huge blackened valley' used as a vast sacrificial fire pit into which hundreds of what appear to be humanoid apes were thrown, then burned alive and horribly. What ever did the deed left enough of a taint that neither plant nor vermin nor eater of carrion will broach its boundries... nothing known to demi-human and human sages explains this - the wisest keep away... yet a similarly eerie lack of vegetative erosion occurs on the midnight-black stones of the immense stepped pyramid of the ruins of Chekitewan not more than 12 leagues or so due south southeast of Sasserine herself...

And as to this campaign's starting point, the Valley of Obelisks ... it lies on the northernmost frontier of mankind... beyond it, only exiles and those condemned to become Wormfood travel afoot...

What is a bummer is that I do not seem to be in possession of the Dragon magazine issue that discusses the Nasty Nine critters of legend that call the Isle of Dread and its environs home...

Charles Evans 25 wrote:

Turin the Mad wrote:

Charles Evans 25 wrote:

Turin the Mad wrote:

EDIT:

Okay, maybe not Star-Spawn, even if Allen is in the party, but something else from the Mythos?

Why thank you, Charles.

Good Sir Quin, I do believe that it may be Sir Charles was insinuating a certain Star Spawn-ish resemblance to yourself ... ^_^

I shall watch events here with interest. (I'm already a reader of your Savage Tide #1 posts, and looking forward to seeing what cunning tricks Allen has up his sleeve for use when he sits on the other side of the screen.) I'm unfamiliar with the 'Slaughtergarde' that you mention (I take it to be a module) and so the events there will seem more hazy to me than the regular adventure path from Dungeon. (Unless you are successful in coaxing a fine crop of campaign journals out of crew #2, to match those that we see posted from crew #1.)

I'm slightly surprised that you're not allowing players source material from the Dragon Magazine Savage Tide articles, since I thought that these were supposed to be designed to accompany the AP, but then again it is a *LONG* time since I picked up a Dragon magazine and some of the stuff that they may have printed could be along the lines of the dreaded Crusader class, or infamous FR spells, I realise.

** spoiler omitted **

To conclude you and Allen have cheered up many of my evenings recently, with the accounts of your gaming groups, and I'd like to say a big thanks for that.

Your are of course correct good Sir Charles, as there are plentitudes of nawstiness settings liberally sprinkled throughout the flavor text of the Bullywug Gambit, Sea Wyvern's Wake and Here There Be Monsters.

I am not encouraging them to requisition that material you've mentioned. You surmise correctly, 'Slaughtergarde' directly references the Shattered Gates of ... module by David Noonan.

It is most humbling that our posts bring genuine cheer to other readers. May we continue to bring good cheer to your evenings for years more to come. Hopefully, someday soon you can be similarly posting a campaign journal of madness and mayhem of your own!

Here is the, slightly edited, introductory e-mail sent out to the prospective roster (of I believe 7 total players) for Crew 2 of the Savage Tide campaign that begins Saturday 1st December '07.

Here's the low-down for "Crew 2". 3 of you have already played through the first 2 chapters (more or less) of the "original" script while still in Crew 1, so we'll go with "The Shattered Gates of Slaughtergarde" to get everyone from 1st - 5th and heading into Chapter 3 of the Savage Tide Adventure Path.

Everyone starts of with "Book Standard" PHB 1st level characters. 4d6, best 3 dice, roll a stack of 6 and assign them as you see fit. No monster races, no templates, no level adjustment PC races (unless you want your characters to die real bad for some reason). Standard starting gold for your class - your choice of the starting 'kit' or throwing random dice as deliniated in the Equipment section of the PHB.

Books to reference for the campaign are as follows: PHB and PHB 2, Complete Warrior, Complete Arcane, Complete Divine, Complete Adventurer, Complete Scoundrel, Unearthed Arcana (for class variants mainly, as well as Flaws and Traits). Keep in mind that the long-term campaign - while starting in a mountainous vale - heads onto the high seas and into ... unpleasant places thereafter, so a nautical capability is not a bad thing in the long run.

Prohibited: Leadership (unless the group 'boils down' to 4 players), Ur-Priest, class variants other than those in the books above, 'playable' races not in the PHB. I am discarding most of the 'house rules' that Crew 1 is dealing with, since we have enough players in Crew 2 with firing neurons to make a good game without them.

I advise generating 3 characters each to start with, at least in terms of race/ability scores/class selection - 2 as back up to the one you'll start the game with.

Be advised, I will be posting a blog/campaign journal from the GM's perspective on the campaign as it progresses. Do not fear, I never use a player's real name, although I do come up with a moniker/handle for each player that should carry through the entire campaign. If the players are interested, they are of course welcome to post a "player's perspective" blog/journal on the same forum. Ideally, such a moniker is inspired at the table. <g>

The basic gist of where the PCs are coming from is this:

You're all minor scions of whatever families you choose from Sasserine (at least 2 of the players on the roster have Player's Guides to the Savage Tide), sent packing to the northern mountainous hinterlands to avoid embarrassing one's families without getting too terribly close to the desolate wastelands on the other side of said mountains. (Or anything vaguely similar.) Naturally, such a band of childhood chums buddies up in the new place and attempts to make a name for themselves. Your secondary characters are also of a similar persuasion - thier exact physical location (unless your primary is brought back from beyond the veil) will be dependant upon where your primary buys a plot. If any are pushing up daises in the Vale, your secondary is in that area. If your primary gets all the way back to Sasserine with something to slap the old man around with, your secondaries are involved in Sasserine in some form or fashion.

The "Big Cities" are Cauldron and Sasserine - the Free City (among others) was extirpated about 2 years ago in an orgy of Writhing Doom. About the time your characters hope to return is just ~after~ the annual Wormfood Gathering (this is the second one), wherein all the seriously undesirable elements of the area that still live are rounded up from the outlying settlements of Cauldron and Sasserine as tribute to the Things to the far north/northeast and forcibly marched over those northern mountains into no-man's land, to be devoured alive or worse...

Exile is a serious punishment indeed for most ... far worse than the executioner's mace awaiting them at a headsman's block, or perhaps the mercifully quick death of a good length of rope and a gallows.

In the area your characters hail from, cults of Kyuss and Tharizdun, if discovered, are ruthlessly persecuted by ALL the other religious affiliations that survived the Age of Worms - you are not familiar with the gruesome details. In the wake of two major gawds throwing down with the rest of the pantheon, Kyuss and Tharizdun were sent packing, albiet at great
cost to the rest of the pantheon. The only gawds known to have survived (at least in your area) are the ones in the PHB, most of which are substantially diminished in divine stature and power as compared to just over 2 years ago.

Amongst the organizations of mortals however, the most notable to survive the aftermath is the infamous Scarlet Brotherhood, a band of human supremicists of Suel descent. Thier star is waxing in ascendance once again ... although they are not what they were in days gone by, they are formidable. Sasserine and Cauldron remain independant of thier overlordship from the Greyhawk Wars of less than a generation past, the losses of said war releasing such city-states as Cauldron and Sasserine from the clutches of the Suloise Overlords. The Scarlet Brotherhood is known for both long-term planning and short-term striking power. With the loss of the Circle of Eight and many other famous [read: high-level] heroes who were devoured alive in the attempted defense of the Free City or other locations of perceived great political importance at the time, no one has come forth since then that can truly claim such lofty titles as Archmage, Hierophant, Lord and Marshall of the Grand Army or any other similar nomenclature.

Now the question is - what is your doom? Weal, or Woe?

" Some months ago Tharizdun sent me a terrible vision. A mighty band of heroes, with several blasphemous clerics of the light, astride the bones of the ancient servant of Kyuss known throughout near to all of recorded history as Dragotha, were about to lay low the demi-gawd Kyuss and thwart the Writhing Doom promised for so long.

This of course must not come to pass! So while the fetid luminous minions of the Great Heavenly Deception were rampaging through the Spire south of the insignificant speck of a port, I took my ancient bones into my cloistered chambers and began the process of summoning my favored squidbat minions, small and gargantuan. Due to the nature of parting the veil of reality, my hold on channelling the caressing power of the Negative Material Plane was not as strong as a 'pure' cleric of Tharizdun. In compensation, however, the Truths of reality so painstakingly hidden behind the guise of the Burning Hateful One and his brethren unlocked far more pleasurable powers than such a paltry things as mere undead.

During the preceeding decades, ever mindful of the zealous prosecution of Tharizdun's faithful, the stars have once more come right - and according to the visions, should coincide with the release of Kyuss from his long slumber, simultaneously and joyously inflicting great weakness in the bindings so long ago emplaced upon Tharizdun. The other seals and rituals have been broken and performed.

So, with great purpose and malice aforethought, my time was divided between scrying upon the fools of Celestia - learning their identities, their methods of operation and ultimately thier foolish reliance upon brute force to solve most of thier challenges - and preparing my pets for the necessity of administering truly massive destruction upon all who would thwart Tharizdun's declared agenda - in this case, coinciding nicely with Kyuss' own re-emergence into the Flaaness.

Moons came and went, the proper sacrifices were made, much information was gleaned and finally my beloved squidbats were prepared to wage utter destruction at the temporary expense of thier summoned existence on this meager world. I continued to bid my time and re-acquaint myself with the supposed niceties of 'civilized men'. And at last, a few short weeks ago the last commissioned tools so necessary to my preservation while at the expense of all others in close proximity.

Bah! The strong take what they want from those unable to stop them. That is the way of things. And very few can prevent me from taking what I want, when I want it. My sibling should be entering the picture soon enough...

At last, after the disgusting servants of the light finally dispatched mighty Dragotha - albiet at a great cost in lives and hide, and that was my cue. With the success of the Lenny Bomb, confidence was to be had in the inevitable result! "

Two years later...

" I shall have to find away to deprive Death of his deserved soul - there is still too much to do. At least the southern idiots continue to herd experimental subjects over the mountains soon enough...