Marcus fights down panic as the vermin roll over him the wizard managing to hold his breath against the gas at least.
Fort 1:
Fort 2:
Durin is momentarily distracted as a beetle manages to stick its mandible into his mouth through his mask... but he manages to keep it mostly together despite the nauseating smell the bugs give off.
And lastly the man of mystery, aspect of a savage beast but heart and soul of a hound archon. How has life been treating you Khun-duhn?”
"Well enough, Barak," Khun-duhn growls, his smile of greeting looking little more than a baring of wolfish teeth. "Good to see the dangers of this desolate frontier haven't gotten you."
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The wolf-faced half-orc silently accompanies his companions out into the Desolation, his finely crafted horsechopper in hand. Like the rest, he welcomes the novelty of investigating the dead dragon, but is startled by the sudden appearance of the swarm of large beetles bursting from the corpse's abdomen.
Surprise Round:
Khun-duhn staggers away from the attacking swarm, hacking and retching as the creatures pass over him. However, his movements carry him away from the foul green gas emitted by the creatures before the noxious fumes can sicken him further.
Round 1-
Ordered Initiative-
Marcus (nauseated this round only)- 24
Kirilarien- 22
Barak- 20
Zanzu (nauseated this round only)- 17
Arachiel (action declared, nauseated 1/4 rounds)- 15
Durin (nauseated this round only)- 14
Swarm- 13
Khun-Duhn (nauseated this round only)- 9
Lord Vincent (nauseated this round only)- 5
Active Effects-
Map-
Notes-
Action-
The swarm seemed content now to feast upon the largest concentration of the group, focusing their attack on Arachiel, Durin and Marcus...
Durin fights back the urge to vomit as the bugs swarm all over him, covering him from head to toe. Through gritted teeth he seethes, Get clear... I'll keep them occupied! as he waits to exact his revenge upon the insects.
Round One:
Struggling to keep his voice steady as his stomach tries to forcefully disgorge its contents, Khun-duhn growls out the words of a healing spell as he takes a hesitant step back toward the battle.
Barak steps back hammering the trigger of his crossbow rapidly his shots however whist fast, lack the usual precision.
"Aye! look out you lot I can't tell where their squirming ends and yours begins."
Barak steadies himself for his next volley.
Round 1
Coughing and spluttering Marcus moves back out of the swarm. sc..atter around Du..rin!
Round 1
Kiri flies down to tap Marcus with her cure wand.
vs DC 20; 1 is malfunction
Zanzu plants his beak into the dusty soil, before making the cloud of dust rise up, that falls almost clearing the air of the foul gas around him. Yet his throat retches at the sight, as his throat brings forth a small amount of bile, such a acrid taste, he swallows quickly feeling it sink once more into his stomach. With his hand holding the flask, he cannot steady himself to launch it at the mass of beetles, so runs to give himself an easier shot at the creatures.
The group wisely scattered in several directions, the relatively unaffected Barak managing one solid shot in three into the swarm. The swarm now focused itself on Durin, the tiny sized vermin eagerly pincering and biting him in dozens of places, despite the Dwarf's squirming.
63 damage.
Vincent moves to G18, being restricted by the nausia and wanting to keep away from the beetles as he attempts to try and recollect himself.
Getting his stomach under control, Durin lashes out with two tremendous swings of his hammer...
...scattering bugs in all directions with both mighty blows.
Round 2
Mostly over his coughing fit, Marcus delays, keeping a wary eye on the dragon's corpse for any more of the things.
Kiri flies over behind the fairly badly wounded Khun-duhn applying more minor healing.
vs DC 20
Zanzu clucks as he throws his flask at the swarm, before searching his backpack again for another flask.
With his feet steady Barak's next volley is far more accurate. Barak's hands move with practiced ease, not even slowing as he reloads mid way through his shots. The first and last shot disappear into the bulk of the swarm but Barak sends his second shallower allowing Zanzu to take a bearing on the bright red painted shaft of that particular bolt.
Between the two massive hammer blows, a vial of alchemists fire torching the swarm and Barak's steady volley, the swarm was reduced to less than a dozen of the cat-sized vermin in mere moments. The survivors rapidly dispersed, leaving a violent and vile collection of four-eyed carapaced corpses, lying in front of the immensely sized black dragon.
The group is disappointed to see that the dragon is in quite an advanced state of decay; Barak is sure that it has been dead for almost a week and that its body parts would be useful for little other than a trophy.
With the battle over Kiri hands her wand to Khun-duhn to apply some healing.
Durin
Barak
Vincent
Zanzur
Arachiel
Khun-duhn
Marcus
Durin
Arachiel
With the group's wounds attended to and no further creatures apparently lurking inside the dragon's body, Marcus finishes assaying whether any of the dragon's valuable bits can be salvaged.
"Thanks for the healing," Khun-duhn rumbles to Arachiel before applying the curative wand supplied by Marcus to the remainder of the party's wounds. "Sorry I wasn't more help against those beetles. What were they? Never seen their like before."
"Thank you for your magic." vincent says with a smile and turns to the dragon, walking over to it now certain that it's safe.
heal:
After some time of checking over the corpse and having no idea how it died, let alone the state of rot he wrenches out a tooth for himself. He continues to study the dragon, to see if he might recognise the type of dragon it is.
Knowledge Arcana:
Marcus swerves to avoid a step into a pool of viscera and answers Khun-dun.
I honestly have no earthly idea. I've never seen or read about the like. Something I fear I will be saying far too often out here in this Gods forsaken place.
Short of high level magic I don't think we have any way of ascertaining whether it was the beetles that killed the dragon or they were just attracted to the corpse.
The wizard pauses to think.
But the death of a chromatic dragon this old left a power vacuum somewhere. That's for sure. And if it laired in Tsar I'm awfully glad we don't have to fight it there.
"Thank you for your magic." vincent says with a smile and turns to the dragon, walking over to it now certain that it's safe.
heal: 1d20-1
After some time of checking over the corpse and having no idea how it died, let alone the state of rot he wrenches out a tooth for himself. He continues to study the dragon, to see if he might recognise the type of dragon it is.
Knowledge Arcana: 1d20+5
Lord Vincent realises that the dragon was black but discerns little else.
"Well, I'm not going near that pile of rancid meat, from the tales I've heard, them creatures don't carry their valuables with them. I'll leave you to check that corpse. Any clues where it might have come from? " clucks the tengu, as he warily circles the carcass, though he keeps his distance.
Durin picks away the remains of a few of the beetles from his person and nods thankfully for the healing he receives for the numerous bites he took from the swarm. Seeing their is nothing to salvage from the corpse, Durin flips up his mask and remarks, Shame. What a waste. Back to the road then?
As the group returns to the road, Kiri takes again to the sky high above looking for landmarks.
From his saddle Marcus studies the group's tattered maps for the thousandth time.
So to continue the history lesson, tensions between Tsar and the goodly kingdoms continued until the latter could stand the presence of this festering boil in their midst no longer. The churches of Thyr and Muir led a delegation of good and neutral faiths to Graeltor, the last overking. Only with the backing of the nations’ secular armies would the holy churches be able to erase such a blight. In his last major pronouncement before the overthrow and fracturing of the kingdoms into the independent nations they are today, Overking Graeltor called for a mighty crusade to tear down the walls of Tsar and forever end the presence of Orcus worship in the world.
This crusader army, raised from all nations and almost every nonevil faith, became known as the Army of Light and marched for Tsar. In command of this army Graeltor placed his most trusted advisor, the archmage Zelkor. Supported by innumerable knight commanders, wizards, church patriarchs and scores of heroes of renown, Zelkor quickly advanced his army from its staging ground of Bard’s Gate, through Tsar’s outermost defensive positions and into the great plain that surrounded the temple-city itself.
We saw what was likely some of the rear ward positions of the Army of Light in the Camp. That great plain is this desolate wasteland. It was probably farmland once.
Flush with their many quick victories, the Army of Light suddenly found arrayed against itself seemingly endless legions of every sort of vile warrior-race and fell outsider imaginable called up from all over the multiverse and lining the battlements and fields before their redoubt—one of the greatest fortresses and citadels ever erected in that time. The beginnings of doubt seeped into the ranks of the Army of Light.
However, hope was not lost as the heavens opened up and flight upon flight of angels and celestial beings descended from on high to swell the ranks of the Army of Light. With grim determination in both camps, battle was joined on the plain before the gates of Tsar. The war raged for over a year, the Army of Light advancing to the very foot of the walls and then being pushed back by a new surge of demonic power. The disciples of Orcus led by the Grand Cornu, Orcus’s single highest-ranking priest on the mortal planes, threw every vile attack they could at the Army of Light in defense of their city. Rains of horrific fire and acid fell from the skies or belched from fissures in the ground, great constructs crushed their foes before them, terrible clouds of poisonous gas choked entire regiments, and heretofore unknown plagues swept through the troops causing thousands of horrible deaths among the Army of Light.
Nevertheless the forces of good persevered and fought on. Finally, though the battle seemed no closer to victory, the fates seemed to smile on the Army of Light. Unexpectedly the city fell. In a single night the entire city virtually emptied of defenders as they all were magically transported to a point several miles outside the city’s walls, complete with baggage train and mounts for many. The magical expenditure necessary to complete this miraculous maneuver cost the Grand Cornu his very life in sacrifice to Orcus, but the legions of the demon prince had broken free from the Army of Light’s cordon. They immediately took flight before the stunned Army of Light, heading south.
Zelkor and his fellow commanders were immediately suspicious of this sudden retreat but could not afford to allow the combined followers of Orcus concentrated in one place to escape and spread their insidious evil again. We know now that Zelkor left one of his most powerful knights, the paladin Lord Bishu, with a company of knights to secure the citadel and hold it until the Army of Light could return and properly destroy it. Then, still with a seed of doubt niggling in his mind, Zelkor ordered the Army of Light in pursuit of the fleeing legions.
The tale of that long pursuit is an epic in and of itself. Finally the Army of Light cornered the forces of darkness in a forest near a rugged coastline. In anticipation of a great victory, the forest was prematurely named the Forest of Hope. The naming proved to be a cruel irony, for in the forest the followers of Orcus had been preparing a great trap for years in case just such an occasion ever arose. Both armies disappeared into the forest. Neither ever emerged. The Army of Light was lost to a man.
And that takes us to now. The loss of so many heroes, nobles, and leaders of renown led in many ways to the politics of today. Some said the loss of so many was worth it for the eradication of the foul cult of Orcus. Others said it had been a scheme concocted by the demon prince all along to destroy his most powerful enemies and sow hate and dissension throughout the civilized nations. Years later when a terrible graveyard and thriving dungeon complex devoted to Orcus was discovered in the Forest of Hope, popular opinion agreed with the latter theory. It seemed Orcus had not been eradicated after all, just relocated, and once again his insidious evil began to spread throughout the lands.
For the past century most attention has been turned to delving into the so-called Dungeon of Graves and rooting out the evil now entrenched there. Almost everyone has forgotten Tsar and Lord Bishu's knights. In the wake of the great tragedy at the Forest of Hope, no one thought to check into the ruins themselves, and all who knew about this relatively small group that had been sent to the city had perished in Orcus’s trap.
The wizard trails off.
Now whether Orcus forgot about Tsar, his greatest earthly bastion, remains to be seen.
Vincent nods at this mention and looks to the tooth in his hand.
"This tooth disgusts me knowing what it is." he tosses it to the side next to the bone corpse. "Maybe if we killed it, the tooth would be worth something but I feel no need to hold onto the tooth of such a creature.
Barak resumes his tracking duties keeping his eyes out for the signs of caravan travel. As he walks he absent-mindedly chews on a the dried meat and tough leaven bread from his rations when Durin draws close he removes his bottle of Oldlaw whiskey using his teeth to remove the cork and offering the bottle to the other dwarf.
”Here’s that drink I promised, I don’t know if I've bitten of more than I can chew this time. Romping through swampy undergrowth and taking pot shots and dress wearing fanatics once doesn’t make me a seasoned adventurer like you guys.”Barak sighs ”The Desolation... This place is properly dangerous though... well what I’m trying to say is I don’t want to let all of you down. I've never been scared for my own life but I couldn't cope if something happened to one of us and it was my fault.”
Durin lets out a low whistle as Marcus recounts his tale of the Army of Light. Sounds like a proper mess if you ask me! A meat grinder to be sure. Durin looks around at the ground that they travel upon knowing that undoubtedly countless lives likely perished in this very spot.
Not wanting to dwell on it too much and trying to keep the mood light, Durin teases the wizard. What is also as impressive is how you keep all that stuff in that small noggin' of yours!
Durin takes the offered bottle from Barak with an approving nod. Taking a hearty swig, and savouring the taste for a moment, he passes it back while remarking, I have the utmost confidence in you Barak! You are a stout dwarf and good friend. We look out for each and all in this company. We wouldn't have invited you to join us if we didn't think you had the stones for it. Aye, this place is likely the most dangerous place we have ever explored but each of us chose to be here. No one is going to hold anyone accountable if things go anvil shaped...
Wounds healed, the group continued in much the same fashion as before, following the dirt road north. After another four hours of marching and riding, the midday sun had already come and gone and it was well into the afternoon. The group had reached the Crossroads of Tsar; where the long south-north road met the west-east.
Two sunken roads meet here in a depression in the center of the desolate plain. West lie the Black Gates of Tsar, east unknown hills rumored to occupied by goblinoids, orcs, and worse. South leads back to the Camp and Bard’s Gate, and to the north are the fabled lands of spice and riches which have drawn so many to brave these deadly lands in search of their fortune. Surely any who make it this far find their enthusiasm curbed by the sobering scene. Great scaffolds of heavy wooden beams rise at each corner of this intersection. Suspended from their many yardarms are heavy iron cages like malignant fruit on an infernal tree. These cages hold the picked clean bones and dangling tatters of the unfortunates who have been imprisoned in them and left for the crows. Several of the bones have fallen to the ground beneath the cages and a couple of the cages have fallen to the ground themselves, their heavy chains rusted through and no longer able to support their great weight.
As the troupe moved north past the Crossroads, they found themselves looking on a different sight to the west and east, peering into two entirely different quadrants to the Ashen Waste and Dead Fields. Marcus began to give a lecture upon the western quadrant, the Boiling Lands, and the eastern quadrant- the Chaos Rift.
Closer in to the precipices of the Stoneheart Mountains, the winds don’t blow as strongly, shielded as the land is by that escarpment. Instead the still air of the Boiling Lands remains shrouded in an almost perpetual cloud created by the ever-present geysers that give this region its name. Like in the Dead Fields, some of the fiercest fighting of the Battle of Tsar occurred in the Boiling Lands. Unlike the Dead Fields where the fighting was mainly in the conventional mass combat sense, in the Boiling Lands all manner of magical and cursed concoctions and attacks were unleashed— a testing ground for new and more hideous forms of death dealing developed by both sides of the conflict. All of this twisted advancement in the “art” of war culminated in the disciples of Orcus creating the magical paroxysm upon the enemy encampment that resulted in that destruction of destructions—the Chaos Rift.
As the destruction and plague-spawned death rained on, the attackers hunkered down into defensive positions to wait out the horrific storms of death-bringing power and to launch their own counterattacks at opportune moments. Miles of muddy trenches were dug and still criss cross the scarred landscape. These were fortified and improved upon, becoming the last homes for many of the soldiers who fought and died on the battle plains. Great wooden towers rose from these trenches providing vantage points and artillery emplacements, though most are little more than the splintered remains of the rotten foundations now.
As for the Chaos Rift- the aptly named scar in the land was truly massive in scale and dominated the majority of the eastern quadrant. The northeastern quadrant of the Desolation is dominated by a huge rift scarring the land. This huge canyon is obviously not a natural formation and is, in fact, the result of a massive expenditure of chaotic magic in order to destroy what was the original encampment of the Army of Light. If the winds of the Ashen Waste howl like the spirits of the dead, the gusts that blow over the Chaos Rift play a funeral dirge as they travel across the lip and through the many fissures that comprise the great crevasse. The surrounding ground is flat and unbroken save for boulder piles (falling debris from the chasm’s creation) until one reaches the edge of the vast, magically created canyon. It is barren, but not nearly as desertlike as the Ashen Waste. The floor of the rift itself is tortured and broken by the powerful forces that bent and ripped reality to create such devastation. This land was the original site of the Army of Light’s main camp, which was moved after much of it was destroyed in the Chaos Rift’s formation. Afterward they relocated south to what is now the Ashen Waste.
An hour and a half's march from the crossroad, the Chaos Rift slowly became larger and larger to the eye; until the group found it directly blocking the road ahead.
A wide chasm cuts across the road here. It extends out of sight to the west and expands into a massive canyon to the east. Here it is about 30 feet wide and has steep rocky sides descending into the depths below. The wooden pylons that once flanked the entrance to a wooden bridge still stand on this edge of the chasm and on the far side, but the bridge itself extends out only a few feet before ending in a jagged, charred, broken edge. There does not appear to be any easy way across.
You are currently stood a good 30 feet from the ruined bridge, but the tracks of the caravan appear to lead right up to the bridge itself. Perhaps the caravan was the last group of travellers to cross this old bridge, or perhaps it even collapsed underneath the weight of the wagons...
Not that I have ever laid eyes upon this bridge before to be certain, but one would think it folly to take the entire caravan onto it at once if its stability was at all in question. And unless a pool of acid lays at the bottom... it is unlikely Gurg received his wounds here.
If the bridge did fall with all the wagons upon it... then sabotage would seem more likely...
Durin is a step behind Archiel as he makes for the precipice...
Not wanting to dwell on it too much and trying to keep the mood light, Durin teases the wizard. What is also as impressive is how you keep all that stuff in that small noggin' of yours!
Well if theres one thing that sages universally agree on it is that humans develop with larger brains than dwarves. Or maybe it's that all that drinking shrinks yours down. That one I forget. Marcus sallies back with a smile.
Though for all of the names and descriptions of those probably long dead, I'd settle for a bit more useful information about the perils we face. It is not the first time that the often somber wizard has taken an inability to properly prepare the group for danger as a personal affront.
-------------------------------------------------------
Marcus looks at the cages and the remains of their occupants with a thoughtful eye.
Leaving people to die at crossroads is an ancient if unpleasant tradition. It is said to prevent the spirits of the dead from haunting their killers. It seems an odd practise for worshippers of Orcus, Demon prince of the undead though...
---------------------------------------------------------
Marcus nods at Arachiel and Durin's observations.
Unless we plan to leave the horses and climb we're going to have to find a way around. West looks like a much better option than east although I'd want to skirt that muck for now. If this map is accurate the chasm runs for leagues.
Kiri can you fly over and see if you can see any signs of the caravan if not on the cavern floor on the other side?
Sure thing!
The lyrakien's response to all of these unusual terrain features is the polar opposite to her masters, the tiny outsider literally existing to see new places and things.