Hell's Rebels AP - Down with Thrune!

Game Master GM Red

Issil laughs. "Marriage? Ha! You can't lock me down like that, Lucian." She saunters forward to the next room.

"We can skip right to the wedding night if you'd rather, I think we'd both rather!" He smirks before heading into the wyvern's lair. "Ahh, this is where my fine steed lived before you lot murdered him. Stand back so I can look around for anything cleverly hidden."

He starts poking around slowly, just in case his dumb beast of burden was more clever than he thought.

Perception: Traps? Treasure? DRUGS!?!: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (16) + 12 = 28

The wyvern's nest is made of filthy straw, discarded bones, and a few unfortunate halfling corpses - but nothing in the way of treasure or magical auras.

Back downstairs, in the kitchen, you find the janni looking a lot more eager. His face has brightened considerably, and he even has something of a smile on his face, though he regards Lucian with a suspicious stare when he notices him.

"Hmm. I was certain I felt my bindings fade... Yet, here you are. It doesn't make sense." The janni shuts his eyes as if concentrating. "Yes, I can definitely feel the pull from the Plane of Air now. I'm no longer bound to anyone. You must not... be who I think you are." He opens his eyes and waits for an answer.

Issil's happy face finally frowns. "Lucian... bound you here?" She hesitates. "You should get out of here. The Silver Ravens are going to bring this place down, quick."

"I had wondered if you were bound against your will or if you had willingly chose to serve in exchange for an offering," Morvena remarks, not inclined to be sly now that Issil has spilled the beans. "But in spite of appearances...yes, let us just say that your former 'master' will trouble you no longer."

"Can't a guy change? I let your dairy air and that horrid dancing devil in the other room free, I need a change of pace." He smiles and obnoxiously waves a hand at the cook.

"How about a round of BLT's before you go though? Make sure they're extra crispy though."

As the SHC prattles on here Geoffrey is reminded of an old tune Padraig sang a lot back when the group was hiding out in the underground lair, "Meet the new boss...same as the old boss..." More prophetic words have never been spoken he reflects.

"Never you mind him," Geoffrey addresses the janni casually waving at Victor here. "We are not hungry now, just missing our home now, as I am sure you are as well."

"I see," the janni looks even more relieved. "My name is Zorumar, and I've been here for... well, longer than I care to admit. I must be off. However, I do want to thank whoever is responsible for freeing me, and it sounds like you had something to do with it. Or at least these Silver Ravens might." He peeks out of the kitchen. "I've had my fill of stays on the Material Plane. Tell the Ravens I'll visit them in a few days with a proper reward, if you see them." He winks.

Taking out a forked metal rod, the janni aims it at a bowl of mushrooms, creating a wispy personal-sized portal just above it. He waves as he floats on through it.

Spellcraft (DC 25): 1d20 + 16 ⇒ (1) + 16 = 17

"Hmm. Perhaps he was more powerful than we initially estimated him to be," Morvena remarks as Zorumar takes his leave. "Still, this is a fortuitous thing - the more aid and allies we can acquire, whether one-time or longstanding - the better!"

The mage then uncharacteristically cracks her knuckles. "Now...I believe we have an Anvil to visit and a fortress to bring down, do we not?"

"Good. He's free." Issil speaks to herself. She's quiet and content for a moment.

Spellcraft: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (18) + 11 = 29
"He went back to the Plane of Air. His home. He shifted there, I think. Some priest rambled about it once- that was her idea of pillow talk." Issil sighs.

"Yeah. If we're done here, it's time to get to that room with the praying dwarves, then slap an anvil and hightail it."

"Guess that's an FU on those BLT's..." He mutters after his cook departs.

"Speaking of FU's... thoughts on adding in some bird iconography graffiti before we bring this place crashing down? Something slightly out of sight, at least for a while. Hard to not sign a masterpiece like this'll be."

"I am sure something can be arranged," Morvena replies dryly. "Perhaps a giant signature or the like; indecipherable from the ground but perfectly legible from a great height."

"I would just settle on a more tried and true method here," Geoffrey smirks as he mimics pulling his trousers down, "Just need to get to an elevated position, right?"

While discussing a proper way to....leave their mark, the party heads back upstairs and past the broken guards, back to the sealed door. Dust covers the floor and cobwebs hang from the ceiling of this vaulted, fifty-foot-long hallway. Curved alcoves flank the hallway, four to a side. Each alcove contains a long-dry basin held aloft by a stone dwarf. Runes are carved above the door to the south, while the door itself bears the carved face of a scowling dwarven man.

Although locked tight, the runes Lucian had translated above the door offer a hint: “Beyond is the Anvil of Unmaking, yet woe to those who give not prayer to the Father of Creation before undoing what his children hath wrought.”

Menador Keep

"So... anyone knows any prayers to Torag? I flunked out of church. Asmodeus isn't my style." Issil yawns.

"Don't look at me," Geoffrey responds with a chuckle. "I presume we just offer our prayers to him as we would any god...right?"

"Normally I would agree but I wonder if, given the scope of using such a device, something more specific or detailed is required," Morvena remarks as she considers the words.

Kn. Religion (If Needed): 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (2) + 12 = 14

K Religion Untrained: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (18) + 3 = 21

If there's a common prayer to Torag then SHC has probably heard it a few times. "Dwarves can be pretty particular about things, but maybe an intro level prayer and donation of some kind. They like beer and axes and hammers... and gold."

Perception vs Non Magical Traps: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (19) + 12 = 31

"Tell me how much magic is in those runes? Enough to blow us all sky high?"

There don't seem to be any nonmagical traps on the door, though Morvena does sense the presence of both a moderate evocation aura and a moderate necromancy aura radiating from the stone dwarven face carved on it. Both she and Lucian try to think up the right words to say in worship of Torag, with Lucian especially confident that he knows exactly what to say to please the Father of Dwarvenkind.

The auras can be further analyzed with Spellcraft. Also giving Morv and the SHC a chance to RP and come up with a (probably non-a*&+#&% sounding in the case of the SHC) prayer to Torag if they want to.

Spellcraft: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (11) + 11 = 22

Issil scans the room for magical auras. "I assume they will... zap us with divine punishment somehow."

Issil is also able to sense the two auras, and is sure the evocation aura isn't an active magical effect, but will evoke a sonic blast if triggered. In addition, the necromantic aura has properties similar to the fear spell.

"Well, like I said, all the Dwarves I knew were good with their hands and had well liquored guts. And beards. Don't their women have beards? Yuck." He digs through the collected stuff and draws out some fine wines.

"How about: Oh great Torag, God Father of big bearded Dwarves everywhere. Take this wine and this umm hammer so we can pass without harm." He looks to the others "Anyone have a hammer?" He looks around for the slip and curses "Well, I'll say it in Dwarven too, that'll do the trick."

He waits for Morvena, he doesn't mind staring a bit with a grin. He's so professional.

"I've got a mace and a club, but no hammer. Drinking wine is a fine idea, but maybe after we blow this place up."

Morvena blinks at Roger and then sighs, unable to keep from rolling her eyes. "Are we praying to Torag or are we praying to Cayden Cailean? Given the magnitude of what we're about to do, I suspect we need something a bit more...reverent."

She thinks for a moment, brows furrowed, and then snaps her fingers.

"Ah hah! I think I've got something that might work."

After clearing her throat she begins to speak, this time in the native tongue of the dwarves...

"Цикл творчества идет вечно. Так будут сотворены творения и так будут они уничтожены, будь то временем или руками смертных."

"Отец Творения, мы просим тебя простить нам наше преступление против творений твоих детей во имя большего блага."

"Цикл творения продолжается вечно. Пусть разрушение одного творения сегодня создаст новое творение завтра - место свободы для всех хороших людей. Аминь."

SHC rolls his eyes right back, but with far more innuendo "Guess we'll see just what happens now won't we?" He says his Dwarven prayer next then confidently walks ahead and tries to open the door.

If neither of them worked I can blame her, if one of them worked then I can rightly claim credit. I do so enjoy being right.

Geoffrey, not knowing the dwarven tongue, doesn't even try to imitate the rich baritones here instead taking a position next to his 'commander' ready to assist him in warding the effects of the soon-to-be-triggered (in his opinion) trap.

I'll eat my...helmet if this ACTALLY works!

Geoffrey will be next to SHC so he can use his Vanguard Ward here, if needed :)

Issil waits patiently, her whip at the ready.

As the last word of both Morvena and Victor's prayers are spoken, a powerful groan echoes from the room beyond the door. The stone face in front begins to glow as a line forms from its forehead down to its beard, and the doors begin to slowly come open. After all of these years, one might think they'd be creaky, but their dwarven construction is second to none, and the two solid doors smoothly open up to reveal... the Anvil of Unmaking!

Thick layers of dust cover the floor of the room and the looming contraption of stone and iron it contains. Looking something akin to a massive, squat bell of stone bound in iron bands, the device is connected to pillars of iron to the west, east, and south via taut metal chains. Four iron beams radiate from the top of the central bell, almost like the wheel of an ancient winch.

Floating in front of the device are two stocky dwarves. They appear like celestial beings, a red-orange glow outlining their forms.

As you enter, they hold their fiery warhammers up in defense!

They look something like this, but Dwarven, and armed with warhammers.

Menador Keep - Anvil

Hope that 'stache guy likes eatin' helmet! SHC raises an eyebrow as HIS prayer did the job "How you like them apples? Brains, brawn, AND an ass of steel!" He flexes his butt then struts into the room beyond.

He listens to the guardians speak and lets his brain translate things into a more familiar language. "Morv, translate will you? I'll explain the situation to these fellas." He speaks to her in Dwarven, not wanting to upset the floating guardians.

K Planes DC23: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (10) + 11 = 21

He turns and winks to the others, knowing hes got this in the bag.
Diplomacy: This is supposed to be Padraig's job!: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (6) + 10 = 16

"Well, that was easy- oh." Issil sighs as two more fiery guardians appear before her and mumble in languages she doesn't understand.

Oh yeah. She can magically Comprehend Languages, so she casts that.

She nods. "Oh, they're asking why we want to use the anvil. Cool." she chuckles as the Supreme High Commander adds his sassy spin to the solution. "Mention it's been corrupted by a tyrant."

Issil has +12 Diplomacy, but she can't speak Dwarven.

"I think mentioning this place being controlled by the Infernal Realm of Cheliax should do the trick," Geoffrey adds.

Geoffrey also has +12 Diplomacy, but he can't speak Dwarven.

Kn. Planes (DC 23): 1d20 + 16 ⇒ (18) + 16 = 34

"We stand in the presence of Legion Archons from beyond Heaven's gates," Morvena remarks softly. "And they themselves stand on the side of righteousness."

Morvena uses her knowledge of the Dwarven language to help fill in the gaps in the conversation that Issil's magic can't account for - albeit not without directing another long-suffering sigh at 'SHC'.

"Не обращая внимания на слова, мой собеседник говорит правду," she explains. "Мы стремимся ослабить власть тирана Thrune на этой земле. Разрушая эту крепость, мы надеемся отрезать одну из их основных линий снабжения в город Kintargo."

"Это мы стремимся сделать под знаменем Silver Ravens."

The below is in Dwarven as well, but posted as normal since 3/4 of you can understand it now and someone might translate for Geoffrey... if he's lucky.

Both Legion Archons look at each other, pausing for a moment as they consider your words. "We know not of this Thrune, of Cheliax, or of these Silver Ravens of which you speak," they insist. It sounds like they must have been here for literal ages if they don't even know about Cheliax.

When the archons speak, they speak at the same time, both of their mouths moving. "A usurping dictator does not sound like enough reason for us to allow you entry, let alone use of the Anvil. Yet I do not detect any evil amongst you. Perhaps you are honest in your words, but I am afraid it is not enough to move forward." Both guardians remain in place, blocking the Anvil.

That's a failed Diplomacy check, even with everyone aiding. At this point, you can still attempt to Bluff (trick them), Intimidate (bully them), or bust out the big guns. With Padraig out of the party, I realize we're at an unfair deficit in the social skills dept. especially given that it happened suddenly, so I just might give you a one-time bonus to make up for it...

"This Thrune fella enjoys feeding innocent Dwarf children to starving dogs! You can't find a decent mint julip ANYWHERE now either. Next up he's going to start outlawing ale and the worship of Torag. He's already murdered all the worshipers of the good gods in the city. Its gotta stop, and its gotta stop now!"

SHC seems to get so worked up he ALMOST drops out of character. You're pretty sure that's nearly impossible though for some reason. Regardless, he makes some good points and adds in a few extras that are a bit over the top. Maybe they won't notice.

Bluff: Ya ya, some of that was fluff.: 1d20 + 18 ⇒ (12) + 18 = 30

Morv is still technically speaking in Dwarven but switching the post back to English as well since everyone can understand and/or there's adequate translation happening.

"Cheliax is a nation in servitude to Asmodeus," Morvena explains. "Abrogail I of House Thrune signed a pact with the powers of Hell to ensure that her house would emerge victorious during the Chelish Civil War. And they have been in control of the country ever since, with diabolism and worship of Asmodeus as the official state religion."

She considers her next words carefully. "While I understand that chaotic rebellion against the ruling order is not the ideal way to enact change...something must be done. The common people and the powerless suffer as the law attempts to regulate every aspect of both public and private life. Attempts to work within the system are quickly quashed - sometimes quietly and sometimes more publicly, in order to instill fear in the citizenry."

"It...cannot stand. What is order worth if it costs a person, a town, a country, their soul?"

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (14) + 13 = 27

"A wise man once told me, 'All it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing." Geoffrey adds earnestly, "While this fort stands here, evil has been allowed to control it to further the cause of wickedness. If we do nothing, the the evil forces will once again take control and will ultimately triumph! Can you please help us? "

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (19) + 12 = 31

"Look, grandma told me devils are b*+&+$$!. They're here in Chileax, they put some handsome but corrupt guy in charge. We fought a fiendish woman here, clearly made of evil and corruption. She fled, but she'll be back and will corrupt this place again."

"Now, we need your help to clear this place up of evil." Issil shrugs. "And one way is to activate that anvil. They can't claim a pile of rubble, and maybe this place will get a chance to clean up."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (20) + 12 = 32

"Now then, step aside or help us kill some more devils on the way out. Or maybe both. I don't care."

The two legion archons lower their warhammers as soon as the SHC raises the idea of feeding Dwarven kids to animals. "This... Thrune will receive judgment in due time, I am sure of it. It is not our place to intervene in the natural order of this plane, however."

They turn to Morvena, Geoffrey, and Issil. "You speak of blasphemous devils and their corruption. And you, of oppression and the twisting of the law to provide for the selfish needs of a wicked usurper. The Anvil of Unmaking was placed here should our followers ever require the blockage of the pass, stopping a potential invasion. Our dwarves knew they would easily reconstruct it should be required, and that there would be a time to stop the potential of an advancing army."

"I gather that time has arrived," they start parting ways, allowing you to pass through towards the device. "Mortals, we grant you use of the Anvil, not for your own needs, but for the forces of good and all that is righteous. Our service here is complete." Already the two celestial dwarves start to fade away from existence.

Having a closer look at the bell, while very odd in its construction (especially to non-dwarves), it doesn't seem too difficult to figure out how it works...

"Umm so... we just hit it with a mallet right?" SHC looks around for such a device. Clearly there would be one handy!

Knowledge Engineering: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (15) + 7 = 22

Geoffrey glances at the bell here quickly recognizing its function here having been told stories of how these devices work. "Not quite so, Commander!" He smirks here, "Rotating the wheel atop its character bell one full rotation will trigger the collapse. Once it is triggered there is no way to stop the process. We will have 10 minutes at most before the Keep collapses."

"10 minutes? That should be enough time to make our exit and get clear," Morvena nods. "I am ready when the rest of you are!"

"Cool. Let's blow this joint." Issil grins and then stretches a bit in anticipation.

"Turning a wheel, banging it with a mallet. Its all the same to me if this place crashes down." SHC grabs the wheel and spins it "Come on, no Whammies!"

He steps back and looks around, listening for signs of the incoming destruction. "So, how epic would it be to have to fight our way outta here before the place falls on our heads?" He grins, drawing two finger guns and firing them off towards the doorway.

The wheel takes a fair bit of muscle grease to finally turn, but when it finally does, it emits an awful, almost defeaning groan to be expected from a metal cog that hasn't been touched in ages! As the SHC completes the rotation, the three chains wiring it to the pillars snaps, and the floor begins to rumble.

It's time to move! The party turns and rushes back past Torag's guardians, down the stairs and back into the barrel room where the halflings were found. Dust pours from cracks in the walls and cascades of gravel rain from the ceiling. Back in the courtyard, the walls have already started to come apart, with massive sheets of stone crumbling to the ground.

You step back through the gates and rush down the road to add a safe distance from the failing structure, then turn and watch as the last of the Menador Keep comes apart, the walls folding into the courtyard, sending violent tremors that near throw you off the mountains. A thick cloud of dust visible for miles flows from the rubble, with one of Lucian Thune's iron bedposts peeking from the top of the mound. Another victory for the Silver Ravens.

"Yeah, suck it, Thrune! Woo!" Issil is quite excited to see the keep return to ash. "High five, everyone!" Those are free.

"Let's catch up to Pádraig and hightail it back home. I feel like I've been here for weeks!"

Geoffrey nods in satisfaction as the keep crumbles to a pile of rubble. "Good job fellows! The Silver Ravens have certainly left their mark now! Let's head back to Kintargo now, I am sure Padraig and the others are missing us greatly!"

SHC winces when he sees his oh so favorite bed posts propped up in the rubble. "Ahh, happy and sad to see it go at the same time." He gives it a few more moments then breathes a sign, returning his form to one more familiar: Victor.

"I'm starved, who's making lunch?" He quips as they make their way down the mountain pass.

"Ahhh....nothing like a job well done," Morvena remarks with a bit of a maniacal gleam in her eyes. "I know we discussed leaving a calling card but I believe yon dust pillar is evidence enough - visible for miles and miles!"

She calmly flicks some dust off of her sleeve. "Still...I suggest we make ourselves scarce. There will be forces sent to investigate and likely sooner than one might anticipate."

With the ruins of Menador Keep disappearing behind the mountains at your backs, you hit the road due northwest, generally along the same path you had arrived through. Padraig must've sprinkled his halfling luck upon the journey, as it's entirely uneventful and free of ogres and of crazed, blood-drinking dancers.

_________________

Down the main street and through the marketplace, it's clear that the oppression hasn't really changed since you left a week ago. The market is busy as always, guard patrols are common, but at least the public excruciations have ceased.

At the Lucky Bones, you find the tengu family, who tell you that Padraig and others have joined Setrona Sabinus at the Tooth & Nail for the next Silver Council meeting. Best to change the location each time so Thrune doesn't catch on!

______________

Seated at a table in the back room of the Lucky Bones, with Octavio, Hetamon, Padraig, Rosebud, the rescued halfling trio, and Lady Mialari Docur (of Docur's School for Girls). Forget who some of these NPCs are? That's okay, so did I. I'll get our little NPC list updated.

"And that's when the Silver Ravens came in and destroyed the oozes, saving us from mealtime!" Perren, one of the three rescued halflings, cheers.

"Very good indeed," Octavio nods, making a fist.

"Indeed, we did. It was at that moment that I knew I had to guide them back here. I won't stand to see anymore of us become slaves, or food," Padraig remarks resolutely, dropping both of his bags of holding on the table. "Here, friends. Given that I will now work behind the scenes, some of my equipment may better serve your purposes."

Issil makes sure to blow kisses and to every single dottari guard who so much as frowns at her. She loves the attention and even winks at some of her previous customers. It was only a matter of time, anyway. Why hasn't Thrune simply tried to crush the rebellion, if he knows who they are? It's a puzzle for the ages.

Issil sits back down in the Lucky Bones. "Man, the hike was fun but I do miss civilized culture. I dunno about you guys, but I need a hot bath. Maybe a massage or two." she giggles and downs a mug of water.

"Hey Pádraig. Hey Rosie. Going to do some behind the scenes undercover work, eh? It's for the best, probably. If Thrune singles us out you'll get to carry on our mission... hmm. We do need a fourth person though. It never feels right with just three." She shrugs.

"Hey, Lady Docur! And here I thought you were ghosting me after the first few lessons." Issil turns her attention. "What happened to the school? What happened to the students there? Are... are they alright?" Issil's cheerful demeanor fades as she finally grows concerned.