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You are in Absalom, the mighty City at the Center of the World, and you’ve always longed to explore one of the countless ruins of failed conquerors that litter the plains outside the city’s walls.
You’ve heard rumors that one of the sealed siege castles has been laid open by a minor earthquake. Word on the street is that no one has yet entered the tower, which folks are calling the “Fallen Fortress.” What better way to start a life of excitement and adventure than by exploring its long-abandoned, dusty halls and perhaps claiming its ancient treasures?
Even better, you have managed to acquire a patron - a crusty old scholar by the name of Drandle Dreng, who has hired you to explore the tower, and offered to pay good coin for any items of historical or religious interest that you manage to recover.
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Standing before you is a very stoutly built woman at a modest height of five feet nine inches. She clenches the fist of her right hand and places it into the open palm of her left, bowing her head. The ends of her handwraps dangling just a few inches below her wrists.
I'm not certain these people even understand our customs...
"I am Evelyn Rose Fury of Verisia, I represent the Shaolin Monastery of Torag. My masters know me as Rose. It is a pleasure to meet you all."
It is something that can't be helped.
She then raised her head back from the bowed position and places her hands back at her side.
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"Good day to all of you," says an old woman with a voice like sandpaper. She's a study in contrasts, this one-- frail and homely, and yet exudes dangerousness, and for all her ugliness, is hard to take your eyes off of. "A motley crew, we are. Aren't we?" She laughs-- a sibilant, unhinged giggle that is not so much infectious as diseased. "I suppose it's the motleys that get things done, isn't it?" She bursts into another peal of laughter, then realizing that no one else is joining her, just as suddenly stops.
"I'm Cascabelle Goodhearth. I was an innkeeper. Now I'm not."
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A pretty half-orc female stands before (well as pretty as a half-orc can get with their tusks and brutish appearance). She looks a little arrogant as if her beauty should be clear for all. And all men should woo her.
She carries an holy symbol of Calistra on her neck, two whips around her belt, a large sword on her back and a tough set of armor on herself.
"Greetings men and women. I am Aviendha, priesteress of Calistra and it seems we will be working together on this."
She gives Evelyn a once over. She does not like that there is another young women present, but dismisses her quickly. She clearly does not look as pretty as Aviendha, no female does (in her mind).
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Dreng nods in satisfaction when the last of the party straggles in.
"Excellent. You are finally all here. Now, as I was saying, I would like you to explore the ruined siege tower known as the 'Fallen Fortress', which was recently cracked open by a minor earthquake. I would be willing to pay good coin for any items of historical of religious significance; feel free to keep anything else, as I am sure that the previous owners will be long dead by now. Try to keep a record of what you encounter, as well. I like to collect adventuring stories; it reminds me of my younger days..."
He sighs, and looks at his claw-like hands, and white beard, through rheumy eyes.
"However, those days are now long-gone; it is time for others to take the lead in the story-making. Now, be off with you! It is time to create your own..."
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Such a sad man, Cascabelle thinks, living vicariously through these children. Does he think that he can't still advance his own stories? Cascabelle briefly considers calling Dreng out on his self-pity, but thinks the better of it. The client is always right.
It was a motley crew, that was for certain. Two pretty young things, a tiefling and statue. They were all perfectly dangerous, she was sure. But she felt she would need to look out for the monk a bit; she seemed a little lost. Too fresh out of the monastery. She had seen girls and boys like this in her time as an innkeeper. Good customers, but they always needed a little extra care.
The half-orc she liked. Cascabelle noticed Aviendha's jealousy, and it amused her. No jealous looks for herself? She supposed such things were reserved for women who had all of their teeth.
The strong-and-silent types didn't impress her, but it was early yet. Anyone could be strong and silent before there was danger. We'd learn what their real mettle was when the bodies started falling.
Still, not a bad lot.
"Not to deter anyone before we run to our certain doom," smiled Cascabelle, revealing her disconcertingly sharp front teeth, "But what do we actually know about this fortress? Details, my pretties. I do love the prickly little details."
She drug an enormous tome out of her backpack. The book was thick, covered in beer and blood, and your first assumption was that it was magic. But after she opened it, you realized that it was simply a very worn book of history.
"Ah," she says, practically slithering with delight, "Now here's a passage..."
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"Hmm," Cascabelle continued, "the place has been magically sealed, up to now. Even magic fades after enough years, I suppose," she sighed, smirking at Aviendha. "Like beauty."
And the old woman even had the nerve to wink.
"Still," she continued, "a castle holed up by fading magics? Sounds like fun. And all the better to bring a cheap sorceress like myself."
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Aviendha does not catch the reference; she's not the brightest of the bunch and actually thinks that Cascabell is coming on to her (why else would she wink at her). Which is business as usual as Aviendha's beauty is irresistible.
Though flattered on one hand, she prefers men (and women) of younger ages and prettier exteriors. Sjonegaard looks tall and muscular, a good specimen.
"Hmm, yes lets just get this over with. Running around in a dirty ruin does not stay entertaining for long." Looking at Sjonegaard she continues "My time is better spent on other things..."
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The ruined siege castle now being called the Fallen Fortress rises out of the churned earth of the Cairnlands. No doors or windows mar the otherwise smooth expanse of the tower’s walls. The tower is quatrefoil in plan; its eastern wing has largely collapsed, exposing the interior floors to the open air. Only the topmost level seems whole, though its eastern portion hangs precariously over the mountain of rubble left by the collapse. At ground level, the rubble frames a gaping hole in the side of the building that provides access to the tower’s darkened interior.
As you get closer, you hear loud, frenzied barking, steadily getting closer...
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Drawing her spear, Rose twists it around her hand and thrusts it back toward her rear, leaving one hand free in front of her. She was now balancing all of her weight over her rear foot as she prepared to shift her center of gravity at a moment's notice. Such was the way of crane style.
Come on out, animals.
Draw spear.
Enter total defense (Total AC now 18)
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The howling rapidly draws closer, as three starving dogs run around the siege tower, and make a bee-line straight for the party!
Sjonegaard:
Aviendha:
Evelyn:
Zoren:
D:
As the dogs close, however, Aviendha lashes her razor-encrusted whip around its throat, sending its life-blood gushing across the stony ground.
The two remaining ones then pile-on to Aviendha!
However, she is easily able to avoid their feeble attempts to bite her.
Round 1: Cascabelle, Aviendha, D, Evelyn, Sjonegaard, Zoren
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"Just a taste of things to come, Zoren," says Cascabelle, still focused on the darkness. "You'll get more than your share of carnage ahead."
When Cascabelle is certain that nothing lurks immediately ahead in the darkness she relaxes, and asks: "Shall we take the obvious entrance?" Cascabelle pokes lightly at the ruins with the blunt end of her flag, testing its stability.
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Rose didn't have a chance of acting before her newfound comrades. The moment the dogs had attacked was nearly the moment they had perished. The dogs seemed hungry and abandoned by those that had bred them. The scene had occured too quickly for Rose to say anything, but the scene had saddened her.
"I don't think lethal force was necessary on these creatures. They were just hungry."
That having been said, she approached the ruins, keeping a careful eye out for traps or ambushes.
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The first melee was over and things had gone just as Cascabelle had imagined they would. She and Aviendha did all the work, and the strong silent types were strong and silent. Also motionless. Presumably they would tell tales of their valor later.
The monk would be a puzzle, however. The poor dear had not spent a chronon of time in the real world, Cascabelle observed, sighing. She would have to handle her with grace, never her strong suit.
"My dear Rose," slithered Cascabelle, sounding like nothing so much as the witch from some awful fairy tale,"I so do love it when pretty young people bring good into the world. But tell me, child, what do you think would become of these creatures if we left them out here, exposed and unconscious? Do you think they would wake up unharmed, in beds of gossamer? They would not. Sometimes," continued Cascabelle, her eyes suddenly snake-like, and her fangs lengthening. "the quick death is the merciful thing."
Well, so much for grace. This is why her husband had insisted that she stay off the desk at the Ten Rooms.
Cascabelle coughed lightly, and her serpentine aspect quickly disappeared. She looked slightly dazed for a moment and said, "Well, that's settled then. Through the ruins!"
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The northern wing of the tower seems to have escaped the worst effects of the collapse, but rubble still litters the floor and everything is covered in a thick layer of stone dust. Thick cobwebs cloak the ceiling and hang down the walls like gossamer tapestries. A single archway stands open in the southwest wall.