The Curse of Green River Dale
Throughout the rolling hills and dales of the Green River basin life is happy. Cottages and farms dot a patchwork of fields and meadows. Pastured animals graze sleepily in the sun. The feeder springs and creeks of the Green River babble merrily throughout this pastoral paradise. The sounds of insects buzzing through the flowers and birds chirping in the trees fill the air. In one of the larger villages in the area, Cobbleston, a summer festival is being held. Lasting a week, the Highsun festival, celebrating summer, is in full swing. The sound of music fills the air, combined with laughter, merriment, and the clunking of earthen mugs full of frothy ale. The smell of fresh pies, grilled meats, and savory vegetables wafts through the summer breeze. Festival goers wander the streets with garlands of flowers about their necks and ruddy cheeks from the strong local ale. You find yourself passing through this village and its festive atmosphere. Merchants from other villages are here and the village market center is packed and filled with sounds of vendors hawking their wares.
Finding yourself hungry and thirsty you’ve made your way into a large tent. Several youthful minstrels play a light tune in the corner, barely heard above the din of the crowd. The tent is filled with other travelers, merchants and their guards, solo wanderers, monks, priests, hedge wizards, craftsfolk, wizened elders and playful youths. Over your second beverage you hear some idle conversation. Unable to pinpoint the speakers in the chaos of chatter, you listen in,
“Do you think the curse will manifest this year? They say its every one hundred years. Old Kavel says his grandpappy told him about it, and he reckons that this year is the year of the curse.”
Another voice responds…”I think its hogwash! That was another time. Didn’t some heroes kill the risen evil then?”
“Yes but they say the curse cannot be ended, that a new evil will always rise from the haunted cairns where the Battle of the Blighted was fought every one hundred years.”
“Well, all I know is I am going drink ale until I cannot see straight, and haunt some lass’ skirt! Haw haw haw…”
The conversation becomes lost as people begin to sing a common local song, your food finally arrives, and your mouth watering, you dig in to the hearty fare.
Before long, a commotion at the end of the tent catches the attention of most, and within seconds the music and all conversation stops. A bloodied man stumbles out of the parting crowd, voices shocked and aghast at his appearance.
Several people attempt to help him, but he merely screams, “The curse has returned! The dead have risen to feast on the living! They took Aelfa, Tam, and Gordy! Oh, the horror! I will never forget their screams as they were dragged into the forest. They came after me too, their bloody claws ripping at me, some of them even had weapons, they were all dripping blood, everywhere and… and, their leader watched from the forest! I ran and got away, I couldn’t save them...”
He collapses from shock and a friend carries him away right as another man bursts through the crowd, “Did he say Aelfa? My Aelfa!? It ... It cannot be! Noooo! She was everything to me!”
The man curls his fingers into fists.
“This curse must be stopped, the evil destroyed! Who among you can tackle this threat to us? I will offer my life savings to any heroes who can bring me proof that these denizens are destroyed.”
Several people look up, interest in their eyes, perhaps understanding that this unknown man has some considerable wealth. He does seem well dressed compared to the commonfolk.
“10,000 gold crowns I can offer! Just…bring me the bodies of Aelfa and her friends...if…if…”
The man breaks down and is escorted away by friends. The stunned crowd mulls about uncomfortably. Conversations begin in hushed tones, but many slip away, the merriment ruined by the tragedy. Quite a few people remain discussing in quiet voices, rubbing their chins, scanning the crowd. Some appear capable types, seasoned veterans, and others who have seen their share of adventure, but most appear to be farmers or other tradesfolk. It appears that groups are forming, interested in the chance at a fortune in gold, or perhaps just to do the right thing and help the community. You wonder whether the gold has made them overly brave, and whether some of these folks actually have what it takes to defeat anything other than a rabid dog. The death count could get awfully high before this all plays out. Perhaps you and a some of the more capable looking folks could sort this out. The gold wouldn’t hurt either. A few questions and an overheard conversation or two and the man offering the reward is Fitzsimmons, a local burgher of some wealth, and Aelfa is/was his daughter.
You realize time is of the essence, in order to stop the threat as soon as possible, but also to prevent others from either winning the reward for themselves, or from getting themselves killed in the attempt. You wonder abstractly if you will be one of those who do not return, as you honestly have little idea what the situation involves. You assemble your hastily thrown together group, and make your way to Burgher Fitzsimmons’ home.
His home is a large well maintained home, and a servant shows you into a front parlor where several other men are already waiting. They appear to be of the local militia. Also present is an extremely old lay priest of Erastil. Within minutes Fitzsimmons enters the room, still looking distraught. He eyes your group over and you see a glimmer of hope in his eye.
“You folks look capable. I thought we might have to rely on our local boys to deal with this, but we just don’t have the experience with this sort of thing.”
A few of the militia sitting in the room make an attempt to look indignant, but you see the secret relief in their faces.
“Anyone around here can tell you I’m good for the money, if that’s a concern. Although this is a farming community, I have done well over the years with regional trade. This community doesn’t have a lot of big town resources, but you may be able to find plenty at the festival; weapons, armor and things of that nature. Father Melvidine here can explain what he knows of the curse."
The old man pulls himself to a standing position, leaning on an aged worn staff. He speaks in a cracked voice.
“Twelve hundred years ago the so called Battle of the Blighted took place on the plain and the forests to the east of what is now the village of Cobbleston. In those days these lands were governed by King Volkrin IV. To the south lay the empire of Krath, its vile lich king A’Shug growing more and more powerful over time. Eventually he sent his armies of the dead north wiping out village after village. King Volkrin responded, and his army met the massive undead horde near here. After a battle lasting days, the king’s forces, exhausted and greatly depleted began to win out. They destroyed the mindless minions and their more powerful undead officers to the last, but not before one of the undead generals, a mighty Warrior-Witch, pronounced a very powerful curse on the lands, stating that every one hundred years the king’s men who fell dead would rise again to haunt these lands until every last one had all risen. Few know or remember, but this curse has held true every century with some of the dead coming from the graves. Sure, in the past heroes like yourself have put a stop to the menace, but it always happens again, and will always continue to happen.”
He trails off and then clears his throat.
“Pilk, the young fellow who survived the attack, was at least able to tell us that these risen dead are infesting the area around the Vanor Wood. If you follow the road to the east, and take several well travelled trails used for hunting or livestock you will approach the woods. Personally I would go during the day, but that may not matter. Those woods and the surrounding area are filled with the graves and cairns of the dead of the Battle of the Blighted. The undead corpses were burned in huge pyres, while the living were laid to rest in graves whose markers are long since gone. In some cases many were entombed in huge burial mounds within the forest. Of course that was centuries ago and the forest has changed much since then. May Torag or whatever gods you pray to protect you.”
With that, his eyes glaze over a bit and coughing several times he departs from the home, without so much as a word, leaving many unanswered questions. The militia fellows, appearing uncomfortable, rise almost as one, and depart as well. Fitzsimmons and some of his household staff remain.
“Well, do you think you can handle this?”
dot
The world comes back into focus the second time Hank’s head is dunked into the water barrel.
”Wha?” He asks blearily. Whoever had decided to sober him up was already walking away. Hank rubbed a sore jaw with a sore hand and wondered if he’d been in another fight. What would he tell his wife?
He looked about at unfamiliar sights and unfamiliar sounds and wandered into the tent from which wafted the scents of food and the sounds of conviviality. Inside he quickly found a lass to fill his mug and got back to his drinking.
Not long after a bloodied man stumbles into the “tavern” and ruins the atmosphere. Hank follows slightly what the man is saying and nods with the crowd as they call for action. When a man calls out to say that “his Aelfa” must be avenged, something takes hold of Hank.
He steps forward and calls out, ”I’m in. I’ll save your lady,” and takes another swig of bitter ale. He looks about and realized the moment has passed. Several folks have seen him, though, and gesture him towards a gathering group.
He follows the group to the Burgher’s residence and listens quietly. When asked if he can handle the situation he brazenly calls out. ”Aye. I’m sure we can ‘andle ourselves.” He takes a long pull from his mug and looks at everyone else in the group in earnest for the first time.
What’ve I gotten myself into?
10,000 gold!! Well I could really use the money that's for sure...And savin' a pretty lady is always nice!
Gulping down the last of his beer, Elric slides off the stool.
Gathering his pack from the floor by his feet, he shoulders his crossbow and moves toward what looks to be a fairly experienced group...
" I'm in too. Always up for a good fight. Anybody here know a lot 'bout fightin' the Undead? Any special gear we need?"
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" Coulda used a more...'powerful' Blessing if ya take my meaning... But aye, I think we can do this.."
Severn, who had been leaned up against one of the plushly papered walls of the parlour, draws himself to his full height and lurches toward the centre of the room. The militiamen file past wordlessly, each man refusing to meet his eyes as the pass by on their way out the door.
"I will lend my sword to the cause." he says to those few remaining gathered around Fitzsimmons and his retinue.
Bob remained silent most of the time in the tent, carelessly drinking his ale, when the interruption occurred. He wasn't really interested until he heard the sum of gold offered, which got him interested. He emptied the ale glass, spit on the floor and spoke, more to himself than anyone else, being half drunk.
"Again some suckers needin help. Can't these people solve their own problems for once, sheesh. Well, their money's good as any I guess.
In the residence he listened to the offer. Although he didn't particularly like the prospect of getting his hands dirty in undead flesh, the offer was too good to pass up.
"Alright gramps, u got yerself a deal! We'll clear these dead bastards in no time, ain't that right fellow adventurers?"
This town could probably use some cursing considering all that nasty colorful cheer around here but that monet is gard to pass up.
Akoril stands up, nods and dons his helmet.
Your hastily assembled crew begins its mission immediately. As you walk through town, people stand and gravely bear witness to your task. Whispers among them, mostly unheard, seems to discuss the chances of your success, the gold reward, the nature of the evil you are facing, and that fact no one really knows who you are.
After a potential stop at the market for supplies, the group makes it way out of the village, following the road, which as you were told eventually leads to a series of paths used for hunting, livestock and as simple shortcuts to other trails.
After a time the forest thickens and the trail grows narrower. You hear the distant cawing of crows, and an odd feeling comes over you. Soon you notice the foliage off to the side of the path has been trampled and torn up. You see blood all over the path and the leaves of the bushes and undergrowth. Even the poorest trackers can tell something or someone was dragged off into the forest. You follow the new path cautiously, weapons ready. Before long the bloody trail opens into a dark glade and you feel you are approaching your destination. A narrow path leads into a darker patch of the forest. With a sense of impending doom, you ready yourselves, not really knowing what lies around the next turn....
Akroil whispers "The shadows are my home, I have no fear of what lies ahead."
Akoril draws his rapier in his left hand and his alchemist's fire in his right before transforming into an air elemental and fading partially into the shadows.
Fetchlings get Disguise Self 1/day and are outsiders so disguise themselves as other outsiders.
Shadow Blending (Su): Attacks against a fetchling in dim light have a 50% miss chance instead of the normal 20% miss chance. This ability does not grant total concealment; it just increases the miss chance.
So I'm not actually mechanically any harder to see that anybody else. But I like the style/flavor points that go with blending into the shadows as an "air-elemental."
... right before transforming into an air elemental and fading partially into the shadows.
** spoiler omitted **
Erlic looks around and squints into the woods trying to see what may be seen.
As he does this he dons his gauntlets and loads his heavy crossbow.
" Well. who goes in first?"
Riggar is quite happy to have a warm meal and a cold ale to wash it down. He heartily gulps the food and drink, but before he can finish a commotion break out. He sits, in shock and awe of the events. He looks around as others dwell on the possibility to help, and the reward that is promised. That amount could help my business..hmm
Riggar decides that helping the town would also be a good thing, he joins the ithers to investigate the haunted forest.
"We don't have any wizards to throw around fire or lightning so I figure we should stick together, cover each others' backs." Severn shrugs and looks to the others for a better plan.
Hank shakes the fog from his head, realizing the party has stopped and assuming that they're waiting on him. "Bottom's up!" he cheers, finishing his ale, and stumbles forward.
Bob draws his weapons, and tries to notice anything unusual.
The group pauses for a moment as weapons are drawn and both Bob and Erlic notice a rank fetid odor in the air, and what sounds like something eating from just ahead. You hear the noise of fleshy meat being jostled about and bones crunching. You step forward cautiously rounding the bend and into the clearing.
You step into a grisly scene. Piles of upturned earth and bloodied skeletonized bodies lie everywhere in the clearing. In the center of the clearing however a large crude altar has been constructed of stone. It is covered in blood, the stones slick with its sheen even in the shadowy light. You see what must be the remains of the teens that were dragged from the path. Their parts are piled on and around the alter. A hulking creature is hunched over the alter crunching on a thigh bone, sucking the marrow from it, its long tongue rasping the flesh from the bone. The moment you approach its nostrils flare and it snaps its neck in your direction. A hoarse half growl, half roar issues from its blood covered maw. As it does, the bloodied skeletons rise, their bones assembling into humanoid forms, some of them gripping broken weapons covered in dirt. A foul rotting stench wafts from the altar area.
:: Map link
"Time for a change of diet, ugly!"
" Now that's just nasty!" He exclaims as he aims and fires his crossbow at the leader.
Akoril will slip into the brush as quietly as he can.
"Right then." Severn sets off towards the pack of risen dead, his greatsword levelled before him at waist height. He has a crossbow slung across his back but prefers melee whenever possible.
I will be damned if I run from anything. Specially some undead who I will make rest in peace once and for all.
Riggar will move up 20' closer to the army of undead.
Bob moves into the undergrowth and tries to hide himself in the shadows.
Hank steps boldly forward and decks the nearest skeleton with his mug.
The battle begins as Riggar steps forward into the swarm of skeletons as they are still rising and taking notice. As he advances up to the grisly altar the smell of the rotting remains hits his nostrils, and as he approaches the dark altar, an even more overpowering wave of stench assaults him. The foul smell of death and corruption seems to eminate from the creature itself.
Severn also strides forward into the fray, his huge sword ready to cut down any foes. He too notices the bodies of the teens mutilated, and half eaten, strewn about and on the altar. As with Riggar, as he approaches very close to the altar and the creature behind it, he too is hit by the overwhelming stench of death and decay.
The ghastly leader drops the arm he is chewing on and with unnatural agility springs several feet forward and takes a swipe at Severn with a bloodied claw.
. The creature's claw rakes harmlessly off of Severns breastplate, and it hisses in frustration.
Bob slips into the dense undergrowth and into the shadows.
Hank steps up and swings his mug at the skeleton in front of him as it rises from the ground. With the skill of many a barroom brawl his mug connects, solidly slamming the skeleton square on the jaw, which goes flying off along with a good many teeth. Its head does a full 360 before coming to rest facing mostly forward again.
Akoril also moves into the undergrowth, attempting to use the dense foliage to cover his movement.
Erlic takes careful aim with his heavy crossbow, as he levels it against the lead ghoul, the battle kicks in and people begin to move, by the time he is able to pull the trigger, Severn and the undead have already joined in melee. The shot that much harder, Erlic's trained eye is still able to place the shot. . The shot penetrates the creature square in the upper chest, the heavy bolt coming out the other side and disappearing into the forest. The creature reels from the force of the impact and is nearly knocked off its feet. Its ferally glowing eyes, dim somewhat as it clutches its chest.
:
Riggar has known stench. His brother was one of the rankest people he knew. This odor, the order of decay and death was near supernatural to him. His stomach could bear it for mere seconds before his hearty lunch came back up. He grabs his holy symbol, out of sheer instinct and prays to his god to help him through this terrible time and to vanquish the foul undead creating the stench.
DC 10 will save for half
Bob will sneak up on the nearest skeleton and attack him. (i won't move him until the skeletons have moved seeing as how they act before him)
Riggar's channel will hit all of the undead perfectly. You can sense somehow the altar strengthens these undead, you feel the dark power coming from it.
The skeleton that Hank clobbered with his mug, already clinging to a thread, is destroyed by the positive energy.
The rest of the undead reel and smoulder, their blood covered bones boil briefly. The leader roars in pain as well, its flesh blackening and peeling.
The skeletons move forward their claws clutching and grasping for you.
Two skeletons attack Severn:
Severn ducks one of the claws and the other bounces harmlessly off his armor.
Two skeletons attack Erlic:
One of the claws strikes flesh ripping close to Erlics throat
The second skeleton swings with its rusted grimy weapon missing.
Two skeletons close with Hank and attempt to rend him limb from limb.
The first skeleton connects, ripping across his shoulder
Finally two skeletons attempt to assault Riggar.
Riggar bats one away with his shield, and the other claw falls short.
The rest of the skeletons file in mindlessly, attempting to get to the living.
Hank reels from the blow. "Ow... Jerk... I was using that."
With that he pulls back and swings wildly.
Losing his footing, he stumbles back just a bit.
Akoril will step up through the brush and toss his alchemist's fire at the skeleton 15ft north of him.
but it lands quite short and deals 1 point of fire splash to himself and the 3 surrounding skeletons.
The foul odour of corruption hits Severn like a wall, stopping him is tracks and sending his stomach roiling as the undead claw and scratch at him ineffectually. Retching but able to hold onto his lunch somehow, the oracle slashes at the creature that had dropped the disembodied arm it was munching on.
Seeing the undead take a few chunks of flesh from his companions, Riggar has to decide on whether to ask his god to heal his allies, or to once again sear the flesh from the corrupted that seek to overwhelm them. It is a tough choice, but the numbers are against them. He hopes that his god can out to rest these wretched undead before they get the better of him and his allies.
DC 10 will for half
OWW stupid walking corpse!
Grunting in pain, Elric drops his crossbow, draws his club and swings at the ambulatory bones in front of him.
" You step on that, an' I'ma gonna smash ya, bury ya, dig you up and smash ya again!"
Severn's swing makes a wide arcing cut towards the lead undead, who nimbly dodges it, crouching low.
In turn it unleashes against Severn with a pair of claws before retreating 5' behind the altar.
It viciously rakes Severn one claw missing, but the other connecting, stripping flesh to the bone from his thigh to his knee. Exposed nerves on fire and blood gushing, Severn begins to feel himself seize up from the ghoulish wound, but fights through, toughing it out.
Bob slips from the dense underbrush with a swift strike catching the bloody skeleton unaware, his wakizashi slipping through its ribs with a killing stab. Unfortunately the well placed attack finds hollow space with no internal organs, and the bladed weapon seems to do no real harm.
Having no actual weapon, Hank swings his drinking mug again at a skeleton before stumbling backward. The heavy mug bludgeons the skeleton's skull which shatters into several pieces as the skeleton crumples to the ground in a clatter of bones.
Akoril's arm catching on some underbrush completely botches his attempt to squarely hit his target, the splashing fire does however inflict some minor damage to several of the bloody foes. The foliage on the ground sizzles as the fire sputters.
Erlic switches to melee but unfortunately his club falls short, and the skeleton is able to avoid the blow as its bloody glaze drips all over the place.
Severn stumbles back, resisting the urge to clutch at the gaping wound opened in his thigh. Instead, he clutches his holy symbol in one hand and calls upon the ministrations of his heavenly patron. A wave of healing energy issues forth, mending his injury as well as any his companions have suffered.
Elric swings again at the skeleton in front of him, mumbling to himself the whole time...
"Gonna hafta get me anew club after this. Gross, nasty, bloody, stinky friggin' skellies..."
Glancing at Severn.." Thanks lad."
His distaste for the gory skeletons is obvious. As is his reluctance to hit them and dirty his equipment.
Riggar again clutches his holy symbol and calls up a wave of life energy, blasting the horde of undead.
The unholy creatures smoke and blacken as the positive energy washes over them, but bolstered by dark magic and their foul nature, the damage is minor and they fight on.
Furthermore you notice the creatures' bloody coating begin to glisten and fill in cracks and cover scorched bones, as the skeletons appear to be rapidly healing the damage. Their leader seems to have no such power.
They advance further, swarming forward.
The skeleton engaged with Erlic reaches out with a claw and at the same time swings its dirt covered ancient sword.
The claw feebly misses, but the sword strikes true, and would have been a brutal wound if not for Erlic's armor.
The skeleton that Bob sneak attacked, turns its attention to him swinging its club viciously.
It connects solidly despite the concealment of the undergrowth. The blow however powerful is unable to do any significant damage. It also swipes it claw at Bob's face, missing horribly.
Three skeletons engaged with Severn clutch and tear at him with their claws or swing their decrepit weapons, while a fourth with a mace skulks around and slips in attempting to totally surround him.
Most of the attacks are ineffective, either missing outright or grazing harmlessly from Severn's breastplate.
Back to back with Severn, Riggar is also assaulted by a small pack of skeletons who bring their wicked claws to bear.
While a few of the claws miss outright barely requiring notice, many of them come dangerously close, only stopped by his armor or shield, both forged by Riggar himself.
Akoril's alchemical antics have gained the notice of the skeletons who step up a few feet to him smoldering a bit. Some, like their brethren wield ancient broken weapons, in conjunction with a claw, or merely claws alone. From the dim shadows and dense underbrush Akoril is difficult to see and he easily dodges most of the attacks, and his armor protects him from the others.
Bob attacks the skeleton again with two scimitar swings.