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Hi folks, I recently started Hell's Vengeance with my group. As a DM I've found it fun and helpful to read through other people's experiences about adventure paths. This gives a lot of ideas and is a great primer to avoid TPK's etc. However, despite Google searches I haven't found solid session by session adventure logs from teams. There's a few in Obsidian Portal, but these have 6 month gaps in the logs. Anyone seen good logs of the AP? Any other tips for a GM?
Thanks again for the comments folks! Trying to incorporate quite a bit of those (and yeah, Orik just might get out of hand given the way things are going). We've been playing for two months and the AP feels great. So many NPC's with so many different angles. The beginning is DM heaven. :) Here's the campaign log so far: Go to Campaign Log.
Handout I - Year 4707 Absalom Reckoning, 23rd of Rova Stone fonts containing frothy dark water sit to the north and south of the eastern entrance to the room, and twin banks of stone pillars run the length of the long chamber. At the western end, shallow stairs rise to a platform about two feet off the ground. The walls surrounding this platform are lit by hanging braziers that emit glowing red smoke, giving the place an unnerving crimson lighting that throws the bas-relief carvings of countless monsters feasting on fleeing humans into lurid display. A black marble altar stone, its surface heaped with ashes and bone fragments, squats before a ten-foot-tall statue. The sculpture depicts a very pregnant but otherwise shapely naked woman who wields a kukri in each taloned hand and has a long reptilian tail, birdlike taloned feet, and the snarling head of a three-eyed jackal with a forked tongue. The left kukri flickers with fiery orange light while the right one glows with a cold blue radiance. A man wearing helmet and studded leather armor strides forward to the temple. He is carrying a large black metal shield and long sword. On his heels scramble half a dozen goblins dragging or carrying a large sack in the middle of them. The goblins chatter and laugh, still high in the aftermath of the raid to Sandpoint mocking and making fun of their friends who accidentally burned themselves or dived down to the razor sharp rocks down at the Junk Beach. The half demon on the altar turns “You’ve brought the remains.” It’s not a question. “And Sandpoint? Is it burned to the ground?” it continues. The goblins scatter making room for one of their own. The fighter smoothly steps back wisely giving room to one of the smallest goblins that is wearing a brass tiara and a carrying a wicked looking short sword. Leader of the goblins is an evil package; a worn breastplate, a war horn on his belt and decorations of small skulls in his armor all speak of countless battles won against his own. “Ah, Mastress. Yes. The remains we bring! Here! Bright fire we brought! Consumed everything in our way! We be brave! We kill all longshanks!” he boasts hitting his breastplate with his sword for good measure. This is where the man behind the goblins interrupts. “No, not burned to the ground. We did some damage and got the remains, but there were complications.” He stops then continues choosing his words carefully. “The diversions worked well as expected, but the citizens… They had reinforcements we weren’t aware of. I didn’t want to commit without knowing more of them.” “I see.” The half demons words have enough acid to melt iron. “Well, it matters little. Rejoice for the time of desecration is at hand!” she continues waving at the goblins. “Bring me the dead priest and gather everyone for tomorrow we shall hold sermon!” The man retreats to the shadows as the goblins bring forth the sack, which they’ve been carrying. As the goblins scatter on their way the half demon stops the goblin leader and the man “Not you two. You’re staying.” Once the patter of small feet dies down she points at the man “Orik. I would know more about these ‘reinforcements’. You will go to Sandpoint and find out everything about them. Get me their strength, numbers and everything you can. We’ll deal with them later.” “Eh. I of course would never doubt the wisdom of your plans, but shouldn’t you send Lyria or someone who hasn’t been making trouble in the area recently?” the man objects. “They might very well make me.”
“Wise decision, Mastress. Just decision!” The goblin leader says. He turns and walks back humming already thinking of names…
Chapter 3. Local Heroes 22nd of Rova - Continued In the aftermath following the raid the adventurers looked after their own. Young Samuel Waylan was brought back from the very brink of death by healing powers of Father Zantus. Within the town limits goblins were fleeing, some of them flinging themselves to death in the north. It was no surprise that in this chaos only Beldak noticed the frantic discussion between Mayor Deverin and Sheriff Hemlock. “Where were your men?! Why didn’t the militia respond?” the mayor was asking from the shaken Sheriff. “This is unheard of! Goblins cooperating. Planning attacks.” Hemlock responded. “Not only they attacked our Garrison at the same time, but our guards from the gates were also drawn out by skirmish by the goblins.” Now worried the Warden of the West turned to look at his compatriots. While Samuel had been gravely wounded the others were barely touched by the combat. Loria Bright had been hurt, but she was still sporting a dry smile in the middle of the battlefield. And while Nicholas Sway, who was barely touched by the goblins, was far from smiling it was clear that he was just warming up to the wetworks. For a moment Beldak simply stood there his gaze wondering from Nicholas to his companion Allen. “These two – both of them are hunters… I wonder which one is more dangerous?” he thought. A little later the four adventurers entered to The Rusty Dragon. True to her word Ameiko had arranged for individual rooms for each and every one of them. Bethana Corvin, a Halfling serving as the maid at the inn, took pains to make sure all of them were comfortable and did a magnificent job serving them a memorable dinner. Although young Samuel was more than overwhelmed by the dinner it was not just the food, which made the evening a memorable one. In the long hours that followed they shared their stories how each had ended up in the town.
Sporting a Stoot" soon grew to be something of a bragging point, and Jervis eventually extended his gift to include ships and carriages. Those who asked or tried to pay him for his skill were rebuffed-Stoat told them, "There ain't no birds in that wood for me t'set free," and went on his way, often wandering the streets for days before noticing a hidden bird in a fence post, lintel, steeple, or doorframe, which he'd then secure permission to "release" with his trusty hatchets and carving knives. Stoat's excuse for wanting to move onto the isle seemed innocent enough. The place was a haven for local bird life, and his claim of "wantin' ta be with th' birds " seemed to make sense-so much so, in fact, that the guild of carpenters (with whom Stoat had maintained a friendly competition for several years) volunteered to build a staircase, free of charge, along the southern cliff face so that Stoat could come and go from his new home without risking life and limb. For 15 years, Stoat lived on the island. His trips into town grew less and less frequent, making it something of an event when he chose a building to host a new Stoat. Sandpoint was no stranger to crime, or even to murder. Once or twice in a year, passions flared, robberies went bad, jealousy grew too much to bear, or one too many drinks were drunk, and someone would end up dead. But when bodies began to mount in late 4702 AR, the town initially had no idea how to react. Sandpoint's sheriff at the time was a no-nonsense man named Casp Avertin, a retired city watch officer from Magnimar. Yet even he was ill-prepared for the murderer who came to be known as Chopper. Over the course of one long month, it seemed that every day brought a new victim to light. Each was found in the same terrible state: body bearing deep cuts to the neck and torso, hands and feet severed and stacked nearby, and the eyes and tongue missing entirely, having been plucked crudely from each head. Over the course of that terrible month, Chopper claimed 25 victims. His uncanny knack at eluding traps and pursuit quickly wore on the town guard, taking a
The trail led straight to the stairs of Stoat's Rock. At first, the town guard refused to believe the implications, and feared that Chopper had come to claim poor Jervis Stoat as his 26th victim. Yet what the guards found in the modest home atop the isle and in the larger complex of rooms that had been carved into the bedrock below left no room for doubt. Jervis Stoat and Chopper were one and the same, and the eyes and tongues of all 25 victims were found upon a horrific altar to a vile demon lord of winged creatures and temptation whose name none dared speak aloud. Stoat himself was found dead at the base of the altar, having plucked his own eyes and tongue loose in a final offering. The guards collapsed the entrance to the lower chambers, burned Stoat's house, tore down the stairs , and did their best to forget. Stoat himself was burned on the beach in a pyre, his ashes blessed and then scattered in an attempt to stave off an unholy return of his evil spirit. But as fate would have it, the people of Sandpoint would soon have a new tragedy to bear, one that almost eclipsed Chopper's rampage. A month after the murderer was slain, a terrible fire struck Sandpoint. The fire started in the Sandpoint Chapel and spread quickly. As the town rallied to save the church, the inferno expanded, consuming the North Coast Stables, the White Deer Inn, and three homes. In the end, the church burnt to the ground, leaving the town's beloved priest Ezakien Tobyn and his beautiful adopted daughter Nualia dead. All that remains today of the once-loved Stoat carvings are ragged scars on buildings and figureheads where owners used hatchets to remove what had become
“But things buried deep have a knack of returning to haunt you...” Nicholas Sway concluded his story grinning wickedly from the shadows to his new friends. “Mark my words; The Late Unpleasantness is far from buried and will rise to haunt us all!” For a moment he paused letting his gaze drift across his friends. “And with that I’m going to bade you all good night!” he said taking his leave and withdrawing for a well-deserved rest. But such gravity was in his speech that young Samuel spent the night turning and tossing; waking up for every noise, which the old inn would make during the night. 23rd of Rova In the morning that followed the adventurers gathered to break fast. Bethana was busy tending to the table, but mood was far from elevated. People who died in the raid on previous night were still fresh in everyone’s memory and the dark story, which Nicholas told, had been haunting their dreams. Sheriff Hemlock, who burst into the inn, did little to raise their spirits. It was clear that the Sheriff had not slept at all on during the night and Samuel quietly whispered to Nicholas that it seemed he had been drinking. Goblin blood, which still covered his clothes, was a good reminder of the brute task, which had taken his time. “Damn ugly business making them goblins talk I tell you. But never mind. You’ve done Sandpoint a great service and I promised to keep you lot in the loop. So if you’ve done with breakfast I suggest you join me for a brisk walk that should clear everyone’s head a little. I’ll brief you on the way.” The sheriff spoke turning around and heading to bright sunlight.” As the team scrambled after the sheriff young Samuel caught up with him and politely inquired “Um. Er… Yes, good sir. If you don’t mind me asking, but where exactly are we going?” “The Boneyard, of course.” The sheriff responded without breaking a stride and then told them following. “So the bad news is that something very unusual is going on with the goblins. We’ve never really had to worry too much about them because they’re such scatterbrains. Coming up with plans or strategy is bloody impossible for those animals, but this time things are different. Last nights attack was well planned and coordinated. There were two more attacks in addition to the main force that you turned around. Garrison was attacked as well as our gates; Both attacks diversions to delay or take my soldiers else where.” The sheriff grimaces and continues. “So I’ve spent the night doing things to them to make them talk. Things, which I’m not proud of, even if it’s those murderous animals that we’re talking about. And just about the only thing I’ve learned so far is that there’s a ‘longshank’ working with them.” As they walk the sheriff let his gaze wonder across all of the adventurers. “You of course are off the hook. The way you fought leaves little room for doubt. But it does look like someone is cooperating with them. Someone who knows Sandpoint very well.” “It’s too early to jump into conclusions, but there’s more. As I was on my way to The Rusty Dragon I got the word that something weird has been going on in the boneyard. Looks like the tomb, which holds the remains of Father Tobias, has been opened. I thought you lot could join me for the walk as I was going there myself. Ah, here we are.” The sheriff concludes pointing at the cathedral ahead of them. Father Zantus kindly summoned Naffer Vosk, local gravedigger who took the team of five to the tombs. Beldak took some time to study the ground and was able to make out at least six goblin tracks and one more which was likely to be a medium humanoid. The tomb itself held a grave surprise as three skeletons lurched out of the doors when the team investigated it. After a quick combat they learned that remains of Father Tobyn had indeed been stolen and what looked like a used Robe of Bones had been left into the tomb. Whoever had taken the remains had also left a nasty surprise to the investigators. As investigative as ever Nicholas asked Naffer to take them to the grave of Nualia, father Tobyn’s perished daughter and Naffer was happy to help. He was less than happy though when Nicholas asked him to dig open the grave. Sheriff Hemlock stepped in to defend the shocked gravedigger and explained to Nicholas that while Sandpoint was in their debt they were still far from starting to desecrate the graves of their citizens. Perhaps things would come to that eventually, but for now it was best to be discreet and not to alarm the citizens at large. After the events in the boneyard Beldak, who was impatient to return back to Ashwood, asked Father Zantus when the final ceremony would be conducted. Father Zantus told him that it would be done quietly with a small crew on the evening of the very same day. He also told Beldak that local families who had lost their loved ones had especially asked if the Warden would be kind enough to honor them in the burial of their family members. This shouldn’t take more than a couple of weeks but would mean very much to them. The grumbling druid promised to be available. When our adventurers were making their way back to the Rusty Dragon Samuel met with Alma Avertin (Sandpoint Savories) and her grand daughter Nicitiana. Both were overwhelmingly grateful to Samuel “You saved our lives young man!” the graying old lady told the young man while pressing a parcel of sweet rolls to his hands. “If there’s ever anything that we can do you can count on us!” Hugging his hero Nicitiana asked Samuel to help her learn how to fight with a real sword and he promised to give her a few lessons. It was a good coincidence that Sheriff Hemlock had offered him training at the garrison for now he had something to teach to the young girl. It soon became obvious to our adventurer’s that they’d become local heroes of sorts. When Samuel visited Savah’s Armory to buy buckers for them for future battles he was instantly offered a 20% discount from everything at her store. This was outmatched by solemn Ven Vinder who gave Loria a very generous 30% discount at General Store. Local girls gave long looks to dark and mysterious Nicholas, giggling that apparently he might be ‘available’ and young Samuel got his share of the attention as well. However all this was more than outmatched by the attention which Loria Bright received from Aldern Foxglove the nobleman, which the party had saved. Aldern met them at the inn and invited the team to a boar hunt with him in the next few days. He was a rich Magnimar noble passing through and offered to buy everyone riding horses for the hunt. One of the locals, a man called Rodric Caskerin, carrying a large black shield, long sword and a bow, offered to help them with the hunt. Apparently he was a rather good huntsman and knew the local area well. Aldern invited him to the hunt with them.
24th of Rova
Determined to be better prepared Samuel spent most the morning training at the Garrison. He then spent most of the afternoon laughing and practicing the same moves with Nicitiana. Beldak visited the families who had lost loved ones and managed to resist the urge to prompt them to quickly bury their dead. Nicholas and Loria wandered the streets of the town talking with locals.
Which might have been just as well, for in reality Shayliss was hunting things very different from rats. For the longest time she had been shadowed by her elder sister Kathrine, who it was rumored had found the love of her life. Their protective father had turned all his attention to the older sister who spent most of her time with Banny Harker, one of the workers at local lumber mill. However Katrine’s evening was far from done, which was proven true when young Samuel Wayland returned just a little later. “Mylady, why the tears?” the young man questioned. Seeing another of the brave new heroes approach her Katrine told him the same story while sobbing and pressing herself against the young fighter. It was a little later when Katrine lead our young hero to the lantern lit basement of the general store. Indicating one of the corners of the basement she said “There, brave sir! I saw one in the corner.” her voice still shaken. Carefully Samuel approached the barrels that had been lined in the corner. As he got closer a noise from behind alerted him to the action that was about to begin. Quite a different action from what he had anticipated. The noise came from the bodice of Shayliss Vinder, which had come off and lay by her feet. Now clothed in her birthday suit the young girl pressed herself against the young lad purring, “There are no rats. Hold me!” It is moments like this that show the real nature of a man. True to his values young Samuel took the lady in his arms, but only to clothe her again. “Mylady, you deserve more than this! Let me help you with your clothes and we’ll talk about this upstairs.” A baldly selected word, a too hasty move or just the wrong tone could have had disastrous results, for Shayliss was both very uncertain and revengeful sort. Yet young Samuel knew exactly how to say the right words without causing her to lose face. Which was for the best because just moments later her father’s voice came from upstairs “Shayliss! Are you down there! I saw you going there with someone.” Ven Vinder bellowed and almost took the door from its hinges at the top of the stairs. Again, Samuel delivered an amazing feat in diplomacy and quickly convinced the jealous father that he had been helping young Shayliss with a modest rat problem, which was all sorted out now. Elsewhere Loria and Nicholas were approached by another tearful lady that was very different from the previous encounter. Amele Barret, an elderly lady with one of her kids rushed to the Rusty Dragon. She quickly told them that they had goblins in house and Loria ran out with Nicholas to see what the ruckus was all about. They left so fast that they only notified Beldana to tell Beldak where they had gone. And indeed they found that one of the goblins had survived from the raid. Unfortunately they were too late to save Amele’s husband Alergast, who had went searching for the goblin alone.
Notes by Loria Bright Sandpoint, 22th of Rova Today was the most lively and confusing day I can ever remember. In honor of the opening ceremonies for the new cathedral I decorated my hair with flowers and reagents - the resulting blend of functionality and beauty was a decided success.
At the start of the blessing ceremony Father Zantus halted his speech in mid-sentence. At first I thought he'd forgotten the script - later that he was having an episode of some sort (note : research the visible effects of strokes and sudden ailments, ask father Zantus & towns alchemist). However people suddenly scattered in panic and I found the true reason - a pack of goblins had attacked the city! I must confess I was slow to react. Before finishing my sleep spell all but one of the attackers had been killed by fast acting compatriots. Running towards them while shouting a warning about the sole goblin being only asleep I was taken aback when most ran in the opposite direction. Turning around in confusion I spied a wagons torched by second pack of attackers. In the ensuing battle I managed to intimidated a few goblins into running away. After the last enemy fell defenders around me again ran away. In hopes they knew what was happening I followed. Rounding a corner we ran into our third pack of goblins. Bolstered by my previous success I was able to intimidate them all with a twist : They didn't ran away but were shaken for longer ( note : research the effects of intimidation. Is there a positive or negative correlation between effect and duration ?). Someone used a plant based spell to try and entangle us - luckily no-one was caught. This final battle was brief but bloody - two of my compatriots were badly injured, one unto unconsciousness. Beldak was quite intoxicated, even botching a jump down from a table and falling down flat on his face. I don't think the poor dwarf managed to score a single hit. However his indirect contribution to the battle was significant as his pet bear killed and mangled many a goblin. I was quite impressed by father Zantus' healing abilities. As they were the difference between life and death here in the city and they would be even more so out in the wilderness (note : research local religious orders and faiths, entry requirements and codes of conduct). Sheriff thanked everyone who defended the city and rewarded us with seven days of free lodgings in the Rusty Dragon - a gift I was eager to accept. I'm uncertain if food was included but I hope it was, for I can only afford to eat for 8 more days.
Campaign Log – Samuel Waylan – 22nd of Rova First flash. It tears through my mind like a rake on tender flesh. The dark woods, blackened emerald and indigo hues, ugly, subdued, horribly inviting. Darkness. The second flash. Sounds of metal on metal. Cries for help. Blood curding screams. Darkness. The third flash. A dark room with broken corners letting the night bleed in. Sickening stench of guts and blood. Chas, unmoving, cradling his belly as if trying to hold his entrails in. The paralyzing fear. The sheer desperation. Darkness. Flash. People. Frolic. Games. A surreal scene seen from behind a veil of pain. The benign, no... the smug, proud faces of the six. The brother holding my hand. Swallowtails. Thousands of them. Darkness. Flash. Goblins pouring over fences and obstacles in a mad frenzy, slicing this way and that with torches and dog slicers. Hubris borne in a nigh suicidal onslaught, goaded by their ferocious battle chanters, they rampage, impale and become impaled. Darkness. Final flash. A blade. Coming up. Coming close. Too close. Such wicked beauty. Darkness. And from the utter blackness, a small flame rekindles. "I know now why I was set on this path. This gnarly trail away from my home, my master and my friends. With just my memories to my name. I know too where it shall eventually lead. It is almost laughable, ironic. I am my father's son after all. Some choices, it seems, are our own. But all choices are a part of a greater constellation. I know now and fear the path I've been called upon. The path to Damnation."
### DM Note: This is our second session where finally all PC's were together and it was time to start the festivities 4707 Absalom Reckoning, 22nd of Rova – Swallowtail Festivals begins 2 days passed with everyone getting used to the Sandpoint and then Swallowtail Festival was on it’s way. Event began with short welcome speech by Father Zantus, then food court opened and White Deer, Hagfish and Rusty Dragon put out their best foods. At the same time the games began and some of the people participated in them. As the festival progressed Samuel was taking the death of Chas really hard. Seeing people having fun and being filled with joy was such a contrast to the events on the way that the young man could hardly deal with it. Local Smith, Das Korvut who was running a game of strength made things considerably worse by challenging the young boy into a game using foul language. Samuel fled the festivities to Cathedral. Just before 1 pm a large carriage was wheeled to the center of the market square. Father Zantus recounted the events that took place with Desna’s fall to earth and how she rewarded the young girl who saved her by immortal life as Swallowtail butterfly. Then the canvas from top of the carriage was lifted and thousands of butterflies were set free to fly towards the sky.
Welcoming Speeches:
Mayor Deverin
When the chuckles die down and Larz stops glowering, Mayor Deverin continues. Citizens of Sandpoint. Today we celebrate!
But this is not the end. No! Quite the opposite. Today marks the beginning of our future. A future we’ve paid for in sweat. Today we put the late unpleasantness behind us and begin a a new chapter in our lives. So mark this day for it’s an important day. Anyway, I can smell the lunch being prepared already. A round of applause for Ameiko, Garridan, Cracktooth, and Jargie! More cheering erupts: the enticing aromas drifting over the crowd are mouthwatering. Mayor Deverin
The crowd responds with a roar, and it is a while before the Mayor can continue. Mayor Deverin
Sheriff Belor Hemlock
As Kendra said today’s important. It’s five years since we started to build our Cathedral. And it’s five years since the Fire of Sandpoint. Now, I know Kendra doesn’t want me to talk about Chopper or the evil things that took place before the fire. (Stops. Draws breath. Then continues.) So, all I’ll say is we lost many good people to Chopper. And we lost many good men and woman that night of the fire. Friends, fathers, mothers, people carrying out their duty or worrying about feeding their families. They will be missed. I’d ask everyone here to join me for a moment of silence to honor those who have passed.
Then finally I’d ask everyone to please be careful in the evening’s bonfire. No really, I’m serious about this. We don’t need to repeat the fire, okay? Thanks. Lojinko Kajitsu
Cyrdas Drokkus
And with awesome I mean our amazing founding families that formed Sandpoint Mercantile League; the Kaijitsus, our esteemed glass makers, the Valdemars our trusted ship builders, the Scarnetti’s our ruggedly handsome loggers and the Deverins our reliable farmers and brewers. Of course it was Kendra who archistered this amazing, amazing feat. And the end result is the majestic view you see behind me! It took years to finish the cathedral, but the it is truly impressive. To the south, facing Sandpoint's heart, are the shrines of civilization: Erastil and Abadar. To the west, ,offering a view of the Old Light and the sea beyond, are the shrines of Shelyn and Gozreh. And to the east, offering a view of the Sandpoint Boneyard and the rising sun, are the shrines of Sarenrae and Desna. Six powerful gods who will look after the seven virtues that we honour. Those will give us strength and make Sandpoint stand tall and proud no matter what lady fate decides to send in our direction! And finally, this wouldn’t be a speech of Cyrdas Drokkus, the man you’ve come to know as the mysterious patron and fearless leader of Sandpoint Theather, unless I’d have a specific treat for you in the end! This time I’ve set out to out do myself for this is no mere treat, but a dramatic reveal! I know most of you are keenly waiting for our brand new production “The Harpy’s Curse” which will be premiering tomorrow. So this is the best time to announce that the lead role of Avis aka the Harpy Queen will be played by none other that the famous Magnimarian diva Allishanda! (Crowd erupts in applause clearly shocked by the reveal as master Drokkus eventually steps down.) Finally Father Zantus asks Beldak to step forth and talk to the audience in his new role as Warden of the West: Heer, heer, heer, people of Sandpoint! As the Warden of the Western Shore I hereby give our blessing to this Cathedral. May it become prosperous and enjoy a high number of years!
A'RRINN VALLAHIR! After Beldak’s speech Father Zantus declared Swallowtail Festival to be officially open!
Goblins chew and goblins bite.
Goblins race and goblins jump
Chase the baby, catch the pup.
Blinded by rage and craziness, which is engulfing Sandpoint Samuel charged without concern for his safety wielding a quarterstaff two handed. He killed first goblin with quarterstaff with a tremendous blow. Fight breaks out everywhere. Allen charged goblins and Lyria casted sleep to last standing goblin in the the first wave. Not willing to kill a downed opponent even if it was a goblin (perhaps even the very same who attacked Chas!) Samuel ties the remaining goblin. Beldak stuffs him into a barrel for safe keeping. But the fight carried on. On the other side of the market square goblin pyro’s exploded oil barrels which they had discovered in a wagon by the marketplace. Battle rages everywhere. The madness which is goblin seems overpowering and civilians get hurt as the crazy horde rampages. In a nick of time Samuel saves Alma Avertin (Sandpoint Savories) from almost certain death and heroically defends young Nicitiana an 8 year old blonde girl who scrambles under to speaking podium but is wounded in the process. Beldak charges from the podium and fails climb check due to being drunk.
Finally the party faced remaining goblins. Beldak casts entangle and Samuel drops in the fight against Goblin Commando. Beldak stabilizes him and the rest deal with Goblin Commando.
Ameiko Kaijitsu also approaches our heroes and tells them that no true friend of Sandpoint shall sleep outside if it’s up to her. She offers them free rooms (!) for a week (!) at Rusty Dragon.
Chapter 2. Festival and Fire Year 4707 Absalom Reckoning, 20th of Rova - Samuel Waylan One by one our adventurers arrived to the small town of Sandpoint. Young Samuel Waylan was the first to arrive. He wasted no time, but sought out large Cathedral in the northern part of town. At the Cathedral he was greeted by Brother Walter, a silent monk who hardly spoke. With a silent nod the monk lead the youth to meet with Father Zantus in the center of the building. The new Cathedral is a magnificent building. Easily the most impressive that young Samuel had ever seen. Its walls towered above him their steps echoing on the walkways. In the middle of the Cathedral seven stones have been set to earth representing the seven virtues and six gods worshipped by the people of the area. Father Zantus, a stern looking monk, greeted Samuel and was happy to receive tithe from Rockport. Samuel thought long and hard about sharing horrible events, which had taken place on his way. The solemn outlook of Father Zantus made him decide against this and he asked for recommendations about accommodations instead. Older monk advised the youth to select one of the local inns. Armed with advice Samuel headed towards Hagfish, which was supposedly the cheapest of the alternatives. Bewildered by the size of the town Samuel made his way south. On his way he noticed that the town was already preparing for festivities. Here and there he saw children running, laughing and tumbling with one another. He walked through Highstreet to the end of Festival Street. At the end of the latter he saw the piers and fishing boats understanding that Hagfish would not be far. Wondering around he soon found the tavern that boasted the right sign. In the middle of the day even Hagfish was quiet. Jargie Quinn greeted the young boy with a smile that would put shark’s to shame. The one legged barkeeper was quick to show him around and take 5 silver pieces for nights accommodations. Laughing he also showed Samuel their attraction “Norah’s Tank” which has given the place it’s name. Hagfish gets its name from the large glass aquarium that sits behind the bar, the home of a repellent Varisian hagfish wthat Jargie affectionately calls Norah. (despite the fact that he's had "Norah" replaced dozens of times Varisian hagfish don't live all that long in Quinn's aquarium). Hanging from a nail next to Norah's tank is a leather pouch bulging with coins: prize money for anyone who can drink down a single tankard of "water" scooped from Norah's tank. It costs a single silver coin to try, but the trick is that, since she's a hagfish, the water in Norah's tank is thick and horrifically slimy and foul tasting. Few can stomach the stuff, but those who do get to keep however many coins have accumulated in the pouch, and then get to carve their names in the ceiling beam above the bar. To date, there are only 28 names carved there, and the Hagfish has been in business for nearly 10 years . Pointing to his feet Jargie couldn’t resist telling the young man the story of old Murdermaw, a legendary giant red snapper and for a while Samuel listened spellbound to Jargis as he recalled his fight against the giant fish and the drastic events which lead to him losing his left foot.
Just a few hours before Samuel another stranger walked through the northern gates. Before the gates a sign welcomed the dark haired lady and for a moment she stood there watching the mirror that had been fixed on the wooden sign and reading “Welcome stranger. Stop to see yourself as we see you”. Noticing that no guards were posted on watch made her feel comfortable. At least here they were not expecting trouble and she shuddered as she thought of the encounter with town watch at Melfesh just months ago. There was something cozy, something welcoming that Loria felt while walking on the Church Street. This was a place that people belonged to, which they lovingly called their home. Perhaps… But first things first. Across the street a wheelwright was taking a wagon of ale to the sought. Loria waved at the man “Excuse me, sir? Would you have a moment?” The rugged wagoner stopped “Sure, mam. Er.. Missus. How can I be of service?” Looking at the wheather worn wagoner Loria was already having doubts about the reliability of information she was about to receive, yet she carried on “I’m newly arrived to your lovely town and I’m looking for accommodation for tonight. Perhaps you could guide to a place suitable for a lady?” Bilivar Wheen, the wagoner in question, laughed “Sure. Sure! What yer is looking for is Hagfish without a double. Best darned Ale we have here. Incidentally this here” he stopped to pad the casks of ale in his wagon “is the best darn brew ever come out from the Two Knights Brewery! So, that’s where your heading missus, Hagfish, south by the pier!” Feeling more than cautious about the advice Loria thanked the wheelwright and parted ways. Walking down the Church Street it wasn’t far until she saw the new Cathedral of Sandpoint. One of the sisters of the order was busily preparing the market square in front of the church for festivities to come. Again Loria stopped to ask for recommendations. Sister Celia was somewhat less biased and after welcoming the newcomer she recommended White Deer just north of the church as the finest inn in Sandpoint. She also pointed out that The Rusty Dragon, which was to the south on the Market Street, was probably the most popular of the local inns. When Loria asked about Hagfish she shuddered and pointed out that while it did have a unique ambience it was highly preferred by sailors and not the best alternative for a lady. Heeding the sister’s advice Loria turned back to check out White Deer. A pair of wooden life-sized deer, carved with painstaking care from white birch, stood astride the entrance to this sizable tavern and inn, which commanded an impressive view of the Varisian Gulf to the north. The building was new, recently rebuilt after the previous inn at this location burnt to the ground several years ago in the same fire that destroyed the Sandpoint Chapel. The new White Deer was a grand affair, three stories tall with a stone first floor and wooden upper floors, with a dozen large rooms that could accommodate two to three guests each. As the entered the inn a somber and quiet Shoanti man named Garridan Viskalai greeted here from the common room. His first words were less than welcoming and more blunt than any innkeeper should use “What do you want?” the Shoanti man simply said? “Well, I’m looking for accommodations” Loria explained “but from what I heard the rates are rather more reasonable at The Rusty Dragon, so could you please make me an offer?” Even though Loria was using her quite considerable charm and her friendly smile could make the clouds part it looked like this was not the best approach with Garridan. “That thing again? They shouldn’t have…” he started his face frowning, then stopped. “Fine. What ever rates Ameiko gives you I’ll promise to match. Our rooms are larger, cleaners and our food way better than her questionable curries. You’ll do a lot better here I tell you.” Not quite convinced Loria thanked the innkeeper and promised the might be back. Her words were met with a disappointed shrug and Garridan returned to his duties. Intrigued by Garridan’s reaction towards The Rusty Dragon Loria set out to find Market Street. Soon she was standing before a large inn and it became obvious how the place had gotten it’s name. On top of the inn was a sizable iron dragon, which served both as a decoration and a lightning rod. And as the name implied it had rusted over the years. As Sister Celia had said The Rusty Dragon could hardly match the White Deer which was had very spacious and clean rooms. But as soon as Ameiko Kaijitsu walked from the kitchen it was obvious why the place was more popular regardless. Her casual yet friendly attitude, straightforward and honest approach on pricing was clearly the reason. “You can book a room for 2 gp’s or sleep by the heath for 5 sp. The common room is safe, you’ll have my word for that! In the last six years we’ve never had an incident and I intend to keep it that way.” Ameiko greeted the newcomer. And so it was settled and Loria booked a room for a whopping 2 gold pieces. “I won’t be able to afford many nights like this, but better safe than sorry.” She though. But there was one last thing in her mind and she returned back to search for Sister Celia. When she found her by the Cathedral she asked whether there was anyone in Sandpoint that could teach or tell her of the ancient lore. “It would be Brodert Quink that you’re looking for. He’s our resident sage and wise in all things ancient. From what I hear he’s been traveling recently, but he should be back by the Swallowtail Festival.” 4707 Absalom Reckoning, 20th of Rova – Druid Beldak “I see what you’re thinking Mougol Allen.” Druid Beldak said as the two walked Market Street for the first time. “And I must confess I’m thinking the same.” The druid had decided that if the town could not deal with Mougol Allen he would let Allen deal with the town. Fortunately while the two did attract attention it was mostly children pointing and giggling as the bear lumbered forward. “Overrated! That’s what they are. Cities. But alas, we shall endure.” The grumbling druid muttered to his companion as the two set out to search the Cathedral and Father Zantus.
“Really? Err… Of course. That was kind of him. Well here I am and happy to help in any way a Warden can.” “Yes! Well, frankly there are not many duties to the Warden of the West in the ceremony. The most important thing is of course that you honor us with your presence.” Now relieved druid glanced at the priest “Well, I’m happy to do exactly that. Now given that I’m new to the town perhaps you could point me towards the appropriate lodging?” “Will be happy to. You’ll want the Rusty Dragon and I believe your companion can sleep in the Goblin Squash Tables close by. Again, I must say my warm thanks for attending our small town. It means a lot to us. And of course we’re all very much looking forward to your speech!” “My err… speech?” “Yes, Jherek always was such a eloquent speaker! Words of wisdom, they defined the man. One could listen him for hours…” Father Zantus stops noticing that the druid is coughing franticly and trying to draw breath. “Are you all right? “No! Yes. Just something in my throat. Speech. Yes. As the Warden. Of course I’m quite looking forward to it myself.” It wasn’t long after when the druid was walking down the high street looking at his companion “Doomed. Mougol Allen, that’s what we are.”
On the very same day last of our heroes to become strode over the southern bridge with confident strides. “Magnimar, Magnimar, Magnimar” he kept humming to himself a local popular song “If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.” “Well this is it.” Nicholas Sway thought walking towards the Cathedral which was largest of the buildings close by. “Time to find the answers that I seek.” Before the Cathedral two women were talking. One of them had very white completion contrasted by a long pitch-black hair. The other was clearly from the staff of the church and was pointing northward explaining something. The dark haired lady thanked the sister and left with a small curtsy. “Greetings Sister!” Nicolas Sway said approaching the sister. I’m new in town and in search of the local sheriff. Could you please point me to the correct general direction?” Sister Celia smiled and kindly gave him directions to Sheriff Belor Hemlock who was most likely found in local Garrison. “Just follow the Tower Street. It’s right after the townhall and you can’t miss it really”. Sandpoint Garrison was a convincing fortress. It serves double duty as Sandpoint’s militia barracks and jail. The jail is located in an underground wing, while the above-ground portion houses the town’s guard. One of the guards by the doors greeted Nicholas who made an appointment to speak with Sheriff Hemlock later in the day. Having sorted that out Nicholas decided to take Celia’s advice and soon found The Rusty Dragon. Ameiko Katsuji was friendly and open so he immediately booked a room. As she didn’t seem to be in a hurry Nicholas decided to ask a few questions regarding “the late unpleaseantness”. While Ameiko wasn’t too happy to dwell on the past she didn’t want to avoid that either and told him following: In one year 25 people were first lost to serial murderer called the Chopper. Previous Sheriff, a man named Casp Avertin was the one who finally uncovered the real identity of the serial murderer, but also his last victim. Belor Hemlock, then a mere town guard was the one who finally brought the Chopper to justice. With this heroic act it was obvious that Belor was promoted to be the Sheriff after Casp Avertin. Unfortunately just a month after the tragic events related to the Chopper Sandpoint suffered another disaster. One that almost eclipsed Choppers rampage. A month after the murderer was slain a terrible fire struck Sandpoint. The fire started in Sandpoint Chapel and spread quickly. As the town rallied to save the church the inferno expanded, consuming North Coast Stables, the White Deer Inn and three homes. When the fire died down almost a dozen locals were found dead including the town’s beloved priest Ezakien Tobyn and his young daughter Nualia. Father Zantus was later asked to organize rebuilding of the Chapel into a larger Cathedral and during the building he was nominated to lead the new Cathedral. Having learnt a little more about Sandpoint’s past Nicholas returned to Garrison to speak with Belor Hemlock. The sheriff was an unusual man. Wearing a chain coif and a chainmail it was obvious that he was a man of action not words. He was also clearly a Shoanti by birth which Nicholas assumed was unusual. Sheriff agreed to talk with Nicholas, but asked him to walk with him. As Nicholas asked his questions about the dark past of Sandpoint the Sheriff draw an old training sword and started to land heavy strokes against one of the wooden poles in the training grounds. As the sword thudded against the pole Nicholas explained that he was somewhat of a colleague, a detective from Magnimar who had been up against a dreadful evil, dark forces and demons whom he believed were far from vanquished. At the end of his speech Sheriff laid down his training sword and turned to Nicholas. “First let me ask you this question: Have we met before?” Somewhat taken a back Nicholas replied “No, I don’t think so.” “So, that makes you a stranger. A stranger who enters my town, under my watch and starts to ask questions of demons and dark forces. Do not misunderstand me Mr. Sway. We don’t treat strangers badly in Sandpoint, but neither do we enjoy discussing our troubles with them. This meeting is over. I believe you know the way out.” And the Sheriff turned back to his practices.
1.4 Nicholas Way
His form is hazy through the storm-like veil between life and death. Can’t blame him for that. Usually, a summoned spirit is hostile, in a hurry to return to afterlife. He shifts, anxious. Me? I grin triumphantly. I do that often these days. There is time. I have him now, his full focus, a captive audience. I have questions to ask, but I hold on to them. The questions can wait. First, I tell him my story… "I was very good at what I did. When something went missing, stolen, or when someone was murdered, they’d come to me for help. I had built a bit of a reputation. I’d follow the clues like breadcrumbs to secret doors, force them open, and drag the truth to daylight. I had a mind for it. It kept me from getting bored. I lived for the challenge of solving the mystery, and I lived for her, my Sofia. She was the sane part of the equation. The rest was hubris of the youth. The city of Magnimar lay at our feet. It started innocently enough: a case of a missing person. I was tracking him down. He turned up dead, his corpse covered with deep cuts in the shapes of ancient Thassilonian runes. A dark message. Soon there were more bodies, more messages. I studied the runes. Something terrible was coming, waking up. I followed the trail. I knew I was getting close. So did the killer. The next message was addressed to me. Then Sofia went missing. Fear was a tip of a dagger against my throat. I knew I’d be too late. I tracked the killer to a crumbling stone house in the permanent shadow of the Irespan, the ruins of the ancient Thessilanian bridge. I entered with the city guard. The house was build from the rocks that had fallen from the bridge. The walls inside were covered with the runes that had become familiar to me. The city guard took down the killer. I read the final message from Sofia’s cold flesh. This was only the beginning. I used every coin I had to raise her from the dead. The spell failed, her soul had been eaten up, given to demonic powers. From then on, I only had one case. Something terrible was on its way, something terrible was waking up. Sofia’s true murderer was still out there, quite possible the murderer-to-be of us all. I had seen a glimpse of what lay waiting behind this thin sunlit façade. I had disbelieved the comforting illusion of our everyday life, and there was no going back. I studied every ancient tome I could find, legends of dark arts and old tyrannical Thassilonian history. The trail was cold. The clues were elusive like fading dreams leading to dead ends. I left Magnimar to look for clues elsewhere. This dark conspiracy stretched much further than the city walls. The twisted veins that led to its dark, alien heart were hidden deep in forgotten tombs and unknown dimensions. And that heart was vast like a shoreless, pitch-black night. I swore I’d stab it full of stars. That was when I heard the tale of Chopper. The serial killer had killed 25 in the town of Sandpoint. There was a passing resemblance to the murders I had witnessed first hand. It was a clue. I left for Sandpoint immediately. Watching the picturesque town before me, I had a sour taste in my mouth. I knew I had come to the right place. The stuff that nightmares are made of waited under the bright, idyllic scene before me." While I talk, he stands there, his form shifting, obscured by the veil. He is taken aback. Usually, the dead don’t give their secrets up easily. But now I’m ready to ask my question: “We faced this darkness long time ago. We knew it would return one day. That’s why you are here. To ask my advice. Tell me, is it rising again?” And with that, I grin my skull-like grin.
1.3 White Raven
“You’re not going to be welcome… They don’t want you there.” The words hang between the two women. Older of them clears her throat and makes a sucking sound. Then she continues, “It will be just like Sirathu, Melfesh or Biston. You won’t fit in. They’ll never accept you. Daft girl. We should have named you Dumb, instead of Bright. Will you never learn?” Words like old, ancient or even eternal do not do justice when describing the older woman. Words like gnarly, leathery and worn on the other hand fit right in. Clad in black from foot to bandana she looks like someone who’d belong into a middle of a raging thunderstorm, most likely cackling over a cauldron. Yet the look she fixes on the younger woman is filled with warmth and her harsh words are delivered with a degree of sadness and compassion. It’s well after midnight and the two women are sitting over a fire. Campsite around them holds little of value. Two tents have been set just at the edge of light; One of them big enough for a grown man to walk in. The tent has multiple ways in and silk merges with cloth in shades of crimson and purple. The other tent is significantly less flamboyant. Small enough to house just one sleeper at the time it is a practical travellers choice. Younger of the two, owner of the smaller tent, returns her gaze from the flames and looks straight at the older woman. “Your missing the point, Mother, and you know it.” Her voice is melodic, but there’s quality or accent in it which is hard to place. Like her voice the woman is beautiful, yet just slightly out of place. Even in the firelight her skin is startlingly white. Long pitch black hair enhances the contrast, but it is her eyes which betray her heritage. One of them is clear blue like mountain lakes in the summer, yet the other is dark brown. “The point? The point! Don’t you go telling me about the point young woman. Arrows and spears! That’s the only point you’ll be receiving if you go back there. No. You should have listened to your calling, become one of us instead of chasing these foolhardy dreams, girl!” Now the old crone is clearly agitated and warmth saps away from her words. Loria Bright draws a deep breath. Then her words soothing and looking for peace she faces her old master. “Enough of this. I know you mean well, but there’s nothing you can say to convince me otherwise. My path is set. Maybe I’ll find the answers or perhaps I’ll find cold steel.”
“Three nights ago I saw you in a dream. Unlike normal dreams this one was totally silent. You were alone, standing in the middle of a village I couldn’t recognize. Behind was a beautiful chapel but there was nothing else in the dream. I looked like you were searching for something with your eyes but couldn’t move. Then slowly it began to rain. As the rain gathered momentum your searching efforts increased and by the time you were completely wet it was clear… well desperation is most likely the right word.” “The rain turned into a tornado, tearing stone and wood in its path. All around you the ground grumbled dropping away into dark pits filled with evil until finally the rain turned into fire. In the dream I saw fiery inferno burn your clothes, hair and skin until only ashes remained. When the rain of fire ended a bird was sitting exactly where you had been standing.” It is at this point that the voice of the older woman betrays her and there’s tears in her eyes as she continues. “It was a raven, most beautiful I’ve ever seen in my life. Yet it was also strikingly white unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed. When it took to air it’s movements were perfect and as it rose to the sky I felt such sadness and joy that I thought it might drive me mad.” The old crone stops and gathers herself. Then snapping back to her normal harsh form she continues. “So perhaps you’re right. If the dream was caused by something else than bad food you might find your answers in Sandpoint. And if not, well… I’m old. What do I care of your foolish endeavors. Here. You shouldn’t walk in clad in black.” She says offering the bundle to Loria. In the small brownish sack are three items. A white blouse, red skirt and a red bandana. As Loria inspects the items the other woman, now impatient retorts “Well? I’m not made out of money, you know?” with an insecure look on her face. For a moment the young woman forgets the hierarchy of witches and in one smooth motion embraces the old crone. Her words are filled with meaning clearly more than just the pieces of cloth she has been given as she breathes “Mother Mereziel, thank you. Thank you so much!”
1.2 Beldak the Druid
In the southern Varisia lies lake Syrantula. It is a deep lake and mostly abandoned for no fish or water creatures live in its cold, crystal clear waters. On southern side between the lake and sea rise Fenwall mountains. On northern side of the quiet shores begins Ashwood. Contrary to the name few ash trees grow there. The woods have been named such because leaves of any tree grown in that soil turn to shades of white resembling ash more than any other colors. Once, eons ago, forces stronger than mortals walked this land. Here they fought and earth shook and trembled under their fury. Even today that legacy still lingers. Two creatures are making their way through southern Ashwood, oblivious of the ancient history or the battles fought on these grounds. Across the lake setting sun colors the mountains in majestic hues of scarlet and there’s still slight drizzle in the air from today’s rains. This does no seem to bother the two travelers. Taller of the two is a stocky cloaked figure; shorter than a man he’d still tower over a halfling. By his side walks a black bear who every now and then turns to look at the other then continues; always a few paces ahead of the clocked figure. Both seem to know their way around the woods and hardly make a sound as the walk through thick undergrowth. The druid takes a few brisk paces forward and stops. He turns to look at the sky and gently lays a hand on his animal companion. “We must hurry, Allen. He is almost here.” --- A little later the druid is working on flames of a small campfire as his bear companion alerts him. “Yes, that’s him now.” The druid mutters and turns to see a large Roc bird circle downward from the sky. Strong dark feathered wings beat the air as the Roc lands close to the camp. When the dust has settled a half elf clocked in green strides towards them. Even with elven heritage the newcomer is ancient. He walks carefully with determination in his steps and leans on a long gnarly staff as he walks. “Jherek! It’s good to see you after all this time.” The smaller druid greets the half elf. “Oh, no need for flattery, Beldak my friend. I know you enjoy your solitude more than most and wouldn’t bother you unless it were an absolute necessity.” the half elf responds smiling a dry smile and sits by the fire accepting a small cup of hot brew from the druid. Savoring the smell of the herbs raising from his cup the half elf continues “You never were one for small talk so I’ll cut right into it.” His stern gaze rests on the small druid behind, blue eyes sparkling from behind his white locks. “Slowly, but with dreadful certainty the World Would is poisoning our land. We need our best resources to look after it and as Warden of the Western Shore it is my duty to act.” The smaller druid looks sharply at the half elf disbelief in his eyes. “World Wound? Jherek, you wouldn’t dare to send me there!” he spats. The half elf bursts out in laughter, but there’s a cold steely undercurrent in his merriment. “You misunderstand. Completely.” He pauses. Then continues, “We’ve known each other for quite a while haven’t we? How long has it been? Three decades or more by now? It is easy to become friends in such a time. It is easy to forget our ways or that even we have hierarchy, ranks and duties.” The merriment dies and only steel remains in his voice as the ancient half elf carries on “You shall address my as Master Taval from now on. You will not question my authority and will do as ordered. Do I make myself perfectly clear?” Thrown back the smaller druid stutters “Yes, Jhe- Master Taval. Of course.” He lowers his gaze before his superior. A glimmer of a smile returns in the eyes of the half elf. “Very well. Do not worry my friend. I’m not sending you to the World Wound. No, they need an old warhorse for one last ride and it’s time for me to leave the western shore for good.” Again the half elf pauses. “Although, I fear that what I’m doing to you is something you’ll consider to be far, far worse.” “You see for the longest of times we’ve seen peace in the west. There’s little more duties in being the warden than those of ceremonial nature.” He stands up while speaking and draws a small natural looking cudgel from his robes. “Heck, I don’t recall the last time I’ve used the Wardens’ Rod in anything even resembling combat. Mostly I sit in council meetings, weddings or funerals giving the blessing of the mother as is proper.” Giving the wooden stick one last look he throws it in an arc over the campfire and the smaller druid deftly catches it from mid air “So I’m promoting you. There’s really no one else so it’s up to you to be our eyes and ears in the west now. You will report once a month, every blood moon. Your first assignment is to join sanctioning of a chapel in Sandpoint in two weeks time. Find father Zantus and report to him as soon as possible. He is an old fried so you will treat him with every appropriate courtesy. Should he give you additional directions you will follow them. Congratulations, of sorts, Warden!” The smaller druid also stands up, now agitated, facing his master. “But you can’t! Hell, I absolutely can’t. Not with everything I have to do here in Ashwood!” he starts, but is immediately silenced by a fiery look from the older druid. “Of course Master. But how will I send the reports? And Sandpoint? That’s a city! You know I don’t do well in cities!” Laughing warmly the older druid walks away. “Sandpoint is nothing but a drowsy almost forgotten fishing village. I’m sure nothing can go wrong there. And I know that despite my all my considerable teaching you don’t do well with Animal Messengers. So, I suggest you learn to deal with both towns and more advanced spells at your first convenience. May the forest watch over you my friend.” The old druid says, turns and walks right back to his mount. The druid stands by the campfire lost in though. For just a moment the night is filled with the sound of mighty wings beating the air and then the druid is alone sitting by his campfire. Shaking his head he turns towards his animal companion. “Well, isn’t that just great. Just great. Brace yourself my furry friend for it sounds like we’re going to hostile territory…” Year 4707 Absalom Reckoning, 4th of Rova
Pausing his inspections the druid turns toward his bear companion “It isn’t much by anyone’s standards, Mougol Allen. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the wide world.” The bear says nothing, simply looks at his master with dark brown animal eyes that agree strongly. The druid continues his inspections, touching a branch there, making sure that water flows freely here. “There’s only so much I can do you know.” The druid continues dropping a handful of dried berries to the birds and lifting a small bundle of crumbled nuts to the squirrels in a tree close to him. “But this should help for a month or so. It will take us less than a week to get there, a week at the city and then we will be back before they even notice we’ve left.” he says trying to convince himself as much as his companion. Giving the orchard and a small cave on the hill one last look the druid says his farewells to the dwelling that has been his home for little more than thirty years. “I’ll be back in a flash! Now, let’s do this thing, Mougol Allen…” he says throwing his backpack on one shoulder and starts walking towards the southern caravan route. 10-Rova, 4707 A.R.
“Leave Ashwood. Thirty years attending the forest. My home. My grove. He could just as well waltz in and cut down those saplings. Ceremonies. Shmeremonies. At least you’re taking this well Mougol Allen.” The bear companion turns to look at his sour friend and growls again indicating that his opinion of the cities is hardly any better. The two continue their trek on the dusty road when a voice interrupts their shared misery. “Sharatok, tshamek! You’ve traveled far from the mountains, stranger. Perhaps mistakenly so.” The words startle the druid lost in his thoughts. Sitting on the rocks overlooking the road is a lone shoanti man who is looking down the two. His hair is pitch black and cut short in the way of his tribe. His muscular hands are wrapped in copper bracelets and a cloak made of what looks like panther skin lies on his shoulders over a worn leather armor. Shoanti tattoos cover part of his face as he looks suspiciously to the two. Then in one smooth motion he grabs a large earth breaker, a traditional war hammer of the shoanti and slides down the rocks to road ahead of the druid. Standing mere twenty feet away from the druid and his companion he continues “Tell me, what brings a dwarf and a bear down to the lands of my tribe?” The druid watches the warrior carefully. His face bears tattoos, but large burn marks have ruined the skin making so it is hard to make out details. “Burned tattoos. An outcast, and not likely to pray on innocent travellers alone.” Beldak thinks and glances around him. Taking a step back he continues “The lands of your tribe lie far from here. So it seems to me that you are the one who is lost.” The tone of his voice alerts Mougol Allen who growls forebodingly. “Besides, as it is obvious that you’re looking to rob innocent travellers, you and your friend should know that I don’t carry anything of value. So there really is nothing worth of stealing from us. Then again, if I were to sell that that earth breaker” the druid points at the war hammer that the shoanti is holding “I could surely get enough coins to spend a few nights at the inn and maybe get some beers.” The black bear growls again readying for violence as the druid continues “So, Tsamek to you too! What’s it gonna be?” he says and takes a threatening step forward. Now enraged the Shoanti doesn’t respond in words. He grabs his huge earth breaker. The druid reacts immediately whispering words of nature towards his bear companion and deftly steps to stand behind Allen. Magic of the woods makes the beard grown in size. It growls and prepares to attack as the shoanti charges. Man and animal clash together in a tangle of claw and steel.
“Oh, no, you don’t…” the druid mutters stepping back into the fog and continuing his incantation. Grass, weeds and bushes close to the road come to life and there’s a gurgling scream from somewhere close where the last remaining shoanti is grabbed by the undergrowth. However the middle of the road is well paved by caravans and wanderers and unhindered the second shoanti warrior closes in still swinging in desperation. His second blow connects hard on the druid. As the shoanti readies for third and perhaps fatal blow the mists behind part. Dark form, roaring in rage slams on the man. Tearing large chunks of flesh Mougol Allen bites the robber who takes a few quick steps in retreat then turns and flees towards his friend. Beldak smiles as sounds of someone getting desperately entangled in the magical undergrowth follow. Both remaining shoanti men are now entangled roughly 20 feet apart and the last one of them screams. “No, wait, we were forced to help him! Really, we didn’t mean you no harm!” and the other joins in “Yes, please! Please don’t let that thing to kill us! Please!” Merciless, Allen stalks after the robber. Still wrapped up in wines and undergrowth the second shoanti fails to put up a fight as Allen takes him down and his screams end quickly. Sobs of desperation from the last remaining shoanti combine with slow baritone voice of the druid soothing his animal companion. “You’re free to go!” the druid whispers from the fog “But run away from the woods because you’ll never find safety under tree leaves again. Run! Run for your life because I won’t be able to hold him long!” Allen growls supportively sounding adequately menacing. The druid listens and desperate noises of someone struggling against undergrowth is the only thing the druid hears. The crashes continue embarrassingly long and finally end in a tearing sound. Then careful footsteps make their way out of the entangled undergrowth and turn into a run.
Year 4707 Absalom Reckoning, 19th of Rova – Light of the Lost Coast
From the south a wooden bridge that is typically unattended governs entrance to Sandpoint. Aside from the occasional goblin, the citizens of Sandpoint have traditionally had little cause to worry about invasion or banditry-the region simply isn't populated enough to make theft a lucrative business. Hanging from a bent nail at the southern bridge is a sign and a mirror-painted on each sign is the message: "Welcome to Sandpoint! Please stop to see yourself as we see you!" Standing before the sign Beldak looks at the mirror – then at his bear companion. “Alright Mr. Allen. Ready yourself. This it. This is big time!” Then the two companions walk across the bridge…
Chapter 1
Samuel Waylan is a meek boy of seventeen years in the life of a healer. He is tidy, almost to the point of being a neat freak, and very well behaved. In his own modest way he is much like the scullion boys become knights and heroes in his childhood coming of age fairytales. Only, Samuel is rather more, well, meek. Yet he is very focused on his chores as the healer's apprentice. It is in and out with the salves and poultices and the occasional setting of a broken bone for him from day to day, with plenty of gathering herbs and cobwebs and dew off the mosses at the break of dawn. But all in all one might say Samuel is a happy boy. And yet, every now and then, almost in passing, a weak wish, or a strange longing for something else, something more, descends upon the boy and sets him off on one of his daydreaming wanders down the meadows and woods and the nooks and crannies of his hometown, Rockport. It is on one such day that our story begins. --- "Sam! Hey Sam! Over here!" The boy's shout pierces the sweltering summer day. Chas sits on the edge of a low woodshed, his legs dangling off the side, kicking at a daffodil on the breeze. Samuel walks over dropping his pile of sticks and pulling off his cloak and tunic. The heat is making him sweat, but better the cloth against skin than the prickly sticks. Still, he sighs of relief when the garments come off. "You done with that? Master Crandain asked to see us." Chas says climbing down. He heads off towards the monastery. "You coming?" --- The curtain flags and pillows at the door as the wind ebbs and falls and harries the cloth incessantly. Beyond the dyed and painted door curtain an shady, whitewashed corridor leads to an inner courtyard. The two youngsters plough through the doorway and down the hall, pushing and shoving each other in a ruckus of laughter. "Boys!" comes the call from the courtyard. Master Crandain tends to his pigeons, his back to the hallway, his shoulders ever hunched, thick brow furrowed. "Good of you to come. I have something you might want to hear" he says. "What is it, sir", the boys ask. "I think I may have come upon a good excuse to get you boys to give me some peace and quiet for a change", master Crandain muses. A faint smile flickering across his features, as he waits for the anticipation to take seed in the two boys. "Peace and quiet… sir, what's that mean… what're you saying?" Chas says. "Well," sighs master Crandain "It seems the new chapel at Sandpoint will open soon and I will need someone to take tithe out to father Zantus. I was wondering if you boys, young and able as you are, would be willing to do this little bit for me. After all, with all my years, it'd hardly be good for me to set out on the road, now would it. Oh, to think of sleeping in all those inns with their lumpy old potato sacks for mattresses. I doubt I even could if I would… so, how about it? You boys up for it?" “Sure, we'd be happy to!” Chas spurts out before Samuel has a chance to draw breath. “No problemo, sir! In-and-out like that we’ll be. It’s a privilege really!” On his side Samuel is looking uncomfortable. “Wait. Sir, of course we’ll help, but…” Samuel glances at his friend with sparks in his eyes and continues, “but, it’s a two week journey and we’re needed here! And… And I don’t think I’ve ever been that far away from Rockport.” He ends lamely, not sure if he's arguing a valid point, or if he's just being apprehensive. “Well, really it’s up to you. Whichever way you decide is fine by me. I mean, I’d be very pleased indeed if it were the two of you who took the tithe, but I’m sure I can find someone else to do it. After all this will be time of the famed Swallowtail festival and I’m sure a lot of the other boys would give an arm and a leg to be the couriers.” master Crandain says.
--- The room is dark but for the candles that have been lit on the table. Their warm light illuminates Master Crandain. The priest is taller than the youth. His head is almost bald and the remaining short stubble of hair betrays hues of red. Deep lines mark his face and there’s something close to sorrow in his eyes. Before the candles on the table lies a bundle; something long wrapped in cloth. The old priest turns to look at the youth and begins. “We should do this before you leave. You see, your father...” He stops overwhelmed. Then continues. “It’s been so long and I’ve waited for the right moment. He said I’d know it and this must be it. I’ve never really told you, but before the illness, before everything that took place, he was the best thing we had here at Rockport. A brave man, strong man who dared whatever odds to keep our village safe.” The priest stops again lost in though. Then he continues. “But I ramble. I don’t need to bore you with the past. You were so young at the time that I don’t think you recall, but he truly was a pillar of our little community.”
And most of all he remembers the night that followed some days later. The darkness. The white form of his mother gently swinging back and forth. He remembers how the illness that took his father also broke his mother. As clear as yesterday he remembers the painful days that followed. Waiting below her still swing. All alone. Unable to leave. The stench. The darkness everywhere. He remembers the villagers finally carrying him from his home. Remembers the small drops of liquid burning in his throat as he fought to not swallow. Wanting nothing more than to follow his parents. Master Crandain clears his throat and breaks the silence again. “This is his legacy. Your father's sword. Masterwork if I ever saw one. We should not dwell in the darkness of the days gone by. Because Samuel, my boy, you have something more inside you. A skill to command I have yet to teach you.” The old priest unwraps the sword. " I'm certain it is a legacy from both your mother and your father. I think it only appropriate we should do this now, that you are about to leave the safety of Rockport and spend your summer on the road." master Crandian pauses for a breath to let it all sink in bit. "Now, hold out your hand", the old priest then continues. Samuel finds it all hard to take, but he holds out his arm nonetheless. Quick as a fox the old priest nicks a small cut on Samuel's arm. The blade is so sharp there's hardly any pain, but the blood flows freely enough from the wound. Samuel exclaims and withdraws his hand, but master Crandain takes a hold of his arm, and gently pulls it towards him, whispering soothingly. "Look," he says, "hold out your other arm, like this… yes, that's it," he continues, as Samuel tentatively does as bid. "You have an exceptional ability, Samuel, to learn, and you have learned all I've taught you about healing. The ointments you make are among the best I've ever used and you can set the bones of a lark if need be. But did you know that you can also stop the bleeding and close wounds with just a thought, no?" Crandain now speaks with an intensity rare to his demeanor. "Now, press on the wound… yes, that's it, and now, will the wound to close. Just will it." A silence spreads around the room, a waiting, almost lackluster emptiness where the distant, delicate sounds of rain out in the fields can be discerned. Then, like magic, Samuel feels a soft tingling sparkle around the wound in his arm, and a weak flare of candlelight seems to hit just the spot. When he retracts his covering hand, there is not a scratch on his arm. --- The door creaks on its hinges and a few of the floorboards seem to answer as Samuel creeps through his dormitory to the chest by his bed. He opens the lid slowly not to cause any more disturbance in the night and carefully places the sword back inside the chest. For good measure he stows it underneath his extra clothes and blankets. He has wrapped the sword up in a bundle again, as if to shield it from the world, or to hide it away. For a long time he just sits there, staring at the bundle in the box, listening to his own breathing. Then, very quietly, almost conspiratorially, he whispers: "My father was a good and kind man, until the darkness consumed him. I name you Damnation, for one should not live by the sword." Year 4707 Absalom Reckoning, 15th of Rova The woods are dark. Pine trees loom above them casting shadows, which merge with the foliage. The two young men are standing dead still and listening as hard as they can.
--- Year 4707 Absalom Reckoning, 16th of Rova Samuel wipes sweat off his brow. The afternoon sun has burned his naked upper body to hues of crimson, but he pays no attention to this. Focused on his task he stares at a large rock before him. The stone is of a hard shade of grey cut with a slash of granite across its lower half. It is so heavy that normally Samuel wouldn’t even consider lifting it, but now he squats and takes a firm grip. With a snarl he stands up, swaying to regain his balance. Just holding the rock is enough to make his muscles burn almost beyond endurance. Ignoring his discomfort he takes a small step and begins his voyage back to the cottage. --- “I can hear something moving inside!” Chas whispers motioning to his friend. “No time to hesitate. We must do this quick and dirty!” he continues flashing a wicked smile to his friend. “You take the back. I’ll go in with all spells blazing and dazzle the living daylights out of them. Then, whatever they are, we take them down in the confusion.” It’s a bad plan. Not the worst one Chas has ever come up with, but it comes close. Chas is no wizard, and even if he does know his way with the sword there are a million things that could go wrong. But before Samuel has a chance to voice any of this his friend hisses, “You ready, buddy? On the count of twenty!” and dashes forward. Quietly swearing under his breath Samuel crouches and sneaks toward the back of the cottage. --- Small step. Balance. Wait. Arms burning with fire. Breathe. Sun glaring down. Another step. --- Surprisingly, the first part of the plan holds. Turning the last corner Samuel exhales in relief when he sees that the cottage at least has a back door. Moving a good thirty feet on, he suddenly hears a crashing noise from the front. “That’s not a count of twenty. More like ten, dammit!” he thinks and strides toward the door, stealth forgotten. A sound like a hundred firecrackers bursts from inside and Chas yells “Ha! Take that you murderous devils!” His yell merges with sounds of sword clashing against metal. Someone grunts and then Chas again yells “Samuel, anytime you’re ready!” Samuel runs at the door intending to ram through. There is no visible lock, but something heavy on the other side is keeping the door stuck, and he crashes hard on the dark wood.
--- Even with his determination he has had to stop twice to lower the rock and rest. This is the last one. He has searched the woods and there’s not a rock near to the cottage. At first light he spent hours trying to dig with a sword. But the ground is hard and there's so much digging to be done. Then he went scavenging, but the closest thing to a shovel he could find was an old axe behind the cottage. Fifty yards from the cottage, he can see the four cairns built on its side. One small and three larger. For a while he just stands there. Breathing. Then he leans down again and grasps the large stone. The worst part remains. Sun burns bright, but in the darkness of his thoughts he still hears the screams. --- “Help! Samuel! Help, by gods they’re biting me!” Chas is screaming all his usual bravado forgotten. Behind the cottage Samuel is in pure panic. Whatever is holding the door is too large for him to get through. But the urgency of the situation is such that he does not dare to retreat back to the main entrance or go look for windows. Desperately looking around him he tries to find other solutions. There are all kinds of small items gathered against the back of the cabin. Things long forgotten. Hunters tools for skinning. Small sticks that can be used to light a fire. Firewood in two high piles. A cutting block and an old axe lying next to it. It only takes a split second for all of this to register, although in the darkness Samuel can only see shapes and silhouettes. Another scream from the inside cuts through the air. “Samuel! Please! They're...” The last words are hard to make out and come out ragged and gurgling. With reckless abandon Samuel lifts the large chopping block to air. Fear for his friend is giving him strength he didn’t know he possessed as he hurls it through the door. The door gives in with a crash. It still does not swing open, but now a slice of blackness, large enough for a young man to squeeze through is visible. “More longshanks!” Another voice barks. It is high pitched, but filled with ferocity. Closer to a snarl it continues “Leggit! Leggit dumb fools!” Not caring for his safety Samuel leaps through the gap in darkness. His legs crash into something and he falls forward hitting a small bundle. He feels leather and steel and warm skin. Bony like a stray dog without fur. Snarling the small figure twists and then it’s gone. Around him shadows leap towards the door and sound of small feet or paws scuttling fills the room. --- The young man is standing before the last cairn. His vision is a blur and his words stick hotly in his throat. Like in a dream he lifts the last stone. Now it feels light. Or perhaps he just doesn’t feel anything anymore. The stone falls down. The young man says a silent prayer and then he too falls down to his feet sobbing. --- “Chas! Hang in there, buddy! Stay with me!” he sobs. Soaked in blood Samuel is sitting on the floor, holding his friend in his arms. Moonlight from the door is just barely enough for Samuel to see how badly his friend is hurt. He can make out the deep slashes on his body, the glint of blood on his brow and all over the front of his tunic. Something sticks out from between Chas's fingers as he lays there, motionless, hands still clutching his side. But the part that’s going to haunt Samuel for endless nights to come are the bite marks. Sharp teeth have bitten large chunks of flesh from one arm. And half of Chas's face has been torn into shreds. Begging for his god, sobbing, silently crying and rocking back and forth Samuel wills his friend to heal. Time and time again he tries, just like master Crandain showed. Hoping against hope. Alone. In the dark. And then he is three years old again. Above him a silent presence hovering. Something white that is gently mimicking his rocking motions. Frozen in terror he sits there until the first rays of sun break the spell. --- When the sun rises he stands up. Moving like a sleepwalker he finds two other adult bodies. He sees the barricades they’ve build against the doors. He finds the small half eaten corpse. He carries all the bodies outside and begins to look for something to dig graves with.
Hi folks, I've been quite inspired by NobodysHome's, UseplanB's and others campaign logs. As a prep I've read most of them and really enjoyed this. I had half a year or so to prep for our RotRL campaign and once I'd read the adventure path in full I started reading the logs. Boy what a treasure trove of information! It's the first time ever that I've really extensively read how other groups have treat with different situations (Tsuto Silver Awards, anyone?) and that has been super useful. A big thanks to everyone who's written about their adventures into the forums! So far we've got only 4 sessions under our belt and our players just dealt with the situation at Glassworks, but there's already quite a bit of materials for the logs. Taking a page from NobodysHome's book we created backgrounds well in advance before the first session and in general the AP has started really well. For your convenience here's the list of PC's:
Notes on format: The first couple of posts deal with backgrounds of the characters. Player journals (when they happen) are included in the middle of the log. The stuff which happens outside the scope of PC's is labeled as Handouts and tell what's going on with the NPC's. Right now my PC's are not reading this so I'm not using spoilers. Should things change I'll let you know, but please use spoilers in the comments where appropriate.
Super cool! Looking forward to any thoughts or ideas from your team! I have to say that it's been somewhat surreal to read the logs. Feels like "semi-gaming" (you know what I mean :) and a great way to prep for the AP. I've found normal campaign logs a little hard to read and this is the first time I've finished (well, ahem, not _really_ finished given how we're still missing the ending...) reading a full AP. Compliments on your writing and consistency. It's been real joy to read of your game (for convenience I pasted everything into a word doc and it was very much like reading a good book). I'm also a little shell shocked on how you guys find so much time to play? We've had the team together since end of eighties, but we're struggling to sustain one evening every two weeks. Maybe when my kids are older things it will get easier. Envious I am...
Hi NobodysHome and the players, It's not that I want to rush you with the final write-ups... But I've just spent the last few weeks reading through 9 pages of awesome and when I get to the end... Well there IS no end! Just take your time. We understand. Really. No rush, I'll just wait here by the browser... ;) Seriously, a big thanks for the campaign logs. Absolutely brilliant stuff and I love the amount and level of roleplaying. Raesh, Hi and Shiro are totally awesome and I'm sure everyone on the forums envies your players! Now if only we knew what happened in the end... (hint, hint, nudge, nudge) Our team (also +25 years of gaming) is starting Rise of the Runelords in couple of weeks and this is the first time I've read the AP and full campaign logs from other teams before starting to GM it to the guys. Very inspirational. Thank you! I know you *must* (right?) be busy with the final write-ups but in the meanwhile it would be super cool if you or your players could do a quick post mortem on the AP or share what were your highlights during the last two years?
BTW: We just wrapped up Council of Thieves. While the beginning of the AP was totally amazing the latter half didn't deliver much else than combats. Early in the AP there's stuff which we hadn't seen before (the Play we got to act was one of the highlights of recent years - I don't recall us ever laughing as much in a single session) and worked great. However from half way through the AP just turns pretty much into a series of encounters and by the end we started game sessions with simple "Err.. who are we supposed to kill this time? Anybody remember? Anybody?" followed by a black look at our DM. I'm kind of getting the same wibe from Runelords. First half awesome, second half pretty faceless hack and slash. I'm considering some long term motivation to off Karzoug (appear in nightmares for the palading or write a separate back story about big-K and his motivations)? It feels like it would be important to introduce him to the players around half way through so that the players would know what they will be facing in the end? Something like the Black Magga (but with the big-K) encounter could works out pretty well in theory? Any ideas?
Thanks guys! Great stuff. I'm giving the players 25 point buy and in general don't expect them to have a lot of challenge in the early levels. As part of their background everyone will get one magic item so they should be pretty pumped for 1st level. Then it's going to be really dry in terms of magic items (just what's officially available, which won't be much unless you're shopping for repeating crossbow +1 :) so they should treasure the flavour items from their background. I am a little concerned about Latrecis's point about "kick in door and fight to death". Over recent years we've gotten lazy as players and typically play very recklessly. This could sting a little... I loved thelesuit's point about Skinsaw murdering NPC's that they've made friends with. So now I plan to intro as much NPC's as possible and make sure the memorable one's are on top of the Skinsaw list. I'm also looking to flesh out Shayliss as much as possible and keep here close to the players in the early days. For the last 4-5 years we've been playing without XP and now I'm also going to introduce it back. This for two reasons; 1) you'll get XP from RPG:ing so having few combats in a session won't slow advancement and 2) for the first time I'd like the players to level up individually. So if you go heavy on RPG:ing and get bonus XP you can actually level up before rest of the team. I know that's going to be quite a bit of work to maintain, but that way I'll have the option to reward people for RPG:ing well when ever appropriate. Really the key question for me is going to be how to get long term NPC involvement. When PC's interact with friendly NPC's that typically is a great spot for character building. This should work really well for Sandpoint and I've got a couple of ideas for Magnimar, but modules 4-6 don't give out as much alternatives. Perhaps getting lucky with a recurring villain would do the trick. Let's see.
Hey folks, I'm starting Rise of Runelords with our team in the next few weeks. As forums are such an amazing resource I wanted to ask for advice, thoughts, and ideas for the campaign? What were your highlights and memorable moments? We've got four players (fortysomethings that have played for +25 years). I've read through the full campaign and done research on the forums. My key concern is that the beginning seems very well crafted from story/NPC point of view. However the second half of the adventure seems like a more regular dungeon crawl. How was this for your group? How did you manage time per encounter in higher levels (they can easily take 1-2 hours at the higher levels and that doesn't leave a lot of room for storytelling)? Also in recent years our games have drifted towards optimization and hack & slash. Now most of the players want to get back into the "old school" RPG:ing where combats aren't the key focus. Any ideas on how to max out feeling/emotion/engagement in the campaign? Thanks in advance!
Man, this is awesome stuff! I'm looking forward to DM:ing Kingmaker in the next few months and this was simply brilliant! Big thanks! If you got more please share, okay?!
Good luck to you and your character. You 2 will need a lot of it. Iomadaes blessings be with your party as well. Have fun storming the castle. Thanks man. Looking forward to it. Here is more story related to the background. Figure I'll start to give these to other players as the sessions progress. --- Council of Thieves – The Paladin
The room is dark, lit by a single candle. It’s a small room, a workshop with personal belongings. It’s early in the morning and sun is yet to rise. Sir Gregor of Baradin lifts the breastplate with care. Then, struggling a little while doing it, he fastens the clasps on both sides. It’s harder without help, but the last thing he wants to do is wake up anyone. The platemail is a beautiful thing. A sun blazing behind a long sword has been skillfully imprinted in the front. He reaches out for a white cloak and fixes it over the mail. Then he lifts a white leather necklace over his head. The white ribbon of the necklace is inscribed with intricate golden symbols and a silver sigil of Last Wall. Behind him the door opens and a woman stands in the doorway. Gregor spins around facing the silhouette of his wife. While years have taken their toll, Lilah is still dazzling, twice so much when she’s angry the old paladin thinks. Her hair is so dark that in this light it looks like blue shades would color it. Her eyes shadowy, yet the sparks are still there. “You weren’t going to wake us.” It’s almost a question, but not quite. “You think you can just ride into your wars and leave me and Micah alone?” Her voice is quiet, yet furious. “Of course I’d wake you up, my love. I just wanted to see that it’s all there and make sure I’ve got everything in order before bothering your sleep.” The paladin answers gathering his things. His wife walks closer, deftly smoothing the cloth of the cloak. “Tell me. What is it this time?” “Brandon rode in during the night. They need us in White Throne.” “Stay. Don’t go to the north, I beg you! Please stay, beloved. You could speak with Alistar; he’d understand! Micah needs you here. I need you here.” The paladin reaches out and gently touches her hair letting his fingers slide through the dark locks. “This is the last campaign, my love. I promise. We’ll be back before you notice. I promise we’ll be back at Last Wall before the first snow.” Now angry Lilah pushes away his hand. “How many times has it been ‘just one last campaign’? You promised the last time! Molthun, Isger, Ustalav, Mendev… Do you want me to go on?” “Dammit woman! You married an oath sworn Templar! You know what it means. Our would you rather have me as an oath breaker?” Her voice is furious as she responds, “I’d have you alive. I’d have a father for Micah, not a tombstone and a legend to tell him. I’d have a husband to grow old with...” Her voice breaks down. She turns her head away from the paladin clad in full platemail and candlelight glimmers on the tears falling down her cheeks. “Haven’t you served her enough? Will it ever be enough?” She asks quietly. And her voice loses all anger as she points to the holy symbol of Iomedae inscribed to the breastplate. “I’ll be back before the first snow. I promise. “
Well done. I am running this for my group and I have to warn you it is very hard on Pall O Dines in this AP. If you travelled to this town from another country then your likeness and description would be semi handy for the Dottari to get. Coming into town all clergy of differing faiths are encouraged to visit the local Dottari office and register. If you are not registered and you are caught trying to convert others"Very loose definitions apply" you will have fines and maybe jail or stocks time. This is how I run my Westcrown. Your DM will do it as he or she sees fit. Well I kind of like the challenge. I'm thinking to treat this as a war zone for the character. He is a native of Lastwall who's been on campaign in the north. Then something drastic happened which forced him to leave mid-campaign and return to south to look for answers in Westcrown. As he enters the city he considers this to be an enemy territory, sort of "behind the lines". He is not LawfulStupid, and thus will take care to hide his faith, profession, alignment etc. as well as possible. What ever is compelling him to do this will become apparent to the other players later in the AP. So converting others probably won't be an issue. And yes, I could see him needing a few Atonement scrolls in the near future. :)
Hi folks, I'm working on a background story and character concept for a new campaign; Council of Thieves. Given the setting I'm tempted to go with a paladin. However I'd like to give this character a different spin and go for older (51) and more cynic paladin who is likely to spend a lot of money in Atonement scrolls as time goes by. Below is my intro for other players. Haven't played Pathfinder before so if you've got any ideas, thoughts or suggestions what would be cool to throw in the mix, I'd love to hear 'em. --- Council of Thieves, Prologue – The Paladin
--- The torch drops down and goes out with a quiet sizzle. An old warrior starts to climb up rusted metal ladder, leaving the sewers below him. It’s almost pitch black, just a glimmer of night sky is visible from above. “Damn. Is it night already?” he swears silently when he makes it to the street level. The streets of Westcrown are lethal during night. Shadow beasts roam the city and only a few of the main roads are lit. They are patrolled by Hellknights, which right now could prove to be as fatal as the beasts. Taking care not to make a sound the warrior climbs up and hides in the shadows. Concentrating for a moment he can sense the patrols moving nearby. A sound of footsteps alerts him and then quickly he vanishes to the small alleys. As he’s walking closer to the inn he pulls off his cloak and wraps a great sword he’s been carrying into a bundle. Then he notices another figure walking brisk walk of the drunk. Closer to the door the figure turns out to be a young man mid twenties with pitch-black hair. At the door the two collide and the young man snaps angrily “Watch it, old man.” Only then he notices the scale mail, which the old warrior wears and takes a step back. He grins with mockery in his smile “Well, I’ll let that slide. Age before beauty and all that, you know?” opening the door to the older warrior. Grunting Sir Gregor of Baradin walks by and heads toward his favorite spot next to the fireplace in an inn he’s started to think as his home. The young man follows, joining his friends and making a joke, which is too loud to be polite. The tired paladin sit by the fire in his scale mail, a worn dented armor that has served him well. His clothes are stained with dust from the road. On a small table besides him lies a great sword which is every bit as old and dented as his armor. A single word “Eálion” is inscribed into the blade. “Old, useless, and worn. Just like its wielder.” Gregor glances at the sword. His hair is brown like the road, but now white mars his sides; A big and bulky, weary looking man, trying to avoid attention. The paladin leans toward the fire, flames almost licking his fingers and shudders. Inside him is a chill that never ceases. It’s been two years since the campaign to White Throne. Two years since he made his way back through the mountains. Six days and nights he had camped in the snow, plagued by the winds and merciless cold. Whether it is fear of failure or something caused by those endless nights he does not know. But inside him is a coldness, which seems ever present. Door of the inn opens with a thud. This late in the evening there are few customers in the main hall of the inn. The Hellknights walk in and all eyes turn toward them. Clad in black plate mail seven knights enter the inn. As they enter the paladin leans back in his chair fading to the background. “We’re looking for a criminal!” the Paralictor proclaims to the innkeeper. “A man little over six feet was seen coming from the caves.” According to the law anyone exploring the caves must be punished. ‘As above, so below’- the estates belong to the nobles as does air above and the ground below. Anyone exploring is trespassing on private property and we all know how the nobles of Chelix guard their privacy - with vigor. The trespasser will be found and punished. “Who is the last one to enter your premises, innkeeper?” The sullen innkeeper simply points a finger. One of the patrons, the young man with dark hair, turns to look at the knights and quickly averts his eyes. Smiling the first knight approaches him. “Well, boys. It looks like we have our man. Stand up, you filth, and I wager you’re a little over six feet tall!” There’s panic in the young mans voice as he obeys and begs “I’ve done nothing wrong, sir! Absolutely nothing! I was with me friends, all night and that’s the truth of it.” The knight glances at the innkeeper who barely shakes his head. “Well lad. That’s mighty unfortunate with you being seen to exit the sewers leading to the caverns and just coming to this very inn.” The knight turns toward others. “Tell me, Armiger, what’s the punishment for breaking into the caves that are on noble’s land?” “The law is clear. And death is the only punishment that is acceptable.” younger Hellknight answers. The accused man is now breaking down in tears. “But that’s a lie! I’ve been no-where close to the caves or sewers! Please! I beg you. I’ve been here all night, I promise you!” An older hell knight, wearing the stripes of a Vicarius, joins the discussion. “The law is clear, but we have no proof. You need to let this man go.” The Paralictor stops, surprised that one of his own would stand up against him. Then he continues nodding towards the Vicarius “Very well. You’re right of course. We need more evidence to command a death sentence. Men! Take him to citadel Rivat for further questioning.” Two of the hell knights grab the unfortunate young man, but the Paralictor is not done yet. “But this rabble often mistakes our kindness for softness. That we cannot have. For that would lead to chaos!” he almost spats the last words “And it is our duty to protect the good citizens of Westcrown from such a fate. You all heard his words! For lying to a Hellknight I want his tongue cut to avoid repeating such a disgrace!” "..to be commuted until the end of his stay at castle Rivat, sir?' asks the older hell knight dryly. "Why yes - of course! Good thinking there. I know the Questors can squeeze blood out of stone, but no need to make the work more difficult." The Vicarius looks at the other hell knights who nod in approval. The screams of the young man fade slowly away as the knights leave the inn. Sitting in the corner of the inn the old paladin looks at his hands. They’re shaking. Old mans hands. “Iomedae protect them.” he whispers. There was a time he would have grabbed his great sword without thinking. There was a time when even behind the enemy lines he would have stood up against overwhelming odds. But that time is past; his mission too important. Now he must survive and live to complete his mission. On his back of his right hand is a faded a tattoo of a long sword before the sun. Swearing under his breath the paladin takes a worn leather ribbon with faded intricate symbols and wraps it around his hand to hide the tattoo… --- As part of the background setting for the character I told our DM that Gregan's lost wife & son to slavers two years back. He's been searching them ever since and in the campaign start he's recently arrived to Westcrown and looking for clues in the caverns below the city. Our DM's initial reaction was "I can work with that" so I guess that's a go. Any ideas welcome! Ps. This may be obvious, but please don't post spoilers about CoT! :) |
