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Was just reminded as I wrote this, of a post from a few years ago...
http://paizo.com/threads/rzs2hfpg?The-Seven-Lords-of-Sin#1
First comment! So excited for this. Currently running Book 4 of the Rise of the Runelords in a slow (once a month) campaign, where each Chapter takes us a year. So we have Shattered Star still to go, then Return. Should get to this by 2032... But we are patient!
I have made many changes to the AP as a whole. We play weekly and have just finished Book 4, having started the AP in Jan 2016. Here's an outline of what I did in Books 1-4 so far, and what is planned for Books 5 and 6... It has been lots of fun to run and play, but I had to make a lot of changes for it to work for me, and cram in every pirate trope I wanted. Spoilers for any players... Book 1: Ran this one more or less as written... Book 2: Expanded on Rickety Squibs... in return for the ship fitting the PCs had to go and rescue his lost son from an old gold mine, now full of Troglodytes. I replaced much of the 'pirating' of Book 2 with a long "Whalebone Pike" (slight name change) side-quest. The PCs first headed to Tidewater Rock (expanded the tower size) which was home to Whalebone's wife and daughters - Kerdak's curse that made Whalebone undead had also turned them into vampire/vampire spawn. The PCs managed to slay the lot, plus their undead servants, and then followed the map carried by Isabella and found Whalebone's treasure hoard at Mancatcher Cove. As they left, Whalebone arrived for revenge, and the PCs then had to slay him and his rotted ship of ghoul crew in Book 2's finale. The PCs learned from Whalebone that Kerdak had slain Pike, but Pike had cut off Kerdak's hand in the duel. Kerdak then entered a pact with Raugsmauda (in my version she is an exiled Chelish Sorcerer) to protect him - his soul actually resides inside Brinebones (like a phylactery). Brinebones was created by Raugsmauda for Kerdak for this very purpose, after Raugsmauda and Kerdak slew Aashaq's offspring... Book 3: Lots of changes. The PCs befriended Tessa, and had to help her when assassins (Red Mantises) hired by Harrigan (on Kerdak's orders) attacked her Port Peril mansion. The PCs then met the Pirate Council (they gained an audience by virtue of their fame, having found Whalebone Pike's treasure). At the Council the PCs were challenged to take part in the Captain's Regatta to prove their mettle. The PCs were then sent on a quest (on Tessa's advice to help them win the race) to find Jalazar's (first Pirate King) magic wheel. They found Jalazar's shipwreck (sharks, evil Merman, etc) , but the wheel was gone. It was eventually found on a volcanic island with demon-worshipping Kuru barbarians (the wheel was used as the sacrificial frame for victims, suspended over a lava pit... picture Indian Jones Temple of Doom). The PCs returned to Port Peril with the Wheel, and with the help of its magics won the Regatta. They were then told by the Council to go and claim the Island of Empty Eyes, as per the adventure. Book 4: I played out the Chelish Fort as written, but Bikendi and his hired crew had been sent by Raugsmauda to get the Soul Gem, a cyclops item that can draw out and capture souls. Raugsmauda had learned of Kerdak's Chelish plots, and wanted him dead (she likes the Shackles as they are). But she needs the Soul Gem to pull Kerdaks' soul out of Brinebones (otherwise if slain Kerdak will just reawaken 24 hours later). Bikendi had stolen the gem from the cyclops as per the adventure, but it was taken back by the cyclops. The PCs headed off in pursuit. I changed Sumitha (too big/hard to map at the table) to a ruined cyclopean ziggurat with a maze/dungeon underneath, with a cyclops/lich guarding the Soul Gem. I ended Book 4 there, before the Feast of Spoils. Book 5: We are starting that this week. Raugsmauda will intercept the PCs and steal the Soul Gem! The PCs will then host the Feast of Spoils, but Kerdak sends Arronax and Chelish marines and devils to slay the upstart PCs.... he has promised his pet Harrigan that he won't let the PCs become Pirate Lords. Clues in the raid point to Harrigan (he briefed Arronax), and the PCs finally head off to kill their old rival. In his sanctum they find details of the planned Chelish invasion, and Kerdak's treachery. Then the PCs will head off to Raugsmauda's island to get the Soul Gem back. They are going to face lots of voidstick zombies, giant insects, spiders and the like on her jungle isle, plus her ruined tower and lots more undead. They will find the gem, but as they leave she ambushes them on her massive ship, the Naiegoul, crammed with undead. They should parley (she has the power to slay them), and negotiate a pact with her to slay Kerdak, their common enemy. Book 6: The PC's head back to Port Peril to slay Kerdak, but Tessa is about to be executed by hanging! She is their ally, and they have been declared traitors... (and blamed for lots of stuff that is all Kerdak's fault). But maybe Tessa's hanging is a ruse by Kerdak to flush the PCs out (since they have vanished off radar whilst on Raugsmauda's island). The PCs crash the hanging (at the Locker, Port Peril's prison) and free lots of prisoners (they need followers). They then assault Fort Hazard and eventually face Kerdak in Lucrehold, and slay Brinebones and Kerdak in the finale on the Filthy Lucre. They use the Soul Gem and drag Kerdaks' soul into it. They think its game over... but then find more details on the Chelish invasion and realise it’s happening NOW, and must rally all the pirates to follow them to vanquish the foreign fleet. I might throw in a side-quest to a ruined sunken city (because I think the AP needs one) for some kind of McGuffin that helps sink the invasion fleet. Still debating that. Either way, a battle on board the Chelish flagship will be the campaign finale… . The AP will end (hopefully by December of this year) with the surviving PCs as Pirate Lords, under their chosen Hurricane King. Raugsmauda (and maybe Aashaq) will be left as possible loose ends, for one or more sequels (one day), for levels 15-20.
I thought other Runelords DMs might get some enjoyment from reading these... Before each session in our monthly Runelords campaign I send out a Facebook event invite that includes a Prelude to get the players' in the mood'. Sometimes the Preludes include scenes that show "off camera" events that help give more personality to enemies they will face. I don't write session summaries afterwards, so the events of each session are not detailed, and read as a whole the Preludes don't form the whole story... but here they are anyway. The current/original PCs were: NARCIZIA female Varisian Rogue (Teenage gypsy girl with a wild nature)
The two replacement PCs are: SHELANDOR male Elven Ranger (Shalelu's brother, rescued from under Thistletop)
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Session 01: Chapter One: Burnt Offerings Part One: Festival and Fire The brightly painted wagon rattled along the Lost Coast Road towards the town of Sandpoint as the setting sun painted the western horizon in blazing colours above the ocean. Deeply shadowed woods flanked the rough road to either side as Narcizia gently guided the two horses, and the evening breeze caused the young woman to pull her cloak tighter about her as she felt a vague but strong sense of danger. At her side on the wagon’s bench lay her crossbow, already loaded with a bolt, and for the hundredth time that day she reached around to stroke the leather handle of the sharp sickle that was tucked into the back of her belt. But as the slow-moving wagon rounded a sharp bend, all of the precognitions of danger that had plagued her since she had fled her Clan proved accurate – a large section of fallen tree had been dragged from the woods, blocking passage at a place where great boulders and rocks crowded close to the road. As Narcizia’s senses took in the scene, she was already reaching for her crossbow as the first crude arrow thudded into the seat beside her. Then she heard them, and memories of the slaughter of her family flooded back, as the goblins appeared on the rocks to either side... . _____________________________________________ The young Shoanti warrior sniffed the breeze as his horse suddenly stopped in its tracks, and cocked his head on one side as he heard the shouts and calls of several creatures from the road ahead. Grey Hawk had ridden Sky Whisper hard all day, determined to reach Sandpoint before full dark to deliver his warnings. His route had taken him through the fringes of the coastal woods for most of the day, and several times he had seen goblin tracks on the animal trails and pathways, proving the fears of his Tribal Elders. Now, he sensed that he was close to one of the goblin raiding parties, and it seemed that they had found something of interest, for their battle shouts echoed across the rocky grasslands between the woods. Guiding his horse forward through the trees, Grey Hawk slowly made his way to the edge of the wood, until he could see the road ahead. There, a wagon painted in gaudy reds, purples, greens and yellows was stopped before a fallen tree, and the two horses still hitched to the wagon were rearing up in panic as small figures yipped and shouted from the rocks beside the road. As he debated what to do next, Grey Hawk saw a lithe young woman rise from the wagon’s seat and take aim with her crossbow... . _____________________________________________ There was no mistaking that the figure moving slowly through the trees was Elven, for he seemed to leave neither trail nor mark as he glided through the underbrush of the coastal woods. Selderon had quietly trailed the mounted Shoanti for most of the late Autumn day, curious as to why a young Hawk Clan warrior – no matter his great height and the imposing axe strapped to his back – would be alone so far from his tribal lands.
Thoughts of the attractive but vastly more experienced Shalelu momentarily distracted him, but he was snapped from his reverie by the Shoanti’s horse moving forwards towards the edge of the trees and the road beyond, but even more so by the unmistakable shouts and whoops of goblins that suddenly shattered the silence of the sunset-dappled woods. Selderon gripped his oaken staff tightly as he moved forwards to survey the scene... . _____________________________________________ The cloaked and hooded figure stood motionless in the road, debating his next move. Damacus had already heard the shouts and war cries of what must surely be goblins or some similar creatures coming from around a bend in the road, but what now caused his hesitation was the sudden, angry shout of a female voice. Damacus cursed himself for being this far from Sandpoint this close to sunset. He had a comfortable room waiting for him, secured at the Rusty Dragon on his arrival a day ago, and he had only briefly explored the town as it prepared for the Swallowtail Festival and the inauguration of the new Cathedral. But the lure of the open countryside on a clear Autumn day, compared to the narrow streets and shadows of his native Underbridge, in the great city of Magnimar, had been too hard to resist, especially when the Halfling serving girl at the Rusty Dragon had told him that the lands were supposedly “sprinkled with old ruins ‘round nearly every corner”. But now it seemed that instead, danger lurked around the corner... and here he was out in the open without his spell book, and with but his most basic of arcane rites memorised. But the female voice had sounded young, and he had his darkwood staff, his magical focus. He made his decision… and in that moment, the destiny of Damacus, and the destiny of many, many others, would be changed dramatically, and changed forever... . +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Session 02: Chapter One: Burnt Offerings Part One: Festival and Fire It was early morning in the Rusty Dragon Inn. After the four had met upstairs in the room of the Elven druid and discussed their plans for the day, his magical healing had assisted with the wounds that they had suffered in the goblin ambush. Grey Hawk arrived first in the common room of the inn, to find the friendly Ameiko and her Halfling assistant Bethana already hard at work preparing for the day’s festivities. Ameiko offered the tall Shoanti a free sample of her famous spiced fish, explaining as she did so that it would be her special dish on offer at the festival’s annual cook-off, in which all of Sandpoint’s inns and taverns would participate. Taking his leave of Ameiko and leaving her to her preparations, the Shoanti set off into the bright autumn sunlight. By the time Grey Hawk crossed the market square in front of the new cathedral, the area was already crammed with stall keepers setting up their tables and tents, but there was a general air of excitement and good cheer amongst the crowd, and most moved quickly out of the way of the tall man as he pushed through. At the White Deer, he was greeted curtly by Stanas, the wife of Garridan, as she and her two teenage boys set up tables outside the inn. But the boys stared at Grey Hawk with awe, openly impressed by his Shoanti tribal tattoos, and the huge axe strapped to his back. When Garridan ‘Two Spears’ emerged from between the two carved white deers flanking the door, Grey Hawk noted how the tall innkeeper placed his hands on both his son’s heads as he nodded in greeting. There was real affection there, the young Shoanti could see, and he felt a pang of sadness that his own childhood had been so different. An image suddenly flashed through Grey Hawk’s mind... the inn behind the family in flames, and goblins dancing over the hacked bodies of Two Spears and his wife, as a towering stone giant casually bashed the limp bodies of the two boys against the walls of the White Deer. Grey Hawk felt a weight of responsibility suddenly settle on his shoulders. He needed Two Spears to heed the warning he had been sent to deliver, and he needed all of Sandpoint to listen... . _____________________________________________ Damacus knocked gently on the door of the sage’s house, the last on the street that lead towards the looming bulk of the shattered stones known as the Old Light. Having been delayed by his morning meditations and spell book studies, Damacus had found the common room of the Rusty Dragon almost empty. The Magnimarian wizard had asked several passersby as to the location of a sage or man of knowledge, but all seemed too busy with festival preparations. Finally, it had been the gruff Daviren, proprietor of the stables, who had pointed him in the direction of the house of Quinn... and a warning that the aging Magnimarian sage was not fond of visitors. Damacus had caught sight of the Varisian girl as he had made his food purchase from a street vendor, noting that Narcizia was attempting to drum up business as a fortune teller from her wagon, parked across the square from the new cathedral that was due to be inaugurated this autumn day.
On his left, waves crashed upon the beach below the low cliffs on the western side of Sandpoint. Children were playing on the sand, absorbed in their attempts to fly their long-tailed, brightly coloured kites, enjoying the balmy autumn weather. Their shouts and calls drifted up to him, mingling with the calls of the gulls that wheeled overhead. He was dragged from his reverie when, in response to his gentle tap, the door was thrown open suddenly, revealing an elderly gentleman in a white night shirt, an unlit clay pipe firmly clamped in his mouth. Quinn’s long grey hair was in disarray, and he peered at Damacus from over his eyeglasses, frowning in anger. Damacus took a deep breath, and began to explain... . _____________________________________________ Narcizia gazed at the deck of brightly coloured cards laid out on the little table inside her wagon, surprised that she had already seen a dozen customers by the time noon approached. Ameiko had proved a valuable ally, for the friendly owner of the Rusty Dragon had whispered a few words in the ear of Mayor Kendra in order to guarantee her a spot at the edge of the market place in order to ply her trade. The fact that Narcizia had helped Ameiko and her Halfling helper to carry the first trays of food to the market square had no doubt assisted in earning their favour, and Narcizia had seen Ameiko take the middle-aged mayor to one side, as she stood on the cathedral steps talking to a robed cleric. Now, Narcizia looked across at the glum face of Ven Vinder, owner of the Sandpoint General Store, and closed her eyes as she tried to dream up some excitement in the dour man’s future that might justify the silver piece he had parted with for the reading. Then something strange happened... in her mind, a vision suddenly formed of an attractive young woman, perhaps the same age as Narcizia, but obviously the shop keeper’s daughter. Her pretty face was twisted in a silent scream, and the shadow of a tall man loomed over her as she backed away into what seemed to be the corner of a cellar. Blinking her eyes, the vision vanished from Narcizia’s mind, and she stammered out a quick apology to Ven Vinder, claiming that her senses had failed her for the day as she tossed him back his silver. As the disgruntled shop keeper pushed open the wagon door, Narcizia rubbed her eyes, unsure of what had transpired. It had been the same the night before, when she had seen the shadow of danger looming over the cloaked Damacus, one of her saviours from the goblin ambush. But both visions had left Narcizia’s mind reeling, for she had come here intent on fleecing the residents of Sandpoint with her bogus skills… not to find herself suddenly able to see real visions. Desperate for some air, she staggered down the wagon steps... . _____________________________________________ Selderon was drawing stares as he moved through the crowd, but he was used to the curiosity of some humans for the Elven folk, and he ignored the children that tagged along behind him. There was no shortage of interesting stalls... festival food, storytellers or games of chance, skill, fortitude or strength filled the little town to bursting. Colourfully clad Varisian fire-eaters and starknife jugglers vied with acrobats and clowns on stilts to catch the eye. Children ran in giggling packs through the crowds, playing whistleball and tag and other games incomprehensible to adults. And everywhere there seemed to be some sort of contest going on - balancing on rails while holding a pumpkin, tug-o-war by an ale cart, the onlookers spilling frothy brew as they cheered the contestants on, footraces down Main Street and up River Street with free pastries for the winners, tossing horseshoes for the elderly and children, and weightlifting for the young and strong, spear-throwing and archery and hammer-tossing... even catching a greased piglet in a pen in the market square. Humans, Selderon decided, knew how to have fun. But now, from the wall across the square from the cathedral, where he leaned back in the shade and took in the festivities and the riot of colour and noise that almost overwhelmed his senses, Selderon noted the Varisian girl emerging from her wagon, looking pale. Then his gaze was drawn to the northern end of the market square, where - almost at the same time - the wizard Damacus, and the Shoanti warrior Grey Hawk emerged from different streets. He moved forward to greet them, just as the first speaker mounted the wooden platform. The Swallowtail Festival, and the inauguration of the new cathedral, so long in the planning, were apparently about to officially begin. Selderon could not know it, but other, darker plans, set in motion even longer ago, were about to be revealed as well, and before sunset, blood would run in the streets of Sandpoint… . +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Session 03: Chapter One: Burnt Offerings Part Two: Local Heroes The sun was dipping low in the west, out over the sea beyond the crumbling bulk of the Old Light, as the four left the Rusty Dragon in the company of the Sheriff. Longshanks led the way through the town’s streets, where residents still cleaned up in the aftermath of the goblin attack. But despite these activities, the once bustling town of Sandpoint was strangely hushed as evening drew in. In the distance, a child could be heard crying, but was hastily hushed by a parent. The few residents out on the streets were subdued, most seeming to be in a state of shock as the magnitude of the raid sank in, as well as the costs, both material and emotional. Although the Sheriff was certain that it could have been much worse, over a dozen townsfolk had fallen to the goblins, including four of his own men, and he was glad to have the skills of the four strangers in order to answer the request for help from Zantus, Prelate of the new Cathedral. But Longshanks’ Shoanti instincts still were on full alert as he led them into the Market Square, where several of his guards had piled up the bodies of over two score goblins slain in the attack. The sheriff’s trust in the four was yet to be entrenched, despite their bravery against the goblins. “Zantus awaits you inside,” the Sheriff explained to them, indicating the doors to the Cathedral, where one of his men still stood on guard. “I have much to attend to here,” Longshanks continued, pointing towards the grisly pile of goblin corpses, “I will join you presently...”. From across the Market Square, in the deep shadows of an alleyway, eyes narrowed as they surveyed the scene. A lone Swallowtail butterfly, a sad reminder of the ruined festival, silently flitted down and settled next to a dark leather boot. Grinning with satisfaction, the figure ground the beautiful butterfly into the cobblestones, before he turned and ducked away, eager to fulfil his mistress’ orders... . _____________________________________________ In his room at the Rusty Dragon Inn, Aldern Foxglove lay on his bed and stared up at the wood-beamed ceiling and the single unlit lamp that hung there. His hands were crossed behind his head, but occasionally he reached down to check the ugly blisters around the bite of the goblin dog. But even the twinges of pain that the festering wound still sent out, despite the impressive healing magics of Zantus, could not stop the visions of the dark-haired Varisian beauty that had come to his rescue. Her face, and the lustre of her hair, was all he could think of. The similarities between the young Narcizia and his beloved Iesha were alarming, and set his heart beating fast, and his palms grew sweaty. As the nobleman gazed upwards and let the darkness of the evening fill his bedchamber unchecked, Aldern pondered on his plans. Eventually, the rigors of the day started to take their toll, and sleep crept up on Aldern before full darkness enveloped the room. But as he drifted off, he briefly thought that he heard the rats again, scratching and clawing in the walls behind his headboard. But then he remembered that he was not in his bed in the Manor, and that the rats could not get to him here, and nor could Iesha, with her rotting face and her cold black eyes. And with that thought, Aldern let sleep take him under its dark wing... . +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Session 04: Chapter One: Burnt Offerings Part Two: Local Heroes The lone figure in dark leathers moves slowly through the streets of Sandpoint, which are still silent in the early morning hour as the townsfolk sleep off the effects of the Swallowtail Festival, and the shock of the goblin attacks. He is cautious as he makes his way around the newly built Cathedral, for he is aware from his spies that the ones they now call the ‘Heroes of Sandpoint’ have come here to investigate the actions of his Mistress’ minions, and the theft of the remains of the long dead cleric. But he plans to cut short the careers of these upstart adventurers, and as he moves into position in the shadows of the alley, he hears voices approaching, and is amazed that destiny has so easily delivered his quarry to him. Truly, Lamashtu blesses their dark plans. As he watches, the three move into clear view, stepping forwards to greet the tall Shoanti as he exits the White Deer Inn. Smiling with confidence, he can already feel the rewarding embrace of his Mistress as he unslings his short bow and nocks a delicately fletched arrow. His bow creaks, and the bowstring is drawn tight as he moves the arrow head’s point from one to the other… the robed man, the elf, the girl, and the barbarian. Then he selects his target, and with a whisper to his Mistress, he releases the arrow… . _____________________________________________ The pale autumn sun rose behind them, casting long shadows on the rough road as the three companions approached the North Gate of Sandpoint in the early morning light. All looked weary as they trudged forwards, for their battles had been dangerous, and draining. Narcizia was still limping from the after effects of the vicious attack by the rotting wolf, and Damacus kept a close eye on the girl as they neared the gates, although he too was tired from his exertions against the goblins, in which his staff had crushed the skulls of several of the nasty creatures. Selderon leaned heavily on his own staff, exhausted from the battle against the arrow-pierced zombie remains of the unfortunate Brennan. But the druid carried a sack filled with the few items they had recovered from the cabin of the retired ranger, including Brennan’s book on local nature, dedicated to Sahalelu. Thoughts of the missing Elven ranger filled his thoughts as Selderon lead the way up to the gates, but even as he reached up with his staff to rap upon the rough boards, the gates were swung open, and a curious guardsman peered out at the three early morning travellers. The guard recognised them immediately however, and waved them through with a look of respect, but with no small concern for their state, as the smell of the tunnel and the toilet pit still clung to them as they trudged on through the gates and into Sandpoint. As they neared the White Deer Inn, still quiet in the early morning light, its low door swung open and the burly figure of the Shoanti warrior Grey Hawk stepped out, stretching his great frame and arching his back, only to suddenly stop and stare as the three plodded forwards. “By the breasts of the sacred sow,” Grey Hawk spluttered, half hiding a laugh, “What in the Nine Hells happened to you three... and what is that smell?” Narcizia smiled at the tall barbarian as she limped forwards, while Damacus and Selderon waited to see how the young rogue would describe the night’s events. “Well,” she started... “That’s a long story, and so needs a long ale to wash it down. But...” . And with those words, a bowstring releases, and a white-fletched arrow flies straight and true, cutting the reunion short... and, perhaps, the life of one of the four. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Part Three: Glass and Wrath After the boar feast, the celebrations had dragged on deep into the night at the Rusty Dragon, and it was late into the morning when the four companions finally emerged from their rooms. Ameiko and the Halfling girl Bethana were still clearing up the remains of the night’s festivities as the four took their breakfast in the common room, and there was little conversation other than the occasional mumbled remark. Finally, Ameiko came over to their table, and offered clay cups of a sparkling golden liquid that she assured them would improve their condition. As she cleared away the cups, and they felt their headaches abate, Ameiko warned the group that Sheriff Longshanks had already been around to look for them. Apparently he had been asking questions about their activities, as there had been some kind of ‘unfortunate incident’ last night involving Shayliss, the pretty daughter of Ven Vinder, proprietor of the Sandpoint general store. The Shoanti barbarian Grey Hawk glanced around the room nervously at this news, but Ameiko laughed... apparently the reputation of Shayliss was such that any ‘affront’ to her was unlikely to be taken seriously by Longshanks, no matter how loudly her father Ven Vinder might protest. “But Longshanks has asked that you join him at the town hall as soon as you are able to,” Ameiko continued, “The elf Shalelu is already there, giving the Sheriff and Mayor Deverin an update on things. Seems that goblin activity is on the rise across the Hinterlands – not just around Sandpoint!” The four agreed that they would make their way to the town hall, although Damacus had his usual look of disapproval at the ineptitudes of small town mentalities. But Ameiko threw him a wink that disarmed even the grumpy wizard, as she headed off towards the stairs. “Best I awaken young Aldern,” she remarked, as her fine figure headed upwards, “Lest Master Foxglove forget that he has plans to leave Sandpoint whilst the sun still shines on this day!” _____________________________________________ As the four departed the Rusty Dragon under a clear Autumn sky, the figure in dark leathers once again watched their movements carefully from his hiding place in the alley near Gaffer’s Walk. This time, however, the bow remained across his back, and the white-fletched arrows remained in the brocaded leather quiver. He had a new mission, and it was one that filled his heart with gladness, despite what it meant for his once-beloved sister. Patiently, he watched the Rusty Dragon for a long time, and it was nearly noon when he spied the Halfling girl heading away from the inn on some errand or other. As he stepped from the shadows, he practised the welcoming grin with which he would greet his sister, but it felt alien on his face, and instead he settled on a smile that was in reality more of a grimace. But it would have to do. Ameiko had an appointment to keep with father... . +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Session 06: Chapter One: Burnt Offerings Part Three: Glass and Wrath The tunnels under the glassworks were silent in the aftermath of the battle against the traitor Tsuto. His half-sister Ameiko, recently released from her bonds, spat on the corpse of Tsuto as she limped by, nursing her bruises and rubbing her chaffed wrists. She joined Narcizia, who still stood over the body of her fallen comrade, Grey Hawk. The young Shoanti sat slumped against the tunnel wall, three of Tsuto’s white-fletched arrows protruding from his chest. There was less blood than Narcizia had expected, and Grey Hawk’s expression was fixed in a slightly surprised stare. His great axe lay to one side, but the elf Selderon picked it up as the three stood in the lamp lit hall and considered their next course of action. Nearby, Damacus investigated the tunnel, of far older construction, that broke through into the cellar halls of the glassworks. His gaze was fixed on the rune that had been carved into the rock wall at this point, for he knew that it matched the symbol upon the scrap of parchment he carried. The rune had seven points, radiating outwards in a star-like pattern that Damacus now knew – thanks to the advice of Master Quinn, Sandpoint’s resident sage – represented the ancient wizards known as the Runelords. As Damacus pondered the rune, and the ancient tunnel beyond, Quinn’s words drifted back into his mind... _____________________________________________ “The Empire of Thassilon was founded in the far past by the First King Xin, who had been exiled from his homeland, the now sunken land of Azlant. As his empire grew beyond the bounds of Xin's ability to control, he appointed powerful wizards to oversee his lands. The mightiest of these were the Runelords, seven of the most adept (and power-hungry) wizards in Thassilon. “The Seven Virtues (wealth, fertility, honest pride, abundance, eager striving, righteous anger, and well-deserved rest), were seen as the keystones of power, and each of the Runelords was drawn towards one of these seven. But over the course of time, the Runelords corrupted these into what modern scholars call the "Seven Sins," abandoning their positive aspects, and instead embracing the negative connotations of each (greed, lust, boastful pride, gluttony, envy, wrath, and sloth). “The Runelords, now tainted by evil, forged alliances with dragons and enslaved giants by using the secrets of rune and glyph magic in their efforts to increase their own power. With their enslaved giant armies, they built massive tombs and staggering monuments, some of which survive today, mute testimonies of a mysterious age long past. “But eventually, as all evil empires must, Thassilon fell. The reason for this fall remains a mystery, but it is rumoured that as the end drew near, the seven Runelords retreated into the depths of their greatest monuments, entombing themselves with orders for their minions to release them later to reclaim their empires... .” _____________________________________________ Damacus was snapped from his reverie, and back to reality, as Selderon approached him from the hall where Grey Hawk lay. “We should leave this place forthwith,” the elf murmured, “And take the Shoanti’s remains with us... the least he deserves is a decent burial...”. Damacus nodded slowly in agreement, and turned to follow Selderon back to where Ameiko and Narcizia were waiting. But he glanced back at the dark, rune-marked tunnel as he left, and for long after, the seven-pointed star burned in his memory. He would return soon, of that he was sure. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Part Four: Thistletop The past two days had been quiet ones in Sandpoint. After emerging from the tunnels beneath the Glassworks, Narcizia and Selderon had spent much of their time at the Rusty Dragon. Ameiko had listened intently to Narcizia’s description of the creatures they had encountered, and upon her recommendation they had met with Zantus, and Mayor Deverin, over a quiet dinner in a shadowy corner of the inn that night. Damacus had been late in joining them, as the Magnimaran wizard had spent his time in counsel with the sage Quinn, discussing his own version of the strange, ancient chambers under the Glassworks, which he now believed harkened back to the days of the Thassilonian Empire. He had presented the old sage with several pottery shards and other small items that he had discovered there, but it was Damacus’ description of the final chamber that had Quinn leaning forward in the lamplight, his old eyes sparkling with interest. The swirling red and orange liquid that the Demon Quasit had dropped her blood into was of the utmost interest to Quinn, and he promised that he would consult his tomes and scrolls in order to learn more. As Damacus left the old sage’s house, he realised that he had at least one ally in Sandpoint. But soon after he joined Narcizia and Selderon at the Rusty Dragon, as he pulled up his chair between Deverin and Father Zantus, Damacus again felt his ire rising. He perceived the cleric as a pontificating zealot, and the Mayor as an officious fool, but the level of his impatience surprised even Damacus... it was as if Sandpoint itself amplified his negative side, and brought out the worst in him. Discussion at the table had now turned to the funerals planned for Tsuto, his father, and Grey Hawk, to be held the next evening, but Damacus was growing ever more bored and irritated. Soon after, he retired to his room, promising to meet his companions the next day to plan their expedition to Thistletop, which they now knew was home to the “lady” responsible for Sandpoint’s recent woes. Damacus knew that their motivations were different... Narcizia seemed bent on revenge against the goblins that had murdered her family, while Selderon was apparently honour bound to assist the Elven ranger Shalelu, and sought to impress her with his victories over Sandpoint’s enemies. Damacus, of course, had his own agenda... for he knew that the Thistletop goblin lair was constructed atop the gigantic stone head that was certain to be of Thassilonian heritage. The legacy of the Runelords was what he now sought there, for it promised arcane powers beyond his dreams. And when it came to magic and arcane power, Damacus had very big dreams indeed... . _____________________________________________ As Narcizia and Selderon sat late into the night at their table in the corner of the Rusty Dragon, discussing the planned journey to Thistletop, a small demonic creature, unseen by mortal eyes, listened intently outside the window. If any could have seen through her invisibility spell, they would have witnessed a smile twist the Quasit’s demonic features. Erylium knew now where the three who had insulted her were going. Nualia would be warned, and a suitable reception would be prepared. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Session 08: Chapter One: Burnt Offerings Part Four: Thistletop Narcizia soared in eagle form above the fortification that clung to the top of the massive stone rock, elated with her new cape and the ability that it had given her. Never in her life had she known such joy, and she revelled in the freedom. It had taken but a few hours for the four companions to travel north eastwards from the goblin encampment to the edges of the sea cliffs, and the location of the Thistletop tribe’s lair in the fortified buildings atop the stone formation. They had not lingered near the goblin camp, for Redfist, their recently-released Shoanti companion, had cautioned that more goblins could possibly return at any time. Leaving the corpses to the birds, they had made a rough camp about a half mile away. There they had eaten a cold lunch while Redfist described his journey southwards from the Shoanti lands, the ambush on the road to Sandpoint by goblins and a huge bugbear, and his capture and the escape of his companion Grey Hawk... their own fallen comrade. Redfist was a man of few words, and he had lapsed into a solemn silence once he learned from them that Grey Hawk had fallen in battle with Tsuto, the lover of the woman they now suspected was leader of the Thistletop goblins. But the huge warrior stood to make a solemn promise – on the blood still clinging to his sacred Earthbreaker hammer – that he would help them slay as many goblins as possible, in honour of his clan brother, adding that the bugbear should be his to slay, as he had vowed to do so. The four completed their rest without incident. The drizzle had abated by the time they headed out, and golden afternoon sunlight filtered through the tangled trees and underbrush of the Nettlewood. The druid Selderon found the goblin trails that criss-crossed the woods easy to follow, and had kept them heading northwards at a steady pace as the afternoon slipped by. Soon enough, they had heard the crash of the breakers against the sea cliffs, and it was at this point that Narcizia had revealed the true powers of her new cape. “For the Gods’ sake...”, the wizard Damacus called out, as in eagle form she circled in tight patterns between the trees above them, “Be careful girl! Shape changing takes some wizards years to fully come to terms with, and some say the animal form can...” His words trailed off as Narcizia’s eagle form vanished above the trees and headed northwards to scout out the goblin lair. Redfist stood motionless, his mouth agape at having just witnessed the Varisian girl’s transformation, but Selderon merely smiled, knowing that the magical ability to change forms would soon be known to him, for his druidic powers were increasing by the day. Damacus shook his head in disapproval as they moved forward cautiously, flanked by Selderon, with his longbow nocked, and the lumbering Redfist with his enormous hammer at the ready. What a motley crew he had managed to find himself with, Damacus thought to himself as they advanced through the trees... a gypsy girl, an elven wanderer and a muscle-bound barbarian. And yet, before the day was done, he would be glad that each of these three had been there with him, in light of the events that would transpire under Thistletop... . +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Session 09: Chapter One: Burnt Offerings Part Four: Thistletop The goblin Warchief Ripnugget had already been having a relatively bad day, but he feared that it was about to get a whole lot worse. He had awakened with a monstrous hangover to find that his once-loyal Shaman, Grogmurt, had not arrived for the meeting that Ripnugget had requested for that morning. No doubt the goblin druid was sulking in his nest amidst the nettle tunnels, along with that accursed striped cat of his. Grogmurt had never liked the white-haired woman Nualia, and her two followers, the warrior Orik and the witch Lyrie. Nualia’s planning and execution of the raid on Sandpoint had further distanced the shaman from his chief, as Grogmurt was convinced that the attack would bring the wrath of the humans of the region down on the Thistletop goblins. Now, as the Elven figure and the woman in leathers appeared at the side door to his throne room, Warchief Ripnugget feared that his shaman had been right all along. As his trained giant gecko Stickfoot leapt to his side, Ripnugget screamed at his guards to run below and fetch Bruthazmus. Ripnugget knew that he would answer the call... the bugbear ranger was always eager to add more Elven ears to the leather necklace that he wore to display his trophies. But Ripnugget realised that the dark-haired woman seemed as much a threat as the cloaked Elven figure, for she was charging into the throne room with no caution, her gaze drawn to one of the hands that had been nailed to the timber supports of the large chamber. Most likely the one with the silver ring that they could not remove, Ripnugget surmised, even as he leaped atop Stickfoot and prepared to do battle with the intruders. His Warchanter was already beginning his battle song, and Warchief Ripnugget began to feel his fear replaced by anger at the sheer gall of these intruders to enter his throne room. They would pay for their arrogance in blood... . _____________________________________________ Orik lay on his bed and gazed at the dark stone ceiling. The recent changes in Nualia, especially the alarming transformation of her arm into that demonic ‘thing’, bothered the mercenary fighter somewhat, but not enough to allow him to ignore the large sums of gold that the Aasimar woman was paying him for his services. The warrior had seen much in his travels, and was not as queasy as the witch when it came to dealing with Nualia’s changes. Lyrie was a city girl, and should have never left the comforts of Magnimar. She had barricaded herself in the lower chambers, spending almost all her time in the cataloguing of the Thassilonian artifacts they had found there. But Lyrie was also aware, as was Orik, that Nualia had found something else down there, in the bottom level of the great stone head. And the witch knew enough of magic and deviltry to warn Orik that Nualia no doubt sought to release whatever it was that she had found. Orik was not certain of what nature, or how powerful, this thing might be, but he was certain of one thing... Not for all the gold in Varisia did he want to be around should Nualia set it free. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Session 10: Chapter One: Burnt Offerings Part Four: Thistletop From the journal of Nualia, as recovered from the ruins at Thistletop in the month of Rova in 4707 A.R. Pharast 30, 4707 A.R.
Arodus 27, 4707 A.R.
Arodus 31, 4707 A.R.
Rova 22, 4707 A.R.
Rova 24, 4707 A.R.
Rova 26, 4707 A.R.
It should be noted that the recovered journal was soaked in fresh blood, and that those that brought it back to Sandpoint were not the same as they were when they first set forth on their journey… . +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Session 11: Chapter One: Burnt Offerings Part Four: Thistletop An air of sadness and regret hung over the three companions as they packed together their belongings after their rest. The fact that their Elven companion had not yet emerged from the underchambers confirmed all their worst fears, for they knew now that Selderon must have fallen to the terrible, demonic hounds that had guarded the underground shrine. The Shoanti barbarian, still enraged by the fact that even his great bravery had not allowed him to stand in the face of the hounds’ magical howls, carefully sharpened his bastard sword under the pale moonlight that illuminated the stockade’s central courtyard. Redfist’s beloved Earthbreaker still lay in the chambers below where he had dropped it, and he had no intention of leaving it there. In the name of revenge, and for the honour of his father who had gifted him the great hammer, Redfist would brave the depths - and the terror of the hounds - one more time. Narcizia was of a similar mind, for the young gypsy girl knew that the woman who had orchestrated the deaths of her family, and who had personally slain both her mother and her father, still waited below, no doubt mocking them. This Nualia, who had apparently birthed the spawn of Narcizia’s brother over five years ago, would have to pay for her sins. And Narcizia cared not for what manner of creature the woman had become through her demonic changes, nor for the nature of whatever beast from the Hells it was that she intended to summon as her lover. Narcizia wanted her dead, plain and simple. Damacus, as always the older, wiser voice of calm and reason, looked up from the spell book he was studying in order to glance at his two younger companions. He knew that they would argue against any path other than that leading back to the underchambers, and the demonic Yeth Hounds. He knew that blind fury and lust for revenge drove them. But he also knew that his own lust for the Thassilonian magics he believed lay below was perhaps enough to overcome his fear of what might await them. This Nualia had been given ample time to prepare for their return, and she would no doubt be ready. With a deep sigh, Damacus rose from his resting place and approached his companions. They looked pale in the moonlight, and for a moment he recalled the scene as he looked back and witnessed Selderon’s ashen face as he fell under the flashing teeth and claws of the Yeth Hounds. _____________________________________________ In the hall where Selderon had fallen, the Yeth Hounds had finished their feasting on his corpse, and had drifted back to the shrine that was theirs to guard for all eternity. The scene the demonic creatures left behind was a nightmarish mess of gore and splintered bones, and few would have been able to tell that a young Elf male had met his fate there. In the tiny chamber across from the bloody mess, however, another young Elf stared in frustration through the barred window of his cell. The magic of the Yeth Hounds had driven him half mad with terror during the battle, forcing him to lie in a curled ball amidst the dirty straw, but now he stood and looked longingly at the fallen Elf’s weapons, the long sword and great bow that lay beyond his reach. If only he could escape the cell into which the bugbear Bruthazmus had hurled him just days before, the young Ranger would take up those weapons, and seek out the woman known as Nualia. And then, in the name of his sister Shalelu, and for the honour of his fallen kin, he would put an arrow through her twisted heart... . +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Session 12: Chapter Two: The Skinsaw Murders Part One: Murder Most Foul The late Autumn evening was tinged with a slight chill, and darkness was fast approaching. Ameiko closed the window near the corner table of the Rusty Dragon, where the “Heroes of Sandpoint” were – as was their common custom – taking their evening meal. It had been over three weeks since their return from the ruins of Thistletop. Redfist, the Shoanti barbarian, and the Elven ranger Shelandor, had both returned with Narcizia and Damacus, and all had been hailed as heroes for their part in the destruction of the goblin forces under the vile Nualia. With the arrival in Sandpoint a few days later of Shelandor’s sister, the Elfmaid Shalelu, the new companions had planned a memorial service for the slain Selderon, which had taken place under a large and ancient oak tree in the grounds of the town’s graveyard. It had been a strange affair, with both Elven and human traditions honoured, as Father Zantus of the church, as well as Mayor Deverin and the recently returned Sheriff Longshanks, had all come to pay their respects. With the extra guards that had accompanied Longshanks back from the city of Magnimar, and the news that the goblins and their leader were defeated, an air of calm settled over the town of Sandpoint. The memories of the events of the Swallowtail Festival, and the deaths of Ameikos’ father and brother, were starting to fade, and the townsfolk busied themselves with preparations for the coming winter months. For the new companions, the three weeks had passed quickly. Damacus had busied himself in further studies with the sage Quinn, for he had brought back several small Thassilonian relics from his recent adventures, as well as parchment scraps and ancient scrolls that had revealed new knowledge of the ancient culture of the Runelords. But the staff with the Sihedron rune atop, that Damacus had retrieved from the very lair of the demon Malfeshnekor, that he kept to himself, and it never left his side. Narcizia, the young Varisian rogue, had a harder time of it. The confirmation of her parent’s deaths at the hands of Nualia, and the revelation that her own brother had driven the woman into her descent into madness, had been a lot for her to absorb. In an effort to burn out the anger and frustration, she had busied herself with mastering her father’s rapier, Sliver, recovered from the Thistletop goblins. She had practised long hours in the courtyard behind the Rusty Dragon, where eventually she had befriended the retired ranger Daviren, proprietor of the stables next door (and friend of Shalelu), who had helped guide her mastery of the weapon. The barbarian Redfist had spent much of his time at the White Deer, with the family of the Shoanti owner, Two Spears. Although he took a room at the old wooden inn, he had checked in with his new companions regularly, and dined with them often. But as the weeks dragged on, he grew restless, undecided as to his next course of action. The goblins were defeated, but he knew that in the north the giants were stirring, for this was the message that he and Grey Hawk had been dispatched to Sandpoint to deliver. But he also knew that his reason for being so eager to leave his clan was still waiting for him... and that for now he might well be better off as far away as possible from his brothers. As for the Elven ranger Shelandor, he had spent most of his time with his sister Shalelu, and the two had ranged far and wide across the Sandpoint region to confirm that with the death of Nualia, the goblins had fallen back into their old inter-clan squabbles and disputes. But both were haunted by the feeling that the fall of Thistletop was not the end of the recent troubles, and that there were other, darker threats out there, awaiting their chance to emerge from the shadows. They were not wrong in their fears... . +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Session 13: Chapter Two: The Skinsaw Murders Part One: Murder Most Foul The Shoanti barbarian was barely visible in the dim light of the cavern, despite Redfist’s great size. The glowing radiance of Damacus’ magical light did little to push back the preternatural gloom, but Narcizia and Shelandor could make out the big man in the glow that shone upwards from the open wooden trap door that Redfist had stumbled across in the darkness. Behind them, the darkened tunnel that lead into the great boulders atop the peak of Chopper’s Isle was littered with the burnt husks of the seemingly endless swarms of cockroaches that had almost halted their progress. The stench of their crisped remains, roasted by the constant barrage of magical fire hurled by Damacus, filled the air, making breathing difficult. Narcizia covered her mouth with her Varisian scarf as she fought back the urge to gag, and joined her companions at the open trap door. Shelandor followed closely behind, for he had been distracted by the torn animal and bird remains in a side cavern that his Elven vision enabled him to peer into. It seemed that someone – or something – had made the dark chamber their home for a short time. But what was more intriguing was the vague but unmistakable sickly sweet smell of death that clung to the air here, strong enough to overpower the stench of the burnt insects. The cloying smell was almost identical to that they had discovered in the sawmill around the bodies of the murder victims that same morning. Shelandor hurried forwards to tell his companions at the trap door of his discovery. It seemed they were on the right track... but to what? _____________________________________________ Far below, in the depths of the ancient tunnels, things crawled and skittered in the gloom. The opening of the trap door had alerted the myriad denizens of the dank and mouldering chambers, and creatures that longed for the taste of human flesh and blood began to move in the darkness, tentacles and feelers testing the air for their prey. And even deeper down, past the web-filled stairways where the predatory spiders crawled over each other with excitement, a shadowy form rose from its resting place. It was only visible in that it was composed of a blackness darker even than the gloom in which it resided, but it had a vaguely humanoid form that possessed eyes that burned with a hatred for every living thing. And as it rose, the leeches in the dark waters around it swarmed and writhed in anticipation. It knew at once that it was not he who called himself “His Lordship” that entered its domain, and that more than one creature sought entrance to its lair. It babbled and muttered to itself, as it had for the five years since the magic of this place had drawn its spirit from the shattered remains of the humble woodcutter, but it had all but forgotten the human life it had once lived. It was now just a shadowy essence, the final vestiges of all that was evil and dark and twisted in the man that had become known as Chopper. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Session 14: Chapter Two: The Skinsaw Murders Part Two: The Killer’s Trail Sherriff Longshanks arrived – as was his custom – early in the morning at the Sandpoint Garrison. His eyes were still bleary from lack of sleep, for he had spent the evening and into the early hours at the residence of Mayor Deverin, filling her in on the events since the discovery of the gruesome murder scene at the sawmill the previous morning. In her lamp lit study, Deverin had listened as Longshanks related the tale told by the so-called “Sandpoint Heroes” upon their return from Chopper’s isle. Their struggles against the creatures in the ancient tunnels, and the battle with the apparition that was Chopper’s ghost, had shocked the Mayor. But what was more disturbing was the revelation that another – presumably the killer of the young lovers at the sawmill – had visited Chopper’s Isle. He called himself ”His Lordship”, but to what end he had come to pay homage to Chopper’s ghost was not known. Now, as Longshanks arrived at the garrison in order to consider the next phase of the investigation, he rounded the corner to find a canvas covered wagon blocking the street. One of his guardsmen jumped down from the seat behind a tired looking farm horse, and gestured the Sherriff over as he pulled back the canvas with a shaking hand. Lying on the boards of the wagon were three bodies. Much like the ravaged corpse in the sawmill, they had all been hacked and mutilated almost beyond recognition. All appeared to be young men, and into the chests of each had been deeply carved the same strange seven-pointed star symbol. The guardsman indicated a further detail that the Sheriff had initially missed. Clutched in the hand of the nearest victim was another bloodstained envelope, again bearing the name of one of the “Sandpoint Heroes”, the Varisian girl Narcizia. Longshanks let out a long sigh... . “Tell me all you know”, the Sherriff began, “And then get down to the Rusty Dragon and wake our ‘heroes’ up...”. _____________________________________________ Screams echoed through the Sanatorium. In a cell on the top floor, the witness to the murders strained against the confines of his straitjacket, his eyes bulging as he gazed up at the tiny barred window and the dim light beyond. He had awakened from his unconscious state as the guardsmen had off-loaded him from the wagon where his companions’ bodies lay, and thrown him at the feet of the two orderlies. Master Habe, the sardonic proprietor of the Sanatorium that lay but a few miles south of Sandpoint, was excited by this latest arrival, for he had a feeling he knew what had driven the poor man mad. And as the cell door had been slammed shut on the poor soul, his cries and screams had confirmed Habe’s suspicions... and his fears. “Your Lordship”, the man ranted, “They locks me up, and I cannot deliver your message to her! Forgive me your Lordship, forgive me!”. After that, the screams went on a long time. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Session 15: Chapter Two: The Skinsaw Murders Part Two: The Killer’s Trail The driving rain beat down without mercy on Hambley Farm as the afternoon gloom faded to the darkness of a storm-lashed evening. The four companions blundered down the muddy farm road, leaving the dead ghouls and the horrific scarecrows behind them as they sought shelter from the vile storm. Ahead, they could now make out an old barn to the right, as well as a small, double-storey farmhouse that promised some respite from the torrential downpour. As the elf beckoned for the others to follow him towards the farmhouse, rain streamed from his sodden cloak and hood, dripping into his eyes and obscuring his vision. Even so – as Damacus, Narcizia and the big Shoanti stumbled through the mud towards him – Shelandor became aware of dark shapes moving through the fields on either side of the farm road. The downpour masked the scent of death that no doubt clung to the ghoulish forms of the slain farm folk, but it could not drown out the shouts of Narcizia as the Varisian girl finally reached him. She screamed in Shelandor’s face, gesturing wildly back down the muddy road as the sounds of panicked neighing could be heard over the rain. “The horses!”, Narcizia shrieked, her eyes widening with fear as she too noticed the many dark shapes half running, half crawling through the rows between the nearby crops. “We forgot the horses...!” +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Session 16: Chapter Two: The Skinsaw Murders Part Three: Foxglove Manor The rains had eased off during the early hours of the morning. Within the farmhouse once occupied by the Hambley family, the four companions watched as the autumn sun now sparkled on the puddles that dotted the farmyard. They had survived the night attack by the hordes of ghouls that had sought their blood, and they knew now for certain who led them, and who was the murderer that had carved the Sihedron rune into his victims. Aldern Foxglove – the once-foppish nobleman they had first met a month ago at the Swallowtail Festival in Sandpoint – was their quarry now, and they had little doubt as to where they would have to go to find him... the crumbling remains of Foxglove Manor, but a few miles away. As they led Narcizia’s horse, their only surviving mount, down the muddy lane from the farmhouse, they soon reached the spot where Aldern himself had been illuminated in the fiery spell cast by Damacus. The rotted figure that the Foxglove lord had become had been harmed by the magical flames, but they all feared that the wounds were not mortal – and certainly not to the undead thing that he had become. They passed the frames where the ghoulish scarecrows had ambushed them, but the young girl that had hung there begging for mercy was gone, ether having been torn apart to feed the pack, or having finally succumbed to the ghoul disease to join the others that had assailed the farmhouse. Ahead, the wagon from the Sanatorium still blocked the farm road where they had deserted it. The remains of their horses were strewn around - scraps of meat and bone that the ghoul pack had left behind in a gory mess that caused Narcizia to gag. Damacus advised caution as they approached, and Shelandor and Redfist moved carefully forwards to the open back door of the wagon. The big Shoanti warrior grimaced as he surveyed the interior, where only blood and gobbets of flesh remained of the two rescued inmates. Shelandor had his bow at the ready and an arrow knocked as Redfist reached inside and pulled something forth, stepping back towards Narcizia. It was another blood-smeared envelope, and again it was marked with the Varisian girl’s name... . “Another message from ‘His Lordship’, no doubt...” Damacus grumbled, as Narcizia begrudgingly accepted the envelope from Redfist, “And another declaration of his love, perhaps...”. Shelandor noted how Narcizia seemed to blush at this, but then she pulled hard on her horse’s reigns and led it past the bloody scene, soothing it with soft words as its eyes rolled with the stench of death. The three glanced at each other and back again, perhaps sharing the same dark thoughts. The weather now matched their moods, for already dark clouds were rolling in from the west, and a strong breeze began to tear at their cloaks. They soon caught up with Narcizia... but each wondered whether they would regret that choice by the time the sun set on this dark day… . +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Part Three: Foxglove Manor Lightning split the sky, and illuminated the lurking bulk of Foxglove Manor as thunder rolled across the windswept headland. Inside the ancient home of the fallen Foxglove family, the rain drummed somewhere behind and above the four companions, echoing off dusty old windows and rotted roof tiles. The crumbling house seemed to be a living, breathing entity, and it hated them, of that they were certain. From the moment they had entered the decaying, fungus covered front hall, they had each suffered the effects of the haunted building and the tortured spirits that seemed able to manipulate the very nature of its halls and chambers. Narcizia had suffered the most from these effects, that was certain, and the Varisian girl found herself questioning her resolve and hesitating as they prepared to mount the creaking wooden stairs up to what they presumed was the attic of the old manor house. Even the normally calming presence of the Magnimaran wizard Damacus did little to steel her resolve, for she had been badly burned by his spells when the spirits had taken hold of him. Biting on her lower lip, she followed the big Shoanti towards the staircase, but she noticed Redfist swallow hard and grimace as he glanced back at her, before hefting his long-handled sword. After that, things got very bad, very quickly. _____________________________________________ Far under the house, the thing that Aldern Foxglove had become listened to the building that lurked like a living being above him, bearing down on his mind and his soul. He heard their movements, and he smiled as he heard their shouts of fear and distress. He knew that she was finally here, his dark-haired beauty, and he struggled hard to resist the urge to race upwards and greet her, and clasp her to his rotting bosom. He knew in the dark depths of his dead heart that her hair would never be as soft and luxuriant as Iesha’s, nor her skin as smooth and creamy, nor her lips as full and red. But he also knew that she would suffice, and that she would fill the ache in his heart, and answer the demands that the house screamed at him in his tortured dreams. “Go forth, my pack,” Aldern whispered to the ghoulish shapes that crowded around him from the blackness, “And bring me my beloved...”. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ That's where we are to date... next session they head off to Magnimar...
Thinking of using this as the third in a Trilogy, set in Way of the Wicked's realm of Talingarde. My players completed Way of the Wicked last year, with two of the PCs surviving and taking the throne as King and Queen of Talingarde. Hells Rebels would take place 30 years later, with the Church of Asmodeus in full control of the wicked realm, and would detail the rebellion of a single city. Hells Vengeance would then detail the state's reaction to that rebellion. For sake of matching the AP titles, the trilogy would be called: Way of the Wicked
I have been doing this for a few years now, usually with magical weapons. I always hated the image of the fighter tossing aside his +1 sword that he lovingly carried for a year, when he stumbles across a +2 sword. I usually make the power of the wepaon go up as the character increases in level, as well as add additional powers. They are always designed for a particular PC and become an important story element. These weapons are always items with their own unique histories and backgrounds, and are not given out lightly. Most have important implications to and tie-ins with the campaign story arc. As an example, here is the sword found at around 3rd level by the anti-paladin in my Way of the Wicked campaign, which wrapped up at 20th level last year... it was a holy relic of the Asmodean faith lost in religious purges years ago: 1st-5th level: +1 grayflame longsword
It will be interesting to see where Paizo goes with this.
Aha... I have stumbled onto the secret that you have tried to conceal... I now know who the real Seven Lords of Sin are... how long did you think it would take us to figure this out? QUOTE: ..."the seven members of the Pathfinder deign team..." And so... Erik Mona (Publisher) - PRIDE
Seriously though, from reading the blog (which has become my first web-stop every day) I am very excited about this... the map, the plot, the design ethos... they're all blowing me away... |