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The doors do not appear to be trapped, so Gozrek sets to work. He breaks two picks before finding success with a third. Beyond the doors is a long chamber with four boulders of varying size lying haphazardly near the door. At the far end, progressively larger steps rise toward another set of iron doors. Each step bears a round depression of the same size as one of the boulders at the bottom.
Running his hand along the southern wall, Bytor discovers that part of the rock is illusory---after a moment's concentration, his vision clears to see cold, iron double doors. They do not budge when pushed. GM:
The demon's slimy exterior does a number on Tess's weapon. While other's tend to their wounds, Unrak and Bytor begin a methodical search of the large room's walls.
The demon disappears when the final blow is struck. On each of the black-robed women, Gozrek finds little except bloodshot glass eyes, pouches with spell components, and daggers that feel unnaturally sharp.
Tess is quickest with her blade, putting a final end to the threat!
After a few moments to catch your breath, you notice that there are no visible exits from the room---save the passageway where you came in.
Isolated and injured, the babau drops the spear and lashes out with tooth and claw, ripping the head of the summoned ant from its body. MISS THREAT Critical MISS Round IV
Round V
Filled with righteous rage, Unrak cuts down the foe who so befuddled him in two mighty strokes. The third he dedicates to the demon. With the woman gone, Tess finds that her vision clears also. Delnin then follows up Unrak's assault with a pretty volley of his own. His shots all land, though each arrow barely punches through the demon's taut red skin.
Round IV
Augrym's blade comes away clean. Unrak clears his head! Round IV
Augrym hacks at the demon with extreme prejudice. His blade comes away with a burning slime along its edge. [ooc]Augrym needs to make 3 Reflex saves or his weapon takes acid damage. Round IV
Gozrek tries to help Unrak and Tess out of their mess.
Round IV
Tess turns to Unrak, clashing greatsword to greatsword. Her third slash draws blood. Round IV
Taranis sends a shot wide. Lobo and Bytor get the light-hammer right in the face. Round III
The dark sister whispers a spell of destruction, sending a leaping, roiling force of multi-colored hues careening about the room and crashing into Augrym, the ant, Gozrek, Bytor, Taranis, and Lobo. Augrym seems to take the blow hardest . The others each weather the chaotic energy better. The remaining babau sidles to the wall and stabs at Gozrek, keeping the ant between itself and Augrym. MISS
Round II
Unrak lands a surprise blow at Tess's back, and she turns to face her new enemy. Delnin and Lobo combine to take down one of the babau, though Lobo's jaw get covered in a nasty slime. Round II
Augrym whiffs. Unrak cannot seem to distinguish the lady in black from the half-orc or the half-elf... but he has to hit something with his mighty rage. That turns out to be Tess. Round II
The demon easily dodges Gozrek's lackluster thrust. Round II
Tess puts three great slashes in her foe's robes, which darken with glistening blood. Round II
The dank miasma sends several Huntsmen to dark places. Taranis keeps his focus enough to call forth an ant as a distraction.
Round II
Augrym maintains his focus.
Unrak, uncertain of his foe, nevertheless presses hard against the nearest sister, cutting her down in silent rage. One babau shifts north to harry Delnin while the other strikes at Augrym. HIT
HIT
The remaining woman casts a spell from a guarded stance and a damp, cold, cloying miasma of darkness spills over the entrance to the room, flooding over Delnin, Lobo, Gozrek, Taranis, and Bytor. Round II
Augrym gets closer to those maddening visages, drawing a spearpoint on the way. HIT Unrak hacks at his nearest foe Round II
Delnin sends a quintet of arrows towards the injured woman. One skitters along the stone floor by her feet, the others all finding flesh and bone. Her breath comes in ragged heaves. Bytor calms the mind of Lobo, offering him clarity. Round II
Augrym ignores the attempt to divert him from following the instructions of his liege lord to the letter (and perhaps beyond). Gozrek throws a snowball that lands very, very hard... if it can break through the woman's defenses.
Lobo feels a flea on his haunch and twists 'round to bite himself. Round II
"Bloody HELL!" Attentive to your presence---almost as if they were watching you somehow---are two hooded figures in black robes... Tess approaches, greatsword held high. The babau lashes out---twice---with its spear. HIT
Still, she soon passes beyond the demon guard. Yet the bloodshot eyes, symbols of some sort, that adorn the dark figures' robes fight for her attention, and at length, they win. Tess feels her mind lose focus, unable to discern the reality before her. Round II
Tess:
As best Tess can tell, the two black-robed, black-cowled sisters are nothing stranger than human. Round I
Delnin and Tess both keep their wits---Lobo, not so much. Round I
Unrak feels confused. VERY confused. Delnin looks on with some concern while tossing his wolf onto the board. Augrym fires a shot at the eastern babau, which jukes to the side but not quickly enough. The bolt punches through paper-thin skin, leaving a surprisingly light wound. SUCCESS The sisters retreat towards the corner, one weaving a hateful spell that wafts over the crowd by the door, the other summoning power for herself. Gozrek feels the magic try and fail to grip him. Whispers flit from hidden tongues to the demons, issuing harsh and profane instructions; the babau ready their spears. Round I
Indeed, the demon Unrak passes by flashes out with its spear, finding a lucky chink in the big man's hardened hide. HIT The greater danger lies beyond, however. As he gets near, Unrak gets an all-too-familiar feeling as he charges towards the two figures' inscrutable, befuddling visages. Round I
Babau have a knack for finding mortals' pain point---their blades often cut where it will hurt the most. Babau are unfazed by electric shocks or poisoned darts, and seem to shrug off fire, cold, and acid pretty easily too. After some discussion and a bout of spellcasting, the Huntsmen head into the narrow defile in the cliff face. The tight passageway is carved from pale stone heavy with iron ore that mars the walls, floor, and ceiling with streaks of oxidized brown, not unlike long dead flesh caked in dried blood. Ahead, three alabaster statues stand along the western wall of the large square chamber. The statues depict well-proportioned Kellid men, each set in a different war-like pose. Attentive to your presence---almost as if they were watching you somehow---are two hooded figures in black robes adorned with dozens of bloodshot glass eyes, standing shoulder to shoulder along the opposite wall. Two emaciated figures, like horned skeletons in a bone-tight hide of slimy leather, seem to rise through the stone floor as you arrive, each gripping a long spear. Initiative:
+2 if Surprise +2 if Surprise Round I
Tess cannot make heads or tails of the description the others supply. The best she can tell is that the foes in question are human, or at least humanoid. The help these foes summoned last time, however, sound like babau demons.
Tess and Delnin exchange a quizzical glance.
The night is long, weaving between camps in the hills, huddling together for a short spell when a patrol passes by and finding what cover you can when new logs are added to the bonfires. As the first hints of dawn begin to creep over the horizon in the east, you descend into the box canyon where Gozrek once met his end. The camp is much as you left it, nestled against a cliffside at the edge of a stand of elms by a small stream. Tent flaps flutter in the light breeze, some now broken free of their bolt-ropes, and the bodies you felled here have been picked over by scavengers and left to the elements. The vast metal cage where Tamary and her fellows were kept creaks in the wind. Clearly, no one has come to check on those who waited here. The darkened cave mouth, notched in the cliff, beckons to you.
Navigating between the dispersed encampments is relatively easy in the dark, and Tess is careful to time her spell for getting through the most well-lit paths among the hills.
As before, there are hundreds encamped here, spread out across the hills in smaller gatherings. With night coming on, most are engaged in preparation for the evening meal, and the inviting smell of roasting meat wafts in your direction. Many are armed, and a few seem alert to the surrounding hills, but this vigilance seems no more than a gathering encamped for months without incident might mount. The animal population is thinner in these hills, an account of the hunting parties that have fed these tribes for some time, but it is still quite healthy---enough to sustain this force some while yet.
Two days' travel on the road brings you past the burnt watchtowers on either side of the East Sellen river and the Marchland Shields encamped on the west side of Wyvernstone Bridge. Jon and Gozrek Fletcher share a long embrace, and father and son talk long into the night. You also hear the reports of Jon's scouts: the Tiger Lords are still camped in the Glenebon Hills to the west, and have made no sign of preparations to march either east or south. In the morning you make your way westward, first through the cloudberry fields dotting the plains and then up into the Glenebon. At the end of the third day (12th Erastus), as night falls, you see the campfires of the Tiger Lords spread out in the hills to the west.
With the help of Bytor and the Duke, Tess determines this long rod of smooth iron to be a lesser silent metamagic rod.
Taranis gives the yet unnamed cub scritches. He speaks to the cub as if capable of conversation, "Well girl, that settles it. This is definitely something we need to do. When I return I'll channel a bit more of Nature's Might and ask you what your name is." After a moment, Taranis remembers the name: Khrabryy. grave figure armored from head to toe in jagged iron, two red eyes smoldering like witchfires from within his helm Gorum?
Taranis retreats, alone, to his secret grove. The stones loom tall above him, casting long shadows onto the stretches of bare earth between the trees. In their center, the duke settles in, letting his bare toes dig into the cool grime of the forest floor and feeling the light tug of playful winds on his sweeping beard. He drinks in the waning sunlight, the warmth of the summer air, the endless creaking stillness and furtive life of the teeming forest. He waits. The hours pass. The stars circle overhead. The woodland nightsongs hum their cries and calls at the edge of hearing, but the duke pays no mind. By now he hears little but the thrum of hidden power that pulse through the stones, letting their rhythm direct his attention where they will, when they choose to call. Light begins to grow in the east when the first vision comes. A woman robed in black, a cowl covering her face but not the bloodshot eye that hangs on a chain beneath it, flees a camp lit by fires and familiar stars, a nude babe clutched desperately in her pale arms. Drums beat, and cries fill the air. The woman deftly slits the throat of the first who tries to stop her flight, splashing deep red blood on the child's face. Two more figures rush forward towards to contest knife, but another black-robed woman slips out of the shadows to cut them down, then follows her sister into the dark cover of night. The vision fades. The sun has crested the treetops, sending blinding rays into the druid's gaze. He heeds them not. Three black-robed women stand behind a young man, no older than Gozrek. The man, clad in furs and leathers, holds a long blade with ease in his powerful grip. Blood runs slowly down the edge, dripping onto a shattered corpse at the young man's feet. The man lets out a cry of rage and plunges the blade into his enemy's chest, then hefts a mighty boulder and slams it into the corpse's skull. Blood and bone shrapnel spray into a crowd of stunned onlookers. The three women all speak one word, with pride: "Armag." The sun approaches its zenith. A deer cautiously approaches the grove, but the twig-snap of an owlbear creeping closer allows it to scurry off. All that Taranis can hear is the thrum, growing louder with each passing minute. Years have passed. The man, longer in tooth but still in his towering prime, stands before an assembly of mighty warriors. Scars cover his body, deep and hard-earned, marks of pride. Red banners marked by three pale stripes twist in the wind all around. The man wears a magnificent cuirass of ancient make, thick bone with scrimshaw carvings on every face. An iron crown in the likeness of thorns rests on his proud brow, and a belt of thick iron studded with blood-red jewels circles his barreled waist. Two black-robed women look on as war drums beat and Armag raises his sword. The shadows grow longer, the earth warmer with the heat of the failing day. The thrum is weaker now, nearly spent. But somewhere, just before the sounds of the forest push the thrum beyond the limits of hearing, he hears an echo of that drumbeat one final time. But this vision feels different. The man at its center, though similar in stature and strength, bears a different visage and walks under unfamiliar stars. Fires rage all around him, illuminating the countless fallen that litter the battlefield in every direction. Blood flows freely from the man's dozen wounds, and though he strides forward with confidence and pride, an immense grey-green greatsword held raised and ready, at length he falters and stumbles. The last thing that Taranis sees---almost at the limits of vision---is the faint image of a gaunt ashen-skinned lady with wild white hair glowering to one side of the fallen champion, a dagger held at her side, while opposite towers a grave figure armored from head to toe in jagged iron, two red eyes smoldering like witchfires from within his helm, an immense blade planted firmly at his feet. At the same moment, the steel on both sides flicks forward at lightning speed--- Sight comes back to Taranis. Night has fallen. An owlbear sits patiently before him, watching him curiously. After a moment, the creature lumbers to its feet, pads over, and nuzzles against him. The stones, still looming in the moonlight, fall silent.
Augrym hears some chatter about a tribe of strange, intelligent insects known as bog striders that live in the Hooktongue Slough. They are said to be at war with the region's much more prolific boggard tribes---perhaps they might be a useful ally. He also gets the impression that many of the more moneyed individuals in the court are tiring of the table, lodging, and entertainment to be found in this backwater town, and are complaining that the Duke insists on keeping this temporary seat with the war to the west so well in hand now. Delnin has no trouble finding a carpenter for his bee boxes, though he does get an earful about how kleptomaniacal the bears are in the Narlmarches. Tess learns that none here have met Armag. He is known only by reputation. Gozrek, eager to prove himself and to banish those unsettling vestiges at the edge of memory, of standing mute and miniscule before the discerning eye of a pale woman seated on an immense throne of bone, hurries off to find the cleric of Old Deadeye. Borzaki is ecstatic to see the wings. "So fresh! And remarkably intact, too. These are just what I need!" He urges Gozrek to return the next day. When he does, the priest presses a shimmering, gossamer cloak into his hands. Meanwhile, Taranis retires to his secret grove, searching for the wisdom of elders...
As you wind down your courtly duties for the month, a missive arrives from Satinder Morne in Fort Drelev. Letter:
Most noble of clients, Word reaches my ears that the great barbarian still roams in the north, and my hall, though calmer of late, is full of talk that he may yet turn south to clamber over our unfinished walls. Perhaps you might look into the matter sooner rather than later? I would so hate to see your name fall from its high esteem here, and get dragged through the mud before hearts and minds are securely won. Yours truly,
You gather for council on 8th Erastus.
Income Phase Step 1 - Withdraw from Treasury: Withdraw resources from the treasury for personal use, if desired.
Event Phase
Oleg heartily accepts the Duke's mead and asks only that Svetlana be permitted to join him. The revived trading post feeds the economy, and the disused caverns beneath the Old Sycamore tree provide a convenient place to stockpile grain, store arms, and provide shelter in times of trouble.
The meet-and-greet among old faces and new continues into the evening, over a fine meal of roast pheasant and summer corn at Abel's Inn, and over the next several days as the town grows increasingly crowded.
Within the week, the newcomers are given first-hand experience with holding court. Tatzylford's small, fortified town hall, the temporary western seat of the Marchlands, is a rather cramped space with courtiers jostling for position and a long line of petitioners stretching out the front doors. Three audiences in particular concern your immediate decision-making. The first is Mayor Loy Rezbin of Tatzylford, who comes forward with a proposal to extend the partially-built road from Tatzylford all the way to Wyvernstone Bridge. "...if this unpleasantness with Fort Drelev can be resolved, and a serviceable roadway established, I believe that Tatzylford and the Marchlands can benefit extremely from trade with the river traffic on the East Sellen, both north to Brevoy and South to the Mivon, Tymon, and so on." The second is a courier from John Fletcher, the commander of the Marchland Shields occupying Wyverstone Bridge. He wishes you well and asks after his sons---particularly Gozrek---but writes that he feels unable to adequately fulfill his more clandestine duties in the capital and eastern reaches of the Marchlands while he and the Shields are actively deployed in the field. As such, he begs that you will find a suitable replacement. Third, old Oleg Leveton comes hesitantly forward, encouraged by smiles and small gestures from his wife Svetlana. "My lord Duke, I'm come to ask that you might find another treasurer. I'm getting on in years, and I'm more 'ccustomed to running a shop than a duchy. City life don't agree with me, and though this here Tatzylford is homely enough, the trees make me a bit uncomfortable. I want to go back to the open plains and open sky around my trading post... though I still hope you'll consider that part of your duchy someday too."
Upkeep Phase Step 0 - Ruler: Declare the Duke's modifiers (Economy, Loyalty, or Stability).
Edict Phase
The journey back to Tatzylford takes only a day or two. With the court still removed to the wooded town, more folk from Solasgaard and elsewhere in the Marchlands have made the journey to speak to the Duke here. Every bed available for rent has long since been claimed, and some have set up tents along the roadway both east and west out of town. But standing by Mayor Rezbin at the door of the fortified town hall is at least one familiar face... one you have not seen in many, many moons.
The Duke's best guess is that these fey planned to swap these for normal toys in unsuspecting households for their personal amusement. It does not take more than a day to finish mapping the area, bringing you to the bright and hot morning of 22nd Sarenith.
Taranis finds naught but a few unstamped gold coins ( ) and some twisted, macabre-looking children's toys.
FAIL, FAIL, SUCCESS, SUCCESS, FAIL, FAIL
Unrak quickly cuts down a pixie, then steps to the south and ends another and its worg in two decisive strokes. His brother calls on the cleansing fire of the wilds to end the pranksters once and for all. Some high-pitched screams and anguished barking herald their final end.
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