’twould seem that there isn’t a single campaign journal for the Hell’s Rebels Adventure Path. Herein is my character’s AAR for this campaign, assembled from notes during play. This will get posted fairly rapid-fire as the AP itself is in its final leg.
CHAPTER 1 – “In Hell’s Bright Shadow”, 15th March 4716 A.R.
Fledglings of Silver
“... enemy ship’s keel lay atop me ram and all of her gun ports was open. Ye could feel them Hellknights’ a-grinnin’ as they make ready to touch match to hole. To port and starboard ships shriek along with their crew as lightning strokes shatter masts and veritable storms o’ Hellfire sweep decks clear o’ sailor and sail. Chelish warships be close to broadside to port ‘n’ starboard now that they’re thinkin’ me guns ain’t barkin’ no more on account of them havin’ poison gassed me below decks.
“With a grin of me own I light the fuse leadin’ from me wheel below to the Wormwood’s gun deck. One long braided fuse to all me guns, dozens each port and starboard with a couple o’ big dragonnes in the bow fer good measure with special loads just for killin’ ships at point-blank range. In a cacophonous roar a hundred guns fire in near-unison between all four ships! Sailors, Hellknights and fiends alike become lacedon kibble as metal balls punch through hull, carome about inside as ‘twere the devils’ playground before detonating. All four powder magazines go up in fiery storm of body parts, wood, sail, ammunition and hull!”
“So what happened next?”
“Whaddya think happened? I died!”
“Sounds about right ‘Free Captain’ Lota!”
“Treasonous tale, ya half-elf wench! Mind who you spin that yarn about the Battle of Port Peril these days.”
“Bite me, cupcake.”
“Love you too, Lota.”
Laughter and just enough silver coin scatter across my table to pay the tab and a bit more as the breakfast crowd disperses. I won’t have to go hungry or sleep in a tree tonight. The story’s got me by the past few days here in Kintargo while I walk off my sea legs and get acquainted with the city. Over the previous week before this morn this Barzilai Thrune character took over running the city after some hot-to-trot gang of sword-waving paladins went and wiped out a castle full of Hellknights to reclaim their holy swag. Sounds like it was a fun time. Perform (comedy) check of 15 nets enough silver to cover expenses for the day.
Abbie Thrune took none to kindly to this and dropped the hammer on this potential outbreak of unexpected rebellion. All of the big cities got themselves some martial law smackdown going on, so literal dropping of hammers. Kintargo got themselves a Thrunie blood-kin to Queen Abby herself who is an Asmodean inquisitor to take control here by any means necessary, if his writs of witlessness are any indication. So far every day he’s declared a new proclamation.
- Proclamation the First Get paid coppers to kill doves, mice and ravens. Turn the carcasses into the dottori - Chelish government thugs to most folk - for your coppers. Any port in a storm I suppose.
- Proclamation the Third Get paid silver for each fifty-plus pound feral dog you round up and turn into the dottori unharmed. Sounds too much like work and a whole lot of folk’ll get mauled to death for the trouble. I’d rather unload cargo for a living than this nonsense.
- Proclamation the Second Yeah, yeah, got ‘em out of order. Suck it up, buttercup. All public businesses have to have Abby Thrune’s pretty portrait hung in their main entry under penalty of hefty fines and impoundment if they tell Uncle Barzy to shove it where gulls don’t land. Guessing I’ll not be opening up a dockside tavern anytime soon. She ain’t that pretty.
- Proclamation the Fourth Only Thrunies, Asmodean clergy and those who pay what I’m sure will be a handsome “fee” get to wear fancy embroidered duds now. There goes my plan to enter the lucrative high fashion industry. Guessing the Kintargan tailors and seamstresses are scrambling to adjust to this bit of authoritarianism.
- Proclamation the Fifth Now he’s getting bizarre. Failure to swiftly pick up spilled grain involves a per-grain fine. Fail to pay, spend some time in the poke enjoying the ‘stellar’ company of the Kintargo dottori. This has potential.
- Proclamation the Sixth No tea from sunset to sunrise. Screw you Barzy, I love my tea! Let’s see if his minions are able to enforce the penalties for when I inevitably break this proclamation, repeatedly and often. Now, if only I can figure out where to requisition some good lotus tea...
- Proclamation the Seventh Yesterday’s gem proscribes the consumption of mint confections, drinks and sweets. Too bad I just had a mint pie as part of this morning’s hearty breakfast, eh? Ah, minty breath, oh so fresh. Wherefore art thou, mint tea?
Taking a wild guess that Thrunies don’t cotton much to the How to Win Friends and Influence People school of thought. Ruthless authoritarianism has its place. In my face is not one of them.
More importantly are the tidbits of information regarding Barzilai that can be taken as more-or-less fact, and the current gutter gossip.
Barzy, Barzy, Barzy. You’re clearly a dangerous fellow. Top attack dog of the Asmodean church in Cheliax. Legitimate blood claimant to the throne if he Machiavelli’n’ized his way up that particular pecking order. A big fan of cruel torture, his latest being “doghousing” whereby mastiffs are used to publicly and relatively slowly execute the condemned. Prone to fits of rage when some trivial matter sets him off. Mental note: if you send him a messenger, send a few grenades along with the messenger. Loves the opera in that less-than-mentally-healthy-obsessive way only those who are both unhinged and rich can indulge in. Considered to be astonishingly well educated on the geography and history of Cheliax. Rumored to either currently associate or recently has associated with a blue dragon, the undead and devils. No one has been believed to have seen him in Kintargo amongst such august company. To be fair, most wouldn’t survive that particular sighting if any one of the three are true.
Might have to make him eat a whole grain cupcake liberally slathered in mint frosting at some point.
Rumors are typically interesting during such troubling times:
- Some say that the previous lord-mayor of the city fell down some stairs and broke her fool neck after ‘praying a bit too hard to Cayden Cailean’.
- The dottori’s gaols are so full of prisoners as a result of the proclamations that they’re sending some to the Sallix Salt Works to dig. Nasty work.
- An old livery has some strange noises and goings-on. Abandoned building, possibly full of loot and a few critters to dispatch? Might be worth looking into this afternoon after the inevitably unexpected riot breaks out at some point this morning.
- A bunch of places burned up all of a sudden 4 nights back. The Thrashing Badger (tavern), the Silver Star (music store) and the Victocora Estate. Would not surprise me if they turned out to have had sympathetic leanings towards folk who don’t like being told exactly how they’re to do all of the things.
What I’ve learned so far about Kintargo:
- The main castle is occupied by the Hellknights of the Order of the Rack. They’re the jabronis that deal with crushing rebellion beneath hobnailed boots. At least with Barzy holed up in a fancy opera house he should be easier to get to if that need ever were to arise. Taking on a battalion or regiment of Hellknights without a few artillery batteries in tow presently seems like a suicide run.
- The Nidalese embassy and the office of the former lord-mayor are abandoned. The former most likely as a precaution in such troubling times for ol’ Abby.
- Crissali’s Fine Tomes is said to be a place to purchase rare texts and magical arcane items, which could come in handy.
- The Lucky Bones, a burned out gambling hall that’s never been rebuilt.
- Olmer’s Smithy, the last smith in town and rumored to sometimes sell magical armor. Worth checking into if said smith should happen to have an enchanted mithril holy curve blade available.
- Vespam Artisans might have magical trinkets and knick-knacks for sale.
- The city’s busiest gate now carries a 2 sp gate tax. Small wonder people are getting upset. For many folk that’s more than they make in a day!
- Hocum’s Fantasmagorium was a museum of oddities that may still have ‘features of interest’ as the investigatively-inclined are wont to say. About almost anything.
- The Newt Market apparently often has magic items for sale.
- The War Cage is the more likely place I’ll find the blade I’m looking for, assuming the Asmodean clergy haven’t confiscated all such weaponry before I get to them.
This morning the action is at the Aria Market in front of the Kintargo Opera House that Barzy claims as his HQ. Seems as good a time as any to get into some trouble with the Chellies. A scowling woman with a dozen dottori thugs guard the entrance into the opera house.
A fairly hefty crowd of assorted protesters mills about in the park while the fountain doesn’t care. Many are upset about the harsh curfew imposed by martial law. A few of them are honked off about the fourth proclamation. The smarter ones are worried about the precedents set by these proclamations. More people are pissed about that 2 sp gate tax. The politically astute are raising a ruckus about the lord-mayor’s suspiciously convenient replacement by Barzy. Others are demanding a proper election for the lord-mayor’s replacement.
The worst elements among the crowd are the nationalists and the anarchists. The former are blindly patriotic to the nation despite decades of Thrune rule supported by Infernal power. The latter just want to watch the world burn.
‘Protest the Government’ is her reason to attend the protest at Aria Park. +2 Bluff (+3) and Intimidate (+13) during the protest itself. Guess which way she went?
To the nationalists: “You would rather peace and security at any cost, eh? Fines and jail time for spilled grain, proclamations requiring a cult of personality, determining what you can wear and what you can eat are worth it, eh? What good does that do you when a storm sweeps in from the sea or pestilence devastates the crops? When will the inevitable prima nocta be proclaimed and your children are first bedded by those who think themselves your betters merely by right of existence?” All delivered in the booming voice necessary to command a ship’s crew at sea during foul weather and broadsides. First hour: Silence undesirable elements (Chelish loyalists). 30 on the Intimidate check, something of a waste of a natural 17.
Turning on the anarchists: “And YOU, you lily-livered pieces of trash! None of ye’re fit to row a garbage scow down river or swab the deck of a real ship! (mockingly puts up air quotes with her fingers) “Burn everything so we can take what we want. Grar.” Betting you scum wouldn’t be so keen on it if Barzy decides your skin will make some nice lampshades, or that you and your kin are dragged off to mine salt just because he can. YOU there buttercup - yeah, you with the missing teeth - is gonna be picking up soap for the dottori’s pleasure with that nice ‘o’ for a yap you got there if he so decides. When he’s done with ye, ye’ll be doghouse’d afterwards ‘cause he found your technique ‘lacking’. Ye want that, do ye?!” Second hour: Silence undesirable elements (anarchists). 33 on the Intimidate check. Ugh, what a waste of a natural 20.
Time to stir things up now that the conflicting protests are better aimed at Barzy. Third hour: Rabble Rouse. 18 Diplomacy check grants a +1 circumstance bonus on subsequent social skill checks for the next 24 hours. 20 Perception check notes Barzy himself peeks out from behind a balcony window curtain with a poo-eating grin on his face. XP awarded: 600.
The crowd’s getting good and riled up. The dottori thugs show some concern as they’re outnumbered five to one, the scowling woman doesn’t seem phased in the least and Barzy’s glances from his balcony window seem to be one of ... joy. Dude’s a bit twisted. As the mood is finally starting to get to where it could be productively aimed the bells of the Cathedral of Asmodeus ring out three peals for no apparent reason. The peals aren’t on time and certainly didn’t count out to ten o’clock as one would normally expect at this time of a morning.
As an aside, part of the reason I’m here are those bizarre bells. See they don’t ring regularly and I doubt that there are any bell ringers in there. A curiosity I’m betting had skinned more than a few ‘cats’.
Barzy throws wide the windows and curtains to address the crowd of protesters. Clad in red, orange and black clothes beneath an ornate breastplate, everything about him screams “AM CHELISH ASMODEAN!”. Pentagrams, the Chelish cross and a nasty-looking heavy mace of black metal seemingly lit from within by Hellfire. Middle-aged with short, dark hair, he deigns to address us wearing a condescending sneer with a goblet of wine in his mailed fist. Looking up the crowd grows quiet while his attack chihuahua at ground level eyes the crowd.
“Ah my adoring little chickadees. I am sorry to say I have not yet adapted to your quaint, country ways, being accustomed as I am to the sophistication and learning of Egorian. Nonetheless, know I have heard your concerns, that I appreciate your valued feedback, and I know we shall eventually find a mutual understanding in the fulness of time. I take pride in updating Kintargo’s quaint, outdated laws to the modern standards the city deserves while strengthening its ties with the empire in these cruel times. Obviously I have approached my duties too aggressively.
“You say you chafe at the presence of non natives in positions of power? That authorities not of this city have no place as its leaders? That you will not be yoked by intruders? Your lord-mayor hears you.
“And so it is with a heavy heart that I issue this proclamation in response to your demands.” A knowing glance in my direction? Or am I just imagining a figment?
“All ship’s captains are hereafter barred from leaving their vessels and setting foot on Kintargo docks or streets, under pain of let’s say ... spassation!”
Knowledge (local) check of 22 fritters away yet another high d20 roll.
Squassation, for those who aren’t up-to-date on the latest and greatest in the methods and techniques of torture, is where the victim’s hands are tied together and raised above the head behind the back; the victim is then hung from the hands while a weight is suspended from the feet, causing intense pain to the limbs during a series of drops while the weight is attached.
Typically the initial punishment is applied for a few hours, with subsequent violations incurring more time of similar increments. Your ‘typical’ sailor might consider this a kindness compared to being keelhauled, but not by much as keelhauling is fairly quick but highly likely to kill you. This can cripple a victim for weeks, with death eventually occurring from a prolonged squassation.
Mechanically speaking in game terms, squassation is doled out in (1d4) hour increments. Each hour inflicts (2d6) nonlethal damage and (1d4) Dexterity damage. Each repeated offense adds another (1d4) hours. Nonlethal damage taken in excess of one’s normal maximum hit points becomes lethal damage, as I suspect is the norm for torture. Mummified alchemists won’t care about the nonlethal damage but they will care about the Dex damage, for example.
‘Proclamation the Eighth’ that will be posted and town-crier’d later today and the next few days reads as follows for the sake of ease of reference:
“All non native ships’ captains must remain aboard their ships and are barred from setting foot on land within Kintargo’s city limits. Their crew and agents are free to come and go, but their actions are directly the responsibility of their captains. Any agent or crew caught breaking Kintargan law shall have its punishment visited upon the crew members as well as their captain. Any captain caught setting foot in Kintargo is to be punished by squassation.”
Someone in the crowd flings poo at Barzy as the crowd erupts with anger and fury. The poo misses despite fairly good aim, causing him to spill wine across his pricey outfit. “Enough of this! Nox, run them off, arrest them or kill the, I don’t care!” Barzy retreats into his opera house, slamming the windows shut and closing the curtains.
Attack chihuahua Nox grins with cute little taco-doggie fangs, “Alright you lot, let’s get to work!” Must be Barzy’s attack chihuahua Nox. Men and women throughout the crowd pull back their cloaks to reveal matching armbands, truncheons the sadistic grin law-abiding types derive from having permission to thump skulls with impunity.
During the pandemonium of the riot, four of these “Chelish Citizens’ Group” wield their truncheons with an eye to pummeling me into the ground. Based on their grips, they’re not attempting to kill, not yet at least. The dottori are as they heft their maces and begin wading into the crowd, splitting scalps with solid blows as they go.
One of them gets in close to me before I get my guard up and rings my bell with her truncheon. I lost initiative to one of the four, who then rolls a natural 20 failing to confirm - a 5 will usually fail - thankfully. 4 points’ nonlethal damage is a lot better than 2d6+4! Unfortunately for her, I actually know how to fight unarmed.
As the riot unfolds someone’s lucky dagger throw scores a shot to Nox’s throat - one that for many folk would result in death or a trip to a very good healer. Instead, she growls, tears the offending blade out, tosses it to the ground and the wound heals in just a couple of seconds before she stalks back inside.
Ooookaayy then ... Nox is a really hard-to-kill attack chihuahua.
At the end of Round 3 I’ve put three CCG goons into retreat mode while two dottori thugs enter the fray, swinging wildly with their heavy maces. Down 9 nonlethal damage and outnumbered 3:1, matters are desperate enough to drop a sleep spell at my feet. Luckily they don’t connect from the free attacks of opportunity I gave them. Amusingly, the CCG thug nat-20s his Will save while the dottori flub theirs, I miss my unarmed strike, the truncheon narrowly misses me and this exchange carries the fight into the top of the sixth round before I confirm an unarmed strike for a critical hit dealing enough damage to stagger him on the spot. He takes the hint, heading off into the milling crowd. In turn, I use my last 1st-level spell of the day to cure light wounds at the top of initiative on Round 7, wiping out all 9 points of nonlethal damage.
Standing there with a silvery wand in one hand and an elven curve blade at my waist with two dottori at my feet, Nox’s return from inside included a Fido. In this case, a 18 Kn (planes) - why are my best rolls going into skill checks?! frellin’ Hellhound on a leash and another dozen dottori, all eager for blood.
The hound’s fiery breath and unearthly howl do what bellowing dottori and whirling truncheons were failing to do: disperse the crowd. Taking the hint, it’s clearly time to skedaddle before Nox and her Fido chase me down. I’m plenty good for giving this Chellies grief, but this is stacked too much in their favor.
XP earned: 270 from defeating four militia mooks plus another 200 for the pair of dottori. Total XP so far: 1,070.
A few minutes later I’m working my way towards a safer location when I hear the unmistakable cry of a man in the throes of being beaten to death. Diverting into the alley, a group of five Chelish Citizens’ Group pukes have surrounded and are about to stave in the skull of an unconscious, bleeding man at their feet. These aren’t packing mere truncheons, but short-handled maces.
Since I’m out of mojo for the moment, I leave my wand in its sheath to deliberately slide my curve blade from its sheath in as noisome a manner as possible. Four of them are the same ones I pummeled not too long ago in the riot, all healed up of their beatings. I’m wary of my chances, but their victim took down another quartet of jerks before they got to him, so he’s not too much of a slacker.
“Morons. Why'd it have ta be ... morons.”
"Five to one odds says we'll be tapping that."
"First one in - which is you - I'll cut in half. Take out one or two more, the rest of you'll run."
“You’re betting your ass, sweetcheeks. Literally.”
“You have to get it first, liverwurst.”
A little known fact about the water moccasin style of combat is that it works especially well against opponents that are not as good as you are. Combine that with weapons training in something as beautiful as an elven curve blade and things get fun in a hurry, for me at least. When outnumbered, go on the defensive, wear them out, striking as openings present themselves. My blade has the reach, and unlike many wielders I know how to do so one-handed. Advanced practitioners let combat flow about them as they counterattack and dodge most or almost all of the blows coming their way while dispatching the mobs and swarms with relative ease.
They charge in a rush, eager to collect my stake in the pot before us. Fighting defensively adds a nice bit of AC at low levels. Sucks for them trying to hit a 22 AC... Granted, my own attack bonus is pretty crap, but I’ll hit them more often and harder that they’ll hit me. Round 1, none of the four that can charge and swing hit while I cut one in half with a confirmed critical hit to the tune of 19 damage on the dice alone, 25 damage in total. 10 hp and a Con of 12 results in insufficient to live. Round 2 is uneventful, whereas in round 3 I get whacked for 7 hp and gut one for 11 hp. Round 4 there’s 3 of them in flanking positions but the defensive tactic is holding up its end of the bargain. A natural 19 and confirmation guts #3 of the five for 18 hp. The pair of survivors attempt to flee, a maneuver I’m not going to waste the time to stop them.
637.5 xp reward for this encounter-rescue, bringing the running tally to 1,707.5 for the day.
I check him out, but he was playing possum, rather foolishly when a man is getting ready to splatter your brains across bricks. “Hey buddy, I’m out of healing juice. How’re you doin’?”
And so one Rexus Victocora of the same name and family as the noble estate that was arson’d just a few nights previous fishes out a potion of tasty red liquid and downs it so we can get on with things. Namely, looting these sorry bastards after getting directions to his hideout in Crissali’s Fine Tomes not far from here. He goes on his way, I collect a big bundle of loot and make my own way there.
Okay, “big bundle” is relative. Compared to the two silvers I had to my name before dismembering and gutting these jokers - and quietly snapping the necks of the ones the nobleman had already taken down - what they have of value on them is a huge improvement to my net worth. Namely 28 gold coins and seven gold Thrune amulets that’ll fetch a fine price from the right buyer. Appraise 10, wildly inaccurate. I’m convinced they’re solid gold! Boy am I in for a rude surprise...
At the literate and comfortable establishment of Crissali’s Fine Tomes Rexus has set up kip in the back room. Long story short, the infamous night is known as the “Night of Ashes”, he’s super-grateful his brains didn’t get smashed out and he forks over his surviving inheritance. String attached is (a) helping him explore the Fair Fortune Livery where his mom disappeared; and (b) build up a revolution against Barzy and his minions in the name of a historically significant group of troublemakers known as the Silver Ravens. While he keeps a mithril key for himself, he forks over another 175 gp, a set of enchanted bracers, an exquisite heirloom fighting knife masterwork silver dagger and a Victocora signet ring.
I make ready to enter the ruins of the Fair Fortune Livery during the late afternoon of the 16th. I need to replenish my spells with an eye towards the exploration of ruins instead of dealing with thugs and dottori. Between this evening and the following day’s earlier hours, I scrounge up some chow for my two silvers and fence the amulets. Turns out, I got half-scrap value for ‘em. Rather embarrassing since I should know better, but hey, they felt heavy enough. Now burdened with more than 300 gp to spend, I stock up on some proper adventuring gear and head to the twice-mentioned place where Rexus’ dear old ma took her dirt nap. I would have taken him with me, but keeping that mithril key is enough of a sign that all is not yet done with him.
