Is this still alive? I'm looking forward to sharing these with my players after the events they describe are distant events in their characters' pasts.
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Is this still alive? I'm looking forward to sharing these with my players after the events they describe are distant events in their characters' pasts.
It's certainly still alive. The main problem has been the fact that Erik (the DM) was finishing work on a freelance project, which left him no time to DM for the last few months. He's done now, which means that we should be back to our regularly-scheduled weekly games. I've got the latest installment of Tyralandi's journal half written, but since this is a big one it's taking a while to get it finished.
Reaping 21, 595 CY
It soon became apparent to me that little to nothing was going to come of our plans to go confront Balabar Smenk today, especially when Kol said he could use animals to spy out Smenk’s home that evening and everyone decided to wait on the results of this reconnaissance and plan our final move for the next day. Part of me hopes that Kol isn’t as good at the reconnaissance as he thinks, and that Smenk notices, and that forces this whole tiresome situation to come to a head. But something about Kol tells me he knows what he’s doing.
In any event, with the rest of the day free, I decided it was finally time to investigate this “cult of the Green Lady” I’d been hearing rumors about for months. Talk about town was that this cult worshiped some strange incarnation of Wee Jas in a cairn on the far side of Diamond Lake. So I packed a dinner and set off to find out for myself.
Took about an hour to walk around Diamond Lake; I certainly wasn’t going to pay some half-wit to boat me over the polluted thing. When I reached the far side, it took nearly as long to find any trace of the cairn the Green Lady’s servants dwelt in, but eventually I noticed something peculiar. Just off the vague trail I’d been following, a trio of skeletons stood at guard. I could tell they were raised to animation not by foul arcane necromancy, but by the grace of Wee Jas. I concentrated, reached out, and made them mine, ordering them to take me to the Cairn of the Green Lady. They complied, and within minutes they had led me through the undergrowth to a clearing.
A few people dressed in green robes stood guard in the clearing; they were arguing about something. On the far side of the clearing was the entrance to the cairn, a much less ominous one than the entrance to the Whispering Cairn. A large number of runes and markings that felt strangely comfortable to gaze upon were carved around the stones marking the entrance. Soon enough, the guards noticed me.
One of them was a bearded fellow named Baremon; he was the speaker of the group, and demanded to know what I wanted. I told him these skeletons had brought me here and that I wished to speak to their leader, that I was a priestess of Wee Jas and was curious about their beliefs. He seemed hesitant, but when he noticed I had taken the skeletons as guides, he bade me wait a moment before stepping into the cairn.
After a few minutes, he returned and said, “Lady Amaris will see you. Send the guardians back to their post.”
I did, and as the skeletons shuffled back to the trail, I entered the cairn. Inside, it was warm and dry. I could see niches where the acolytes slept, and noticed immediately from the decor that these worshipers focused more heavily upon the death aspect of Wee Jas over magic, and certainly over beauty. Perhaps there was something I could teach them as well.
I found the central chamber easily enough; but all that stood within was a large sarcophagus graven with images of a beautiful woman leading her people through a mountain range. And rising from within was a woman dressed similarly to the one in the carving. For a brief moment, I thought she was the same woman, but then I saw that the resemblances were only superficial; this was Lady Amaris of the Green Lady.
We spoke for some time; she had much to say of Wee Jas, of how the Green Lady once led the faithful to safety from the Rain of Colorless Fire, and of how she died here in the Cairn Hills. Their beliefs were, as I had suspected, not quite the same as mine, but they were nonetheless intriguing. I was particularly interested to learn that they had been observing me for several months. I asked Lady Amaris about the affliction I suffered from, of the strange taint of death that seemed to infuse my flesh but had thankfully not progressed further in the previous week. She had little to say about it but to give me an enigmatic smile and a promise that, with patience, I would know its reason and cause soon enough.
Sometimes I wish people weren’t so mysterious. Anyway, as the conversation drew to a close, I asked if she had any wands of inflict wounds I could perhaps purchase; I needed something as a backup if my healing gave out (especially since Tassilo seemed to be so squeamish about the way I heal damage). In response, she mentioned Filge.
My eyes narrowed and I felt my anger rising immediately; the thought that the foul necromancer might be judged too kindly by the Hieroneans had gnawed at my mind daily since we turned him over to them. Lady Amaris asked me if I could get close to him. I supposed I could; I had been to the garrison several times now, and while they tended to ignore me, they no longer prevented my entrance thanks to my association with Dram and Tassilo. Lady Amaris then asked me for a favor. She produced a scroll tube and asked if I would deliver it to Filge. I told her I would, and she told me that once I had delivered the scroll to him, I was to consult a certain grave in the Diamond Lake Boneyard for the wand.
I got back to the Guildhall just before sunset, but as everyone sat down to eat, I found I had no appetite. I could feel the weight of the scroll tube in my bag; I hadn’t opened it on the walk back since it wasn’t for me, but I could tell that whatever was inside wasn’t a scroll. It was something harder, smaller, more compact. Why did Lady Amaris want to contact Filge? I couldn’t imagine she approved of him, of the use of arcane necromancy, but what if she did? Where did that leave me?
When dinner finished, Taan and Kol announced that they were heading into town to begin the night’s observation of Smenk’s manor. The others seemed disinterested in going with them, but I could stand it no longer. I made an excuse about going into town to do some shopping, and aside from Demon Boy (who asked for some new clothes since he didn’t feel safe going into town), no one seemed to notice or care.
As it turns out, I did stop at a small shop on my way to the garrison. The shopkeeper was a pleasant enough (if desperate) woman who, when I asked if she had any “children’s clothes” for sale, seemed to grow disturbingly excited. It would have been too much work to explain I wasn’t shopping for my child, and by the time she had brought out dozens of different outfits for young girls and boys, I already had a headache. She was asking for barely anything for a set, so I picked out the nicest looking and bought them. Turns out, this amounted to about 40 outfits, some for girls, some for boys. I told her to bundle them and have them delivered to the Guildhouse, then moved on to the garrison.
It was simple enough to talk my way past the guards into the garrison by now; they knew I was friends with Dram and Tassilo, after all. Once into the garrison, I began to make my way toward the jail cells. Unfortunately, I didn’t quite know where they were. So when I opened a door to peek inside and ran into Velias Childramun, it was a mixed blessing.
He seemed a little distracted, as usual, but also seemed happy to see me. When he asked what I was doing, I told him I had left some stuff here from when I’d spent the night here a few days ago and was just coming back to pick it up. He volunteered to escort me, and in order to keep down his suspicions, I agreed. It soon became apparent that he wasn’t going to let me alone, so I asked him about Filge, engineering my questions to build a sense of fear and danger. “Has he been sleeping during the day?” “Does he seem more energetic on moonless nights?” “Has he asked for meat with lots of bones?” Eventually I voiced a concern that he might be constructing a tomb mote from the leavings of his meals and his own wastes in order to engineer an escape.
He bought into it completely, and led me down to the dungeon to check up on the prisoner. We got there and Filge was sitting on his bunk, waiting patiently. He seemed amused that I had come to visit him, but had nothing to say. Velias began asking Filge all sorts of questions, and in order to get him to leave us alone for a moment, I pointed out how Filge’s cage could probably do with a search and a good cleaning, and suggested that he head upstairs to get some buckets of water to do just that. I tempered my suggestion with my faith, and as a result, not only did Velias immediately race off to collect some water, he brought the two guards nearby with him.
Alone now with Filge, I withdrew the scrolltube. “So what do you want?” he asked, his voice unbelievably still cocky and arrogant.
“I’ve a message for you, Filge. A message from someone important,” I replied as I held out the scrolltube for him to take. He hesitated a moment, then took it and opened it. Inside was a small glass vial of liquid. “What the hell is this?”
Of course, I wasn’t sure what it was. I had an idea, but I didn’t want to give that idea to Filge. What was obvious was that Lady Amaris wanted him to drink it. I just hoped she wanted him to drink it for the same reasons I would give him something to drink. Thinking quickly, I bluffed, “It’s a potion. Drink it and you’ll be able to communicate briefly with the one who gave this to me to give to you. I’m not sure what they have to say for you, but it seemed important.”
Filge narrowed his eyes. “It’s from Smenk, isn’t it?” he said. I didn’t answer. He shrugged, turned the potion over in his hands, and asked, “I’ve been expecting him to get me out of here, but why’d he wait so long? And why’d he send you?” I didn’t answer. He looked at it again, then said, “I guess anything’s better than sitting in this cage waiting to be executed...”
He popped the wax seal and downed the potion in a gulp. A few seconds passed, and then he grew pale. He gagged. His eyes bulged, then seemed to fill with blood as he clutched at his throat. The cords in his neck strained and he collapsed. His convulsions and the thick sloppy noises coming from deep in his throat lasted less than a minute.
As I looked down at the necromancer’s corpse, I breathed a sigh of relief. Not only had Lady Amaris’ plans for Filge been exactly what I had hoped they would be, the fact that she’d chosen me as the messenger filled me with pride. Not enough that I lost sight of the situation though; I knew Velius would be back soon. I ripped the corner of my dress near the left shoulder strap and sat down in the corner opposite Filge’s cell, doing my best to look shocked and frightened.
When Velius returned, he was shocked to find Filge dead, but again he bought my story without question. I told him Filge had lunged at me, and that I’d only managed to escape by lashing out at him reflexively with my magic. Magic that had apparently been too much for his feeble frame. Velius seemed nervous, but I got the feeling he was more nervous that Filge had died under his watch more than he was concerned about my safety, and noticing that made me feel a bit better about my deception.
He escorted me to the exit, and as he was working his courage up to report the event to his superiors, I left and returned to the Gatehouse, calling upon a minor bit of magic to repair my torn dress as I went.
That night I had the best night’s sleep I’d had that I can remember.
Reaping 22, 595 CY
The next morning I was awoken as a lanky youth knocked on the door to the Guildhall with a large delivery of clothes. I thanked him and woke Demon Boy, telling him the clothing I had purchased for him was here. He tore the crate apart and began sorting through the clothing with glee. “I wasn’t sure what you were looking for. I assume you want a disguise, so I bought a whole collection. Not sure what you want to do with the girls’ clothing…”
He thought for a moment and then said, “I’ll find a use for them all.”
Taan and Kol were next to report. They told us that Smenk’s home was apparently well guarded, not only by people but by some sort of guardian animals. Monkeys, of some sort, as it sounded. Of course, since their primary reporters were stray cats and mice, well… who knows what really awaits us inside Smenk’s palace.
I went and checked the boneyard later that morning and was happy to find the wand waiting for me on the grave, just as Lady Amaris promised. Carved from a femur and inscribed with sacred runes, I made sure to tell Tassilo what it was for. He seemed a little put off by the wand, but neither did he immediately accuse me of devil worship, so I count that a win. As long as he remembers I have it if I’m bleeding out from monster bites on a cold dungeon floor, I honestly don’t care what he thinks of it.
As Gar recruited aid from others to finish work on the Guildhall, Taan and Dram took me aside. It seems that they had not only heard of Filge’s death, but they’d also learned that I was involved somehow. They seemed a bit antagonistic and suspicious of my motives, so I told them simply that what I’d done I’d done for Wee Jas, and that she had passed judgment on him. Since Filge’s sins were certainly against my goddess, I guess they accepted my explanation, but they nonetheless voiced concern that I was acting without them knowing what I was up to. I don’t see why that should be a problem. I don’t ask what they get up to on their free time in the gambling den or brothels or wherever.
As evening rolled around, and the rest of the group learned of Filge’s death (although it seems like only Dram and Taan know I was responsible for it so far), the time for the invasion of Smenk’s home drew near. We gathered in the alley behind his estate; according to the mice Kol had spoken to, the door we faced led down a long hall that opened into a large chamber, and from there it was only one room away to get to the place where Beaky was held. I have to admit, I was still a bit shocked we were about to invade a man’s home just to rescue a baby monster, especially when the one who spearheaded the plan (Gar) seemed to be so vocally opposed to the act of summoning monsters to aid us in a fight. I don’t understand that dwarf, but he carries a big axe and seems really good at killing folk so it’s best to not antagonize him.
Turns out the mouse was right. After arguing about a plan, we abandoned any pretense of tactics, picked the lock on the back door, and invaded the house. Gar cast his favorite enlarge spell on himself, and then promptly triggered some sort of glyph that flashed with light, and suddenly he started crying out something about being cursed and doomed. I saw Dram roll his eyes and withdraw a small vial from a pouch, and heard him mutter something about, “I guess this is a good time for the potion of remove curse I picked up.” Before he could pass it to Gar, though, Smenk’s bald pet wizard Merovinn Bask stepped into view at the end of the hall.
“I was wondering when you’d pay us a visit! Come with me; Smenk’s waiting for you in his parlor.” Gar wasn’t interested in that. With a shriek, he charged Bask, who just had enough time to flash an expression of shock before Gar buried Kullen’s axe in the wizard’s head.
For a moment, there was a strange silence. None of us had expected Gar to charge so immediately, but neither had we expected Bask to go down so effortlessly. And then, chaos. Guards stepped out of the shadows in the room and began firing arrows, and as we filed into the room to confront them a wheezy, high-pitched voice, one sounding as if it had to fight to escape a body too fat with flesh and sin to make yelling feasible, shrieked out, “RELEASE THE APES!”
The sound of chains dropping away announced the arrival of two enormous apes. Dire apes by the look of them; lumbering brutes with great fangs and claws and filth matted in their hair. Tassilo and I called up spiritual weapons to hold one off, but it was Kol’s tiger Koro that carried the battle. The beast was a frenzy of murder, its claws and teeth tearing apart flesh without regard to its flavor, man or ape. Kol himself transformed into a tiger as well to support his pet, and while the rest of us managed to defeat the guards we were faced with, the tigers won the day.
We didn’t pause after the sound defeat of Smenk’s guards. Still frothing and spitting in a paroxysm of rage, Gar kicked down the door leading to the room from which we’d heard that fat, lisping voice. The room beyond was a study or office, but it was empty. Well… not quite empty. On the desk was a letter that read, “You haven’t heard the last of me!” It wasn’t signed, but what served as a paperweight left no doubt as to who had written the note.
It was the freshly severed paw of an owlbear cub, the stump still draining onto the page.
Reaping 22, 595 CY
The looting of Smenk’s home went quickly, although I didn’t really take part in the actual ripping down of paintings and ripping up of carpets. I spent the time in a nice, comfy chair, waiting for the others to finish scrounging everything they could from the floorboards and rafters of the place. They seemed to enjoy it, which I suppose is why no one called me on not helping. I’ll gladly spend whatever gold comes of it, of course. Which amounted to quite a tidy sum. Enough that I really don’t see any reason to stay in Diamond Lake.
We returned to the Guildhall to rest and recover from the looting, and that night my dreams were filled with visions of Greyhawk. At the very least, I should be able to find a violin there that isn’t pre-broken.
Reaping 23, 595 CY
Went back into town this morning, and found the place abuzz with rumors of how Smenk’s house had been raided and his guards murdered. Of Smenk himself there was no word; most people thought he’d been killed, and that the entire operation had been financed and organized by one of his competing mine managers. No one seemed to suspect us, which was fortunate, and then when we visited Allustan Gar and Taan immediately told him all about how we were the ones responsible, which was unfortunate. Luckily, Allustan seemed to more or less approve of Smenk’s fate, even if he didn’t seem to openly approve of how it had come about. We told him also of how we’d hoodwinked Auric and his friends. In the end, he graciously agreed to step up his schedule and we made plans to leave town tomorrow morning for our trip to visit his friend in Blackwall Keep.
The thought of leaving Diamond Lake and never coming back, I must admit, has me giddy with excitement. I suppose I’ll be back to visit the Cairn of the Green Lady now and then, but I won’t be stopping in this flyspeck town. That’s for certain.
Dram arrived as we were preparing to leave Allustan’s and told Tassilo that the two of them were needed at the garrison for some sort of Heironeous chatter or something of the sort. Although seeing Dram did remind me that today was his birthday. I was still feeling a little guilty about his reaction when I told him I’d poisoned Filge, although I couldn’t understand why I felt guilty about it. The monster needed to die, after all.
In any event, I wandered over to the general store to look for something that would serve as a birthday present, not expecting to find anything apart from hand-me-down mining picks and that damnable cage of canaries. Fortunately, I was in luck! I found a really nice cartography kit with several sheets of vellum and a collection of different colored inks and quill pens; perfect!
Later that afternoon, when I gave Dram his present, he seemed a little surprised and almost guilty. Good. Although I wonder what he has to be guilty about…
Reaping 24, 595 CY
We left Diamond Lake early this morning, and as we traveled south I didn’t look back. Good riddance. Almost immediately the air seemed cleaner, the sun seemed brighter, and the ground seemed cleaner. Allustan seemed in good spirits as well, and talked idly with us as we traveled. At one point, we came upon a bridge and Dram noticed some goblins lurking in ambush nearby. He snuck up to observe them and ended up being observed himself. The goblins attacked, but they proved to be little trouble. Gar raced over the bridge at an alarming speed, using magic to speed his movement, apparently to attack goblins at the other end (although the arch of the bridge prevented me from seeing any). His tactic of charging away from the rest of us is gonna get us in trouble some day. Tassilo and I hung back, using spiritual weapons against those on our side of the river, and suddenly a great foul wolf lumbered up from under the bridge!
Only it wasn’t a wolf. It was a barghest; a feral outsider that’s only part goblin. The rest is fiend. I’d heard that some barghests weren’t completely unreasonable entities, but this one seemed to be out for our blood so I didn’t bother trying to make peaceful contact with it. Neko jumped on it, but his claws seemed to pass through it and didn’t damage it nearly as well as they had Smenk’s mooks. Kol seemed particularly rattled by this fact, but in the end we dispatched the foul thing with little problem.
After the battle, Dram told us he’d understood some of what the goblins were shrieking; apparently, these were the survivors of Bask’s pet goblin tribe, the same ones he’d used against us at the Guildhall a while back. Hopefully these were the last of them. Gar came puffing up over the bridge, a look of excitement in his face. He was babbling something about how he’d used some new spell to kill a whole line of goblins, but no one had seen him do it. I asked him about the spell, curious, but when he realized no one had seen him cast it he immediately grew sour and moody and wouldn’t talk about it. Whatever; if this spell’s as fancy as he thinks, I’m sure we’ll get plenty of chances to see him use it in the future.
We reached an abandoned farmhouse that evening, a place the locals call Shank’s Rest. After a day’s travel, my legs were aching, but it was a good ache since every step took me one step further from Diamond Lake. That ache was a reminder of my new freedom. We spoke to Allustan for a while; he mentioned his old master at one point but clammed up immediately after. Must be some bad blood between them. Taan challenged him to a game of dragonchess, but I fell asleep before I saw who won.
Reaping 25, 595 CY
Today’s travel went well; no attacks by goblins, and we reached Blackwall Keep just before sundown. The keep itself was a lot less impressive than I expected; little more than a stone tower sticking up out of a low hill. Unfortunately, we weren’t the only visitors to the area.
The keep was under siege by dozens of lizardfolk! I’d never seen one of these people, but I’d heard plenty about their violent and savage ways. Every few years, it seemed, they’d boil up out of the Mistmarsh on a rampage. Only if this happened every few years, I couldn’t help but wonder why I’d never seen any of them before, having lived near the Mistmarsh my whole life. I’d come to the conclusion that tales of their savagery were greatly exaggerated, but here was evidence to the contrary.
Allustan seemed particularly distraught. He asked us to “take care of” the fifteen lizardfolk on this side of the keep while he took off to handle those on the other side. I was a little concerned… the lizardfolk outnumbered us two to one. And one of them was riding on a giant snake!
Fortunately we had the element of surprise. Gar did his thing and charged into the middle of them while Dram skirted the edge of the battlefield, firing arrows with great efficiency and accuracy. Taan did the same, alternating arrows with magic, and Demon Boy managed to blind an entire group of the creatures by conjuring up an explosion of dazzling, glittering dust. Kol sent Neko in to take care of the snake-rider, while Tassilo and I hung back and used spiritual weapons again to pick off the stragglers. I expected to have to do a lot of healing, but as it turned out, the lizardfolk were pushovers. The only thing that gave us any trouble was a strange, lumbering monster that seemed to be made out of fungus; at one point it spewed a cloud of spores over Gar, but he sucked them in without being phased. Dwarves must be able to eat spiders and scorpions for breakfast. I guess that’s a good quality when you live your life in a hole in the ground.
When Neko dropped the snake-rider, we knew our victory was assured. I heard a strange sound behind me at the same time, but when I turned around, there was a line of dead lizardfolk radiating out from Gar. He had a crazy-giddy look in his eyes, and he shrieked out, “DID YOU SEE THAT? THAT WAS INCREDIBLE!” I could only shrug, and when he realized we were all distracted by the snake-rider battle, he said some things in Dwarven that I’d rather not learn the translation of. Maybe if he didn’t always run off to fight his own fights at the far end of the battlefield every time we’d be able to see his neat new tricks…
In any event, it seemed that a few of the lizardfolk had escaped our massacre, including a druid. Hopefully they’ll bring word back to their tribes folk that Blackwall Keep isn’t to be messed with. Pleased with our success, we gathered together and headed up the hill to the keep to meet with Allustan. As we drew near, though, it became obvious that the lizardfolk siege had been going on for quite some time. There was blood spattered everywhere, and the trampled ground was littered with arrows and bits of flesh. Hopefully, our victory wasn’t too little, too late.
I think I might bruise a few egos by agreeing with you, but it is thrilling to read this account. My Age of Worms campaign is turning out a bit differently than this; I have a feeling some of my players will say "Why didn't we just do that?" when I show them this journal.
Reaping 25, 595 CY
There was a tense moment as we approached Blackwall Keep, picking our way through a field of dead bodies both human and lizardfolk alike. Seems the remaining guards in the Keep were on edge enough that they couldn’t tell if we were friend and foe, but fortunately Allustan was able to explain things to them and got them to lower their bows before the short-tempered psychopaths in our group took their unfriendly greeting to be an excuse to start shooting.
After we entered the Keep, we had a few moments to relax while they told us about what had happened. The lizardfolk had been besieging the Keep for a day, it seems, and at one point even managed to breach the keep’s walls. Before they were forced to retreat, they’d killed several and captured four, including Marzeena! Allustan went pale at this, and understandably. Those lizardfolk are savage—who knew what plans they had for living prisoners?
We quickly made the decision to follow the lizardfolk into the Mistmarsh in an attempt to rescue these four. Allustan seemed nervous and a bit distraught, torn between accompanying us and remaining behind. Eventually, he made the decision to use a scroll of teleport he kept on hand for emergencies. He would return to Diamond Lake to report to the garrison the situation and gather reinforcements for the Keep; if the lizardfolk were to strike again, they’d certainly overrun the keep and from there... who knows?
I had hoped, at least, to get a chance to rest before we set out, but it seemed that rest was a poor choice when the lizardfolk already had a head start on us. So we gathered torches and lanterns, including several more supplies from the Keep. I noticed a single, lonely hammock in one storeroom and snatched it up before anyone else could claim it.
By the passage of an hour, we were ready to go.
The Mistmarsh lived up to its name. Not only was it a foul, wretched place thick with bugs, mud, water, and strange night noises, but within an hour of our entrance, a writhing low-hanging fog sprang up, making the footing even more treacherous. I was thankful multiple times that Dram and Daejin were scouting the way for us, for many times they stumbled into a deeper trough of mud and water and had to scramble back to solid ground. It was bad enough that my legs were freezing and caked with mud...
It was only an hour before midnight when the strange swamp noises took a turn for the worse. A sudden, tremendous splash to the left foretold the disaster, and suddenly an immense crocodile reared up from the swamp just to my right! The creature bellowed, then clamped its jaws down upon poor Kol, shaking him like a dog with a toy before flinging him off into the mists. As the druid was tossed, I reacted more out of instinct than planning and channeled a short, hasty burst of healing into his body. I could feel the magic knitting bone and staunching severed arteries even after he was tossed out of sight into the mist, and hoped it was enough.
A moment later, a second crocodile emerged from the mists to my left. Flanked and surprised, the massive reptiles tore into us. One of them all but swallowed Gar, but that only seemed to make him angrier. He fumbled on his belt for his hammer and began beating on the creature’s head with it, to no avail. I reached out and managed to heal some of Gar’s wounds, barely matching the rate at which the crocodile was masticating his dense dwarven meat. There was a shriek behind me and I saw Demon Boy scooped into the mouth of the second crocodile. It bit down, and then gasped open as Demon Boy blew a gout of fire down its throat. The shocked crocodile dropped him, but quickly recovered its hunger and made to snatch him up again.
Fortunately, Neko was there to save the poor little guy. The cat leapt onto the crocodile and tore into him, forcing the surprised reptile to drop Demon Boy and fight back. Dram, in the meantime, scurried up and grabbed hold of Gar’s legs. Bracing one of his own feet against the side of the crocodile’s jaws, he tugged and, by Wee Jas, somehow managed to extract the enraged dwarf from the monster’s jaws! Both of them tumbled into the rancid swamp water, but Gar was up in an instant. He raced around to the side of the crocodile, narrowly avoiding its snapping jaws and then cried out the words to an unfamiliar spell.
As he spoke, I saw his axe glow with a strange pallid light. Then he threw the axe at the crocodile, as if it were little more than a throwing knife. The axe bit deeply into the closest crocodile’s head, then sprang free to continue its course to bury itself in the side of the second crocodile’s neck! Gar reached his hand back, and suddenly the axe was back in his grip, and both crocodiles were dead.
It was only in the silence after the battle that I noticed Tassilo, standing in the center of the area, his face pale and his hands shaking. He seemed to recover quickly enough once he realized I needed help healing the victims, at least.
We moved on from there, and just as it felt my legs were about to collapse, we came across a particularly huge mangaroo tree. Dram called back, informing us that this was apt to be as best a spot to sleep as we’d find. Thank Wee Jas! It took some work getting up into the tree (I found that it was much easier to clamber up into its oversized branches once I put my shield away), but once we were up out of the nasty swamp, we found the place thick with spider webs. Webs about the thickness of my wrist.
“What the hell kind of spider makes webs this huge,” Tassilo asked, his voice uncharacteristically tiny and tremulous.
“A big one,” Gar replied casually. “Like that one.”
We looked where he was pointing and my heart skipped a beat. What kind of monster haunted swamp was this? The spider that was gliding softly down from the upper branches toward us seemed, if anything, even larger than the crocodiles! Gar stepped up to it with a roar and swung his axe wildly, striking the behemoth square in the head. It quivered once, then its legs drew up against its body and the entire thing tumbled, dead, from the tree into the swamp below.
“We should probably stand some watches,” Dram said nonchalantly as he watched Gar clean his axe. Sound advice.
I tried to dodge watch duty, pointing out how last time I took a post, the guildhall was attacked and nearly burned to the ground by goblins. It didn’t work, which is how at 2:00 am I found myself sitting in my hammock (a brilliant idea, I must say, as everyone else was forced to sleep on moss-soggy branches among the discarded webbing of the monstrous spider, although Gar didn’t seem to mind and even used a ball of spider webs as a nasty pillow), fighting the urge to fall asleep. Dram was on duty with me, and he certainly seemed more alert, which is why I didn’t feel particularly guilty about nearly nodding off every few minutes.
When I heard the violin music, I thought at first I had fallen asleep and was dreaming. It was a strange sound, out of place in the swamp. The violin sounded wonderful... a much nicer instrument than the rickety one I’d had (and had broken) several days ago, but whoever was playing it didn’t seem to have the skill to match.
“Dram!” I whispered loudly. “You hear that?”
“What, more swamp noises? Spiders? Crocodiles?”
“No... it’s a violin!”
“WHAT?” Dram didn’t believe me. I clambered out of my hammock and to the edge of a branch. It sounded as if it were coming closer now.
“Oh, come on! You have to hear it now!” I said.
Dram cocked his head. “Tyralandi... are you feeling okay?”
“SHHH!” The sound was closer still. I leaned out over the edge of the branch and called out to the strange musician, and suddenly it went quiet. I looked back at Dram, who now had an expression of nervous concern on his face. Before he could say anything, I cut him off. “It’s gone. Never mind.” I got back into my hammock and proceeded to wait out the rest of the shift. I’m sure Dram heard the music. It was so close! How could he not have heard it? Unless... unless what’s happening to my skin is creeping up into my brain...
It took a long time to get to sleep after my shift ended.
Reaping 26, 595 CY
Next morning, I woke last to find that Dram had told everyone about “Tyralandi’s Mystery Violin.” Demon Boy helpfully asked if maybe it was the ghost of my old violin come back to haunt me after I killed it. I didn’t justify that comment with a response. Let them think I’m going crazy. I know what I heard. Only Tassilo didn’t seem interested in discussing “Tyralandi’s Haunted Violin,” but judging from how he was muttering under his breath about this terrible swamp, it seemed obvious that he had other things on his mind.
Within the hour, we were slogging through the swamp again. With each step, it seemed to grow worse. I kept running over the words of the prayer to remove diseases in my mind, certain that I had caught some sort of swamp fever or marsh madness or something from this disgusting place. At the same time, I couldn’t stop thinking about that weird violin. Would it return tonight? Who was playing it?
We came to a fairly sizable island soon. At first, I thought we’d reached the lizardfolk lair, but it became obvious soon enough it was just an old campsite. One decorated with five strange statues of militiamen. The statues themselves had a curious aspect to them—by their lifelike poses of terror, it seemed obvious they were in fact petrified soldiers from Blackwall Keep. Great. Dram tried to soothe our worries by pointing out that basilisks lived in the desert, but then sabotaged his efforts by pointing out that medusas and cockatrices were far more likely to be the cause of these statues.
Dram scouted ahead, and then called back to us, saying that it looked safe enough. We were hardly on the island before a swarm of tentacles were exploding from the water on either side. Tassilo cried out, “THIS SWAMP IS HORRIBLE!” just before one of the huge monsters plucked him effortlessly from the ground. The others put the second otyugh down quickly enough, but the one that had grabbed poor Tassilo proved a bit tougher. The creature’s filth-encrusted tentacles had wormed their way under his armor, writhing against his skin in places I’m sure he would rather they avoided. It was feeding him, feet first, into its cadaverous mouth, slobbering along his length with a thick spotted tongue. After we dropped the beast, Tassilo slid wetly out of the monster’s rancid maw and staggered to his feet. I noticed he was sobbing.
“Why am I here? This place is horrible!” The words were coming thick around his sobs. I tried to comfort him, understanding all too well how terrible it was to be covered with filth and suspecting that no one else in the group would understand, but he drew away from me violently.
“DON’T TOUCH ME!!” he shrieked and staggered away to sob next to a tree. I turned to Demon Boy and asked him to help with a prestidigitation spell to clean him up a little. Demon Boy rolled his eyes, but then noticed the tears.
“Woah. Is he crying?” I confirmed, and Demon Boy replied, “Awww... poor guy! Okay, I’ll help.” Tassilo seemed not to care when Demon Boy approached and used his magic to clean off the otyugh slobber and mud, but when he stood, I could see how close he was to a full breakdown.
That made me nervous. If Tassilo snapped and ran off into the swamp... no one left in the group would be able to use my new wand to cure my wounds if I were unconscious!
It just keeps getting better. This thread is rife with ideas for new abuses to throw at my players ;)
I love how Tyralandi's response to Tassilo's little nervous breakdown is to wonder who will heal her if he should go barking mad and flee into the swamp. So delightfully self-centered.
Oh, and the violin thing - creepy. Straight outta the DM's Big Book o' Sinister Omens. Good luck with that.
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Creative Director
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We're not using anything from Heroes of Horror yet (unless Erik's being sneaky behind that DM screen). Tyralandi uses the PHB, Complete Divine, the Spell Compendium, and Libris Mortis for her creepy Tomb-Tainted feats. I'm likely to add a 5th book to that stack if I can ever find a good prestige class for her to take levels in...
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if I can ever find a good prestige class for her to take levels in...
Speaking of prestige, it seems that Tyralandi's family includes at least one member of a more sinister reputation. Garrison Scrimm, owner of "Scrimm's Remedies" in Redshore, isn't quite the shopkeeper, you want to buy your potions of cure light wounds from (Cleric18(Domain Death)/Assassin3 see DUNGEON 92 - The Razing of Redshore, written by a certain James Jacobs). Seems that in this family, inclination to death is quite popular. ;)
By the way, I consider Tyralandi Scrimm a piece of art. And who knows, if my own character (a gnome cleric of Garl Glittergold) should fail (or fall), I'll probably have to make a Will Save so as not to become guilty of plagiarism.
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Creative Director
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Heh... I'm guilty of some serious self-plagiarism when it comes to character names. "Tyralandi" itself is from another adventure I wrote a while back. "Shensen" (from Shackled City) is another of my long-standing characters from a different campaign (and my current character in World of Warcraft). And the name of my current character in Jason Bulmahn's Eberron campaign just kinda got poached for the upcomming "Into the Wormcrawl Fissure."
In any case, if Erik's reading these boards, I'll leave it to him to decide if Tyralandi's related to Garrison in some way. If she is, can Uncle Garrison loan her some scrolls? Maybe his ring of water walking so she doesn't have to slog through the Mistmarsh anymore?
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"Tyralandi" itself is from another adventure I wrote a while back.
Yeah, I was re-reading "Porphyry House Horror" (<i>Dungeon 95</i>) a while back and noticed Tyralandi's name come up. Got a chuckle out of that. Though I didn't notice the Scrimm name from "Razing of Redshore", possibly because at the time it came out I didn't have a gaming group, much less a 20th-level one ready to move into the epics.
Oh, and the Adventure Path journals are an inspiration to us all. I'd love to show them to my PCs as an example of how writing one helps you really get into character, but then I'd be giving away all the Age of Worms goodness contained within. I intend to send them some copies of it via e-mail when we've actually played through it (to prevent accidental "skipping ahead"), at least to give a feel for how different groups handle the same challenges.
So, uh... yeah. Keep up the good work.
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Yeah, I was re-reading "Porphyry House Horror" (<i>Dungeon 95</i>) a while back and noticed Tyralandi's name come up.
If all goes well, said vile adventure may mark a major climax in a Yuan-Ti centered campaign I plan to start somewhere in the near future (beginning with Sam Brown's 'Within the Circle' which gave me the initial inspiration for it). So it may well be that I have to start my own campaign journal^^.
But that's another story so I'll sit back and enjoy the show.
In many ways, JJ's/TS's journal is the backbone of our little game. Fitting as Tyralandi, more or less. recruited the party. In fact, are we just her pawns? Poor Dram is conflicted enough. Ultimately, it will be Tyralandi who tears the party assunder. Gar, our most "stable" member, doesn't know that TS killed Filge, and he does NOT truck with any dark magics. I think Tyralandi deliberately told Dram and Taan just to see Dram squirm. Taan doesn't care; he just seems to appreciate the carnage. Now Dramelo has to hide Tyralandi's indescresions from teh rest of teh party. I don't think Tasilo is a big Tyralandi fan either.
Oh we're all going to die.
Reaping 26, 595 CY
Tassilo grew quiet soon after Demon Boy cleaned the otyugh slobber off his clothes and skin and out of his hair and from his ears and mouth and everywhere else. We moved on shortly thereafter, and I did my best to try to comfort poor Tassilo but he remained jumpy and jittery.
The Mistmarsh continued to remind me on a constant, exhausting basis of just how uncomfortable swamps are. After wading through a particularly long and deep trough of thick water, I made a half hearted search for leaches. A few others checked as well… none of us found any but I doubt any of us looked that hardly (for fear of what we might have found if we did). At one point, as we passed through some ruins, the mist grew especially thick and we heard the ominous sound of enormous crocodiles bellowing and splashing in the nearby waters, but thankfully they must have been full and didn’t attack us.
In the late afternoon, we came upon a curious scene. A huge frog squatted on a low island, and nearby, talking to him, was a humanoid frog! Dram recognized the creature as a bullywug, one of many of the aquatic humanoid races who dwell in the swamplands of the world. He and his frog seemed to be involved in some sort of conversation, and I was of the opinion we should leave them be but Taan and Dram went up to talk to them.
Turns out, the bullywug was named Groak and his frog friend was named Schlub Schlub, and they were out scouting the swamp for food or enemies (or maybe both). The conversation went on for about ten minutes, at which point suddenly Taan whipped out his wand of shatter. For a terrible moment, I thought Taan’s amoral cruelty had won out over his diplomatic side, but as he utilized the wand on a nearby dead tree I relaxed a bit.
Later, after Taan gave Groak the wand and the two froglings went on their way, they revealed that Groak had seen the lizardfolk and their prisoners pass this way not long ago. Taan had given the wand to Groak as an offering of peace to secure our safe passage through his tribe’s lands, and added a bit gleefully that there was no way Groak could activate the wand and even if he could, it only had two charges left anyway, so when Groak returned to his tribe to show off his tree-exploding wand, he would be mocked and humiliated. Not sure of the diplomatic value of such a “gift” but hopefully we’ll be out of this hellhole by then and won’t have to deal with the repercussions.
We walked about an hour into the night before we found a stretch of dry land large enough to serve as a campsite. Alas, the three trees on the island were too far away for my hammock, so I was forced to sleep on the ground. Like a peasant or a goblin. How disgusting. There were some strange mud nests in the trees, high up in the branches. Kol scrambled up a tree to look but said they were nothing to worry about. He had a strange look in his eye, as if he wasn’t telling us the whole story, but I was disgusted enough about the smell and feel of the place that I simply didn’t have the energy to press him for more details.
Poor Tassilo bundled up in the exact center of the island, and refused to eat any food since it’d all been tainted by the swamp water. It seems a bit unbelievable, but I think he’s enjoying this “adventure” into nature’s toilet even less than I.
In any event, I volunteered for first watch. It went okay at first, but an hour in, after everyone had gone to sleep, strange lights began bobbing out in the mists. I’d heard tales of will-o’wisps, and these certainly seemed like they could be them, but they kept their distance. I was half-expecting (half-hoping, to be honest) to hear violin music again, so when instead I heard a woman’s voice whispering into my ear I was a bit shocked.
“Join your sisters in the trees,” the voice whispered. There was no one there, but the voice continued. “Abandon them. They mean nothing to you. Join your sisters in the trees!”
When I saw a shape approaching through the waters, a headless woman in a white gown, and when said shape reached the edge of the island and pointed at me and then up to the weird mud nests in the trees, I decided it was time to wake up Dram. He seemed a bit cranky at being woken up; I asked him quietly if he heard anything or saw anything over on the beach… he looked, but saw nothing and went back to sleep. When I looked back, the headless phantom had vanished.
Soon, my shift was over and I woke Daejin and tried to go to sleep. I was certain sleep wouldn’t find me, but eventually, it did. For at least three hours.
Reaping 26, 595 CY
The screaming woke me. I staggered to my feet and saw the others were already in combat, calling for aid and barely holding the line along the shores against several shadowy figures. It wasn’t until I gained my feet and staggered up to Gar, who was already bleeding from a fresh catch of wounds, that I was able to make out any details. Our attackers were wretched old women, dressed in soaking rags with moss and grass growing on their skin and in their hair. Despite their frail appearance, they were fantastically strong and loud, and their touch seemed to sap away strength almost as if they were undead. Tassilo somehow managed to sleep a little longer than I did, but when he woke, his screams were even louder. Headless of the peril, he grabbed his sword and charged the nearest greenhag and began hacking away at her leathery flesh. At first, his display of bravery impressed me, but then I realized it was more an act of madness. His shrieks, “KILL ME AND GET IT OVER WITH” were hardly the most inspiring battlecries I’d heard. Nonetheless, we managed to kill the three greenhags. In the aftermath of the battle, Kol mentioned to me that the “nests” in the trees were actually collections of skulls wedged into the branches—hag trophies. I commended Kol on his choice to keep the news quiet. Tassilo, in particular, didn’t need to know he was sleeping under the vacant glare of two dozen murdered women.
Eventually, the sun rose, although this deep in this accursed swamp the sunlight registered as little more than a vague and almost tentative lightening of the surrounding mists. I called upon Wee Jas for food for us all. It was bland and cold, but also filling and free of filth and parasites and disease. We set out again into the swamp, hoping to reach the lizardfolk lair soon. None of us spoke, certainly not about the disinheriting fact that we’d have to walk back out of this place. By midafternoon, the feeling of solid ground that didn’t suck at your boots felt almost alien. I didn’t believe it at first, but as the mists parted, there was no denying it. We’d come to a sizable ruin indeed, and of course, this being the monster-haunted, gods-forsaken Mistmarsh, the ruins were far from deserted…
Turns out, the bullywug was named Groak and his frog friend was named Schlub Schlub, and they were out scouting the swamp for food or enemies (or maybe both).
Hey! Groak was the name of the bullywug chief in Dwellers of the Forbidden City! He's a long way from Hepmonaland!
I only started reading this today. It rocks! I can't help but notice how everywhere the adventurers go is just so filthy. Or might that just be a little bit of Tyralandi's personal biases seeping through?
"Headless of the peril, he grabbed his sword and charged the nearest greenhag..."
Now that's a funny typo. Picturing a headless paladin charging blindly at a green hag makes me smile.
I love this give us more!
Please, tell us, how do you get the report so detailed? Are you taking notes or do you make things up, where it doesn't matter?
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Creative Director
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Please, tell us, how do you get the report so detailed? Are you taking notes or do you make things up, where it doesn't matter?
For the most part, I just try to capture the feel of the game episode. I do the recaps mostly from memory, so what happened in the game might not exactly match what ends up in the journal entry. They're pretty close though. I might jot down a few names of NPCs here and there, but that's all.
Of course... it also helps that I've developed and edited all of the adventures that we're running through, I suppose... So I know the plotlines pretty well. Playing a character in an adventure you know backwards and forwards is an interesting challenge.
What interests me a lot while reading your campaign journal, James, is what Erik throws in besides the published adventures. Storming Smenk's mansion, for instance, and this most recent journal entry involving the hags. I need to start thinking up good 'side encounters' to throw at my players and these give me lots of ideas. They're also essential for the most part, since Erik is playing Dungeon Master for people intimately familiar with the adventures he's running. Storming the mansion was a result of in-character decision making for the party, which is something I definitely need to pick up on more for my game.
No new posts from Tyralandi makes me cry digital tears :( ....Aww! Erik's on vacation this week so we aren't playing today. If I can finish developing "Dawn of a New Age" today, maybe I'll type up her latest journal entry (which includes TWO CHARACTER DEATHS!!!) this afternoon.
You are one of /THOSE/ people, aren't you? To think you could be making trailers for Hollywood... =)
....
Ahem...Gwydion? I thought you were going to steer clear of these AoW posts?
M@, watchdog
....Ahem...Gwydion? I thought you were going to steer clear of these AoW posts?
M@, watchdog
I have been! (Scout's honor, no crossed fingers here!)
I was clicking through the most current links on the website while at work and didn't realize I had grabbed this one. I saw James' post and it made me laugh, so I dropped a comment.
Reaping 27, 595 CY
The mist-choked ruins seemed to have once been some sort of small fort; little remained but a few crumbling stairways to nowhere and a single, fairly sizable section of wall with an intact balcony above. Chained to the wall below the balcony was a figure… it appeared to be a man dressed in the same style of armor worn by the guards back at Blackwall Keep. A pair of large stone wells flanked the man. Prowling around on the ruins above were a few lizardfolk; they didn’t seem to have noticed us yet. Gar turned to face us.
“Okay, listen. I’m gonna charge up there and attack them before they have a chance to hurt that guy. You guys better be right behind me!” We assured him we’d be hot on his tail. Gar nodded, then cast an expeditious retreat spell on himself. With a dwarfy roar, he barreled up to the ruins and quickly cut down one of the lizardfolk. Kol and Neko were close behind. Unfortunately for the rest of us, the lizardfolk who were waiting in ambush chose that moment to spring the trap.
Several were armed with bows; they took aim at Kol and after a flury of arrows, our druid ally crumpled to the ground. Another of the lizardfolk was the druid we’d allowed to escape from our initial arrival and battle at Blackwall Keep. He stood up from behind one of the crumbling stairwells, cast a spell, and suddenly all of the horrible, slippery reeds and plants growing out of the soggy ground writhed to life! They all but entombed Demon Boy in their rancid grip; the rest of us were equally rooted in place. A couple of the others managed to stagger out of the mess before the plants got them, but I remained stuck. And helpless… all I could do was watch as the druid turned his attention to Neko. He cast another spell, and my heart sank as I recognized the words. Neko froze in his tracks, shook his head as if drugged, and then, as the druid pointed at Dram, the tiger pounced. Dram shrieked, held up his poor tender fleshy hands to ward off the tiger’s razor-sharp claws, and was slammed to the ground as the beast tore into him. In the space of only a few heartbeats, two of us had been taken down. Gar glanced over his shoulder, and upon seeing the situation, turned and fled back toward us. He took several bloody hits as he disengaged, but fortunately he remained mobile. As he ran, the druid called out in his guttural language, and from the two wells near the ruined wall, a pair of immense serpents erupted, scaly hissing geysers of undulant flesh and anger. We had gone from outnumbered to doomed.
I tugged with all my might at the plants entangling me, and with a bit of shock I felt my legs pull free. Pressing the advantage, I left Demon Boy trapped. I figured he’d be safe at the heart of the mass of writhing plants. I ended up on the edge of the entangle next to Tassilo, who’s eyes had suddenly taken on a strange calm. I recognized that calm. It was the same look that Filge got, just before he drank the vial of poison I supplied him with. The look of death’s acceptance.
“Tyralandi!” he asked, his voice surprisingly even. “Would you say Neko’s been dominated?” I nodded, afraid of what he was planning. “Good. Which means protection from evil should block the control.” Before I had a chance to remind him that magic had a tragically limited range, Tassilo was racing off to the north, shrieking out, “HERE KITTY! NEKO! GET OVER HERE!” and waving his arms.
I screamed at him to stop, to let our fighters handle the cat, or at the very least let the others handle the enormous cat. Tassilo wasn’t cut out for face-to-face battle with a beast like that. Neko noticed, and charged. Fortunately, the fact that Tassilo had cannily made sure one of the ruined stairways was between himself and the cat, Neko was unable to pounce on him, and Tassilo actually managed to duck under the cat’s single swipe. He began his spell, closing his eyes in concentration, and for a moment I thought we’d be okay. But he froze. On the last syllable, he froze. He opened his eyes, and I saw the panic there as he forgot the crucial closing words to the prayer. And in an instant later, that damn menace of a tiger was eating him.
Things grew disjointed then. I remember hazily channeling healing energy into Gar, healing him of the worst of his wounds. I remember Demon Boy somehow managing to wriggle his way out of the entangling plants and then blasting several of the lizardfolk archers and both of the enormous snakes with glitterdust, blinding them. Gar charged the druid and took him down with one ruinous swipe of his axe. Neko froze, seemed to realize what he’d done, and slumped down next to Tassilo’s body and licked forlornly at the gaping red wounds in his head and back. Across the ruins, I saw several lizardfolk dragging Dram away. I was out of resources, and there was no way I’d be able to even throw a dagger that far. Gar, still moving fast from his spell, charged up toward them and used his spell to hurl his axe through the chests of three lizardfolk. Suddenly, another lizardfolk appeared just before me. I blocked his weapon with my morning star, and over the course of the next several seconds tried as best I could to take him down. The thug took every hit I dished out. Teeth flew from his jaw, blood washed over his scales, and yet he wouldn’t go down! Just as my arms grew limp from the strain of the fight, a blast of bright energy burst from the lizard’s side and he crumpled. Demon Boy had finished him off, and silence returned to the Mistmarsh.
Over the next several minutes, I walked about the battlefield in a daze. Kol was dead. Tassilo was dead. Dram was unconscious. We needed to retreat. We NEEDED to leave this filthy swamp, but at this point I doubted we had the resources to do anything like that. Gar mentioned something about needing to find somewhere safe to hole up and rest. I agreed, but the closest safe place was Blackwall Keep, several days travel back through the swamp. It was all I could do to just sitting down on a mossy rock to wait for some sort of horrible spider with a snake’s head or a five-headed shark-frog or some other swamp monster to come up and finish me off. And then my gaze drifted back to Tassilo’s body.
Kol was of the natural world. He would have wanted nothing more than to be returned to the land, so we did just that with his body, working with Daejin to make sure his beliefs were observed in death. Yet Tassilo hated this place even more than me. His body should not be left here to fester in this swamp and play nursemaid to a legion of hungry things that swim and crawl. He deserved to be returned to the barracks in Diamond Lake, and if I gave up here… I don’t think anyone else in the group would have cared enough to do anything more than strip him of his gear and bury him in a shallow grave in the peat. With the possible exception of Dram, who was still unconscious and in a bad way. Another reason I needed to stay alive.
And so, following Daejin’s advice, we set back into the swamp. I could hardly manage to carry Tassilo’s body, so when Gar stepped up to carry him, I was grateful. Maybe he was softening, that dwarf. I hope so.
We were jumped by one of the snakes a few hours later, come back to track us once its blindness from the glitterdust wore off. Neko, who had taken a liking to Daejin, made short work of the snake. A few hours later, close to sunset, we finally found a grove of mangaroo trees that wasn’t haunted or infested or carnivorous (thank Wee Jas for small miracles!) and clambered up into its almost-dry upper branches to rest. I had wrapped Tassilo’s body in my blanket and hammock, and made sure it was tightly shrouded before drifting off to sleep. The logistics of how to escape this swamp would have to wait until tomorrow.
Hmm... I'm going to have to add a five-headed sharkfrog to the list of random encounters my party's going to face in the Mistmarsh.
Holy crap.... I've become attatched to these characters, and they just keep dying. And so quickly too. Wow, I hope they can get out of this.
Another session! That means more future updates! Hooray!
I'm so loving this and i was worreid cause no updates ahd come i'm glad to see this is still going! keep scrimm alive!
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Chief Creative Officer, Publisher
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I have every intention of running this campaign until we've finished all twelve adventures. Work can get very hectic and almost all of us freelance, so a weekly game isn't very reaslistic, but I've been trying hard to stick to a bi-weekly schedule (barring vacations and the like).
I cannot wait to get the PCs out of the Mistmarsh, but I think they've got another couple sessions at least to go before we get to the next adventure.
--Erik
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Contributor
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So... any more details you can give us on the three new party members?
Please? :)
There's a tiny bit of information here.
Reaping 27, 595 CY
I’d barely slipped into sleep before Gar was honking and bellowing an alarm. My first thought was that the horrific nature of the swamp had already had its way with Tassilo’s flesh, and that he’d risen as one of the swamp-haunted dead. Fortunately, his body remained still and dry in its coccoon of blanket and hammock. After gaining my feet and clearing my head, it became obvious that Gar’s alarm had been raised from intruders beyond the borders of our camp.
Out in the swamp, a strange trio of figures were struggling toward our camp. The central figure was a bulky shape, a half-orc dressed in the holy raiments of Kord. He was bent over the water, pawing at the stuff and bellowing, “WHERE IS IT?!” To his side looking somewhat annoyed was a tall human man. He had some sort of strange tattoos on his arm… golden geometric patterns of some sort. The third figure I almost missed entirely. Only his head protruded above the water, a head sporting a prodigious nose, frenzied wet hair, and a tall pointed hat. A glaive protruded from the water beside him.
“WHO ARE YOU? WHAT DO YOU WANT?” Dram called out, and the three figures jumped in surprise. They chattered among themselves for a moment, during which Taan pointed out this would be the best time to get the jump on them. Fortunately, the rest of us were either too worn-out or too frightened of heading out even a few dozen feet into the swamp to take him up on his advice. Soon, the half-orc sheepishly produced a fishing pole and held it aloft. “We’re... fishermen? We’re fishing!” he said, obviously unsure of himself.
“TRY AGAIN!” Gar yelled back, to which the human stepped up. “I apologize… we’re a bit disinherited here. We’re all that’s left of an expedition that came into the swamp to assess the bullywug menace. We’re cold. We’re tired. We pose no threat to you.”
I stepped up next to Gar and Dram. “Sounds believable enough, don’t you think?” I said to him. “If they were part of this horrible place, don’t you think they’d be more formidable looking? At the very least, they would have been able to sneak up on us easier.” Gar shrugged and huffed before calling back to them, “Fine! Come share our camp, but any funny business and you get the axe!”
I congratulated Gar on his first tentative steps into the wonderful world of diplomacy, then returned to the camp to make sure Tassilo’s body was okay.
Over the next hour, we listened to the other group’s tale of woe. In many ways, it paralleled our own; they’d lost gear, lost allies, lost hope.
The half-orc was indeed a priest of Kord. Named Belgrak, he didn’t strike me as a particularly quick-witted fellow, but honestly that was a bit refreshing. Too many shifty allies capable of fostering private agendas can make it difficult to get a good night’s sleep. He’d apparently lost a favorite greatsword somewhere in the swamp.
The gnome was a curiosity, not because he was a gnome, but because despite the horrific nature of the swamp and the fact that he’d had to wade through it up to his mouth he remained upbeat and chipper about the whole thing. He had no disillusions about the terrible nature and filth of the place. He just wasn’t letting it get him down. It was actually quite a bit inspiring to see. He introduced himself as Father Frothelthimble, and while his thick accent made understanding him difficult at times and always amusing to listen to, his cheerful outlook was certainly welcome. He seemed to be a priest of Olidammara, which probably meant he was a scoundrel and a pickpocket and a trouble-maker despite his outwardly friendly attitude. One to keep an eye on, certainly.
The human was the most intriguing to me, though. He introduced himself as Rac. He was a little evasive about his role in the expedition. Up close, I could see his tattoos weren’t actually tattoos—they were actually plates of metal that seemed to grow from his arms. When I asked about them, the grew a little self-conscious and drew away. Fair enough, I reasoned… skin conditions are personal business. He had a greatsword strapped to his back, and seemed to carry himself like a soldier. Of the three, his attitude was certainly the most regimented, orderly, and organized, something that reminded me quite a bit of Tassilo, before the swamp broke him, and even of Abelard, before those horrible beetles ate him.
Eventually, we all settled in for sleep. It felt good to have three more allies at close hand, I do admit. We were up one soul, and that might just be enough for us to see this horrible mission through to the end.
Reaping 28, 595 CY
I woke to Demon Boy’s almost child-like shrieks of delight. After rubbing the sleep from my eyes and sitting up, I saw him perched on a low mangaroo branch. He was watching Belgrak perform his morning prayers. As a follower of Kord, Belgrak’s morning prayers consisted of a rigorous round of exercise. He was currently engaged in a fast, furious display of push-ups. I sat down next to Demon Boy, and he said, “Have you met this guy? HE’S GREAT! He’s done over 300 push-ups so far, and I don’t think he’s gonna stop!” I figured that anything that took Demon Boy’s mind off of burning stuff was a good thing, and encouraged him to keep counting as I went off to perform my own morning prayer.
I’d just finished when I heard someone’s cry echo out from the swamp. “AID ME.” It was a loud, baritone call, but one devoid of emotion. In a few seconds, I realized the voice was Rac’s. We quickly assembled at the edge of our island and saw that he’d wandered about a hundred feet to the south to a second small lump of sod. Why, no one seemed to know. What we could see, however, was that the swamp-festering dead had found him. A pack of ghouls had surrounded him, and he was valiantly chopping them apart with his greatsword as he made a staggering retreat toward us, but he was just as obviously outnumbered.
We leapt into action. One of the ghouls turned out to be a ghast, but Belgrak managed to crush it to pulp with a particularly mighty blow from his warhammer. Rac was holding his own as well, and once we got to his side he ceased his retreat and pressed the advantage, slicing them apart with almost mechanical efficiency. As soon as I got close, I called upon Wee Jas for judgment over these wandering souls. They were too tainted for me to command, but I did manage to send three of them to their knees and force them to accept their abominable status, making it easy to finish them off.
The undead vanquished, we returned to our isle to finish breaking camp. The guard we’d rescued agreed to stay here and hide out, waiting for us to return. I tasked him with guarding Tassilo’s body, and to aid him I called upon a blessing from the Stern Lady to protect his flesh, to stave off decay, and to prevent his transformation into one of the undead. As I cast the spell, I spontaneously added a bit of my own life to the necromancy, infusing it with even more power. Just as I had managed to save Vyth from death once, I did the same to save Tassilo from undeath. The whole process left me a little light-headed and I sat down for a bit to catch my breath. I’d forgotten that I’d run out of makeup to hide my… condition.
“Woah!” Belgrak gasped as he pointed at my arm. “You’ve got some sort of swamprot or something, lady!” I glanced down and saw what he was pointing at… one of those obnoxious numb lesions of gray scabs and flaking flesh that had been popping up on my skin since the Whispering Cairn. I pulled my sleeve down over it and said, “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“Can’t you fix it? You’re a cleric! You should fix it! I can fix it if you want. It’s easy! Here…”
“NO!” I replied and jerked away from him. I could see in his eyes he was confused, and I felt actually pretty bad for how loudly I’d yelled at him. “I mean… I’ve tried to. It doesn’t hurt. It isn’t contagious. It’s just the way it is. Don’t worry about it.”
He smiled, shrugged, and I found myself a little jealous of his ability to take things at face value without questioning the truth. “Okay! Good job on showing those ghouls, by the way! They looked like they were going to cry!”
“Yes…” a small voice agreed to my right. I turned to see Father Frothelthimble leaning against a tree and eying me. “That was most interesting.” His expression bore no such indication of acceptance. Indeed, he was sizing me up the same way those intolerant thugs at the Garrison did. “Strange how the ghouls didn’t flee you, Tyralandi. How instead they just cowered, as if they were ashamed of something.”
“What are you trying to say?” I asked him, refusing to look away from him.
“Nothing,” he said. “Yet. Just observing. In any event, it looks like you took a hit in the battle. Would you allow me to heal you of…”
“No! I’m fine, damnit!” I snapped. “In fact, leave the healing of me to me. It’s not your concern. I appreciate it, but healing from other people… it doesn’t sit right. It hurts. So save it for the others, for the people who can actually be served by it, okay?” I stalked off, but still caught his reply.
“Fair enough. I’d figured as much, anyway.”
I turned to ask him what he meant, but he’d already scuttled off to aid Belgrak and Rak in preparing for the day’s journey.
The nerve of that little thief! Passing judgment on me like that, when he worships a god of scoundrels and alleybashers!
Of course, a half day of slogging through the swamp put all that out of my head.
It was a minor miracle when, in the early afternoon, we stumbled upon an enormous mound of mud, plant matter, and tangled roots. A group of lizardfolk patroled around the rim, and our guard friend confirmed that this was, indeed, the lair of the Twisted Branch lizardfolk, and the same place that he’d been brought to (and then from) a few days ago. Marzeena and the other two missing guards were somewhere inside that heap of stink.
We set up a sheltered camp on a nearby island, hiding Tassilo’s protected body under some roots and telling the still-shaken guard to stay there. To wait for us.
After the lizardfolk patrol had moved out of sight, we entered the lair.
Inside, the place was as disgusting as I’d feared it would be. At least the ground was more or less dry. It felt good to be able to move without feeling mud and water sloshing over my feet and legs.
We hardly made it to the first intersection of root-lined tunnels before a terrific croak raised an alarm, and in an instant we were set upon by lizardfolk. Fortunately, these were more like the commonfolk variety we’d encountered at Blackwall and not the commandos we fought at the ruined temple. Compounding the fight was a group of four harpies that had allied themselves to the lizardfolk. We were indeed fortunate that none of us fell to their captivating songs. Well… Taan did. Demon Boy caught most of them up in a web, while Belgrak tried to pull the roof down on one of them before giving up and mashing at them with his hammer. Dram and Daejin sniped at them from the intersection, felling harpy and lizardfolk alike with their arrows. Neko, who had seemed to have befriended Daejin, guarded the retreat. To the north, the bulk of the lizardfolk fought against Gar and Rac. Father Frothelthimble hung back, went invisible, and then reappeared on top of a harpy he’d just cut open with a tiny little dagger. A few moments later, Belgrak, who saw one of the harpies trying to flap away, had grabbed it by the wings and had pinned it to the ground. I decided to conserve my magic and ran in to aid Gar and Rac as I could with my morning star.
Soon enough, we had defeated the harpies and had the lizardfolk on the defensive. One of them seemed a bit… off, though. His scales were dull, his eyes rheumy, and his movements weak and slow. He was obviously sick. I tried to tell the others to stay away from him, that he might be contagious, but then Gar blasted him with his axe. The sickly lizardfolk tumbled to the ground.
And burst, like a rotten melon.
From his exploded torso, a sudden torrent of green worms flooded out. The combat froze, both us and the lizardfolk looking on in horror as the worms evacuated the dead host to make a writhing green corona around the corpse before twitching and melting into pus. The tableau broke as the remaining few lizardfolk shrieked, dropped their weapons, and fled back down the tunnel.
We let them go. I assume because the rest of my companions had also recognized the shape of those green worms. They were the same exact creatures that we’d found in that jar back in Filge’s lab.
Something monuments had happened, and I felt there and then that what we’d uncovered would change things for us. Forever.
Wow. That was a cool post. Now I gotta go back and reread stuff. "...skin condition was his own concern." ROFLMAO!
"Of the three, his attitude was certainly the most regimented, orderly, and organized, something that reminded me quite a bit of Tassilo, before the swamp broke him, and even of Abelard, before those horrible beetles ate him."
Is this because of their lawful alignment, or because all three of them are played by the same person?
"Of the three, his attitude was certainly the most regimented, orderly, and organized, something that reminded me quite a bit of Tassilo, before the swamp broke him, and even of Abelard, before those horrible beetles ate him."
Is this because of their lawful alignment, or because all three of them are played by the same person?
Probably a little of A, a little of B....
This was very inspirational. I need to remember to read these journals before it is my turn to DM again.
Peace and smiles :)
j.
Reaping 28, 595 CY
We took a moment to recover from the fight. I took advantage of the break to make sure that none of those horrible worms that burst from the sick lizardfolk’s chest survived. Fortunately, none did, and we moved deeper into the lair. We came to a few large chambers, obviously once barracks for the lizardfolk we had just defeated. A side chamber seemed to be their midden—no one seemed interested in investigating this wretched-smelling chamber, so we left it alone.
Around the corner, we found a single lizardfolk waiting for us. This one seemed similar to the druid we’d encountered earlier, but didn’t seem quite so quick to attack. There was a tense moment while we regarded each other—fortunately Dram spoke Draconic and managed to establish a rapport with the shaman. Taan also spoke the language and stepped up to aid in the negotiations, leaving us to watch in terror as the two bitter rivals took the situation into their own hands. I was ready to rush up to aid in their defense at any second, but unbelievably, they managed to keep their cool and actually seemed to reach some sort of agreement. Dram wrote something on a piece of paper, signed it, and gave it to the shaman before turning back to us to report.
“Okay,” he said. “This is Hishka, the main shaman for the Twisted Branch tribe. Turns out, he’s not too keen on the way their current leader, Shukak, has been running the show, but since Shukak’s allied with a dragon…”
At the mention of a dragon, Dram’s voice was overwhelmed by cries of shock and fear and exclamations of, “I was wondering how this forsaken swamp could possibly get worse!” We questioned Hishka some more and found that this dragon was probably not in the lair at this time. Probably.
Dram continued. “Anyway, if we kill this King Shukak, Hishka here inherits the tribe and promises to lay off the attacks on humans. As long as we humans, and by that I mean Greyhawk, don’t atack them.”
Gar sputtered. “And was that a contract you signed, Dram?”
Dram shifted his feet and looked evasive. “What matters now is that if we kill this King Shukak, Hishka promises us an escort out of the swamp.”
That was enough. The implications of a contract between Dram (representing Greyhawk) and the Twisted Branch were immediately forgotten. We headed further down the passageway Hishka indicated, and a moment later a voice cried out in rage at our intrusion. We’d found King Shukak. And his dozen bodyguards.
As King Shukak raised a roar of alarm, we heard answering roars back down the tunnel we’d come from. Turning around, my heart sank to see another lizardfolk rushing at us from behind, a lumbering barbaric brute and a pair of otyughs! Huge otyughs!
Belgrak and Neko stepped in to fight these second creatures; I called up a spiritual dagger to aid them and then stepped up to provide support to those fighting Shukak, who was utilizing a trident in battle, hurling it at foes. Each time he threw, the trident magically returned to his hand, allowing him to throw it again. The battle was intense, and at one point Gar took a trident throw to the neck. I was fortunately close enough to restore enough life to him that he could finish the fight. Several frantic exchanges of weapon blows later, Shukak and his guardians lay dead.
Alas, as we regrouped, it came clear that we had suffered our own losses. Father Frothelthimble and Rac stood over their dead ally Belgrak, torn to pieces by one of the now-dead otyughs. The other, larger otyugh had retreated back to its lair, having taken the body of poor slain Neko with him.
By this point, the loss of so many companions to the denizens of this swamp had become little more than a vague numbness in my heart. I’m sure, if (WHEN!) we ever make it out of this place, I’ll find time to mourn them. For now, though… it seems to me that the dead are the true victors in this reprehensible realm.
I like this one - the battle's not as important as all the losses that take place in it.
Belgrak was the NPC/guest player, right?