Creative Director
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I've got one more post to make here before I'm all caught up to where we are in the game, and it's a pretty fun post. Especially given the trouble that Tyralandi and Frothlethimble have gotten themselves into. Might give a try at writing it up this weekend, now that the latest issue of Dungeon has all but been shipped off...
Goodmonth 10, 595 CY
After leaving that wyvern-haunted tavern, it took us three days of travel through thankfully serene farmlands and along increasingly well-maintained roads, but late in the afternoon today we finally reached our destination. The first view of Greyhawk was breathtaking, if not for the sheer size of the city walls, then for the overwhelming mass of civilization. I’d never seen a city so large, and it sent my heart pounding. The city is built on an upward slope, with the crown adorned by a majestic fortress and further down by numerous beautiful noble villas, temples, guildhalls, museums, and other landmarks. The most eye catching were the pyrimidacal mages’ guild and the immense Free City Arena. from these grand upper reaches, the city descended down the hill along the banks of the Selintan River, growing more and more crowded and compact with buildings as it went. The southernmost reaches of the city lay at the base of the hill, a human sump of filthy, haze-wreathed buildings that seemed almost proud in its own misguided way to proclaim its misery.
Our approach led us to one of the city’s southern gates, just north of the walled oldtown (of which I’d already decided I wanted nothing to do with). A long throng of people; farmers, merchants, pilgrims, and adventurers alike, had queued at the gate, and a pair of guards were diligently taking names and taxes and screening for troublemakers. It took us nearly an hour to reach the front—small price to pay for reaching such a sparkling crown of civilization. Dram introduced us and used his connections with the Diamond Lake militia to get us into the city’s Artisan’s Quarter with little hassle.
Once inside the city walls, I felt a bit of vertigo. To the left, a soot-covered wall protected us from a view of the Old City, but to the right the city itself perched on the upward slope like an immense wave of history and culture ready to crush us with advanced learning and high-priced trinkets. It was exhilarating.
We made it all of 240 feet into the city before getting distracted.
Just inside the wall, we were confronted with a tavern by the name of “The Fat of the Hog.” Not a name to evoke what I imagined one would find in the Artisasn’s Quarter, but I was rather hungry, and Gar’s eyes lit up like diamonds when he saw the place.
“TIME TO EAT!” he roared triumphantly as he barreled into the tavern.
Who would have ever guessed that a single dwarf could consume so many pork ribs?
The tavern’s owner, an aptly named man named “Wide” Waldo Parstiche, seemed to take to Gar like stink to a monkey. I managed to finish about a third of my plate before I got full, but fortunately Gar was there to help me out. By the end, his beard was a nightmare of meat and sauce, and I excused myself saying that I needed to seek out a place to get our magical loot identified and perhaps sold.
“OOH!” Gar belched. “Me too! I’ll come along!” My heart sank, but fortunately Father Frothlethimble was there to use prestidigitation to clean the dwarf up.
After the orgy of pork, we split up, each of us eager to accomplish some sort of different task. Gar and Demon Boy and I headed into the Low Market to look for a place to get our magic items identified and soon enough found a dubious man and his somewhat more reliable-looking pet monkey. He offered us several things, including a discount fortune reading from his sister, but he looked a bit... self-employed. We thanked him and decided instead to head up to the Mage’s Guild and have our items looked at by professionals, but not before Demon Boy bought an enormous sack of candy. The little guy was apoplectic with giggles as he began to chew his way through his sugary sins, but found the generosity within his soul to give the merchant’s monkey a large sugary treat before we left.
The Mage’s Guild was in every way the opposite of a shifty swindler’s Low Market squat. The guild is a majestic pyramid, and while non-members were only allowed entry to the first few rooms, it was enough to impress me. Had I chosen a different path in life, I would have easily found a home there. Gar and Demon Boy both signed up to become members of the guild at once, a move I approved of whole-heartedly. The entire place made me more curious than ever to seek out the city’s cathedral of Wee Jas—I had not forgotten my promise to Amaris back at the Green Lady’s cairn to seek out Alamander of Wee Jas here in Greyhawk once I arrived. Amaris’ cryptic comment that I had not yet “found myself” still haunted me, and I suppose fear of what Alamander might know about my childhood, my history, and of my damned hideous skin problem is what kept me from immediately seeking the cathedral out.
In any event, I managed to have my new violin identified as well. It is, apparently, an ancient item indeed, the Thrice-Damned Fiddle of Tvash-Prull. It could, of course, be used for performances as any violin, yet there were two songs when played upon its strings by a gifted performer that would produce magical effects. One song would imbue myself and my allies with false life, while another, more complex song, would ward myself and my allies from death. Both songs had side effects though… if I were to play them too long, they’d kill me. And once I started playing… it was apparently somewhat difficult to stop.
After Gar and Demon Boy proved their spellcasting prowess to their new guild by casting spells on each other (seeing Gar blinded by glitterdust was rather amusing), we returned to the Fat of the Hog to sleep. As I lay down in that lumpy bed with its coarse blankets and the lurking scent of pig in the air, I promised myself that the next night, my accommodations would be of a sort more fitting me.
Goodmonth 11, 595 CY
Much of today was spent selling magical treasures none of us wanted, and pawning gems and jewelry we had no use for. Dram and DaeJin seemed to be spending a lot of time together, and I’m pretty sure they stayed in the same room all night. Interesting. Taan slept in as well, and didn’t seem to be too interested in accompanying us (although he DID demand his share of the loot, so he wasn’t THAT sick). After splitting the loot, we decided to spend the afternoon with Eligos, the sage Allustan had recommended to us in finding out more about the strange undead and rumors we’d encountered over the past month.
Eligos lived in a beautiful section of the Garden District, and as we arrived at his house I realized that I needed a house like this for my own. It looked fantastic, with a wide walkway flanked by hedges and statues of exotic fauna. The interior of the place was equally impressive, down to and including Pollard, the house’s major-domo. Pollard led us into a parlor, and not long after, Eligos arrived to speak with us.
A fiery-haired middle-aged man, Eligos struck me from the start as a scholar, yet not one who had learned all he knew from books. He carried himself with authority, and spoke with a firm voice that betrayed no hint of self-doubt. Yet when we mentioned Allustan, his demeanor changed—he raised his eyebrows and chuckled to himself. Apparently, the two go way back. After that, our conversation was much more relaxed; he seemed particularly intrigued by the preserved green worm we’d found in Filge’s laboratory and in the items we’d recovered from Zosiel’s crypt. The talisman, he told us, was a sort of controlling device for an ancient weapon used long ago by the forces of entropy and chaos, yet it seemed to be deactivated. He was also intrigued by Zosiel’s circlet, and promised to return it as soon as possible if I would loan it to him for study. After a bit of thought, I agreed, although removing it from my brow immediately caused a piercing (but thankfully short-lived) headache. The rest of our queries, about the Age of Worms and the letters we’d recovered from the Ebon Triad cultists, intrigued him as well, to the point where he told us he’d research the items free of charge, as a favor to friends of Allustan. Unfortunately, it would take several days for him to fully examine the clues; in the meantime, he gave us the name of a local inn owned by one of his friends. A place called “The Green Dragon.”
I, however, didn’t really have an interest in spending the night in another “quaint” local dive. As diplomatically as I could, I asked Eligos for another recommendation, something with a bit of class. He pondered for a moment, then with a strange half-smile mentioned a place called “The Golden Phoenix.” The name seemed right, but only Father Frothlethimble seemed interested in accompanying me to dinner. Fine. We still had about an hour before sundown, so while the rest of the group wandered off to the Green Dragon, Frothlethimble and I set about the task of buying new clothes. One hour (and about 2,000 gold) later, I was ready to impress with not only new jewelry but an incredible red and black full-body gown guaranteed to turn heads once it was on display, and best of all, it didn’t leave much skin exposed so I only had to touch up my hands and face and a bit of cleavage with makeup to hide the marks.
The Golden Phoenix was, if anything, even more impressive than I’d hoped. I spent that much on my new outfit hoping to be the impressive one there, but ended up merely fitting in. Frothlethimble showed up in a garish and clashing outfit complete with wide brimmed hat that somehow, incredibly, looked pretty awesome. Gnomes can get away with checker patterns and purple and green.
The meal was equally incredible, a delightful feast that consisted of a ten-course meal accompanied by musicians and entertainment. The Almorian Stuffed Stirge was the second-most adventurous risk of the evening, but it turned out to be far more delicious than it had any right being. The MOST adventurous risk, of course, was ordering “the best wine in the house.”
Turned out to be a crystal bottle of elven honey sun wine. The date on its label said “2.” Everyone else in the place grew silent when I ordered it, and the staff brought it out on its own wheeled cart. When they opened the bottle, the wine got a standing ovation.
It was, without a doubt, the most incredible thing I’d ever tasted, and between Frothlethimble and I, we drained the bottle dry over the course of our four hour meal. Finally, deep into the night, and barely able to move for being so full and pleasantly drunk, our waitress arrived pleasant and thankful at our table and presented us with the bill, a simple piece of folded parchment on a golden platter. A shudder built inside me, as nothing on the menu had displayed any prices, but I managed to hide my trepidation enough as I reached for the parchment and opened it up.
4,785 gold pieces.
15% gratuity not included.
Oof.
New Adventurer's Guide
Rule #334 - Never order the best or oldest drink in the house. You had better hope your last haul was enough to cover the bill, or you should hope that the next morning you won't wake up with a headache that not even a dwarven smithy's hammers could drown out.
Rule #334B - This rule also applies to the dustiest bottle in the cellar, the oldest cask of brew, or any dated container where the date easily exceeds the current era by your lifespan doubled.
Oooh. Tvash-Prull! One of my favorite of the more recent "mysterious magic-users". Is he unique to Paizo, or does he have an older origin in some obscure D&D book I never read?
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Creative Director
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Oooh. Tvash-Prull! One of my favorite of the more recent "mysterious magic-users". Is he unique to Paizo, or does he have an older origin in some obscure D&D book I never read?
Tvash-Prull is an NPC from my home-brew campaign that got sucked into the world of WotC when Mike McArtor mentioned he hadn't recieved any good bard spells lately for Spellcraft. As it so happened, I had written up a big pile of them for my campaign world already, and gathered them up, polished them off, and sent them over to him and presto! Tvash-Prull got famous!
Contributor
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Gnomes can get away with checker patterns and purple and green.
To say nothing of the high number of costume-jewelry rings that made it difficult for FF to hold his utensils. ;D
What even gnomes can't get away with, though, is asking for more dinner rolls. You'da thought he murdered someone the way the waitstaff reacted.
I mean, not that he hasn't murdered someone before, but you know, not in that part of town yet.
Yet.
At the risk of being presumptuous, and of creating a wave of interest when this thread is bumped, is there any sign of an update on Tyralandi and company?
Assuming anyone at Paizo has any free time amidst the post-New Year chaos, of course... 8-)
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I just read this campaign journal, and James Jacobs and I must have had the same idea. Totally independent of each other, we ended up playing clerics of Wee Jas with almost identical domains, feats, and character backgrounds. Practically the only difference is that my cleric is male. Talk about creepy...
- The Eldritch Mr. Shiny
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Not to be a whiny arse here, but....
where is some more posting goodness? 17 days is a hard row to hoe while awaiting the excellent and admirable postings of Mistress Tyralandi Scrimm. I think she needs to take that weapon of hers up 'side his head..
lol
Look, I know you guys have the job to die for (I mean who wouldn't want to work in a place where D&D is a staple of the working environment), but you gonna have to get some PRIORITIES here. Here is a sample list:
Play D&D
Eat
Sleep
Work (for you designer guys this one takes the spot right under "Play D&D" - everything else moves down one slot)
Everything else...
<chuckle>
F.W.
Poor Frothlethimble...or is that being presumptuous?I'll ramp up the anticipation here by saying that a member of the party died in Thursday.
Any predictions?
--Erik
Nah, insane murderers don't die. I think it's the scout or the elf.
EDIT => Dram or Taan
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Chief Creative Officer, Publisher
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Wouldn't that be poetic justice.
Flying Large invisible stalkers seemed like a good idea in that encounter when we were editing it, but now that I've seen it in play... utterly brutal.
We have an in-house contest for which of us can design a dungeon room that will kill the most PCs at Gen Con.
I don't know why the rest of us need bother. Bulmahn is going to clean up that bad boy.
Or I will. Or James.
It's a difficult Adventure Path. To the wise characters and the cowards go the spoils.
--Erik
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It's a difficult Adventure Path. To the wise characters and the cowards go the spoils.
If you're talking about AoW, I BEG TO DIFFER. Out adventuring group has been absolutely DESTROYING the first three adventures (read: Filge dead in 4 rounds, Theldrick: 6, Grallak: 3, and The Faceless One: 4). Plus, one of the PCs, an Incarnate, bound the Circlet of Zosiel to his crown chakra and now has a 22 Wisdom. Consequently, he notices EVERYTHING.
Hard--I think not.
-The Eldritch Mr. Shiny
Sorry for threadjacking. I'm just going through withdrawals from having NO CAMPAIGN JOURNAL TO READ.
It's a difficult Adventure Path. To the wise characters and the cowards go the spoils.
If you're talking about AoW, I BEG TO DIFFER. Out adventuring group has been absolutely DESTROYING the first three adventures (read: Filge dead in 4 rounds, Theldrick: 6, Grallak: 3, and The Faceless One: 4). Plus, one of the PCs, an Incarnate, bound the Circlet of Zosiel to his crown chakra and now has a 22 Wisdom. Consequently, he notices EVERYTHING.
Hard--I think not.
It probably doesn't seem hard to you because it sounds like you're using a lot've non-Core options. If you're running the adventures as written, of course your players will clean up. If you don't want them to have such an easy time of it, I'd suggest either restricting your players to the Core rules, or allowing the NPCs greater access to non-Core options.
With all due respect to Mr. Marvell:
Ode to Tyralandi Scrimm
Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love's day.
Thou by the Diamond Lake's side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Kyuss would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, don't dare
'Til the completion of Whisp'ring cairn.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, Lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song: then Worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
The grave's a fine place for Wee Jas,
How I pledge my love to you and your boss.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt power.
Let us roll (role?) all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
Ahh Tyralandi...
El Skootro
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It probably doesn't seem hard to you because it sounds like you're using a lot've non-Core options. If you're running the adventures as written, of course your players will clean up. If you don't want them to have such an easy time of it, I'd suggest either restricting your players to the Core rules, or allowing the NPCs greater access to non-Core options.
The only non-core books allowed in the campaign are the Magic of Incarnum and Complete Divine books. That shouldn't be enough to unbalance the campaign. It could be just that the players are rolling well...
It's a difficult Adventure Path. To the wise characters and the cowards go the spoils.
I've always favored the latter :)
*hopeful bump*
I'm deep in Scuttelcove right now, which unfortunately means that I won't get a chance to even think about updating this till the middle of next week. :(
It'll happen eventually though, never fear!
Elbow deep, or waist deep? Because that sounds...less than hygenic.
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Creative Director
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Elbow deep, or waist deep? Because that sounds...less than hygenic.I'm deep in Scuttelcove right now, which unfortunately means that I won't get a chance to even think about updating this till the middle of next week. :(
It'll happen eventually though, never fear!
At this point, it's actually neck-deep.
In the Navy, we used to use the expression "A**hole deep in alligators." I think that expression would probably fit in Scuttlecove, at least if there is some sort of demonic alligator from one of James's fiendish splatbooks to populate the place with. ;)
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Creative Director
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In the Navy, we used to use the expression "A**hole deep in alligators." I think that expression would probably fit in Scuttlecove, at least if there is some sort of demonic alligator from one of James's fiendish splatbooks to populate the place with. ;)
The sad thing about D&D is that there's not an alligator statblock anywhere to be found. Just crocodiles. Now, if maybe they hadn't wasted nearly 3 pages on horse and horse-related stat blocks (ponies, donkeys, four kinds of horses, mules, war ponies) there coulda been room for an alligator. But no. Stupid horses.
What's even worse is that, by the rules, you can't have a Large sized crocodile. The normal croc's only Medium, and advancing him to max HD doesn't make him large. The giant croc is automatically Huge. No Large crocs anywhere in D&D, which is weird, since in the real world they'd all fit right into the Large category.
In the Navy, we used to use the expression "A**hole deep in alligators." I think that expression would probably fit in Scuttlecove, at least if there is some sort of demonic alligator from one of James's fiendish splatbooks to populate the place with. ;)The sad thing about D&D is that there's not an alligator statblock anywhere to be found. Just crocodiles. Now, if maybe they hadn't wasted nearly 3 pages on horse and horse-related stat blocks (ponies, donkeys, four kinds of horses, mules, war ponies) there coulda been room for an alligator. But no. Stupid horses.
What's even worse is that, by the rules, you can't have a Large sized crocodile. The normal croc's only Medium, and advancing him to max HD doesn't make him large. The giant croc is automatically Huge. No Large crocs anywhere in D&D, which is weird, since in the real world they'd all fit right into the Large category.
Focus James, FOCUS. ;)
Or just tell us who died......
Now that you've drawn attention to this log with your latest Dungeon editorial, a new update is in order :)
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Creative Director
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This thread didn't go anywhere... but I've been so busy that I haven't really had the hour or so to sit down and work up anything for it in months. :( We've played several times since the last update, so I hope to be able to catch up soon (If only to get more hero points!), but I'm not sure WHEN I'll be able to do so.
With all due respect to Mr. Marvell:
Ode to Tyralandi Scrimm
...snip...
Ahh Tyralandi...
El Skootro
Blasphemy!
Wait a minute. Are you saying you want Tyralandi to stop being so prude and start putting out?
This thread didn't go anywhere... but I've been so busy that I haven't really had the hour or so to sit down and work up anything for it in months. :( We've played several times since the last update, so I hope to be able to catch up soon (If only to get more hero points!), but I'm not sure WHEN I'll be able to do so.
Dang you James Jacobs, my favorite Dungeon author, get this journal updated, STAT!
-Thooly
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Goodmonth 11, 595 CY
Now, paying for my portion of the meal wasn’t really a problem. I could certainly cover a tab of just over 2,000 gold, but I couldn’t pay for the whole thing. Especially not with that 15% gratuity. And as fortune would have it, neither could Frothlethimble. I thought back to how, just earlier in the day, I’d purchased about 2,000 more gold-worth of clothes and jewelry, and of how embarrassing it would be if I had to take off my freshly-purchased finery to pay for the gnome’s portion of the feast and then exit the establishment wearing a barrel, and decided that it would be better to fight my way out of the place. But even better than that would be to send Frothlethimble out to pawn a few items on the sly and then return with the payment.
I called over the waitress and explained in as pleasant a matter as I could that I would be sending my gnome servant and companion out to fetch the payment, apologizing for the unconventional measure but explaining that I had underestimated the fact that the establishment would feature such a fine vintage as I had earlier enjoyed. The waitress seemed a bit put off, but she agreed. What followed was an increasingly nerve-wracking wait as the minutes crept by. I had just enough time to wonder if Frothlethimble had simply made an escape from the bill, and then to wonder if he’d been jumped by thugs, when something altogether more horrible occurred. He returned, with Taan, Demon Boy, and Gar in tow, all three of which had eyes sparkling like hungry predators led to an unsuspecting kill.
I considered, for a moment, using the distraction of their arrival as a means of securing my own unnoticed escape, but the concept of leaving without paying for the delicious meal kept me in my chair.
My traveling companions loudly and boisterously shambled into the dining room, all guffaws and chortles and swagger. Taan’s eye was immediately caught by the empty bottle of wine, and he swept it up and began to interrogate the staff about it’s value. Demon Boy clambered up onto the table itself and began a monstrous combination of dancing (staining the white tablecloth with dirt) and scavenging leftover food (some of it from neighboring tables). And Gar began to loudly proclaim that he had come to pay “Gracious Lady Tyralandi’s bill” with the blood money that he, her hired thug, had gathered from unfortunate debtors who owed her. He went into graphic detail about how he’d been forced to chop one thief’s hand off and how another had tried to eat the gems owed Tyralandi, necessitating an on-the-spot vivisection-via-axe to retrieve the loot from his bile-filled gut. The three of them certainly looked the part, spattered head to toe with bits of blood and disheveled as if they’d indeed just returned from a brutal fight.
The dining hall emptied fairly quickly, but not without a few shocked and horrified socialites losing their expensive dinners at Gar’s gruesome description, or his discovery of what he claimed to have been a severed finger still stuck in his beard that he tossed to Demon Boy for “safe-keeping.” By this point, the owner had been summoned, and Gar made his point again, paying the man in a filthy combination of silver, gold, and even copper fished out of an oily, bloodstained sack.
It was, without a doubt, the most humiliating experience I had ever had. In less than ten minutes, my erstwhile companions singlehandedly destroyed any notions I had been entertaining about joining Greyhawk’s social elite, or of possibly building up enough status in the city to perhaps, one day, be able to afford and live in as wonderful an estate as Eligos. They had created a very real and permanent ceiling over my head, one that I would likely never be able to reach beyond. In Greyhawk, at least, and if one couldn’t become nobility in Greyhawk, there’s basically only banditry, inheritance, or adventuring as an option for increasing one’s wealth. Banditry turns my stomach, and I have no relatives to inherit riches from. Which left adventuring. A soul-numbing thought at best.
I suppose the tab was settled. By that point I didn’t really notice; everything was blurring together. I remember leaving the Golden Phoenix and trudging back to the Green Dragon Inn, I remember Demon Boy’s chatter about how disappointed he was that there wasn’t a REAL golden phoenix at the place, and I remember Gar’s constant chortles and guffaws of delight at my discomfort. But most of all I remember Frothlethimble’s oblivious attitude about how great the evening had turned out.
When we reached the Green Dragon, I paid for a room and immediately went upstairs to cry myself to sleep on a burlap pillow under patchy sheets of tenth-generation linen.
So much for making the big-time in Greyhawk.
Goodmonth 12, 595 CY
I slept in today. It was noon before a hammering on my room’s door finally roused me, and within a few more minutes I had joined my companions in the common room downstairs. As it turned out, they had indeed been in a fight the night before, only not with a group of fictional thugs who owed Lady Tyralandi blood money. It had been here at the Green Dragon, after a shapchanging varlet had assumed Rac’s form and stabbed a man upstairs, then raced down here in a different form to accuse our group of harboring a murderer. Things being as they were last night (namely, with myself not being present to aid in mollifying the situation), a brawl exploded in the Green Dragon’s common room. Somehow, though, the shapechanger was captured alive, and taken away by the city guard. Things had been patched up with the Green Dragon’s proprietor, a gregarious man named Ricard Damaris, and now we had assembled with a plan to visit the local constabulary to interrogate the man they’d taken into custody the night before. Of particular note was the strange key that they’d found on him, a weird crooked key who’s head bore a distinctive design of a ship being pulled underwater by a large octopus.
Yet upon arriving at the local jail, it quickly became apparent that no man matching the description of our shapechanging thug was in the prison. We spoke to the guards, and they told us that a person had indeed been placed under arrest last night for disorderly conduct, but that person was a foul-mouthed doxy. We asked to see her anyway, knowing she had the ability to change shape, suspecting an illusionist or transmuter at the time. She proved to be as foul-mouthed as she was intractable in her story that she’d never seen us before, but a strange glint in her eye made me think otherwise. I called upon the Goddess for aid, and peered into her mind to read her thoughts. But instead of thoughts, all I got was a curious blankness. As I probed deeper, finding nothing, she glanced my way and threw me a wink, saying that she’d said all she was going to say, and that she was sure we’d find who we were looking for “soon enough.”
We retreated back upstairs and I told the others about the strange blank mind effect; this, combined with the shapechanging aspect, led us to believe that our enemy was something more than a spellcaster. All signs, at this point, indicated he/she/it was a doppelganger. Yet doppelgangers rarely worked alone in large cities like Greyhawk, and why had she targeted us in the first place? The only clue we had was that weird bent key, and with a little asking around, we soon determined that the octopus attacking the boat was the same symbol as used over the door of an out-of-business trading company that once maintained a warehouse down by the river. A place known as “Sodden Hold.”
Eager to find out more, we geared up and made our way to the river. The close smell of the city got a little better as we passed through the gate and into the riverfront, the air now heavy with the distinctive scent of river nettles, mud, and fish cooking on numerous noontime open-air stoves.
Sodden Hold turned out to be worth its namesake, a forgotten building partially protruding over the river on thick, algae-encrusted pilings. The street seemed fairly empty, with most of the traffic bustling further up the river toward the city wall, so it was with relative ease that we tried the key in the front door’s lock. Success!
Inside, the southern half of the building seemed to be a partially filled storage hall. Crates and barrels, covered with dust, lent the place an air of being abandoned, yet here and there we could see the scuffle of recent passage in the dusty floor. We were about to turn our attention to an upper walkway that led to a door leading north, when suddenly Rac cried out in surprise. I glanced over at him and watched in shock as one of the crates turned strangely malleable, extruding out a pseudopod to strike at Rac just as a toothy, horrific mouth slithered open along its top. Daejin cried out, “A MIMIC!” with a sudden strange terror and shock, indicating that she’d had some sort of previous dealings with man-eating crates before. I started to call upon a spiritual weapon to strike at the creature, when suddenly a second crate beside me slithered into life. Shocked, I was unable to dodge aside in time, and in less than three heartbeats it had lifted me off the ground and was feeding me into its strangely dry mouth, a sucking pit that stank of dust and rusty nails. I tried to squirm away, but the thing had begun to exude a nasty, vinegary glue that clung to me, making it impossible to even move. The dusty stink of its interior was growing overwhelming, and stars had started to sparkle at the corner of my eyes before, as suddenly as it had leapt into life, it went strangely slack.
I managed to crawl back out to see that Dram had slain the mimic after helping Rac dispatch his own. A third lay leaking and dead at Gar’s feet. Father Frothlethimble was gracious enough to use prestidigitation to clean me up, but I barely grumbled a thanks to the gnome. It was going to take far more prestidigitations than one to make up for involving Gar and Taan and Demon Boy in the previous night’s error.
We moved on through the door, down a flight of stairs, and into what can only be called a prison. Strange to find a prison inside of a supposedly abandoned warehouse, but stranger still to find that prison occupied by prisoners! There were four in all. Two city guards named Martal and Regim who quickly began begging us to release them, a strange hairy man who shrieked and capered and giggled about us being overdue on our taxes, and a quiet woman who barely registered our arrival but sought instead only to shrink deeper into the corners of her cell.
Martal and Regim seemed the most talkative, and from them we pieced together a vague picture of thugs who had been jumping people in the dead of night and then bringing them back here. They told us that the gibbering man was once a tax collector named Gattel, while the woman was an elf named Ilya Starmane. None of them could tell us much about their captors, so we decided to let them all out and escort them out of the warehouse. Once there, the two guards thanked us and said that they’d escort the other two prisoners to the closest barracks to have them processed and returned to their families. Seemed like a good enough plan at the time, so we bid them farewell and returned to the warehouse.
Beyond the prison, we came into a large room that must have taken up much of the section of the building overlooking the river. The floor had all but fallen away, though, leaving behind only a few timbers and pilings that looked hardly safe enough to traverse. That didn’t really deter Frothlethimble, who immediately scurried out along the timbers and around the corner to report that he’d found a ledge and a door. Daejin, Rac, and Dram moved out as well, but the old timbers proved too much for them and suddenly, with a crack, Rac went tumbling into the waters below. Unfortunately, those waters were strewn with rusty weapons and spears, as he painfully called up to inform us. Even more unfortunate was the fact that several unseen, invisible creatures chose that moment to descend upon us.
The fight with the invisible monsters was disorienting and nerve-wracking. Demon Boy and I remained in the doorway to the south, using magic to fight them (his glitterdust spell proved especially helpful) while the rest of the group did their best to fight them from the various ledges (or in Rac’s case, pits) they found themselves in. It was a close fight, but we defeated the monsters in the end and found that the door Frothlethimbe had discovered led to a final room. A room with a trap door leading down to a shaft that led below.
It was getting late, and the fight with the mimics and the invisible stalkers had taken a lot out of us, so instead of continuing our explorations into the doubtlessly even more soggy chambers below Sodden Hold, we decided to come back tomorrow, leaving Rac, Frothlethimble, and Demon Boy to watch the warehouse from a second abandoned building across the street.
But not before Dram and I headed up to the local garrison to make sure the prisoners we’d rescued had reached it and were doing well. Which, as it happened, was a smart move. Because they’d never shown up at all.
Well worth the wait. Thanks James.
Joy of joys, our patience is rewarded...
I am, as ever, overwhelmed by how good this campaign is and cannot wait for the next installment.
It's like the poster child for D&D gaming. 8-)
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Chief Creative Officer, Publisher
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As a glmipse into the future, this week I'll be running a "special mission" for Demon Boy, Frothelthimble, and a dominated dark elf as they rob a store (and presumably set it on fire) for fun.
I cannot wait!
--Erik
PS: We'll have to get Jeremy to resurrect his journal for this one, since Tyralandi won't be coming along.
PPS: There's a good chance someone dies. Just sayin'.
For the most part I cruise this board for DM ideas. This journal, however, inspires me as a player. Really love it.
I see Tyralandi popped up in the last issue of dungeon as well.
Part of me wants to make a suitably childish innuendo about her having an impressive "array", but I think i'll resist.
I see Tyralandi popped up in the last issue of dungeon as well.
Part of me wants to make a suitably childish innuendo about her having an impressive "array", but I think i'll resist.
Yeah, she does have great..uhh..stats. Think she used a point buy for those? :D