I usually GM other systems, but this time I got to play one of Paizo's excellent adventure paths. The idea of running Pathfinder makes me feel ill (too much crunch), but I don't mind playing it now and then.
We have been playing from the beginning of the AP, but I did not write a log during Haunting of Harrowstone and missed most of Trial of the Beast due to problems at home. I turned up for one session - and my character died. :p
Now we're started Broken Moon and I have a new character, Van Hellsqueak the halfling werewolf hunter. The other players are:
Hargr Dawnstorm (The Trollkiller) - Moderately Deranged Dwarf Fighter. Has actually been known to kill the odd troll or two. (Pat)
Rafe Jacoby - Ranger. Greatest moment - Shooting down a manticore with a single arrow. (Mal)
Sister Delores - Sensible Priestess of Pharasma - Proved the Beast of Lepidstadts innocence in court (Lyndsey). Now is accompanied by two horses, and a homunculus named "Black Pudding"
Thorn - somewhat dishevelled Dwarven druid, but falling short of actually having birds nesting in his hair. assigned to the quest by Judge Daramid, as a guide through the Shudderwood.(Gaz)
--
Broken Moon / Session One (12/01/2014)
Having released Count Alpon from his own torture chamber (if nothing else, those Whispering Way cultists have a wicked sense of irony) and defeated the Aberrant Promethean atop the tallest spire of Schloss Caromac, the triumphant heroes return to Lepidstadt to report their success to Judge Daramid. The magistrate reveals that both she and the late Professor Lorimmor are members of a secret society called the Order of the Palantine Eye. The Order does not know what the Whispering Way are up to, but are justifiably concerned that the cabal have discovered a way to release Tar-Baphon - the Whispering Tyrant – from dread Gallowspire.
Fortunately, Count Alpon overheard the necromancers discussing their next move, the Way are bound for the werewolf-infested forest of Shudderwood. Judge Daramid wants the party to track the necromancers into the wilds. To aid them, she has procured the services of tree-hugging dwarven druid Thorn and diminutive werewolf hunter Van Hellsqueak, who will escort the party to the gates of Ascanor Lodge, last bastion of humanity within the inhospitable forest.
Before leaving Lepidstadt, the party are approached by representatives of the local thieves guild. One is carrying a wriggling sack, which he upends at their feet. A small, thin gnomish child blinks up at them owlishly. It transpires that before his (gruesome) death, Elan made a deal with these undesirables. The alchemist had agreed to provide the guild with potions & poisons, in exchange for a steady supply of orphans to serve as lab assistants and test subjects in his experiments. Rafe Jacoby relays the sad news of Elan’s demise and tells them to take the girl away. The thieves explain their ‘no returns’ policy and bugger off, leaving the party to care for the child, who does not have a name. Ignoring Hargr’s ‘helpful’ suggestions, Sister Dolores calls her Astrid.
The first three days travelling through the Shudderwood pass uneventfully. Thorn observes that this is unusual; normally you cannot take a five foot step without being jumped by something huge and hairy. The dwarven druid speculates that something must be occupying the various werewolf clans. Rafe and Sister Dolores share a meaningful glance; could this be connected to the Whispering Way? Even Elan’s ghost is keeping a low profile. The spook recalls the fate of his zombie butler and is determined to keep his own presence hidden from Sister Dolores, whose faith would require that she exorcise his lingering spirit. Convinced that his former companions have forgotten about Astrid, Elan initiates the girl into the wonderful world of amateur alchemy.
Suddenly, Van Hellsqueak (riding point astride his skittish pony) curses, the trail ahead is blocked by thick, sticky webs. Drawing the convoy to a halt, Rafe’s keen eyes pick out four insectoid figures lurking in the trees. Ettercaps!
Filled with distaste for these unsightly denizens of the forest depths, Thorn clambers onto the roof of the first wagon (formerly Dr Elan's Travelling Medicine Shoppe) and starts hurling fireballs at the leafy canopy in which the creatures hide. Van Hellsqueak, Rafe and Hargr are all ensnared in nets of sticky silk, as the ettercaps descend to the forest floor. His muscular arms bound against his sides, the dwarven trollkiller topples off the cart and begins to roll slowly towards one of the creatures. Meanwhile, Sister Dolores targets two of the ettercaps with a burst of radiant light, blinding one and wounding the other.
Despite his -2 strength modifier, Van Hellsqueak struggles free of the webs gluing him to the back of his mount – and is immediately webbed again. An ettercap sniggers from the bushes. Thorn hurries to the helpless halfling’s side and prevents the creature sinking its poisoned fangs into Van Hellsqueak’s succulent flesh. Hargr continues to roll along the forest floor, building momentum as he works one arm free of the cocoon. With a flash of steel, the dwarven warrior cuts through the webbing and buries his axe in an ettercap’s head! Rafe and Sister Dolores slay another two of the monsters, but the final wretch escapes into the tangled undergrowth. Rafe starts to pursue, before heeding Thorn’s urgent plea to return to the path.
Thorn burns away the webbing obstructing the trail so that the wagons can pass. Before the group can get back underway, they hear a haunting melody through the trees. Everyone (except Sister Dolores) feels compelled to follow the spooky music back to its source, which turns out to be a partially ruined tower overlooking the path. The Pharasman nun tries to snap Hargr out of his trance, but the dwarf’s coarse beard is rough as sandpaper and slapping him only injures her own hand.
Van Hellsqueak is the first of the enchanted heroes to enter the ruins. He spots the one surviving ettercap lurking beside a gaping chasm in the floor of the tower. Emerging from this pit is an abomination with the upper body of a woman and the lower body of a gigantic maggot. Van Hellsqueak’s addled mind does not register his immediate peril. Then the music stops and the halfling shrieks in terror as the weaverworm tries to drag him into its lair. Hargr snaps out of his stupor and rushes to the rescue, driving the loathsome creature back into its pit. The weaverworm is slain and the party search its foul-smelling lair. Rafe cuts down the desiccated husks of several mummified travellers and discovers that one carries a bloodstained letter addressed to the warden of Ascanor Lodge.
Broken Moon / Session Two (19/01/2014)
The next morning, the heroes find a naked man hanging from a tree with a silver dagger driven through his breast. Eyes aglint with stereotypically dwarven greed, Hargr hops down from the wagon and goes to recover the valuable blade. He stumbles over a tripwire and falls flat on his face, as several concealed crossbow traps are triggered simultaneously. The bolts pass over the prone dwarf and he stands back up without even realising how close he came to death. Van Hellsqueak examines the dangling corpse and finds that its mouth has been stuffed full of a strange purple weed. He tastes a bit and identifies it as Wolfsbane. The party conclude that the dead man had been afflicted with lycanthropy and whoever killed him wasn't taking any chances. Sister Dolores insists upon giving the body a proper Pharasman burial.
Later that day, the convoy reach Ascanor Lodge. Grim-faced mercenaries observe their approach warily from atop a tall, wooden palisade. A halfling porter (introducing himself as Belik of Courtard) asks the nature of their visit.
"Here is a letter of introduction from Count Alpon Caromac, former ruler of Vieland, explaining the urgency of our mission." says Rafe, proffering an envelope marked with the count's heraldic seal.
"Ah, very impressive."
"And here is a reservation in our names, authorised by Judge Daramid of Lepidstadt."
"Of course. Yes, well, you're still not coming in."
"What?"
While Rafe bickers with the pretentious porter, a hunting party emerges from the lodge and approaches the gate. The leader introduces himself as Duristan Silvio Ariesir and demands that Belik open the gate so that he and his men might embark on their expedition into the Shudderwood. Noticing that the heroes have a rough and ready look about them, he invites the group to join him, what greater sport can there be than hunting werewolves? The nobleman instructs Belik to let the heroes bring their wagons into the compound. The porter grudgingly opens the gate and waves them in. Pressing one finger to the side of his nose, Hargr pauses beside the halfling and 'accidentally' fires a ball of phlegm from the other nostril onto the little fellow's ever so shiny boots. Sensing Duristan's impatience to be away, the heroes leave Astrid inside Elan's old wagon with strict instructions not to mess with any of the dead alchemist's equipment. The gnomish child promises to behave, only Elan's ghost can see her nimble fingers crossed behind her back.
It soon becomes apparent that despite professing himself to be a druid, Thorn does not posses the Knowledge [Nature] skill. Fortunately, one of Duristan's men proves to be a capable woodsman and the group follow some tracks to the lair of two irate dire boars, who do not much care for visitors. Hargr wades in and chops the swine into strips of dire bacon. Van Hellsqueak questions Duristan's ability to differentiate between a werewolf and a wardrobe. Incensed by the halfling's mocking tone, the nobleman insists that the group camp out in the Sudderwood overnight and do not return to the lodge until they've bagged themselves a lycanthrope. The heroes are under no illusion that this is a sucky plan, but equally aware that if Duristan doesn't make it back alive, that piece of s%$# porter won't let them back in.
Duristan's plan is simple. While he and the heroes drink strong Ustalavian brandy around the fire, his men will litter the area surrounding their camp with slabs of raw, bloody meat. Then they wait. Rafe, Thorn and Sister Dolores decline the bottle, but both Hargr and Van Hellsqueak drink enough to make up for them. Accustomed to much stronger dwarven spirits, Hargr is hardly effected, but Van Hellsqueak gets plastered. He and Duristan exchange (grossly exaggerated) stories to establish which of them is the better werewolf hunter. Since the nobleman lacks the Sense Motive skill, he is awestruck by the halfling's claim to have slain six werewolves simultaneously, armed with nothing but a silver tea spoon. Even Van Hellsqueak begins to believe his own hype. Duristan then removes his jacket to show his drinking pals a small scar on his shoulder. He claims it is a magical wardscar that will protect him from contracting lycanthropy. Impressed, Hargr and Van Hellsqueak both demand to know where they can get one! Across the fire, Sister Dolores rolls her eyes, recognising that the mark is about as magical as a dog turd and won't protect Duristan from squat.
Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream rends the night! Leaping to their feet, the heroes rush towards the sound. Thorn transforms into a fire elemental, illuminating a gristly scene. A fearsome werewolf stands over two dead NPCs, blood dripping from its chops. The hybrid demands to know why the party are trespassing in Primal territory.
"We're here to kill werewolves!" Van Hellsqueak replies, his voice slurred with drink. He struggles to load a silver-tipped cross-bolt into his bow, while his vision swims alarmingly.
"Your false explanations are meaningless!" the werewolf snarls.
"No, we really are here to murder you." Duristan explains patiently, "Look, we've all got silver weapons."
The hybrid still doesn't believe them. It accuses the party of interfering in werewolf politics and demands that they return to Ascanor Lodge and deliver a warning to their master. Weary of werewolf diplomacy, Rafe notches a silver-tipped arrow and raises his bow - suddenly, a second werewolf burst from the dark foliage.
"Clever girl!" Rafe murmurs, turning to meet this new threat.
The talkative werewolf lunges for Van Hellsqueak, who had the nerve to nod off during its tedious monologue. The halfling squawks with surprise and falls over his own hairy feet. Dropping his crossbow, the weapon discharges by accident, shooting a silver-tipped cross-bolt into the hybrid's eye! Duristan drives his sword through the blinded monster's chest. As it dies, the werewolf transforms back into a naked wild man, scrawny and bedraggled. Van Hellqueak and Duristan argue over who gets to add that kill to their tally.
Meanwhile, Hargr sinks his axe into the second werewolf's kneecap. It howls in pain, limping after the surprisingly frolicsome trollkiller. Sister Dolores petitions her goddess and disintegrates the beast with a blast of holy fire, leaving nowt but a small pile of singed fur.
Having slain a werewolf (or two!) and satisfied Duristan's pride, the group return to Ascanor Lodge. The halfling porter welcomes them back with an apologetic smile and a tray of steaming beverages. Sister Dolores casts Detect Piss. While Duristan leaves to brag to the other guests, the heroes are escorted by Belik to meet Estovion Lazarov, warden of the lodge.
Broken Moon / Session Three (26/01/2014)
Belik of Courtard leads the triumphant hunters to the office of lodge warden Estovian Lazarov, who apologises for the porter’s conduct at the gate. He regrets that he had not informed the halfling of the general invitation extended to all representatives of the Order. Estovian grants the group unrestricted access to the lodge’s extensive library and enquires as to what exactly they are looking for. Rafe explains that they are tracking a group of necromancers through the Shudderwood. The warden seems troubled by this news and retires to his office. Belik of Courtard shows the heroes to their lodgings and bids them enjoy their stay.
The next morning, Duristan brings the artist of his wardscar to visit the heroes’ room. She introduces herself as Madam Ivanja and speaks in husky, heavily accented varisian. To repay the heroes for their support, Duristan has arranged for each of them to receive a free, werewolf-repelling tattoo. Rafe, Thorn and Sister Dolores decline the nobleman’s generous offer, while Hargr and Van Hellsqueak eagerly accept. The dwarven trollkiller bares his hairy arse to the horrified woman.
“The wardscar is more effective on the torso…” she urges, choking back a wave of nausea.
Hargr leers, enjoying her discomfort. He doesn’t believe in the power of the wardscars any more than the rest of the party do, but saw an opportunity to have a beautiful woman touch his bum and seized it with both hands. Once Madam Ivanja has recovered from her ordeal, Van Hellsqueak asks if there are other wardscars that affect other monsters. Sensing a mug, she tentatively suggests that there might be... for the right price. At great expense, the Halfling slayer is outfitted with a string of tattoos to safeguard him from the predations of werewolves, vampires, zombies, fishmen and the Irish.
Meanwhile, Rafe and the others explore the lodge and mingle amongst the other guests, alert for the telltale signs of affiliation with a death cult (gagged skulls, skeletal minions, sinister whispering, that sort of thing). Thorn approaches the Markiza Welgory, but is intercepted by her broad shouldered and handsome huntsman Ostovach. The dwarven druid enquires where in the Shudderwood game is most plentiful, which Ostovach somehow interprets as “Please direct me the nearest brothel.” Waggling his eyebrows in a vaguely obscene manner, he tells Thorn that the tower on the western edge of the compound has been infested with scantily clad nymphomaniacs, who offer another kind of sport for rich noblemen to indulge in between hunts.
Thorn has zero interest in visiting a harem of sex-crazed young women; he is drawn instead towards the intoxicating smell of fresh manure drifting from the stables. Rafe and Hargr are less atypical in their appetites and do make a point of introducing themselves to the whores. Madam Ivanja greets them at the door of the tower, then turns a funny shade of green when she recognises the dwarf. Having not entirely forgotten their purpose, Rafe asks the traumatized woman if she has entertained any particularly creepy customers recently. Surprisingly, one of her girls (a Vudran called Niama) received a hooded gentleman wearing an amulet that resembled a gagged skull. Interrogating Niama, the heroes learn that the cultists met with silver-haired man (most likely Matthias Mordrinacht, leader of the Silverhides), while she performed a provocative dance (which the GM refused to replicate at the table). She did not hear what they were discussing, because they conducted their discussion in sinister whispers!
‘That’s two out of three!’ Rafe thinks, ticking the clues off on his mental checklist. He rushes off without another word.
“I thought he’d never leave!” Hargr says, dropping his chainmail pants, “Brace yourself, lassie.”
Unfortunately - clean-shaven, human women just don’t stoke his forge.
“I’m sorry, this doesn’t usually happen,” he mutters, limp and listless.
“It happens to everyone,” Niama sympathises, as the despondent dwarf re-buckles his trousers.
Meanwhile, Sister Dolores questions Delgros, the hunting master of Ascanor Lodge. He explains that the sudden death of the last packlord has created a power vacuum at the tippy top of the werewolf hierarchy. Normally, whoever kills the packlord would devour his heart and become the new leader. However, the word in the wood is that the last packlord’s heart has gone walkabout, sparking a civil war between the numerous werewolf clans.
Pooling their information, the heroes reach the not-unreasonable conclusion that the Whispering Way travelled to the Shudderwood to steal the packlord’s heart, trusting the subsequent infighting to mask their involvement. Since the necromancers met with their contact within the lodge, Rafe corners the halfling porter again with some decidedly pointed questions.
“Hello again, Belik!” says the ranger, all false cheer and friendliness, “Do you remember when I asked you earlier about admitting any unusual people into the compound recently?”
“You mean besides your lot?” the porter chuckles nervously.
“Hahahaha!” Rafe laughs, “Well, a little bird tells me that two weeks ago, you opened the gates to a hooded rider astride a skeletal horse, carrying a black staff crackling with eldritch fire, wearing an amulet in the shape of gagged skull. You didn’t notice any of these highly unusual qualities?”
“Well… it was dark.”
“Then this will be familiar,” says Hargr, popping a bag over his head.
The frightened halfling thrashes uselessly against his muscular captor, his struggles growing weaker and weaker until at last he sags over the dwarf’s broad shoulder like a sack of soggy porridge.
“Wow, did you find some chloroform in Elan’s wagon?” Rafe asks, impressed by the potency of the drug.
“Nah, I must have left a pair of my old socks in the bag.” Hargr confesses with a wicked grin. *
Having dealt with the suspicious porter, the heroes begin to wonder about his boss, who has not emerged from his office since their brief encounter the previous evening. Thorn wildshapes into a bird and flutters to the spire of the warden’s tower. While the others stage a distraction to lure Estovian from his lair, he resumes his normal shape and scrambles down the chimney. His fire resistance allows him to emerge from the hearth unscorched. Thumbing through Estovian’s journals, Thorn discovers the warden is in league with the Whispering Way. He recently received instructions from a noble in Caliphas called Adivon Adrissant, to aid the necromancer Auren Vrood with his diabolical mission.
Broken Moon Session Four (02/02/2014)
Thorn sits alone on the roof of Ascanor Lodge and ponders the implications of what he has just uncovered within the pages of Estovian's journal. He spots a figure moving furtively through the grounds, then realises that it is only Paucy Troabs, the lodge's dimwitted handyman. He is carrying a large bucket and pauses intermittently to toss handfuls of bloody meat onto the ground, creating a charnal trail across the compound. Thorn watches Paucy unlock the reinforced door of the old well shed and slip inside. Curiosity piqued, the dwarven druid climbs down for a closer look. As he approaches, the well shed disgorges a giant tarauntula! Thorn sprints towards the lodge, pursued by the scuttling shadow of death.
The rest of the heroes are gathered with the other guests in a cosy sitting room, enjoying brandy and cigars after a hearty dinner. Thorn appears in the doorway, panic-stricken and struggling for breath.
"There's a giant spider loose in the - arrrggghhhhh!!!"
Before Thorn can finish speaking, a huge, black, bristly leg snatches him out of sight. The other guests exchange lethargic glances through the smoky haze of tobacco.
"Loose in the - where?" Duristan asks, swirling his brandy glass in one hand.
"I'll go and check." Van Hellsqueak offers, struggling to his feet. He pokes his head around the door and sees Throrn fighting for his life against the enormous tarantula.
"It's loose in the building." Van Hellsqueak clarifies, closing the door.
"This building?"
"Yeah."
(beat)
"Aarrrggghhhhh!!!"
The sitting room door cashes open as the spider throws its weight against the threshold. Van Hellsqueak runs between its legs, half-empty bottle clutched in one hand and his crossbow in the other. The tarantula narrows all eight of it's beady eyes and gives chase. The halfling begins climbing a bookcase, pausing halfway up to take a pull from the bottle. He spots a hefty tome titled 'Great Arachnids of Ustalav' on the next shelf up.
'That could be useful,' Van Hellsqueak thinks.
He pulls the heavy book down and drops it on the spider's head. The tarrantula is staggered. Hargr, Rafe and Sister Dolores join the fray. Everyone is poisoned! Fighting the venom coursing through his own veins, Thorn manages to summon a hellhound, which breathes fire on the spider, setting it ablaze. The tarantula fires a salvo of poisonous bristles from its back. Hargr raises his shield just in time to avoid being turned into a pin cushion. The dwarven warrior reels backwards and falls heavily against the bookcase that Van Hellsqueak is hanging from. The bookcase begins to topple over, Van Hellsqueak rolls to safety, accidentally catching the hair trigger on his crossbow. The bolt hits the heavy, iron candelabrum hanging over the spider. The chain snaps and it falls onto the tarantula, crushing it. Everyone is covered in foul, purple spider guts as the beast bursts like a huge, mouldy grapefruit.
Estovian appears, stepping gingerly around the corpse of the still smoldering spider. He praises the heroes for defending the lodge and berates both Paucy and Delgros for allowing the tarantula to escape from the beast pens beneath the compund. Sister Dolores gets the distinct impression that the warden is not as pleased by their actions as he would like them to believe. Only Thorn knows (at least a fragment of) the truth and - after being horribly mauled by the spider - he is still too poorly to speak up.
The guests retire to their rooms, while the staff tidy up the mess. Van Hellsqueak makes is plain that he has dibs on the spider's body and begins looking for a modestly priced taxidermist.
The following morning, the lodge is woken by yet more screaming as the staff discover the mutilated body of Cilas Graydon, the (late) Margrave of Stornidae. The nobleman has been viciously torn apart by some manner of beast - yet there are no tracks leading into or out of the room. After locating the Margrave's severed head (which had rolled behind the dresser), Sister Dolores casts Speak with Dead.
"Who/What killed you?" she asks.
"It was the big, bad wolf." answers the head.
The heroes curse the architect of Ascanor Lodge for lacking the foresight to construct the building with bricks. Having established that Graydon was assassinated by some breed of super ninja wolf, the heroes brainstorm how best to identify/catch the killer. Thorn (finally!!!) shares his knowledge, re: Estovian's ties to the Whispering Way and Paucy Traub luring the tarantula into the lodge. It seems likely that the spider was released to distract the other guest's attention from the Margrave's murder. The heroes decide that they need to have words with the idiot handyman, but Estovian has posted guards outside his shack to prevent just that. Not to be deterred, Thorn and Van Hellsqueak climb onto the roof of his hut and shout their questions down the flue. Before being driven off by Estovian's thugs, the heroes learn that Paucy was only doing what the warden told him to.
Next, Van Hellsqueak visits Delgros, hoping to drive a wedge between him and Estovian. The hunting master is less than receptive to the halfling's assertion that the warden is in league with the Whispering Way and probably working with the Silverhides to ensure Matthias Mordrinacht is the next Packlord. He slams his door in Van Hellsqueak's face. The halfling avenges this slight by taking a dump down the hunting master's chimney.
Hargr and Van Hellsqueak decide that they will need bait to lure the super ninja wolf into the open. The most promsing candidate is Astrid, who would make an tempting hors d'oeuvre. Sister Dolores catches the two of them draping the gnomish child with strings of sausages. As the girl's carer, Sister Dolores feels compelled to intervene. Their heartless scheme thwarted, Hargr and Van Hellsqueak return to their favourite pastime; tormenting Belik of Courtard. Setting up camp in the ground floor dining room, they stake out the porter's hut, waiting for another opportunity to abduct the irritiating little gimp.
Meanwhile, Rafe, Thorn and Sister Dolores set a watch, in case the mystery ninja wolf strikes again. During his shift, Thorn hears bestial snarling originating from the room of Corvin Tergsvor. Fearing for the young nobleman's life, Thorn kicks open the door. Corvin pounces at the druid and attempts to tear out Thorn's throat with his teeth. Although he retains human form, something bestial is clearly posessing the nobleman's body. Sister Dolores dispatches her homunculus Black Pudding to smmon Hargr and Van Hellsqueak. Unfortunately, Black Pudding does not command the power of human speech and struggles to relay its mistresses message.
"What's that Black Pudding?" Hargr says, "Little Astrid is trapped down the well?"
With no sign of reinforcements, Rafe, Thorn and Sister Dolores are left to restrain Corvin by themselves. Rafe has has no choice but to put the crazed aristocrat down, driving his silver sword through the man's chest. Before the ranger can even wipe the blood from his blade, a, incorporeal wolf spirit rises from the corpse of the slain noble, howling with murderous fury as it is forced to abandon its host body....
Broken Moon Session Five (09/02/2014)
Rafe swings at the glowing wolf spirit rising from Corvin’s body, but his blade passes through the beast as though it were no more substantial than mist. It retaliates by lashing out with its spectral claws, tearing deep gouges in the darkwood walls. The ranger rolls to one side, narrowly avoiding evisceration. Sister Dolores raises her holy symbol and invokes the wrath of Pharasma. The wolf spirit howls as Sister Dolores advances, stepping carefully over Corvin’s body. In passing, she notices that the young nobleman is only mostly dead. Without a meat shield to hide behind, the wolf spirit must choose to either face the nun’s wrath or leave the field. The wily animal spirit elects to fight another day and disappears.
Thorn kneels down beside Corvin’s body and applies a generous quantity of healing mud to the nobleman’s gaping wounds. The dwarven druid is confident that the patient will recover. Wiping his mucky hands on the edge of nobleman’s dressing gown, Thorn notices Estovian peering around the corner. Noticing the dwarf’s attention, the furtive warden scurries back up the ladder to his personal chambers and slams the trapdoor. When Thorn tries to follow, he hears something heavy being dragged atop the portal. Knocking and calling Estovian’s name elicits no response. Van Hellsqueak has been suspicious of the warden for some time (and not just because his player has previously read the module) and heads outside to make sure that Estovian does not try to escape via the high windows of his tower. Hargr hacks the trapdoor apart and the rest of the party search the warden’s room. Thorn pulls a handful of smouldering parchment from the hearth and recognises the familiar pages of Estovian’s damning journal (which he read on his last visit).
Of Estovian himself there is no trace. He is not hiding in the room, nor can either of the party’s two dwarfs find any secret exits from the chamber. Van Hellsqueak did not notice anyone leaving the tower externally. It’s almost as though the treacherous lodge warden simply vanished into thin air.
Hargr and Van Hellsqueak decide to question their old friend Belik of Courtard. They drag the frightened halfling to the fountain in the lodge compound and dunk him until he’s half drowned. Several of the other guests – most notably the Markiza Welgory - object to their abuse of the poor porter. The heroes try to convince the noblewoman that Belik is actually a werewolf and unworthy of her concern. She’s not buying it.
“Wait! We can prove he’s a werewolf!” Van Hellsqueak reassures the crowd of disapproving onlookers.
“Can we?” Hargr whispers.
“Behold! I have in my hand a single silver piece!” Van Hellsqueak announces, the metal disc gleaming as he holds it up for the crowd’s scrutiny, “If Belik of Courtard is innocent, he will be able to take this coin from me with no ill effect. However! If he is indeed afflicted with vile lycanthropy, the mere touch of silver will cause him intense, physical pain!”
Then, for Hargr’s ears only, he adds; “When I say, stamp on the bastard’s foot.”
With exaggerated showmanship, Van Hellsqueak places a silver coin in the halfling’s palm – just as Hargr stomps on his foot as hard as he can (which is quite hard) – breaking several toes with his great, hobnailed boots. The porter screams!
“Aha!” Van Hellsqueak caws, “You see! He IS a werewolf! We told you so, didn’t we?”
The crowd disperse, leaving Belik to his fate. After dunking him a few more times, his tormentors are forced to accept that he really doesn’t know where Estovian is hiding. Growing bored, they sew him inside the body of the giant tarantula for safe keeping.
With no immediate leads on Estovian’s location, the party decide to travel to the Stairs of the Moon and warn the werewolf leaders that they are all being manipulated by the Whispering Way. If they are in time, they hope to prevent the Shudderwood from being engulfed in a civil war between the tribes. Duristan insists on accompanying the heroes.
“You do understand that we’re just going to talk, right?” Sister Dolores asks doubtfully.
“I do all my talking with this baby!” the nobleman replies, caressing the hilt of his silver long sword.
“Perhaps you should leave the talking to us.” Rafe sighs.
The heroes load up their wagons and prepare to head out. Sister Dolores hears voices from inside Hargr’s wagon and discovers Astrid playing with Elan’s old, alchemical apparatus.
“Astrid, who were you talking to?” she asks the child, convinced that she had heard a second voice.
“Nobody.” Astrid answers. From over the nun’s shoulder, Elan’s ghost gives the girl a big thumbs up.
Concerned by the gnome’s increasingly erratic behaviour (having a spook for a babysitter/teacher/best friend will do that), Sister Dolores decides it might be best for Astrid to sit this trip out and arranges for her to stay at the lodge until the party return.
Some time later, the convoy reach the ruined temple. A long time ago, the site was sacred to the worshippers of Desna. Now it stands overgrown and forgotten, save by the denizens of the Shudderwood. Inexplicably, Duristan informs the group that he’s going to use the back door and leads his surviving cohort into the bushes. The heroes assume that this is just his way of telling them he plans to indulge in a spot of buggery. It has been a very stressful day. Van Hellsqueak wonders if the nobleman has a wardscar to protect him from aids.
Cupping his hands around his mouth, Rafe announces their presence to the werewolves who are undoubtedly observing their approach. He calls for a parlay. Several slathering hybrids lope out of the bushes to greet them. Or perhaps that should be ‘to eat them’. Sister Dolores observes that the werewolves are brandishing assorted cutlery and each wear a napkin tied around their furry throats. One is holding a bottle of ketchup upside down and urgently tapping the bottom, trying to coax some red sauce to ooze from the neck.
The heroes defeat the welcoming committee without great difficulty – then get taken in the rear by another pair of hybrids.
“This must be how Duristan’s servant feels!” Hargr groans.
Simultaneously, the werewolves in the tower begin raining arrows down upon the convoy. Thorn decides that this cannot continue and hurls a fireball at the crumbling battlements. Part of the ruin comes crashing down, burying the marksmen beneath a pile of rubble. Meanwhile, one of the hulking Primals sinks its fangs into Van Hellsqueak’s shoulder.
“The wardscar does nothing!” the little fellow cries - genuinely surprised – as the vicious werewolf worries the wound. Across the battlefield, Sister Dolores rolls her eyes. Having dropped his crossbow, Van Hellsqueak caves in his antagonist’s skull with a silver mace. Rafe Jacoby kills the other one.
“Bad - dog!” the ranger shouts, hacking at the corpse between ragged breaths, “We’re – only - here – to – help – you!”
Broken Moon Session Six (16/02/2014)
(Pat and Lyndsay were absent this week, so their characters were on auto-pilot)
The heroes nurse their wounds and eye the Stairs of the Moon balefully. Their main reason for being here was to warn the werewolves about the Whispering Way, yet the hybrids do not seem interested in hearing them out. A series of dark archways lead into the interior of the temple, while a spiral staircase winds around the outside of the tower. The party decide to sweep and clear each level of the dungeon in ascending order, beginning with the ground floor. The room beyond the arches is littered with gnawed bones and filth, the air is thick with a pervasive, animal stink. Both Thorn and Sister Dolores cast Light upon the skeletal remains, illuminating the area. Regular rows of wide, stone pillars support the high ceiling.
A bloodcurdling howl heralds the manifestation of the wolf spirit, which the party last encountered at Ascanor Lodge. They later learnt (from Estovian’s journals) that the murderous entity is called a vilkacis, which the warden is able to summon. The spirit possesses Rafe Jacoby, much as it previously possessed Corvin Tergsvor. The ranger’s fingernails grow into savage claws and dark hair begins to sprout all over his body. His nose elongates into a muzzle and his teeth resemble the fangs of a beast. Before Rafe can complete this transformation, Van Hellsqueak shoots him in the knee.
“Sorry!” the halfling apologises, somewhat insincerely.
Thus hobbled, the vilkacis cannot move quickly enough to escape Sister Dolores. The Pharasman nun commands the spirit to abandon Rafe’s body. Cornered in its den, the vilkacis fights to the death. Since most of the party took care to arm themselves with magical, silver weapons, they make short work of it.
Sister Dolores notices that one section of the wall appears to have been hastily bricked up. The stones here are not even mortared together, just stacked haphazardly to block the way ahead. Hargr demolishes the shoddy work (an affront to his dwarven sensibilities) and is immediately set upon by the dire wolf waiting on the other side. Suddenly, black tentacles erupt from the walls and floor, ensnaring most of the party in their rubbery embrace. Estovian Lazarov emerges from hiding, in order to gloat.
“I know why you’re here!” he crows, madness glinting behind his horn-rimmed spectacles, “Judge Daramid sent you to silence me, didn’t she?! How long have the Order known about my deal with Adivon Adrissant?”
“Adiwho Whatissant?” Hargr asks. The rest of the group exchange puzzled glances.
“Don’t play the fool with me!” Estovian shrieks, grossly overestimating the dwarf’s capacity for cunning, “You were in my tower, you read my journals! You know I conspired with Matthias Mordrinacht and Auren Vrood to steal the packlord’s heart!”
“What’s in it for you, Estovian?” Rafe demanded, struggling against the black tentacles, “Why betray the Order? Did the Way promise you gold? Women? Power? Tell us what Adrissant is offering and we’ll double it!”
“You haven’t got enough gold to match a tenth of what I’m getting paid.” Estovian sneers, turning away.
“True, but we’ve got plenty of silver.”
Van Hellsqueak pulls the trigger on his crossbow, shooting the warden in the arse with a silver bolt. Estovian doubles over in pain, blood soaking through his britches.
The black tentacles effectively split the party. Van Hellsqueak and Estovian are both on one side, the rest of the party are trapped on the other and unable to contribute to the battle. The injured warden teleports away, Van Hellsqueak advances on his new position, using the pillars for cover. Estovian casts Stinking Cloud, but the halfling is not affected.
“How are you not sickened?” Estovian cries out, disbelief writ plain upon his face.
“I’ve smelled Hargr’s farts,” Van Hellsqueak responds, a cheerful voice within the murk, “This is nothing!”
Angered, Estovian shoots a bolt of lightning at his foe. This proves a more efficient approach. Van Hellsqueak staggers from the stinking cloud, smoke curling from his ears. The warden whips out his wand and sprays corrosive green slime into the halfling’s face.
“You didn’t even buy me a drink!” the halfling wails, as his skin begins to melt.
It’s about now that the black tentacles expire and the rest of the party can join the battle (at long, bloody last – six rounds without support almost killed my character). Van Hellsqueak tags Hargr in with a partially skeletonised hand. Thorn summons an eagle, which flaps around Estovian’s head, snatching the horn-rimmed spectacles right off his nose. The short-sighted villain peers blearily towards the blurry shape barrelling towards him. He scarcely has time to register the familiar beard before it is too late.
“You should have gone to Specsavers!” Hargr roars, burying his axe into the warden’s scrawny chest.
Broken Moon Session Seven (23/02/2014)
Having slain Estovian Lazarov, the party begin their arduous ascent of the tower. The narrow staircase spirals around the exterior of the tall, stone spire. There is no hand-rail. Clearly, health and safety was not a priority to the Desnan priests who first occupied the temple. Noticing that Hargr’s axe has cleaved Estovian’s chest wide open, Van Hellsqueak is struck with an ingenious notion.
“I’m right behind you….” he calls after the others. Once Sister Dolores is out of sight, the halfling rolls up his sleeve and starts cutting….
About halfway up the tower, Rafe decides that steps are for chumps and breaks out the party’s new wand of spider-climb. Despite spending a charge to enchant Thorn, the dwarven druid continues to trudge doggedly up the steps. The rest of the group scramble up the smooth, vertical stonework. Hargr begins to sing a traditional dwarven wall climbing song;
“Spider-Dwarf, Spider-Dwarf, does whatever a Spider-Dwarf can!
Drink some ale, climb a wall.
Who built this f***ing tower, quite so tall?
Look out, here come Spider-Dwarf!”
The penultimate level of the tower (or skychamber) is surrounded by tall arches that the wind howls through. The floor is dominated by a mural of a butterfly, holy symbol of the Desnan faith. The group of Silverhide rangers waiting at the top hear Harg’s racket and ready their bows. Suddenly, an inverted halfling pops down from above one of the arches and fires his crossbow into the back of a werewolf’s skull. Nothing happens. Van Hellsqueak examines his weapon and notices that the bolt has fallen out at some point.
“I told you it wouldn’t work upside down!” Rafe shouts.
The werewolf launches itself towards the idiot halfling, raking him with wicked claws. Unfortunately, the hybrid has not been magically imbued with the attributes of a spider and plunges to his doom, while Van Hellsqueak remains anchored to the stone. The party make short work of the rangers, attracting the attention of the Silverhide leader, Mathus Mordrinacht.
“You are not lycanthropes!” Mordrinacht growls, “You have no voice at this council!”
“Your werewolf friends might like to hear what we have to say,” Rafe answers “We know you were at Ascanor Lodge, Mathus. We know all about your arrangement with Whispering Way!”
“I will be the next Packlord!” Mordrinacht barks, readying his weapons, “Since I cannot devour the heart of Kvalka Sain, I will eat those of anyone who opposes my ambition – beginning with yours!”
Amber eyes ablaze with his consuming hatred for humans, Mordrinacht launches himself towards Rafe. Hargr grabs hold of the werewolf’s long, grey tail and swings him against one of the crumbling archways overlooking the Shudderwood.
“Time to put the dog out!” Hargr grins, hefting his enormous axe.
The fearsome dwarven warrior deals massive damage, forcing the Silverhide leader to retreat. Thorn summons a lantern archon, blocking the stairs and preventing escape. Trapped, Mordrinacht is forced to fight to the death (his).
Meanwhile, Van Hellsqueak continues scaling the tower. The top of the spire is a wide, flat platform open to the elements. He pops his head up and is immediately spotted (I rolled a natural 1 on my stealth check) by a lithe, lupine woman in figure-hugging leather armour. This is Cybrisa Dorzhanev, leader of the Broken Ones.
“Ah… hello!” Van Hellsqueak says cheerfully, as the werewolf prepares a spell, “Wait! Look at this! I bought back the Packlord’s heart! If you eat it, you’ll become the new Pack…lady, right?”
The halfling produces the bleeding organ that he removed from Estovian’s breast. He waves it towards Cybrisa hopefully, getting gore everywhere.
“Liar!” she snarls, as dark clouds gather around the tower, “That is not the heart of Kvalka Sain, that is a weak human heart and is probably full of calories! Are you trying to ruin my diet?”
Thunder booms deafeningly loud, shaking the tower. A bolt of lightning strikes Van Hellsqueak with unerring accuracy. Somehow, he manages to cling to the wall. The rest of the party emerge from the skychamber below, tramping over the corpse of Mathus Mordrinacht. A trailing length of lower intestine clings to the sole of Hargr’s boot. Cybrisa calls for a parlay. The party are disinclined to acquiesce to her request (“means No”). Every werewolf they’ve encountered thus far has ignored their diplomatic overtures. After beating her up, Thorn cast Stabilize to restore Cybrisa to consciousness. Sister Dolores leads the interrogation - while in the background, Hargr and Van Hellsqueak begin to brew a pot of scalding wolfsbane tea. Sister Dolores learns that Mathus Mordrinacht summoned the tribal leaders to the Stairs of the Moon to discuss an end to the hostilities sparked by the assassination of Packlord Kvalka Sain. Rhakis Szardo (leader of the Prince’s Wolves) has yet to arrive and Adimarus Inonacu (leader of the Demon Wolves) is not expected to attend, he led his tribe into the Furrows in pursuit of the stolen heart. Cybrisa is gobsmacked when the Phasman nun reveals that Mordrinacht was in cahoots with the Whispering Way and had probably planned on killing her himself - had the heroes not shown up when they did.
“Then I owe you my life,” Cybrisa says gratefully, “For that, I -”
“Haha!” Van Hellsqueak cries, splashing tepid wolfsbane tea in her face. Water takes longer to boil at higher altitudes (thanks for that, Professor Pat!) and the halfling ran out of patience before Sister Dolores ran out of questions. When this fails to elicit the anticipated response, he throws the kettle at her head. Frustrated, Sister Dolores calls for Rafe to remove the halfling. Her request goes unheard, as both Rafe and Thorn are downstairs, looting the body of Mathus Mordrinacht. She puts the halfling in the naughty corner and returns to her previous line of enquiry.
“Thank-you,” Sister Dolores says sometime later, finally concluding the interview, “Unfortunately, while I am personally grateful for your co-operation in this matter, you are still a monstrous, undead horror in the eyes of my goddess and must be destroyed. It’s nothing personal.”
Van Hellsqueak steps forward and coldly shoots Cybrisa in the heart. Not to be upstaged, Hargr trundles over and swings his axe at her neck. He dribbles the severed head around the top of the tower for a bit - then bicycle kicks it over the edge. The crowd goes wild!
“Was that really necessary?” Sister Dolores asked, turning a funny shade of green.
Sister Dolores and Thorn examine the ring of stone menhirs atop the temple, while Rafe and Hargr roll the dead/plundered hybrids off the tower. Meanwhile, Van Hellsqueak cooks the hearts of Mathus Mordrinacht, Cybrisa Dorzhanev and Estovian Lazarov and piles all three onto a huge sandwich, lightly garnished with wolfsbane. He presents this culinary abomination to Hargr, who wolfs it down (haha!). Sister Dolores points out that wolfsbane is poisonous to normal people, but Hargr is not worried - he is not ‘normal people’. Van Hellsqueak is worried, as he has drunk an awful lot of wolfsbane tea over the last 24 hours. Unknown to him, this actually saved his life. Having contracted lycanthropy when he was bitten in week five, Van Hellsqueak refused healing on the grounds that the magical wardscar on his shoulder would protect him. While the wardscar did nothing of the sort, the sheer quantity of diluted wolfsbane that he’s imbibed over the last few days just about prevents his transformation into a slathering beast.
Sister Dolores believes that the party can contact Desna directly by performing a weird, psychedelic ritual atop the temple. The whole group fall into a disturbing 1960’s-style trance, in which the goddess of dreams grants the heroes a glimpse of their future tribulations. They see themselves battling suave, sexy vampires and Lovecraftian horrors from beyond the stars. Two days later, they all wake up naked in the clearing at the base of the tower (or not). Everyone gets a permanent boost to either their Wisdom or Charisma.
Carrion Crown (Broken Moon) – Session 8 / 02-03-2014
The heroes feel obliged to look for Duristan before returning to Ascanor Lodge. Thorn is convinced that the brash nobleman is doggie chow, but helps search anyway (even if he is dead, he can still help plunder the corpse of magic items). They soon locate the savaged body of his retainer in a blood-splattered clearing. Two hulking Primals are sucking out his entrails as though it were spaghetti. It’s just like in ‘Lady and the Tramp’. The heroes slay them both effortlessly (we rolled > confirmed three consecutive critical hits) and check the area for evidence of Duristan’s fate. They find lots of wolf tracks, but cannot pick up the nobleman’s trail.
Returning to Ascanor Lodge, the group encounter a caravan of Varisian travellers. Their brightly painted wagons and raucous singing seem out of place amidst the oppressive gloom of the Shudderwood. The heroes melt into the foliage and let them pass. Suddenly, the lead caravan pulls up and the driver – a handsome, barrel-chested fellow with curly black hair all over his body - invites the heroes to come forward.
“Only brigands skulk in the bushes, my friends! Step forth and show yourselves!”
The heroes emerge warily, introducing themselves. Surprisingly, the caravan master seems to have heard about them already. He introduces himself as Rhakis Szardo and extends his hand in greeting.
“He’s got hairy palms!” Van Hellsqueak whispers urgently to Rafe, while reaching for his crossbow “Do you know what that means?”
“It means that it can get lonely on the open road.” Rafe says with a rueful smile.
“It means he’s a werewolf!” Van Hellsqueak hisses, suppressing a shudder.
“Well spotted, little one!” Rhakis laughs his booming laugh and clambers down from his wagon. “My friends and I call ourselves the Prince’s Wolves and we have been invited to take council with the other tribes and see if a new Packlord can be elected without further wolfblood being spilt.”
“You would speak with Mathus Mordrinacht and Cybrisa Dorzhanev, would you?” Hargr asks, tossing their severed heads to the ground at Rhakis’ feet, “Well, here they are. Take your council and be gone.”
“Honour dictates that I should slaughter you for this murderous act,” Rhakis sighs, cracking his huge, hairy knuckles, “But your blunt, bloody meddling in this matter may have helped avert a civil war. With the Primals, Silverhides and Broken Ones all leaderless, only two candidates for the Packlord’s throne remain; myself and Adimarus Ionacu of the Demon Wolves.
“I have a proposition for you. Slay Adimarus and recover the heart of Kvalka Sain from those who stole it. Bring the heart to me and I will become the new, undisputed Packlord of the Shudderwood. In exchange, the Prince’s Wolves will cease attacking Ascanor Lodge and promise safe passage along certain routes through the forest. What do you say?”
“Throw in a complimentary toaster and you’ve got yourself a deal!” Hargr replies, spitting on his palm to seal the bargain.
The heroes part company with the Prince’s Wolves and continue to Ascanor Lodge. Delgros has ridden to Lepidstadt to report the sudden disappearances of both the lodge warden and the lodge porter. Astrid has been informally adopted by the Markiza Welgory, who is using the gnomish child as a novelty footstool. Sister Dolores resigns herself to accept that this is probably the best outcome for everyone involved.
Hitching up their own wagons, the heroes head for the south-eastern border of the Shudderwood and cross the river at Chalcis (???). Next, they must cross the war-ravaged Furrows to reach Feldgrau. One travel montage later, the party reach the outskirts of the ruined town. (I’ll confess to being mildly disappointed here. From the description of the Furrows, I wouldn’t have imagined it was the sort of environment that a group could not waltz through without encountering some hostility. I did see Andy rolling for random encounters, but I had hoped to meet the rolling head of Lecit Ghazts along the way – detailed in the back cover of the module. Alas!).
The whole area is shrouded in dense fog, limiting visibility. All of the obligatory screams & howling noises originate from within the depths of this creeping, grey murk. Thorn spots the outline of a large tree, a half-dozen limp bodies dangling from its branches. The party approach warily – and are grappled by three long, serpentine tentacles! A gaping maw opens in the trunk of the tree, spraying acidic saliva over the horrified heroes.
“Oh, it’s a hangman tree!” Thorn exclaims belatedly, consulting his pocket book of druidic lore, “I’ve never seen one before, but I hear they’re quite remarkable! They like to wait in remote spots for prey. Sometimes they wait for months at a time before some idiot wanders up to it.”
“Get – to – the – bit – about – killing – it!” Hargr chokes, as the vines coil tighter around his throat.
“Oh, yes – let me see…” Thorn mutters, “Now where are my reading glasses…. I could have sworn I had them five minutes ago. Oh, now I’ve gone and dropped them. Can someone help me, please….”
“Fire!” Rafe shrieks as the tentacles drag him off his horse, “Lots of fire!”
Thorn creates a wall of fire, surrounding the hangman tree. It immediately begins to take continuous damage. The ropey, sap-covered tentacles are resilient to the flames. Thorn grimaces as Van Hellsqueak is dragged through the wall of fire. At least he isn’t subjected to the halfling’s agonised screams, as the strangling vines have completely closed his windpipe. The tree opens its mouth wide, extending its loathsome tongue to envelop Van Hellsqueak. Seeing his opportunity, Rafe nocks an arcane arrow and fires it down the tree’s gullet – finally killing it!
Carrion Crown (Broken Moon) – Session 9 / 09-03-2014
After their long journey through the Furrows, the heroes make camp in the abandoned farmstead to rest & recover spells before venturing into the contested ruins of Feldgrau. Fidgeting restlessly, Van Hellsqeak declares his intent to scout the fringe of the mist-shrouded town. Rafe sighs and begins stringing his bow, someone has to keep the impulsive halfling out of trouble.
“Shriek like a girl if you need any help,” Hargr tells them as they leave the camp.
The duo move stealthily across the frosty ground, scrambling over mounds of moonlit debris. Creeping through a cluster of partially demolished outbuildings, Rafe hears the rasp of a leathery foot against coarse stone. Peering around a broken window, he spots a group of large, undead brutes shambling aimlessly. They are easily as large as ogres and move on all fours with a bestial, shambolic gait. He and Van Hellsqueak move on quietly, without attracting their attention.
Rubble blocks their advance and Van Hellsqueak takes to the rooftops. Feldgrau appears deserted, but the halfling hunter knows better. The sharp stench of lycanthropy is thick in the chill, wintry air. Van Hellsqueak detects movement in the street below. A cloaked figure emerges furtively from the ruins of a blacksmith’s shop. Van Hellsqueak carefully winds his crossbow. The cloaked figure pauses, glancing at the empty buildings nervously, as though detecting something is amiss. Squirming on his belly, Van Hellsqueak crawls to the edge of the roof. Squinting along the sight, he draws a bead on his targets head. The figure turns and Van Hellsqueak gets his first good look at the man’s face.
“Duristan!” he cries, “Up here! It’s me – Van Hellsqueak!”
“Hush! Keep your voice down!” Duristan calls softly, craning his neck to spot the little fellow on the rooftop, “What are you doing up there? Are you alone?”
“We’re still chasing the Whispering Way,” Van Hellsqueak responds, “Rafe is just over there, the others are at the camp. You’ve got to come back with me, they all think you’re dead.”
“I… I can’t come with you. Not right now.” The nobleman seems hesitant to explain. “After we got separated, my man and I were ambushed by the Demon Wolves. He got himself killed, but I managed to slip away. I was bitten, but my wardscar protected me from the curse. I followed the pack here and hired some mercenaries in Chalcis to take them out. We could team up again, just like our first hunt in the Shudderwood! Meet me here tomorrow morning and together we’ll bring those murderous animals to heel!”
(Player Perspective: Andy knows I’ve read the AP and know details about Duristan that Van Hellsqueak does not. I rolled Sense Motive against his Bluff and failed, so he would have had no reason to suspect the nobleman’s motives, since the two of them were quite good friends).
Van Hellsqeak agrees enthusiastically and slips off to tell Rafe the good news. The ranger is not enthused by the prospect of teaming up with Duristan again, but cannot dampen the halfling’s reckless enthusiasm. On the long trek back to their camp, the duo run afoul of two patrolling festrogs (the ogre-sized undead monsters). The brutes lope into battle, scattering rubble in their wake. Van Hellsqueak reaches for his crossbow, only to be backhanded into their air by an incredible long, muscular arm (Player Perspective: Monsters with 10ft reach are the bane of my life). Rafe finds himself facing both monsters, he drops his bow and whips the sword from the scabbard at his hip.
(Player Perspective: Andy had thought two festrogs would have been more of a challenge for two isolated PCs, but we took them out quite handily. Van Hellsqueak critted while using Deadly Aim and inflicted 2d8+24 damage against one, and Rafe thrashed the other quite soundly also. Most of Andy’s attack rolls (3x d20 per creature, per round) were laughably bad, even though neither of our AC scores are particularly high).
The next day, the whole group enter Feldgrau warily. They dispatch another five festrogs they find squatting amidst the ruins. They find Duristan waiting for them, as promised.
“Follow me,” he says, leading the group towards a dilapidated granary and the alluring smell of sausages, “We have to keep moving our camp, we don’t want either the Demon Wolves or the necromancers to know that we’re here. Would you care for some breakfast before we head out?”
Stomachs grumbling treacherously, the heroes follow Duristan inside. On route, Van Hellsqueak regales the nobleman with his adventures since they parted before the Stairs of the Moon.
“… and then I was nearly eaten by a tree! The next time we’re at Ascanor Lodge, I’ll have to ask Madam Ivanja if there’s a wardscar that protects against man-eating plants.”
“I shouldn’t bother.” Duristan replies, a little sadly, “They don’t work.”
“What do you mean?” Van Hellsqueak asks, “You said yesterday that your wardscar stopped you turning into a werewolf.”
“I lied.” Duristan answers.
It surprises nobody around the table that Duristan and his ‘mercenaries’ are all werewolves. Fortunately for us, they squander their advantage by spending the surprise round switching from human to hybrid form. Reacting on instinct, Van Hellsqueak drops prone, fires a silver bolt into each of one werewolf’s kneecaps, then rolls sideways through the mouldering straw to avoid the hybrid’s counter attack. The hobbled creature crawls after him, snarling threats. Thorn is disheartened to discover his party tricks with fire do little to deter the hybrids. Sister Dolores spends the entire combat channelling positive energy. (Players Perspective: Lyndsay was absent for this session, so we used her character to spam the same healing spells over and over again. Sister Dolores will henceforth be referred to as Sister Healbot). Meanwhile, Rafe drives his longsword through Duristan’s chest, the silvered point sliding between ribs to pierce the fallen nobleman’s heart. As the body reverts to human form, Rafe takes a moment to brush Duristan’s eyelids closed, before turning to meet his next opponent.
After the heroes carve a bloody swathe through the first wave of enemies, Adimarus Ionacu (antipaladin/leader of the Demon Wolves) joins the fray, wielding his fiendish bastard sword with inhuman finesse.
“I can smell the wagon stink of Rhakis Szardo upon you, meddlers!” Adimarus barks, advancing over the dismembered bodies of his tribe, “What have the Prince’s Wolves promised you for delivering my head? No. It scarcely matters now, save your breath for screaming. There’ll be time to deal with that brazen cur once I claim Highthrone as my own.”
“What did he just say about MY wagon?” Hargr yells belligerently, straightening his helm, “WHAT did he just say? MY wagon does NOT stink!”
The raging dwarf collides with Adimarus atop a pile of slain men. Having neglected to renew the coating of alchemical silver on his axe, Hargr is unable to inflict much harm upon his foe, but neither can the antipaladin hit him. Van Hellsqueak and Rafe fire into the melee with careless abandon (Players Perspective: Oh, Precise Shot – how I love thee), but ultimately it’s Sister Healbot who finishes Adimarus off. Taking a break from channelling, she intones an offensive prayer – the power of her faith literally tearing the lycanthrope apart.
(Player Perspective: This was a l – o – n – g fight! Every time we killed one enemy, another two came down the ladder from the floor above! Andy seems to be getting a little frustrated with Hargr’s ability to completely lock down his named villains by getting into melee combat with them and being impossible to hit. His AC is in the low 30+. We finished late, which Andy attributed to indulging Van Hellsqueak and Rafe when they set off alone to investigate Fedgrau. I felt the two encounters with the festrogs could probably have been cut completely, as they added nothing to the adventure other than another monster/obstacle to beat/overcome. Overall, it was a really enjoyable session and I particularly enjoyed Duristan’s betrayal (even if I did know it was coming). Also, Andy knows I’m a Savage Worlds man in my heart and allowed me to interact cinematically with the environment during combat, which was greatly appreciated).
Carrion Crown (Broken Moon) – Session 10 / 16-03-2014
(this report was bought to you by the Hargr Appreciation Society)
(still no Lyndsay, so we continue to abuse her character as we see fit. Who would have though a devout Pharasman nun would spend so much time with her top off?)
From the second floor of the dilapidated granary, the heroes stake out the open ground between their position and Feldgrau tower (where they suspect Auren Vrood is holed up). The Whispering Way have a strong presence in this district and are busy exhuming bodies from a mass grave in the centre of the town square. Rafe minds the sizzling saucepan of succulent sausages that the Demon Wolves had been cooking before their wholesale slaughter last session. When he’s not looking, Van Hellsqueak tosses Adimarus Ionacu’s heart into the pan.
“The juices will add flavour!” the halfling gourmet argues. Sister Healbot looks like she’s going to be ill.
Meanwhile, Hargr skins the dead Demon Wolves in the mistaken belief that their hides will grant him resistance to fire. He fashions the flayed flesh into a horrible waistcoat. Sister Healbot is ill. Even Van Hellsqueak looks a little nauseated (and that’s saying something!).
“What do you think? Pretty dapper, eh?” he asks, parading back and forth in front of them, “I even cut a few extra pockets for my small change. There’s plenty of skin left if anyone else wants one.”
After a hearty breakfast (haha!), the heroes decide to skirt the edge of the town square and avoid the necromancers bustling around the corpse pit. On route, they spot a shop and decide to loot it (Player Perspective: Andy didn’t tell us until after we got inside that it was a dye shop, if we’d known that, I doubt we would have bothered breaking in). Hargr throws his weight against the barricaded entrance and bounces off. The heroic dwarf has triumphed over terrifying ghosts, monstrous flesh golems and ravenous werewolves – only to be defeated by a wooden rectangle. Taking pity on his kinsman (who has now been thoroughly emasculated), Thorn transforms into an earth elemental and batters the door down. (Players Perspective: Seriously, that door was hard! We must have spent 15 minutes real-time failing to break it down).
“I weakened it for you!” Hargr declares loudly, nursing his wounded pride.
Inside the shop, the heroes find a group of wounded hybrids hiding in the dark. They are dressed in the same style as the Prince’s Wolves, so Rafe displays the token given to him by Rhakis Szardo, diffusing the hostile atmosphere. The (now friendly) werewolves explain that Rhakis sent them to recover the Packlord’s heart, but the Demon Wolves got the drop on them and massacred most of their party. The survivors have been hiding ever since and do not believe the heroes claim to have killed Adimarus.
“Show us proof!” they demand, “If he is truly slain, then bring us his heart!”
“That might be problematic…” Van Hellsqueak says, glancing at Hargr’s stomach, “Give us eight hours and we can show you what’s left of it.”
The hybrids cannot be convinced to leave their sanctuary on the strength of a questionable turd. However; they do direct the heroes to the location of a helpful ghost. Heading to the tavern, the heroes find the spectral innkeeper in the gristly process of reliving his own death, over and over again.
“It look’s like he hung himself.” Rafe observes, indicating a corpse dangling from the rafters.
“Hanged.” Van Hellsqueak corrects him pedantically, “It looks like he ‘hanged’ himself.”
“No. Rafe is right.” Thorn says, “It’s only ‘hanged’ if someone else does it to you. Since he’s done it to himself, you can say ‘hung’.”
“Are you sure?” the halfling asks, sceptical.
“Check the dictionary!”
“I think we passed a ruined library on the way here.” notes Rafe.
“Let’s go then.”
Hargr and Sister Healbot are left alone with the ghost, while the others explore the intricacies of the English language. The dwarf clambers over the bar and starts checking the dusty bottles for dregs. Meanwhile, Sister Healbot engages the suicidal spook in conversation. It transpires that to break this cycle of death and release the good people of Feldgrau to Pharasma’s embrace, the heroes must defeat Auren Vrood!
“We were going to do that anyway!” Hargr shouts up from the wine cellar.
“Bring me the necromancer’s head,” the ghost instructs the nun, pointedly ignoring Hargr’s interruption, “I will use my arbitrary ghost powers to rifle through his memories and tell you what to do next.”
“That seems kind of stupid,” Sister Healbot observes, “I mean, he’s a powerful CR10 necromancer and you’re…what? The echo of an NPC? Do you have any class levels at all? Have you even got a name?”
“I’m only trying to help,” the ghost sulks, adjusting his noose, “How else is the author going to point you in the right direction for the next chapter in the adventure path?”
Leaving the tavern, the group spot a lonely hovel in the distance. Unable to stay on task for more than a few moments at a time, they rush over to investigate. It is full of unnecessary skeletons!
“Oh no!” Van Hellsqueak cries, “That’s the worst kind there is!”
The party steamroll the undead (Player’s Perspective: This encounter was laughably easy, even the weaker characters were taking out skeletons in a single hit – after accounting for the damage reduction for not using blunt weapons).
“Can we please go to the tower now?” Sister Healbot pleads.
“No!” Hargr roars, rushing off in the other direction, “I think I see another completely superfluous combat encounter over here!”
The dwarven fighter barrels into a convoy of burning skeletons being herded through the ruins by two Whispering Way cultists. The heroes make short work of the patrol and pick over the bodies. Van Hellsqueak dresses up as a cultist and begs Sister Healbot to let him keep one of the two wands (of Control Undead) as a prop. She refuses and snaps them both in half. When she’s not looking, the halfling gathers up the splintered fragments….
And then Hargr did something really cool and manly!
(Player Summary: This was a fun session, but we didn’t really get a lot done. There was hardly any combat (and what little of it there was was easy), so there was a quite of lot of roleplaying between PCs (which is always entertaining, we’ve got a pretty good party dynamic on the go). We probably could have completed the adventure if we’d stayed on track and gone after Vrood like we’re supposed to be doing, but nooooooooo; we had to stop and explore every sh**ty little shop and hovel along the way! >:( I can hardly blame this on our group im particular, it seems to be ingrained in every strata of roleplaying that you have to clear every room before moving onto the boss, in case you miss some clue/treasure without which you are doomed to failure. The only valuable thing we gained this session was the knowledge that the ghost in the tavern could brainrape Auren Vrood’s skull for us, which I assume is because special rules exist to prevent members of the Whispering Way from being interrogated before/after death. Seriously?!)
Carrion Crown (Broken Moon) – Session 11 / 23-03-2014
The heroes (finally!) head for the tower. To mask their presence from the miscellaneous undead roaming the streets, Sister Dolores casts Invisibility from Undead (this did not go down well with the GM).
There is a small warehouse adjacent to the tower. Rafe pops his head inside and spots a group of robed ghouls lurking amidst the clutter. They immediately detect his presence; despite being A: invisible to undead and B: incredibly stealthy. It turns out that these are kung-fu ghouls! Thorn’s CON level is drained when he is hit with a flurry of rotting fists. This sh*t just got serious!! The heroes wipe the floor with the rest of the opposition and search the crates. They contain poor quality weapons with which the Whispering Way will arm the host of zombies they’ve been digging up across the Furrows.
Suddenly, the heroes are outside, taking fire from the tower! (WTF?! How did that happen?!) They retreat back into the warehouse and Sister Dolores refreshes their Invisibility from Undead (more gnashing of teeth from behind the GM’s screen).
Rafe produces his wand of Spider Climb and enchants the party, enabling them to scramble up the exterior walls of the tower. The ten skeletal archers on the domed roof stand around aimlessly, unable to detect their approach. Everyone gets into position before attacking simultaneously. Rafe and Hargr wade into the bony host, (blunt) weapons flashing, while Thorn summons a small air elemental.
Dropping down into the tower interior, the heroes spy a large, black tent. As they approach, the entrance flap opens and three giant, undead hands creep out, dripping pus from the ragged stumps of their wrists. Hargr is grappled.
“Can someone give me a – hand?” he calls, “Get it? Hand? Because –arggghhhhh!”
The dwarf is dragged struggling into the tent, where Auren Vrood is waiting for him. The necromancer casts Cloudkill, catching everyone except Van Hellsqueak within its area of effect. More CON loss (to the GM’s delight).
“When next we meet, I will impale your skulls upon dread Gallowspire!” Vrood jeers, before turning invisible and buggering off.
“Well that was anticlimactic.” Rafe observes.
And then the necromancer (who had not buggered off at all), casts Circle of Death, instantly killing both Van Hellsqueak and Sister Dolores. Hargr is also affected, but his mighty dwarven heart resists the murderous enchantment.
The session ends on an impasse. Auren Vrood is somewhere outside the tower, airborne and invisible. The (surviving) heroes are inside, missing CON and lacking the means to reliably locate/hit their enemy.
(Player’s Perspective: Well, that’s the end of Van Hellsqueak, I guess. It kinda’ sucks for Lyndsay that her character was killed when she wasn’t even present, but them’s the breaks. There is still a chance to get her raised from the dead – but as a Pharasman nun, would she even want that to happen? I guess that’s Lyndsay’s call to make. Speaking for myself, I don’t want Van Hellsqueak reanimated, as the notion to play a goblin necromancer has firmly implanted itself in my brain, so that’s what I’ll be rolling up for Wake of the Watcher.
Regarding Auren Vrood and his Circle of Death; Andy told us he had been agonising over whether to use that ability or not, but ultimately decided in favour. I cannot blame him, our group has been a fairly significant thorn in the Whispering Way’s side, so naturally, if the opportunity to kill some of us arises, they are going to seize it. It does seem to reach a point though, when every major enemy that you encounter in a Pathfinder module immediately casts Fly and Invisibility/Greater Invisibility, which can get a bit f**king old and probably contributes towards why fights take so many decades to complete at higher levels).
Carrion Crown (Wake of the Watcher) – Session 1 / 01-02-2015
Our unlikely heroes have defeated Auren Vrood and foiled his nefarious plans to raise an army of zombies from the corpse-strewn Furrows. Hitching up their wagons, the convoy heads south, in (s-l-o-w) pursuit of the dark riders carrying the regents required to concoct the grim sounding Carrion Crown elixir. The wagons trundle overland to the lakeside community of Redleaf, where they are loaded onto large, flat-bottomed barges for the voyage downriver.
Several days pass uneventfully – and then two swamp giants attack! Hideously ugly and thoroughly inbred, the giants initiate hostilities by hurling densely compacted balls of mud at the barge, splattering everyone in stinky river muck. Thorne conjures a wall of fire along the river bank, but the giants’ clammy flesh resists the flame. Both giants wade into the shallows. The dwarven druid transforms into a giant octopus and slips over the side of the barge. Moments later, rubbery tentacles drag one of the two giants under the water. The second giant clambers onto the barge, almost causing the vessel to capsize under its tremendous weight. Rafe peppers the brute with arrow fire, then backflips to safety as it retaliates with a sluggish, backhanded swipe. Hargr charges across the slippery deck and hurls a throwing axe into the giant’s face. There is a bone-crunching impact and the dying giant slumps over the side with a confused expression glazed across its ugly face.
“My grandmother gave me that axe!” Hargr grumbles, as the giant’s corpse settles on the bottom of the murky riverbed.
"Maybe you should have taken better care of it then," Van Hellsqueak suggests.
The rest of the voyage passes without incident and the heroes disembark with their treasure-laden wagons in Thushmoor. The town is dilapidated and the locals have an ill-favoured look around them. The only inn advertising vacancies is delightfully called ‘The Stain’ (possibly referring to the moist, fishy smelling patch on Rafe’s mattress). Despite the unwholesome ambience, the heroes take room and board with the wall-eyed innkeeper, who squints at them suspiciously as they haul their gear upstairs.
After settling into their dismal lodgings, the heroes ask around after the two dark riders. Two men matching their description raced into together several days ago, exchanged their weary mounts for fresh horses at the livery stable then galloped off in different directions. The heroes visit the stables to see if Thorne can glean anything of value from the two knackered horses. The stable master is busy repairing a broken wheel and barely notices the party enter. Rafe moves to assist the old fellow with his task but hesitates as the charnel stench of dead flesh assaults his senses. Two ghoulish assassins erupt from beneath the hay, jagged claws glistening with brown ichor. Simultaneously, the stable master produces a poisoned dagger and slashes the blade at Rafe’s throat. Van Hellsqueak must be wearing ‘odour de’ open grave’ as the two ghouls cannot seem to get enough of the halfling slayer. He is paralysed by their attacks and falls senseless to the ground. His crossbow lands beside him and discharges with the impact, propelling a crossbolt into the stable master’s skull. The old fellow is dead before he hits the floor. Hargr makes short work of the two ghouls.
To be continued....
The heroes alert the local constabulary to the reeking ghoul corpses littering the bloody straw of the livery stable. Upon the body of the treacherous stable master, Van Hellsqueak finds an ornate, jewel encrusted egg. He prises the lid off and finds a token of the Whispering Way nestled within.
Ignoring dire warnings of a tentacled horror in the lake, Rafe throws money at the bargemen until someone agrees to ferry the party to the loathsome fishing community of Illmarsh. Once again, Hargr oversees the loading of the group’s wagons, the axles of which creak alarmingly under the weight of the treasure packed within. As dusk approaches, Thorne spots a disturbance in the dark water. The bulbous, rubbery bulk of a truly enormous octopus rises from the lake! The cowardly bargemen immediately leap overboard and begin paddling towards the shore, leaving the heroes to deal with the aquatic threat.
Dripping tentacles slither blindly across the deck. One chances upon Thorne’s leg and immediately latches on with its barbed suckers, dragging the dwarves druid towards the gunwale. Before the life can be squeezed out of him, Thorne alters his physical form into that of a water elemental. In this new shape, he easily escapes the monster’s grapple, like water spilling from a leaky bucket.
In fury, the creature begins hammering upon the barge. Hargr and Rafe hack at the long, rubbery appendages while Van Hellsqueak loads his crossbow. The octopus hauls itself out of the water, it’s vice-like beak snapping hungrily as the boat lists under it’s weight, tipping the heroes into its foul smelling maw. Bracing himself against the wagons, Van Hellsqueak lines up his shot and discharges his magical crossbolt directly down the leviathans gullet, piercing something internal. The dying octopus loses its grip on the barge and slips back into the water, sinking towards the bottom of the lake.
Without the bargemen from Thrushmoor, the heroes struggle to direct the barge towards the shore. A storm rolls in from the south, rocking the barge alarmingly. As lightning flashes, Thorne spots a second vessel in even more trouble than their own. A single crewman struggles to keep the boat from capsizing. Thorne transforms into a horrible fish man and dives into the water. He swims towards the other vessel and clambers aboard, to the great dismay of the man at the helm. After convincing the old fellow that he means no harm, Thorne assists him in bringing the boat into land.
To be continued….
I missed this session, but from what I’ve managed to piece together….
The old fellow whom Thorne rescued introduces himself as Professor Croon, an inventor and reluctant resident of Illmarsh. After escorting the elderly eccentric back to his workshop, the party make their presence known to Mayor Greedle. The mayor suggests that he might have some information about the dark riders they seek, which he will reveal only if they help him solve a string of disappearances amongst the fisher folk. Their investigation leads the group to the local church of Gozreh. Somehow, the group incite the clerics to violence and Throne almost gets himself killed.
To be continued….
Carrion Crown / Wake of the Watcher - Part 4 - 22/02/2015
(Gary was absent this week and we did not have a copy of his character sheet. Instead, we used stats for the mud shaman (level 9 druid) from the Pathfinder NPC Codex. The mud shaman turned out to be pretty awesome, much to the GM’s dismay).
Having riled up the Recondite Order of the Indomitable Sea good and proper (well done Gary), the heroes dive for cover behind the warped, wooden pews throughout the temple. Bolts of negative energy fizzle and pop overhead .
“You outsiders should have minded your own business!” Brother Caleb shrieks as yet more sickle-wielding cultists stream through hidden doors in the rear of the bethel, “Now you know too much to ever be allowed to leave!”
“I aint’ going anywhere without that sparkly headband of yours,” Hargr yells, eyeing the vicar’s silver tiara greedily. The rest of the party exchange worried glances. Their two wagons are already bursting at the seams with treasure - if Hargr tries to cram any more gold in they will probably explode!
“Maybe we should think about buying a bigger wagon?” Rafe suggests.
“Maybe we should worry about that later!” Van Hellsqueak retorts as the pew he’s cowering behind explodes in a cloud of splinters and bad mojo.
“Don’t worry, friends!” Thorne calls, “I have a plan!”
“You’re not going to turn into a plant again, are you?” Rafe asks warily.
“Well I was going to - but if you’re going to be so scathing about it….” Thorne sulks.
“It’s just last time you just stood there and swayed….” Rafe added.
“Fine!” Thorne snapped, “I guess I’ll turn into something different then. Whatever makes you happy, Rafe Jacoby!”
Pointedly ignoring Rafe’s half-hearted apologies, Thorne steps out of cover and begins trundling towards the false clerics. Rafe pops up to provide covering fire, but what he witnesses next causes him to drop his bow in shock and awe. As he runs, Thorne’s ruddy skin grows green and scaly and armoured plates burst from the back of his jerkin along the length of his spine. In the space of ten heartbeats, the dwarven druid transforms into a raging stegosaurus! The ground shakes with each booming step and wooden pews are smashed into kindling beneath it’s terrific mass!
“Level nine druids can wildshape into dinosaurs?!” Van Hellsqueak gasps, dropping his crossbow. A cultist on the other side of the room collapses with a crossbolt sticking out of his eye.
The GM consults the rules. Apparently they can! Sucks to be you, GM! >:D
The heroes cheer Thorne on as he thunders towards the chapel, crushing several robed fanatics underfoot. The cultist’s response is less enthusiastic. Brother Caleb casts Ice Storm, pelting the stegosaurus with fist-sized hailstones and burying it in freezing slush - yet still Thorne advances (albeit more slowly). Caleb casts Greater Command and orders the heroes to leave Illmarsh and never return - only Van Hellsqueak succumbs. The plucky halfling throws himself through a stained glass window depicting a mermaid being violated by tentacles. Picking himself up, he runs headlong into the surrounding swampland.
“Aww….” the cultists groan. That window was the closest thing they had to pornography and the nights in Illmarsh are long and lonely.
Their disappointment is short-lived and soon replaced with blind terror as Thorne (finally!) closes to within 15ft of their position and sweeps his great, bony tail through their ranks. His indiscriminate attack demolishes the rear wall of the temple, revealing a secret shrine to Deep Father Dagon! Caleb and his followers are buried beneath the rubble.
“You fools don’t know what you do!” Caleb wails, unable to extricate himself from the crushing weight of debris, “If the Order fails to appease the neighbours, Illmarsh will be destroyed! The Pact must be honoured or -mmmfffff!”
“Not our problem.” Hargr says, placing his boot in the zealot’s mouth. Reaching down, Hargr snatches the tiara from atop the vicar’s head and whistles appreciatively. Anything that shiny just has to be valuable!
Stego-Thorne’s stomach makes an ominous gurgling sound. Moments later, he produces a terrible, dinosaur-sized turd atop the trapped fanatic. Caleb's arm emerges from the muck and claws hopelessly for aid that isn’t forthcoming. The pathetic limb shudders then becomes still. The heroes agree that he probably suffocated but nobody is inclined to check.
“My sincerest apologies,” Thorne says, resuming his normal form, “It must have been something I ate.”
“Ach, you splattered my new boots with that filth!” Hargr explodes, reaching for his axe.
“You can wash it of in that sacred font,” Rafe soothes, “I’m sure Deep Father Dagon won’t object.”
---
Picking through the wreckage of the secret shrine, the heroes find the entrance to a secret room packed with the headless corpses of the missing villagers.
“Do you think we’ll still get paid for only finding their limbs and torsos?” Rafe worries.
“We found 80% of the missing villagers, we should get paid 80% of the reward,” Hargr states with typical dwarven pragmatism, “Should the mayor disagree, he may find himself joining this pile.”
'That’s a bit chaotic evil….' Thorne thinks, eyeing the other dwarf nervously. Then his player checks Pat’s alignment. C/E?! When did that happen? Does the GM know? Apparently he does!
The heroes also encounter a pair of Illmarsh residents waiting patiently in an adjoining chamber, apparently unperturbed by the sounds of battle, collapsing masonry and a dinosaur taking a really big poo.
“Oh, hello there strangers!” greets the man warmly, “My name is Rufus Tulby and this is my dear wife Imelba. We’ve just given our beloved infant daughter to the good priests of Gozreh to be fostered with the mysterious neighbours who live down the bay.”
“That seems a bit silly.” Rafe observes.
“Oh, not at all, sir!” Goodman Tulby continues, “For over thirty years, every second and third daughter born in Illmarsh has been fostered with the neighbours. It’s all part of an ancient pact to keep the village safe from some ill-defined mythos-related doom. The girls grow up to live long and prosperous lives of plenty amongst the neighbours. That’s what Father Voltiaro assured us before carrying our little girl off to the creepy mansion in the swamp, never to be seen again.”
“She’s such a lucky girl!” Imelda crows, tears of joy glistening on her cheek.
“Isn’t she just?” Hargr agrees, “Hey, would you two like to see the room of headless bodies we just found? I didn’t see any little headless babies, but maybe I overlooked them. Come and help me check!”
It takes a while for Rafe and Thorne to calm the villagers down again. Imelba faints outright and her husband is noisily ill. In retrospect, the Tulby’s realise that handing their toddler over to a depraved and murderous cult was maybe not the most responsible decision they could have made as parents. Someone will have to go to Undiomede House and prevent Father Voltiaro sacrificing the baby to his mad fishgod!
That ‘someone’ turns out to be the heroes! What a surprise!
It’s only when they get there that the party remember that Van Hellsqueak is still under the effects of Caleb’s Greater Command spell and probably halway to Caliphas by now….
To be continued….
(We also fought a huge crab-like monster-thing, but I forgot about that and couldn’t be bothered to edit it into my draft. Sorry for denying you your big moment in the spotlight, huge crab-like monster-thing - maybe next time! It did almost cut Rafe in half with its oversized pincers - up until the point Rafe drove a spear through its eye).
Carrion Crown / Wake of the Water – Part Five (01/03/2015)
The heroes regroup and continue along the trail to Undiomede House. For some reason known only to him, Van Hellsqueak has (poorly) disguised himself as a vicar of the Recondite Order, his splendid robes trailing through the black mud. As the road winds deeper into the swamp it becomes decreasingly road-like. Soon the party are up to their knees in slimy porridge. Hargr squelches along at the head of the group, grumbling darkly as his new boots fill with foul-smelling muck. By contrast, Thorne seems to be quite enjoying himself.
“Don’t you just love the great outdoors?” he beamed happily. “I can’t get enough of it! The sun in the sky and the mud between my toes! Ah, what a wonderful day to be alive!”
Suddenly, a cluster of weird, leech-like critters leap from the marsh. Each creature is the length of a man’s forearm, their slimy husks throbbing with alien malevolence. Rafe, Thorne and Van Hellsqueak all duck out of harm’s way, but Hargr is too busy grousing to respond to the sudden threat. One of the leeches lands on his neck and immediately begins burrowing under his skin!
“Urk! Get this thing outta’ me!” Hargr roared, clawing at his own throat.
“How curious,” Thorne exclaimed, examining the twitching bulge beneath Hargr’s skin, “It almost looks as though it’s trying to find your brain.”
“No rush then!” Van Hellsqueak chortled.
“Get it out now!” Hargr roared, “I need my brain for thinking up ways to kill that smarmy halfling!”
Rafe holds Hargr still while Thorne hacks the leech-thing out of his neck. He has to cut carefully to avoid severing any of the major arteries and killing the patient even more quickly that the parasite would have done.
“That’s just about the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen,” Rafe opined, examining the dead thing speared on the end of Thorne’s knife, “I can scarcely credit that it came from this world….”
---
Undiomede House slumps on the bank of a wide, marshy lake in the depths of the Soddentimbers. The mouldy plaster is peeling like a ginger in the sun, revealing the damp-stained brickwork underneath. The house stands adjacent to a waterlogged cemetery, where lichen-covered tombstones lean at maddening angles. Van Hellsqueak feels his sanity slipping away – then he recalls that he’s still dressed as a cultist and genuine insanity can only enhance his performance. You have to inhabit the role!
Marching up to the front door, Van Hellsqueak stands on tippy toe to reach the bell. It comes away from the wall when he tries to ring it. Shrugging, the halfling beats on the door with his new morningstar until someone answers it. That someone turns out to be a hideous, inbred marsh giantess, who has to crouch awkwardly to fit into the cramped foyer.
“What do you want?” she growled, squinting suspiciously at the little fellow in his ill-fitting robes.
“Hello! We just came from Illmarsh with more babies to be sacrificed,” Van Hellsqueak explained cheerfully, “I just need Father Voltiaro to come out here and sign for them.”
“Nobody told me about any babies!” the giantess rumbled.
“Oh, perhaps I have the wrong address. This is Undiomede House, isn’t it? Perhaps I could speak to the homeowner?”
“Get lost!” the giantess snapped, slamming the door in his face.
“So much for the diplomatic approach,” Hargr grunted, shouldering passed Van Hellsqueak and booting the door off its old, rusty hinges. He charges through the foyer and swings his axe at the giantess’ scaly shins. Van Hellsqueak produces a crossbow from the loose sleeves of his false vestments and starts firing, whilst Thorne creates a bubble of frigid air centred on the giantess. Realising she is outgunned, the giantess fights her way out of the house and dives into the lake. Nobody much fancies the idea of going in after her.
The heroes explore the first floor of the dilapidated mansion and find little of interest, save for a mouldy, old sofa. Hargr reaches down the back to check for loose change and finds a swarm of giant tics. They crawl all over the greedy dwarf, draining his blood.
“Hey, that’s my blood!” Hargr protests, “I need that for bleeding! Get them off me!”
Van Hellsqueak steps forward eagerly and swings his morningstar into the dwarf’s groin. Hargr doubles over in pain.
“Sorry, I was aiming for the tics.” Van Hellsqueak apologised. Nobody believes him.
Hargr stumbles out of the house and rolls into the lake, drowning the tics beneath the murky water. He floats there for a moment, nursing his bruised nuts and considering how best to take his revenge on the wretched halfling.
To be continued....
Carrion Crown / Wake of the Watcher (Part 6a) – 08/03/2015
Hargr returns from his impromptu bath dripping wet and fearsome angry. His beard is tangled with slimy weeds and a boggle-eyed frog sits atop his head [“ribbet”].
“Did you remember to wash behind your ears?” Van Hellsqueak teases. Thorne rugby tackles his soggy kinsman before he can get his hands around the halfling’s throat.
Rafe cocks his head to one side, listening intently.
“Hush – did you hear that?” he asks, “It sounded like a baby crying. Follow me!”
The sound leads to the door of an unfurnished chamber, beyond which two zealots of the Recondite Order struggle ineffectually to quieten a squalling infant. Hargr barrels into the room, swinging his axe in a ruinous arc! The cultist holding the baby shrieks and throws the child at the murderous dwarf. Caught by surprise, Hargr drops his weapon and catches the baby. It giggles adorably and tugs on his beard. The dwarven berserker feels the crusty scabs around his heart begin to soften.
With Hargr indisposed, it falls to Thorne to take out the trash. The dwarven druid transforms into a megaloceros (which sounds a lot cooler than it actually is), with antlers stretching over ten feet across! Elk-Thorne thunders into the fray, dipping his horns and propelling one of the cultists through a window. Van Hellsqueak leans past the broken glass and unloads his crossbow into the dazed zealot (he doesn’t get back up). The second cultist tries to flee! He reaches for the door - then screams as one of Rafe’s arrows pins his hand to the wood. The next arrow catches him in the neck.
The heroes look from the cultists to Hargr, who seems more interested in pulling funny faces at the Tulby girl than looting the dead.
“Hargr… are you feeling ok?” Rafe asks hesitantly.
“I’m feeling… pretty good!” Hargr admits, “I think I’ve had an epiphany. All that treasure we’ve got stashed in the wagon, well… it’s just shiny metal, ain’t it? This right here, this wee lass we’ve saved, now this is worth something so much more. I feel like my life has a new purpose. I’m gonna’ name her Skullbreaker, after my first axe.”
“You understand that you can’t keep her, right?” Rafe said, “We promised her parents that we would save her from the cult.”
“We have saved her,” Hargr replied, “I don’t recall anyone saying what we would do with her once she got saved. Way I see it, her parents gave her up to some horrible fish god and we – specifically I – got her back, so now she belongs to me. Spoils of war and all that.”
“He can’t be any worse than her actual parents,” Van Hellsqueak agrees, “Plus, Skullbreaker is a really catchy name for a girl. Does this mean I’m an uncle now?”
Elk-Thorne rolls his eyes.
“Right. Whatever. We’ll sort this mess out later.” Rafe sighs, “We still have to clear the second floor.”
“You three go ahead,” Hargr said, “Now that I’m a responsible parent, I can’t be dragging little Skullbreaker into dangerous situations. I’ll stay here until you get back.”
“You’ve got to be joking, you’re our damage sponge!” Rafe protests – but Hargr isn’t listening. He lifts his chainmail vest and begins coaxing baby Skullbreaker to latch onto a hairy nipple.
“Urgh, I’m going to be sick!” Van Hellsqueak stumbles from the room. The sound of retching can be heard from the corridor.
To be continued (in Part 2)….
Carrion Crown / Wake of the Watcher (Part 6b) – 08/03/2015
Rafe, Elk-Thorne and Van Hellsqueak head upstairs. The steps are rotten and silver with age, yet they grudgingly bear the heroes’ weight. There is only one door leading off the balcony and Van Hellsqueak presses his ear against it.
“Someone is having a good old rummage around in there,” he reports to the others.
“I wonder what they could be looking for?” Rafe ponders.
“Let’s find out together!” Van Hellsqueak suggests, opening the door.
An unsightly fellow with a scaly complexion and elaborate headdress turns to face the party as they enter. His vestments mark him as a high priest of the Recondite Order.
“Albor Voltiaro, I assume?” Rafe guesses, “Prepare to be excommunicated – with extreme prejudice!”
Elk-Thorne charges the cult leader, but Voltiaro extends his clammy fingers and delivers a devastating touch effect! Necrotic energy crackles through the druid’s body, returning him to his normal shape. Voltiaro reaches for the helpless dwarf, but is knocked backwards as three iron bolts blossom in his chest. The high priest falls to his knees, gurgling bloody foam.
“Well, that was deceptively anticlimactic.” Van Hellsqueak observes, lowering his crossbow, “I expected him to be more of a - ”
Voltiaro’s head explodes outward in gruesome fashion as a writhing mass of tentacles erupts from his neck (just like the Los Plagos in Resident Evil 4!).
“ – challenge…. Oh.”
The spawning canker wraps its tentacles around Rafe’s head, tearing off half his face and significantly reducing his charisma.
“Haha! My most infrequently rolled attribute!” Rafe chuckles, “Faces are overrated anyway.”
Van Hellsqueak takes a step back. He would rather preserve his boyish good looks. He and Rafe continue to pelt the cosmic horror until it eventually dies. Upon doing so, the canker dissolves into a dozen individual slugspawn (the leech-like creatures from the swamp) and attack! Realising that Thorne is still unconscious and unable to defend himself, Van Hellsqueak leaps across the room to protect the helpless druid. One of the slugspawn latches onto his neck and begins burrowing into his brain.
“Agghh! I immediately regret this decision!” the halfling wails.
“Don’t worry, I’ll cut it out!” Rafe says, brandishing his dagger “There you go!”
“That’s my f***ing ear!”
“Oh! Sorry about that!”
“Bastard! Give me the knife! Ah, no time! I’ve got a better idea!”
Van Hellsqueak presses his crossbow to his temple and pulls the trigger. The bolt punches a hole in his skull, impales the slugpawn and pins it to the opposite wall. The halfling collapses onto his back, blood pooling around the ragged exit wound in his head.
Rafe prods Thorne with his toe until the dwarf rouses.
“Sort that out, won’t you?” he says, indicating the twitching halfling, “Nothing a few Cure Moderate Wounds won’t fix.”
To be continued….
Carrion Crown / Wake of the Watcher (Part 7) – 15/03/2015
The heroes continue their exploration of Undiomede House, which seems to have been populated exclusively with monsters lifted from the twisted imagination of H.P Lovecraft. It’s a good job that the players will never be privy to the majority of background information that (barely) holds the plot together, which is as weak as the glue Paizo used to bind the actual book.
In a musty drawing room overlooking the lake, Rafe spots a finely crafted, hickory desk and suddenly transforms into David Dickinson.
“This could be worth a few bob at auction,” he tells the others enthusiastically, “A few coats of varnish and she’ll be as good as new.”
He begins checking the drawers and recoils as a cloud of mustard coloured spores explodes in his face. The rest of the heroes withdraw until the air clears. Beyond the drawing room is the master bedroom, dominated by a sagging four-poster bed. Someone has carved the words; ‘The Pact ends here, father!’ into the headboard. Rafe is furious – but perhaps it can still be restored to its original majesty?
‘Forget Rapid Shot - I’ll pick up a few skill ranks in Profession [Carpentry] when we next level up,’ he decides.
Suddenly, a pair of unspeakable hounds appear in the corners of the room, snapping and slathering. Hargr feels his sanity beginning to unravel like an old cardigan. As if that wasn’t enough to worry about, one of the hounds fixes the dwarf with its rending gaze! Hargr resists the effect and his body does not turn itself inside out. Van Hellsqueak recalls that his own will save isn’t great (or even particularly good) and dives under the bed, rather than be subjected to the second hounds’ frightful stare. Meanwhile, Thorne gathers his druidic magic and summons a manticore into the mix. The master bedroom has not seen this much action in years! The two hounds pop out of existence as abruptly as they first appeared, back to the pages of whichever short story they were stolen from.
Beneath the bed, Van Hellsqueak finds a hefty tome bound in smooth, grey sharkskin. He drags it out and flips through the crusty pages. The book is written in an alien language that the halfling cannot comprehend, yet the unrecognisable letters seem to cavort across his vision, etching themselves into his eye sockets. Van Hellsqueak slams the book closed and stows it in his pack. Perhaps it can be used to balance a wobbly table when he eventually returns to his dear old hobbit hole.
Stairs ascend from the first floor to the roof of the house. Rafe shields his eyes against the sickly glare of the sun and spots something flapping around overhead. Something BIG! As the creature swoops towards the party, they all get a closer look at it. It looks as though someone has taken the aspects of a horse, a bat and a dragon and mixed them all together into yet another ridiculous Pathfinder monster. The GM reliably informs us that it is a Shantak. Thorne summons a trio of teranadons to harass the winged abomination. The beast absorbs a lot of missile fire on its approach and by the time it arrives it is having second thoughts about attacking at all. It grapples Van Hellsqueak in its talons and scoops the diminutive fighter off the roof!
“How high are we?” his player asks, after consulting the rules for falling.
“You’re about 50ft off the ground,” the GM answers.
“I can survive that! I shoot the Shantak in the heart.”
The Shantak squawks as three crossbow bolts bugger up its circulatory system. Van Hellsqueak slips from its clutches and plummets towards the marshy ground, which rushes up to meet him with bone-fracturing force (specifically, the bones in his legs). The halfling chuckles as he crawls back towards the house, dragging his shattered limbs behind him. Meanwhile, the dead Shantak lands in the lake, causing a huge wave of filthy water to break against the mansion’s façade.
“Cure Moderate Wounds, please.” Van Hellsqueak requests, indicating his mangled legs.
“I’m sorry, I used up all my spells summoning those three teranadons,” Thorne apologises.
While the dwarven druid splints the halfling’s legs, Rafe and Hargr debate putting Undiomede House to the torch and pissing over the ashes. The GM does not like this train of thought and sends us back inside looking for slugs. Their slimy tracks lead the party to a hidden phase door that they had previously overlooked, activated by messing with the ominous menhirs in the main hall. Passing through the portal deposits the heroes in a dank cave system beneath the mansion.
To be continued….
GM's response: "Hi. The Hound Creatures are called "Hounds of Tyndalos". They appear in the story unsurprisingly called "The Hounds of Tyndalos" by Frank Belknap Long. He also created "Chaugnar Faugn" (Ganesha Gone Bad, - Very Bad). Its a mediocre story, they won't be wanting to go back there!"
Carrion Crown / Wake of the Watcher (Part Eight) – 22/03/2015
The caves beneath Undiomede House are dank and briny. An oily, black liquid trickles down the walls, pooling in inky puddles on the pitted floor. A flight of crude steps descend further into the earth, terminating in a wide, natural cavern. The desiccated body of an old man floats in a tall, glass cylinder, pickled in a murky brew of alchemical preservatives. Van Hellsqueak taps on the glass and Rafe swats him round the ear. To our great surprise, the corpse in the tank does NOT animate and attack!
“Are you sure this is a Pathfinder adventure?” we ask the GM suspiciously. He assures us that is is.
Thorne notices a familial similarity between the bugger in the jar and the portraits upstairs. He concludes that this unfortunate fellow must be Cassius Undiomede, the pirate who founded the town of Illmarsh and hashed out the blasphemous pact with the Neighbours.
There are two exits from the cavern; from the first originates the sound of croaky chanting, from the second wafts a truly horrible stench.
“When in doubt, always follow your nose.” Gandalf says – but this isn’t The Lord of the Rings and Gandalf isn’t here, so we pick the noisy tunnel instead.
The party enter another natural cavern occupied by a half dozen skum and their bigger, meaner broodchief! Hargr spots the magical greataxe being brandished by the broodchief and begins to salivate into his beard. The dwarven warrior charges, but gets bogged downed amongst the mooks. The skum dogpile on top of him.
Meanwhile, Thorne transforms into a velociraptor and pounces into the fray. Rafe and Van Hellsqueak focus their fire on the hulking broodchief. The brute collapses, riddled with arrows and his enchanted axe slides across the floor of the cavern, leaving a trail of magical sparks. It comes to rest within reach of the skum piled atop Hargr. A hairy arm extends from beneath the heap and gropes blindly for the weapon. His fingertips touch the handle and he has it! Dismembered limbs fill the foetid air like confetti, as the dwarven berserker spins the axe in a whirlwind of gleeful destruction!
The heroes continue to explore the unnecessary dungeon. Everyone except Van Hellsqueak begins to feel lethargic. The party discover a sinister nursery, where children fostered with the Neighbours would have been kept. There are no infants here at present, although a haunting lullaby rises from a hole in centre of the room. Van Hellsqueak peeks over the edge of the pit. A naked, glowing woman is huddled at the bottom of the rough shaft, rocking back and forth as she cradles the withered, grey husk of a dead child. She is mad as a spoon, the party leave her wallowing in grief and forge ahead.
Suddenly, a HUGE fluorescent marshmallow-thing floats into view! It lashes out with a phosphorous pseudopod, draining the colour and vitality from those that it strikes! Thorne presses his hands against the wall and moulds the very bedrock into a barrier. The radioactive marshmallow monster simply floats over the top and presses the attack.
Eventually, the party kill it. It does not have any treasure.
On their way out of the caves, the heroes check out the stinky tunnel that they avoided earlier. A shambling mound infested with yellow mould rises from a cesspit and attacks. Thorne transforms into a stegosaurus and puts the smackdown on it.
To be continued….
Carrion Crown / Wake of the Watcher (Part 9) – 30/03/2015
Having exhausted their patience with the inhospitable tunnels beneath Undiomede House, the heroes return to Illmarsh to report their success to Mayor Greedle and claim their reward.
But Mayor Greedle is nowhere to be found….
The mayor’s assistant cannot shed any light on the mystery and the sheriff seems unperturbed by the disappearance. Rafe is of the opinion that the duplicitous official has skipped town with their reward money, but Thorne is not so sure. Searching the mayor’s residence, the dwarven druid finds evidence of a struggle. Hargr and Van Hellsqueak find a barrel of Illmarsh’s Special Brew in the basement (fermented from hallucinogenic fungi that grow in the swamp) and get their drink on. While they are spacing out, Rafe and Thorne continue the investigation.
Thorne spots a light in the window of Professor Croon’s laboratory. After some prompting from the GM, he decides to visit the crazy old man. Over tea and crumpets, Thorne explains all about the party’s shocking revelations at Undiomede House. Croon is mortified and eager to help the heroes sever the town’s Pact with the Neighbours. He offers to let the party borrow his prototype submarine/bathysphere to reach the skum’s aquatic demesne beneath Turn Rock. It’s a bit of a squeeze to fit everyone into the cramped interior of the machine and the experience is made even worse by Hargr’s less than sterling standards of personal hygiene. Croon will circulate the air within the machine by operating a pump mechanism on the surface. The professor seals the hatch and begins lowering the submersible into the dark water.
Van Hellsqueak presses his nose against the porthole and stares into the murky water beyond the glass. He notices a school of (apparently freshwater) sharks circling the bathysphere. The sharks begin battering the metal exterior of the machine. Deeming this intolerable, Thorne transforms into a giant octopus and lets himself out. Whilst grappling with the sharks, he spots another creature observing the battle from the muddy lakebed.
Thorne communicates this fact to the others via a complex series of gestures with his long, rubbery tentacles. Hargr jams his Helm of Swimming atop his head, secures the chinstraps and jumps into the water. He immediately begins sinking towards the bottom of the lake and the mystery beastie lurking there. Thorne casts Life Bubble on Rafe and Van Hellsqueak so they can endure the crushing pressure of the deep, then they too leave the (dubious) security of the submersible. As the heroes descend, the creature bursts from the mud and weeds and jets towards thEm with alarming speed, an inky trail of black ichor staining the water in its wake. It looks much like a squid – only much larger. Bloodshot eyes burn with infernal malevolence.
“Devilfish!” Rafe cries in alarm, his voice muffled by the life bubble enclosing his head.
Rafe’s concern is well founded. A spiny tentacle lashes out and entwines about his midsection. Before anyone can react, the devil fish jets away, taking the arcane archer with it!
Van Hellsqueak begins paddling after the escaping abomination, but it’s painfully clear he will never catch it on his own. Likewise, Hargr trudges along the lakebed with all the impetus of a hamstrung cow. Thorne snatches them both up in his tentacles and jets after the devilfish. As he closes in on his prey, Thorne draws back the tentacle gripping Hargr and lines up his shot.
“What d’you think you’re doing?” Hargr demands, as realisation dawns, “Wait! NOBODY TOSSES A DWAR -!”
Thorne tosses a dwarf. Straight at the devilfish. Hargr slices through the tentacle holding Rafe then buries his axe in the devilfish’s bulbous head. The monstrous squid thrashes and prepares to run – only to be grappled by Thorne! Unable to escape, the devilfish is soon reduced to sushi by Hargr’s magical battleaxe.
To be continued….
Carrion Crown / Wake of the Watcher (Part 10) – 05/04/2015
Having defeated the devilfish and scattered the sharks under its dominion, the heroes ride the bathysphere down to the bottom of the lake. Rafe hauls on the brake before the submersible sinks into the silty ooze. On the surface of the water, a bell chimes and Professor Croon locks the chain in place until the party indicate their wish to return. Secretly, he is surprised that his device actually worked!
Still in octopus form, Thorne locates the entrance to the skum lair. A fleshy curtain prevents the dungeon from flooding. The surface yields to his probing tentacles and Thorne pushes through into the dark, (comparatively) dry tunnel beyond. The air is foul, yet breathable and the dwarven druid resumes his normal shape. Rafe, Hargr and Van Hellsqueak follow him through.
Lacking Darkvision, Rafe gropes around until he finds a fist-sized rock, upon which he casts Light. As the object in his hand begins to glow, Rafe realises he is holding a human skull. With a surprised cry, he throws it away. The skull lands in the middle of the cavern, breaking into several glowing fragments and illuminating two immensely tall, gangrel figures lurking in the shadows. The creatures shamble forward slowly, their long arms dangling loosely at their sides.
“Get ready for a fight!” Hargr growls, brandishing his axe.
“Don’t worry, it’s going to take them ages to get here!” Van Hellsqueak chortles, observing the monster’s comically slow approach.
Suddenly, the nearest of the two creatures flickers, reappearing scant feet away from the surprised halfing. Van Hellsqueak shrieks in an unheroic fashion as the dimensional shambler wraps it long, pale arms around him. The creature flickers again and suddenly it and the halfling are both gone!
The second creature materialises in front on Hargr, who ducks under its groping limbs and chops it in half with a single swing of his axe!
“What happened to Van Hellsqeak?” Rafe asked.
“That thing grabbed him and disappeared.” Thorne replied, moving over to where the halfling had been standing until a moment ago, “I don’t think he’s coming back.”
“Oh dear, what a tragedy, I think I’m going to weep.” Hargr grumbled, shouldering his way passed the mopey druid, “Let’s keep moving! Smellsqueak can look after himself.”
Ahead, the tunnel branches and Rafe scouts ahead. The first room he peeks into is occupied by a crowd of silent, motionless skum. The room is unlit, save for a faint, purple glow originating from the heads of the skum. With a wave of revulsion, Rafe realises that the tops of their heads have been opened up with surgical precision and their glowing brains are exposed to the air. The skum do not respond to the hero’s intrusion, they appear completely dormant. The heroes pass another few caves similarly stocked with lobotomised fishmen.
Suddenly, the air shimmers and Van Hellsqueak is unceremoniously dumped back into this plane of existence. He is pale and shaking, an expression of wordless terror plastered across his face.
“Where did that thing take you?” Thorne asked, handing the trembling halfling a mug of steaming cocoa to settle his tremulous nerves, “To the depths of the Abyss? To Leng?”
“It was worse!” Van Hellsqueak shuddered, “I only caught a glimpse of a hellish landscape spread out below me. Foul, unwashed creatures wandered aimlessly through the streets; single mothers with packs of feral children snapping at their heels and dead eyed menfolk staring hopelessly into the depths of their lukewarm beer. I think the shambler called it… Slough.”
“It’s ok, you’re safe now.” Thorne comforts the distraught halfling.
To be continued….
Carrion Crown / Wake of the Watcher (Part 11) – 12/04/2015
Once Van Hellsqueak had recovered sufficiently to hold his crossbow without shaking, the party continue their intrusion into the Neighbours demesne. The cavern ahead is dominated by a towering statue of Father Dagon, crudely carved from a single slab of slimy, green rock. Profane symbols have been carved into the statue and surrounding walls. On a pedestal at the base of the statue rests a grimy mace. Despite its poor condition, Rafe immediately notices that the mace radiates powerful magic.
“Finally some decent treasure!” Hargr grins, rubbing his hands together greedily.
But the loot is not without guardians. An obese skum cleric ornamented with gaudy fishgold attends the statue, supported by a cluster of frog-faced acolytes. They brandish their tridents and croak menacingly. Combat is inevitable.
Hargr barrels into the skum and uses Great Cleave to really ruin their day. Zhabh-boath (the cleric) summons a large water elemental to avenge his congregation. Hargr is soaked!
“NOBODY WASHES A DWARF!” he splutters, shaking like a wet dog.
Meanwhile, Thorne transforms into a shambling mound and shambles into the fray. He snatches up a fleeing skum and tosses him across the cavern with enough force to break his back against the opposite wall. Rafe and Van Hellsqueak fire into the vicious melee and clear a path for Hargr to reach Zhabh-boath. The dwarf makes short, bloody work of the skum cleric.
“By my magic arrows!” Rafe exclaims, hefting the grimy mace from its pedestal, “This is no mundane +1 magic weapon, this is Ravens Head, a holy artefact of the Pharasman church! It was thought lost after some bumbling old bishop dropped it into the Inner Sea! This weapon has got some powerful abilities…”
“Yay!”
“… but you can only use them if you’re a bona-fide cleric of Pharasma.”
“Boo!”
“Where’s Sister Dolores when we need her?” Van Hellsqueak grumbles. The party sling Ravens Head into the Bag of Holding atop all their other miscellaneous plunder.
Up ahead, the tunnels open out into a massive cave, the largest the party have yet seen. The centre of the cavernous space is filled by a towering machine constructed from thrumming panels of alien metal. Two peculiar creatures fuss over the device, they look like nothing so much as wrinkly pricks with bat wings and tiny hands. Unfortunately, those tiny hands are holding an array of fiendish alien weaponry, which they turn on the party once they become aware of their presence (which is almost immediately). The Mi-Go (wrinkly prick monsters from space) activate their mist guns and hose the heroes with freezing fog for massive damage. The fog lingers like an unwelcome relative and obscures everyone’s vision. The party scramble around within the icy cloud, stumbling over each other and running headlong into walls.
Hargr trips and collides with a smooth, metallic surface. He realises he’s chanced upon the machine that the creatures were tinkering with. He glances down to see what fouled his footing and meets the dead gaze of Illmarsh’s missing mayor. The top of the poor man's skull has been carefully removed and his brains scooped out. Another two corpses lie beside the mayor, neither of which the dwarf recognises. Hargr kneels and goes through their pockets, finding nothing of consequence. The selfish bastards!
Elsewhere in the cloud, Shamble-Thorne finds himself abruptly grappled by both Mi-Go. He casts Fire Shield on himself and his entire body bursts into flame, immolating the two cosmic horrors. All that remains of the Mi-Go is a lingering smell of burnt pubes.
“Mmmmm, what’s cooking?” Van Hellsqueak enquires, tummy rumbling.
To be continued….