A Custom 5th Edition Dungeons and Dragons Campaign
We encountered the Otyugh in the a forgotten passageway in a stronghold of the orcs. It was hiding underneath a pile of refuse which is common for this type of monster. They feed off mainly trash and that is most likely what it was doing underneath their hideout disposing of their refuse. Standing on 3 legs it has a wide mouth, 2 feeder tentacles and one that it also uses for vision. It was rather easily dispatched and it smelled horrible.
A sample of its blood is kept by Magus.
Aldur sat on the leaf littered ground cross legged with an open leather bound tome next to him and scrolls around him in various states of completion. His inkwell was open and a rather plain looking quill was is in it. He was blowing dry some ink on the scroll he held in his hands.
“So let me get this straight, you want me to send my men into a dragons den? Just walk in and take its treasure? Is that it?” Jared’s voice came from the air around him.
“Dragons?” Aldur’s curiousity was piqued. Obviously he had read about them and seen small hatchlings twice but that was about it. To go into a den of one would be truly an opportunity to see what he had only heard and read about.
“70/30” He heard a higher pitched voice say in reference to the split of treasure.
“Don’t take that Jared, we’re worth more than that. Heck I want more than that.” Aldur whispers to no one except Rascal who seems to be enjoying sunning himself.
He moves the scribing implements from his lap and stands up stretching his back and legs.
“Now listen here you lil shit” Jared’s voice again floats on the air.
“That’s how you negotiate” Aldur responds before walking over to Rascal scratching him with his foot, “put him in his place.” Aldur was slowly learning more and more about Jared. Through their runs in the training yard, the beatings at the hand of Jared were pointing out some of his weaknesses in combat and the obvious lack of formal combat training. That was starting to bother him more and more, sometimes in combat he was feeling less then useful and that was starting to eat at him. Back in the keep that they rescued the children, Aldur and Rascal held their own and contributed. In the forest just recently he didn’t feel like he was pulling his own weight and definitely not more then so.
“Better get back to making more scrolls so I can cast more spells I suppose” as he sits back down under a tree again and picks up another scroll and his quill. He could now hear Thaydon’s voice in the air speaking to Jared “must have been in the room invisible listening in…always invisible.” He couldn’t tell if Thaydon actually hated him or not. It was a possibility the rogue just tolerated him and actually enjoyed his continual chatter and maybe it educated and mellowed out the killer…or he just hated him and wanted to cut him with that whip blade of his. “Mental note…” he wrote down in his book he kept his findings in which he desperately wish Thaydon would stop calling a diary, “don’t piss off the assassin unless I plan on being a bird for a few years.”
He got back to the scrolls he was preparing for what sounded like a potentially long journey. He appreciated Jared letting him set up a clairvoyance so that he could listen to the meeting and still take care of business. He couldn’t just sit there invisible like Thaydon. He had talked to Magus about maybe working on some scrolls together to see if there was some sort of precedent for two individuals combining power into one scroll, but there was some merit into looking at some of his texts to see how to handle that. He had mentioned that to Fithten too but he just tried to not offend Aldur, but he could sense that Fithten felt that below him and his god. To each their own he thought.
He had forgotten to write something down! He suddenly remembered while on the way back home from Holmfirth that he had forgotten to write down about their meeting with Throm’s Blade Bearer. He quickly snatched up his great book and flipped towards the end quill in hand and stopped after reading the last few lines.
“…the Blade Bearer’s chain protruded from Ash’s chest and hung there like…”, he didn’t remember writing that. He quickly flipped through the last couple pages and scanned them “by focusing on Ash and the Eldritch power he commands I can also produce similar types of flame in my own hands, need to mention this to Ash so that…”
“What in the?” he thought to himself. He didn’t write any of that. He closed the book and looked at it with a puzzled, concern look. Even more concerning was that he could almost sense the book gloating at him?!
“Well, time for you to be put somewhere safe again” as he closed the book, wrapped the leather thong around it and then slid it into its locked wooden case that he kept it in. He stopped, and slid the book out part way and looked at the book questioningly while he murmured the words for detecting other’s thoughts. Yup, the book was definitely gloating at him. Thaydon was right. He was weird.
A sign bearing the image of a unicorn horn, an hourglass, and the words “Garwan’s Curiosities” hangs above a short wooden door on a cramped back-street of
As Amondor pushes open the door, the stale air of the room hits his nose and a mechanical bird leaves its perch above the inside of the door. It chirps and squawks as it takes a couple laps back into the store, announcing a customer. The mecha-bird swoops low over a young dwarf who makes a futile swipe at the creature while shouting “Poxed bastard!”
“Zark! Leave that be and get back to work,” a gravely voice carries from the back of the store. Zark adjusts his black leather vest in a huff and makes sure his belt of silver-hilted daggers is set just right before he continues pushing a floating disc filled high with plated armor towards a back room. He attempts a smile at Amondor, but it comes across more as a sneer.
From around a stack of embroidered cloth bolts, a white-bearded dwarf catches sight of Amondor. “Ahh, Master Celebrendal. So great to see you, I have found the, err, item you requested.” Zark’s ears visibly perk and his head turns at the mention.
As Amondor carefully weaves between precarious piles of most certainly expensive items, the morning sunlight dances through the potions in the window casting colored shadows across the wall.
“You have very specific and exquisite taste, Master Celebrendal. I had to call in more than one favor to get my hands on this little gem…” his had rests on a long, thin wooden case atop a counter. Inlaid gold leaf weaves a long, looping design in the cover and the corners are worn with age.
“Garwan, I assure you that you will be paid directly in proportion to the value of the item but not a coin more. My pockets are not a mine ripe for plunder.”
Garwan let’s out a sound of exasperation somewhere between and a “harumph” and a trumpeting of his lips as his stubby fingers fumble with the clasps of the wooden case. They spring open silently and the lid rises of its own accord, revealing a chamber much deeper than the height of the box. Inside, a longbow rests atop a stone base. At first, the bow appears to be nothing more than a fine wooden bow; but closer inspection reveals a surface free from imperfections and a slightly golden hue.
“The Bow of Hankin, origins unknown.” Amondor leans in for a closer look.
The case slams shut and Garwan leans on it from his stool perch behind the counter.
Without breaking eye contact with Garwan, Amondor unshoulders his bow and leans it against the counter. Next to the case he piles 3 heavy sacks, ringing of coins, and some magical nick-nacks. “This should be enough to buy a ship, man it with a crew, and sail it off the edge of the world should you desire it.”
Garwan relinquishes his grip on the wooden case and peeks into one of the sacks. Finding it to his liking, he nods to the elf. “Pleasure doing business, keep Garwan’s in mind the next time you’re in nee–” Garwan is cut short with a cringe as a loud crash is heard from the back room. Through the open doorway a wooden shield rolls and a couple fish come flopping in search of a larger puddle.
As Amondor lets himself out the front door, he can hear Garwan laying into the younger dwarf for his carelessness. Amondor smiles.