It’s a Maze Room Blitz! – Session 02

After their first successful foray into the dungeon, the team retired to their rooms to rest. When the team awoke, they noticed that two of their members, Bosk and Zyryx were not in their quarters. The crew assumed that the two had found other ways of entertaining themselves, and proceeded to return to the 2nd floor. After discussing their plans, they figured that the only way deeper into the dungeon was through the door at the end of the kobold caves. There was concern of their diminished numbers making the journey a bit more difficult, but Ulfgar was confident he would be able to make up for the difference.

The first wave of monsters proved to be easily dispatched, but reinforcements swarmed in and caused a party a bit of trouble. Grezlin, thinking quickly, whipped out the Wand of Wonder, pushing the button. From the wand came a small psuedo-dragon named Sir Reginald III who assisted the team is slaying the enemies. After the battle, Sir Reginald III communicated to Grezlin that he would continue to assist the party and proceeded to scout ahead.

After scouting ahead and finding more Kobold patrols, Ulfgar was able to show the team how he planned to make up for the other two warrior being absent. With a roar of bestial fury, he charged forward and his body grew into the form of a war painted brown bear, making short work of the kobolds in the vicinity.

Unfortunately, the noise and a frantic kobold trying to flee alerted the Sorcerer at the end of the dungeon to their presence and a grand melee ensued. The battle was going well in the party’s favor, until the Sorcerer conjured several copies of himself onto the battlefield, making things a bit more difficult for the party. After some close calls, the party slayed the Sorcerer and took a quite respite. While tossing the chamber for the spoils, they noticed that the magic items their received the last time they fought the Sorcerer were absent. They chalked it up to one of the quirks of the infinite dungeon and proceeded to move towards the door they had abandoned last time.

Once through the door, they found themselves in a chamber with tall walls that didn’t reach the ceiling and multiple directions they could traverse. As they took a short rest to collect their wits and formulate a strategy, they heard horrible screams and death cries of kobolds. Anaki climbed to the top of one of the walls to get a general look at the area around them. He saw this maze continued for the entire room with a glowing beacon further away. Using his information as a guide, they continued through the twisting corridors until they were confronted by the creature making all of the horrible noises: A Minotaur.

The creature was able to bend and manipulate the walls to accommodate its own girth, but Ulfgar wasn’t able to fully utilize his bear form, so he took the form of a Dire Wolf. After a single round of combat, the Minotaur made quick work of the lithe killing machine and Ulfgar was stuck between the beast and his teammates, horrified by its might. Thinking quickly, he recalled the Rock Octopus from the shores of Rendar and sprang forth to grapple the mighty beast. While the beast repeatedly beat on the soft flesh of the octopus, Grezlin and Anaki proceeded to unload on it. Eventually, the beast fell to the onslaught and the party sighed in relief. Before they could relax, the walls suddenly lowered, exposing the remaining Kobolds and the giant sphere of glowing energy. The party and remaining kobolds circled each other cautioiusly, before the Kobolds ran up the stairs where the party had come, leaving the party with the giant glowing mechanism.

The party crept closer to the mechanism, watching the electricity arc across its surface. Upon closer inspection, they could see a weapon lodged into the device, tempting them to come and claim it. Anaki, the very lithe rogue, sprang forward to grab the weapon and ended up getting up a bit crispy in the process.

Tired, electrocuted, and generally tapped out, the party descended to the third level, setting up a rudimentary camp and taking watches. The floor of the dungeon wasn’t as comfortable as their inn beds, but they were making progress. Would it be worth it to back track to return to [Lamp Town? Lamp Light?] or would they need to power their way through until they reach the 21st floor? Only time would tell.

Excitement and Trepidation – Session 01 Journal

While the others snored and stirred around him in their shared room, Ulfgar stared at the ceiling letting the events of the last few days wash over him. The night before, he was sleeping on the dirt staring at the stars, excited for what the day would bring. Now he was stuck in a nightmare of endless tunnels, looking for an escape. That being said, he was sent out into the world to learn and grow into an elite warrior. What better place to do so than a dungeon that none have ever exited alive?

His mind wandered to the bodies being sent out with the promise of being resurrected on the other side. Something about that entire situation seemed fishy to him. No one on the inside could confirmed or deny what was occurring and it all smelled like some sort of con job. That being said, he would need to figure out another way out of here. Something Gen had said echoed softly to him. ‘The planes could be one method of escape, no telling where’d you’d end up, though!’ The leaders of the Circle had spoken of planeswalking during his spiritual education and implied there were several worlds living parallel and apart from our own material plane. How long would it take for him to be able to invoke such magic? How would he know where to go and what planes were dangerous? He would need to do some research before trying something so reckless. He would also need to survive long enough to try.

Sighing, he rested the wooden carved totem of a Bear on his chest, tracing the runes across its shape. He wondered if Flora and Fauna could seem him down here. He wondered if they were proud of his courage and bravery. He hoped they saw the compassion he showed to his allies and the fury of how he struck down the murderous kobolds. He then thought of the woman that they had reached too late. He considered the possibility of retrieving the body and trying to find her kin. As the mixture of sadness and anger stirred inside of him he felt the sensation of a warm pair of arms drape around his shoulders and a warm cheek resting against his. A soft translucent glowing finger wiped the tear from his cheek that he didn’t even realize had fallen. His muscles relaxed then and sleep took him as he heard a soft voice sing to him.

Had his mother sang that song to him as a child?

Game 1 Dungeons and Deathtraps  The Epilogue

There is no sun.  Its an odd thing to wake up and realize the sun is gone from your day to day life.  This is one of many small changes the party will face as they rouse themselves from the small beds in the tight packed room.  As they brush by each other gathering their things from the rented room of the Lamp Post, each of them feels off.  The day before they were traveling across the land employed as guards to a caravan.  Today they are stuck in a death trap of a dungeon that is neigh impossible to leave.  Miraculously, they have made a sort of piece with the situation they are stuck in, residing themselves to venture down into the depths of this dungeon in hopes of finding a way out.  Yet the dungeon isn’t an easy thing to traverse…They found that out the hard way when facing off with some vicious and hungry kobolds down on floor two.  This was going to be difficult.

The party moves down the wooden stairs of the tavern to the tap room proper.  They sit at an empty table and order food and drink to try and bolster their constitution for what the new day brings.  As the motley crew sits there silently eating and drinking a figure approaches them and puts a leg up on one of the tables benches, striking a pose.  “Hail and well met friends”  The figure says with a over the top chipper attitude.  The party looks up from the food to see an odd looking fellow.  He stands about 5’9” with pale reddish skin.  A pair of horns curl back from his forehead and twist through his short choppy raven locks.  His outfit is a jaunting mismatch of colors.  Tie on sleeves with every color of the rainbow attach loosely to a shiny blue and green doublet that clashes horribly with the mans skin tone.  His pants are a beaten up brown with patches over the knees that sit just a bit too snug on his frame.  A dark maroon half cape is draped over his shoulder, all in all he is quite an eye sore for so early in the morning.  He slaps his knee propped on the bench with a gloved hand.  “Well now you lot look as miserable as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs”  He smiles a toothy grin, his k9s points add a bit of malice to the smile.  “Never you fear though lads there is always tomorrow. Keep a stiff upper lip and the like.”  He begins to sit down and flips his cape back over his shoulder as he does so.  “My name is Achiel.  Bard by trade.  I travel up and down these damned floors spreading tales of valor and heroics as I go.”  He removes his gloves and takes a few choice dates from the plate in the middle of the table.  Finally, Anaki breaks from the groups baffled staring and asks.  “Can we help you?” the horned headed man smiles while chewing his pilfered date.  “No, but perhaps I can help you.  I see few new faces in this place.  So that means you’ve either come to this place willingly or by someone else’s design.  Yet either way you are here…..and I’m guessing you want out.”  He pops the other date into his mouth.  Ulfgar sits up straighter.  “Ov course ve vant out of this damned place…ever thing is out of sorts here.” He replies while stroking through his thick red beard.  The party nod in agreement of the dwarf’s statement.  Zyr the centaur moves around the tables edge closer to the bard.  “So…how can you help?”  A grin spreads across the face of the bard known as Achiel.  “How can I help?” He says putting a hand to his chest in mock shock and surprise.  “well you see….I have heard a way out of this place…a door……down on floor SIXTY!”

Where am I?

Where was he? His head was ringing and he felt a small amount of blood drip down his left brow and the air was damp and musty almost like he was in a cave somewhere.

He remembered waking up with a splitting headache somewhere warm, somewhere nice smelling. Ah yes, one of his favorite spots to pass out in, tucked in tight against the back wall of the tavern where the oven was. It heated him up nicely when he was drunk in the back alleys waiting for sleep to take him.

He mentally jogged through his day, he remembered throwing up some stale bread for breakfast and bumming a mug of ale of Jinny. She has been so nice to him after he protected her from some handsy patrons a few months ago. Its a blurry but then recalls draining a few mugs that were left behind by that group that left abruptly. After that he won a bet by swindling a newcomer he could drink 2 mugs before the other drank 1. He lost of course and promised to pay him later…right. After that it was a bit a fuzzy until finally the foggy bliss of forgetfulness finally enveloped him in its warm promise of ignorance. Wait, now it’s coming back. A horse, some damn stairs, and now…oh Demos’s behind, he was in the kobold caves. Who brought him down here now…and why?!

Fynius’s Story

When I was a child, my perspective of the world was greatly influenced by the songs my father, Fyn’Loer, sung to me: romanticized tales of glory and valor, from the many adventures he had with the great elven warrior, Tar’ron Balmaer. His songs brought my father fame and adoration in our city of Shar’Norl. It is likely you will still hear “Flight of the Owl-Bear” or “To Be Holding the Eyes of the Beholder” being sung in taverns throughout the city to this day. As a child, I would listen to his songs and imagine being at his side, as he and Tar’ron fought off demons or corrupt sorcerers that sought to prey on the innocent and defenseless.
My mother fell gravely ill when I was three years old, and passed away soon after – leaving my father to care for me on his own. He decided to give up life as a bard and opened a shop where he made and sold musical instruments of all sorts. He was skilled as a craftsman, and through his studies he was able to imbue his instruments with magical enchantments that granted abilities far beyond creating melodies.
Being well renowned, as he was, it wasn’t long before musicians and bards from every corner of Alduras came asking him to craft their instruments. After a time, he began to receive so many requests that he would only craft instruments for those who could pay top coin – unless it was a musician he truly admired.
Years later, on a trip with my father to deliver an enchanted lute to a nobleman in Bran’Dellin, our wagon was set upon by bandits as we left the city limits of Shar’ Norl. As they approached the wagon, I can remember my father slowly raising his hands – speaking in a calm and steady voice. “We don’t want any trouble boys. Me an’ my son are just making a delivery. There isn’t much of value on the wagon, but you’re welcome to what we got.” As he gestured to the lute to show what he had to offer. A nervous sniper hiding in a tree loosed an arrow – piercing my father’s chest. He looked down to where the arrow hit, and almost seemed confused as he saw the blood soaking through his tunic. His eyes turned back towards me and he opened his mouth to speak, but instead of words only a faint wheeze came out. The look in his eyes turned from confusion to a blank stare. His body slumped forward and rolled off the side of the wagon to the ground. One of the bandits on the ground turned and shouted up to the trees, “What in blazes are you doing, Mick?! He was just going to show us what he’s got to give!”
“Sorry! I thought he was grabbing for a crossbow!”
As they squabbled I saw what could be my only chance for escape. I grabbed the lute and jumped from the wagon; and ran as fast as I could.
One shouted, ”Get back here you little rat!” – But none gave chase.
After that day, my childhood was spent on the streets begging, stealing, and grifting to survive. I quickly discovered that the world is much more complicated than my father’s songs had lead me to believe – with no real heroes or villains who can clearly be seen to be good or evil. In certain circumstances, anyone can be driven to do bad things out of desperation, or do good things when they possess the means to do so.
I practiced day and night at playing the enchanted lute – which was now my only real possession, save ragged clothes on my back. I would play the songs my father had written on the streets for coppers and scraps of food. After a time tavern owners and inn keeps began to invite me to play at their establishments. For the next few years, this was how I got by.
One night an old friend of my father’s, Ter’Lyn Faerwick, was at a tavern where I was playing. He recognized me and offered to take me into his home. After years on the street, I finally had a place that I could call home – yet it didn’t feel like home. I was grateful to Ter’Lyn, but a large part of me felt resentment that he wasn’t my father – yet reminded me so much of him. Over time, memories of my father’s face faded and became smeared together with the face of this other person – this stranger – who tried so hard to be a father to me in spite of my resistance and misplaced contempt.
Ter’Lyn, like my father, was an accomplished bard and craftsman – and he took me on as an apprentice to teach me the finer points of lore and song. He taught me how to invoke emotion in a crowd, how to paint vivid pictures from words and melody – and how to control the magic imbued in my lute. Thanks to Ter’Lyn, I was soon one of the most sought after performers in my little corner of Shar’Norl – and for a time it was bliss.
I soon found it wasn’t enough, though. Most of the songs I sang were not my own. And those that I had written were merely imagined exploits that never actually occurred, or banal re-tellings of tales known by everyone far and wide. I decided to set out in search of adventures of my own to become a great bard, like my father.
I left the gates of Shar’Norl, travelling east, not knowing where the road would lead me – and that excitement felt better than anything I had ever experienced. The exhilaration I felt upon leaving Shar’Norl did not last for long, though. Soon after I crossed the border into Gracia the weather turned, and the next week of travel brought horrendous rains and wind – which soaked through the tarp on my wagon, and ruined a good portion of the provisions I had brought. My spirits weren’t dampened, however. I had spent years in the gutters and was used to the feeling of being cold and wet -and what good adventure doesn’t have trials and hardships? I turned towards the north after passing through the foothills of the Wyrmshire Mountains, in an effort to avoid further onslaught from the storms of central Gracia’s rainy season. There was no escaping the storms, though, so I decided to stop to wait it out when I came upon an inn several miles outside of Riverdale.
The storms continued without respite day and night. The roof of the inn leaked constantly, and the winds blew through the walls as if they weren’t there. The conditions were easy to endure next to the constant boredom, though. There were no other guests in the inn and the only people to talk to were the inn keeper and his brother – both of whom I quickly found out were racist. The only reason they let me stay in the first place was because they liked coin just a little more than they hated elves. After two and a half weeks, the rain finally let up and I was once again on my way – heading north, past Riverdale.
I continued on for days, traveling through rolling countryside and thick forests – sleeping beneath the stars at night. I passed by Placid Lake – which was the setting of one of my father’s songs, “Turbulence Swirling Beneath the Placid Lake”. It was peaceful, but something seemed unsettling about it. Suddenly, there was a loud popping sound, and a wheel on my wagon broke. I quickly found that this was no accident, when 4 bandits rushed the wagon from behind the bushes lining both sides of the road. I was instantly transported back to the day my father’s wagon was ambushed and lost control – going into a blind rage. I looked at them and saw the bandits who had killed my father. It felt as though the gods were trying to mock me – making me relive the single event that had shaped and scarred me more than anything else ever had. I grabbed the dagger on the seat next to me and lunged, stabbing one of the bandits in the throat. I turned and slashed another bandit across the gut, but was quickly tackled by the other two – who both stabbed me in the back once I was on the ground. One knife pierced into a lung, the other through muscle in the lower back. They jumped onto the wagon and fled, leaving me for dead. With them went all of my possessions, save the bloodstained clothes on my back. As I lay there, struggling to breathe, I looked over to see the bandit I had stabbed in the throat had also been left behind. He was gurgling blood, struggling to draw breath. I could see the fear and regret in his eyes – and soon after, the realization that this was his last moment on this plane. He looked back at me and coughed out his last two words: “I’m sorry.”
I desperately tried to get to my feet, but the more I struggled the harder it was to breathe – so I tried to crawl. The world around me began to blur and spin, changing colors from red to black. I collapsed on the ground and lost consciousness.
I do not know what happened to me after that. I have a vague memory of seeing a very small woman and a tall man with a grey beard – and hearing wisps of music, but it may have been a dream. When I awoke, I was in an alley lying on a pile of straw, next to a sleeping dog. I asked a woman passing by the alley where I was. She looked at me incredulously, “Well, I’d guess you must have just been at the church last night by the looks of you.”
This just confused me more. “Church?”
Her disbelief seemed to turn to disgust “How much did you dream last night anyway? You seriously don’t know where you are?” I shook my head.
“The Dregs…Kell Na’Dar?”
“How did I get here?”
Her annoyance was palpable. “ How the fuck should I know? You look like you’ve been on a bender for weeks. You know, you lot really make me sick. You don’t do shit, but lay about rotting your mind – then you expect the rest of us to come and help you!”
She spit in my direction and shuffled away muttering.
I just laid there in pain, hungry, and disoriented -wondering what to do next.

Session 06 – A Three Hour Tour

As the team returns from the Hammersong Smithy, they return the pendant to N’alen from Avar. N’alen accepted the pendant, saying that their debt was paid, and proceeded to move in next door, forcefully. The team then prepared for a nice day or rest and relaxation, but life has a way of intervening. The team was visited by not one, but three callers that day in rapid succession.

Let’s start at the top, shall we?
1. There was a note attached to the door frame with a bat shaped throwing knife with the message, “Midnight, Old Town Market” from, who we can only assume, the man who called himself ‘The Night.’
2. Milo from the Saints told us that Garver was holding a meeting at the Abbey about a series of mysterious deaths around 8 pm.
3. A drunk asshole of a courier dressed in livery vomited in the apartment while telling the team that Avar requested their presence head of the time previously discussed at the Bearded Wench, but only an hour after the meeting with Garver.

After checking in Garver ahead of the meeting, Ash’rahm learned that the pair of halflings whom are generally with Tall John were found overdosed on a drug called “The Dream.” He encouraged the team to be at the meeting despite the times being very close to other engagements the crew had on their schedule.

Taking all of that into consideration, the team went on a shopping trip disguised as recon. While Geddon and Ash’rahm waited outside the Old Church, Maliston and Fynius went inside to see what delights were available. The clergy were selling a drug called “The Dream” that seemed very similar to the substance that Olan had made, if not more potent. The two grabbed a sample to study and investigated those at the Old Church who were partaking. When the team returned to their room they analyzed the samples and realized that they were created by some magical means.

The meeting at the Abbey was an official declaration of War against the Clergy. They have been dealing drugs on the turf of the Saints and several people have ended up dead because of it. The Clergy were also allied with the Slum Snakes and the Dead Eyed Crows, so the assembled group of Saints was reminded to not travel alone and to be on their guard. Maliston approached Garver after the meeting and relayed the information they had already gained to him and told him of his contact with Olan. He requested papers to get to the North Commons in order to look for Olan and find out any more information. Garver agreed and ordered the team, who was new enough to be not be noticed, to investigate as much as they could.

After the meeting at the Abbey, the team rushed to the Bearded Wench in order to meet with Avar. He informs those assembled that the job had been moved forward and was tonight. There was a delivery of magical cargo that would be delivered by the college to a ship named “Sweet Mary May” which was scheduled to head out to Bok’Tor at the first light of the next day. The team was told to retrieve a pendant with a blue crystal with the symbol of an eye for Avar and whatever was left would be sold off and the team would receive 30% of the profits. Avar, in his infinite generosity also said that the team would be allowed to keep 2 items of their choice. Avar gave the team two scrolls in order to aid them in their task. One, a scroll of invisibility, the other a scroll of dispel in order to open the crate, which would be magically sealed. He let them know that they had until morning tea the next day to get the items to him at the Smithy.

The team took their leave and proceeded to the docks in order to do recon. They learned the the ship had room for the team if they wished to book passage, but Ash’rahm figured that trying to stealing several items from a ship filled with guards and passengers would be much more difficult. He suggested to the team that trying to intercept the college’s vessel would be a much simpler bet, and if they deemed the college’s vessel to be too well guarded, they would try the other plan.

The crew manned their ragtag vessel and headed out onto the Kell. After a bit, they saw the vessel from the college, which was helmed by an older student, two younger ones, and a set of burly rowers. Ash’rahm had his doubts, but the team urged forward. The burly half-orc rowed with all of his might in order to catch up with the boat while Fynius and Maliston slung spells at the unsuspecting mages. While the Bard’s sleep spells only knocked out the mage in the back, the others retaliated in turn by sending a fireball at their boat. Maliston’s fog spell bought the team enough cover to try and board the vessel. While trying to protect the smaller members of his party, Ash’rahm fell at the hands of one of the boatmen after felling the other. That same boatman ended the life of Fynius shortly after. Maliston and Geddon finished off the rest and tried to abscond with as much of the gear as possible and sinking the college’s ship in the Kell with their friend’s bodies after saying their goodbyes.

Once they returned to the apartment, they remembered that N’alen seemed to be a fallen priest of some sort, so they begged him to try and save their friends. N’alen warned them that there would be a terrible price but the team agreed. N’alen requested items that were important to both Ash’rahm and Fynius and started the bizarre ritual. Ash’rahm’s soul was ripped from the veil and placed into the body of a male Drow, while Fynius found himself in the body of a male half-orc. N’alen then branded both of them and bound them to his dark lady, Azerot. He told them to get some sleep as it would be the last restful sleep that they would ever have again and to await further instructions. He told them they would have a busy next few days and that he had guests coming soon.

To be continued…

Session 05 – Meat and Bones

Geddon was left shaken after his summoning ritual. He tossed and turned while the others slept. After their rest, the party was recuperated except for Geddon, who was drenched with sweat. He tried to conceal his exhaustion, but the observant halfing Maliston could easily tell he was exhausted. Still, the party ate what little scraps they had. Despite some of the party starving, Ash’rahm refused Geddon’s request to give chef Bobert the raw bacon he possessed to cook. However, fellow bard Fynius generously gave Geddon a small piece of his buttered bread, which Geddon savored every bite.

The group departed down the tunnels, going this way and that, with Ash’rahm and Bobert in front. Bobert and his cursed weapon argued here and there, as the weapon transformed from cheese grater, to butter knife, to slightly longer butter knife. Despite the arguments, the party kept the right course, noticing trails of blood and other disturbances on the floor.

As they began to round a corner, they heard a loud scream. With Geddon exhausted, it fell upon Fynius to sneak ahead, forgetting that his cape would likely add music to his quite sneak. And so it did, but it might have made no matter, because up ahead the screams continued. Ash’rahm and Maliston joined Fynius in their advance, and as they approached, they saw a terrible thing.

The little sorcerer Maliston soon brought light to the putrid room they entered, revealing a pit of sorts filled with debris and sewage. Within the center of the room, the party saw the source of the screams. A woman was trying to crawl away with only the upper half of her body remaining. Behind her, a giant, disgusting thing of flesh and bone and a dozen or so mouths clung to her, slurping up the victim.

The party was too late to save any captees, but they wanted no other to fall prey to this vile, viscous monstrosity (or they just wanted to get paid – it’s difficult to tell with some in this group!). Ash’rahm showed tremendous ability as he targeted the bloody ooze with dark magics that began to rot away its undulating flesh. Maliston once again showed his mettle as he launched freezing frost at the gross creature, as the rowdy elf Fynius struck a nerve with his magical words of mockery. The kenku, meanwhile, was nowhere to be found. The fleshy blob gurgled up a half devoured corpse and spat it at the little halfling, but the elf’s distraction proved successful as the launched corpse instead splashed down into the waters below.

Although the nasty creature sat in the middle of the room atop an island with no current access, the party now knew the thing to be a threat at a distance. They began to scatter along the narrow pipes tracing the room while Ash’rahm kept inflicting great harm to the thing, summoning a massive bell to ring an intense blast into its many faces. However, below them climbed two acidic oozes, and they struck at the party. Unfortunately, Bobert struggled to gain control of his cursed weapon that had now grown into a too-great greatsword that weighed more than Bobert could lift. As Maliston’s skin burned at an oozes strike, Fynius once again showed his versatility and usefulness as he spoke enchanting words that lulled the approaching oozes into a motionless state.

The flesh sack once again shot flesh and bone at the party, this time succeeding. As Maliston continued his magical assaults, he shouted to the party that there were levers on the walls. Geddon hopped into the room and ran for the levers, pulling them. The water current in the room changed directions, and a bridge began to rise off to the side, providing a bridge to the threat. As the fleshy blob started to cross the gap, Geddon suggested they drop the bridge. It seemed a good idea, but they were unable to time it properly because the blob moved quite quickly.

Geddon now found him dangerously gross to the thing. Magical, unidentified sword in hand, he prepared to strike at the creature. Heroic half-orc Ash’rahm came to his aid, putting himself between he and the monster. Still, the approaching monster instilled a supernatural terror in the angel-touched bard, and Geddon ran away as fast as he could, shouting all the while. Ash’rahm soon, too, found himself scared beyond all measure. He also tried to run away, but his cursed boots blasted both he and the creature. With the creature’s continued assaults, he soon found himself beaten unconscious on the ground. Fortunately, Bobert convinced his blade to shrink to a manageable size so that he could help the party. The blade took a swipe at Fynius’s head but missed, as Bobert ran to replace Ash’rahm at the front line of battle.

Fynius rushed to Ash’rahm’s aid, lending magical words of rejuvenation. It was a smart play, because as Maliston continued his freezing rays and guided magical missiles to their targets, Ash’rahm began cracking the other oozes maniacally with his mace. The incredibly tired Geddon attempted to lend a hand from a distance, fiddling with his strange magical weapon. He learned how to fire the weapon by pulling a trigger, but all he managed to do was shoot Bobert and hurt himself in the process by the weapon’s powerful recoil from the ensuing blast.

Still, between Bobert’s strikes, Maliston’s missiles, and Ash’rahm’s furious bashing, the party came out victorious. Or so they thought! A cackle was soon heard, and from the other side of the room appeared a frightening, giant-eyed creature telling them of their doom. By some miracle, an axe then exploded from the monster’s chest. Behind it stood a dark figure. It told the party that it was the night and warned them of the dangers that lurked in the sewers. Exhausted and beaten, the party knew not how to reply other than to thank the figure, which soon disappeared.

Some of the party took a few breaths, while others searched the room. The attentive halfling climbed down into the nasty waters and searched piles of junk and body remains. He found a signet ring, as well as a discarded pouch filled with some coin. Having the signet ring as proof of the missing Kingdom of Chant followers, the party approached the now-reappeared kenku. The bird-like creature led them back to an underground door, and they were greeted by a wrapped-up man. Although hard to communicate with the man who coughed often and whose words were muffled by his wrappings, the party did manage to receive payment for their work. Ash’ram took the pouch which contained ten crowns and several gems. Figuring the reward was sufficient, Fynius led the group back out of the sewers, but not before Ash’rahm left the raw bacon behind to repay a debt he owed.

When they came to the surface, it was night. Although more dangerous, it also proved more fortuitous, for they had illegal weapons in their possession and the darkness would help conceal them. Geddon adjusted his stance to that of a hobbling man, and used his large, strange weapon as a walking stick. The rest of the party managed to hide their gear within their clothing. Between the paths of the market and the docks, the party chose the quieter-yet-more-dangerous-seeming route of the docks. Despite Fynius’s cloak once again announcing their presence, they made it most of the way without being disturbed, but their luck ended as they encountered a man and two guards. The man dressed quite nicely and had the look of a mage about him, and both Ash’rahm and Maliston believed him to be from the college of wizardry.

Caught, the group had no choice but to be subjected to the man’s line of questioning. He cast a magical spell of truth on the party, forcing all but Ash’rahm to speak no lie. The man was seeking information on the murder of two mages nights before in the docks. Not knowing the truth and hoping to escape trouble with these men, Geddon told them he knew nothing of these murders, which was true. He had not been with the party at that time, nor had the party told him of these acts. But the mage pressed Maliston who spilled the beans. Forced to answer truthfully, he gave up the name of Treevil as one who killed one of the men, and the mage then took the image of Treevil from Maliston’s mind and magically made a wanted poster. The questioning ended there thankfully, and none of the remaining party admitted to their involvement.

The mage let them go, and so they went. They made it back to relative safety and split up. Some went to report their findings in the sewers to Tall John, while others went back to their free lodging. At their room, they found the corpse-like creature they encountered in their previous adventure. It demanded its payment of meat, but since Ash’rahm had left the bacon behind, he would have to repay him in the morning.

Maliston spoke with the creepy creature through part of the night to let Ash’rahm and the others rest more peacefully and to learn a little more about this strange figure, but Ash’ram awoke to its spooky stare. Ash’rahm took little time in seeking meat for it (or him), and was the kindest and most generous half-orc in town that day, speaking nicely to townfolk and overpaying on a whole pig. Fynius and Maliston went to get food prepared by Bobert, and Geddon once again attempted his summoning ritual.

Geddon again summoned the same being from before, who again asked to deal with Geddon. After more probing and receiving assurances that he would remain who he was at his core, Geddon accepted the pact and was then awash will a shadowy aura. All but Bobert (and Treevil, who was still nowhere to be found) returned just as Geddon and finished and put together what he had done. Maliston was flabbergasted and furious, telling Geddon he knows not the horrible sacrifice he has made. He also pointed out that Geddon no longer had his shadow, but not quite fully understanding the ramifications this could bring, Geddon didn’t seem to mind. In fact, although Geddon did feel different, he didn’t feel terrible, and he was as much curious about the darkness as he was about the light. He hoped to explore both areas extensively as he has been with his personalities. Assuming a very talkative and friendly fellow, he tried and failed to convince them all that he and everything was fine.

Still, there was nothing they could do but move forward. They talked more with their creepy new roommate, and they learned enough to call him The Collector. They learned he seeks his lady, and wished help to do so. With no new jobs at the ready, the party took on the task, and Geddon coaxed payment from The Collector (or as it referred to it and all rewards/payments/transactions, etc., as settling a debt!) in the form of 15 crowns. The Collector, through broken pieces of memory, told them of previous companions, including a little winged flying creature, a barber, and someone named Avar.

Geddon recognized the name of Avar and remembered of a smithy (or forge) under his control. As The Collector stayed behind, as well as Geddon’s large weapon, Geddon led the party down to the docks. Along the way, they saw a cart carrying dead, and Geddon spoke to the driver and learned that they had all died of some sort of drug. They followed the cart down to the docks and saw them being loaded onto a boat. Geddon gained more information from a market vendor (who sold a delicious piece of peppery fish to a delighted Maliston) who said their bodies were going to be examined. Maliston hid the drug vials amidst his vestments, and he, Ash’rahm, and Fynius refused to divulge much information to Geddon who was becoming quite concerned with the party’s involvement in what he was seeing.

Nevertheless, they continued onward and located Avar’s place, Hammersong Forge. Inside, Geddon played his cards close to the chest as he danced around wanting to talk with Avar, but Maliston cut to the chase. The big muscular man working the forge pointed them to the next room, where they found a strange man asking them if they were his next appointment. Asking Geddon to sit, Geddon instead convinced Ash’rahm to do so, and the half-orc unexpectantly began receiving a shave from the twitchy-faced man.

The barber told them that Avar was upstairs, so Maliston and Geddon went. They then noticed that Fynius had disappeared, but they continued anyway. They found Avar, or the person saying he would be playing as Avar for today. Geddon was quite enamored with this Avar’s performance and tried to play along at Avar’s conversational game. He likely would have failed due to his inexperience, but it was no matter, as Maliston once again was blunt and cut to the chase.

Avar told them he knew of The Collector and told them his name was N’Alen. He agreed to help N’Alen and give them the item N’Alen needs, but only for payment. Having little in funds, Maliston instead offered we do a job instead. Avar was quite cryptic and told them to return in two nights where he would have them deliver something, and he said he would spare them the details. He told them no particulars, in fact, and despite Geddon wanting to know more, Maliston readily obliged.

So there the group has made its next deal, and from there its anyone’s guess as to where it will lead.

Session 04 – Ash’rahm

I need to get my shit together. I’ve never let myself fall this deep into apathy or dread or just plain EVIL like this before. Sure, when you’re desperate, you do what you need to do to survive. When you kill a man to protect yourself from retribution, that’s justified to an extent. Stopping someone from trying to shiv you for father’s book? Yes, that desperate mongrel had to be put down. But, the gnome from earlier today? That was… something else. It wasn’t even the order to “take care of it” that tripped me up. I just saw a person try to murder someone for no other reason than to rig a fight. I let a darkness in the back of my mind take hold and it clouded my judgement. It didn’t even hit me until I saw the deranged rogue start to do his sadistic healing ritual before I realized I squandered an opportunity to question the creature and find out what it was planning. A wave of shame and horror washed over me, but I couldn’t let the others see. I have to stay strong and determined and not show any weakness down here. That will get you killed.

I was barely listening when we were given to assignment to find the missing children. But when I heard the chance for redemption, I filed it away in my mind. Balance the good and the bad. Try to do something to make this place better. Be better than the monsters who put you here. The trip through the marketplace and the questioning of the meat vendor are still a little fuzzy to me as I didn’t feel like I was actually moving my own body. Dealing with vendors and merchants asking for coin I wouldn’t had dreamed of having weeks ago was surreal. I felt like I was going through the motions. The only time when I felt like I was truly in control is when I was swinging my mace at the undead monster. The moment he had me by the neck, it all slammed back into place for me. I could’ve died right then. I needed to get my mind back in order.

The further into the sewers we delved, the more I realized how much I didn’t know. Why was this pipe so cleanly made? Why does this lake look like a skull? What about this place is cursed? So many things didn’t make sense, but I had to just keep alert and aware and make mental notes of what we encountered. In my leisure time reading the books in father’s study, I remember an account of an adventurer who warned of the perils of “Dungeon Delving” and how there are cursed magical items in the world, but I was too distracted by seeing nicely made boots and weapons and other rarities that I had COMPLETELY forgot myself. Nothing helps you learn like making a mistake. Unfortunately, this mistake might get us killed. I will need to be more cautious in the future.

On a brighter note, being around other practitioners of magic has also rekindled my drive to continue my own arcane journey. Little did I know that watching and observing them cast and manipulate the weave would help me finally make the connection in my own mind and snap everything into place. Survival and secrecy had been my focus until now and the book was too valuable to take out unless I needed to. Luckily, I’ve been able to read through its pages when I was alone in our rooms the last few days. But now, sitting there in the dark tunnels of the sewers while my companions slept, I tried a spell I hadn’t tried since I was in class several months ago. A spectral version of my hand appeared in front of me, making a fist. I can’t remember the last time I smiled, but I was smiling now. During my watch, I continued to read the spells I could recall hearing about in class and I could finally see it all so clear in my mind. I was doing it. I was becoming the wizard I was meant to be.

Troubling Dreams

His waking memories of Rendar were few and far between but his dreams were full of his homeland. Running around on the farm, watching his Ma and Nan tending the household, his father and brothers wrestling during breaks from working the fields. One thing that seemed off was the woman watching from a distance. She was tall, pale, beautiful, and wearing billowing translucent robes. He’d never seen a woman like that before or else it’d be burned into his soul. Whenever he would notice her he would wake in cold sweats in his cell with the other slaves. Her image and presence fading from his thoughts as quickly as they had appeared.

Where he felt Throm’s pride and love flowing through him from his deeds and prowess, he felt something else wrong and dirty in the back of his mind. Every foe he felled brought that small voice and yearning a little further forward. It was but a whisper to the roar of Throm’s voice, but it was there.

He continued whispering the word of Throm to his compatriots as his fame in the pits grew. He knew some of them would betray him and tell the masters, but his notoriety and fame only grew. They continued to throw bigger and badder creatures at him. They tried to poison his gruel to weaken him, but Throm demanded equilibrium and a fair fight thus helped him cleanse his body. The more his strength of faith grew, the less he paid attention to the poison in his dreams.

Eventually, the night came where they tried to bring him down in his sleep. He was dreaming of being in the pit fighting the heroes of his people from the sagas his Nan would sing. He screamed out with joy at being blessed with such an honor, but slowly the heroes became monstrosities and creatures of madness. Desperation began to set in and he noticed the woman was alone in the stands watching. He called for her aid, he knew his strength was waning and he would be overwhelmed. He saw her shift in form several times rapidly until she was behind him, arms around his waist, whispering into his ear.

“I am hungry, my gorgeous boy. Let Mormo drink the blood of your foes.”

The weight of his great axe became nothing. The steel had become black and jagged and cruel. A large yellow eye in the point where blade connected to handle appeared glowing bright. He was dancing with death and knew no limitations. Black tendrils intertwined with his radiant bursts of energy. He launches bursts of power from his hand in addition to the swinging of his axe. He stood among the dead of the creatures that had swarmed him and he felt empowered. The dream melded away from him and he found himself naked standing in his cell surrounded by dead guards, holding the axe he saw in his dreams. He looked down into the yellow gem eye and heard the voice whisper again to him, “Feed me, Gothos, they tried to kill you this night, but we will make them pay.”

The rest of the night was a blur he doesn’t quite remember. Clad in the armor and clothes of his would-be assassins, he gained an upper hand on the guards he stood in his way. The leathers and tabard he wore over the armor became permanents stained red with the blood of those he butchered. Whenever he crossed an innocent he reined in the axe’s hunger and flashes of a tentacled creature screaming flashed behind his eyes, but he was stronger than that and the teaching of Throm steeled his hand. He eventually made it out of the city where the fighting pits were located, covering his grotesque visage in cloaks. He intimidated a trader to take him as far as he could and eventually make his way out of Vaegog.

He continued on town to town, offering his axe to caravans and his faith to those who needed it. He heard little from Mormo unless the axe was in his grasp, but he learned which jobs would keep her at bay more than others. He slowly learned to balance her hunger and Throm’s word and continues to live with the duality.

GAME 14: Freedom at Last!

Letter of Resignation
Well, the idiots did it again. They broke a contract WITH A BLOODY GOD and tried to become gods themselves. Typical.

To be continued…

– Cid Tallbreeze, Automation Expert of Ghent

Gothos’s Introductions
It had been several years since the liberation that freed him from his shackles at the hands of the cruel masters and Gothos was relishing in the freedom that came with it. Guarding a caravan seemed a boring expedition for most, but to him it was freedom. He joked with his fellow guards, played his lyre for them at dinner, and helped defend the merchants from nature and monster alike. This was LIVING and life. He could feel Throm’s strength in his arms and his pride in his heart. There was also the hunger. Mormo’s ever impatient hunger. She had never pushed, for Gothos had always provided, but work outside of the fighting pits has made her more and more voracious. She would visit him in his dreams to whisper into his ear about what he must do for her, but he could resist the more grizzly requests as long as he provided her with the blood she craved.

When he became lost on the pathways, Mormo’s hunger was a dull roar in the back of his mind, but as long as he kept the blade out of his grasp, he could ignore it. He was more concerned that Throm would be disappointed for losing his wards. Luckily, he ran into a group who seemed to need his kind in their employ, which promised much along the lines of what he needed. Killing a vampire? That would be a feat!

– Orally passed onto Osho whom he asked to write it down because he cannot write himself