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.
The fire in the upper rooms of the keep have been extinguished just in time for the clerics to ignite funeral pyres downwind of the keep. The ashes of good men and dead orcs alike slowly waft upward, toward whatever the hereafter provides. The land will need a good, hard rain to wash the stench away. Even miles from the keep, the animals are driven away by the smell. Perhaps they have more sense than I, abandoning this place.
While the men tear down the charred roof and begin hewing new wood for repairs, I have set about using my own skills to track the orc army and ensure they are not preparing for another immediate strike. My stride is long and their trail clear through the forest. These orcs were driven hard and fast. I have followed their markings for ten miles with no signs of their pace slowing. There is some comfort in the thought that we have time to prepare and tend to other threats. Starvation, chief on my list.
I head back to the keep, by an indirect route. Identifying natural landmarks and learning the lay of the land. In the woods I have set snares to catch small game, should they return. In a clearing, a deer and I locked eyes. With a start he ran, I in pursuit. Gracefully he cleared fallen trees and low branches, weaving a convoluted path through land he knew well. At the next clearing, my arrow caught him between the shoulder blades. I hold his head, thanking him for his sacrifice, and end his struggle. Flora and Fauna be praised, the men will eat well tonight.
Janus was a bastard. Figuratively as well as literally. A mixture of high and grey elf blood. The product of a torrid love affair. His parents were rivals in the courts of Lollen’del. His father, Bala’drin Galo’ron, was the High Mage of the king while his mother, Lana Sylfarian, was the high priestess of Loriana the Fair. Publicly they loathed each other. Their political stances as well as courtly interests conflicted at every single turn. Yet, behind closed doors their passion was a fire hotter than the fires of the seven hells.
When Lana became pregnant, she played it off as a pilgrimage to commune with the goddess. Many years later, she returned to Lollen’del and presented the prodigy to his father. Janus was talented in every aspect of spellcasting. He juggled the powers of the arcane and the divine with ease and almost apathy. Proud yet ashamed, Bala’drin enrolled Janus in the academy of magery under a false name of some far away elvish lord.
Janus, insulted by the secrecy, found absolutely no interest in his studies purely out of spite. It also didn’t help that the classes went too slow for him. One day while skipping classes in a secluded vale in the depths of the forest, Janus found himself in the company of the oldest elf he’d ever seen. The old man looks as if he was carved from the lightest birch tree with hair as green as the grass. The man’s power had a pressure that made his ears pop when he walked towards him.
“Are you scared, youngling?”
“More intrigued than scared.”
“That is a dangerous sentiment, but your thirst for knowledge is great indeed.”
The Arcane Hierophant was named Silvanus and was the Speaker for the Circle that operated out of Lollen’del. The Circle’s existence was only knowledge to the ruling council. Janus had never heard of the Arcane Hierophant order and spent almost every waking hour in Silvanus’ presence. He promptly quit the academy and took lessons from the ancient elf himself and progressed faster than anyone would have guessed. His parents disapproved, yet they also understood that there was no other way to utilize both torrents of power their son possessed. They both knew that he would surpass them both.
Upon reaching the day of his adulthood, Silvanus sent him into the world to learn and grow like the sapling he was. Silvanus had heard word of a mercenary company doing small jobs for the elvish court in Lollen’del, and sent Janus off with instructions to join them for the time being. With sturdy gear, a few wands, and dreams of greatness, Magus of Lollen’del headed off into the world.
And the rest.. is history..
Awakening the Beast
The voices howl in his head, yet he denied them.
He made the decision to make sure his slender frame would be protected. He needed to be quick and nimble. He needed to live. The training he received from monks in a monastery outside of the forest conflicted with the natural ways, but his Arcane abilities also conflicted so a little more modification to his abilities wouldn’t hurt, right?
Wrong.
The dreams started the closer he got to achieving the abilities of his druidic path. His body would twist and deform. Claws and feathers were the most common. He assumed it was because of his bond with Taka, but soon it drifted in the form of bears and wolves from his homeland forests.
What in the hells is happening to me?
There was a particular dream where he was between several different forms when a rabbit hopped towards him. His canine eyes look up to the rabbit and inside of his mind he felt flashes of hunger and need for the hunt, but another voice spoke into his mind.
“Come.”
And the rabbit hopped off. After blinking a few times, he realized he had also assumed the form of a rabbit and began to awkwardly follow. It was slow going, but the rabbit was very patient with his lack of ability.
Seeing the forest from this form was an entirely different experience. Eventually the rabbit became a fox and his own form matched it as well.
They continued this dance of form jumping several times before reaching a cave in the side of the mountain they were skirting. The further into the cave they went, the darker it became. Eventually they reached a cavern with a soft green glowing light coming from the moss on the cave walls. His eyes seemed to become his own again and he saw that the one he had followed had finally taken shape.
She was beautiful. Every feature of her naked body a testament to the beauty of nature and the variations of every single race and creature. Her amber eyes were fixed on him as she stepped close. A hand reached out for his face and cupped it as she drew him into her embrace. Every single cell of his body rejoiced in her touch and he began to close his eyes and listen to her heartbeat.
“Loriena can no longer have you, you are mine. The minute you met with my servant Silvanus I knew that you would find me here…”
He could only breathe her in and nod slowly. Realization had come to him that he was in the embrace of the primal side of his nature, Fauna, but he let the logical side of his brain stay muddled in the pleasure of being in the embrace of his goddess.
“You have suppressed me, my child, but the unnatural ways of man cannot fight my influence for long. You felt the freedom of slipping out of your skin and now you will not be able to resist it. You cannot resist being a part of me.”
He realized she had pulled his face close to hers, their foreheads touching. A wolfish grin on her face, she kisses him.
With a flash and a jolt of pain that races through his entire body, he wakes sitting with his back to a tree. He is covered in sweat and his lips burned where he barely remembered her kissing him.
“What is this? What is this feeling?”
The beasts within him have awakened again and no amount of discipline would suppress them again. He blinks a few times, his eyes flickering between a cat’s and his own, and he gets back up to watch the sunrise.
The Arcane Hierophant
It happened around the time Taka was given to the earth. He had to summon another to take his place, as was the way, but something was nagging at him in the back of his head. The arcane side of him, its influence so long ignored, was aching to be utilized. He never felt the need for a familiar with Taka around, but with his friend gone he felt the emptiness twice as heavy and unbearable as before.
He recalled the stories his master had told him about when it was time to become part of the order. He said something similar about not only harnessing both arcane and divine power but also about merging the capabilities of his animal companion with that of a familiar. His master didn’t have his Dire Bear with him much, saying that it was time for him to rest after all the years they spent together.
The realization hit him at that moment, “Had it happened? Is it time to step into the role I’ve been trained for?” He didn’t feel any different, but when he closed his eyes and let his mind wrap itself around the magics he was capable of he noticed it.
His view had broadened. More of the spectrum was visible. He had been awakened.
A feral grin spread onto his features as he headed into the woods behind the Den. It was dark and dangerous, but he knew the Goddesses walked with him and had no fear. He felt like he could manage a more powerful creature this time around, but he wanted to gauge what was possible. The ritual required quite a bit of preparation as well as a full day worth of meditation, but his excitement helped him through it all.
Once it was all ready he disrobed and sat within the center of the circle he had drawn into the clearing. He felt the plants reach up from the ground to commune with him. He felt the worms and squirrels and the deer shudder with the powers he was communing with. A fox came up and curled into his lap and slept while he meditated.
He pictured the animal he meant to bond with in his mind. He had touched with sky with Taka, but now it was time to know the earth beneath paws and know battle with fangs. He was not ready to go the path of the ursus like his master, but instead the path of the lupus. He needed speed and cunning rather than stubbornness and strength. The time would come when he required it, but a bear of such power required much more of his energy than he was willing to give up at this time.
Inside his mind he howled in longing. Seconds later he heard a howl in return. He could smell her approaching and when he opened his eyes she sat on her haunches before him. Her head tilted to the side in thought. Her fur was black as charcoal with white markings on her chest and paws. The most remarkable thing about her were the eyes. They blazed yellow with intelligence and cunning.
He was used to feeling Taka’s emotions but with the wolf there was something more. She whined and he knew what she was saying to him. His eyes narrowed and he attempted to speak to her in the common tongue but she snorted in reply, not getting the meaning of his words. He let instinct take over and make a grunting noise at her and she barked back excitedly, making it clear she understood what he had said.
This went on throughout the night and into the next day until he emerged from the woods with his new companion at his side.
Her name was Nymeria.
The Reality of the World
He never had issue with putting down creatures of nature before this whole incident. It was all part of nature.
Then he saw the bodies. After the “wolves” began to attack the small village of Holmfirth, the locals began to kill every single wolf and fox that came within a mile of their village. They would skin them and let the corpses pile up right outside the village.
This wasn’t nature. This was humanity’s ignorance pushing itself onto nature. Humans were deplorable creatures to begin with, but this was an atrocity.
He vowed at that moment that he would never harm another animal unless the need was dire. He swore to the Goddess that he would make the best effort in his power to defend those who could not defend themselves against the more “advanced” races of the realms.
Saying it and following it through were two entirely different things. When the demonic dire beasts attacked, he tried as hard as he could to resist harming them. Once his comrades began to fall around him, though, he had reached the limit of his strength and let loose a bolt of electricity at the dire bear. Its magical resistance allowed it to shrug off the bolt and Magus’s resolve was shattered then and there.
He lost his cool. He lost his composure. He snapped.
After trying to revive his friends and protect them and Nymeria to the best of his abilities, the madman who deformed and tortured the once magnificent dire creatures showed himself. He could only see red and his vision began to tunnel. He only saw the man called Edward talking. He saw him smiling and laughing. How could such a monster be allowed to do whatever he liked? Before he could stop himself, he had summoned a sphere of pure electricity and launched it at the evil warlock.
After the spell left his hands he saw there was someone else with Edward. Another Black Wolf. Ash.
While Ash wasn’t exactly dependable or favored in his eyes, he had never willfully harmed someone who hadn’t wished him harm in return. When the sphere hit Ash he was rocked badly and let out a scream. Trying to redeem himself somehow, he manipulated the magics to form mighty jaws of force to attack Edward. His brain would not process how the man named Edward wasn’t even being harmed by the force unleashed upon him, Magus only wanted to destroy him.
When Edward faded, it was all over and that had been nothing he could do. The animals were still deformed and dead. Ash had still been hit with his spell. He didn’t even get the revenge he craved so deeply.
He had failed in so many ways he could not even comprehend it all. He let himself go. Wandering into the forest, he fell to his knees at the edge of a pool of water fed by a small waterfall. After slipping off his clothes he swam out under the torrent from above, hoping that somehow the Goddesses would wash away the stench his betrayals had caused.
He fell back into himself, letting go of all emotional attachments to ease his mind. The Arcane Hierophant was not supposed to let emotion get in the way. He was supposed to be logical and neutral in all things. He only needed the love of one, two aspects of one goddess, the rest did not matter.
A bit of darkness in his soul blossomed that day, but he pushed it back. Good or evil, both are the crutches of the weak. Logic was all that mattered now.
I never knew my father. All that my mother spouted to me was that he was a drunk and a coward.
That’s all I would ever know.
My mother took a dagger in the chest when I was five. You see, she was a whore. A good one, in fact, or so I heard. It’s just that she didn’t take anything from anyone, and come time to cough up the coin, one man didn’t want to pay. That must’ve sent my mother off in a frenzy, which led to the dagger.
I loved that woman.
I think they caught the man. I’m not quite sure what happened to him. It’s all a bit fuzzy. All I remember after that is the orphanage. I can still smell the metallic rust of that shithole.
– From Unpublished: Entry 33 by Thaydon Vorlance
Obnoxious snoring again. I didn’t get a decent night’s rest under the moon with these thugs. I lie there wondering why I joined these miscreants.
The overabundance of muscle on this job made retrieving the item as easy as playing keep-away from a Halfling, and the pay paltry.
Just when my exhaustion began to win out, my eyes caught a shadow flash in front of the few remaining embers of the fire. There he was, tiptoe-ing over to it. My pay was about to be forfeit at the hands of that drunken fool.
As small as the reward was, I wasn’t going to let that happen.
He was too busy prying the shiny, silver shirt from the sleeping arms of one of the others, the most “trustworthy” of the bunch. I wager he would’ve bolted already save for the excessive celebrating that night.
He managed to wrestle it from the grunt’s idle arms.
The idiot stood there with a foolish grin on his face and shirt in his grasp.
And a dagger in his back.
I learned a lesson that night. With shirt in hand and a dead man at your feet, it’s difficult to appear innocent.
Luckily, I was the only one who could run in a straight line that night.
– Excerpt from Five Fools and a Foreigner by Thaydon Vorlance
After the mutual parting of ways with my old mentor, I had not a clue where to travel first. By fate’s hand, I ventured a voyage on sea, to be that of a sea swindler.
The job was fun at first. The group I joined were quick with wit, and a good sort with which to drink. Acting as government inspectors, we would board ships with forged documents after they set sail. The lies varied, from looking for stowaways to random inspections of cargo, but they always seemed to work.
Word travels fast, however, even across the open sea. The real government began warning ships, and the wind was let out of our sails. The first time our bluff was called almost resulted in my wet demise, but one of my mates stepped in and decked the ship’s captain. We escaped by the skin of our teeth that day.
With our tactic ruined, we were pressed to head further out to sea, further away from the docks. Things got much bloodier. Goods and coin were taken by the forceful tip of a blade.
There we were, sea swindlers, but pirates by any other name. It was messy.
I grew weary of the risks of the job, and I realized I hated the constant ups and downs of sea life. The lack of land grew tiresome, and two of our crew had been killed in recent boardings. The next time we docked, I left my sea legs behind.
– Excerpt from Set Sail! by Thaydon Vorlance
I can’t believe I got away with it. Pratzer is the best crook I know. The best I’ve ever known.
And I got him. I got him good.
It’s not like he didn’t have it coming after all. All those years of slave labor. All the shouting.
The hitting.
Although it’s not like I didn’t ask for it from time to time. I gave him lip whenever I had the chance, and he did take me under his wing for all these years. Maybe the frame was a bit hasty.
Not much I can do about it now.
Besides, it was a good frame. He’s caught in the act, with the package seemingly destroyed, but in reality safely tucked away in my backpack. He should be quite proud.
I’m sure he’s quite furious.
– From Unpublished: Entry 12 by Thaydon Vorlance