dndcampaign.blogspot.com: July 2007

Otha Campaign Session Detail	3.5 Rules Online
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External Links: Paizo	Campaign Archive: Sons Of The Vast

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Songs of Slyl

Sunday, July 29, 2007

Adventure in Russet Hollow

Baron Grember's men rode upon the armored horses that thundered into Russet Hollow at highsun, turning the heads of the townsfolk in alarm. Among those gathered in the townsquare was the local cooper, his wife and their young tiefling son, Corim Colm. The boy was mature now, having learned the ways of the world and of women during his recent travels to Altru, Kurth and Mount Grimmerfang. Corim, like his friend Animosus, and arugably some others, had lived what seemed a lifetime during these past few months. The lands of Kurth,—their homeland, was valiently saved by the company, and the people of Russet Hollow were happy to have their 'hero' back. Though before his renown, Corim was just another young man in an otherwise average small town in the lands belonging to the fair and forthright Baron Grember.

The dust of the road kicked up by the horses was still in the air as Eldin, Grember's son shouted to all: "Who among you has not heard the Clarion bell?"

The people, wondering the cause for the alarm, responded that none had heard the bell in ages. Corim's mother, Ara, set her basket of flowers down, protecting them from the dust in the air with a light brown veil. She eyed her son's expression, trying to determine if this alert was related to any of the wondrous activies Corim had returned from doing. She was glad to have Corim back, and approved of his new sense of self. She felt relieved that Calec and she had not done him harm with the secret they kept from the boy all these years. But now the soldiers were here, and the mother's heart sank low in her chest, reminding her of the day Corim suddenly left for Altru. Calec put his arm around Ara.

"Where is Semptner the Verdant One, Pastoral of Chauntea?" the soldier shouted again, this time uncloaking himself to reveal the polished armor of his command and the crest of Baron Grember. The crest was a simple one, though plainly bold and brash like the baron, for Grember's heraldry was a greatsword, unimaginative but clear of message.

The townsfolk muttered, Corim spoke up to explain Semptner had not been seen in days. Eldin was deligted to meet the fanged hero of Russet Hollow for word of his return had spread northward through the hamlet of Nettle via the lumbermen's shipments of blackwood that traveled weekly through the vale between the easterly Maskyr's Wood and the westerly rim of the Flooded Forest. In true oral tradition, Corim's deeds were known from Baron Grember's keep, northeasternly along the Harvest Road toward Thunderweep where the road bends south toward Kurth, and as far south as Baron Thrunwendel's Keep. Over the past month Russet Hollow had enjoyed a boost in revenue from export where 'eer the mention of the hero was made.

Speaking privately to Corim, the soldier dismounted and said, "Come, away we must to the Clarion Bell—only fell magic could undo the power of the bell. Lord Grember once assited a certain mage named Elminster and had earned a modest reward... the bell system for his lands."

Without hesitation, Corim turned to run home but his eyes met Calec's. "Don't be leaving us, son," his dad said with the tone of a question. "I promise to return this time," replied Corim who went to donn his armor and then meet Eldin at the temple. Once there, Corim easily unlocked the door to Sempner's home. The soldiers searched the home, racing deep inside until their footsteps could not be heard.

Corim was alone. Something was amiss.

Corim noted the receving stamp upon the Zhentarim crate fragment hidden behind the styled sitting chair. It read, "From Falconwell 11 Kythorn."

Thud! Corim was knocked forward as his aquaintance from Iroth mine greeted him with a slam. It was the minic in the partial form of a marble table and its force was strong. Corim drew his weapon as the creature fled for the door. Corim bellowed an alert that echoed through Semptner's various halls. Soon the clatter of armed men filled the main room. Corim lashed out at the sad creature who then begged for mercy.

"Please spare me my life. I shall tell you everything, just spare my sad life!" it pleaded.

Both Corim and Eldin lay into the creature with words of intimidation, forcing it to tell more that it had planned on revealing. But the creature was truly afraid for its life, and held no precise loyalty to anyone. But what it said rang true. What it said convinced Corim that the Vast was not yet safe.

The creature explained quickly in a way that reminded Corim briefly of the confusing cadence with which Kelestri sometimes spoke, "Iythuzach completed his work at Iroth mine. With the corpse discovered within the Calishite tomb, the Myrkul priests asked what questions were necessary of the corpse, and the Illithid compared these notes with the preserved brain/mind contained in the brain pale. The secrets of the great Caliphs died with them. Among those secrets... was the secret of how to key portals to the plane of air, providing great mechanisms upon which cities and castles in the air may be built. I was placed here to destroy Semptner quietly. That box explains how I got here. The current area of control is a triangle that channels wind through topside, ...er, through long tunnels that look like wormholes beneath the earth. Each of the three keys are being hidden, scattered across Faerun."

The creature was bound with rope, manicles, and chains by the baron's soldiers. Corim and Eldin followed the creature outside. By the mimic's expression it was not interested in trying to escape... at least, not any time soon.

Unbeknownst to Corim, his father Calec looked on as he stood in the shade beneath a willow, grinning at the momentary sense of adventure he felt, as he lived for just a brief moment through is son's eyes.

Map of Russet Hollow Key:
1. Grainery & Winter Surplus
2. Constabulary
3. Cooper (The Colm Residence)
4. Homes (family dwellings)
5. The Russetview [a multi-purpose building containing a brewery, bar, general supplies/trade room, town hall room, 4 rooms for let for travelers (up), and brew cask storage below]
6. Smallmill Bridge
7. Millwright
8. Temple of Nature's Harvest (Chauntea)
9. The Harvest Road
10. Russet Hollow Cemetery

Saturday, July 21, 2007

Baron Grember's Prize Map

The Baron looked at the discolored stone upon his chamber wall where his valuable map had been. "Hmmph," he groaned. "I must stop being so generous with..." he said as he was interrupted by his son.

"Father. I've assembled six of our finest from of the men that remain. Will you look after yourself well while I am away in your service?" Eldin asked with a tone of concern.

"I've still got eyes in me head, son. An' a gut that knows when trouble's about me. Take heed against the Zhentarim. Animosus told me all about the attack upon Kurth. Watch ye, that their soldiers not be among those ye pass on the road to Russet Hollow," the old barbarian said with a nod.

"The ride between the Valewood 'an the Flooded Forest 'taint what worries me. It's what I'll find when we get there. Do ya think it would've taken a mighty wizard to have undone what Elminster enchanted?" he asked, squinting his eyes as though bracing for the answer.

Baron Grember replied solemly, placing a hand upon Eldin's shiny shoulder plate, "Son, n'eer you mind what was undone by wizards. Don't fill yer head with ideas of loss—that's what Shar wants of ya."

"Do you think Animosus will find what drove the Blackscales out of the swamp?" Eldin asked, just to shake the grim expression from his dad's face."

"I suppose he'll find the fate that await's him, adventurers always do. I'll expect all of 'em to lose some blood, shed some tears, and grow up a bit—a lot of 'em would make great lords if they survive." Gradur said with a smile.

Eldin raised an eyebrow then sighed, nodding his head in agreement.

"Besides," the baron concluded, "Animosus promised to return my map. Go now—Tempus on your side, son. Off with ye!"

Saturday, July 14, 2007

The Impercepter's Personal Library Collection

[It was obvious, the gorgon was placed here to turn intruders to stone. This was a serious collection that appeared to be a lifetime's collection of sources gathered from the four corners of the realms. At a glance, it must have taken decades of research and travel to bring all these ancient tomes into one safe location. ...And now, they would be dumped carelessly into the hands of adventurers. No wonder Szchulan hates adventurers so much!]

The Deaths of Gods: The Fall of Untheric Deities During the Orcgate Wars - 1,200 gp value
The Third Mulhorand Empire 1371 to Present
Atlas of Known Lands (-626 D.R. The Year of Oaths Forsaken, from the Purple Library of Deep Imaskar) - 45,000 gp value
Scroll - Ioulaum's Longevity (transmutation, epic spell)
Three Mortals Become Gods: How Bane, Bhaal and Myrkul Challenged Jergal for Mastery Over Death and Murder (script posted to blog)
The Progenitor Races
Secrets of the Sarrukh Empire
The Hidden Folk
Erotic Outsider Fantasies
The Nar Demonbinders
Bakkal Burial Rites of Coramshan
Archyres, Chardalyns and Scepters of Ancient Netheril
Jergal's Pact
Sceptercraft
Recent writings of Szchulan the Dark (posted to blog)
Netherese Blast Scepters
Death and Dishonor: How to Bring Ruin to Adventurers
Manifesto of the Dred Hooded Bretheren
Victory O'er the Witch-King of Damara
Pile of slave market receipts from Thossos in Eltabar
List of spell components (posted to wiki information page)
Partial scroll (ancient Netherese epic spell)
Various correspondence notes between Bourstag Hlammythl and Szchulan the Dark
Various scribings, "The temple is a power source.", "Triadic paladin & King's Tears"
Scroll - Morality Undone

The Second 99 Year Reich of Myrkul (Post Mortem Dei)

[Pictured above: the fate of the far vast]

[Using Szchulan's recent journaling, Nemeseth audibly read the following creepy passage:]

"All things die. Even gods. Death is a powerful part of the circle of all things. We die each moment to live the next. Wise men always see the skull beneath the skin and thus we make final arrangements for when the time comes.

And Bane planned his return via his son Xvim, and Bhall has planted his seed in many a virgin's womb, and the god of bones waits in the Crown of Horns for the 'right person' to whom shall be given His name and the mantle of godhood.

In this way death continues, death persists, death waits, and death is renewed. Death returns, death lives, death dies, and death is ressurected. In this way death—as the moment of life's departure—is become present in each moment of each fading hour of each fading day, of each fading tenday, of each fading month, of each fading year, decade or century. And death is in all things—a mystery, a beauty to embrace for all eternity.

I swear my soul to you, Myrkul. I do Your bidding as I prepare for the arrival of the Lich of the Drumlin Hills, for he has touched Your precious crown. I do Your bidding by acting—as Your crusaders had done in the Year of the Adamantine Spiral. Together, N'thad D'hathek and I shall be the heralds of another 99-year-reich of the church of Myrkul—with the might of demons beneath our heels! I shall unite the power of the scepter & crown and become powerful like a god and worthy of your notice.

The fool, Animosus, has delivered the King's tear. He will travel here, and the powers of the Black Triad will be upon the bones of my fingertips! Myrkul, I thank thee for your servant, Animosus."

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

All things must die—even gods.

[pictured above: Bhaal's Symbol]

In ages past there was but one god of strife, death, and the dead, and he was known as Jergal, lord of the end of everything. Jergal fomented and fed on the discord among mortals and powers alike—when beings slew each other in their quest for power or in their hatred, he welcomed them into his shadowy kingdom of eternal gloom. As all things died, everything came to him eventually, and over time he built his power into a kingdom unchallendged by any other god.

Eventually, however, he grew tired of his duties for he knew them too well. Without challenge there is nothing, and in nothingness there is only gloom. In such a state, the difference between absolute power and absolute powerlessness is undetectable.

During this dark era, there arose three powerful mortals -Bane, Bhaal and Myrkul - who lusted after the power Jergal wielded. The trio forged an unholy pact, agreeing that they would dare to seek such ultimate power or die in the attempt. Over the length and breadth of the realms they strode, seeking powerful magic and spells and defying death at every turn. No matter what monster they confronted or what spells they braved, the three mortals emerged unscathed at every turn. Eventually the trio destroyed one of the seven lost gods, and they each seized a portion of his divine essence for themselves.

The trio then journeyed into the into the gray waste and sought out the Castle of Bone. Through armies of skeletons, legions of zombies, hordes of noncorporeal undead, and a gauntlet of liches they battled. Eventually they reached the object of their lifelong quest – the Bone Throne.

"I claim this throne of evil", shouted Bane the tyrant.

"I'll destroy you before you can raise a finger", threatened Bhaal the assassin.

"And I shall imprison your essence for eternity", promised Myrkul the necromancer.

Jergal arose from his throne with a weary expression and said, "The throne is yours. I have grown weary of this empty power. Take it if you wish - I promise to serve and guide you as your seneschal until you grow comfortable with the position." Before the stunned trio could react, the lord of the dead continued: "Who among you shall rule?" The trio immediately fell to fighting amongst themselves while Jergal looked on with indifference. When eventually it appeared that either they would all die of exhaustion or battle on for an eternity, the lord of the end of everything intervened.

"After all you have sacrificed, would you come away with nothing? Why don't you divide the portfolios of the office and engage in a game of skill for them?" asked Jergal. Bane, Bhaal, and Myrkul considered the god's offer and agreed. Jergal took the heads of his three most powerful liches and gave them to the trio that they would compete by bowling the skulls. Each mortal rolled a skull across the gray waste, having agreed that the winner would be the one who bowled the farthest.

Malar the beastlord arrived to visit Jergal at this moment. After quickly ascertaining that the winner of the contest would get all of Jergal's power, he chased off after the three skulls to make sure that the contest would be halted until he had a chance to participate for part of the prize. Bane, Bhaal, and Myrkul again fell to fighting as it was obvious their sport was ruined, and again Jergal intervened. "Why don't you allow lady luck to decide so you don't have to share with the beast?" The trio agreed, and jergal broke off his skeltal finger bones and gave them to the players. When Malar returned from the chasing the skulls, he found that the trio had just finished a game of knucklebones. Bane cried out triumphantly, "As winner, I choose to rule for all eternity as the ultimate tyrant. I can induce hatred and strife at my whim, and all will bow down before me while in my kingdom."

Myrkul, who had won second place, declared, "But I choose the dead, and by doing so I truly win, because all you are lord over, Bane, will eventually be mine. All things must die - even gods."

Bhaal, who finished third, demurred, "I choose death, and it is by my hand that all that you rule lord Bane will eventually pass to lord Myrkul. Both of you must pay honor to me and obey my wishes, since I can destroy your kingdom, Bane, by murdering your subjects, and I can starve your kingdom, Myrkul, by staying my hand." Malar growled in frustration, but could do nothing, and yet again only the beasts were left for him.

And Jergal merely smiled, for he had been delivered.

Wednesday, July 04, 2007

The Crypt of Bones

[A brief and incomplete 180 degree look a just three (3) characters' expressions during 11 rounds of combat on 18 Kythorn. In this commentary we look at the expressions and appearances of Animosus, Leaf, and Mauros. Note: Perceptions can have their own life and merit and accuracy, sometimes in contrast to the intended or self-actualized internal view of the self...]

The bleak room triggered high emotion for three (3) adventurers who possessed great goodness in their hearts, that is, the Crypt of Bones deeply affected Animosus, Leaf, and Mauros.

Animosus: Animosus was more hesitant than normal, but with good reason. He had nearly been swallowed whole by the ancient temple and its near sentient countenance. And without showing it, he had already blocked the death of his dear friend and mentor, Pavel, from his mind—barring the emotions that could compromise the strength he desperately needed to survive. Everything about this situation seemed difficult, his plate mail seemed extra heavy to him when negotiating the deep pit descending into the crypt room. Perhaps calling upon Tothlorian gave him some solace to know he was not alone. Indeed, one could tell by Animosus expression of serious thought that he knew and appreciated each member of his adventuring party and the unique talents they offered while fighting as a unit. He seemed a bit melancholy as he embraced this true reality of fell forces that have lain dormant for centuries. And the expression of amazement in his eyes was evident when, just as Animosus seemed resigned to accept the notion that the company's forces were imbalanced and lacking wholeness of talent arrays, he heard Kelestri's voice and it held a positive and confident tone. Perhaps he thought to himself, this would not be the first time Kelestri pulled a miracle out of her sweet ass. Again, his expression was just beside himself, perhaps noting the groups good luck and fortune—rather blessings of the Holy Triad thus far.

Leaf: Leaf was earnest in his efforts, carrying the Paladin safely to the base of the dark well of broken earth. As they slowly fell together, perhaps he missed seeing his father-like friend Pavel leap with heroic brilliance, for Pavel's death was slowly, imperceptively, inexpressably crushing him. And upon their landing, both he and Animosus seemed to recognize the sheer beating that the newcomer, Nemeseth, was taking. As they alighted at the base of the shaft, one could see the nods of gratitude that were unconciously expressed toward the priest. Leaf watched the priest and the former slave pummel the unlife out of the soldier of Myrkul that awaited them in the portcullis room. Upon their descent they watched the one blessed by Tempus tear the iron portcullis up from its roots and systematically grinded each of the ancient gear teeth into shards of mechanical junk. Leaf proceeded forward cautiously but steadily until he charged into melee with the contingent of bone claws that oppressed his friends. After the battle, Leaf expressed more grave concern than resolution as he read the script upon crypt, "Rauma the Untouchable, High Priest of Myrkul, Destroyer of the Everlasing Wyrm, The Year of the Adamantine Spiral." And by now, the whole temple seemed to be really getting to him. He noted that the troubles and internal disputes each company member was experiencing before in the swampy earth above, now seemed a bit trivial. Even the death of Slyl now seemed to be put into persepctive. Yes, he felt the temple's unhallowed pull upon his heart. He sensed it speaking, though not with a voice as most are accustomed to know. "Know me and fear me, my embrace is for all and is patient and sure." Perhaps by now Leaf considered that he was becoming physically affected by the dripping evil of this place—in battle he became visibly winded and now he was sensing (or hearing) the voice of the structure, perhaps as a sign of his own madness, though he could not be sure. All at once he too was also glad to hear Kelestri's voice shout from the far wall—as though she'd found a way out of this horror! But Leaf knew it would only lead deeper in and further down, with the threats growing and evil surmounting the group. But for now, it was pleasant to hear Kelestri's confident and hopeful voice...

Mauros: And to speak for Mauros would be a mistake for most, for his expressions are as stolid and stoic and stalwart as a former slave of Thay would be. He knew deeply that his faith in Ilmater had not yet been shaken, despite the untimely death of his companion—the adorned Ilmateri, Pavel Nemetsk. (Do not mistake the following observations as comparisons to others, for Mauros was similary horrified by the faces of evil found this day.) Yes, Mauros is a difficult read, and one might say his level of concentration upon the battle at hand works like the bulls-eye of an archer's target. When in battle, Mauros was of limited words and expressions, save the magnitude of retribution he enfused into each strike of his kukris. He stepped forward to meet the Knight of the Lord of Bones without hesitation, and his actions were nearly paladin-like in their righteousness. Swinging like a killing machine, the kukris whacked seering slices into the long powerful bones of the undead, doing enough damage to overcome the difficult nature caused by a lack of bludgeoning weaponry. When looking upon Mauros in battle, one almost wants to take an extra purposeful breath, for Mauros oft appears to be without breath, or as if holding it in-between attacks. To view him in action, is like observing a mechanized loom assemble its myriad threads—in order, with an air of proscription to each swipe, slice, and movement. Indeed, Mauros appears as a finely tuned golem-craft of the Red Wizards, and rightfully so, for that is what they made of him. Yet, what seemed to come across his face during those moments was a pure faith, one uncompromised by his surroundings—an expression you might say that was first deeply wordly for having seen battle and suffering and lived with evil for decades, and secondly the expression of naiveity that blithely and ignorantly moved with the bliss that true faith provides. And great irony is expressed here, for the more real the evil appears the more unrealistically confident this freeman appears to become. And these acts reminisce back to the time of the great martyrs of Calimshan, and recollect a great history unfamiliar to Mauros. Again, more irony and yet more innocent and pure bliss of faith in Ilmater.