Bymill (II) - Ballock's Boyz

The last time we saw our heroes, they were lounging about in the shallow steaming tubs of the Bymill Baths. All except for Bjorn, of course. He was standing in the alleyway outside the Baths, his horse’s reins in one hand and his hammer in the other, wondering where the Party’s wagon had gone.

Heedless of the muck on his boots, he barged into the main foyer of the Baths, demanding to know where his colleagues were. He found Joraz and Breygon in fairly short order, but his innate sensibilities stopped him before he burst into the ladies’ side of the building. One of the bath attendants entered instead, and in only a few moments, the Party had re-assembled outside, still a little damp, and more than a little ticked.

Breygon and Greywind (who had accompanied his master into the building – who’s going to argue with a 200-pound wolf?) cast about for a few moments, and then picked up the wagon’s trail without too much difficulty. The wheel-tracks were lost quickly on the cobblestones, but Greywind knew the Party’s wagon horses well by scent, and had no problem following them.

The trail led the Party northwards, towards the Great Hall of the Allfather. It passed in front of the temple and then behind Varlgant Manor, heading up Temple Road, before hooking down a side street into a seedy, rather industrial part of town that they had not yet entered. With the rest of the Party following at a distance, Breygon and Gwen followed the tracks towards a large but relatively non-descript warehouse tucked away among a half-dozen others like it.

They checked the building over carefully. The walls were of heavy plank-on-beam construction, on a fieldstone foundation; the building appeared to be a good two stories high, with a low-pitched but tough-looking thatched covering. The building was roughly square, but had a small, one-story outbuilding attached to the back, and some sort of square protrusion on the north side – the direction from which they approached. There seemed to be large bay-type doors on the sides they could see (north and west), and a smaller door on the outbuilding. Breygon took a quick scouting mission around to the south side, and confirmed a third bay door – this one guarded by some rough-looking fellows.

After a hurried discussion of tactics, the Party moved to the door on the blank north wall, finding it locked. While Gwen worked at it with her picks, Joraz scaled the warehouse wall, moved soundlessly out onto the roof, and began to worry a hole in the thatching. A few moments later, the lock was open, and the fun began.

A large pile of jumbled crates lay immediately behind the doors. Bjorn was over them in a flash, and found the warehouse packed with goods, milling crowds of brigands, and – smack in the middle of the floor – their wagon, which was in the process of being unloaded. Gwen began launching arrows at everyone in sight, while Lyra blasted away at the petty criminals with Sleep spells and Magic Missiles. A moment later, Joraz leapt through his hole in the roof, and immediately engaged the bandits who were unloading the wagon.

At the front (i.e., southern) door, another battle was under way; Breygon and Greywind had sprung around the corner and cut into the half-dozen brigands guarding this principle entrance. One blast of Greywind’s icy breath and a few sword-cuts, and the majority of the enemy fled. Breygon and the wolf threw open the doors, and entered – only to find that the tactical situation inside had deteriorated somewhat in the interim.

Having spotted someone unusual in an office at the front of the building, Joraz had leapt off the wagon, heading for a new confrontation. He got it in the form of a lightning bolt that blasted a big, black hole in his rib cage, and dropped him like a stone (this was the monk’s first encounter with the negative side of the Hit Point ledger, but certainly not his last). Gwen was still pinned against the north wall, shooting at anyone who moved; Lyra was fighting with rapier in one hand, and slinging spells with the other; and Bjorn had been backed up against the wagon, and was dropping brigands left and right with heavy hammer-blows. Breygon engaged two more of the brigands near the front doors, while Greywind went for the fellow who had zapped Joraz – a Half-Elven sorcerer, as it turned out, who tried to launch another lightning bolt at the great wolf, only to be seized in Greywind’s jaws, and breathed on.

It was around this time that a new arrival entered the fight, appearing from the low out-building connected to the east side of the warehouse. This fellow showed up in a loose bathrobe, wielding a pair of fine swords, and nearly turned the tide, hacking away at Bjorn and Lyra like a man possessed. By this time, however, many of the brigands were dead, and the rest were trying to flee, pounding down the stairs from the balcony that ringed the warehouse’s second story, and bolting willy-nilly out the door. The Party let them go, and concentrated on the newcomer, while Greywind put the sorcerer down by biting his head off with a well-timed critical hit. Then the great wolf then turned his innate healing abilities on the stricken Joraz, saving the monk from certain death.

The combination of forces was too much; after a few more arrows and magic missles, and a couple of unpleasant whacks from the priest’s hammer, he turned and fled whence he had come, locking the door behind him. Gwen sorted that problem out in only a few moments, and the Party burst into what seemed to be a large, comfortably furnished apartment, where the newcomer – who turned out to be Glaive Ballock, King of the Bymill Brigands – was cowering in a corner, showing considerably less spine than the two underage entertainers he had hired for the evening.

Breygon (with Gwen’s enthusiastic goading) was disinclined to accept the man’s proffered surrender, but Bjorn argued them into taking him into custody, promising to watch him until he could be turned over to a lawful authority. The Party gave both of the girls a handful of gold and sent them on their way; then turned to systematically looting the room. Bjorn hog-tied Ballock, then healed Joraz and the others who had suffered wounds in the scuffle; and he and Joraz hustled Ballock off to the Great Hall, to be turned over to Father Hardfist, while Breygon, Gwen and Lyra remained behind to reload their wagon, along with the goodies they had discovered in Ballock’s chamber.

The Party reassembled at the Stag’s Head Tavern for a late dinner. After dining, Bjorn tidied himself up and reported to the Great Hall to assist Hardfist in Restoring Ankallys’ mind. While there, he met Hardfist’s Deacon, a young Battle Healer named Jurgen Wyekart. They brough Ankallys back to normal, and Bjorn left her under Wyekart’s care, promising to return to visit her on the morrow.

The other adventurers stayed at the Tavern, enjoying a much-needed rest while watching Lyra cast Detect Magic on their loot. They had moved everything into their suite (including the giant coffin full of silver bars, which took some doing), and it made an impressive pile. By the time Bjorn returned and reported on the healing of Ankallys, everyone was ready for a nightcap and bed. Greywind fell asleep on the floor before the fireplace, paws in the air, as was his wont.

They needed a good night’s sleep, because the next day was Harvest Festival – and it was going to be a very, VERY busy day.

Especially busy, seeing as how the half-orc who had tricked Bjorn was still at large.

And ESPECIALLY for Gwen.

Ballock’s Boys

Glaive Ballock is the king of brigands in Bymill; he runs the largest gang of cutpurses and sneak-thieves in town, known around the countryside as “Ballock’s Boys”. They have a hand in everything: the pickpockets, the grifters, the whores, the protection rackets...and the fencing of stolen objects. Usually they stay below the radar of the nobility - all except Ballock, who is known as a rake about town and something of a lady's man, and who has been putting his ill-gotten cash to use in the same manner as all brigands since time immemorial: buying politicians.

If the Party EVER leaves their wagon unattended for more than a few minutes, Ballock’s Boys will steal it (especially if they have been flaunting their wealth). The theft party will consist of one of Ballock’s deputies, 6-10 bully boys, and possibly Radobaul, the disfigured Elven sorcerer. If the party doesn’t notice the theft for more than 5 minutes, the group will have got away clean, which means they will have to be tracked to their warehouse. Depending on how badly they want somebody's stuff, they may even stage a feint to draw guards away from the goods.

It will take 5-10 minutes to get the wagon back to the warehouse (depending on where in town the theft takes place), and a further hour for Ballock’s Boys to empty it and begin to conceal its contents. Once it is empty, the wagon will be pushed into the river to float away (or sink, 25% chance); the horses will be taken out separately and sold to individual farmers the following day. The silver and coin will be secreted in Ballock’s strongroom, along with any kit that Radobaul identifies as magical; all of this will be laundered over the coming 1-4 days. After a week or so, some of the magical kit may turn up here in town (25% chance) or in Ellohyin (50%) or Bitterberg (25%).

KEY NON-PLAYER CHARACTERS

Glaive Ballock (Zaran Human Warrior 12) HP 94, AC 17 (MW Studded Leather, or 14 clothed), Init+5, Longsword+1 and Shortsword+1 (matched set, Ekhani), Atk +12/+7/+2 and +8/+3/-2, F+8, R+4, W+4, Climb+10, Jump+10, Ride+12

Radobaul (High Elven Sorcerer 10) HP 41, AC 16 (+1 Bracers, +1 Ring), Init+6, Rapier+1 (Atk +6), Shortbow+9, F+5, R+6, W+9, Spellcraft+12, Conc+13, Spells 0:6, 1:7, 2:7, 3:7, 4:5, 5:3 (Charisma 18, Comeliness 3 due to facial deformity, clubfoot and hunchback) (3x Potions of Invisibility, 3x Potions of CSW, Scroll of Web x2, Hold Person x2, Wand of Sleep (CL 10/12 charges), Ring of Protection+1, Bracers+1, Wand of Lightning Bolt (CL10/9 charges). Well known around town as Ballock’s Factor. A thoroughly unpleasant and evil person.

Targus (Half-Orc Warrior 8) HP 80, AC 15 (Chainshirt), Morningstar +11/+6, Dam 1d8+3, F+6, R+2, W+2. A brutal thug without a conscience.

Owen (Oststrander Human Warrior 7) HP 40, AC 18 (+1 Studded Leather), Rapier +10/+5,, Dam 1d6, F+6, R+6, W+2. A dashing swordsman who dislikes foul play.

Blaine (Zaran Human Warrior 7) HP 55, AC 13 (Studded Leather), Club +8/+3, Dam 1d6, F+6, R+2, W+2. A good organizer, but a coward.

Ballock's Boys (40 Zaran humans, 12 Half-Orcs) Warrior 1, HP 5-10, AC 12-13 (Leather, Studded Leather), Shortsword or Club, Atk +1, Dam 1d6+1, F+2, R+0, W+0.

* * * * *

1. Main entrance, standard warehouse doors, 3-4 bully boys hanging around outside. 1 patrols the outside of the building once every 30 minutes.

2. Disused entrance. Locked (Average, open DC 25). Foot patrol every 30 minutes.

3. Factor’s office. Radobaul does the books and keeps people in line; when not out on missions, he works here. Desk contains ledgers, parchment, pens and a hidden compartment (Search DC 25) holding 1 Potion of Invisibility. Radobaul lives elsewhere in town, in a fine suite in a building not far from the Iron Caravel.

4. Warehouse Floor. Flagstones, uneven; dirty, broken bits of crates and jute sacking, some manure, a few nails. 2-12 bully boys lounging around, tidying, throwing dice, etc.

4(A) Fine goods: bales of good cloth, down for pillows, fine furniture, finished clothing.

4(B) Barrels of ale and wine

4(C) Used goods: furniture, clothing, weapons, armour, saddles, tack, miscellaneous tools and equipment

4(D) Chemicals (seed oils, vegetable oils, some whale oil, distilled spirit, turpentine, tar)

4(E) Rough goods: hardware, lumber, cheap furniture, canvas, unfinished wool and cotton, tanned hides, iron ingots, fine marble slabs, bar copper, lead ingots, fine sand (for glass)

5. Water closet (one-holer feeds into sewer system; water supply fed from rainwater barrels on roof)

6. Ballock’s guards. 3-4 bully boys (larger, with swords) stand guard here; no-one enters, ever (appointments are always held elsewhere). However, Ballock has an eye for the ladies, and they will let a beautiful women in, if she drops his name and lets them frisk her for weapons. He lives here and is always here at night, often with (hired) female company.

7. Ballock’s chamber. Fine wood walls and ceiling, polished hardwood floor, carpets, tapestries; almost garishly decorated. Numerous valuable tchotchkies everywhere (50-100 of them, each 1 lb, each worth 10-100 gp).

7(A) Massive walnut 4-poster bed with drawn silk curtains (w. 1000 gp); usually 1-2 town whores of the more attractive and dumb variety here (50%). Between the mattress and the ticking on the east side is a MW Shortsword in a gold-chased black leather scabbard, and a Potion of Bull’s Strength.

7(B) Wardrobe: contains numerous fine tunics and cloaks, hosen, boots, feathered hats and all manner of fashionable and noble attire, none of it too clean. Also contains a broken MW Longsword in a gold-chased black leather scabbard and a large wooden shield.

7(C) Chest (Locked, Good, Pick DC 30): TRAP: Poison Needle (Search DC 25, Disable DC 25, Attack+10, damage 1+poison [Giant Wasp Venom: DC 18, 1d6 Dex/1d6Dex]). Contains set of accounts books, 3 Potions of Stallion’s Performance, 2 Potions of CSW, 1 Potion of Remove Disease, 1 MW Dagger in a gold-chased black leather scabbard, and assorted rings, arm-bands and necklaces (30 items, value 10-60 gp each).

7(D) Chest (Unlocked). Contains various smallclothes, stockings, a pair of fine leather gloves, a pearl-encrusted gold goblet (125 gp).

7(E) Wine Barrel: top loose, gold wine ewer and 3 goblets on top; half-full of good red wine (a few dead bugs floating in it). In the bottom of the wine barrel is a handful of rough, uncut rubies (12 rubies, each worth 50 gp uncut, 200+GP if cut). Can’t be seen unless wine is emptied out (manual search DC 30).

7(F) Bookshelf: Heavy wooden bookshelf, full of rolled scrolls, a few illuminated manuscripts (including [Search DC 25] a copy of the “Evincum Haradi”, an ancient High Elven text of immense value to scholars [1000-6000 gp], detailing the fall of the Houses of Harad at the end of the Age of Wisdom).

Under the bookshelf (Search DC 30, or automatic if bookshelf is moved) is a bronze strongbox set into the floor with an amazing lock (Pick DC 40); Ballock carries the only key. The door has hardness 10 and 40 HP. It contains 12x10 pound gold bars, 2x10 pound hardsilver bars, 1200 SP in rolls of 100, and a wooden box of potion vials (12 vials: 4 each of Invisibility, Bull’s Strength, and Fire Breath).

8. Back door: Very good lock, opens easily from the inside, Pick DC 30 from the outside. Door has a “Magic Mouth” spell on it that, if opened by anyone other than Ballock, will shriek “Intruders! Intruders!” once every 5 seconds for 2 minutes. It can be heard in a 300’ radius, and anywhere inside the building.

NOTE: There is a 12’ drop from the 2nd floor to the 1st. The railing is wooden and flimsy, has Hardness 5, HP 5, and a break DC of 13. It is 8’ from the 2nd floor to the ceiling rafters, which peak at about 16’ from the second floor, or 28’ from the first.

9. Guard post: 2 bully boys at this table at all times (4 at night), watching the front door and listening for intruders. Armed with Lt Xbows.

10. Arms locker: contains 6 Lt Xbows, 10 average shortswords, 22 clubs, 2 morningstars, and 11 quivers with 12 bolts each.

11. Common tables: 3-12 bully boys here at any time during the day, 1-2 sleeping on the tables at night. Dirty, half-eaten food, empty mugs.

12. Blaine’s corner. Wardrobe contains dirty tunics and trousers, boots, a heavy winter cape and a rusty battleaxe. Bedding has a dagger under the pillow. Chest contains smallclothes, a leather sack of 45 CP and 12 SP, a hand axe, a full wineskin and a dried loaf of rye bread.

13. Targus’ corner. Wardrobe contains dirty Hide Armour, a Dire Flail, winter boots, a heavy winter cloak with hood, a desiccated elf’s head and hands. Chest contains a small wooden strongbox, locked (Pick DC 25), containing 45 GP and 150 SP; smallclothes; a Potion of CLW, a pair of good quality manacles; a bulls-eye lantern, half-full of oil; and a waxed box containing 11 tindertwigs.

14. Owen’s corner. Wardrobe contains clean, elegant clothing in small sizes; good boots and shoes, and a fine woolen cloak with silk lining (v. 50 gp). It also contains a spare rapier (normal), a small MW buckler and composite shortbow and quiver containing 24 arrows. Behind the back wall of the cabinet (Search DC 28) is a secret door that opens in the wall of the warehouse, with a 6’ drop to the roof of the garderobe below.

The chest is locked (Pick DC 30) and contains smallclothes, a number of scrolls (all novels), a purse of 250 SP and another of 150 gp, as well as 4 Potions of CLW. At the bottom of the chest is a secret compartment (SEARCH DC 30) containing a Potion of Flying, a Potion of Invisibility, a gold and emerald necklace v. 1000 gp, and a gold and emerald ring v. 500 gp. The barrels contain average quality ale.

The Uruqua IV

Korkrynn
Avieccleasiae, aka The Bird Cult
(Lesser Servant of Bardan)

The Far-Sighted, Lady of Raptors

Of all the great faiths of Anuru, perhaps the most difficult one to explain is the one known as the Avieccleasiae; in the Traveling Tongue, the Bird Cult, or the Assassins of the Bird Goddess. Worship focuses around Korkrynn, one of the Lesser Servants of Bardan, a legendary individual who once served Bræa as one of the most powerful of the Minions of Light. Korkrynn, it is said, was the twin sister of Soryllea, and the two had been inseparable; but when Bræa appointed Soryllea Avatar of Winds, Korkrynn’s jealous anger came to the fore, and she repudiated the Light forever, and transferred her allegiance to the Uruqua. Bardan gave Korkrynn dominion of the skies and the raptors under his watchful eye, and (as is the way of evil) set her in opposition to her kin and her former allies. It is not known whether Korkrynn was entirely mad before this appointment; but if not, then the long ages warring against her one-time mistress and her own sister have made her so.

The Bird Cult rivals the Fist of Darkness as one of the most widespread faiths of Anuru; this is of course as Bardan wants it, seeing as how he himself lends his power, through Korkrynn, to the Cult’s works. Where the Fist enforces discipline and obedience, however, the Cult advocates and rewards unthinking, mindless savagery. Korkrynn’s disciples reject permanent places of worship, instead gathering in remote, often mountainous, locations for insane revels, and then dispersing again, often for months. Clerics obey no fixed hierarchy, preferring to settle questions of precedence by duelling – sometimes with spells, but more often with simple weapons and without defences.

While Korkrynn sponsors no Paladins, her Talons fulfill an analogous purpose. These are Barbarians who gain limited profane powers: at third level, and every 3 levels thereafter, a Talon gains one level of spell-casting ability as an Adept (but none of their other powers); their role is to guard the Cult and its members, and to seek out and destroy those who would spread the worship of Bræa, or any of the other Anari. Fortunately, the Talons are not numerous.

True Clerics of Korkrynn, by contrast, gain a number of special powers. They are able to summon a Familiar as a sorcerer of their level (which must be a carrion bird or bird of prey), and they are able to use their nails as natural weapons (treat as Armed). They have twice the normal visual range for their race, and gain Low Light Vision at 3rd level; Darkvision 60’ at 6th level; and Darkvision 120’ at 9th level.

Alignment: Chaotic Evil
Sphere(s): Air, raptors, carrion birds, storms
Sigil: Stylized yellow-eyed, bloody crow with sword on a blue field
Preferred hues: Blood and sky-blue
Preferred weapon: Any med+ sword
Worshippers’ alignment: Any evil
Domains: Air, Chaos, Madness, Weather
Church: Major


Lyra Kyllona
“Que buono me?”
(Greater Servant of Kær)

The Dark Songstress, Lady of the Pipes

Bards, it is said, consider danger a spice, and so it is not surprising that many of them – even those who are nominally good – revere Lyra Kyllona, the Dark Songstress. The reason for this is simple: while Myran may represent artists and performers among the Anari, she is too fundamentally chaotic to attract the worship of individuals for whom at least a measure of discipline is necessary. Myran’s mastery comes from her divine power; but mortals who aspire to tempt the soul and ensnare the senses with their art must struggle for long years to perfect their skills. Lyra Kyllona is the patron of all who make sacrifices for their art – and who, therefore, have the right to profit from those sacrifices, earning a decent wage for the gifts they give to lesser beings, and a little more besides.

This philosophy is explained in part by Lyra Kyllona’s origins. Once a woman of the Hiarsk (a fact recognizable by her flame-red hair and bright green eyes) who lived during the middle years of the Age of Wisdom, Lyra was a performer who sought only to share her art with the world. She traveled from city to town and back again, wandering between empire and wasteland, demonstrating her mastery of lute, horn, pipe and the dance to any who would pay heed, and demanding nothing in return. When she was waylaid and slain, therefore, there was no profit to be had from her body, and her murderers fled empty-handed.

Skill such as hers had been, however, can never be allowed to vanish from the world; and so she was sought out in the Long Halls by Kær the Thief, one of the Powers of Dark, who offered her immortality and a place among the Uruqua. Bitter and disenchanted, Lyra replied, "Que buono me?" Kær offered her recompense for renown, and the foremost place among the enchanters of Anuru – the chance to accept the praise, renown and reward that had been her due. Lyra accepted the offer; and since that time, Que buono me has been the motto of all who worship her. Art is to be sought and perfected for its own sake; but all things have a price, even art, and that price must be proportional to the value of the thing that is purchased. Lyra’s followers have a good sense of the value of their art.

Her church is small, but widespread and diverse. Lyra’s clerics are few, but potent; they gain Perform as a class skill, and add their level to all checks. They also gain Bluff and Intimidate. All must be proficient in singing, poetry, epic tales and at least one musical instrument. Lyra’s clerics also cast all Enchantment spells at CL+1.


Alignment: Neutral Evil
Sphere(s): Music, Art, Performance
Sigil: A lute and laurel wreath on a gold field
Preferred hues: Black and gold
Preferred weapon: Rapier
Worshippers’ alignment: Any non-lawful
Domains: Community, Dream, Glory, Luck, Mysticism
Church: Minor


Mælgorm
“The Kaldtmordr”
The Avatar of Winter (Bardan)

Despite his relative unimportance compared to some of his kin and comrades, Mælgorm is one of the best-known of the Uruqua by virtue of one single fact: he is the first of the Uruqua to be mentioned in the Tarinas Valtakirjas – the Book of the Powers, the tome of ancient poesie, inscribed in Draconic, that was brought to Elvehelm by the Three Golden Guardians at the end of the Eon of Darkness. The earliest tales in the Tarinas concern the birth of Eldukaris, the first of the Heroes of Men, and his search for Csæleyan, who had been kidnapped by the "King of Winter". It is not known whether the tale is strictly true, or whether it was simply a poetic analogy for the cycle of the seasons (winter overcoming summer, summer being delivered from the grasp of winter, et cetera). What is known for certain, though, is that Mælgorm exists, and that he is mighty.

The tale of the struggles between Bardan and Morga for overlordship of the Giants has been elsewhere told. Bardan made Gargarik one of his Greater Servants, and Morga raised Chamhain and Sylgur to prominence, to serve (respectively) as the Lords of the Fire and Frost giants. Bardan responded to the investiture of Sylgur by selecting Mælgorm from among the most powerful and capable of the Pit Fiends, and infusing him with the cold emptiness of the Void. Mælgorm thus was transformed, becoming a hideous being of ice, hating the cold even as he mastered it, and exercising lordship over winter and all of the beings that revel in the frosts. Mastery he was given over earth as well, and he became Bardan’s viceroy for the mountains; but in this role he has never dared to challenge Khallach, who in this realm is mightier far than he.

To increase his potency, Bardan gave Mælgorm a trident forged of pure white ice, Isgaffl, which freezes solid any corporeal being it touches, and with which he can bring savage winter storms into being in a trice. His only weaknesses are his lust for the green, growing things that are denied him by his new estate (for nothing green can grow within a mile of Mælgorm, nor can he approach within a mile of any green, growing thing); and his cleverness, which he thinks is enormous, but which in fact, is not - as demonstrated by the fact that Eldukaris won Csæleyan from him not by force of arms, but by craft.

Most clerics of Mælgorm are found among the Frost Giants, although the White Wyrms also respect him for his mastery of winter. His clerics gain Resistance to Cold equal to their level, and cast all damaging Cold spells at CL+4; but they can never cast Fire spells. They hate green and growing things (but, unlike their master, can approach them), and enjoy destroying forests and trees. Finally, priests of Mælgorm despise druids, and especially Fey creatures, and tend to attack them on sight.

Alignment: Lawful Evil
Sphere(s): Winter, snow, ice, mountains
Sigil: A thorn-wrapped sword on a black field covered with icicles
Preferred hues: Black, ice-blue and forest green
Preferred weapon: Trident
Worshippers’ alignment: any Evil
Domains: Cold, Earth, War, Weather
Church: Minor

Apstrasys

It occurs to me that I neglected to post the NPC description for Apstrasys, the Wilder Elven Ranger that the Party met while taking down the possessed Dire Bear a few posts back.

So here it is.

* * * * *


Apstrasys (“Hawkeyes”)
(Wilder Elven Ranger 7)

Stats: Female Wilder Elf, 51; 5'1", 91 lbs
Hit Dice: 7d10+14 (57 HP)
Initiative: +5 (Dex)
Speed: 30’
Armor Class: 17 (+5 Dex, +2 Amulet)
Attacks (1) MW SSword x2 +10/+5 melee (1d6+2)
Attacks (2) MW MCLB+2 +13/+8 ranged or (+11/+6/+11) with Rapidshot Feat (1d8+2)
Face/Reach: 5’x5’/5’
Saves: F+7, R+7, W+5

Abilities: Str 15, Dex 20, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 17, Cha 8
Skills: Animal Empathy+6(5), Climb+4(6), Heal+4(7), Hide+4(9), Intuit Direction+4(7), Jump+4(6), Listen+4(9), Move Silently+4(9), Search+4(7), spot+4(9), Swim+4(4), Wilderness Lore+4
Feats: Point Blank Shot, Precise Shot, Rapid Shot, Track

Languages: Common, Sylvan, Lizardman
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Treasure: MW MCLB+2, MW Shortsword, MW Dagger, Amulet of Natural Armour +2

Class skills:
Favoured Enemies: Beasts, Dire Animals
Animal Companion: Fithayar (Snow leopard), killed by the possessed Dire Bear

Racial Abilities (Elf): Immune to magic sleep, +2 on saves vs. enchantment, Low-Light Vision, sword and bow proficiencies, +2 Search, +2 Spot, +2 Listen, 5’ Autosearch for Secret Doors

Appearance: Hawkeyes is a true scion of the Wilder Elves – short, wiry and pale, with brown hair, roughly-tanned leather clothing and bright green eyes. She dresses for fleet movement and concealment, and thus doesn’t make too much of an effort to stay clean. In the winter, along with all her folk, she dawns appropriate furs.

Personality: Hawkeyes is taciturn to the point of rudeness; all of her beauty is physical. She resents help and dislikes “outlanders” as potentially threatening to her tribe, refusing even their food unless there is nothing else available. Like all of her people, she reveres Shanyreet, although less as a diety than as an actual dweller in the forest.
As one of her tribe’s defenders, her role is to hunt down threatening beasts and animals, and destroy them. When the players came across her, she was badly wounded and ill from having come in contact with the Possessed Dire Bear from “The Bear Cave”; she has no animal companion because Fithayar, a Mountain Cat (Leopard), was killed by the Bear. Her first goal upon being healed was to destroy the bear that had attacked her kin; the second was to find the body of her companion, and return it to the forest.
Like all Wilder Elves, she is none too fond of the scions of the Third House, who treat her own people like an inferior race. Her name, incidentally, is recognizable in Elvish, where accipitracies means "Eyes of the Hawk".

The Uruqua (III)

Gargarik
Lord of Giants
(Greater Servant of Bardan)

The Greatest, The Lord of Giants, Old One-Eye

When the minions of the Dark were created in the years during the Wars of the Powers, the second to be brought forth (after Achamkriss, Lord of Wyrms) was Gargarik the Giant. An immense being of unfathomable strength and boundless ferocity, Gargarik delighted Bardan, for he seemed to be the opposite of everything that Achamkriss represented, in his thoughtless rage, unsubtle power, and a lust for battle and destruction. A true abomination, Gargarik resembles the Giant races only superficially, appearing as a colossal titan with the horns of a ram, and the single eye of a Cyclops. According to Giantish legend, Bardan put so much of his power into making Gargarik strong that he did not have enough strength left to craft a second eye. Gargarik’s detractors argue that he has only one eye because he is only smart enough to concentrate on one thing at a time.

What Gargarik lacks in brains, he more than makes up for in brawn. Among the Uruqua, his strength is unequalled, except perhaps by Morga or Bardan himself. Indeed, Morga, ever envious of Gargarik’s rule of the Giants, has in the past elevated a number of his minions to the status of Avatars in specific challenge to Gargarik, including his lesser servant, Chamhain (patron of Fire Giants), and Sylgur, the Avatar of the Frost Giants. Yet to Morga’s disgust, even these, his servants, acknowledge the primacy of Gargarik; and though they have tried to deceive and even slay him, not even the combined might of Chamhain, Sylgur and Mælgorm, the Avatar of Winter, has sufficed to bring Gargarik down.

None of the Kindred worship Gargarik, but his faith is widespread among the evil Giant races, as well as among the Ogres and similar giantish sub-species. Most of his priests are shamans, but among the Cloud Giants may be found true Clerics of Gargarik – fearsome specimens, who wield his powers with savage ferocity. Clerics of Gargarik automatically gain Power Attack at 1st level, Improved Bull Rush at 3rd level, and Improved Overrun at 5th level. They can channel any of their daily Turn Undead attempts into a Smite Good attack as a Paladin of their level. But while potent in battle, they are too erratic to serve as effective commanders, and thus may never take the Leadership feat.

Alignment: Chaotic Evil
Sphere(s): Giants, barbarians, warriors
Sigil: Stone-headed greathammer
Preferred hues: Grey and rust-red
Preferred weapon: Greathammer
Worshippers’ alignment: Any evil / giant
Domains: Chaos, Destruction, Madness, Strength, War
Church: Minor; “The Lord of Giants” (major among evil Giants)

* * * * *

Hasorex
The Emerald Enchantress
(Avatar of Dark Sorcery, Ekhalra)

The Emerald Enchantress, The Queen’s Bright Staff

The tale of Hasorex is not one to delight the ears of the Elves. Like Miros, Hasorex was a daughter of one of the ancient Kings of Elvehelm, long before the Age of Wisdom, when the Children of Bræa were besieged by the monsters and minions of Bardan. Like Miros, Hasorex sought power – but unlike Miros, her power was not the result of long years of study, but rather flowed from within, originating in some dark place within her soul. Hasorex lusted for her own glory and aggrandizement, not for the strength to aid her people. In her quest for arcane might, she came at length to Ekhalra’s camp, and offered her service in exchange for the might to warp the arcane flux to her will. Delighted at the prospect of a servant among the royal families of the Elves, Ekhalra agreed, and granted the wish of Hasorex – who returned to her home, her mind afire with the profane might of her new mistress, and destroyed her family and their fastness.

This deed cemented Hasorex’s place in the pantheon of the Uruqua. She is revered for her implacable, unwavering search for power for its own sake, and for her willingness to wield the forces of the cosmos to her own benefit. She is the patroness of all who practice Dark Sorcery. Usually pictured as a woman of what later came to be called the Third House of Harad, with a fine figure, azure eyes, and unruly sable hair, Hasorex wields the Emerald Staff – a gift from her mistress Ekhalra, that was crafted in mockery of the Azure Rod wielded by Tioreth. The Emerald Staff of Ekhalra grants Hasorex the ability to use any arcane spell once per day.

The worship of Hasorex is subtle and complex. She has few clerics, and all must be multi-classed as sorcerers. She has no temples as such, but her followers have created networks of Machtsteder throughout Anuru – sites where the strands of the arcane flux are gathered together with especial intensity, and where sorcery is especially potent. Sorcerers casting spells at one of the Machtsteder do so at CL+2 (for a Lesser site), or CL+6 (for a Greater site). Only the followers of Hasorex know where all of these mystical sites are located.

Alignment:: Neutral Evil
Sphere(s): Dark sorcery
Sigil: An azure eye, crowned, on an emerald pentacle
Preferred hues: azure and emerald
Preferred weapon: Staff
Worshippers’ alignment: Evil
Domains: Cold, Luck, Fire, Magic
Church: Very minor; “The Order of the Emerald Staff” (no temples, consecrated power sites only)

* * * * *

Kaaris
The First Fang
(Greater Servant of Tvalt)

First Fang, The Master of Dust, Lord of Lichs and Vampires

In a pantheon that contains many horrors, surely Kaaris is one of the worst. Like many of the Anari, he was once mortal; a Son of Esu and a mage of tremendous powers, but with a heart as black as winter’s ice. Architect of a plan to bring about the downfall of the empires of Esud, he was stopped only by one of the Priests of the Allfather, who cast upon him a terrible curse, rendering him an undying spirit, with an unquenchable thirst for blood. While this ended his imperial ambitions, it brought about an unending legacy of horror; for Kaaris satisfied his thirst, and in doing so, spread the curse of blood throughout Anuru. For this reason, he is called the First Fang, and Lord of Vampires.

His affliction did nothing to stem his ambitions, however, and his mastery of the arcane arts continued. At length he discovered the means to warp both the arcane and the divine flux, overcoming his curse long enough to transform himself into a Lich – a lifeless mockery of life, but one with horrific powers. As the only being in Anuru ever to become both Vampire and Lich, and as a mighty mage, Kaaris was sought out by Tvalt, and became second among the Servants of the Master of the Long Halls, after Allarkin, the Traveller.

Kaaris’ appearance reflects reality: a terrifying vision of undeath, wielding the Ebon Staff, a tool vouchsafed him by his master, Tvalt, with which Kaaris is able to both create and command legions of the undead. His clerics – who routinely engage in unholy and profane rights with the undead – can create, control and rebuke twice as many HD of undead per level, and are +4 on all saving throws against the special powers of undead creatures. Sacrifices to Kaaris are made by slaying victims on his altars, and then immediately animating them as zombies to guard those same altars.

Esu himself, who hates the undead with a divine passion, has sworn to destroy Kaaris, and awaits the opportunity to do so. Perhaps this hatred stems from the fact that Esu knows that it was his own divine power, albeit wielded by one of his clerics, that first brought the Plague of the Fang to Anuru.

Alignment:: Neutral Evil
Sphere(s): Corporeal undead, lichs, vampires
Sigil: A fanged skull on a black sun
Preferred hues: Bone and black
Preferred weapon: Staff
Worshippers’ alignment: Any evil
Domains: Death, Domination, Magic, Mysticism, Summoner
Church: Minor; “The Masters of Dust”

The Fall of the Wizard-King

Well, it's that time again - Sîan Barraj, the Dwarven sabbath, when the forges are banked, and we all gather 'round the fires, fill our mugs and flagons, settle our feet near the embers, and talk quietly while the chanter tunes his lute or viol, clears his throat, and runs over in his mind the words of an ancient ballad.

This evening's song is another selection from the Tales of the Wyrm - a mournful and distressing tune in a minor key, with plenty of the accidentals and syncopation that were popular with the Elven bards a few centuries past, when Elvehelm's virtuoso, Ceorlinus Rectinarius, was doing his finest work. The eldest of the College Chanters, and those most knowledgeable about the tunes and poesie of ancient Harad, tell an odd tale about this piece: that although Rectinarius penned the words, he refused to set them to music, in the belief that such a tale of horror and betrayal should never become part of the Elven musical tradition. Thus, while the Evincum is attributed to Rectinarius, his name is never invoked when the piece is sung to music, for fear that his spirit - long since gone to the Long Halls - will rise up again in wrath, and punish those who dared to lay such a fell deed at his feet.

What terrible tale could prompt so great a bard to eschew recognition? Why, a tale of a daughter who, along with her mother, conspired to kill her own father, taking by murder that which would have, in time, been her due. One of the darker chapters in the history of the Fair Folk, to be sure, and one which they devoutly wish had never occurred.

But it did.

* * * * *


Rune the Eighth:
Evincum Rex Venificus
(The Fall of the Wizard King)
First Canto, from the Canto Renovatium
by Ceorlinus Rectinarius


Ill-born Bîardath, King of Harad
met the heralds on the heath,
Who, in the words of dark-eyed Mærglyn,
cast this challenge in his teeth:
“Yield thy crown, and yield thy kingdom”;
this the message heralds brought,
“Else damnation and destruction
in the dark shall be thy lot.”

Bîardath, fell and full of fury
on this missive briefly thought;
Bold and numerous his legions,
strong with arms that he had wrought.
Thus unto his daughter’s spokesmen
he addressed him in this wise,
Daring her to come and face him
‘neath the brazen Lastreap skies.

“Come thou forth and face me, youngling;
dare my wrath with blade and bow.
Thou shalt find in me the might
that laid thy feckless grandsire low.
Thou shalt find a fire of darkness
stoked to scorch thy being whole;
Thou shalt find a fatal venom
to consume thy trait’rous soul.

Whither now, thy mighty armies,
reft of flesh, and naught but bone?
Whither now, thy monstrous minions?
For it seems thou stand’st alone.
Bring thy warriors; dare my anger,
I will see their corpses piled;
Come thou forth, and taste the vengeance
due a foul, rebellious child!”

At these words, the heralds horsed them,
and unto their mistress rode.
Dark her ire and dark her visage,
when she felt her sire’s goad.
Fire in violet eyes was kindled;
shining swords from scabbards sprung;
Spears were piled, and bowstrings twisted;
helm and shield from saddle slung.

Long and long, the ranks of archers;
long the ranks of spearmen ran.
Nigh as numerous strode the sword-thegns
and the horsemen of her clan.
But when Mærglyn looked upon them
and recalled her father’s words,
Thought she then her vict’ry called for
more than darkling shafts and swords.

Bright the knife shone in the stonelight;
Mærglyn’s hands ran red with blood.
Swift she cast a sorcerous circle;
Soon, within, a figure stood:
A beguiling, wingèd demon,
white of breast and red of eye;
A hornèd denizen of darkness,
called from where cold shadows lie.

Mærglyn knelt unto this vision,
and, in supplication, cried:
“Äiti Varjo, lend thy powers,
come and stand thou at my side;
Bring thy sword and fire, I beg thee,
venture forth from thy dark lair;
By thy cursèd blood, I charge thee;
by that cursèd blood we share.”

Then the beast stepped forth in fire,
through the shining, rune-set ring,
And behind her raged a maelstrom
horned and scaled, on claw and wing.
From this dreadful host, a clamour
to the star-washed heavens rose,
Howling to unleash their fury
on the flesh of Mærglyn’s foes.

And before them strode the demon
of dark beauty and desire,
A reeking sword of ice in one hand,
and the other wreathed in fire.
Forth this vision strode in shadows,
and on Mærglyn softly smiled;
“Thus I answer to the summons
of my wilful, wond’rous child.”

Mærglyn’s host forsook their hiding,
and unto the Earth arose,
And the fair face of Anuru
was besmirched by Anã’s foes.
Strengthened so by Üru’s minions,
Mærglyn’s might could not be stayed,
Thus they fell upon the Elflands
and beset them, wood and glade.

In the verdant fields, her horsemen
broke the ranks of fair Harad;
Helm was riv’n, and shield splintered,
and the red blood stained the sod.
Thus with life the fields were watered,
and in the streets, ran fetlock deep;
Thus the lords of light were slaughtered;
Thus there none were left to weep.

When the final rank was shattered
and the last defender fled,
Trait’rous Mærglyn faced her father
in the thronehall, stained and red.
Red the heather of the hillside;
red the wheatfields of the plain;
Red the fangs of fiends feasting
on the mountains of the slain.

“Fie on thee, unfaithful child,”
glowered Bîardath in his ire;
“Fie on thee, unfaithful lover,”
quoth the demon wreathed in fire.
“Good my father, thou art vanquished,”
Mærglyn said unto her sire;
“Doff thy crown, and beg my mercy,
lest I cast thee to the pyre.”

“Do thy will as thou wouldst do it,”
prideful Bîardath answered fair,
And he brandished forth his wand,
with power over earth and air.
“Thou canst not hope to overcome me,
for my arts exceed thy ken;
If I fall, I will avenge me,
when in time I rise again.”

Coldly smiling, Mærglyn answered,
“Father mine, I know thy might.
How to slay thee I have pondered
through the long expanse of night.
‘Twas a riddle dark and daunting,
that I studied long and hard,
‘Till thy might vouchsafed mine answer!”
And she swung her gleaming sword.

Swift her blade flamed in the darkness,
and it fell on Bîardath’s fist;
And she cut his right hand from him,
severed cruelly at the wrist.
As he fell, she hastened forward,
Tasting blade, and blood-kin’s bond;
Then stooped, and when she stood again,
held to her heart his dreadful wand.

“Father mine, I know thy power,”
quoth the maiden to his pain,
“And I know I cannot slay thee,
lest in wrath thou rise again.
So by thy might, thou now art banished;
from the light, thy soul is hurled.
Unto darkness, I condemn thee,
‘till the breaking of the world.”

With one hand, she cast a circle
scribed in runes upon the ground;
With the wand, she called forth darkness,
‘void of light, and life, and sound.
Thus with art she bound her father
and she cast him through the gate,
Thus Bîardath left Anuru,
sharing mighty Tîor’s fate.

With the Wand, she shut the portal,
and in wrath and vict’ry stood,
Buttressed by her howling minions;
stainèd with her peoples’ blood.
Mærglyn mounted to the dais,
where at last she stood alone.
Thus with wand and blood-washed crown,
the daughter took the father’s throne.

Bymill (I) - Wagon Woes

In my view, dungeon mastering involves walking a fine line. On the one hand, there are the “shit happens” DMs, who craft a story and base their “myth arc” dungeons and various random encounters on the preplanned story line, with the result that encounters are determined by the broader world and the plot rather than an exquisitely-crafted near-Party level EL. These DMs tend to let the story dictate the encounters, and let the chips fall where they may. This may result in a high-level party plowing through a batch of starving, one-legged orcs; or it may lead them into a totally inappropriate Ancient Green Wyrm’s convention.

On the other side, of course, are rules-mongering nimrods who design every last encounter to within an angstrom of perfection, make the PCs roll Diplomacy checks when renting a room, Will saves to avoid cowering under the blankets during a thunderstorm, and Balance checks while walking on an uneven sidewalk. In THESE worlds, the ELs are so carefully crafted that the PCs always know that no matter HOW scary the dungeon looks, they always have a precisely-calculated 50/50 shot at defeating whatever’s inside and walking away with level-appropriate loot.

Trying to hit the mid-point between these two extremes can be fun, because even with a bevy of lower-level foes, you can still serve up a little learning. Role-playing and tactics are the heart and soul of this game, so it’s always more interesting when the PCs run afoul of life due to their own choices than due to the random fall of the dice (or to the blood lust of a hate-crazed DM who thinks that EL stands for "Exterminate Losers").

Bad things do happen to good people, of course – but they are more likely to happen when good people make bad decisions. Joraz’s player has been taking a lot of flak from the rest of us for the quixotic behaviour that led to his untimely demise, but everybody makes a bad call every now and then. I think it’s even more fun when the bad call results from role-playing that is one hundred percent in character. I like to use the phrase “stupid ought to hurt”, but stupidity isn’t always necessary; sometimes nature is enough. There’s nothing like tripping up a PC by appealing to his better angels, and even after a few short sessions, you can get enough of a feel for how a Player RP’s his PC to be able to set him up for a fall.

That’s how I nailed Bjorn.

* * * * *

When last we left our intrepid band of adventurers, they had just parted company with Apstrasys, the Wilder Elven Ranger whom they had healed, and in whose company they had taken on and defeated an enormous, diseased Dire Bear, as well as the nine feet of moaning nastiness that had been possessing it – a Pain Devil, one of the Meindraugrin, a fiendish creature of the Dark. The PCs found a few tasty morsels scattered throughout the pus-drenched foulness of the bear’s cave, then returned to their wagon and horses, waved farewell to the Wilder Elf (because nobody spoke her Sylvan tongue), mounted up, and hied them onwards to the promised delights of Bymill. They reached the town after a few hours easy riding, under a bright, cloudless sky, early in the afternoon of 16 Lastreap.

Now for a little exposition:

The Sweetvale River valley is a glacial spillway, a deep gorge averaging 60’-100’ deep below the “uplands” to the North and South of the vale. In most places the valley is less than half a mile wide, but at Bymill, it broadens out to nearly a mile. The surrounding terrain consists of rolling hills and dense mixed forests, most of it virgin, gradually trending higher and rougher towards the Dragonspine Mountains another eight or nine leagues further west.





Bymill is a relatively young town, and it shows. Originally a central collecting point for the surrounding farming settlements, it has retained that role; there are hundreds of small farmsteads on the Uplands to the North and South, all located within 10 miles of the town. The town proper snuggles tightly into the river valley, filling it from the south to the north side, more or less following the River Road. At the east end of town, a heavy stone bridge traverses the Sweetvale River, giving access to the newer buildings on its southern bank. There is a large market square where the River Road, flanked on both sides by tightly-packed three-story buildings, runs through the centre of town. To the North of the square is an enormous, fortified stone manor house, and immediately beyond that, an imposing cathedral marked by a massive tower, which stands against the northern cliff. The upper reaches of the tower are crenelated like those of a fortress, and ravens circle and wheel around them – a sure sign that this is one of the Halls of the Allfather.

South of the river the buildings are sparser; but it is easy to see the dam and water-chutes leading down to the enormous mill after which the town is named. A little southwest of the mill, further back on the Uplands, there is a small keep; and beyond that, another imposing manor house, partially concealed by trees. There are a few differences between the two banks of the river; the north side looks older, well-worn, and most of the buildings are of stone or half-timber construction, whereas the south side looks newer, with brick buildings as often as stone. Interesting.

Bymill is a bustling town; the streets are filled with passersby, many of them pulling handcarts. Horse- and ox-carts abound, filled with agricultural products and finished goods. Here and there, houses and even brick and stone buildings are being repaired, and new ones are going up. The townsfolk, in general, seem chipper, well-dressed, clean and busy. There’s a lot of activity, and the market square seems busier than you would expect of an afternoon. Then you remember: the Harvest Festival takes place tomorrow, a rite lost in the ancient years of the Yonarri settlers who colonized most of Erutrei, leaving the roots of their language and the rudiments of their faith behind. All Sons of Esu celebrate the Festival, from east to west, and from north to south; there will be fair food, ale and games; bright clothing, goods to buy, songs to be sung, and pretty girls to be kissed. Something to look forward to.

Things seem pretty cosmopolitan in Bymill; there are more than a few Elves, Dwarves and Halflings scattered through the crowds, and even a few Half-Orcs can be seen here and there. Clothing styles include outrageously modern fashions, and some folk appear to be wearing elaborate hats, shoes and jewellery. Obviously there is a lot of money flowing through Bymill.

(Exposition off)

The Party’s pace slowed to a crawl as they rode into Bymill’s bustling streets. Although cobbled, the roads were still somewhat uneven, and the wagon shook and jostled as Bjorn tried to avoid pedestrians, peddlers, horsemen, pig-drovers and a tinker pulling a jangling handcart overflowing with pots, pans and tools. Breygon, his nose burning and eyes watering from the unaccustomed concentration of charcoal and wood smoke, coughed slightly, and raised his voice to be heard over the tumult. “Any idea where we’re going?” he shouted.

Bjorn shrugged. “I’m taking our passenger to the Great Hall,” he said, nodding at the recumbent form of Ankallys, who lay blanket-wrapped in the wagon bed, staring at the sky with vacant eyes. “The sooner we see to her, the sooner we can expect some answers. Why don’t you see to quarters?”

Breygon turned to Gwen and Lyra. “Can you handle that?” he said. “I’m like to go with Bjorn and meet this ‘Father Hardfist’.”

“No problem,” Lyra answered.

“Olgin mentioned a couple of places just off the town common,” Gwen shouted. “We’ll try them first. If we can’t find anything, we’ll meet you at the temple.”

“Well enough,” Breygon acknowledged. He turned his horse’s head to follow the wagon, which Bjorn was attempting to wrestle through the insane bustle of the town square.

Gwen, Lyra and Joraz found a pair of large, imposing inns just off the square, fronting on the River Road. The first one they tried – the Iron Caravel Inn – featured a large dining and drinking hall, but did not have much in the way of accommodation. They had better luck a little further along; the Stag’s Head Tavern was ideally suited to them. For the princely sum of 20 gold per night, they were able to rent the Traveller’s Suite on the inn’s second story: six single rooms off a large dining and living room, with its own back entrance and stairway leading down to the riverbank – and with meals included.

“That should make Bjorn happy,” Lyra murmured.

On the north side of the square, Bjorn and Breygon parked the wagon outside the entrance to the massive and imposing Great Hall of the Allfather. From close up, it looked even bigger – particularly the tower, built of close-set granite blocks, which seemed to lean out over those standing at its foot. “Just like home,” Bjorn said happily, throwing the catatonic Ankallys over one shoulder. “Follow me.”

The pair were welcomed profusely and, having introduced themselves and explained their mission, were conducted into the presence of Haugulf Hardfist, Cleric of Esu, and Prelate of Bymill. Hardfist was as imposing as his temple’s tower – a tall, strongly-built man with waist-length braids and a vast, unruly beard. He welcomed Bjorn like a long-lost son, and was duly courteous to Breygon (whom he recognized at once as a follower of Larranel). He gave Ankallys a quick once-over and recognized her problem immediately: her mental faculties had been entirely drained by her contact with the foul and deathless denizens of the Aether. Without demur, he agreed to restore her mind that very evening.

“But I’ll ask you to be present to lend me your assistance, young Bjorn,” he added gravely.

Surprised but flattered, Bjorn agreed. “Be here at moonrise,” Hardfist ordered. Bjorn thanked the Prelate profusely, and turned to leave.

As Bjorn returned to the wagon, Breygon caught Hardfist’s ear, explained his own predicament, and made a request. Hardfist listened impassively, then told Breygon that he would undertake that rite at moonrise the following evening – but that he would be asking a service of the Ranger in return for his aid. Breygon agreed with a nod, then rejoined his comrade outside.

The pair found the Stag’s Head without difficulty (one corner of the building was, in fact, visible across the town square from the Great Hall), and were delighted by the quarters that the ladies had arranged. Bjorn suggested delicately that, after the morning’s activities at the bear’s cave, the first order of business might be to squeeze in a bath before dinner. Inquiring at the front desk, he determined that there was, in fact, a large and luxurious public bath house in Bymill, and suggested a visit en masse, looking forward to a good soak. The remainder of the Party agreed, and they all mounted up, Bjorn driving the wagon, so as not to leave it, and it’s enormous cargo of silver bars, sundry coinage, and magic items, unattended.

The bath-house lay among a cluster of newer buildings at the west end of Bymill, south and west of the Great Hall, and not too far from the town square. It was one of the newer structures, with lower walls of stone, and upper walls of an artistic mixture of stone and grey brick. The roof was of slate rather than thatch, and enormous chimneys pumped vast quantities of shimmering heat and smoke into the sky. But there was one hitch: no valet parking.

The adventurers looked at each other for a few moments, until at last Bjorn sighed. “I had a bath two days ago,” he said mournfully. “You go ahead; I’ll wait.” His colleagues were happy to take full advantage of his generosity.

While the other four splashed happily in the (segregated) soaking tubs and strigiliae (scraping of the oiled skin with a brass strigil, an Ekhani custom that had made its way to Zare, and that Breygon found extremely peculiar), Bjorn sat glumly on the buckboard, his mood swinging between grumpiness at the fact that he was stuck outside, and grumpiness at the fact that he was grumpy because he was missing out on a bath. “I’m going soft,” he murmured to himself. “What would my father think of me? ‘A bath when you’re birthed, and another when you’re laid out, will see thee into the Endless Hall’. Hah!”

He was still meandering in thought when one of the town’s commoners bolted past, panting and sweating profusely, and yelling, “Help me! Help!” in a terrified voice. Before he could so much as jump up, three other men, armed with cudgels, came chasing after the first man.

Bjorn snarled, his lip curling behind his beard; one of the pursuers was a half-orc. Clambering back over the cargo, he untied his horse’s bridle from the tail-post of the wagon, leapt into the saddle, unlimbered his hammer, and went pounding after the running quartet.

As he came out of the alley beside the bath-house, he saw the pursuers disappear down another side-street, and dug his heel’s into Sleipnir’s flanks. Hooves sliding on the damp cobbles, the great beast turned the corner, and then another, and then another, until Bjorn reined him in sharply.

There they were, a few paces down a fourth alley, clustered into a barrel-jumbled nook behind what smelled like a tannery. The three thugs had the fourth man at bay, his back to the tannery’s wall; and as Bjorn leapt from his saddle, he saw the half-orc fetch his quarry a vicious thump to the stomach with his cudgel.

The priest stepped up behind the half-orc’s two accomplices and gave each a gentle tap with his hammer. One of them went down immediately; the other required a second tap. This gave the half-orc the opportunity he needed – and he ran for it. Really, REALLY fast. Bjorn contemplated chasing him, but decided to check on the fallen victim first.

The man was shaken, but not badly injured; Bjorn muttered a brief prayer to the Allfather and healed the fellow’s wounds. In gratitude for his rescue, the man stammered out his thanks, along with an incoherent story about owing gild to the half-orc, monies that he had borrowed to purchase medicines for his sick wife.

Bjorn gave the fellow a stern lecture about the unwisdom of having financial dealings with unsavoury characters, and gave him a handful of coins from his own purse. The fellow teared up, thanked the priest profusely, and stumbled away.

Satisfied at having done a good deed, Bjorn jammed his hammer back into his belt, climbed back into Sleipnir’s saddle, and rode quickly back to the bath-house. And then he started cursing.

The wagon was gone.

* * * * *

The look on Bjorn's player's face was all the reward I'll ever need. It didn't quite make up for the time when (in a different campaign) they killed my boss demon by throwing an Alchemist's Fire down its throat with rolls of 20, 20 and 19 - but it came close.

The Uruqua II

Herewith the next instalment in our ongoing look at the Powers of Dark. Today we look at Ekhalra, the Queen of the World, and the only one of the Powers to be seen within Anuru for more than three thousand years; Breacha, one of her Greater Servants, and the minister of justice and punishment on Ekhalra's behalf; and Chamhain, the terrible offspring of the union, long ago, between a Fire Giant and an Ancient Red Wyrm, raised to immortality by his master, Morga the Destroyer.

Enjoy!



* * * * *

Breacha
“The Death-Bringers of the Queen”
(Greater Servant of Ekhalra)

The Grim Judge, The Right Hand of the Queen, The Death-Bringer

Eldest and greatest of Ekhalra’s servants, Breacha maintains the Queen’s Law throughout the earthly realms of Anuru. In the long ages before the Falling of the Dome, Breacha had played a lesser role, as Ekhalra’s envoy and herald; but when Ekhalra assumed supreme authority after the departure of the Powers, she needed a viceroy, a Servant of unsurpassed loyalty and iron discipline to enforce the Queen’s will. Breacha fit that role perfectly. An implacable servant of the law, she believes in maintaining discipline, order and obedience at all costs, without reference to such trifling considerations as good or evil. If one of her clerics heals a peasant, it is because sick peasants make poor servants; and if she smites down a demon prince, it is probably because he challenged the Queen’s authority. Breacha cares only for the stability of the Queen’s earthly realm, and drives her own servants to maintain that stability at any price.

This stance makes Ekhalra the preferred deity for all who believe in justice uncontaminated by favoritism, whim or mercy. Harsh judges, stern constables, and the strictest and most unbending of priests serve her gladly. Her clerics make excellent judges of character, gaining Intimidate and Sense Motive as class skills, and adding their level to all skill checks. They can also Detect Chaos once per day per level; cast Zone of Truth once per day per three levels; and Smite Chaos once per day, adding their level to their damage roll. Interestingly, Breacha does not accept either Maladins or Paladins; their Good/Evil focus offends her sense of balance.

Breacha does not have a church per se; rather, her clerics serve as roaming inquisitors, ferreting out those who would challenge the Queen. In times long past, they were often be found as the second-in-command at the great temples to Ekhalra; but now that her mistress' worship has all but vanished, Breacha's acolytes simply work on a free-lance basis, trying against all hope and reason to bring Ekhalra's errant children back to the fold.

Alignment: Lawful Evil
Sphere(s): Law, Punishment, judges, executioners
Sigil: Cloaked skeleton bearing a scythe
Preferred hues: Black, grey
Preferred weapon: Scythe
Worshippers’ alignment: Any Lawful
Domains: Community, Death, Domination, Inquisition, Law
Church: None (subordinate to the Keepers of the Queen)


Chamhain
“The Might of Flame”
(Lesser Servant of Morga)

The Burning Fury, The Lord of Fire

While Gargarik is acknowledged by most of the evil Giant races as their overall Lord and Master, the Fire Giants revere one of their own: Chamhain, the Lord of Fire. Born in the dark years before the beginning of the Age of Wisdom, Chamhain was one of the first true half-breeds in the world, the son of the King of the Fire Giants, and a Great Red Wyrm who had taken giant form to fight alongside them. As a result, Chamhain inherited the characteristics of both races: immune to fire, mighty in the sorcery of flame, and gigantic and strong beyond belief, he is a true abomination, with an all-consuming lust for destruction – and for these qualities, Morga gleefully accepted Chamhain as one of his lesser Servants. While he offers grudging respect to Gargarik (mostly out of fear), he lives in constant warfare with Sylgur and Mælgorm, who – despite their different overlords – have more than once joined forces to disrupt Chamhain’s designs.

Apart from the most evil and destructive of warriors and barbarians, Chamhain has no followers among the Kindred Races, although he has numerous Clerics and Shamans among the various Fire Giant kingdoms and communities. Other fire creatures – especially Azers and Magmen – have been known to worship him as well. Temples to Chamhain are invariably located in places of natural heat: volcanoes, lava pits, geysers, and so forth, and they may never be improved by artificial stonework. Sacrifices are made by incinerating living creatures – preferably Kindred or other Giants, especially Frost Giants, and Cold-dwelling creatures.

Clerics of Chamain gain DR(Fire) 10 at 1st level, and this goes up by 5 points every 5 levels (DR 15 at 10th level, etc.). They can Produce Flame once per day per level, and are able to Detect Fire or Fire Creatures (as a Druid Detects Animals) once per day, with the effective range doubled for Fire-based outsiders.

Alignment:: Lawful Evil
Sphere(s): Fire, Giants, Warriors
Sigil: Sword entwined in black flames, on a red shield
Preferred hues: Black and scarlet
Preferred weapon: Greatsword (flaming)
Worshippers’ alignment: Any evil
Domains: Destruction, Fire, Strength, War
Church: Minor (none among the Kindred)


Ekhalra
“The Queen of the World”
(Power of Dark)

The Witherer, Mistress of Decay, Mistress of the Bringers of Death, Queen of the World

Ekhalra The Witherer may be the best-known of all the Powers, Light or Dark, if for nor other reason than that she is the only one that has walked the Earth since the Dome of the Firmament was created more than three thousand years ago. The tale of Ekhalra’s long reign upon Anuru is well known; at the Falling of the Dome, the Powers agreed to depart, lest their incalculable might destroy the very thing over which they were struggling. But because Tîan was still pinioned to a high stone peak by her own sword, which none could remove, in order to retain the balance of the Universe, one of the Uruqua had to remain behind. Ekhalra was chosen, and was given countless servants and great masses of wealth; and she built an impregnable fastness in a far northern land, whence she would sit upon a throne of adamant, the Queen of the World.

Alas for her, this bounty did not last. The slaves gifted her by her brothers and sisters, being who and what they were, did not remain long at her side, but fled her grasp shortly after the Falling of the Dome, and vanished into the empty vastness of Anuru, which lay shrouded under the Eon of Darkness. These creatures reverted to their old ways and their old worship, and spread throughout the Heavens and the Earth, to plague the Kindred. Ekhalra found her powers limited by the Dome, and could not seek out the disobedient and obliterate them by herself, or at least not easily; and so she sent her Servants, and Avatars, and Minions out into the wider world, with two goals: first, to punish the Servants, and Avatars, and Minions of her deceitful siblings; and second, to spread word of Ekhalra’s glory, and power, and unending reign throughout the world – especially unto to the most numerous of its inhabitants, the Kindred.

Despite the treason of her sibling’s followers, Ekhalra retained many of her own minions, and soon they had constructed a new religion – that of the Keepers of the Queen, a hierarchy dedicated solely to maintaining the worship of Ekhalra as the sole true faith upon Anuru, and buttressing her rule as the ultimate power and authority within the Dome. In truth, this task had not been a difficult one; the Departure of the Powers had left a vast gulf of faith throughout the world, and their absence for more than a thousand years (until the return of their Servants and Avatars at the end of the Eon of Darkness, the beginning of the Age of Discovery) left an empty gap that was easy to exploit. The only thing hampering the rapid spread of the faith was the strict harshness of Ekhalra’s clerics, who demanded absolute, unquestioning obedience, as well as monetary, arcane and even living tribute. For centuries, Ekhalra’s clerics were empowered to take promising youths to serve as clerics, soldiers or slaves of Ekhalra and her minions, although this practice has all but disappeared in modern times, now that her worship has been largely supplanted by gentler deities.

The return to Anuru of the Servants and Avatars of the Powers – especially of the Anari – took Ekhalra completely by surprise. She had been unaware of the pact between Bræa and Bardan that led to the creation of the River of Stars (aka the Astral Plane) as a bridge across the Dome, and was bitterly disappointed to learn that only the Powers themselves were forever barred from navigating it. Ekhalra had grown complacent in her queenship over more than a millennium, and her hierarchy had grown fat and comfortable in their ravages of the mortal realms. The returning Servants and Avatars of Light brought with them the peace and strength of the Anari, and the Kindred flocked in droves back to the worship of their ancient Powers. Ekhalra’s rage at this betrayal was terrible, but it was too late; her worshippers abandoned her, and in less than a century, her temples were in ruins, her priests but a scattered handful of fanatics, and all knowledge of her potency and power had all but vanished from the Kindred realms.

The only vestiges of her worship are scattered groups of followers in evil (especially human) lands, or among the Speaking Monsters; but the Kindred realms are still littered with broken temples, and the omnipresent Shrines of the Queen in every city, town and village. These are no longer kept up; but simple folk still drop coins or a prayer from time to time, out of old custom, ignorant of the terror and fear that the worship of the Queen of the World once represented.

Ekhalra, of course, is not gone; she cannot cross the Dome, and so cannot leave Anuru until the Breaking of the World. It is said that she has gone bitterly insane over the long years, abandoned by most of her followers; and that she remains in her distant fastness, served only by the mightiest of monsters, plotting her revenge on the ungrateful wretches who abandoned her.

Because their deity abides on Earth, Clerics of Ekhalra have a more tangible link to her power. They cast all spells at CL+1 and gain the Augment Summoning feat at 1st level.

Alignment:: Neutral Evil
Sphere(s): Heaven and Earth, rulership, order
Sigil: A grey skull on a gold star over a blood-red sphere representing Anuru)
Preferred hues: Blood and gold
Preferred weapon: Mace
Worshippers’ alignment: Any non-good
Domains: Community, Domination, Evil, Inquisition, Law, Summoner
Church: Once major, now virtually non-existent; some maladins

Tales of the Wyrm - The Wood Maidens

Well, it’s Myransdag again, and a holiday Myransdag at that. Which is kind of ironic, seeing as how we last left the Party just as they entered the town of Bymill on 16 Lastreap – and the next day, 17 Lastreap, was both a Myransdag AND a holiday. The Harvest Festival, in fact, which is more or less what we here on Earth just enjoyed. I don’t know about you, but I’m stuffed to the gills with shiraz, pork roast and a totally ass-kicking pumpkin cheesecake that my 10-year-old niece threw together. Anyway, since fate seems to be heaping the co-inky-dinks on us with both hands, I thought it a meet opportunity to hit you with another entry from the Varata Lohikäärmeta – the Book of the Wyrm, aka the Book of Tales.

This time we have the Seventh Rune – an ancient piece entitled “The Wood Maidens”, which takes up the tale of Eldukaris after his coming ashore following his birth in the waters of the world. That tale is told in the First Rune of the Book of Tales, which I haven’t published on this blog for one simple reason: it’s copied, almost work for word, from the Volsunga Sagas. Yeah, I’m a plagiarist, but in my defence, so was Tolkein. Michael Crichton, too; anyone who thinks “Eaters of the Dead” was original has forgotten about reading “Beowulf” in Grade 10 English lit. Where do you think he got the hero’s name, “Buliwyf”, from anyway?

"Hey, meet my new PC! He's a Rogue 6 / Dread Pirate 5, named San Holo. Never tell him the odds!"

(BTW, those guys in "13th Warrior" are speaking Swedish, not Danish. And badly. Just thought you ought to know. Not surprising, of course, since the guy playing Buliwyf is a Russkie. But why the hell not, seeing as how there’s a Latino playing the Arab and the only fellow named "Sharif" has about 4 minutes of screen time? But, I digress...)

Anyway, Eldukaris. In short, he was one of the forerunners of Men, a great hero, allegedly sired upon one of the Udrmær, the Wave-Maidens, by Bræa herself, in the shape of an albatross. Freaky, maybe, but not as mind-bendingly gross as doing the nasty with bulls, swans, and showers of golden light, to say nothing of goddesses popping spontaneously out of dad's forehead. Maybe someday I’ll rewrite the First Rune and put it up, but for now, we’ll just let it go.

This piece, incidentally, is entirely original; still has that new-poem smell. I'm sure the Eng-Lit profs will still be teaching it 1000 years from now. Heh.

Oh, and in case you missed it, the Wood Maidens, called the Skogrfljodr in the ancient tongue, are servants of Csæleyan, the Avatar of Nature, who serves as Queen of the Wood Maidens. She has a part to play in this piece, and in some of those that follow. There's something about green chicks...must've watched too much Trek as a kid.

Once again, this tale seems to end suddenly. Be of good cheer and stout heart, gentle listener; the tale continues, and we will come anon to the next stage in the journeys of Eldukaris.

Don’t say you weren’t warned.

Boy, any day you can use the word “anon” is a good day, isn't it? Tomorrow's word is "forsooth".

I wonder if there’s any more shiraz down there?

* * * * *

Rune the Seventh:
The Wood Maidens
(from the Tarinas Valtakirjas)

Once ashore, fair Eldukaris,
Coming freshly from the waters
Dried his hair and dried his raiment
Under Bræa’s warming sunbeams.
Then he gathered up his courage
And he tied his sandals tighter,
And bethought him of the mountains
He had seen from ocean’s bosom.

He bethought him of the treetops
Waving softly in the sunlight
And of dancing birds above them
And of prowling beasts below them,
Ever ready for a victim;
So he stooped unto the water,
From its bosom drew a grey stone
Clenched it tightly in his fingers,
And with purpose set before him,
Strode he forward to the beaches.

Thus did Eldukaris sally
From the bosom of the waters,
To the heartwood of the forest,
Seeking shelter ‘neath the hardwoods.
He traversed the shining grasslands,
And he trod the shifting sand-dunes
As the sun-face hurtled over.
And the moonless sky above him
Held him tight unto its bosom
As if reverently recalling
Who had sired this doughty wanderer
On his mother, the Wave-Maiden.

Full eight days and nights he travelled,
With the mountains drawing nearer;
As the land rose ever higher,
And the autumn air grew cooler,
Eldukaris gazed in wonder
At the snowflakes gently falling
And on his clean limbs alighting
And around his feet a-gath’ring.

When at last he reached the mountains;
Reached the mighty oaks upon them,
Eldukaris saw a wonder;
For within a shining clearing,
Were the Forest-Maidens dancing;
Bright and radiant; Bræa’s daughters,
The kin-sisters of his mother.
Long their hair curled out behind them,
Falling like a shining curtain,
Coloured brown like unto oak-bark,
And their eyes were brown alike it.
As they danced within their circle,
Saw he then their skin emblazoned
With the emerald of the greenwood
And the verdant hue of forests;
Danced they hand in hand together,
And it seemed the trees danced with them.
Shifting, shimmering, trading places
In their endless rondel danced they,
Treading out their woodland passion
On the soft loam of Anuru;
Then the Forest-Maidens saw him,
And they fled in terror, wailing.



All save one – one maiden stayed she,
And he gazed in wonder on her,
For it seemed she was a wood-sprite,
A fey creature of the forest,
Then his mouth grew dry with passion,
And he felt his heart beat louder.
Eldukris hesitated,
As he ne’er did before then,
Nor would ever do thereafter;
Then he stepped towards the maiden,
Where, all apprehensive, stood she,
And he stretched his hand out to her,
And with halting tongue, bespoke her:

“Fairest maid of verdant woodland,”
Said the son of ocean-maiden,
“Wherefore danced ye in the forest?
Wherefore fled thy comrades comely?
Did, in coming, I alarm them?
If I did, I beg thy pardon,
And on bended knee, implore thee,
Wherefore didst thou not fly with them?”

Hesitant, the maiden answered:
“Sir, thy words are spoken kindly,
Thus to thee I give this answer,
Speaking for my fleeing sisters:
We are children of the forest;
Daughters of the woodland spirit;
Giving praise to Bright-Eyed Hara,
And unto his mighty servants.
Here we dance in honour of them,
From the dawning to the gloaming,
And at each new dawn, renewing
This, our measure of devotion.
My fair sisters fled before you,
Not because you sought to harm them,
Or alarm them; rather that you
Seemed fair strange, unknown to us,
Who have ne’er before beheld one
Formed as you, or suchlike speaking,
Come encroaching on our clearing
Where the wood-maids worship, dancing.”

“But fair sir,” the maid continued,
“There is yet another reason
Why my sisters fled before thee;
For our hearts are filled with sorrow.
Yester-eve, as we came dancing,
Our fair queen, Csaeleyan
Danced her joyous dance among us,
And we all rejoiced to see her.
For though fair Csaeleyan
Seems to be but one among us,
Yet her spirit is beyond us;
Mighty as the peaks of mountains,
For she is the first among us,
Eldest sister of the Wood-Maids,
And is much beloved of Hara,
And adored by Bright Larethian,
So our hearts were fairly shattered, sir,
When she was taken from us.”

With voice of consternation,
Eldukaris faced the maiden,
“How, fair forest-maid of wonder,
Was they sister taken from thee?
What fell power could affront thee?
What fell purpose thus disturb thee?
In thy marvellous devotions,
What fell heart would interrupt thee?”
Bravely then the maiden answered,
“As we danced upon the greensward,
A fell storm-cloud broke upon us;
And harsh ice-rain followed after,
And the forest fairly shuddered,
As the squall howled through the treetops,
And the branches bent and shattered
‘Neath the weight of snow-fall sudden.
Swift our glade became a wasteland,
And in place our feet were frozen;
So the Ice-King came upon us,
Crowned with frost and clad in winter;
With his glance he stopped our dancing;
With his hand, he took our sister,
Reft us of fair Csaeleyan,
Whom he long had lusted after.”

“Then he mounted on his storm-cloud,
And he set our sister ‘fore him,
And on trails of ice departed,
With the Wood-Maids crying after.
In a twinkling he had left us,
And we wept upon the greensward,
E’en our tears froze on our faces,
At our sister’s ravished parting.
But at length the snow departed,
Following the Ice-King after,
And again our feet were nimble,
And the greensward free of hoarfrost.
Thus this evening finds us dancing,
But in sorrow, not in gladness,
And our hearts are sore and hollow,
For Csaeleyan longing.”

Torn with sorrow, Eldukaris
Stepped unto the stricken maiden,
And he put his arms around her,
Took her head unto his shoulder.
At her scent, of fair spring flowers,
Eldukaris fell enraptured;
And his heart leapt up within him,
Snared by sorrow and by beauty.
“Fair Wood-Maiden,” quoth the Sea-Son,
“By this hand, I swear unto thee,
Neither rest nor satiation
Shall I seek, until before thee
Once more stand I with thy sister;
With thy fair Csaeleyan,
And my foot upon the shoulder
Of the heartless one that took her.”

Saying so, he left the maiden
Standing lorn and lone behind him,
And with naught but raiment ‘pon him,
And the grey sea-stone inholden,
Eldukaris left the clearing,
And the fair Wood-Maid behind him;
Turned his face into the snow-fall,
And began the task before him.



* * * * *