The Sea Wyrm

When last we left our intrepid heroes, they had just finished defeating an army of undead horrors led by an Ogre Wight and some sort of horrific, wall-crawling monstrosity. The battle had taken place in the Great Hall of Sieur Clammet File, a wealthy trader in the town of Bornhavn, and had resulted in the burning of a significant amount of furniture and a number of valuable, gnome-made tapestries, and the loss of one silver candelabra, which Viloriannis had used as a material component to Consecrate the hall against the undead.

After the battle, Viloriannis returned to the Manse to check on her master, the ailing Prelate Whitefist, while the Party slept over night in the Great Hall, both to watch over the civilians of the house, and to take the best advantage possible of the divine protection afforded by Viloriannis’ spell. When dawn broke, they found that File had already roused his staff, and they enjoyed a hearty breakfast before returning next door to the Inn. They donned their armour and retrieved their heavier weapons and adventuring gear, then, as the sun peeked over the mountains to the east, made their way to the Manse to collect the cleric.

The first hint that all was not well was the fact that the door to the Pilgrims’ Barracks was unsecured and swinging wide. All seemed well, so they entered the building, calling for Viloriannis as they went. Passing through the kitchen, they were shocked to find the body of one of the volunteer women crumpled, cold and white, near the hearth; her throat had been torn out, and the walls were spattered with blood. Racing through the dining hall, they burst through Whitefist’s chamber doors…

…and into a scene of unimaginable carnage. The ancient priest lay, spreadeagled, on his bed, but he had been gutted like a hog, and not neatly. The floor, walls and even ceiling of the room were splashed with drying blood, and its cloying scent hung heavy in the air. No one needed to check the old man for signs of life. Moving quickly, Breygon led the Party through the remainder of the Manse, finding not a soul, and nothing of note – until they opened the door of the northwestern-most room in the building. A dark robe lay across the bed, and Gwen immediately recognized it as belonging to Vilorannis. Even more disturbing was the fact that the cleric’s ancient breastplate, along with a steel shield and a heavy mace, lay close at hand, as if ready to be donned. Where was she?

The sun was climbing in the sky, consuming the precious daylight hours necessary to confront the enemy. Qaramyn hastily case a detect magic spell, examining both Whitefist’s and Viloriannis’ chambers. The Party found a small silk pouch of enchanted pearls in the Fist’s study, but no one could figure out what they were for. Viloriannis’ mace, however, glowed with a soft white light under the influence of the spell, and Alric took it as a backup to his greatclub, in case an enchanted weapon was required.

With nothing more to hope for, the Party decided that it was time to move against the foe. They left the Manse, and Breygon and Greywind led them through the forest, and into the Great Swamp, towards the low, mud-slicked cavern that he, along with the wolf and Joraz, had discovered only twelve hours before.

* * * * *

The Sea Wyrm

Background

Some hundreds of years ago, when this region was as yet largely unexplored, the Stjerneflode (River) was a brisk, sprightly flood, meandering here and there across the Bjerglands on its thousand-mile journey from the Dragonspine Mountains to the Southern Seas. After centuries of cutting broad loops across the land, years of drought led to some of these being cut off and silting up. One such silted-up loop lay near where the town of Bornhavn would someday be founded. This loop was treacherous, and the Sea Wyrm, a great trading vessel, was caught in a side channel. It might have had a chance to free itself, had its crew not succumbed to some mysterious force. Instead, the river rolled on, and the ship lay undiscovered, sinking into the thick mud, as the loop of the river gradually silted up and was closed off.

Now, more than five hundred years later, the side channel is closed, silted over and forgotten, and marsh trees and junipers are growing in the thick mud of the Great Swamp where the buried vessel lies. Those same centuries saw a vast expansion of the northern lands of Zare, with trade plying the river between the western capital of Vejborg in the south, and the northern cities of Ellohyin and Bitterberg. Commerce spawns colonization, and many new towns sprang up along the North Road. One such is Bornhavn; founded only a little more than a decade ago, the town is a bustling center of the farming industry, trading in chestnuts and apples from its bounteous orchards, serving as a stop on the river, and beginning to export smoked mutton. There is not a blot on the hearts of any – except that no-one ventures into the swamp beyond the orchards, where a dark shadow lingers even in daylight, and nothing seems to grow.

As Bornhavn has expanded, its inhabitants have begun to suspect something. Caravans travelling the Nordvej have lost members; guards, and servants, and even passengers have disappeared without warning, never to be seen again. And the disappearances always seem to occur within a few leagues of the town. Bornhavn’s more prominent citizens have tried to keep the rumours from circulating to avoid damage to the town’s growth and its importance as a river and caravan stop...but rumours have a way of getting out.

* * * * *

THE ENTRANCE

The entrance to the wreck of the Sea Wyrm is in a small copse of pine and juniper in the heart of the Great Swamp. The trees cover a low mound no more than 25’ broad and 8’ high. In the west side of the mound, grass overhangs a low opening, about 6’ wide and 4’ high. It angles fairly steeply downward into the earth (about a 1 in 10 slope). The floor is hard clay, fairly slick due to water infiltration. An overpowering stench of decay exudes from the hole – a smell overlain with some odd fruity odour that seems familiar, but that no one recognizes.

About 20’ in, the tunnel twists and turns, and begins to broaden and grow a little deeper. At 30’, it is 8’ wide and 5’ high; at 40’ it is 10’ wide and 6’ high. At 100’ in we are 20’ below the surface of the swamp, and the tunnel is 10-12’ wide, and 6-8’ high.

THE SEA WYRM - GENERAL

The ship lies embedded in the hardened mud of the swamp. It is tilted sternwards at an angle of about 5 degrees, just enough to throw everyone’s balance off a little (BALANCE CHECKS are all made at -1).

The wood of the ship is still mostly intact, but is badly rotted. The decks will generally hold, and the hull is fairly solid, but with any amount of serious effort, the wood can be broken away to form a man-sized hold in 2d4 rounds. There are cracks and holes everywhere; it is easy to hear fighting, speech and even movement throughout the ship.

There is moss, mold, weed, fungus and the like everywhere one looks, as well as dripping, pooling and even running water.

The air is cold and clammy, heavy with moisture, and the stench of decaying wood, mildew and earth is very oppressive (after first fight, Fortitude DC 10 or throw up; thereafter must check before every fight until check succeeds; throwing up causes -2 on all rolls for 1d4 rounds).

A note on fires: torches will sputter badly and throw only enough light to see 20’. They will fill the air with smoke. If more than 3 torches are used, players will notice that it gets a little oppressive.

Any large fire underground will generate smoke and make it difficult to breathe and even to see; the air will become difficult after 1d4 hours, and visibility will drop to 10’ after 6d10 minutes.

Any large conflagration (e.g. a deliberate one, with oil) will consume the available oxygen quickly. After 5 minutes of combustion, everyone must make Fort Save every minute (DC 1, 2, 3, 4, etc.) or fall unconscious due to lack of oxygen. Anyone caught in a conflagration will takes 1d8 damage per round of exposure, no save.

1. Tunnel through the mud

DESCRIPTION
At this point, the tunnel is oblate, 12’ wide and 8’ high. The walls ooze worms and roots, and the floor is littered with mud, the wreckage of branches and dead leaves, and gnawed bones.

SMELT/HEARD
Noses are becoming accustomed to the stench of decay, and new odours are becoming clearer: the stale smell of rotting wood, and the sweet smell of rotting flesh.
* And a rattling noise can be heard, like sticks being shaken.

SPOT
DC 12: Lots of red eyes approaching swiftly from further down the tunnel (range of 40-60’); resolving at 30’ into tall, emaciated humanoid forms

MONSTER
3 x SKELETONS; one with rusty cutlass (1d6), one with rusty shortspear (1d8), one with axe handle (1d4)

OTHER
Beyond the skeletons is a body on the floor; it is Corporal Telvor, the missing commander of the Party’s supply wagon. His throat has been torn out and the body has been heavily gnawed upon.


2. Bosun’s Stores

DESCRIPTION
The tunnel suddenly ends in what appears to be a wall of shattered [rotting] wood. Beyond it lies a strange, oddly-shaped room, roughly triangular, 30’ long with a 40’ wide base. The ceiling is about 6’ high, heavily beamed and wooden, with strands of moss and roots hanging through cracks, and a good deal of water dripping down. Part of the “base wall” is shattered, and there is a great deal of wooden debris on the floor.

The room contains a badly-damaged table and four wooden chairs. There are four large, vertical cabinets like wardrobes against the walls (the tunnel entrance is between two of them), and near the apex of the “triangle” are a pair of wooden chests. Two of the cabinets are smashed.

SMELT/HEARD
The stench of rotting is a good deal stronger now. Nothing is heard.

SPOT DC 26: “stealthy movement” through the hole in the shattered wall.

MONSTER
Nil

OTHER
- Chest (unlocked) Woodworking tools, nails, brass cleats, bolts, chalk
- Chest (unlocked) large bolts of rotting heavy canvas, a wooden box of rusted needles (very large), heavy twine and thread
- Cabinet (unlocked) 14 rusting/rotting half-pikes
- Cabinet (locked, needle-trapped, CR 2 (600 XP), +8 touch attack, SEARCH 22, DISABLE 20. Giant Wasp poison DC 18, 1d6Dex/1d6Dex) Contains: 2/6 firebombs, 12/24 tindertwigs, 2/6 sunrods, 3/6 smokesticks, 1/6 lanterns, 12 jars of oil, 8 quivers of 20 light crossbow bolts (14 good bolts out of 160.

3. Main deck, forward

DESCRIPTION
Something is definitely odd about this building. This room is similar in construction to the last one, but much larger, about 40’ wide where you are standing, broadening to 50’ wide 50’ away. The walls are slightly curved from floor to ceiling. The ceiling is still about 6’ high, heavily beamed and wooden. 10’ in front of you, an enormous pillar, 7’ thick, stretches from floor to ceiling. Left of the pillar is a staircase leading down, smashed and filled with debris; right, a staircase in poor condition leading up to a trap door. 10’ beyond the pillar is a wooden wall about 20’ wide.

The room contains what appear to be bunk beds along both walls; many of them are smashed and the debris litters the wooden floor.

Immediately in front of you, before the pillar, are a smashed wooden chest, and a small wooden barrel standing on end.

SMELT/HEARD
The smell of decay continues to increase; and now you can smell clearly the stench of rotting flesh. The floor creaks loudly under your feet, and in the distance, you can hear water dripping softly. You can hear a soft shuffling noise from your left, rather like slow footsteps.

LISTEN DC 18
Somewhere off to the right, you can hear a quiet scratching, chittering noise that none of you have heard before

SPOTDC 10
Of more immediate concern are the four pair of glowing red eyes moving slowly towards you out of the darkness to the left of the pillar.

MONSTER
4 x Zombie (UNARMOURED, UNARMED, NO TREASURE)

OTHER
ACTION NOTE: two rounds after joining battle with these zombies, the 7 zombies at area 4 will join the fight

4. Main deck, Starboard

DESCRIPTION
This area is part of the room already described. Much debris, but more intact bunks, some with bedding in place.

SMELT/HEARD
Decaying flesh, rot, etc.

SPOT
A half-dozen more pairs of red eyes moving slowly forward

MONSTER
7 x ZOMBIE (UNARMOURED, UNARMED, NO TREASURE)

OTHER
The bunks contain a smattering of silver (2d12) and copper (4d20) coins.

5. Main deck, Port

DESCRIPTION
More bunks, but in this case most have been shattered into wrecks, and have been pushed together against the wall into an enormous heap from floor to ceiling. The entire expanse of the area is covered with a net of heavy cobwebs. From within the webs, multifaceted eyes reflect back the light.

SMELT/HEARD
Decaying flesh, decaying wood; a louder scratching, chittering noise

SPOT DC 10
You see what looks like dimly glowing, dull red lights moving slowly about in the darkness, bouncing gently up and down

(2 rounds later)

SPOT DC 12
You see (1d4) enormous spiders, with bodies the size of beer kegs and poison dripping from their festering mandibles, crawling from the webs toward you

MONSTER
4 x LARGE MONSTROUS SPIDER

OTHER
SPOT DC 28 / SEARCH DC 20: Deep within the filth and refuse of the webs, you find a wrapped bundle containing a body (DC 19 ELVEN CORPSE). The cadaver is desiccated, is clad in intricately-worked leather armour (MW LEATHER ARMOUR of elven design) and a rotted cloak. A rotted shortbow and rusty shortsword lie on the deck. Inside a fold of the cloak is a leather-wrapped package the size of a small book; it contains a set of finely-made and well-oiled keys, files and lockpicks (MW THIEF’S TOOLS).

6. Galley

NOTE: You hear thumping and banging coming from behind the door
(door is unlocked, not stuck).

DESCRIPTION
This room-within-a-room is about 25’ long and 20’ wide. It contains a huge brick oven and cooking surface, two tall shelves containing pots and cooking pans, a pair of cabinets, a large table and four barrels

SMELT/HEARD
Dominant odour is rotting flesh and wood, with an undertone of old spices

SPOT
OBVIOUS: In the center of the room, a hunched, emaciated but heavily-muscled humanoid is struggling to claw open one of the barrels. As it whirls to confront you, its eyes gleam with savage malice, and froth drips from its fangs.

MONSTER
1 x GHOUL

OTHER
Barrels contain rotted salt pork (3) and dried peas (1). Pots and pans are corroded, in poor condition. Cabinets contain multiple wooden trenchers and piggins, and a wide variety of low-quality cooking and serving utensils. On the table is an empty salt cellar, and a wooden box containing about a pound of dried pepper corns.

7. Purser’s station

DESCRIPTION
This area is similar to the area you’ve already passed through, save that the bunks are largely intact, and everything seems to be in relatively solid condition. There is another pillar here, with a stair down on the left (clear), and a stair up on the right (leading to a trapdoor in the ceiling). Double doors are set into a 20’ wide wall behind the pillar, and the larger room continues on either side of it. There is a large chest and a wooden barrel here as well; both are intact.

SMELT/HEARD
The stench of decaying flesh seems to be growing stronger

SPOT
Nil

MONSTER
Nil

OTHER
Chest is locked (DC 22) and SHOCK TRAPPED (CR 3, globe of electricity with 5’ radius from chest, 3d6 damage, Reflex Save (DC 15) avoids. Search 27, disable 25. CONTAINS: 4/6 x 2-gallon ankers of brandy; four heavy wooden piggins marked with the Coat of Arms of Aeryn (and engraved with the words “The King, Gods Bless Him”); and a heavily-engraved, long-handled silver dipper (5 lbs, solid silver)

8. Larder

(door LOCKED, pick DC 18, no key):

DESCRIPTION
Double wooden doors open into this room, which is 20’ wide and 15’ deep. The back wall is piled floor-to-ceiling with racked wooden barrels; between the doors and the barrels are piled dozens of boxes, crates, small and large chests, wooden cases and jute sacks.

SMELT/HEARD
A heavy stench of mould and rotted foodstuffs fills the air.

SPOT 18 / SEARCH 14: Underneath a pile of sacking lie four ornately-carved, dark wooden chests, about 2’ square and ½ a foot high.

SPOT 24 / SEARCH 20: Further back, near the barrels, is a small wooden box, about one cubic foot, with a lock securing its lid.

MONSTER
Nil

OTHER
The four small wooden chests contain finely-made tableware in solid silver: Three chests contain knives, forks, spoons, napkin rings and salt cellars (24 of each per chest); the fourth contains 4 large silver carving knives (DAGGERS), 4 large silver forks, 2 large silver cleavers (HAND AXES), and a sharpening steel. Each case weighs 15 pounds and is worth 125 gp. The other small chest is locked (PICK DC 20) and contains fine spices in tightly corked and waxed bottles. There are 30 bottles (2 layers of 3x5); altogether the collection weighs 20 pounds and is worth 225 gp. The barrels contain beer, which went over long ago. The other food cases contain rye flour, dried peas, mustard seed, rotted jerky and long-decayed hardtack biscuit

9. Passenger Staterooms

DESCRIPTION
The small rooms are 10’x10’ and contain only a bunk and a sea chest.
LOWER ROOM: This room contains a large, square, oddly decorated chest unlike the others

HISTORY DC 16, or DWARF: The chest if of Dwarven design)

SMELT/HEARD
Nil

SPOT
Nil

MONSTER
Nil

OTHER
The chest in the upper room is entirely empty. The (dwarven) chest in the lower room has a FALSE LOCK on the front; it cannot be picked. If the chest is SEARCHED by a Rogue, a DC check of 26 will find the TRUE LOCK on the left side, hidden in the elaborate carvings. The PICK DC of this lock is 30. The chest has hardness 8 and 18 HP.

The (dwarven) chest contains a +1 Shortsword (HISTORY/LORE DC 18 or Dwarf – dwarven design), the blade and hilt heavily carved and inlaid with silver, with a silver-worked scabbard of some pebbly gray (OGRE) hide. It also contains a small cloth bag holding a rough-stone amythest and crystal necklace (v. 250 gp); and a small, locked (PICK DC 25) oak and iron strongbox containing 250 Dwarven GP in waxed-paper rolls of 50 gp each (1 pound). The small chest weighs 12 pounds.

10. Heads

DESCRIPTION
This is a “head”; it contains a wooden box-seat with an obvious purpose and a cover; a small table with an earthenware basin set in it; and rotting remnants of cloth on the floor.

LOWER HEAD: sprawled in a corner near the pooper is a crumbling skeleton, dressed in the rotted remains of once-rich robes, and bearing an ornate amythest and crystal belt (v. 150 gp). The skull has been crushed in.

SMELT/HEARD
Nil

SPOT
LOWER HEAD: SPOT DC 16 / SEARCH DC 12: around the neck of the skeleton is a corroded fine silver chain holding a small key (this is the key to the strongbox inside the chest in the next room)

MONSTER
Nil

OTHER
Nil

11. Arms Locker

DESCRIPTION
The floor here is covered with a large quantity of badly-smashed wooden debris. Another large pillar stretches from floor to ceiling; as your eyes follow it up, you note, above the debris pile, a dark, ragged hole in the wooden ceiling six feet over your heads. On either side of the pillar is a wooden door; and against the wall facing the pillar is a heavy wooden cabinet.

SMELT/HEARD
- stronger smell of decay; overpowering smell of rotting flesh; smell of putrid mud and raw earth

LISTEN DC 18: “shuffling and creaking movements somewhere overhead”
LISTEN DC 24: “tearing and gnawing sounds from somewhere nearby”

SPOT
The cabinet doors are sagging partially open

MONSTER
Nil

OTHER
The cabinet contains 4 light crossbows with decayed cables and arms; 10 quivers of 20 light xbow bolts, corroded but whole; 13 cutlasses, rusty, without scabbards (SPOT DC 26, SEARCH DC 16: one only looks rusty, but seems sound and well-balanced; this one is a MW CUTLASS); 9 wood and metal bucklers, rusty and in very poor condition; 16 javelins with barbed heads (rusty but sound)

12. Wardroom

DESCRIPTION
The first thing you see are four ragged, white-skinned, hunched humanoid creatures feasting on a gutted carcass lying on a long trestle table in the center of the room. Disturbed, they whip around to glare at you from red-rimmed, inhuman eyes, gobbets of flesh between their teeth and festooning their jagged claws. An overpowering, foetid stench fills the room, causing everyone to gag.

Three of the gangrel creatures shriek and leap towards you; the fourth, somewhat larger, apparelled in rags of once-fine clothing, and with glowing red eyes, hangs back, eying you hungrily.

(GENERAL) This large room is a good fifty feet wide, and at least forty feet from the doors to the far wall. 6 double bunks line the left and right walls, except where the left wall is smashed out, revealing a bulging wall of mud, roots and oozing centipedes. In the centre of the room are two heavy oak trestle tables. Two large cabinets lie against the far wall, and one against the near wall, between the doors.

SMELT/HEARD
Stench; slavering, shrieking and clattering

SPOT
SPOT DC 16: The body on the table is apparently a human

MONSTER
1 x WIGHT
3 x GHOUL

OTHER
The body on the table is richly attired, but the clothes are bloody and despoiled. It is a human male in his early twenties; his throat was torn out (HEAL DC 14: some time ago; his body is getting ripe) and his guts have been mostly consumed. SPOT DC 10 / SEARCH AUTO: the body has a plated silver belt (v. 45 gp) holding a scabbarded dagger, and a very attractive, elaborate gold and pearl necklace (v. 5000 gp).

The cabinets contain simple clothing in poor condition, along with a number of oiled-leather sea boots and cloaks.

SEARCH DC 22: the left, far-wall cabinet has a false bottom. Under the false bottom are 7 plain earthenware jars, each holding about a pint, with a waxed cork stopper. Each holds (ALCHEMY DC 16 / BREW POTION FEAT) high-potency moonshine (treat as “fine oil” for flammability and molotov purposes).

13. Arms locker

DESCRIPTION
This room is 20’ wide by 30’ long. The pillar rises through the floor and up to the ceiling again, which in this room is actually about 7’ high. The back wall of the room has a pair of double doors, finely carved, flanked by a pair of tall, narrow barrels (LORE DC 14: SPINIELS, usually used for fresh water). The front wall has two widely separated doors. Between these doors is a cabinet similar to the one immediately below it.

The hole in the floor is a noteworthy feature.

There are also two doors on each of the left and right walls

SMELT/HEARD
Stench of decay is strong

LISTEN DC 12: Sounds of banging and rustling can be heard from the left forward room, the door of which stands open about half a foot

LISTEN DC 22: Sounds of stealthy movement; metal clinking on metal coming from beyond the double-doors at the rear of the room

SPOT
Nil

MONSTER
Nil

OTHER
The water butts are empty. The lock of the arms locker has been jimmied; it contains only a few dozen scattered, rotted light crossbow bolts

14. Officer’s Cabins

DESCRIPTION
Each of these 10’x10’ rooms contains a bunk with underbunk storage drawers, a wall cabinet, and a large sea chest.

SMELT/HEARD
Nothing unusual

SPOT
Nothing unusual

MONSTER
Nil

OTHER
The drawers and chests are all unlocked, and contain a mix of rotted clothing, buttons, a broken dagger, a small sack of copper pieces, decaying parchment, and the like

15. Chirurgen’s Cabin

DESCRIPTION
This 10 x 10’ cabin contains a bed, a wall cabinet, a large sea chest – and a large, bulky, gangrel creature with enormous fangs and claws, clad in the rotting remnants of filthy grey robes and what appear to be bits of leather armour. It is scrabbling at the wall cabinet, apparently in an attempt to open it. It howls unintelligibly and leaps at you!

SMELT/HEARD
An horrific stench of death and decay surrounds the creature, and its snuffling and slavering are awful

SPOT
Nil

MONSTER
1 x full HP WIGHT

OTHER
The Wight was once the ship’s chirurgen, Ronath, and this was once it’s cabin

The wall cabinet is closed but not locked. It contains the rotting remnants of white clerical robes, a large wooden shield (in poor condition), and a Heavy Crossbow with a broken cord. A quiver of 12 bolts lies beside it.

The chest is locked (PICK DC 24; the key is hidden between two loose boards near the door, SEARCH DC 28 to find.) The chest contains twelve large scrolls of healer’s notes wrapped in waxed vellum (worth 50 gp each to a scribe or healer), and a Healer’s Kit, mostly depleted (good for three more heal checks). The name “Ronath” is inscribed on the lid of the box. Underneath the box are two potion vials wrapped in a pair of old hose (Potions of Cure Light Wounds).

SEARCH DC 22: hidden under the mattress is a Light Mace, simple in construction, but with heavy silver studs embedded in the leaden head. v. 25 gp.

16. Head

DESCRIPTION
A 10’x10’ washroom, similar to those seen below

SMELT/HEARD
A bitter, ashy stench

SPOT
Automatic: the wall cupboard contains four bars of powerful lye soap in waxed-parchment wrappers.

MONSTER
Nil

OTHER
The chest contains the rotted remnants of heavy cotton towels

17. Great Cabin

DESCRIPTION
This room is 20’ from front to back, and 40’ wide. Its most salient feature is the fact that it is crowded – by six tall, skeletal creatures clad in tattered fragments of chain and leather armour, and wielding rusted swords.

The left half of the back wall contains a large, ornate wooden door; the right half is smashed apart into wooden fragments and opens to a dark cavern beyond, of slick muddy walls, and dripping water and slime

On the right side of the room are an elaborate oaken desk and chair, and two book cabinets; on the left side, two floor-to-ceiling wardrobes. A filthy but once-gorgeous carpet, and a heavy oak dining table, partially smashed, fill the centre of the room. The double doors through which you entered are flanked by a pair of chests, and beyond the chests, a pair of doors facing back the way you came.

** (Once the skeletons are engaged, the wight will await an opportune moment and attack from the cavern beyond the room)

The fell-eyed, foul-clawed creature charging from the cavern is enormous and ogre-like; hunched over but still scraping the ceiling with its head; it brings terror and the stench of the grave with it

SMELT/HEARD
The overpowering stench of death and decay fills this room beyond endurance; all must make a FORTITUDE SAVE (or become nauseous and -1 on all dice rolls for 1d6 minutes)

SPOT

MONSTER
6 x skeletons (some armour, rusty cutlasses)
1 x full HP wight

OTHER
The cabinets contain rotting clothing, including the vestiges of marine uniform coats, dark-blue with gold buttons (40 buttons at 2 gp each). One book-case contains a fancy cutlass with a gold-chased hilt and belt, in good condition (75 gp, decorative only, will snap on the first blow). The other book-case contains wholly rotted scrolls and bound manuscripts. Upper chest contains a rotting jumble of papers, bound with string. Lower chest is locked (PICK DC 22). It contains 6 x 2-pound gold bars, a badly corroded silver holy symbol, an ebony scroll case carrying an enciphered series of 12 letters on fine vellum along with an unrecognizable map, and a 3’ long package wrapped in red silk and bound with gold cord: this contains three +1 ebony arrows with silver heads.

Desk is locked (PICK DC 18), contains quill pens, dried ink, a sander, a tinderbox, six wax candles, a silver-inlaid dagger and silver-highlighted leather sheath (value 45 gp), and a mouldered leather-bound book, with silver fittings and hinges, and a silver lock (pick DC 14). There is no title visible on the book (it is the logbook for the Sea Wyrm, see Annex with final page). If the book is opened, only the last page can be made out.

* * * * *

Log of the Sea Wyrm

...cargo of finished coffins. Not popular with the crew, but good money.

...departed Ishavn without incident. Expect landfall at Whitefields in six days.

12 Harvest Rising: Made Whitefields on schedule. Received consignment of 12 crates of woolens and 24 ankers of brandy. Also took aboard one large chest for delivery to Ergon of Boorn (payment in advance in gold ingots. No key; note strict instructions not to...

...strong following winds. Made turn at the Bight without incident...

16 Harvest Rising: Sailmaker Garvin died in his sleep last night.

17 Harvest Rising: Three other crewmen ill. Chirurgen Ronath gravely ill, confined to quarters.

18 Harvest Rising: Winds still strong; heavy rain. Entered the mouth of Stjerneflode and proceeded upriver. Chirurgen Ronath died. Hands Warret and Feldebarg died. Six other hands ill. Fear plague. Have hoisted the Black Ball, but no settlements expected for four more days.

19 Harvest Rising: Panic aboard. Ronath slew...aground...white hands...

* * * * *

CAPTAIN’S SLEEPING CABIN – contains a swivel-hung sea-bed, rotted bedding, some befouled clothing, various insects. Under the bed is a fine light-coloured wooden case about 5’ long, 12” wide, and 2” deep. The lid is carved with elaborate scrollwork in a pattern of leaves and stag horns; it fits tightly but is not locked. Inside is a padded cavity that looks like it might be designed to hold a sword (case is worth 45 gp for the workmanship)

Sea-chest (locked, PICK DC 18) contains moth-eaten clothing, a cat fur-lined heavy leather sea-cloak in relatively good condition (albeit smelly), a set of rich but rotting priestly vestments (worth 75 gp for worked-in gems), a pair of oddly engraved silver chalices (40 gp each), and a silver censer and chain (12 pounds, worth 175 gp as an art item, can be used as an improvised chain flail, doing 1d6t+1 damage, with a range of 10’).

18. Hold (aft)

DESCRIPTION
The stair debouches into what is obviously a large underground storage area. The walls are similar here, but curve inwards and downwards from the ceiling, which is slightly lower; a little less than 6’.

The pillar beside the stair continues down to the floor. The room is about 20’ long and 40’ wide. Against the side walls are large stacks of what appear to be squared timbers (WILDERNESS DC 12: hardwood lumber, covered in mold but fairly sound)

SMELT/HEARD
Stench of rotting wood, foul mud and decaying earth is stronger down here
No sounds heard other than the creaking of your own footsteps on the rotting floorboards

SPOT
Nil

MONSTER
Nil

OTHER
Nil

19. Hold (midships starboard)

DESCRIPTION
This part of the basement contains, of all things, stacks of what appear to be finished caskets: finely-crafted wooden boxes 7’ long, three feet wide, and two feet deep. They are stacked three deep from floor to ceiling, with billets of softwood between them. Some have rotted or been smashed apart; others appear intact

SMELT/HEARD
A heavy smell of fresh paint in this area

SPOT
Nil

MONSTER
Nil

OTHER
Nil

20. Hold (amidships)

DESCRIPTION
The central part of the basement contains barrels piled between billets of wood and lashed together with heavy rope, some of which has rotted apart. There are 42 barrels in all, which seem to be entirely intact.

SMELT/HEARD
Smell of fresh paint is heaviest in this area

SPOT
SPOT DC 16 / SEARCH DC 12 There appears to be a sticky, clear yellowish substance exuding from between the staves of the barrels. This is the source of the paint smell.
Listen DC 26: “Stealthy movement somewhere ahead of you”

MONSTER
Nil

OTHER
Nil

21. Hold (midships port)

DESCRIPTION
This part of the storage cellar contains numerous wooden crates and bales of jute cloth, many of which have rotted and ruptured. Folds of mildewed cloth, covered with heavy spiderwebs and full of foul growths have spilled out over the floor

SMELT/HEARD
The smell of paint is strong here as well, but the stench of rotting flesh and death seems to be growing stronger
Listen DC 26: “stealthy movement ahead of you”

SPOT
nil

MONSTER
nil; however, if the party lingers here, 3 x ghoul will attack them from area 22

OTHER
the cloth is mostly heavy woolen fabric, all in poor condition

22. Cable tier

DESCRIPTION
Ahead of you lies another of the pillars. The stair to the right of it leads upwards, but is blocked by debris. Three barrels, ruptured and spilling hundreds of small dark objects across the floor, lie beyond the stair near the wall. To the left of the pillar, the doors hang open on an empty cabinet against the wall

Behind the pillar, the walls open to a triangular room, roughly 30’ wide at the base by 25’ long. The room is flanked by two large cabinets, but the floor is a tangled jumble of heavy ropes
Out of the room boils a cascade of hunched, pale, gangrel creatures with a fell light in their eyes; you’ve seen them before

SMELT/HEARD
An incredibly foul stench of death and rotting accompanies these horrid creatures (FORT SAVE DC 15 IMMEDIATELY) as they snuffle and slaver towards you
SPOT

SEARCH DC 19: In the bottom of one of the cabinets is a heavy wooden toolbox, with sets of tools wrapped in oiled leather against the damp

MONSTER
2 x GHASTS
4 x GHOULS

OTHER
Most of the rope coiled on the deck is tangled beyond recovery, and is in any case mouldy and rotting. The cabinets contain a variety of rusty tools. The wrapped tools are a 25 pound set of MW Armourer Tools (v.350 gp)

23. Hold (Aft)

DESCRIPTION
This broad area of the cellar contains dozens of large wooden barrels, some of them leaking, as well as heavy crates and wooden boxes

SMELT/HEARD
The stench of rotting flesh and decay is growing stronger again
But there is also a definite scent of vinegar in the air here

SPOT
(FIGHTER WISDOM CHECK DC 14: The vinegar smell is reminiscent of military ration wine)

MONSTER
nil

OTHER
The barrels contain gone-over “vinum”, military sour wine
The crates contain the remnants of ration biscuits and jerked meat

24. Hold (Midships Aft)

DESCRIPTION
Back here by the rear pillar, two heavy wooden doors are set into the wall. In one corner of this room, 18 heavy wooden casks, smaller than the others, are secured against the wall with stout ropes. In the other, two cabinets (one smashed open) and a stout barrel stand in a relatively open space.

SMELT/HEARD
As you approach the pillar, your sense of unease increases, and the heavy stench of death, decay, and mouldy earth seems to rise again

SPOT
SEARCH DC 16: the cabinets are empty. The lone barrel is packed with oiled hay and seems to hold chainmail (if emptied, 6 chainmails shirts, only slightly rusted)
ALCHEMY DC 12 / WISDOM DC 17: the barrels hold some form of distilled liquor
LISTEN DC 26: You can hear slight movements behind the solid doors

MONSTER
nil

OTHER
One of the mailshirts is a MW CHAINMAIL SHIRT (although due to the condition of the stuff it will take close inspection of all six, for not less than one minute apiece, by a trained fighter or armourer to identify it)

25. Hold (Aft) - FINAL ENCOUNTER

DESCRIPTION
This room is about 40’ wide and 25’ deep, but the back wall has been largely smashed away, and opens into a large, ragged mud cavern

** You gain only an instant’s appreciation of the contents of this room – barrels, cabinets, an altar – behind the many fell creatures that hear your entrance and lurch, lunge and leap towards you: tall skeletal warriors, armoured and armed; lurching corpses; and yet another of the slavering, gangrel creatures, this time bearing chainmail and a rusty cutlass

Four low cabinets and a half-dozen barrels are stacked here. The wooden ceiling is cluttered with hanging bits of rope and even some chain, and oddly-shaped wooden pieces dangle here and there

Between the doors is a 4’ high, 3’ wide, 8’ long table completely covered by a scarlet altar cloth that reaches to the floor

SMELT/HEARD
The stench of decay, death and the grave has never been stronger; heavy chill in air, seems to steal your breath (FORT SAVE DC 14, or -1 on all saves for 10 minutes)

SPOT DC 30: There seems to be a shadowy creature lurking in the cavern beyond this room

MONSTER
1 x WIGHT (Rusty chainshirt and rusty cutlass)
4 x ZOMBIES (Rusty chainmail, rusty boarding axes)
2 x SKELETONS (Rusty chunks of half-plate, spears)
RANT STRONGALE, Human Fighter 4 / Sorcerer 1 / VAMPIRE (MW Half-Plate of ancient elven design; MW large steel shield;, +1 Bastard Sword); [DM's note - sword and shield were left behind at File's Great Hall; Strongale will fight with his slam attacks and supernatural abilities]

OTHER
- gold vambraces set with mother of pearl plates (750 gp); worn by Rant
- Scroll of 2 spells (blindness, bestow curse); carried by Rant
- under the altar cloth (which is worth 90 gp) is Rant’s coffin, one of those from the forward hols, but in good shape
- under the coffin are two trunks (locked, PICK DC 22) Each contains 48 silver ingots, each of five pounds, wrapped in waxed parchment
- the cabinets contain mostly clothing and some remnants of rotted leather armour. One contains a half-dozen rusty cutlasses and four rusty boarding pikes; another contains 6 rotted longbows, four rotted shortbows, and an unstrong composite shortbow secured in an oiled leather bowcase (Mighty Composite Shortbow 1, excellent condition)
- the 12 barrels each contain 20 gallons good quality brandy, highly flammable
- inside Rant’s coffin, at the foot, is a large, brassbound casket of ebon wood with an elaborate lock (PICK DC 26). The key for this lock is inside the lining of Rant’s coffin near the head (SEARCH DC 28). The casket contains the ORB OF UNDEATH.

TACTICS

-If Rant knows the party is coming, he will hide himself, allowing his minions to absorb the party’s attacks. As they are engaged, he will use the scroll to cast blindness on the most dangerous-looking character.
- If his minions look likely to be defeated, Rant will summon a wave of small vermin (rats and spiders) to assist them; these will arrive in 1d4 rounds.
- If the party appears weakened, he will wait until they seem to believe they have won and then attack, first by attempting to Charm the nearest spellcaster, the using his scroll to bestow curse on the strongest remaining fighter.
- Rant will then use two slam attacks per melee round
- If brought below 10 HP he will assume gaseous form and attempt to escape from the ship (the only way out is via the tunnel entrance).

ESCAPE: If Rant escapes, he will return to File’s mansion, where he has a secondary coffin in the family crypts beneath the Chapel. [DM's note: And where he is keeping something else...bwahahaha]

PARTY TACTICS

- If the party attempts to throw the silver ingots at Rant, they have a range increment of 5’ and cause 1d4 damage (1d6 if used as a bludgeoning instrument).
- recall that all improvised weapons are -4 to hit.

(Background note: Rant was slain, and spontaneously raised as a Vampire Spawn, by the Orb of Undeath, as were all of his crew members. He survives by venturing out and attacking caravans (never the town!). He avoids raising new Vampire Spawn; he prefers to bring back victims to consume, or to be raised by the Orb as new minions.)

* * * * *

MAJOR MAGIC ITEM:
The Orb of Undeath

Orb is 12” in diameter, smoky black/brown glass; weighs 35 lbs. Anyone looking closely can see glints and sparks, and can make out a skull inside (HEAL/WILD LORE DC 12 – elven skull). The Orb stands on a twisted silver/platinum tripod (12 lbs)

ANCIENT HISTORY (DC 30)
The Orb is a powerful artifact created by Golgothantrin, an evil Elven cleric of fearsome reputation who lived eons ago. A master of the art of raising and controlling the Undead, at the height of his powers he took up residence on the Negative Material Plane in a fortress constructed entirely of shadows. The Orb is allegedly his failed attempt at eternal life. Hoping to return as an all-powerful Lich, he devised the Orb as the ultimate phylactery. But something failed in his calculations (or he was betrayed by his apprentice), and instead of returning to rule the world from beyond the grave through his legions of Undead minions, his severed and acid-washed skull ended up as the world’s most hideous snow-globe. This terrifying object was once in the possession of a powerful dark wizard, Ergon of Boorn, but disappeared centuries ago, and was thought lost. Legend has it that Golgothantrin will eventually escape from this crystalline prison to wreak his vengeance upon the descendants of his betrayer. Meanwhile, it is said that Ergon of Boorn succeeded where Golgothantrin failed, and mastered the secrets of Undeath, and endures even unto this day.

Any cadaver within 50’ of the orb will rise as an undead of its former HD within 1d4 hours.
(d%: 01-50 Skeleton, 51-80 Zombie, 81-95 Ghoul, 96-98 Ghast, 99 Wight, 00 Uberwight (full HP))

Any mortal who comes within 50’ of the Orb immediate feels unease, discomfort and a powerful sense of evil; after an hour they begin to feel weak, ill and terrified. Any mortal who comes within 20’ of the orb must make a FORT SAVE once per day, or gain one negative level. Effect is cumulative until individual moves more than 100’ from Orb for more than one day; or until individual becomes immune to Orb by succeeding at 3 consecutive FORT SAVES. DC to remove negative level is 18. Paladins are immune to this effect. Any mortal who reaches 0 levels through exposure to the Orb will immediately die, and will rise as a powerful undead of their level (Level 0-2 = Ghoul, Level 3-6 = Wight, Level 7+ = Vampire, Spellcasters of Level 11+ = Lich).

Any mortal who touches the Orb with bare hands must make the above FORT SAVE immediately at -2. If they fail, they gain two negative levels for the day. Whether they fail or succeed, they must make an immediate WILL SAVE at -2 or be affected as per BESTOW CURSE, with 1d6 damage to both INTELLIGENCE and WISDOM. If the Will save is successful, the individual can use orb to raise Level x d6 HD of Undead per day. The Orb also gives the user ability to control undead as Cleric of his level, with +10 on rolls to do so. The Orb doubles the user’s control undead checks per day. A successful user need only make one Fort save per month to avoid the Bestow Curse effect (although the Fort save is automatic if the user loses a level)

Any Undead raised by the Orb, if the Orb is still in possession of the raiser, will obey the raiser implicitly, and so long as they are within 100’ of the Orb, will have +2 turn resistance (cumulative).

* * * * *

Post-Script: You'll note that I didn't include a major magic item description for Rant's +1 bastard sword. That's because the Party is still carrying it around and hasn't yet figured out what to do about it. I included the description for the Orb of Undeath because Alric decided that the best way to deal with a superpowerful crystal ball was to smack it with Viloriannis' +1 blessed Mace. You'll find out how that little brainwave turned out in our next instalment.

The Party

Since all the ersatz Stick-folk are complete, it would seem appropriate to provide you, gentle reader, with a composite Party shot.

So here it goes. I give you...The Brotherhood of the Wyrm (plus Bjorn, who technically is not a member of the Brotherhood per se, but who has been with the Party since just after Bornhavn.)

Homage to the Stick - VII

Well, that took some doing, but now we have a complete stick-party!

The final member of our happy little gang is Gwendilyne.

Gwendilyne

Halfling

Rogue 8

Money quote: "Give back the necklace? BOOOOO!!!"

Gwendilyne, a charter member of the Party, first made the acquaintance of her colleagues on that fateful day back in Aeryn when Breygon, Alric and Qaramyn were undergoing try-outs for the Watch, and she was taking advantage of the crowds to lift a few purses. She quickly discovered that a 35-pound Halfling suffers a rather significant penalty on her Move Silently check when dragging a 45-pound sack of coins along the cobblestones. While the others gained admission to the Watch the traditional way, Gwen enrolled as an alternative to a lengthy period of incarceration.

Since that day, she has been invaluable as a source of thieving skills, sneak attacks, and hilarity. Her Move Silently and Hide checks are now so high that she has to make a conscious effort to be noticed by her team-mates. Since Aeryn, she has been making remarkable progress in restraining her larcenous tendencies - much to everyone's disappointment.

Greywind

I've mentioned on a few occasions that the Party's ranger, Breygon Sylvanus, has as his animal companion a great silver wolf known as Greywind. Greywind has been with the party since that fateful night (described below) when they rescued him from the crazed huntsman Baltun Cicero and his goblin henchman, Patchkin.

Since then, Greywind has been adventuring alongside the Party as an NPC cohort of Breygon. Thus far he has only missed two fights: the Battle of File's Hall (when he was down by the river, washing the filth of the Great Swamp out of his fur); and the Battle of the Broken Temple (of which more later), when he was unable to climb the cliffs and ropes in order to get into the ruins where the battle took place. Other than those two occasions, he has been a boon companion.

As you may have guessed, he's more than just a regular wolf. Because he has an Intelligence score above 3, he has been able to gain experience and advance along with the Party members; and because he is a Half-Celestial Winter Wolf, his class level advancement is as a Paladin of Tioreth.

Here, for your information, are his stats:

Harroaharg (Greywind)
Half-Celestial Winter Wolf / Paladin of Tioreth 3

HD: 6d10+30 + 3d10+12 (104 HP)
Init: +7 (+3 Dex, +4 Improved Initiative)
Speed: 50’, swim 20’
AC: 19 (+3 Dex, +6 Natural)
Attacks: Bite +12 (+7, +4 Str, +1 W.F.)
Damage: Bite 1d8+4
Face/Reach: 5’x5’/5’
Spec. Atks: Trip, Breath Weapon, Spell-Like Abilities
Spec. Qual: Scent, Celestial Qualities
Saves: F+12(+16), R+7(+10), W+7(+9), (+1 to all saves due to Divine Grace)
Abilities: S 18, D 16, C 18, I 6, W 14, Ch 12
Skills: Hide+9*, Jump +8, Listen+11, Move Silently+10, Spot+11, Survival+8**
Feats: Alertness, Combat Reflexes, Dodge, Improved Initiative, Track, Weapon Focus (Bite)
Treasure: None
Alignment: Lawful Good
Size/Weight: 4’ at shoulder, 51/2’ long, 180 lbs

SPELL-LIKE ABILITIES (Celestial)
At will: Light as the spell; soft light emanates from fur, shedding light in 20’ radius; he does this automatically when it is too dark to see, unless there is a good reason not to
3/day: Protection from Evil, self only, 1 minute per level (+2 AC, +2 saves, blocks mental, no contact)
1/day of the following three: Cure Serious Wounds (cures 3d8+6, by licking wounded creature); Neutralize Poison (by licking wounded creature); Remove Disease (by nuzzling affected creature)

SPECIAL QUALITIES / ABILITIES
Trip: A wolf that hits with a bite attack can attempt to Trip the opponent as a free action
Scent: **Wolves receive a +4 racial bonus to Survival checks when tracking by scent
Breath Weapon: Cone of Cold, 15’ long x 15’ wide, once every 1d4 rounds; 3d6 damage, Reflex half DC 17 (Breath weapon can be used while biting; eliminates reflex save)
Celestial Qualities: Darkvision 60’, immune to acid, cold, disease and electricity; +4 racial bonus to poison saves
Skills: *Hide: +2 racial bonus in wooded areas; +4 racial bonus in snowy or icy areas

CLASS FEATURES (PALADIN)
Detect Evil: at will as CL 3 (60’ range, up to 10 minutes/lvl, 1st rd: presence of evil, 2nd rd: number of evil auras, 3rd rd: strength and location of each aura)
Divine Grace: apply Charisma bonus (+1) to all saving throws
Lay on Hands: heal up to charisma bonus x level HP per day (3 HP/day)
Divine Health: immune to all magical and natural diseases
Aura of Courage: immune to Fear effects; allies within 10’ gain +4 on saves against Fear (Su)
Smite Evil: once per day, add Charisma modifier to attack roll (+1) and deal extra point of damage per level (+9)
Remove Disease: as per spell, once per week (by licking victim)
Turn Undead: 3+charisma bonus attempts per day, as cleric level 1
[Spells] – gained beginning 4th level
[Special Mount] – Harroaharg will never gain a special mount
[Code of Conduct/Associates] – Harroaharg will never retreat from a battle with evil, except to save his colleagues

Harroaharg is descended from the union of Tioreth, the Servant of Tian the Just, and a great winter wolf (of all wolves descended of this union, 90% are normal, but good-aligned, wolves, 9% are Aasimar wolves, and 1% are half-celestial wolves) . He appears, for all intents and purposes, to be a normal, large silvery-grey wolf, standing 4’ at the shoulder and measuring 51/2’ nose to tail, but is stronger, tougher and more solid than usual for his species. His coat is mostly silver-grey, with frost and silver markings, and a hint of black around the eyes. There is the barest hint of a pearlescent sheen to his coat that becomes brighter when he runs.


When he uses his Smite Evil attack, sparks fly from his fangs. He understands the Elven tongue, but does not speak it himself, although due to his native intelligence, he is sufficiently expressive that anyone using the “Animal Empathy” skill to understand him does so at +10. Finally, he is steadier in battle than normal wolves, particularly against evil creatures, and is adamant about upholding wolfly “propriety” (i.e., proper behaviour towards the pack leader, et al.)

Other wolves tend to act fawningly around Harroaharg, with the exception of Wargs and Hellhounds, which either attack or flee on sight. Winter wolves both fear and respect him.

Homage to the Stick - VI

One more for tonight. Gents, feast your eyes on Lyra Alyra, spellslinger extraordinaire.

Lyra Alyra

Hiarsk*

Rogue 1 / Sorceress 5

A native of the northern metropolis of Ellohyin, Lyra left town on a fast horse after giving an excessively friendly acquaintance a souvenir scar in a place that makes it uncomfortable to wear a belt, and fell into Bjorn's company in the charming mining town of Dolin's Pit, ten leagues south of Ellohyin. The two travelled together until they linked up with the rest of the Party, shortly after Qaramyn and Alric had left the Party to go their separate ways.

Lyra likes fine wines, soft music, hot-tubbing, picking the pockets of love-struck noblemen and then stabbing them, and using her alarmingly high charisma to get a discount at Banana Plutocracy.

(*You'll recall, from the Tale of the Hiarsk in the Ancient History posts below, that the Hiarsk are the hereditary race of half-elves descended from Niamlo, daughter of Braea, and the Esudi Chuadwaith.)

The Anari (II) – Vara

A little while ago, I covered the first two of the Anari – Bræa and Tîan – in the first instalment of what will eventually become a comprehensive look at the Powers of Anuru.

Now for the second part – the next of the divine siblings among the Anari, the eldest of the Gemini Sophum, the Wise Twins – Vara.

* * * * *

VARA
The Compassionate One

Vara, the third sister of the Anari after Bræa and Tîan, is the elder sibling of Hara. The twins are not identical, but were formed from the union of the Forces of Anā and Ūru at the same instant, and share the same quiet wisdom. But while Hara turned his fearsome intellect to the mastery of magic and the movements of stars in the Heavens, Vara strove instead to understand the deepest mysteries of the Earth. Thus where Hara’s mastery of the most profound arcane lore evoked in him a lust to impart his knowledge, at first to the Minions of Light, and later to the Children of Bræa, Vara’s studies and investigations drove her to love all of the creatures of the world, whether of dark or of light; and to take pity on their mortality, and their brief span of time in a life that was often brutal, painful, and short.

It was Vara who first bent the magicks of the Universe to repair the ravages inflicted on the mortal bodies of the Children and the Animals, by fate, by each other, and even by time. And so, although she since passed her powers on to her principle Servants in the realm of healing, those in these latter days who seek only weal still venerate Vara, calling her Misericordia, the Compassionate One, in the langue of the Elves; or in the Old Tongue of the Dwarves, Ágýmana, The Healer.

But to the Yonarri, who mistrusted her as the bringer of an easy death, she was called Mjotuðr, The Fate-Giver; and she was thought to be in league with Tvalt, Master of the Long Hall. For to the Yonarri, as to their descendents, the bearded wild men of Jarla, nothing was feared so greatly as death coming to a warrior in his bed, brought by a woman’s hand.

Alignment: Neutral Good
Sphere(s): Compassion, Healers
Sigil: White Hand and a gold star on a grey field
Preferred hues: White and gold
Preferred weapon: Open hand / staff
Worshippers’ alignment: Any Good
Domains: Creation, Good, Healing, Liberation, Purification, Water

Church: Major (2): The White Hand (Mirabilis); and The Healing Hand (humans)

SERVANTS

THANOS, Lord of the Waters

Greater Servant

As the seas were the first of the many parts of the Earth to be created, so was Thanos the first of Vara’s Servants. He has many forms, but the oldest and most terrifying is his true appearance: that of a white-capped wave, taller than a mountain, crowned with clouds and jagged spears of lightning. But this form is seldom seen; he appears, more commonly, like a Storm Giant of the Waters, mightier than a titan, with a fish’s tail, and the wings of a manta; and he bears a razor trident, with which he can summon storms.

Thanos, like the ocean, is a being of pure chaos; but in his obedience to his mistress, he is also merciful, giving life as well as taking it. He heeds the supplications of all who live beneath the seas, or travel on its surface, and does what he can to aid those distressed by the mindless might of the waters; yet even he is not omnipotent, and cannot reverse the verdict of the waves. Therefore sailors venerate him; not to bribe him, or even to seek his blessing, but to join Thanos in his respect, and love, for the only true omnipotence upon Anuru: that of the endless waters of the world.

Alignment: Chaotic Good
Sphere(s): Oceans, Water, Sailors, Sea Creatures
Sigil: Black waves over a white trident on an ocean-blue field
Preferred hues: White and ocean blue
Preferred weapon: Trident
Worshippers’ alignment: Any Good
Domains: Animal, Knowledge, Liberation, Mysticism, Water

Church: Minor (mostly humans)

VARANETH, Lady of Mercy

Greater Servant

Varaneth was the second of Vara’s Servants to be appointed. A maiden of the Haradi, nameless, black-haired and beautiful, orphaned by the horrific wars between her people and the monsters of Bardan during the Age of Making, she was scarred by rapine and murder at an early age; and, fleeing her burning home, concealed herself in a wood. The murderers – blind, shambling atrocities spawned in some sunless pit beneath the cellars of the world – betook themselves to the same forest to refresh themselves. The nameless child came upon them in their sleep, and would have slain them where they lay; yet she saw that they, too, were sore wounded; and so, in her pity at their wounds, but also at the foul perversions of the flesh visited upon them by their dark master, she made poultices, and bound their wounds, and brought them fresh water; and still, when they woke and saw that she was of the enemy, they slew her.

Yet Vara had herself been witness to the battle, and she sought out the spirit of the nameless child of Harad in the Long Halls of Tvalt; and Vara bespoke her, saying, “Who art thou, that layest only the hand of kindness upon thine enemies, when by rights thou shouldst have slain them?”

And the spirit of the maiden answered, “I have no name; and as for thy question, I bound their wounds, and would do so again, though they slew me; for are they not mortal too, bound like me to the wheel of the world, and thus deserving of my love and aid?”

Hearing this, Vara said, “Nameless art thou no more; for thou art the true embodiment of the spirit that I wouldst fain send unto the Earth, for its healing; and therefore I name you Varaneth, which is Spirit of Vara; and I offer you my hand, and an eternity of labour in my service, bringing mercy even unto them that merit it not.”

And Varaneth took her mistress’ hand, and together they left the domain of Tvalt; but as they departed the Long Halls, Varaneth was heard to whisper, “Especially unto them that merit it not.”

Alignment: Chaotic Good
Sphere(s): Mercy, Healers
Sigil: White Hand and a gold star on a grey field
Preferred hues: White and gold
Preferred weapon: Rope or lasso
Worshippers’ alignment: Any Good
Domains: Death, Dream, Healing, Liberation, Purification

Church: None (isolated followers only)

XARDA, Lady of Healing

Lesser Servant

The origins of Xarda are ancient, but not mystical; one of the Minions of the Light, she was venerate by her brethren because she wielded a power unknown to her fellow Anari: with one hand she could bring a peaceful, restful slumber to any creature upon Anuru, and even unto the mightiest of the Minions, of dark or of light; and with the other, she could heal any wound, purge the body of any poison, repair any torn flesh, or quell any malady to which flesh was susceptible. Because of these powers, Vara sought her out, and made her one of her Servants.

Since the Age of Wisdom, Xarda has been the deity of Healing; and her followers share some of her immense powers of healing, including that of peaceful restfulness and slumber to those they touch. Her acolytes report that she appears as a woman of the Esudi, red-haired, and clad in a white cloak; but her temples oft depict her as she was before she became Vara’s Servant: as a winged Minion of the Light, gazing down upon the afflicted under her care.

Alignment: Neutral Good
Sphere(s): Healing, Healers, Midwives
Sigil: White Hand and a gold star on a grey field
Preferred hues: White and gold
Preferred weapon: Staff, Touch of Slumber
Worshippers’ alignment: Any Good
Domains: Creation, Healing, Mind, Purification, Strength

Church: Minor (Mostly humans, some Elves, Halflings and Dwarves; Healers)

AVATARS

None.

* * * * *

Note 1: This image depicts the cherrywood statue of Xarda, which is located behind the Altar in the ruined nave of the Temple of the White Hand in Bymill, where Gwen was taken by her kidnapper, and from which the Party had to rescue her. But that is a story for another day.

Note 2: Traditionally, the sigil of the followers of Vara, Varaneth and Xarda was nothing more than the White Hand. This symbol came to be seen as tainted in latter years, when the Knights of the Order of the Hand deposed the Vendicar in Ekhan, and took over the Empire whilst under the control of the Theocracy of the Hand. The brutality of the Theocracy was such that it sparked rebellion and led to the Schism (see my post on The Healing Hand, below), splitting the followers of the Hand into two groups: those who remained true to the Theocracy (and who retained the simple sigil of the White Hand on a black field); and those who accepted repentence and atonement, and who now employ the modified sigil of a smaller White Hand on a grey field, adorned with a golden star as the mark of their rejection of worldly wealth and authority.

Those who remain true to the Theocracy accepted exile to Mirabilis, and they continue to use the White Hand; but they have placed it on a field of red, to signify the blood that the Knights of the Hand have shed to defend their faith.

Homage to the Stick - V

Next up - the inimitable Joraz, a Tyrellian Monk engaged in a quest to hunt down his master's killer, and recover (from his stiffening corpse) the last of the Three Books of Tyrellus.

Joraz is a master of unarmed combat, skilled at closing to melee range, attacking enemies with his devastating class abilities, which apparently include Stunning Fists, Flurries of Blows, Maintaining an Inscrutable Silence, Running Really, REALLY Fast, and Repeatedly Going Below Zero Hit Points.


Joraz
Human
Monk 8

Money quote: "I strike him with a Flurry of Blows. And then, I run away."

(Joraz' Player will be happy to see that I didn't draw him with the puffy green MC Hammer pants. Anything for you, buddy.)

As an added bonus, here's a representation of what Joraz looks like now, having assumed room temperature during the battle to rescue Magister Pandictus from the minions conjued by his rival, Araznul. Joraz is currently enjoying the benefits of a Gentle Repose spell, and is decorating the Bier of the Boðvarrmær in the Great Hall of the Allfather, under the watchful eye of Prelate Haugulf Hardfist, while the rest of the Party tries to put its hands on 5,000 clams worth of shiny rocks. Looks peaceful, doesn't he?

Homage to the Stick IV - Brother Bear

Man, this just keeps getting easier!

Herewith the 4th instalment in the visual dramatis personae of the Chronicles of Anuru. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you:

Bjorn Guthbrandr

Human

Fighter 2 / Cleric of Esu 5

Money quote: "Stop...hammertime."

Bjorn is a son of the frozen northlands of Jarla, who got his start in life as a warrior raiding nearby settlements. I'll post his backstory at some point in time, but to keep a long story short for now, he was Called to serve Esu, the Allfather (aka the Mikkelseggr) by one of Esu's Battle Maidens. To atone for a history of wanton slaughter, he was ordered to carry a massive anvil, bare-handed, to a neighbouring village. On his arrival, the Maiden reappeared to him, and the anvil was transformed into Bjorn's mystical warhammer.

The gigantic Greathammer he is shown carrying in the above picture is actually a different weapon, an heirloom of the Kingdom of Ostjarla that was given into his care by Prelate Hardfist in Bymill, who bore it himself for more than 30 years. It has tremendous magical powers, including the ability to...

..hmmm...let's keep that as a surprise for later.

Homage to the Stick (Part 3)

This one took a little longer, but I give you:

Breygon Sylvanus

Half-Elf Ranger 9

Money quote: "Frakkin' Correllon..."

More tomorrow. Well, today, I guess.

Homage to the Stick (Part Deux)

This beats the HELL out of watching Simpsons re-runs.

Alric Wolfsbane
(aka "Alric Wolfsnack")
Human Fighter 5

Alric is one of the founding PCs of the Party, a member in good standing of the Aeryn Watch. He picked up his surname whilst defending the party, during its first battle, from a pair of Dire Wolves. The fact that they were hungry Dire Wolves accounts both for his extensive facial scarring and his nickname.

Alric left the party after the Battle of the Sea Wyrm in Bornhavn (of which more later) when his Player decided to hang up his d20. I was unwilling to see such a fun PC disappear from the campaign, so Alric was transformed into a NPC. He remains a member of the Watch, currently on detached duty a hundred leagues to the south in Vejborg, where he is employed as a Lieutenant of Guards (working for the guy who gave him his first beating and his greatclub, Alric’s mentor and drinking buddy, Captain “Big” Ben).

Alric is depicted here wearing the buck-antlered helmet and the positively fab gilded masterwork scale armour that the Party found in the Crypt of the Barbarian King – despite the fact that, as soon as the Party arrived in Bornhavn, he traded it in, one-for-one, for a regular, run-of-the-mill chainshirt.

Some people have no fashion sense.

Homage to the Stick

In order to avoid infringing Rich Burlow’s copyrights, I’ve taken down our “party strip” based on OOTS graphics. Rich himself, however, invites fans of the Stick to create their own OOTS-style graphics – and it’s not all that hard if you only have to make one character (I wouldn’t want to have to come up with three 15-panel comics per week!). That’s too cool an invitation to pass up, so here’s my take on my old PC:

Qaramyn Lux
Human Wizard 5
Motto: “Most of life’s problems can be solved by setting something on fire.”

If I get the time, I’ll throw together representative images of our other PCs – perhaps starting with our old buddy, Alric Wolfsnack.

(Incidentally, I threw this graphic together in about 30 minutes, using a combination of MS PowerPoint, Windows Paint, and Adobe Photo-Editor. Piece of cake.)

Bornhavn, Day Two, Part Two

Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner?

When last we saw our heroes, they were relaxing at the Manse under the watchful eye of Viloriannis, the Hand of the Allfather in Bornhavn. For those who didn’t catch it from the synopsis of that day’s adventures, the chief cleric of a temple of the Allfather is known, in popular parlance, as the “Fist of the Allfather”, while his immediate subordinate, common called the Deacon, is known as “the Hand”. This occasionally gets confusing, as “The Hand” has two other meanings, one of which is the church of the Healing Hand, and the other of which is the Order of the White Hand (of which more later, as - once again - I am digressing here).

After the scuffle at the Shrine and the brief excursion into the Great Swamp by Breygon, Joraz and Greywind (which is what, according to the wolf, his true name of ‘Harroaharg’ translates into), the Party faced a difficult decision. Clearly they had identified at least one of the hiding places of the evil forces threatening Bornhavn. Equally clearly, however, they had an appointment with Sieur File, one of the major players in town, and somebody who – as the PCs had by now figured out on the available evidence – held the ear of their immediate superior back at Fort Ryker.

The decision wasn’t that hard. Given the choice between having dinner at a rich man’s mansion and cleaning out an underground nest of undead horrors at night, our intrepid adventurers gathered their gear, tidied up their clothing, and set out for hors d’oeuvres and champagne.

Actually, mutton-wrapped chestnuts and apple cider. Bornhavn ain’t exactly Rivendell, if you get my drift.

Anyhow, with the loan of a few articles of clean clothing from the Manse, they made themselves presentable, and presented themselves at the front door of File’s mansion (see below). Here they made the acquaintance of Gurm, File’s half-orc barbarian bodyguard, who was straining his limited intellect checking people against the guest list. I’d gone to the trouble of locating a good pic for Gurm, and sketching out some of his traits, which turned out to be something of a waste, as about half an hour later he was little more than a door mat for the wave of zombies and other sundry nastiness that came slobbering out of the woods. But I’m getting ahead of myself here.

Dinner was served in File’s Great Hall.

The other guests included File’s wife and two daughters, Melian (the cute one) and Mergot (the hound); Viloriannis; Reeve Beal Trite; the aged bard, Seel Trask; the brewmaster, Galdron of Bitterberg (who spent most of the evening eyebrows-deep in his own product); and a newcomer who proved most interesting. This chap, who introduced himself as Bane Tyrellada, was of the Half-Elven persuasion, although with more refined features than Breygon, indicating Hiarsk heritage. He appeared unarmoured, in fine but travel-stained clothing, bearing a rapier as his only weapon – and he was pretty evasive when questioned about what brought him to a sleepy little wagon-stop like Bornhavn.

At some point in time between the apple-stuffed pork chops and the pork-stuffed apples, a yell from Gurm indicated that something was amiss. This was followed, a few moments later, by similar yells from around the circumference of the mansion. A big house usually means lots of doors, which in turn means plenty of entry points when the bad guys have you outnumbered. And boy, did the bad guys ever have this particular dinner party outnumbered.

Alric and Gwen reacted to the first shouts by ducking through the tower and checking up on Gurm at the main entrance to the mansion. A half-dozen zombies were engaged in using the half-orc the way Stompin’ Tom Connors uses a half-sheet of ¾” plywood, so the fighter and the rogue barred the tower door (which looked pretty robust), and retreated into the main hall to report.

At about the same time, Viloriannis had gathered the File women and the other non-combatants into a tight group, away from the doors and windows, where she cast invisibility to undead on the women. Joraz began throwing furniture against the two doors leading to the kitchen, while Qaramyn and Breygon kept an eye on the windows. Viloriannis took advantage of the last few seconds available to consecrate the Great Hall (using, as her material component, one of File’s heirlooms – a solid silver candelabra weighing more than 20 pounds). For good measure, she also blessed the assembled company, then stood back, and waited for things to get worse.

They did, and quickly. The zombies, due to the need to make a decent climb check, weren’t able to get through the windows facing the inner court of the mansion, and so they smashed their way into the kitchen. The skeletons with them were a little faster on their feet, and so they were the first ones to try to get through Joraz’ makeshift barricade. Qaramyn waited until the first group was clambering across the heap of overturned chairs, tables and credenzas before hitting them with a burning hands spell. This smoked the first wave of skeletons, and made the barricade a lot more effective, for the time being anyway. Between the wizard’s magic missiles, the monk's fists of freakin' fury, and Viloriannis’ period turning checks, neither the skeletons nor their zombie allies were able to penetrate the Great Hall via the kitchen.

Back in the tower, things weren’t going so well. Balked at entering on the first floor, the shambling legions of the undead managed to find a way to the second story, and infiltrated the tower one level up (through File's bedroom window, actually). Breygon, Alric, Gwen and the newcomer Bane soon had their hands full when a series of ghouls came loping down the tower stairs. Bane surprised everyone by blasting the first ghoul down with a faceful of magic missiles before hauling out his rapier, and joining the others in the line of battle.

Between them, the four managed to dispatch nearly a dozen ghouls in relatively short order, but were stunned when the last creature down the stairs proved to be a dark-skinned, fleet-footed monstrosity with an unholy gleam in its eyes – something enormous, that might, in life, have been close kin to an ogre. It was a wight, and it charged the line and laid Alric out with a single blow, smashing him backwards and sucking the life force out of him. Breygon and Bane stood shoulder to shoulder while Gwen danced around to the rear, looking for an opportunity to flank the creature. Hard handstrokes ensued, but despite taking numerous wounds, the team eventually managed to put the creature down.

As it fell, they heard a harsh, unearthly bellow. Turning, the three saw an even more terrifying apparition standing next to the tower fireplace. Tall, armoured in plate of an ancient pattern, and bearing an equally ancient shield and a long, curved sword, this death-hued monster hissed at them, baring foul, razor-sharp fangs. It charged. Both Bane and Breygon managed to strike the creature, but it replied in kind, landing crushing blows with its sword. Gwen was able to dance around to its rear, but found that this creature was as immune as all the others to her fearsome sneak attacks.

The warriors traded blows with the new intruder for a few rounds, forcing it steadily backwards, until, in a flash, it dropped its shield and sword, and scampered up the wall to a corner by the ceiling, snarling and spitting at them. Breygon was trying to figure out what to do next when Qaramyn and Viloriannis appeared in the doorway. The wizard was out of spells, but Viloriannis called upon the holy might of the Allfather to banish the creature; and though her attempt to cow it into submission failed, the thing evidently did not like being cornered and outnumbered, for it suddenly dissolved into a cloud of black, writhing vapour, and vanished up the chimney.

Leaving behind, incidentally, its sword and shield.

And that, gentle reader, brings us to our next synopsis.

* * * * *

File surveyed the ruin of his hall with a jaundiced eye. Hundreds of crowns worth of fine oaken furniture lay in a smoldering ruin against the kitchen doors, and costly porcelain and silver tableware lay scattered about, trampled and broken underfoot. His priceless gnome-woven tapestries were rent and torn, and a haze of smoke still clung to the high, buttressed ceiling of the hall. No doubt it’s gotten into the upstairs linens, he thought glumly. The old cow will be unbearable.

“Sincerest apologies,” said a quiet voice behind him. File turned and saw that the visitors’ monk had joined him in inspecting the damage. The fellow seemed surprisingly unruffled by the past hour’s activities. File shook his head slightly.

“No apologies necessary,” he said gruffly. “These bloody beasts may have followed you to my home, but mine was the invitation, and I know how trouble follows the men of the Watch.” He snorted, and added, “How well I do know it.”

Around them, a bustle of maids and butlers attempted to set things to rights. There was a brief hiss as a duo of cooks emptied a cauldron full of water over the smoking remains of the burnt tables. Another servant splashed water from an ewer on the embers of what had once been a door-frame. Steam filled the air. Joraz looked around. “I don’t wish to minimize your loss,” he said, “but it might have been worse.” He nodded at the quiet knot of women huddled in the corner. Breygon had ordered everyone to remain together until the party could ascertain whether the enemy had, indeed, retreated.

“Indeed,” File replied. Then the old man took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and met the monk’s eyes. “Understand, I am grateful for what you did this night. This town and its people have suffered piecemeal from the depredations of these monsters for years. Perhaps it’s better to have it out all at once, and done.”

“I don’t think we’re done quite yet,” Joraz responded.

“Perhaps not,” the merchant agreed. “But you’ve made a good start. As for this,” he said, indicating the smoking rubbish with wave, “money built it, and money can repair it. But,” he added, “I’m a little upset about the tapestries.”

“We’ll finish the business elsewhere,” Joraz promised.

“Just so long as you finish it,” File replied.

* * * * *

The battle fury had abated, and Alric sat motionless with his back to the wall of the foyer, his club abandoned on the floor beside him, arms wrapped around his knees. Breygon squatted beside his companion, deeply concerned; the normally bluff and cheerful warrior was pale and shaking, his lips and eyelids so deeply blue as to appear bruised, and feet and knees trembling. There was an enormous, rapidly blackening bruise on his left cheek. “What’s wrong with me?” he whispered harshly.

“You were struck by one of the undead,” Breygon replied.

“I’ve been struck by them before, and all it did was knock me down,” Alric responded, a tremulous quaver in his voice. “It was nothing like this.” He held up one calloused hand, and Breygon saw that it was shaking uncontrollably.

Viloriannis joined them, dropping to one knee opposite Breygon. “This was a different foe, and mightier than any save the wampyr, the Dark One confronted at the last,” she said, touching Alric’s forehead lightly, then laying her hand on his chest directly over his heart. Clutching her amulet, she whispered a brief prayer that neither of them caught, and Breygon watched in admiration as the bruise on the warrior’s face faded and disappeared before his eyes. Alric felt warmth and life creep slowly back into his body; but an icy sliver remained, as if lodged in his heart, and the shivering did not abate.

“All respect, priestess,” Breygon said cautiously, glancing at the cleric, “but that doesn’t seem to have helped much.”

“I have not the power to undo the evil done to your friend,” she replied evenly. “I can heal his wounds, but the Allfather does not yet judge me worthy of that grace.”

Breygon nodded. “Can your master undo it?” he asked.

Viloriannis gave the ranger a long look. “He has the grace and wisdom,” she admitted at length, “but I fear he no longer has the strength to wield the Allfather’s might. You saw that earlier tonight. To merely attempt such a feat might be enough to bear him away to the Long Home.”

Breygon nodded again. “Then we cannot ask it of him.” He paused, considering. “Will Alric recover on his own?” Alric, who had been following the entire exchange from behind the veil of his weariness, turned his eyes to the cleric.

“He may,” Viloriannis answered. “With rest and prayer, his spirit may rally and throw off the evil that has been done to him. Or,” she added, “it may not. As with all things, it lies in the hands of the Allfather.”

Breygon said nothing. Alric glanced from the ranger to the cleric, and back again, then, to break the mounting tension, smiled wanly, and said, “Can I at least get something to eat while we wait, then?”

* * * * *

Bane Tyrellada squatted on his haunches a short distance away, examining the sword and shield abandoned by their enemy. He reached for the hilt of the long, heavy sword, and was surprised when a hand shot forward and grasped his wrist.

“Are you mad?” hissed Qaramyn.

“I do not fear the denizens of clay,” the half-elf replied.

“Well and good,” the wizard shot back, “but you should at least respect their toys.” Qaramyn made a few quick gestures and muttered a passage or two in the tongue of the magi, and the familiar expanding wave of light broke from his fingertips, spreading outward through the chamber. It washed over the sword and shield, causing the former to sparkle brightly in the firelight. Qaramyn couldn’t help noticing that certain items on Tyrellada’s person sparkled as well.

The half-elf grinned. “Well, now you know more than you did before. What next, oh wizard? May I proceed?”

Qaramyn frowned, unhappy at being openly mocked by a stranger. “Be my guest,” he replied sourly, secretly hoping for a bolt of lightning or unholy fire to wipe the smirk off the he arrogant son-of-a-satyr’s face.

Tyrellada made a few sharp gestures and spoke a single phrase in the hissing, sibilant language that Qaramyn recognized as the tongue of wyrms. A silvery mist spread from the half-elf’s outstretched fingers, flowing across sword and shield, and even to the fireplace before vanishing into the ether.

Bollocks, Qaramyn thought, angry that he had missed the obvious signs. A sorcerer! And, although he had never yet made use of that particular spell, he recognized its effects immediately; Tyrellada had examined the vampire’s abandoned arms for residues of evil, and found nothing.

The half-elf grasped the hilt of the sword and hefted it expertly. “Have you ever seen one of these?” he asked the wizard.

Qaramyn shook his head. “I’ve spent my life in libraries, not smithies,” he answered tightly, still miffed. Tyrellada smiled at the young mage’s consternation.

“You wouldn’t find one of these in any smithy,” he answered, “not today. Perhaps in a museum collection.” He stood and swung the sword gently, testing its balance. “This is a chalybs altus, the High Glaive of the Royal Guard. The Guard of the ancient Third House of Harad.”

“I know what chalybs altus means,” Qaramyn growled. He paused. “And it’s enchanted. How do you suppose that creature ended up with it?”

“We may never know,” the half-elf replied. He ceased swinging the sword around, and glanced closely at the blade, frowning. Then he held the weapon out to Qaramyn. “You’re a master of the High Elven tongue, oh wizard,” he said with a grin. “See anything interesting?”

Qaramyn took the sword gingerly, as if half-expecting it to bite him, and examined it closely. He had always found the martial weapons to be clunky, uncomfortable things, but this one seemed surprisingly light, well-balanced and swift in the hand, if somewhat long and heavy. The hilt was formed of some sort of dark, reddish wood, and felt smooth and comfortable in his hand. The pommel and guards seemed to be cast of heavy gold, and looked to be formed in the shape, respectively, of a stag’s hoof and horns. The blade was broad, razor-sharp, and appeared to be forged of a gray metal several shades darker than iron. Or perhaps it’s merely time, the wizard thought. Squinting in the firelight, he saw that the blade had been engraved with an intricate pattern of vines and leaves. Worked into the pattern, a series of elaborate runes lay half-hidden. He traced them with one fingernail, working centuries of grit out of the fine grooves.

“Appello me, adsumo me,” he breathed. He glanced up at Tyrellada.

“Name me…” the half-elf began.

“…claim me,” the wizard finished. “There are deep magicks here.”

Tyrellada nodded. “The ancient smiths of Elvehelm wrought well,” he said. “This is a princely blade.”

“’Name me, claim me’,” the wizard repeated. “But what is its name?” Qaramyn turned the sword over and scrutinized the pattern worked into the other side of the blade. He found nothing but vines and leaves.

“Another mystery for you to work out,” Tyrellada replied with a smile.

Qaramyn nodded. He paused for a moment, and then offered the sword hilt-first to the half-elf. “Or for you. You have as much a right to this as any of us,” he said, half-reluctantly.

Tyrellada’s mocking smile vanished. “I’ve misjudged you, wizard,” he replied gravely, “and I apologize. You have my thanks. But I’m happy with Laetificus, here,” he added, touching the hilt of the rapier sticking up over his left shoulder. “One of your number could make better use of a High Guardsman’s glaive.”

Qaramyn switched the sword to his left hand and held out his right. “We are well met in Bornhavn, Sieur Tyrellada,” he said. The half-elf smiled at the formality, but it was not a mocking smile.

“Blood-brothers call me ‘Bane’,” he replied, briefly touching his breast and brow before taking the wizard’s forearm in a warrior’s greeting. “Now, by your leave, I need to speak with your sergeant.”

* * * * *

“You certainly got stuck in quickly.”

Gwendilyn glanced up at the seneschal, Ligur Gulun, from where she knelt, examining the molten fragments of silver scattered about the flagstones of the floor where Viloriannis had cast her first spell of the battle. She had been considering trying to peel some of them up with her dagger when his voice had interrupted her.

She stood up, sheathed her blade, and wiped her hands on her trousers. “No guts, no glory,” she replied briskly.

Gulun crossed his arms and stared down at the diminutive thief. “That’s fairly brave for one as small as you.”

“Not really,” she shrugged. “When you’re my size, standing between two tall warriors is a safe place to be. The enemy has to make a special effort to hit me.”

“You’re the expert on battles, not I,” Gulun replied. He sat heavily on one of the few remaining chairs and ran a weary hand over his eyes.

“We’re all a little tired,” the Halfling said sympathetically.

“Don’t waste your sympathy on me,” the man said with a tired smile. “I merely have to figure out how costly it’s going to be to replace all of this furniture and flatware. You have to hunt down and destroy legions of the Undead.” Then he chuckled self-consciously. “Of course, given the choice between tackling some demon from beyond the grave and trying to pry coppers away from my master…”

“A little tight-fisted, is he?” Gwendyline asked, climbing nimbly onto one of the tables so as to be able to look Gulun in the eye.

“You have no idea,” the man replied. “Why, his strongbox is…” He stopped, eyeing her narrowly.

Gwendilyn nodded patiently. “Go on,” she said. “’His strongbox is…’”

Gulun stood up suddenly. “His strongbox is made of solid iron, little mistress, and is filled with poisonous snakes and guarded by dragons,” he said with a sudden grin. “Don’t you worry about it.”

Gwendilyn shrugged. “Just trying to help,” she said. “I could check it for you if you like. Make sure it’s safe. I know a thing or two about locks.” Gulun laughed and walked towards the doors to the tower, waving to her over his shoulder. “You can’t be too careful, you know,” she yelled after him. “There are thieves everywhere!”

* * * * *

“We were counting on your blade tomorrow,” Breygon said, rather more loudly than he had intended. Viloriannis looked up from where she was comforting the terrified serving women and the two File girls. The master of the house had already taken his wife upstairs, after issuing a strict invitation to all guests to stay the night rather than venture out into the dark, and she was waiting for an opportunity to speak with the leader of the Watchmen. Viloriannis did not ordinarily eavesdrop on the conversations of others, but with so much at stake, she put a finger to her lips to hush one of the kitchen wenches, and tried to focus her attention on what the two warriors were saying.

It proved to be fruitless. Tyrellada glanced around at Breygon’s out burst and switched to the High Elven tongue.

“Like you, brother, I hunt,” he said in a low voice, the delicate syllables falling effortlessly from his tongue. “And like yours, my hunt brooks no delay.”

“What is of such importance that it must take you away from those who need your sword?” Breygon asked in the same language. He frowned slightly; never having lived in the Elven homelands, his accent was harsh and uncouth by comparison.

Tyrellada glanced meaningfully down at Breygon’s right hand. “Belike you know already,” he said carefully. “I follow a warrior-mage of my father’s people, one who carries something wrongfully obtained.”

“What would I know about that?” Breygon asked bluntly.

“Much or little, I know not,” Tyrellada replied. “But you wear her ring.”

Breygon glanced down at the golden ring on his finger, and looked back at Tyrellada in surprise. “Hax?” he blurted out, lapsing back into the travelling tongue. “What did she do?”

“Softly brother,” Tyrellada replied, grasping Breygon by the upper arm. “I know not whether she is thief or no, nor whether she comprehends that which she hath borne away.” He paused, as if considering whether to continue. “But she carries a great heirloom belonging to my master, the Magister of the Ludus Astralis, the College of Stars.”

Astonished, Breygon said nothing. Tyrellada went on, “I tell you this in confidence, on your honour as a man of the Watch. I seek no harm to Orkarel Hax, but I must retrieve that which she carries, or my honour is forfeit. Perhaps my life.”

“That is not her real name,” Breygon said, still amazed.

“No, it is not,” Tyrellada agreed. “But it would be better for all of us if you forgot her real name, and if you wore that ring less openly. Her name and her sigul are known to more than just a few poor wanderers on a forgotten road in the northern wastes of the world.”

Breygon nodded, clenching his fist around the ring. “So you’re leaving then,” he asked.

“I must,” Tyrellada replied. “She had a long start of me at the beginning, but I’ve narrowed it now. The chase is nearly done.”

“She mentioned she was heading for Aeryn,” Breygon said, after a moment’s reflection.

Tyrellada smiled. “And so another heart is ensnared,” he murmured. He touched his breast and brow after the elven fashion. Breygon echoed his gesture. “Farewell, brother. May the long road see you safe home.”

“May the stars light your way to journey’s end,” Breygon replied. Tyrellada nodded once, turned on his heel and strode quickly through the tower doors and out of the mansion.

* * * * *

Viloriannis noted their exchange, and while she could not understand the Fair Speech, she was enough of a judge of character and human behaviour to understand that, despite some unknown tension between the two half-elves, they had parted as friends.

“He’s leaving, then?” she asked, approaching Breygon, who appeared to be staring at his hands, lost in thought.

“Hmmm…yes,” the ranger replied. “He has duties to attend to.”

Viloriannis folded her hands in her sleeves. “A pity,” she murmured. “He is a talented warrior.”

“And other things besides,” Breygon agreed. He glanced over at the cleric, as if noticing her suddenly. “My apologies, priestess. My thoughts were elsewhere.”

“Entirely understandable,” she replied. “You’ve had a long day.”

“Tomorrow will be longer,” he answered, easing his shoulder and scratching absently at the blood-soaked linen bandage that covered the dreadful wound he had taken from the vampire’s sword.

“Tomorrow we shall be better prepared,” Viloriannis replied. “I take it, then, that you intend to wait for daylight before moving against these creatures?”

“I think it’s probably best,” Breygon replied. “We’re all in need of some rest. I don’t know about you, but I intend to keep the patrol here tonight and take advantage of Sieur File’s hospitality. But we’ll need to stop by the Rest for our weapons and armour before heading out tomorrow morning.”

“Wise,” Viloriannis agreed. “I’m sure the Sieur and his household will be glad of your presence. As for me,” she continued, “I must return to the Manse. I do not like to leave my Master alone, weak as he is. And my own arms and armour are there. Shall we agree to meet on the morrow?”

“At dawn, if that’s all right,” Breygon replied. “As you say, it will be a long day.”

“Dawn it is,” the cleric agreed. She made as if to lay a hand on Breygon’s bandaged arm, and he moved slightly. She glanced at him quickly, eyebrows raised.

“There are others in greater need,” the ranger said.

Viloriannis shook her head. “They can wait,” she replied sharply. “None of them can take your place tomorrow.” At Breygon’s reluctant nod, she stroked his wounded arm gently, whispering a prayer, and the hair stood up on the back of the half-elf’s neck as he felt the flesh and sinew knitting together under her touch. He shrugged out of the blood-stained cotton and saw that his arm and shoulder had been completely healed.

“My thanks, lady,” he said with a grin. “But I’m afraid the robe you loaned me is ruined.”

“Tomorrow will be a day for the hauberk,” she replied, “or the shroud. Either way, no one will notice the state of your clothing.”

“Well said,” he replied. Then he started suddenly, catching a familiar scent. Breygon glanced around quickly, and Viloriannis pointed at one of the open windows.

“Your friend is back,” she said softly.

Breygon looked – the enormous silver-white wolf had returned. With a nod to the cleric, he strode to the window and glanced out. Standing on its hind legs with its forepaws on the window ledge, the animal was taller than he. Breygon reached out and scratched its magnificent ruff, feeling the fur cold and damp against his fingers. The wolf’s tongue lolled out and it panted happily.

Welcome back, the ranger thought to himself, looking deep into the animal's eyes.

Good to be clean, the wolf sent, shaking its head vigorously and sending water droplets flying. It cocked its head at him. Fire? Fight?

Fire and fight, Breygon agreed. More fight tomorrow. Fight with us?

The wolf blinked and panted. The pack leader leads, it sent. The pack follows.

Breygon turned back to Viloriannis. “It seems we’ll be one more tomorrow,” he said wryly.

“And most welcome,” Viloriannis replied, surprising Breygon by bowing briefly to the wolf. It seemed to acknowledge her gesture, cocking its head and twitching its nose several times, although the ranger did not pick up any words or images. He raised his eyebrows, and the cleric merely shrugged.

“Until tomorrow, then,” Breygon said.

“Until tomorrow,” she replied. “By the by, the Allfather’s eye will be on this hall for a few more hours at least. It might not be as comfortable as a feather bed, but you’ll be safer here than anywhere else in this house.”

“My thanks,” Breygon replied. “Sleep fast, priestess.”

“And you, my friend.”

* * * * *

The Letter

I forgot to mention something. When the PCs came down to breakfast on their second day in Bornhavn, the morning cook brought Breygon a letter that had been left to his attention.

When Breygon opened the letter, two things dropped out of it: a small gold ring marked with an intricate pattern of leaves and vines; and a silver shilling, much tarnished.

The text of the letter was both intriguing, and pretty much self-explanatory. And it was written in an unfamiliar, exotic indigo ink.

* * * * *

Bornhavn, The Rest
Morning, 10th Lastreap

To Breygon “Advigilium”, Farewell!

The ring is for the horse. Take it, with my thanks.

The coin is for the halfling. Whence I come, when one receives a weapon, it is bad luck not to pay for it. Tell her that we’re even.

My name is for you alone. It will mean little in this tongue, yet still you may not wish to speak it aloud.

- Allymynorkarel Ayellohax

Occursus non fors inter Elvii
“There are no chance meetings between Elves.”

* * * * *

Breygon made a Knowledge(History) check and came up empty on the name.

But guess who’s still carrying a torch for the mysterious stranger.

All Hail the Order of the Stick!

[UPDATED]

You know, for people who pride themselves not only on being gaming geeks but also on being dedicated net-heads, the fact that we all went so long without becoming totally addicted to the Order of the Stick simply boggles me gulliver.

For those of you who aren’t familiar with it, the Order of the Stick is a net-based cartoon strip that began more than four years ago with this masterpiece. The strip’s genius lies, in my humble analysis, in three things:

1) it follows a very traditional D&D story arc, with heroes, villains and quests;

2) it does a marvellous job both of sticking to the 3.5 Edition rules, and highlighting the inanities in the rules structure that long-time players find annoying, or just plain weird; and

3) it’s funny. Damned funny.

The thing is so popular that four books have been published to date, and all of the major characters (and villains) have their own Wikipedia entries.

I’m in the process of buying all the books, and have been following the strip maniacally on the web. But OOTS has also brought us inspiration in many other ways. Breygon’s player got so chuffed about it that he located an OOTS avatar for each member of the original, and current, adventuring parties.

So without further ado, I give you the past…

[UPDATE - see below]

And the present!

[UPDATE - I created and posted these graphic compilations before reading the FAQ over at GITP, where Rich Burlow asks folks not to copy or modify his graphics. That's his right, of course, so in deference to his wishes I've taken the images down. All the more reason to get out my 2B pencil and come up with my own graphics, I guess!]

[I'm keeping it on my desktop, though! BWAHAHAHAHAH!]



Both offered with a hearty salute to creator Rich Burlew and Giant In The Playground comics.


You keep drawing them, Rich, and we’ll keep buying them!