June's winning entry was written by Brent Newhall, for the June Contest: Lost Artifacts. He can also be found on his website Brent P. Newhall's Home(page) and twitter under @brentnewhall.
Entry
I hereby present the Bladed Sandals. These nasty little shoes have blades woven or otherwise worked into the sole, allowing a simple side-step to draw blood.
BLADED SANDALS
Item Slot: Feet
Property: When you shift, perform a free basic melee attack, dealing 1d6 + half level damage.
Now, give these out to a bunch of kobolds. This basically gives each kobold an extra basic attack every turn, provided there's a square for them to shift into. Watch your players tremble at the sight of kobolds again!
Showing posts with label Roleplaying. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Roleplaying. Show all posts
Friday, July 22, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Anachronisms: The Veil of Crow
This entry was written by Alex Melchor, for the May Contest: Anachronisms. He can also be found on twitter under @Alex_Melchor.
Story
The sentries had done their job and the alarm had sounded in the camp before the orcs attacked the camp. The savages had certainly taken them by surprise, but Sir Roderick was not worried; his small unit had trained extensively for this situation.
His squire helped him quickly into his chainmail, the horns of the orcs now splitting the night with their horrid bleating. Normally, he would dispense with his plate to face the ambush, but he nodded at the squire to begin helping him don it. His men, with simpler armors, were following suit, not requiring as much help as he did.
The squire worked quickly, pulling the straps to secure the pieces of plate and simply letting them stick together by virtue of whatever magic made them work, saving precious time with each pull.
The men-at-arms were fully armed and armored when the orcs finally breached their camp's perimeter, surprising the orcs with their preparedness and handily routed the raiding party.
What had the wizard called this miraculous strap that had probably saved their lives? The Veil of Crow, or something...
Story
The sentries had done their job and the alarm had sounded in the camp before the orcs attacked the camp. The savages had certainly taken them by surprise, but Sir Roderick was not worried; his small unit had trained extensively for this situation.
His squire helped him quickly into his chainmail, the horns of the orcs now splitting the night with their horrid bleating. Normally, he would dispense with his plate to face the ambush, but he nodded at the squire to begin helping him don it. His men, with simpler armors, were following suit, not requiring as much help as he did.
The squire worked quickly, pulling the straps to secure the pieces of plate and simply letting them stick together by virtue of whatever magic made them work, saving precious time with each pull.
The men-at-arms were fully armed and armored when the orcs finally breached their camp's perimeter, surprising the orcs with their preparedness and handily routed the raiding party.
What had the wizard called this miraculous strap that had probably saved their lives? The Veil of Crow, or something...
Monday, July 11, 2011
Anachronisms: A Brutal Summer
This entry was written by Terrence van Ettinger, for the May Contest: Anachronisms. He can also be found on twitter under @LandrasGembar.
Story
It was a hot day in the midst of high summer. Garya's face was streaked with sweat as she trudged along the road that led from Greenvale to Ventar. Her endurance for such things was being pushed to its limits, and she feared she might be in danger of passing out at any moment. This summer was, without a doubt, the most brutal she had ever faced, unnaturally hot and extremely dry. Gilleth, learned in matters of weather, had expressed concern that it might indeed be the result of something beyond normal influences.
It was while she was contemplating this situation that Garya caught sight of something--a large, bright yellow something--just sitting at the side of the road. It looked, for all the world, like some sort of odd carriage, but with no horses, and no apparent way to hitch them up to it. The wheels appeared to be made from some strange material, and most of the carriage was metal, not wooden.
"Look at this, will you?" she said, addressing her traveling companions. "I've never seen anything like it!"
"It looks like it should be movable," Quaraz observed, his large Gnomish eyes taking in the sight with undisguised curiosity. "But if it's some sort of carriage--it seems to have no way to hitch it up." He walked directly up to the contraption and began examining it more closely.
"Quaraz, look!" exclaimed Sheliya, who had come up beside him. "It's got these handles on the side!" So saying, Sheliya reached out a slender hand and pulled up on the handle, marveling as a catch thunked from inside the thing, and what was now clearly a door opened up. Six pairs of eyes peered into the thing's interior, with its plentiful seating, made from fabrics none of them had ever seen before, and, inthe front, its massive wheel which reminded Gilleth of a sort of modified ship's wheel.
"Let me ensure that there aren't any traps on this," Sheliya proposed. “If not--at the very least it could perhaps provide us some shade for a moment. It looks like there'd be plenty of room for all of us."
"But wait," broke in Sivenna, her learned cleric's eye catching sight of some writing on the inside of the door. "There's some writing here--Quaraz, can you make sense of it?"
As Sheliya began her investigation of the structure for any sort of traps, Quaraz set to work casting the ritual that would allow him to make sense of the writing. It didn't take long for Sheliya to declare the vehicle safe to enter, and while everyone else piled into it, Quaraz completed his ritual.
"These letters here," he explained. "seem to translate to--” here his eyebrow raised in puzzlement. "Dodge. But why someone would write that on the inside of the door, I can't figure out for the life anymore than I know why the wind blows."
"What about this panel?" asked Garya. In her years growing up in the caverns, and in the time she'd been adventuring, she'd never seen anything that remotely compared with it. "Seems there's writing here too."
Quaraz and Sheliya both moved to examine what the stocky warrior woman was referring to. While the elf's lithe frame allowed her to examine the panel easily while sitting in the seat in front of it, it was necessary for Quaraz to stand to his full height in order to gain access to all the various dials, switches, and other bits that covered one side of the panel.
"What are these vents for?" Sheliya asked him. "If I had to guess, I'd say they had something to do with air flow for some reason. Perhaps that's how it runs?"
"Let me see," Quaraz replied, casting his bright blue-eyed gaze upon the area to which the rogue was pointing. By this time the others had all gathered themselves and their gear inside and had closed the door. Sevenna, who normally stood six foot nine, was forced to hunch over significantly in order to fit, but she vowed that the shade was well worth the extra effort. Especially when Quaraz suddenly flipped a small lever on the panel--and to everyone's amazement, cool air began to blow from the many different vents, not just up in the front, but all along the sides as well.
"What manner of strange magic is this?" Gilleth mused, half to himself and half to the rest of the group. "Well, it seems harmless enough." Just about that moment, a loud honking noise came from the vicinity of what they had decided must be the driver's area. Everyone jumped in surprise as the sound took them completely off-guard.
"Um, I believe that's my fault," Quaraz confessed. "There was a big pushable piece here," (he gestured to center of the large driving wheel.) "And I think we now know what that does."
"Quaz, what've I told you about doing things like that?" Fiarak admonished, calmly yet with a slightly stern edge to his voice. "You've been lucky so far--but one of these days--”
"Aye I know, Fiarak," Quaraz answered the red-haired, leather-clad ranger. "But I just had to know."
"You Gnomes and your inquisitiveness," the Eladrin muttered. All through this conversation, Sheliya was still examining the panel, and now returned to the compartment she'd seen when she first went over the carriage before. Taking another look at the actual contents, she came across a ring of keys.
The six of them continued to investigate the various parts of the strange carriage for a while longer, and eventually, between Sheliaya's defts, Quaraz's Gnomish fascination and his skill in understanding how things were put together, they eventually figured out just how to control the thing. They found that, even without draft animals to pull it, the thing could, in fact, move. It took some trial and error, but with experimentation and suggestions from Quaraz, Sheliya began to figure out just how to control the thing's movements, which were far faster than any carriage they'd ever seen. It was clear that, if they could keep it going, they could bein the next town far ahead of schedule, and avoid much of the brutal heat that had oppressed them thus far. Quaraz, reading through some documents he'd located, came to learn that this fast-moving, self-propelling carriage was known as a bus in the language of the strange writing, but one thing was certain: it sure made travel much more bearable.
Story
It was a hot day in the midst of high summer. Garya's face was streaked with sweat as she trudged along the road that led from Greenvale to Ventar. Her endurance for such things was being pushed to its limits, and she feared she might be in danger of passing out at any moment. This summer was, without a doubt, the most brutal she had ever faced, unnaturally hot and extremely dry. Gilleth, learned in matters of weather, had expressed concern that it might indeed be the result of something beyond normal influences.
It was while she was contemplating this situation that Garya caught sight of something--a large, bright yellow something--just sitting at the side of the road. It looked, for all the world, like some sort of odd carriage, but with no horses, and no apparent way to hitch them up to it. The wheels appeared to be made from some strange material, and most of the carriage was metal, not wooden.
"Look at this, will you?" she said, addressing her traveling companions. "I've never seen anything like it!"
"It looks like it should be movable," Quaraz observed, his large Gnomish eyes taking in the sight with undisguised curiosity. "But if it's some sort of carriage--it seems to have no way to hitch it up." He walked directly up to the contraption and began examining it more closely.
"Quaraz, look!" exclaimed Sheliya, who had come up beside him. "It's got these handles on the side!" So saying, Sheliya reached out a slender hand and pulled up on the handle, marveling as a catch thunked from inside the thing, and what was now clearly a door opened up. Six pairs of eyes peered into the thing's interior, with its plentiful seating, made from fabrics none of them had ever seen before, and, inthe front, its massive wheel which reminded Gilleth of a sort of modified ship's wheel.
"Let me ensure that there aren't any traps on this," Sheliya proposed. “If not--at the very least it could perhaps provide us some shade for a moment. It looks like there'd be plenty of room for all of us."
"But wait," broke in Sivenna, her learned cleric's eye catching sight of some writing on the inside of the door. "There's some writing here--Quaraz, can you make sense of it?"
As Sheliya began her investigation of the structure for any sort of traps, Quaraz set to work casting the ritual that would allow him to make sense of the writing. It didn't take long for Sheliya to declare the vehicle safe to enter, and while everyone else piled into it, Quaraz completed his ritual.
"These letters here," he explained. "seem to translate to--” here his eyebrow raised in puzzlement. "Dodge. But why someone would write that on the inside of the door, I can't figure out for the life anymore than I know why the wind blows."
"What about this panel?" asked Garya. In her years growing up in the caverns, and in the time she'd been adventuring, she'd never seen anything that remotely compared with it. "Seems there's writing here too."
Quaraz and Sheliya both moved to examine what the stocky warrior woman was referring to. While the elf's lithe frame allowed her to examine the panel easily while sitting in the seat in front of it, it was necessary for Quaraz to stand to his full height in order to gain access to all the various dials, switches, and other bits that covered one side of the panel.
"What are these vents for?" Sheliya asked him. "If I had to guess, I'd say they had something to do with air flow for some reason. Perhaps that's how it runs?"
"Let me see," Quaraz replied, casting his bright blue-eyed gaze upon the area to which the rogue was pointing. By this time the others had all gathered themselves and their gear inside and had closed the door. Sevenna, who normally stood six foot nine, was forced to hunch over significantly in order to fit, but she vowed that the shade was well worth the extra effort. Especially when Quaraz suddenly flipped a small lever on the panel--and to everyone's amazement, cool air began to blow from the many different vents, not just up in the front, but all along the sides as well.
"What manner of strange magic is this?" Gilleth mused, half to himself and half to the rest of the group. "Well, it seems harmless enough." Just about that moment, a loud honking noise came from the vicinity of what they had decided must be the driver's area. Everyone jumped in surprise as the sound took them completely off-guard.
"Um, I believe that's my fault," Quaraz confessed. "There was a big pushable piece here," (he gestured to center of the large driving wheel.) "And I think we now know what that does."
"Quaz, what've I told you about doing things like that?" Fiarak admonished, calmly yet with a slightly stern edge to his voice. "You've been lucky so far--but one of these days--”
"Aye I know, Fiarak," Quaraz answered the red-haired, leather-clad ranger. "But I just had to know."
"You Gnomes and your inquisitiveness," the Eladrin muttered. All through this conversation, Sheliya was still examining the panel, and now returned to the compartment she'd seen when she first went over the carriage before. Taking another look at the actual contents, she came across a ring of keys.
The six of them continued to investigate the various parts of the strange carriage for a while longer, and eventually, between Sheliaya's defts, Quaraz's Gnomish fascination and his skill in understanding how things were put together, they eventually figured out just how to control the thing. They found that, even without draft animals to pull it, the thing could, in fact, move. It took some trial and error, but with experimentation and suggestions from Quaraz, Sheliya began to figure out just how to control the thing's movements, which were far faster than any carriage they'd ever seen. It was clear that, if they could keep it going, they could bein the next town far ahead of schedule, and avoid much of the brutal heat that had oppressed them thus far. Quaraz, reading through some documents he'd located, came to learn that this fast-moving, self-propelling carriage was known as a bus in the language of the strange writing, but one thing was certain: it sure made travel much more bearable.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
The Agile Gamemaster: The Stat/Initiative/Combat Tool
Welcome to the Agile Gamemaster series. In this series, I will talk about some tools and concepts that gamemasters can use at the gaming table to respond quickly to whatever comes along.
As a gamemaster, you are the single most important element at the gaming table. You are responsible for a large part of the creative energy that happens during each session. You must be ready with plots, adventures and information about the world in which the characters exist. Being an agile gamemaster, then, means that you are prepared, quick with information and able to adjust to whatever is happening at the gaming table. You should not be a hindrance to what is happening, but rather be a driving force at all times. Being agile also means that you are not content with where you are as a gamemaster but are constantly trying to improve your gamemastering skills and the tools you use.
When you sit down in the gamemaster’s chair you assume a number of gaming responsibilities that are easily identified, things like designing in-game locations and events, portraying non-player characters and running combat. There are also a number of things that are not immediately obvious that are just as important and in a few cases more so.
One of those hidden items is in the area of combat management, specifically the tracking of combatant stats, initiative and effects. Without a solid, manageable way to control this area of the game, you will quickly find yourself spending too much time juggling notes and scrambling for room on the table. You will miss some of the things that are the very reason you game in the first place: the action that is happening right in front of you. What you need is a tool that can give you quick access to character and NPC stats; easily display initiative; track the effects that are applied to each combatant as they happen; and not take up a lot of extra space at the gaming table.
As a weathered gamemaster, I have tried over a dozen tools with mixed results. Sticky notes, 3x5 cards, custom-made tracking sheets, notebook paper and even digital devices. Each has great points but is lacking in others or has major drawbacks. Some give volumes of information but take up too much room. Others are small and compact but lack flexibility. The digital tools distract me with their multiple layers of functionality and too often take my eyes and attention away from the table. Some of the things I tried were just plain bad ideas.
Recently I hit on a tool that has minimal drawbacks and outstanding results. Have you ever noticed those little sales displays that sit on your table at restaurants? The ones that stand tall and in the way while you eat so that you will notice the desert selections and maybe spend extra money on your meal. What if, instead of deserts, they held all those important stats about your characters and NPCs right where you could see them easily? I call it the Stat-Initiative-Combat Tool or SInC for short (pronounced sync). SInC has high visibility but allows me to keep my eyes and attention on the game. It is easy to use, stays in place and takes up very little surface area on the table. I can quickly adjust the amount of information displayed. Effects and status markers can easily be added or removed. And they allow the initiative order to be displayed to everyone at a glance.
[caption id="attachment_1695" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="Stat-Initiative-Combat (SInC) Tool"]
[/caption]
In this single tool, I have finally found something that is game system neutral and has a permanent place in my gamemastering tool box. This close up of the tool in action is from one of my groups gaming sessions.
What follows is a set of instructions that will help you to create your own version of the SInC tool.
To make your own, you will need the following items:
Steps to create your SInC tools:
You are now ready to game, and hopefully you are a just a little more agile.
Here are a few shots of the SInC tool in action.
[caption id="attachment_1696" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="SInC tool gamemaster view"]
[/caption]
You can see in the picture above the green clothes pin indicating the character whose turn it is and a small stack of monster and trap print outs waiting for their encounter. You can very easily create your own stat sheets or use what is available from whatever game system you group uses.
[caption id="attachment_1697" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="The Throne Room battle "]
[/caption]
This was the battle of the throne room. There were 5 characters and 6 different types of monsters in this encounter. It was easy for me to manage the almost 60 combatants shown with no confusion or missed information. You can see many of the different game aids from Wizards of the Coast and Dark Platypus that we use here.
As a gamemaster, you are the single most important element at the gaming table. You are responsible for a large part of the creative energy that happens during each session. You must be ready with plots, adventures and information about the world in which the characters exist. Being an agile gamemaster, then, means that you are prepared, quick with information and able to adjust to whatever is happening at the gaming table. You should not be a hindrance to what is happening, but rather be a driving force at all times. Being agile also means that you are not content with where you are as a gamemaster but are constantly trying to improve your gamemastering skills and the tools you use.
When you sit down in the gamemaster’s chair you assume a number of gaming responsibilities that are easily identified, things like designing in-game locations and events, portraying non-player characters and running combat. There are also a number of things that are not immediately obvious that are just as important and in a few cases more so.
One of those hidden items is in the area of combat management, specifically the tracking of combatant stats, initiative and effects. Without a solid, manageable way to control this area of the game, you will quickly find yourself spending too much time juggling notes and scrambling for room on the table. You will miss some of the things that are the very reason you game in the first place: the action that is happening right in front of you. What you need is a tool that can give you quick access to character and NPC stats; easily display initiative; track the effects that are applied to each combatant as they happen; and not take up a lot of extra space at the gaming table.
As a weathered gamemaster, I have tried over a dozen tools with mixed results. Sticky notes, 3x5 cards, custom-made tracking sheets, notebook paper and even digital devices. Each has great points but is lacking in others or has major drawbacks. Some give volumes of information but take up too much room. Others are small and compact but lack flexibility. The digital tools distract me with their multiple layers of functionality and too often take my eyes and attention away from the table. Some of the things I tried were just plain bad ideas.
Recently I hit on a tool that has minimal drawbacks and outstanding results. Have you ever noticed those little sales displays that sit on your table at restaurants? The ones that stand tall and in the way while you eat so that you will notice the desert selections and maybe spend extra money on your meal. What if, instead of deserts, they held all those important stats about your characters and NPCs right where you could see them easily? I call it the Stat-Initiative-Combat Tool or SInC for short (pronounced sync). SInC has high visibility but allows me to keep my eyes and attention on the game. It is easy to use, stays in place and takes up very little surface area on the table. I can quickly adjust the amount of information displayed. Effects and status markers can easily be added or removed. And they allow the initiative order to be displayed to everyone at a glance.
[caption id="attachment_1695" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="Stat-Initiative-Combat (SInC) Tool"]
[/caption]In this single tool, I have finally found something that is game system neutral and has a permanent place in my gamemastering tool box. This close up of the tool in action is from one of my groups gaming sessions.
What follows is a set of instructions that will help you to create your own version of the SInC tool.
To make your own, you will need the following items:
- Table top menu stands. The shorter ones work well because they have a heavier and more stable base. You will need to get these from a restaurant supply store, which you can find online by searching for “tabletop menu card holders.” They range from $.50 to $2.00 each. Get as many as you think you will need. I used the 2¼” clip-type stand with 3” base.
- Large craft sticks, tongue depressors or long Popsicle sticks. One for each base you are going to make. Available at any craft store in packs of 50 for about $3.00.
- Miniature clothes pins. Also available at craft stores. A bag of 50 for about $5.00.
- Rubber bands. You will need one for each stand.
- Black magic marker or black model paint.
Steps to create your SInC tools:
- Paint or color your craft sticks black. This will help them to visually disappear when you use them.
- When they are dry, slide them into the holder portion of the stand in an upright position.
- Wrap a rubber band around the base of the clip. This will firmly hold the sticks upright and add a little more weight to each base. You can also disassemble them easily for storage and transport.
- Now take printouts of your preferred method of displaying character and NPCs stats and clip them to the stand. I used Wizards of the Coast DDI monster tool to print out creature stats and a custom Excel worksheet that formats all of the character information for the party and mounted them as you see in the pictures below.
- I painted one of the miniature clothes pins green to indicate which combatant is currently active in initiative.
You are now ready to game, and hopefully you are a just a little more agile.
Here are a few shots of the SInC tool in action.
[caption id="attachment_1696" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="SInC tool gamemaster view"]
[/caption]You can see in the picture above the green clothes pin indicating the character whose turn it is and a small stack of monster and trap print outs waiting for their encounter. You can very easily create your own stat sheets or use what is available from whatever game system you group uses.
[caption id="attachment_1697" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="The Throne Room battle "]
[/caption]This was the battle of the throne room. There were 5 characters and 6 different types of monsters in this encounter. It was easy for me to manage the almost 60 combatants shown with no confusion or missed information. You can see many of the different game aids from Wizards of the Coast and Dark Platypus that we use here.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Anachronisms: Contest Winner!
May's winning entry was written by Jim White, for the May Contest: Anachronisms. He can also be found on his website Wombat's Gaming Den of Iniquity and twitter under @twwombat.
Story
What if the adventurers find a full-color collating photocopier?
Consider: They open a cartography shop, able to recreate any map in mere moments. Since it's so easy, they take a copy of every map they reproduce, eventually compiling the most accurate atlas in the world, with every treasure clearly marked with an X.
Literacy rates will shoot upward since the bottom fell out of the book market, even though books are now bound with only a single staple in the upper left corner. Everybody earns training in history and geography, and many children learn the ways of the world with purloined copies of the bawdy (and graphic) "The Piercer and The Beholder".
When war comes to the kingdom, the party is put in charge of a generating and distributing propaganda leaflets which eventually end hostilities and lead to the annexation of the enemy country as a vassal state.
And don't get me started when they figure out the ink formula so they can photocopy viable magic scrolls. They'll have an unstoppable magic school where even apprentices can cast any first-level spell because scrolls are effectively free.
So it's not so much a party advantage as a world-changing device, but I still wouldn't want to be the gnome who has to keep it clean and free the paper jams all the time.
Story
What if the adventurers find a full-color collating photocopier?
Consider: They open a cartography shop, able to recreate any map in mere moments. Since it's so easy, they take a copy of every map they reproduce, eventually compiling the most accurate atlas in the world, with every treasure clearly marked with an X.
Literacy rates will shoot upward since the bottom fell out of the book market, even though books are now bound with only a single staple in the upper left corner. Everybody earns training in history and geography, and many children learn the ways of the world with purloined copies of the bawdy (and graphic) "The Piercer and The Beholder".
When war comes to the kingdom, the party is put in charge of a generating and distributing propaganda leaflets which eventually end hostilities and lead to the annexation of the enemy country as a vassal state.
And don't get me started when they figure out the ink formula so they can photocopy viable magic scrolls. They'll have an unstoppable magic school where even apprentices can cast any first-level spell because scrolls are effectively free.
So it's not so much a party advantage as a world-changing device, but I still wouldn't want to be the gnome who has to keep it clean and free the paper jams all the time.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
G4 TV's Icons: Dungeons & Dragons
A friend on twitter passed on a link to an episode of G4 TV's Icons about Dungeons & Dragons that I have never seen. It's really great, so I thought I'd post it here for others who haven't seen it as well.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
May Contest: Anachronisms
I wanted to start 2011 off with some contests and hopefully we can continue to run various contests each month here on the Wastex Games website. I now present the May Contest...
Pick a single piece of modern technology and have an adventurer find it. Assume that whatever magic brought it to the DnD world keeps it fully functional, even if it normally needs electricity, network connections, etc. Show how it could provide an advantage to your adventurer and his or her party, whether a combat advantage, or through being able to avoid conflict altogether.
There is no minimum or maximum word count required and it is open to anywhere Amazon.com will ship.
Submit your entry below and tweet the following on Twitter:
I just entered the May Contest at @WastexGames! http://bit.ly/jReaRy #dnd #rpg
If you wish to include any images, include a link to them in the form below. If you do not have a file sharing service, I highly recommend DropBox. It is free and if you use my referral link (here), both our accounts will receive an extra 250 MBs of storage.
The winner will get their choice of one of the three following items:
Lords of Madness - Miniatures 6-pc Booster Pack
OR
Deluxe Dungeon Master's Screen (4th Edition D&D)
OR
Dungeons & Dragons Fantasy Roleplaying Game: An Essential D&D Starter (4th Edition D&D)
Use the form below to submit your entry, submissions will be accepted until Tuesday, May 31st at 11:59 PM EST. If you have any questions or comments, ask away here in the comments! Good luck!
Contest is closed.
Anachronisms
Pick a single piece of modern technology and have an adventurer find it. Assume that whatever magic brought it to the DnD world keeps it fully functional, even if it normally needs electricity, network connections, etc. Show how it could provide an advantage to your adventurer and his or her party, whether a combat advantage, or through being able to avoid conflict altogether.
There is no minimum or maximum word count required and it is open to anywhere Amazon.com will ship.
Submit your entry below and tweet the following on Twitter:
I just entered the May Contest at @WastexGames! http://bit.ly/jReaRy #dnd #rpg
If you wish to include any images, include a link to them in the form below. If you do not have a file sharing service, I highly recommend DropBox. It is free and if you use my referral link (here), both our accounts will receive an extra 250 MBs of storage.
The winner will get their choice of one of the three following items:
Lords of Madness - Miniatures 6-pc Booster Pack
OR
Deluxe Dungeon Master's Screen (4th Edition D&D)
OR
Dungeons & Dragons Fantasy Roleplaying Game: An Essential D&D Starter (4th Edition D&D)
Use the form below to submit your entry, submissions will be accepted until Tuesday, May 31st at 11:59 PM EST. If you have any questions or comments, ask away here in the comments! Good luck!
Contest is closed.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Minions Encountered: Chamber of Fire
March's winning entry was written by David Flor, writer for BrainClouds.net, for the March Contest: Minions Encountered. He can also be found on twitter under @BrainClouds.
Chamber of Fire, a.k.a. Goblin Go BOOM!
Download the full encounter here: Chamber of Fire, a.k.a. Goblin Go BOOM!
Chamber of Fire, a.k.a. Goblin Go BOOM!
You enter a massive underground chamber that appears to be some sort of temple. At the far end is the goblin leader performing some sort of ritual to a large idol of Bane. In between you and the altar are two narrow bridges of stone that hang over a deep chasm of flowing lava. The goblin leader turns to face you and begins shouting, motioning several goblins in front of him to attack.
Download the full encounter here: Chamber of Fire, a.k.a. Goblin Go BOOM!
Monday, March 21, 2011
Army of One: Garrett The Amazing
This entry into the Army of One contest was written by Simon Matthews. He can also be found on twitter under @symatt.
Story
The warm yellow firelight reflected golden off the weak beer up onto Garrett's neck. The soles of his damp boots steamed gently as they face the open fire.
Smoke from countless pipes meandered about the shadow laden room. Maidens with dirty aprons and dirty hands negotiated bags, boots and reaching hands as they went about their business serving warm beer and pale meats. A mix of Local farmers, out of town traders, quiet solitary types and loud half naked warriors with weapons placed at their feet, yet always ready for a fight if the opportunity arose.
The stale taste of sweat and dirt is only just covered by garlic and smoke.
The cacophony of voices is broken from time to time with a burst of laughter or cheer from some other table or corner.
Being a Halfling didn't stop Garrett from mixing with every race and creed, he managed it so well. His clothes, of Noble make, well kept but showed their age, his boots had holes that had been repaired so many times that there wasn't an original piece left. His hair was unkempt, dark and hung in his eyes but he thought it gave him a mysterious look.
A sword, well he says it's a sword, no more than a long dagger really lay in the side grove of the high back chair he managed to acquire when an aged local left to relieve himself. Leaning against the back of that chair was a shield, way to big for one so small but it seemed to attract light like a candle attracts moths. A pattern of wind tossed leaves carved into the metal gave the feeling of motion where there was none.
"There I was, standing alone on the south end side of the bridge of Vakcher"
Raising his voice one more level.
"The entire city of Tyndall was behind me" garrett took a breath. "Women, children and the old stood trembling in fear, only I stood between them and certain death"
The halfling leaned forward to give more drama to his tail. Spilling beer on his leg which he failed to notice or just didn't want others to notice.
"The hordes of VAK stood before me with teeth gnashing and weapons bashing"
He demonstrated this by bringing his small hand hard down onto the arm of the wooden chair and bearing his teeth.
An audience of three had gathered about him now with a couple more peering over their shoulders.
"what did you do, what did you do?
A young adventurer of no more than twenty summers questioned, he sat against the hearth, an untouched drink in hand, questioning him again and again at every scene Garrett described.
"Shut up will you I'm coming to that bit" the flash in Garrett's eyes faded momentarily as the creative juices had been broken.
"Well as I said, I was standing......" garrett stopped looked at the lads goblet and looked back at the lad.
"Are you drinking that?"
Pointing a grubby finger with a broken nail at the young mans drink.
"Er..no..you can have it if you want" he passed it to Garrett, who then poured it into his own flagon.
The wood upon the fire crackled sending a delicate cinder spark drifting into the haze of smoke to then come to rest in Garrett's drink with a soft fizzle. Garrett took several loud gulps of beer and then continued his Story.
"The first wave of Vak charged, I held my ground. They clambered and clawed over each other on mass to get at me".
He looked about, now more had leaned in to listen to his Amazing story. A hidden smile crossed his face. Once again the young fighter interrupted.
"What's a VAK?"
Several of the Audience agreed and looked puzzled.
"Well when you have travelled the many lands and worlds as I have then you may come across the vicious and deadly VAK, but I'd hope for your sakes you never do". Garrett scanned the ever increasing crowd.
"Who will fill my cup so I can continue and maybe a little meat too"?
His cup and plate filled Garrett yet again started to retell his amazing adventure.
"There I was, my trusty sword in one hand and my life protecting shield in the other".
"The Vak, reached me within several heartbeats and all I could do was keep my two horse span width of the bridge. They slammed into my shield skidding me backwards. I dug my heals in harder until I came to a stop." Garrett took a bite of his remaining meat, chewing with mouth open and spitting pieces of food as he became more animated in his telling.
"I stabbed and slashed with my sword, Vak were dying with every stroke of my blade. My arms ached with the force of my blows and the strain it was taking to hold these evil monsters back from the innocent I was protecting".
Garrett's breathing became faster as though he was living the moment again or was it the first time?
The tale continued, drawing more and more people about him, all enthralled in the heroics of this small but mighty Halfling. Garrett carried the story and his spectators farther into the spectacle that must have taken place upon that bridge so far from this small travellers inn.
"The Vak bodies lay about me" Garrett continued. "My feet, ankle deep in their green fetid blood. Took me days to clear the stench from the soles" he pointed at his boots, everyone looked at them and as if in a choir, Oooooed and aaahhhed in unison.
"What about the Vak, surely there was to greater number for you alone"?
A voice from the back shouted across the tables. A human of many years and by the looks of him many a battle. Clambered onto a table and again repeated what he had said, now to the whole room which lay in silence, looking at Garrett for an answer.
Garret looked about him. Stumbled for words a couple of times then spoke clearly as if recalling a memory.
"You are right to ask my friend for there was a horde of Vak. Even though I had killed more than I have fingers and toes there was still more beyond." Garrett's eyes wondered across the faces of the crowed. Sweat trickled down his brow like hot oil running from the skin of a roasting chicken. Had he faltered, had he been discovered?
"yes I had to think fast."
Now standing upon his chair and holding his hands outstretched, holding the attention of his audience.
"I jumped backwards and landed a full ladders length away from the drooling Vak" Garrett touched his lower lip in thought. "I looked about and studied the bridge in total detail. It took but a thoughts moment and then I saw how to beat the Vak."
The whole crowd seemed to move to the edge of their seats even if they were not seated.
"There was a crack, only slight, but it ran the whole width of the marble white bridge." Garrett waited, giving the tension time to increase.
"The Vak charged again, I paused, I had to surprise them with my plan. The sound of so many Vak in one location was the sound of the underdark come alive upon this land. Hell itself was bearing down upon me. I drew my sword high above my head". Garrett demonstrated by raising his sword from the chair and with a great leap. As great as this halfling could manage, landed hard on the inn floor striking the hearth.
"My sword penetrated the marble bridge, like a mole beneath the dirt, moved from the point of my sword to the left and right of me, the crack crumbled and broke before the Vak, their side of the bridge became hidden in a cloud of dust and in their charge they could not stop and like a waterfall of evil flesh they tumbled and fell to their doom one after another until all was gone, down screaming to their end".
The crowd cheered with excitement and clapped, several bought Garrett fresh drinks and coins clattered like heavy rain against the wooden floor.
once again the hubbub in the Inn returned as patrons resumed their own stories and life tale. Not as dramatic and not as world shaking.
Garrett slumped back into his chair exhausted from the sheer drama of the whole evening. Wiped the sweat from his face with a maidens apron as she delivered a tray laden with drinks.
"Is that True?"
The young warrior made his final question. Some hidden disappointment lay upon his face.
"Is that True"?
Garrett leaned forward close to the young lads face, with a voice close to a whisper.
"What do you think?"
"For I am ...."
And as if on cue the two together still in a whisper spoke with a smile upon their bright faces.
"........Garrett the Amazing"
Story
The warm yellow firelight reflected golden off the weak beer up onto Garrett's neck. The soles of his damp boots steamed gently as they face the open fire.
Smoke from countless pipes meandered about the shadow laden room. Maidens with dirty aprons and dirty hands negotiated bags, boots and reaching hands as they went about their business serving warm beer and pale meats. A mix of Local farmers, out of town traders, quiet solitary types and loud half naked warriors with weapons placed at their feet, yet always ready for a fight if the opportunity arose.
The stale taste of sweat and dirt is only just covered by garlic and smoke.
The cacophony of voices is broken from time to time with a burst of laughter or cheer from some other table or corner.
Being a Halfling didn't stop Garrett from mixing with every race and creed, he managed it so well. His clothes, of Noble make, well kept but showed their age, his boots had holes that had been repaired so many times that there wasn't an original piece left. His hair was unkempt, dark and hung in his eyes but he thought it gave him a mysterious look.
A sword, well he says it's a sword, no more than a long dagger really lay in the side grove of the high back chair he managed to acquire when an aged local left to relieve himself. Leaning against the back of that chair was a shield, way to big for one so small but it seemed to attract light like a candle attracts moths. A pattern of wind tossed leaves carved into the metal gave the feeling of motion where there was none.
"There I was, standing alone on the south end side of the bridge of Vakcher"
Raising his voice one more level.
"The entire city of Tyndall was behind me" garrett took a breath. "Women, children and the old stood trembling in fear, only I stood between them and certain death"
The halfling leaned forward to give more drama to his tail. Spilling beer on his leg which he failed to notice or just didn't want others to notice.
"The hordes of VAK stood before me with teeth gnashing and weapons bashing"
He demonstrated this by bringing his small hand hard down onto the arm of the wooden chair and bearing his teeth.
An audience of three had gathered about him now with a couple more peering over their shoulders.
"what did you do, what did you do?
A young adventurer of no more than twenty summers questioned, he sat against the hearth, an untouched drink in hand, questioning him again and again at every scene Garrett described.
"Shut up will you I'm coming to that bit" the flash in Garrett's eyes faded momentarily as the creative juices had been broken.
"Well as I said, I was standing......" garrett stopped looked at the lads goblet and looked back at the lad.
"Are you drinking that?"
Pointing a grubby finger with a broken nail at the young mans drink.
"Er..no..you can have it if you want" he passed it to Garrett, who then poured it into his own flagon.
The wood upon the fire crackled sending a delicate cinder spark drifting into the haze of smoke to then come to rest in Garrett's drink with a soft fizzle. Garrett took several loud gulps of beer and then continued his Story.
"The first wave of Vak charged, I held my ground. They clambered and clawed over each other on mass to get at me".
He looked about, now more had leaned in to listen to his Amazing story. A hidden smile crossed his face. Once again the young fighter interrupted.
"What's a VAK?"
Several of the Audience agreed and looked puzzled.
"Well when you have travelled the many lands and worlds as I have then you may come across the vicious and deadly VAK, but I'd hope for your sakes you never do". Garrett scanned the ever increasing crowd.
"Who will fill my cup so I can continue and maybe a little meat too"?
His cup and plate filled Garrett yet again started to retell his amazing adventure.
"There I was, my trusty sword in one hand and my life protecting shield in the other".
"The Vak, reached me within several heartbeats and all I could do was keep my two horse span width of the bridge. They slammed into my shield skidding me backwards. I dug my heals in harder until I came to a stop." Garrett took a bite of his remaining meat, chewing with mouth open and spitting pieces of food as he became more animated in his telling.
"I stabbed and slashed with my sword, Vak were dying with every stroke of my blade. My arms ached with the force of my blows and the strain it was taking to hold these evil monsters back from the innocent I was protecting".
Garrett's breathing became faster as though he was living the moment again or was it the first time?
The tale continued, drawing more and more people about him, all enthralled in the heroics of this small but mighty Halfling. Garrett carried the story and his spectators farther into the spectacle that must have taken place upon that bridge so far from this small travellers inn.
"The Vak bodies lay about me" Garrett continued. "My feet, ankle deep in their green fetid blood. Took me days to clear the stench from the soles" he pointed at his boots, everyone looked at them and as if in a choir, Oooooed and aaahhhed in unison.
"What about the Vak, surely there was to greater number for you alone"?
A voice from the back shouted across the tables. A human of many years and by the looks of him many a battle. Clambered onto a table and again repeated what he had said, now to the whole room which lay in silence, looking at Garrett for an answer.
Garret looked about him. Stumbled for words a couple of times then spoke clearly as if recalling a memory.
"You are right to ask my friend for there was a horde of Vak. Even though I had killed more than I have fingers and toes there was still more beyond." Garrett's eyes wondered across the faces of the crowed. Sweat trickled down his brow like hot oil running from the skin of a roasting chicken. Had he faltered, had he been discovered?
"yes I had to think fast."
Now standing upon his chair and holding his hands outstretched, holding the attention of his audience.
"I jumped backwards and landed a full ladders length away from the drooling Vak" Garrett touched his lower lip in thought. "I looked about and studied the bridge in total detail. It took but a thoughts moment and then I saw how to beat the Vak."
The whole crowd seemed to move to the edge of their seats even if they were not seated.
"There was a crack, only slight, but it ran the whole width of the marble white bridge." Garrett waited, giving the tension time to increase.
"The Vak charged again, I paused, I had to surprise them with my plan. The sound of so many Vak in one location was the sound of the underdark come alive upon this land. Hell itself was bearing down upon me. I drew my sword high above my head". Garrett demonstrated by raising his sword from the chair and with a great leap. As great as this halfling could manage, landed hard on the inn floor striking the hearth.
"My sword penetrated the marble bridge, like a mole beneath the dirt, moved from the point of my sword to the left and right of me, the crack crumbled and broke before the Vak, their side of the bridge became hidden in a cloud of dust and in their charge they could not stop and like a waterfall of evil flesh they tumbled and fell to their doom one after another until all was gone, down screaming to their end".
The crowd cheered with excitement and clapped, several bought Garrett fresh drinks and coins clattered like heavy rain against the wooden floor.
once again the hubbub in the Inn returned as patrons resumed their own stories and life tale. Not as dramatic and not as world shaking.
Garrett slumped back into his chair exhausted from the sheer drama of the whole evening. Wiped the sweat from his face with a maidens apron as she delivered a tray laden with drinks.
"Is that True?"
The young warrior made his final question. Some hidden disappointment lay upon his face.
"Is that True"?
Garrett leaned forward close to the young lads face, with a voice close to a whisper.
"What do you think?"
"For I am ...."
And as if on cue the two together still in a whisper spoke with a smile upon their bright faces.
"........Garrett the Amazing"
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Army of One: The Ballad of Torin
This entry into the Army of One contest was written by R.E. Davis, aka "Rev. Lazaro". He can also be found on twitter under @revlazaro.
Story
Torin, Born of the Mountains.
His people, his culture, they believe in her. The Stone mother who gave to them, who provided shelter from the wild beasts of the jungles below. Who provided outlook over the lush, green terraces. Torin ensured the mountains were kept safe for him and the other children of Earth. The Stonemen like himself, the bearded sages who understand the runes.
But the Jungles have been screaming with the war drums of the savages. "Elven" is what they call themselves. They have been ambushing the hunting parties of Torin and his people, killing their prey and even setting fires to the land that surrounds their hearth.
Torin called out to the others of his village, and chose the 3 proudest youths of their hunting bands to escort him. He was setting out to return the fire to the savages.
As they traveled into the depths of the Jungle, they were unaware of the savages that waited in the trees and watched. They patiently stood by, until the moment was right to ambush Torin and his crew.
The arrows flew out. One lad was taken down immediately, another one critically injured as the missiles pierced into him. The third child, horrified by what had become of his friends, turned and fled into the brush.
Torin tried to immediately rush to the aid of the youths; he tried to call out a warning to the third. But in a moment's notice he was surrounded by his attackers. Arrows knocked, blades drawn, Torin screamed out in anguish and drew his Hammer crafted by the beardmen, and raised his shield.
The arrows flew. His Goliath skin stung as the points pierced in, but few actually penetrated his rock-speckled hide. He engaged on the nearest foe, swinging wildly his hammer to the back of the Elf's legs....and as he fell he curved back around to drive the hammer into his face.
Two more engaged, blades drawn. He met one blade with his shield, but was taken in the sides by the other. He raised out his hammer and screamed out the name of his Goddess, pleading for her aid as he smashed his weapon into the Elf who caught him off guard. The Earth shook around his foes, grasping at him as he tried to struggle back to his feet. The claws of Earth, however, tore him asunder.
The elves were taken back by the brutality of their target, and a few archers turned to flee much like the third youth. Torin's eyes connected with the other bladesman, and he snarled as he swiped repeated blows his Warhammer, catching him off his guard. The second youth, still alive, took advantage of this moment to lash up behind the Bladesman and drive his own daggers into his sides.
As he dropped the bladesman to the ground, the Youth gazed up to behold a fierce some scene....as the Elf leading the ambush emerged from the treetops. He was leaner, stronger than the rest, and brandishing some frightful blades. A few of the Archers also re-appeared, once again knocked and standing guard.
Torin had nothing of it. Though hurt, it appeared that not only did the damage hardly phase him, but he seemed to regain his strength with every crushing blow.
But what the Elves weren't ready for was when Torin, raising his hammer for one last cry, began kicking out the ground, snorting, as two stones lodged in his forehead began to grow out like Ram's Horns. The archers began to shake in Fear, and were shocked as thunder cracked in the skies above as Torin charged towards their leader.
The Youth had not witnessed the events afterward; blinded by the crashes of lightening and deafened by the sounds of thunder. All he knew was that when he came to, the Elves -- including their leader -- laid bloodied and defeated on the ground.
It's unknown what has happened to Torin, but the Elven war drums haven't beaten since. The fires no longer burn at the edge of the Mountains. And according to some, the Storms that blow through the Jungles below are Torin, maintaining vigil for Mother Mountain.
Story
Torin, Born of the Mountains.
His people, his culture, they believe in her. The Stone mother who gave to them, who provided shelter from the wild beasts of the jungles below. Who provided outlook over the lush, green terraces. Torin ensured the mountains were kept safe for him and the other children of Earth. The Stonemen like himself, the bearded sages who understand the runes.
But the Jungles have been screaming with the war drums of the savages. "Elven" is what they call themselves. They have been ambushing the hunting parties of Torin and his people, killing their prey and even setting fires to the land that surrounds their hearth.
Torin called out to the others of his village, and chose the 3 proudest youths of their hunting bands to escort him. He was setting out to return the fire to the savages.
As they traveled into the depths of the Jungle, they were unaware of the savages that waited in the trees and watched. They patiently stood by, until the moment was right to ambush Torin and his crew.
The arrows flew out. One lad was taken down immediately, another one critically injured as the missiles pierced into him. The third child, horrified by what had become of his friends, turned and fled into the brush.
Torin tried to immediately rush to the aid of the youths; he tried to call out a warning to the third. But in a moment's notice he was surrounded by his attackers. Arrows knocked, blades drawn, Torin screamed out in anguish and drew his Hammer crafted by the beardmen, and raised his shield.
The arrows flew. His Goliath skin stung as the points pierced in, but few actually penetrated his rock-speckled hide. He engaged on the nearest foe, swinging wildly his hammer to the back of the Elf's legs....and as he fell he curved back around to drive the hammer into his face.
Two more engaged, blades drawn. He met one blade with his shield, but was taken in the sides by the other. He raised out his hammer and screamed out the name of his Goddess, pleading for her aid as he smashed his weapon into the Elf who caught him off guard. The Earth shook around his foes, grasping at him as he tried to struggle back to his feet. The claws of Earth, however, tore him asunder.
The elves were taken back by the brutality of their target, and a few archers turned to flee much like the third youth. Torin's eyes connected with the other bladesman, and he snarled as he swiped repeated blows his Warhammer, catching him off his guard. The second youth, still alive, took advantage of this moment to lash up behind the Bladesman and drive his own daggers into his sides.
As he dropped the bladesman to the ground, the Youth gazed up to behold a fierce some scene....as the Elf leading the ambush emerged from the treetops. He was leaner, stronger than the rest, and brandishing some frightful blades. A few of the Archers also re-appeared, once again knocked and standing guard.
Torin had nothing of it. Though hurt, it appeared that not only did the damage hardly phase him, but he seemed to regain his strength with every crushing blow.
But what the Elves weren't ready for was when Torin, raising his hammer for one last cry, began kicking out the ground, snorting, as two stones lodged in his forehead began to grow out like Ram's Horns. The archers began to shake in Fear, and were shocked as thunder cracked in the skies above as Torin charged towards their leader.
The Youth had not witnessed the events afterward; blinded by the crashes of lightening and deafened by the sounds of thunder. All he knew was that when he came to, the Elves -- including their leader -- laid bloodied and defeated on the ground.
It's unknown what has happened to Torin, but the Elven war drums haven't beaten since. The fires no longer burn at the edge of the Mountains. And according to some, the Storms that blow through the Jungles below are Torin, maintaining vigil for Mother Mountain.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Army of One: The Trials of Torment
This entry into the Army of One contest was written by Christopher Brind. He can also be found on twitter under @brindy.
Story
A dark and sombre mood came up on me. As I looked down at the decapitated head of my foe lying at my feet, and the sea of bones and necrotic flesh from the army of skeletal and zombie undead he had raised to face me, I wondered how it could come to this, but more desperately, I wondered what I would do next now that it was all over.
The adrenaline was starting to wear off and Tardak’s eyes were still glaring at me. I kicked the head and as it rolled I away I slumped backwards collapsing in to a heap on the floor. My own wounds were severe, but unlike Tardak, I knew I would survive. Once I got my breath back I would call upon my lord Pelor’s gracious healing and leave this field of horror.
I suppose the journey to this point started many years ago. I was lucky enough to be brought up in a monastery by some wise old clerics who were able to see through my Tiefling heritage and bring out the good buried in me, deep within. As I grew, they taught me about their god Pelor, how to defend myself, and how to defend others. Looking back it was inevitable that I would eventually become a paladin, a force for good in Pelor’s name, though I won’t deny that below the surface the battle against my inherited nature struggles on.
The clerics educated me in many things, but always gave particular attention to Tardak, the necromancer I have just slain. It was only recently I discovered what they had neglected to tell me, but I do not resent them for keeping that secret, it would have made my journey all the more difficult.
About a week ago, my colleagues and I received word of a town being overwhelmed by undead activity. The story had all the hallmarks of Tardak’s dirty work, so we set off post-haste. When we arrived our worst fears were confirmed. The local watch were fighting a losing battle against a horde of undead skeletons, but their controller was no-where to be seen. The sky was an unholy grimness of grey cloud, the hair of the elven ranger Glar was blown almost horizontal wind. Jardin, my dwarven warrior friend made some comment, hoping not to have to fight in the rain... again.
We joined the thick of the battle hoping to take the pressure off the watch. The skeletons had flooded in to the town, but we fought them back, bones shattering under our holy righteousness. Jardin and Glar soon got bogged down, but I pushed forward towards the general direction that the skeletons seemed to be reinforcing from. Through the town and up in to the hills, as I pushed forward the skeletons began to thin out. I breached the top of the hill and there he was, Tardak. Face to face for the first time, my inner rage started bubble over as I thought of all the evil Tardak had done over the years.
My life’s work, tracking down this mad necromantic Tiefling, an irony that did not escape me, was close to completion. I bellowed his name as a group of skeletons assaulted me, but they fell like water as my shield crushed them and my sword shattered their skulls.
I saw his eyes flair and on the wind I began to hear the necromantic mumbling of a spell being cast. I fought through another group of skeletons and behind them an army of zombies rose from beneath the ground. Tardak must have been bring the bodies of the dead here for decades, but why? What was so special about this town?
Groups of skeletons and zombies flooded past me, and continued the assault on my friends and the watch in the town below, but yet more were rising from the ground. I pushed forward destroying the undead filth as I went, Tardak mere meters away from me, and yet more skeletons and zombies raised from the ground. The onslaught was becoming over-bearing and I felt my gut drop as I began to realise that I was being over-powered. But just as I was about to lose hope, a ray of sun shone through the dirty grey skies above and reminded me of an ancient angel, who also fought a battle under similar circumstances. I yelled the angel’s name and stood straight and to full height. The sound of the name destroyed some of the skeletons and zombies nearby, their bones collapsing or rotten fleshing exploding.
It was the break I needed and I thanked Pelor for the inspriation, breaking through the throng I reached Tardak and he had nowhere to go surrounded by his own army of death with no way to escape. Our eyes locked,
“Son, we could have been a force this world had never before se...”
I brought my sword down from a high attack angle and sliced through the neck and shoulder, decapitating him before any more of his lies could escape his lips. Around me the army of undead warriors disintegrated, returning to the ground, to their natural state of death. The sky began to clear and the wind dropped off almost instantly, in the distance I could hear the cheers of the watch and my friends. I knew our work was done.
I’ve had many trials in my life, but no trial is more taxing than having to face and defeat your own father. My name is Torment and this is the end of my trials... I hope.
(Torment, Level 5 Tiefling Paladin)
Story
A dark and sombre mood came up on me. As I looked down at the decapitated head of my foe lying at my feet, and the sea of bones and necrotic flesh from the army of skeletal and zombie undead he had raised to face me, I wondered how it could come to this, but more desperately, I wondered what I would do next now that it was all over.
The adrenaline was starting to wear off and Tardak’s eyes were still glaring at me. I kicked the head and as it rolled I away I slumped backwards collapsing in to a heap on the floor. My own wounds were severe, but unlike Tardak, I knew I would survive. Once I got my breath back I would call upon my lord Pelor’s gracious healing and leave this field of horror.
I suppose the journey to this point started many years ago. I was lucky enough to be brought up in a monastery by some wise old clerics who were able to see through my Tiefling heritage and bring out the good buried in me, deep within. As I grew, they taught me about their god Pelor, how to defend myself, and how to defend others. Looking back it was inevitable that I would eventually become a paladin, a force for good in Pelor’s name, though I won’t deny that below the surface the battle against my inherited nature struggles on.
The clerics educated me in many things, but always gave particular attention to Tardak, the necromancer I have just slain. It was only recently I discovered what they had neglected to tell me, but I do not resent them for keeping that secret, it would have made my journey all the more difficult.
About a week ago, my colleagues and I received word of a town being overwhelmed by undead activity. The story had all the hallmarks of Tardak’s dirty work, so we set off post-haste. When we arrived our worst fears were confirmed. The local watch were fighting a losing battle against a horde of undead skeletons, but their controller was no-where to be seen. The sky was an unholy grimness of grey cloud, the hair of the elven ranger Glar was blown almost horizontal wind. Jardin, my dwarven warrior friend made some comment, hoping not to have to fight in the rain... again.
We joined the thick of the battle hoping to take the pressure off the watch. The skeletons had flooded in to the town, but we fought them back, bones shattering under our holy righteousness. Jardin and Glar soon got bogged down, but I pushed forward towards the general direction that the skeletons seemed to be reinforcing from. Through the town and up in to the hills, as I pushed forward the skeletons began to thin out. I breached the top of the hill and there he was, Tardak. Face to face for the first time, my inner rage started bubble over as I thought of all the evil Tardak had done over the years.
My life’s work, tracking down this mad necromantic Tiefling, an irony that did not escape me, was close to completion. I bellowed his name as a group of skeletons assaulted me, but they fell like water as my shield crushed them and my sword shattered their skulls.
I saw his eyes flair and on the wind I began to hear the necromantic mumbling of a spell being cast. I fought through another group of skeletons and behind them an army of zombies rose from beneath the ground. Tardak must have been bring the bodies of the dead here for decades, but why? What was so special about this town?
Groups of skeletons and zombies flooded past me, and continued the assault on my friends and the watch in the town below, but yet more were rising from the ground. I pushed forward destroying the undead filth as I went, Tardak mere meters away from me, and yet more skeletons and zombies raised from the ground. The onslaught was becoming over-bearing and I felt my gut drop as I began to realise that I was being over-powered. But just as I was about to lose hope, a ray of sun shone through the dirty grey skies above and reminded me of an ancient angel, who also fought a battle under similar circumstances. I yelled the angel’s name and stood straight and to full height. The sound of the name destroyed some of the skeletons and zombies nearby, their bones collapsing or rotten fleshing exploding.
It was the break I needed and I thanked Pelor for the inspriation, breaking through the throng I reached Tardak and he had nowhere to go surrounded by his own army of death with no way to escape. Our eyes locked,
“Son, we could have been a force this world had never before se...”
I brought my sword down from a high attack angle and sliced through the neck and shoulder, decapitating him before any more of his lies could escape his lips. Around me the army of undead warriors disintegrated, returning to the ground, to their natural state of death. The sky began to clear and the wind dropped off almost instantly, in the distance I could hear the cheers of the watch and my friends. I knew our work was done.
I’ve had many trials in my life, but no trial is more taxing than having to face and defeat your own father. My name is Torment and this is the end of my trials... I hope.
(Torment, Level 5 Tiefling Paladin)
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Army of One: Jakorla
This entry into the Army of One contest was written by Alex Melchor who has also contributed the art for the contest entries here on the website. He can also be found on twitter under @Alex_Melchor. Alex also asked me to include the following message:
The Story
Jakorla was nodding off in the narrow ledge she had found the day before. Leading the villagers through the roads had been taxing, used as she was to move on her own, or in the company of seasoned warriors or adventurers. Now she had to deal with their excruciatingly slow pace, inexperience and complete uselessness in batle.
But she couldn't abandon them either. The push and shove that marked the conflict between Karrnath and Cyre had left many homeless, and the ultimate shove came the day before yesterday, when a white mist covered the land, killing everything in its path. The villagers she was leading were survivors who'd received the warning and fled.
She was actually a Karrnathi officer, a special agent sent to suicide missions because death was not only her trade, it was part of her life. She was born death-touched, or shadar-kai, in some ancient tongue or another, and she was good with both blade and spell.
"Wake up, Jaks." A cold voice whispered in her ear and she snapped her eyes open.
"What is it, Arise?" She whispered as she scanned her surroundings. She knew they were very close to Karrnathi patrol routes, and she didn't trust their undead commanders to have any pity for the Cyrean refugees.
"You know. Patrol." The ghost of her sister faded into view; during their respective initiations into the arcane, Arise had suffered a fatal accident, just as Jakorla was succeeding in bonding with her blade as was the swordmage tradition, and during the process she had actually bonded her sister's spirit to her.
"Skeletons." The disembodied voice said. "But something's wrong with their officer."
"Damn it." Jakorla muttered. She had wanted to walk the inhospitable lands away from the road, but the children and the old people couldn't hope to navigate the unforgiving terrain. The patrol would find them, and any warning Jakorla could give would be nigh useless.
"Be careful. I am not eager to welcome you into the underworld, Jaks." The ghost vanished slowly, sensing her sister's resolve forming.
"Bugger." The arcane swordswoman whispered to no one but herself. She hid as best she could, but stealth was not exactly her forte. Fortunately, undead were rather single-minded (or null-minded) and she wasn't spotted when the small regiment marched by her hiding place. The skeletons bore the reinforcements of the Karrnathi army, and they weren't alone. There was a sizeable zombie detail, and Jakorla confirmed Arise's suspicions when she saw the officer. He appeared human, but there was something definitely wrong with him.
"Vampire..." Jakorla whispered. This wasn't an official Karrnathi regiment, the vampire must have wrested control of the undead cannon-fodder from their rightful commander, and they were marching inexorably towards the refugees. "Damn it all. Arise, let's go!"
The twins, one half-living, the other fully dead, charged.
The undead army was not prepared to be ambushed, let alone by a lone attacker. Jakorla whispered arcane words of enchantment, making her sword glow green. She slashed horizontally at the air before them, and the green light splashed in a wide arc, turning into acid that dissolved the first rank of skeletons between her an their vampiric commander.
She didn't waste time. Another battle spell later made the air shimmer with soft, glowing runes that made the air solidify around her, just before she hurled the enchanted sword at the vampire.
The steel transformed midway into a powerful bolt of lightning that hit the creature dead-on, knocking him off his horse before it double backed and returned to her hand.
"Arise! Take him!" She shouted, and the ghost of her sister flew effortlessly through the remaining ranks of undead.
"Minions! Destroy her!" The vampire managed to articulate as he jumped to his feet, and the undead swarmed around Jakorla.
To no avail. The swordmage danced through the crushing horde, and the air around her ocassionaly burst into light as an attack impacted her magical barrier.
The vampire lord unsheathed and slashed at Arise, but years of fighting together with her still-living sister had granted the spectre with uncanny battle prowess and she dodged easily. The attack triggered a small lightning nimbus around the vampire, for Jakorla's blade bolt had imposed of him the rune of Aegis. The shadar-kai disappeared from among the throng of skeletons, suddenly materializing behind the vampire and impaling him with her sword.
"Foolish... mortal..." The man bared his fangs in a wicked smile. "It will take more to defeat me."
"Don't worry, I do have more." Jakorla returned the grin and struck true again.
Any onlooker would have regarded the ensuing battle with great confusion. The vampire turned into mist and flew off between attacks, but Jakorla blinked in and out of existance in magical pursuit, relentlessly slashing at the commander as she flickered in and out of view to whittle down his undead troops.
Terrible curses flew at her, only to slide off her half-dead soul. She invoked this power more than once to join her sister's ephemeral state so that the blades of the skeletal legion simply passed through her. Any other warrior would have succumbed now from a dozen of small wounds that Jakorla simply evaded, blocked, or made irrelevant.
The vampire grew desperate and tried flying off once, only to be snagged by an arc of lighning that pulled him back to the terrifying warrior's side.
"M-mercy!" He cried, but already he was planning one last-ditch escape.
"No mercy." Jakorla muttered.
The vampire turned into a cloud of fog, but Jakorla was ready for this. She had one last spell prepared for this: a line of runes danced across her blade as she slammed it down where the vampire's chest would have been, slicing through the veil between worlds that she was so familiar with, for she spent har her life skirting it.
The vampire solidified again, along the ghostly blade in his body. He did not move anymore, and his demise made the remaining skeletons stop trying to attack Jakorla. All three of them, out of several dozen.
"I am Dame Jakorla Varsanath of the Phantom Legion." She stood straight and proud, even if the furious battle's toll began to weigh on her. "By the oaths that bind you to service, I command you to follow me."
The skeletons lined up behind her, following in mindless obedience.
"Jaks... you need rest." Arise whispered as she returned to the little pouch around Jakorla's neck, the one that held the pinch of ashes of her former body.
"I will rest when I'm dead." The shadar-kai swordmage replied, not bothering to hide the fatigue from her voice.
"You certainly keep trying..." Arise's words faded into the mist that began to rise from the ground.
---
Jakorla is a 11th level shadar-kai (Dragon #372) swordmage (Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting) with the Ghost Blade (Arcane Power) paragon path. Arise is her Specter familiar (Arcane Power, Dragon #382).
Jakorla
Level 11 Hero
Female Shadar-kai Swordmage (Arcane Defender)
HP 93; Bloodied 46; Surge 23
AC 28, Fortitude 22, Reflex 22, Will 21
Speed 6 Initiative +6
Low-light vision
At-will powers: Lightning Lure, Booming Blade; Aegis of Assault
Encounter powers: Crackling Burst, Vanishing Blade, Corrosive Ruin, Ghost Sword; Shadow Jaunt ; Dimensional Warp
Daily powers: Dimensional Bond, Evoker's Summoning, Blade Bolt; Impenetrable Warding, Spellseer Familiar
Skills: Acrobatics +8; Arcana +15; Athletics +11; Bluff +7; Diplomacy +7; Dungeoneering +5; Endurance +14; Heal +5; History +10; Insight +10; Nature +5; Perception +5; Religion +10; Stealth +8; Streetwise +7; Thievery +6
Feats: Arcane Familiar (Specter), Weapon Expertise (Heavy Blade), Intelligent Blademaster, Spellseer Familiar, Active Familiar, Ghostly Wind, Improved Swordmage Warding
Str 12 (+1) Dex 13 (+1) Wis 11 (+0)
Con 18 (+4) Int 21 (+5) Cha 14 (+2)
Alignment: Good Languages: Common, Deep Speech
Equipment: Farbond Spellblade +3; Ever-Fading Leather Armor +2; Cloak of Distortion +2
It's a couple of days late, but here's a little D&D homage to International Women's Day; dedicated to all women worldwide who take on the mantle of "One" in "Army of One" in their respective metaphorical and literal battlefields.
The Story
Jakorla was nodding off in the narrow ledge she had found the day before. Leading the villagers through the roads had been taxing, used as she was to move on her own, or in the company of seasoned warriors or adventurers. Now she had to deal with their excruciatingly slow pace, inexperience and complete uselessness in batle.
But she couldn't abandon them either. The push and shove that marked the conflict between Karrnath and Cyre had left many homeless, and the ultimate shove came the day before yesterday, when a white mist covered the land, killing everything in its path. The villagers she was leading were survivors who'd received the warning and fled.
She was actually a Karrnathi officer, a special agent sent to suicide missions because death was not only her trade, it was part of her life. She was born death-touched, or shadar-kai, in some ancient tongue or another, and she was good with both blade and spell.
"Wake up, Jaks." A cold voice whispered in her ear and she snapped her eyes open.
"What is it, Arise?" She whispered as she scanned her surroundings. She knew they were very close to Karrnathi patrol routes, and she didn't trust their undead commanders to have any pity for the Cyrean refugees.
"You know. Patrol." The ghost of her sister faded into view; during their respective initiations into the arcane, Arise had suffered a fatal accident, just as Jakorla was succeeding in bonding with her blade as was the swordmage tradition, and during the process she had actually bonded her sister's spirit to her.
"Skeletons." The disembodied voice said. "But something's wrong with their officer."
"Damn it." Jakorla muttered. She had wanted to walk the inhospitable lands away from the road, but the children and the old people couldn't hope to navigate the unforgiving terrain. The patrol would find them, and any warning Jakorla could give would be nigh useless.
"Be careful. I am not eager to welcome you into the underworld, Jaks." The ghost vanished slowly, sensing her sister's resolve forming.
"Bugger." The arcane swordswoman whispered to no one but herself. She hid as best she could, but stealth was not exactly her forte. Fortunately, undead were rather single-minded (or null-minded) and she wasn't spotted when the small regiment marched by her hiding place. The skeletons bore the reinforcements of the Karrnathi army, and they weren't alone. There was a sizeable zombie detail, and Jakorla confirmed Arise's suspicions when she saw the officer. He appeared human, but there was something definitely wrong with him.
"Vampire..." Jakorla whispered. This wasn't an official Karrnathi regiment, the vampire must have wrested control of the undead cannon-fodder from their rightful commander, and they were marching inexorably towards the refugees. "Damn it all. Arise, let's go!"
The twins, one half-living, the other fully dead, charged.
The undead army was not prepared to be ambushed, let alone by a lone attacker. Jakorla whispered arcane words of enchantment, making her sword glow green. She slashed horizontally at the air before them, and the green light splashed in a wide arc, turning into acid that dissolved the first rank of skeletons between her an their vampiric commander.
She didn't waste time. Another battle spell later made the air shimmer with soft, glowing runes that made the air solidify around her, just before she hurled the enchanted sword at the vampire.
The steel transformed midway into a powerful bolt of lightning that hit the creature dead-on, knocking him off his horse before it double backed and returned to her hand.
"Arise! Take him!" She shouted, and the ghost of her sister flew effortlessly through the remaining ranks of undead.
"Minions! Destroy her!" The vampire managed to articulate as he jumped to his feet, and the undead swarmed around Jakorla.
To no avail. The swordmage danced through the crushing horde, and the air around her ocassionaly burst into light as an attack impacted her magical barrier.
The vampire lord unsheathed and slashed at Arise, but years of fighting together with her still-living sister had granted the spectre with uncanny battle prowess and she dodged easily. The attack triggered a small lightning nimbus around the vampire, for Jakorla's blade bolt had imposed of him the rune of Aegis. The shadar-kai disappeared from among the throng of skeletons, suddenly materializing behind the vampire and impaling him with her sword.
"Foolish... mortal..." The man bared his fangs in a wicked smile. "It will take more to defeat me."
"Don't worry, I do have more." Jakorla returned the grin and struck true again.
Any onlooker would have regarded the ensuing battle with great confusion. The vampire turned into mist and flew off between attacks, but Jakorla blinked in and out of existance in magical pursuit, relentlessly slashing at the commander as she flickered in and out of view to whittle down his undead troops.
Terrible curses flew at her, only to slide off her half-dead soul. She invoked this power more than once to join her sister's ephemeral state so that the blades of the skeletal legion simply passed through her. Any other warrior would have succumbed now from a dozen of small wounds that Jakorla simply evaded, blocked, or made irrelevant.
The vampire grew desperate and tried flying off once, only to be snagged by an arc of lighning that pulled him back to the terrifying warrior's side.
"M-mercy!" He cried, but already he was planning one last-ditch escape.
"No mercy." Jakorla muttered.
The vampire turned into a cloud of fog, but Jakorla was ready for this. She had one last spell prepared for this: a line of runes danced across her blade as she slammed it down where the vampire's chest would have been, slicing through the veil between worlds that she was so familiar with, for she spent har her life skirting it.
The vampire solidified again, along the ghostly blade in his body. He did not move anymore, and his demise made the remaining skeletons stop trying to attack Jakorla. All three of them, out of several dozen.
"I am Dame Jakorla Varsanath of the Phantom Legion." She stood straight and proud, even if the furious battle's toll began to weigh on her. "By the oaths that bind you to service, I command you to follow me."
The skeletons lined up behind her, following in mindless obedience.
"Jaks... you need rest." Arise whispered as she returned to the little pouch around Jakorla's neck, the one that held the pinch of ashes of her former body.
"I will rest when I'm dead." The shadar-kai swordmage replied, not bothering to hide the fatigue from her voice.
"You certainly keep trying..." Arise's words faded into the mist that began to rise from the ground.
---
Jakorla is a 11th level shadar-kai (Dragon #372) swordmage (Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting) with the Ghost Blade (Arcane Power) paragon path. Arise is her Specter familiar (Arcane Power, Dragon #382).
Jakorla
Level 11 Hero
Female Shadar-kai Swordmage (Arcane Defender)
HP 93; Bloodied 46; Surge 23
AC 28, Fortitude 22, Reflex 22, Will 21
Speed 6 Initiative +6
Low-light vision
At-will powers: Lightning Lure, Booming Blade; Aegis of Assault
Encounter powers: Crackling Burst, Vanishing Blade, Corrosive Ruin, Ghost Sword; Shadow Jaunt ; Dimensional Warp
Daily powers: Dimensional Bond, Evoker's Summoning, Blade Bolt; Impenetrable Warding, Spellseer Familiar
Skills: Acrobatics +8; Arcana +15; Athletics +11; Bluff +7; Diplomacy +7; Dungeoneering +5; Endurance +14; Heal +5; History +10; Insight +10; Nature +5; Perception +5; Religion +10; Stealth +8; Streetwise +7; Thievery +6
Feats: Arcane Familiar (Specter), Weapon Expertise (Heavy Blade), Intelligent Blademaster, Spellseer Familiar, Active Familiar, Ghostly Wind, Improved Swordmage Warding
Str 12 (+1) Dex 13 (+1) Wis 11 (+0)
Con 18 (+4) Int 21 (+5) Cha 14 (+2)
Alignment: Good Languages: Common, Deep Speech
Equipment: Farbond Spellblade +3; Ever-Fading Leather Armor +2; Cloak of Distortion +2
Monday, March 7, 2011
Army of One: Carlix
This entry into the Army of One contest was written by Jason Priesmeyer. He can also be found on twitter under @priesmeyer.
The Story
Carlix was a Bard who travelled about the lands. His first and greatest passion was the thrill of adventure. Finding new places, discovering new settings and uncovering new and mysterious things...
One day, his adventures led him to a place he had no right to be.
The land itself was beautiful and mysterious. Rich changing leaves and lush rolling hills spread out for miles and miles before him. But this one corner he rounded led him to a small vale nearby a lake and a burnt out village. He had to investigate further to see for himself what was going on. As he approached what he *thought* was an abandoned market field surrounded by several recently burnt out buildings and stalls turned out to be not-so-abandoned after all. Several large orcish creatures, who were going over the fruits of their dastardly labor, for they had raided the village, scared off most of its in habitants and burned every single building to the ground; they were still there looking through the rubble they'd created. And they didn't want any witnesses.
Carlix did his very best to talk his way out of the mess he'd discovered. The orcs encroached closer and closer until they practically blocked out the sun. Carlix was backed up into what appeared to be an inescabale position. Then he reached into his pack in a moment of desparation. And he pulled out a small deck of cards. "How would you guys like to settle this with a game of chance?"
The orcs seemed confused by this reaction. They were sure this measley creature was going to cave in and surrender at worst or fight back and die at best. But they took a moment to consider this. Carlix bent the deck of cards slightly in his hand and then flicked them into the air in an arcing manner. The cards shot upwards and scattered to the wind. They blew around in a haphazzard fashion and the orcs took their eyes off the prize for just long enough that Carlix, the young adventurer, was able to skirt away and explore another day.
He later wrote a song recounting the magic of the "Fortune Cards" and how they had saved him from certain disaster.
The Story
Carlix was a Bard who travelled about the lands. His first and greatest passion was the thrill of adventure. Finding new places, discovering new settings and uncovering new and mysterious things...
One day, his adventures led him to a place he had no right to be.
The land itself was beautiful and mysterious. Rich changing leaves and lush rolling hills spread out for miles and miles before him. But this one corner he rounded led him to a small vale nearby a lake and a burnt out village. He had to investigate further to see for himself what was going on. As he approached what he *thought* was an abandoned market field surrounded by several recently burnt out buildings and stalls turned out to be not-so-abandoned after all. Several large orcish creatures, who were going over the fruits of their dastardly labor, for they had raided the village, scared off most of its in habitants and burned every single building to the ground; they were still there looking through the rubble they'd created. And they didn't want any witnesses.
Carlix did his very best to talk his way out of the mess he'd discovered. The orcs encroached closer and closer until they practically blocked out the sun. Carlix was backed up into what appeared to be an inescabale position. Then he reached into his pack in a moment of desparation. And he pulled out a small deck of cards. "How would you guys like to settle this with a game of chance?"
The orcs seemed confused by this reaction. They were sure this measley creature was going to cave in and surrender at worst or fight back and die at best. But they took a moment to consider this. Carlix bent the deck of cards slightly in his hand and then flicked them into the air in an arcing manner. The cards shot upwards and scattered to the wind. They blew around in a haphazzard fashion and the orcs took their eyes off the prize for just long enough that Carlix, the young adventurer, was able to skirt away and explore another day.
He later wrote a song recounting the magic of the "Fortune Cards" and how they had saved him from certain disaster.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Army of One: Contest Winner!
February's winning entry was written by Matt Roberts, writer for the Nameless PCs webcomic, for the February Contest: Army of One. He can also be found on twitter under @NotanNPC.
Story
He lifted his head off the dirt in a daze. For a moment he didn’t remember where he was or what was happening. It was the pain that brought him back, sharp and specific in his left thigh. That’s where the arrow was. His face throbbed. That’s where the punch hand landed. His breathing was shallow and pained, from a cracked rib. That’s where the boot hand kicked. Two figures stood flanking him as he lay prone. He noticed the one in front of him was an Eladrin
“Come now, Talos. We wouldn’t want to keep the Lord Drigs waiting,” said the Eladrin. Talos rose to his feet spitting blood on the ground. The second figure, a mean looking dwarf saddled up beside him, war axe ready. Ah, Drigs’s goons, Talos thought, the price must have gone up.
“He’s a might anxious on seeing you again,” the Eladrin continued with a slight smirk.
“Kord forgive, we ever keep the great Lord from raping and pillaging.” Talos said.
“Mind your tongue, mongrel!” The dwarf said driving the handle of his axe in to the back of Talos’s knee. Talos allowed himself to drop to his knee. His hand was now in reach of the arrow.
“Mind the arrow.” Talos said quietly.
“Wha-? “ The dwarf’s query was abbreviated by an arrow up his jaw through the top of his head. Dropping his axe into Talos’s hand which was quickly redirected into the chest of Drigs’s other lackey. Talos stood and quickly checked his surroundings as he retrieved his crossbow from the sling around his back. Neither of Drigs’s henchmen had a bow.
He stood as still as his leg, now arrow free, would let him. He knew the archer was young. A veteran bounty hunter would have brought him down by now, rather than look in shock as the rest of his gang was taken down.
“Go ahead and show yourself.” Talos said, “No need you should die as well. But, if I have to come find you, that’s going to piss me off.” A young human girl emerged 20 yards up the path. Her bow was drawn and aiming at Talos.
“There we are now, miss. What horrible circumstance has brought you to run around with the likes of this scum?” Talos motioned to the bodies on the ground. The girl remained silent. Her face showed bravery sheer enough for Talos to see through.
“Come now, you don’t want this.” Talos pointed at the Eladrin. The girl remain silent. “What’s your name?”
“Leona.” The girl said just as Talos raised his crossbow and fired. The bolt severed the string just below the nock on the upper limb. The sudden release of tension sent the riser shooting from her hand to the ground, leaving only the bow and limp string in the other. Her eyes and mouth were wide in shock, which quickly gave way to fear as she watched Talos, slowly, reload his crossbow.
“Run along now, Leona,” Talos said paying more attention to his crossbow than her now. She could not move from fear. After a pause he realized she was still there.
“Go on now. This one’s not for you,” he said as reassuringly as he could, indicating at the crossbow he was now putting back in his sling. “It’s for whatever waits down the road. I‘ll not fault you for getting mixed up with this lot. I was young and stupid, once.” he said as he began rummaging through her cohort’s pockets. Leona slowly took a few steps backwards and after a few yards she turned and sprinted. Talos had already began walking in the opposite direction.
Story
He lifted his head off the dirt in a daze. For a moment he didn’t remember where he was or what was happening. It was the pain that brought him back, sharp and specific in his left thigh. That’s where the arrow was. His face throbbed. That’s where the punch hand landed. His breathing was shallow and pained, from a cracked rib. That’s where the boot hand kicked. Two figures stood flanking him as he lay prone. He noticed the one in front of him was an Eladrin
“Come now, Talos. We wouldn’t want to keep the Lord Drigs waiting,” said the Eladrin. Talos rose to his feet spitting blood on the ground. The second figure, a mean looking dwarf saddled up beside him, war axe ready. Ah, Drigs’s goons, Talos thought, the price must have gone up.
“He’s a might anxious on seeing you again,” the Eladrin continued with a slight smirk.
“Kord forgive, we ever keep the great Lord from raping and pillaging.” Talos said.
“Mind your tongue, mongrel!” The dwarf said driving the handle of his axe in to the back of Talos’s knee. Talos allowed himself to drop to his knee. His hand was now in reach of the arrow.
“Mind the arrow.” Talos said quietly.
“Wha-? “ The dwarf’s query was abbreviated by an arrow up his jaw through the top of his head. Dropping his axe into Talos’s hand which was quickly redirected into the chest of Drigs’s other lackey. Talos stood and quickly checked his surroundings as he retrieved his crossbow from the sling around his back. Neither of Drigs’s henchmen had a bow.
He stood as still as his leg, now arrow free, would let him. He knew the archer was young. A veteran bounty hunter would have brought him down by now, rather than look in shock as the rest of his gang was taken down.
“Go ahead and show yourself.” Talos said, “No need you should die as well. But, if I have to come find you, that’s going to piss me off.” A young human girl emerged 20 yards up the path. Her bow was drawn and aiming at Talos.
“There we are now, miss. What horrible circumstance has brought you to run around with the likes of this scum?” Talos motioned to the bodies on the ground. The girl remained silent. Her face showed bravery sheer enough for Talos to see through.
“Come now, you don’t want this.” Talos pointed at the Eladrin. The girl remain silent. “What’s your name?”
“Leona.” The girl said just as Talos raised his crossbow and fired. The bolt severed the string just below the nock on the upper limb. The sudden release of tension sent the riser shooting from her hand to the ground, leaving only the bow and limp string in the other. Her eyes and mouth were wide in shock, which quickly gave way to fear as she watched Talos, slowly, reload his crossbow.
“Run along now, Leona,” Talos said paying more attention to his crossbow than her now. She could not move from fear. After a pause he realized she was still there.
“Go on now. This one’s not for you,” he said as reassuringly as he could, indicating at the crossbow he was now putting back in his sling. “It’s for whatever waits down the road. I‘ll not fault you for getting mixed up with this lot. I was young and stupid, once.” he said as he began rummaging through her cohort’s pockets. Leona slowly took a few steps backwards and after a few yards she turned and sprinted. Talos had already began walking in the opposite direction.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Order of Corellon 4: Echoes, Part One
Gray. Gray. Everything is gray.
The soldier moves forward at a steady pace with the rest of his mounted column. His heavy armor is cold to the touch, inside and out; a fitting companion to the gray world his eyes reveal to him. Gray banners stir listlessly at the ends of their poles, held aloft by equally listless pages. Gray light barely reflects from the gray metal of the armor plate worn by every soldier in the heavily armed group, as if even the light itself is weary and devoid of energy. This is not the light’s domain.
His eyes stare out at the gray landscape, the rocky ground melding with the gray sky in a wall of limitless, colorless stillness. To his right, an infinite well of gray mist marks the edge of the Mournland. He stares into the mist, looking, but not seeing; taking note and reacting, but not comprehending. He has been trained well how to survive the regular patrols along a border that even the mad would dare not cross.
In the mist, shadows begin to form. The column turns as a machine, silent but for the clinking of metal and the clopping of hooves. Weapons are drawn. Shields raised. Glassy eyes stare toward the shadows as they coalesce into solid creatures. The creatures emerge, crossing from the terror of the eternal mist into the lands of the living. Twisted abominations, they barely resemble anything the soldier would recognize even if he could allow the rest of his conscious mind to comprehend the sights in front of him.
His sword swings in wide arcs as his mount circles madly in the swarm. Blood and other, less noble things cling to his blade. His mind is operating on something akin to instinct, something he gained only from long, difficult training. Letting thought interfere with that training would mean death, or worse.
Still, a part of him does see. A part of him does comprehend. That part of him cannot be fully suppressed, no matter how rigorous his meditation. A particularly nasty creature falls to the might of his blade, but then, deep in his mind, recognition resonates like a gong…
…
Lucatro sat bolt upright in bed, gasping, covered in sweat. The shock of that moment five years ago filled him as if he had just lived it again; his heart hammered loudly in his ribs; his fingers clenched and unclenched, as if expecting to find the hilt of his sword. He looked down at his hands, almost expecting to see blood there.
The half-elf composed himself, running through the prayers that the Reverend Father had taught him for just these occasions. His heart stilled. His breath became deep, and regular. His mind became a placid pool, a place of rest and cool waters. A quick glance in the mirror showed him something that he could not afford to reveal. He kneeled, taking a small, wooden box from beneath his pillow. He opened the box and removed a small, silver pendant, intricately made in the shape of Syberis, the dragon above. He clutched it tightly, marveling at the skill required to etch such perfectly even scales, as he said another prayer. Satisfied with the results, he placed the charm back in the box, and the box back beneath his pillow.
Lucatro scolded himself inwardly. He had been neglecting his meditation. He knew that he had come close to losing his carefully sculpted self-control in the goblin cave. He could only hope that the rest of his party was willing to chalk it up to the stress of his recent resurrection. After all, they had no way of knowing that he had experienced more disturbing things than death. Now the dreams were starting again. Dreams he hadn’t had since shortly after joining the Order of Corellon.
Shaking off his unpleasant thoughts, he dressed himself quickly. It was far too early for a nominally sane Paladin such as himself to be wandering about the grounds, but Lucatro had a hunch that a certain wizard was already hard at work.
……
Petrick didn’t hear the knock at his door. His eyes flew across the pages of the huge book on the table in front of him. The book, made by giants for giants, had already revealed several useful bits of information.The Reverend Father had indeed been very interested in the circlet the team brought back from their trip to the Seawall Mountains. He had never seen anything like it, and that meant that, in all likelihood, neither had anybody else.
Petrick feverishly scanned the massive pages, searching for more clues. The easygoing young man wasn’t suffering from the same emotional bruises as his wife, Amelie, from their death and subsequent resurrection on the Mistmarsh expedition (aside from a strange recurring dream where he was being suffocated by a porcupine whom he’d offended somehow), but he did have a driving need to prove to the Reverend Father that he was worth the effort of his resurrection ritual.
A louder knock startled Petrick out of his thoughts. He scratched a few quick notes in his booklet, then went to admit his visitor.
"Lucatro! What are you doing up so early?"
"I couldn't sleep. I thought I'd see if there was anything I could do to help with your research."
"Well, not really. I think I've learned all I can here; I'm just finishing up a report for the Reverend Father. If I'm right, this is a truly remarkable find."
"Oh? What have you turned up?"
"At first, not much. I kept hitting one dead end after another. I wrote a few of my old professors at Morgrave University." Petrick gestured to a massive pile of papers filling a table on the far wall.
Lucatro raised an eyebrow, "a few?"
"Well. Relatively speaking. Anyway, one of them noted in passing that he once saw similar designs on an old Giant book, though only the leather cover of that one had survived, so he couldn't tell me what it might have said. That got me thinking: we're assuming that the circlet belonged to someone roughly human-sized. What if the owner was not an adult? A Giant child would need clothing of about the size as an adult human."
"That does put a new spin on things."
"Right. I started gathering every piece of information I could about the Age of Giants. I've even got a few actual Giant books here on loan from a few different universities. There's not much information, but several of them mention a lost tribe of, for lack of a better term, Frost Giants."
"Frost Giants?"
"I don't know much more than that. There are just several allusions to a tribe of Giants that had taken to living in extremely frigid climates. The markings on that circlet seem to be specific to that tribe. I haven't found any information about how they ended up in the Seawall Mountains, nor what would lead them to migrate that far. An old business journal from a tribe of giants that used to trade with these Frost Giants simply notes that they didn't show up to the summer markets one year. That's it."
Lucatro rubbed his chin, "so we're looking at the circlet of either a crown prince or a child king or chieftan of some sort from a long-lost tribe of Frost Giants that nobody in our time knows anything about, and few of their contemporaries had any dealings with."
"Pretty much." Petrick gave a winsome half-smile, "But I bet we can find a whole lot more."
........
"The FROSTFELL?" Amelie was on her feet in an instant. "Petrick, nobody comes back from the Frostfell!"
"The Wayfinder Expedition seemed to do alright for itself."
"And how many others simply disappeared?"
Lucatro, raised a calming hand, "Please, Amelie, sit down. We don't want to disturb the entire Order."
Amelie, Petrick, Ghejhann and Lucatro argued together in the crowded central dining hall of the Order of Corellon. Amelie glanced around at the curious looks beginning to fall on her and sat down, slowly. Her voice remained tight, however. "What could possibly be so important to risk going to the Frostfell?"
Petrick grabbed her hand, "I know it's dangerous, but we found the first real evidence of a lost tribe of giants that apparently lived in the Frostfell and only traded with the Giant tribes in Xen'drik out of necessity. Even if more of the old Giant civilization had survived, I'm not sure they knew much about them even then. We don't need any more reason than that. Finding the lost fragments of civilizations - any civilization - is our mission. And something as old as the Giant civilization... who knows what kind of lost rituals or art may be there?"
Amelie dropped her chin and stared and her bowl of stew. "I know. But.. "
"But what?"
"I'm just not sure it's worth it any more."
A silence settled over the group. It lasted several moments until Ghejhann ventured to speak. "The history of this world is a history of loss. We fight daily against the dying of the light. The few candles left flicker in the winds of a war that has not truly ended, though we like to pretend it has. If there is to be any world worth living in at all, for you and for your children, then we must seek out whatever we can that may help restore some of what we've lost."
The normally taciturn Dragonborn held Amelie's gaze for a long moment, adding, "Nothing worth having can be acquired easily, or without risk. You are no coward. Do not act like one."
Amelie's nostrils flared slightly as his words hit home. "I guess I lost sight of the stakes. Death has a way of changing people you know." She gave a weak smile, "Thank you."
A nod was her only answer.
"In that case," Lucatro announced, "it's safe to tell you that I've already presented Petrick's report to the Reverend Father. We leave for the Frostfell in the morning."
.......
Early the next day, all four adventurers were packed and ready to go. They had breakfast together in the dining hall before heading to the bottom floor, as directed, to receive final instruction.
"How do you think we'll get there?" Petrick asked.
Lucatro admitted, "I'm not entirely sure. I suspect we'll be sent as far as possible on the lightning rail, then on a House Lyrandar galleon to the Frostfell. I suppose we might be sent by airship, but my guess is that would be a little too conspicuous."
As the group reached the end of the hallway, a plump, grandmotherly woman in a modest dress was there to greet them. Her face was like a smiling moon, her eyes as bright stars.
"Mother Franseen!" Petrick exclaimed, stopping suddenly and almost causing Ghejhann to crash into him. The group said, almost in unison, "Corellon guide you, Mother."
"And you, dears," she answered, chuckling.
Lucatro offered an apology, "the Reverend Father didn't tell me we'd be meeting you here. He just told us to report here for our final instructions."
"Oh, I suppose he wouldn't. Dear Willyam so enjoys playing the part of the mysteeerious old priest. But don't you believe it for a second. He couldn't keep a real secret more than a day even if I threatened to stop cooking for him if he didn't." Her voice was warm and welcoming, washing over the group with a strong sense of peace. Mother Franseen unlocked the door leading to the part of the building normally reserved for the highest levels of the Order's heirarchy. She motioned for the party to pass through before following them and locking it tight from the inside.
She led them down a long, colorful hallway, lined with wooden doors leading to offices and apartments. The hallway opened onto courtyards and verandas at regular intervals. "He has such a difficult job, my Willyam, and we both take it very seriously. We're both quite a bit older than we look, you know. Oh, don't give me that look Petrick! Trust me, I look quite good for my age.""What look? I'm just listening very closely!"
With another easy chuckle, Mother Franseen continued, "Oh, but your thoughts are written all over your face, dear. You're still so young that way. When Willyam and I were first married, he was very much like you, in fact. Back then, the Last War was just a war, and we all knew it would be over soon. We all thought of ourselves as Galifarians first, and Brelish second. Those of us in the heartlands could go about our lives as though nothing in the world was wrong, and we could pretend that all the horrible bloodshed on the borders was just a royal argument that would be resolved once everyone came to his senses. Some of us even believed that.
"But as the decades passed, the war pressed in, ever farther from the borders." Rounding a bend in the corridor, the party passed through another locked door. It merely opened onto another hallway, this one dimly lit. Even here, where few would ever see, the cieling was decorated with masterpiece paintings. Mother Franseen's voice grew somber as her tale grew closer to the present, "We faced shortages. The glass tower in Sharn was sabotaged by enemy agents. We watched House Canith turn from creating wonders, to creating weapons. We lost friends, and children, and grandchildren to the fighting. And we watched much that was good, and beautiful, and right pass from the world, destroyed by this terrible conflict. The world you were born into was already much diminished from the one Willyam and I started our lives together in. And then at the last, when we lost Cyre to the Mourning..." The old woman shook her head, eyes closed in remembered pain, "you're too young to truly know the brightness of the light that was extinguished that day."
The entire group was silent, in shared rememberance of Cyre. They reached another door, and Mother Franseen paused, her voice now quiet, tinged with deep sadness. The laugh lines around her eyes stood out in stark contrast to her tone. "I know that now, we call this peace. But we know it's not peace. It is only a respite. As soon as one of the Five recovers, war will break out again. Sooner, if the goblins have their way. We looked on in horror in the early days of the war, when Karrnath raised their undead legions from the bodies of the fallen. But this so-called peace is just as horrific. The nations as you know them are nothing more than the dismembered corpse of Galifar, moving about as if they have life and purpose, when in truth, it would be much better to let Galifar's remains die, and for the old kingdom to rest in peace. Then we can forge something new, and true, on the ashes, and keep the darkness at bay."
Mother Franseen unlocked the last door and led the party through into a huge, dark room. A few small lamps provided some feeble light, but none of them penetrated far into the surrounding darkness. "I do apologize, my dears. This old woman is just feeling her age today. I only wanted to remind you how important it is that we gather to ourselves every bit of light and beauty that we can. We lean on Corellon, and trust that he will allow humankind a new spring. But you... the four of you are four of the brightest lights we have. Remember that.
"Ahh, here we are at last."
The party stopped in front of a large circle of black stones placed in a perfect circle. The air around the circle was charged, expectant.
Lucatro spoke first, "is that a ..."
"Yes, dear," Mother Franseen answered him, "a teleportation circle."
"I never imagined...."
"Oh, we don't exactly advertise it. I know of a circle in the heart of the Frostfell. The coasts are dangerous for sure, but the heart of the continent is home mainly to animals. Not to say they aren't dangerous at all, but they'll find you much stranger than you find them. Willyam decided that the circle was the best way to send you, mainly because it means that someone, somewhen decided that part of the world was of paramount importance to have built a circle there. It seemed the best place to start your search.
"Now, step into the circle, loves."
Still mostly stunned, Lucatro, Petrick, Amelie, and Ghejhann stepped carefully into the circle. The dim light of the room didn't allow them to take in many details, but it seemed that Mother Franseen's eyes were as bright as ever. As the old woman began the Linked Portal ritual, she was transformed. Power rippled from her in waves; her eyes went from bright stars to blazing suns. She moved her hands with power and precision, speaking in words that none of the others could understand. Her gentle voice, which had alternately soothed and expressed a sadness to great for words alone, instead boomed with strength and the aura of command. The adventurers huddled close as fire began to glow in the spaces between the stones. As the Reverend Mother worked, the flames grew higher, though they gave off no heat. Lightning began to flow from her hands to the stones. With a loud, final crack, the party was gone. The flames winked out in an instant, and the silence returned with an almost audible thump.
Alone in the darkness, an exhausted old woman collapsed to the ground.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Character Concepts: Homebrew Changling
I sat in on an amazing campaign setting creation session run by Quinn Murphy from 4E At Will (he can also be found on twitter as @gamefiend). This was all done as preperation for an online D&D game he is going to be running for me, Michael Hasko (web/twitter), Jeremy Morgan (web/twitter), and Ryven Cedrylle (web/twitter). Quinn's rules and guidelines we used to create the campaign setting were spectacular, but I'll leave them for him to divulge when the time is right. So, here is a little back story on the character I created, but first a little bit of back story of the setting to help understand it.
Recent Setting Details
During the 3rd era, the Yuan-Ti began a charge against the 3 superpowers. As it turned out, they had genetically designed sleeper agents, called Changelings, poised to strike from the inside these great nations. As the battle waged, Beltzhoover became a military state and was able to fend off most of the Yuan-Ti's initial attack, leaving them an opening to plow into their neighbors of Laeda. Laeda was overrun and fell into chaos with the Beltzhooverian troops and Yuan-Ti armies trampling the countryside.Character Backstory
Dax. It is a Changling name. Most people know him as Donald as he's been living...no, hiding among the people of Laeda for the past 12 years. Dox escaped the Yuan-Ti breeding camps and was found just outside the town by a widow woman. She thought he was a feral child at first and the only thing he remembers of his past is his name and fear of snakes. That was until he grew. The Yuan-Ti were growing the Changlings at an alarming rate and the small boy became a young man in just under 2 years. He's not even sure how the widow woman kept his growing a secret from the rest of the town, but as far as they know, he is just like the rest of them. Now, with the Yuan-Ti invasion and the Beltzhoover army marching across the countryside, Dox has decided he cannot sit idly by any longer. Especially so since his "mother", the widow woman, was taken in the last raid. Dox not only hopes to rescue his mother, but wants to set things right. The Yuan-Ti and Beltzhooverians need to be stopped.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
D&D on NBC??
Do you watch the show Community on NBC? I don't, but when I heard they had an episode about Dungeons & Dragons, I couldn't miss it! It seems I wasn't alone in this, and Scott Bennie, a member of one of the Yahoo Groups I frequent, had some interesting thoughts about the episode as well. His comments, after the episode (embedded video from Hulu.com):
The neatest thing about the episode is that its premise is a conscious repudiation of the 80s D&D scare. This is a Dungeons and Dragons game designed to *prevent* a suicide, as opposed to the "Radecki/Pulling D&D causes suicide" tripe of the 80s.
The group, instead of "trying to snap Neil" back to reality, which is the usual trope of a mainstream handling of an "escape is for the weak, RPG is evil" episode, is actively trying to use his fantasy to bolster his self-esteem, even when many of them don't particularly get it. Jeff may think the game is silly, but he understands the importance of the sword to Neil, though Neil's agenda dovetails with his own when it comes to Pierce. The one person who tries to make Neil "see reality" is Pierce, who ironically is far better than adapting to the milieu than the others, despite saying the game is "gay" and "stupid', showing contempt for the trappings of the genre (his obscene acts with Neil's sword, his eventual pathetic descent to using the "rape button", at the end, when confronted with the banality of his evil).
Neil's triumph isn't his repudiation of fantasy (as in most anti-RPG media depictions), nor is it his victory in a fantasy that's solely escapist (as one might expect in a blindly pro-RPG piece), but, when presented with a fantasy antagonist that's using the game as a passive-aggressive attack on him in the real world, he manages to recognize its pathetic qualities and, via an act of pity and grace, use it to achieve a victory in both worlds. The show's not damning escape nor lionizing it, but recognizing it as having value as long as the individual is capable of dealing with the real world.
It also plays into what I've said for years is the true capacity for evil in our hobby, not content -- these players are not going to become more violent or drawn into the occult from playing this game -- but in the capacity of being a tool that someone can use to be a creep and do people serious psychological harm, to act as a vessel to give reign to our darker (as the show would call it, most dickish) impulses. The group coming together, however, is a demonstration of what I think is RPG's greatest strength: It's potential to draw people into a communal experience that cements friendship, and reinforcing values of compassion that go beyond what's at the game table.
What are your thoughts?
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Order of Corellon 3: Dawnfire, Part Two
The party stepped carefully through the abandoned mine, following paths that had been worn smooth by generation upon generation of feet travelling into the depths. The magelight cast harsh shadows on the walls of the caverns, oddly distorted by the uneven rock. In the distance, a slow dripping echoed through the silence.
The path forked several times, but each time, their agent’s map provided direction, guiding them deeper into the mountain. The floor grew rougher and more uneven as they headed inward, reaching the parts of the mine that had been newest when it was still in use. Rather than rock-hewn tunnels, they began to see natural caverns in every direction, and stalactites and stalagmites began to be regular features.
“This section of the mine looks almost unused,” Lucatro seemed concerned for the first time, “I assumed the mine was abandoned because the gems ran out, but these walls are untouched. Petrick, bring your light down closer to the walls.”
Petrick willed the magelight down to eye level. The walls glittered with specks of color. Lucatro narrowed his eyes in thought, “there are still gems in these rocks. Alright, let’s slow our pace. Keep your eyes open for any movement. Petrick, throw that light as high as you can. We’ll get wider illumination. Just let me know if your eyes don’t adjust to the dimmer light; I never could get a good feel for what humans considered too dim.”
The adventurers continued on in silence, peering into the dimly lit shadows, listening for any sign of life.
Ghejhann spoke in a low rumble that passed for a whisper, “this place is too empty. Surely we would have run afoul of something by now. If not goblins, then at least rats, spiders, or something else that makes its home in the dark places.”
“You’ve got a point,” Lucatro conceded, consulting his map once more, “but we’re almost at the end of the path. There’s a room off to the right, just around this bend. I don’t know what’s wrong with this place, but we won’t have to stay much longer.”
As they rounded the last long curve in the natural corridor, there was no doubt that this was the right place. A huge cavern opened up before them; a two-foot drop led to an unnaturally smooth and level floor. A massive stone table, with stalagmites for legs, dominated the center of the room. The walls were lined with piles of weaponry, armor, and other equipment that looked as if it had been neatly stored at one point, but which lay haphazardly in piles now. Flails, spiked chains, strange helmets, oddly-shaped shields, breastplates with scrollwork and sharp points, and other assorted odds and ends flashed in the magelight. A massive, tattered banner hung on the far wall, it’s colors long faded and its sign now unreadable.
"These are Dhakaani weapons," Ghejhann confirmed, "but damaged beyond repair by the cold dampness here. They're surely brittle now."
“Well, this certainly looks like a court-in-exile. It could have been the Shaking Emperor, or it could have been some other Dhakaani noble. There's no way to tell now.” Lucatro commanded the others, “Fan out; the amulet should be easy to spot. Who knows where that poor goblin tossed it when it burned him, though.”
The party spread out and began searching through the piles of ruined weapons and rusted armor. The metal had aged and worn oddly, with parts still gleaming as if new, and parts tarnished and rusted. Petrick made note to study the Dhakaani when he got back to his library. Perhaps there was originally some preserving enchantment on the stash which had been disturbed or had begun to wear off.
Petrick was poking along the edge of the far wall, beneath the tattered banner. He noticed a deeper patch of shadow behind some shields. It looked almost like a small alcove in the base of the wall; it would have been completely covered had the shields been arranged neatly. His magelight didn’t penetrate very far, as he had let the light drift up to the ceiling to illuminate as much of the cavern as he could. The wizard crawled closer, wary, and gently pushed the wall of shields over to get a better look into the alcove. The shields fell, one after another, and tumbling out from behind them was a black-clad corpse, its eyes staring blankly up into the depths of the cavern ceiling. It hadn’t been there long; the blood still glistened wetly from the ruins of its throat.
With a cry of surprise, Petrick scampered backward. “Guys, you better see this.”
The others rushed over, but stopped short when they saw the body. Ghejhann inhaled deeply, “Human. Fresh. Probably less than two hours old.”
Lucatro furrowed his brow, “whoever ambushed this poor soul isn’t here now; we certainly would have been next.”
“Or he went back for help.” Petrick added weakly.
Amelie stared at the corpse, focusing on something on the dead man’s left hand. A narrow band of gold circled the base of his pinky finger. She made her way carefully over the pile of shields and gingerly turned the fellow’s hand over.
With a curse, Amelie dropped the hand and dashed back to the group. “How well do you know our mysterious source?” she asked, each word dropping as lead.
“I don’t know him at all,” Lucatro admitted reluctantly, “but the Reverend Father assured me the source had been feeding us information for many years, well before the end of the Last War.”
“Well, you may want to send someone to check on our source’s health. That man is a member of the King’s Shadows. The symbol on his ring marks him as a member of the Night Blades, an elite cell of the Shadows that is often called on to police our ... their ... own. I have no doubt he was waiting here for me.”
“But... but... the Shadows?” Petrick stammered, “I thought we only had to worry about the King’s Shields. If they’re sending the King’s Shadows after you now…”
“I know. It means that … he … doesn’t need me alive any more. Things have obviously changed back home, but … Oh, by the Five Nations, Leukis… " Amelie whipped around and met Lucatro's eyes, "I have to get back to the Order. I need to know what’s happening in Wroat, in the King’s court.”
“Agreed,” Lucatro did not hesitate, “but your would-be assassin is dead, you can’t change anything that’s happening in Wroat right now, and I will not fail the Reverend Father a second time. We find the amulet first.” His uncharacteristic scowl transformed him; this coldly pragmatic version of the Paladin was not something the party had seen before.
“Don’t you get it?” Amelie was nearly shouting. “This whole mission was a setup! There is no amulet!”
“The whole mission? Nonsense.” Lucatro scoffed, “obviously, an agent with the King’s Shadows caught wind of our mission and sent someone to lay in wait for us here, and …”
“So who killed him? What did they want? Where did they go?”
“The intrigues of the human courts are numerous, and often opaque.” Ghejhann, as usual, remained unruffled by the argument around him, “If we waited until we knew the motivations of everyone here, then we would never move again.”
Petrick furrowed his brow, “It can’t be a setup, Amelie. I trust that the Reverend Father’s gnomish friend has not been compromised; he would know. And the goblin showed off his melted hand, remember? How could he be lying?”
“I never claimed the King’s Shadows were nice people. Iron burns hot enough to melt flesh, too.”
“Ohhh. That’s… wrong.”
“Yes. But it would explain how a scatterbrained goblin was able to feed a very detailed, very accurate map to our agent in Zolanberg. The Shadows had to be sure we’d make it.”
Petrick still wasn’t satisfied. “But how could the Shadows know the Order would send us, specifically? It’s not like we’re the only team of adventurers on the payroll.”
“No, but it was a good gamble; the ‘amulet’ was easy to reach, and we needed a win after our last mission. If a different team shows up, the assassin just stays hidden and they try again later.”
“Stop.” Lucatro tilted his head. “Voices, coming this way. Petrick, extinguish that light. Defensive positions.”
...
“Diss where human fiend attack you, Bagguck?”
“Yess, we close now. He wass hide in a hole, in room full of treasure. I kill him easy, bite his neck. Lots of treasure! Chief will be happy with us!”
A group of eight goblins followed Bagguck and his bugbear friend Colin. A Hexer had offered to lead the group, just in case the human fiend had friends. This part of the caves was not safe. But Bagguck had seen a treasure, a treasure too big to carry, and no goblin could resist bringing riches like those home to his clan. They would all be rewarded!
“Right ova here!”
…
The party froze as a group of goblins rounded into view. Seven goblins accompanied by a huge bugbear, and an odd-looking goblin that, by his bearing, could only be a hexer.
Petrick summoned another magelight and set it high, lighting the cavern once more. The sudden light brought the goblins to a halt, cringing. For a long moment, each group just looked at the other in the darkness; the goblins shocked into a rare moment of stillness.
With a prayer, Lucatro began moving his hands in a wide circle. A line of glowing runes followed behind his palm, encircling the party and offering a measure of protection. Amelie had moved quickly to the side, using the piles of weapons and armor for cover as she drew her Duelist’s Shuriken. Ghejhann readied his crossbow, knowing the hexer would not charge to the front of the line.
Ghejann fired at the goblin hexer, but the hexer grabbed one of the poor goblin minions next to him and thrust him in the path of Ghejhann's bolt. The goblin screamed his last and was cast aside. The rest of the horde, partly out of anger and partly out of fear of their leader, charged the adventurers, who had taken refuge behind the huge stone table.
Petrick knew he had to deal with his opposite number among the goblins. The wizard's hands began to glow as he held them out in front of his body. He began to form symbols with his fingers, tracing complex patterns in the air. He blocked the charging goblin horde from his consciousness with a will; a final flourish of his hands marked the hexer as his target, and a cloud of magical daggers begin to swirl around the goblin, stabbing in and out relentlessly from all directions.
The hexer, through his pain, cast a cloud that covered the party, obscuring their vision and concealing the hexer. Amelie, though, was safely outside the range of the cloud; she took aim and tossed her shuriken expertly. The hexer screamed as the weapon hit home, but he shook off the pain, and the cloud remained.
The large bugbear reached the party first, rushing into the vexing cloud while swinging his massive Morningstar. He delivered a skullthumping hit to Petrick, knocking him to the floor, unconscious. Lucatro whispered another prayer, and a translucent golden shield materialized between Petrick and the attacking horde as he swung mightily with his sword. The bugbear had jumped on top of the stone table in an attempt to land among the party and wreak havoc. Lucatro's powerful chop connected with the bugbear’s legs, sending the brute to his knees. One of the little goblins scampered over the table to the bugbear in concern. “Odd,” Ghejhann thought to himself as he traded his crossbow for his battleaxe. That cloud may make it hard to see, but it wouldn’t stop his axe.
Though Petrick was unconscious, Amelie didn’t worry too much. Ghejhann’s axe was cutting a bloody swathe through the goblin horde, and Lucatro was shielding Petrick as much as he was attacking the enemy. She tumbled across the cavern, changing directions and drawing closer to the hexer. The goblin was free of the painful dagger cloud with Petrick unconscious. Amelie could tell he was readying for another strike on her friends. She drew her short sword as she flanked the hexer, concealing herself behind the massive piles of ancient relics at the edges of the cavern.
With a calculated strike, she exploded at the hexer, slicing him viciously and throwing him slightly off balance. He attempted to bring his rod around to crush her skull, but Amelie anticipated the attack, and with an adroit riposte, sliced her sword across the path of the goblin's attack, neatly severing his hand; both it and the rod falling to the floor.
Screaming, the hexer ran, spurting a gleaming trail of blood for the surviving goblins to follow. As the vexing cloud dissipated, Amelie saw Petrick getting to his feet. Five dead goblins littered the cavern floor; the bugbear ran from the cavern, limping, with one small goblin trailing along behind him.
“Now we know what happened to the assassin.” Amelie cleaned and sheathed her sword as she moved to check on Petrick. “You going to be OK?”
“Yeah, he just hit my head. No real damage.”
The rogue smiled and put a steadying arm around her husband. “Let’s get going.”
“What about the amulet?” Lucatro was incredulous.
With a heavy sigh, Amelie helped Petrick sit down at the massive stone table. “Fine. We’ll find it first.”
The party tore every inch of the cavern apart. No shield, no flail, no breastplate, no spear was left untouched. When all was said and done, the most interesting thing to be found in the cavern was a small circlet, the kind a crown prince might wear.
“Looks like you were right Amelie,” Lucatro admitted, “the whole mission was a setup. But I’ve never seen designs like this before.” He ran his fingers along the outside of the circlet. “The Reverend Father may at least find it interesting.”
"Well, at least we're coming back in one piece this time." Amelie conceded. As she looked around at the rest of the group, she felt a leaden knot of guilt form in her stomach. She had come so close to betraying them all; she had considered becoming a traitor to the Order in order to clear her name as a traitor to the Crown. It was the Shadow way: the Crown above all. The rogue made a promise to herself. She would never again consider betrayal, that as long as someone was loyal to her, she would be loyal to him.
As the party shuffled out of the cavern and back into the mine to begin the long journey home, a pair of glowing eyes looked down on them from the shadows high in the cavern’s ceiling. The Revered Father wasn’t the only one who would be getting a report today.
The path forked several times, but each time, their agent’s map provided direction, guiding them deeper into the mountain. The floor grew rougher and more uneven as they headed inward, reaching the parts of the mine that had been newest when it was still in use. Rather than rock-hewn tunnels, they began to see natural caverns in every direction, and stalactites and stalagmites began to be regular features.
“This section of the mine looks almost unused,” Lucatro seemed concerned for the first time, “I assumed the mine was abandoned because the gems ran out, but these walls are untouched. Petrick, bring your light down closer to the walls.”
Petrick willed the magelight down to eye level. The walls glittered with specks of color. Lucatro narrowed his eyes in thought, “there are still gems in these rocks. Alright, let’s slow our pace. Keep your eyes open for any movement. Petrick, throw that light as high as you can. We’ll get wider illumination. Just let me know if your eyes don’t adjust to the dimmer light; I never could get a good feel for what humans considered too dim.”
The adventurers continued on in silence, peering into the dimly lit shadows, listening for any sign of life.
Ghejhann spoke in a low rumble that passed for a whisper, “this place is too empty. Surely we would have run afoul of something by now. If not goblins, then at least rats, spiders, or something else that makes its home in the dark places.”
“You’ve got a point,” Lucatro conceded, consulting his map once more, “but we’re almost at the end of the path. There’s a room off to the right, just around this bend. I don’t know what’s wrong with this place, but we won’t have to stay much longer.”
As they rounded the last long curve in the natural corridor, there was no doubt that this was the right place. A huge cavern opened up before them; a two-foot drop led to an unnaturally smooth and level floor. A massive stone table, with stalagmites for legs, dominated the center of the room. The walls were lined with piles of weaponry, armor, and other equipment that looked as if it had been neatly stored at one point, but which lay haphazardly in piles now. Flails, spiked chains, strange helmets, oddly-shaped shields, breastplates with scrollwork and sharp points, and other assorted odds and ends flashed in the magelight. A massive, tattered banner hung on the far wall, it’s colors long faded and its sign now unreadable.
"These are Dhakaani weapons," Ghejhann confirmed, "but damaged beyond repair by the cold dampness here. They're surely brittle now."
“Well, this certainly looks like a court-in-exile. It could have been the Shaking Emperor, or it could have been some other Dhakaani noble. There's no way to tell now.” Lucatro commanded the others, “Fan out; the amulet should be easy to spot. Who knows where that poor goblin tossed it when it burned him, though.”
The party spread out and began searching through the piles of ruined weapons and rusted armor. The metal had aged and worn oddly, with parts still gleaming as if new, and parts tarnished and rusted. Petrick made note to study the Dhakaani when he got back to his library. Perhaps there was originally some preserving enchantment on the stash which had been disturbed or had begun to wear off.
Petrick was poking along the edge of the far wall, beneath the tattered banner. He noticed a deeper patch of shadow behind some shields. It looked almost like a small alcove in the base of the wall; it would have been completely covered had the shields been arranged neatly. His magelight didn’t penetrate very far, as he had let the light drift up to the ceiling to illuminate as much of the cavern as he could. The wizard crawled closer, wary, and gently pushed the wall of shields over to get a better look into the alcove. The shields fell, one after another, and tumbling out from behind them was a black-clad corpse, its eyes staring blankly up into the depths of the cavern ceiling. It hadn’t been there long; the blood still glistened wetly from the ruins of its throat.
With a cry of surprise, Petrick scampered backward. “Guys, you better see this.”
The others rushed over, but stopped short when they saw the body. Ghejhann inhaled deeply, “Human. Fresh. Probably less than two hours old.”
Lucatro furrowed his brow, “whoever ambushed this poor soul isn’t here now; we certainly would have been next.”
“Or he went back for help.” Petrick added weakly.
Amelie stared at the corpse, focusing on something on the dead man’s left hand. A narrow band of gold circled the base of his pinky finger. She made her way carefully over the pile of shields and gingerly turned the fellow’s hand over.
With a curse, Amelie dropped the hand and dashed back to the group. “How well do you know our mysterious source?” she asked, each word dropping as lead.
“I don’t know him at all,” Lucatro admitted reluctantly, “but the Reverend Father assured me the source had been feeding us information for many years, well before the end of the Last War.”
“Well, you may want to send someone to check on our source’s health. That man is a member of the King’s Shadows. The symbol on his ring marks him as a member of the Night Blades, an elite cell of the Shadows that is often called on to police our ... their ... own. I have no doubt he was waiting here for me.”
“But... but... the Shadows?” Petrick stammered, “I thought we only had to worry about the King’s Shields. If they’re sending the King’s Shadows after you now…”
“I know. It means that … he … doesn’t need me alive any more. Things have obviously changed back home, but … Oh, by the Five Nations, Leukis… " Amelie whipped around and met Lucatro's eyes, "I have to get back to the Order. I need to know what’s happening in Wroat, in the King’s court.”
“Agreed,” Lucatro did not hesitate, “but your would-be assassin is dead, you can’t change anything that’s happening in Wroat right now, and I will not fail the Reverend Father a second time. We find the amulet first.” His uncharacteristic scowl transformed him; this coldly pragmatic version of the Paladin was not something the party had seen before.
“Don’t you get it?” Amelie was nearly shouting. “This whole mission was a setup! There is no amulet!”
“The whole mission? Nonsense.” Lucatro scoffed, “obviously, an agent with the King’s Shadows caught wind of our mission and sent someone to lay in wait for us here, and …”
“So who killed him? What did they want? Where did they go?”
“The intrigues of the human courts are numerous, and often opaque.” Ghejhann, as usual, remained unruffled by the argument around him, “If we waited until we knew the motivations of everyone here, then we would never move again.”
Petrick furrowed his brow, “It can’t be a setup, Amelie. I trust that the Reverend Father’s gnomish friend has not been compromised; he would know. And the goblin showed off his melted hand, remember? How could he be lying?”
“I never claimed the King’s Shadows were nice people. Iron burns hot enough to melt flesh, too.”
“Ohhh. That’s… wrong.”
“Yes. But it would explain how a scatterbrained goblin was able to feed a very detailed, very accurate map to our agent in Zolanberg. The Shadows had to be sure we’d make it.”
Petrick still wasn’t satisfied. “But how could the Shadows know the Order would send us, specifically? It’s not like we’re the only team of adventurers on the payroll.”
“No, but it was a good gamble; the ‘amulet’ was easy to reach, and we needed a win after our last mission. If a different team shows up, the assassin just stays hidden and they try again later.”
“Stop.” Lucatro tilted his head. “Voices, coming this way. Petrick, extinguish that light. Defensive positions.”
...
“Diss where human fiend attack you, Bagguck?”
“Yess, we close now. He wass hide in a hole, in room full of treasure. I kill him easy, bite his neck. Lots of treasure! Chief will be happy with us!”
A group of eight goblins followed Bagguck and his bugbear friend Colin. A Hexer had offered to lead the group, just in case the human fiend had friends. This part of the caves was not safe. But Bagguck had seen a treasure, a treasure too big to carry, and no goblin could resist bringing riches like those home to his clan. They would all be rewarded!
“Right ova here!”
…
The party froze as a group of goblins rounded into view. Seven goblins accompanied by a huge bugbear, and an odd-looking goblin that, by his bearing, could only be a hexer.
Petrick summoned another magelight and set it high, lighting the cavern once more. The sudden light brought the goblins to a halt, cringing. For a long moment, each group just looked at the other in the darkness; the goblins shocked into a rare moment of stillness.
With a prayer, Lucatro began moving his hands in a wide circle. A line of glowing runes followed behind his palm, encircling the party and offering a measure of protection. Amelie had moved quickly to the side, using the piles of weapons and armor for cover as she drew her Duelist’s Shuriken. Ghejhann readied his crossbow, knowing the hexer would not charge to the front of the line.
Ghejann fired at the goblin hexer, but the hexer grabbed one of the poor goblin minions next to him and thrust him in the path of Ghejhann's bolt. The goblin screamed his last and was cast aside. The rest of the horde, partly out of anger and partly out of fear of their leader, charged the adventurers, who had taken refuge behind the huge stone table.
Petrick knew he had to deal with his opposite number among the goblins. The wizard's hands began to glow as he held them out in front of his body. He began to form symbols with his fingers, tracing complex patterns in the air. He blocked the charging goblin horde from his consciousness with a will; a final flourish of his hands marked the hexer as his target, and a cloud of magical daggers begin to swirl around the goblin, stabbing in and out relentlessly from all directions.
The hexer, through his pain, cast a cloud that covered the party, obscuring their vision and concealing the hexer. Amelie, though, was safely outside the range of the cloud; she took aim and tossed her shuriken expertly. The hexer screamed as the weapon hit home, but he shook off the pain, and the cloud remained.
The large bugbear reached the party first, rushing into the vexing cloud while swinging his massive Morningstar. He delivered a skullthumping hit to Petrick, knocking him to the floor, unconscious. Lucatro whispered another prayer, and a translucent golden shield materialized between Petrick and the attacking horde as he swung mightily with his sword. The bugbear had jumped on top of the stone table in an attempt to land among the party and wreak havoc. Lucatro's powerful chop connected with the bugbear’s legs, sending the brute to his knees. One of the little goblins scampered over the table to the bugbear in concern. “Odd,” Ghejhann thought to himself as he traded his crossbow for his battleaxe. That cloud may make it hard to see, but it wouldn’t stop his axe.
Though Petrick was unconscious, Amelie didn’t worry too much. Ghejhann’s axe was cutting a bloody swathe through the goblin horde, and Lucatro was shielding Petrick as much as he was attacking the enemy. She tumbled across the cavern, changing directions and drawing closer to the hexer. The goblin was free of the painful dagger cloud with Petrick unconscious. Amelie could tell he was readying for another strike on her friends. She drew her short sword as she flanked the hexer, concealing herself behind the massive piles of ancient relics at the edges of the cavern.
With a calculated strike, she exploded at the hexer, slicing him viciously and throwing him slightly off balance. He attempted to bring his rod around to crush her skull, but Amelie anticipated the attack, and with an adroit riposte, sliced her sword across the path of the goblin's attack, neatly severing his hand; both it and the rod falling to the floor.
Screaming, the hexer ran, spurting a gleaming trail of blood for the surviving goblins to follow. As the vexing cloud dissipated, Amelie saw Petrick getting to his feet. Five dead goblins littered the cavern floor; the bugbear ran from the cavern, limping, with one small goblin trailing along behind him.
“Now we know what happened to the assassin.” Amelie cleaned and sheathed her sword as she moved to check on Petrick. “You going to be OK?”
“Yeah, he just hit my head. No real damage.”
The rogue smiled and put a steadying arm around her husband. “Let’s get going.”
“What about the amulet?” Lucatro was incredulous.
With a heavy sigh, Amelie helped Petrick sit down at the massive stone table. “Fine. We’ll find it first.”
The party tore every inch of the cavern apart. No shield, no flail, no breastplate, no spear was left untouched. When all was said and done, the most interesting thing to be found in the cavern was a small circlet, the kind a crown prince might wear.
“Looks like you were right Amelie,” Lucatro admitted, “the whole mission was a setup. But I’ve never seen designs like this before.” He ran his fingers along the outside of the circlet. “The Reverend Father may at least find it interesting.”
"Well, at least we're coming back in one piece this time." Amelie conceded. As she looked around at the rest of the group, she felt a leaden knot of guilt form in her stomach. She had come so close to betraying them all; she had considered becoming a traitor to the Order in order to clear her name as a traitor to the Crown. It was the Shadow way: the Crown above all. The rogue made a promise to herself. She would never again consider betrayal, that as long as someone was loyal to her, she would be loyal to him.
As the party shuffled out of the cavern and back into the mine to begin the long journey home, a pair of glowing eyes looked down on them from the shadows high in the cavern’s ceiling. The Revered Father wasn’t the only one who would be getting a report today.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Feats of Fun - Week 16 (Bard)
Adam( http://twitter.com/blindgeekuk ), the originator of the FridayFeat idea, has posted the first few weeks of FridayFeats over on http://www.leedsdnd.co.uk/?q=content/friday-feat-twitter which included all those who participated and not just my ideas.
You can find me at http://twitter.com/b_s_lynn & Jeremy at http://twitter.com/WastexGames.
[caption id="attachment_1146" align="alignnone" width="310" caption="Sarcastic Lead"]
[/caption]
Sarcastic Lead
Prerequisites:Cutting Words
Your words encourage the target to attack the specific ally or yourself that you designate for the target's next attack.
[caption id="attachment_1146" align="alignnone" width="365" caption="Backhand Swing"]
[/caption]
Backhand Swing
Prerequisites:Guiding Strike
Until the beginning of your next turn as an immediate reaction triggered when an ally misses with an attack targeting the diminished defense of the guiding strike target you may grant a basic attack against the guiding strike target to the PC who missed.
[caption id="attachment_1146" align="alignnone" width="295" caption="Stumble Shot"]
[/caption]
Stumble Shot
Prerequisites:Jinx Shot
You may designate an adjacent square as the square where the target falls prone within, plus they must use a standard action to stand-up from this prone state.
[caption id="attachment_1146" align="alignnone" width="350" caption="Extended Challenge"]
[/caption]
Extended Challenge
Prerequisites: Misdirected Mark
The PC who has the mark on the target granted by this power can extend the distance of any abilities triggered from the mark by the distance between the ally and the target when the mark was granted.
[caption id="attachment_1146" align="alignnone" width="349" caption="Mighty Wind"]
[/caption]
Mighty Wind
Prerequisites:Staggering Note
You may forgo the Charisma modifier damage and push four squares instead of two.
[caption id="attachment_1146" align="alignnone" width="378" caption="Enraged"]
[/caption]
Enraged
Prerequisites: Vicious Mockery
The target may only make melee basic attacks until the beginning of your next turn.
[caption id="attachment_1146" align="alignnone" width="384" caption="War Dance"]
[/caption]
War Dance
Prerequisites:War Song Strike
Any ally who targets the same target may shift 1 square closer to the target as a free action.
You can find me at http://twitter.com/b_s_lynn & Jeremy at http://twitter.com/WastexGames.
[caption id="attachment_1146" align="alignnone" width="310" caption="Sarcastic Lead"]
[/caption]Sarcastic Lead
Prerequisites:Cutting Words
Your words encourage the target to attack the specific ally or yourself that you designate for the target's next attack.
[caption id="attachment_1146" align="alignnone" width="365" caption="Backhand Swing"]
[/caption]Backhand Swing
Prerequisites:Guiding Strike
Until the beginning of your next turn as an immediate reaction triggered when an ally misses with an attack targeting the diminished defense of the guiding strike target you may grant a basic attack against the guiding strike target to the PC who missed.
[caption id="attachment_1146" align="alignnone" width="295" caption="Stumble Shot"]
[/caption]Stumble Shot
Prerequisites:Jinx Shot
You may designate an adjacent square as the square where the target falls prone within, plus they must use a standard action to stand-up from this prone state.
[caption id="attachment_1146" align="alignnone" width="350" caption="Extended Challenge"]
[/caption]Extended Challenge
Prerequisites: Misdirected Mark
The PC who has the mark on the target granted by this power can extend the distance of any abilities triggered from the mark by the distance between the ally and the target when the mark was granted.
[caption id="attachment_1146" align="alignnone" width="349" caption="Mighty Wind"]
[/caption]Mighty Wind
Prerequisites:Staggering Note
You may forgo the Charisma modifier damage and push four squares instead of two.
[caption id="attachment_1146" align="alignnone" width="378" caption="Enraged"]
[/caption]Enraged
Prerequisites: Vicious Mockery
The target may only make melee basic attacks until the beginning of your next turn.
[caption id="attachment_1146" align="alignnone" width="384" caption="War Dance"]
[/caption]War Dance
Prerequisites:War Song Strike
Any ally who targets the same target may shift 1 square closer to the target as a free action.
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