Watchfires & Thrones Session #45

After an almost four month recess, the players gathered around the table to explore the depths of Stonehell Dungeon once again, but first there was some old business to attend to.

Aieglos and Anwar had completed their training and were looking to occupy the time until the rest of the party returned from their trip upriver to destroy the last vestiges of the Hobgoblin armies. Having been gone just over a week, their absence was not yet cause for alarm. However, Templeton Naz, the proprietor of the Mad Manor was beginning to hint rather strongly that someone needed to take care of the putrefying corpse of Rondo Fleagle that remained in the boarding house’s cold storage space. As the party had sworn to return the dead dwarf to his former home of Dro-baan Khaz, Aieglos and Anwar arranged to join a caravan heading towards the heart of the dwarven kingdom. After three days of travel and a few minor encounters (boulder-hurling apes in the mountain passes and a giant gar that ate one of the caravan’s mounts as they crossed a river), the duo arrived in the subterranean mountain city of Dro-baan Khaz.

Upon their arrival, they sought assistance in what to do with Rondo’s body and were put into contact with one of the dwarven heralds to ascertain what Vein the slain mercenary belonged to. That’s when difficulties arose. Fleagle is not a dwarven name and there was no record of lineage existing for him. It was only when the coffin was open and the herald glimpsed the rotting face within that the reality of the situation became apparent. A look of shock burst upon the herald’s face and Aieglos and Anwar found themselves ushered into an out of the way chamber while a great commotion occurred outside. Several hours passed and there was still no sign of the clamor dying down. Finally, the two were sent for and a quartet of dour-faced dwarven soldiers escorted them out of the room and deep into the inner halls of the dwarven city. As they traveled, they noticed the same sad faces and black mourning bands strapped across shields. It was only when they found themselves escorted before King Tobben of the Underhalls that they learned the truth of what had occurred.

“Rondo Fleagle” was actually Randle Flowstone, the king’s second son. Years ago, an argument between the two led to Randle being declared a “mortdwerg” which effectively made him dead in the eyes of his father. Randle left the city, assumed another name, and sought to prove to his stubborn father that the surface races were worthy of the trust of the dwarves and that without dealings with them, the dwarves of the Kinan-M’Nath would continue to stagnate and die. Randle was a well-liked prince and his ostracism was a great travesty to most of the residents of the city. With his body returned and now no hope of reconciliation with his father, the entire city of Dro-baan Khaz was in mourning.

Once appraised of the situation, Anwar and Aieglos had a quick pow-wow and produced the resurrection ruby they had claimed weeks ago. Informing the king of its power, the duo summoned the great dwarven clerics and proceeded to place the gem upon Randle’s dead chest. Moments later, the magic of the gem came to life, the stone shattered, and Randle Flowstone was once again amongst the living.

Rejoicing at the return of their prince, the two found themselves honored guests of Dro-baan Khaz and feted for several days. They had earned a place of respect amongst the dwarves and were welcome to return at any time. Randle announced he would remain with his people to try and open their eyes as to what their role in the future of the Kinan-M’Nath would be and to reacquaint himself with his position and with his father. As a gesture of thanks for returning his son to a stubborn old king, the two were gifted the Ring of the Hastanes, a magical ring entrusted to the dwarves when the Hastane line vanished 500 years ago. Its powers were unknown since no wizards existed amongst the dwarves, but clerical magic had determined that it bore a powerful magical aura. Taking the ring, the two returned to Blackpool to see if their comrades had returned from their mission upriver.

Back in Blackpool, they were dismayed to learn their friends were overdue. Reports from the Warden Rangers confirmed that the hobgoblin and goblin forces had been routed and were slinking back to their caves. Kaldar had returned and told of the rest of the party entering a crumbling monastery on the western bank of the river while he kept watch on a prisoner outside. When two days had passed and the river boat, the Otter, was due back at Fort Wolf’s Head, Kaldar returned to the river and caught the ship back to Blackpool to report. Anwar and Aieglos decided that if no word was heard in the next week, a rescue mission would be arranged and they would head upriver to discover what happened to their allies.

In the meantime, their coffers would need replenishing and they turned their sights back on Stonehell. With many of their numbers training or missing, the two decided to recruit some fresh members and hire on more mercenaries. Two new candidates for membership were found in the Mad Manor: a dwarf named Helgsvar Dragonsbane and a human cleric with the unlikely name of Chuck of Amencia. With stalwarts Dirk Sodbuster and Rolf Sheepminder once again on the payroll, the group headed back to Stonehell intent on exploring the southeastern portion of the uppermost level. It was not to be.


Entering the dungeon without incident, they unrolled their map and ventured off towards the route that would take them around the pit trap that had annoyed them for so many weeks. Almost immediately they discovered that changes had occurred to the dungeon in their absence. The “voice room”—the chamber where a ghostly voice and a rush of wind calls out strange portents—had acquired a short flight of stairs that ended in a pillar of fire. The flames seemed real, cooking rations thrown into it, and leaving the party uncertain as to what this mysterious new addition meant. Deciding to leave it alone for the time being, they headed to the west, passing the fountain room and the catacombs that lead to the skull shrine.

Arriving in a room where they once battled centipedes, they discovered a door in the west wall where none had stood before. Also, the southern corridor out of the chamber had acquired a mysterious western turn. Deciding against venturing into new territory before they got their bearings, the band headed north.

The corridor headed straight as far as even infravision could see, but at least two doors and a side passage were visible along its length. Venturing down it, the party bypassed the side corridor (but noticed a door on its north wall), and pressed on towards where Helgsvar’s infravision had detected a series of niches in the wall just past a door on the eastern wall. Helgsvar forged ahead to investigate the cavities, and after finding them empty, called the rest of the party forward.

As they did so, a secret passage opened in the eastern wall and three of Stonehell’s berserk deviants poured at to attack the party. Two charged poor Dirk and Rolf while the third advanced on Chuck. Simultaneously, another seven emerged from the door in the side passage to attack the party from the rear. Chuck and his pet dog were slain moments after the ambush began, but Rolf and Dirk held their ground long enough for Aieglos’ arrows and Anwar’s sleep spell to cripple the berserkers and allow the party to carry the day.

The threat neutralized, they party entered the secret chamber to the east and found a guard room and pantry. Several fresh humanoid corpses hung from the ceiling, and one was found to be extremely fresh—still alive! They cut down the meal-to-be and met Felix Fartouch, a human archer that had been destined for the stewpot until the adventurers came along. They welcomed Felix to their ranks and scooped up a dozen copper trinkets they discovered under a pile of cleaned skulls.

Deciding that south might prove better than the north did, the party stopped to see what the room the rest of the berserkers had emerged from contained and found it to be a general quarters. A chest inside the room contained several hundred silver coins, but also a needle trap that Helgsvar barely avoided.


Back in the southern chamber, they entered the mysterious new door to discover a room filled with empty old barrels. Helgsvar entered and began pounding on barrels, stirring up a quartet of centipedes as he did so. He fled from the room, but Anwar smelled treasure and the party cautiously reentered some minutes later. They searched the room, defeated the centipedes, and Aieglos’ elven eyes discovered a loose flagstone that held three ruined leather sacks holding one hundred gold coins apiece! A mighty haul, indeed.

Feeling better about the changes to the dungeon, the party took the southern passage and found it almost immediately debouched into a bare room. Only a layer of purple powder covered the floor, and this was highly suspect. Sure enough, Helgsvar prodded the dust with a 10’ pole and it erupted into a gaseous cloud that he barely avoided. Poison was the likeliest result from breathing it. Anwar decided to try and burn the dust with torches, but his attempts to throw them around the bend in the corridor produced laughable results. The party was just about to attempt to wet the powder down when Aieglos noticed a glow coming down the hall from the fountain room.

A wandering fire beetle was out scavenging for food and with memories of the carnage the beasts had caused them in the Quiet Halls, the party wasted no time in attacking. Unfortunately, their assault did little to penetrate the carapace of the beetle and it was soon upon them. Helgsvar took a grievous wound and Rolf and Dirk exhibited great battle acumen before the beetle was finally slain.

The party decided that enough was enough and they’d go back across the damned pit again to get south. When they reached the corridor on the far side of the pit, however, they discovered that the corridor no longer ran south. Frustrated, they speculated that the catacombs and skull shrine might now contain a southern route, but headed to the Wheel of Fortune first. The door to the Wheel room was unusually stubborn, and when Helgsvar yanked hard on the door, a pit opened beneath them, dropping Felix and Helgsvar (Aieglos played an avoid taps card to escape the pit) into a 10’ shaft. Injured, but not slain, the party recovered their own and took a wine break.

With their wounds bandaged and their spirits restored, the party returned to the catacombs and stood before the massive stone double doors…and found them locked. Suddenly recalling that they had picked the lock the last time they explored this section of the dungeon, Anwar produced a magical scroll. Reading it aloud, the words ignited a blue fire that limned the portals. With a groan, they swung open and the party entered cautiously. All the crypt doors along the corridor were closed, so the band moved swiftly to the door at the far end that would lead them to the skull chapel. Passing through, they found the shrine empty and left Rolf and Dirk to watch the doors as they began searching for secret egresses.

Their hard work discovered a secret panel in the eastern wall, but it unfortunately did not lead deeper into the dungeon and instead concealed a small cavity that held old clerical robes and a large coffer. The party hemmed and hawed over the coffer until Felix lost his patience and opened the container with a flick of the wrist—and promptly died from the poison needle that protected it. The rest of the party found several thousand silver, some small pieces of jewelry, and two potions.

As they began to pack the treasure, a light appeared behind them and they turned to meet a human dressed in leather armor. Introducing himself as Gustaf Bickers, he claimed to be a “procurement specialist” that had been planning on breaking into these catacombs for weeks, only to find them open after he bought a skeleton key from a shifty character to bypass the lock. The party apologized and offered him a position with them since they now had an opening. Gustaf accepted.

Still unable to head south, the band decided to check every crypt along the entrance to see if a new door had appeared in them or if they held a secret portal they had missed. One by one, the party threw open the doors to find many of the crypts empty. One held four skeletons that the party quickly dispatched, finding a potion of flying for their troubles; another held a swarm of giant rats that almost overwhelmed the party. In the end, the rats were slain and a scroll of magic missiles was found in their nest, but not before poor Gustav was bitten and contracted the Sumatran Flu. Taking this as an omen, the party left Stonehell to return another day.

Watchfires & Thrones Session #44

[Cue flashback music]

On the late morning of the 25th of The Bloom, a few short days after the stalwart members of the Society of Plane-Walkers departed Blackpool to confront and defeat the hobgoblin menace, a party of would-be adventurers arrived at the end of the Last Hard Road and entered the frontier town. This cadre of fortune hunters had journeyed to the Kinan-M’Nath from the quiet horse town of Shy Kimoor, some few days’ travel to the east. Drawn by the legends of Stonehell, the party was a most unusual mix of men and not-men.

Amongst the unnamed group’s ranks were Clausius Clapeyron, a dwarf and former brewer’s assistant renowned for his constant state of intoxication; Lordarain Brigmore, a cleric of Father Moon and former merchant; Sir Octo Puss III, a disowned octopus noble fallen on hard times; Ronald Crump, entrepreneur and magic-user; Tarfuhl, a Hurg and former military officer; and Trevor, outlaw magic-user. Having heard of the fantastic wealth that lay inside the former prison for the taking, the six had come in search of their own share of treasure. But first, they decided that stout men-at-arms were needed to help ensure their survival in the dungeon’s depths.

Directions from the local constabulary led them to the Dead Dragon Inn, the sole traveler’s rest house in town. Inside the common room, the group encountered a quartet of idle caravan guards and a much-maimed and cantankerous former dungeon delver. The latter was an abusive, if not completely unhelpful advisor and the former became hired hands in the party’s first foray into the dungeon. With little time to waste and plans to come back rich by sundown, the group, now assisted by Ivan, Merk, Chogah, and Lou (the men-at-arms), set off for the famous death trap.

The group arrived without incident, pausing to decipher some of the faded graffiti scrawled on the crumbling gatehouse wall. One phrase spoke of gold nuggets the size of apples beyond the Living Caves, and it was upon this obscure clue that the band set their sights. The party, throwing caution to the wind, strode brazenly through the gatehouse’s underpass, but Ronald Crump halted the back two ranks of the company in mid-stride to see if fatalities befell the rest of the group as they passed the murder holes and arrow slits. This action was noticed and unappreciated by those put in harm’s way. Apologies were made and the group continued into the box canyon.

Ignoring the ruins and caves of the canyon, the party followed the largest grouping of tracks directly to the dungeon’s entrance. Lighting torches and assembling with men-at-arms at front and rear, they descended down the long, winding stairs to arrive in the dungeon’s “H Room.” The eastern door proved stubborn to open, so the band made their way through the ogre arch and down the northern passage (after taking the map away from the perpetually drunk and Wisdom of 3 dwarf fighter).

A stout door stood past the archway and the band gathered about it in preparation for their first big score. Pulling the door open, they discovered a sunken floor and an atmosphere stinking of sulfur. In the center of the depression stood an intricately wrought brazier from which a score of 4” long frogs were leaping forth to cavort about the floor. This odd enough phenomenon was made odder still by the fact that each frog (and the brazier itself) burned with purple flames!

Clausius and Sir Octo entered the room. Clausius, without a beat, whirled his flail down on the closet frog, causing it to explode in a blast of fire, killing the animal and setting his own clothes afire. Sir Octo watched as four of the closest frogs turned their attentions on the burning dwarf and launched themselves at the drunken warrior. In seconds, Clausius was dead and burning brightly on the dungeon floor. The campaign had a new record for shortest-lived PC, a title former held by Pip Haggleham. Attempts were made to draw the frogs away from the burning dwarf (so that his gear might be scavenged) with a torch, but the fiery frogs had no interest in normal orange-red flames. The party closed the door and continued north.

Passing a wide corridor with bridge-like overpasses and avoiding a door that sounded of rats, the party reached a T-intersection and proceeded left. They swiftly came across a square chamber adorned with carvings of human faces, their mouths open wide. Attempts to cross the room revealed that the floor was pressure sensitive, firing darts at those who mis-stepped on its cracked surface. After half the party had made it across (and killed a spitting cobra attracted by their hot torches), the rest of the band learned that they could cross unscathed by climbing the carved faces and the room was safely bypassed.

Only a short distance beyond was another square room—this one adorned with large eyes carved in the walls. Sir Octo, using his natural climbing skills, hauled his body up one wall and across the ceiling to scout ahead. The rest of the group crossed with caution and were either extremely lucky or the room was untrapped—there were no injuries this time.

Beyond the eye room, the corridor turned south and was marked by eight small niches, each large enough to hold a decorative bust. The sixth niche seemed to hold one such carving: the head of a human male with oddly-upswept hair and wearing a cape some two-hundred years out of fashion. The party attempted to collect this piece and discovered that it was a hologram. No other signs of secret doors, hidden mirrors, or out of place details could be found. A mystery, indeed. Perhaps it points to other secrets waiting to be found.

The party continued on, forgetting to probe their way with 10’ pole. This meant that both Ivan and Sir Octo blundered into the trap waiting for them. With an explosion of white, glaring light, the duo found themselves adorned with thousands of pieces of glowing glitter, each of which provided ample illumination to nullify any chance of them sneaking about in the dark dungeon. To complicate matters, as the two walked, unearthly music arose from no visible source to accompany their movements:

The two had become walking dinner bells.

Attempts to wash the glitter off with water proved futile, but the band discovered a small storage room not far from the site of the trap. This chamber held the accumulated detritus of a hundred failed adventuring bands, most of which had deteriorated in the dank dungeon environment. The party decided to hole up, search the room, and see if the dinner bell trap would wear off.

The party passed the time digging through the ruined equipment, finding several useful items—bolts and arrows, torches, a ladder, iron spikes, a shovel, a crowbar, and vials of oil. Amongst this mundane gear were two small glass vials holding red and green liquids. The party paused to experiment and learned two things: 1) the glowing glitter was oil-solvable and the two afflicted members were cleansed of their musical decorations, and 2) the red and green liquids were both deadly poisons. Alas, this lesson was learned when Ronald Crump and Sir Octo Pus III sampled from the bottles. Both died in agony.

With half the party dead (and the referee’s sore back causing him much pain), the party exited the dungeon—weighted down with the wealth of their slain comrades—to try their luck another day.

Watchfires & Thrones Session #43

After their brief but ferocious encounter with the giant killer shrews, the party headed south down a newly discovered tunnel. Before long, the fetid smell of mold and large carnivore was detected in the air, under which was the scent of fresh water, and Grumble and Kejair, as the demi-humans of the party were sent ahead to scout. The party had come to believe that water would lead them out of the caves underneath Hob’s Hill and were now dedicated to finding that precious liquid.

Grumble and Kejair progressed a short distance before coming to a cave, one which seemed to have a small grotto located behind it. The smell was thicker here and the duo crossed the cave cautiously towards the smaller opening. Their progress was halted by the snuffling, growling hulk of an owlbear who emerged from the cave and hooted at them menacingly. The two turned and ran; the owlbear dropping to all fours in pursuit. As the dwarf and elf reached the party, the owlbear’s claws tore apart Kejair, splattering the walls of the tunnel with gore.

The owlbear was a tough opponent, but volleys of arrows and the fact that it could not connect with both its claws to rend the party to pieces led to its ultimate defeat. The party returned to its lair and found a small clean pool of water inside, the source of the smell they had detected, but not a way out. Taking a new path, the party found themselves once again near the throne room of King Don III and decided not to deal with his madness again unless absolutely necessary. They returned to the octagonal entry chamber to pursue one of the few remaining paths left open to them.

This tunnel brought them south, past were a side passage branched off from the main path. The party trudged along, intending to continue down the main thoroughfare when a translucent pseudopod emerged to swipe at Baragkus. The blow missed, but a large cubic form followed close behind, threatening to envelop the entire party. Gelatinous cube!

The band turned and fled, but poor Baragkus was overtaken by the cube and devoured. Hoping to retrieve his corpse before it was completely dissolved so as to raise him from the dead, the party turned to battle the beast. Axe blows, arrows, and a finely time flask of oil and thrown torch defeated the beast, allowing the party to recovered the fighting man’s body and collect a score or two of gold coins. Hardly an equal trade.

Now burdened with Baragkus’ body, the party turned down the side tunnel and again detected the smell of water, although this time it bore a slightly sulfurous taint. In a small cave adjacent to the passage the party discovered a mineral laden pool of water, which again provided no egress from the caves. Continuing along, they became excited to see a doorway ahead of them, the first they had encountered outside the eight that stood in the octagonal chamber. After examining the door, the party opened it and almost began to cry.

It was an octagonal chamber.

Luckily, the party noticed that this one lacked the “N” they had inscribed on the northernmost door way in the first octagonal room they had found themselves in. This led them to suspect they had either encountered a second such chamber or that the door had been replaced in their absence. Either was a likely scenario at this point. They sat scrutinizing Mars’ map and concluded that unless there had been grievous errors, they had indeed found a second chamber.

Deciding to finish their explorations before tackling a new batch of doors, the party headed towards the main tunnel, only to hear the heavy sounds of footfalls. They ran into the two ogres they had previously encountered, who expressed their distress of coming to watch over them only to find them gone after their initial encounter. The party explained that they had gotten lost and the ogres offered to lead them back, but the party dismissed the help. The ogres shrugged, filled their waterskins from the sulfurous water of the cave, and departed.

The party took a left at the side tunnel-main tunnel junction and found that the main tunnel terminated in a dead end, exactly as the ogres had told them it would. Some poking around revealed another false wall, one that led back into the grotto that held the slain wizard and the treasure trove. The party decided to rest again in this sanctuary before exploring the doors in the second octagonal room and rested without incident.

Healed and prepared for new challenges, the party ventured back to the octagonal chamber, encountering a quartet of flying piranha birds as they went. After dispatching the avian killers, the party found that the door to the chamber was open, as were three of the doors within. From one came the smell of water and the sound of churning rapids. Could it be?

Yes, it could. The party found themselves on a rocky beach, a roiling subterranean river heading to the east away from the labyrinth of caverns. Knowing the river they had crossed to reach the hill lay in that direction, the party followed a narrow rocky ledge that abutted the water and came across another rocky beach and wide tunnel some 500 feet down the watercourse. They ventured into the tunnel with both caution and exasperation. Would this underground hell never end?

Taking one of the tunnel’s forks by whim, the party headed on an east and southern route that took them to the site of a large rock fall. The tunnel continued on at the top of the rocky incline and the fall appeared to be relatively stable and climbable. Seeing as up was the direction they wished to go, the band elected Gareth to scale the slope first and the dwarf began his ascent.

Halfway up the slope, a giant rattler was disturbed by the climber and struck out at the dwarf. With no weapon at hand and poison fangs in his face, Gareth threw himself back and into the air, tumbling down the slope and damaging himself in the fall. The great snake advanced on the party, slithering down the rocky course, but was slain by arrows and daggers before it got close enough to strike. The snake dead, the party scaled the slope without incident and continued along the tunnel that awaited them at its apex.

As the group followed this new tunnel, exhaustion had taken its toll on their senses and they were surprised by an old and hated foe: the crab spider. Dropping from the ceiling above into their very midst, the arachnid sank its fangs into Grumble, pumping poison into the wrestler’s bloodstream. A blown saving throw later, the dwarf lay dead on the ground and a potion of human control in his gut, the last ditch effort of pouring unidentified potions into a dying party member having failed a second time.

Now down another fighter (and burdened by his corpse as well as Baragkus’), the party continued down the passage, praying for the sight of daylight. They instead found a large cavern occupied by the motionless forms of two large iguana-like lizards. The reptiles lay stretched out; their eye shut tight, and taking no notice of the party. So the adventures naturally decided to kill them.

To do so, Korlack drank a potion of invisibility and his elven cloak was given to Cullen. The plan was to sneak up to the lizards and stab them in their sleep. The two crept forward (assumingly) and Korlack plunged his dagger into the slumbering lizard, which immediately awoke and was peppered by arrows. As each struck, the beast’s back grew redder and redder and waves of heat flowed off the animal. One last arrow struck home and the lizard died, expelling a blast of fiery breath into the air as it collapsed onto the ground.

That’s when the party noticed that the second lizard remained unmoving. “Cullen,” they called out, but not reply came. That sonofabitch! He had taken the cloak and snuck off, obviously thinking that he had a better chance of getting out of this place alone with a magical cloak than with these trouble magnets. Oh, the party was pissed.

At the far end of the lizard cave stood a stone, slab-like door, which the party pried open despite its great weight. In the small cave beyond it lay a decrepit living quarters. A skeleton dressed in plate armor lay slumped on a creaking chair, a longsword near it bony hand. A quiver of five arrows hung on its back and a broken longbow lay under an ancient table. The party helped themselves to armor, arrows, and sword and continued to search the room, finding a secret door in one wall. This led to a narrow, slightly upward heading passage that ended in a blank wall. Further searching found the secret door at this dead end, and the concealed portal was opened to reveal an awesome sight beyond it.

A great cavern stretched out before the party. At the far end was a wide tunnel from which the dim light of the surface world shone. At long last the exit had been found! One problem: Between them and the exit lay the great form of a red dragon!!!

The party returned to the skeleton’s room and planned their egress as best as they could. It was decided that Mars Markus would cloak them all in a silence spell to cover their crossing. Marlowe would bear the magical arms they had found and equip himself with one of the rings of fire resistance. If all turned bad, Marlowe would try and fight the beast while the others ran with their slain comrades, hopefully buying them time to escape. The party rested fitfully and then prepared. Slinking back up the tunnel, they entered the cavern.

The party followed the southern wall, slipping past the dragon’s body until they reached the midway point of the cavern. That’s when the dragon’s head rose, its neck pivoting to place the party directly in the wyrm’s line of sight…and more importantly, breath.

The dragon inquired as to whom was sneaking into his home and the party was forced to try and talk their way out of their dire predicament. Shedding the silence spell since it no longer did them any good, the band began to tell the dragon their story—their arrival in this world, their exploits in Stonehell, their involvement in the Hobgoblin War—anything to keep the beast’s attention and win mercy from it.

As Mars recounted their tale, the dragon listened with interest at first, but as the story dragged on, it became less entertained and began to drum its talons impatiently. The party pressed on, hoping for a streak of luck that would save them. The dragon, eventually deciding that these interlopers needed a reminder of the prowess of its kind, shifted its great bulk, inhaled, and incinerated the party.

Watchfires & Thrones Session #42

Baragkus, Grumble, Marlowe, Lyrax, and Kejair tumbled down a long, twisting slope, their bodies battered by the stone walls and floor of the slide. Their descent ended abruptly when they fell through a hinged door to land on the floor of an octagonal room shrouded in darkness. As they collected themselves and nursed their new bruises, Grumble and Kejair were able to determine that the chamber they now resided in contained a series of eight identical doors, one set in each wall. The party began to kindle a light so that its human contingent could see as well.

Meanwhile, back above, Mars, Korlack, and the rest began to plan how to extradite their compatriots from the shaft. From the faintness of their voices, it seemed as if the unlucky adventurers had tumbled hundreds of feet and the boys upstairs had a mere 50’ or so of cord amongst them. They decided that they needed to cross the 20’ wide chute mouth and reach the hobgoblin storeroom they had discovered earlier. At least 700’ of stout hemp rope awaited them there.

The upstairs group managed to string a line across the open chute mouth and started crossing over. Mars, Fisk, Cleopos, and Cullen had reached the far side when a trio of bugbears appeared from out of the gloom and charged down the corridor. Fisk and Mars did their best to defeat the hulky brutes, but Mars was knocked to the ground and wounds began to accumulate. Rather than perish, Mars dove into the chute, followed swiftly by the other three, leaving just Korlack and Gareth in the hallway—but on the far side of the cute from the bugbear menaces.

While this pitched combat was taking place, the boys down below had managed to get a torch going and started to examine the chamber in more detail. Their search was interrupted by two pale, wild-eyed madmen who charged into the room from one of its many doors and attacked the newcomers, jabbering gibberish and frothing spittle. The fight was brief, but painful for the party who found themselves nursing new wounds on top of their recent bruises.

The downstairs group proceeded to examine all the doors, opening each in turn to see what lay beyond them. Each stretched off into darkness: long twisting tunnels that vanished into the gloom without a clue of where they may lead. Grumble and Kejair took the chance at venturing down one to scout ahead and discovered it eventually lead to a large cave; one that their infravision determined was occupied by at least three dog-sized heat sources. They retreated back to the octagonal chamber just in time to witness Mars Markus, Fisk, Cleopos, and Cullen come crashing down the chute to join them.

Upstairs, Korlack and Gareth watched as the bugbears slinked away into the gloom and were forced to decide whether to join their companions or continue with the rescue effort. This debate was interrupted by the sound of large, running feet that herald the charge of the largest of the bugbears attempting the leap the chute and slay the two remaining interlopers. The hulking beast launched itself into the air, broadsword held high to chop down its first victim—only to miss the far end of the chute’s open mouth by three feet. Tumbling, ass over teakettle, the bugbear disappeared out of sight down the slide. Fearing this to be the first of such assaults, Korlack and Gareth sighed, pulled out the mage’s bedroll and proceeded to use it as a sled as they too entered the chute to rejoin their companions.

The party below was busy watching the doors for danger when one dropped right into their midst. The bugbear surprised all of them, but was too stunned to take advantage of his literal drop on them. Getting to its feet, it was quickly engaged by the rest of the band, dying under their blows as Korlack and Gareth came sliding into the room to reunite the party once again.

Battered, lost, and uncertain of their next step, the party chose to drink wine and bind their wounds as they planned. This rest was unfortunately interrupted by two more subterranean madmen charging into the room via the door closest to Fisk, making the much wounded hired sword their first target. Their hacking attacks were more than enough to slay the injured fighter and the party suffered their first death beneath Hob’s Hill. It would not be their last.

The party was able to defeat the two madmen in the moments afterward, but they had lost a valuable ally and were still horribly injured, tired, and desperate so they again chose to take time to bind their wounds and recoup. THIS rest was interrupted by the tramp of heavy boot steps and yet another door opened to reveal TWO ogres!

Marlowe stepped to forefront and engaged the ogres in conversation using their own tongue, an effort the giants appreciated. They revealed that they had fallen down the very same chute some time ago and were currently working for King Don III, the lord of the Underworld. They were in fact on their way to report to him right then and the party could follow them if they wished. Suspicious, but with no better options, the party joined the ogres.

Through another door and down a new tunnel, the party was brought into the audience chamber of King Don III, a pale and obviously insane potentate who sat upon a stone chair and wrapped himself in an unraveling purple rug. The party tried to gain assistance from the so-called king, but they were unable to decipher his twisted thought process and treaded very close to outright treason to the king’s thinking. He offered to allow them to rest in the octagonal chamber with the ogres as watchmen and told the party to go back to that place and await the return of the two hulking brutes. King Don III had to speak with the ogres first…

Suspecting their doom was being plotted, the party returned to the octagonal room and departed immediately after leaving Fisk’s body in the center of the room and an “N” inscribed on the northernmost door. In the hours ahead, the party would wind their way through several corridors, finding nothing but empty caves, bugbears who were willing to fight them to the death over the ownership of their pants, and a dead-end cave where ghouls were dining on the (later revealed) corpse of Fisk. All these passages eventually lead back to the octagonal room!

A side note: Jack, the player who runs Mars Markus and Anwar, loves to map out any and every subterranean space the party explores, sometime to the point of distraction. One of the reasons I decided to run Horror on the Hill (which is the basis of this part of the campaign) was because this part of it is a twisting labyrinth designed to make mappers crazy. All my directions and descriptions were vague and rapid-fire, leaving poor Jack to try and keep up with my narration of the labyrinth. At one point the rest of the group was in hysterics at Jack’s frantic effort to draw my verbal account of the dungeon. Some swear steam was actually seen rising from his ears.

The party’s exploratory efforts were finally rewarded when they discovered a dead-end tunnel, one that appeared a little too dead-end if you catch my drift. Sure enough, Grumble’s inspection of the stone revealed a false wall and the almost empty cave beyond it. In this obviously undisturbed grotto lay a long-dead wizard clutching a spellbook and bag. A page of the spellbook contained his last message to the world:

6th Day of The Blaze, 1098 GCR

To think that it ends this way: Prydaree Kuhlth, Master of Wands and Agent of the Cerulean Flame, perishes in a gods’ forsaken cave beneath the site of his greatest victory. Should anyone find my missive, please let it be known that I was successful in my task and bury me where I shall not be found and my grave remain unriled.

Four days ago, I was summoned into the presence of His Exalted Supremacy,Draz Stephan Hastane and tasked with a great service to the empire: the recovery of the Hypnopsychomachina. This device, a creation of His Supremacy’s debased but genius sister, Isodore, had fallen into the possession of the Whelps of Tsathoggua and was spirited away to their noxious fane in the hinterlands of the Empire. With the Retreat to occur in less than three faces, it was imperative that the device be recovered before the Hastane dynastic line vacated this mortal realm for good. As the most trusted agent of the Imperial Secret Watch, it fell to me to recover it.

The journey northeast into the Howling Wilderness took but hours with the Modi Goats and I located the profane temple in short order. With no time or desire for subtlety, lightning was my harbinger and the lower initiates of the Great Sloth-Bat fell twitching before my assault. Their faith was no match for my spells and I hewed them down like wheat before the whirlwind.

Locating the High Foulness’ inner sanctum was no more difficult, but I nearly underestimated my opponent. Our battle—my spells against his prayers—was fierce and I nearly perished in the combat. Nevertheless, I prevailed, albeit injured, and took possession of the Hypnopsychomachina. I prepared to return back to His Supremacy in triumph.

In my hubris, I failed to detect a simple trap that sent me tumbling in this subterranean hell. My abrupt descent was arrested by a collision with the rocky floor that shattered my left arm and right leg. Drained of spells and lacking healing draughts, I crawled about in the darkness for a seeming eternity before finding this small refuge. There are other things down here with me and it is only a matter of time before I’m found or I die from my wounds. Even if I could rest and replenish my spells, my injuries make it impossible for me to make the intricate gestures needed to perform all by the slightest of magics.

I’ve produced one final spell, a simple illumination cantrip by which I might pen this final message on a blank page within my traveling spellbook. I hope the light lasts long enough for me to finish my work.

If another practitioner of the Ineffable Path finds this, my work is given unto you free of geas or curse. Use what you may with my blessings and I regret I leave but a minor tome to you rather than my master workbook of spells. Oh what mysteries I have in those pages!

It is likely that the Retreat will have passed before this is found. If such be the case, I also entrust the Hypnopsychomachina to whomever finds my remains. Its power is ingenious if subtle. When used correctly, the device

It appeared that poor Prydaree’s light spell did indeed expire before he could complete his missive.

While this was being deciphered, Marlowe opened the bag to find an iron skull, one the size of a nine year-old child’s. Ten indentations where arranged around the skull, five to a side, and the object has black glass-like lenses for eye. Placing his fingers in the indentations and staring into the eyes, the world fell away from Marlowe…

The next thing he knew, he was standing along a roadside with various other highway men, awaiting a fat priest and his load of church gold. Robbing the cleric, the freebooter’s vision shifted to a dingy bar tavern where a fight erupted over a stolen pouch. Next he experienced a knife in that back at the hands of an “ally” and died in a pool of blood, only to find himself again plundering a chest from aboard a burning merchant ship. These visions were indistinguishable from reality and the freebooter seemed to pass several days of his life engaged in his chosen career. Then, without warning, Marlowe found himself back in the cave with the skull in hand. Less than a second had passed, but Marlowe was now a more experienced freebooter, having been trained to second level. From the skull came an indistinct voice that said “fourteen.”

The rest of the party was suspicious about Marlowe following this, but didn’t press the issue and the freebooter took full possession of the skull. The party rested, confident (and correct) that they’d be undisturbed in the cave, allowing them to heal and regain spells for the first time in seemingly forever. The next morning, Grumble discovered another false wall in the cave that led to a hidden treasure trove of coins, jewels, objects d’art, magical plate mail, sword, a ring of fire resistance, and potions of healing.

Rest, armed, and feeling confident, the party left the cave and returned to the octagonal room. They were running out of doors and tunnels and so decided to proceed down the path that Grumble and Kejair had explored much earlier. This led to back to the cave and they learned that the heat-producing forms were in truth giant killer shrews that proved to be more dangerous than they initially seemed. Baragkus took several mean wounds in the fight, but the three vicious beasts were overcome…which unfortunately meant the party had orphaned the naked, pink offspring they discovered immediately afterwards in the shrews’ nest. Despite an attempt on Mars’ part to adopt and raise the newborns, some poison was dispensed and a quiet murder in the dark settled the issue in time for the session to come to a close.

A Giant Gift

My players are generous, engaging in acts that, although appreciated by me, might come back to haunt them. Case in point: The FLGS where we play each week has a display case filled with plastic minis. These figurines came from various miniature sets that have been broken down and sold individually so that the buyer can actually see what he or she is purchasing. In the last week, the store got a prodigious amount of Mage Knight sets in and the miniatures case has become flooded with odd, yet strangely intriguing pieces. Before last Sunday’s game, me and a few of the early arrivals were taking a look at these pieces and I commented that, although several of them, such as the steam-powered dwarven tank, would make excellent set piece encounters in the campaign, the $15-$20 price tags on the big models just weren't worth the one-time use I’d get out of them.

Despite my reservations, the guys really took a liking to one particular model—an “Iron Rain Hill Giant.” Standing a scale 20’ tall, the brute bears a giant axe as a weapon, but also has a boiler hanging on his back. A pair of helmeted dwarves ride on chairs strapped to the giant’s shoulders and are armed with what appear to be flamethrowers aimed outwards to guard the giant’s flanks. A third dwarf with horned helmet rides on the giant’s neck and seems to be steering him with a series of chain reins hooked through the brute’s eyebrows. It’s all very dangerous looking.

For reasons I’m still uncertain of, the guys took up a collection and bought it for me. They now want me to stat it up for Labyrinth Lord with the implication that they’ll fight it one day. As I said, they’re generous to a fault.

I certainly do appreciate the gesture. It tells me that they enjoy our weekly sessions together and all the hard work I put into making each game seem effortless. I just hope they still enjoy it when the Tijuana flamethrower-armed giant is making mincemeat of them someday…

Thanks, guys.

Watchfires & Thrones Session #24

In which Dave's chatacter dies at the end again.

As the party entered the teeming kobold market, it wasn’t long before the scaly proprietors started to give them clandestine glances and whisper amongst themselves. The massive slain lizard that Grumble and Krunk carried was attracting attention. The party paused, debating on which stall to approach with their 400 lbs. of lizard meat, but were interrupted by a quartet of bugbears pushing their way through the crowd. The largest of the goblinoids, a mangy specimen with a scarred face and a dead eye, gruffly informed them that “Trustee Sniv” wanted to see the party—now.

The adventurers were led from the marketplace, the bugbears falling into flanking positions, and brought through a storeroom filled with crates, barrels, and other containers of trade. Numerous kobolds swarmed over the stacks, taking inventory and sorting items for some unknowable purposes. The bugbears guided the band down a side corridor and through a barracks holding a half-dozen oversized kobold warriors. After knocking on a set of sizeable double doors, the party was brought into a blood-stained, bodyguard-filled audience chamber, its far wall obscured by a tattered curtain of red velvet.

With the sound of a squeaky pulley, the curtain parted to reveal the fattest kobold the party had ever seen. Perched atop a wooden throne, the kobold wore a rodent fur coat and sported a crimson fez atop his scaled head. He glared down at them through a brass monocle while stroking a hairless rat of unusual size. This was Trustee Sniv, leader of the Stonehell kobolds.

Sniv wasted no time in chastising the party. He was displeased with their slaying of “his dragon,” a creature that he had acquired some months ago and installed in a disused cave in order to use its presence to control his less than devoted subjects through fear. With it now dead and its corpse viewed by numerous kobold underlings, he would have to find a suitable replacement. But first, the party had to pay a sizable fine for dragoncide: 100 gold marks to be exact.

Unfortunately, a little success can really go to the adventurers’ heads. Despite being flanked by the bugbear brute squad, and a dozen kobold bodyguards, the party—Kaldar in particular—decided that this would be the perfect time to try and dictate orders to the kobold regent, demanding that the party be paid to replace the dragon. When he missed the not-so-subtle clues that they really weren’t in a position to negotiate, Kaldar pressed the issue to the point where Sniv simply pointed at the half-elf and said, “kill him.” A bugbear stepped up to do just that.

At this point, I laid out the room and the position of the kobolds, bugbears, and the party on the battle map. It was only after doing so and them remembering that they had naught but daggers and arrows (without bows) to defend themselves, that the players realized how screwed they were. But, leave it them to go with their original plan. As they quickly declared their intentions before rolling for initiative, Pete stated that he was pulling out his money sack and offering to part with some cash. The rest of the players suddenly jump on this idea and, with a hasty but loud call of “Parley!”, combat was averted. All Sniv wanted was a bribe in the first place.

After forking over the cash, the party was told that they had an hour to conduct their business in Barkruf-Yip-Yip, the jewel of kobold culture, before they were effectively banned from town—until they found a replacement monster for Trustee Sniv, that is. The party, having heard of a “tavern” next to the kobold market, stopped in to see what they could learn about the Quiet Halls, their next intended destination.

The tavern was little more than some battered tables and chairs thrown haphazardly about a 20x30 room. A menagerie of patrons sat huddled over skull tankards, drinking whatever it was that passed for libations down in Kobold Korners. A group of crazed gnolls barked amongst themselves at one table, while a pair of lizard men devoured a meal of meat and grubs at another. Two twitchy-looking men dressed in leathers watched over the room with red eyes, and another human male, with pale blond hair and light blue robes, sat in hushed conversation with five hobgoblins. Somewhere, Figrin D’an and the Modal Nodes played. Amidst this sea of villainy, however, was a human male dressed in dirty robes that looked ecstatic to see the party. He lost no time in introducing himself. He was Korlack Nightspring, the sole surviving member of an adventuring band who met their demise—coincidently enough—in the Quiet Halls. He had lost his bearings in the dungeon fleeing from ghouls and found himself at the back gate of Barkruf-Yip-Yip. Taking shelter in the kobold Casablanca, Korlack was desperate to find an adventuring band bound for the surface. The Society of Planewalkers fit that bill and the relieved mage joined them on their return to the sunlit lands.

The party returned to Blackpool to heal and prepare for an expedition into the Quiet Halls. Poor Johan was bed-ridden upon return as Mars’ first round of healing was insufficient to revive him much. Luckily, Lyrax Tonn had purchased a “healing potion” at the kobold market for an unbelievable bargain price of 10 copper pieces. Of course, its thin oatmeal consistency and eyeball ingredients made it less than suitable for drinking consumption. Back at the Mad Manor, however, Johan, perhaps dazed by his wounds, was convinced to eat the stuff to aid his recovery. A bout of botulism later, Johan concluded that he had enough adventuring to last him the rest of his life and that he would be returning to Goodearth as soon as he had recovered. At least, that’s what he told his former comrades-in-arms…

Recovered and resupplied, Grumble, Krunk, Lyrax, Kaldar, Korlack, and Mars headed back to the dungeon. For this bout, Anwar has shrouded his fellow magic-user, Korlack, in invisibility. The band made it back to the first level unmolested and set off following Korlack’s directions. Heading north from the H room, the party returned to the rusty signpost that indicated the former dragon’s den and turned to the east. Immediately thereafter, they found a room containing piles of junked goods so battered that they had no resale value even at the kobold market. Grumble and Krunk turned up a nest of spitting cobras in their search of the room and the two delivered a second dose of double “natural twenty” fury upon the surprised serpents, thus confirming their tag-team status. I informed them that if they were able to do that one more time, I wound grant them some in-game mechanical advantage or bonus. We’ll see if they can pull that off.

Past the snake room was a chamber that bore the sooty silhouettes of human-like figures on the walls. Mars and Lyrax were reminded of the strange burns they encountered back in the Black Gut on their home world, but these seemed to be of a different, if not less mysterious origin. The party exited the chamber and made their way further east towards where Korlack told them the Quiet Halls were to be found.

A brief side excursion discovered an offal- and feces-filled chamber that contained a slimy staircase leading up, but, when giant centipedes began emerging from the dung heap, the party withdrew from the room to concentrate on their planned destination. They passed through a room filled with battered weapons, armor, and bones—a room unnaturally cold—before finding a pair of heavy stone doors adorned with a danse macabre. Beyond these doors, Korlack informed them, lay the Quiet Halls.

Past they doors lay a lozenge-shaped room that glowed with a pale red glow. Lichen encrusted pillars and fallen masonry filled the room. An eight-count of large beetles, their abdomens glowing with a steady red light, munched contently upon the lichen. The party inched cautiously into the chamber, causing some of the nearest beetles to begin vibrating their wing casings menacingly. Weapons were drawn and the party engaged the nearest four beetles.

The fire beetles (for that was what they were) proved to be tougher adversaries than expected (“I don’t remember fire beetles being so dangerous,” Jack uttered). One managed to take poor Grumble near death twice, and only Mars’ prayers were able to revive him before his face was chewed off by the enraged beetle. Deciding enough was enough (and expecting to encounter undead which greatly limited the spell’s potency), Kaldar dropped a sleep charm on the beetles, putting all but one into slumber. The fight was finished soon after and the party set about collecting the glowing glands and reviving their flagging spirits with wine.

Unfortunately, before they could benefit from the wine’s rejuvenating properties, the sound of moaning echoed down the hallway to the north. Assuming a battle stance, the party watched as a trio of zombies shambled around the corner and began advancing down the hallway towards them. Mars called upon the Spider Lord and turned away the advancing dead (as well as a few more around the corner), but Mog’s power was insufficient to affect all seven of the zombies that were bearing down on the party. The three remaining shambling corpses continued towards the band.

Grumble and Krunk stepped to the fore while the rest of the party prepared to pepper the dead with missiles and spells. The tag-team warriors managed to hold back the zombie for a round, but then the dead got the upper hand. Grasping Grumble, one zombie tore the dwarf apart, leaving his corpse to bleed out on the cold dungeon floor (a critical hit for 8 points dropped Dave’s EIGHTH character to -3 hit points, killing him). Krunk found himself under an assault that also dropped him to -1, and his unconscious but barely alive body fell to the ground beside his slain partner.

Uh-oh.

The zombies moved in to engage Lyrax, the archer, Mars, the weakling cleric, Kaldar, the other archer and sometime swordsman, and Korlack, the invisible mage. Not the heartiest of melee combatants to be sure.

Just when things couldn’t get any worse, Pete managed to latch onto a series of fumbles. Fumbles are very rare in the campaign, but the dice had it out for Pete this session. He broke the string on his masterwork longbow, forcing him to use Mars’ off-the-rack bow. With cruel irony, he almost immediately shot Mars in the back with his own bow when he tried to fire past the cleric at the advancing zombies.

Right about then, things started looking real grim for the remaining party members. They just couldn’t seem to inflict enough damage on the zombies to destroy them, and were continually forced back to keep their bows in play. Korlack’s magic missile was more tragic than magic, inflicting a bare minimum of damage. In response to all this, Mars decided that flight was better than fight, and fled the room with much alacrity, leaving his companions to deal with the dead. Finally, after some close calls, the resolute members of the party that held their ground were able to nickel and dime the zombies into a second death.

That was enough Quiet Halls for the party and, after feeding Krunk a potion of extra-healing to get him mobile, they collected Grumble’s corpse and returned to Blackpool. Again, they had suffered much at the hands of Stonehell’s residents with no treasure to show for it.

Next week, it looks as if the party might be checking out a rumor about a possible way to revive Grumble. Poor, poor Dave…

Watchfires and Thrones Session #21

Back in town, the Society of Plane Walkers took rest, with some member choosing to remain behind for the second expedition to Modnar’s Tower. Raijek and Lyrax Tonn were intent on returning. Mock, having completed training, joined up for this trip, as did Mars Markus who had finished scribing a scroll of cure light wounds. Kaldar, the half-even fighting mage rounded out the party.

The band returned to the tower the following morn and hustled to the Y-intersection they had discovered the day before. Picking the southeastern fork this time, it led but a short distance before coming to an X-shaped intersection. Both southern-bound corridors seemed to terminate in dead ends, while the unexplored northern passage turned out of sight. The band explored both southern passage ways and their careful searching unearthed a secret door in one of the walls.

Beyond the hidden entrance lay a long-forgotten oubliette haunted by the unquiet mortal remains of four former prisoners. When Mars Markus’ attempt to turn them failed, it was almost as if the Spider God had turned his back on his servant—a portent for things to come, perhaps. Nevertheless, the stout fighting men in the band made short work of the foul things, but were disappointed to find the chamber barren of loot. The party returned to the intersection and ventured north. A short jaunt down that corridor brought them to a door in the eastern wall.

The room beyond proved cavernous and strange. With black-painted walls flecked with mica and a softly glowing ceiling, the chamber presented an almost alien-landscape. The floor was covered in a thin layer of gritty, sand-like material, which, on closer inspection, was discovered to be a copious amount of iron filings. Protruding from this stuff, like forgotten temples sticking out of the desert dunes, were the shattered remains of articulated iron statues. Each seemed to have been destroyed by violence.

All this was overshadowed by the metal lever set in the far wall. With most of the party suspecting a trap, Mock and Raijek entered the room and pulled the lever after taking numerous precautions (probing the floor, spiking the door, searching for failing death blades, etc.). The rest of the band stood outside with weapons ready. The duo felt a moment of unsteadiness as the fulcrum was thrown and were astounded to find that the room’s gravity had suddenly undergone a dramatic reduction. In this alien atmosphere, the two found their strength greatly increased, but at the loss of coordination.

The two tested their new environment and were in the middle of kicking up slowly drifting clouds of iron filings when two partitions slid open in the walls. From niches beyond came drifting three metal orbs with a multitude of articulated arms attached to their undersides. Each of these arms bore a weapon or shield. The size of beach balls, the trio moved towards Raijek and Mock with decidedly unfriendly intentions. Mock grinned and grabbed the lever, anticipating watching the armed orbs crashing to the floor when he returned the room to its normal gravitational state. His grin quickly evaporated when he discovered the lever seemed locked in place.

The two sides clashed in a fierce melee and Mock barely escaped grievous wounds by bringing up his aegis against the floating foes. Throwing a “20” against their swinging weapons saved his life—and his shield—allowing Mars Markus the chance to revel in having an average strength in battle for once. It would prove to be Lyrax Tonn’s arrows that brought down the majority of the metal menaces.

Once demolished, the orbs were each found to contain a moonstone amongst their strange, mechanical innards. The party checked the alcoves the devices had emerged from and found that each contained a rack with four bays in it. Although only three orbs had been encountered, the dust on the remaining bays indicated that they had been empty for quite some time. Where could those other orbs be?

When an extended search turned up nothing else, the party pressed on to the north, which took them on a round-about journey and through a quickly incinerated patch of green slime. Doubling back to check their map for errors, the party return to the cellar’s entrance hall and probed the eastern corridor that departed that room. This corridor agreed with their own mapping efforts by terminating in a dead end—one that held a life-sized statue of a human male sporting a much too large grin. One of the statue’s hands was extended as if it were waiting for something to be placed into it, but, despite their efforts, the party couldn’t deduce what was supposed to rest there or what might occur once it did. Leaving the statue for another day, they returned to the point they had doubled back from.

A bit further north from this point, the party found another door that led into a dilapidated library. Already bearing the signs of being ransacked, half of the party ventured into the room as the rest waited cautiously outside. And that's when things turned deadly.

Those standing outside the chamber watched helplessly as a portion of the ceiling moved, revealing a much-dreaded, chameleon-like crab spider, which dropped down—ironically—onto Mars Markus, the Spider Cleric. Its first strike failed to penetrate the cleric’s potent plate mail armor, but, after landing on the floor besides the priest’s less protected leg, the arachnid sank its fangs into Mars’ limb and began pumping its venom into its victim.

Time slowed down.

After Aieglos’ close call with a crab spider in the caves around Stonehell, the players were well-versed in the consequences of a poisonous bite. Jack, the player of Mars Markus and the only long-time player who has yet to lose a character began stacking the deck in his favor. Already enjoying a +2 bonus to the save against the crab spider’s weak venom, Mars also bears the holy symbol he was given upon being inducted into the mysteries of the Spider Sect. That symbol grants him a +1 bonus against spider toxins. Jack was also sitting on a player reward chit that allows him to substitute a d30 for one roll when a d20 is normally required. He chose to burn this chit for this saving throw. With a cleric’s already good saving throws, he needed only an 8 or better on a d30 to make his save and avoid dying from the spider’s bite. Throwing the die across the table, he turned and walked away, unwilling to watch the die come to rest. And it did:

Despite his best efforts, that “6” effectively killed him. It seems that Mog the Spider had indeed abandoned his servant in his time of need.

Everyone asked me if Mars was immediately slain, and I replied that he was as good as dead, but if Jack wanted to have Mars spout off some profound dying words or similar action, he had a minute or so before he quit the breathing habit permanently. That window of opportunity was all the party needed to spring into action to try and save their highest-level cleric. Mock bashed the spider to bits in a single blow and the rest of the band gathered about the soon-to-be expired holy man.

Remembering they had a potion which had yet to be identified, they decided to force that down the dying cleric’s throat to see if it would save him. However, moments before they did so, the party recalled the potion of sweet water they had in their possession. No one could remember exactly what it did, but they were pretty sure it did something to poisons. But would it be enough to save Mars? They poured the sweet water into the priest’s mouth and waited.

Checking the description of sweet water, I found that the potion normally turns salt water, acid, and poison into drinkable liquids. Although it wasn’t being used as intended in this case, its properties were on record as counteracting poison and I like to reward creative thinking. After a brief consideration, I ruled that the sweet water would grant Mars Markus another roll to try and make his saving throw. He would have to use a regular d20 but the normal modifiers for poison strength and his holy symbol would apply. Jack threw the die in one last all-or-nothing roll:

Sighs of relief went up around the big blue table at Brothers Grim that afternoon. Even the clerk had been watching us with interest. Jack continues to hold his title of “Most Likely to Survive the Adventure.” Another player would soon defend his title, however, much to his continuing dismay.

With Mars slumped against a wall and recovering, the remainder of the band turned the former library upside down, discovering but a quartet of still legible books. Under a fallen bookcase, they found the crushed remains of an adventurer. Although his purse had been cut away, his leather armor was still in good condition, which was surprising because his leather boots were rotted to pieces. Suspecting magic or quality workmanship, the armor was stuffed into one of the party’s many sacks and the band moved on.

The hallway terminated in a door a bit further down the corridor. Beyond the stuck portal was a decaying lounge with a thick rug. Atop the rug, at its center, was a chest. Becoming highly suspicious in nature, the party sent Mars and Raijek in to see if the chest was trapped. After poking and prodding the rug and the container, they finally inched forward to peer inside. Once the lid was open half-way, there was the sound of a squeaky pulley coming to life and the invisible cargo net that lay beneath the rug was swiftly hoisted up to the ceiling on equally invisible ropes and pulley, turning the monk and cleric into a rug piñata.

Normally, the party would spring into action to rescue the duo, but the growling of their war dog turned their attention back down the corridor where they had come. Peering around a bend in the passage was another albino ape, who watched them uncertainly. Kaldar kept an eye on the ape while Lyrax stepped forward to cut down the entrapped two with his pole arm. When the last of the ropes was severed, the rug crashed to the floor with a loud racket, startling the ape into a murderous frenzy! Luckily, Kaldar had been preparing his sleep spell and the ape was quickly put into a slumber and dispatched.

With everyone now back on their own two feet, the party was disappointed to learn that the chest was empty and they had been lured into a trap intended to delay them and alert anyone nearby. They cautiously exited the small lounge through another door to the west, which led into what was obviously someone’s sleeping quarters. A collection of least-decrepit furnishing stood about the room and a cracked plate holding a half-eaten meal of trail rations was near a door in the southern wall. It seems that someone had heard them and chose to depart rather than confront them. Having heard from the kobolds that a “stupid man” lived in this part of the dungeon, they suspected that this was his den, even though he seemed less stupid than they were originally led to believe.

Ransacking the room uncovered a sack of silver coins that had been sewn to the underside of a divan. Cut threads beside it suggested that another sack had been secreted next to it, but that it had been abruptly cut free and carried off: Another sign that whoever had dwelled here was aware of their presence and not wishing to fight them. The party approached the southern door and listened intently. The sound of squeaking vermin was heard beyond.

The next room did indeed contain several giant rats that frolicked about a heap of trash and broken furniture. When the door to their lair opened, the rats moved towards the party aggressively, leaving Mock and Raijek to face them in melee from the doorway while Kaldar and Lyrax peppered the vermin with arrows. The battle was short and decisive, and the party smiled at the ease of their victory.

Mock stepped into the room first, only to die horribly as the short sword of the robber hiding next to the half-open door slid into the half-orc’s back. The shadow-hidden thief took everyone by surprise and poor Dave lost another character—his highest level one too! (Mock was his only character to make it out of 1st level). Shocked, then enraged by this sudden death, the party fell upon the now-revealed bandit without even pausing to parley or offer mercy. His severed head is now numbered amongst the band’s possessions.

With Mock dead and Mars a near miss, it was decided that the party should return to Blackpool immediately, but there were three other door leading out of the room. These had to be checked first, of course, whatever the consequences.

One door lead to the easternmost end of an east-west passage and was ignored. The door was even left ajar from the sheer contempt the party had for boring hallways. Another led to a plain stone room with a well set in the center of the floor. A ladder protruded from the well’s mouth, but the party didn’t so much as set foot in the chamber. The last door seemed to contain either a 30’ square room with a 10’ square locked room set in its center or a locked room completely surrounded by a 10’ wide corridor (depending on how you look at such things).

Although they knew they should be heading back, it was argued that if they didn’t get that door open, someone else would and carry off all the treasure which must lie in the room beyond. A thorough search of the junk room, the bandit, and his lair failed to turn up a key the door and Raijek’s ability to pick locks failed to coax open the tumbles, so the battle axe method of entrance was employed. A half-hour of chopping and a hell of a lot of noise later, the door stood open and the party saw an empty 10’ square room with a ceiling seemingly composed of shimmering mercury. Lyrax fired an arrow into the opaque liquid which vanished with a ripple. This was too weird to be considered at the moment and it was decided that the party had had enough exploring for the day.

As they opened the door leading back to the junk room, they were stunned to see that the room was now empty—of everything. The bandit’s body was gone; the rats’ corpses were gone; even the trash and smashed furniture was gone (luckily they had Mock’s body with them). So clear was the chamber that whispers of “gelatinous cube” began to run through the party. They closed the door without entering the junk room and began littering the floor with detritus to detect the nigh-invisible custodian of dungeons should it enter into their escape-less corner. When an hour passed without incident, they carefully left their hiding place and beat feet towards the cellar’s exit, pausing only to collect the invisible cargo net as they returned to Blackpool with Mock’s corpse weighing them down.

A new goal range through their minds and spurred them towards town: Raise the slain half-orc to life!

To be continued next week…

Watchfires & Thrones Session #16

In which some folks get rich and others get dead.

With torchlight brightening the hall outside and the jingle of armor growing louder, our trio of adventurers held their breaths, hoping that they’d be overlooked by the unknown party headed their way. It seems that the gods were indeed listening to their silent prayers, for the unknown men passed by their hiding place without a second look. After waiting several minutes to ensure they were gone for certain, Anwar and Immeral continued to drag Morg’s unconscious form back to Stonehell’s “H Room.”

But first, there was a pit to deal with.

Knowing that the trap did not always spring, Anwar crossed the obstacles while gripping a 10’ pole with Immeral at the other end. Stepping lightly, the sorcerer crossed without incident, leaving Immeral and Morg on the other side. How to get the unconscious fighting man across was debated (resulting in the “shove him across with the pole like a game of shuffleboard” scheme being discarded), but Immeral finally just slung Morg over his shoulders and strode across the pit with nothing but high hopes. That’s when I rolled a “2” to see if the floor fell out from under them.

Immeral dropped Morg like a bad habit as he threw himself at the edge of the pit, but it was for naught. The duo plunged to the bottom of the 10’ drop and the horrid sound of snapped necks and cracked skulls echoed up from the bottom. Morg with his zero hit points and Immeral with his two both failed to survive the fall. Anwar looked down on the grim jumble at the bottom before heading as swiftly as possible toward the exit. Once on the surface, he equipped himself with a bag of coins in one hand and a sack of trail rations in the other, determined to be able to drop something of interest to anything that might catch wind of his trail and pursue. Luckily for him, he made it back to Blackpool without incident.

Returning to the “Mad Manor” with word of their comrades’ deaths, Anwar found that only Lyrax and Baragkus had completed their training. As Chance would have it, however, two new faces were lurking about the manor: Pip, a halfling pugilist and procurer of required items, and Hemlock, a cloaked mystery man with many items on hand (except for much-needed hit points—he only had one of those). These two were hired on as adventuring associates, for the plan was to recover Morg and Immeral’s bodies and/or continue the assault on the orc lair while their numbers were reduced. The following day, the regrouped band headed back to the dungeon.

Descending quickly, they first investigated the known pit of death, only to discover it empty of their friends’ remains (and equipment, money, and anything else they hoped to recover). Pip learned how to activate it, but jamming it shut would require climbing into the pit and monkeying about with the cover’s counterweight system—something the burglar was not keen on doing. Looking back over their map, the party decided to try the other southern passage from the H Room, hoping that it would reconnect with one of the crossroads they passed on the way to and from the orc lair.

Heading into unfamiliar territory brought them into a bloodstained and soot marked room with a western exit barred by a rusty portcullis barricade. Baragkus’ strength and Anwar’s flask of oil proved more than a match for the gate, and they found themselves in a north-south corridor with doorways at either end. They tried the southern valve first.

Behind it lay a room with a bare altar and sunken section of floor that held a great stone wheel. The wheel bore brass staples for handholds and a repeated pattern of the masks of tragedy and comedy. It was obviously a chapel dedicated to Chance, although it appeared to have been abandoned. Anwar strode forward without delay to give the wheel a spin. Groaning on rusty bearings, the wheel finally came to rest on the mask of tragedy and the party waited for doom to fall upon the turban-wearing wizard. Nothing occurred. In fact, Anwar didn’t seem to react at all. Even calling the man’s name evoked no response. Moving up to the sorcerer and poking him revealed him to be utterly and completely paralyzed!

This sparked the debate about what to do with him. Turning the wheel again to see if it reversed the effect was brought up, abandoned, and brought up again before the decision to wait and see if the effects wore off was reached. When a half-hour passed and the sorcerer was still locked up, Pip decided enough was enough, and climbed atop the wheel to kick it into motion like a child’s round-about. Leaping off as it ground to a halt, Pip was surprised to find a gem in his hand—a fact he was not about to share with the rest of his compadres.

With enough time wasted, Baragkus hoisted Anwar over his shoulder and the party headed north. Behind the door at the other end of the hallway was a dry fountain with the statue of a leaping fish at its center. A doorway exited the room to the west, and it was towards this that Pip immediately headed. Lyrax stalked into the chamber to inspect the fountain while the rest of the party dawdled outside: a decision that was probably for the best.

While Pip futzed with the door, Lyrax noticed a steel tube protruding from the fish’s mouth. Corroded or perhaps eaten away at its edge, the pipe was begging to be poked—so Lyrax did with a 10’ pole (have I mentioned how my players have become much more cautious since our first several sessions?). A gout of ghastly green gas erupted from the tube, but luckily only Lyrax was close enough to be exposed. Even I held my breath (no pun intended) as Pete rolled to see if Lyrax lived or died. Luckily, the bowmaster lived to see another day.

As the gas hung in the air, Lyrax threw himself at the doors western exit just as the halfling was forcing it open. The two spilled out into a long east-west corridor made dim by the fact that the lantern was back at the chamber’s southern entrance. Hoping that nothing was lurking in the gloom, the duo waited until the gas cleared from the fountain room and the rest of the party rejoined them.

Down the dim corridor lay a four-way intersection with one passage ending in a pair of stone double doors and another corridor opening into a chamber. When in doubt, check out the doors, so Pip stepped up to find them locked, but trap-free. A set of lockpicks later (proving that the lock on this door sucks—he’s the second 1st level thief to breeze past it), the party was in a door-lined corridor. Several of the doors were open, indicating that someone or something had been this way before (the original playtesters, in fact). Investigating one of the closed doors released a ghoul into the hallway as it chased after our plucky halfling, but Lyrax’s arrows cut it down before it could close into melee range. (As an aside, my ghouls also suck. I’ve yet to paralyze a single PC with one and there’s been at least three since the campaign’s beginning.)

Rather than play the “let’s let something out and kill it” game with each door, the party proceeded to the end of the corridor and opened the door with a skull inscribed on its face. The room beyond looked like a 14-year old Goth girl’s dream bedroom: skull tiles, grim reaper statures, a bone-covered altar, and a large bas-relief of a grinning skull. Deciding there couldn’t be anything good to come from probing about this room, the party headed back to the crossroads and turned towards the west, bound for the open chamber.

This room turned out to be in a state of collapse. Its walls and ceiling were crisscrossed with cracks and crevices, and niter deposits clung to the damp surfaces. With both a north and southern passage out of the room to choose from, Pip stuck to the plan of heading south. As he crossed the chamber, however, a fat, loathsome centipede of the giant variety dropped from a crack in the ceiling to land atop his back. Sinking it’s stinger into the hapless and surprised halfling, the vermin began injecting the hairfoot with toxin. Two more centipedes dropped into the room to skitter towards the rest of the party.

The following combat was short and the centipedes were slain, but poor Pip had become violently ill from the centipede’s venom. With now two members down, the party reluctantly returned to Blackpool to find a way of removing Anwar’s paralysis and getting Pip de-venomated.

Back at the Mad Manor, it proved to be a simple matter of cure light wounds being applied to Anwar to restore his motion. Pip, on the other hand, proved to be a more serious matter. With no money available for curative magics (and neutralize poison far beyond Mars Markus’ power), the party could do nothing but wait ten days for the halfling to recuperate. This extended downtime also meant that the window they had to rescue Kyrinn’s soul from the Shadowy Realm of Death™ expired without them having acquired the funds needed to revive him. A small ceremony was held out on Ten-foot Pole Hill© for the slain fighting man as he was interred in a casket purchased by Lyrax.

The ten days of downtime resulted in everyone completing their training and becoming available for adventuring duties. I’ve established a new rule of “one PC per player” for dungeon expeditions, however, and this would be the first time that the players would have to make a decision on whom to run from their stable of characters. It was interesting to see this in action and it drives home the fact that D&D is a game of resource management at its most visceral of levels. In this case, since Tom wanted to earn some experience for his newly-rolled up assassin, he decided to leave his magic-user back at the manor. This meant that Jack brought Anwar along rather than Mars Markus (the party’s sole cleric) because he anticipated that having a sleep spell would ensure victory over the remaining orcs. I’m curious to watch how this develops further over the course of the campaign. I already suspect that next week’s game will be a bit different because of the result of this week’s session, but more on that in a moment.

The party returned to Stonehell and headed directly to the orcs’ lair—no pussyfooting around. Wisely, they had procured a 10’ ladder and used that to cross the uncertain pit (and then stashed it in the abandoned room where Morg, Immeral, and Anwar had hidden from their wandering monster encounter). They arrived at the lair and, after aligning themselves up in battle formation, they reenacted the “Get ‘em!” battle plan from their first assault. The one benefit from being laid up for ten days while Pip recovered was that the orcs had simply become convinced that there would be no more attacks against their holdings and had slipped back into complacency. Had the PCs returned to the lair immediately as planned, a number of nasty surprises might have been in store for them.

The party made short work of the orcs in the first guardroom and pressed on deeper into the orc lair after collecting ears as trophies (I’m assuming these are going to be shown to the goblins in order to keep them as allies and use them against the bandits). Their lightning-fast attack was quiet enough to not alert the guards in the next chamber, allowing Pip to brain one with his sling, killing the orc and inciting the rest to run into the PCs waiting ambush.

Entering the now-cleared guardroom meant facing the remaining orc guards that were spilling from the connecting barracks. Anwar conjured up his sleep spell and managed to lull all of them into slumber. They were dispatched with bloody alacrity by the party. Choosing to ignore the eastern door that exited the guardroom, the PCs entered the barracks to the south. There they discovered a room empty of orcs, but containing a beaten, burned, and battered gnome (now asleep thanks to Anwar’s spell) dangling from a hook hanging from the ceiling. As Lyrax and Baragkus sought to free the poor demi-human, Pip investigated the only other door in the room.

As he cocked an ear to listen at it, the portal flew open to reveal a very large and very angry orc chieftain. Poor Pip was thoroughly surprised by the orc’s sudden appearance and could only watch in horror as the chieftain’s axe descended to cleave his head in twain and scatter his brains across the barracks. Another orc and the chieftain’s concubine followed the giant orc into battle.

Baragkus closed with the chieftain while Lyrax fired a hail of arrows at the concubine. The third orc charged at Anwar and Hemlock as they entered the barracks. Failing to realize that Anwar was a magic-user and a potential threat, the orc concentrated his attack on the crossbow-wielding Hemlock. His spear ran the cloaked mystery man through and the single hit point assassin died twitching on a dirty orkish spear point.

Meanwhile, between Baragkus’ longsword and Lyrax’s arrows, both the concubine and chieftain were dispatched. As the chieftain fell, Baragkus’ backswing took down the remaining orc, leaving just him, Lyrax, and Anwar as survivors. There was talk of holing up in the chieftain’s room to recuperate, but that seemed to be a poor plan. Instead, it was decided to cut and run once they looted the place for all it was worth. As it turned out, it was worth a lot.

The chieftain’s quarters held a large timber bed with owlbear sleeping hide. A chest at the foot of it was carefully examined and, when it seemed too simply latched, it was popped open with a 10’ pole—revealing the spitting cobra that was curled amongst the numerous silver and gold coins within! Lyrax cut the serpent in half with an arrow and the party quickly began shoveling loot into their sacks. The result was 2,000 silver guilders, 5,000 gold marks, three gems, two necklaces, a sapphire nose-ring, and a circlet made of pure platinum. The party had never seen riches assembled like this before! It was a grand haul for the surviving three.

As the party made for the surface, they noticed that the eastern door that led from the guardroom they had passed through was ajar. Not even pausing to investigate, the trio hightailed it to the H Room. As they approached their goal, a thirsty stirge flew out of the gloom, but was cut down by an arrow before it came anywhere near the PCs.

The party exited Stonehell and returned to Blackpool minus two of their party members (who were left behind to increase the amount of loot that the survivors could carry) but richer than they had even been before. From the slain orcs and acquired treasure, all three of the surviving adventurers achieved 3rd level.

Next week will see the introduction of a new player, the possible return of another, and the creation of at least two replacement PCs. I’m not certain what this is going to lead to adventuring-wise. The option of going after the bandits remains, as does exploring the outdoor portion of Stonehell or the 1st level. Perhaps another option should be prepared to help get the incoming adventurers back on track in the great experience point race. I’m interested in seeing how long the party’s windfall lasts as well.

A Tally of PC Deaths by Player

After an extended period free from player character deaths, last weekend's session saw four characters die in two expeditions into Stonehell Dungeon. This brought up the discussion of who has lost the most characters since the start of the campaign. Looking back over the PC "morgue," it appears that Dave is the leader by a clear magrin. He also has the dubious distinction of having lost the first PC of the campaign way back in session #2.

The current totals are:

Dave: 6 (Danek, Malbane, Morg, Pip, Yodahlla, and Kallen)
Pete: 4 (Azerran, Kliegeles, Xander Tonn, and Immeral the White)
Jud: 3 ("El" Ravener, Presto, and Tigir)
Rob: 3 (Mordakis, Reddannon, and Kyrinn)
Tom: 1 (Hemlock)
Jack: 0

Player Eric also managed to survive his time in the campaign without a single death before he retired from the weekly sessions. If I were Jack, I'd watch my back. Not from me, but from overly "helpful" party members looking to make sure he's not left out of the Dead Adventurers' Club.