Noble Intentions

Wormstar, and the Siege of Khakal
Of Feculus and Suriel

Heretofore read the notes of the DM, as transcribed in his lovable assistant, the codex of Duri.

As you scrambled atop the walls of Khakal after your daring run through the horde of shamblers, you left the wall with Loerson, a halfling cleric of yondalla. He took you down to the woodorking shop where the elves and halflings remaining in the town of Khakal were working on making new arrows and spears out of re-purposed wooden furniture and salvage.

“So, welcome to Khakal, saviors. Name’s Loerson – I’d have the band play your song – but I only heard it the once and we don’t have a band. That Hralf is good with the harp though, yes? We have some more ale, but not a lot. Enough for you, only guests we’re going to get in a long while. Let’s give you all a once over…” Spotting Layla’s wounds, Loerson cursed. “where did you get those? Even if it weren’t from the rotters, Out here in the wastes, a wound could fester and stink in hours. The very air is poison, an alchemical smog that seared the lungs and burns the eyes. You feel it too, yes? I think it’s worse for the elves. My clerical specialties are more in the form of protection rather than healing, but Danielle will do what she can, if it gets worse.”

He described the general scene to you – the city was suspicious of necromany at first and even hung up a supposed necromancer to a wall in the center of town and drove out a few others who were suspects. The halflings were also treated badly until the shamblers became more prominent and it became clear that no person was doing this alone – confirmed in part by the fact that the necromancer who was strung up reanimated as well. Loerson suggested you either talk to the mayor or to talk to Flekhya, the halfling druid who built the walls and was leading their defense.

“Let me introduce you to Clyde, the mayor, He’ll give you the lay of things. Though you’d probably be better off talking to Flekhya, seeing as she built most of these defenses and has been leading the ramparts whenever I’m not there. Just that… I don’t want to give the image that the halflings have taken over the elves’ town any more than I already have. They’ve only just warmed up to us, you see, and it just took a thousand corpses and a couple demons to bring them around!”

“I figure you all earned the truth when you saved my cousin Fustar back in Odisvalk. Should have never left, really, but things were bad. And right when I’m thinking about leaving these elves and going back home, it gets bad here too. But like it or not, Khakal is my home now, or what’s left of it anyway. I’d give you the key to the city but we don’t have much beyond couple of ‘shops’ and some sick houses.”

You learned that the mayor might have a spellbound and headed off to make use of it. When you got to the mayor’s temporary office/‘mansion’ you found him cowering behind this same spellbound, lamenting the pointlessness of resisting and despairing in his town’s condition. In the depths of his despair, Clyde ranted to himself about the terrible condition his town is in.

“Rust, corrosion, wind, rain. The nibbling teeth if mice and the acrid droppings if insects and the devouring jaws of time. The war of nature upon our devices, of chaotic forces upon the works of mankind. The energy and structure that we have pulled from the land is being inexorably pulled back into it, sucked luke water down a hillside. Before long, if it hadn’t happened already, there wouldn’t be a single two story building left in the kingdom. elvenkind built here a world that should have taken millenia to die, but we are seeing now that it may only take a few months to go out. Decay is the only constant here, and all is rot and dust, cinders beneath our feet.”

Eventually, Elythia managed to bully the mayor and use her pearl to commandeer the spellbound, which seems to be tied to the gift she was given by Skalla back in Odisvalk. The grpup, after much debate, names it “George” and then Layla tries to determine his personality and favorite colors, etc. This caused quite a moral stir in the group. Elythia decided he could be a tool and took him for her use. this, of course, was not before they discovered that George’s favorite color is Red.

Heading to the wall, you all met with Flekhya and she described the patters that shamblers walked in, as well as the fact that some of their ‘martyrs’ went over the wall after they were infected and killed one of the poxmen. This felled many of the shamblers when it happened, so theoretically these poxmen control the shamblers. She also described the fact that she thinks the other poxman is watching her, occasionally appearing across town, just staring. She thinks he might be bored, which gave Elythia an idea to coax him into a duel with her new ‘champion’, and it appeared to have worked. ‘George’ was dropped down past the wall to start killing shamblers with Rooke’s trident, and on the topic, Rooke also handed his crossbow with the explosive bolts over to Thomas. Thomas crept down into the ruins to hide out for an ambush – an idea the rest of you seemed to share – and awaited the approach of the poxman.

Bloated, potbellied, and smelling from over one hundred feet away, he removes his helmet to reveal a misshapen head with two bulbous flies eyes on either side of his head.

Laughing and cheery, he asks them “Would any of you, by chance, happen to be a knight? You have killed my servants, and by their screams, I knew I had finally encountered a worthy opponent. Come, it has been far too long since I had a proper duel. Honor bids me offer you a fair challenge, and bids you accept as well, I think”.

The party agreed heartily, there should be a duel, and they had a champion for the monster to fight. “I am Feculus, of the Duchy of Bitterbile, Knight of the Order of the Fly” The bloated warrior raised his rusty blade in salute. “Might I have your name, good sir/madam?”

As you all yell out in unison “George”, his tongue flicks out and swirls in the air, and he says “ah, it is a good name. it has a good taste. I am honored to take the field against you, so that you might receive my gifts. The Maggot King rules all things, not just sickness, and he shall soon rule this land as well. But fear not! My armsmen will not interfere. This is a duel of honor, after all.”

As he shoulders his pitted axe – more of a cleaver really – a cascade of flies lift off from his back and arms to swirl about in a strangely patterned dance. The sound of the rotflies’ wings crawled into your ears and into his mind. Your spines ached.

As the duel proceeded, George initially held his own but was eventually driven back by the heavy blows. At this, Elythia decided honor is overrated and sprung her ambush, prompting the others to attack in kind. Enraged and now wounded by all manner of projectiles, Feculus roared, gurgling phlegm and worse fluids, and then clove George in twain. Upon this moment, Marie leapt from the battlement to thunder-punch the monster, but was quickly cut deeply in the shoulder and knocked to the ground. As arrows and magic continued to rain down on Feculus, and the shamblers closed in, it hacked her leg from her body. He was shortly thereafter killed by Elythia’s fire, but the damage was done.

The good news is that the shamblers collapsed or fled once the poxman was undone. As the corpses were set upon by the halflings and elves, each burned to prevent them from rising again, the party stabilized Marie and then looted the corpse – as is their way. Pillaging the body, the party aquired his rusted greataxe, coins, gems, and a couple of art items, as well as a crude map made of elf-flesh. It appeared to detail the movements and locations of the other ‘plaguelords’, and may be useful for locating the source of the disease.

Before they could realize what a powerful tool this could be, they were interrupted by a revolting scene. Quickly, remarkably so, the body of the thing that called itself Feculus broke into parts, and those parts into smaller, before rising as a cloud of black, bloated flies, which begin to buzz and hum in a sour parody of a voice, and a face forms in the cloud -

“so good for us to meet at long last! I am Rakadishu, the father of abundant life. The elves have been… reluctant to come and speak with me, so that we might birth millions of new writhing souls together. I am so very glad you have come, it has been so dreadfully lonely since they boxed me in, with nothing but this lovely, shimmering well. I would very much like you to come and see it, my garden grows around it so nicely…” The body then shudders and collapses on himself.

This spell of confusion and anger was broken when the halflings joyfully ran over the wall to begin ‘cleaning up the mess’ – with Loerson happily exclaiming that they should ’Burn those corpses, before they rise again!" Musushi wasted no time setting about lighting things aflame, which has become a disturbingly common activity of his since landing in Brondoriond.

It was not long thereafter that Thomas noticed a black maggot crawling away from you in the direction of the wormstar. Quickly destroying it, the group saw with more surprise that a figure emerged, gasping from the remains. The form that stood before you was immediately recognizable to Layla as releases the Angel Suriel, First Among Equals. First she shudders in joy at being released, revulsion at where she has been, and then pain as she is too close to the heart stone. She bolted to nearly a 100 yard distance and speaks to them from there.

Her link was tenuous, and much of her energy was spent simply resisting consumption in her larval cage. She fears she is dying, and imparts a number of grim facts to the group. “exposure to your dragon stone pains me – I fear I may never return to Hestavaar. Even from here, it withers the soul and burns my lungs. I am dying – that artifact of Old Athran is powerful indeed.”

The ratemen they intercepted days ago were her agents, sent to perform a task for her that was undone by the party’s actions. Without the potions and notes, or the tools, she cannot make a curative brew. She also attempted to cut the canker out herself, even stooping so low as to recruit trolls in the attack, though she is quick to state that even that was not so low as what Naphrem has done, giving you that stone and unleashing powers beyond his own control.

As she was fighting the plaguebeasts alongside a group of trolls and “Throgg – an ‘angel’ of Erythnuul, if you can call him that – the shame is, I saw him fall, slain by the duke who caged me. Crafty bastard trapped me in that worm while I was fighting his lord, and then two on one, they cut down Throgg and took from him his hammer. With it, they could crush the rest of the trolls with ease. I think they let me see it on purpose – to lend despair to my pain. It worked.”

In the end, it became apparent that the divinations of Laergnan were correct – that when they party entered the veil, that the sun would darken, and much sooner than ‘it was supposed to happen’. As Musushi implored ‘where are we supposed to go now’? She responded with a saddened, dreary suggestion.

“Follow the star”, she said, pointing at the nightmare of pulsing worms, coiling around one another in a sickly glow, hanging low in the sky. And with that, she turned, and plodded slowly into the mists, arms limp at her sides, to find a patch of loam to lay in – her star’s light fading, and her desolation complete.

The Shambler Gauntlet
RIP Blanche

We have reached the city of Khakal—at a high cost, and for what purpose I am not entirely sure. I had assumed traveling towards the Wormstar would take us to the Mire of Minain, where Oror claimed to have defeated the Gravesworn two centuries ago. But I am getting ahead of myself. First I shall go back and record the treacherous gauntlet that led us to Khakal.

The day started (at least I think it was the start of a new day…it is difficult to tell on this side of the veil) with the discovery of a decaying corpse half submerged in the stagnant bog, clutching a journal. The traveler’s writings detailed the arrival of the Wormstar and the terrible sickness that shortly followed. Those who die of this sickness—Wormblight, as it’s called—rise again and hunt the living. The undead laid siege to Khakal, and have been kept at bay through the efforts of the Halfling refugees.

The traveler fled Khakal looking for safer lands, and hoping to take the locket of a woman named Annabelle to the sea. They must not have known of the veil. They didn’t make it that far though, likely succumbing to the Wormblight. Rooke put a crossbow bolt through the body’s skull, hoping that would prevent it from rising again.

We spotted a tower in the distance, and as we approached came to realize over a thousand shamblers were milling about around the tower and the ruins of a small city beyond. They seemed mindless for the most part, except for a small number that were trying to climb the tower walls. We concluded there must be a reason for their efforts to get into the tower, as we now know they can be controlled to some degree by the pale demons. We figured the tower must contain a) something the leading demon wants in order to cause more destruction or b) something the demon wants to destroy because it could harm him. In either case, we decided we should acquire it.

We spent quite awhile arguing about how to accomplish the impossible task of breaching a horde of shamblers and surviving. Some wanted to forge head-first into the throng and hope we had enough brute strength amongst us to make it to the tower. Others favored creating a distraction to lure the shamblers away. But what would draw enough of them to give us a fighting chance?

We did not solve that puzzle on our own. While debating, Elythia received a telepathic communication from an unknown source, conveying that they would provide a distraction shortly and that we should run as soon as it started. Moments later there was an explosion, and run is what we did.

Not to the tower, because that is what exploded. We simply ran forward, our new goal becoming a barricade within the boundaries of the small city. Of what would happen when we reached the barricade I had no idea, but we continued running because at that point there was nothing else to do—shamblers were closing in and stonework debris rained down.

We were aided by figures drifting in the sky above us, sending bolts of lightning down into the shamblers. Grog, of all creatures, reached the barricade first, and a rope dropped down for him to climb. Seven more ropes followed. My single-minded focus on reaching the barricade was broken by a scream from behind. Blanche had fallen behind and…I cannot.

Rooke took a few paces back, at least. She was a brave woman, and likely saved my life.

We’re inside the barricade, which forms a small ring of safety within the city. A handful of halflings and elves are looking at us with hope in their eyes. What now?

Writ of Passage
Thanks for the notes, Louise!

[Shopping Spree]

It wasn’t the first time those in the group had woken up in a tavern, but so far, it had been the among the most comfortable. The saviors of Odisvalk (with two apprentice battle mages in tow) had rented two large rooms above Naga’s Cup, a local big city watering hole with an interesting business model. Patrons would buy a single cup for the night with self-refills from a massive chalice adorned with serpents to their heart’s content. This was mostly a problem for the group’s friend Latham, the semi-alcoholic migrant guard of Heldelion, who was now nowhere to be found. The group assumed that he’d made his way to a better place and carried on with their lives.

Namely, they sought to prepare themselves for the journey ahead; and that meant commerce. Layla made a comprehensive shopping list as only she could: an alchemical kit, leather gloves, flasks, and soap. The rest went along for the ride, but not before Musushi, succumbing to his base habits, took a swig without so much as a how-do-you-do to the barkeep! This was in clear violation of the third rule of Naga’s cup, so the dwarf was cursed with Naga’s Basic Curse: An embarrassing lisp for an hour, to the group’s momentary amusement (which lasted far less than an hour).

Undeterred, the group pressed on, leaving their kidnappee Fordham in the dust, with naught but an admissions packet from Durandur College, empty well wishes, and the clothes on his back, which he sold for an afternoon of drinks and the tall tales of a fellow patron known only as Bar Stool. After much haggling and simple demands for goods, the group had their haul. Layla came away with flasks containing holy water, gloves for handling the sick, the Alchemical Kit of the Year, according to the Durandur Journal of Alchemy vol. 4, and bar of soap (but a really good one). Thomas was the new proud owner of a neeeew buckler! Rooke pulled out all the stops, managing to buy enough Bear’s Endurance potion to go ten rounds with an actual bear and 20 exploding arrows. Musushi’s claim was a big net, destined in his mind for a kind of shambler’s crowd control. Shocking everybody, Elythia walked away neither flaunting her wealth nor bullying a commoner.

[Dire Warnings]

Their resupply complete, the Champions of Naphrem loaded their things in the cart and made to roll out of town. So imagine their surprise (and that of this narrator) when their way was blocked by none other than Lairnen, Chief Diviner of the Council, himself! You know, the only blind elf on the council? Still he sees everything around him, not to mention the future? Rides a unicycle when he doesn’t have to? Well, he’s a big deal and he had some things to say about Rooke.

Until recently and for reasons unknown, the man Rooke had been hidden from Lairnen’s omnicient (uh) “sight.” But once discovered, it was clear that this man had a Destiny. But the councilman was no mere fanboy. He shared his visions with the group; about the group. Privy he was to Naphrem, Cyric, the accursed Nine (EDIT: Eight). He warned the group that their quest had been attempted before throughout the ages. And if they proceeded with Rooke exposed as he was, theirs was destined for bloodshed and ruin. Lairnen, bowed by decades of wisdom and pain, begged the group to abandon their quest and leave this land; and to take the herald of destruction, their friend Rooke, who held the capacity for great good and great evil far away from Cyric’s reach.

The Champions of Naphrem, Liberators of Odisvalk, future saviors of the world and 10 time New Memphun bocce ball champions declared bally-hoo to all that.

Instead, Thomas got bored and revealed the crux of the matter. Naphrem’s gift to Rooke, the ring that blocks minds from telepathy, which he stole back after Rooke gave it to Fordham. It has a cool name now, but I forget it off the top of my disembodied head. There are so many magical items, each named more grandiosely than the last. At the time, Rooke and indeed the rest of the group regarded it as little more than junk, so we’ll call it the Junk Ring. Once again in possession of the Junk Ring, Rooke bled back against the background noise of fate and was once again hidden from sight. Lairnen was slightly alarmed before he realized what had happened and thus, the futility of his previous argument. After eating dust as the cart sped away, he went home to work on his latest land use act.

[The Front]

With the painstakingly acquired Writ of Passage from the Council, the group made good time to the veil: a massive shimmering wall of magical energy that reached high into the sky, disappearing into the clouds before (presumably) joining into a dome beyond. There, they were hailed by a familiar, not-as-impressive face: Henrietta, the chatty conscript they met on the road to Oror. She had been here long enough to complain about the lack of activity, a sentiment shared by her compatriots. In a grand stroke of irony with which the group was becoming increasingly familiar with, that moment of boredom was replaced by a commotion from the magical barrier.

Rushing to said commotion, the group saw a small phalanx of milita-elves. They attempted to peer through the veil, but heavy smoke on the other side obscured their view. What breaks were made in the haze were quickly covered again, but not before the defenders felt the menace of humanoid sillouettes, grotesque and foul in aura. Panicking, they hurled projectiles through the veil, which breached and felled many. But there were many more still. Impossibly many. And led by those demons encountered in the Fulcrinabulum: Black as night with razor sharp horns and face splitting grins of razor sharp teeth.

Triggered, the group attacked that one. Musushi’s rolling fireball ignited the enemy and revealed the others: Shamblers. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them on the other side. Thomas’s arrows pierced the demon leader. It smiled. Elythia’s magic missles slammed into it’s chest. It smiled still. Layla wiped that smile of the demon’s face with a faceful of holy water. But the apparently jolly demon captain was only deterred for a little while.

Meanwhile, the shamblers pressed forward, trying their non-beating hearts out to break through. The shape of their arms could be seen bulging against the veil in a clear defiance of the high magic wall. The group could not see what became of the assault; whether the shamblers made it through, whether Henrietta’s troop lived or died. Smoke rose from the enemy as the veil burned their skin and the Champions of Naphrem had bigger fish to fry.

They hopped on their cart, retreated along the veil for a mile, and entered the forbidden zone.


Once inside the veil, there was no coming out. Besides the heavily implied musk of demons, the landscape was actually quite peaceful. Sparse vegetation littered the landscape, but was sickly and dead. The land was illuminated by the sheen of the veil above. Always a little light, it obscured the shine of the actual Sun, so it was easy to lose track of the time of day. Musushi felt quite at home. The exception to that was the faint green glow on the horizon. The team recalled the troop’s reports of something called the Worm Star. By process of elimination, they deduced that that must be it and made for that direction.

In doing so, they had time to plot, invent, and wonder. Scanning the horizon for the undead proved mercifully empty. Layla was productive. In addition to summoning a celestial beetle, she also fashioned an old wineskin into a holy water gun! The team hotly debated whether this constituted an act of premeditated violence.

[The Swamp]

Eventually, they came to a marshland, as far as the eye could see. A short-lived attempt was made to circumnavigate the wetland, but was simply too large for the team’s patience and world-saving time table. In a moment of “what could possibly go wrong,” they decided to ford the marshland, making every attempt to keep to the dry parts of the marshland. This proved difficult as pockets of submerged plant life made up the majority of the space.

Sensing this challenge, Musushi attempted to cajole Grog into scouting ahead through the water. Knowing better, the rat refused. Not knowing better, the dwarf took a peek under the water of the spot where they happened to be. In so doing, his head discovered the snapping jaws of a monstrous… monster. Or the other way around is probably more accurate. To everyone’s horror and Musushi’s dizzying confusion, the creature’s jaws clamped down on the too-curious druid’s cranium and pulled him under the water.

The party gave chase and Layla landed a hit with her spear. In a stroke of luck, the blow freed Musushi, sending him cartwheeling through the air onto a particular hard patch of moss. The creature burst forth and revealed itself. It was a monstrous crocodile, with the telltale puss oozing from multiple pores. And it was pissed. The party attacked. At range and up close, the team proved themselves once again a fierce fighting force. Magic missles, arrows, spears, and a scorching ray all hit the croc with a little magical clairvoyance. Even Blanche and Marie got a few licks in, showing the potency of their Battle Mage training.

All the while, the wounded dwarf writhed on the ground and, cursing his misery, tried unsuccessfully to die.

As the party whittled away their latest foe, they took body blows, but the adventurers were to much for the sickly beast. Musushi struggled to simply heal himself and stand. He eventually did make it up and staggered to the wounded foe. With a cry of triumph and anguish (but mostly anguish), he simply fell on it and ended its life. And with that, the battle was won. The team could finally rest.

And rest they did. After a full day of frantic travel and a mad fight against nature and un-nature, the Champions of Naphrem became the Sleepers of Naphrem. They slept with uncertainty. What else lay beneath the murky waters of the marsh? Would they get to the Worm Star before the demons completed whatever myseterious scheme they’d schemed? What the heck was a Worm Star, anyway?

An Audience with the Council
Elythia's Journal

Dear diary,

I must say I am not very impressed with this elven “meritocracy”. So tedious, and they seem to cling to their studying and books as if that is the best way to harness real power. Well I think they’ve got their heads stuck up their books so far they can’t even see that we are their best shot at destroying this plague and the demon that is ultimately the cause. Lucky for them, I don’t care what a bunch of elves in a tower think about our quest.

Today we left the Tower of Oror and made our way to the city of Baragzan and the Dorinder College. I sent a message to Rooke that he should finish up his business, grab Fordham, and meet us along the way. We encountered an elf pulling a cart. Highly suspicious. Thomas was “target shooting” but I think he was also expecting an attack. However we determined she was just a merchant who had been turned away from Baragzon because she’s sick. So we left and continued on our journey. She didn’t even have items worth purchasing. Clearly not a good merchant.

Rooke and Fordham (who was slung over Rooke’s back, like he didn’t want to come or something) joined us and our group arrived at the gates of Baragzan. There was a very long line to enter the city but clearly it was for the peasants, not important people like us. The guards were happy to oblige us after I showed them that little pearl… we learned more about why that pearl has been so helpful later. The peasants seemed resentful and one of them threw a cabbage at Thomas.

We walked past some lackluster shops. Nothing worth getting. After getting obvious directions from peasant children to the tower, we arrived at the tower only to find it does not have doors. Stumped, we headed to the Dorinder College instead and managed to gain an audience with someone who could give us an audience with the council. Ugh so annoying. I think Musushi was not a fan of the bureaucracy.

As we waited for our counsel appointment we chatted with Oror’s apprentices, Marie and Blanche. Apparently Arcona is the title of the head of the council. Each “school” of magic is represented on the council except necromancy. Also they think Druids and Clerics don’t have magic but what do they know. Also, that little shadowdancer pearl of mine had a soul trapped in it. This has to do with how the spellbound are created so theoretically I have the soul of some spellbound creature. People are intimidated by it because they believe I can call the spellbound… perhaps this is worth figuring out.

Anyways, we went back to the tower. Waited for our audience with the council in the tower. Layla got nosy and questioned an elf who was also waiting. Layla even listened through the door! It was a heated discussion so who knows, maybe there’s some juicy gossip to be had around here.

At last we had our meeting with the council. We (very) thoroughly presented our case. They weren’t particularly responsive but ultimately gave us a writ of passage through the barrier. They didn’t seem to care much about anything. We did learn that there is more than one “demon” behind the barrier, so that will be interesting. The prime demon may be near what they called “The Wormstar” so I guess we’ll head there.

After that thrilling journey through bureaucracy, we at last made our way to an inn called Naga’s cup. Musushi bought 3 bottomless cups of wine and generously shared with several party members. It seems like Latham is already making friends with the bartender so he’ll be fine. We also gave Fordum some money for school. Dorinder college is supposedly a good school and an expensive one. Not sure how much school will help him…

The Tower of Oror
Thanks for the notes, Freddy!

[The Town]
When the sun rose on Heldelion one day in the early days of the Cyric War of the Nine, it was also on a group of champions recently freed. A scrape of imprisonment would change most folk, bestowing upon them a greater appreciation for the things in life so easily taken for granted: The taste of a cool ale, the joyous laughs of close friends, a good magic show to distract from the troubles of the day. The Champions of Naphrem were no exception. Armed with their freedom and a fresh win in the form of news from Kakhal, the team returned to the simple pleasures they adored so much: Accosting strangers with verbal and physical violence.

Literal minutes into the new day, they had managed to inundate a gaggle of bystanders with local questions and, their sensibilities wounded by a lack of information, gotten into a fight about the current price of eggs, during which the team threw around their own yolk of oppression (Ha. Ha. Ha) in a few unwilling faces.

Their tantrum proved surprisingly fruitful. It turns out that even in anger, frustration, and bewilderment, most bystanders will reveal something of interest. They learned that the writer of Elythia’s letter, one Juvis Arcona (yes, that one) was something of an important figure. In truth, the group could be forgiven for not knowing who she was, but that didn’t stop the townsfolk from ridiculing the “pushy outsiders” and Montogmery the barkeep’s most valued (wealthy) customers.

Their quota met, the team sallied forth into the town, off to meet with Oror. All, save Rooke, who proved difficult to rouse from his slumber. And even after waking, he insisted on studying the Codex of Duri for additional clues. The party, bored by the alternative, allowed this and set out to settle their errands. They missed a series of misadventures of Rooke and the Codex, which became immortalized in later records as “Kumquat Rising: The Misadventures of Rooke and Book.”

The party was content to visit local shops to get some questions answered and lighten their purses. They first stopped at the Copper Potion, run by Perry the Slovenly Elf Dude, who they bullied and subtly threatened. Not their best work, as Perry was savvy to their false claims of alignment with the College, but this narrator remains proud of their effort. Still, they got a light healing potion identified and a reference to a caducetorium, so the group considered it a win. The bar just keeps getting lower and lower.

The caducetorium, however, was a highlight. They were well met by a young Gnome by the name of Rufus. In their brief time in the shop, Rufus dazzled the group with an overview of his wares and tales of his adventuring days. His laid back attitude was highlighted by subtle hints that none in the group were “of the right stuff” to wield his wands, but they didn’t seem to notice. They were content to have Layla’s discovered wand identified to contain the dancing lights spell. Musushi was pleased to speak to a fellow “small business owner” (though one was clearly more successful than the other).

Their business and questions in town settled enough, the group returned to find an inebriated, but basically functioning Latham. After some haggling, they acquired some horses that would prove to be more effective guides than the Elf, himself. Then they tore out of that dump like a rational being out of Heldelion.

[The Road]
I love cart rides. Or more accurately, I love watching adventurers on cart rides. Makes my job as narrator that much easier. It’s also hilarious. What happens when you give unwashed, self righteous jerks armed to the teeth an abundance of free time? This particular group fell into old habits. Thomas attacked nearby trees who had the gall to provide him with oxygen. Musushi took it upon himself to cook noodles for the only willing participant: Latham, who was somehow STILL drunk, STILL awake, and didn’t have much ability to refuse to anything. Layla invoked her celestial connection to play with some monkeys (not a euphemism). Elythia shook her head the entire way, but was otherwise watchful.

Their boredom was mercifully interrupted by a column of Elven militia, heading back toward Heldelion. United by a potential threat, the party hid and prepared to strike. However, they were feeling friendly that day and, riding the high of civilized conversation in Heldelion, the group decided to hail the warband and try to get some information out of them.

The militia as a whole seemed to care little as they continued to file past, but there was one soldier who shirked her duty enough to bestow upon our heroes “the skinny.” The platoon was led from Hazelwood by an Elf named Atticus, under orders from the local wizard Zenst. Each soldier was adorned with an array of magical charms and icons that were believed by the troop to ward off the plague. The group didn’t know who those were or whether the charms would actually help fight the plague. They asked about Oror. The soldier didn’t know who that was or whether finding him would help fight the shamblers. Agreeing that neither side really helped the other, both groups wished each other luck and carried on their marches to their very own brands of likely doom.

[The Dead]
It wasn’t long before the party stumbled on something troubling. Through a loose coalition of rodent and primate scouts (the Great Grog and the celestial Baboon Triplets, respectively), the group discovered (gasp!) a camp. They then spent nearly the whole afternoon creeping ever closer to view the site, exhibiting greater caution than their confrontation with Ahmdemos, a chief lieutenant (and right bastard) of the god of chaos.

Their reward was a clear sight from the bush of a group of seven men beside a swamp, all wearing black hoods, the historical mark of pure villiany. Six were hard at work planting flowers of all things in neat little rows. The flowers were of note; dark and decaying; sad dead things from cart to ground. The last man lounged by the fire, lost in a book. His supreme laziness clearly marked him as the leader. The whole thing made for an ominous sight that the group HAD to know more about.

Favoring discussion over going in crossbows blazing (absent said crossbows), the group devised a plan. Elythia changed her form to something approximately resembling a denizen of the dark arts based on recent experience and pop culture (dark robes, sleep deprivation, and the like). She then burst from the bushes to demand a “status report” from the hooded men, hoping to discover their purpose. The rest of the party was happy to let her do this, while hoisting their very sharp weapons and spells at the potential enemy, in the likely event that things go south. Her only bodyguard was Grog the Rat, which (considering that he laid low the demon Ahmdemos) was probably quite sufficient (haha).

The ruse almost worked. In true Elythia form, haughty demands and snapping at the help led to some basic forms of compliance. That didn’t last. Too many unspecific references to things they should both know tipped off the leader that some bullshit was about. After a few tense moments, he ordered his “men” to attack. In unison. With a wave of his hand. The clattering of their skeletons on armor revealed the nature of their foes: Walking corpses!

The group scrambled to react. Thomas rained arrows down upon the enemy, winging a pair. Musushi bound their feet with vines. Layla blasted them apart with a holy vengenece. Yep, all six. The battle was done in seconds; it was very interesting.

At that moment, Elythia moved forward to deck the leader to sample this physical violence that everyone spoke so highly of (and of course, to capture a prisoner). The leader, however, was one of those true believer types. He slit his own throat in a smooth, almost surgical manner that would be praise-worthy if it wasn’t so creepy.

As the leader died(?) his wound spoke, this disembodied voice revealed itself as an agent of Cyric’s Nine (sorry eight) and promised an unveiling of lies, futility of resistence, yada yada yada. That cabal was still finding their unique voice at this point in history, but would eventually go down as some of the best last-worders in the biz. Then the body deflated and emitted green smoke. They sure know how to make an exit.

Confusion struck the party at once. But they shrugged it off as their attention turned to the things left behind. They gathered the possessions of their departed foes, a dog-eared spell book featuring beginners magic (unbecoming of a nefarious necromancer), a bag of pearls, almost like payment, and a small bone statue akin to the one they found (and crushed) in Odisvalk. This one, they burned. Musushi regarded the flowers with a rare clarity of mind. He added a sample of the dead plant to his pouch (clearly segregated from his noodle ingredients) and burned the rest. For once, the party did not object to the dwarf’s habit for destruction.

[The Old]
Their bloodlust sated, the party returned to the task at hand. Gathering Latham and the cart, they continued down the road. It wasn’t long before they came to a well kept stone tower in the middle of a vast lake of crystal clear water. It was the polar opposite of Teclis’s in that it was, you know, not on fire. It was, instead, on water.

Upon knocking, the group was met at the door by Blanche, an Elven woman who held a simultaneously haughty and hospitible demeanor. She welcomed them into a modestly sized room, fully furnished, but with dirt floors. Guess they forgot that part. Tea, however, was prioritized, whereas information was not. Blanche did introduce herself as a student and gatekeeper to the Battle Mage Oror, who was, of course, quite busy. When the group in turn explained / blurted their journey thus far, she seemed at first skeptical, and then, upon believing the group, unimpressed.

They were soon interrupted by a second student, Marie; An actual dwarf above the surface. Though indistinguishable as female to the Elven and Human members of the party, Musushi noticed right away. And, to the discomfort of everyone else in the room, attempted to “do the wooing at her.” Below the surface, he may have been a charmer (He wasn’t. But he didn’t know that), but the interest in that exchange could only be compared to a Peloran sermon at a vampire coven. Eventually, the group turned to the “apocalypse is nigh” angle, because that has worked so well thus far. Instead of Oror’s immediate assistance, they received knowledge. Namely, what a Battle Mage’s apprentice does all day. It turns out, they mostly take physical abuse and menial tasks from their master, a time honored tradition in Magickdom and, indeed, society.

Speaking of abuse, that’s when Oror descended the stairs, with machetes in his one remaining eye at those who would disturb his study. He was old, but powerful, and the air (and the conversation) chilled at his approach. And being old and powerful, he was not far from a history lesson (though it appeared to begrudging).

He had fought this war before, of course, and won; He thought for good. There was a place: Manain: An old battleground from 200 years ago that once held necromancers, but now held frozen and shattered necromanc-icles and was otherwise a wasteland. The Gravesworn, they were called, but they were gone now. However, their work and followers remained. Accordingly, walking dead uprisings were not uncommon here, but the Council had always dealt with it. The demons of Cyric were new, though. Oror shared (bragged if you ask this narrator) that it was their work with Oror’s consultation that kept the dead in the west via magical barrier, biding their time to wait out the decaying dead like a forest fire, never mind their victims. Oror’s faith in the Council and this solution were unwavering, him being on it and all.

The party was shocked at his matter of factly sacrifice of so many lives to the west, but it became clear that Oror had chosen his course, and it didn’t involve the Champions of Naphrem. Like at all. He didn’t even have the will to stop them when they told of their plan to neutralize the demon with the legendary, elusive, all powerful Heart Stone, which Oror regarded with as much interest as a kidney stone. “Better get on it,” he said, and left to smoke a corpse flower, for all they knew.

[The New]
Crickets remained in the wake of this living legend. With the Battle Mage’s priorities made clear, the team adjusted their plans. Although they had failed to recruit the Battle Mage, they turned their sights to his students. The less-than-gruntled trainees lacked field experience, and saving the world was one way to get it. They signed on to the group, though they knew not what they were getting into. Whether that be to Triddy College to meet with the Council, Khakal to lift the seige, or the Mire of Minain for more ancient secrets was yet to be decided. To boot, they had no idea of the shenanigans that so often found the group. But boy, would they learn.

The Fulcrinarium...fulcrinabulum?...fulcrinalium?...?
Excerpt from the journal of Layla Larroque

The horrible, empty husks of men known as the Spellbound took Elythia up for questioning last. She was gone only a short time, and returned looking composed and being courteously escorted by the elven interrogator. It caused me great suspicion at the time, however she later explained that the interrogator—Sutton—mistook her for someone of great and covert importance due to her possession of the shadow pearl she received from Scalla. We are lucky Elythia is so practiced at acting superior to all others, else I suspect we would have rotted in that cell. She used her unexpected influence to have Latham freed as well.

Once freed, Elythia pulled a letter out of her pocket, read it, and then paced off determinedly. She didn’t respond to any of our shouted queries. Latham advised we let her go, as he knew the look of a woman who didn’t want to be bothered. I figured that was the last we would see of her, which would not have bode well for our party because her magic can be quite effective against the adversaries we regularly encounter.

We headed back to the Seven Moons Inn, as some party members were in desperate need of a drink after the trauma of being captured by the Spellbound, and I felt the least we could do for Latham was by him a drink since he was imprisoned for the poor luck of running into us.

We drank our ales and questioned Latham about the battle mage Oror, who is something of a legend. He cleaned up the countryside of necromancers and can allegedly “kill any man or elf he chooses to.” As per usual, Sir Thomas found the opportunity to take offense at something Latham said and fondle his dagger in a threatening manner.

We decided to continue pursuing our task of utilizing the Fulcrunalium (or something to that affect. None of us can recall the exact name). The only problem was, we did not know where it was located or how to use it. Musushi hatched a sickening plot to speak to the deceased Beauregard through the near-death necromancer Sir Thomas encountered in the sick house. We tried gathering the information from the nurse Scarlett first, but she said she had neither the skill nor permission to use it. She wasn’t particularly keen on helping us, as she blames us for Beauregard’s death.

Sir Thomas found the necromancer—Kallus—slumped on the floor, close to death. He agreed to help us if we put him out of his misery.

I thought about protesting, insisting we find a different way. How can I condone this perversion of divine gifts? Perhaps because I have already done so many morally questionable things on this quest from Naphrem, and time feels short. The longer we dally, the more people die. So, I chose to be complicit in the necromancer’s dark ritual.

Musushi went to fetch Beauregard’s head and came back looking sickly, with a bundle under his arm. We stood close to Kallus, attempting to provide some protection from the view. The necromancer used Musushi’s blood to make symbols on his pillow. I thought it wasn’t working, until Kallus’ eyes rolled back in his head, and Beauregard’s snapped open. The dead cleric tells us the rituals we need to use the Fulcrinarium can be found in a book sitting on a pedestal before a portal. We weren’t able to get any additional information out of him before the spell faded. To my great surprise, the pillow Kallus used to draw his blood symbols shriveled and turned brown. Another reminder that necromancy is a defiling art.

Thomas went to make good on our promise by smothering Kallus with the shriveled pillow, but I couldn’t stomach it and stopped him. The dying man didn’t object. On our way out I asked a nurse if anyone ever recovers from this pervasive strain of disease. She herself was a survivor, and pulled back her mask to show me the horribly disfigured jaw it left her with.

With our new information, we headed to the temple of Boccob. It was a functional building, looking more like an office than a temple. Elythia is the first worshipper of Boccob with which I’ve spent any amount of time. He is called the Uncaring God. I assume those that worship him are mostly interested in personal gain of knowledge or power. Beauregard was administering to the sick, however.

We knocked on the door of the temple. Rustling was audible from inside, but no one answered. Finding the door unlocked, I entered cautiously. Once I walked into rooms without any particular care. This quest has caused me to look for danger and traps around every corner, behind every door.

We find a pair of elves in a side room. A woman sitting in a chair looking traumatized, a man kneeling beside her whispering words of comfort. Musushi spun a falsehood that we were the evening cleaning crew here to clean to Fulcrinabulum. He no doubt would have gone on to speak about his expertise as a small business owner, however the man simply remarked “she said this might happen” and directed us to the second level. Again wary of a trap, I summoned a celestial dog- which oddly took the shape of a small terrier.

We ascended the stairs and were shocked to find Elythia standing atop a pedestal in a large room, reading from a book in some arcane language and gesturing abstractly with her other hand. She had an intense focus and seemed to be exerting herself more than her physical movements should warrant. She was frustrated we took so long to join her, as if we should have read her mind when she went wandering off! I do not understand why she started the ritual by herself and did not inform us of her plans, unless she thought she could use the Fulcrinarium on her own and didn’t want us present. Something in that letter must have set her off.

Showing us the book while she continues chanting, we learn that there are specific phrases we must get the stone archway set in the back wall of the room to say in order to speak to designated locations. Yes, a talking wall. It wasn’t hesitant to speak once we greeted it. We decided the best location to communicate with would be Triddy College, as the scholars there might have more insight into the strange illness and rumors of walking corpses.
Unfortunately, we couldn’t solve the wall’s riddle to make it say the passphrase, “closer to the heart.” Bribery didn’t work either—it wasn’t interested in Sir Thomas’ offer to “polish” its stones.

Eventually we settled on an easier passphrase, “Dawn tomorrow,” and were able to reach Khakal. A scene materialized in the archway—a study in disarray. An elf lay on a bench, pinned there by a fallen bookcase, and seemingly asleep. He stirred when we called to him. He told us the city of Khakal was under siege by shamblers. Half the town was overrun, and it would have been worse if it weren’t for the Halfling refugees who built fortifications and were fighting ferociously. Luckily the shamblers don’t climb well—in Khakal, at least. Reports from Gwari Tower, also under siege, were that the shamblers had started piling atop one another to reach higher on the tower.

There wasn’t time to gather any more information. The portal started to fade from the edges, and as it did an oily black substance appeared in its wake and peeled off the wall like an old scab. It formed a puddle on the floor, which grew slowly outward, seemingly increasing in substance. Elythia, still on the pedestal in the center of the room, collapsed from exhaustion. Someone had the presence of mind to pull her to the staircase and away from the spreading goo—as it is with recalling moments of extreme emotion, my memory is hazy as to who.

Bone-colored creatures emerged from the black substance, each with a single eye and curved horn. Elythia recovered just in time—before the battle began. Thomas charged forward heedless of the black goo, which he immediately began to sink into as if the floor was not there at all. My celestial terrier was surprisingly effective against the demons, making several successful attacks and avoiding blows. Rooke wielded his fiery axe, Musushi his giant ladle. Elythia let loose another of her scorching rays, reducing a demon to ash and causing some structural damage to the temple.

Downstairs, the shaken-looking male elf confirmed that demonic goo is not a normal byproduct of using the Fulcrinibulum, and informed us that by doing so we had broken the quarantine. Seems like something he should have mentioned beforehand.

We returned to the tavern, finding Latham exactly as we left him—swigging an ale with his boots propped up on the table. He was quite pleased to see Elythia in a more sociable mood. As Latham is now out of a job, we convinced him to guide us to the Tower of Oror, where we will either help him secure new employment or pay him for his services. Hopefully, we will find Oror present, alive, and amenable to helping us root out the cause of the shamblers.

Also, we ran into Fordham again, and expressed our interest in circumventing the blockade with him after we returned from the Tower of Oror. He indicated that if he came up with enough coin to reapply at Triddy College before we got back he would not wait. Seeing his poor skills as a stage wizard, I doubt that will happen. I’m also pessimistic that he will be of any use with a blockade, seeing as he can barely cast a puppet show.

TLDR: We used necromancy to speak to Beauregard’s disembodied head, used the Fulcrunalium, found out shamblers are terrorizing Khakal and Gwari Tower, and decided to go find a battle mage named Oror to see if he can help us defeat the shamblers.

Heldelion and the Seven Moons
DM placeholder until Kevin's notes are in

You started out in Heldelion, just outside the Seven Moons. On Blackstone Street, east of a major crossroads. Its neighbors include Moneychanger’s shop, Abel’s Exchange. The inn is a single storey stone-walled building, with a reinforced wooden door and a large cellar. A collection of tankards from many lands sits upon a shelf. Accomodations consist of a single large room with wooden cots and several hammocks in the common room. The innkeeper is a heavyset male elf named Montgomery.

When you went inside, you had a brief confrontation with Montgomery, the barkeep, who held you at knifepoint to check for boils under your arms. Had to make sure you all ’weren’t sick’, of course.

The Seven Moons is slightly cramped, and brightly lit. The tables are a touch too close to the wall, and the bar area is the front of the kitchen, which doesn’t seem to be a very efficient set up. The establishment is clearly in need of an extension to relieve the somewhat small chiseled stone pub of its congestion issues. The inn is kept wonderfully toasty, and the warm air makes you comfortable and sleepy

Shortly after being checked for infection, you asked about living dead and corpse eaters, and got this response:

“People comin through Heldelion stop into the seven moons pretty often, probably the nicest inn establishment they’ve got unless you know somebody with a private residence to stay in. Coulda just been tall tales, but we don’t know, especially since the spellbound up and absconded with him after he kept yappin’ about it. The kind of thing you might chalk up to nerves, or too much drink, but seein how serious the authorities took it, maybe there’s something real bad going on out west.What I don’t know is whether they took him because they knew where he been, or they took him cuz he was talkin about it in my establishment. And I ain’t gonna run no more risk than I need without proper remuneration, so that’s all yer gettin outta me.”

It wasn;t long before you decided “Monty” wasn;t worth your time, and you decided not to bribe him. You DID, however, drop a whole lot of golden coin into the performer’s bucket – a nervous show wizard doing light puppeteering (poorly) was the target of a lot of attention (and abuse) by the party, Elythia particularly. You eventually learned this wizard was named Fordham, and he was a failed applicant to Triddy College who planned to run the blockade and try again this year.

Luring him to your private room in the cellar, you convinced him to give you this information, after promising to pay him (though I;m not sure you ever actually did):

Far as he’s concerned, ain’t nothin goin on out west or nowhere else neither. I;m just gonna work my business and live my life – a long life, free from any kind of magical torture. I’m just gonna stay here in Heldelion, where I know my neighbor and ain’t nothing bad happening. If you gotta go in to town, or try and see wizards at the colleges, go right ahead. you can even deliver a letter for me. Or go get someone to make up a potion for Maybelle and her fever. Which Is just a regular fever and weren’t no corpse eating fever, which ain’t real. never even heard of it.

OK, ok So I d hear it’s worse further west, out here we haven’t had it nearly as bad as some of the dispatches have told us about it. Maybe overhear somebody saying no business contacts from cities back west, or a guard saying his friend was stationed out west, and he hasn’t heard from them in a long time, or yadda yadda – west is where the worst of the sickness is, apparently – so WE ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO GO THERE – quarantined, by order of the wizarding council. Triddy College, nobody goes in or out. Tower Nandoladh, doubly so. At least that’s what my Uncle Mortrud tells me… told me, few weeks back. Last message he got out I guess.

Eventually you asked him about the spellbound, and he, like everyone else you’ve spoken to so far, was shocked that you might actually want to talk to them. He explained:

– They’re some sort of cross between soldiers and police really – like a town guard but ain’t guarding the town, just the college’s assets, per se. Overall they’s here to help keep the peace and make sure everything goes smooth, but they’re real trouble if they mean to be. Most of them don’t never speak, far as I have heard, and they’re big. Enhanced, I think. Like the wizards give them enchantments or transmutations to make them better at their jobs. But they are almost soulless they say or well, they have souls, but not in their bodies no more.

He might take you along to run the blockade if you can help pay his application fees and some tuition, and you said you’d think about it if you needed to find a way west

Afterward you shooed him out and took some sleep. But not before buying a feast from Monty with more than double the cost in tips – ‘keep the change’, Thomas said. You’re quite the big spenders!

You continued this big ballin’ free spender lifestyle rolling the next morning when you went to the shops. You started at Heldelion goods, and bought lengths of chain and blowgun darts from a man named Buford. He had a grudge against Abel Fringe, the money changer, claiming he was the source of the counterfeit iron coins, and he invited you to go reckon with him. You didn’t take him up on the offer. Layla did buy parchment and she and Elythia set about copying Teclis’ potion recpies

Next you went to The Copper Potion, and dealt with the very tall and very messy alchemist Perry, who bought your acid flasks and sold you some healing potions. You asked about his special Iron Skin potion, but didn;t buy it (threatened him to test its worth, if Rooke is to be understood) and then gave him a copy of Teclis’ notes. This made him very suspicious indeed, and he may have thought you stole or murdered for them.

You then all went to the sick house. You were met by Scarlett, the makeshift nurse/orderly who invited you in to Gertrude’s old manse.
The first thing that you noticed was the smell. It was a pungent reek of unwashed bodies and unchecked decay. Scattered about the floor were beds of woven fiber, upon which lay scores of filthy, moaning figures, all wrapped in rags. Between these stricken wretches drifted figures in white robes, their faces wrapped in handkerchiefs of white cloth, their hands gloved and their heads covered by dark skullcaps. They looked almost wraith-like in the gloom.

She ointroduces you to Beuregard, a Cleric of Boccob who is ministering to one of the dying.
‘You’re currently staying in one of the city’s most delightful hospices, A fine establishment indeed, beloved of the lame and the ruined. Cheap beds with fine linen sheets and a host of eager bed-lice whose bites will keep you warm through the long nights.” – He’s sarcastic, and has greying hair at his temples – indicating he is very old for an elf indeed. He’s glad to hear that you can help, though he really is only interested in talking with Elythia, after he detects that she’s the only magically capable among the party that meets his standards.

Elythia learned he had a device called a ‘Fulcrunalium" or something like that, which allowed him to communicate with other clerics. It was through this device that he had learned about another hospital, further west, where the gravedigger ran out of space to bury people so they have an overflow, then he died, so the bodies are just kind of tossed into the bog. Apparently one of the bodies got back out of the bog and went to lay back in their bed – he was surprised to hear it because oit either meant he wasn;t dead and they threw hoim out by accident, or she was seeing things and imagined a corpse walk. He chalked it up to overwork in their sick ward. elythia wanted to use this fulrcunalium and pressed you all into ointment duty to ’free up some time’ to use it.

During this ointment aplication session, Thomas came across a man who said:

“Are you here to kill me?’ he said in the rattling hiss of a man dying from blacklung. ‘Normally I’d take offense at that, but frankly with the way I’m feeling, death would come as something of a relief. So get about granting it if you’re going to.” – The man was previously in Khakal, north, but was run out of the town for necromancy. The plan had been to raise corpses to study them, ask them questions about their symptoms, see if they still felt them, see if he couldn’t use it to stop the spread. Give unlife to the body to stop the growth of the disease, that sort of thing. People didn’t like it, but they really didn’t like it once the Shamblers started showing up. Said I must have been trying to raise an army of the dead for myself, ran me out. I’m pretty sure it was the damn Halfling refugees, but that’s irrelevant now.

He was on the way to the tower of Oror to speak with the Wizard there – he has a record of old necromantic sites that were destroyed – hoped he might steal some information and go dig something up to try again. Oror wouldn’t like that too much though, seeing as he killed half them necromancers in the first place. Well, woulda done, ‘cept I got the filth fever on the ride over, slumped on my horse, and woke up here. ’spose somebody brought me in, and now they won’t let me leave.

Thomas didn;t kill the man, and didn;t save him either, but gathered the party to hear the story. They thought about going to Oror to eaither meet the battlemage, or to learn about necromancy by stealing the info like the dying ,man was going to. They also considered going to Khakal to see these shamblers. However, Elythia decided it was time to use the fulcrunarium and demanded they leave to try it out.

On the way there, the spellbound blocked their path.
Dark figures tall and lithe in their ornate and unmistakably arcane plate The armor was Deep red, and each hefted a halberd or spear taller even than the elves themselves. Incorporeal wisps came off them as they moved, their masks expressionless,.Grim and silent, the spellbound walked your way, in no apparent hurry. One swung her weapon idly, the air filled with crackling contrails in its wake.

Beauregard insisted yo uall submit, and kneeled with his hands outstretched. They were fused together like cuffs of flesh, and the party in turn eith followed to stood defiant, but all were eventually bound and hooded. Beauregard was unceremoniously beheaded, and you were al led to jail.

In jail, there was an insane man, cackling and bashing into the bars, telling you that ’yo’re next’ and to tell them everything they wanted and it might be only a little painful. there also was a stoic, unmoving spellbound, and across the way, Latham, the gatekeeper – arrested for aiding you, not reporting the death of Teclis, and speaking ill of the colleges. Not technically illegal, that last one, but not smiled on regardless.

In turn you were each pulled to an interrogation room with a bald elf. grabbed by the sleeve and straight through the bars as if they were transparent. Unless they weren’t, as rooke found, painfully, multiple times.

You were each asked direct questions about your whereabouts, your items you had possessed, what you knew about teclis, and so on. Some were more forthcoming than others. eventually, Elythia was taken up to the room, and the elf identified himself to her as Sutton, apologized for detaining her, saying he would not have done so if he knew she was working for the council – at which point he returned the shadowy pearl she got from Skalla. He didn’t;t understand why she kept such company, but knew it wasn;t his place to ask. You were all freed immediately following, though he confiscated the notes and potions. Elythia convinced him to let Latham go as well, since she ‘needed him’ – whatever that meant. Either way you all re-collected your belongings, bewildered, and stepped out of the spiral tower. the end.

Teclis' Tower

The party’s first night in Brondoriand was in the wake of grief. Their hosts, Varnil and Floro of Forline had buried their son not a day before. Still, they soldiered on to give the Champions of Naphrem that which would aid them on their quest to save this land: Jambalaya. And after breakfast, the group received information as well.

The tale was a grisly one and matched much of yesterday’s overview. Here, magic reigned. Well normally, the Spellbound and a network of wizards kept the peace, but now an unstoppable pestilence had thrown them all in quite the apocalyptic tizzy. Plague burned through Brondoriand, while corpses galivanted (at a moderate pace) near Heldelion to the west. It was then the group learned of Teclis, the district’s local wizard. By the tell of the local populace, he was held in great regard by his constituents and his peers as the only one making headway against the blight. He probably has great hair and people who listen to him, too. Jerk.

That may not have been too far from the truth, for he had recently all but disappeared, locked in his tower. Not to be disturbed, they said. With the news that it had recently appeared to be abandoned, the group speculated disaster. Any progress, they reasoned, may or may not be recovered even if Teclis could not be found. Ever practical, they put Teclis’s Tower on their itinerary, notionally aimed at liberating any and all useful items from any and all dried, deep fried corpses that possessed them first. Sigh. Adventurers. They make me so proud.

And hey, if they found the cure that could save the locals, even better. The group set out quickly, that afternoon. There were a few shops open to barter, but the Champions of Naphrem judged that they were not niche enough to bully.

Mere hours later, the party came upon the Tower of Teclis. It did not live up to the hype. A ruin, it was, The gate smashed open, vines on the walls with the charred signs of a recent fire. What’s more, the ground was strewn with a handful of elves who had been slain in the scuffle, some garbed in armor of the guard and some more modestly. Not the largest battle this narrator has covered, but given the circumstances, <pause> apocalyptic nonetheless. The party approached with a sense of dread and on guard.

Soon, they saw that there were survivors. More elves (not of the guard) were burying their fellows and looking apprehensively to the inside. The party’s heads filled with questions as Musushi sauntered up in the Last Stone tradition: smile on the face, weapon in the hand. The elves seemed to care little as they found great affinity with Grog, much to Musushi’s dismay and the others’ amusement. Unfame was hard, the dwarf was finding.

After a few hours of petting Grog and singing his praises (what good narrator doesn’t embellish?), the elves told their tale. The leader was Jeremiah, and the followers, a motley crew of desperate elves seeking news on a cure. What they found was anything but. They came upon the aftermath of a siege. Doing the decent thing, Jeremiah and his compatriots sought to bury the dead while a number of their party searched inside for survivors……. And possibly loot.

Sigh. Despite having so much in common, the two teams eventually came to quarrel. The elves objected to the “sit back and wait while we handle this” attitude by the new group, championed by Elythia, Musushi, and Thomas. Our noble heroes objected to their objections, citing themselves as the expert demon hunters of Odisvalk… Which the elves had never heard of. To which the team objected further!

In the end, it was Layla who proposed a compromise. Both teams would sweep the tower together. Hopefully to meet up with those elves that had been sent ahead. And so they did. Navigating through fresh battle scenes and triggered traps, the coalition of adventurers pieced together the story of recent events. The tower was assaulted and no expense was spared in its defense. Acid vats were found without and within, some still functioning. Furniture was destroyed and half used weapons and fully used bodies lined the corridors.

It was quickly appeared that Jeremiah’s band were not warriors. The recoiled from the grim aftermath of battle and, Thomas noticed, had no weapons of their own. In the midst of his looting, he turned to Jeremiah and bestowed upon him a damaged crossbow, ironically as an olive branch. The elf grimaced, but took it, feeling a little more secure. The two exchanged a solid bro-nod and both groups softened. So began an alliance that would solidify over time into an unbreakable bond of fellowship and cooperation.

I’m kidding.

Jeremiah shot Elythia in the back of the head the first chance he got. At least he tried to on a spiral staircase leading up to the top floor, right after a vat of acid dumped on Musushi and Rooke. Luckily, Elythia’s magic tiara shattered the bolt before it, well, killed her. As the team turned to beat these pasty elves into pastier paste, they were shocked to find not elves at all. Some turned in time to see the transformation into wererats! Others could only see Jeremiah’s ratified advance party charging down from the top floor.

What ensued became known as The Battle on the Stairway to Hell. The wererats attacked, slashing with razor sharp claws and teeth. Jeremiah’s attack got close enough to nearly tear Elythia’s dress, a crime for which he paid with his life when he ate a Scorching Ray at point blank range. Tourists still come to see the hole his flaming corpse made in the tower.

The battle raged on, with the group acquitting itself well. Soon, the wererats were defeated with the team’s usual efficiency. As one wererat died, it croaked out its last words: “The agents of Cyric are many.” The team was shocked. All this time and they had no idea that wererats could talk. Oh and the agents of Cyric thing. They were concerned about that too. Burdened by the warning, they pressed onward and upward.

At the top of the tower, the group found something unexpected. An elvish guard had survived the assault. Well, technically. He yet breathed, but the boils and puss on his face suggested that he was not long for this world. Musushi approached, foolishly, it turned out. Detecting movement, the guard suddenly snapped awake and remembered his suicide pact with the kitchen staff in the face of invasion. Deeming it such, he ignited a crudely made tin of alchemist fire, incinerating himself and throwing the team back.

By the time the team hoisted themselves up, the floor was ablaze. They bolted for the door. As they did so, Musushi peeled off to grab something, anything of value. Unschooled in anything elvish, he acquired a mundane sword and several 3rd degree burns. The half elves knew that anything in that room was better off burnt (Musushi included). Layla’s celestial dog ended up being the wisest as he was out the door first. Good dog.

Outrunning the flames, the party sought to quickly search the basement. As they opened the door, they saw two remaining elves. This time, no words of any kind were exchanged. Vines, crossbow bolts, and various pointed sticks met claws, tridents, and chain lightning. Thomas took a trident to the gut and was hoisted like a protest sign, but the team was once more victorious as they concentrated their fire on the big one. They eventually brought the other low with ranged attacks as he ran to collect some nearby documents.

Then the team did what they did best. They divided the gold evenly amongst themselves and Rooke claimed the trident that nearly skewered his companion. Thomas was fine with that and had as little to do with that trident as possible. Among the loot was a diary. Flipping through its pages, Layla identified the wererats’ goal. As it turned out, they had been sent by the Angel Suriel. Faced with blank stares, Layla explained that Suriel was said to be Naphrem’s right hand angel. Their mission: To recover Teclis’s research to further pursue a cure, a mission that they executed violently. The mention of Cyric’s minion membership was not so much a warning, but a final “revelation.”


Sensing a trend, the Champions of Naphrem thought quietly about what they did.

They continued searching.

They continued searching, but didn’t really like what they found. Most notably, Musushi found a crossbow trap behind a particularly kick-resistant door (as Rooke and Thomas found, to great pain). The bolt knocked him (literally) senseless until he was quickly revived. He had to grab something. Layla and Elythia chastized him with great amusement. Grog was nowhere to be found.

Teclis’s notes and storeroom were filled to the brim, but neatly ordered. They spoke of a concoction which was the closest he had gotten to a cure. However, the plague mutated, rendering that cure ineffective. They found Teclis himself collapsed in his office, three days into rigor mortis. Those familiar boils and puss adorned his entire body and a pestilent death stench filled the lab.

From further journals hastily retrieved from Teclis’s office (on account of the smell), it became clear that Teclis was the victim of his own audacity. The plague was evolving. Previous potions that kept the disease at bay were no longer effective, so Teclis took bold strokes to meet it. From Teclis’s scribblings, he believed he had a cure for all. He was the most wrong individual this narrator has ever seen. And I covered the Rebellion of the Gouda Moon. Instead of curing all diseases, his latest concoction infected him with all diseases. Cause of death: Military grade nightshade to end his suffering.

As the temperature started to rise due to the aforementioned raging inferno, the group was faced with the possibility of joining Teclis in fire and noped out of that faster than an orcish baking show. They bravely scooped up all the research and loot they could and bravely ran away. As they sprinted into the dusk air, they watched all evidence of their follies burn away. They were accompanied by the charred remains of Jeremiah, who had flown quite far.

Eventually, the group made their way to Heldelion, where they were ushered in by a rather chatty gatekeeper, who Elythia described as “quite dreamy” and the rest of the party described as the “Latham,” because that was his name. (This narrator still ships Rogethia).

Anyway, they followed the guard’s instructions and became aware of a sick house and tavern nearby. The party was pleased to know that these were two separate buildings. As they made their way to the place of greatest need, the group was met by an old beggar woman, doing her thang. Layla provided food and, in return, the beggar distributed mysterious coins not of legal tender. They were freshly minted iron, adorned with a fanged skull; Death’s head. They looked up from their study of the coins with questions, but by then the woman was gone.

That wasn’t weird at all, for priorities shifted. Who wanted drinks at the Seven Moons Inn? Our heroes, that’s for sure. And boy, did they deserve them…

Celebrations and Leaving Ovisvalk for Brondoriand

When I came to it felt like waking from a fever, only I’m stumbling down a road instead of writhing in bed. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen a good bed in ages. Straw bedrolls and halfling inns can’t compare to a proper mattress. If only we’d encountered less pressing evils, I could slip away in search of spas and concubines…I digress.

My companions seemed similarly dazed, Rooke most of all. His eyes lacked the light of comprehension, his manner still, scarcely breathing. I thought perhaps he’d been possessed again. No matter. Layla and Elythia pointed out that the halflings were no longer with us, a fact more vexing than Rooke’s spiritlessness.

We tried to remember what happened. Someone called it a “verdant dream” – was it one of the others? Our recollections were scarce. Hralf was definitely there. Demons plotting against us. The women soon convinced Musushi to attempt to “reconnect” with the dream, but his druidic fumblings came to naught.

The dwarf started bleating about beer and taverns. We all blathered similar notions before setting off in the vaguely familiar direction of the halfling village.
Rooke followed, dimly.

The walk was surprisingly pleasant. The sky was certainly clearer. Approaching the village I could see the burned stockhouse being rebuilt, the halflings milling around town with purpose.
Until we were spotted.

A halfling child pointed and before I knew it, we all had more little ones hanging off each leg. Adults soon joined the gleeful throng, with bewildering applause. Thankfully that confusion didn’t last too long – one of the elder halflings stepped forward and offered a welcome. His explanation of the atmosphere only sparked more confusion.
Apparently Hralf had been skipping around town for about ten days, literally singing our praises (if somewhat twisted, and strangely rat-centric) to the entire town. How? The halfling could not answer our questions, but told us we were just in time for a celebration in our honor…so there was that.

We stuck to our tavern goal and whiled away some time. Layla broke out a mead barrel she’d been carrying, only for Musushi to stifle the nascent merriment with some ill-judged yapping, as usual. After a time Hralf arrived and yet again answers came with bemusement in tow. Hralf told us he’d woken up in some grave nearby, alone, having missed both the divine and sinister portions of our “dream”. He knew nothing of the fates of Scala or Gerda, and seemed rather unconcerned. Such may be it for our halfling walking companions. So it goes.

As part of the festivities, the halflings were to hold a boar riding contest. Ever brash, Musushi enrolled; the more enlightened of us think better of the wasted effort. Rooke hardly seemed capable of offering a thought either way.

We had time to fill until then. A round of provisioning started with Vari the bead merchant. Fora modest fee of 5 gold she appraised a blue gem I received from Scala to be worth 400 gold; I snatched at the chance to come out 395 gold ahead. Layla’s baubles suffered lower appraisals, but Elythia’s drew actual ire. Scala had given her some sort of pearl that seemed to contain a figure with it. The sight of it horrified Vari, who through terrified tremors demanded we leave.
The runaway princess had other ideas. She greedily pressed the shaken old woman for details, probably miffed that a commoner dare reproach one of
belongings. In desperation, Vari told us that the pearl contained a stolen soul and begged us to leave with it. We obliged. Layla tried to detect evil within the pearl, but could not read anything inherently evil about the pearl; the soul inside was beyond her reach, however.

After, I looked through the wares of the local blacksmith and came away disappointed with the heft of halfling weapons. Unearned haughtiness shone through the blacksmith’s way with apprentice and customer alike, but my words knocked him down a peg. I agreed to have him alter a lovely, ornate, but practical, buckler for my purposes, only 270 gold.

Lastly we haggled with the potion seller, but the lazy sod hadn’t whipped up any new health potions since we last saw him. Musushi contrived to buy a poison and its antidote. The latter is just as well, as for all his victories he always seems to teeter on the edge of calamity.

Before the boar riding contest the was some fuss about a play being prepared by the halfling children. Layla was christened “troll killer” but the rest of us fared rather poorly, in favour of the dwarf’s damned rat. The rat’s “smelly sidekick” reacted with typical bluster. Elythia despaired about which child might be playing her, seemingly desiring a portrayal fit for a princess, rather than whatever she is now. Pride may be her downfall. My pride mightn’t appreciate my own low place in the tale, but discretion demands I let my bravery go unheralded.

The boar riding seemed farcical and thus Musushi was in his element. We were charged 10 gold to watch, and I took 2/1 odds for Musushi to win (100 gold) and 3/2 odds for a mount of more than 20 seconds (25 gold). Naturally, he won doing something he wasn’t supposed to, but which wasn’t expressly disallowed. After surviving the mad scrum at the start, he got his hand on a hog’s tail but couldn’t gather it in. Cue his druid roots called up to entangle the boar, and hold it in place. The halfling competitors tried to take their own advantage, but Musushi’s cheat won him the day and me more gold. He has his uses. I just pray that I’m long gone when his tongue writes the inevitable promissory note that his exploits can’t cash.

A great feast followed, and the children put on the play they’d prepared. Elythia identified the child playing her, and made a point of prettying her up. I drank my way through it with equal parts amusement and bemusement, as did Layla and Musushi. Rooke, as he had virtually since the we came out of the “dream”, sat practically catatonic.

The party was forcefully pooped a couple hours in, however, by the rude entrance of Estalian goldcloaks. A why was quick in coming, or at least as quickly as a man round as he is tall can move. This rotund debt collector had come to enumerate Odisvalk’s ancestral debts. Musushi threw a petulant cabbage, and he and I approached His Corpulence and cohort, but the big man was undeterred from the reading of his massive scroll.
Hralf suggested we let it go and leave. Apparently the halflings are no strangers to these debt collectors. I took to considering my cups, but Layla took to one of the goldcloaks. She chatted to the fellow, amiably enough. She found that Estalia was calling in their debts, but with view only to themselves, not any particular threat. We probably won’t need to head there, at least not soon.

For where we will go, we decide on Brondoriand. It seems many halflings have been heading there in hope of better times, since supplies are running low after the stockhouse fire. I thought to squeeze some useful reward out of Hralf or the other elder, but nothing is offered. I suppose they’ll have to cede much to the Estalians.

We left the litany of leverage and found the crew at the trading post. An ornery Crosby tells us they’ve bought some furs, finally, and they’re all three itching to leave. A sickly Stenwall agreed to take us to Brondoriand if we crewed his ship, so we have both passage and destination. One hopes a change of scenery will do the captain good, allow him to get some rest. We novice shipmates will need steady leadership.

Walking back to the hall, Musushi and I considered the possibility of ransacking the Estalian ship, but Layla put her foot down. A overcautious little goody-goody that one, but useful.
I picked up my buckler, and we spoke with Hralf one last time. He wouldn’t be convinced to join our trip south, so we said our goodbyes. As we left, we passed a pile of gold and assorted offerings to the Estalians. The debt collector was still reciting his debtor’s litany, his goldcloaks were dozing on their feet, so all that spotted me pilfering a couple of small pouches was the disapproving gaze of Layla Larroque. When we got out of the hall she set off in a huff, as I found myself 500 gold richer and in possession of a small wand and flute. I considered offering her the wand to head off a lecture.

The voyage has been uneventful, and even with our crewing duties we can get a touch of rest and relative leisure. Land and likely life threatening danger beckons.


Land – fishing village. Buildings of rotten wood, frayed rope.

Approached elves digging a grave.
Varnil, male – missing eye, boils on face, no teeth.
Floro, female – healthy enough.
Burying their son.

They need medicine and healing services. Layla saw similar conditions back in Gemoor, so she has gone off with the couple, to help Varnil and presumably others. The rest of us have retired to the ship.

Varnil recounted a tale from traveling merchants he had met in Heldelion. They had traveled past farms further west of there, and claimed to have seen walking corpses, withered crops, etc. The Spellbound, employees of the wizard colleges, took the merchants away but not before they’d spilled the beans to Varnil and his friend McKeed. Mckeed may be worth talking to if Varnil is incapacitated.
Note also that the local wizard, Teclis, has been absent without reason for a few weeks. He may have gone “for one of the spiral towers”, one of which, if I understand correctly, may be in Heldelion.

Heldelion and its westerly farms seem to be our next target. McKeed and Teclis may be worth seeking out, if possible. I recall a lovely elven magistrate that might be worth seeking out as well, though I forget where exactly she resides. Whether she happens to be in Heldelion or not, I think we can get something out of the wizards councils. As I recall from court, they weren’t particularly shrewd negotiators.

If only we could take the ship inland. Rest while we have it.

Ahmdemos and The Odisfount

The night after the agents of Naphrem’s famed Battle on the Ice was full of nightmares, and not just for the usual reasons. Reeling from the legendary carnage of the battle and the effective loss of the House of Bearclaw, several of the adventurers had really scary dreams. The star of the show: A beast-like malevolence, chasing, seeking; and carrying a promise of doom in its wake. It found glee in fulfilling its aim: Submerging its cloven hooves in a shallow pool of water. Layla, Musushi, and Rooke all received this vision, and were startled awake.

They described these dreams to Skalla (less eloquently than a certain narrator, in my humble opinion), who confirmed the likeness to be that of Ahmdemos, Servant of Cyric, Corrupter of Halflings, and general asshole through time and space.

The druid then described the situation over a delightful breakfast of his famed tree-paste-leaf-dumplings, a delicacy so legendary it was never spoken of again. The nightmares had plagued all in Odisvalk, seemingly much more than had been affecting the adventurers. Some magical influence on themselves or their persons. A few gazes turned awkwardly to the Heart Stone, but Skalla did not seem to notice. Moving on to the matter at hand, he described his fellow druid. Halfrad was his name and, while he remained skeptical as a follower of Obad-Hai, personal honor and a personal debt bade him assist the Openhanded. Besides, what former traveling companion could resist a chance at an “I told you so?” He was sent ahead to guard the World Well. They would meet him soon.

Skalla then opened the floor to answer a flurry of questions, mostly from Musushi regarding the nature of Druids (starting with “what is a druid”). Scalla responded with a summary of Druidic orders, emphasizing their preference for the roads less traveled and distributed nature. Upon hearing the Druidish language escape Musushi’s lips (to everyone’s surprise, including Musushi), Skalla responded in kind. To those who knew the dwarf best, he appeared to have liked what he heard.

When bidden to appraise the Heart Stone, Scalla revealed little in the way of its use, but much in the way of its nature. Entirely new to him, if not for the energy with which it pulsed. A match to the very fabric of nature and the cosmos; And as old as them, too. Eons reside in this magical stone: An essence of the distant past and distant future; all there was and will ever be; as far reaching as time itself.

I’m paraphrasing.

Left reeling from metaphysics, the party reverted to the things they knew best. The first being the acquisition of material goods. After much scrutiny, the party identified a minor healing potion for Layla and an intact potion of mysterious origin for Rooke. Thomas picked up a flask of acid, which came with a promise of gleeful violence.

Second, battle plans to make sure that the ensuing violence would not be gleeful for the enemy. They secured safe haven for their wounded comrade, Gerda. Luckily for her, the party (championed by Layla and Thomas) successfully vetoed Musushi’s desire for a decoy and disregard for lives that aren’t his, citing such things as responsibility and decency. The group also made a willing ally of Hralf, the last Nightmare Seeker standing, for the demon slaying crew. Finally, the group learned of a potential weakness in Ahmdemos. It was a familiar failing that has plauged ne’er-do-wells dating back to Gobsmack the Unwashed Heathen: A penchant for monologuing.

Their (torrent of) questions answered, the party made to set out. But their zeal was arrested by a suddenly inquisitive Skalla. A traveler at heart, the hardened druid yearned for tales of distant lands, which the party provided. Musushi recounted the tale of oppression and revenge from Last Stone, the glorious collection of shacks where he came of age. Rooke told the history of his ancient home of Lantan, now named Estalia (and in great need of financial debts repaid, as they learned in Gemor) and his generational feud with Cyric himself, the overlord of the Nine. Layla and Elythia’s stories were more personal, one common-born, the other from riches, but both seeking reunion with past loved ones. Thomas spoke of his flight from his nation’s capital, armed with skills honed on the battlefield and in court.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my eons as a narrator, it’s that a team that communicates is team that conquers™. Unfortunately, much of these stories were news among the travelers themselves: A clear sign of the group’s overall failure to communicate early on. So there’s that. Skalla got a kick out of them, though.

approaching the world well
With a druidic shudder, the feel-goods ended as Scalla detected a growth in demonic power. Ahmdemos was near his goal. It was now or never. The adventurers set out into the Winding Wood. On the way to the Odisfount, the conscripts, Hralf, and Skalla were met with their first physical obstacle. A great creature, the Northworm, had carved a ravine in the very earth itself. Skalla and (surprisingly) Musushi both sensed the fear and panic that drove the ancient worm to flight. In any case, several schemes were hatched to cross the rift, leading in part to the discovery of rope, peddled from Captain Stenwall. Also included were dirty looks from Skalla as Thomas made to chop down a tree. Eventually, Layla sent up her owl, revealing a natural bridge of trees and crossed.

ahmdemos and halfrad
From there, the journey was smooth walking, though a sense of dread grew stronger as the team grew closer to the Odisfount. Fog fell on the area, as though a physical manifestation of the feeling. Caution and paranoia were at an all time high as the crew crept closer and sent out Layla’s owl and Grog as scouts. Sweeping forward, the team utilized their carefully honed skills of stealth, slipping undetected from tree to stone. Their technique was masterful, disturbing no leaf or snowflake, in a legendary display of I’m just kidding, Musushi tripped on bacteria and gave their position away.

Ahmdemos had been perfectly content standing at an alter, cobbled together in a demonic ritual, as though pulled from the evilest parts of nature. But his head snapped to the sound of newcomers. And there stood the terror: The shaggy beast that had come to the party’s nighmares. Cloven hooved and massive, his long arms ended in claws like spikes. And the arrogance. The temptation to gloat and taunt the party overpowered the need to continue whatever he was doing and he spread his arms wide to “welcome” those who would cancel his mission. From a distance, the party lobbed spells, projectiles, and conjured weapons at the demon, all of which were dissipated on impact or nullified by the demon’s magic. This did not help with the taunting. Ahmdemos had reached the next level of insulting. He bade the party part with Naphrem and join his ranks! All in the party, seldom of a single mind on any one issue, shuddered and recoiled.

But Skalla was distracted. As the group drew closer, Ahmdemos revealed his interrupted work. Strapped to the alter lay none other than Halfrad, the druid indebted to Skalla. Or rather, what was left of him. He had died painfully, his face contorted in an agonized scream, vacant eyes staring upward at the moon he held so dear. But as Ahmdemos gloated, he also completed the ritual. The corpse formerly known as Halfrad began to stir. Then transform. Then stood. In the place of Halfrad stood a demonic boar, towering over even Ahmdemos. An animalistic cry of anguish escaped Skalla as he witnessed his friend of decades become a deadly mockery of natural creation. With that, he faced the charging foe to meet in single combat. As the duel of the druids shook the Earth, another climax burned itself into the annals of Odisvalk forever.

It began with a ruse. The party closed the distance under the guise of submission; their ploy to envelop Ahmdemos in the power of the Heart Stone. It worked. Ahmdemos scarcely noticed the power of the Heart Stone, engrossed as he was in his monologue. Amateur. In range, the party proceeded to unleash their full might on the demon. Magic missles rained from Elythia’s outstretched hands. Holy light poured forth from Layla’s shield to burn the evil off the terror of Odisvalk. Thomas sent arrows raining into his shaggy, ugly mug. Vines from the Earth, summoned by Musushi, kept Ahmdemos rooted for a time. Rooke unleashed crossbow bolts, an axe, and wheels of cheese at the mighty foe. All the while, Hralf belted out an epic song, much like

to lift the team’s spirits and fighting ability.

This formidible fighting force was well matched. One of Cyric’s Nine would not fall lightly. When faced with Ahmdemos, one takes note first of a stench, size, and arrogance only an equally grotesque mother could love. They would be forgiven to overlook his speed. Ahmdemos ran circles around the party, at one point, leaping to nearly squish poor Hralf and silence his song. Everyone’s a critic. Not even Musushi’s entanglement could contain the beast for long. In fact, Ahmdemos was crafty and entered Musushi’s mind for a time. Amidst noodle recipes and thoughts of general dissatisfaction with his situation, Ahmdemos pushed blind loyalty to him into Musushi’s mind. The dwarf barely stayed his spoon before it came crashing down into Rooke’s head.

Fighting was fierce. Ahmdemos wounded many in the party, but Hralf got the worst of it. However, under a sustained barrage of magical harm and projectiles, the once quick demon began to slow. Seeing their chance, Layla and Musushi enacted a move. They passed the Heart Stone to Grog and sent him to the Odisfount itself. To seal it, enable some weapon, but mostly to see what would happen with the most expendable I mean fastest member of the team. It was at this very moment that Ahmdemos was slain by a magic missle, was pulled cursing into oblivion, and Grog the Rat entered the annals of history.

With jaws tightly clamped on the Heart Stone, Grog skampered toward the Odisfount. His cargo then grew warm and began to glow as Ahmdemos hurled obsenities and downright lyrical portents of doom to no one in particular (He clearly had prepared his death speech well in advance). Soon, “warm” became “hot” and “glow” became “blaze with the light of a thousand suns.” The bright light from the Heart Stone, with the dire rat attached began to float and turn toward the prone demon. The last thing that Ahmdemos saw this side of the void was a frantic dire rat, eyes wide in panic, squeaking obsenities and deranged questions of his own before him. Ancient light poured forth from the Heart Stone and amidst demon screams, washed over Ahmdemos. When the light faded and the demonic smoke was scattered in eight directions, Ahmdemos, the scourge of Odisvalk, corruptor of House Mead Barrel, and general asshat was no more. And the sun shone once again in Odisvalk.

Skalla’s Walk
Skalla approached the group with an air of melancholy. While the rest of the group celebrated the death of an unquestionable evil, the wandering druid’s victory against his foe also came with the loss of an old friend; for they were one and the same. He said a prayer as the group swept the area to see what they could recover.

Well, to the victors go the spoils. And Naphrem’s chosen were big damn victors today. Rooke gathered a bone white shoulder guard from the fallen Halfrad (and hoped Skalla didn’t notice (he did)). Thomas recovered a small blue gem from the alter, which he pocketed for later bartering or addition to his luchadore mask. Elythia gathered a fistful of strange herbs and an urn, which she decided was pretty enough to keep. Layla claimed a small stone rock statue of Cyric himself. Perhaps it even kept some of his soul (if he had one) as it appeared to follow Layla, as though acquainting itself with it’s new owner. Layla noped out of that faster than a half-orc at a halfling limbo contest. The statue showed no emotion as it’s “life” ended beneath her boot. Musushi was less concerned with the arcane with regards to a book of notes from that same alter. Despite being assaulted by physical pain upon attempting to read it (multiple times), he contemplated keeping the book to draw out its knowledge. In the end, he followed Layla’s example and burned the old rag.

What happened next surprised everyone. Darkness was pulled into the firelight and in place of both lay a small egg. But this egg was adorned with the symbol of Ahmdemos. The party identified it as the Eye of Terror, a magical stone that reinforced its bearer’s mental fortitude. This, they decided to keep. At this point, it passed to Elythia’s posession.

Skalla’s Other Walk
Just then, Skalla finished his prayer and regarded the team as they gathered round. To conclude their business, he bade them step into the extra-physical dimension and number one Druidic vacation spot: The Verdant Dream. As they stepped into the gateway orb that Skalla brandished, the world as they knew it peeled away. What appeared was beyond mortal comprehension. Stars. Worlds and worlds and worlds of stars and the planets and bodies and people around them. Throughout time. All there was and ever will be. All part of a singular grand design, marching forth to the beat of one unerring drummer.

Suddenly, the group was met with a towering figure, impossibly large. It was a woman, sitting upon a unicorn. She radiated light, which expanded through the cosmos. She was herself, yet everywhere. It seemed, that she wished for the adventurers to be elsewhere. The universe spun as the team was pulled away to a distant land as quickly as they had arrived.

It was the mortal realm, though they were not in it. A dark, fire lit cavern. A forge it was. A lithe figure bent over an anvil, deep in thought as bullets of sweat fell off her brow. She was muscled and weathered, the type not to be easily phased. Even as a smokey apparition adorned in robes winked into existence, she did not stir. The apparition spoke familiarly. He told of the death of Ahmdemos; and together the two criticized their fallen companion, confirming their membership to Cyric’s Nine. However, they also insisted on their differences to that arrogant and overeager blowhard. Yet they were quick to criticize each other as well. The forge mistress sent barbs at the apparition, Xasu Avar, citing the same recklessness seen in their fallen brother. Too quick to be modifying the dwarves, she claimed. Her modus operandi was one of stealth, to fade into the night as the job is done. Xasu Avar labeled this claim from his sister Aleoth with the slap of hypocrisy. Her work with the Orcs has not gone unnoticed, he fired back. In fact, the Orc bodies with bones removed were very noticed.

Suddenly, the siblings halted their quarrel to meet a common foe (typical). The group, derisively called Naphrem’s Welps, had been noticed. Amidst threats that they would meet the same fate as champions sent by the angel Inarius, the connection to the Verdant Dream was severed and the group returned to their reality. There was much gleaned from the conversation that they overheard, and much to decide. That also meant much to forget about over jugs of ale in a night of celebration in town. The group congratulated themselves! And tried to shake the feeling that the worst was yet to come…


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