Bongos Magic Tavern

“We have a saying in my tribe too… Never .. eh… put a deamon’s eye in your head”

– Throkk

 

The man of shale and slate broke the silence of the steppes, turning to Throkk and pulling the wide brim of his straw hat lower to shield his blood-shot eyes.

His voice was hoarse and earthy, and sounded like heavy footsteps in gravel.

After the last century waTr,  we Dwarves retreated north to the mountain strongholds, sensing it was no longer our fight, and unwilling to risk everything for others. We build walls high and tunnels low, and over the centuries that followed, we systematically isolated from the other races and cities, … we thought ourselves safe in our isolation.

There were still skirmishes, outputs would fall to a foe unseen, a village would be razed, and mine flooded, and slowly , mile by mile, we retreated back to the citadel of Caer Mynydd, after years of paranoia and fear, probably every last dwarf had retreated back to the safety of the stronghold.

Little did we suspect, that we were not retreating, but rather we were being herded, corralled into one location. 

One night, when the twin moons were high and leered  at us from above like a great predators eyes, they came. A wave of otherworldly creatures, all claw and tentacle and fury. But we laughed secretly. What could such creatures do to the great citadel? To the mountain itself?

When our doom came, it was from a single point of weakness. A point below. For despite the great warren of tunnels and mines we had built, the proud halls and the living mountain that was our heritage, there were those that had dug deeper, and had been digging and tunneling and planning for centuries longer, waiting patiently. Disaster struck from below as the night elves had engineered some foul plot – somehow allied with those creatures to distract the  us, to herd us, to hunt us, to attacked the gates. They were the hammer to the Anvil of the Drow.  Meanwhile the Drow came from far below, from the sunless sea, and somehow… the groans of ancient masonry still haunt me Throkk.. somehow entire city sank.. was swallowed as the mountain itself crashed inwards and downwards, caving in and collapsing down. I felt like I fell for hours watching a city tumble into the shadows with me… I .. I guess most died. we must have. surely. A slow, methodical, almost masterworked genocide of my people.. those who survived were pulled from the inky depths onto the deck of their slaver ships.

I tunneled, usually downwards. I build walls and carved surfaces, having no light I would work by feel and instinct. I was owned .. owned by one named Amalolg Oussath, a lord of a large estate in the sunless sea. The geography was.. alien, strange to me, it felt like a scattering of islands.. I would be transported from island to island manacled in the hull of a dark ship.. I could..feel and hear the dull scratches of the  strange creatures swimming alongside in the inky black stillness, waiting for somebody to fall, or be thrown overboard. On deck, the sound of leathery wings flap overhead, circling, and yet, despite the lack of all sense… there was a wind to lift the sails.

The masters were not cruel Throkk, more .. empty.. and heartless and uncaring. Once you had reached the limit of your usefulness, you simply had your throat slit, calmly , clinically. The spoke little to us, fed us and watered us adequately, knowing we had value so long as we could work, they did not torture us, but kept us as.. pets.. to allow us further their goals.

I never made it to he city of Faneadar, the supposed capital of that black empire. I was digging a new tunnel some months ago.. I think.. its hard to keep track of time underground.. I guess we tunneled too close to the surface although we never really knew where we were. I was digging with my uncle, who’s tongue had been excised for excessive … communication.

Well, the old mans arms were not as strong as they used to be, and his buttressing was catching up on him. I felt it in my soul first, in my heart… the walls give, the creak of damp soil reaching inwards. Then I heard the wooden tearing of the strut snapping. The tunnel flooded in an instant, a great torrent of water from above. I sank to my knees and waited to drown.. but when I tasted the water as it washed around me.. it wasn’t salty. It might be a lake or river.. I had assumed us under the sea and doomed for sure.. but.. for some reason I… I let , let myself be carried up by the water and once the tunnel was completely submerged I found the rupture in the wall and followed the tunnel out and swam .. and swam.. and..

Well.. a son of the mountain was never meant to swim. I should have died. In fact, sometimes I think I might have died, Im not sure. But when I opened my eyes there was a beautiful orc standing over me clutching a brilliant diamond to my chest and mumbling in her strange tongue. I hadn’t seen the sun in years, and the light bouncing of the water as I lay on the deck was blinding, but the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and for the first time in centuries, I wept.

After I regained my strength, the crew left me off at Porta Verde. Well being a novelty is no joy in a trading town. That’s where I fell afoul of brigands and rogues.. a few trades here, swapped hands a few times there, a drunken card game and hidden daggers in the night, and here I am. Not the last son the mountain, but.. maybe the last to be free. And for that I am, thankful.

I’m Alawyn. I was a shale smith.

“It is easy to go down to hell; night and day the gates of Dark Death stand wide; but to climb back up again, to retrace one’s steps to the open air, there lies the problem, the difficult task.”

VIRGIL, The Aeneid

 

The elven forests of Vaul are a part of a wider territory stretching across multiple planes of existence. Individual settlements are linked by a series of magical gateways known as the Winding Path. To human eyes these portals are barely visible – only a change of light between two trees or an odd ripple across a pool mark the spot where one world bleeds into the next. An unwary wanderer looking for a shortcut through a small stretch of elm trees may suddenly find themselves in a snow covered pine forest hundreds of miles away or lost in a silver forest under alien stars. Sometimes a traveller can retrace their steps but numerous folk tales attest to the existence of portals which only open in one direction. To return from such a place the misfortunate soul must throw themselves on the mercurial mercy of the Twins, the Abyss and whoever else they can invoke before their inevitable end.

 

Knowledge of the Winding Path and an indifference towards philosophical concepts of good and evil means that elves are one of the few mortal races who maintain an outpost in the layers of the Abyss. The Zaqqum Glades are a never-ending nightmare to the dead souls trapped there but the elves have control of several portals which lead back to the woodlands of Vaul. Elves find the demonic obsession with pain and torture both distasteful and boring, but they have no qualms against striking deals with fiends. At any given time hordes of demons crowded the boundaries of the elven territories in the Abyss waiting for the mortals to open the gates and let the lucky few though. Typically an elf would summon a single creature for a specific task but if a serious threat arises then dozens or even hundreds of demons could be loosed against the enemies of the elves. An invading army moving into elven lands could meet no resistance for days before suddenly finding themselves overrun by hordes of the
damned.

Demons delighted in these chances to shed blood but their long term goal was always to take control of the Winding Path. Fifty years ago they nearly managed this due to the disastrous intervention of the Namtharite Judge Etricht the Unwavering.

Etricht had seen firsthand the devestating consequences of even minor demonic incursions. As he rose in the church’s hierarchy his expanding investigations left him in no doubt that the elves were consorting with demons and he grew to see the Winding Path as the greatest immediate threat to human existence.

Etricht managed to sneak a small band of adventures into the heart of the elven lands and began a ritual which he believed would close the portals leading to the Abyss. Whether the ritual was flawed or merely interrupted at a critical point is still unknown but the results were catastrophic. Connections between elven settlements were disrupted as portals winked out of existence, exploded into multi-coloured flames or opened up to entirely new locations. Thousands of elves died in minutes as demons poured into forests, taking the unexpected opportunity to wreak havoc on the mortals who had caged them for so long. Hundreds died in the first few minutes before any defence could be mounted, and thousands more died over the next few hours as settlements became cramped and bloodsoaked battlefields. The spellcasters and warriors of the elves were able to retake control of the gates by sunrise but one fifth of their entire population was dead, injured or unaccounted for.

Decades later the elves are still rebuilding from this cataclysm. The majority of portals along the Winding Path have been sealed and old alliances with the lords of the abyss have been annulled. This is intended to prevent a repeat of Walpurgis night but it has deprived the elves of their most potent mercenaries and greatly curtailed their mobility. Historically the have elves tolerated nearby settlements, safe in the knowledge that they could evacuate entire communities in moments. Now for the first time they need to link and defend their disparate territories against the encroachment of civilisation.

Unbeknownst to most races the elves have turned their diplomatic efforts towards the elder races of Dragons and Giants, seeking to make common cause with those who can remember a time before roads and cities scarred the endless wilderness. The civilised races will be reminded that this is not their world.

In their new quest for allies the elves have even sought reconciliation with their long ostracised cousins in the depths of the earth…

“And Throkk is going to demand the dwarf as payment for the testicle”

• -Throkk

“Ive never liked this religion mumbo-jumbo. Causes more problems than it fixes you know?”

“Too right old man”

The official Vicetina book-club had been tentatively restarted after the tension and drama of the preceding days. Tonight, the entire bookclub were in attendance, and both men were reading a dark, heavily malted ale, with just a hint of chocolatey bitterness. It was a good read they had decided, a real page turner.

“Now then,” Belched Conan, wiping the foam from his moustache.

“Take this Namthar fellow and his accursed inbred god brother. Once upon a time, everyone was fucking happy, worshiping their favourite locally sourced organic spirit or wishy-washy gluten free deity, right? Then Namthar and his blasted brother Alastor come along and ruined everything!”

“Aye, The city of his, Kossos, is a real shit-hole I’ve heard. Really deserved the name “Salt in wounds,” chimed the blacksmith, eager to fuel Conan’s emerging rant.

Conan, stared at the blacksmith coolly, wondering if the man had ever been further than Caville. Probably not, these half-forged blunted peasant swords weren’t going to ruin themselves. He guessed the little fellow would likely have run all the way home if he knew what lay at the heart of Salt in Wounds. He cleared his throat.

“As I was saying, they come along, “bully” all the other wassits… deities, and insist everyone worship them instead. And if that wasn’t enough, they then decide they don’t like each other anymore, and go to bloody war! And who dies, we do! Not them, us! Brothers eh?!”

“Aye.. but that was hundreds of years ago right? Whats that got to do with this fine ale we got now, or the recent departure of young Lorenzo?”

They men clinked their glasses together at a mention of Lorenzo and downed the amber liquid with due respect. Conan refilled both vessels.

“Well.. hic.. you see my simple hammer wielding metal thumper.. its all happening again isn’t it? The church going around meddling in things, trying to raise its profile here, and puppeting this fine city, armies forming to soak the fields in each other’s blood. For what? For nothing! They will invent some reasons, but really there’s no point!”

“Well they say Kossos was being aggressive and burned down some settlements eh? And those risen that were killing everyone, they probably came from there, on account of them ghouls they have working for em and such”

“Dragonshit”

The blacksmiths blood rose. His courage was up, fuelled by ale.. his ale… wait, yeah! This was his ale they were drinking ale after all, and those Judges were good for business(Conan never seemed to buy the ale, only supplied the books!) He wasn’t going to just sit here and let Conan talk ill about his business, drink his booze and ruin his chances of making some coin.

“Look Librarian, You’re just bitter because you used to work for the church, and now you’re like a jilted lover, a maiden who’s lover has ran off after sowing the proverbial oats,” he chuckled.

Conans face darkened in an instant. The old man straightened as he rose from the chair, unfolding to his full, impressive height. The Blacksmith shrank back in his chair, trying to hide in the soft yielding cushion but finding no shelter from the burrowing stare of the librarian. Conan’s eyes flashed as he advanced heavily, each step seemed increasingly firm and deliberate, more sure and balanced, and the blacksmith could almost hear the old man wind up like a spring, humming with barely contained fury that boiled beneath the surface. His form seemed to grow beneath his robe the Blacksmith swore he could see those tattoos glowing with a malignant orange light, fizzing with a brutal, violent intent. Conan leaned in close, holding the Blacksmith in place with his gaze, pinning him to the chair like a brittle, breakable, miniscule insect. His face just inches away now he spoke slowly and deliberately.

“Your glass is empty friend, allow me”

Conan snatched the glass away and began to refill it, slowly this time. The ritual of pulling on the ale tap seemed to calm him somewhat, and his shoulders dropped. After a while, he spoke again, more softly now.

“I did a lot of traveling, I was something of a campaigner back in the day. A good one too. We were subcontracted out by the church during the “Days of the Risen”, it was before your time, but there was a bit of a problem with the dead walking about, eating babies and generally being a nuisance. That sort of thing.

Turned out to be the work of a rather impressive specimen, a higher vampire, perhaps the last of his kind. With a bit of luck and careful planning, we managed to best him and dragged him back to Namburg be executed. The Church had other ideas and locked him up, gave no explanation to us. I was pretty dumbfounded to be honest with you, but I was just a boy back then, had a bit more meat on the bones and in the head, so I presumed they knew what they were doing.”

“You must have plenty of adventures to share” asked the blacksmith, desperate to change the subject, the sticky sweat pooling uncomfortably around his lower back.

“A few… we parted ways soon after. Fundamental difference of opinions on role of a campaigner and the value of religion and so on. Also, some … some … erm… racial infighting and ill-advised romantic decisions were made.”

“Oh ho!! Ha, you old dog you! Now I’d like to hear about all them maidens you were bedding back in the day man!” chuckled the blacksmith.

“Oh, not me, I was married to the work. No, the others. Anyway…” he trailed off, staring thoughtfully out the window.

“My point is that this religion business ruins everything, and it’s almost certainly going to lead us to war and ruin, yet again, all because two Brothers can’t just bloody well get along”

“Aye…” mumbled the blacksmith.

The two glasses clumsily clinked once more, the foam sloshing over the sides like a storm wave, cascading onto the floor and joining the sticky puddles forming beneath the unopened books.

“What do they even want from us eh? Its fucking dragonshit”

“Who cares. Fuck em both, Its fucking dragonshit”

“I don’t get it”

Dave sighed and stared out the window, his back to the unfolding conversation. Mario massaged his temples slowly as he sat at his desk. Perhaps it was the sun – he had heard the people this far south became soft and distractible due to its influence, a heating of the vital humours, but even that could not explain this simpleton’s steaming quagmire of a brain.

“I will go over this one last time Ignatio, please listen closely, then pass the missive to the other guards” spat Mario.

The ruddy faced guardsman stared back blankly- his mind numbed to Mario’s cutting tone by years of monotonous guard duty and litres of weak beer.

“Our dear Lord Lorenzo was murdered by this foul group of individuals, these… Iron stars. Luca is their employer”

“I thought you said they worked for Lorenzo”

“That was a clever ruse of theirs, as they are cunning, unlike you”

“Right…so they worked for Luca… who… worked for Giovanni?”

“Exactly. The elf in the kimono would wear Giovanni’s ring and flaunt it around the tavern.”

“Right. Ok”

“And thus, we have motive, as Giovanni was a jealous man, everyone knew that. He coveted his brothers position. Now Sofia must rule with a heavy heart”

There was a snort behind him as the Dave cleared his throat and continued to gaze out into the blazing sunlight of the courtyard. Ignatio was scribbling onto his parchment as Mario continued

“The Goblin was the ultimate assassin. People hate Goblins, still much hidden animosity since the old wars, something that is easy to awake within them ,so the murderer is certainly very believable to most. His weapon was found at the murder scene, sticking from Lorenzos back”

“I thought we found that in the alleyway with those bodies”

Mario stared at the guardsman. Well well, Even porridge headed Ignatio could emerge from his stuporous haze every so often.

“He likely carried more than one scimitar Ignatio. Regardless it was found in Lorenzo’s corpse. This goblin was then seen running through the streets by multiple witnesses covered in blood, screaming his murderous intent! Such treachery by the Twins! Furthermore, we have a key testimony from the Doctor, our beloved Dr Max, that he broke into her lab, trashed the place, intimidated and threatened her, and worse, she suspects he may have been trying to spread some sort of foul plague which he himself had created. She is worked hard to find a cure, Namthar guide her.

“Shocking..”

“Truly. The also murdered those poor men in the alley way”

“The multiple suicides? They were armed though…”

“Ignatio please, I am the detective. This all occurred after they bewitched Baron, causing him to threaten a crowd against his will, The feral orc attacked him and removed his hand. Baron was due to be a great pianist”

“Baron plays piano?”

“Well not yet, and now, not ever”

“But… erm….Didn’t they… stop the Skoll from attacking us… and the dream monster, people are saying that was them too?”

“The Judges removed the dreameater from its lair, praise Namthar. The Skoll seem to have migrated south of their own accord  – how could a small group of ragtag campaigners shift and army of those beasts?”

“I suppose…”

“Worse again Ignatio, the incited a riot” Mario flexed his bandaged hands and grimaced at the thought of the javelin the orc had fired through the crowd, the weapon ripping the air and screaming towards him in a flash. He hadn’t slept for days afterwards and his hand throbbed every time he thought of it.

“They had fled to the sewers, and only hours later, the city was almost over-run by undead, pouring from our sewers, likely their hideout! Their thralls! The good fortune to have the Judges and priests of Namthar in the city, by pure co-incidence, was all that saved us.”

Ignatio continued to scribble.

“And when we needed him the most, our kind, gentle alchemist was nowhere to be found to help combat the undead plague, his apartment was trashed and a huge orc shaped hole was in the rear wall of his house. He is almost certainly murdered, and perhaps raped- we will endeavour to retrieve his corpse during our investigations.”

“Ok. Right. That’s obvious I suppose then. And you think they work for Kossos?”

Well that is a leading theory, isn’t it? Kossos loves foul antics and shadowplay, and would love to take a city like Vicetina before the war starts! A foothold just on the southern border of the empire. They likely wanted to destabilise us with this assassination and install a puppet or somesuch. But with Sofia in charge, things will be right, we are safe from such agents of chaos. Strong and stable Ignatio.

“Right, I think I got all that. Phew. Thanks Mario. I’m Glad youre around.”

Ignatio scuttled out of the room clutching his parchment in his pudgy fingers. Mario glanced at the assorted reports on his desk. Creatures emerging from Grave lake, witchhunters successful further south requesting further funds, the Kruraltai of the Great Khan would follow the great hunt on the steppes. His agents moved fast.. already they had uncovered reports of the herald passing through Selegina. Then there was the South-Hallow “issue”. Karn was pressuring him to clean it all up. Karns mess. He had much work to do in the coming days.

Dave strolled from the window glanced over Mario’s shoulder at the missives.

Dave spoke slowly, lazily, dragging himself through each word until it was stretched to breaking point.

“Well the trap is laid, and the bait clearly irresistible. I look forward to watching them swinging in our courtyard. I will rest easier knowing the necrophage project will remain a secret. More importantly, your employees are idiots, how do you stomach it?”

“It’s a temporary position. I must say, I’m impressed. You assumed the position of a guard quickly old friend even for you, but the Goblin idea.. that was…was an inspired idea”

As Dave bowed politely, Mario listened to the familiar wet sounds of reknitting fleshing and cracking bone. As the figure straightened back up, he gazed now at Mario through milky white eyes, two empty slits flared gently where his nose once sat, and his mottled skin was the dull grey of a cold winter har. The doppler smiled at Mario, an unsettling façade of a smile, full of deceit and cunning.

“Childs play,” he began,

“Dave greeted me on the road by the southern bridge on his patrol. The only thing slower than his wits was his spear. I hid the body under the bridge and assumed his role. In the tavern that evening, I wondered who the perfect scapegoat would be. Giovanni, clearly, but he stil had some political support surely? Then, the perfect candidate just wandered in…”

I thought you needed to physically touch a creature before you could assume its form?

The room filled again with the deep muffled squelches of organs folding, punctuated by clicks of cartilage as joints shrank and realigned. Within a minute, a perfect likeness of Gritgoz stood infront of Mario. He held his hand out, as if to shake hands with an invisible figure, perhaps in bar, perhaps after a simple, well aimed apology.

“Pleazzed to meet you .. Daave” he hissed at Mario.

Mario laughed.

A story of swolerbeam

 

31.01.2250 NG

 

Agreeing to split the party to cover the woods more quickly, Ernodal had Tarnak guide Celeste, Tulip and he through the now silent glade. Gritgoz and Throkk teamed up for a duo, buddy-cop episode, and plunged deeper into the wode, picking their way through the fetid stillness of the dying woods. The trees leered over them in the silence, the bleached and barren limbs reaching towards them, as if their very essence was being leached into the soil. Our heros discovered some unusual empty fruit skins, or shells – their origin unclear, Throkk examined the large wrinkled prune like material, estimating it could have been 5 or 6 feet long before it burst. Following the path, the party found themselves in a recognisable clearing – the small pond where they had first fought the skoll. Silhouetted against the stagnant water were the two familiar figures, suspended and seemingly impaled on stakes, hung the bodies of the green knights, Ovic and Sudelu. As Gritgoz moved closer to inspect the creatures he realised the “stakes” were in fact roots. As the realisation dawned him that he didn’t recognise one of the trees from last time, a crack of roots and vines whipped through the air and he was grabbed and engulfed into the acid filled maw of the orcwort tree. The bushes erupted around Throok as he was rushed by short, fruit like humanoids, their faces formless, smelling of rotten fruit and raking their claws across the barbarian.

As Gritgoz and Throkk battled the bludlings and tree, throkk was brought to his knees under their weight of their multiple blows – at the last minute he managed to prise Gritgoz free of the plant. Perhaps sensing the peril they were in (they really were) Gritgoz summoned the spirits of his ancestors to his aid and the a wave of furious spirit apes crashed through the trees and tore the bludlings to shreds.

After a brief respite, the trek continued to the chapel – the building was now a ruin, being pulled apart in front of their eyes by the wood itself. The underground cloister that the party had encountered Lady Duskthorn in was just visible, the sunlight streaming in through a roughly hewn hole in the ground. Throkk spotted the Dryad 60ft below, pacing around her alter, muttering to herself.

Being the careful tactician he is, Throkk took plenty of time to consider the most advantageous action, and weighted up multiple options carefully before concluding (in constant consultation with Gritgoz naturally) that the only reasonable plot-developing action to take was to drop the 60ft straight down and attempt a mid-air strike imbued with the additional momentum, and basically manifest to the Lady as the dramatic sephiroth themed orcish angel of death he is fast becoming. Through a serious of excellent athletics checks and attack rolls Throkk descended in a stylish anime type montage ( accompanied by Guiles theme) and almost killed her on the spot. In the following skirmish, Throkk deflowered a venusaur, Gritgoz blocked the healing sunlight with well placed a storm cloud ( resulting in no HP regen for the plant based enemies, and no solar beam for the venusaur) and the capitalised on the heavy Throkk advantage they had earned.

Yielding beneath their fury, Lady Duskthorn spoke to the party as she clutched her wounds:

She confessed she had killed the green knights – she had to – they had come to her and demanded change, demanded to rid the chapel of her, claiming she was not fulfilling her knightly oath. They accused her of losing her mind!

The herald had shown her the death and destruction to come, perhaps she had lost some of her mind, but she was changing. Evolving. She once thought she was protector of nature, a gardener, maintaining balance. The truth – that it would all be for nothing, futile, perhaps broke her. She couldn’t cope with the idea, that she, everyone was just prey for the herald’s master. But she had been thinking. The reality was even wose, it was systematic.. so much worse… we would not be prey, we were just livestock. To be farmed. The herald is sowing discord and chaos to soften us up for his masters harvest.

When Trokk pushed her for more information , she confessed she did not know who this master was, but knew that the Herald was undoubtedly touched by the divine.

She refused to be livestock, she would become a predator, and survive the coming harvest.

As she reached for a tree behind her to Treestride again ( aka teleport via trees) Throkk noticed (?just in in time) and furious at her attempt to escape him ,slew her where she lay, Chernobog exploding through her head in a shower of gore.

Escaping and tracking back to the horses, the party found a raven waiting once more for Gritgoz, another Letter from Eleri.

G,

Apologies for the brevity of my recent letter – communications were undoubtedly being monitored, but I have since secured a more secured method via and old friend.

3 days ago, the Judges came for Luca. He was arrested and charged with treason, and for the murder of Lorenzo, found death that morning.

His trial is to be in 2 days time.

The day you left, the risen emerged from the sewers. They rampaged through the streets, killing dozens. The watch were not prepared and would have been over-run were it not for the presence of the Judges and Namtharites. They were hailed as saviours, and have since pressed their new political advantage , ingratiating themselves into every noble house in the city.

They say war with Kossos is now all but imminent, this is surely no co-incidence.

Many of us plan to leave the city, it no longer feels welcoming for those who do not follow Namthar, even less so for the few Kossovians around who hide their worship of Alastor from suspicious eyes.

E

And so the party stood by their horses, weighting up the diverging paths infront of them.

21.01.2250 NG

The hulking skeleton advanced on the party, slicing though Erndoal and bringing tulip to his knees under a rain of razor sharp thrusts. To Throkk’s confusion his well-aimed spear jabs sailed through the creatures skull, and the half-orc began to suspect something was amiss. In a last ditch attempt to banish the guardian, Tulip cast invisibility on the skeleton, who blinked out of existence, leaving only an animated sword hovering in the air. The party then realised that the sword was the true enemy, and falling upon it throkk shattered the blade in pieces. Gritgoz spoke with the hound who told him this was his Masters tower, and warned the party to be careful of the flying sword. Throkk offered the mutt some delicious pocket bacon and named his new furry companion “Penelope”. Exploring the remains of the Tower, the party spoke to the prisoner to learn his name was “Taahir” and he had just bought this tower 2 weeks prior at auction for the princely sum of 50,000 gold pieces. Originally owned by a Kossovian wizard named Abel, on his passing the city were auctioning off his possessions. When Taahir went to explore his new home he must have inadvertently activated the towers security system, and found himself trapped in rather comfortable prison (complete with magic refilling ale cup and a plate that regenerated one slice of slightly stale white bread). He had seen Lorth a few days prior, and the toothless guide had agreed to find a way to release Taahir but had not returned. Taahir was quite convinced he was on a hill a few hours ride from Kossos and has never seen snow in his life.

Ascending the stairs that seemed to defy the laws of physics Tulip and Throkk found themselves at a large ornate wooden door – turning the handle to the left opened the doors to allows a gentle breeze caresses the heroes, carrying the sent of saltly air, hots sands and coconuts. Turning to the right opened to a bedroom, covered in books and alchemical equipment, the far wall laden with ornamental weapons including a large 8 foot spear in a glass case, the air heavy with the smell of stale meat. Naturally the party entered the less welcoming of the two rooms, and as Throkk picked his way across the room the temperature dropped suddenly as something triggered within the space.  The shelves and crates burst open and the lumbering form of a Flesh Golem lurched forwards. Turning, Throkk saw the carpet zip out from under the chairs and speed through the air towards Tulip.

Flinging his spear at the construct, well aimed shot sank deep into the mountain of flesh, but the creature reached up and simply cracked the spear shaft away, impervious to the sharpened steel. Tulip rolled out of the carpets grasp as it attempted to wrap and suffocate him, and triggering Varaks ring he doused the rug in a bath of crimson flame. With no weapon, Throkk sprinted across the room , vaulting over a shelf and crashed through the glass case – crackling in his hand the enormous spear sailed through the air and sank deep into the golem’s back. Seemingly unharmed, The creature began to turn as Throkk bellowed with rage – the half orcs scream awakened something within the weapon and the runes flashed white hot causing  the creature to bellow in agony, injured for the first time. Venting its fury on Tulip,  the golem swung his massive meaty fist at the Bard, knocking him out and fracturing a few ribs in the process.  Ernodal dived to Tulips aid and took a heavy blow to the head, preventing him from fully stabilising his dying friend. As Tulip lay bleeding out ,on 2 failed death saves, Throkk reached the Golem, rending the spear from its back. As his counter thrust found its target , the spear wailed vengeance for the fallen tulip and with a piercing explosion the golems head was torn off by the force of the strike.

As the party recovered, they found a hidden alcove with the personal memorabilia of the wizard, as well as a magic scroll that seemed like it might deactivate the towers defenses. Before returning to Taahir the party explored the second configuration of the room and found themselves standing on a beautiful beach, with the sobbing toothless figure of a very distressed Lorth waist deep in the ocean. Circumventing the elaborate puzzle the DM had planned by attaching a rope to the door handle, Throkk lead Lorth out of his beautiful seaside prison.

Lorth was very grateful for his rescue and needed little encouragement to fill the party in on his last few days – He had come to this tower to loot and explore. He was a woodsman and had been hired by a group of priests and judges 2 weeks prior to lead them through the deadwood. It was a dangerous place, full of foglets, drowners, water-hags and roving griffons, but an area he was confident he could safely navigate. The judges had payed him to keep quite, but he did remember an odd fellow with books and flasks who fit the description of the Alchemist Denes. After a little Throkk convincing, he agreed to lead the party through the deadwood the following morning.

Speaking to Taahir, the heroes agreed to deactivate he Tower and release Taahir on condition he would give the tower to them. After some tough negotiation, Taahir agreed to hand over the Tower to the heroes on condition that he could live there as the steward and that when he was able to acquire funds from Kossos he could purchase it back from them. In this way , he felt he was merely paying for his rescue, albeit initially in property.

After a long rest and slow hike through the deadwood ( Lorth painstakingly avoiding the fog which seemed to follow the party through the trees) the party find themselves hidden in the bushes outside a cave entrance in the mountains, the inner torch light sputtering and illuminating the hulking figure of a Judge standing guard, the orange glow dancing of the thick steel plate of his armour.

Journal Updates

Bestiary: Construct/ Flesh Golem, Phantasmal Sword, Skeletal guardian, Rug of Smothering.

Vaul -the world: The Behemoth

Materia Arcana: Chernobog ( First Legacy Item of the game)

Important Characters: Taahir

17.01.2250 NG

Waking around the campfire and gathering their belongings, Celeste and Gritgoz set off ahead of the group to scout the landscape and forage.

Erdodal wakes to find a raven waiting patiently next to him, a missive around his leg. On taking the parchments, the raven bursts into a cloud of smoke, leaving Erndodal to read:

Tarnak reads over his shoulder and reveals to Erndodal that the “Big guy” is not very popular with the other deamons. He is “greedy” and has been expanding and taking over much of the other deamons domains. When asked by Throkk if he knew the Big Guys name, Tarnak simply replied “There are names, and there are names”. He went on to explain that there were a few deamons interested in Erndodal after the events in the forrest that night, Tarnak among them. Tarnak told Erndoal he thought he had great potential, and while Erndoal may have inadvertently summoned him here, that they actually had similar goals.

The party hiked for 2 days towards the town of Caville, towards the best lead they have on the location of the alchemist “Denes”. As they approached the town they found it covered in a small localised snowstorm, despite beautiful spring sky’s above. Enquiring in the Local Tavern (The Mules Hole) they learned that the strange snow only appeared 2 weeks ago, with the arrival of the strange tower outside of town. The Tavern owner (Pim) advised the other villagers to stay away, but was unable to stop a local man Lorth from Leaving to investigate.

A little questioning revels that Lorth is in fact the brother of the Vicetina Baker( Gregory). Lorth is something of a woodsman and the party learned that a group of priests, Judges, assorted civilians( some in chains) moved through the town a few weeks back – they recruited Lorth to guide them through the Deadwood, but Pim knows nothing about where they were going or who they were with.

Tulip performs a tear jerking rendition of a young Elf who yearns to be a human, trying to find his place in the world. The villagers are enraptured.

Deciding to pursue Lorth rather track the priests the party approach the strange Tower, the blizzards growing stronger and stronger. Gritgoz and Throkk scale the tower, Throkk burning his feet on the baking hot stones as he climbs. Inside they find a lavish, exotically decorated tower, with a staircase on the top floor that seems to lead to further rooms despite seeming physically to extend past the roof of the building. As they creep down the tower they encounter a sleeping man in foreign robes who seems trapped behind some sort of magical barrier.

Meanwhile Erndodal walks casually in the front door with tulip. After petting the well fed, friendly dog they begin to explore the study and tower proper.

Picking their way through a storage room with an impressive chest in the corner they pause to investigate a humanoid skeleton seemingly chained to the tower wall, surrounded by weapons and armour. As they attempt to leave the skeleton rends the chains from the wall and the weapons and armour fly from the ground and bind themselves to the creature who advances menacingly on the duo.

Journal Updates: The World/Caville

 

14.01.2250 NG

Janustag. Raining Heavily.

Investigating the missing alchemist Denes, the Tusks went straight to his house to examine the location and see if Gritgoz has missed anything. Throkk carefully removed the door from its mounting and gently placed it against the wall as Ernodal found an old book of maps with pages missing – these referred to some of the surrounding area. Otherwise the house appeared trashed, with a large Throkk shaped hole in the rear wall. While visiting the house, Celeste was accosted by a friend of Denes who was passing by to check on the place. After a brief and civil interaction with Throkk, the man became more talkative, and under the impression that the players were members of “The Road” he brought them back to his bakery to discuss his missing friend.

He introduced himself as the Baker, Gregory. He was a supporter of the Road, and an old drinking buddy of Denes. Denes and he had planned a trip to Caville to visit relatives a few weeks ago, but Denes cancelled this  last minute and make Gregory swear not to visit the village. He disappeared shortly thereafter. After swapping some sourdough starters and making friends, the Tusks sneaked out the back door and made their plans. As they entered the main street they were stopped by a handsome mustachioed man, dark haired man, with an intense stare – he introduced himself as Mario, a detective and told the party they were under arrest for the murder of a number of individuals in a nearby alleyway (see Mario in previous fiction / fight with Baron). A number of Judges were present, including the hulking figure Throkk first met on the bridge in Fairharbour (episode 0). He remembered Throkk’s Orcish gesture and replicated it again, taunting him. A crowd gathered and Celeste managed to win them over with her natural charisma and before long stones begin to fly at the judges (thrown by Conan the librarian who seems to be a real rabble rouser). A fully-fledged Riot breaks out – in the chaos a member of the Road (who met the part on the Bridge previously) emerges from the crowd and helps the group escape into the sewers, but not before Throkks manages to stamp onto a spear lying on the group, catch it mid-air and fling it through the outstretched arm of Mario.

The Tusks find themselves exploring a section of the sewer – avoiding the explosive mycotic spheres they notice “thieves cant” on the walls, but not being able to understand this , continue along and stumble  onto a poorly hidden stash containing: some gold coins, empty whiskey bottles, a crude map with entry points into the city marked off, a potion with an enormous finger nail floating within and finally what appears to be an empty  wand case.

Following a light source, the party find themselves blinded by shafts of light in a large underground chamber, only to realise they have stumbled into 5 Risen (Gjenganger) chained up and pumped full of those foul black slugs. A melee erupts, and the party fight off the first wave of the attack but no sooner have the creatures fallen than the sewage churns and froaths and they assemble into a large heaving monstrosity of animated dead chunks and debris: the “proto bone-powder”. The party have seen the fully-fledged version of this in episode 0 on the beachhead when they fled on the Walrus(RIP) and fired the cannons into it. Midway through the battle, Tulip notices hundreds of rats fleeing behind him, just as Erndoal realises the water level is rapidly rising. (it has been raining heavily for days now, remember?)

 

The water level rushes up as the party battle on, Celeste is knocked out and with his last Eldritch blast Erndoal is completely submerged underwater and begins to hold his breath. With 1 HP remaining, Throkk manages to leap clear of neck high water and drive the creature into the ground with his spear, slaying it. The party swim for freedom, and all in their own suboptimal way find themselves falling 30ft out of the sewage pipe into the moat outside Vicetina. Exhausted they hike a few hours and set up camp to sleep. 

The party witness Throkk’s Dream: A young half orc boy flees through a burning village, his family and friends mutilated around him. Figures snatch at him, but he fights them off and crashes through the streets. One figure looms above all others, is around every corner, in every doorway. Pausing to catch his breath, a wall explodes behind him as the figure bursts through and grabs him. He drags the boy to a dead tree in the centre of the village, a tree decorated with impaled corpses and limp figures swaying from their hempen nooses. The boy is thrust into the hollowed tree and the tree set on fire. Screaming Throkk wakes.

Journal updates:

Characters / Vicetina / Mario

Places / Caville

Bestiary/ proto-bonepowder

NEW RULES! Baking!

The Baker’s Primer: Saving the world one loaf at a time (filed in journal under rules + references)

To attempt to bake goods, you must be proficient in cooking or Bakers kit.

If you have 2 hours and a usable heat source (fire, oven, lava etc) you can make some bread. The following recipes are know to Ernodal already, and more can be discovered throughout Vaul, some common, some rare, some legendary.

To bake bread, simply make the DC required – you can make 1 portion of bread during a suitable time period, ( e.g. long rest will allow you make 1 loaf and the rest). The bonus from bread applies to 1 player of the bakers choice, who obviously needs to eat the bread. The bread only stays fresh for 24 hours at which point the bonus is lost.

Only one bread bonus can be active at one time.

Bread	Skill DC	Bonus
Momma Mollycoddle’s Salted Muffin of Minor Healing	5	can consume as a potion 1d6 healing
Elven Bagel	10	gain 1 additional Hit die during next short rest
Vicetina Sour Dough aka Throkk’s Loaf (Gregory’s starter)	15	next Str or Con check is at advantage
Infinity Pretzel (sesame seed variety)	20	gain 1d6 temp HP
The Hardy Tart of Chance	25	Resistance to one random damage type for 4 hours (DM rolls)