Man, I was hoping Maurice would turn into a mutant frog the whole time, but I guess it was just poison.
Alas, he made his save, so we’ll never know.
February 2015
THE COMPANY
Maurice "the Muscle" de Granville, a Dreaman Fighter of Weanople
- Athelwine, a Geating Hunter (Normal Man) of Acworth
Orhan, an Alfarn Spellsword
Osric de Mandeville, a Dreaman Warden
- Urien, a Weallack Oblate (Normal Man) of Carlton
Oswald, a Geating Fighter --> Mortally Wounded
- Taeting, a Geating Pirate (Normal Man) --> Fled
Zephyros, an Ellasene Mage --> Mortally Wounded
- Ansger, a Dreaman Fighter
- Dudda, a Geating Thief
From the Journal of Oswald the Gray, a Geating Fighting Man:
MUSHROOMS AND CIVILIZATION
Returning to the front door, the group prepares to descend the trap door. After some discussion, the group lowered ropes and a lantern before I climbed down. At the bottom, I found a pool filled with algae and stairs leading upwards. I managed to swing over to the stairs and climbed them, where I encountered some kind of crocodile-man.
The crocodile-man considered unlucky me (carrying just a dagger and wearing no armor) a tasty snack and attacked immediately. When Maurice heard my cries for help and hurried to help, he almost drowned. Luckily, the monster was already wounded when we met, it died after two lucky stabs with my dagger.
Afterwards, the rest of the group descended the shaft as well and searched the chamber carefully. We found a decomposed warden’s corpse with some treasure (prayer scrolls, coins, and holy symbols). Osric blessed the corpse before looting it.
There was a second stair in the room, leading deeper into the earth. We followed it down, finding a room full of giant glowing mushrooms. The floor was rather wobbly (probably fungus and mold) and stank horribly. We could also see a giant door with a metal face on it. Maurice also found a second exit.
We decided to check the second exit first. It led to the elevator shaft we already knew from our last visit. Next, there was the metal door. Before we could check it, we were attacked by some giant vines which we shredded without serious losses (Osric was hurt, though).
The door was about 7 yards tall and 3 yards wide. It seemed to be fashioned of gold with a face made of brass protruding from its center. Nobody opened when we knocked; pulling and pushing proved pointless. We also could not move the door. Investigating the face more closely, Osric found some nubs within the mouth that were labelled with unknown glyphs that not even Zephyros could decipher.
I then tried pushing some of the nubs, resulting in an explosion of toxic spores which almost killed me and Zephyros. Luckily, both of us survived, even though I suffered a permanent infection of my joints, and Zephyros was horribly scarred.
Frustrated and quite bruised, we decided to leave the complex, taking a part of the vine, the crocodile and the frog man with us. On our way back, we found Orhan stabbed and Taeting (as well as our boat) gone.
Returning to the boat we’d discovered on the opposite side of the island, we found several opossum-men preparing to use it to sail away. A quick spell of enchanted sleep cast by Orhan stopped them long enough to allow us to smash them in melee and seize the boat.
Due to our lack of navigators, the return to Froxhall was delayed by two days (mainly because we became completely lost and accidently found ourselves deeper inside the swamp at one point instead of outside). Eventually, though, we reached Froxhall where we sold the monster parts, grabbed our stored things, and sailed towards the city of Hewflore.
Along the way, we stopped in Taygle’s End but found it an unwelcoming backwater, everyone refusing our requests to stay the night. The local teacher was rather strange, and Osric deemed him suspicious. The local reeve was likewise unwilling to speak with us. We decided to paddle a bit further and sleep outside the village in the wilderness.
We reached Hewflore around mid-afternoon. Over the next few days, we sold our remaining loot, including the new boat. Osric tried to be received in audience by Metropolitan Warren of Speers, but learns that he was indisposed thanks to narrowly avoiding death a few days earlier when he was caught in a collapsing study.
After further enquiries, Osric managed to gain an audience with Yric, an experienced cleric who liked Osric enough to tell him what worries the Makerite church in Dwimores. Heresy is spreading, it seems, as too few well-educated priests are available and the local baron does not cooperate with the metropolitan. In fact, Yric claims that Lord Drogo finds ways to favor clergy connected to him personally and tithes exclusively to independent religious foundations rather than the metropolia.
Whilst hanging out with local soldiers, Maurice and Osric learned that there were many mundane problems too: bandits ravage the countryside, and pirates raid communities along the Great Marish and the River Hellfor often, whereas Lord Drogo is busy wooing the Lady of Orellfor. Also, the Deadlhaws are growing.
Shocked that so many things are amiss with so few ways to earn quick money, the company considered their next steps.
I love the flavor. "Makerite Church" - I want to know more.
I'd love to pretend the name is mine. I wanted a monotheistic faith on which I could model medieval Christianity; that was not medieval Christianity, however; and that would not offend my sensibilities as a practicing Byzantine Catholic. Sine Nomine's Red Tide setting has a "Church of the Maker" that seemed a good foundation for the sort of structure I wanted to build.
I'll defer to my players, though, whether I've managed to keep it interesting enough to be a fun feature of the campaign.
I thought "Makerite Church" sounded familiar, but couldn't quite place it.
February 2015
THE COMPANY
Maurice "the Muscle" de Granville, a Dreaman Fighter of Weanople
- Athelwine, a Geating Hunter (Normal Man) of Acworth
Orhan, an Alfarn Spellsword
Osric de Mandeville, a Dreaman Warden
- Urien, a Weallack Oblate (Normal Man) of Carlton
Oswald, a Geating Fighter
Zephyros, an Ellasene Mage
- Ansger, a Dreaman Fighter
- Dudda, a Geating Thief
From the Journal of Captain Zephyros, an Ellasene Merchant:
THE CHRONICLES OF ZEPHYROS – Chapter 1
Deep in thought I spun the last bit of wine in my glass around before bringing it up to my lips. I set the glass down on the table and could not help but form a distorted smile across my face as I recounted the moments of my near-death experience and the days that followed.
I was so fixated by the peculiar face on the door jeering at us, along with all the gold, silver and bronze adorning it, that I didn’t even consider stepping back while Oswald was fiddling with the mouth. Time stopped as I heard the hiss of gas under pressure being released. I glanced over just in time to see a blast of brown gas billowing from the face’s maw. I only had time to close my eyes, as I felt the skin on my face burn. The pain was intense. Everything went dark. Then I heard screams followed by silence.
Suddenly, I awoke. Osric was hovering over me, calling to me, “Zephyros, wake up! You’re going to be alright. It’s not your time to meet the Maker!”
I was writhing, heaving due to the intense pain on my face. Darkness followed once again: the pain was too great to bear.
I woke up again to Osric completing a prayer over me. It was calm. We were outside now. I saw the grey sky beyond his head. His face could not hide his look of despair. “May the Maker have mercy on you, Zephyros,” he whispered. I reached up to feel my face only to be rewarded with the sensation of wax covering my skin. I felt a pit in my stomach like none that I had ever felt before.
“How bad?” I asked.
He replied, “My friend, you’re lucky to be alive. I’m sure the Maker has a purpose for this.”
I exclaimed, “What? A purpose for what?”
As I sat up, I saw Maurice staring at me, and he said, “We’ll find a way to remove the scars from your face, Zephyros. I promise we will.”
The reconfirmation of my greatest fear coming true was too great for me to take. “No! No! No! Stop it!” was all I could say as I scrambled to my feet, pushing Osric aside. I made it a few steps before crashing to my knees, holding my unfamiliar face in my hands as I sobbed.
Osric kneeled beside me, put his hand on my back, and whispered, “You have been through a lot today, my friend, and you will go through much more over the next few days. The Maker reveals Himself in mysterious ways, and I know you will discover His purpose in time.”
I went numb after that. I wanted to be alone. I pulled the hood of my cloak over my head and sat with my knees pulled close to my face.
My mind was a fog as the party insisted that I pilot them to Froxhall, as our navigator Taeting apparently had better things to do than follow us. Frankly, I’m surprised we even made it, as I was in no condition to lead us anywhere. My senses were dead; the only sensation to register was the empty pit in my stomach. I recall thinking, “This was all a bad dream that I would wake up from at any moment, right?” I don’t remember much else from that day aside from being led around by my companions and sitting in a boat on our way to Hewflore. It was mostly a blur save for one moment of clarity: when the pit in my stomach transformed to be replaced with rage.
I recall also that Maurice asked me to try to convince some guard into allowing us to meet with the local reeve in some dead-end town on our way to Hewflore. “Zephyros, try and talk some sense into this guy,” he whispered.
As soon as I made eye contact with this man I knew I had lost ‘it’, as normally folks were excited to see and talk with me.
Not this time. It was like he was looking at a corpse.
I don’t even remember what I said, but it didn’t matter as the conversation was over before it started. I’ll never forget the look of disdain on that man’s face. It made me angry, very angry. So angry, in fact, that I found myself starting to form the words of my spell of charming, but my conscience wouldn’t let me. My new purpose had not yet revealed itself to me. I cloaked my disfigured face, turned around, and walked back to the boat.
As we resumed our trip to Hewflore, I asked Osric, “Can you heal me completely when we reach Hewflore?”
Osric replied, “Zephyros, my friend, I have done all I can for you.”
I retorted back, “Surely there is a powerful cleric of the Maker that can make me look as I once did!”
And with that, Osric quietly said, “Zephyros, you know we do not have the resources for such a request, not to mention such prayers can take a great toll on you. I know you are in a dark place right now, my friend. We will get through this together, and I assure you that once you have come to terms with what has happened, you will go on to do great things, as the Maker intends for you. This is a blessing in disguise. You are close to solving His riddle, Zephyros. You will figure it out.”
I remember thinking, “This isn’t what I want to hear. Why was I so stupid to sit in front of such an obvious trap? Why didn’t I just die? Why is the Maker toying with me?” The questions soon ended and were replaced with depression, as I saw my new face in the reflection of the water as we arrived in Hewflore. “I’ve become a monster,” I thought to myself. I pulled my cloak close around my head to hide my gruesome visage as thoughts raced through my head. “Perfect! We’re in a town full of people ready to taunt and jeer at me. This is the last place I want to be. I don’t belong here. I need to be in some mage’s dungeon, luring poor adventurers to their deaths.”
The days passed as I elected to stay in the inn while the rest of the party attended to the business that brought us to Hewflore. I developed quite a taste for wine during that time. It gave me that sense of confidence that my charm once did, however temporal it that could be. Nevertheless, I was edging closer to accepting my fate. Perhaps the Maker knew this, or maybe it was my inner mind.
Anyway, that was how ‘it’ happened. I was sitting in the tavern, drinking my wine with my cloak pulled over my head and feeling sorry for myself when a burly local barged into the room. I glanced up to hear him yell at the barkeep, “The usual drink, at my usual table!” even as he strolled over to the table where I was sitting. “You’re in my spot,” he said.
I thought to myself, “The old Zephyros would have got up, apologized and moved on." But, the old Zephyros was nowhere to be found.
With a snort, the man continued, “Now, listen here, I don’t know who you think you are, but get the Hell out of my spot, or I’ll rearrange your face!”
I began to laugh, quietly at first and then louder as I stood up and pulled my hood out from around my face to reveal to him my ghastly countenance. I beamed, “It would appear that someone has already beaten you to it.” My gaze locked onto his, and I knew I had him: my terrible features combined with my gift of command was too much for his weak soul to withstand. “This is my table now. You will apologize to me, and you will buy everyone in this fine establishment a round.”
The man immediately prostrated himself on the floor, “Forgive me! Make yourself comfortable, my friend! I was only kidding! Barkeep, the next round is on me!” Making sure to keep facing me, he shuffled backwards to the bar and whimpered to the barkeep, “Get him whatever he wants! Put it on my tab!”
I nodded to him and winked at the barkeep. Needless to say, the burly gentleman didn’t stick around too long after that, but as I reflected back on the moment, I realized the wisdom of Osric’s words to me, “I’m sure the Maker has a purpose for this.” I thought to myself, “The purpose was clear now. The Mornlands’ oppressors aren’t going to succumb to diplomacy. No, as they do not value life or law, they must be coerced. This is why the Maker spared me and gave me a scar to remind me, as well as my enemies.”
After staring at my empty wine glass for some time, my recounting of my last few days was interrupted as Oswald walked through the door of the inn. I waved to greet him, “Oswald, I’m glad to see that you are well. Where are the others? We need to gather and make plans for returning to the Sunken City. We have much to accomplish there!”
So, this entry deserves some mention, I think.
First and foremost, we get a third voice (beside mine and the Oswald's player). We'll get another voice with my next journal entry.
Anyway, during character generation (5 characters, 3d6 in order), Zephyros' player had some hot virtual dice. This particular set of statistics included a high intelligence and an 18 Charisma. Without hesitation, the player picked a mage who subsequently took Mystic Aura and Diplomacy. A reaction roll monster was born.
Many times over the past forty-four sessions, I've wondered if this combination should be nerfed. In a future campaign, it will, but I've let it stand. Some of the most memorable encounters and NPCs have only been possible thanks to Mystic Aura and modified 12+ results.
No journal entry captures it, but in the adventure just prior to the beginning of the first journal entry, the characters randomly encountered bandits in the swamp. I wasn't sure how it was going to play out: the "heroes" were terribly outnumbered, wounded, and out of spells. A lucky dice roll, however, and the bandits were best friends with Zephyros. The company made it most of the way to Froxhall, guarded by a large number of bandits intent on raiding traffic on the road to Carlton.
In a sandbox, you can't plan scenes like that. I have no idea if the other players remember that episode, but I sure do!
Anyway, thanks to the trap sprung by Oswald that mortally wounded him and Zephyros, Zephyros picked up some terrible scarring that gives him a penalty on reaction rolls. I've ruled that the penalty doesn't impact reaction rolls with beastmen; given that I reskin most humanoids into humans, the penalty is still a stiff one for a character built to "own" reaction rolls. The player, after some initial frustration, not only used it to inspire a great journal entry but also calls attention to it often in the course of play.
Another note is that I almost never roll any of the dice. A trick I picked up from Harley Stroh at GenCon a few years ago is making the players roll all the dice. Not only does it ensure that the dice always "fall as they lay," it also helps keep everyone engaged. If I'm rolling dice, it's usually to keep the pace quick rather than wait on someone to click on their dice macro (and then it's still in the virtual open).
Ah, the "making the players roll all the dice" is certainly not my favorite feature of the campaign, I just dont like the feeling of rolling against the other players...
The Makerite Church on the other hand is one of the most enjoyable aspects and if I would start a new campaign myself I would implement something similar!
Just as the rest of society the Makerite church feels as if its in decline: Hampered by the lack of funds, support and manpower out in the field and paralyzed with internal power struggles and protocol in the larger cities. Over the years it seems as if they lost quite a lot of secular power and to recover that is one of the main ambitions of my character.
Having passed many hours of both my undergraduate studies and subsequent leisure time reading about the medieval church – not to mention countless more hours playing Merchant Prince, Darklands, and similar games – I have never understood the aversion to monotheistic religions in fantasy RPGs. The politics can be so delightful.
As Hardrada mentioned, the rolling for the monsters does keep players engaged, especially via Roll20. I think it also speeds up play - we are clicking buttons whilst the GM can be focusing on outcomes, options and what’s up next. I’ve managed to avoid emotional entanglement so far - but I’ve yet to make any of us roll on the Mortal Wounds table....
The monotheism also removes the easy common enemy (although there were crusades weren’t there?), leading to lots of delightful infighting and moral quandaries. I find it very ironic that our Warden (Cleric) is far more of a zealot than our Axiomar (Paladin). Osric is very Catholic in his approach; Zelik is much more personal in his relationship with The Maker
February 2015
THE COMPANY
Maurice "the Muscle" de Granville, a Dreaman Fighter of Weanople
• Athelwine, a Geating Hunter (Normal Man) of Acworth
Orhan, an Alfarn Spellsword
Osric de Mandeville, a Dreaman Warden
• Urien, a Weallack Oblate (Normal Man) of Carlton
Oswald, a Geating Fighter
Zephyros, an Ellasene Mage
• Ansger, a Dreaman Fighter
• Dudda, a Geating Thief
From the Papers of Osric de Mandeville:
LETTERS TO THE PATRIARCH – Part 1
“… and there is barely a faithful soul to be found in these lands where uncaring lords reign while barely giving lip service to the one true church.”
Osric rose from his desk to take a short break, stretching and walking around to regain his focus and get his blood flowing. The Maker did not create him to read and write all day; that much was clear to him. Later in the day, Osric hoped to visit the collapsed study with Urien, but now he needed to return to the letter, even if he would rather do some exercises to get the frustration of the whole situation better under control.
Back at the desk, Osric continued to write about his travels: the strange well to which he was teleported, the undead-infested ruins where he met some of his current companions, and the horrible tree under the earth. He made a note to himself that he would return one day once strong enough to cleanse that place... He wrote also of the lord of Froxhall who cared more about his own research then his people and of Colbert the dutiful teacher of Froxhall's study who struggles to keep the faith alive in a forsaken village on the edge of civilization.
He recorded Colbert's stories about heathens and disgusting frog cults in the neighboring villages, adding his own observations from his visit to Taygle's End: “…there we found to our surpise that the study wasn’t abandoned at all! Someone lived there, claiming to be a warden of the Maker. If he was speaking the truth was hard to say: he certainly wasn’t all too hospitable, but the same could be said about the rest of the town. Certain is only that this would not be my last visit there. If he turns out to be some heretic -- or even a cultist in disguise -- I will make sure that he gets his well-deserved punishment, protection from the local ruler or not.”
Looking at the parchment, Osric noted that his writing certainly did not rival that of a monastic scribe, but reflected that it was high time for a visit to the damaged study. So, he rose and fetched Urien, his new understudy who was making remarkable progress in studying the teachings of the Maker. Osric was certain he was no material for a warden -- he predicted that a single, well-executed punch in the stomach would probably down him for a day or two -- but he thought the young man would make a fine canon one day soon.
I love the sub-plot of Zaphyros and the scarring. That's top notch. I hope he gets Restore Life and Limb soon!
February 2015
THE COMPANY
Maurice "the Muscle" de Granville, a Dreaman Fighter of Weanople
- Athelwine, a Geating Hunter (Normal Man) of Acworth
Orhan, an Alfarn Spellsword
Osric de Mandeville, a Dreaman Warden
- Urien, a Weallack Oblate (Normal Man) of Carlton
Oswald, a Geating Fighter --> Mortally Wounded!
- Demoleon, an Ellasene Thief
Zephyros, an Ellasene Mage
- Ansger, a Dreaman Fighter
- Dudda, a Geating Thief
- Guilbert, a Dreaman Fighter
- Xenocrates, a Dreaman Mage
From the Papers of Oswald the Gray, a Geating Fighting Man:
ACCOUNTING AND REPTILE-MEN
Finally, we decided on a plan. We sold all our loot and used the money to hire a group of mercenaries, rent a boat, and buy plenty of supplies. This took a lot of time, in part due to a long debate in regard to boats (buying one, commissioning canoes, or renting one). Also, I hired a henchman called Demoleon, an Ellasene thief.
Afterwards, we returned into the swamp, staying away from both Froxhall and Taygle’s End, resting on a wooded island in the swamp instead. Thanks to Athelwine, we found a quicker path to the menhir. With the river current pushing us into the swamp, the journey was only two days instead of three.
Arriving on the island, we fortified our camp and rested for the night. The next morning, we reconnoitered the southern half of the island to make sure there were no hostile settlements and perhaps find a better harbor. Instead, we found: a) centuries-old ruins made of marble and alabaster, b) a copse in which firs and cypresses grew, and c) a second menhir on a low hill, similar to what we found on the northern half of the island. In Froxhall, there are two standing stones as well, which raises the question whether such stones were usually built in pairs, or if that is just a coincidence.
Before we were able to investigate the menhir, though, Orhan spotted several possum-men running from a second copse behind the menhir, followed by some giant beings. We quickly took cover, but to no avail: the giant beings spotted us, and three of them moved in our direction. The fourth continued to hunt the possum-men that fled northward.
We retreated into the copse with the fighters forming a battle line, and the mages preparing spells in the second line. When the beings came closer, we saw that they were green-skinned, as tall as two men, one standing on the other’s shoulders, had two pairs of arms and two pair of eyes each, and looked somewhat reptilian. They immediately threw javelins at us, which luckily missed. In return, our mages were able to charm two of them, while Maurice and I attacked the third. The reptile-man managed to smash my chest before an opportunistic attack of Demoleon -- (who only closed in when the already badly wounded monster seemed temporarily distracted) -- finally killed (and looted) the monster.
Luckily, Osric’s henchman Uriel is a healer, and he knew prayers of curing. Thus, I survived the ordeal with just a minor scar on my chest and in dire need of some rest.
Meanwhile, Zephyros found a language which he and the giant reptile-men could converse, and he started interviewing them. They told us: that they were scouting the swamp; there was nothing dangerous in the swamp (except for us, they laughed); that their tribe has more than two members; and the tribe lives somewhere to the south of where we encountered them.
Since the reptile-men are too large to fit into the tunnels beneath the menhir, we find ourselves at a loss regarding what to do with them and how to proceed. We are unwilling to simply let them go as they could easily kill all our mercenaries. We are halted now to consider our options.
Great stuff! Looking forward to more.
March 2015
THE COMPANY
Maurice "the Muscle" de Granville, a Dreaman Fighter of Weanople
- Athelwine, a Geating Hunter (Normal Man) of Acworth
Orhan, an Alfarn Spellsword
Osric de Mandeville, a Dreaman Warden
- Urien, a Weallack Oblate (Normal Man) of Carlton
Oswald, a Geating Fighter
- Demoleon, an Ellasene Thief
Zephyros, an Ellasene Mage
- Ansger, a Dreaman Fighter
- Dudda, a Geating Thief
- Guilbert, a Dreaman Fighter
- Xenocrates, a Dreaman Mage
From the Papers of Osric de Mandeville, a Dreaman Warden:
EXPLORING THE ISLAND: RUINS AND RATMEN
With our new four-armed allies, we returned to camp where Oswald and Maurice recovered from being mauled by the giant that resisted the company’s spells. Early the next morning, we resumed our exploration of the island, all being fully well again.
First, we returned to the menhir where we encountered the giants and explored the stone, but there was nothing special about it. Afterwards, we searched the nearby ruins, which were similar to the one we found further east – save that they were occupied by a flesh-eating willow tree. Quickly, it was hacked to pieces and turned into a bonfire. When searching the vicinity, we found the remains of the willow’s victims, among them a venturer who carried wine and many coins.
Still, our group’s greed was not yet sated, so we pressed on in our exploration. Further into the ruins, we found a doorway in a half-buried wall, the portal sealed by a large stone block. Being unable to open it by conventional means, we finally resorted to brute force. This caused the stone to fall, almost smashing Oswald and Maurice. Within the chamber beyond, we found four tusks which we decided to bring along for eventual sale.
Shortly afterwards, we confirmed that we were on an island in the swamp: there was water all around us. We also confirmed that the swamp was not deep to the southwest, allowing one to wade to another island. Feeling invincible (or just getting jaunty), we decided to press on, stumbling into a swamp crocodile lair. Only a quick sleep spell prevented us from becoming dinner.
We spied some movement on the other island, with metal glinting. We shortly discussed whether or not to attack, but finally decided to retreat and watch. For supper, we took some crocodile meat with us, and Zephyros took some crocodile leather for shoes. From our hiding point, we saw some widdigmen approaching, investigating the crocodile lair. Since they did not continue to our island, we retreated to our camp, where we sampled the wine and called it a night.
The next morning, explored another ruin south of the island we had spotted earlier but not investigated. We found an area with two giant frog skeletons, pink grass and some primitive (and abandoned) shelter. Inside, we found only a holy symbol and prayer beads. Afterwards, we went west to explore the new island with the widdigmen.
Zephyros managed to convinced the widdigman gang-leader, Long-nose, that we were friends (without using magic). While talking with him, we learned that the widdigmen do not like the four-armed giants because they consider the widdigmen as food. Also, we learned that the widdigman chieftain is rich. We asked for an audience with the chieftain, a condition to which Long-nose agreed. We needed to convince one further widdigman leader to be allowed into their stronghold. We also learned that the stronghold was prepared for the widdigmen’s preferred hit-and-run tactics, with barricades, cover for archers and slingers, and similar improvements.
What monster did you use for the flesh-eating willow tree? We need more flesh-eating plant monsters in ACKS.
Alex wrote, "What monster did you use for the flesh-eating willow tree? We need more flesh-eating plant monsters in ACKS."
Since two of my players are regular forum readers, I'm leery of posting too many details about a foe they may meet again. Suffice it to say that I took the creature from a third-party DCC module.
The company is about to return to the area where they encountered the willow-tree monster in question, so perhaps we'll see another, more detailed description in a future post!
April 2015
THE COMPANY
Maurice "the Muscle" de Granville, a Dreaman Fighter of Weanople
- Athelwine, a Geating Hunter (Normal Man) of Acworth
Orhan, an Alfarn Spellsword
Osric de Mandeville, a Dreaman Warden
- Urien, a Weallack Oblate (Normal Man) of Carlton
Oswald, a Geating Fighter
- Demoleon, an Ellasene Thief
Zephyros, an Ellasene Mage
- Ansger, a Dreaman Fighter
- Dudda, a Geating Thief
- Guilbert, a Dreaman Fighter
- Xenocrates, a Dreaman Mage
From the Papers of Oswald the Gray, a Geating Fighting Man:
MASSACRE AT THE POSSUM-MAN CAVES
So, we found ourselves at the entrance to the Possuman Caves. We debated among ourselves and with the possum-men on how we might gain an audience with their chieftain, Big-arm, but the possum-men were not fooled. Only Zephyros alone would be allowed to enter. Long-nose entered to bargain on our behalf, and we waited. Maurice played dice with some of the guards, while the others just waited and counted the number of possum-men in the area (several score, at the least).
Finally, Long-nose returned and pleaded for Zephyros to enter. Zephyros suspected a trap and tried to convince some of the possum-men to ally against the possum-man chieftain, but to no avail. It seemed that Long-nose had a bad reputation, and his gang soon fled the scene, though Long-nose remained.
At this point, we decided that a more forceful entry was in order. Our group stormed the entry, slaying possum-men left and right. We charged through a long tunnel to a larger cave, and there we met resistance which our four-armed giant lizard allies soon swept away in a rout. While the rest of the group pressed on, pursuing the fleeing possum-men before they could regroup, Demoleon tried a second door. It was locked, but he managed to open it. He disappeared beyond the door, hoping for treasure behind.
The remainder of the group stormed a second cave, from which a possum-man beating a great gong sounded an alarm. In this chamber, we encountered a large barricade, but despite it, the possum-men defenders were soon put to flight once more. Here, the group split, being attacked from several directions: Oswald and Osric halted to mop up a few lagging possum-men while Zephyros and Orhan were ambushed from a small passage to our right and Maurice charged forward into a further passage where he met a large, four-legged beast with a filthy maw and covered in natural armor.
May 2015
THE COMPANY
Maurice "the Muscle" de Granville, a Dreaman Fighter of Weanople
- Athelwine, a Geating Hunter (Normal Man) of Acworth
Orhan, an Alfarn Spellsword
Osric de Mandeville, a Dreaman Warden
- Urien, a Weallack Oblate (Normal Man) of Carlton
Oswald, a Geating Fighter
- Demoleon, an Ellasene Thief
Zephyros, an Ellasene Mage
- Ansger, a Dreaman Fighter
- Dudda, a Geating Thief
- Guilbert, a Dreaman Fighter
- Xenocrates, a Dreaman Mage
From the Papers of Osric de Mandeville, a Dreaman Warden:
MASSACRE IN THE RATMAN STRONGHOLD
[While the company prepares the guard roster, Osric sits down to write in his small journal:]
After being told to wait for an audience with Big-arm, Maurice started gambling with some of the possum-folk who guarded the main entrance. Word eventually arrived that their chieftain was willing to speak with us, but only one, our scarred captain, Zephyros, was to be allowed an audience with his rattishness.
After a quick discussion, we disregarded that idea and tried to convince some of the small ones to start a coup d’état. Sadly, their cowardice was more persuasive than our appeals, and some just decided to run away…
The group decided against further idleness and instead chose to press forward, much to the chagrin of Long-nose, whose knowledge of what would follow put tears of desperation into his beady little eyes. He proved to be prophetic: the bloodbath that followed will truly be well-remembered. The snot-nosed little beastmen fell by the dozens under our onslaught as we pressed deeper and deeper into their warren.
Mace, sword and arrow managed to dispatch these sniveling abominations with ease. Maurice especially gave them no quarter as he led the charge against the possum-men with righteousness and valor. Even when we found ourselves separated on different fronts after breaking their resistance in the second large room, he handled the situation remarkably well. These filthy little creatures unleashed a giant armadillo in their efforts to turn the battle by brute strength and numbers. But, they all perished, and we decided to use their barricade to protect ourselves while resting, treating our wounds, and giving me the chance to pen these words.
This place here seems to be an old temple of some heathen goddess of fertility. We certainly must make sure to explore this place more thoroughly. Who knows what else might be buried under the refuse of these ignorant creatures?
Now I should also write about these four-armed giants that Zephyros “convinced” with his mind tricks to join our cause.
There is no best way to describe these two brutes. For the casual observer, they would be nothing more than four-armed, green-skinned reptilian abominations clad like the barbarians of the mountains, wielding scavenged swords and axes. Yet, after sharing the company of these savage beasts for a few days, watching their behavior and fighting prowess, one is hard-pressed to not be impressed. Their lust for battle is remarkable and their kin seems to be well-known by the widdig-men. Their behavior is crude but proud, and they seem to put great stock in their combat ability.
Not without reason! While their strength is still no match for the likes of Maurice the Muscle, their four arms and size give them a huge advantage in hand-to-hand combat where they seem to enjoy singing what probably amounts to battle hymns while slaughtering the terrified vermin who live in these tunnels. This really makes me wonder if the Maker in all His glory decided to give these savages some resemblance of culture, or if they just mock what they might have seen of Mankind in ages past.
Now its time to rest, not to ponder. I would be surprised if these sneaky rat creatures do not try something when they think our guard is down, so I better get some sleep while I may.