The Story So Far – 2011-06-30

Player Character Role Class Race
Lofton Arranis Controller Wizard Eladrin
Jason Reef Striker Rogue “Human”
Sabin Xaelin Striker Sorcerer Dragonborn
Pete Orin Tank Fighter Mul (half-dwarf)


Bright and early the next morning, the adventurers gathered at the inn.  Old Kellar, explained that the challenge was to clean out the catacombs beneath the town.  Apparently, some goblins or some such have moved in.  After Orin renegotiated the price up to 12gp each, Kellar showed them the entrance to the catacombs below.

As soon as they entered the first tunnel they spotted, and were spotted by, a goblin, though he just stood there, acting oddly brave for a goblin.  You see, the villagers had tried to rid themselves of the goblins several times, but they ran away faster than they came, so the goblins expected this group of “villagers” to be no different.  And at first it would seem they were right.  The adventurers discovered there were three Goblin Warriors and two Goblin Blackblades in the outer chamber and that they were ready for a fight.  The Warriors danced all over the place hurling javelin after javelin.  The Blackblades flanked poor Xaelin and cut him down in a coordinated attack that nearly killed him.  But Reef finally hit with the Crossbow-that-never-hits, and Orin rallied while Arranis came to Xaelin’s aid.  After that, the party made short work of the goblins until the last of them fled, running off down a hall at the back of the chamber.  Once he was out of sight,  the adventurers tossed the room, finding a pouch with some 40gp in it and a map of the town with Baron Stockmer’s house and the Cliffside Brewery both circled in dried blood.  After these discoveries, the adventurers collected themselves, bandaged their wounds, which were many, and grievous in some cases.

Following the bloodied goblin down the hall, they turned to see a dimly lit room with a brazier burning in the back corner and a foul looking Goblin Hexer behind it.  Orin engaged a pair of fire beetles that the Hexer had released, while the others battled the gang of four Goblin Cutters that guarded the Hexer.  Upon entering the room, some giant rats emerged from the debris, but reacting quickly, Xealin burned most of them and one of the Cutters to a crisp.  The Hexer gave as good as he got though and blinded Arranis and Reef during the battle.  Even blinded though Arranis fired back with a vicious lightning strike that nearly killed the Hexer.  Reef, alas, fired the Crossbow-that-never-hits, and, of course, missed.  Arranis struck again with lightning and killed the Hexer.  After dispatching the remaining goblins and rats, Xaelin and Arranis came to aid Orin with the bugs as they seemed determined not to go down without a fight.  Reef, shot at the beetles with the Crossbow-that-never-hits, and, wonder of wonders, struck one of the beetles, helping to bring it to its doom, then he went off to check out the brazier.

After dispatching the remaining beetle, Orin, Xaelin and Arranis tossed the room.  Amongst the debris, Orin found a longsword that shone with an unnatural light, and felt lighter and stronger in his hands.  “If I was a swordsman, this would be a fine blade,” he declared as he put the sword with the other gear they had found on the wizards magical disk.

Reef, meanwhile, had dumped the brazier on the ground and had started dancing in the coals, looking for anything of value.  No one saw it at first, but Reef eventually found a coal that looked a little different, singing his hands, he plucked the gem out of the fire and slipped it in his pocket.  Orin was having none of that, “Why don’t you show us what you’ve found there, eh,” he challenged.  After some further threats and cajoling, Reef said he had found some sort of gemstone, to which Orin replied, “Well let’s have a look at it when we get back to town.”

Wounded and recovering from a couple of near-death experiences, the party decided not to go back to town for lunch, but rather to stay and finish what they started, lest the creatures in the catacombs were to get away or reinforce while they supped.



Party:  40gp, 9 leather armor, 3 spears, 5 javelins, 6 short swords, 1 hexer rod, 1 leather robes,

Party:  Map of Harken village with Baron Stockmer’s house and the Cliffside Brewery circled in dried blood

Party:  +1 longsword ( +1 to attack and damage roles, 1d6 extra damage on a critical hit)

Reef:  gemstone (unknown value)


All: 328.

Sand and Blood

Scrambling to his feet, his head reeling from the new dent in his helm, Goff turned to face the swordsman, expecting a follow up attack, but the swordsman was basking in the accolades of the blood thirsty crowd.  Goff launched forward, weapons thrusting out before him as the swordsman turned, battle ready, balanced on the balls of his feet, sword coming down to block.   Like a snake darting out, Goff’s net spun forward snagging the other’s sword hand.  Yanking it aside, Goff leaped, stabbing forward with his trident, aiming for the center of the swordsman’s chest.  With a sickening crunch and a spurt of hot, red blood, the swordsman’s chest was destroyed and he fell limp to the sand beneath their feet.  Goff yanked hard to pull the trident out, gore and all, then raised his arms in empty triumph as the crowd roared.


Back in his cell, Goff knew it was only a matter of time before the Master came to chastise him.  It was never enough to win, the Master always wanted something more:  more speed, more blood, more show, more suspense — always something more.  Later, caught dozing, Goff was on his knees before he became fully aware of what was happening, Clegain, the burly personal bodyguard of the Master was still holding his hair, pressing him forward and down so that he fell to his hands.  With Goff on all fours, the master spoke, “You should not have fallen so easily, you nearly cost me a lot of coin.  Next time, I want more speed.  Clegain, show him what happens when I am disappointed.  Then the beating started, sometimes, Clegain used a whip, but today he bore a cat-o-nine-tails.  Without mercy, the cat tore strips and chunks out of Goff’s bare back, eventually he screamed, but as the fog came over him and he fell to his belly in the dirt, the beating stopped.  His last thought before blacking out was a single word:  Revenge!

The Story So Far – 2011-06-23

Player Character Role Class Race
Lofton ? Controller Wizard Eladrin
Jason Reef Striker Rogue “Human”
Sabin ? Controller Sorcerer Dragonborn
Pete Orin Tank Fighter Mul (half-dwarf)


Orin and Reef met in the forest while hunting.  They found it mutually agreeable to work together on the hunt.  When they stumbled upon a boar, Orin nearly stepped on it.  The boar’s charge missed and Orin chopped it to bits with his halberd while Reef used a hand crossbow to no effect.  The death of the boar was observed by a cloaked Dragonborn who was happening by.  He could hardly contain his amusement at the human’s futile bolts.  When the boar was good and dead, the Dragonborn came forth and halloed the two hunters.  They all helped bring the boar back to the inn where Orin presented it to the bartender to settle the matter of a small wager.  As they came through the village they encountered an Eladrin heading toward the bar too.

Orin led their way into the common room, with the Dragonborn carrying in the great boar and the other two coming in behind.  Upon seeing the boar, the bartender, Kellar, begrudgingly handed over the gold piece.  While the boar was roasting, Orin and the others engaged some of the local townsfolk, including an elderly drunken man, who turned out to be Varrow Del, the man who had been savaged by the beasts that trouble the city.

After much discussion, Kellar invited the adventurers to help solve the town’s beastly problem and the adventurers agreed to come back on the morrow to take care of it.



Orin:  1GP

Free boar at the inn for all four adventurers.  (Kellar mistakenly assumed that the Eladrin and the Dragonborn were party to Orin and Reef.  For that matter, I’m not sure if Orin and Reef count as a party yet either.)


Orin, Reef: 165.

Dragonborn and Eladrin: 100.

Brother Stormweaver Answers the Call

The fog roils behind him as he strides toward the churchyard.  Nearing the edge of the lawn, the smell of freshly turned earth, moist and dank, assaults him first.  A step later and it is followed by the dry, musty smell of old age and ancient things.  Another step and he pauses as the smell becomes the rot of the recently dead.  With practiced movement, he lifts the war hammer from its home on his waistband and raises his shield.  The fog blankets his world and his normally excellent vision is for naught, even his infrared vision is thwarted as the fog makes everything little more than blurred shapes in a shifting sea of white.

He freezes, straining to hear beyond the silence of the graves at his feet.  He waits for what seems a long while.  No sounds above his own shallow breathing are detected.  But the scent of death is unmistakable.  With a gesture of faith and devotion, he concentrates, searching for the feeling that will lead him toward the evil in this place.  There.  To his left. At the edge of his perception.  He pauses no longer, warily crossing the broken ground, watching for the evil thing in front of home, and carefully picking his way through the graves at his feet.  Several have been unearthed, leaving mounds of dirt for him to navigate.  From each comes the scent of death disturbed.  A palpable agony that reaches inside him and makes his soul ache.  The desecration of their slumber is enough, but that the dead have been raised, their mortal remains animated by some necromancer’s dark arts, it is unforgivable.  The punishment is written in the Great Book — the one responsible must be beheaded, drawn and quartered.  Each of the parts to be disposed of using the rituals of GihnShe, MangSto, and HorronJa.  For this purpose was he called.

The village elders sent word of their travails to the Abbey less than a week ago.  Thirteen children wen’t missing one day.  That night, as the searchers combed the forest and fields about town, a dense, white fog flowed forth from the church and its grounds.  Two nights later, zombies of long dead citizens walked the night.  The town’s curse worsened when the watch commander and three of his men were slain by a pack of the monsters.  The next night, those four good men joined the ranks of the undead and returned to slay their comrades.  Without a watch, the town was in a hopeless situation and so sent their missive.  Upon its receipt, the Brethren deliberated and prayed all day and through the night.  The next morning, Brother Stormweaver was summoned to the Hall of the Great Lord where he was blessed and anointed, armed and armored.  Horses were provided, massive white chargers.  His travel was with haste lest the Necromancer flee before the Great Lord’s Justice could be brought forth.