You are here: Home --> Forum Home --> Recent posts by Vorrioch
Topic: For Whom the Bell Tolls Q&A
Subject: ...
So, that’s one vote for scouting further into the woods so far. Anyone else have an opinion?
***
Comprehend Languages lets you understand and read other languages, but not speak or write them. Also, you’d need to memorise it first… which would be fine if you want to take it as one of your spell choices for the next adventure.
***
I’ve given you a spell book with a few spells from Tome of Magic in the treasure from the spider nest. For your convenience, I’ve copied their effects below:
First-Level Spells
Fist of Stone (Alteration)
Range: 0
Components: V, S
Duration: 1 round/level
Casting Time: 1
Area of Effect: The caster's hand
Saving Throw: None
Upon completion of this spell, one of the caster's hands (his choice) turns to stone. It is flexible and can be used to punch, smash, or crush objects and opponents as if the wizard had Strength of 18/00. Combat bonuses for Strength do not apply if the caster uses any weapon other than his fist.
While the spell is in effect, the wizard cannot cast spells requiring somatic components.
Lasting Breath (Alteration)
Range: 5 yards/level
Components: V, S
Duration: 1d4 rounds +1 round/level
Casting Time: 1
Area of Effect: One creature/level
Saving Throw: None
This spell increases the amount of time a character can hold his breath. As described in the Player's Handbook, a character can hold his breath for a number of rounds equal to one-third his Constitution score. The effect of this spell is added to that figure.
The duration of the spell is always unknown to the recipient; the DM secretly rolls 1d4 to determine the exact duration. At the end of this time, the character must succeed a Constitution check or be forced to take a breath as per the rules.
Second-Level Spells
Past Life (Divination)
Range: Touch
Components: V, S
Duration: Special
Casting Time: 1 round
Area of Effect: One creature
Saving Throw: None
By touching the remains of a dead creature, this spell allows a caster to gain a mental image of the deceased's former appearance. The remains can be of any age and only a tiny fragment is required, such as a bone splinter or a strand of hair.
When cast by a wizard of at least 7th level, he is able to view the final minute of the subject's life from the subject's point of view.
When cast by a wizard of at least 9th level, a personal possession (a ring, a favorite walking stick, etc.) may be substituted for bodily remains.
Third-Level Spells
Alternate Reality* (Alteration)
Range: 0
Components: V, S, M
Duration: Instantaneous
Casting Time: 3
Area of Effect: Creature touched
Saving Throw: None
With this spell, the caster creates a small variation in probabilities. This variation lasts only a moment, but creates alternate results for one recent event. When the spell is cast, any one event attempted by the recipient during the previous round is recalculated, essentially allowing (or forcing) the creature to make new die rolls.
Only events that begin and end in a single round can be affected. Only one die roll can be rerolled. If the creature touched is a willing recipient, the player can choose which roll (the original or the new roll) affects him, more than likely picking the most successful. If the creature is unwilling, he must redo the action. The second result, whatever its outcome, cannot be changed.
Typical uses of this spell include allowing a fighter to reroll an attack, forcing an opponent to reroll a saving throw, or allowing a wizard to reroll the damage caused by a fireball.
The material component is a small, unmarked die.
EDIT: The orcs and cyclopskin didn't have anything of particular value, beyond about 30 gp in loose coinage which I've added to your party inventory.
Posted on 2008-04-19 at 15:35:08.
Edited on 2008-04-19 at 15:37:11 by Vorrioch
|
Topic: The Voting Game
Subject: Voted
We're still at Number 8, though. :-/
Posted on 2008-04-19 at 12:38:06.
|
Topic: For Whom the Bell Tolls Q&A
Subject: Moving things along
First off, thanks again to everyone who played last night. I thoroughly enjoyed running it and you’ve certainly given me a lot to work with. 
Secondly, as I mentioned before, my exams start next week. If I can find the time to run another adventure then I will… if not then I’ll try to let you all know well in advance.
It would be really helpful if you could all let me know what your characters’ plans are for the next adventure ASAP.
Basically, I’d normally start brainstorming encounters on Wednesday or Thursday but won’t be able to this time… because I’ll be in exams. The sooner you let me know what you’ll be doing, the better the chance that I’ll be able to scrape the time together to write something up.
As far as I can tell, your choices are:
1. Heading back to Bridhvale with the caravan.
2. Sitting tight with the dwarves in Caer Hwarnsvalon and preparing to be besieged.
3. Heading out in the woods to do a little more scouting and see what you can find.
4. Following the orc’s directions to Thalgrim’s stronghold.
There will be no epilogue this week, simply because I won’t have the time to write one. An updated treasure list will follow shortly (in the first page of this thread) and if you have any more questions for Jagna then just post ‘em here. 
EDIT: Oh, and if anyone wants to burn a NWP slot on learning to speak Oricsh then I'm willing to rule that you're able to find a dwarf who speaks enough of it to teach you.
Posted on 2008-04-19 at 11:53:13.
Edited on 2008-04-19 at 12:11:48 by Vorrioch
|
Topic: For Whom the Bell Tolls Q&A
Subject: Okay, people...
... I'm opening up a new room in chat now.
Hope to see some of you in there shortly!
Posted on 2008-04-18 at 20:37:41.
|
Topic: What is in the Bag of EternalStench
Subject: Before anyone else gets there…
… 4th ed.
(Joking, obviously.)
Posted on 2008-04-18 at 17:20:18.
|
Topic: For Whom the Bell Tolls Q&A
Subject: Okay then
I’ve updated your characters on the first page and am just about to send out another round of messages asking everyone for their new proficiency choices.
If you’d prefer to get back to me later then that’s fine, but if you haven’t chosen proficiencies before tomorrow’s adventure then I’ll just assume that you won’t have access to them until the following week.
Posted on 2008-04-17 at 13:30:27.
|
Topic: For Whom the Bell Tolls Q&A
Subject: Eh, go for it.
Your characters have achieved some pretty awesome stuff over their few adventures (destroying a powerful demon, saving a man’s soul, thoroughly ruining Bishop Abner’s afternoon and so on)… they’ve probably earned it.
Let’s just call the rest a reward for good teamwork, some fantastic roleplay and putting up with my bad puns for the last month and a half. 
This is probably going to put the two arcane casters in the party at a slight disadvantage over the next adventure (as they don’t have any 3rd level spells memorised). So… let’s just ret-con things slightly and say that you each had one 3rd level Mage spell of your choice in your spell books all along.
I’ll update the first page of this thread tomorrow with your new THAC0s, hit points and so on and PM you all with your options for new spells and proficiencies.
Posted on 2008-04-16 at 23:01:46.
|
Topic: For Whom the Bell Tolls Q&A
Subject: Darn
You definitely deserve an Applaud for that Kaelyn, it‘s great to see people finally coming together to think about spells collectively. 
Next time the forums let me give you some more karma, I will… seems I need to spread some around first though so in the meantime just award yourself another experience level! 
Seriously though, it doesn’t much matter to me which spells you all choose. In my experience, though, group tactics really can make a huge difference in combat.
EDIT: Unless you’re just planning to sit tight and waiting for the orcs to come to you… I thought you’d be out scouting into the woods. If it comes down to it, defending Caer Hwarnsvalon would probably be a separate adventure.
My logic with casters was basically that if magic is common enough for you to have a good four casters in a seven-person party and to be touting around so many magic items then chances are that your enemies will have a few of their own as well. I think I’ve run all of seven NPCs with Mage or Cleric levels over your last seven adventures (excluding the Bishop and his helpers). Point taken, though.
Posted on 2008-04-16 at 22:40:04.
Edited on 2008-04-16 at 22:42:15 by Vorrioch
|
Topic: For Whom the Bell Tolls Q&A
Subject: Spells
One observation: Sleep and Burning Hands are still going to be really useful against all of those 1 HD orc grunts.
Magic missile (and Blindness) are definitely better for taking down high level opponents though.
If either you or Brianna would like to take different Mage spells from the selections I’ve given you then that’s fine… just as long as you let me know before the game starts. Copying spells from each other’s spell books also works. 
Posted on 2008-04-16 at 22:10:30.
|
Topic: For Whom the Bell Tolls Q&A
Subject: Question the Gnoll.
Where is Thalgrim's Base?
Gnoll: “High beneath white mountains, to sun sets from Wolf’s Head Pass. Near stone-camp of not-your-kind on trail from here.”
How many under his control?
Gnoll: “Many. Many tribes. More gather each day.” *Lets out a great, ragged laugh, tongue lolling from its jaws*. “Enough that all this be ours soon, no place for your kind then.”
Emmerus: *Slaps gnoll on nose with rolled up newspaper*
Gnoll: *Snarls* *Lunges to try to bite off Emmerus’ face again* *Has to be wrestled back*. “Line twenty hairless human paws together and we are still more. Many more. Many as flies on deer-carcass when ripe and rotten, many as needles on pine tree come winter. Hrazak Vül! Hrazak Vül!”
What races under his control?
Gnoll: "Many, all tribes gather! It is in our hearts, in our blood! In sleep-visions when night fails! Come from caves and hills for many days around. My people, more of Thalgrim’s too, Svaga swarming from tunnels below, hunter-chasers from highest mountain peaks."
When is his Attack planned for?
Gnoll: *Fixes you with a look of utter hatred, testing the bounds of its ropes once more.* “When Thalgrim gives word…. not long now. Stone-camp falls first, much to be taken below, then hunt south. Your kind? Weak and stupid, no stomach for fight. We feast well then.”
(Anyone else got anything to ask... go for it! )
Posted on 2008-04-16 at 22:04:40.
Edited on 2008-04-16 at 22:17:59 by Vorrioch
|
Topic: For Whom the Bell Tolls Q&A
Subject: cdn
You're okay with the same spell selection as last time then?
1st level: Burning Hands, Charm Person, Magic Missile, Sleep.
2nd level: Invisibility, Mirror Image
Posted on 2008-04-16 at 21:35:29.
|
Topic: For Whom the Bell Tolls Q&A
Subject: Spells
It would be great if everyone could get their spells in to me by this Friday's game again.
Also, I've done a little reading around and it turns out that Cure Moderate Wounds *does* exist (in a supplement called Tome of Magic). Sorry about that one guys!
Cure Moderate Wounds (Priest 2)
(Necromancy)
Reversible
Sphere: Healing
Range: Touch Components: V, S
Duration: Instantaneous Casting Time: 5
Area of Effect: Creature touched
Saving Throw: None
Somewhat less common than the well-known cure light wounds and cure serious wounds, this healing spell was created by a priest who found that his heroic companions required his skill at doctoring more than his advice and wisdom. By laying his hand on the subject’s body, the priest can heal 1d10+1 points of damage. Noncorporeal, nonliving, or extraplanar creatures cannot be healed by this spell. The reverse of this spell, cause moderate wounds, requires the priest to successfully touch the victim and inflicts 1d10+1 points of damage.
Posted on 2008-04-16 at 21:03:59.
Edited on 2008-04-16 at 21:36:10 by Vorrioch
|
Topic: For Whom the Bell Tolls Q&A
Subject: Into the Storm [Epilogue]
Fighting clear of the ambush in the woods, blades still slick with the black blood of your orcish assailants, the party finally clear the last leg of the journey to the dwarven mining village- Caer Hwarnsvalon. Four rugged walls rise from the hilltop, and as you soon discover, a maze of tunnels and mines extend deep into the earth beneath them.
The dwarves seem reserved, though by no means uncourteous, hosts. The supplies brought by your caravan are gratefully received, and soon exchanged for a wagonload of iron ore. It appears that the surrounding tribes have been restless of late, and come nightfall the woods beneath you echo with the resounding howls of prowling orcs and goblinoids. Fires blaze and flicker in the distance, though the orcs themselves surely see better in full darkness than in the light of day, and screams are to be heard as dusk takes the land- possibly those of the caravan guard carried off by your ambushers.
The mage you rescued follows your instructions blindly, settling down to sleep when the chain is removed. His attention seems drawn to the orcish shouts and screams which echo through the trees below, though he is all but oblivious to your current surroundings. Anton seems anxious to depart before the situation worsens and you’re cut off altogether, though perhaps it could be prudent to investigate a little further first.
***
Somewhere in the mountains high above Caer Hwarnsvalon, in the bowels of a deep cavern that plunged into the darkness far below the rock of the mountainside, an army was gathering.
In the eerie, flickering half-light of the chamber’s fire pit’s a great, swarming, ant-like mass of orcs and other goblinoids drank and gorged and danced and howled with laughter to the demented, screeching chorus of an orchestra of goblin-pipes. Blind to the tendrils of black, noxious smoke that rose from the flames, twisting and clawing up the walls with one urgent unity of purpose, to the frightful visages of distorted, bulge-eyed faces, heads thrown back in either screams of fright or laughter, which formed and dissolved in the smoke-cloud overhead, the horde appeared happily lost in the act of sating their bestial appetites. There were barrels of fish-head beer and murky spirits, distilled from the hallucinogenic mushrooms they harvested from the tunnels below, to be quaffed from battered tankards. There was red meat from the forests above, raw and bloody, to be gnawed messily from the bone, along with the grey, slimy flesh of the sightless, black-scaled fish drawn from their underground lake. There were tales to be heard, boasts to be retold and the promise of great things in the making and with that much the milling, drunken horde -heads thrown back in raucous laughter, brawls already developing in earnest over the last bites of meat, over the dregs of the ale-barrels- were content. Come morning some would be dead, knifed or pounded into oblivion as the fighting developed in earnest- ready to be slung out with the morning’s night soil or served up with tomorrow’s feast- but it mattered little, the tribes were gathering and many more flocked to the mountaintop citadel week on week. Soon, they would have strength enough to act and the world would shake with their passing.
Aloof from the crowds a huge and bloated orc- standing head, shoulders and swollen belly above the tallest of his fellows- lay sprawled across a battered iron throne in a drunken stupor on a raised dais to one side of the chamber. King Thalgrim’s bloodshot, piggy eyes appeared drawn to the pit below where two muscular cave-orcs, stripped to the waist and with fangs filed away to sharp points, grappled and tore at each other for their chieftain’s entertainment. Thalgrim, however, was not so easily distracted: one beady, watery eye wandered periodically from the fight below to scan his subjects, watching with an acute interest as brawls developed on the cave-floor about him. Someday, the great orc knew, with an abysmal certainty sharpened by the passage of near forty winters- when his great strength failed at last- he too would be cast down and eaten by one of the young warriors who squatted drinking and feasting on the cavern floor about him. The orc-king’s huge paws ran idly over the food and wine-stains with which his clothing- fine cloth looted from the cold bodies of travellers and other intruders into his mountain-top domain, now stretched taut across his considerable bulk- in search of a jewelled goblet where it lay overturned atop his paunch as he monitored the competition. None dared meet Thalgrim’s savage gaze, fearful of the strength- immortalised in a score and more legends told and retold for their chieftain’s amusement- which had broken the back of the last chieftain’s spine over his knee like dry kindling, that had once wrestled a troll to a stand-still, which had driven the sharp blade of an orcish war-hatchet through an inch of dwarven steel and split the skull of the stout champion beneath it.
Unseen, unheard, a darker figure still loomed in the smoky air above the old orc’s head, a thing of flame and shadow and scorched, burning flesh. With a thousand babbling, chittering voices the thing screamed with an unsuppressable, mirthless laughter. Soon, so very soon, its time would come once more and the world would be reborn in its image.
Posted on 2008-04-16 at 16:11:21.
|
Topic: For Whom the Bell Tolls Q&A
Subject: This week's game...
The epilogue’s going up now. I’m not really all that happy with the way it’s written… but with exams coming up I don’t really have all that much time on my hands.
If you’d like to have asked the gnoll any more questions during last week’s adventure then just let me know.
Your exciting choices for this week's adventure will be either heading off into the woods to do some scouting or heading back to Bridhvale to claim your reward money. Anton won't leave without you so there isn't really much pressure either way.
Posted on 2008-04-16 at 16:10:41.
|
Topic: What Dreams Become
Subject: Who you gonna call? Ghostbusters!
Kneeling in a shallow pool of Father Winters’ blood, Einhart’s charcoal suit now perhaps irreparably ruined, Hiram permitted himself a shallow smile of satisfaction. He’d done it: the priest would live, the intruder had been cheated of a victim, and he’d even had the pleasure of putting one of the new Head Doctor’s sedative shots to their proper usage.
The ghost glanced up, starting at the sound of a disturbance in the corridor outside. Someone was coming, the proper medical authorities would soon be alerted, and it was time for the phantom himself to vanish back into the woodwork. Glancing pensively back at the office phone on the desk behind him, Hiram took a moment to consider a new and totally expedient solution to the problem at hand: he could simply call the local police, confess to an attempted murder and leave the new Head Doctor to take the wrap. Would the charge stick? The dead psychologist had frankly no idea. He doubted, however, that any court would be overly swayed by an honest account of the evening’s proceedings, and that much alone would leave a near-fatal stab wound to be accounted for.
Discarding this answer as impractical after a few moments’ consideration the ghost decided that he had a better use for Einhart already. The new Head Doctor would be made to serve the hospital, whether as an unwilling aide or simply as a walking, talking feeding bag. Finding a black biro in the doctor’s jacket pocket Hiram began scribbling a message on the old man’s forearm, pressing noticeably harder against the skin than he had to:
LAST CHANCE
BRING ME THE FILES
BY NOON TOMORROW
After dialling Emergency Services himself for good measure, Hiram took leave of the new Head Doctor’s senses, permitting him to slump backwards against the desk. Fading back into an icy mist- which soon evaporated in the warmth of the room’s heating- the ghost settled in to wait. Father Winters was unconscious at present and, once Hiram could be quite certain that he would receive the attention which his condition warranted, he intended to take advantage of the situation to establish a line of direct conversation of his own.
OOC: Once an ambulance team arrives Hiram will try to use Dream Thief on Father Winters.
Posted on 2008-04-14 at 19:11:19.
Edited on 2008-04-14 at 19:14:50 by Vorrioch
|
Topic: For Whom the Bell Tolls Q&A
Subject: Couple of things…
First off, I just got back to uni last night and will now have access to all of my books and CDs again…
So, if you don’t have access to a copy of the Players’ Handbook and would like one then I can email it on to you. It’s in a text file (just under 2 MB total) which came with one of the CDs that TSR put out about 10 years ago. Alternatively I could just send people copies of their spell lists. (If anyone’s interested, I’ve also got copies of the Dungeon Masters’ Guide, the Monstrous Manual, the Skills & Powers Books, the Arms and Equipment Guide and the Tome of Magic).
I’ve checked over the CD and it doesn’t look like TSR put any restrictions on how any of these books could be distributed. Therefore this should all be legal. That said, if any of the moderators would prefer me to take this post down then I will.
Secondly, I’m going to be starting my finals next Wednesday and will be in exam mode until pretty much the end of May. This doesn’t automatically mean that we won’t be able to game, but it will cut down drastically on my free time. Please don’t feel offended if I need to cancel a game or two or if we have to end an hour or so early every once in a while. Either way, I’ll try to let you all know well in advance.
Posted on 2008-04-14 at 11:06:45.
|
Topic: Feeding The Undead
Subject: Introducing Father John Bryson
Waiting patiently in the wings while his guest speaker, Alan Moore, concluded the evening’s sermon Father John Bryson permitted himself a small frown. Times were bad enough already- between the recession and recent epidemic of violent attacks- and the people needed to be comforted, reminded of a loving and forgiving God. He had no particular issue with ‘hellfire and damnation’ as such, but felt that this was neither the time nor place and that it was not what his parishioners needed to hear at present. He’d expected Alan to recognise as much.
Striding amiably enough up to the pulpit, Bryson took a moment to readjust the microphone. He was a tall man, standing a good two inches over six feet in height, and heavily built: bull-necked and broad shouldered beneath a tight-fitting grey blazer. Close-cropped sandy hair, no more than finger-length, and a strong jaw line coupled to lend him a somewhat harsh, almost severe, look but the minister had an easy, amicable charm which tended to put those that knew him at ease. A half-ring of blue-grey bruising under each of Bryson’s eyes bespoke a history of bad dreams and restless, uneasy sleep but the clergyman had long since learnt to adjust: it had been some years since he’d last managed a full night’s uninterrupted rest without resort to sedatives or other medication.
Glancing back from the microphone to address his congregation, Father Bryson finished the recitation from where Alan had left off. Rehearsing from memory, John looked upward to scan his parishioners while he spoke, forming each word succinctly in turn. Although he’d been resident in New York for almost three years now, the trace of a broad, Southern drawl still clung to the minister’s words, bespeaking his native rural Tennessee origins.
“Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away."
“I’d like to thank Father Moore for that wonderful sermon,” Bryson continued smoothly, “and to remind you all that tea and coffee will be served in the rectory following this evening’s service. If you haven’t already picked one up, you’ll find notice sheets on the pews to your right, with details of our events over the coming week and times for next Sunday’s services.”
“Now go in peace to love and serve the Lord.”
Turning back to gather his papers Bryson was struck by a note of immediate curiosity: from the incessant buzzing of police sirens there was quite obviously something going on outside. Not overly concerned- there was after all little enough serious crime in Herkimer County- the Episcopalian minister filed back through the church’s central aisle to get a look at the situation outside. He’d stay to greet his parishioners on their way out as usual just as soon as he got some idea of what was going on out there.
Posted on 2008-04-13 at 16:18:47.
Edited on 2008-04-13 at 18:55:56 by Vorrioch
|
Topic: For Whom the Bell Tolls Q&A
Subject: ...
Ayrn, I’m sorry to hear about your loss. I understand that this was already a busy time for you, so please feel free take as much time as you need. I’ll keep a space open for whenever you might be able to make it back.
I was just about to open up tonight’s game, so I’ll be heading into chat. Hope to see some of you in there shortly.
Posted on 2008-04-11 at 20:52:23.
|
Topic: For Whom the Bell Tolls Q&A
Subject: Into the Storm
Tonight’s adventure is pretty much sorted. I still haven’t quite decided whether to send y’all up against the tarrasque or just a couple of pit fiends, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. 
Jozan1’s told me that he won’t be able to make it, so it’ll just be the five of you. Emmerus, you’ve just gained a henchman!
Oh, and if anyone would like to get back to me with their spell lists then that would be great as well! (Come to think of it, would it be easier for you each to just give me a default spell list for your characters and let me know if you’re making any alterations each week?)
Posted on 2008-04-11 at 12:04:26.
|
Topic: Q&A: The Return Of The Prodigal Son
Subject: What Kaelyn said…
Good luck with running this and I hope that you all have a blast playing.
I was pretty sure that elves could be clerics in 2nd ed. but *shrugs*.
Posted on 2008-04-11 at 08:14:39.
|
Topic: For Whom the Bell Tolls Q&A
Subject: Ehm, good questions…
Truth be told, I hadn’t really decided how many NPCs the trade coster would be sending up with you.
Now seems as good a time as an other to decide though, so…
There will be six NPCs accompanying you: a (junior) representative from the coster themselves, a driver and four guards.
The caravan will already be amply provisioned for the trip so there’s no need to prepare Goodberries unless your characters prefer them over real food (salted beef, small beer and hard-baked bread in this case) or unless you think you’re likely to get snowed in… 
Posted on 2008-04-10 at 13:58:26.
|
Topic: For Whom the Bell Tolls Q&A
Subject: Okay, everyone
I’ve updated your characters in the first page of the thread.
This is my weekly call to ask for your spell choices… it would be great if everyone could get back to me by tomorrow afternoon.
Oh, and Brianna: I’ve added the sword and bow proficiencies you asked for to your character sheet. This now basically gives you a fighter’s weapon selection and if you’d prefer not to become a Specialty Priest then would any of the following options work?
1. Losing the ability to turn undead.
OR
2. Losing access to two spell spheres.
OR
3. Losing the ability to wear metal armour.
(All of the above options come from the Skills and Powers book, according to their points system any of the three would be “worth” two non-blunt weapon proficiencies for a Cleric.)
Posted on 2008-04-10 at 12:14:25.
|
Topic: What Dreams Become - Q/A
Subject: Either way works…
TBH, though, once a week could work a bit better for me over the next couple of months, as my final exams at uni are coming up. No idea what everyone else’s work schedule looks like. :-/
Out of interest, are you planning to update today, or leaving it until the weekend?
Posted on 2008-04-09 at 13:17:15.
|
Topic: For Whom the Bell Tolls Q&A
Subject: Decisions…. Decisions…
Yep, we will indeed be playing this Friday.
Unless I’ve miscounted, that makes five votes for heading north already… so unless someone changes their mind that’s pretty much a clinch.
If you’d prefer to stick around and try to persuade Emberburn to torch the woods then that would certainly be an option, albeit not necessarily a particularly good one. That said, if you can talk enough people round then I’ll run the adventure.
Interesting choice by the way, guys. My bet would have been that you’d head south with the villagers. Oh, and thanks for all replying so quickly!
Posted on 2008-04-08 at 21:44:09.
|
Topic: For Whom the Bell Tolls Epilogues
Subject: Whose Woods These Are [Epilogue]
As night fell and the heavens opened overhead the adventurers- along with the remaining townsfolk- fell back towards Bridhvale. It was a great, terrified, headlong chase back through the darkness, and many of the expedition- unfamiliar with the woods or simply oblivious in their blind panic- stumbled, fell behind or otherwise became hopelessly detached from the group’s main body. Fortunate indeed that the forest’s bloodlust had apparently been sated for the present at least, for if any further pursuit had been offered then your losses would no doubt have been greater still.
Soon, only Emmerus remained: rooted to the forest clearing by the force of the druid, Aliira’s, enchantment. The full fury of the storm broke across the forest about him: lightning dancing across the grey dusk sky as wave after wave of thunder rolled down the hillsides and into the valley, a heavy rainfall lashing the blood-soaked soil where the templars had fought and died. The stag-spirit Helvellion, seemingly unperturbed by the deathly cold, biting rainfall, continues to tear at the fallen Pelorites’ lifeless bodies, his strong hands easily sundering the links of their mail hauberks and then- with a series of sickening cracks- the ribcages within, to feast messily upon their hearts and innards. By the time he is done and each of the ten stilled bodies in turn has been summarily defiled the hunt-spirit turns his blood-spattered muzzle back towards the priest, snorting and sniffing the air sceptically, but his appetite must have been sufficiently blunted by the heavy meal for Helvellion is soon gone, ambling off back into the trees in search of sleep for the night. Emmerus is not far behind him, exhausted both by the past day’s fighting and by his fruitless efforts to repair the damage done to the clearing’s plants by the Bishop’s scorching vengeance. Exhausted, he tumbles to the forest floor, too tired even to remove his armour, and finally succumbs to a troubled sleep.
In the priest’s fevered dreaming a bloated, rotting corpse hangs from the bough of each tall oak in the forest clearing, swaying weakly from side to side in the brisk, woodland breeze. The bodies twitch and whisper amongst themselves- or perhaps they are chanting- but their voices are strangely disjointed and the words make precious little sense to the slumbering Pelorite. A figure stumbles from the treeline, clad in the tattered mail and bloodied tabard of the Minster’s protectors, it’s movements clumsy and ragged like those of the animated cadavers the group fought in the tunnels beneath the keep’s ruins. There is a gaping, tattered hole in the visage’s chest- again like those poor unfortunates the drow had sacrificed there- and the figure opens its mouth to speak but only a torrent of maggots and green spring leaves issues forth.
When Emmerus awakens it is already early morning, pale fingers of dawn light stretching through the canopy and into the clearing once more. The old priest’s form is tired and aching from a night sleeping in chain mail, bruised where the rings and plates of his armour bit into his supine flesh. His erstwhile comrade Aliira is standing nearby, deep discussion with the ghost Alendar. The subtle syllables of the elfish tongue in which the two converse is lost on the cleric, but from their expressions and body movements it is plain enough that his fate is indeed their topic of conversation. Finally, the druid approaches the fallen Pelorite, instructing him to return to Bridhvale and trouble the woods no more- magically compelled, he had little choice but to obey.
***
The morning after Emmerus returns from the forest, a messenger from the Church of Pelor arrives with a letter inviting what remains of the party to visit Bishop Abner in his office at the Minster.
Four bodies- the townsfolk killed in the first ambush in the woods- are displayed in open coffins atop a raised dais at the far end of the cathedral’s central hall and a number of their friends and relatives are still paying their last respects when you arrive. Some glance up to greet you with angry, accusing frowns as your troupe files past, while others are more welcoming, offering their condolences for the friends that you too have surely lost. A small number appear simply indifferent, or so lost in their grief that they are blind to your passage. Sheriff Woodshall is there too, bearing great, gaping facial wounds- now beyond even the a cleric’s power to heal fully- where the wolf tore off his nose and much of his forehead. He looks ready to approach you, to tell you what is difficult to say, but evidently thinks better of it and instead departs in the opposite direction. The heavy scent of burning incense is already insufficient to quite mask the odour of decaying flesh and you have little doubt that the funerals must soon follow. In the meantime the Minster resounds with the sounds of ringing bells and with prayers offered up for the town’s fallen.
A red robed acolyte is on hand to show you in, and wordlessly leads you up to the Bishop’s office. Abner himself appears in a sad state, devoid of any hint of the all-consuming passion that had fired him when you saw him last, and you are greeted instead by a tired, listless, beaten-looking old man, slumped back in his chair behind the battered oaken desk. Hollow rings of blue-grey bruises beneath the old priest’s eyes betray two nights missed sleep and, from the thick growth of grey stubble about his face and chin, it appears unlikely that he has been motivated to shave over the past couple of days.
Making an effort to stand the Bishop invites you all in, offering you each a place at the half-ring of chairs arranged before his desk. After a couple of awkward false starts the ancient warrior finally summons the energy to speak, and here at least there is some sign of the priest’s old familiar strength in his pitched, resounding tone. “Men say,” he begins, “that I was the first to flee. That much you will be aware is not true. Nonetheless,” it seems almost as though he’s trying to justify himself to you, “there was once a time when none could doubt that I would sooner stare death in the face myself than abandon those under my command to a hopeless fight.” He frowns, spreading his hands palm down on the battered old desk, “I have prayed long on the matter and will accept the penance that my lord Pelor decides for me.”
“You should also be aware,” and here he fixes your group with a penetrating stare, “that rumours have been spread about that it was the elves who betrayed us. There are a great number of frightened, angry people in the town at present and I would not care to speculate on which way their anger might turn if events were left unchecked. Put bluntly: Bridhvale is no safe place for you to remain for the time being .”
“Now, I can offer you a choice of employment for the week ahead- something which should see you far from Bridhvale and on to pastures new.”
“A number of the people here- woodcutters and their families for the most part- are planning to travel southward to the city of Goss to seek alternate means of employment until things blow over.” From the Bishop’s dour expression you doubt he quite approves of this initiative. “Word has it that the south has problems of its own and they’ve called on the Minster to provide them with protection for the trip. I’m going to need a group of capable warriors to journey southward with them through the old Massingberd barony, to make sure that they’re not attacked en route and try to ensure that they’re not robbed of all they own upon arrival.”
“Alternatively, if you’ve had enough of my townsfolk already,” there is little enough humour in Abner’s voice but the Bishop feigns a weak smile nonetheless, “the coster which funds Bridhvale has also called on the Minster to provide armed guards for one of their caravans as it journeys northward and up towards the Trollspine Mountains. There’s an old dwarven mining village up in the hills there and the merchants send some of their people up once every once in while to trade grain and other foodstuffs for the ore which the dwarves mine. As you might expect, the surrounding countryside is rife with goblins and their ilk and, while the filthy little creatures are generally seen off easily enough, rumour has it that some of the tribes there have been unusually aggressive of late.”
“In calmer times, I would simply send a patrol of templars along with either group. With the losses we’ve taken of late, however,” the Bishop frowns, running one finger along an old scar across his left cheek, “we can no longer spare the manpower for both. The people here are scared- rightly so by my wager- and every group of woodcutters who still dares set foot inside the tree-line is calling for templars to accompany them.” Casting a black look at certain of your number, Abner sinks bank into his chair. “Should you see fit to take on either task yourselves then I can offer recompense to the sum of one hundred Crowns: two if you decide to take employment with the coster.”
You make your views known and Abner rings a bell at his desk, presumably to summon another acolyte to show you out. When the door opens, however, a familiar figure stands smartly to attention in the corridor- clad in one of the Minster’s own flame-Sigelled red and white tabards over a suit of burnished mail. “No doubt you’ll remember Brother-Corporal Joshua Cayton,” the Bishop intones, a note of slight disapproval in his voice. “Joshua has requested a period of leave from his duties here to accompany you on your travels. That much has been granted. He believes that he’ll have a better chance to avenge his murdered brothers- and sisters-in-arms at your side.”
The Bishop slumps back into his chair, defeated. He does, however, have one final parting shot to pass on before you leave. “I’ve sent word southward to the Archbishop about the problems here, requesting that he send me a team of inquisitors to put paid to make the woods safe for travel once more. Word travels slowly over such distances- and no doubt a great many more innocent lives will be lost before they arrive- but, as Pelor is my witness, the matter will be resolved.”
Posted on 2008-04-08 at 18:26:31.
|
| |
View/Edit Your Profile | Staff List | Contact Us
Use of the RDINN forums or chatrooms constitutes agreement with our Terms of Service.You must enable cookies and javascript to use all features of this site.
|
|
What game do you own the 
Return to Charadun - Q&A
The Morphing Game
Return to Charadun - Recr
