wizardsnwookies

[wizardsnwookies]

WE’VE MOVED

I’m happy to announce that the import from Tumblr to Wordpress is now complete. All further posts will be made at the following link...

https://wizardsnwookies.home.blog/

A few things though. Unfortunately tags do not transfer over, so until I can make the time to go through the backlog, there won’t be an organized backlog. I’ll be doing my best to get it done in a timely manner. Until then, I’ll be leaving this blog open so you can visit previous posts easily through the existing pages and links.

Thank you for your patience, and I hope to see you at our new home.

#the great tumblr exodus #campaign diary #Dungeons and Dragons #role playing games

[wizardsnwookies]

POTA112818 - Regroup

He would never hear the end of this. Flea shook his head, trying to block out the barrage of voices from dozens of incensed ancestors. How could he just give up like that? He knows what he’s doing! Leave the boy alone. In my day we fought to the death, no excuses. The smaller one could easily be overpowered, what are you waiting for?

On and on they continued as he was lead down hallways, through rooms, and past at least one more gaping chasm. The complex, whatever its origins, had been seized after years of neglect. That much was clear. Wall sconces stood cold and empty of torches, though the stone remained stained from fires long since passed. In one t-section of hallway a crumbling statue had been replaced with one of more recent construction or rather, conjuration as it appeared much in the same manner as the frozen statues within the courtyard just above their heads.

Earth magic. Strange beasts. Walking statues. Banshae was right, this was no simple band of zealots raiding for coin and new followers. There was a purpose here, and that made them far more dangerous.

A hard shove sent Flea stumbling into a small chamber at the end of the hall. The smell of blood and filth invaded his nostrils. Turning his head he saw a set of cages against the Western wall. Inside several humanoids were kept in squalor. Once fine clothing seemed to be rotting right off their bodies. Facial hair grew untamed. Sunken eyes peered through stone bars that grew from the earth itself, more magic it would seem.

“Oh my, more playmates?” A disheveled looking man clad in a set of dark olive robes straightened from his hunched position in the corner. His wild eyes had been reading over a dirty scroll and coiled itself back into place as he removed his hands from the parchment, wringing them in anticipation it would seem.

“They’re to be ‘questioned’ while the prophet is consulted.” The guards wasted no time, opening the stone doors and hauling the unconscious forms of Flea’s companions to the threshold. There was barely enough room for the occupant that was already curled into the corner, cowering, let alone three more bodies.

“This certainly won’t do. It appears we need to make some room.” The man Flea could only assume was Haldorm reached into his sleeve and pulled out a slender grey knife. Its luster was almost non existent. Despite the raging fire in the center of the room, no light danced off the blade. As he approached the cell, Flea saw why. The knife itself was shaped in stone.

Haldorm plunged a bony hand with long, yellow, fingernails into the cage and gathered a fistfull of the tattered tunic of the man who cowered within. He appeared so gaunt and skeletal, almost weighing nothing, as with a single yank he was on his feet and stumbling out into the room. Without a word, Haldorm reached around from behind and drew the stone blade across exposed flesh, severing the throat and spilling hot red blood into the sand. The man choked and gasped for life, falling on his side and desperately grasping at the wound with both hands, trying to seal it back up. But it was no use. A few ragged breaths and he fell silent and still upon the floor.

“Much better.” The guards needed no command to finish their work. Dion, Miv, and Banshae were unceremoniously dumped inside the cell in a heap and the door shut behind them. Flea glared down at the hunched man cleaning his knife on his robes as he approached. “Well now, this looks like a sturdy one. I think I’ll start with you.”

---

Banshae swam in a sea of darkness. Warm, and soft, but also familiar. It felt very much like a place she had visited once before, not so long ago. In the void around her she could hear the fluttering of a thousand wings. Softly at first, then growing to a cocoughany that nearly split her head in two. The echoing symphony of birds floating on dark wings. Raven wings. How did she know that? She was sure, but somehow it felt like the right answer.

The pain in her head lead her out of the darkness and into the flickering light of smoldering torches hung in sconces along a stone wall. She blinked away the memories of bird wings and focused on what she could see. She must be laying on her side, a long dirt and stone floor stretched out before her. Stone bars rose up out of the ground, barring her off from the rest of the small chamber. Flea was being strapped down to a long flat stone by a hunched figure, cackling as they worked the knots.

“Banshae?” The muffled whisper of Dion came from just behind her. Strained, weakened.

“Where are we?”

“A holding chamber, inside the complex.” She heard the priest shift slightly, perhaps straining to look over her reclined form. “Flea is going to need our help very soon.”

“I can see that. Where’s Miv, Elora?”

“I’m right here.” The monk’s hushed voice came from her left, a dark lump in the corner she originally thought a shadow. “Elora’s not here, not that I can see.”

“I wonder if she was fortunate enough to escape.” Dion thought aloud.

“I hope so, either way we can’t wait for her. We need to make our move quickly, and strike as hard as we can. I’m not strong enough to take on another crowd.” Banshae dared to sit up, allowing her a better look at the environs. At the door to the hallway a pair of guards stood attention, wicked grins growing on their faces as they watched a crazed man in robes pick over a set of stone implements from a leather satchel. Despite the material of their construction, they all looked quite sharp, and quite painful. More importantly, within her own cell, she noticed the simple latch mechanism out of catch. The door was closed, and the simplest of jostles might send the latch back into place, but a good solid hit might just liberate them.

“I have some healing magic left in me.”

“Good, we’re probably going to need it.”

---

Stone hallways wound their way into the earth. Occasionally chambers and passageways split off from the main hall. Elora peeked in her head of each one, checking for any sign of her companions. She had seen dusty rooms that had not seen visitors in years, a second large chasm that split a larger chamber in two, she had seen murals of the dwarven occupants that had come before but no sign of the captured adventurers.

She had gotten this far on the faintest trail of blood droplets. Dragonborn blood from the scent of it. Though she could not tell whose blood, she knew that at the very least it was one of her friends and that she was indeed along the right path. Now she stood at a crossroads in the hall, before her loomed a stone statue build on the ruins of another. The great warrior was clad in armor similar to the guards they had seen in the plaza, almost as tall as the living statue, but with stark differences as well. This warrior stood with chin held high, poised in a look of quiet stoicism and reverence.

“You just stay right where you are, I don’t have time to tussle with you.” A part of her could sense that there was no threat of life in the thing, it was more to comfort her own anxieties. That final explosive eruption had left nothing standing in its wake. The bodies of her companions were ravaged with cuts and contusions of a most aggressive sort. They might live, assuming nothing further was done to them. If she was to ensure that, she needed to find them quickly.

Yet here she was, stuck with two possible pathways. The blood trail had faded, leaving her with nothing further to go on. Left or Right? Which way to go?

“What about you? You see where they went?” Again the stone statue remained silent, a question asked not really expecting an answer. However, an answer did come, though not from the stoney figure. Down the hall to the left she could hear the sudden anguished cry echoing off the walls. The timber and tone of the voice was all too familiar, though she had never heard Flea exclaim in such agony.

Abandoning all attempts at stealth, Elora ran down the towards the cries. She passed several more adjoining halls and chambers before reaching the small room with flickering torchlight. She crossed the threshold startling two female warriors standing guard on either side of the portal. Flea lay strapped to a stone slab in the middle of the room, covered in long cuts that snaked across his flesh. The gleeful cackling of the robed man hovering above him was cut short with Elora’s arrival, his head shooting to glare at her, his eyes flared with a crazed light.

“Who dares?!” His attention was drawn away once again, this time to the other side of the room where Elora watched as the rest of her companions burst forth from one the cells. The stone bars swung away fast and hard, crashing back against the wall. They were all wounded, but on their faces was a look of determination that told her they were ready for battle.

“Elora?” Banshae’s eyes flashed with something. Relief? Gratitude? She couldn’t tell, either way it didn’t matter.

“Let’s save the reunion for after we deal with this nutjobs, yeah?”

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#role playing games #Dungeons and Dragons #campaign diary #princes of the apocalypse

[wizardsnwookies]

Blog 120718 - Abandon Ship

By now you know what’s going on, or at least you should have heard about it. Tumblr is a sinking ship and all us rats are getting off while we still can. True, I’ve never posted adult content on this blog, however that doesn’t mean anything when you have an algorithm so poorly programmed it flagged the official Tumblr Staff announcement post. So, yeah I’m out of here.

Right now I’m busy importing everything over to Wordpress, which is understandably a slow process given that EVERYONE is abandoning ship. Please note that nothing will change, I will still post three times a week, it will just not be here on Tumblr.

I’ll keep you posted on the progress and hopefully the new home for WIZARDS & WOOKIES will be ready for Monday’s post.

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#blog #abandon ship #the great tumblr exodus

[wizardsnwookies]

Free-sources 120518 - Gloves of Gorilla Grip

Welcome to the first entry of “Free-sources,” the new Wednesday content slot. From now on you can expect a free resource for your games every Wednesday! There are limitations to this mind you. You won’t find anything truly expansive on here such as maps, encounters, or Inns and Taverns. What you will find are items both magical and mundane, spells, NPCs, Monsters, and other small little things to drop into your games.

Now, just a small note on the artwork. I’m sure some of you have noticed that the gloves are a recoloring of the Titan’s Mitt sprite from Link to the Past. The fact of the matter is I’m still developing my pixel art and being the perfectionist that I am, I’d much rather use and acknowledge a blatant recolor or alteration of an existing sprite than put forward any attempts I may make that don’t fit my standard. I will make every attempts to make my own artwork, but if something just isn’t working out, I am perfectly fine with cribbing off the masters.

Feel free to share this however you please, just as long as you re-direct and give credit where it’s due.

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#Dungeons and Dragons #role playing games #free assets #magic items

[wizardsnwookies]

POTA112618 - Captive

The end came swiftly. Sudden and explosive like a bolt of lightning out of a clear blue sky. It came also with thunder and the shaking of earth beneath their very feet. Explosive and terrifying, it came with no mercy, and left behind nought but still forms and humbled captives.

The Western wall had all but gone unnoticed, until a wooden door built in a small alcove burst outward to allow the passage of a an entire squad of armored warriors. Clad in stone plates, chest pieces, and helms the looked more like living statues so perfectly formed their armor was to their bodies. The contours almost impossible for any sort of hand tool to craft.

More bodies from the South appeared, clad in robes of earth-tone shades. In their eyes a madness had taken hold and refused to let go. They spat a combination of magical curses and religious zealotry that had little to no rhyme or reason. Two women holding great obsidian rods, a single man in wizard robes, the number of people now choked the stone plaza. But it was the heavy rhythmic footsteps from beyond the shattered stone doors that grabbed the most attention, the filled the room with the most dread.

Still they fought, be it stubbornness or heroism Banshae could not be certain. All she knew was that she did not yet see any hopelessness in their cause. The stone warriors were not as imposing as the strange beast that lay dead in the center of the plaza. They were but men and women. They bled like anyone else. Dion’s own magical sphere of influence tore down the magic users as they rushed headlong into battle. Their madness tainting all sense of caution and judgement.

Then the very earth shook. He appeared like the armored warriors they now fought. He was clad in stone from head to toe, but unlike the warriors, he had no flesh in the gaps of his armor. He towered twelve feet tall, dust and pebbles shedding off him with each step. This was no man, the wasn’t even a giant. This was living earth. It ducked under the archway of the portal and straightened, blocking the opening with its solid mass. From behind them a rush of rubble and earth erupted from the ground creating a wall that spanned the way they came. With Warriors to their East, and Duergar to their West, they had been cut off completely.

“You fared better then the last that dared storm this sacred place, but in the end your efforts are just as futile. Submit, now.” The wizard stepped forward, letting a hand trail gently along the leg of the great stone statue as he passed. Tenderly, almost lovingly so.

No one stopped in their attack. No sword nor axe had halted. Banshae thrust her shield hard into her attacker and bellowed out to her companions. She may be the lead of this quest, but as far as she was concerned, they were all equal in standing. She would not claim to cast a decision for all.

“I say we aren’t beaten yet. What say thee?”

“I’m just getting started.” Flea smirked.

“You don’t hear me complaining.” Miv chimed in.

“My energies are not yet spent.” Dion rang another Toll the Dead, shaking the walls free of dust and debris. Only Elora remained silent, her focus on tenuous handholds upon the earthen wall that sprang up behind them. From atop she would have a clear shot at anyone and everyone engaged in battle, combining that with her natural skill with the bow she was also confident in their chances for victory despite being unable to express it.

The earth wizard frowned, deep creases carving into his face as he watched more of the stone warriors fall to blade and arrow. He was not making idle talk, these were far more capable foes than those who came before them. They were stronger, better organized, and one even bore the standard of Mirabar. This bore ill. While they all knew the taking of the caravan would not go investigated, never would he have dreamed that their sacred home would have been discovered so quickly. Was this just another unaligned band of adventurers, or were they indeed messengers of Mirabar? Were they discovered? Were more to come?

That’s when the end came. Elora saw it in all its terrifying might from atop the wall. She saw the earth churn and ripple like waves upon a lake. She saw an eruption of soil and stone. She saw pebbles and dust rain from the sky. It engulfed the entire plaza in a brown cloud and a roar of destruction. In the dissipating dust, only Flea remained standing. Earth caked to his skin, held fast by the blood seeping from his wounds. The others lay either half or entirely buried, still forms crushed beneath the settled soil. The wizard smiled, slowly lowering extended arms the air before him still rippling with magic.

“What say thee NOW?”

Flea locked eyes with Elora for but an instant and though no words passed between them, the message was clear. Hide. Watch. Await your chance.

“Fine...you got me.”

---

Elora tried not to let the sounds she heard send her mind running wild. The dragging of limp bodies. The laughter of guards and hysterical cackling of crazed cultists. She had to have faith in her party. Though she knew them for only a brief period of time, something told her they were not that easy to kill. No, she had to trust in them, just as Flea was putting his trust in her to come after them.

“Take them to be questioned. I must consult the profit.” The wizard’s low tones drifted further away in the distance, becoming muffled as he entered the closed halls of the inner complex.

Laughter now, along with hushed asides from the guards. They too were drifting away now, but she heard enough to send a wave of dread washing over her.

“What? Why you grinning like that?”

“You’re new? We’re taking them to Haldorm for ‘questioning.’“

“So?”

“So, Haldorm does’t ask nicely.”

---

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#princes of the apocalypse #Dungeons and Dragons #role playing games #camping

[wizardsnwookies]

Blog 113018 - Inspired

I’m a nerd about many things...robots, monsters, dinosaurs, super heros, board games...but probably one of my biggest interests is Occult Lore, Magic, and Paranormal stuff. I can’t get enough of it. Which is weird, as I believe in 0% of it. I don’t believe in ghosts, I don’t believe in magic (be it with a “c” or a “k”), and the only “monster” I believe is even plausible is Bigfoot...which my gf never ceases to remind me how stupid that is.

There’s just something fascinating about the stories we create as people. The answers we make for ourselves when we come across something we can’t explain. The rules we create without really knowing the truth of reality around us. That’s why I love “real world” magic. One day I hope to amass a grand collection of Grimoires and spell books. Right now I only have one, but it’s enough to get me started.

This stuff is where I get a lot of my inspiration from. It’s the backstories and details that come with them that really make something feel real. When I put them in my games, I feel like the world I’m creating has become that much more a reality. Something that me and the players can really interact with. Not to mention it brings more variety to the table then just simple dungeon crawling.

Right now I’m poking through THE BOOK OF ABRAMELIN, a book of magic famously connected to Aleister Crowley. I’m hoping to get some ideas on how to make Magic more than just a mechanic in my D&D games. It’s a Catch-22 really, because I always found magic more facinating when it was rare and mysterious...more LORD OF ILLUSIONS than DRESDEN FILES. Something whispered about and unexplained. But, you can’t really do that in the world of D&D...unless you do something similar to what I’m hoping to do...make a system of lost magic.

I recently finished a Marvel Epic Collection on early Darkhold stories. The Darkhold is basically the Marvel equivalent of the Necronomicon. It’s vague and mysterious, powerful and elusive. A clever plot device writers can break out when they need some kind of unknown mystical power to play with. I’m hoping to make something similar. A school of magic since lost to time that periodically shows up to create wonder and dread in my games. What better way to get inspiration than from the real deal?

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#blogs #role playing games #magick

[wizardsnwookies]

Change in Format

As life tends to do from time to time, a bit of a curve-ball has been thrown at us. Looks like we will be going from two games a week to one, albeit a longer session. What does this mean for the blog? Well, naturally I can’t really post two entries a week if we aren’t gaming twice a week. Thankfully, I have a neat idea on how to make up for it.

Starting next week, every Wednesday will now feature a free Game Asset for all to use on their games. These will be small little items, nothing huge here mind you, but hey, it’s a free resource from me to you! Hopefully this will make up for the content loss...and also drum up some more eyes on this humble blog.

#role playing games #blogs

[wizardsnwookies]

POTA 111918 - Stone and Steel

The horn bellowed and shook the walls like the scream of some monstrous unseen thing in the darkness. Its cries would call those loyal near to put an end to these strange invaders. Their work here must not be hindered, they would not be stopped. But what was this purpose? What was worth protecting to secure the aid of hobgoblins and strange dwarves, and whatever this creature was that Banshae faced off against. 

She chanced a glance to her side, Flea appeared unphased by the thing in all its strangeness. His face was liken to a stone statue, unmoved even when the creature gained a mounted warrior clad in stone armor and wielding a great halberd. She felt closes to him out of all of their companions. He also fought with a sense of duty, he also fought with family close to his heart. His family also happened to be dead. Unlike him however, she could not see the faces of her fallen brothers and sisters whenever she pleased. Worse yet, she was not even sure she would recognize them if she did. So much of her past was still missing. All she had were these moments where she felt a faint connection through battle, and honor.

Together the sound of their steel rang out against hardened stone and hide. The beast was slow, but it’s armor was such that it needed neither speed nor agility. It’s rider naturally could avoid blows very little in his saddle, owing any staying power and defense to his armor. Their offense, however, was overwhelming. Such power and strength lay coiled within the tight muscles of this creature. Short legs held enough force to bull rush both opponents, scattering them upon the ground prone, dodging the oppertune thrusts of the halberd. 

Large chunks of earth gave way to it’s blunted tip. Banshae and Flea rolled and tucked away with each thrust, held down in the prone position by the snapping jaws of the hulking beast. A rush of wind blew past them and suddenly the golden figure of Miv stood above them, shoulder held firmly against the creatures head. To the astonishment of all involved, the beast surrendered ground allowing just enough for the two warriors to get back upon their feet.

“Appreciate the help but I don’t think fists are going to do much against that thing.” Flea rolled his shoulder, trying to work the knot out from being pinned. Finally he felt a satisfying pop and the muscle loosened, not quite back to normal, but enough to keep fighting.

“Fair enough.” Miv’s leg muscles were honed to near perfection, requiring little bend to allow for a leap that would bring him over the head of the rider and landing upon the saddle behind him.

“Show off.” Flea cursed and brought his axe down on the left foreleg of the creature, caving in it’s knee.

Crossbow bolts struck the stone wall behind Elora and Dion where they took shelter, carefully choosing their own ranged attacks. Though not nearly as frequent, their missiles rarely missed as a result. Hobgoblins fell in quick succession, yet the arrows continued to fly, buzzing through the air.

“Where are they coming from?” Elora scanned around them, finding no targets for her bow aside from the hulking beast doing battle with the rest of her companions by the shattered stone door. Still, she dared not leave her cover. Again and again broken bolts fell to the ground around them, the attacks never faltering.

“Arrow slits!” Dion cried. He jabbed his finger at a section of wall. At first Elora thought he was seeing things, or at least had some insight that she did not. A flicker of movement drew her eyes to what appeared to be fissure in the stone, impossibly narrow. She was good with a bow, but not good enough to thread the proverbial needle.

“Fantastic, this just gets better and better doesn’t it?”

Atop the hulking steed, Miv and rider fought for both control and balance. The Dragonborn’s grip was liken to steel, and once he had a hold of the stone armor he shifted all his weight to the side, sending both toppling to the ground. Flea saw the moment’s disorientation in the beast and took that as his cue to strike. Hardened steel bit down hard on the tough hid between the plates that ran up the side of the neck, found flesh. Hot, steaming, blood poured out of the wound. Once again a mighty bellow shook the stone walls, this time it was no war horn. The once mighty beast cried out in its deathroes, staggering upon crippled limbs until finally collapsing into the dust.

Banshae lowered her shield only slightly, not yet giving up her full guard. The topple rider fell limp with one final blow from Miv’s closed palm and the room fell to an eerie silence that was broken only by the clattering of bolts against stone. The calm before the storm. Something she did not remember but was familiar with nonetheless. An odd sensation. The terrifying quiet that falls upon the battlefield between waves. A moment of contemplation where the soldier might pray to whatever gods they pleased in thanks to be still standing. Only Banshae did not remember who she prayed to. Thinking back to Summit Hill she recalled the proud banner of Tyr, finding it striking and full of power and meaning. She found herself whispering a prayer to Tyr as a wooden door to the East opened up to reveal living versions of the strange gray skinned Dwarves.

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#Dungeons and Dragons #role playing games #princes of the apocalypse #campaign diary

[wizardsnwookies]

Blog 112318 - Housekeeping

Just a head’s up that this week we took a break off of gaming. However, thanks to the way I broke up our gaming sessions prose-wise, there will still be a post for Monday. Yaaay! Wednesday I have yet to decide what I want to do. I might have something I might just take the day off considering I have a craft fair I will be attending (every little penny helps.)

Either way, we are apparently nearing the end of this chapter of the module which means Tom is up to run The Wild again. This time we’ll be playing different characters, or at least some of us will. The great thing about The Wild is that we each have a handful of characters we can jump back and forth between, and seeing as my original character Brunhilde was recently revived by Pavel, I’ll be bringing back my favorite drunken, hatchet-weilding, ranger!

After that, I’m up to run and despite having a story, encounters, and maps ready to go I’m still not sure if I’m ready yet. This time around I tried my hand at an overarching story, and I’m feeling a bit nervous in terms of tying everything together. Also, while the front half of the adventure is planned to hell, I have nothing ready for the back half. Oi. Oh well, I still have time.

Then there’s looking at today’s Black Friday Sales on DMG and DrivethruRPG. Man, those 1e Modules sure look tempting. I have three I’ve got my eye on that I can get for $15 for all of them PLUS the conversion guide for 5e. We’ll see though.

#Dungeons and Dragons #role playing games #blogs

[wizardsnwookies]

POTA 111518 - Below

“Looks like you were right.” Miv blinked at the empty coffin with disinterest, turning away to the other stone sarcophagus within the room. “How much you want to bet the rest are occupied?”

“I don’t gamble, but I believe we should take great care in investigating the others.” Banshae was deadly serious, seemingly unaware of the casual turn of phrase.

“I’m sorry?” Dion turned suddenly.

“It’s a rather unfortunate necessity. This appears to be the most likely source of the Ghouls we encountered on our way here. The laboratory upstairs, now this tomb.”

“No, of course you’re right.” The priest glanced at the great stone vessels with a twinge of reluctance. To desecrate a place of rest, even with justification, was not at all something he relished. His duty was to bring peace to the dead, not disrupt it. Banshae could see the distress in his features and placed a solid hand upon his shoulder.

“If their rest has been disturbed-”

“Yes, I know. Proceed.”

She offered only a single curt nod. Flea needed no prompting and was already standing at the head of the next stone coffin, this one far more mundane than that of Samular Paradoon. Unlike his however, this sarcophagus was indeed occupied.

Sliding away to the floor, the stone lid first revealed a pair of milky white eyes open to all the world. No life lived within them, but something else lurked beneath. An unlife, like a slumbering bear within its cave, filled the room with foreboding. Flea readied himself, gripping his axe firmly, waiting for an attack that would not come. Instead it simply sat there, staring through Flea, past him, towards some unseen oblivion.

“Strange, never known an undead to miss out on a meal.” He waved a meaty paw over its eyes, trying to break its trance. Either his flesh was not as appetizing as he thought it to be, or something else was going on here.

“It may still be under the command of its master. These poor creatures are little more than slaves. Please Flea, grant it mercy and release it from bondage.”

“You’re the boss.” A single swing was enough to cave in its brittle skull, exploding into dust and fragments of bone. He casually jumped off the dais and moved to the next coffin, giving Dion room for his rituals.

It continued in such a manner for what felt like ages. One by one tombs were opened, each one either empty or containing a motionless undead awake to the world around it but powerless to act. One by one Flea sent them back to whatever awaited them on the other side, one by one Dion guided them on their way, bringing them to one final coffin.

Flea stood at the head, axe held aloft at the ready. When Banshae slid the slab aside it’s occupant proved to be far more fresh than the others. His skin was immaculate, intact, almost glowing with life still. Across his chest both arms clasped the hilt of his sword, he was dressed in full regalia, the banner of his station neatly folded and placed upon his lap.

“Hold.” Dion nearly threw himself upon the body, ready to block any blow that might come from an overzealous Flea. He could feel a tingle in the air around the body, a ripple in reality indicating the presence of magic.

“Is that who I think it is?” Elora joined the others, leaning in to catch a better glimpse at the young man inside the stone sarcophagus.

“I believe it may be. Sir Ord Nynn, our missing knight.”

“Is it just me or does he look a bit too...fresh?” That was about as delicately as Miv could think to put it. Ord Nynn had died some time before the Caravan left Mirabar, which had been more than a few weeks ago by now.

“A simple spell, ‘Gentle Repose.’“ Dion gently brushed his fingers against the cold steel of the knights burial armor. It was chilled to the touch, but not nearly as cold as the rest of the room. He had been placed here recently.

“How long does a spell like that typically last?”

“Not this long. Someone had to have recast it since the Caravan ambush.”

“Why?” Banshae leaned back to stare at the ceiling. Curious-er and curious-er. The further they uncovered the more complex the motives seemed to be.

“Why bother taking care of the body? It could not have been the the target of the ambush.” The latter was more a question than a statement. Thinking aloud. A question no one seemed to have the answer to.

---

“I don’t think this is part of the original complex.” Elora lead the group out onto the stone landing. Before them a great chasm opened up into the earth bridged by a perfectly hewn stone bridge. Upon the other side, through the darkness, her sensitive elven eyes glimpsed unnatural shapes. Perfect edges and delicate moldings did not occur with any underwater riverways she knew of and furthermore, no monastery she was familiar with needed this much square-footage. Between that and the subtle shift in craftsmanship of the masonry told her they were emerging into a different world entirely.

“Let’s take it carefully from here. Elora, you lead us and keep your senses sharp. Miv, be ready to extinguish the globe on her word.” None argued with Banshae’s orders, the silence of the massive chamber was pregnant with a strange sense of anxiety. As if something horrible awaited them within even though they had received no resistance up until this point.

Stealthy steps guided them along the expanse of the chasm, the stone beneath their feet covered in disturbed dirt and dust. As with everywhere else so far, this place had been marked by battle. Halfway across they paused over a pair of slain figures, an odd pair that did not seem to match with the rest of bodies they had uncovered. The Teifling had one of the strange serrated swords in her death grip and a collection of trophies tied to each horn. Her companion, a strange creature none were familiar with, was extremely pale with hair as white as a winter snow. Each were covered in wounds, the most grievous being a horrific crushing blow that had caved in their torsos, shattering ribs and exploding the heart.

“So, this is where their assault ended.” Banshae offered the brave warriors a moments pause out of respect. A brief sonnet passed her lips, a sonnet she did not know she even knew. A memory from a previous life, a ritual to honor fallen brothers and sisters.

“The two of them did all this damage?” Flea bobbed his head, impressed.

“If these are our predecessors, there should be one more according to Lady Stormbanner. A Kenku. Perhaps they made it further in?”

“Either way, my guess is this is where we can start expecting company.” Flea readied his axe. Casting his eyes across the bridge he peered into the darkness, and thought he saw the briefest of movements.

“Elora?” Banshae turned to the head of the group, the High elf crouched low, body tense. Listening. Watching.

Her fine tuned ears pricked at a faint rustling. A faint disturbance she could just barely hear over the sounds of the party around her. Whispering. Deep guttural voices in a hushed tone, and the clattering of iron.

“I think we’re blown.”

An arrow shot into the darkness, punctuating her statement. The group scattered, ducked, searching the black void at the other end of the bridge. They knew to stay in such an exposed area would be suicide, so each sprinted forward, unbidden into the unknown.

A great stone plaza met them with finely crafted pillars rising up to the raw ceiling. Flagstones faded in and out of piles of earth and loose pebbles. Several hobgoblins stood at the ready by a modest fire built next a pair of shattered stone doors. The archer was already nocking another arrow, while his companion slammed a fist against a wooden door to the west. But there was something else with them, something far more imposing, menacing.

“What in the hells is that?” Banshae drew her sword and hefted up her shield about two meters from the beast that was just now rising to its feet. A rider clad in stone swung burly legs across its back, this thing that looked like a cross between a bulldog and the predators that swam the depths of the ocean. It’s hide looked to be about as thick as her shield, its pointed snout as sharp as her sword.

“Does it matter? Kill it!” From behind Flea leaped clean over her shoulders landing in the dirt to the creature’s left side. With a single swing his axe blade drove itself between two of the sturdy plates of its back, filling the room with a painful, animalistic bellow.

Light filled the room from Miv’s driftglobe. At this point, he figured, the jig was up and all subterfuge was out the window. Light, would only be an aid to their efforts now. He sent it high into ceiling, illuminating as much of the room as he could before moving in to close the distance between himself and the archer.

Elora and Dion pressed up against one of the pillars for cover, peeking out with precise strikes of arrow and magic. The cries of goblinoid anguish as they died were drowned out from a deep roar from within the broken portal. Although she knew not where or when she recognized it, Banshae had no doubt as to its origins. The horn had been sounded for battle. More would be coming, they needed to end this quickly and steel themselves for the second wave. Lest they meet the fate of those that came before them.

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POTA 111318 - Remains

The Sacred Stone monastery erupted from the earth like several petrified trees, branches hewn leaving only the strong sturdy trunks. Decorative spires thrust into sky, stabbing at the heavens with so much resentment at the vastness of it all. It sat dark and silent, windows sealed with aged wood from within leaving the courtyard lit by the pale blue light of the risen moon. All of this would have left them in awe of its splendor, if not for the scattered corpses decaying outside its doors.

Miv suddenly appeared out of the shadows as sudden as a bolt of lightning, even Elora was astounded at his ability to disappear into the darkness. She had been plying her own stealthy trade for years and she had not seen his equal. The Monks who follow the Way of the Shadow, very few were even aware of their existence. Having one in her very own party, she was starting to see how they could so easily evade detection.

“It’s quiet now, but something happened here, that much is for sure.” The gold Dragonborn motioned his head to the bodies in view just past his left shoulder. “That continues inside from what I could see.”

Everyone cast an expectant glance at Dion.

“What?”

“Is it safe to assume you wish to perform some sort of rite before moving on?” Banshae put it about as delicately as she could manage, trying to hid the impatience she felt.

“Of course, it is my duty to-”

“Is it really necessary to do this right now? We don’t know how long ago this place was attacked.”

“If it helps, the dead I saw weren’t exactly fresh.” Miv interjected, the strange blend of sweet and sour scents that was so uniquely death still lingering in his nostrils.

“...very well.” Banshae heaved a heavy sigh, her shoulders falling deep. “Flea and I will stand watch by the door. Elora and Miv keep a sharp eye out.”

Dion walked through the bodies like a macabre garden, carefully watching his step in attempts to find a path of dead flowers, never to bloom again. He knelt in the center of the battlefield and began his work, Banshae watching carefully and taking note of the bodies that surrounded him.

“Five days...”

“Excuse me?” She turned to look at Flea who was casually picking some grit out of his fingernails with the edge of his axe.

“That’s my best guess, maybe more, but no less than that. I think it’s a safe bet that we won’t find much resistance.”

Banshae nodded. This tracked with her own assessment. It seemed strange to her that with bodies as old as these appeared to be they would still remain out in the open. Unless the entirety of the Monastery had been wiped out, their comrades either dead or run off to leave them for the carrion birds.

“Strange allies.” She nodded to the crumpled form of what once was a grey skinned dwarf. “Monks, dwarves, warriors clad in stone...”

Flea silently agreed, his mind was working overtime with the evidence of the battle. Between his own experience and the wisdom of his ancestors he had learned to trace the timeline of events through the subtlest of things. Tracks in the dirt, blood splatter, the trajectory of arrows and bolts. Ghostly figures reenacted a ballet of death before his very eyes, starting here, outside in the darkness before moving up the stone steps behind him and inside the shuttered temple.

“Sloppy, whoever they were.” Great Grandfather Oorg shook his withered head disapprovingly. “Such a disgrace. Had they no form at all or were they merely swinging away in hopes to hit something other than themselves?”

“Got the job done.” Flea shrugged. Banshae cast him a puzzled look that he waved away quickly, turning to stick his head inside the threshold.

“Speaking of which, you about done there priest? There’s a lot more to see here than their unkempt garden.”

“Yes, yes.” Dion stood, tucking away his vial of holy water. “We can continue now.”

---

A path of death swept its way through the structure. Every hall, nearly every room was marked with signs of battle. Bodies littered the floor, chips and scars carved out of the walls from stray steel. It told the story of a crude invasion and the desperate attempts at defense. One by one rooms were cleared as they pushed further and further indoors. With each step the story unfolded further beyond the fighting, a story of an entire monastery of monks taken over by a strange fanatical cult of stone and earth. 

“What about the ghouls?” Dion thought aloud, standing to the side while Elora worked the next sealed door with nimble fingers.

“Come again?” Miv crooked an eye.

“The ghouls we came across on our way to Summit Hill. Logic would dictate that this be the place of their origins.”

“Stormbanner said the hills were filled with caves and ruins. Could just be a coincidence.” The monk shrugged.

“Perhaps.” Dion seemed unconvinced. He was about to press further when Elora erupted in a silenced cry of triumph. Crafted of old, mostly rotting wood and iron banding, the door groaned like the very undead of which they were speaking, opening up into a frigid room choked with dust and cobwebs.

Beneath the years of filth, evidence of a laboratory were unmistakable. Forests of empty flutes and flasks covered an old table in a neat row. To one side a shelf sat mostly empty save for a handful of yet more glassware, only these were each filled with opaque, colored liquid. Books, scrolls, and scraps of parchment littered every flat surface, the ink faded by age, so much so efforts had been made to restore portions lost to time. The more recent ink being markedly brighter and fresh, yet the hand, oddly enough remained the same.

“Looks like we found our Necromancer.”

“Yes, yes I believe you are right.” Dion paused only long enough to mutter a detection spell. He waited for the magical veil to fall before his eyes and proceeded into the room. Magic was evident, that much was sure. Nearly the entire room had some trace of it. It was a small bundle within the folds of a tattered blanket in the bed chambers that provided the strongest glow of power.

Carefully, the priest uncovered a small amulet from within the linens. It wasn’t until he was sure that no curse lay within it did he take it within his fingers. It was quite the opposite in fact, a vessel for health used to bolster its owners constitution. Normally he was not one to indulge in the sin of theft, but something told him they might need this later.

“Damn.” Steel skittered on the stone floor, Elora’s lock picking tools dropping from her slender fingers. She knelt before another door to the north of the main laboratory. “This one’s being stubborn.”

“Stand aside.” Flea gently pushed the elf away with a massive paw, sizing up the seized portal. “I’ll handle this.”

The rest of the part took more than a few steps back, bracing themselves for a shower of splinters. The massive half-orc centered himself before the door, taking one last look at it as a whole before offering a single nod as if to say, ‘yeah, I got this.’

The room remained silent, however. No crashes, no shattering, not dull thuds of dense wood colliding with the stone floor. Only a soft click followed by a mournful groan as the heavy door slowly swung away. Flea turned and offered a pleased grin, in his fingers, his own set of lock picks.

“Aren’t you full of surprises?” Elora chuckled, only slightly annoyed that his secret talent trumping her well-honed craft.

“I’m not just a pretty face, that’s for sure.”

---

Plunging down the cold stone steps felt like a gradual descent into winter. The air became even more frigid than the workroom they left, their breath billowing from their mouths as if they were all descendant of dragons instead of merely the two. The stench of death crept upwards towards them, greeting them with stale, musty air of hundreds of years of slumber undisturbed. It was then no surprise when the landing at the bottom of the stairs opened up into a large tomb.

Simple stone sarcophagus lined the northern and southern walls, spiders dressing them in fine lines of silk that glittered in the light of Miv’s driftglobe. Against the wall in which they came, next to the arched portal, a far more elegant and well cared for tomb sat. The skill with which it was chiseled was immaculate, covering its every surface with intricate designs and flourishes. All of which paled to the near life-like depiction of an aged knight hewn from the lid. If not for his monochrome appearance, even Dion would have mistaken it for the living. But he was drawn to something else, something that puzzled him greatly.

“Samular Paradoon...”

“What?” Banshae turned.

“He was one of the legendary brothers, founder of Summit Hall and the Knights of Samular.”

“Then why is he here? Shouldn’t he be-”

“Yes, I saw his grave myself. This should not be at all.”

“Well, enough jawing. Let’s open her up and just see for ourselves.” Before anyone could object, Flea hoisted himself upon the dias and heaved with his mighty arms. Even with all his strength behind it, the stone slab gave but little. Stone grinding upon stone, a breath of trapped air escaped the seal and the contents came into view.

Empty.

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Blog  111618 - Building a Better Generator

Recently I had to get a new phone and one of the few casualties to the transfer was all my Randomized lists for D&D character creation. Yeah, I was bummed, but I actually was more excited for the opportunity to improve upon what I had already built. As it was, I had everyone and everything on equal footing. While that might be seen as “fair” in terms of inclusivity, it’s not really an accurate representation of the unite dynamics of population diversity. So, off to the internet I went to research statistical data!

What resulted was a rather complicated series of Rollable Tables and Macros in Roll 20. Each one had the “weight” setting for each item adjusted to accurate the most recent statistical data I could find on each item...minus the fantasy races of course, I based that on my own understandings of the Protected Realm. This “weight” system is essentially a percentage based on 100, so if you have something that’s 5% of the overall population, it is set to a weight of 5.

The Wrapped Macro is simple enough, with four characteristics to be individually randomized to create a more realistic and unique NPC (or PC if I’m so inclined.)

The Races (not all are included at this point as I don’t have VOLO or MORDENKAIDEN) were set at a base of 5 to begin with. I then subtracted from what I considered to be the more rare races you’d find just walking around town. Drow, Teifling, the various subraces, all of these were diminished and their weights boosted the primary races of Human, Dwarf, Gnome, etc.

Next came Gender Identity. Please note this does not differentiate as to whether or not the character is Transgendered, this merely indicates how they character identifies. Using US statistics, I did an even split between male and female (although technically Females should be one weight higher then males but that would have thrown off the weight system entirely.) Both Gender Fluid and Gender Neutral Identities represent a weight of 1 as each make up about 1 percent of the US population to the best of my research.

Sexual identity was the real shocker. According to the statistics I found, Only about 5% of the US population identify themselves as homosexual. I had to double check this as that just didn’t seem right to me, but sure enough that number held firm. Asexual, Bisexual, and Pansexualities all have a weight of one.

Finally we have what I have crudely called the “Inclusivity Generator,” because I really couldn’t think of a better name for it. Trust me, once I do, I plan on changing it. This represents any and all unique and marginalized peoples of a population against the “normal” or “status quo.” Again, I named these “Baseline” because I didn’t have a better name for it. I’m up for suggestions as I find it rather crude.

Anyway, here’s where things get interesting, as the “status quo” or “baseline” individuals just barely make up over half of the total population. About 13% of the US population is differently abled in some way. 15% are elderly. An astounding 5% have serious mental instabilities. The rest hold a weight of 1.

So, let’s give her a test and see what we come up with for the first three random NPCS shall we?

Ok...color me pleased. Not a single repeat combination, plus plenty for a creative DM like me to work with for world building! That’s not the end of it though. Not by a long shot. Next, I plan on adding a macro for “Random Human Heritage,” more races once they become available, and perhaps even one for temperment and character quirks. The sky’s the limit!

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POTA110818 - The Coming Flood

Aching memories of wounds soothed themselves over a warm fire while cautious eyes continued to glance over at the bound woman sat upon a large flat stone. Her shattered knee had been repaired to the best of Dion’s ability, though the lingering pain would keep her from making any sort of movement for hours now. Still, it was best to take precautions and keep her secured with hempen bindings. Inside Banshae’s mind, ideas swirled. Things she could not explain. All she knew was that the prisoner was by no means to be harmed. They would be questioned, treated with honor and respect as a captive of war, and then released unscathed. That was how it was to be. She didn’t know why, that’s just the way it was supposed to be.

“I will question her.” Finally she stood, brushing dust off her trousers. Across the fire, Miv and Dion stood in turn, the former with a look of suspicion and concern upon his face.

“I would like to sit in if it is agreeable to you?” Dion was far more polite about his approach, or was at least better about hiding any concerns.

“Same.” Miv didn’t wait for permission, already making strides to the strange cultist in their midst. Banshae fell alongside quickly, taking a firm tone of voice.

“She is not to be harmed. Is that understood? I will suffer no torture or abuse of captives. We will question her and she is free to leave.”

“I have no objections to that.” Miv felt his tension relieve itself somewhat. He still didn’t know Banshae all that well, although now he certainly knew more than he did. She seemed to be living up to her proclamations as a soldier of honor. At least that much was agreeable to him.

The young woman watched with an icy stare, darkened bags underneath her sunken eyes. She watched as Banshae slowly lowered her massive frame into a crouch before her. The Dragonborn was both imposingly large, but impressivly lithe at the same time. Silvers, second only to Gold dragons, seemed to have an elegance about their movements that hid the power they lie within.

“Who are you?” Banshae began simply, not knowing where else to start.

“A child of the coming wave, that is all that matters.” The young woman shrugged.

“Fair enough. First of all, I want you to know that you are in no danger of harm here. We merely ask for information given freely. Once we are done, you are free to go. However, I must warn you that the current path we walk may very well cross with that of your group again...in which case if you choose to return to them, I cannot guarantee your saftey upon next meeting.”

“My life matters not. I am merely a pawn in a much greater game. A game that you will surely lose.”

“Indoctrinated nonsense...” Miv muttered to himself.

“That symbol you wear upon your breast.” Dion gestured with a nod of his head, his voice quiet and calm. Comforting almost. “We have seen others like it. What can you tell us about them?”

“I cannot speak for the others, nor would I lower myself to dignify them.” The woman spat at the ground, her energies were starting to return to her as she spoke. As if merely discussing her faith was enough to fill her with life.

“I can only speak of the Great Crushing Wave that comes to cleanse this world and all unworthy that dwell upon it. This great day is coming, and on that day, only her children will be granted life upon the new Eden.”

Dion frowned. Dark words, and at that the second prophetic vision of some upcoming disaster. The Lord of Lance rock saw it, now these cultists. “And you wish to help usher in this new day?”

“YES.” She answer emphatically, and without hesitation.

“By attacking random strangers?” Banshae cut in.

“You were an opportunity, trespassing upon our lands. Only the priests can speak of their work in ushering in the Great Crushing Wave.” The woman sank back, almost sheepishly. It was as if she was ashamed of her lower status within the group, angry she was limited to such mundane things and not privy to the greater inner workings.

“Would that work happen to require specific individuals? Perhaps, individuals of high status?”

“You’d have to ask the priests.” She was getting more defiant now, her answers shorter, more curt and dismissive.

“Your priest fled, leaving you behind.” Miv pointed out. “No much of a leader if you ask me.”

“As I said, I am merely-”

“ ‘-a pawn in a much greater game.’ Yeah, we heard you the first time.” Exasperated, Miv let his hands fall to his side and turned on a heel towards Dion. Taking the hint for a regrouping, Banshae stood and joined them a few paces away for privacy sake.

“What do you expect to get out of this one?”

“I was hoping more than this.” Banshae sighed. “But I fear you might have a point, this one is too far gone to get anything useful out of.”

“This is what I was talking about, the abuse of power. The wrong person in charge of a faith and you get people like this, little more than empty shells regurgitating mindless rhetoric.”

“I’m not concerned about this Crushing Wave, it’s the Black Earth that unnerves me.” Banshae cast a glance back at the bound woman who had taken to adjusting herself to a more comfortable position on the stone. She wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon she figured.

“Attacking random interlopers is one thing, that’s little more than bravado, a sword measuring contest. The ones that took the delegates, they had a purpose. If all they wanted was gold they would have slain everything on that caravan and taken what they pleased. There’s a darker purpose going on there.”

“At least that we can figure out. You can’t predict what you call ‘bravado.’ These are irrational zealots, dangerous, I wouldn’t cast them aside so easily.”

“We could argue this all day.” Dion finally stepped in, although he appreciated the thoughtful debate it was not a prudent venture at this moment in time. The hour was growing late, and they would need all the sun they could get in the following day to find their way.

“I suggest we call it an evening. When do we release our friend here?”

“In the morning, just on the off chance she decides to come back with more of her comrades.” Banashae was already moving to collect her bedroll and blanket for the captive. For some reason she couldn’t discern, she got the feeling she had many nights of sleeping unprotected with her squad behind her, one more night wouldn’t kill her.

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POTA110618 - Crushed

According to Lady Stormbanner they were following in the same footsteps as the previous group that had come seeking to solve this mystery. This was of course by design for the most part, although Banshae did not know they had also requested aid in the construction of a raft. There were certain parallels she hoped to avoid drawing between themselves and the previous group. Namely the “never to be seen again part.”

“Interesting group.” Flea rode his horse up upfront alongside Elora and Banshae, the former following the trail, the latter maintaining the same empty stare she wore most of the days he’d known her. Save the last 24 hours spent at Summit Hill.

“I wouldn’t mind visiting again on our way out.” For once, his ancestors were quiet, so Flea took the opportunity to think out loud for himself. Not necessarily looking for any kind of response. 

“Assuming we make our way out.” Elora offered a joking smile, a joke Banshae appeared to be unamused by.

“As long as we each give our best and work together. In the end the gods are responsible for our fate.”

“I was just making fun.”

“She doesn’t do ‘fun’ or haven’t you noticed?”

The look Banshae shot Flea was more of hurt than anger. Almost embarrassment. “I see no fun in the prospect of death.”

“Oh come on, you’re telling me you didn’t enjoy yourself the least bit letting out some frustration on ‘the Lord of Lance Rock?”

“I held no personal stake in that. No individual ill will. It was merely a matter of duty.”

“See? No fun.” Flea chuckled to himself.

“Leave her alone, Flea. So she doesn’t revel in wanton blood. I’m none too keen on that either. You going to lean on me too?” Elora offered a light punch to the half-orc’s shoulder, like scolding a sibling.

“I’m not talking about wanton blood. I’m talking about taking a little joy in your work.” He turned back to Banshae, his tone a bit more respectful.

“You’re a soldier. You obviously have someone on top you look up to. You’re trying to tell me you don’t feel the least bit satisfied at the prospect of serving?”

Banshae thought for a moment, expecting to have to fight for an answer from the void. To her astonishment, it was revealed to her almost instantly, as if by reflex. A warm sensation swelled in her breast, and her chin lifted. Was this pride?

“I serve justice. Justice is an idea, and ideal, not a man or a woman. Although I answer to one I consider greater than myself, it is because they more greatly represent law and order.

“By serving justice, I feel like my life is given purpose and meaning...and yes, feel satisfied in fulfilling that purpose.”

“Well spoken.” Behind them, Dion offered a solemn bow of his head.

“Fair enough. I just like hitting things.” Flea shrugged.

“Hah, OK.” Elora smiled into her chest, only the slightest shaking of the head perceptible by anyone nearby.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That’s such a cop-out. Right alongside the gold standard ‘I’m just in it for the money.’“ The high elf turned, her eyes glittering in the sunlight. “I should know, I used to say the same thing.”

“Alright then, enlighten us as to your higher purpose.”

“That’s my business, and I’m not asking you to divulge in yours. I’m just saying. Don’t go and try and tell us you’re just some thug with an axe. We all know better than that. If that were the case you’d be with them instead of riding with us.”

“She’s a bright one, that one.” Aunt Lenore floated up next to Flea’s left, her massive arms crossed in front of her barrel chest. She had a look of approval about her that worried him. He knew what was coming next.

“She’d make a good mate.”

“Ugh, let’s not start that again.” Flea batted away at the air in a feeble attempt to disrupt the bothersome spirit even though experience told him it was a futile effort.

“Start what again?” Elora crooked an eyebrow.

“Nevermind...can we talk about something else?”

---

The fording of the river was not so much difficult as it was time consuming. The raft they had constructed proved sturdy and took to the waters well, however was nowhere near large enough for a single trip. With Banshae and Flea keeping watch on either side of the river, several trips were made to bring the horses over carefully two at a time. They were trained well, and were not skiddish of the waters that rushed underneath their hooves. For this all were grateful, as it was they would have to make camp before the final trip was made anyways.

Dawn broke with a warm breeze that smelled of tall grass and fresh water. Elora watched aghast as the rest of her party took to the river in the morning eagerly. Splashing the cool waters over their faces, drinking deeply and gladly. Gods only knew what was in that water. She was quite content to drink from her water skin for now and would bath when the waters offered were hot and clean.

While she waited, Elora bent down to examine the fading wagon tracks sunken into the riverbank. They were faint, a few more days and they’d disappear entirely. As it was, it would be difficult to track. Difficult, but not impossible, at least not for her. Bathed and refreshed, the rest of her group mounted up and fell in line behind as Elora slowly walked her horse along the path following the barely perceptible divets in the earth.

The day dragged on slowly, with nought but bush and tree alongside for landmarks. The afternoon sun eliminated all shadows for a few hours, forcing them to halt. Without the hint of darkened contours, Elora was blind to her next step. With the return of shadow, they recommenced their trek into the afternoon as the sun slowly sank below the treeline. The sky erupted into a brilliant hue of orange and purple just as they had rounded the next bend to be greeted by the same riverbank they had set out from that very morning.

“...by the nine Hells.” Elora cursed herself, immediately looking down to the dirt to find the tracks she saw so clearly not hours before.

“Is it just me or did we just to a complete circle?” Miv’s voice hinted a mild annoyance, but it was Banshae Elora was more concerned about.

“Sorry, the tracks were faint as it is. Probably got turned around somewhere.”

“You think?”

“It’s fine Elora. Nothing to be done about it now.” Banshae dismounted with a heavy sigh and cast a glance into the setting sun. “We’ll start fresh in the morning.”

Something, perhaps instinct, tickled the back of Flea’s head. Carefully as to not draw too much attention, he scanned the treeline around them. Around him he saw his ancestors floating about their own business. Chattering among themselves, telling the same stories they’ve already told countless times over. He tried to look past them, into the brush. Although he saw only green, he had a suspicion it hid something more.

“Don’t get in your bedclothes just yet. We’ve got company.”

Sure enough, as he pulled he weapon at the ready a rustling of leaves and snapping of twigs sounded from all around them. Figures emerged from shadow, behind trees, as if spawning from the forest itself. Strange figures in strange garb he noticed. Netting and turtle shell, crab claw and shark teeth. Humans, and some strange kind of orc with a bluish skin. Commanding over all, a lithe humanoid covered in barnacle and inked skin. His eyes the color of sea foam.

“Perceptive they are. If only they were able to recognize who’s territory they tread. This all may have been avoided.” His voice reminded them of the coast during a storm, dark and roaring.

“Who’s territory might that be?” Flea sized the thing up, he could take him.

“The children of the Crushing Wave, those who recognize and worship the power of the sea.”

Banshae’s eyes were fixed elsewhere, a symbol carved deeply in the shell armor that encased the majority of the humans. Although it was clearly not the symbol of those who had taken the lives of her brethren, it stood out in her mind as familiar nonetheless.

“We have no quarrel with you. Leave us in peace, lest you give us good reason to draw arms.” She already knew their answer, but something inside her compelled the warning nonetheless. Rules of engagement. The honor and conduct of war.

“I’m afraid it’s far too late for that.” The barnacled one made the slightest of gestures with his hands and in an instant his underlings had begun their attack. The air was filled with the twang of bow strings, shafts buzzing like angry wasps. Mercifully few found their target. The things that appeared like Orcs produced a strange kind of magic, tossing stagnant spheres of water through the air that exploded in a putrid stench.

Miv ducked past each one, moving like a hummingbird, nought but a smeared image and a whisper of sound in the fading light. Drawing closer to the crowd, jagged swords slashed and cut at him. Within the wooden blade, dozens of serrated shark teeth had been tied with gut twine. It bit and tore into his exposed flesh, creating massive gashes that wept blood.

His ancestors with him, Flea flew into a rage. Everything became red, and his weapon became like an extra limb. It was an extension of his body, lashing out with the added strength of generations of proud warriors. Beside him, Banshae belched forth a cloud of frost, sending her foes to their knees in a deathly chill. She found herself smiling, thinking of her earlier conversation with Flea and Elora.

While the battle raged, Dion noticed a sudden darkness about them. Looking up he saw a small gathering of clouds block out the setting sun. But these were not natural clouds. No, they were much smaller, closer to them all than the sky. A dark black with highlights of blue, these clouds clustered overhead. The temperature dropped. Hail, began to fall around them. The tatooed man smiled, arms outstretched, embracing the cold.

And so the battle continued, in darkness and in the light of the setting sun. In warmth and in cold. With arrow and sword, as well as sleet and rain. One by one the lesser cultists fell. Even with the added encumbrance of the storm, the heroes fought with a stronger conviction somehow, a greater zeal. One by one, the ground became littered with the dead, settling in the melting piles of hail in the dirt. The tattooed one was forced to watch as the power of his faith did nothing to stop what he had assumed to be mere common folk. No, this was not possible. The Crushing Wave towered over all! How could this be?

These questions scared him, his shaken faith far more threatening than any sword against him. Without so much as a word to his underlings, he turned heel and fled back into the bush, leaving the storm to slowly dissipate in his wake. It was now quite clear this would not be their day, and those cultists remaining alive followed suit and broke combat in an attempt to escape with their lives.

They were fast, faster than anticipated. Their retreat had taken them all by surprise. Lowering her sword Banshea watched the retreating figures shrink in the distance, focusing on one in particular. A straggler. Sword sheathed carefully in place, her hands now gripped the handle of her crossbow, leveled, and fired a single bolt directly behind the knee.

“Nice shot.” Elora nodded her approval, Banshae tried not to flush. From her observation, Elora was by far the more skilled archer, and she did not take compliments well as it was. She did her best to hide it and silently strode forward to take the wounded captive.

“Is everyone alright?” Dion had his healing spells at the ready, noting that at the very least, Miv had taken several blows at the hand of the strange serrated sword.

“I’ll live.” Flea shrugged his wounds off as usual, ignoring the fuss Aunt Lenore was making over them.

“Yes, well. I still think it would be best if I saw to everyone anyways.” The sun was almost below the horizon now and dark would be settling in proper soon. He would have to be quick, there were rites for the dead to perform.

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Blog 110918 - Connected

Playing through a module for the second time as a player is neat experience. At least for me, as I tend to have an interest in how the sausage is made so to speak. Going through the same setting of events and taking a different path gives you the chance to see behind the scenes at just how much work was put into each and every encounter to tie it into the greater story in a way that’s not too obvious but at the same time intriguing enough to get the player interested in learning more.

Oddly enough, I’ve never been that great at planning around the greater story when it came to my own games. I dunno why, it just always felt that my adventure hooks were a bit ham fisted. I always seemed to do better with smaller, unconnected stories. Which is a shame, as I would love to do something much grander.

I’m working on something for TPR right now that could be considered much bigger than what I’m used to do, but even still it’s nothing to the scale of official modules. And by scale I mean the length of the campaign, not the stakes of the adventure. I’ll probably never do any large stake games, as I don’t find “save the world” stories as interesting as the smaller ones. Probably the best example I can give is this...I prefer a DREDD story, over JUDGE DREDD story.

In smaller stories, it’s easier to get away with connecting things together in a more subtle fashion. Adventure hooks are more natural, and it makes sense that in a smaller scale there would be some overlap. While you’d think in a larger scale story it would also make sense for there being a lot of overlap, I’ve always just felt it to be a little too convenient for so many things in a small area to point to one thing that effects a much larger scope.

In terms of POTA, it makes sense that with four separate cults in close proximity, the players are bound to see run into overlap no matter where they go. Normally I would expect to lose believability when all four are involved in some kind of apocalypse plot because...come on, that’s kind of lazy to have four different cults in such a (relatively speaking) small play area, all gunning to end the world. I guess right now it’s easier to swallow because all we’ve heard is talk at the moment and no real legitimate threats. Our characters merely chalk it up to religious zealotry, nothing more.

I dunno, we’ll see how it goes I guess. Anyways, I got off topic. The point being, it’s quite impressive to see the threads stretching from each and every point of the story start to connect to other places the player (if not the character) has already seen. I’m hoping to be that meticulous in my planning at some point.

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POTA 110118 - Revelations

Dreams of warm sun and fresh grass slowly melted away with the first rays of dawn. Elora’s ears awoke ahead of her eyes, filling her head with the sounds of armor clanking and wooden practice swords thudding against one another. Her window opened to the courtyard where a large collection of young men and women of Summit Hill greeted the day with a heavy sweat. She would enjoy the view for a brief indulgence of the physical specimens on display before her stomach slowly roused itself from slumber. Down below both Flea and Banshae joined the morning regiments, sleep still clinging to the corners of their eyes. She smirked to herself and walked over to the trunk to dress. Let them exhaust themselves all over again, meanwhile, she would have the run of the kitchen and she fully intended to take advantage.

A glass of wine, another indulgence, helped wash down a rather disappointing affair. Fatty rashers, overcooked eggs, and stale heels of bread. How did these knights stand it? Clearly, they were far better men and women than she. Elora steepled her fingers and closed her eyes, letting her stomach calm down its threats of rebellion when Dion quietly lowered himself in the chair across from her.

“Good morning, sleep well I hope?”

“Perhaps you’re used to sleeping on straw mattresses and moth eaten blankets Priest but I’ve got far more discerning tastes.”

“Come now, these Knights don’t have much to offer. We should be grateful for their hospitality. Would you have rather slept outdoors?” Dion felt the bite of irony as he forced back a cringe when his fork met mouth and an explosion of grease trickled down his chin.

“Of course not, and I would not be so rude as to complain in front of our dear Lady Stormbanner.” A slight flush colored Elora’s cheeks. “I simply mean to say that it’s rather shameful that this is what is given to those who are in charge of keeping such a solitary duty. You would think the nearby cities would be more than happy to offer more to the ones that keep them safe.”

“If only the world ruled itself with such simple terms. I can assure you, even death exists in contradictions and shades of gray. Things are never as they should be.”

An unintended gloom fell over the table, This moment stretched for what seemed like minutes before Dion rose over his half eaten breakfast.

“Speaking of the dead. I am intrigued to see where they inter their fallen.”

“As you do...”

“Yourself?”

Elora frowned over her own breakfast, eventually pushing back from the table with a stretch and a grin. “Sight seeing, I guess you might call it.”

---

The Maimed Ones carefully lead Dion through the well kept catacombs where the fallen heroes of Summit Hill took their final slumber. It still smelled of earth and dampness, it was a tomb after all, but it was one of the better kept tombs he had had the privilege of seeing. The dead rested well here. Their keepers, the Maimed Ones, dedicated themselves to daily chores and rituals designed to honor the dead. They took their name from various missing limbs and appendages, most common being an eye or a hand. A career ending wound for a knight, normally. Instead, they chose to continue to honor their sense of brother and sisterhood with their fellow knights. While they may not be able to keep watch on them in the heat of battle, they could ensure an undisturbed slumber.

“This is where Sir Ordnyn will rest when he is recovered.” A scarred hand missing several digits pointed to an open hole within the wall between pillars. The stone plaque had been carefully chiseled, the mineral bright and shining in the torchlight. Yet to be tinged with soot and age.

“I am sorry for his loss. We will do our upmost to see him returned to where he belongs.” Dion hung his head and offered a quiet prayer for the missing.

“We thank you. Since its founding, all Knights of Samular have been interred within the earth around us. It would be a great dishonor for his bones to touch foreign soil.”

“That’s impressive for its time. The Knights were formed just after the second Troll War if memory serves?”

The woman smiled underneath the hood of her modest robes. “Good to know our history is not entirely forgotten outside these walls.”

“What of that? Who awaits that tomb?” Dion inclined his head to the East to the only other open tomb as far as his eyes could see. Unlike the monument to Sir Ordnyn, the chiseled plaque showed great age about it. You can clean a stone only so much, as time permeates deep within all things.

“You are familiar of our history. Can I assume you know of our founders?”

“Yes, three brothers; Samular, Amphail, and Renwick the Wizard.”

“Very good. That tomb awaits the lost brother Renwick should he ever choose to return home. It has been kept for many years despite no hints to any such homecoming.”

“He is...still alive?”

“In a fashion.” Her tone had changed, something more closely resembling sorrow, regret.

“Where has he gone then?”

“Renwick has chosen his own path, and no longer sees eye to eye with the rest of the order.”

“How so?”

“He is a Lich.”

“...ah.” Silence once again fell upon the catacombs around them, the discomfort between the two so thick it could be cut with a sword. Dion stood staring at the gaping hole in the wall for several moments, the foul four-letter word rattling through his head.

“I’m sorry, I was not aware-”

“Few are.” The maimed one offered a kind smile, a subtle gesture to ensure that no offense was taken. “It is not something the Knights are fond to remember themselves, but we do hold hope that our strays eventually find their way home.”

“I can assure you, we will do our best to return at least one.” Dion offered a small bow to his companion. Small victories, he thought. Small victories are what keeps us going sometimes.

---

“Miv. Might I have a moment?”

Miv turned from the sunset view of the outer wall to see Banshae cresting the last stone step from below. Being her had brought a kind of life to her that he hadn’t seen since making her acquaintance. She stood taller, certainly. But much more subtle things as well. Her armor got that extra bit of attention this morning, catching the light and gleaming in the sun. The silver in her scales glimmered with a much brighter shade of blue than usual. Something about this place, it was good for her.

“Sure.” Miv shrugged and leaned back against the edge. “What’s on your mind?”

“The Monestary. Our meeting with Lady Stormbanner leaves us with no other leads except this ‘Sacred Stone.’”

“...Ok.” Miv tensed, sensing a conversation coming that he wasn’t sure he wanted to have.

“I was hoping you might illuminate me on what we might expect for defenses. Coming from  Monastery yourself. I understand each is different, still I believe you might have some valuable input on the matter.”

“Of course.” Miv let the words out slowly, calmly.

“I understand if this makes you uncomfortable, however-”

“No, no. That’s...” He let out a chuckle edged in venom. “That’s not a problem, trust me.”

The dusk air between them developed a chill. The two stood in silence, neither seemed too comfortable with these kinds of interactions. The kind with people. Comrades were easy. You discussed business, cold hard facts and decisions based on a common agreement. Talking to someone as a person, a person with feelings and reservations, that was something else entirely.

“Is there something you wish to discuss?” The words fell from Banshae awkwardly, accompanied by a shifting of weight in an attempt to regain some comfort.

“Not much to say really.” Miv shrugged. “I’ve spent enough time in the real thing to see past the veil of the ‘peaceful, idealistic, Monastery.’ I’ve seen the real thing, the monster underneath the mask.

“I see it everywhere now that I’m out. The corruption, the gross misuse of power, it’s not just systemic of Monks. The fact that it exists in a place that hides itself behind generosity and peace just makes it worse than the rest.”

“...so, you feel it is entirely possible that this is not a wild goose chase?”

“I see no reason not to suspect a group of monks of this, no. If they did, I’ll help you take them down like anyone else.”

“Good, I thank you.” Banshae stepped forward, ready to launch into a series of questions on defensive lines, strategies, possible security measures. Miv held up a firm hand. He was not done.

“Don’t thank me, and don’t misunderstand me. I’m not quick to trust or give loyalty, this is all about the job for me. To be honest, I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop, whether it be you or the priest.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Like I said, I’ve seen how power corrupts and it corrupts quickly. Even the most selfless general can turn into a spiteful, demanding, prick in a heartbeat. In my experience it doesn’t matter how noble one’s intentions may be. They all fall.”

His eyes had a fire to them. Banshae locked glares with him, he was quite serious. He had no hostility about him, but she felt no trust from him either.

“I am a soldier Miv. I follow orders, I am not accustomed to giving them. I do not relish the experience. To be honest, I don’t quite trust myself to make the decisions.” Was that true? It had to be. The statement just erupted from her mouth as easily as anything else. Her former life slipping back? She would have to ponder more on the subject later.

“I leave it to much greater men and women than I to call the shots. I am merely a tool for wiser individuals.”

“And there it is.”

“Pardon?”

“That’s the kind of thinking this corruption breeds. A lack of trust in oneself. This idea that you must rely on those in power.”

“I’m sorry...we seem to have gotten off the subject.” Banshae shook her head. She was growing weary of this talk. She needed something simpler. A problem to solve with the skills and abilities at her disposal. These problems of philosophy and ethics were beyond her scope of thinking. She would rather stab her way through a solution.

“Yes. You were asking about defenses? I can help you with that.”

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POTA102918 - Unearthed

“And how did you come by these books?” Banshae took on the appearance of a stern parent, appraising Miv as she sat across the table. Dion was already pouring over the ancient pages, seemingly uninterested in their origins.

“I didn’t steal them if that’s what you mean.”

“She wasn’t suggesting you did, I’m sure.” Dion immediately played mediator between the two. Friction between the party would not do this early on. However he had to agree with her assessment, that Miv did not simply stumble upon books of such antiquity and value.

“It’s just that these are not common texts by any means. Not something I would imagine any merchant parting with cheaply.”

“There’s no need to worry about that. They’re not going in any mood to complain to anyone, besides, this is apparently a lawless town.” Miv’s tone turned acidic with contempt, his eyes darkened.

“Be that as it may, we can’t afford any trouble at the moment. The Caravan has already been missing for far too long, and each day lessens the chance we find these delegates alive.”

“If they are even alive to begin with.”

“Nevertheless, I can’t allow-”

“Enough, you two.” Dion held up a hand and stretching the open book out before them. “We would do well to take stock in what these books have to offer us as opposed to bickering among ourselves.”

“...very well.” Banshae stiffened in her seat, but took a deep breath and begged the cleric continue.

“They are of dwarven make, that much is clear. An old runic dialect. From what little time I have had with them, I have discerned that they speak of an old kingdom by the name of Esilemr within the very hills where our destination takes us.

“This same kingdom is responsible for the great Stone Bridge to the north. A marvel of dwarven engineering, it is quite the sight to see. Somewhere below the Slumber Hills is another landmark, the fortress Tyr-besl.”

“A possible hide-out for whoever is responsible for the ambush?” Banshae pondered.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Knowledge always proves itself useful in one fashion or another.” Dion closed the book and steepled his fingers, leaning over the table.

“I agree, which is why we must seek out the Knights at Summit Hill. It is my understanding that they only have second hand knowledge of what had occurred just North of their borders. A previous adventuring party sought to investigate further before they disappeared.”

“What were they investigating?” Miv relaxed some, his actions no longer in question. He had seen no issue with the course he had taken, although he understood well enough how others may disagree. He simply did not feel like arguing the point at the moment and was glad for the change in conversation.

“They had a clue that brought them across the river. But I would rather hear their reasoning from the Knights before I take us that far.”

“What is it you hope to find?” Miv asked delicately.

Banshae’s shoulders fell with a heavy sigh. “Some path forward, a clue at the very least as to who may be responsible. I do not assume to guess as to the fate of the members of the Lord’s Alliance. I am no fool. Although I do hold out some hope, however faint it may be.”

---

She couldn’t be sure, but Banshae thought she liked the long silent march on a secluded road. She got the feeling it was something familiar to her, and she could only assume this feeling was correct given her apparent profession. She assumed a soldier such as she would have many memories of quiet drudgery. The march to battle, the return home, or a long drawn out punishment by a spiteful superior. The more she thought about this the more at ease she felt. Letting herself sink into the feeling, the familiarity she couldn’t remember.

“Hold, there’s something up ahead.” Dion’s halt snapped her out of this comfort and back to a world totally alien to her. She scolded herself for what she perceived as a failure to keep lead, and cast her eyes to the vague figures on the road ahead.

“They’re undead whatever they are, I can smell them from here.” Elora covered her nose with a handkerchief she kept wild herbs and flowers in. Mostly a hobby, but now, she was gad for the it’s more practical use.

“Undead, here?” Banshae made a show of turning her head along the horizon. It had been days since they’d seen any kind of formal shelter or settlement. Any people they might have passed on the road were simple merchants. Nothing more menacing than a price hiker.

“Undead tend to wander if they aren’t kept a close eye on.” Elora shrugged.

“But not far.” Dion agreed with Banshae. The undeads’ presence here was odd without any sight of a shelter for a necromancer to hide away in. “We’ll worry about that later. These poor souls must be put to rest.”

The Ghouls offered little difficulty to dispatch, their elongated limbs reached out in desperate swipes and grasps towards the living but brought back no pound of flesh. Dion took no joy in this work, he wished this fate upon no one. To die, to be so close to peace, only to have it ripped away from you at the last moment. To be forced back into a rotting body, with only the bare minimum of intelligence to drive you. To die again. It must be unbearable to endure.

The cleric bent over each body when it was done and offered them the peace they were once denied. Gentle whispers of prayers guided each soul to the other side with kindness and pity. They should feel no guilt for their actions, they had no choice in the matter. No one would judge them upon any sins they had committed. Peace now. Only peace.

“Banshae...” Dion broke through her concentration yet again, this time during her meticulous cleaning and inspection of her blade and armor. It was not a hard battle, but it felt familiar, routine, to check regardless.

“Yes?”

“I’m afraid I found this embroidered on several of them. What ones that still bore clothing that is.”

The priest handed her a tattered patch of black cloth, caked in dirt and dried blood. The fabric was once a fine linen, breathable, light, well suited for warm temperatures and hard labor. It had been dyed a shade of midnight, with a symbol embroidered in golden silk. It was a symbol Banshae was well familiar with, for she bore the same standard upon her own armor and shield. The standards of Miorbar.

“...I am very sorry.”

“Thank you.” Banshae stared at the scrap, tremors running up and down her arm.

“No one deserves such a fate, least of all those who serve the people.”

“Why? Why not simply slaughter them? What purpose did this serve?” Banshae racked her mind, her brow furrowed in thought. There must be some higher purpose to this, a more motivated offender than a simple group of highwaymen.

“If all they wanted were bodies to ransom for gold, they could have slain the guards and left them to rot."

“I agree, there is something more to all this than a missing caravan.” Dion looked up at the sky, his heart heavy with sorrow. This means there will be more souls kept from their rest.

“Thank you, Banshae.“

“...for what?” Silver cheeks flushed red, a more confused and less modest blush.

“For bringing me here. Had I not come, who knows what fate would have in store for those denied their eternity. You have my firm resolve in this. Now, more than ever.”

Banshae nodded. Resolve was good. A personal stake would make it far easier to ask what would be needed from these people. She looked back over her shoulder at the others gathered in wait by the horses. Talking among themselves. What inspires the others, she wondered, and would it be enough for what might lie ahead?

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