Session 10 Recap & Experience Points Awards

 

Vagar had already caught a glimpse of the battleground. An array of candlestands illuminated a vaulted, roughly square compartment at least 90 feet deep. The far end of the chamber looked elevated and featured a crude, scrap wood altar to the snake god Salomirak. A row of makeshift pews crossed the room, just large stones with mismatched flat boards laid across. And three hairy lycanthropes—two beastly martenweres in the foreground, a more human-like weremarten on the raised dais— stood ready in the broad dome around corner.

There had been some hope one or more of the hostile creatures might be lured out of their chamber and into the jagged passageway where the five-strong adventuring company might overwhelm them. In the attempt, the enchanter Tristan Pureheart had dispatched a glowing humanoid form into the room by way of a dancing lights spell, while the elven spellsword Vagar followed with his own, simpler illusion of a warrior flashing at the threshold. But it was not to be. Sione Bari had warned the lycanthropes would likely pick up the company’s scent—and so they had. The purely visual illusions did not fool them, and now but one choice remained: to go in and face them.

Already the beasts’ deep howls had reverberated through halls, calling unknown numbers of bloodmartens to their aid. And even this wouldn’t be all; as soon as the party rounded the corner and surged into the cavern, an even more hideous foe appeared: zombie-like bloodmartens, called from the ground by the weremarten cultist Banipal.

Just the deathly beings bared their fangs and turned to face the company, however, the dwarven cleric Brodrath extended his tri-bolt wand in their direction. The dark runes of his cudgel suddenly glowed bright blue in the presence of the undead beings. But in place of the weapon, Brodrath called down the power of Paomoer to drive the zombie bloodmartens back. 

The turning of his vicious undead bloodmartens would soon prove the least of Banipal’s frustrations, however. Vagar, taking a position just behind the threshold of the chamber, paused just momentarily to draw on the inspiration of his ancestors—then unleashed a bow shot for the ages. The fletching of his arrow sung through the cool air, until the tip pierced violently into the serpent shaman’s shoulder and drew of shriek of anguished rage. A critical hit.

Already Banipal’s line was broken, and the weremarten badly wounded. But the beasts still had greater numbers, and furiously counterattacked. The weremarten Arhein led the charge, rushing to the front of Banipal’s forces and wounding the martial artist Ailier Solenight with a well-placed jab of his bladed spear (yari). A line of bloodmartens followed, crowding the entrance and slashing at the company with their razor-like claws. Even worse, Banipal then invoked some foul incantation, producing a trio of translucent rays that shot through the air toward each of the company’s front-line stalwarts. Ailier dodged. The dwarf Jadearch deflected the magic with his shield. But the cleric Brodrath was not so fortunate; he fell to the floor, immobilized by the weremarten’s spell.

With no other option to save his paralyzed colleague, Tristan stepped into the breach—whereupon he suddenly unleashed a gleaming fan of multicolored magic rays from his wizard’s staff. The blast blinded the two nearest bloodmartens, knocked another unconscious, and left the dangerous martenwere Arhein stunned on the floor. Ailier took swift advantage of the opening, running the beast through with his silver dagger before he could make any recovery. This prompted a disconsolate wail from the other martenwere, the one they called Delinda—who could only have been Arhein’s mate. But she could do nothing to save him. And even then a second masterful shot flew from Vagar’s bow, striking Banipal again in the torso and leaving him on the brink of mortality.

Once more the lycanthropes rallied. This time, Delinda led the charge, berserk with her rage. As her mate had done, Delinda too charged straight at Ailier Solenight and gashed him with her rusty blade. But Ailier soon returned the favor, delivering a wicked slash of his own. In her fury, Delinda never felt the blow. Neither did she mind the dwarf Jadearch, then engaged with a rabid bloodmarten just to Ailier’s left. She never saw it coming when Jadearch turned suddenly and thrust his spear deep into the unguarded side of her body. 

A third arrow from Vagar might then have ended the battle in short order. But this time, the shot flew wide and the weremarten cleric still stood. The company watched as Banipal invoked yet another spell, this one seeming to cover him in some kind of glittery aura of protection, before turning and heading for a narrow door in the southwest corner of the chamber.

With both martenweres having fallen and Banipal having fled, no lycanthropes remained to control the bloodmartens or martial them into any kind of organized force. Their line broke and the beasts scattered, leaving the company to mop them up safely from distance. But this would take several moments—critical time for Banipal to heal his wounds and regroup for the inevitable second round.

The flimsy door through which Banipal had fled opened into a narrow corridor, with a second similar portal at the opposite end. The company massed in the corridor and Jadearch kicked open the second door and burst through with Brodrath close behind. The two dwarves  found a jagged, mostly rectangular chamber, crudely furnished and illuminated with a blur of light on the high, domed ceiling. This was Banipal’s personal quarters, and he waited at the opposite end, greeting the party with an ultimatum. “Leave now and I will let you live.” Between him and the party stood four of the largest bloodmartens anyone had yet seen.

“He’s scared,” exclaimed Vagar, taking Banipal’s threat as a sign of weakness. He nocked an arrow and started to aim for the werebeast cleric. But something in the weave of reality would not permit this, and the spellsword involuntarily aimed his bow at one of the greater bloodmartens instead. Bewildered, Vagar reached into his quiver for the next projectile.

It was then that Brodrath suddenly fell. One of the great bloodmartens tore his razor claw across the cleric’s neck, before a second sunk deep into his torso. The power of the first strike was unexpected, and the second equally so—and the combined damage proved too much for even the stout dwarf to bear. Outnumbered once more and having exhausted their magical reserves, the outcome of the battle fell again into question. “This is your last chance,” Banipal warned. “Leave this place. Or die.”

Still the party continued undeterred. So sooner had Banipal uttered those words, then Jadearch’s might spear tore through a great bloodmarten, striking it dead in a single blow. With a  look of confusion, Banipal summoned a glowing hammer of force to his aid—the mystical weapon dancing in air as if wielded by an invisible warrior. But the hammer did not connect with any target, and the weremarten’s desperation only grew.

At that moment, the shimmering shield that covered Banipal seemed suddenly to dissipate, and Vagar took advantage. This time, the silvered arrow struck Banipal squarely in the forehead; the bone ceded to the force of the impact and the lycanthropic cultist finally fell dead. Moments later, a successful shot from the bow of Tristan would finish off the last of the giant bloodmartens and the caverns at last fell silent.

Now in the flickering candlelight, the company proceeded to gather what treasures they could find in Banipal’s sparse room and the lycanthropes’ remains. This amounted to just over 100 GP in coins, several pieces of jewelry, some books, a carved snake figurine, and a pair of potions. It was something; it wasn’t enough for all that the victory had cost.

The thought of a warm bed and a properly-cooked meal beckoned. But there was still work to be done, and stops to make along the way. The body of the party’s fallen cleric called for proper disposal—not to mention that of their former guide. A leather-bound diary on Banipal’s bookshelf told of weapon called “Blackfang” that was likely interred in a nearby grave. And back on the edge of town, the old warrior-turned-farmer Savu Bari had promised his own reward for the destruction of the lycanthrope threat. 

Adventure Notes

Animate Dead Animal. It is well-known throughout the realms that certain evil priests and even some arcane mages have the ability to raise skeletons, zombies, and potentially other forms of undead. Typically this magic is associated with the “animation”  of human, demi-human, or humanoid corpses and other remains. However Banipal appears to have known a spell to animate the corpses of bloodmartens.  

 Hold Person. Long have you feared the hold person spell, which can paralyze even the strongest warrior from a considerable distance. It is too much to say that pure luck saw you through the battle with Banipal. But the spell immobilized one party member—and only fortune kept the spell from immobilizing a second, or even a third.

 Sanctuary. The late Brodrath spoke once of sanctuary, an incantation of the time/space sphere that mystically causes foes to ignore a caster in the swirl of battle. The spell is broken by violence, but otherwise the gleaming cloak of sanctuary works like inattention blindness on one’s enemies. Brodrath had said even more powerful version of the spell exist, though he did not know the details.

 Spiritual Hammer. Banipal made his final attack with a hovering weapon of shimmering force. Ineffectual though it proved to be in this case, the “spiritual hammer” might have inflicted some serious damage had it managed to connect with its target.

 Laceweed. A recreational drug popular with youth in the Sekara lowlands, laceweed is an amphetamine—commonly ingested through smoke inhalation—that stimulates the central nervous system and tends to cause a short-term energy boost, heightened alertness, and exhilarating feelings of power, strength, energy, self-assertion, focus, pleasure, or peace. However the high wears off within hours, and is usually followed  by a crash associated with nausea, extreme fatigue, depression, paranoia, and violent urges. Laceweed is highly addictive and withdrawal symptoms are reportedly severe.

 Potion of Poison Resistance. Sometimes called “Liver of the Gods,” the potion of poison resistance is one of the few magic items common folk ever come across. Indeed there are some who question whether the concoction is truly magical at all, or simply a miracle of mundane medical science. Whatever its origins, this green liquid turbocharges the imbiber’s ability to process and neutralize toxins of any kind. For one hour after consumption, the imbiber has advantage on saving throws vs. poison, and any poisons that do affect the imbiber inflict 50% less damage over twice the expected duration.

 Ioke Mase. An authority on many things magical, the venerable elven sage Ioke Mase still lives in the Chalmwood. Given the proximity of the Cave of Horrors, it is not at all surprising that Banipal would seek out a copy of her tome,  Jubilex’s Garden: On Deadly Slimes and Jellies. Whether (or how much) of that work he might have been able to read, however, is anyone’s guess.

 Experience & Inspiration

·       The company attempted to lure the martenweres into the hallway with dancing lights and illusion cantrips. However the attempt was not successful, perhaps in part because the dancing lights were directed to enter the martenweres’ chamber and continue toward Banipal (rather than linger at the entrance or otherwise function as “bait.”). This hard lesson is noted by all. 30 XP.

 ·       The company defeated 12 standard bloodmartens (240 XP), four undead bloodmartens (120 XP), four greater bloodmartens (270 XP), the martenweres Arhein (185 XP) and Delinda (165 XP), and the weremarten Banipal (2,000 XP) in battle this session. Because these monsters were all faced simultaneously, and in Banipal’s lair, a 15% bonus is applied to the base total (2,980), resulting in 3,427 XP.

 ·       The company did not fall for any of Banipal’s ultimatums or attempts to stall or negotiate. 100 XP.

 ·       The company reached Banipal’s personal chamber and recovered the various treasures from his lair. 250 XP.

 ·       The company has completed its mission to rid Larkingwood of the martenwere threat. 2,500 XP.

Session 10 total: 6,307 XP

The total 6,307 XP award from the session will be divided into sixteen shares, which comes out to 394.19 XP per share. This will be rounded up to 400 XP per share. The first fifteen shares are then distributed as follows:

Jadearch (4 shares)

Tristan Pureheart (4 shares)

Vagar (4 shares)

Ailier Solenight (3 shares)

Accordingly, Jadearch, Tristan, and Vagar each gain 1,600 XP from the session. Ailier gains 1,200 XP.

At the option of Ailier’s (and formerly Brodrath)’s player, the final share (400 XP) may go to Ailier or to a new character to be created.

Session 9 Recap & Experience Points Awards

 

The scrape of metal on stone echoed through the jagged cavern. An elven bowman and his dwarven colleague poked and searched through a litter of bones and debris, pausing every now and then to collect a forgotten coin or old lost treasure. The tunnels were quiet now, but just moments earlier the din and rancor of battle had filled their subterranean air.

Three fearsome white worms—carrion crawlers, they were often called—had surrounded the modest adventuring party. They flailed at the adventurers with terrible tentacles, striking with paralyzing stings that left three of their number powerless on the ground. The remainder of the company had fought them off, but only now did feeling begin to return in the legs and necks and fingers of the fallen. For them, the seconds inched painfully past—all the while knowing more deadly worms could emerge from the dark depths at any moment.

Their companions, the elven spellsword Vagar and the dwarven warrior Jadearch, had only to wait until toxin’s effect wore off. They passed the time collecting fallen silver coins and stealing glances at their guide—Sione Bari, the courageous but star-crossed son of the farmer who had sent the company on this mission to begin with.

The party had come across Sione in different cave near this one. There, he’d revealed a devastating infection: lycanthropy, the germ of the beast. The same disease that was responsible for creating the vicious monsters the party was down here looking to eradicate: the snake cultist Banipal, and two more of the ferocious martenweres. Sione hadn’t turned yet, so far as the company knew. But he would eventually, as even he knew. And that meant keeping an eye on him. Constantly.

Even so, Sione too had not succumbed to the white worms’ toxin. But he summoned what patience he could for the awkward novice enchanter Tristan—himself still regaining the feeling in his extremities—who dared ask whether Sione was “going to be okay.”  The question, bordering on the obscenely direct, might have offended a less thoughtful man. But Sione recognized the peril his companions must surely have perceived. He didn’t know Tristan had caught a glimpse of his dawning beastly nature, yet still thought an honest answer only fair.

“When I feel stress,” he slowly replied, “it tests my resolve. But you don’t have to worry about me.”

The declaration was somehow less than fully satisfactory. But Sinoe walked point and the company fell in line. They first passed a dark, thin crevice from which they suspected the carrion crawlers had come. Bari then led them deeper into the tunnels, journeying several minutes before dropping to his knees to pause the march. “Do you hear them?” he asked. “Mammals. Many of them. Straight up ahead.”

In the tight geography, the company perceived little option but to make a frontal assault. After a moment to ready their spears and arrows, all charged fearlessly forward into the dark. Spilling around the first corner, they found the floor matted with fur and animal stank. Bloodmartens. This was a den, home to at least twenty of them. Without hesitation the party fell upon the first several.

The cleric Brodrath struck the very first blow, slamming his runed cudgel down upon his target with deadly force. Seconds later, the spellsword Vagar dropped a second giant weasel with a well-placed arrow shot. As the rest of the adventuring party poured into the room, a third bloodmarten would fall, and then a fourth.

But there were just so many of them. For each bloodmarten that fell under the party’s blades, two and three others would quickly take its place. One tore viciously at Sione’s leg, and soon another sank its teeth into Sione. With still another wave approaching, more severe measures would need to be taken.

The company had hoped to preserve its magical resources for the looming confrontation with Banipal. But there would be no such encounter if they did not first survive this onslaught. The martial artist Ailier Solenight dug his knife deeply into the hide of another bloodmarten gnawing on Tristan’s shoulder, freeing the mage just in time to flick his staff and utter the arcane phrase sulnea antioisum! The spell, colloquially known as sleep in the common Sekaran tongue, descended upon the critical mass of the bloodmartens many dropped instantly to the floor in a furious arcane slumber.

But not nearly enough. Still several bloodmartens remained alert, and continued to defend their den. Another bit hard into Sione. And then another. And another. Sione, his skin shredded in multiple places and bleeding profusely from deep founds, fell at last to his knees.

Only then, on the brink of death, did Sione finally lose command over his dreadful disease. “Rrrraarggh!!” His fearsome shout rang through the caverns, and Sione seemed to magnify right before the party’s eyes. Muscles and animal hair bulged through his clothing. His hands shriveled to claws, and his face contorted to that of a marten-like beast, even as his teeth sharpened and his eyes burned orange. “Eeerraaaghhh!!!”

In an instant, Sione clutched the first bloodmarten that attacked him and snapped its neck in his bare hands. He grabbed a second and smashed it against the floor to deadly effect. “Aaaughharrr!!”

The party members watched in a conflicted amazement. Only reluctantly had Sione agreed to help with this quest. But having given his word, he served wholeheartedly. He had promised he would pose no threat to the company, and so far he had kept his word on that score as well. But that was not all Sione had said.

“I cannot return to my family,” he had solemnly confessed. “There are times I cannot control it.”

As the beastly form of Sione raged on into the swarm of bloodmartens, the wood elf Vagar steeled his mind and drew a silver arrow from his quiver. There are times he cannot control it. That was why Sione had taken up refuge in the Rock Marsh to begin with. He kept far from home for fear he might harm his own brothers. And soon the last bloodmarten would be gone.

Vagar’s arrow pierced violently into Sione’s left shoulder, eliciting an even more furious howl of rage. But the frantic weremarten did not turn his back. He grabbed yet another of the oversized mustelids in his beastly hands and tore the being asunder, its hide ripping as though it were but a thin strip of parchment. “Eeeahhhgghhorrrrahhhh!!!!”

The task was unpleasant. But Vagar drew a second silver arrow. This one sank even more deeply into Sione’s unrecognizable beastly body. Stunned by the impact, the unwilling weremarten dropped again to his knees—and the few last bloodmartens descended angrily upon him.

The company soon ended the skirmish, dispatching remaining mustelids with their spears and arrows and clubs. But the emotion lingered.

“Maybe we should do something with the body,” Tristan meekly suggested, gazing upon the bloody fletchings that still protruded from Sione’s bloody remains. He died in his hated, beastly form—still mostly encased in stressed leather armor and a filthy grey kimono.

“Like what?” Vagar answered back, in a tone that scarcely concealed his disdain. “Sione died the moment he became the beast.” What remained was not the body of their fallen comrade; this was nothing more than a dead lycanthrope.

“We deal with Banipal first,” declared Jadearch, sensing the tension budding between the two wood elves. “Then maybe we come back here if we can.”

Both Vagar and Tristan nodded silently and the compromise was struck. Brodrath gripped his spellrod and called down the spirit of Paomoer to expertly heal Tristan’s wounds. Ailier lifted Sione’s still-burning torch. And once again reduced to five, the company marched on.

Moving carefully through the twisted tunnels, they soon came upon a set of iron door jambs framing the cavern walls, a thick wooden door between them. Proceeding through the door, the company’s pace slowed and their voices grew softer. “We’re in someone’s lair,” Jadearch observed. “Or some thing’s.”

Beyond the door the tunnel curved first to a lowered cold storage, its floor covered with blood and crates bearing dead animals and large hunks of meat in various stages of preparation. The tunnel then continued past a cool underground stream, and finally to a long, smooth corridor that split sharply to the left and right at the end.

Approaching the fork, the company noticed a flickering glow of yellow light from the leftward passage, and heard the low tones of a spiritual chant. To the right, however, a daunting curtain of brittle bones hung from the ceiling on countless strands of jute twine, tied with metal scraps and bangles. “An early warning system,” the dwarf Jadearch declared. And so it was.

And yet, even having turned back from the bone curtain, it would nevertheless seem the martenweres already knew the company had arrived. For just moments later, Vagar would peer around the corner of the left passage and see that all three of the martenweres they pursued stood ready, as if awaiting the party’s arrival. “We cannot mask our scent,” Sione had warned. “Be on your guard.”

Though the party members’ scents may have alerted the martenweres to the company’s approach, the beastmen luckily had not spotted Vagar as he quickly reconnoitered the final corner of the left passage. Dashing back to the relative safety of the tunnel, he delivered his report.

The glow the company had seen was the residual light of candles, burning atop several tall candle stands scattered around a vaulted, mostly-square compartment. The far end of the chamber looked elevated, with a few more candle stands illuminating a crude altar to some snake god. Two martenweres held bladed weapons and kept to the lower level. They looked just like those you’d previously encountered—not much over five feet in height, and with beastly heads and fangs. On the raised platform behind them stood a third creature, taller and more human in his bearing. He wore green and gold religious vestments and held a gleaming metal rod. There could be no doubt, this was Banipal.

Adventure Notes

Magical script.  From time-to-time, adventurers may come upon various magical writings such as magic scrolls, spellbooks, magical inscriptions, and so on. An intelligence check will generally be necessary for a character to successfully read these materials—and even if successful, may sometimes only enable the character to discern the overall purpose or function of an inscription. For example, a character might be able to determine that a scroll contains the spell knock, but not be able to read the scroll well enough to actually cast the spell or copy it into a spellbook. Or a character may be able to discern that a magical inscription above a door bears the password to open that door—yet fail to decipher that password. Note the spell read magic will greatly enhance a caster’s ability to comprehend magical script, especially at advanced experience levels.

 Weremarten. Sione Bari’s grueling transformation from human to beast was dreadful and traumatic, and what the party will most remember is surely the horror and anguish of the moment. But there were lessons too. Sione, being in his original state human, retained a generally human bearing even in beastly form. His appearance, as well as that of Banipal, were markedly different from the others—the martenweres, which seemed distinctly the opposite. It seems the curse of lycanthropy works in both directions then: shifting giant martens into a degraded humanoid form (martenweres), just as it morphs natural persons into degraded animal forms (weremartens).

Inspiration points. Several PCs have accumulated inspiration points to date. However, the DM cannot recall any character having actually expended an inspiration point yet in the campaign. This may be the DM’s fault, as it appears inspiration points were omitted from the rules set. This will be added in time, but the key principles are as follows:

•  A player may spend an inspiration point to add (or subtract, in a roll-under situation) d4 to any roll that player’s character makes. Most commonly this will be a d20 roll, such as a skill check, attack roll, or saving throw. But inspiration points can also be used to boost damage inflicted by a melee attack, amplify the benefits of a healing spell, etc.

• The player must declare the use of the inspiration point prior to making the roll it will enhance.

• Players are especially encouraged to narrate their actions when drawing upon inspiration points (i.e., “I attack the zombie with my sword using inspiration” is fine; “I channel the rage of my forebears and with great inspiration bury the point of my steel deep within the zombie’s putrid flesh!” is much appreciated by all).

Players who acquire inspiration points are encouraged to use them. As a general principal, the more unused inspiration points an adventuring company has collectively accumulated, the more difficult that party will find it to gain further inspiration points.

 Experience & Inspiration

• Spread among the refuse pit, the company found a good deal of coins and an arcane scroll containing affect normal fires. 200 XP.

• The company entered a den of 20 bloodmartens and successfully defeated them in battle. 400 XP.

• Sione Bari involuntarily transformed into a weremarten before the party’s eyes, and launched into an immediate berserker rage. Though Sione channeled his fury at the company’s bloodmarten foes, the situation presented a difficult dilemma. Sione had proven a friend—but what he might do after he finished with the bloodmartens was unknown. Sione could pose a serious danger, were he to turn his wrath upon the party. And there was no apparent cure for his affliction; even if Sione did not attack the company now, he could no longer be trusted and would pose a risk to the party throughout the remainder of this adventure and potentially to the nearby farmers and travelers long thereafter. The decision was tragic, but clear. The company is awarded 750 XP.

• The company located and explored much of Banipal’s lair in this session, eventually reaching and successfully casing the weremarten’s shrine to Salomirak. 175 XP.

• Vagar is additionally awarded an inspiration point, both for his lack of hesitation in the Sione Bari affair as well as well as his bravery in the reconnaissance

Session 9 totals: 1,525 XP

The total 1,525 XP award from the session will be divided into nine shares, which comes out to 169.444 XP per share. This will be rounded up to 170 XP per share. The shares are then distributed as follows:

• Jadearch (2 shares)
• Brodrath (2 shares)
• Tristan Pureheart (2 shares)
• Vagar (2 shares)
• Ailier Solenight (1 shares)

Accordingly, Jadearch, Tristan, Vagar, and Brodrath each gain 340 XP for this session. Ailier gains 170 XP. Vagar is also awarded one inspiration point.

Session 8 Recap & Experience Points Awards

 

“Well you can just call me Vuzu,” the foul-mouthed smoke mephit announced, its voice softened a tad from the first sips of Jadearch’s whiskey. “Of course that’s not my real name.”

This meager sign of goodwill was not unwelcome. But the weary adventuring troupe had not returned to the mephit’s abode in hopes of learning its name. “We were actually hoping to inquire about the glitter shade,” the enchanter Tristan Pureheart replied. “Can you tell us anything about that?”

“The glitter shade?” the mephit replied. “Is that one of those invisible beings that flings things around the room?”

“Close,” the enchanter responded. “In the same cave.” Tristan proceeded to relate a description of the glitter shade, but the mephit denied knowledge of the being—stating only that the mage who formerly resided herein was responsible for the poltergeists. The precise nature of the glitter shade, and its origins, would remain a mystery.

Bidding farewell to the increasingly intoxicated mephit, the company stepped outside the ruined house stone house and canvassed the remainder of the domed cavern it occupied. Several puddles of green acidic liquid lingered along the edges, eating into the very rock itself and corroding the occasional cooking tin or hand tool that somehow made its way here from inside the mage’s abandoned house. There was nothing of value or particular interest, and after a quick glance into the giant lizards’ tunnels, the party chose to move on.

Climbing back to the surface of the Rock Marsh’s greatest island, the company found the sun dipping low on the horizon and felt the first pangs of exhaustion zinging through their bones. A rest was needed, and the nearby overlook promised a safe and defensible redoubt. The decision to ascend and make camp there was an easy one, and soon taken.

The evening passed uneventfully, and as dawn broke the reinvigorated adventuring crew readied themselves for a day of furious battle. The final martenewere cave lie dead ahead—where the company expected to find no fewer than three of the beasts, including its snake cultist leader, and a good number of the vicious giant mustelids they had previously battled on numerous occasions.

But first they had to cross the island, and this proved difficult as the poorly hewn path was choked with fauna. Each footfall seemed to sink incrementally deeper into the muck, and impassable, mangrove-like pickets of swamp trees began to wall the company in. Just when the ground finally seemed to solidify, a high tuft of bright green moss and musty old leaves blocked their way. Scampering over it, suddenly the martial artist Ailier Solenight sank deeply into the mound.

Only then did the company realize, this was no mere pile of leaves and soil. A giant maw revealed itself in the middle of the fust heap. It was alive!

And threatening to devour the martial artist whole. Luckily cleric Brodrath was quick to react, turning and grasping his comrade below the shoulders and yanking him forcefully to safety. Already, the monster’s rows of teeth and digestive fluids had shredded and dissolved much of Ailier’s clothing and claimed his pack and weapons. But he was alive, and relatively unscathed.

Its hearty breakfast denied, the strange being shifted and roared, and vented out a chartreuse noxious gas that drive the party members to retreat and scatter in multiple directions. But now the angry adventurers would unleash their fury.

Before the gas could spread far, the spellsword Vagar would raise his hands in the now-familiar fan pattern, touch his thumbs together, and call forth raging jets of flames from his fingertips. The ordinarily mild incantation struck with uncommon intensity this day. The burning hands not only consumed the spreading gas cloud above the fust heap but even ignited the dead leaves and vegetation atop the mound. Left to burn long enough, the fire alone might have destroyed the being. But the dwarven warrior Jadearch took no chance—thrusting his spear deeply into the fust heap and stilling the monster at last.

There was nothing to do now but continue on. The final black crag stood even closer now, and as the company finally drew near the familiar face of Sione Bari would emerge from behind a nearby thicket. “All the rest are inside,” he said, without so much as a greeting. “The cultist. The two others. And surely a good number of the giant weasels.”

Holding his silver-tipped spear like a walking stick, Bari pointed to a narrow hole that dove steeply into the ground, just at the base of the rock tower. “We can muffle our sounds,” he said. “But we cannot mask our scent. Be on your guard.” 

Bari produced a cloth-wrapped torch, deftly ignited it, and took the first step into the underground. The opening was irregular, with edges eroding and copious animal tracks leading both into the hole and out of it. Without a moment’s hesitation, the company followed Bari into the darkness below.

The company proceeded single-file along a narrow, steep passage. The sunlight slowly disappeared behind as the tunnel plunged deeper and deeper into the black earth, before finally leveling off and branching out in numerous directions. An old iron gate that once blocked one particular tunnel of those tunnels now lay derelict on the cavern floor—having apparently fallen or been knocked off its hinges. Naturally, the party opted to continue in that direction.

Before long, the company began hearing strange squeaks and chips before them, and the tight tunnel emptied into a large, jagged chamber where the party spotted a pair of digesting white, tentacled worms, which Sione called “carrion crawlers,” gnawing on some unidentifiable animal carcass. The two crawlers ignored the party as they walked past—but further in the darkness the party walked straight into a third crawler that immediately lunged at Tristan with its flailing tentacles.

The enchanter managed to dodge the first strike, but a second tentacle raked across the mage’s back. It produced a strange numbness. But luckily the crawler’s vile tentacle slid harmlessly off Tristan’s robe without delivering its paralyzing toxin. The party battled frantically, unleashing a volley of withering missile attacks that weakened the worm before Jadearch once again struck the killing blow with his spear. But it was not long before the previous two crawlers wandered over to the area, forcing the party to resume the battle. This time, fortune would not smile so favorably upon them.

As the battle began, the dwarven cleric Brodrath charged the first of the crawlers and smashed it with his runed cudgel while Vagar loosed arrows at the other. The cleric’s strike hit home—but the damage was slight. The wound served only to anger the beast, which lanced back at Brodrath with the first of its tentacles and dropped the dwarf, helplessly paralyzed, to the ground. The crawler then continued its rampage, charging Jadearch and forcing him to parry multiple successive attacks.

Meanwhile the other remaining crawler flung its own tentacles at the enchanter, Tristan, and the martial artist, Ailier Solenight—stinging and paralyzing them both. With half their comrades already defenseless and incapacitated and still both angry crawlers bearing down, the stakes could not be higher for the party members still standing.

But Vigar’s arrow struck true. And final worm’s tentacles flailed wildly just as Jadearch arrived from behind and plunged his spear. The crawler’s body sizzled and gave a final shiver, and the dark cavern fell silent once again.

Three of the party’s numbers remain motionless on the floor, having nearly become snacks for the foul worms. Yet already the numbness had begun receding, and there was no time to think about what might have been. All the company had nonetheless survived. And somewhere down in these filthy depths, the martenweres remained to be found.

Adventure Notes

Fust Heap. Long have you heard tell of the terrible “shamblers,” dismal swamp beasts constituted of rotting plants and organic matter, impervious to many forms of attack, that lie in ambush for travelers. Luckily the variant you encountered, the fust heap, was far less fearsome than you might have expected. It offered no resistance to Vagar’s flames or Jadearch’s spear, and ultimately proved more a nuisance than a genuine threat.  

Carrion Crawler (lesser). The carrion crawler is a hideous subterranean scavenger that paralyzes prey with its poisonous tentacles, before fiercely devouring it. Thick scales cover its long body, though leaving many gaps and articulations (AC 7)—while a tough shell protects its head (AC 3). Though crawlers in more nutrient-rich environments have reportedly grown to lengths well over nine feet and strike with as many as eight tentacles, luckily this lesser variant was not longer than six feet and carried only four tentacles each. These crawlers’ paralysis wore off after just 5-8 rounds as well—much shorter than the larger varieties are able to inflict.

Safe rest. Though safe resting spots are uncommon in the wilderness, the company was able to complete a safe rest atop the Rock Marsh’s tall central crag. Even in a chaotic and dangerous location, a long rest will restore 2d4 HP per level (plus constitution modifier) and a character’s spell slots. But a safe rest (which generally requires “a safe, tranquil, and comfortable environment”) restores 100% of hit points and enables spellcasters to adjust their active repertoires. [See pg. 83 of the rules & technical manual, version 1.5, for more details].

 Experience & Inspiration

·        The company defeated the fust heap (175 XP) and three lesser carrion crawlers (270 XP each) in battle this session. 985 XP total.

·        The company continued its exploration of the Rock Marsh, locating the second exit from the Lizard Cave (25 XP), then reaching and entering the final Rock Marsh cavern (75 XP). 100 XP total.

·        The company learned from Vuzu the smoke mephit that the mage who formerly occupied the ruined house was “responsible for” the poltergeists in the Cave of Horrors. 35 XP.

·        The company wisely elected not to enter the lair of the acid-breathing giant lizards, which portended great peril and promised little if any reward. Though no XP can be awarded for this decision, the dwarf Jadearch and the spellsword Vagar are each granted one inspiration point for channeling the great tradition of classic tabletop RPGs.

Session 7 totals: 1,125 XP

The total 1,125 XP award from the session will be divided into eight shares of 141 XP each. The shares are distributed as follows:

• Jadearch (2 shares)
• Brodrath (1 share)
• Tristan Pureheart (2 shares)
• Vagar (2 shares)
• Ailier Solenight (1 shares)

Accordingly, Jadearch, Tristan Pureheart, and Vagar each gain 282 XP for this session. Brodrath and Ailier Solenight each gain 141 XP.  Jadearch and Vagar also each gain one inspiration point.

Note: though the party did receive assistance on some of these tasks from an NPC (Sione Bari), the degree of assistance was not sufficient in this case to warrant an additional share of the XP award.

Session 7 Recap & Experience Points Awards

 

Just two of the towering black crags remained unexplored, and the company opted for the nearest—just a short hike to the northeast through low brush and swamp weeds. On approaching, however, the party found the land scarred all around, with numerous streaks of scorched earth and blasted vegetation growing in stunted, gnarled fashion. The cause wasn’t immediately clear, but soon enough the first footprints began to appear. Four prehensile toeprints in a broad, reptilian pattern.

This was ominous, but the party continued, undeterred. Arriving at the towering outcrop, a wide, comfortable cave entrance beckoned. Not the usual rough, jagged gaps in the rock—but a symmetrical archway, with smooth walls and finished steps. Yet the passage of time and animals had begun working their toll on the stonework; rubble detached in places and the floor was caked in layers of mud. Halfway around the base of the crag the party located a second entrance, this one but a narrow hole in the ground—filthy, uneven, and dark.

The party opted for the larger entrance, which descended quickly into a wide, mostly-straight corridor with a line of marble tiles decorating the walls. Yet in two places those walls were broken open by large, irregular gaps—both of which revealed more of the prehensile toe-prints and the telltale signs of reptilian passage. And then, as the company huddled to decide its next move, the scaly grey head of an enormous lizard peered out from one of those holes. It looked angry. And hungry.

The dwarven cleric Brodrath was first to spot the reptilian threat, and did not hesitate. He hefted the fine runed cudgel the party had recovered from the last cave and bashed the lizard across its elongated neck. But this only served to anger the beast, which reared back its serpentine head and then spewed a torrent of caustic liquid at the cleric and his colleagues. Brodrath was able to block the worst of the acid stream with his shield, and the wood elf Vagar dodged much of it as well. But their companion Ailier Solenight was not so fortunate, as the acid stream smashed into him with full ferocity.

The cleric would soon heal the wounded martial artist. But first the giant lizard had to be dealt with, and this would not take long. The dwarven warrior Jadearch thrust his silver-tipped spear deep into the lizard’s body, badly wounding the creature. A well-placed arrow from the Vagar’s longbow then finished it off. The company had survived, but the peril of this cave was now undeniable.

Undeterred, the party marched deeper into the rock, following the tiled corridor a brief distance until it opened into a wide, open dome that reached maybe 18-20 feet high in the middle. Puddles of greenish, acidic water ate away at the walls in places and tinged the air with a bitterness that mildly stung with every breath. But the focal point of the dome was a modest stone house, surrounded by a rectangular pattern of floor tiles, that stood abandoned in the center. The structure remained largely intact, its fine stone chimney disappearing into the rock above, the letters “A.I.” gently embossed on its metal entry door. But its glass windows were broken out and there were no visible signs of occupancy or recent entry—except by the lizards that tracked mud through the broken window openings.

With the dwelling’s iron gates still securely fastened, the broken windows presented the most logical access points for the company as well, and they entered first into the central bed chamber. A decaying carpet spread over the floor, littered with debris from the crumbling stone walls and the broken remains of old wooden furniture. Yet an old oil portrait hung crookedly on the wall across from the door—though decaying and smudged heavily with dirt, the image remained sufficiently visible: a robed figure clutching a wooden staff and wearing a conspicuous jeweled medallion.

Through a narrow hallway the company came to a second badly damaged room, this one being the site of the broad central hearth. The exterior walls had given away in several places and spilled rubble across the floor, the debris mixing there with the rotted remnants of a blue half-moon rug and several pieces of smashed furniture. Streaks of dried mud covered much of everything, especially around the smashed double windows. As the company began to poke around the ruin, however, they suddenly heard a light, raspy voice from within the chimney.

“You disgusting lycanthropes,” the voice began, speaking in perfect Low Sekaran. “Just get out of here before I have to smoke ‘ya.”

“We’re not lycanthropes--,” the dwarf Jadearch responded. But the voice quickly cut him off.

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” the voice retorted. “There’s nobody else here but lycanthropes. Begone!”

Undeterred, the company repeated its assurances that they were not lycanthropes, adding they had in fact come to the Rock Marsh precisely to hunt down and kill the marauding lycanthropes. But the voice remained unconvinced, ultimately threatening again to “smoke” the party unless they departed before the count of five.

The being did interrupt the countdown to answer the party’s inquiry as to the owner of the abandoned house. “You really don’t know?” the creature chuckled. “Fine. I’ll tell you.” He went on to explain the house had been the residence of one Asorin Itall, an “asshat wizard” who “really goes around like that, with that obnoxious medallion and his precious wooden staff.” Itall apparently abandoned the house one day, for reasons unknown to the speaker. “He left me here,” the being added. “I hope someone finds him, comes up behind him, and sticks him just like [inaudible].” 

In the course of the explanation, the being also reflected a rather strange relationship to time. The mage had been gone only “a matter of minutes” to the speaker—though quite clearly the departure had occurred months or even years prior, from the looks of his former abode. The being more than once used the phrase “your time,” meaning to distinguish human and demi-human time scales from his own. But this was never fully explained, and the count reached four.

The being mockingly rejected the party’s offer for help. “I don’t need any ‘help’ from the likes of you,” he insisted, “even if you weren’t lycanthropes.” The being insisted he could leave this place if he so chose, and wasn’t particularly concerned about any dangers presented by the lycanthropes, giant lizards, or other local monsters. Though he did find the lycanthropes tiresome and revolting. At this the count reached three.

The tenor of the conversation finally changed, however, when Jadearch swiftly placed a flask of whiskey at the base of the hearth. In so doing, the dwarf caught a glimpse of the pinpoint light at the distant top of the chimney—likely several hundred feet above. But the being, whether for the darkness or other explanation, was nowhere to be seen.

“Hmm,” the being muttered, in seeming recognition that the area lycanthropes would never consider a goodwill offering such as this. And the tension softened slightly further when the party when mentioned their acquaintance with Sione Bari—the infected son of the farmer, Savu Bari, who had sent the party on this mission.

“The kid!” the voice acknowledged. “Yes. I have seen he is not like the others. Though I do not believe he has yet fully turned. So…perhaps you are not lycanthropes.”

Even so, the nascent rapport with the unseen interlocutor teetered on a knife edge, and the enchanter Tristan took a calculated risk. A quick arm motion together with a synchronized mystical utterance triggered an almost imperceptible blip in the weave of magic. The friends spell could well have alienated the chimney being once and for good. But luck favored the enchanter this day, and the voice from the hearth soon revealed a sudden, rationally inexplicable fondness for the eleven mage.

Within moments this strange conversation partner would reveal much of interest to the company. The S-marked grave the party passed in the Rock Marsh was that of “some snake priest before the new snake priest,” the being explained—before confirming to Vagar that the “new snake priest” was Banipal—the martenwere cleric Sione Bari had earlier described. This Banipal occupied the final rock cave to the north, where—the chimney being cautioned—he would be accompanied by two other lycanthropes and a host of the giant bloodmartens. “Best divide & conquer,” the being suggested. “Too many to take on all at once.” At least for those who you can’t just “smoke’em.”

“Can you teach me a spell,” the enchanter Tristan finally asked. The being, perhaps contrary to his ordinary nature, readily agreed—promising to meet Tristan outside the cave entrance in ten minutes for the lesson.

The being would make good on the promise. Exactly ten minutes later, Tristan ascended the cave steps to find a small (~3 ft.), dark gray human-shaped being seemingly formed of soot, with with vestigial wings and wrapped with smoke bands of smoke. Whether the being even had a solid form or not Tristan could not quite tell. But it swiftly taught Tristan the hand movements and the arcane vocabulary to produce dancing lights. “You’ll need catalyst for the spell though,” the being cautioned. “Witchwood. A glow worm. The morning star.” With that, the being shot rapidly into the sky and arched out of view, behind the rock crag and, it seemed, back into the chimney below.

Meanwhile, Jadearch and Vagar poked around the last remaining room in the mage’s abandoned house—this one having clearly been a workshop or laboratory of some kind. The floor was mostly covered by a rotting old rug and debris from broken furniture and pottery, especially a broken shelving unit that had toppled over and rested upon broken shards of ceramic and terra cotta. Apart from a few random silver coins, there appeared nothing of interest in the debris pile—until Vagar spotted the end of a substantially-intact scroll case sticking out of rubble.

Problematically, the same rubble pile was also occupied by a minor krait, a venomous, navy blue snake about three feet long with yellow bands along its body. Undeterred, Vagar drew his dagger and swiftly dispatched the creature, dodging the wounded reptile’s solitary strike with little difficulty. The scroll case contained two divine spells—one the party was able to recognize as neutralize poison, the other which remains a mystery.

 
Adventure Notes

Grey Lizard. Many varieties of giant lizards are known to inhabit Sekara Valley. Some, possibly related to the great dragons of legend, have breath weapons. The giant lizard encountered here, known as a Grey Lizard, was about 15' long and brutalized the company with its acid breath (3-12 damage, save for half). You estimated the beast at about 3-4 HD and it was well-armored (AC 5).

Divine Scrolls. While most magic scrolls known to the Valley bear the mystical writings of arcane sages, scrolls bearing divine incantations are sometimes also found. Most are believed to be the work of ancient orders of monks from the northern city of Q’in who worshipped a pantheon of deities foreign to Sekara Valley. Even so, the magic captured in these scrolls appears accessible to any who can decipher the runes—making them quite valuable irrespective of the bearer’s faith.

Minor Krait. The krait is a common poisonous snake found in wetlands in the region. Every child raised in the Valley has heard tales of ever larger and more aggressive kraits, often bearing spectacular banded color schemes. But most kraits are like this one: no longer than one meter and generally passive—though their poison is said to pack quite a punch. You estimate this krait at around 1 HD and AC 7. 

Asorin Itall. The abandoned stone house the party found inside the lizard cave appears to have belonged to a mage called Asorin Itall. If his chimney-dwelling associate is to be believed, Itall simply left one day and has not returned—though he does seem to have been quite thorough in removing any objects of meaningful value from his home. Any reason why he left, or how long ago this happened, you cannot meaningfully discern. The chimney being also said Itall carries a wooden staff and wears an “obnoxious” jeweled medallion—a fact Itall’s half-deteriorated portrait seems to confirm.

S-Grave. According to the chimney being, the barrow mound you passed with the white-bleached stones arranged in an “S” shape belonged to a “snake priest” that preceded Banipal, the current “snake priest” and apparent leader of the martenwere troupe. How the previous snake priest may have perished, who buried him, or how Banipal came to replace him, the smoke being did not say (and did not seem to know).

Mephit. Anyone who spends enough time around arcane spellcasters is almost certain to sooner or later come across a mephit—any of various minor elemental, often winged humanoids that malevolent beings tend to create and dispatch as messengers or to become servants of mages and others who dabble in the mystic arts. Though mephits from the core elemental planes (fire, water, earth, air) are surely the best known, many sages have speculated that just as many mephits come from elemental demi-planes such as ash, smoke, and dust. 

Experience & Inspiration

·        The company defeated an acid-breathing giant lizard (650 XP) in battle this session, as well as a minor krait (125 XP).

·        The company continued its exploration of the Rock Marsh, reaching and entering the fourth of the five Rock Marsh caverns (75 XP) and also locating its additional access point (25 XP).

·        The company recovered two clerical spell scrolls (100 XP) from the abandoned house, identifying one (50 XP) as bearing neutralize poison.

·        The company had a very successful encounter with the chimney being. Though its name and precise species remains a mystery, the company was not only able to avoid a hostile encounter with the creature (60 XP) but also learned the name of Asorin Itall (75 XP), gathered valuable intel on the remaining martenweres (200 XP), learned the occupant of the S-grave (75 XP), and even persuaded the being to teach Tristan Pureheart a new spell (125 XP).  

 Session 7 totals: 1,510 XP

The total 1,510 XP award from the session will be divided into eight shares of 189 XP each, and distributed as follows:

Jadearch (2 shares), 378 XP

Brodrath (1 share), 189 XP

Tristan Pureheart (2 shares), 378 XP

Vagar (2 shares), 378 XP

Ailier Solenight (1 shares), 189 XP

Rules: Turning Undead

 

I've been making some edits and improvements to the rule set and realized I didn't have any rules for turning undead. So, I have added some mechanics for that. 

Turning undead: many clerics have the ability to turn undead. This requires the cleric’s holy symbol and the cleric must spend a full round exhorting the undead to begone.

 

The cleric may turn up to 2d6 HD worth of undead per level of the cleric. Thus, the first step in turning undead is for the cleric to roll the appropriate number of d6 and then identify which specific undead creatures the cleric will attempt to turn.

 

Once the targets are identified, each undead makes a turn save roll (DC = 8 + the cleric’s magic proficiency bonus + the cleric’s WIS modifier). If the creature fails the save, it is compelled to steadily move away from the cleric for 6d6 minutes. If the creature fails the save by 10 or more, the creature is instantly destroyed.

 

Notes on turning undead:

 ·       Though turning undead works substantially the same as a spell, the ability does not need to be prepared ahead of time and does not consume spell slots when used.

 ·       A cleric may turn the same creature multiple times per encounter only if the  turn attempt succeeds every time. Once a creature succeeds on a turn save, the cleric can no longer turn that creature (unless encountering it again at some other time).

 ·       Some believe higher quality holy symbols are more effective in turning undead. Others dismiss this view as ignorant and offensive to the gods.

 

Example: An adventuring party encounters a pack of ten ghouls near a graveyard outside of town. The group[‘s cleric, Gadriel, raises her holy symbol and calls upon the goddess to banish these horrid aberrations. Being a 3^rd-level Sunmother of Vitiniba, Gadriel rolls 6d6 to find out how many HD worth of ghouls she can turn: 17.

Ghouls have 2 HD apiece, so this means Gadriel can attempt to turn eight of the ghouls. She specifies the ones she wishes to turn, and the DM then prepares to roll their turn saves. Gadriel’s magic proficiency bonus is +3, and she has 14 WIS (+2), so the ghouls will need to roll 13 or higher to avoid being turned. Five of the ghouls roll numbers between 4-12, and are turned. They retreat from Gadriel, running away in several directions. A sixth ghoul rolls a 2, and is instantly annihilated. That ghoul freezes in its tracks and suddenly crumbles to dust, right before Gadriel. The remaining two ghouls, however, roll 13+ and save against the turn attempt. Gadriel can no longer turn these two ghouls during the encounter and they continue ambling hungrily toward the party.

Session 6 Recap & Experience Points Awards

 

Cautiously, five weary explorers crept forward into a broad, domed cavern chamber where they hoped to pick up the trail of their missing comrade. They hadn’t known him all too well. But he was a sturdy trooper with a sharp blade, and all help was welcome in the perilous depths of the Rock Marsh.

Corso had come under the spell of poltergeists; spooked beyond rational thought, he’d taken off running into the dark unknown. The enchanter, Tristan Pureheart, tried to stop him. But Corso simply charged past, and soon disappeared into twists and turns of the haunted cavern. Now the party regrouped to carry on the search in a slow, methodical manner. But there remained no sign of the terrified hospitaller. Not even the shadowblade Ailier Solenight, a skilled tracker in the outdoors, could discern a single clue from the dirt and dredge of the cave floor.

About all the company did find was a strange, broad track in the dust—the unmistakable movement pattern of something wide and ponderous. There was truly no telling just what that might be, but with few other choices the party elected to follow it. This decision led them north through a new passage that dipped deeper into the earth, the temperature dropping precipitously as the group moved on. Nearing the end, the party sensed a faint humming sound, a monotone buzz that grew louder with each successive step, until finally the passage terminated in a deep, dead-end black chamber.

The cave was musty, frigid, and old, with a course floor crossed with rises and divots all over. The air hissed faintly from the middle, where the party set eyes upon a wide shambling mass of viscous dark vapor, purple and turbulent and sagging like a mattress stood on end. Semi-solid, the mass glowed and swirled with an internal light, flickered with wicked, bright yellows and streaks of pale blue. The spectacle was at once monstruous yet spectacular—so spectacular, indeed, that those who saw it struggled to look away.

Yet look away they did, just split-seconds after watching the colors form momentarily into a distinct teardrop-shaped crest with a flat blue bird—only for the image to instantly atomize into a churn of deconstructed energy once more. Unsure what to do, the party commenced an impromptu brainstorm here in the depths of the cavern. Might it be an illusion, one wondered aloud—but if so, perception in this case remained reality. Was it hostile? Might it even be friendly? There was no telling. Was it even a sentient being? One of the company tried speaking with the mass, but this proved of no avail.

Whatever it was, the violent energy maelstrom looked dangerous—and might well have had to do with the disappearance of their comrade, Brin Corso. But it drifted across the floor at almost painfully slow speeds, perhaps drawn to heat or energy or perhaps moving in entirely random patterns. Either way, it would not catch them of its own accord. Corso wasn’t here, and there were other paths to take. The party moved on, still troubled by the mystery of the shadowy mass.

Checking their bearings, the company found only one last unexplored region at the bottom of their map. Moving swiftly through the cavern, they reached another ample domed chamber, this one catching a slow but steady water drip from an unseen point high on the ceiling. The water dripped into a dark pool of cloudy water, smelling of sulfur and shot through with streaks of orange and dark greys and copious bubbles across the surface. Could Corso have found his way in here?

Wary of the pool, the dwarf Jadearch retrieved an ugly silver belt buckle he’d looted from a dead weremarten and lobbed it softly into the middle. Just as soon as the buckle smacked the surface the pool came alive with furious splashing and sloshing and bubbling. This continued for at least ten or fifteen violent seconds, then faded as the water calmed back down. There was something in there.

Several party members approached the water’s edge to investigate, and only now did they finally find trace of Brin Corso. His familiar boots lay partially dissolved at the water’s edge, and Vagar found his mostly-empty monogrammed coin purse a foot from the pool. But now would be no time to mourn. As the company drew near, suddenly a bedraggled tentacle of gull blue sludge shot from the water and lashed at the nearest body. That was Tristan, who saw the attack just in the scratch of time. He dodged out of the way, and his companions unleashed a torrent of arrows, crossbow bolts, and spear thrusts back at the origin point—not stopping until the waters fell silent again.

Moments later, the company watched as the inert remains of the aquatic ooze floated to the surface, where they steamed and dissolved into the acrid water. With the mystery of Corso’s disappearance now solved, the party decided to try a second time to unravel the secrets of what the dwarf Brodrath was now calling “the glitter shade.”

“Come to think of it,” the dwarf added, “I do recognize that crest. Think I seen a few of them up through the Fertile Pocket. They call it the Eagle of Awar.”

Perhaps there was more to know. The company trudged back to the northwest corner of their map, where again they picked up the ominous buzz of energy in the distance and cautiously crept up to the glitter shade—at all times averting their direct gaze. Here, the dwarf Jadearch would exploit the being’s ponderous pace to dodge around it and inspect the surrounding cavern. Tristan would take a more aggressive approach, having his comrades to tie a rope around his torso and then feeling his way along the wall into the cold of the glitter shade’s chamber.

As the being approached, Tristan decided to hold his mage’s staff outward, horizontally, to the meet its arrival. He would nearly pay for this decision with his life. No sooner did the glitter shade make dull contact with the staff, than a jolt of negative energy shot from the enchanter’s hands and up his arms and through his whole body—a withering strike that might well have killed him, had his companions not instantly pulled him away.

At this, Vagar released the first of his arrows toward the glitter shade, and then a second. But with the spellsword unable to gaze directly at the target, and uncertain how to discern center mass on a being such as this even if he could, both shots fell wide of their mark.

Meanwhile, Jadearch caught a glimpse of some object buried in the dust at the far end of the glitter shade’s chamber. On closer inspection, it proved to be the handle of a polished wooden cudgel—dusty, but still in fine condition and inscribed everywhere with unfamiliar runes. How such an item might have come to be here, or survived untold durations in the presence of the glitter shade, seemed nothing short of miraculous. “Magic,” the dwarf gasped, taking the cudgel into his grasp.

With little difficulty, the dwarf dodged back free out of the chamber and the five remaining members of the company turned their heels to the glitter shade once more. Within moments they would emerge back into daylight, heads above ground and again breathing the soggy air of the Rock Marsh.

“We’ll need someone back in town to inspect it,” Jadearch announced, producing the runed cudgel for all to see. “But I think it must be magical.”

For now, however, the group agreed the dwarven cleric Brodrath would carry it. The same Brodrath had lost his spear to the slime haunt in the Cave of Horrors, but his arm would be needed in battle. The horizon revealed two large rock formations still to be explored, and Sione Bari had warned of a weremarten shaman still lurking somewhere in the marsh. 

Adventure Notes

• Eagle of Awar.  North across the Three Sisters rivers lies the agricultural heartland of Sekara Valley: the Fertile Pocket. Many who have traveled through the region have reported seeing the colorful crest of the Awar family from time-to-time, whether painted on the occasional building or shield or stitched into a flag or banner. The significance of these appearances is not widely understood, as the crest is not an official symbol of the Amberdale Seat. But perhaps the greater controversy surrounds the species of the blue avian depicted on the crest; though known popularly as “the Eagle of Awar,” there are those insist quite forcefully that the bird is no eagle at all.  

• Glitter Shade. The untold variety of haunts and geists that arise in dark, remote places throughout the realm are believed to all have their own terrible stories. Indeed there are some who believe such spirits are created solely to record such tales, or link the ancient past with the long, unknowable future. What is a ghost, one wonders, if not a window into another time. Or dimension.

•  Runed Cudgel. The fine runed cudgel the company recovered from the glitter shade’s chamber is a single trunk of polished blackthorn, topped by a sinister knob of root wood. The craftsmanship is beautiful, and the weapon must bear an enchantment to have survived as it did, But the runes, which appear neither dwarven not elvish in origin, provide no discernable clue of its power. For purposes of game mechanics, the cudgel is equivalent to a mace: weighs 2 lbs., does d6 base damage, and is a basic weapon of the power style (i.e., enables use of a strength modifier).  

 Experience & Inspiration

·        The company defeated the aquatic ooze in battle this session. They also encountered the glitter shade and learned many of its characteristics. 360 XP.

 ·        The party completed its exploration of the Cave of Horrors. 75 XP.

 ·        The party learned the sad fate of Brin Corso. Though they regret being unable to save him, some in the company take solace in the fact that the complete annihilation of his earthly form will ensure he cannot rise as an undead being. At least, not unless it’s some kind of invisible undead being with no actual body. But who has ever come across anything like that? 50 XP.

 ·        The company recovered the runed cudgel from the glitter shade’s chamber. Ordinarily, the XP for recovering this treasure would not be awarded until its powers are discerned. Being it was a slow session, however, the company will receive a portion now. 325 XP.

 ·        Ailier Solenight is awarded one inspiration point for his suggestion that the party tie a rope to Tristan before he probed along the cave wall toward the glitter shade, which likely saved the enchanter’s life.

Session 6 totals: 810 XP

The total XP award from the session will be divided into nine shares:

• Jadearch (2 shares)
• Brodrath (1 share)
• Tristan Pureheart (2 shares)
• Vagar (2 shares)
• Ailier Solenight (2 shares)
• Brin Corso (1 share)

Of the total 810 XP, each share is worth 90 XP. Hence Brodrath gains 90 XP this session, while Jadearch, Tristan Pureheart, Vagar, and Ailier Solenight each gain 180 XP.