Session 12 Recap & Experience Points Awards

 

The scent of fried dough and the sizzle of bacon had already raised everyone’s spirits. “But just wait until you try these eggs,” said Savu Bari, seeming to delight in entertaining his guests. “Should a dragon swoop down tomorrow and blast your ass to Daystar, at least you’ll have  tasted omlettic perfection.”

Far less effort would well have sufficed, of course—for the crew that awakened in Bari’s spare rooms that morning bore the soreness of hard travel, the scars of personal combat, and the weariness of lost companions. But to their host, this was no reason not to eat well, or to make up words. “Omlettic,” he muttered aloud. “I like that.”

Even so, the farm-fresh offerings of the Mistwood Fields kitchen did not distract from the work at hand. Bari had already deciphered a ream of divine spells on the scroll left in the snake cultist Zarthan Tiga’s grave. Now the enchanter Tristan Pureheart, invoked his read magic incantation first to scribe a new spell, affect normal fires, into his personal tome, and then to discern the trigger word “gravulus” from a wooden snake caving found under Banipal’s altar to Salomirak.

But there was more. Scanning the first line of mystical glyphs carved into the dark sword Tiga had known as “blackfang,” Tristan produced three words: ‘’bizou dan fon.”

“That’s highlander,” Bari called out.

“It is,” Tristan confirmed. “In the Ecbano tongue of the highlands, it means ‘jewel of the deep.’” And then, flipping the sword on its axis, continued. “Here is the mark of its creator, “Oqor of Samant.”

Finally, the enchanter turned his attention to the other weapon the company had pulled from deep within the Rock Marsh—a runed cudgel that several of its members had already swung in battle. By now the party had observed how its runes emitted a light blue glow in the presence of undead, and enhanced the wielder’s capacity against such creatures. From Tristan’s examination, it seemed there was little more to know—though he did locate the glyph of Lord Rurai on the cudgel, whom the enchanter described recognizing from his dreams.

“From your dreams, mage?” the dwarven warrior Jadearch reacted, nearly choking on a bite of ham. “I don’t know that we can trust your dreams.” With that, the dwarf retrieved two pieces of scrap leather and wrapped the weapons “so as not to draw too much attention in Larkingwood,” and prepared his bag for the road. “But I suppose the enchanter’s dreams is the best we have for now.”

The group set out for Larkingwood at mid-morning, and within just a few minutes caught sight of an empty farm wagon coming up behind them, pulled by a pair of oxen. The party hailed the driver, an armored dwarf who smelled distinctly of whiskey, and he invited them to ride into town. It soon emerged that the dwarf, whose name was Turgo, happened to the brother of Duri, innkeeper at the Blue Bear in town.

“I try not to embarrass him too much,” Turgo joked. “Though that can be hard to do when you’re as much a slave to the spirits as I am.”

Indeed, on climbing into the farm wagon the company found it remarkably clean—with the wood still damp from a recent washing. Whether this had anything to do with Turgo’s apparently constant state of intoxication was not clear. But Turgo did explain the wagon belonged to the elderly and notably antisocial farmer Arets Vitor of the nearby Whiteflower Farms. Vitor had engaged the dwarf to drive the cart into town on periodic supply runs since, as Turgo put it, “the old man obviously can’t send his pine gollins.”

“’Course it’s not really the drinking that bother him,” Turgo continued, referencing his brother. Turgo went on to describe Duri’s disapproval that Turgo worked as a "man-at-arms" (or “mercenary,” as Duri insisted on calling it), and thought he should “stand for something beyond just gold.”  

Anyway Turgo seemed to offer something of an endorsement of Vitor, however tepid. The dwarf clearly appreciated the compensation, not to mention the opportunity at a safer means of support than going inebriated into battle. And, Turgo added, Vitor was perhaps the only local farmer willing to hire the “pine gollins” who had increasingly come north in recent seasons to seek work on the outlying farms—a migration Turgo attributed to the closure some time ago of a coal mine where many pine goblins had toiled. 

Yet about halfway to Larkingwood, the conversation was suddenly interrupted by a chorus of barks and snarls. No fewer than seven black, dog-like beasts charged across a nearby field, headed straight for the farm wagon. They were clearly hostile, and several members of the party dismounted the cart to meet them while Vagar, Tristan, and Turgo greeted the beasts with well-placed arrows.

Though the arrows found their marks, these beasts withstood blows that would have dispatched common bloodmartens many times over. Within seconds, the beasts fell upon the company and made the peril even more apparent when the first to arrive slashed its claw viciously into Jadearch, a withering strike that left him severely weakened.

As the scene descended into furious melee, nearby farmers stood on distant hillsides to watch—with most turning quickly away and fleeing to safety. Yet one remained: a tall, unkempt man in an  orange-red kimono, with stringy long hair and a tan walking stick, who stood upon a hilltop to the south.

Vagar wounded another beast with a bowshot, then blasted one with a magic missile. Tristan invoked his sleep spell to incapacitate three more, then followed with a color spray to stun two more. Meanwhile Jadearch battled them in the front lines, fighting fiercely but soon reeling under multiple ferocious blows. On his right flank, another violent strike had knocked the party’s only cleric, Rhukk, unconscious. Though Turgo was able to staunch the cleric’s wounds, the outcome dangled in significant doubt—not only for Rhukk, but potentially the entire group.

“What are these creatures?” Turgo wondered aloud. “They are not native to this region.”

Whatever the beasts were, or wherever they came from, proved less of a concern to Jadearch than thrusting the point of the sword Blackfang deep into one remaining beast, stilling the foe at last. Tristan then called upon yet another of his newfound incantations, one he called levitate, to hurl another beast directly into the air. The creature howled with anger, helpless as it rose, until at last the spell broke—and dropped the being from more than twelve meters high. Already weakened from Vagar’s arrows, the creature plummeted the full distance and slumped instantly dead upon impact. 

On seeing the party’s narrow escape, the man in the kimono on the hilltop to the south turned, shook his head, and walked away. Meanwhile the bloodied and shaken party members loaded Rhukk and one of the fallen beasts onto the farm wagon and continued apace to Larkingwood. On arrival, Turgo dropped them before the Temple of Vitiniba, where they were greeted by the familiar sunmother, Thalquira Kitara. As she led them inside, Turgo pulled the reins and continued on to the Blue Bear Inn.

Kitara and urged her fellow sunmothers to treat Rhukk’s wounds forthwith. This they did, though reflecting perhaps less than full sympathy toward Rhukk’s particular ethos. The party also found the priestesses surprisingly aggressive in their solicitations of "donations," even as the quality of their cures left much to be desired. Though they left the temple significantly more alive than they had entered, and still the company felt it necessary to invest yet another day in recuperation—so they too headed for the familiar Blue Bear Inn.

The next morning, the party encountered a solitary traveler, Tongba Yuk, sipping tea in the reception area of the Blue Bear. Yuk appeared to have been waiting there for Vagar, and related an elaborate tale about his dealings with a high daimyo of Daystar called Dolquer Pasang. Whereas Yuk had been a humble warrior in lifelong service to the Ta Dynasty, Pasang was vain and pretentious—even dressing in an ostentatious purple kimono.

 Yuk told the story of how Pasang had Yuk ostracized over a refusal to assist a mining company in subjugating indigenous Lakemen and excavating their sacred mountain. “In times past, I would likely have stayed behind to clear my name,” Yuk stated. “But there is no reason in Daystar now. No mercy. No humanity.” He went on to explain that for him, having had no family, the decision to leave Daystar was not difficult once he came to view the Ta Dynasty as increasingly cruel and corrupt. “Now, I am but a wanderer,” Tuk added. “A ronin, as they say in Daystar. A samurai with no master. I once despised those who went by that name. Now, I embrace it.”

Though the relevance of his tale was not immediately apparent, Yuk soon tied his points together. First, that Daystar posed a mounting threat to the elves of the Chalmwood—especially as the merciless Dolquer Pasang and his so-called “Dawnseeker” movement gained influence in the House of Ta. Second, that Vagar too might fairly be considered “ronin“— even if that term would not be used in the Chalmwood. And third, his belief that Vagar would someday cross paths with Pasang—and ought well to know of the latter’s  cunning and mercilessness.

How Yuk came to know any of this information, he did not say. But on finishing his tea and completing his tale, Yuk took his leave.

The drama of his exit did not endure long. “He’ll be back,” Duri interjected, adding that Yuk had stayed several days at the Blue Bear and had not yet terminated his reservation. The company then briefly visited with Turgo and recounted the previous day's battles. The dwarf remained befuddled by the attack, stating he did not recognize the beasts they fought and had no idea where they came from—and insisted they were not native to the region.

Turgo soon finished his bland porridge, and, citing relentless hangover, returned to his room before the company could ask him to transport the (now rapidly-deteriorating) slain beast remains they had loaded onto the farm wagon to the Larkingwood Guardhouse in hopes of some identification—if not recognition. Rather than disturb his brother, Duri recommended the party simply borrow the wagon—a suggestion they promptly followed.

Arriving before the guardhouse, they met the captain, Artum Varan, for the second time. Varan, who presented as flustered and inundated with tasks, proved unable to identify the strange beast either. “Well it’s not a blink dog,” Varan quipped. “More like a ‘bleak dog.’”

Varan acknowledged the “bleak dog” attack raised a concern, but admitted it came to nothing more than still another bullet on his already long list. When the company reported their success in the Rock Marsh, Varan expressed disbelief at first—which turned slowly to pleased astonishment as the story grew increasingly credible with further details the company provided. At last convinced, Varan thanked the party and ordered a pair of his men to dispose of the beast’s remains.

Varan also suggested the company might further occupy themselves by investigating any of multiple strange matters Varan did not feel his troops were equipped for. One of these matters the party already knew. The town elder Arjen Per had recently been pressuring Varan to do something about “some woodcarver" who, Per claimed, is "robbing the Lady Kitto blind." The second was new. Varan stated he’d received a recent visit from the widow of a fallen town guardsman, and that the widow claimed to have bought at a recent merchant's fair the very same wedding band her husband was wearing when buried. Varan, who as much as admitted being overwhelmed and preoccupied, seemed to welcome any assistance with the party could offer in these matters--though said nothing of any rewards or other compensation.

Making no promises other than to think about Varan’s request, the party prepared to move out. Yet Vagar had one final question. “If a high daimyo of Daystar were to pass through Larkingwood,” he asked, “where would he stay?”

“No question about that,” Varan swiftly replied. “The Paragon Hotel. It’s far and away the nicest in town.”

Adventure Notes

• Ecbano. Though limited mostly to highlanders in the present, the ancient language Ecbano was once the most widely-spoken language in Sekara Valley. But this began to change with the coming of the Vulcan Age and the loss of Samant—probably the greatest concentration of Ecbano speakers the world has ever known.  Though the language lives on mostly in the homes of aging plainsmen, for several generations now even the highlanders of Sekara Valley have primarily spoken the common tongue Sekaran—with many learning little or no Ecabano at all. Though Ecbano influence lingers even in the highlanders’  unique form of “High Sekaran”—only slightly distinct from the much more common Low Sekaran  spoken across the rest of the Valley—today few Ecbano speakers can be found outside the multi-generational clan settlements embedded deep in the western and southern mountain rims.

• Samant. Once the greatest city in Sekara Valley, Samant’s sudden destruction from mudslides triggered by the simultaneous eruptions of the Valley’s two stratovolcanoes, Mt. Alerath and Mt. Graje, ushered in the Vulcan Age many generations ago. Since then, the idea that great wealth rests intact at the bottom once-great temples and fortresses long buried in volcanic mud has never failed to capture the imagination. Hence “the wealth of Samant” an oft-employed idiom throughout the Valley even today (e.g., “I wouldn’t trade you for the wealth of Samant” is a cliched expression of fondness, while “I wouldn’t do that for the wealth of Samant” is a common expression of disgust).
  

• Bleak Dogs. The blink dog is a highly intelligent wild canine species with an uncanny ability to briefly teleport, or “blink,” between short distances. They tend to be friendly and good-natured. The bleak dog is…not that. So far as you can tell, the bleak dog is some unnatural version of a wolf: vicious, powerful, and inclined to travel in packs.

Bleak Dog (4+1 HD)

STR: 16, INT: 3, WIS: 4, CON: 16, DEX: 16, CHA: 4

Hit Points: ~20 THAC0: 15 AC: 5 MV: 18  Attack: d12+1 (claw or bite)

• The Ta Dynasty. Soslan Ta, Chief of the Eastern Watch, was revered almost as a god among men. Ta rose from the ranks of the lowest workshop laborers to become a legendary swordsman and the longest-lived Sentinel of the Last Age. And adherent of Ostlyn, Ta is said to have embodied her virtues of discipline, vigilance, and humility as well as any who have ever lived. But the Last Age ended with Ta’s death, now 16 years ago—and to make matters worse, Ta did not leave a clear heir or undisputed successor. Into the power vacuum have rushed many who claim, with varying degrees of truth, to be descendants of Ta himself, or of Ta’s relatives. Other, such as those atop the hawkish “Dawnseekers,” simply claim the mantel of Eastern Watch through no bloodline whatsoever.

Experience & Inspiration

• The party defeated seven bleak dogs in battle this session, good for 2,205 XP.

• The company learned valuable information about a range of topics, including:
• The characteristics and powers of multiple magic items, 80 XP
• The probable nature and origins of the glitter shade, 50 XP
• The history of the Rock Marsh and its corruption by Asorin Itall, 50 XP
• Lord Rurai and the Champions of Awar, 30 XP
• Dolquer Pasang and the Dawnseekers faction of Daystar, 75 XP

• The party had successful interactions with multiple NPCs in this session, including:
• Turgo, 75 XP
• Thalquira Kitara, 25 XP
• Duri, 25 XP
• Tongba Yuk, 100 XP
• Artum Varan, 40 XP

Session 11 total: 2,755 XP

The total 2,755 XP award from the session will be divided into 4 shares, which comes out to 688.75 XP per share. This will be rounded up to 690 XP per share, and distributed evenly to Jadearch, Tristan Pureheart, Vagar, and Rhukk.

In addition, Jadearch is awarded an inspiration point for surviving 43 points of damage in just three hits from marauding bleak dogs. I be like dang.

Final Session 11 XP awards:

• Jadearch: 690 XP + 1 inspiration point
• Tristan Pureheart: 690 XP
• Vagar: 690 XP
• Rhukk: 690 XP

Session 11 Recap & Experience Points Awards

 

There was never any doubt the confrontation with Banipal would end in violence, or that the fight would be a difficult one. But with the battle concluded and the weremarten’s halls now silent, the remaining party members confronted the harsh reality of Brodrath’s death. The cleric had been a loyal companion and a fierce ally, and each of member knew full well the finger of death might just as easily have pointed to them, had fortune spun differently that day.  But it did not, and already the guilt of survival ebbed into thoughts of what comes next.

“We can’t just leave him here,” said the elven enchanter Tristan Pureheart, seemingly already to recognize the futility of the suggestion. “He deserves a proper burial.”

But to drag the dwarven cleric’s lifeless body through the narrow, twisting halls of the lycanthrope’s cave hardly seemed practical—if even possible. A long, steep slope preceded the exit, and there were dangers along the way.

“We don’t have a choice,” fellow wood elf Vagar responded. “He fought bravely and deserves to be honored. But we cannot carry him out. Even if we could, we are in no condition to do so right now.”

The latter elf’s ultimate point could not be denied. Numerous party members nursed wounds of their own. And the party’s precious magic resources were substantially exhausted. A chance encounter now with any hostile being could well see more of their number joining Brodrath among the fallen.

“We could come back, then,” the enchanter protested. But Vagar merely shook his head.

“We will cover him with rocks,” the dwarven warrior Jadearch declared, seeming to resolve the impasse. “And bury him with a weapon.” Whether such a conveniently improvisational rite was truly a sanctioned method of burial among the Albernear dwarves, as Jadearch intimated, the enchanter surely had his doubts. But it was surely much safer than any alternative, and anyway appeared to be the best Brodrath was getting. So Tristan rolled up his sleeves and joined his companions in gathering stones and rubble to enter their fallen comrade’s remains.

“He was a good dwarf, a trusted ally, and a good friend,” Jadearch announced, placing the cleric’s still-bloody Tri-Bolt of Paomoer down on the rock pile. “May he long be remembered.”

“Ay!” chanted the elves in unison, the martial artist Ailier Solenight clanging the hilt of his borrowed dagger to his chest in emphasis. It was more a funeral than any of the company would have received had fortune swung just slightly the other way—the company all knew this. And further perils surely lie ahead. The simple ceremony this concluded, the four remaining members of the adventuring company lifted their backs and strode cautiously into the darkness. 

The path back to the surface was cold and empty. But it was not silent. The chirp and chatter of carrion crawlers echoed through the caverns, the sound intensifying as the party passed the den where the body of Sione Bari lay alongside myriad slain bloodmartens. But that danger was easily avoided, and moments later the party emerged once more into the daylight.

Even so, the Rock Marsh still teemed with horrors. And already the next fearsome adversary appeared to stalk them from the nearby thickets. Just as the company readied its weapons, however, the creature that leapt from the brush was not some hostile being—but Kaloo: the canine companion of the late Sione Bari.

Though visibly confused at the absence of his former master, Kaloo was friendly enough and eagerly followed the party after Vagar treated him to a few morsels of dried venison from his pack. The party returned to the central rock tower and made camp, with Kaloo serving as a helpful watchdog for the night.

When dawn broke, the company descended the rock tower and proceeded to the grave of Zarthan Tiga, the deceased cultist whose journal had been found on a shelf in Banipal’s quarters. Tiga’s records spoke of a weapon, called “Blackfang”, and Banipal’s own notes suggested the weapon had been interred with Tiga. Disturbing a grave is always dangerous business, but here the temptation was far too much to resist.

A pyramid of bleached white stones rested, carefully stacked atop a soft earthen mound. On lifting the first, a strong gust of wind swept suddenly across the Rock Swamp, rippling the water and shaking the trees. But the party continued its excavations regardless. Less than one full meter down they found it: Tiga’s bones, wrapped in his worm-eaten  robes, with a jeweled black sword pressed along his body and a deteriorating wooden scroll case as well.

On collecting their treasures, the company swiftly heaped dirt back over Tiga’s bones and replaced a few of the bleached rocks—then left the gravesite behind them. The next destination was a return to the cave where the mage Asorin Itall had once lived and where his mephit servant Vuzu remained. There they found the mephit in his usual, transactional mood: happy to share a nugget of his cryptic, questionably relevant knowledge for a generous pour of whiskey.

This time, Itall was even more the topic of conversation than he had been previously. Vuzu reiterated his deep disdain for the mage—but when the party expressed a seemingly sincere desire to seek out the man, the mephit’s tone grew more serious. “You would find Asorin Itall,” Vuzu questioned. “I do not expect that meeting would end well.” Even so, the seeming impossibility of the task did not prevent Vuzu from expressing his heartfelt desire that the company “stick him [Itall] a good one.”

Vuzu went on to confirm the company’s suspicions, or at least those of Tristan, that Itall had cursed the Rock Marsh after a hostile confrontation with artisans carving the sculpture of the sentinel Aisul Awar, and it was around this time that Itall departed from the place. Vuzu also disclosed that the jeweled medallion Itall wears is no mere accessory, but an enchanted article of some potency called “Vosson’s Medallion”—though where he got it from, or exactly what powers the medallion carries, Vuzu did not seem to know.

“Did Itall summon you?” the party finally asked. “Are you trapped here?”

“No,” the mephit answered. “I am not trapped here. I was … ‘given’ to Itall. That is to say, ‘given’ as a gift would be given.”

Before leaving the mage’s house, the party passed through Itall’s abandoned bed chamber to gaze upon his portrait one final time. “Does the gem in the medallion resemble the one in the black sword?” Vagar asked.

“I can’t tell,” Jadearch replied, gazing upon the filthy, deteriorating painting.

“it’s not,” Tristan firmly added. “The jewel in the sword is a topaz. The medallion has an amethyst.”

Satisfied with this explanation, the company climbed back through the broken window frames and headed for the main cavern and the stairs to the surface. But they soon found their path was blocked by one of the daunting giant lizards that made its home in this cave. The hungry beast attacked without hesitation, spewing a torrent of caustic fluid that stung multiple party members. But the tables soon turned, and the reptile proved no match for the focused might of the company’s points and blades.

The giant lizard defeated, the company proceeded back to the surface and huddled to decide their next move. The decision was taken to begin a long march back out of the Rock Marsh, though with two minor detours along the way. The first was a return to the Cave of Horrors, where the party once again pondered the mysterious Glitter Shade but remained mystified by the lethargic, convoluted mass. Then, the company revisited the cavern where they’d found a mysterious pink vapor venting from below, and nursed their acid burns in the restorative mist.

Turning finally to the southeast, the company at last trudged toward the trailhead from which they’d accessed the Rock Marsh. But as they approached, an unexpected fullness darkened the brush before them. Shadows and forms ambled from all sides—pale green and bloated, bodies covered in torn, muddy rags. Some limped, some festered from black purple wounds, all reeked of ire, contagion, and death. There could be no doubt these were the restless souls Banipal referenced in his sermon. But any consideration the party’s victory over the lycanthropes might have obtained was lost on the mindless walkers that steadily closed in with empty, hateful eyes. So the company drew its weapons and readied their magic.

Vagar loosed an arrow and wounded one of the beings. Tristan invoked a color spray spell that knocked two more down. But the zombies numbered seven and moved with a deceptive quickness. They struck with terrible rending claws, wounding several members of the party and dropping Tristan to the ground in stunned bewilderment.

Now the loss of Brodrath was felt most acutely. With no cleric to heal the party’s wounded or drive zombies away through a divine connection, the peril swiftly mounted. Another zombie tore its claw across Tristan’s motionless body, and then another—the flurry of strikes bringing the enchanter’s life into mortal danger. But at last, the crisis was averted.

The runes inscribed on the wooden cudgel shone the same bright blue in the presence of these undead as those in Banipal’s lair. Now in the hands of Ailier Solenight, the martial artist slammed the weapon squarely into one zombie and fully annihilated it, then did the same to another. To Ailier’s right, the dwarf Jadearch tested the jeweled black blade from Tiga’s grave, finding it more than suitable to hack down zombie after zombie. And from the rear, Vagar continued to pour arrows and magic missiles into the onslaught.

Before long, the last of the zombies had fallen. Their unnatural toxin wore off the enchanter, and the path out of the Rock Marsh stood finally open. From there, a few uneventful hours of walking brought the company to the outskirts of Larkingwood and the Mistwood Fields farm. Back on familiar ground, Kaloo ran ahead of the company to the isolated farmhouse, where the stolid yeoman deliberately emerged to hail his visitors.

Bari seemed already to have drawn sufficient clues from the arrival of his son’s hunting dog, without Sione along. But he clearly took comfort in the company’s report all the same. Vagar delivered the sad news. “Your son fought at our side,” he said. “Unfortunately he was not able to make it out. We lost two of our companions besides.”

”He would not have been able to resist the disease for long,” Savu answered, for the first time revealing his knowledge of Sione’s infection. “Soon he would taste the blood of men—if he had not already.”

Bari produced a reward of 300 gold pieces, a fine suit of brigandine, and a potion he said would “grant strength like that of a hill giant.” It was more than the company had expected—yet so had been the mission.

This mission would be the last for Ailier Solenight, who pocketed his share of the gold and bowed out of further adventure—choosing instead to remain at Mistwood Fields as a hired farm hand. But the martial artist was soon replaced, for also lodging at Bari’s residence that evening was the masked figure Rhukk, a warlock of Scaol. Rhukk dressed in fearsome warrior garb, but had come to these parts in search of adventure himself and proved eager to join and assist the party. 

He would need to wait one more day. As night fell over Mistwood Fields, Rhukk’s newfound companions sank into their deepest sleep in memory. At least most of them did, anyway.

Adventure Notes

Blackfang. Zarthan Tiga, a deceased cultist of Salomirak, perished in the Rock Marsh and was buried along with his cherished weapon—a black steel blade with a pink topaz set into the guard, and small arcane runes etched into the base of the blade. Whether Tiga or some previous owner named the sword “Blackfang”  is neither known nor particularly important to you. But through experimentation, you have discerned the weapon is a short sword +1.

Vosson’s Medallion. The smoke mephit Vuzu told you the ostentatious amulet his former overlord Asorin Itall wears is called “Vosson’s Medallion.” What powers the item possesses, where it came from, or who “Vosson” remain unknown.

Toxic Zombie. Though you had not previously encountered zombies in your travels, you have not heard from any who have of zombies being capable of stunning their adversaries. But these stank of death and decay and bore a strange toxin that left Tristan Pureheart nearly helpless on the ground after sustaining a wound.

Witches of Scaol. Even in a society where the sight of armed men in the dress of war is commonplace, Scaol’s adherents (who call themselves “witches” collectively, though most individuals are male and called “warlocks”) stand out for their garish weapons, terrifying masks, and other forms of extreme gaudery. Witches revel in the apprehension, avoidance, or outright fear their very appearance inspires in many who see them, a reaction only amplified in Sekara Valley where the name Scaol is most closely associated with the orcs and other fell races of the Great Desolation.

Experience & Inspiration

·       The party defeated seven toxic zombies and a grey lizard in battle this session, good for 1,105 XP.

·       The party recovered the sword Blackfang from Zarthan Tiga’s grave and learned its core properties. 350 XP. The party also learned the properties of the runed cudgel they had previously obtained. 175 XP.

 ·       The company befriended Sione Bari’s dog Kaloo. The dog accompanied the party when it returned to Mistwood Fields and reported the events of their journey to Savu Bari. Kaloo’s presence established critical trust and confidence with Savu Bari, as did the party’s true and accurate report of Sione Bari’s end. 1,000 XP.

 ·       The company discovered the incomplete stonework and Awar crest on the carving of Aisul Awar. 50 XP. 

 ·       The company also learned from Vuzu the smoke mephit additional information about Asorin Itall and past events in the Rock Marsh. 50 XP.

 ·       The warlock Rhukk joined the party late in the session, replacing Ailier Solenight, and healed wounded party members. This item will be treated separately below.

Session 11 total: 2,730 XP

The total 2,730 XP award from the session will be divided into 4 shares, which comes out to 682.5 XP per share. This will be rounded up to 685 XP per share, and distributed evenly to Jadearch, Tristan Pureheart, Vagar, and Ailier Solenight.

In addition, Rhukk is awarded 50 XP for making an interesting first impression on the party with his mask, but nevertheless ingratiating himself to the members with his healing spells.

Final Session 11 XP awards:

• Jadearch: 685 XP
• Tristan Pureheart: 685 XP
• Vagar: 685 XP
• Ailier Solenight: 685 XP
• Rhukk: 50 XP

Scaol: update

 

 

To most in Sekara Valley, the war god Scaol is a ruthless figure associated with cold, hard metals, austerity—and enemies from beyond the northern rim. Scaol, who appears as an armored figure of an ambiguous but humanoid race, bearing a wavy sword and a stern, ominous visage, is known as a “war god” who many believe foments chaos and conflict. This reputation for divine belligerence owes much to the popularity of Scaol among past adversaries and threats to peace in the Valley—including the orcs, trogs, and other humanoid bands of the Great Desolation as well as the legendary Lono-Knollen raiders of the far north.

There are some, however, who take a different view of Scaol. To them, Scaol is not a god of “war” but rather of “defense” or, some even say, mere “preparedness.” The dangers of this world are many and only through both actual and perceived strength may peoples of good will survive and avoid domination and enslavement by outsiders of ill intent. Indeed, there are many in the Valley who warn that decades of relative peace has engendered a softness in the local population—a concern to which the stark, menacing imagery of Scaol speaks loudly. To them, the sharp spikes, black skulls, jagged edges, and harsh drum beats of Scoal project mercilessness and danger only to one’s enemies; the purpose is not to terrorize or provoke violence, but to deter aggression.

This more nuanced view of Scaol’s ethos is perhaps most succinctly summarized in the Plekkesh expression “beladren bidzko bakela,” which roughly translates in Low Sekaran to “peace through dread.” This is the actual reason why many orcish bands and other groups that commonly worship Scaol are often seen with the letters “BBB” on their shields, flags, and textiles—even though one might hear dozens of other supposed explanations on any given evening at a common Amberdale pub.

 Of the many symbols associated with Scaol, the best known is the plain iron X carried at the end of a rope or chain. There are no known temples to Scaol in Sekara Valley, though the deity is commonly honored through the devotion of shrines and other smaller facilities of worship on old battlefields and other sites associated with armed defense and righteous violence.  

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.