Session 4 Recap & Experience Points Awards

 

The chill cavern air thickened with palpable tension as the nameless adventuring crew inched closer to the limestone column that blocked their view into the far corner of the chamber. Maybe they hadn’t said so. But all six of the party members believed there must surely be something lurking in the dark spot, conspicuous as it was in a space otherwise occupied by old crates, ceramic pots, and burlap sacks. Someone needed to go see for sure, and upon brief discussion that duty would fall to the hospitaller Brin Corso.

He approached cautiously, weapon in hand. But no sooner had Corso stepped around the pillar than he would suddenly turn and run wildly from the chamber, crying out in terror as he dodged through the narrow cavern pathways.

His companions drew back from the dark column and followed, as Corso’s screams grew more distant. Yet unknown to them, a pack of hungry bloodmartens had also heard Corso’s cries and pursued the panicked hospitaller from a different direction. Their paths would cross at the intersection of two narrow cave passages, where the company would face no option but to meet the beasts’ sable fur and razor claws with spears and blades and magic.

The company had already battled bloodmartens numerous times in their brief adventuring careers and knew the creatures, though dangerous, to be little match for their abilities. Yet the tight and twisty caverns left room for only the dwarves Jadearch and Brodrath to meet the foes head-on, while behind them the elf Vagar maneuvered to find an angle for his bow.

As the battle commenced, however, the fearsome sight of a much more dangerous enemy: a sword-wielding weremarten, who charged furiously up a hewn stone staircase through the south passage. The beastman shrieked as he did so, with some members of the adventuring company recognizing the howl as a by-now familiar summons that would draw even more bloodmartens to the fray. They would come from the eastern corridor, the same down which Corso had fled.

But they would not arrive in time. Vagar stepped forward and unleased a scorching torrent of flame from his wiry elven fingertips, and multiple bloodmartens fell under the burning hands spell. The dwarves advanced swiftly through the western passage, fortune smiling upon them as their spears cut viciously into their foes—the same whose claws deflected harmlessly off the dwarves’ armor. Their advance created an opening for the mage Tristan Pureheart to the bloodmartens’ den and unleash his most devastating enchantment.

Tristan’s sleep spell largely ended the threat to the west, as the dwarves easily finished off the only remaining bloodmartens not overcome by drowsiness. To the south, a master bow shot from Vagar delivered a silver arrow to the weremarten’s throat, wounding him so gravely that the killing blow that Ailier Solenight would strike moments later almost seemed an act of mercy. Only now would more bloodmartens appear from the east—the first of them launching onto Brin Corso’s back and sinking its fangs deep into the hospitaller’s neck. But with the foes to the west and south already defeated, this small pack of bloodmartens formed only a third wave in the attack, not a third front—and the company easily regrouped to defeat them.

As the din of battle fell silent, the company quickly attended to Corso, who appeared finally to have restored a calm mind. But though he’d been badly gashed from a bloodmarten’s backbite attack, already the wounds about Corso’s neck were healing and disappearing into unremarkable flesh. He stood amidst the pink mist jetting into the cavern at intervals, breathing it deeply—and enjoying immediate healing effects. The company had looked upon this mist with trepidation only minutes earlier; now they suggested, only half in jest, that the substance might be profitably bottled and sold.

Moving south to investigate the fallen martenwere, the company found actual stone steps that appeared to have been hand carved into the rocky ground and polished, leading down into a vaguely rectangular habitation chamber. In one corner, a heavy wool blanket had been thrown over a mound of earth to make a bed, with a small stool and dirty rug—undoubtedly looted from some nearby settlement or passing caravan—beside. Another corner featured a padlocked wooden chest, and a board lain across over two small rocks to make a shelf. The martenwere himself wore filthy human clothes, undoubtedly stolen from past victims, and had fallen still clutching a high-quality thrusting sword.

The padlocked chest bore the scars of hammer blows and various other untold efforts to open it. Where the martenwere might have found this chest or how he might have gotten it down to this cavern was from apparent. Yet here it was—and just as its prior owner had failed to access its contents, now the adventuring company faced equal frustration. When even a mechanically sound attempt to snap the lock off with the combined force of three man using a spear failed, nearly destroying the weapon in the process, the party realized the chest could only be magically warded.

Though losing hope of ever seeing the inside of the chest, the company decided at last to search the martenwere’s personal effects for anything that might enable the lock to be defeated. And sure enough, this search revealed a colorful silken scarf tied around the martenwere’s arm bore with a stitched monograph: “Alakarama Batikann.” Speaking these exotic words in the presence of the lock caused it finally to shimmer and click open.

On opening the lid, the party found several layers of cloth padding lining the chest. Pulling away the padding revealed five neat rows of eight tiny crystal cones, forty in total. The cones did not appear especially remarkable for their beauty or the rarity of the glass. But the enchanter Tristan immediately recognized the cones as the exceptional material component for the advanced evocation spell, cone of cold. That spell far exceeded the present capacities of any member of the company, but could make the cones quite valuable in the eyes of the right buyer. The company gathered the cones into their packs as safely as they could manage, and moved back north to again investigate the dark corner of the storeroom.

Peering finally behind the limestone shard again, the company found a truly bizarre improvisation. An exquisite glass demon head hung from the ceiling, tethered to a wooden panel on the floor in such a way that an unexpecting intruder, approaching quickly and in poor lighting conditions, might genuinely mistake the contraption for a genuine underworld being. Perhaps this had been what spooked Corso so profoundly, perhaps there had been more to it. But on taking the demon head down, the company then lifted the wooden floor panel. The panel covered a shallow pit, and proved to be a second trap—an alarm that sounded as pellets of gravel spilled from a cloth bag tied on the bottom of the panel and clanged loudly off of a tin sheet below.

By now, of course, nothing remained to answer the alarm—and the company appeared poised to move on. But the enchanter Tristan suggested the party first remove the tin sheet covering the base of the pit, reasoning that the elaborate traps rigged here might protect something more specific rather than just the lower-value items in the storeroom generally. Sure enough, buried in the gravel at the bottom of the pit the company located a steel box, inside of which they found a healthy stash of silver, gold, and even a few orichalcum coins.

Seeing no further paths to explore within this cavern, the company emerged back into the Rock Marsh. Moving east across a low-lying natural bridge that connected one narrow strip of land to a broader island-type feature, the party heard a sudden swish of water. In an instant, the fearsome eyes and snout of a large purple alligator bore down on the party as it lunged from the water and snapped its powerful jaws at the unsuspecting adventurers. Luckily, the company was able to dodge out of the alligator’s way and then dispatch the beast with spears and arrows. But the close encounter served to remind the company of the peril that accompanies each step through the Rock Marsh.

The party next came upon a trail of boot prints which led to yet another standing rock formation. This time, however, a pair of wool sheets hung like improvised curtains inside the rim of a cave opening. Nearing the rock face, the company noticed a strong, cinnamon-like smell in the air—as if someone had spread some kind of strong-scented spice all around the cavemouth. Before entering, the company searched around the base of the crag and found a second entrance—this one concealed and protected by a spear trap.

 Bypassing the trap, the company descended into the hidden entrance—only to find an entry chamber crisscrossed with additional snares and traps improvised from cords and bent tree branches. These proved more an annoyance than a danger, but as the party slowly cross the chamber it came to a passageway blocked with crates and scrap wood—behind which a common but muscular hunting dog sneered and barked at the intruders.

Discerning that the occupant of this cave was something other than a weremarten, the company exited and returned to the curtain-covered entrance, where they promptly announced their presence. There was no answer, so they proceeding inside and came again to a barrier of crates and filled burlap sacks—behind which the same dog growled and snarled. It was then that a figure stepped from the shadows. “Who are you,” a young man of maybe 19 suns asked the party. “And why have you come?”

Instantly the company noted the man’s resemblance to Savu Bari and his sons Yasi and Cisse, both in appearance and manner of dress—as well as the silver-tipped spear he carried. This was indeed a third son; Sione was his name, the oldest of the three. And he clearly dispelled any question the party may have had as to why he was living in the Rock Marsh.

“I was out with Kaloo hunting rabbits in the south forest when one of the infected ones surprised me,” Sione explained. “I saw him just at the last second. I dove out of the way, but he raked his claw across the left side of my torso. The nails went in deep.”

Jadearch asked whether Sione knew how the affliction might be cured, but Sione would not have it. “Perhaps the Most Exalted Sunmother can cure it,” he stated, “I doubt any other can. But false hope will not serve me.”

What Sione could help with was intelligence. He’d counted five martenweres in the Rock Marsh—not counting himself, of course. And with one exception, the others were fundamentally different beings. “Unlike them I am a man infected with the spirit of the beast,” he explained, not a beast infected with the spirit of man.”

That lone exception was the fifth martenwere, Banipal, who occupied a cave to the south. “I have seen his vestments,” Sione stated, suggesting Banipal to be some kind of shaman. “I have seen him pray. None but him have I seen speak any language known to civilized peoples.”

Sione paused when the company asked him to lead the way to Banipal’s cavern. “I already assume I will die here,” he answered. “The dangers of the Rock Marsh are many, and I will not survive them forever. It is fine. If this shall be the will of the Most Exalted Sunmother, then I at peace with it. I will lead you to Banipal.”

Adventure Notes

•   Pink Mist. Every dwarf has heard from a young age about the endless variety of strange gases and hazes that rise into caverns and tunnels from the deep earth. Though most are to be avoided, the pink mist that jetted up from crevices in the cave floor proved to have strong healing capacities—even though it degraded quickly in the cavern air. Brodrath has suggested dwarven elders in the Albernear clans or the Temple of Paomoer might know more about this particular variety.

 ·      Orichalcum. Commonly referred to as “dragon metal,” orichalcum forms from the shed skins of dragons, bits of which condense over centuries and harden into small, lustrous “metal” ovals about the same size and weight as trade coins. It is orichalcum that fills the hoards of dragons, not gold or other coins minted by some warlord or moneylender as is popularly imagined. And when great dragon hoards are found—typically no more than once every generation or two—their orichalcum pieces enter into circulation by humans and elves and dwarves as well. The value of an orichalcum piece in the Present Age has settled around 20 SP (2 GP). Ironically, however, the very discovery of an orichalcum hoard tends to diminish the value of the coin. This makes the actual value of orichalcum a good deal more volatile than that of other coinage—and is perhaps one major reason why the information about the locations of ancient dragon lairs is so highly sought after, and so tightly guarded by those who come upon it.

 ·       Caimán Morado. This is a higher-altitude variant of an alligator that frequents temperate marshes and wetlands. They tend to be solitary and smaller than their tropical counterparts. From your single encounter, you estimate the following characteristics:

•  HP: ~10            Thaco: 19        Speed: 15 (running or swimming)
• AC: 6                  Attack: Bite (damage unknown but severe)

• The Cone of Cold. Tristan has read of a higher-level arcane spell that creates a blast of freezing cold air which emanates from a small glass cone held in the spellcaster’s fingers and extends outward to freeze enemies. The cone is likely consumed by the casting.

 Experience & Inspiration

·        The party defeated 14 bloodmartens, the martenwere Treznor, and a purple alligator in battle this session. 660 XP.     

• The party was about to walk away from the demonhead/alarm trap but returned to search it more thoroughly at the urging of Tristan Pureheart. This resulted in the recovery of substantial treasure. 100 XP, and the enchanter is awarded one point of inspiration.

• The party discovered the healing properties of the pink mist that rises from a crevice in the floor of Treznor’s cave. 50 XP.

• The party continued its exploration of the Rock Marsh, discovering both entrances to Sione Bari’s cave. 75 XP.

• The party met and successfully interacted with Sione Bari, enlisting him as an ally and learning valuable intelligence about the remaining martenweres. 200 XP.

Session 3 totals: 1,085 XP

To reward players for showing up and participating, XP awards from now on will be divided as follows:

• ·    One share to each participating character;
• ·    One share to each participating player (which accrues to that player’s character).

Applying these rules to this session results in the following distribution: 

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

This makes for a total of 10 shares, hence easy math for the DM. Of the total 1,085 XP, each share is worth 108.5 XP, which we shall round up to 109. Hence Brodrath and Brin Corso each gain 109 XP this session, while Jadearch, Tristan Pureheart, Vagar, and Ailier Solenight each gain 218 XP.

Session 3 Recap & Experience Points Awards

 

The enraged beastman howled to the heavens as it tore southeastward across the farm known as Mistwood Fields. “I call that a martenwere,” said the approaching farmer, flanked by his two sons. “Shapechanger. Lycanthrope. Common steel will not pierce them.”

As if conjured from thin air, several more vicious bloodmartens appeared behind the martenwere to ensure the creature’s escape. This was hardly necessary, for the assembled adventuring troop had no intention of giving chase. They held only two silvered weapons, had exhausted their magical resources, and anyway had no hope of catching the speedy martenwere in foot. The summoned bloodmartens snarled and charged, but were no match for the blades and superior numbers of the heroes. The battle ended quickly, and when the dust settled the martenwere had well disappeared from sight.

“You fight well,” declared the farmer, who introduced himself as Savu Bari. His weathered skin suggested a life lived constantly outdoors, whether in these farm fields or elsewhere. “And these are my sons, Yasi and Cisse.” The farmer carried three silver-tipped spears, and tossed the adventuring group two of them with a laconic expression of gratitude. “I thank you for the help you have given our farm.” To this he added a small ring carved from blue stone, which he suggested might draw a good price from one Estienne Boulle—proprietor of the La Sirène boutique in the heart of Larkingwood. “I’d love for someone to go into the Rock Marsh and hunt down the leaders of those giant rodents,” Bari added.

On further discussion, Bari provided considerable intel on the martenweres. They lived in a nearby wetland called the “Rock Marsh,” described as an ordinary swamp except for a number of imposing rock formations rising out of the soupy water. “The pine goblins up on Vitor’s farm say they’ve counted three of the shape-changers so far,” Bari added. “The one who just ran away they call Ordan. I’m not sure how they know his name, but then I don’t speak Plekkish.” Bari added that the martenweres tend to emerge from the Rock Swamp on moonlight evenings or even overcast days, and that he suspects they live in “a few small dugouts or natural caves.”

The party also used the occasion to inquire about Bari’s neighbor, Arets Vitor, but found Bari reluctant to say much about the topic. “Mr. Vitor has made many accusations against me and even my sons,” the farmer said. “But he is old, and his mind is perhaps failing. So we must have patience.”

Following Bari’s suggestion, the company made their way to La Sirène. Crossing through town, the adventurers were relieved to see normal life resuming; the storm damage, mild in most places, was being repaired and some bustle had returned to the streets. On the way, something caught the eye of the shadowblade Twink, and drew him off into the crowd. The others hadn’t noticed, continuing as a group of six to their destination. 

 On arriving they found a shop full of luxury goods: fine silks, wool suits, and dresses of brocade, as well as costume jewelry and artwork. But an ornate silvered bastard sword hung from one wall, beside several silvered daggers. “That was the sword of Teshtamire the Vigilant,” declared the shop owner, a thin human man with a mustache and a fluffy collar who said his name was Estienne Boulle. “One of our city founders. I couldn’t possibly let it go for less than fi- six hundred silver.”

Even the daggers appeared a stretch given the party’s means, at well over 200 silver apiece. Boulle’s tune changed, however, when Vagar flashed the bluestone ring the party had received from Savu Bari. Boulle made no secret of his fascination with the item, which was admittedly beautiful despite being fashioned from rather low-quality aquamarine crystals and not actually worth more than 15 or 20 GP at most. Boulle quickly cut a deal with the party, trading two of his fine silver daggers for the item—at which point the party inquired about silvered arrows.

Boulle strangely replied that he did not stock any silvered arrows. But he then proceeded to complain that Arjen Per, the city elder, supplied the Larkingwood Town Guard with silvered arrows from some other (unknown) supplier and not Boulle. It was only then that Ailier Solenight stumbled across a crate full of silvered arrows and crossbow bolts under a table in Boulle’s shop. Needless to say, the company would leave La Sirène with their quivers full.

But they would not leave immediately. For just as they gathered the arrows, a short, spectacled human man passed through the entry door and presented Boulle with a small carving of an unusual orange lizard. Speaking in snappy darts of words, he demanded an appraisal Boulle, on inspecting the carving, announced the work was “dreadful” and looked to “have been carved by a cyclops.” Its value, the shopkeeper concluded was no greater than 10 silver pieces.

The spectacled man was not surprised. He had come out of concern for a local noblewoman, “Lady Kitto,” who it seemed had purchased a number of these carvings at increasingly steep prices from the carver—an unidentified artisan whose name began with the letter M. The carver was set to visit the Lady again the next day, it seemed.

Though seemingly convinced the noblewoman was indeed being scammed, the company nevertheless chose to prioritize the greater task: the threat the martenweres posed to the outlying farms. They headed to the Blue Bear Inn, where they found proper accommodation from the dwarven innkeepers Duri and Nanain, before striking out for the Rock Marsh the next morning.

The Rock Marsh was not difficult to find, especially with Ailier’s tracking skills. A distinct set of martenwere footprints led off the road to the southeast, through a stone outcropping, to a trailhead that looked across a dreary swampland pocked with rocky crags. Moving through the Rock Marsh, the company first passed carefully by a knot of giant frogs obliviously feeding on bog flies. This brought them close to the first of many black crags, in front of which a narrow cave opening angled down into the earth. There wasn’t much beside it, just a couple boulders and piles of smaller rocks that, mixed with obviously excavated dirt, bled into the seemingly natural gravel of the footpath. And there were ample signs of traffic: faint animal prints and a surfeit of flies in the curtilage. Something must live down there.

After descending about three meters, the cave opened into a gradually descending passage, winding laggardly to the right. It was just tall enough to stand up, maybe with a bit of a crouch for the tallest members of the party. Coming at last to the end of the narrow passage, the floor flattened and the walls widened before the company, breaking sharply to either side. Suddenly, charging fiercely from the left came a bipedal humanoid creature, roughly five feet in height, with a beastly head and fangs and a rusty sword in its right hand: a martenwere, much the same as the company had faced at the edge of Larkingwood just hours ago. And to the right, a row of blood martens charged the company from the rear.

Even so, the party had come well-prepared to face martenweres—armed as they were with silvered clubs and spears. The martenwere had clearly not expected this, attacking as he did despite the party’s greatly superior numbers. The company made quick work of both him and his accompanying bloodmartens, and found a few meager treasures in his dander-ridden lair.

Moving through the remainder of the cavern, the party discovered two additional entrances—which suggested to them that other nearby caves might have multiple entry points as well. The party also came across what appeared to be unoccupied sleeping quarters for two more martenweres; where they could be at this hour was anyone’s guess. Satisfied they had fully explored the first Rock Marsh cave, the company exited back into daylight and trekked further across the swamp.

Before long, the party came upon a beaten leading to a gap in the base of another large rock formation. It was a tall cave, plenty high enough for almost any man to enter standing straight up, with the bushes and swamp grasses to either side covering a layer of old debris: bones, bits of fabric, rusty tools and implements, and lots of dirt and grime. The party quickly deduced that several large mounds around the perimeter of the cavern opening were excavated dirt and gravel—some already covered with plants and moss, others still dusty and bare.

Heading inside, the company found the entry tunnel tight and jagged, forcing them to proceed single file. The ground was slicked in mud that revealed numerous animal tracks—and not small ones at that.

Probing through the darkness, the party soon came upon an area of thin pink mist, which jetted from a crevice in the floor at ~ 60 second intervals. Holding their breath, the party members passed through the mist without incident, reaching a roughly elliptical chamber that opened around a small pond of gently rippling water that rose to within a foot of the floor line. A thin beam of sunlight illuminated the water from a tiny hole high in the domed ceiling above. Across the pool, the party found a wooden crate lain sideways against the cave wall and filled with pitchers and small basins.

After brief investigation, the company left the pool and delved further into the cave, coming upon a broad, foul-smelling storeroom. Numerous crates, barrels, pots, and sacks lined the walls of this long, oval-shaped chamber, and a vertical shock of limestone sliced through its northwest corner. The broad limestone shard formed a natural pillar, leaving a dark space behind into which the party members could not see…

Adventure Notes

• ·       The proper name of the “beastman” the party first encountered at Savu Bari’s farm is the martenwere. Having later tracked the monster to its lair and defeated it in battle, the company is quite familiar with its characteristics, at least in its bipedal form.

Martenwere

AC: 6, HD: 2+5, Thaco 18, Speed 20

Attacks: per melee weapon

Special abilities: summon/control bloodmartens, requires silvered or magical weapon to hit

• ·       The niftin is a colorful water lizard from the Great Cross Lake, a giant inland sea to the east. Numerous affiliated tribes, collectively known as the ”Lakemen,” live in the hills and forests mostly to the south and east of the lake. For this reason multiple party members suspect the woodcarver who has been bilking the Lady Kitto could be from that region.

 ·       The company also came across a knot of giant frogs in the Rock Marsh, and found them to be comparatively docile—or, better said, indifferent creatures. Just from simple observation, however, the party estimates them at roughly 100 lbs., with maybe ~2 HD and potentially very dangerous due to their leaping ability and long, thick tongues. It may be best to ensure the frogs remain undisturbed.

 

1. ·The pink mist that jetted up from a crevice in a Rock Marsh cave opening proved harmless to the touch, but of course the party members were careful not to breathe any of the mist into their lungs. Could warrant further investigation—though no one in the party has any immediate ideas about whom to inquire with regarding such subterranean gases.

 ·       Inspecting one of the silvered spears the company received from Savu Bari, Vagar noticed some etching in the elven language of Chalmar at the base of the shaft. It translates to “Property of Sione Bari.”

 ·       Brin Corso had spent an evening at the Blue Bear Inn several days before the storm passed through, and could have sworn the proprietors charged him 5 SP for the night. Of course, suffice it to say Brin Corso is not a dwarf.

Experience & Inspiration

• ·    The fleeing martenwere at Mistwood Fields summoned four bloodmartens to ensure his escape, which the party swiftly defeated. 80 XP.

 ·        The company had a successful interaction with the farmer Savu Bari, emerging with two silvered spears and a ring carved out of low-quality bluestone. Bari also provided significant intel on the Rock Marsh and the martenweres that live there. 125 XP.

 ·        The party was able to trade the bluestone ring to Estienne Boulle for additional silver weaponry. And rather than settle for what Boulle said he had on offer, the company pressed the aloof shopkeeper and ultimately discovered he had more inventory than he realized. 80 XP.

 ·        Vagar’s familiarity with the language and culture of the Lakemen enabled him to discern probable details of the niftin woodcarving for which the noblewoman “Lady Kitto” paid dearly. Though the importance of this latter discovery is not yet clear, it has set in motion the gears of imagination. For this, Vagar is awarded 1 point of inspiration.

 ·        The company easily discovered the Rock Marsh trailhead by tracking the martenwere footprints to the southeast, then went on to explore roughly half of the Rock Marsh. 225 XP.

·      The company passed confidently by the giant frogs without angering them, avoiding a potentially dangerous encounter. 75 XP.

 ·        The company located the first Rock Marsh cave and promptly dispatched its occupants, being one martenwere and five bloodmartens. 300 XP.

 ·        The company located and explored a fair amount of the second Rock Marsh Cave. However the nature of the pink mist or the circular pool the company discovered remain unknown. 100 XP.

Session 3 totals: 985 XP

The total of 985 / 6 amounts to 164.17 XP per character. So we will round that up to 165 XP apiece for each of the following player characters:

·       Jadearch

·       Brodrath

·       Tristan Pureheart

·       Vagar

·       Ailier Solenight

·       Brin Corso

Session 2 Recap & Experience Points Awards

 

Seven hardy men regained their calm. It was a weighty title to bear. But having just rescued a small boy from a collapsing building and a pack of vicious bloodmartens, the impromptu group might fairly be called heroes. Did they dare believe that? 

“Well done,” a lone guardsman of Larkingwood congratulated them. “Must be the storm throwing off their routines. We see one wander into town on occasion—never a whole pack like that.”

Now as the early rays of dawn washed over them came the usual sounds of morning; small birds chirped in the trees, the katydids and cicadas rattled, and the first hints of bustle kicked up a background din. This, as a low sunmother channeled the healing grace of Vitiniba, and all their scrapes and wounds melted instantly away.

The sunmother called herself Thalquira. She did not agree that the passing storm was responsible for marauding bloodmartens, and insisted “something more sinister” must be to blame. But she did not wish to elaborate, having quickly taken custody of the rescued boy and intending to shelter him at the temple.

The boy said only that his name was Paq Aball, son of Lashe Aball—whose room had been on the second floor. His departure with Thalquira left the day’s heroes alone with the guardsman, a lean and wiry fellow named Frelick Daus. “We’ll find him,” Daus called to the departing boy—a promise the heroes found strange as Paq seemed already to know his father’s tragic fate.

“Maybe his pop survived the collapse,” Daus said, as soon as the boy was out of earshot. “You never know. But anyway the East Edge is where the worst of the storm hit. Lots to do over there, undoubtedly.”

Inspecting the remains of the Aball residence more closely, the shadowblade Twink’ discerned massive structural damage that would likely make any attempt to enter the structure highly dangerous and any prolonged entry borderline suicidal. Moreover a brief inspection though the structure’s windows revealed near-total internal collapse, with a very low likelihood that anyone on the second floor could possibly have survived. Meanwhile Daus continued to discourage the group from dallying at the ruin, reiterating that the East Edge was “hardest-hit” and that “all who can help are needed there.” Weighing their choices, the party took up Daus on his suggestion, and struck east along the Kitanomichi (“North Way” in Ecbano).

Several minutes later, an elderly, somewhat deranged-looking passer-by enjoined the party that “they will say the prophecy is fulfilled! That a great storm indeed has come.” This elderly man, whom the party would later learn is known by “Old Cal,” hunched and bent over cane. He offered little in the way of elaboration—other than to say that he read the intentions of the clouds while wandering the hillsides and that some greater disaster would someday be forthcoming. “The prophecy is not yet fulfilled,” Old Cal said. “But if shall be.”

The enchanter Tristan Pureheart took especial interest in Old Cal, and stewed with frustration when her proved unable to deliver the details Tristan demanded. Finally losing his patience, Tristan attempted to invoke the arcane spell charm person to assist in his interrogations. But Tristan’s mind was not pure, and his spell proved unsuccessful. Upon the young enchanter’s failure, Old Cal cursed at embarrassed mage and stormed angrily off along the Kitanomichi.

On seeing this, an unknown man along the edge of the Kitanomichi approached the enchanter and imparted the local disdain for the use of enchantments and other such magic within the confines of town. Now Tristan turned his interrogations to this man, but he was not having any of it. “It’s none of your business who I am,” he told the enchanter. “I don’t need to answer your questions.”

Continuing east, the party came upon a darkly-clad hobbit making repairs to the outside of a small cottage. Inquiring yet again, the party found a warmer reception this time from Medard. “Well, perhaps I should accompany you to the east,” he told the party. “The damage here is just minor.”

You arrived at the East Edge just moments later. Visibility remained limited in the fleeting darkness and driving rain. But the first faint glimmer of sunlight sneaking over the horizon, together with the flickering fires and torchlights, illuminated your field of vision well enough to see that an entire row of wooden buildings has been flattened, torn away by the passing cyclone. A heavy debris field spilled out away from town, littering the broad, grassy field locals call the East Green with wooden boards and stone wreckage. It was a picture of chaos, as townspeople climbed and sifted through the rubble in the pouring down rain. Some collected strewn possessions, some bolstered flagging structures, some just wandered—calling out names of children and relatives in anguished, desperate voices.

Medard led you straight to the senior guardsman of Larkingwood, Artum Varan. Bald-shaven and severe-looking, Varan pointed and signaled commands to townspeople and guardsmen alike. He had deployed a perimeter around the area, and regretted being unable to spare guardsmen to check on the nearby farms and outlying buildings. Varan had also “received a report the cyclone lifted up a farm wagon and sent it flying toward the north woods,” Varan related. “Horse and all, it seems.”

While the party took note of the ways they could be helpful, Twink approached an afflicted man combing over the remains of his home, and asked what he was looking for. “I’ve lost everything,” the man replied. But when Twink pressed the issue, the man became hostile. He was clearly not searching for a person, and did not care to reveal to a stranger what personal valuables might be found beneath the rubble.

The party chose next to head north in search of the missing farm wagon. They came quickly upon it, just inside the edge of the woods. The poor draft horse lay dead in the field, while the shattered wagon rested in pieces strewn amidst the trees. A troupe of dark-green pine goblins sorted joyously through the litter of cracked wheels, smashed boards, and twisted metal wagon parts—most conspicuously holding half-empty liquor bottles in their hands.

When the party approached they met Fervart, who seemed to the spokesperson for the group. This may have been because his pidgin of broken Sekaran and Plekkish as the most easily understandable, or possibly because he was the least intoxicated—but either way, he proved amicable enough. The pine goblins, all dressed as farm hands and bearing no visible weapons, proved to be on an unscheduled holiday from the nearby Whiteflower Farms. Already they had helped themselves to much of the farm cart’s whiskey that survived the cyclone—and possibly some of its coin as well. But they hadn’t found all the silver, or the intact light crossbow, and held little interest in the food.

Relieved that the party did not intend to report them to their master, the pine goblins merrily “assisted” the party in packing up the onions, carrots, spinach, and other surviving produce to be taken back to the East Edge. Of course, given their state of inebriation, this assistance consisted mostly of simply moving out of the way and doing nothing as the party members gathered up the goods. But this was all that was needed, and the group soon returned to Artum Varan with ample provisions to feed the hungry cyclone survivors for several days hence.

Varan thanked the party for bringing back the farm goods, and handed them a pair of silver-plated clubs the guardsman thought might be important in their work. “With some of them big rodents—stoats is what I call them. Stoats, weasels. Some of them, you can hit ‘em solid and even sharp steel just bounces right off. But this silver now.”

Varam didn’t finish his sentence. Taking the clubs, the party then proceeded to Whiteflower Farms, twenty minutes walk to the northeast. Varan had warned that the farmer there, Arets Vitor, was “a little different” and that the party should be careful. His pine goblins farmhands had described Vitor as a “wizard,” though did not report any actual magical abilities (but rather the ability to create a rather impressive corn maze).

On reaching the farm, the party noticed that Vitor’s farm—including his crops as well as his house and outbuildings—appeared practically untouched by the passing cyclone. This may have just been good fortune, of course. But before the group could make any further inspection, they overheard Vitor bickering behind the beanstalks with the foreman of his work crew. In summary, Vitor was upset that the pine goblins were not back to work yet, now that the cyclone had passed. The foreman, a stocky and barrel-chested pine goblin called Barchuk, insisted that conditions were still too dangerous to resume the work. Dark clouds remained in the sky, he said—and on top of that, tracks of “weasels and beastmen” had been spotted along the road to the southeast.

Vitor scoffed at Barchuk’s objections. The party wasn’t sure they believed them either, knowing Barchuk had to cover for his drunken colleagues at the farm wagon site. But the argument ended without resolution when the party stepped out of the brush and presented themselves to Vitor.

“No doubt Arjen Per sent you,” the old farmer declared. “Him or his adjutant, what do they call him, Varan? Always ‘checking on me,’ they are. ‘Checking on my welfare.’ Hah! We both know why you are here.”

Jadearch the dwarf tried to assure Vitor that the party had truly come to ensure he and his workers were safe following the cyclone. But the farmer carried on with his accusations of conspiration and spying, before sardonically requesting that the party deliver news of his neighbor Savu Bari, of Mistwood Fields farm to the south. Vitor then instructed Barchuk to escort the party off the premises, and disappeared inside his farmhouse.

After sipping a swig of whiskey with Jadearch, Barchuck confirmed that weasel and beast-man tracks had truly been seen to the south. There were several known beastmen, the pine goblin foreman explained, with those by the names of Ordan, Delinda, and Arhein having been seen over the past couple days. The beastment lived in a place called the “Rock Marsh,” but were out and about under the darkened stormy skies.

Just minutes later, the party crossed onto the edges of Mistwood Fields where they indeed saw tracks of many bloodmartens and the unmistakable bipedal footprints of what could only have been such a “beastman.” The tracks were fresh and well-defined, flowing from east to west and then veered south along a protective line of trees at the edge of the farms, and so the party piqued their eyes and ears as they moved southwest toward a possible intercept point.

It was a good thing. For all of a sudden, another pack of vicious bloodmartens came charging at them from the south. And behind them stood a “beastman”—that is, a bipedal figure whose head that resembled those of the bloodmartens, but who had otherwise man-like features and held a sword.  

The party formed a skirmish line and quickly brought down several of the attacking bloodmartens with their spears and blades. But bloodmartens fought fiercely, raking their sharp claws into multiple party members and inflicting grievous wounds. Worse, a perfectly-aimed arrow from the wood elf Vagar struck the beastman right in the chest—and bounced harmlessly away. Taking stock of the peril, Tristan Pureheart raised his staff and called forth a sleep spell that promptly incapacitated all but a couple of the bloodmartens.

Tristan’s spell effectively ended the battle, as the lone beastman turned and fled southward at superhuman speed. In the meantime, three robed figures approached, bearing spears, from the heart of the Mistwood Fields farmstead. Safe for the moment, the party members caught their breath. They knew not how long this moment might last.

Adventure Notes

·       The party encountered a number of pine goblins during this session, all of whom were farm hands hired on at Whiteflower Farms. Harmless and mostly peaceful, pine goblins are generally regarded as a nuisance in the Larkingwood region as their tribes are said to steal from outlying farms and lumber camps. Some dispute these claims, however, suggesting the tales of pine goblin mischief are just a lie spread by laborers resentful of pine goblins taking work from members of “higher ancestries.” You are not sure how representative the pine goblins you met might be compared with pine goblin warriors you might encounter in the wild, but you’d estimate them as having about 3-4 HP apiece and below average strength and intelligence.

 ·       Not so harmless or peaceful was the “beastman” that attempted to ambush the party at the southeast edge of Mistwood Fields. While your limited interaction gave you little insight into the creature’s characteristics, you did note the following:

Beastman (?)

·       Immunity to normal weapons

·       Very fast running speed (20), 14 DEX

·       Ability to control, and possibly summon, bloodmartens         

 ·     You also learned that bloodmartens have a special ability to “bleed” their foes in combat on a high-enough hit roll. The bloodmarten bites the neck of their victim and remains attached, causing subsequent attacks to succeed automatically for an unknown duration.

  From Tristan’s unfruitful encounter with “Old Cal,” you have discerned that attempting to charm or otherwise invoke hostile magic spells upon fellow residents of Larkingwood is at minimum a serious social faux paus—and potentially a matter calling for the town guard’s attention. Luckily nobody takes Old Cal’s rantings seriously, and nobody else saw it. Well, almost nobody.

 ·       The party has now interacted with a number of notable Larkingwood-area NPCs. Images and vital information on these NPCs will appear under the NPCs tab on the blog. Of course, players may wish to maintain their own, more extensive notes.

Experience & Inspiration

• · The party’s interaction with Old Cal was perhaps not the most scintillating moment of the campaign to date, perhaps owing to insufficient backstory development by a DM out-of-practice with improvisation. There are many who say there is no such thing as failure, only learning experiences—but few of them role dice. 25 XP are awarded to help us all forget.

 ·       The party’s interaction with Medard was successful and resulted in a quick and efficient introduction to the senior guardsman of Larkingwood. 35 XP are awarded.

·       The party made a good impression on Artum Varan, who seems like a rather important person in Larkingwood. Varan has already rewarded the party with two silver clubs; now, 125 XP are awarded.

·       The party obtained valuable information from the drunken pine goblins gathered around the lost farm wagon, and smartly brought the recovered vegetables back to the east edge where provisions were sorely needed. 250 XP are awarded.

 ·       The party successfully managed another role-playing encounter with Arets Vitor and the pine goblin Barchuk at Whiteflower Farms, earning the goblin’s trust with a swig of whiskey and gaining insights about the roaming beastmen. 75 XP are awarded. Jadearch is awarded one inspiration point for sharing his flask with the pine goblin.

 ·       The party deftly avoided falling into the beastman’s ambush and fought off the second bloodmarten attack. Though the encounter looked momentarily dangerous, Tristan Pureheart came through with a well-timed sleep spell to substantially alleviate the peril. 425 XP is awarded.

Session 2 totals: 935 XP

The total of 935 XP / 7 characters works out to 133.57 XP apiece, so we will round that up; each of the following player characters is awarded 134 XP:

·       Jadearch

·       Brodrath

·       Tristan Pureheart

·       Vagar

·       Twinkles “Twink” Dandypants

·       Ailier Solenight

·       Brin Corso

 

Session 1 Recap & Experience Points Awards

Well before dawn, the angriest winds heard in a thousand moons huffed and howled over the mining shafts and logging camps and the riverside town of Larkingwood. There, on the worn marble floor of the weathered old temple, muddled laughter murmured through the arcades.

“Oh, for two full flagons of ale,” grumbled a resigned dwarven voice. The response, in whispered Khelgir, went largely unnoticed—most of all by the ten or twenty other tired souls still fast asleep in a scattered mass around the court. But there would be no ale this night—even the taverns were closed.

Not thirty minutes earlier, a fierce gust lifted a shard of metal off a nearby roof and hurled the same through a high stained-glass panel. The crash, or more likely the ensuing rain splatter, had awoken several of the figures taking shelter under the arms of Vitiniba this evening. They now sat in a circle chatting softly, while the fearsome storm raged outside the temple’s stone walls. For hours the winds battered the mostly wood and thatch structures of Larkingwood, until finally forming a funnel cloud and ripping eastward across the fields.

At dawn the temple doors flung wide and the first beams of daylight shone in. A throng of stern-faced priestesses entered, ringing bells and hitting their knocking sticks to roust every lodger from their sleep. “There is much damage in the town,” announced the elderly sunmother, clapping at the head of her charges. “And so there is much to be done. Help is needed on the eastern edge.”

Reluctantly the fellows rose, mostly in silence, and ambled grudgingly toward the emerging daylight. Among them, the shadowy hobbit Twink* scanned for an easy mark and set eyes upon a ragged burlap sack, no doubt left accidentally by a fellow shelterer. But alas, it was not to be—for his delay drew the attention of multiple sunmothers, who swiftly hemmed about the hobbit and prodded him toward the exit.

The hobbit's boot had not even landed its first step onto the town’s muddy gravel when a loud groan of wood and a crash reverberated through the still-falling rain. A nearby building had partly collapsed, leaving a boy of maybe ten suns dangling precariously from the remains of a third-story apartment. The wind had calmed. But already there was rubble and debris everywhere, and the smell of smoke mixed with the thick moisture and lingered in the same air as the boy’s calls for help. Seven would answer the call.

First on the scene was the novice enchanter Tristan, who sprinted to the wavering ruin and scrambled up a debris pile to rescue the boy.  The burly dwarven war priest Brodrath pulled an ejected post from nearby wreckage and wedged it against the leaning rubble, serving to brace it. Another dwarf, a warrior known as Jadearch, took a position below in case of a need to catch the boy. It’s a good thing, because Tristan botched his climb back down the same debris pile and sent the boy bounding toward the ground—where surely he would have been badly injured, had he not landed in the waiting arms of Jadearch.

Yet there was still not a moment to think. No sooner had Jadearch caught the falling youth, than the vicious amber eyes of a skulking bloodmarten launched from the shadows and tried to make a meal of the rescued boy. Luckily, Jadearch was able to block the creature’s path, sustaining only a minor wound from the bloodmarten’s wild claw.

A moment later, six more bloodmartens emerged from the darkness. But the laconic elven spellsword Vagar, standing vigilant on the group’s left flank, stepped before three of the beasts and roasted them with a burning hands spell. The flames washed over each of the three, badly hurting them though they persisted in their charge. But one would soon fall dead at the hands of Jadearch, who stepped forward and hurled his spear. On the right flank, the duo of Ailer and Brin Corso bashed two more bloodmartens down.

Badly outnumbered, and with many of their companions dead before them, the remaining bloodmartens turned and fled down a facing street. But one made it only a few steps before an arrow from the longbow of Vagar ripped fatally through its neck.

The other would have escaped. But a town guardsman, arriving to the scene from the opposite direction, stepped in front of the fleeing bloodmarten and ran it through with a spear. “Frelick Daus” said the guardsman, pulling the spear back out from the fallen animal. “At your service.”

The din of battle finally gave way to silence, and the accidental company looked to each other and nodded in satisfaction. In a moment, a low priestess of Vitiniba approached the scene and took custody of the rescued child. “The light of The Most Exalted Sunmother shines upon you,” she told the group. “May her grace see you safely to the Eastern Edge.” With those words, she uttered a sweet-sounding incantation, and flicked a shroud of crackling divine resolve over the heroes of the morning.

But not even Vitiniba herself might know what the next chapter might bring.

Adventure Notes

•  The party encountered a type of overgrown mustelid in this introductory chapter, known locally as a “Bloodmarten.” Though startling in appearance, with a long body and a fearsome set of teeth, the bloodmartens did not prove to be especially challenging.  You estimated the following characteristics:

Bloodmarten

STR: 12, DEX: 15, CON: 10, INT: 3, WIS: 6, CHA: 6

AC: 7, HP: ~3 each THAC0: 20, Damage: d6

•  Frelick Daus has introduced himself to the party. He’s a human guardsman about 5’10” and who looks to be of about average strength. Knows how to handle a spear though, you’ve seen that. You wonder what else he might know about.

 ·       The low sunmother bestowed a special blessing upon you as a reward for the child’s rescue. This will provide a +1 bonus to each character’s next attack roll or saving throw (whichever comes first). {This is a new divine spell called sunmother’s favor, now available to divine casters with access to the life sphere}. She also healed any lingering wounds of the party members, before spiriting the boy off to safety in the temple.

 ·      The spellsword Vagar positioned himself smartly before three charging bloodmartens and unleashed the tactically perfect spell, burning hands. Unfortunately, the spell only inflicted a measly one point of damage per caster level—meaning one point of damage per target. This damage was frankly far less than the DM had remembered, and . The DM considers this damage insufficient—particularly as burning hands has such a short attack range. Therefore, the spell description of burning hands has been modified to reflect improve damage depending on the type of gemstone dedicated to preparing the spell. And as luck would have it, Vagar finds he happens to have a small red jasper in his spell components pouch.

 Experience & Inspiration

• ·       The company formed as disaster struck, in the form of a nearby house collapsing from storm damage and leaving a young boy stranded on a precarious high ledge. An adventuring company formed from who answered the call. 75 XP

 ·       Though not well acquainted, the members of this small group came together and worked quickly to rescue the boy. Teamwork proved essential as Tristan the enchanter lost his grip on the boy while climbing down, but Jadearch the dwarf was luckily there to catch him. 125 XP

 ·        The party then faced its first combat encounter, as a pack of seven bloodmartens surrounded and attacked the group. Where they came from is anybody’s guess. But the important thing is the party fought them off, and made sure they could not get to the rescued boy. 250 XP.

 ·       The company’s brave actions also earned the approval of both the Larkingwood Town Guard and the Temple of Vitiniba. While this may pay dividends down the line, the company is instantly awarded 100 XP for making a good first impression.

Session 1 totals: 550 XP

Each of the following player characters is awarded 79 XP:

·       Jadearch

·       Brodrath

·       Tristan

·       Vagar

·       Twink

·       Ailier

·       Brin Corso