Kindle

A shortish while ago, during an evening downtime outside…

Holding his position, the bound Elemental; Dijonn flickers atop the tip of his vertical staff. He’d only recently learned to hold his position, when left unattended. He could no longer move independently but at least he could avoid the indignity of being laid flat out in the dirt or dust.

The sweet but tragically timorous Bard; Rifkin had been teaching the morally erratic Fortu to read over the last few months and it had peaked Dijon’s curiosity. Previously he’d only considered paper to be useful kindling but now, in his constrained state, he’s realised that the weird squiggles often scrawled all over it can hold knowledge, and knowledge equals power.

“Can you brighten your flame a tad Dijonn? The sun’s going down and it’s getting harder to see the printed words.”

The magical staff flares brighter behind the sitting Rifkin and Fortu. One of the compensations of his new bound existence is that he can’t now, ever burn out. The staff he inhabits sustains him, but the flavour is unsatisfyingly bland, like an endless supply of cheap cardboard.

“Of course my fleshy fellow. I’m happy to help. Can you sing me the ‘ABC’ song again? I think I’m beginning to fathom these weird, black pictographs... ‘F’ is for; Fire!”

Locket, Chape and Ringo at Fifth

David asked if the Triplet guards remain unified in their skill choices etc. Though they are still honest, loyal and true, but more to Lord Urdurel than you, they remain (mostly) game-mechanically and appearance-wise; near identical.

Locket and Ringo
Human
Fighter
Level: 5
Age: 24
Alignment: Neutral good
Initiative: +1
Str: 16: +3
Int: 12: +1
Wis: 10
Dex: 12: +1
Con: 12: +1
Cha: 12: +1
Hps: 43
Ac: 18
Move: 20’
Height: 6’
Weight: 14 stone (196lbs)
Languages: Common/Orc
Attack:
+1 magical Longsword:+10 to hit
Damage: 1d8+6 (crit x2 on 19)
Light Crossbow: +6 to hit
Damage: 1d8 (crit x2 on 19)
Range: 80’
Feats:
Weapon focus: Longsword
Weapon specialisation: Longsword
Athletic
Power attack
Improved Bull Rush
Acrobatic
Skills:
Climb:+13
Swim:+13
Jump:+13
Ride:+5
Handle animal:+6

Tumble:+5
(Shield and Armour penalty: -6)
Equipment:
+1 magic Long sword
Breastplate armour
Large steel shield
Light crossbow
10 crossbow bolts.
(4 or 5?) Flaming bolts +1 (+1d6)

10gp

Chape
Human
Fighter
Level: 5
Age: 24
Alignment: Neutral good
Initiative: +1
Str: 16: +3
Int: 12: +1
Wis: 10
Dex: 12: +1
Con: 12: +1
Cha: 12: +1
Hps: 43
Ac: 19 
Move: 20’
Height: 6’
Weight: 14 stone (196lbs)
Languages: Common/Orc
Attack: 
+1 magical Longsword:+10 to hit
Damage: 1d8+6 (crit x2 on 19)
Light Crossbow: +6to hit
Damage: 1d8 (crit x2 on 19)
Range: 80’
Feats:
Weapon focus: Longsword
Weapon specialisation: Longsword
Athletic 
Power attack
Improved Bull Rush
Acrobatic 
Skills:
Climb:+13
Swim:+13
Jump:+13
Ride:+5
Handle animal:+6

Tumble:+5
(Shield and Armour penalty: -6)
Equipment:
+1 magic Long sword
Breastplate armour
+1 magic Large steel shield
Light crossbow
10 crossbow bolts.
(4 or 5?) Flaming bolts +1 (+1d6)

10gp

*(Chape has a +1 large shield from Fortu)

Update their sheets before Christmas in readiness for the first game of 2027.

Fresh Flesh

Seething with silent rage in the overcast darkness, the formless, knee deep, red mist, twists and swirls around the sturdy legs of the few, recently risen, Red-eyed Orcs, before banking off and splitting into four translucent, sulphurous streams of vaporous blood. 

Each one travels along the previously trodden paths to one of the four abandoned mines. Abandoned mines that had recently been used to feast on the dead and still to store the barely living.

Once inside the utterly black mine entrances, each of the divided clouds of demonic blood, hones toward what it seeks. 

Beyond the dismembered, cannibalised bodies of the miners, a single Red-eyed Orc stands guard above a pit of the captive miners. Tethered, beaten and bloody but still alive. 

Wretched Human men, and far too few even then, but they will have to suffice until more Orc warriors can be found. 

Found and corrupted.

Experience -Divine Dreams

Battling a hundred Red-eyed, demi-demons and having a divine encounter with multiple gods is, apparently, just enough to push you all over the experience wire…

CONGRATULATIONS!

Everyone levels up to 9th level!

More HPs, more spells, more feats!

Fortu: 38,342 (9th!) 

Banal: 37,048 (9th!)

Liga Bur: 36,201 (9th!)

Rifkin: 21,941 (7th!)

Triplets: 10,543xp (5th!)

Annoying dead level for the Triplets; Ringo, Chape and Locket, who pretty much only gain 8 Hit points, a handful of Skill points and +1 to hit.

Rifkin suffers a very similar fate, but he does gain the ability to cast his first 3rd level spell!

Have a rifle through the core books, choose whatever you want, adjust/enhance your characters and send me a revised copy 

For all the Good that Evil does

Abbathor smiles greasily, with his thin, tight lips never once revealing his yellowed teeth.

“I told you that swapping out the temperamental Elf; Arowe for our seemingly dull but steadfast Dwarf; Banaal would throw an unexpected pickaxe into Zartak’s carefully planned, long-term machinations.”

Moradin strokes his thick beard and nods begrudgingly.

“I’ve never liked your… underhand ways, but I have to admit you were right. I suppose my way, the way of order and honour, is easier to anticipate and therefore counter and abuse, if the enemy has no such scruples… Which he obviously doesn’t..”

Finally, fully grinning at the back-handed praise, Abbathor Agrees.

“I told you Brother; It takes evil to understand evil. Understand it and therefore, undermine it. Banaal’s unforetold inclusion and Arowe’s altered path will muddy the fates and disrupt the future as writen. The Demon Lord; Zartak needn’t win this struggle. There is still hope for the Dwarves of Fissa.”

Moradin frowns.

“And  Solonor of the Elves was happy to go along with this plan?”

Abbathor continues smugly smiling.

“The Elven gods are even more arrogant and conceited than their people. Not only did I persuade him to alter the board and exchange some of the pieces, he left our meeting thinking that the whole idea had been his from the beginning!”

A Wish come True?

Running his manicured fingernails through his luscious, salt and pepper gray hair, Captain DeLeón takes a moment to laugh at himself.

A hundred men had been sent to him from the capital. A hundred good men and a hundred more to follow, with orders to travel through the Halfling strip into the Fey lands. His instructions are to form the first line of defence against the possible, Sir Briefadel led, demon incursion. To act as the protectors of the Fey Demi-goddess called Estrid, her entourage and the ‘Eternal pool’!

As a man… an admittedly vain man in his forties, he’d been sorely tempted, since having it’s existence confirmed by the Eighth-Elf; Rifkin, to travel there and search for it himself, just to sample its age retarding waters and stop the lines at the corners off his eyes spreading ever further or deeper.

Now though, despite the accuracy of the map he’s just been handed alongside his new orders, he suddenly finds himself a lot less eager. This is more like a suicide mission than an assignment. If the demon army does come via the dimensional portal beneath the magical pool, he and his two-hundred men will probably be no more to them than a bump on their path to Cottis.

The irony that he’ll almost certainly die defending a pool that he hoped would extend his life, isn’t lost on him.

Still, an order is an order and, if he’s anything, it’s a loyal soldier and he’ll do his very best to hold that line. With enough preparation time, perhaps he can even make the battle legendary and his death and the deaths of his men… costly.

Perhaps his name will live on in heroic stories, even if he himself, does not?

The worst laid plans of Hags and Witches

Leaving the glaring adventurers standing far below, as she spirals upwards through the night rain, Megarna scowls in irritation. Mallophor and Danté had been right, there had been no sign of the Elven Archer; Arowe. Worse, whoever this Dwarven War-priest replacement was, if left unchecked, he was surely going to become an ongoing problem. 

None of Viccissa’s prediction's had ever mentioned a Dwarf or Cleric being involved, and her new augur recruit; Kasandra, could only recently, give even the vaguest of information. It was as if he’d been maliciously thrown into the established flow of fate, like a large rock tossed into the stream of destiny, disrupting its proper path and, potentially, altering its final destination.

What did this mean to her Mistress’s; Hetzabah’s carefully conceived plans? What did it mean to her Mistress’s Master; Zartak’s endgame?!

On a more personal note, Megarna coldly considers how a Clerics involvement might negatively affect the quarter-century old trap she’d laid for the traitoress’s son; Fortu… 

Although, she hadn’t even known his name back then.

Suddenly reversing her frown, the old Witch cackles loudly.

“It matters not, I did as my Mistress; Hetzabah commanded and gave the Gladiator one more, final, final, final chance. The next time we meet will certainly mean his death and the deaths of all of his associates. Viccissa’s cage can remain just a… Dead end.”