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.”

Race to save Murmel!

Another looooooong and unresolved all combat session, but you’re painfully close to victory.

Will ‘is-he-or-isn’t-he-there’ Banaal be able to save his own stubborn ass?

Will ‘I’m the door!’ Fortu continue ‘Great cleaving’ through whoever/whatever advances toward him.

Will Liga Bur ever sacrifice the warm and cuddly protective cover of his nigh indestructible hound and risk actually getting injured?

Will Rifkin’s ‘Alarm stone’ ever stop its annoying shrieking?

Will Locket ever manage to hit anything with his crossbow?

Did his brothers; Ringo and Chape, go overboard by boarding over the first floor windows?

Is Deo being a good doggy and comforting poor frightened Rebecca in the attic?

With vast area spells, freakishly high Armour classes, massive damage output and incredibly high Hit points, you may just pull through…

Below are all my currently available dates over the next two months.

Check your diaries and let me know when you’re free to resolve this bloody mess of an encounter. Next session will hopefully be more talky-talky, less choppy-choppy.

October

24th  Saturday 

25th Sunday

November

7th Saturday

8th Sunday

21st Saturday 

22nd Sunday 

28th Saturday

29th Sunday 

Edit: We have an early winner!

Sunday the 25th of October. 9am start.

(I’m currently available for that date but I’ve got a possible, personal hiccup. We’ll say it’s on until/unless I say otherwise.)

Bunch of Queries

A few unknown questions came up during the last session and I mostly hand-waved them away, but now that I’ve a little more (out of game) time…

(Core book reading and internet sleuthing.)

Banaal’s almost forgotten ‘Cloak of Etherealness’.

Although it’s a magical item and requires no material components or somatic gestures, it still requires a Standard action to activate AND deactivate.

The activation command word is: ‘Otherworld’ as you raise the hood over your head.

You become both invisible, inaudible AND ethereal.

You exist simultaneously in both worlds. Gravity doesn’t affect you but momentum still does.

You can move (half base speed) in any direction; up, down, left and right etc.

You can only hear and see sixty feet, and only then in muted… tones.

Force effects spells from the material plane (such as Magic missile) can still affect you but it doesn’t work in reverse.

You can use the cloak for a total of ten minutes a day but you can break that up into ten one minute blocks.

If you ‘solidify’ inside a solid object, you take 1d6 for every five feet you’re shunted to safety.

Fighting defensively.

If you use this style, you gain +2 to your Armour Class but suffer a -4 to hit with all attacks that round. You can combine this with ‘Combat expertise’ if chosen. Henshaw exploited this tactic fanatically.

The ‘Total defence’ action.

Total Defence means putting all your effort into protecting yourself at the expense of attacking. It’s a ‘Standard action’ so you’re still able to take a single ‘Move action’. +4 to your Armour Class but not attack. You cannot combine this with ‘Combat expertise’ or ‘Fighting defensively’. You also can make no ‘Attacks of Opportunity’.

Dispel magic.

Scott/Liga Bur tried this (experience bonus) nice idea against the possession of the Red-eyed Orcs. I was impressed with the thought process AND the fact that you were actively trying to liberate the Orcish slaves.

Good job!

Sadly for you and the Orc meat puppets, this is a (Spell-like effect) deeper magic by a Creature with a caster level of twenty! This means (even if I allowed it) you’d have to beat a Thirty-one!

Holy Smite

Fourth level Cleric spell that does 4d8 damage to evil creatures and characters in 20’ radius burst AND it blinds for one round. 180’ range for centre. Will save for half damage and no blindness. Good characters are unaffected and Neutral characters take only half damage (a quarter if saved).

Cleave and Greater Cleave.

I muddied the water by adding regenerating creatures and allowing you to use the cleave action on them, with the proviso that taking them down to -10 would activate a further cleave. I was mistaken. If you down an opponent, you activate the cleave but you do not get one for killing an already downed opponent. You can target a downed opponent but killing him won’t trigger a further cleave action.

High Armour Class protects against critical hits.

With three Party ‘Armour Classes’ in the twenties, I was statistically hitting you guys about one in five attempts. I also realised on my occasional natural twenties, that even when I critical hit, I would generally miss on my ‘confirmation' hit. Meaning that a high Armour class also offers a pretty decent protection from those double and triple damage attacks!

Bardic ‘Inspire Courage’ ability.

Sadly, this bonus moral +1 applies only to Melee Attack and Damage rolls within hearing range (300’). It does not affect spells. :(

Anything else  I’ve forgotten?

Crimson Mist

As the sun dips down below the mountains and the veil between worlds weakens, the six, deliberately dismembered, Orc bodies are swallowed up by dark shadows and the pools of sticky blood start to stir. The decapitated torsos and severed limbs shudder and twitch but they’re incapable of housing any form of life now. Broken vessels beyond repair.

Instead, in silent frustration, the dark red blood rises like vapour from the useless corpses, coalescing into an unsettling red mist before slowly, deliberately, creeping up the mountain path in search of fresh hosts. 

(S)Elf Abuse

The Older Grey-Elf; Tamerlane, finally finishes his lengthy explanation, to his recently returned son, before falling silent.

“So you understand now, when I came to see your Mother's people that century-and-a-half ago, we were trying to recruit the High-Elves into attacking Theranthor. The Demon Prince, or so we thought, was semi-permanently dealt with and we’d spent the last hundred years secretly undermining the great Blue Dragon’s support and power. The Grey are more thinkers than fighters though, and we couldn’t do it alone.”

Sitting across from his Grey Elf Father, Arowe pushes his glass of wine away from him. It’s a fine, dry white, but it currently tastes like vinegar in his mouth.

“You tried to recruit the High-Elves to attack the Dragon for you, after actively defending her from them? No wonder you were thrown out of Glendorne’. It wasn’t just the man I thought was my Father who despised your people. Pretty much everyone I knew growing up in Glendorne spoke angrily about the treacherous Grey. ‘Worse than the Drow’ they’d say! Everyone except my Mother, and now, after meeting you, I fully understand why.”

Tamerlane has the grace to place his glass down, unfinished.

“There’s a greater reason why your people… Your Mother’s people hate us. We didn’t just align ourselves with Theranthor, we actively protected her. We fortified her body with our spells. We bolstered her lightning breath with our enchantments. We defended her from all attacks… Even when those attacks were from the other Elven races. She HAD to live long enough to destroy Zartak’s material plane form and drive his essence back to the Nine hells!”

Arowe finds himself scowling. He hadn’t realised until he’d arrived at the mountaintop city of Falutin, how much prejudice against the Grey Elves had permeated his Sylvan heart.

“There HAD to have been a better way?!”

Tamerlane just shakes his head.

“You’ve seen the Tapestry. We had no choice. If the High Elves hadn’t tried to attack her directly while Zartak was still active on this plane, we wouldn’t have been forced to counter-attack them in Theranthor’s defence.”

Arowe bristles.

“It was years before I was born, but I heard the stories. Your people killed hundreds of my people! Uncles, Aunts and Cousins!”

It’s Tamerlane’s turn to get angry.

“Your people?! You’re not ‘Your people’. You’re half ‘My people’. They attacked us! Killed us! I am sorry for all the deaths… On both sides. Unlike the Orcs and the Humans, there are too few of us to spare in unnecessary battles.”

Arowe nods as he calms himself down.

“My Mother used to say that it was a consequence of our long lifespans; Elven children are few and far between.”

Tamerlane mirrors Arowe’s nod.

“Exactly right. Your Mother was always clever… for a High-Elf. That was why, as a race, we had to be practical in our decisions.”

Despite the unconscious but obvious insult aimed at his Mother and the High-elves in general, Arowe smiles ironically at his Father’s assertion.

“Your ‘practical’ decision has come back to haunt you now though, hasn’t it?”

Tamerlane’s grey eyes cast downward, just for a moment.

“Unfortunately, despite our plan succeeding and the Great Dragon; Theranthor defeating the Demon Prince in their final battle. It has made us enemy number two on Zartak’s hit list. Only the relentless Orcan hordes angered him more. It’s almost certainly why he’s using them as meat puppets now to herald his return.”