Does Human Life Hold Greater Value than Another?

Sensing his rising ire, the empathic Rifkin places a calming arm around Fortu's shoulder.

"Don't be offended by Estrid's brusque manner. The Fey don't like interlopers at the best of times and they're currently losing acres of land monthly to the expansionist Humans. They're facing a potential war to defend their lands... Their homes!"

Fortu grimaces.

"She said that the only difference between Orcs and Humans was that 'Orcs shit where they eat but Human's shit where everyone else eats'. What does that even mean?"

The mixed-race Bard looks momentarily confused before responding.

"It's just a metaphor. She's saying that Humans bring problems for everybody, not just themselves. You're right though, she's obviously more than a little xenophobic. Even the order in which she addressed us was telling. Elf, Half-elf, Halfling and then finally; Human. In fairness, she's a Queen fighting for her people and Sir Briefadel just brought a Human legion of death to her glade and, aware of it or not, we inadvertently helped him. We're at least partially responsible for all this destruction." 

The armoured Fortu doesn't look convinced, so Rifkin continues.

"Take it from me; the Fey are on the side of 'good', even if they can be a 'little' imperious but Sir Briefadel's an outright fiend who crushed the helpless Three-Quarterling while he was literally a fish out of water! And those Human soldiers weren't any better. Captain Hall was as racist as Estrid. Probably even more so but you've got an opportunity to prove to her wrong. To prove that not all Humans are evil."

Maintaining his position, the Human Fortu presses his point.

"And Sergeant Philco and the others that surrendered... Did they deserve to die?"

The slightly-elf frowns.

"I can't be sure but, before they surrendered, weren't those men actively trying to kill the Fey Dryads and Sprites? Did any of them actually manage it? Could one of them be the one who killed the Dryad guardian? And ultimately what would you have had her do? Just let them go with the knowledge of the secret, magical glade if they 'pinky-promised' not to tell? Cut off their hands and feet or perhaps just burn out their eyes and let them blindly wander to their deaths?"

The Bard pauses for a moment, trying to organise his thoughts.

"I know you've seen a lot of violence and you know me. I'm a lover, not a fighter but the harsh reality we live in doesn't often allow for compassion. When you first met me in the bandit camp, was Arowe a 'demon' for shooting those fleeing men in their backs? Knowing that he was a good man cursed against his will, should we not have slaughtered the captured Kane while he was bound and helpless? I've seen your kindness. Experienced it first hand. It was you who chose to spare the living Lightning tree but it was just yesterday when I saw you throw the stick-finger-wand into the fire after it pricked you with its thorn. I saw it desperately try to wriggle away from the deadly heat. Perhaps only a nascent sentient life but after you saw it struggling to survive, did you really have to kick it back into the flames? Why did its life mean so little to you?"

Keeping an Eye Out.

Dirty and still angry from his seemingly wasted expedition, Sir Briefadel throws himself down onto the chair opposite Madame Megarna.
Her black cat hisses at him but he simply rolls his eyes at her.

"Have you been tracking them as I instructed? Have they managed to stumble onto anything?"

The old fortune teller gazes at the still armoured man. His pale face reminds her of both his Father and Mother.

"As you requested my Lord. Thanks to the 'Location charm' Egrow slipped into one of the horses saddlebags, in conjunction with my crystal ball, it's been easy to scry upon them. They found the Lightning tree they were searching for and, after trying to drain them of their life essence, it gave them something that's been leading them in a specific direction... It could be the pool that you seek."

Sir Briefadel's eyes darken as he leans forward.

"Do you really think so?"

The old fortune teller also leans forward until their faces are almost touching the mystic orb between them.

"I want to free your Mother just as much as you do and finding this pool and the gate hidden beneath is the best chance we have."

Who are the good guys?

 Fortu stands over the bodies of Philco and the three guards, he wants to bury them but feels his friends are impatient to start the chase. He also doesn't want to be beholden to the Fae by asking their permission.

He glances over to Estrid, her fiery destructive radiance muted now, her distain and contempt for Fortu still plain whenever she glances his way. He still doesn't understand her comments - for the past several weeks he's been shitting in the same places as Arowe and Liga Bur so why single out Fortu.

He looks down at the dead bodies, yes there were other dead guards ones that Fortu had slain himself, but these four had surrendered. Mercy was for the victor, he saw no mercy in Estrid. He'd been shocked and stunned when she'd callously slaughtered the kneeling guards but thinking back to the chaotic battle it made sense. She'd spent the main part of the fight protecting herself with spells letting the woefully expendable sprites fight for her - kittens in a bear fight. Sir Briefedel had run right past her to the pool and she'd done nothing to stop him. She was no goddess, she was a demoness.

What of the motives of each; Sir Briedefel seemed fixated on his mother, true he was deceitful and obnoxious, but Fortu wonders on the lengths he would go if he had a clue to find his family.

Estrid declared they she protected the pool, she'd obviously lied about its true nature. Neglecting to mention the portal below the waters. 'Protecting' hoarding more like - the potential good that the pool could be used for if only the Fae would share its power.

Fortu remembers earlier on during the trip waking up looming over Briedefel his anger at the pompous lord/owner but now wonders if they caught up with Sir Briedefel whether he will help stop him or just help him.

Without the time for a proper burial Fortu stands head bowed and quietly says the pit fighters prayer

"in the arms of the angels, fly away now. in the arms of the angels, find comfort there"

Rewards, Exchanges and whatever was in the Dead Soldiers Pockets

The magical, shimmering portal used by the soldiers has faded and in the silence of the aftermath, Fortu looks around at the carnage. The bodies of the dead Human soldiers lie scattered like wheat amongst the tiny, fallen Sprites and, despite near immediate attention from skilled healers, one of the Dryads had also been wounded beyond saving.

Many of the other Fey were lucky though. The Human soldiers were well prepared and all carried 'cold-iron' tipped crossbow bolts and swords. This dark metal an anathema to Fey magical defences. Arowe shudders at his realisation of how forgiving the goddess Estrid and the Dryads had been for his use of the evil sword; 'Amargor Feybane'. He'd felt its warnings before but hadn't suspected its evil intent.

Only five of the Human invaders are still alive and they are all bound and kneeling in a line beside one of the rock formations in front of the magical pool. Of those five, Captain Hall and the 'Wizard' Egrow have already had their eyes burned out by Estrid's power.

The terrified, middle-aged and slightly greasy looking Sergeant Philco pleads for his life.

"Please spare us! Sir Briefadel tricked us all. Don't you see he just used us as a distraction? We were just fodder in his plans!"

He's cut off by his Captain, who despite his burned out eye sockets, strains against his bindings and screams at his Sergeant.

"Stop your snivelling, you cowardly dog! These inhuman scum are incapable of compassion. Act like a man, they're going to kill us all regardless of anything you say."

Estrid smiles and even Liga Bur is taken aback by the rage he senses behind it.

"You are quite correct Human. I have no kindness in my Fey heart for monsters such as yourself."

And with that, she takes the rapier from the Satyr; Magritte and stabs him through his unarmoured throat. The tied soldiers whimper as each of them is killed in turn until only Sergeant Philco and the blinded Egrow remain.

"Neither of you raised a weapon against my people. Possibly due to cowardice but I believe you both. This 'Briefadel' obviously somehow knew about the hidden portal to the Givrad Void and viewed you as dispensable. Sadly for both of you though, your Captain was correct; I have little sympathy for your kind."

Her smile fades as Estrid slashes both their throats without a stroke of joy.

Uninterested in the items the Human invaders brought with them, Arowe, Rifkin and Liga Bur are allowed to rifle through the limp Egrow's brightly coloured robes...

Gifts from Estrid: For pursuing Sir Briefadel into the Givrad Void.

Bracelet of Friends: Containing four named charms:   

(Each one can summon the creature represented by the charm once for one hour, no matter where you are.)  

1) Shananaghan: Sprite (Tiny, winged, stealthy Pixie.)

2) Loralai: Nixie (Small, amphibious, big eyed, observant fish-woman.)

3) Magritte: Satyr (If Tom Selleck was a handsome elven, pirate, goat creature.)

4) Tsigan: Centaur (Horse-man Prince of the woodlands.)

A quiver of 20 Masterwork Dryad medium arrows for Arowe.

A quiver of 20 Masterwork Dryad small arrows for Liga Bur.

Arowe also accepted an exchange of Magritte's flamboyant, gold hilted magical +2 Rapier for the darkly sentient; Amargor Feybane.

The soldiers had nothing magical or of any immediate worth other than the Masterwork 'cold-iron' weapons but it seems unwise to take them.

Sergeant Philco had a coin purse containing 25pp, 79gp, 32sp, several (never to be paid now) IOUs from the soldiers and a pack of (apparently, according to Rifkin) marked cards.

Captain Hall's coin purse only contained 2gp and 14sp.

Their old 'Fire-starting' travelling companion; Egrow though had that 'Burning hands' wand, a Magic dagger, and a surprising amount of colour coded Magical Scrolls.

Wand of Burning Hands. Unknown number of charges left.

Dagger (Cold iron) +1

Scrolls:

1) Windwall x 3 (Blue)

2) Fireball x 3 (Red)

3) Stinking Cloud x 3 (Green)

4) Levitation x 3 (Yellow)

5) Invisibilty x 3 (Black)

6) Cure Light Wounds x 6 (White)

Gold: 20gp

Experience of Water, Wood, Wolves and Women!

From the Nixie river crossing, the Lightning tree and Kane's wolf pack to the Dryad trap and the season Finale at the Pool of Temporary Immortality, you've certainly earned this level. 

Fortu: 15,967xp (Up to 6th!)

Arowe: 16,042xp (Up to 6th!)

Liga Bur: 15,875xp (Up to 6th!)

Rifkin: 10,191xp (Up to 5th!)

Level five was a bit flat but sixth is a great one! New Feats all round and, as you're all Fighter classes, an extra attack each round! 

Personally, I think that Sixth level is the beginning of being a mid-level character. Good bye Rats and City guards, hello truly terrifying monsters of the void!

Congratulations!

Life, Death and Bad-Ass Scars!

After hand-waving it away during the actual game session, I double checked the recovery rules after being reduced to below 0 Hit Points...

Statuses:

1) From full HPs down to even just a measly1 = Perfectly fine.
2) 0 HPs = Disabled.
3) -1 to -9 HPs = Dying.
4) -10 or less = Dead!

Definitions:

Perfectly fine: Able to do anything a character is normal capable of.
Disabled: Can only make a single 'Move' action per turn. If character takes any strenuous action like a Melee attack, they instantly lose 1 HP and fall unconscious (Dying).
Dying: Unconscious and will lose an additional 1 HP per round unless healed or stabilised.
Dead: Game over. Roll up another character unless your teammates are super kind and have access to resurrection spells.

Magical Healing:

Any magical healing (Potion or spell) will automatically stabilise the unconscious character and remove that amount of damage. If they are healed above 0 HPs, they're instantly conscious and 'Perfectly fine' again.

Skill: Heal: DC: 15 (Full round action).

Character is stabilised but remains unconscious.
After an hour of being stable, roll a D20. On a 19 or 20 they instantly recover to 0 HPs and become conscious but 'Disabled'.

Self Stabilisation:

Roll a D20. On a 19 or 20, they stabilise for an hour and won't bleed out over that time. If you roll 18 or less, they lose an additional 1 HP. Repeat this every round until they're either stabilised or dead.

After an hour roll another D20. On a 19 or 20 they start to recover and (if left unmolested in a survivable environment) will recover HPs equivalent to their level. (A 5th level character will recover 5 HPs per rest period.) If you roll 18 or less, you lose another HP. Repeat this every hour until you're healing or dead.

If you rest twice your normal amount in a 24 hour period, they double their healing rate. (A 5th level character will recover 10 HPs per double rest period.)

Scars:

Permanent scars are 'won' whenever a character drops below 0 HPs. The closer to -10, the bad-assier the scar.

Fortu and Arowe have gained several since they banded together but Liga Bur has so far avoided acquiring any more. 

In fact, the pink shirted Arowe has actually been mortally wounded three times already since this campaign began: From the centaur; Tsigan's spear-like arrow, From the War's five-foot-long (reach weapon) tusk and, most recently, from the werewolf Kane's twin short swords. Three scars on his previously perfect skin and his fancy silk shirt and pantaloons must be looking pretty worse for wear by now.

Fortu also fell to the War and (very temporarily) to Kane as well.

I think Scott's taken his characters from one defensive extreme to another...

Bastien was powerfully armoured but slow and completely incapable of climbing, jumping, swimming or riding on a floaty spider-man Drider monster. 

Liga Bur (with the aid of Mir Hundur) is the complete opposite of that and so far, so good!

Massive Damage:

Just as a deterrent for high HP characters unsuspending disbelief, D&D has a rule to prevent super tough, high level Barbarians routinely jumping off cliff-tops onto the rocks below and surviving.

If a character takes more than 50 HPs of damage in a SINGLE blow, they must make a Fortitude saving roll: DC: 15 or instantly die. 

Notes:

1) So rather than just rolling above a 10 on a D20 to stabilise, the character needs to roll a 1 in ten!

2) Most of these rules don't apply to Arowe due to his 'Periapt of Wound closure' and being an elf.

Not tears, just smoke in my eyes

 Fortu sits comfortable staring over the fire at Rifkin. He's survived many injuries but usually after the pain is barely numbed with poppy juice, stitches are pulling tight and his body a coloured patchwork of bruises. Now he is just relaxed, the little Bards magic curing the actual fatal wounds that Kane had inflicted.

He remembers back just a few weeks when the timid bard had run from the battle near the river and the fury he'd felt at the mans apparent cowardice. He feels shame now at the way he accosted Rifkin. For in the battle with the wolves the man was being chased by an alpha wolf, mortally wounded himself, yet he had risked his life to give aid to Fortu. Potentially turning the tide of the fight.

Fortu stands and makes his way around the fire to where Rifkin is trying to analyse the weapons and ring just taken.

"In the 'pit' when fighters survive they make a blood pact" he shows Rifkin his left hand with three parallel scars. "We are no longer in the 'pits' but you Rifkin have my admiration, trust and friendship. The blood pact is no longer my way but" He stoops down and picks up Rifkin in a great hug. "I am honoured to know you"

Dork's a Good Boy!

It's the next morning and Rifkin already has the campfire blazing and the drool inducing smell of cooking meat has all the varied hounds sitting nearby, hopeful for a tasty morsel. 

Despite their near-death experiences of the previous evening, everyone is fully recovered, thanks to the bard's magical ministrations and a full night's rest. Only the elven Arowe still feels slightly tired but at least his strength has finally, fully returned.

The powerful were-creature; Kane is dead and the camp's secure. The seven wolf carcases littered around the bottom of the slope make Liga Bur feel a little sad in his soul but he's had time now to process that hard necessity. He's also had time to review the battle in his head.

During the skirmish, he'd heard the 'human' Kane shout several commands to his trained wolves, but for some unknown reason, in the elven tongue. He'd also noticed the feathery Dork look repeatedly to him and Mir Hundur for guidance but only acted in self defence when actually attacked by a wolf. He had seemed to be waiting for an instruction.

Liga Bur eyes' widen as he comes to a realisation...

All of his riding dog: Mir Hundur's trained commands are in orcish, for obvious reasons. Speaking halfling in the Darkstar camp was frowned upon by his adoptive father and would have invited mockery from his clan brothers, but he still clearly remembered the language of his infancy.

The old Dork's original master had been an odd, unnatural mix, but half of the Three-Quarterling's parentage was the same as his. In fact, he'd even heard the half-halfling shout orders to the weird horse/owl Howl creature during the slaughter in the secret garden!

Looking over to the, still slightly podgy, winged creature, Liga Bur firmly calls out 'Come' in the halfling tongue. Despite his doubts, the normally stern ranger is delighted when the Dork obediently rises, waddles over, sits directly in front of him and wags his rudder-like tail in expectation of a treat.

He's such a good boy!

The Dork is actually very well trained and knows the following six commands:

1) Attack

2) Down

3) Come

4) Fetch

5) Seek

6) Guard

Handle animal DC: 10  skill check.

Where the Were-Goodies?

The definitely dead wolfman's body, hangs limp under Fortu's spiked palisade. Dark blood, still dripping from the near surgical slit across his throat, pools on the stony ground beneath him.

Despite the drawn out battle, only Liga Bur's magical, silver kukri had proved effective against the cursed creature and it was fitting that it also delivered the death stroke.  

Kane, is what he'd called himself. His repeated scratch-mark 'Ks', just a desperate attempt for some form of recognition and remembrance. A lonely man and with his wolf-pack all dead, the only legacy he'd really left behind were the two dark-metaled, magical short-swords and the creepy, mummified hand. A ring sits on its second finger but, so far, no-one's dared to even try to remove it. Although inert now, Fortu could have sworn that he saw the hand twitch independently when Kane was shouting up the hill at them.

Taking an interest in the swords, Arowe notices that the well forged metal of the blades is very similar to that of his magical rapier. The rapier he'd recently acquired from the cells behind the terrifying Beer monster, back in the hidden garden of animal attraction. The magical rapier that had thrummed a warning when facing the unseen creatures of the stream.

Rifkin eventually overcomes his reticence and examines the sparse collection of items. Gingerly picking up the shrivelled disembodied hand, a look of recognition spreads over his face...

"I think I know what this is!"

Treasure

Two Magical Cold-iron Short-swords +1 (No glow)

Hand of Glory (Enables the use of three magical rings simultaneously and can cast 'See invisibility' and 'Light' once per day)

Ring of Evasion (Rifkin thinks.)

He also possessed a small purse containing Seven assorted Gem stones. They all look valuable but Rifkin's unable to accurately assess their true worth.

No arrows I'm afraid.

Extra Info

Scott and Assif: Calculate how many arrows your characters have got left... 

I know Arowe's almost, if not totally out but Liga Bur gained twenty magical flaming arrows from the Three-Quarterling's den to supplement his original supply. As Scott had also forgotten that he'd given Liga Bur the 'Multi-shot' feat, he's been firing off arrows at approximately half the rate of Assif's elf and so I'm guessing that, despite using them on the War, the Lightning tree and the werewolf Kane, he still has a few of the flaming ones and the majority of his normal ones left. (Shame that they're too small to share with Arowe.)

Also, Scott's computer was right about the damage of his Magical +3 Silver Kukri...

Silver weapons are apparently not as sharp/tough as steel ones and therefore do -1 damage. 

So Although its still a +3 magical weapon to hit, it only does +2 damage. 

Therefore, as a small Kukri, it only does 1d3+2 damage plus Liga Bur's (if he has any?) strength bonus.

Tying up the Story

Battered, bloody and reverted back to his human form again, Kane's body hangs hog-tied beneath the main beam of one of the spiked palisades. In spite of the multiple arrows and sword blows, the wolf-man just refused to die. It was only the purity of Liga Bur's small, silver kukri that seemed able to cause the supernatural creature any serious harm.

All four members of the party, mostly healed and back on their feet, stand around their unconscious assailant and discuss what to do with him. Regardless of the obvious danger in keeping Kane alive, Fortu spots an opportunity to redeem a previous mistake. In their haste to escape the Lightning tree, they'd not asked any real questions, despite the monstrous plant bragging of all the secrets it knew. Surely the wild-forest-living Kane would possess useful information about the mystical Dryad pool?

They watch him for a moment, face downward, each gasping breath causing his barrel chest to swell and the ropes to tauten, even as his hot blood drips from multiple wounds onto the cold earth beneath him. After a short debate, Rifkin heals Kane just enough to rouse him.

Stifling a guttural moan, the brutish looking man's eyelids blink open and, realising his predicament, he thrashes and strains against the tightly secured ropes. It's pointless though, in his human form he's simply not strong enough to break the tough bindings. Instead he twists his head to look across at Liga Bur with a resigned 'Well what?' expression.

His captors take turns asking questions, each one paying carefully attention to Kane's answers.

Fortu leans in first and asks their most pressing question.

"Why were you tracking us?"

Craning his neck, Kane appears momentarily nonplussed.

"Why? So I could prevent you from finding the Goddess of the Pool. I'd accidentally discovered your tracks leading from the War carcass and was merely hungry but when I'd realised that the wretched Lightning tree had given you the means to actually find her, I doubled my efforts."

Arowe arches one of his elegant elven eyebrows and asks the second question.

"And why would a monster such as yourself, care about that?"

Kane smiles bitterly.

"Whatever you may think of me, I was a good man once. I had a life full of optimism with friends and family. That was all before I was afflicted by this curse though. Now I'm little more than a feral beast, living just to stalk and devour its prey. Despite being this 'monster', I still remember my old friends and, although I'd probably try to eat them if I saw them, I've not forgotten my loyalty to them."

Schooled in the lore of fables and legends, Rifkin's eyes shine with tears and empathy.

"Poor beast; that's tragic. And this 'Goddess of the Pool', she was one of your friends?"

Surprised by the Bards' unexpected and heartfelt sympathy, Kane's eyes momentarily well up in response before anger flares in them again.

"Many years ago, Estrid and I were... more than just friends. I loved her and despite everything I've become, I'll see you all dead before you get within another mile of her!"

Roaring with rage, Kane's body spasms wildly and, even as his human form begins to swell and transform, his rope bindings threaten to snap. Fortunately for his three companions, the ever vigilant Liga Bur's focus never wavered from his task. As soon as he spots his prisoner's blood suddenly, unnaturally congeal, the Halfling darts forward and drags his silver blade cleanly across Kane's exposed throat.

After a few moments of impotent writhing, the look of gurgling surprise is frozen on the dead werewolf's face. His decades old curse is finally broken.