The Perfect Match

It was a strange deal that he’d made with the large Druid. An enchanted, inexhaustible ironwood staff to subsist on indefinitely at the cost of the loss of all independent movement.

A harsh bargain, but Dijonn had been in an extremely poor, literally last gasp, negotiating position at the time…

Die now or live forever as a slave.

Eternal life was an odd concept for a fire elemental. Flames generally burn fast and furiously but not usually for very long. Would he become bored of the board he’d be eternally attached to? Could he, one day, become tired of life everlasting?

These thoughts though, were for another day. It was surprising however that Thornberg had come to trade, not for himself, but for the Halfling that he’d already previously sworn servitude to, for freeing him from the hundred years trapped in Dulcetta’s accursed tower prison.

Even more surprising was how much Liga Bur had changed in the mere four hours since they’d last seen each other. Flesh creatures were hard to understand sometimes but his Halfling saviour had seemed to have undergone an equally profound mental, emotional and physical transformation. 

It was impossible to predict if this new partnership would prove successful, but by tethering his flaming self to the top of this magical, blackened-tipped quarterstaff, Dijonn had managed to unlock a plethora of new and interesting abilities…

Which Witch is Which?

The two wrinkled old women, one short and stout, the other surprisingly tall and thin, regard each-other suspiciously. 

From the safety of their Mistress’s hemlines, two correspondingly proportioned cats, one short-limbed, well padded and ginger, the other more resembling an angular, furry, black bag of bones, hiss at each other. Their backs arched, their tattered ears flattened down and their sharp fangs bared. 

After an agonisingly long pause, the fat, old woman finally breaks the silence.

“It’s been over twenty years since I last saw your warty face. Why have you sought me out after all this time? What do you want Megarna?”

The taller woman forces a smile, mostly just to show that, out of the two of them, she still possesses the majority of her own teeth.

“What do you think I want Bronwen? I’m putting the Coven back together.”

Bronwen chokes with bitter laughter.

“The Coven? Of the original thirteen of us, only you and I survived Lord Urdurel’s purge!”

Megarna shrugs skeletally.

“That’s mostly true, but I didn’t travel all this way on a whim. My charge of the last forty years; Sir Briefadel has finally found his Mother and is currently raising an inhuman army to defeat his aged Father.”

Bronwen’s rheumy eyes widen in surprise as she suppresses a tiny shudder.

“Our Mistress; Hetzabah is still alive? How, after all these years?!”

This time, Megarna’s smile is genuine.

“Yes, Hetzabah’s alive and free once more. It was she herself who issued this command.”

After recovering her composure, Bronwen gathers up her skirt and attempts to take control.

“Hurry then Sister, there’s lots to be done in preparation for her return.”

Megarna though, merely scoffs and proceeds, very deliberately, to take her own sour time.

“Don’t forget your place Sister; even after all these lost seasons, you’re still only number two.”

No Mere Hundur

Keeping semi-guard whilst simultaneously serenading one of the glade’s beautiful Dryads, Rifkin looks across at his recently returned Halfling friend and the big, slobbery riding-hound; Mir Hundur.

Liga Bur had obviously gone through some kind of magical awakening but, seemingly unnoticed by the others, the dog also seems transformed.

After spending so long with the adventurers, certain things, extraordinary things have become… somehow ordinary. Normal. 

Extraordinary things like the bond between Liga Bur and his animal companion; Mir Hundur.

But now, something’s changed. Liga Bur seemed noticeably older when he returned after just one day away with the towering Thornberg, but the dog… 

The dog seems bigger. 

And tougher..

Much larger than a normal hound.

Objectively massive for its breed.

Over the last few months, Mir Hundur has somehow transformed from merely a big dog into an absolute beast!

Mir Hundur has grown since we started this adventure, from a large, shaggy 2HD riding dog into a physically impressive 6HD unit.

Truly July

With my Will save failing and depression creeping in, I’ll try again to find a mutually agreeable three hour morning slot availability on a July weekend. Currently I’m free for all of it, although two of those weekend’s I’ll be tiny-pet sitting but I’m hoping Dougie the doggy will be a good boy.

Saturday the 5th

Sunday the 6th

Saturday the 12th

Sunday the 13th

Saturday the 19th

Sunday the 20th

Saturday the 26th

Sunday the 27th

All morning 9am starts for a three or four hour session.

Respond as quickly as you can, so we can semi-cement a plan in place.

Edit: Thanks for the speedy response boys. Let’s choose the Sunday the 27th though as that takes me a bit further away from my 32nd wedding anniversary.

Visions of the Future Past

Looking up, Fortu sees a woman’s face, eyes full of tears, as she somehow passes him to a rough looking, bearded man along with a silk coin-purse and a smallish silver box.

They hurriedly exchange words but baby Fortu can’t comprehend what they’re saying or even the language being spoken. Fortu tries to reach back for her, he tries to speak but his body is tiny, his limbs are weak and his voice a pathetic, incomprehensible wail. 

Struggling to understand what’s happening but instinctively recognising a familial connection, Fortu questions himself…

Who is this woman? Could this wild-eyed gypsy be his actual Mother?

As if reading his mind, the dark-haired woman strokes his blemish free face, plants a gentle kiss on his forehead and whispers…

“Don’t worry Little one. I promise we shall meet again, for I have seen it in your future.”

… ‘Little one’? 

Had he never had a real name? Had he always been just a number?!

Waking with a start, Fortu balls up his fists and flexes his sword-strengthened forearms to reassure himself that he’s back in his adult body. Gazing around Estrid’s magical glade, he quickly regains his bearings, it’s still nighttime and Liga Bur is yet to return with the gruff Druid; Thornberg.

Lung Lurgy Long Rest

Poor Assif’s having his lungs vacuumed this week, so our (4th module; Return of the Demon) campaign restart is delayed for a little while longer. 

Rather than (just because I hate having to do it) dumping the dreaded ‘scheduling’ load on our oxygen-tent-living friend though, here are some near future options…

May

Saturday the 31st

June

Saturday the 14th

Saturday the 21st

Sunday the 22nd

Saturday the 28th

Hopefully all four of us can find a mutually available date from the above options. Quick responses please as I now have to scrabble around for something interesting or funny to post up on the intervening Saturdays.

Edit: Oh no! We’re collectively a bust for all of May and June. ‘Scheduling’: the ruin of ninety-nine percent of all D&D campaigns. I’ll post up a try for July this Saturday. 

Banaal - A life more ordinary

Growing up in a place nobody has ever heard of, would drive anyone to leave. But young Banaal was happy there.  He had the familiarity of the grey walls and the love of some other very similar looking dwarvish folk. Early on he knew he had a deep connection with the mountains and hills and the understanding that the world had purpose. Just not a very interesting one.

Becoming a cleric of Moradin was sort of inevitable as his parents were both priests and Banaal new little else. He learned his craft studiously, before one day, his simple life came crashing to a halt. The high priest was caught without his axe and a young acolyte at his feet, and Banal, having witnessed the whole horrific thing, had to flee.

So, he found himself on the edge of dwarvish lands, his only companion Murmel his mule.  In fact, without Murmel, he might never have survived the first night.  The mule fought off a pair of hungry wolves, and Banal realised he needed to learn how to protect himself.

But learn, he did. And the dwarven armourer that took him in taught him all he knew and more.

When he left his care he found himself to be a magnet for bad luck. Falling into a mine full of spiders, chasing an orc pack that he had thought had killed Murmel (who he later found hiding in a bush), being a mercenary for some human scum that never paid him, and so on.  Scrape after scrape, but what always saved him was his devotion to Moradin who seemed to lend strength to his Waraxe.

So, Banaal and Murmel, find themselves on a path that led directly to our heroes. And so, the story of an ordinary dwarf and his obstinate steed continues.

Who, Where, Why, What, How and When?

Who is the physically and emotionally scarred Fortu and what series of tragically unfortunate events led him to a brutal childhood in the gladiatorial fighting pits and whose fevered and nightmarish dreams seem often to be more like confusing and indecipherable prophecies?

Where did Mahd Boss find the baby Liga Bur and why did Hetzabah’s eyes briefly flashing ‘blood red’ make the Halfling tracker involuntarily shudder and remind him so much of the unrelenting and supernatural army that drove his Darkstar tribe into the unsurvivable ‘cursed lands’?

Why does Arowe’s High-Elven Father; Filigren despise him so and why does his beautiful and noble Mother; Lissomny put up with a Husband so obviously beneath her, especially considering that all the prestige, power and wealth come from her side of the family?

What drives the obviously cowardly Rifkin to risk his life adventuring instead of using his natural beauty and musical talent to simply earn a decent living in any one of the Human cities and towns he’d travelled through before his chance meeting with Arowe, Liga Bur and Fortu?

How are any of you going to discover the answers to all these, as of so far, unsolved and unasked questions?

And finally…

When will the Party come to fully trust the mercenary, ill intentioned, take what they want, killers for hire; Henshaw, Barbella and Doberman?