Losing Faith

The poster depicts Faith Menschy, a pretty sixteen-year-old girl from a middle-class but not particularly wealthy family. The poster captures a fair likeness, showing her curly mouse coloured hair, pale eyes and a small scar on her right eyebrow.Unlike Lord Urdurel’s mass printed recruitment poster, these are hand drawn and lettered. One hundred gold pieces means a lot to her parents but their daughter obviously means a great deal more.

Recruitment Poster

 

Rifkin examines the recruitment poster with mild amusement. He’d never seen Lord Urdurel in real life, but the face represented in the poster was of a man still in rude health. Perhaps in his early sixties and certainly not the near hundred year old he actually is.

Positive state propaganda he supposes. Better to dupe the people into believing they still have a strong leader, rather than a doddering old man, especially in these terrifying times with a war possibly looming.

The last line is interesting though.

‘Musicians also required’.

A strange addition to an, otherwise standard, army poster…

The ‘Night’ Watchmen

The ghost of the young Cottisonian soldier; Pardrik sways easily, as he shimmers in the bright sunlight. His form and features have become clearer somehow, after each completed guard duty. More defined and in focus after each re-emergence, even though his spirit form had been shredded, defeated and dismissed several times by the ethereal but still vicious Hag and her phantom steed. Regardless of that though, he’d always reformed by the next shift. Despite their pitiful existence, ghosts are notoriously hard to actually ‘kill’ again. 

It’s the end of his and Arowe’s seventh eight-hour guard duty, and Pardrik notices that his Elven partner seems finally, to have calmed down. The ghost hovers over the still sleeping Halfling, but thanks to the clever positioning of his bones, he’d been able to move freely around the marquee and act as an early, though imminent, warning system for all his new friends. Now though, a feeling of anxiety runs through him. Like his ghostly form, his mind had become less clouded after each successfully completed shift, and now he wonders if the Halfling; Liga Bur was correct in his assumption about fulfilling his previously failed duty. He was cursed on the orders of Lord Urdurel to exist forever, tortured by the unending sight of the young Lady Lamenta’s dying moments. A testimony to his failure to protect her. 

Now though, after serving those seven nights of duty, that he’d failed to give her, was his curse truly over? The last three days had been spent just quietly standing, as the Hag and her badly injured Nightmare steed hadn’t reappeared.

As if in answer to his silent thoughts, a beam of bluish light, despite the natural brightness around him, somehow seems to illuminate him from above and he feels a pull upward.

“My friend! It appears you were right and, in protecting you, my curse has been lifted. I didn’t dare believe it but, after a century of suffering, I’ve served my penance and can finally return to the afterlife I deserved.”

Liga Bur, who’d suspected as much, quickly summons his teammates to say goodbye to their insubstantial ally. Pardrik takes the opportunity to thank them all in turn but deliberately finishes on Arowe.

“It is you, that I’ve spent the most time with over this last week. The magical hand you possess, your sharp Elven senses and your uncanny trancing ability have made you the ideal partner. While I stood guard on the ethereal plane, you guarded the material one. Now though, from now on, I’m afraid you must guard alone.”

The ghostly soldier instructs Arowe to lay the ornate, magical rapier he’d gotten from Magritte on the warm sand before placing his own immaterial longsword overtop it. The two swords exist in the same space for a moment before the spirit sword fades from existence, leaving only Arowe’s rapier behind. It looks different though in some way. It’s magical glow has turned from an orangey gold to a blueish silver and the blade, despite the warm sand, is unnaturally cool to the touch.

As Arowe turns, he sees that Pardrik too is fading, but rather than a feeling of sadness, now that his anger is no longer magnified by the Oath-bow, he shares the smiling teenager’s joy.

Arowe’s bejewelled +2 Rapier (that he was given by Magritte in exchange for his sinisterly intelligent one) has now been further enhanced by the parting gift of the ghost; Pardrik and now has a +3 bonus on attack and damage as well as having the ‘Ghost touch’ feature! 

Labyrinth of Temptation

With his mighty sword illuminated by Rifkin’s spell, the heavily armoured Fortu leads the way through the dark and twisting labyrinth…

Poor Memory, Worse Drawing

A post mostly just to use the drawing wot I drew.

Dulcettas’s tower slowly (and nonsensically) rotates on the tiny tip of a small, inverted stone Gnome’s pointy hat. The sky is a vague grey all around with nothing to be seen and below, swirling, impenetrable blackness.

The Party is currently (but almost certainly temporarily) split in two, with Fortu, Arowe, Liga Bur and Mir Hundur in the magical darkness, outside and underneath Dulcetta’s tower. While the henchmen, Rifkin, Henshaw, Barbella and Doberman are looking down in the mouth of Dulcetta’s stone face.

The Henchies face the choice of taking a leap of faith after the Adventurers and counting on the magical updrafts to save them, or heading back down through the tower. If they choose the tower, they’ll have to hope that their combined strength will be enough to heave the solid cold-iron block back out of the way before, possibly, facing the huge acidic blob again and then, somehow hope they can work out how to open the huge main outer door again from the inside, without Fortu’s ‘key-sword’ to activate the huge lock.

The Adventurers, on the other hand, ‘only’ have the arduous task of climbing up the eighty-foot slope… in the swirling, smoky darkness!

Lord Urdurel’s Balls

Welcome to the Big Top!

While Doberman joyfully hammers down the three, long, oddly wrought, cast-iron tent-poles deep into the sand and Barbella and Henshaw are unrolling and laying out the multiple, cream coloured, canvass sections, Rifkin smiles at the fantastic (if unnecessary) bargain he'd gotten. The tent is truly enormous! More like a marquee really. He's never seen one so big, other than the ones from the larger travelling circuses. A dozen men could comfortably sleep in it!

Forty-five feet in length by fifteen feet in width (not including the awnings and guide ropes) and varying in height between eight and twelve feet at the poles. In fairness, it's actually three sections that combine to make one large composite one but designed to stand alone if needed. He hadn't planned on buying anything so large or flamboyant but the old camel ostler had been trying to get rid of it, so sold it for markedly less than the price of the four smaller tents that he'd originally requested.

It's proven to be a blessing though, as the daytime heat is horribly oppressive and being outside in the direct sunslight for any length of time is problematic. This tent allows for some privacy and a modicum of personal space.

The battered, and seemingly cowed, Wizard Moody spends most of his time tethered to the central pole, his wrists bound behind his back, raw and bruised from the harsh ropes. His gag removed only when eating, drinking or being questioned.

Not ideal but the strangely shaped pole, along with the two secondary poles are secured well enough by the depth of sand and tension from the canvas top and multiple guide ropes.

The black metal support poles are fascinating though. Their bizarre shape enables oil lamps to be hung from them safely but they also feature twin metal fans. The one outside the tent, turned by the heat from the sun, spinning the one inside, fast enough to create a cooling and pleasant stirring of the air within.

Sadly, the decor inside is slightly disappointing. The three oil lanterns illuminating the patterned rug floorings covering most of the sand, multiple, colourful silk cushions and slightly raised bases for the bedrolls. Enough to lift the sleeper off the warm floor but nothing more. 

Rifkin sighs. It'll be a shame to abandon this alongside the seven camels. 

"Oh well… Easy come, easy go."

Just for a change, this’ll annoy David (yes I know my draftsmanship, scale, proportion and layout are all over the place) instead of Assif! :D

The Making of the Centipod

 

Charge of the Knight Brigade!

 

Aaaaaand in the Red Corner!

 

As if by Magic, the Shopkeeper Appeared

 

Last of the Faux Module Covers

 

Who Gives a Flying...

 

Lightning Tree Strikes

 

I am Dungeon Master!

 

Fortu thousand fathoms

 

The Frightening Lightning Tree...

 

River Song

 

Ladies & Gentlemen... The Gee Gees!

 

Edwin Starr Wars