The Circle of the Scale

A brief three chapter recap…

Module 1: The Rat King

The recently freed Human Gladiator; Fortu, the thrill seeking Elven Archer; Arowe and the Orc raised Halfling Tracker; Liga Bur met up, travelling on foot through the region of, magic-use-restricted, Stowan, toward Scar Borough. Though cautious at first, they found themselves bonding after rescuing a naked, demi-elven Bard; Rifkin from a band of bandits, lead by the Afro-haired; Spider Murphy. Only he escaped the slaughter by taking to the trees, after swearing his revenge on Rifkin.

In town, the newly formed, four-man, Party encountered the usual corrupt town guards and spent some time at the town fete, where they met a worryingly convincing fortune teller; Madame Morgana, a troop of acrobat Halflings and several travelling merchants, including potion seller; Al-Khemi.

Then, hired as a group by the leader of the small town; Sir Briefadel, to discover what happened to Rat-catcher; Hamlyn and why an outlying tannery hadn’t made two scheduled deliveries. The Party found everyone dead, including the hung-by-the-neck; Hamlyn and were soon set upon by a crazed old Druid leading a mass of rats of various sizes. The battle was fierce but, despite being bitten and infected, the four adventurers managed to kill Koenig and survive. On their return to town, they passed on a map they’d found and the magical set of ‘rat summoning’ panpipes to Sir Briefadel.

Module 2: The Wolf Pact

Impressed by the Party’s tenacity, Sir Briefadel recruited them to accompany himself and his personal Wizard; Egrow-the-Magnificent, to find the magical pool deep within the Feylands shown on the map. 

During their horseback (aside from the Mir Hundur riding Liga Bur) journey, they encountered wild boars, bears and a little fox before finally arriving at a hidden glade. Once there, they battled strange hybrid creatures, such as the owl-horse; Howl, the orc-scorpion; Scorcion and the half-halfling, half-human; Three-Quarterling. Sir Briefadel took great delight in crushing the pacifistic, in-a-fish-form Three-Quarterling and killing him. Slightly disturbed by his behaviour, the Party searched the Three-Quarterling’s comfortable and fortified den. Enraged by finding ‘the wrong pool’ Sir Briefadel commissioned the Party to search on without him, as he rode back with Egrow to Scar Borough.

Travelling on with a rescued, old hawk-dog; Dawk, the Party encountered a tribe of Centaurs lead by the handsome; Prince Tsigan and after sparing their lives, were invited back to speak to his Father and chief; Rozinante. Though suspicious, the Party were welcomed and actively helped by the inner group of malformed Centaurists.

Next came a malevolent talking tree and then a wolf-pack, led by the Werewolf; Kane. Those battles were hard and the Party were lucky to escape unscathed. Then came the Dryad archer ambush and the discovery of the second magical pool and its Fey goddess guardian; Estrid.

But before trust could be earned from either side, the glade was overrun with Human soldiers! Sir Briefadel had planted a small scrying device, hidden in one of the horses saddlebags and used his Witch ally; Morgana to help him create a portal, linking Estrid’s glade to the Courtyard in Scar Borough. The battle was fierce and brutal with the tiny Fey Pixies, Nixies and Dryads trading their lives for their Queen. Realising the treachery, Fortu found himself fighting back-to-back with the charming Satyr, Magritte and Liga Bur and Arowe picking off the Human soldiers from protected positions atop the rocky formations. Despite their ‘cold-iron’ weapons though, the Human soldiers were quickly overwhelmed and it became apparent that they were just being used as a distraction so Sir Briefadel could reach the pool unconfronted. He and his, suspiciously clever Hawk, successfully made it through the hidden dimensional gateway, deep below the pool but the ‘Wizard’ Egrow was caught and stopped by Liga Bur.

Realising his dire situation, Sergeant Philco and a few of his men surrendered but they were butchered anyway, alongside their blinded Captain and the bleeding Egrow. Fortu was appalled but wise enough to keep the worst of his anger to himself.

Module 3: The Givrad Void

In exchange for her gratitude and the lives of the three surviving town guards; Henshaw, Doberman and Barbella, the Party agreed to help Estrid and persued the dastardly Sir Briefadel through the void. Whatever plans he had, he mustn’t be allowed back through the portal!

After a disconcerting journey, the, now enlarged, Party travelled to an ice world called Kik-ri, where they encountered a gigantic, burrowing insectoid monster and a friendly Frost giant called; Droofin.

Then they travelled to a three-sunned, desert world called Calcienta. After a skirmish with a group of human, snake and monkey zombies, they were back on Sir Briefadel’s trail and Liga Bur led them to an oasis, where they met a strange but welcoming merchant of magic; Whackeem. After that Arowe killed a highflying hawk before the Party were hunted down and captured by its owner, a wrathful slaver, Magician; Moody and his mounted swordsmen. Only Rifkin managed to escape, thanks to the aid of the (magical bangle) summoned Tsigan.

Fortu then realised, to his horror, that he (and his companions) had been returned to the slave arena. After several fraught death-matches, the Party managed to escape during an attempted city revolt and Rifkin’s cleverly timed rescue plan. They then, by an accident of fate, encountered and captured the very slaver that put them in that predicament. Moody pleaded for his life, but after unwillingly guiding the Party to the, apparently mythical ‘Singing Tower’, Fortu slit his throat.

More giant insectoid, pounce-predator creatures caused a moment of fright and the strange, targeted and protracted, dream harassment of Liga Bur, but the Halfling Ranger still successfully led the Party to the mystically shrouded tower.

Dulcetta’s tower itself was full of traps and tricks but it also acted as a prison to several other apparent malefactors, such as Dijonn the tiny fire elemental and Pardrik the teenage ghost guard. After rescuing them and evading the living green slime, Fortu, Arowe, Liga Bur, Rifkin, Henshaw, Doberman and Barbella finally caught up with Sir Briefadel again and his beautiful, raven-haired Mother. After rejecting his offer to join him, there was a brief melee, after which they fled on flying horseback.

Giving up any hope of still being able to track them down, the Party headed back to the void and to Estrid’s pool, where, despite their failure, they were welcomed with open arms, genuine smiles, music, sex, food and wine.

Liga Bur was forced to sacrifice himself for his friends though, after the mighty Thornberg demanded restitution for the deaths of three of his brothers. The Halfling was forced to give up his lance, his bow and a year of his life to join Thornberg’s Druidic brotherhood; ‘The Circle of the Scale’.

Now though, decisions must be made.

Next…

Module 4: Return of the Demon

Why Should You Care?

Assif asked the question after the last session; 

“Why should we care about Sir Briefadel?”

It’s simultaneously a fair and unfair question.

As a Party, you were sponsored by Sir Briefadel to find Estrid’s magical pool/portal. You were doing that for the sake of adventure and promised coin. (Coin that he was never going to pay.)

At the moment of your success however, Sir Briefadel betrayed you and magically transported (with the aid of Madame Morgana) himself, his lackey Egrow and about thirty soldiers to your position. After which, you fought a bloody battle, where you swapped sides and found yourselves fighting back-to-back with Magritte the Satyr and the other Fey creatures against Sir Briefadel’s troops. 

You won the battle and captured the ‘Wizard’ Egrow but Sir Briefadel and his phenomenally intelligent Hawk; Sephony, managed to get to the pool and escape through the dimensional portal. 

It was at that point that Estrid, the goddess of the pool pleaded for your help to pursue Sir Briefadel and stop him doing whatever he was attempting and to prevent him, at all costs, from returning back through her pool.

It should be obvious by now, that beyond just being an evil dick, Sir Briefadel is consorting with actual demonic creatures and is attempting to raise an army of the damned to destroy his father; Lord Urderal, along with a huge chunk of the continent.

Individually, it’s a slightly more difficult question. Why should a Halfling, a Human and an Elf risk their lives and chase a whinging, vengeful Aristocrat through the void between worlds?

Arowe’s introductory story, painted him as a flamboyant, drama seeking Elf, desperate for fame and glory.

Fortu’s was about brutal death, a lack of autonomy and the anguish of not knowing his own past.

Liga Bur’s dealt with the mystery of his Orcish upbringing and the loss, of not just one family, but his unknown Halfling one too!

It’s my ‘job’ as the DM, to try to tie these three backstories into the thread if the overarching adventure story but it’s also your responsibility to actively engage in it.

Is travelling into the Fey realm, battling living trees and werewolves before passing through multi-world dimensions, not enough of an adventure for the drama hungry Arowe?

Is the recognition that Liga Bur felt, as he saw the Hag’s eyes flash ‘demonic’ red like the ‘Red-eyed’ Orc clan that slaughtered his Orc tribe, not enough to drive his urge for revenge, or at least, his curiosity to find a link between these two events?

Is Fortu’s heart not filled with a desire to learn more about the magical, indestructible, seemingly symbolic sword he now possesses? An enigma, that’s perhaps more solvable than the frustrating mystery of his own personal history?

I’ve tried pretty hard to create an enticing world for you three to explore and a hopefully exciting adventure. Ultimately though, it’s down to you as the Players to choose to engage in the story. All I can do is offer, hopefully fun/interesting plot hooks; it’s up to you three to bite. 

Should you continue to chase Sir Briefadel into Hell itself? The only reason you caught him the first time, was because he (overconfidently) waited around for several days, just in an attempt to recruit you. Perhaps you should return to Fissa to warn Estrid or even Lord Urdurel that his son is raising a fiendish army for vengeance and conquest? Or you could disentangle yourselves from this responsibility and look for another cause or adventure.

Ultimately, you can decide that you’ve seen enough of the world(s), that adventuring isn’t for you after all and just retire. You’re all certainly rich enough now. It’s entirely up to you.

Rifkin's Cunning Plan: Part Last

It's only been a couple of days since his arrival, but Rifkin's managed to put his rescue plan mostly into place.

Valdez is a vibrant city, full of life but the disparity between the rich and poor is shockingly evident and its rulers are either wilfully blind or knowingly indifferent to the needs of the people.

With his slightly pointed ears attentive to the social chatter around him and his vaguely almond shaped eyes ever alert to opportunity, the Elvenish Bard, has not only heard rumblings of a second coup attempt but, where and when able, actively encouraged it.

While bribing guards for information and access to certain areas, Rifkin's noticed that several of the more helpful ones wear a red cloth subtly tied at their throat or wrist. He's even seen it worn by some members of the general populace.

Deciding to risk it all on one, well timed, do-or-die rescue attempt, Rifkin pays off some of the 'sympathetic' guards for maps and schedules before approaching a 'friendly' camel ostler to buy their mode of escape. They haggle animatedly for a while until the toothless old camel trader finally sighs.

"Listen sonny, you're a charming boy but, even at my best price, you've simply not got enough for seven camels, saddles, tents and supplies. I tell you what though, if you can raise just 1,500 gold, they're all yours. Got anything worth trading?"

Rifkin recounts his remaining gold for the third time. He'd used up a chunk of it on bribes but he'd have been hundreds short regardless. Handing over half the total as a deposit, the Demi-Elf asks the obvious question.

"Where's the nearest Magic emporium? I've got a couple of things they might be interested in."

Later that night, Rifkin sits back down at a table in his cheap boarding house, gets out a quill, an ink bottle and some of the pale blue parchment he'd taken from the murdered Three-Quarterling's comfortable underground home. After considering at length what to write and who to write it to, the Bard dips his nib into the ink and puts quill to parchment. He knew the magical 'find-anyone-anywhere' feather tokens would eventually come in handy.

Rifkin spent every coin and gem he had, used one of his Feather tokens and his three scrolls of Invisibility, plus he sold Egrow's unusable Wand of Burning-Hands to buy the escape camels etc. 

Bird Brain!

Standing alone by one of the floating, spiralling portals, Sir Briefadel gulps down a curing potion and waits impatiently for his hawk's return.
It seems like an age for him, but he knows that, for his hawk; Syphonie, it can only have been a few minutes.
Time runs much faster in the void between worlds. By all his research, about sixty times faster. A minute outside the Givrad void is equivalent to an hour within.
Looking back over his shoulder, he glances at the portal he'd originally arrived through. Just the remains of the giant cockroach-like creature he'd dispatched on the floor but no sign of his brightly coloured assistant Egrow or, more importantly, no sign of any pursuers.
Scowling, Sir Briefadel accepts that if Egrow hasn't made it by now, he must have been captured or killed.
The Pool guardian and her Fey creatures would've been extremely wary of leaving the Green. It would be improbable but not impossible.
The duped adventurers though... He'd spotted them fighting against his soldiers. The ex-gladiator Fortu, actually battling against his men, fighting back-to-back with a ram-horned Satyr.
They must have turned against him.
No real surprise there, but would they be vengeful enough to chase him down the submerged pit though?
Would they have the moral and physical fortitude?
What would be in it for them?
Sir Briefadel pointlessly checks his weird map for the third time. He knows where he has to go.
Suddenly, the hawk he'd been waiting for, erupts out of the water, lands on his outstretched gauntlet and screeches.
Under his helmet, the human's brow knots above his eyes...

"You did what?!"

"You left the bloody rag behind?!"

"Right on the false path you'd laid?!"

"You idiot! They'll know they've been duped!"

"I don't care that a scary owl dived at you!"

"I don't care that it was bigger than you!"

Spinning on his armoured heel, Sir Briefadel strides back to one of the other portals.

"Come then Sephonie. It might still gain us a few extra hours head-start. Hell, we might be lucky and no-one will follow us at all!" 

"Best scenario of all; They blunder into frigid Kik-ri and the giant Remorhaz swallows them all whole..."

Another quick look back and the heavily armoured Sir Briefadel and his fantastically well-trained hawk, dive through the new portal and silence falls upon the void once more.

A Sacrifice I'm Willing to Make

The flamboyantly dressed Egrow knocks at the sturdy wooden door, doffs his floppy purple hat and adjusts the crotch of his bright yellow tights while he awaits his master's positive response before entering.

"The blacksmith; Smelder has finished your 'special weapons' order. It was monstrously expensive but you were right to recruit a Dwarf. Very few Human craftsmen would have been capable of this quality of work. The men are also drilled and ready Sir. Captain Hall can hardly wait for the upcoming battle!"

Sir Briefadel glances up from his desk.

"Captain Hall has indeed proven himself to be a useful idiot. His ambition, general ignorance and rampant hatred of all races outside his own is why I hired him in the first place. I'm not sure about his Sergeant though. That man seems a little too clever for my liking."

Egrow shrugs.

"Don't worry about Sergeant Philco. He won't have time to wriggle out of trouble before he finds himself transported to the pool."

Giving Egrow his full attention now, Sir Briefadel's hooded eyes stare directly into the cod-wizard's face.

"These men really are the scum of the Fissa but as long as their unwitting sacrifice grants us enough of a distraction to gain access to the magical pool unaccosted, it'll be worth all the trouble."

Egrow shrugs again.

"Cut-throats and thugs, they really are the dregs of society alright but that's what mercenaries generally are. These men though, are only here because they enjoy killing a little too much and, considering their past crimes, most regular armies and even militias wouldn't take them."

Sir Briefadel yawns as his attention falls back to the weird map he's examining.

"This far out from civilisation, I suppose we should really consider ourselves lucky to even have men as lowly as these."

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."

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!

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.

Pointing the Way

The bizarre but terrifying battle ends as abruptly as it began.

Liga Bur stands balanced atop his prostrate hound while both are dragged toward the living tree by its, apparently last remaining, exposed tendril-like root. The halfling though, rather than target the writhing appendage to free Mir Hundur, instead holds one of his few remaining flaming arrows nocked and ready to fly.

The physically enfeebled Arowe also chooses his teammates over personal safety and instead of fleeing, lobs a flask of oil at the immobile, yet mobile lightning tree. Weakened as he is, he's just strong enough for the glass to shatter on impact and splash its sticky black contents all over the living tree's vulnerable roots.

It's the mighty, downward, two-handed chop from Fortu's bastard-sword though, that signals the end. The last visible plant tentacle is cleaved cleanly in two, with the truncated side swiftly retreating to the relative safety beneath the dusty earth.

Already aflame in several areas, thanks to Liga Bur's magical arrows, the Lightning tree can somehow see the halfling ready to finish the job. Sensing no way to avoid being set fully alight by oil and flaming arrow and with apparently no way to strike back, the magical tree instead pleads for mercy!

With a whispering voice, alien but understandable, it shrieks,

"Spare me! Spare me! I meant no harm, I just hunger so!"

Fortu, who'd been the only one during the battle to fearlessly advance toward the tree itself, is the one to negotiate and surprisingly chooses compassion over cruelty.

The Lightning tree offers a small gold casket and information in exchange for its continued existence.

"What can you possibly know?" asks the sceptical Gladiator.

The Lightning tree however, is much more informed than you'd have expected and soon offers to lead the Party to the 'Dryad pool'.

"And how can a tree lead us anywhere?" Fortu asks, doubtful once more.

The massive tree twists and contorts until it's able to proffer an arm-like branch. At the end of that arm, stretches out a hand-like collection of stalks and at the end of those stalks, it extends a finger-like twig.

...

"Pull my finger!"

Hesitantly, Fortu reaches up and grabs the offered digit and it snaps off easily, resembling nothing less or more than a kind of wizard wand. The type used by Rifkin for healing and Egrow for fire starting.

"Trust in it. Trust in me. It'll lead you directly to the magical pool but I warn you... That water hides more than just one secret!"

With a half-intended promise to return some time with meat, Fortu is the last to clear the large circle of dead earth.

The burnt and hacked Lightning tree seems to wave as it whispers...

"goodbye...  friend."

Will Power Through

Heaving on the reins to prevent his war-dog mount from approaching the magical pool, Liga Bur glances around. With the freakish owl-horse and tiny scorpion-man defeated, the battle is effectively won. Even the three-quarter scale guardian has fled to the temporary safety of the pool itself.

His team-mates though aren't in the best position to exploit the victory. His elven companion, Arowe, trapped under Fortu's gladiatorial net. Rifkin the bard, still hiding at the opening and his own 'loyal' dog: Mir Hundur, desperate to get to the calling pool.

Only Sir Briefadel, Fortu and he himself managed to resist the magical siren call of the mystical pool. As a Halfling brought up amongst orcs, he'd always considered is will equal to any but when he'd first felt the urging tug of the magical waters, he'd sensed a sort of armour around his mind and soul.

With a flash of insight, Liga Bur releases one hand from the reins and feels for his recently acquired pendant from the centaur camp. As soon as he has it in his grasp, he knows he's right.

Egrow and Rifkin assumed it to be a sort of protective charm but it's so much more than that!

Liga Bur has a Periapt of Wisdom +4!

Hit Point Less

The battle is effectively done but the encounter isn't quite over.

The Three-Quarterling didn't manage to even draw his dagger and his spells were all to buff his protector but Howly certainly attacked a few of you and little Scorcion did manage to inflict one point of pincer damage to Fortu before being turned into paste.

Egrow was absent, Rifkin hid and played by the entrance and although Sir Briefadel attacked ferociously, he was never physically countered. None of them received so much as a scratch.

Arowe, Liga Bur, Mir Hundur and Fortu were possibly not so lucky, so who's injured and by how much?

Consult your character sheet notes and post your answers in the 'comments' section below...

The Way we Were...

The winding path, leading up to where 'old-mad' Konig's map shows the magic pool to be, is both steep and narrow and therefore potentially treacherous for the hesitant horses. Due to that, Sir Briefadel orders the now provenly ineffective wizard; Egrow to wait at the bottom of the path to guard the entrance and prevent their mounts from wandering off.
As the others start up the path, they feel a vague tugging in their minds. A subtle urge to move forward but nothing they can't or want to resist.
The party scale the rocky pass and after half-an-hour or so, eyes shining with an inner zeal, Sir Briefadel clambers up the final few stone steps to reveal the hidden garden in all its glory.
Barely able to suppress a shout of joy, he growls out, "I've finally found it! The answer to my all my prayers!".
Silently signaling to Arowe, the lithe elf slips past him and, keeping low, creeps silently through the suddenly long and lush grass.
The secret glade is breathtakingly beautiful with a carpet of grass, abundant fruit trees and several carefully cultivated vegetable patches. Sunlight sparkles off a waterfall at the far side that pours into a freshwater pool below, some of which has been diverted to irrigate the stepped crops and hanging garden.
Aside from the difficult to find entrance though, the whole area is contained within sheer cliff-like vertical walls. Each stoney face between twenty to thirty feet high and so steep to be almost impossible to climb unassisted.
From his concealed vantage point behind a large pear tree, heavy with sweet aromatic fruit, Arowe can only see two creatures out in the open. A disconcertingly small looking, red haired man, dressed in simple robes tending to his crops and an even odder looking ruffled horse, head stooped, drinking from the pool.
Neither seem to have noticed him and, after sharing a look and affirmative nod from Sir Briefadel, The elven archer fires three arrows in rapid succession into the feathery flanks of the monstrous horse.
The tranquillity suddenly shattered, the 'horse' rears and squawks in rage. The way its head unnaturally revolves all the way around, reveals it to be more monstrous than even Arowe suspected, with huge saucer-like eyes and vicious beak! He also notices with alarm that the arrows he'd fired from his recently acquired magical bow, seemed to have barely penetrated it's thick, feather-covered hide.
The tiny man, blue eyes wide and terrified, instinctively seeks shelter and dashes behind another of the bountiful fruit trees, out of the sharp eyed Arowe's line of sight.
It matters not though, as Sir Briefadel, Fortu and the halfling Liga Bur, astride his faithful hound, rush into the fray.
Arowe, Liga Bur and Fortu face off against the ferocious owl-headed horse, while the heavily armoured Sir Briefadel rushes directly toward the small man cowering behind the tree.
The little man proves a frustrating opponent however, as he runs around the trees to avoid Sir Briefadel's deadly sword, whilst simultaneously seeming to both heal and enhance his horse-like companion.
Suddenly a tiny, blood-red tauric creature scuttles from a cave mouth and hurls itself at the comparitively enormous Fortu. It has the legs, body, claws and stinger of a scorpion but the torso, arms and head of a minuture orc. Spittle flying from it's miniscule mouth, it screams,
"I'LL STING YOU GOOD, YOU BIG, UGLY, STUPID, GIANT!"
Finding purchase, its pincers grip on to Fortu's flesh, as it attempts to bring its poisonous stinger into play. Unable to use his gigantic blade properly in such close quarters, Fortu is forced to use it to literally scrape it off of him like a giant razor.
A red and yellow smear is all that remains as the dissected Scorcion body falls lifeless to the ground.
Between them, Arowe and Liga Bur drive arrow after arrow into the maddened Howl's feathery, leathery hide and Sir Briefadel manages to corner the three-quarter scale druid against the stone wall beside the magical pool.
With one last, desperate squawk, The abomination between owl and horse takes a final arrow direct to the eye from the too swift, Liga Bur and dies on the spot.
It's only then, that the undefinable pull to approach the pool and drink from its water, manages to overcome both Arowe's mental defences and Liga Bur's faithful mount; Mir Hundur.
Like sleepwalkers they turn and plod directly towards the calling pool but are both stopped by the quick witted actions of Fortu and Liga Bur.
The battle hardened Halfling, uses his mounts harness and his own riding skills to wrestle the big dog into temporary compliance. The beefy ex-gladiator though, is forced to snare his errant team-mate with his ever-ready battle-net.
With all hope seemingly lost, the too-small-to-be-a-man, simultaneously leaps away from Sir Briefadel while transforming into a catfish mid-air, as he dives into the shimmering water.
Standing at the edge of the magical pool he'd so keenly sought and momentarily confused, Sir Briefadel curses to the heavens!

It's only then that the bard Rifkin's inspiring music stops and a deadly hush descends across the glade... 

Centaur Camp Tour

After their potentially fatal initial encounter, the cynical Fortu is surprised to find himself sitting in a camp clearing, sharing a fire, food and wine with the very horse-men creatures that had, so very recently, tried to kill him. He'd never imagined life outside the arena could be so much like it was within it.

The ruggedly handsome Tsigane, had been true to his word and the group of adventurers were made welcome, even as the two gravely wounded Centaur warriors had been hurried away to the tribal healers. Sir Briefadel had repaid their hospitality with the majority of his remaining wine stocks but it turned out to be a wise gesture. What could, potentially, have been an awkward evening had turned into a glorious feast with music, dance and genuine laughter.

The 'Centourists'; Silver and Mr Ed are by far the most attentive, curious for news of the elven and human worlds. They are cautiously watched over though by the true centaurs though, and any responses to questions from the party about the magical pool are quickly stamped out with a stern glare or subtle shake of a maned head. Perhaps Sir Briefadel had better luck in his private conversation with the grizzled Chief Rozinante?

Later on though, Little Silver organises a choral performance and sings an emotional but odd song about a magical 'Lightning tree'. The elven Arowe enjoys the powerful blend of savage and sylvan influences. The more closed off Liga Burr though, notices the deliberate eye contact Silver keeps making with him and, although the lyrics are lost on him, he's gratified to see their bard; Rifkin paying close attention. 

One by one, everyone drifts off to their shared marque-like tents, some more worse for wear than others but Sir Briefadel and his wizard squire; Egrow are conspicuously the first to retire.

That night, Arowe and Liga Burr examine the longbow and medallion gifted as restitution and gratitude for sparing their young warriors lives. The Longbow is masterfully crafted, even by elven standards and obviously enchanted. The medallion though remains a mystery. Even Rifkin and Egrow can't define its purpose beyond 'magical protection' of some sort.

In the morning Egrow's normally tasteless gruel-like porridge breakfast is made surprisingly palatable by the addition of fruit, nuts and berries supplied by the Centaurs.  Finally, with broad smiles, floral leis and wishes of good luck, the party lead their horses out of the camp with a renewed feeling of optimism.

"We're close." Sir Briefadel beams. "I feel it in my very bones!".

The Lightning Tree - Follyfoot TV Theme (1973) - Bing video

Egrow the Firestarter

 

Dampfire Stories: Egrow - The Magnificent!

It's been almost ten days since the six of you set off in search of the 'magical' pool shown on the dead druid Koenig's map. In that time though, it's become more and more apparent that Egrow is perhaps less than he first appeared.

Despite his hackneyed, almost parody wizard attire, his mastery of the mystic arts seem well short of 'magnificent'.

Though standoffish, he's obviously bright but younger than he pretends. Close up, he may be barely out of his teens and his role is more akin to squire than advisor. He tends to the the horses and assists Sir Briefadel don and doff his plate-mail armour, in addition to setting the campfire and preparing the food.

This evening though, after a rainy few hours have dampened all the available deadwood, Egrow struggles to light the kindling with his usual method of flint and steel.

To everyone's amazement, other than perhaps Sir Briefadel, Egrow draws a slender black and red wand from his voluminous sleeve, mumbles a few 'mumbo-jumbo' sounding words and points it at the unlit campfire. A fan of flames spit out from its tip and after a few moments the damp wood splutters into flame.

Despite the initial clouds of billowing white smoke, the party of adventurers are all impressed and thankful that they won't be forced to sleep in their wet clothes.

Noticing the reaction, Egrow smiles for perhaps the first time since you met him and bows.

"Behold the power of a practitioner of the mystic arts!"

Campfire Stories: Sir Briefadel

As a group, the exploring party have been travelling together for a few days and the social barriers between the six members have all slipped slightly. That night, after Egrow - the magnificent had 'conjured' up a campfire and the four pigeons, brought down by Saphony the hunting falcon, are roasting on a spit, Sir Briefadel coughs deliberately and sits down.

Dressed in just his padded under-armour gambeson, his platemail already stored for the night, he coughs again.

"I just wanted to apologise for my earlier showing off. It was crass of me and the stupid fly didn't deserve it. It's just that everyone assumes I'm just a typical effete aristo and I rarely get a chance to demonstrate what I'm actually capable of."

As he gestures, Arowe notices a small charm tethered to Sir Briefadel's now visible wrist.

"Ah this?"

Sir Briefadel raises his right arm, displaying the tiny wooden disk with concentric red circles within it, held on a leather cord.

"You probably think my name and title are an honour but they're actually an insult. My father is Lord Urderel: High Commander of this entire region but my mother wasn't his wife, nor of noble stock. She was a gifted mystic, a healer but still young and beautiful. My Father was besotted by her and I was the product of their union. A shameful blot on the family name. In his embarrassment, he had my mother, his unwilling mistress put to death and sent me, his dirty little secret, as far away from civilisation as he could. He then 'bestowed' upon me a near forgotten name from a long dead branch of the family tree and expected me to be grateful..."

Momentarily trailing off, Sir Briefadel is silent for a moment before continuing.

"This bangle is all I have left of my mother. A small tribute to the woman I barely remember, a reminder of the horrors of my past and a goad driving me toward my future."

With that, Sir Briefadel takes a sip of the rather nice white wine that he'd brought with him and swills the bitterness from his mouth.

"Martha's Vinyard's best. I bought several crates of it for a bargain on the last day of the fair."