Fey Contract

As the strange, ethereal songbird disappears in a puff of pale blue smoke, the enigmatic Estrid examines the wax seal on the envelope left in its place. 

‘R’?

Tentatively breaking the seal, the tall and beautiful Fey woman unfolds the letter.

‘For the attention of Estrid; guardian of the pool. I have received your messengers and tasted your magical waters. I’m an old man who did not expect to see another summer but, as you know, war is coming. A war against a shared enemy. I’ve agreed to send you a battalion of my men; they should arrive within the month. Gods willing that it will be soon enough. I also agree to prevent any further incursions into your land from my people. In return, all I ask is that you maintain your current borders and furnish me with an ongoing supply of your rejuvenating waters. Regards, Lord Urdurel.’

The Satyr; Magritte canters over.

“Good news? We certainly need some.”

Estrid smiles reassuringly.

“It’s from the almost-Elf; Rifkin. I’m quite surprised how good his writen Sylvan is. The adventurers succeeded. Their Lord Urdurel has agreed to our request and we shall have our Human guards within one full cycle of the moon.”

The swarthy and hirsute Satyr pulls a worried face. 

“It’s been weeks since the adventurers returned through the pool. Do you think we have that much time? Can we really trust Humans to help us?”

The goddess of the pool smiles cynically and shrugs.

“Alas my curly-horned, cloven-hooved friend; what choice do we really have?”

Risk free Goodies

Considering you got nothing from the six Displacer beast pack, it only seems fair that I was generous in other areas.

From Rifkin’s satchel:

Mir Hundur got a collar (medallion) of Natural attack +3

Liga Bur got a scroll of Heat metal  

From the Lightning tree:

Murmul goat a full set of Horseshoes of speed.

Fortu got a pair of Gauntlets of Ogre power +2

From Magritte:

Potions of 

4 x Cure Light Wounds 1d8+1 

2 x Cure Medium Wounds 2d8+3

1 x Cure Serious Wounds 3d8+5

2 x Delay Poison

2 x Barkskin +2AC (10 minutes)

1 x Bear’s Endurance +4 con (1 minute)

1 x Bull’s Strength +4 str (1 minute)

1 x Cat’s Grace +4 Dex (1 minute)

2 x Lesser Restoration 

(Although we’ve suddenly got a situation where two of the three characters can cast these spells themselves, we can argue who takes what potion next session, but up until then, Rifkin puts them in his satchel for safe keeping.

Update your character sheets and Scott, take this opportunity to un-disable poor Liga Bur and fix Dijonn.

The (Apparent) Allies

Rifkin: 

Born and raised in the backwards, sister-wife village of Loretto by his Human Mother. Rifkin’s Quarter-Elf, travelling minstrel Father was killed by his Mother’s close-minded, inbred relatives while she was still pregnant with him. Loathed by the villagers for being different, the teenage Rifkin took his Father’s mandolin and left the moment his Mother died. Though cowed by the constant beatings of his youth and timorous by nature, Rifkin still sought adventure and used his good looks, natural charm and musical skills to earn a living.

Estrid:

A powerful, magical and long lived Fey creature, beautiful but righteous, Estrid, as ‘goddess’ of the pool, guards the magical glade, deep in the Feylands. She protects both her people and the mysterious portal beneath the life extending properties of the crystal clear waters themselves. She granted the outlander adventurers ’Champion’ status and her protection within the Feylands in exchange for their help. Now though, Estrid’s concern and priorities have changed with the return of the adventurers and their alarming news.

Thornberg:

A haystack of a man and powerful member of the ‘Circle of the Scale’ Druidic order. Thornberg (and his gigantic bear; Bamse) has recently spent a year of his life in a bubble in time, teaching the Halfling outrider; Liga Bur, the secrets of the ‘Green’. He has grown fond of Liga Bur over those twelve months and wants to keep him close but still respects the scarred Halfling’s desire for both justice and independence.

Tsigan:

The Centaur Prince, initially an enemy, has become a powerful ally to the Party, alongside his noble Father and the rest of his semi-savage herd. Despite his rescuing of Rifkin, under the Calcientan suns, he still feels indebted to Fortu, Arowe and Liga Bur.

Magritte: 

The dashing but pragmatic Satyr has formed a liking and an admiration for the adventurer, especially Fortu. A nimble, talented warrior and potion keeper, he also has the ear of (the occasionally suspicious and often ferocious) Estrid.

Henshaw:

A mercenary from a family of mercenaries, Henshaw is lean, tall, surprisingly intelligent and, perhaps as a consequence of that intelligence, overly cautious. Although a self-professed ‘Bad-guy’, his recent association with Fortu, Liga Bur, Arowe and Rifkin has caused him to re-evaluate some of his previous life choices.

Barbella:

Lifelong friend of Henshaw, Barbella is a thief of the lowest order. A goatee sporting, gold-toothed mugger and backstabber, he is however surprisingly skillful in several useful areas and loyal, at least to Henshaw.

Doberman:

As dumb as he is fat, Doberman is almost too stupid to be considered merely ‘retarded’. Treated as an imbecilic but tolerated pet by Henshaw and Barbella, he is strong, round and relentless in a fight. 

Dijonn:

A small but psychopathic fire elemental, left behind in the desert oasis when the Party was forced to travel through the water filled passageways between dimensions. It has, however, sworn a ‘life debt’ to Liga Bur when he was rescued from a hundred years trapped on a meagre wick in the ‘Singing tower’.

Lightning Tree:

Though a monstrous, flesh eating tree, it possesses a fine mind and a surprising store of knowledge. It also, weirdly, considers Fortu its friend for sparing its life and still waits patiently in the Fey forests for his return with that promised meat.

Shananaghan:

One of the two remaining ‘summoning’ charms on Rifkin’s bracelet, the tiny but foul-tempered, gossamer-winged Pixie has decidedly mixed feelings about the Party. Non-Fey creatures, especially Humans, are the hated enemy but the goddess; Estrid has ordered him to assist the Party to the best of his ability when summoned and, although begrudgingly, he’ll do it for her.

Lorellie.

The second and last of the two remaining magical charms on Rifkin’s bracelet, the flirtatious, small, green-skinned and fin-toed Nixie is more Fey-curious about the outsiders than antagonistic. Physically weak but a powerful swimmer and natural water breather, she may yet prove vital in an aquatic environment.

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 Calcinta. 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

The End or the Beginning?

It’s early morning, with the dawn sky still hazy with the rising golden sun still partially hidden behind the trees. Although there are several of the Fey creatures still enjoying the gentle music, wine and each-others company, the Elven Arowe is the only member of the Party still conscious when the large, shadowy oak tree at the edge of the clearing, opens up again and the mighty Thornberg steps through. The Archer hurriedly shakes the nearby Fortu and Rifkin awake and the three of them try to peer around and behind the enormous Druid and his shaggy, over-sized, brown bear to see if their Halfling friend; Liga Bur is still with him. All of them break into relieved smiles at the sight of their diminutive scout companion, but… 

…

He looks tired somehow, weary.

…

No, not tired.

…

He looks older.

…

Older and wiser.

The Final Session

As promised, the warm evening is full of wild music and wilder dance, with Fey wine flowing freely and both savoury and sweet treats laid out on every raised surface. Rifkin adds his voice and music to Magritte’s melodies and the Fey adjacent Arowe enjoys the wanton dancing and uninhibited ‘gifts’ of the Dryad women.

Despite his deep-rooted suspicion and rejection of the aromatic wines, Fortu still finds himself intoxicated by the charm and warmth of these strange woodland creatures. Creatures that he would have considered dangerous enemies just a month ago.

Liga Bur too enjoys the sudden change of pace and environment. Regardless of his ghostly guard; Padrik, the Halfling hadn’t slept easily in weeks, ever since he was first targeted by the nightmare Hag. Here, surrounded by enchanting pixies and nixies, he finally feels safe.

It’s Arowe though, who notices that there’re only three Dryads present, and casting around, he sees for the first time, that one of the four large oak-trees in the glade is dead and withered. He also realises that a new sapling is growing in its shade and beside that sapling is a shy little dryad girl. She appears to be about eight-years-old but Arowe knows well enough to understand the different growth rates and life expectancies of certain Fey.

The three Human mercenaries though are quieter, well aware that they’d attacked their hosts (and killed several of them) the last time they were here. One thing is certain though; all seven of them; Human, Elf and Halfling, are changed men. How could they not be? They’ve explored strange new worlds together, encountered bizarre creatures and discovered new civilisations. They’ve seen horrors and wonders beyond their imaginations and travelled to where few men have ever been before!

Love is in the Air

The octopus-armoured Fortu, eagerly (but unnecessarily) supported by two of the fawning, small but perfectly formed, amphibious Nixies, finds his footing, wades forward up the gentle slope and breaks the surface of the magical pool. Just drinking a mouthful of the enchanted water refreshes him as much as a full nights rest and he feels the aches and stresses from the previous day, wash away as if they’d never been. As the water cascades off of him, leaving him completely dry, he hears the exquisite voices of the Fey creatures singing in harmony. Looking up, he sees three of the Dryads, the smiling Satyr; Magritte and, in the centre, the beautiful ‘goddess’ herself; Estrid. They’re standing in a semi-circle, waist-deep in the water, with their hands outstretched in welcome.

Even as the Four Nixies swim up and down the underwater, hundred foot pipe, retrieving the less submersible Party members, Fortu, despite his distrust, can’t help but gaze upon Estrid. Her beauty is beyond compare, with flaming locks of auburn hair, ivory skin and, her (previously terrifying) eyes are of emerald green. Though not a man comfortable with the ‘gentler’ emotions, Fortu reflects upon the difference between the tall and athletic Estrid’s and overly curvaceous Hetzabah’s beauty; Estrid’s seems to fill his heart, whereas Hetzabah’s seemed to fill an entirely different organ, about two feet lower down.

The heavily armoured, but strangely unencumbered in the water, warrior, accepts Estrid’s proffered hand and allows her to pull him forward. She stands about the same impressive height as him in the water but her kind smile is like a breath of Spring and Fortu, for a moment, forgets why he was so angry with her.

Behind him, two of the Nxies emerge with his Halfling friend and his slobbery dog, before the small, green-skinned women dive back down to retrieve the others.

Liga Bur looks about himself suspiciously, but on seeing no signs of aggression, treads water while holding onto his soggy, doggy-paddling companion. The welcoming choral song the Fey creatures are singing is warm and genuine and even the ever-vigilant, Orc-raised Halfling feels himself lull a little.

Fortu and Liga Bur are soon joined by Arowe and Rifkin and all of them have been guided to the safety of the grassy bank before a coughing and spluttering Henshaw, Barbella and Doberman break the surface of the crystal-clear pool.

Still (mostly) wearing the same uniforms that they attacked the Fey in, the three soldiers weren’t given the magical, water-breathing Nixie kiss and are choking by the time they escape the hundred-foot deep, underwater sinkhole pipe. The four Nixies roughly pull them to the shallower water but their actions are obviously begrudging and Fortu is coldly reminded of the general ill-will felt between the Fey and Humans.

Still, when Estrid finally speaks, her voice is soft, like Summer rain.

“Welcome home my champions. We have much to discuss, but before we’re forced deal with the evil that’s to come, please rest after your arduous journey, share our food and enjoy our music, wine and… our company.”

Fortu feels a wave of confusion wash over him as he battles conflicting emotions. The goddess; Estrid seems so different this time around; kind, generous and objectively, (whatever he may think of her past actions) breathtakingly lovely.

No Choice at All

Emerging out of the vertical watery portal first, Fortu draws his massive sword and, although slightly disoriented from the mind-bending dimensional trip, looks around the Givrad void for potential trouble. He’s not eager to fight anymore of those gigantic Hooked Horrors again after nearly having his throat ripped out last time. Thankfully there’s nothing of immediate concern, other than the disorienting sky, odd gravity, pool of dried blood beneath his feet and the dark crimson trail of it leading away.

Liga Bur and Arowe emerge next, reassured by Fortu’s stalwart presence. The canny Halfling immediately confirms Fortu’s suspicion that it’s the slaughtered camel’s blood and follows the trail until it splits. One bloody trail leads back to the portal to Fissa and Estrid’s pool, the other to wherever Hetzabah has taken her son to raise his army.

Although Liga Bur has no interest in pursuing Sir Briefadel, he still notices the words, scrawled in blood on the path beneath each of the portals. The writing under the one the evil Eldrich Knight and his Mother went through reads, ‘Chase me to Hell!’ and the one leading back to Fissa reads, ‘Run back to Daddy!’.

The astonishingly tall and slender Elf; Arowe smiles. The overwhelming hate that he’d felt for Sir Briefadel has, thankfully, faded to a more rational level and he can see the goading messages for what they are. 

As soon as Rifkin and the others are safely through, they all head to the portal they all first entered the Givrad Void and prepare to swim back. The Bard hesitates for a moment, before Fortu’s about to step in.

“I hope Magritte has got those Nixies in place, otherwise some of us are going to drown at the bottom of that hundred foot, underwater pipe!”

Running his tongue around the circular scar inside his cheek, Fortu merely smiles, confident in his magical armours special ability. He knows that he’s safe from drowning while wearing the helmet and that the armour will allow him to swim upwards as if he were completely unburdened.

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! 

Summoning Satyrs

After disconcertingly discovering the first ugly-horse-camel creature brutally slaughtered and half devoured, Liga Bur leaves the others behind to track down the remaining seven. They'll need them if they're going to make it back to Valdez or the oasis. In the meantime, the rest of the Party unpack the stowed equipment and set up the large tent, before simply waiting in its shade for the Tundra hardened Halfling to return with their rides. Despite travelling with the adventurers for over a month now, Henshaw is still amazed by Liga Bur’s formidable survival skills and he knows, without question, that they’d all be dead by now, from either thirst or heat exposure, without him.

Henshaw’s faith in the little tracker is soon proved justified, when Liga Bur comes riding back atop his loyal hound; Mir Hundur, leading all seven of the surviving camels. The Party though, is still not ready to leave. Although struggling to keep his ire-filled voice below a shout, the Elven Arowe is still the first to consider how they can help Rifkin and Doberman.

“Could our Bard’s charm bracelet help here? Perhaps the tiny Pixie has some magic that could cure Rifkin's deafness and Doberman's disease?”

Rifkin smiles crookedly in hopeful understanding and, because of that very deafness, answers a little too loudly.

“PERHAPS NOT THE SHINY PIXIE. BUT WHAT ABOUT THE POTION-BANDOLIER WEARING SATYR; MAGRITTE?”

Everyone nods in agreement and Rifkin, with dramatic but unnecessary flair, twists off the satyr shaped token from Estrid's bracelet and feels it hum and warm up in his soft hand. After less than a minute, the half goat, half man; Magritte appears, Barely dressed beyond his rapier, longbow, quiver and twin potion-caddy bandoliers.

Initially Crouched with his sword in hand, the bearded Magritte quickly assesses the situation, straightens up and sheaths his weapon.

"How may I be of service?"

After a speedy explanation, the friendly Satyr sets to work examining all three of the afflicted. He treats Rifkin first with a carefully selected vial and, much to the Bard's joy, it proves successful. Doberman takes a moment longer but he too is cured of the Hag's disease. When he comes to Arowe though, Magritte just shakes his goat-horned head.

"I'm sorry my Elven friend. Your ongoing affliction is magical in nature, not physical, but worry not; even an ‘uncivilised’ Fey creature, such as myself has heard of the elite Elven Oath-bows. Your hyper-focused rage will not last forever. You'll have to endure this rage for a week, just seven days and then you'll be free of it. Until, that is, you call upon it again."

Afterwards, Fortu and the others share with Margritte what has happened since they last saw each-other and what they plan to do now. The handsome and tanned Satyr listens attentively and, at the completion of the tale, agrees that returning home seems to be the only sane course of action.

"I'll inform the goddess of the pool of your estimated arrival in about eight days and I'll be sure to have the Nixies take turns watching out for you at the bottom of the hundred feet underwater shaft. I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help, but please accept my remaining potions. You may have need of them before we meet again."

With that, Magritte empties his bandoliers, carefully explaining what each potion does as he passes them over. After that, the charming Satyr chats with the adventurers until his hour is up.

"Safe journey my friends. I hope to see you all again soon."

Treasure:

Potions:

1) Potion of Cure Light Wounds x 2

2) Potion of Cure Moderate Wounds x 2

3) Potion of Cure Serious Wounds x 2

4) Potion of Delay Poison x 1

5) Potion of Magic Fang +1 x 1

6) Potion of Bark-skin +2 AC x 1

7) Potion of Bear's Endurance +4 Con x 1

8) Potion of Cat's Grace +4 Dex x 1

9) Potion of Bull's Strength +4 Str x 1

10) Potion of Lesser Restoration x 2

(Assif, I think I got this right but if not, (to avoid any unnecessary confusion) scrunch up your list and throw it in the bin.)

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.

(Near) Death by a Thousand Cuts

After climbing up onto Rifkin and Henshaw’s shoulders to remove the, now accessible 'control' crystal to prevent the 'orb' from restarting, Arowe steps through the gap and quickly takes in the 'trap'. The large, cold-iron ring has stopped perfectly in alignment with the wall itself, so as not to restrict entry or exit, causing the tall Elf to, once again, begrudgingly, admire the Gnomish precision engineering of it all.

Inside the ten foot diameter, circular space, though empty of any prisoner, there stands a large, vertical, black metal ‘T’ frame, well over six feet tall, with self-tightening, cold-iron cuffs for wrists and ankles. They've recently been unclamped but the last setting they’d been at was tiny! Slender as a child perhaps or a shrivelled old woman? 

Surprisingly, the ‘T’ frame has also been designed to rotate, but slowly, in the opposite direction of the outer ring and marginally out of kilter, possibly to add to the level of disorientation. It’s also slightly arched to allow uninterrupted access to its captive’s back and buttocks and stands in the middle of two concentric rings of recessed, slender mechanical arms. One thousand of them, each ending with a tiny gauntleted fist grasping a wavy, two-inch, cold-iron sword. They’ve been cleverly designed to be able to ascend from their slots, slash at the restrained victim and then retreat in a complicated, seemingly random pattern to maximise the area of flesh sliced. 

Whoever it was being tortured, they were able to endure this treatment for decades upon decades without succumbing.  

More concerned with what lies beyond the 'cage' though, the Elven archer/slinger steps quickly out of the prison area and into the strangely unlit other half of the room beyond. Rifkin follows closely behind but Henshaw delays a moment to closer examine the bafflingly complicated and sadistic machine.

Fortu, Doberman and Barbella are next to arrive and are relieved to find this room already defeated, with lanky Henshaw beckoning them through the metal-ringed gap in the wall. Once inside though, he points out something that's bothered him.

“This spinning ring fing, the cuffs and the tiny sword blades are all made outta the same metal as the ‘poison-to-Fey’ swords Briefadel gave me and the boys. Same as that talkin' door Fortu cut through wiv his magic sword. What’s the reason? Could the prisoner be one of the Fey? Like Estrid, them Pixies or that Half-goat bloke… Magritte?”

Intrigued, Fortu kneels to better examine the circle of the thousand tiny swords. Each one is an exact but minuscule replica of the wavy bastard sword he's currently using. Grasping one to examine it even closer, Fortu realises that these intricate, little-finger-sized miniatures of the weapon in his hand, even feature the unreadable sigils etched along each side of his blade.

The ex-gladiator stands back up with a puzzled expression hidden behind his dark helmet. The mechanical knight, the outer lock, the ghost’s tabard and now this? Fortu begins to suspect that the sword he’s gripping so firmly in his hand, holds a significance far greater than just being…‘Awesome’.

Four Lady's Dancing

With his newly acquired magical sword, temporarily illuminated by Rifkin's spell, raised high before him, the stalwart Fortu, followed by the pugnacious Doberman, advances a few feet into the ominous, stone walled chamber.

Four hefty columns divide the room while simultaneously seeming to stand guard around a stepped dais at its centre. The stone platform rises from the cold, damp vapour below and holds an odd machine, that seems to be slowly feeding a thin coil of wick into the base of a hanging lantern overhead.

Barely more than an ember, the tiny flame inside still dimly illuminates the area immediately around it. Although it seems to spark slightly into life at Fortu’s entrance, it's still too weak to effectively light up the surrounding area.

A blanket of grey/white mist covers the flagstones but a waft from Rifkin's magical paper fan reveals more of the bronze tracks just seen outside.

After springing no traps but still wary of attack, the more tactical members of the Party slink in behind the two Warriors. The Bard however, falters fearfully at the open doorway, before playing an inspiring melody on his mandolin to help counter the creepiness that permeates the entire tower.
Then, skating gracefully out from their hiding place behind the thick stone columns, four more of the automatons glide along their hidden tracks in search of intruders.

They're much smaller than the Mech-Knight fought outside but similarly impressive. Beautiful bronze and steel figures in the shape of Hand-maidens, with voluminous dresses and long wire-like braided hair. Their slender arms though, end in brutal looking cold-iron maces.

Mace-hand-maidens.

Both Fortu and Doberman charge forward to disrupt the Hand-maidens' attack, while their teammates sprint forward to find some tactical advantage, and so in the midst of the mist, the Party suddenly find themselves in a battle for survival.

Even as he advances, the ever confident Arowe, releases a quickfire volley into one of the advancing machines, but is shocked to see all of his arrows either deflected or barely piercing its metal carapace. Everyone struggles against the four swan-necked machines though, their steel torsos and bronze ball-dresses proving near impossible to penetrate.

...

Except for Fortu, and he's more surprised than anyone.

Almost losing balance with the very first un-resisted chop, his giant blade slices through the metal woman’s skirt as if it were paper. Grinning at his obviously awesome new Bastard sword, Fortu makes short work of his, now seemingly defenceless opponent. In response two more of the Hand-maidens slide along their rails toward the big Human, while the other one faces Doberman, Henshaw and Arowe.

The goatee sporting Barbella creeps up behind one of Fortu's mecha-maid opponents but curses as he can neither locate its kidney nor pierce its bronze hooped armour.

Casting around, Liga Bur, atop Mir Hundur, races to the far side of the chamber, but as he passes the raised platform, from the corner of his eye, he notices the puny flame within the hanging lantern, seem to wave at him.

Skidding to a halt at the safety of the far wall, the Halfling, stares back only to find his initial observation confirmed. The sputtering flame has taken on the form of a tiny Human and now appears to be mouthing 'Help'. Ignoring the battle around him, Liga Bur raises his bow and fires at the tempered glass of the small, wrought-iron lantern. His aim is true and two panes of glass shatter as the little flaming man ducks low to avoid the arrow passing above him.

Meanwhile, to Liga Bur's left, Arowe, in frustration and a desire not to waste anymore of his precious arrows, draws the magical rapier gifted to him by the Satyr; Magritte. He uses it two handed though, as he knows that it'll take all the strength he possesses to drive the steel blade through the bronze armour.

Beckoning to the now released fire creature, Liga Bur watches, momentarily confused, as the pixie-sized flame instead gestures to the wet vapour surrounding him below and then toward a dry, unused torch, held in a black metal sconce on the wall just behind him.

With the aid of his fantastic new weapon, Fortu makes short work of his three mechanical opponents and is relieved to see that his team-mates have, between them, managed to overcome the fourth.

After grabbing the dry torch behind him and gathering up half-a-dozen spares, Liga Bur rides forward and proffers the dry torch to the tiny flame creature. Leaping quickly onto it from the meagre wick, the torch immediately roars into life with the little flame man growing considerably larger. Holding the flaring torch as far from his face as he's able, a crackling voice whispers...

"Thank you. Thank you. I've been held prisoner here for a hundred years, trapped in that claustrophobic glass box and starved of both air and fuel. I am so very grateful for you releasing me and as such, My name is Dijonn and I am now your faithful servant."

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.

Practical Diplomacy

Double checking his restocked potion bandeliers and hitching his refilled quiver and longbow up across his wiry shoulders, Magritte risks posing the question he'd been delaying asking...

"After everything you said, everyone you killed; why did you allow those three Human soldiers to live?”

The ram-horned Satyr looks genuinely baffled, but the achingly beautiful Estrid calms him instantly with a gentle touch of her pale hand on his darkly tanned arm.

“I understand your confusion Magritte and, truth be told, I’m not all that certain if it was a wise decision or not, but we had to convince the Human Fortu that we are on the side of the angels. The barely-elf Rifkin did his best to persuade his companions, but that gesture of 'mercy' could only have helped our case."

Magritte gnaws at his bottom lip for a moment…

"You’re the goddess and I bow to your judgement, but I’ve got a really baaaaad feeling about this."