Religion fits like two left gloves.

Nitendae sat, idly juggling 10 pebbles, on the roof of the temple.
The peace of the night allowing him to think.
He'd not been too impressed when the Abbot first gave him his 'boon' gloves. They were old and scruffy and looked way too big, but he hadn't so much as pulled them on as they flowed on. No matter how closely he looked he couldn't find a single seam.
He didn't quite understand how the gloves could, but they allowed Nite' a far better control of not just his hands but his complete body. A fine boon to compliment his skills and talents.

The reason he was up on the roof though was to resolve his feelings of how their recent adventure had ended. Nite' had put his reputation and possibly his life on the line to get the information from the thieves guild that led them to the "slippers" but at the end Bastien had simply taken them to his temple.
Logically it was the far better course, the rewards so much better than those promised by Valois and just as important it was right to bring the "slippers" home. Nitendae was sure that both he and Volkon would have agreed with Bastien and between them they could come up with a way of placating Valois and her guild - only an idiot would go to war with the Thieves guild.

It was just..... he hadn't asked....

Module: 4

Caught in an iron(ical) trap

Eyes bulging with rage behind his dark visor, Lord Akbarr swears an oath of revenge. Somehow the armoured cleric of Fhalangn had dispelled his gaseous form before he was able to slip away through the inch wide escape pipe.

A bark or laughter escapes unbidden, through his clenched teeth. After all his clever planning, he has, ironically, imprisoned himself within his own trap. 

Caught within the cramped confines of his own viewing booth, he seethes as the Barbarian and Armoured Fighter slowly grind down his loathsome Trolls.

Only then, when his Drider ally: Fluttin slips silently away, does Akbarr begin to understand his predicament.

Without another potion of gaseous form, it’ll take him hours to forcibly break through the rock wall.

Constrained as he is, his armour and physical prowess mean less than nothing.

Still, the central lightning machine will prevent them just walking over. These life-loving fools value their own skins far too much to risk it.

Akbarr chokes on his own words though as, despite his prediction, Bastien braves the lightning filled chamber and rushes forward with an open flask of oil, a flaming torch and murder in his eyes!

Where’s the Beef?

Three days camping within sight of Akbarr tower, is enough to assure the orcess: Omoola that her human employers were dead.
Oh well, bad news for them was good news for her.
She may have lost the coin she was owed but she, at least, had gained the eight horses, their tack and saddlebags.
Actually, all in all, she’d ended pretty well up on the deal!
With the horses still tethered together, the broad bottomed orcess rides back towards the old ranch.
Maybe she can gather up the surviving cattle and sell them for profit or perhaps she could head back to her homeland and share her good fortune with her clan?

Omoola didn’t get paid but instead gained:


5 x riding horses + tack:                   Value: 75gp x 5 / 15gp x 5
3 x war horses + military tack:         Value: 400gp x 3 / 75gp x 3
42 beef cows:                                   Value: 10gp x 42
2 x horse chainmail:                         Value: 600gp x 2
2 x Masterwork lances:                    Value: 310gp x 2
1 x horse chainmail +1:                  Value: 2,200gp
1 x set of Horseshoes of Zephyr:   Value: 6,000gp
1 x Lance +2:                                   Value: 8,310gp
1 x MW Plate mail:                           Value: 1,650gp

Total: 21,745gp

Unbroken Lancer

The thick figured orcess: Omoola watches the six adventurers climb down their silken ropes. Even with her superior eyesight, she can’t see to the bottom and has to admire the boldness of these, effectively, night-blind humans.

Despite realising now, that their whole mission was a set up for this elaborate trap, they were still heading to the lower level of the massive, central pit.

Before he’d left, the young barbarian: Volkon had asked her to guard their five remaining horses and the three, recently acquired war-horses.

These last three were truly magnificent beasts and Omoola had to resist the urge to clamber into the heavy, military saddle of the biggest of the black war-horses.

Instead, she settles down to watch and wait. After all, she had been promised a gold coin a day and she intended on collecting.

Several uneventful hours pass before a distant droning noise makes her peer upward. There’s nothing to see, even as the buzz grew louder and louder, but then, she feels humming vibrations shake her skin, as something huge but unseen dives past her into the pit.

Disturbing but still she stays awake and at her post until just before dawn.

It’s then that she hears deep grunting noises and spies a giant hand appearing over the lip of the pit.

Tough as she is, no lowly Orc spear thrower can stand against a full grown Ogre.

With all the horses already tethered together, Omoola leads them away from trouble and into the night…

Oo, Ah, Valois!

Carefully re-rolling the parchment strip from the raven messenger, Valois tucks it away. Then, to steady her nerves, takes a sip of expensive red wine from her crystal chalice.

She hadn’t counted on the Half-elf succeeding and had considered the 6,000gp upfront payment, the entirety of costs she’d incur.

Still, she’d been paid more than enough by Lord Akbarr to cover the remainder, should the elf and his friends return.

If the elf returns?

According to the message, Nitendae and his friends had managed to escape Akbarr’s elaborate trap but had not been seen since.

Not one of her many spies had found any information about their whereabouts.

It's as if they'd simply vanished from the very face of Fissa!

Perhaps they suspect her part in the plot?

They certainly couldn’t be certain though and, if they did return, she’d talked her way out of much more damning situations.

Also, what kind of an idiot would pick a fight with the Thieves guild?

Booby prize

After Issack had been handed control of his new chassis, Marlon turns to leave.

“Going somewhere?”

It’s the old Abbot.

“Er, I was just heading over to the fields to practice with my new, magic long sword.”

The Abbot smiles.

“Well, before you go, I have a gift for you also…”

With that, he holds out his hand to reveal a golden amulet, showing a bear’s head on a sturdy golden chain.

“Thank you… Er… What is it?”

The Abbot smiles even wider.

“Something to help keep you alive!”

Marlon receives an Amulet of Health +2 (+2 to his constitution while he’s wearing it)

Value: 4,000gp

Have a sack - will travel

It’s a few weeks later, that Marlon is instructed to bring the sentient sack to see the Abbot.

They find him sitting beside a large crate. Two initiates standing either side of it.

“Hello boys”, the old cleric smiles.

The big warrior and magic bag answer together like an almost echo.

“Hello-o sir-ir”.

Rather than feel special, Issack has always felt cursed. A magical haversack granted intelligence and a desire to travel but forever dependant on those that carried him.

He’d been trapped in a dark, wet cave with the rotting cadaver of his previous owner for months, before he’d been discovered by his current ‘masters’.

They weren’t a bad bunch and Marlon, bless him, was a kindly soul and had even sacrificed his reward for him.

Issack’s attention snapped back to the Fharlanghnian Abbot.

“Your request was quite a testing one. There was a way but the level of arcane skill required proved extremely expensive and time consuming. Worse, it provided us with more than we… You required…”

Marlon scratches his bovine-like jaw. He was barely understanding what was being said and he felt like he needn’t be there. This was nothing to do with him now.

The old Abbot continues speaking, not realizing that Marlon’s attention had already wandered away completely.

“Still, your request was virtuous and we found a way…”

With a gesture from the Abbot, the two young priests, wrest away the front of the crate to reveal the contents…

It’s a marionette.

A giant marionette, made of wood with ironwork hinges and joints.

Marlon grins.

“It’s a puppet!”

Issack is about to speak, when the ‘puppet’ steps forward.

“This is our reward to you Issack. I’ve instructed it to obey your commands and your commands only. It’s not designed for combat but will carry you tirelessly whenever and wherever you want to go.”

Suddenly, for the first time in his life, the usually unflappable Issack is speechless.

Issack receives a permanently animated wooden Mannequin. It’s relatively slender, stands loosely around 5’10”. It is skillfully crafted and cleverly jointed, especially the intricate fingers. The face though, is simply carved with metal studs for eyes and a line for its mouth.

A very unserene Sereena

Sitting awkwardly on the edge of Sereena’s bed, Marlon fidgets as he listens to her ongoing rant.

“I can’t believe that barbarian oaf took the ring for himself! It was perfect for me and he didn’t even really want it; he just didn’t want me to have it! I tell you Marlon, they don’t respect us at all!”

Sensing an opportunity to defend his other friends, Marlon interrupts.

“Well, they did give me this amazing, magical Long sword.”

“True.” Agrees Sereena begrudgingly.

“And they gave that magical, bashing shield to Demitass.”

“Also true.” Sereena concedes again, allowing her bulky friend to continue.

“And those nice Fhalarlarians gave you that beautiful magical cape thingy.”

“Also true.”

Sereena pouts silently for a moment.

“Yes but… But this cloak was a reward from Bastien’s masters, not our ‘glorious’ leaders… And haven’t you spent months training with War-hammers? Despite its greater magic, I doubt it’s granting you much of a benefit… And ‘brave’ Demitasse won’t be able to use that shield to bash without giving up its protection. Something I can’t imagine he’d be willing to do…”

Marlon sighs and settles back, waiting for his beautiful friend's temper to abate.