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....
Friday, 23 February 2018
Wednesday, 21 February 2018
Friday, 9 February 2018
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!
Thursday, 8 February 2018
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…
Tuesday, 6 February 2018
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?
Friday, 2 February 2018
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.
Thursday, 1 February 2018
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)