The return to Jargon’s Fork and the ritual to free Celadur and Veldranna.
January 12, 2010 16:47
January 12, 2010 16:32
Trying to escape from the shrine where Celadur and Veldranna where discovered.
December 03, 2009 08:36
Our young heroes arrived back in Jargon’s Fork after liberating the out post, freeing some slaves, killing many Hobgoblins, burning down a Hobgoblin raiding camp and meeting with Dieran’s Bugbear friends. Tired and seeking their reward, they tromped into the guild house looking for a bite to eat, a place to sleep and a paycheque. Upon a notice board, one of the companions saw a notice addressed more or less to Helmut. Titled, “Have you seen this pansy?”, the notice was basically an entire paragraph berating the young barbarian, calling him out and stating beyond the shadow of a doubt that the author, self named Ragnar the Red, was a much better warrior. Regardless as to how many times the notice was ripped down, it appeared again right back where they found it. Stumped by the powerful magic obviously contained within the evil parchment, Helmut grew quite angry. Humorous to everyone except Helmut himself, the group chuckled but agreed that something must be done.
Upon leaving the guild house, Helmut decided that he needed a squire, someone to jot down his many great deeds, polish his armor and axe to a gleam, feed his ego and pretty much do anything Helmut felt was “beneath him”. That young man was named Juan… A young street urchin he found peddling in the gutter, the first one with enough guts to actually approach the hulk to ask for money. Although he had originally thought to obtain someone a bit more suitable for the role of squire, the boy showed that he was brave, and bravery was about the most important attribute Helmut believed a person should have. The boy couldn’t speak much in the way of common, but he could take orders well enough, and knew how to ask for his pay. Helmut decided to take the young man under his wing out of compassion, that and for 5 coppers a day, you couldn’t ask for a better slave, er… deal. That night after asking some rather dubious (and as we’ll find out later, dishonest) characters as to the where-abouts of Ragnar the Red, the party finally found a clue and sent their sneakiest member off to infilrtate the inn room of their foe. After scaling a building, slipping in a window and awakening a very drunk, completely unaware idiot, the party realizes they’ve been dooped. The target was nothing more that the brother-in-law of the man they had recieved the tip from, and they learned nothing more than the fact that the 2 didn’t get along. Deciding on a different course of action, Helmut seated himself in a nearby tavern whilst his friends ran from tavern to tavern spreading word of Helmut’s whereabouts and boasting of his greatness in hopes of drawing out Ragnar. After they had made their rounds, they all met back with Helmut to await his self proclaimed adversary.
After many rounds of strong ale, Helmut noticed a dwarf calling out challenges for arm wrestling matchs, Helmut stepped up and took the challenge, sitting down to do battle against the hulk of a dwarf. As the match began the two warriors toyed with one another, testing eachothers strength, neither willing to show the other their true strength until the moment was right. As the battle was heating up, suddenly and without warning, a puff of red smoke erupted on the table infront of Helmut, as the smoke cleared there stood a small being no taller than a foot in height with a very impressive red beard and a massive smile on his face. Before anyone could react, the small sprite wound up and slapped Helmut across the face, then dissappeared with yet another puff of red smoke and a burst of furious laughter. With Helmut stunned and obviously distracted, the dwarf took advantage of the situation, slamming Helmut’s hand to the table, winning the bout. Realising that they had no way of following the little wretch, the band finished the night with laughter, liquor and an eventual win for Helmut against the Dwarf.
On a side note, during the evening, Nezethet the warlock was sitting infront of the fire in the tavern when he noticed an ugly little face appear in the fire. Knowing that some entities communicated using the elements in such a way, he promptly rented a private room with a fire place, lit a fire and waited for the face to reappear. After a short while the face did in fact appear and the figure introduced itself as Ipsie the Imp, a creature of the abyss. Ipsie proceeded to tell Nezethet of a shrine located in a mountainside. He was given the location of a mangled tree and of the shrine itself. The Imp whispered promises of power and glory that should be obtained at any cost. Cryptic much?
The following morning, the band met up with Dieran to see what was up next. He told them about a small family of owlbears living along the riverside, literally tearing everything apart. Apparently the mother had died and her cubs had just started killing everything in sight. Fearful for trading boats travelling the river, Dieran sent the heroes to dispatch the problem.
After a day and half or so of travelling, the party came upon the gruesome scene of 2 owlbear cub carcasses torn apart. Figuring the 3rd owlbear cub to be close by, the group divised a strategy for pinning the owlbear between a tree and a rock just outside it’s den, and relying on the owlbears bloodlust to keep it from thinking properly. Sending Morin the assassin and Helmut the barbarian up to confront the beast head on, the other 3 ranged fighters took their places in the rear, launching attack after attack at the raging monster. With expert cunning combined with the strategy they had picked, they managed to take down the beast before it even got a shot in. A perfect victory. They skinned the beast for it’s hide, chopped and wrapped the meat for food and to sell back in town.
After lighting a small fire and speaking again with the abyssal creature Ipsie, Nezethet led the group to an old tree that looked as though it had been blasted in half by lightning. The imp had told him that hundreads of years ago, a great being from the abyss had ripped a portal between the two planes and entered the prime material plane in this very place. A shrine was erected in honor of it, and the key to the shrine was hidden beneath the very tree it had ripped asunder. After digging three or four feet down in a few spots, the group finally managed to haul out a small obsidian case. Inside were 6 cubes, and hidden inside, was a scroll with what appeared to be a riddle. Across the river where Nezethet had indicated, was a small altar in the face of a rock cliff. After careful deduction, the party managed to solve the puzzle and dissolve what appeared to be an illusion guarding the entrance to the shrine. To each side of the entrance was a dais, each with a strangely insubstantial looking elf laying on it. Upon closer inspection the 2 looked to be alive, yet somehow, not whole. Figuring out that they could re-lock and install the illusion, they took the cubes and the 2 elves and headed for Jargon’s Fork to get help and try to identify the strangers.
I just wanted to get the logic problem posted if anyone wanted to check it out again and for Owen and Joaks who missed it. The puzzle was a stone ‘lock’ with 6 slots, or sockets, in it. Each slot/socket is sized to fit one of six onyx cubes, each of which has a different symbol on each of its faces. If the cubes are placed so the proper faces are showing they served as a key to unlock the path to a lost dwarven city.
Follow the clues provided to discern which symbol should be face up in each of the six slots!
Here are the clues for the problem:
and here is the worksheet which shows the six possible symbols from each cube matched up to their slots:
I don’t want to post the solution up until Owen and Joakim have had a crack at it.
Stay tuned for the full post from last session
November 25, 2009 19:54
Just about finished this update and my comp crashed and I lost it – don’t have the patience to rewrite it tonight but stay tuned.
November 19, 2009 08:09
The morning finds the intrepid heroes staring down the last hundred feet of road to the Outpost that is their destination. All seems quiet, a scorched wagon lies turned on it’s side a few yards from the road and the outpost doors lay open almost as if in welcome but the depths of the building are shrouded in darkness and could hold any number of violent deaths.
Sneaking through the shadows, using the rocks and trees for cover, the valiant adventurers made their way safely behind the overturned wagon and paused to asses what lay before them. The interior of the outpost looked to be unnaturally dark, and nothing beyond the first few feet could be seen without venturing right through the doors with torch in hand which would, of course ,be suicide. The towers on the northwest and southeast ends of the building surely held denizens of ultimate evil waiting to rain down destruction like nothing the world has seen before.
In mortal peril, the heroes come up with a plan! Helmut Angerson, a barbarian of furious proportions, slung his giant axe across his back and proceeded to scale the outer walls of the outpost some three hundred feet to their summit. Crawling over the edge of the fortified walls in triumph he set his great boots aground and turned to face the crouching forms of dozens of goblin ambushers laying in wait to drop down on their unsuspecting prey. Before the goblins could cry out in alarm, Helmut had carved a great swath of destruction through a third of them, sending the dead and wounded in a cascade of carnage over the outposts walls to rain corpses on the ground below. Now that he was down merely twenty to one, Helmut risked a glance over the edge to his comrades below and saw Nezethet and Dr Shazzam atop the overturned wagon preparing to lend some ranged support to his efforts.
A goblin turned to face Helmut just as Nezethets Eldritch Blast shredded the monster in a burst of fel energy. Dr. Shazzam immediately followed with a cascade of fire that wreathed the area and melted several of the beasts instantly while also creating a sizable barrier of fire between Helmut and the remaining would-be ambushers. A goblin blackblade stepped over the corpses of his weaker comrades and through the remaining blaze from Shazzams attack without even blinking and darted past Helmut defenses to deliver a stinging wound along his ribcage but the only sign Helmut showed of his injury was a growing bloodthirty rage in his eyes.
Sensing their terrain advantage had been lost, the remaining goblins grabbed their anchored ropes and swung over walls to the ground below and right amidst the remaining adventurers. Suffice to say their demise was quick and fraught with suffering. A sunrod and a light spell brought much needed illumination to the Outposts interior. The place had been raided clean of useful supplies and along the center of the room ran a huge pile of rubble – overturned wagons, barrels, crates, sacks, bundles, jars and anything else you can imagine. All raided from passing merchants and travelers and then discarded in a pile in the middle of the room.
Fargrim made his way through the rubble to the far side of the room, finding it rather difficult to walk across. The doors in the back of the room remained closed and Fargrim found nothing of note until a rolling thunder reached his ears and the ground beneath him began to shake. The doors in front of him burst apart and a great lizard charged ferociously towards him. The lizards jaws locked onto Fargrims shoulder, but the gods did not favor lizards on that day for sure. Fargrim called upon his god and encased himself in a burning aura of radiant energy, the lizard screeched in pain and quickly backed away as the aura seared its flesh right off the bone.
Behind the dazed and injured drake emerged the true villains. The masterminds of this ambush. Swathed in the robes and talismans of his tribe, Baxadore Bonestriker stepped into the outposts main room with a look of disdain across his face. From the pile of bodies on the ground outside he could see his trap had failed and it was again up to him to ensure the survival of his tribe mates. Arcs of lightning slowly built up around the end of Baxadores staff before he unleashed it in a burst of purple lightning the exploded through Fargrims shield of radiant energy.
Hearing his comrades cry for help, Helmut grabbed one of the ambushers ropes and leapt over the edge towards the ground, and battle, that raged below. He landed easily but was followed by the blackblade he had been fighting on the roof. Squaring himself to his adversary, Helmut was struck in the back by two arrows as Baxadores lieutenants, two goblin sharpshooters, joined the battle from across the room.
The two armies traded devastating blows, Baxadore and his lieutenants were all terribly wounded and most of our heroes are bleeding from multiple wounds. Baxadore cleared the rubble in the middle of the room and took a commanding step amongst our young group of heroes. His staff rose in the air and then struck the ground with a supernatural force that sent a shockwave of thunder and lightning throughout the room. The force was so great that our heroes were knocked to the ground, several teetering on the edge of consciousness and Fargrim was out cold and quickly bleeding to death!
Parafin the cleric stepped into the room and opened himself up as a conduit to the divine might of his god, Moradin. A golden light bathes the area around him and rejuvenates his comrades, slowly creeping into them and drawing out their own strength. The divine energy rises to a crescendo, knitting flesh and bone back together. When the glory of Moradins blessings fade our heroes are restored and ready themselves to face Baxadore with renewed vigor.
In a hail of magic missiles, foul warlock curses and one very large axe, Baxadore and his followers are brought to judgment. Their blood staining the cold stone ground as they are laid to rest.
The Tales of Tallowfell
Master Bard of the Frontier
From Chapter 4 “Of Simple Beginnings and Epic Destinys: The Heroes of Jargon’s Fork”
November 11, 2009 00:00
A group of young adventurers arrives in Jargon’s Fork eager to make a name for themselves as Heroes. They make their way to the headquarters of the Arms & Arcane Adventurer’s Guild to find some Heroish work and to no great surprise are quickly commissioned to make their way to a northern guard outpost that protects the road from Jargon’s Fork to Felbrook. These outposts are compounds with towers and supply stores that allow travelers to bunker down and stay safe should they come under attack.
Dieran, the guildmaster of Arms & Arcane, explains to the group that this particular outpost has been raided several times in recent weeks and, despite the fact that scouts have been able to turn up nothing, he is convinced that a Hobgoblin raiding camp has been setup nearby. The assumption is that the outpost has been sacked and cleaned of supplies and possibly damaged, it is also likely being watched by hobgoblin scouts for likely raiding targets.
The adventurers are to secure the outpost and surrounding area and to lead an Arms & Arcane supply officer to the outpost to partially restock the supplies and take an inventory so the outpost can be repaired and fully restocked. If possible, find the location of the raiding camp and destroy it without raising immediate alarm to the greater hobgoblin forces nearby. Further, a far-scout party is expecting to rendezvous to drop off reports and resupply at a small lake a few hours northwest of the outpost in four days time and the adventurers are to meet them at the lake to pick up their reports and deliver their new orders and supplies.
Thanking Dieran, and racing to pick up last minute supplies and make plans, the adventurers leave town shortly before nightfall and make as much headway as they can eventually camping at the last intact outpost along the road before their objective. Leaving themselves about three hours travel time remaining in the morning before they reach the abandoned outpost they set about getting a good nights rest and keeping their eyes peeled, bunkering down in the outpost with a merchant and his son who are traveling to Jargon’s Fork in the morning.
As they are setting up camp some movement is spotted up the road and the adventurers send a scout to investigate what appears to be recent hobgoblin tracks running north along the road. Following the tracks for a half hour or so to be sure they aren’t circling around to attack the outpost the scout returns and tells his fellow adventurers that they are discovered but should be safe tonight. A few hours before dawn the outpost is ambushed by a group of Hobgoblin Sharpshooters who prove to be dangerous foes. A few of the adventurers barely survive the encounter and the group is forced to rest for longer than they wanted to recover.
At mid-morning the next day the group sets out for the abandoned outpost, a little shaken from the previous nights encounter but ready for what lies ahead…