Cursed Blood

Spiders and Flies

Upon entering the webbed area, the group found themselves in the presence of an altered old ally. “My greetings go out to you Azure Hounds. I haven’t seen you for a while now.” Came the voice of Lilith. She had spoken perfect Common, but that was the least startling thing about her. From about the waist up she was an ebony skinned elf, but her lower body was that of a lag spider.

“Lilith… you look… different….” The Fancyman stammered out.

“Did you do something with your hair?” Popoion chimed in.

Lilith giggled at this and played the part of the charmed maiden, though her body was intimidatingly altered.

The Fancyman started to progress towards Lilith as he switched over to his elvish tongue. In the back Dol’ran started to speak his mind on the nature of cursed beings, and raised his hammer as if to lead a charge. Lilith instantly cast a spell that cocooned the barbarian in web. Everyone was now on their toes and alert, but the Fancyman continued to whisper sweet nothings to her in elvish, he even went so far as to kiss her hand.

Then after a time, the Fancymanstepped back from Lilith and turned around casting a spell of lightning and thunder which manifested beside Dol’ron. He called out “See the might of Dol’ron!” as the barbarian started to get electrocuted in the moist web.

Wagner was instantly on Fancyman. Grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, he demanded to know what the Fancyman was up to. At that moment a couple large spiders and another Lilith-monster descended from the canopy. Wagner took this in and moved the Fancyman so that the fighter was between him and the crowd. “We will be exchanging some words after this wizard.”

“Better hope mine aren’t spell incantations…” Mumbled Fancyman as he prepared a new spell.

In the blink of an eye the area was covered in a large area web spell. Hugor and the lizardman guide were instantly trapped while Popoion and Wagner managed to evade the effects and get out of the area of effect. Fancyman had also avoided being stuck initially, but was slower on getting out, and soon found himself entangled simply because he stayed in it too long and had amassed enough strands to hold him down.

Wagner lead the assault on the two spider-women while Popoion hid in the back and attacked the spiders with his shortsword.

As the seconds flew and Wagner carved the monsters up, he called out “Show me your hand! FANCYMAN!” As some sort of cued battle cry for the wizard to cast his powerful magicks.

The response was less than fanciful: “I’m stuck!”

Giving a sigh, Wagner continued to fight the girls, taking damage from them until he was in a corner of the lair with no means of escape. Blood was now starting to seep from his side and his knees were buckling slightly. It looked like the end, as he saw hunger in the spiders’ eyes. He clenched his jaw, preparing to embrace the pain of their jaws, which now showed razor sharp teeth as well as a hidden set of mandibles.

But then the matriarch turned her head. Popoion was using a bell he had brought with him to get their attention. He was also spanking his bum and calling out “You have eight legs and you don’t have the decency to shave even one of them you ugly piece of spider crap!?”

Perhaps it was the heat of battle that made her susceptible to rage. Perhaps it was that the weak Halfling had the gall to mock her when all the other (and notably more powerful) members had fallen. Inconsequential to the motivating force behind it, it was enough to spur the first Lilith creature to charge after Popoion. She realized a split second too late that the two-handed sword wielder still had fight in him, and that he used the opening in her defense to run her through. She fell to the ground in a heap of flesh and carapace.

The other spider-woman tried to kill Wagner while he was focused on the matriarch, but as luck would have it she only found his armor and dealt no wounds to him. Popoion then caught her attention for a quick second which lead to her demise.

###

The party was tired and exhausted when everyone was released from the webbing. It took a full hour to rest up, and no one seemed to notice until after they had rested and were figuring out what to bring back to the lizardmen when they noticed that Popoion was missing – and had been ever since the end of the battle.

Looking around the battle area, the party noted that Popoion’s iconic rainbow scarf rope was found tired to the root of the large tree at the back of the lair. It went into a hallow part of the tree and descended down. The rope ended not too far down the looping ramp, but looking closer they found that fishing wire was tied to the end of the rope, leading them further down.

When they got to the bottom, they found that the lair had all the bones that were missing from the surface. Many decrepit corpses were scattered about, and among them were some that had tattoos on the shrivelled skin, identifying them as the lowly Emerald Claw Corps.

Atop a pile of bones and corpses the group found Popoion cradling the elf Lilith’s head in his lap. He had his crossbow drawn and seemed to be keeping watch over the unconscious woman.

“Was wondering if you guys would ever get down here. I was worried that something might come down here and eat her if I left her unattended, so I had to stay.”

Hugor looked over the woman and found that there was a hole in her clothing starting where the rib cage parted and went down to just slightly over the mid of her abdomen. There was also a rather impressive scar which indicated a huge (and vital) wound had been there, and recently healed by some sort of magic. He turned to the jester inquisitively. “How in the nine hells did you seal this up?”

“Jazz hands.” Popoion stated as he did the action with his hands.

“Whatever.” Hugor said flatly and then continued to assess the woman. “She is in critical condition, though her wounds are sealed. She is dehydrated and malnourished. I don’t know how she is mentally, but she is probably damaged in that regard too.”

###

The group decided to harvest only a couple legs of the spider-woman, as the cloned elf top might make the lizard folk suspicious of Lilith. They asked that their guide keep her secret, it merely did a hissing grumble, and they hoped it was a sign of agreement of some degree.

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Fish, Lizards and Spiders

The party awoke as one, jutting up from something akin to slumber/trance. It had all been a vision, a terrible dream. They were still in the meeting area where the elder had been, but now they were all gone. It was just Wagner, Fancyman, and Popoion – along with Loki and Karel.

“They left, after putting you in the trance. They figured it would be better that than have you awaken and say words that would obligate them to kill you.”

“How did they do that?” The Fancyman asked, “I am immune to enchantment and slumber!”

“They are The Eldar, and can do much to their lower kin that others cannot. In this case, they allowed the three of you to tap into the collective memory of our people. That was an encounter of the dragon as it was five hundred years ago, and it has fed off of the collective memory while it has been at rest: it has more than likely gotten stronger because of it.”

“So what you’re saying is we don’t have a chance in hell of killing this thing.” Wagner spat out.

“As you are: no.”

“Then what’s the game changer?”

Popoion jumped up and down at this: “Dol’ron the noble savage! Hugor the brave… the chaste? Those two could be a big help to us! Unfortunately Dol’ron is on a walk-about looking for his vampire lover, and Hugor is in some church doing whatever it is clerics do when not out killing undead. It could take forever to find the two of them!”

“Stay, I shall return with your companions.” Karel then slid back, almost as if the grass was moving her itself, and she disappeared into a tree. She came back a few minutes later with Dol’ron and Hugor.

“What a convenient plot device!” Malark exclaimed. He then walked between Wagner and the two other party members. “Wagner, Dolron; Dol’ron, Wagner. Hugor, Wagner, Wagner, Dol’ron. Dol’ron, Hugor, Hugor, Fancyman. Fancyman, Wagner…”

“Enough.” Dol’ron and Wagner stated flatly to the jester. They looked at each other with a bit of surprise and nodded to each other. Popoion aptly shut up.

Karel gathered the group’s attention, and explained the new quest. “You all must got to the South East to the Blackmere. Under the light of the full moon, you need to find the witch that presides over that area. She will tell you what you must do next.

###

The group headed back to the keep and bought their supplies, and then headed out down the main road to the south. They then got to a side trading road and continued down it until the hit the River Galeen. It was here, at its shallowest and narrowest that the group found a raft that was dedicated to allowing travellers to pass from one side to the other.

“It’s migration season for most of the heard animals.” Wagner said.

“And?” Responded the Fancyman.

“And so this is probably the most visited spot for them to traverse this river. It also means predators are more likely to be in the area.”

With this, Malark placed all his items in his bag of holding and withdrew his crossbow, his case of bolts, and his rope. Delightfully, the rope and crossbow came out better than when it had gone it: the silk rope was now of elven design, and was far stronger yet also far lighter than his original rope of silk scarves. The Cross bow was now made of a fine and coated wood, and the drawing mechanism was of a shiny silver metal as opposed to a dull iron.

They had not made it 10 feet from shore when a large creature bumped the rafter, spilling the Fancyman overboard. Working fast, Malark took a bolt from his hip canister and cut open his palm, sloshing it in the water a ways from the Fancyman. “Gods damn it! This is very reminiscent of another aquatic fight we recently had!” And indeed it was, for as soon as the jester taunted the creature to distract it from the floundering wizard, the thing went straight for Popoion and thrashed about with the Halfling in its maw.

Dol’ron jumped in and wrestled the creature while Wagner attacked it from onboard with his enchanted sword. Along with Hugor’s magics, they weakened it. The final act that killed the creature was a concussive blast by the Fancyman, who had managed to get to shore and cast a thuderwave spell. The creature sank. When it resurfaced it was belly up. The group dragged it and the raft to shore and they prepared a large portion of the fish-reptile creature for food rations.

While they were resting, Wagner told them of his track findings that he had scouted: lizard men were in the area, and from the range and multitude of the signs it could be assumed that this was more their territory than mans’.

“That’s great!” Cheered Malark. “We can probably get one of them to guide us to the witch then!”

“Why would we want to do that?” Asked the Fancyman.

“Besides us needing to find a reclusive and almost ‘legendary’ witch in a large, unfamiliar swamp, which requires us to avoid back tracking and a plethora of hazards, all while doing it at night and in the time constraint of three nights? I have no idea why I figured we would need a local guide.”

“Point taken.” Said Wagner.

“Well I still don’t have to like it.” Said the Fancyman. “Who knows what those savages will want for their services.”

“Who knows,” Popoion stated, giving an elbow to the Fancyman’s rib (who was presently sitting down), “perhaps they will want your services for theirs!” This point partially eased the aggression of the Fancyman.

###

Navigating the swamp, the group came to a large mound that was a tell-tale sign of the Lizardman culture. It was a meeting area as far as the group could tell, where diplomacy of one sort or another took place. As they got near the foot of the mound, they found themselves surrounded by a several tribes of the lizard folk. Some were serpentine, some were frog like, some were akin to iguanas, and still others were of an amalgamation of the three others.

Four tribe leaders came to the forefront, asking what the warm-blooded ones wanted.

“We search for the witch of these woods.” Proclaimed Popoion atop Dol’ron’s shoulders – for the muck of the swamp and the silt traps were far more deadly for one of his stature. “And we hope to trade for a guide to the witch.”

Showing his new elven silk rope, Popoion offered it for the proposed guide service. The leaders looked to each other than back to the jester. “No. You request service, you give service.” The Fancyman gave a grin at this and raised his eye brows in delight.

“Spiders are large in size now: they attack us now and drag us to forest. We all here because of spiders. Go to Spider Wood with a guide we give, find large spider, bring back so that we find out why they do this. Then guide show you witch.”

“We are in haste.” Said the Fancyman. “Can you send people down to bring the body for us so that we can get right to the witch?”

“We send when you have. We will know.”

###

With the aid of a lizard man guide, the group managed to navigate through the swamp with relative ease. That evening, as the rested Popoion and Wagner took first watch. Popoion felt awkward in the silence of the swamp, so decided to quietly retell a story he knew to Wagner. It seemed to relax both of them, as was Popoion’s intent.

Next up was the Fancyman and the guide. As the two looked out into the veil of the darkness, a skittering sound started to form. It was all around them, and though it grew loud, it was without direction. Then the ground that was in the fire’s light started to turn black. It was only as the darkness got to the bodies of the adventurers’ that what it was became evident: swarms of spiders.

Popoion shot straight up screaming, and as soon and as soon as he saw what was covering him he drew from his sac a vial of acid. Wagner’s eyes shot open, but he remained frozen where he lay, and Fancyman crumpled to the ground as stiff as a statue. Hugor and Dol’ron awoke; the latter rolling around before standing up.

Popoion then succumbed to the poisonous bites of the swarm, and dropped down on top of his acid flask, corroding himself, a patch of the spiders, and his costume. Dol’ron, irked that he could not fight this foe with a bash to his hammer, so he hit his hammer into the ground send out a wave of thunder which instantly popped all the insects in the area.

The following morning they made further south in haste. The guide decided he would stay with them since it was obvious these spiders are not being naturally compelled, but are being manipulated in some way. It was in the quietest part of the Spider Forest that they found trees with canopies of spider webs. Not a sound was heard, and as the got near a wall of web, they found that it opened up. From the shadows an awkward purple humanoid creature stalked into their sight. It clacked and clicked while fidgeting in an unsettling manner.

Words were passed: it asked why they were here, they responded to see why spiders were killing lizard men. It said go away, it was none of their business, and Popoion asked if it knew of the witch of the bog.

“Witch? Witch? Witch? Witch? Witch? What is witch?”

There was a moment of silence, followed by a squeal of pain as the creature found it now had a crossbow bolt in its gut. Everyone looked down to see that Popoion had shot his crossbow at the creature.

“The conversation was getting boring. Started stagnating like this whole gods damn place.”

Dol’ron didn’t hear this, he was too busy slamming his hammer into the things gut, driving the bolt through the other side, and caving in the torso.

“That ended, well. Now let’s get the hell outta’ here and show the lizard folk this cadaver.”

“No.” Said Dol’ron. “We go in.”

“The hell we do! There is absolutely no reason to go in there! We got our body, we know this thing controls spiders, and whatever is in there will be on its home territory and have the advantage! Why would you even think about going in there!?”

Wagner looked to his sword for guidance, and it told him two fates on the two sides of his hand guard and hilt. He looked up after considering the divination of the heirloom and said in a cold voice: “We go in. Its dangerous – like the jester says, but to turn back now would be far worse.”

All but the Fancy man and Popoion walked in. The two were left behind to shake their heads and sigh.
“Ruffians and bone heads all of them.” Muttered the Fancyman. “It’s like they forget not all of us are strong of body…”

“And here people call me crazy.” Replied Popoion. Finding that they were not being considered, but rather ignored the two decided to catch up to the advancing warriors and cleric. Better to be with the group at the center of the web instead of alone on the outer rim of it.

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The Fancyman's Calling

It was another day at the local manor-made-tavern. A few weeks had gone by since the King’s Own: Azure Hounds had been given leave. On the first day of their leave the Fancy-Man of Cornwood and Popoion Malark had managed to solve a murder mystery. It had turned out that Kah-Rel-Tuk the Orkath was actually an elf in disguise (AKA Karel); and she had killed a huntsman as a form of retrebution for killing (albiet accidently) her sister.

Popoion had made peace with her by stopping the wolf extermination, and The Fancy Man was given insight into his mystic lineage. So many questions behind who and what he was could nowbe answered. But everything comes with time, and for an elf, time is plentiful – he would not be given everything at once, but on Karel’s convinience and agenda. In a sort of philosophical sense, the first lesson the Fancy Man needed to learn about his people was that of patience; and it would be nagging at him the whole time; for he was nothing if not a man who thirsts for knowledge.

In their time off, a new soldier joined them: his name was Wagner, and he was an iconic personality of the small neigboring town. It was not his own character that defined him, but his sword, which had been passed down through his family for generations since the Deamon Wars. It was shrouded in mystery, but all knew that it held immense power, and for some it was frieghtening.

Wagner himself was calm and collected. Inittially, he mistrusted the elf for his blatant magical usage, and the gnome for his odd mannerisms, but he soon relaxed around the two when he found them to be compatent in their own rights, if not a bit odd in attire.

But it was on that last day of leave that the captain came to the three members of the Azure Hounds. His first inquery was where the mighty Dol’ron was, to which it was pointed out that he was on a quest tofind answers in regards to his love. Nodding at this, the captain then stated that the group was to be, essentially disbanded and remade – the vizier was going to be crowned king, and that would probably not bode well for at least two of the members present.

As such, they would be disbanded with a small amount of severence pay. And after saying their good-byes, the three members were given a vision. It was Karel, and she wished to meet with them. She gave instructions as to how to find her in the Northwest Forest, and after gathering supplies, the trio was off.

They found out that the Eldar wished to speak with them – a group of supreme elves that were invoked with the powers of an element. It was told that the Fancyman of Cornwood would grow to be the Eldar of Storms, but for now he was only a vassle of the element.

But they did not just wish to give this news to the Fancyman. They also had a quest for the three: there was a growing entity of power full of rage and madness. It was waking from its slumber and would soon wreck havoc upon the lands. To keep the natural order in balance, this entity had to be destroyed: the group was tasked with slaying a corupted eldar.

“Why don’t you do it?” Popoion asked. “Your asking an elf with sexual identity crisis, a spoony midget jester, and a kid with a Deamon Blade to take on some ancient evil that is obviously powerful. Sounds like your throwing stones at a bear if you ask me.”

“We didn’t ask you.” Stated one of the eldar, her voice as cold as the snow that appeared around her.

“And we have our reasons.” Stated another, who’s voice sounded like a bubbling brook.

“It could take our power.” Answered another,

“And add it to its own.”

“So…” Popoion started, “Your plan is to send the avatar of storms after it? So that it can take his power (and life) while you guys just chill at home and eat whatever you guys eat… boulder perhaps?”

“He is not an eldar yet.” Called the woman made of flame,

“And we can find the Storm again if this one fails.” Spoke the man of Mountains.

The quiet boy Wagner, who up untill this point had stayed at the back where he averted his eyes, pointed his finger up and asked in his brooding voice “So your saying we are dispencible?”

“Yes.” Another called.

“Then we better start talking about payment.” Wagner said again.

The three started listing off what they wanted, some things more odd than others, untill the Eldar, as one voice called out: “You are obviously not taking this seriously!” And with that there was a bright flash. When their eyes adjusted, they found themselves in a dark cavern. Only Wagner’s sword glowed with a blue light, mist forming around its blade.

“It’s friggin cold!” Popoion yellped.

“It’s close to freezing temperature – that’s the only time my blade glows.” Wagner stated. The Fancyman cast his spell of light on Popoion’s shortsword, and the three looked about a bit more. There was a sort of purring coming from one direction of the caverns, followed by a splash.

“Should we split up?” The Fancyman asked.

“No, we should stick together. No idea whats out there, where we are, and what is happening.” Wagner stated, but as he looked down, he saw that the Jester was already wandering about to one side of the cave. He muttered a curse under his breath. Taking a step forward, he noticed that a thin layer of ice was a few fet infront of him, and a dark pool beyond that. Looking with his light, he saw that a reptilian creature was looking right at him. It was the basic shape of a crocodile, but it couldn’t be one: crocs wouldn’t be able to survive in this temperature, and it was larger than any croc he ahd ever seen. He whispered to the Fancyman and Popoion to watch out for the thing.

“It is but a toad silly boy!” The Fancyman said. “Don’t waste your time with the likes of it!”

Wagner swing his sword at it none-the less. And as he struck it between the eyes, he found out that they were not eyes. They were nostrils, the glowing shine was bits of snot that ate at the ground and ice when the driped off. The snout rose with a large skull that had a pair of massive curved horns. A serpentine neck followed and a large lizard body brought itself up onto the shore of the pool. Great bat wings unfruled, and a membrane linked spine rose from the top og its head down its back as it looked at the creature that dared to strike at it.

“OH @$%#!!!” Wagner screamed, but the creature turned its head to Popoion as the gnome started throwing rocks and calling it a dumb, oversized, pea brained lizard. The gnome was also waving his bag around – for the jester figured that the thing saw heat signatures more than light, and his sack had a warm magical enchantment. He got the things attention, and it lay waste to him. The Fancyman and Wagner tried their best to stop the thing, but it was hell bent on killing the arrogent whelp.

Popoion had tried to get to its hoard, hoping to find something he could use to turn the tide of battle, but he didn’t even make it a stone’s throw away. With a breath weapon of acid and a massive claws, he brought the gnome to the brink of death before turning its attention towards the wizard who had cast a plethura of spells on the beast including a phantasm and a lightning bolt.

The Fancyman too found that he was no match for raking claws the size of cattle, and fell beside Popoion who he had hoped he could at least bring outside the confines of battle while the beast fought of a phantasm that was of another dragon stealing its gold.

All that was left was Wagner, and though he had laid blow after blow of death that would kill most beast, it was not enough. Though it bled and limped, it had enough strngth left to deal a deadly blow to the boy. As the blade slipped from his fingers, Wagner’s world went dark. The last thing he saw was the gaping maw of the dragon comeing towards him, acid dripping from its jaw like saliva.

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Clone Wars

The events as told through a pseudo-Popoion Malark Narration:

After a quick rest, Popoion and his Jolly Band of Bland Characters set out to find the dastardly dominating duo who had thus far eluded all the traps, monsters, and of course: the Jolly Band of Bland Characters themselves.

It was a race against the hourglass… or perhaps the minute glass… mayhaps even second glass, but alas I digress… time was of the essence in this place of nowhere and perhaps nowhen, and the champions of the Kings Own were hell bent on foiling their connivings.

Blasting down the stairways, with little warrant for traps, they came to a set of double doors with the bane of Malark’s existence: Locks. Indeed the little fool was able to find and disable traps with some proficiency, but the mechanisms that inhibited people from going through wooden or ston portals was a skill he did not have. Thus was the bane of a traveling performer who was also a tomb raider: you had to give up some skills to take up the arts.

Holding his little ring of light to the doorway, Popoion was able to make out the locks in greater detail: there were three, assembled in a vertical set. the two on the outer locks resembled your average lock: a key hole with some metal craft. However the one in the middle had no sucj orifice for a phallic-resembling item to jam in and turn about. Perhaps Malark would be able to blindly unlatch the two others, but this one was going to be beyond his abilities.

Also: it was booby-traped. This wasn’t really established by Malark’s trap finding training, but more of the nice glowing arcane rune(s) that gave a nice pink/purple light above the door. Having a knack for magic, Malark knew that shit was going to fly if they didn’t handle this properly.

Looking at the door itself, Malark and Co. found that it had the exact same engraved scene as the first double doors they ran into: a man on one knee presenting a rose to a white dressed woman. Malark rubbed his chin, pondering out loud:
“Obviously we have a riddle here: my guess is we need to give a password in order to remove that there magical spell of ass-handing.”

“Or we could just break the latches with a thundering hammer.” pointed the Fancyman. Taking the cue, Dol’ron wound up to strike the metal locks.

Malark shrugged his shoulders. it was about all he could do aside from perhaps wetting himself. He couldn’t stop the barbarian physically, and there was no way he was going to be able to stop him verbally while he was in mid swing. The clown just commented plainly while shaking his head. “You know: we could guess. It might havce something to do with that rose.”

The glyph dimmed just as Dolron hit the lock. To the relief of Popoion. Surprisingly: the metal shattered under Dolron’s hammer. Guess metal in this realm had the same properties as metal in the real world: When left in extreme cold for a long period it got brittle.

The door was smashed open and Malark dashed in. Seeing the cowled figure and the supposed vizier, Malark chirped in “Hey friends, I brought some more friends!” It wasn’t his greatest of jokes, but the circumstance did give it a bit of irony. It would have to do.

The others pilled in aside from Hugor the cleric, who stayed back and readied his healing spells. Fancyman got inside the room and prepared a spell in the event the two started to strugle. The vizier muttered “Orcus” and a sound was heard outside: a loud gasp of surprise of Hugor. Fancyman cursed loudly and threw his attention to outside the room. Malark paid them no heed, it was fire time. Taking his last alchemist’s fire, he tried shanking the vizier. Why the vizier and not the other target: because the vizier had up to that point proven to be more of a dick.

No blood was drawn, just some explosions that got a huge corrosive cloud in the middle of the room and the like, but nothing big.

Then the clocked figure threw of its cowl to show the Jolly Band of Bland Characters. Malark cocked his head: “He’s a she?” It was indeed a woman, a rather beautiful one. In other conditions, Malark might have tried throwing his childish charms to nuzzle up to her perky breasts, but at the moment he had plans to foil. Meant he needed to shank her. Sand day: the world would lose a perfect pair of mammaries.

Malark was about to get some more shanking done with his alchemist’s fire when Dolron crumpled to his knees and started sobbing. The woman called for parley, but Frodrick the Fanatic would have none of that: I shan’t raise my blade to ye m’lady, but this !$#@ has got to go. He then brought his shield hand up to his face then threw it out a bit. His head jolted to the woman and looked at her with wide eyes. He cried out “You’re undead!?”

Looking to Dolron, Malark found that he was crying all the louder at those words, he reached a hand to the woman, but any words he belched out were slured and inaudible. The woman paid him little heed. As far as Malark could tell, she had not cast any spell. What the hell was going on with Dinggus Dolron? The Jolly Band of Bland Characters needed his hammer to lay the smack down.

The Malark shrugged and finally got his alchemist’s fire off on the vizier, who lit and who now completely contrasted Dolron: One of fire, one of water. One of sorrow, one of rage. one of inaudible gushing, one of very vivid curses. It made for quite the pallete for the eyes… which were a bit teary at the moment because the corrosive cloud was a bit too close for comfort.

The vizier then went rigid as he looked behind him. He covered himself as if to shield something coming down on him. All the crazies in one room, Malark felt so normal.

“Everyone stop.” Commanded the woman again. When again there was no intention shown of heeding her words, she looked to Dol’ron and said. “If anyone attacks anyone, go into the cloud.” Between outbursts that boarded wails, Dol’ron gave a verbal acknowledgement and a nod to show his compliance.

“You faggoty pussy-whipped curr.” Malark muttered. He raised his hands to behind his head, showing his intent of complaiance. Frodrick looked to the woman “You willing to drop the book?”
“The book? Why?”
“Ye willing to drop the book?”
“Yes, fine. It would do you no good.” With that the woman put the book on the table, to which Malark scooped it up and scurried off to the back of the room, where a crystal coffin like thing laid.

The others talked about some shit, and Malark looked in the coffin… the thing inside looked like a naked twin of the Vizier. Malark noted as such. Some blah blah went on about clones and the made-which-should-not-be-mentioned. Apparently the Vizier is a clone that failed, and is now out to screw his original counterpart. Coo beans.

Malark decided that the lever that was convienantly next to the Clone Tank should be destroyed: acid was the key. The woman shouted some vulgarities at Malark, who complied not to dabble with the mechanism, but was wishing he had used his alchemists fire on someone else.

Dolron was still balling like a baby, almost grovling at the woman’s feet. Cool beans.

Then the Fancyman said the name “Karnath”. Not cool beans.

“Don’t say it!” Malark screamed, but alas, it was too late. The druid that they had mat and sent them to find the book was now before them, thanking them for finding his book – and looking straight at Popoion.

So let’s rehash: The Fancyman babbled to an ancient and a possibly powerful wizard his own name, and now he uttered the one name that should NEVER be mentioned inside this ziggauart. Note to self: Never give the Fancyman expensive things, he just throws them around like yesterdays socks.

But enough of that, Death is looking straight at our midget hero at this point. Some exchange was made: Give book, receive a “get out of jail free” card. Malark was at this point not careing who got the book so long as he made it out of this obsidian hell. It also sounded like that is what Karnath was getting at too. Being stuck with a large hairy wolf bat that stunk of guano and a pale broad who sang constantly in melancholy would get on anyone’s nerves after a thousand years.

Walking ever so slowly, Malark walked to the man, the book now in his backpack. He saw the Fancyman shake his head nervously. As much as the Fancyman was for not being discreet with words, he knew his arcane shit. If he didnt want this guy to have it, then perhaps Malark wouldn’t either. His head started to think: Orcus was the name used to activate some sort of trap outside. The cleric had strode in muttering about a pit. So if that were the case there were three likely possibilities of how to revert it: 1- it was orcus. 2- Pelor: the opposite of the Demonlord. 3- Demogorgon, the arch nemesis of Orcus. The hallway was a little to his right… as in 15 feet. If he got a full drop on Karnath, he might be able to sprint down the hall. Presuming the others delayed the Sorcerer King, perhaps Popoion could get to the warden with the book, and figure out some way to get out of here in one piece… with his Jolly Band of Bland Characters of course.

But as he called out all three name “Orcus! Pelor! Demogorgon!” He saw the road open up from a pit. Then be consumed by a large wall of fire. Damn mages. The heat was intense. Karnath took a swipe that felt more like a snowstorm mixed with death then a slash of claws. Malark booked it to the other side, hazarding the various glass and chemicales that were in the middle of the room… apparently the cloud of gas had been disspersed in this time, and the table and beakers that once presided over the area was no more. He got to the vizier as Frodrick covered his escape, and the Fancyman tried to dispell the magics of the firewall. no such luck.

“Give me the book you… CHILD!” Screamed the woman. Malark watched as Philius Von Fottlebottom took a lightning bolt to the chest in sheer pain, yet no bodily damage. He saw the fire frwoing, and the smoke filling the room. Which was it: the woman or the Sorcerer King?

“Bros before hoes bitch!” Malark screamed, diving away from her as she tried to swipe at him to grab him by the neck. “Here! Take it! I learned my lesson! Spare us please!” He took the book out of the bag, as people screamed “NOOOOOOOO”. Dolron was still sputtering like a boob.

Karnath leaned over and whispered something to Popoion. then walked into the flames of the wall. Retreiving his rope, Popoion ran about the room, handing it to his party memeber (and throwing an end to Phillius). “Quick! Follow me! There is no time to explain!”

“What do you mean?” Asked the Fancyman.

“No time to explain!”

“there is still time – you could have explained in the time we have used to explain you can’t explain.”

Apparently the guy didn’t get it: though perhaps she had won them over, Malark didnt want her out of here. If he could lose her now, there was a chance she and the vizier wouldnt be able to get out. the smoke was thick, but Popoion with his short stature was able to see fairly well because he stood bellow the smoke.

Ignoreing Fancyman, he ran on after quickly tying an Dol’Ron’s wrist with his rope. He hoped the tugs would cow Diggus Dolron into following.

With that, He jumped into the mirror.

The entire group was on the other side: they would have to take in their surroundings to see where they had landed.

Perhaps slap Dol’ron a couple times too. He royally boned them at the end there.

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Obsidian pyramid

We continued speaking to the mysterious warden of the ziggurat prison. The minstrel Malark inquired if there were any other traps in this pyramid that they should know of, to which the warden said it was all up to the prisoner. He expanded on how this prison was a reflection of the prisoner’s own psyche, and much of the attributes symbolized memories, impressions, and emotions brought on by its experiences. It was noted that none should utter the prisoners name, lest the feel the wrath of his spirit that haunts the halls of the obsidian ziggurat.

One thing that the warden did mention was to beware “the wargulf”. To which Dolran seemed to lapse into a slight haze as frightening memories resurfaced after a thousand year submerging of enchanted rage. When the mental fit did its course, the noble barbarian shared his experiences of the beast: how when he had assaulted the castle with his father and a legion of men, they could only keep the monster at bay but could not harm it. It had the form of an enormous bat that had patches of decay and has the fangs, claws, and tail of a lion. In the end he and his father had to leave the men to deal with it while they went on to hopefully finish off the now “prisoner”.

The warden nodded, saying that the beast had a lair in the lower tier of the prison – normal weapons would not harm it – only magic, and cold iron may pass through its defences effectively. Seeing the black guard and the cleric at the back of the group, he noted that their holy powers would have greater effect on the beast, though at the same time this prison drained the power of the light.

And it was true: the light from their sources had visibly been diminished from the normal world to this one, as if this plane of existence was actively seeking to destroy the antithesis of its existence. Having been openly informed of this, as opposed to just letting it linger, had left an eerie impression on the group.

They left with the warning that Dolran must not lose blood in this prison, for it shall have dire repercussions. Going back up to the antechamber where they found the secret entrance, they found that some of the statues had come to life – much like the fancy man had predicted. The twist was that they were statues that had been hidden in the far corners of the room. Because this was the only area that was well light with enchanted torches, the group made short work of the beasts and head down. They expected to find something akin to daemons, but what they found in some cases was worse.

Getting to the bottom of the first stairwell, which seemed to go forever, the group found a door with inscriptions, hidden by the darkness of the sleek obsidian surface amongst the overwhelming dark. Malark used some chalk and parchment to etch the inscription which showed a man holding a rose to a feminine figure. A lover of the prisoner? No story had been told of this particular sorcerer king having a sweetheart, but history had a funny way of being romanticized, edited and reedited, and lost my flame and ignorance. Furthermore, because this was a reflection of the prisoner’s own experiences, it could just be an interpretation of how he saw a past event or person, and not the facts of the event itself.

In any case, Malark gave the etching to the Fancyman, thinking he might have an interest in it, or would have peers that might be willing to purchase it for a prettier penny then the minstrel could find. The doors opened easy enough, and what the party found was a series of stone sarcophagi with stone depictions jutting out of the tops: one for each sarcophagus.

Malark wanted to open one up, see what was on the other side, but got into an argument with Dolran, who did not wish to open the things up in case an enemy undead waited on the other end. He also noted that these men looked like his own men when they assailed the castle some thousand years earlier – but his clan cremated their dead. It was unnerving that they had tombs. Malark was in mid-sentence about “glory is found by the bold” when he stopped. No one could see his face because it was hidden behind his jester mask, but by the droop in his arms and the awkward roaming that occurred, as well as the emotional surge that went through each of them it was easy to tell that the party was being assailed by an enchantment spell.

Malark and Frodrick were the only ones to fall to the spell, as a gaunt white woman in a white dress suddenly appeared, her song entrancing the two to come towards her. The barbarian lunged in, and after tacking an enchanted flick to the forehead, made paste of her frail frame.

No sooner had she been defeated then 5/6s of the party were blown by dark flame from further within the gloom of the tomb. The Fancyman of Cornwood cast his flaming sphere to give off a decent amount of light, and to Dolran’s dread, the entire group faced off against the undead image of his deceased father.

The new adversary had black flames swirling from a gauntleted hand, the remnants of some unholy fire spell that had hit the group. Along with the obsidian sword, black armour, the greyish aura that surrounded him, and his gaunt and hollow complexion, it was evident he was something unholy and undead. No one of the group could figure it out, except for Popoion, who in the seconds of the silent standoff murmured something about “A terror-incarnate: Death Knight”.

Fueled by the outrage that his father’s noble image could be made into a profane mockery, Dolran charged in. But his anger could not overcome the initial wall of terror that he walked through to get at his target. Fear gripped him, but not before he took a mighty swing at the Death Knight.

It was then that Frodrick stepped in. Having his own aura of courage, he strengthened Doran’s heart enough to overcome the fear effect, and together with Filius they turned to keep the monster at bay while Malark threw alchemists fires and the Fancyman of Cornwood cast spells of magic ether and lightning. Dolran seemed to be the focus of the things attacks, and it growled and howled as it threw its onslaughts of attacks at the man. Dolran suffered many grievous gashes, but the cleric managed to keep him up while they fought.

Though Malark was ineffective with his barrage of fire, the Fancyman made short work of the creature. After the fight, they sat down and rested for they were exhausted from the singing, fire, and exertion from trading blows with the Death Knight. It was then that they noted with worry that though Dolran had suffered many injuries, but not a drop of blood was found on his body or on the floor.

After the rest, Frodrick walked up to the Death Knight, and was about to start salvaging his wears when Dolran stopped him. “Why!?” Asked the dwarf, “We could use this for the battles to come, and even sell the obsidian for an ass load when we get back!”

“It is, like the image of my father, a mockery to existence! It must be destroyed!”

“Are you out of your mind!” The feud went on for a minute or so, but when the rest of the group (including the tomb raiding Malark) took Dolran’s side, the estranged and miserly old dwarf stepped off and let the man do what he needed to do. They all sat outside the tomb chambers as a thundering crash was heard from the other side of the doors. This was followed by many other quieter smashes, and when the group got back in, they found every tomb defaced of images.

With that they proceeded to the only other exit, which lead down even further. They got to the bottom of the steps and found that it opened up into a huge cavern. Dolran noted that there should be a giant stone skull in the center of this chamber which would lead to the master’s chamber – where theoretically the prisoner sorcerer king awaited. He also noted that this is where he had to leave his men and proceed only with his father; this was the lair of the Vargulf. All listened hard for the sound of anything huge lumbering about but nothing came. Not even Frodrick, with his acute hearing and uncanny ability to perceive threats in stone areas could locate any threat. Malark nodded and said he would check the skull out then, see if there were any traps left by the vizier and his friend or that was placed by the prisoner of this place.

The Fancyman offered to help, since he was fairly good at spotting oblong details. Malark was happy to take him along, since two pairs of eyes were always better than one, even if one was untrained at looking for something in particular.

Having cast red-light spells on a small item for everyone (except Frodrick who felt more at home in the dark), the two proceeded forward. The skull was indeed huge. All they could see at the base was the chin and lower jaw. They would need to climb up it in order to get in. But as they looked for traps, one was sprung: the Vargulf dropped down from somewhere above and landed on Popoion Malark. Taking a bite out of him, the halfling fell to the floor in a stiff state.

They couldn’t see the particulars, but they heard the thud, the roar of a monster, and the huge shadow that now blocked the faint red light of their two companions. Dolran hollered, almost out of instinct “VARGULF”. The Fancyman cast a new flaming sphere to allow everyone to see better, and the Vargulf flew back into the shadows of the cavern above where it was silent once more. The cleric healed up the Fancyman as he had been raked in the skirmish, and Frodrick cast a spell of rejuvenation, relinquishing Malark’s body of the paralyzing energy that held his body to the ground. Malark got up and threw his multi coloured silk rope and grappling hook into the mouth of the skull while Dolran commanded that they start going up.

As the beast came down on the Fancyman, one of its claws missed the wizard and hit the obsidian ground, making it fumble to the ground and unable to fly by with its attack and become grounded. Frodrick brought up his shiled and charged in, smiting the creature with deadly precision and channeling the energy of the pantheon’s divine power. He cried out that he would hold of the Vargulf: he didn’t want to die, but like last time, the main objective had to be reached. Perhaps it was a means of atonement for his poor performance earlier, but the party would have none of that.

Dolran used this opening as the Fancyman fled from CQC by throwing his mighty hammer. As per the norm, it gave a mighty thundering explosion upon impact. But it seemed that a paradigm shift had opened up within the barbarian after defeating his father, one where it exponentially increased the growth of his inner character. This in turn had unlocked a new ability for his enchanted hammer, and after the thundering explosion, everyone watched as the hammer flew back into Dolran’s hands. It was evident that the thunderous effects had left both the dwarf and Vargulf deafened, and for the Vargulf, that meant it no longer had the advantage of its hearing sonar. Filius did not wish to risk the monster fleeing to recover – so he charged in, jumping on it and climbing up to its head where he prepared to bash it in the head.

The monster howled as it tried to remove the extra weight from its body while fighting off the paladin. All that was in vain. Calling out a battle cry of his long-gone clan, Dolran jumped in as well, and fell the monster with his mighty hammer. It fell in a heap, and Frodrick lifted his Shield up to give Fillius a slightly small fall down. Filius landed on the shield, but Frodrick had improper footing and crumbled beneath the monk’s weight. Malark made a note to harang the dwarf about that maneuver later.

But for now they would need to rest up. The next encounter would theoretically be the climax of this dungeon delve.

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The story so far

The kings own regiment was one of the most prominent military units of Onara. When
King Theras the third died he was survived by his second wife Larissa of Aundar and his daughter princess Arlen when the kings council chose the new queen as regent and not the princess the princess was enraged and fled the capital Celene named after his first wife.

With dissension in the capital the kings council decided to send kings own to the borderlands to quell some rebellious thoughts. The azure scouts were sent on the mission to check out a set of caves in a canyon not far from the keep. There they had found a large group of goblins and even a ogre but the real discovery was a cult of some sort demon worshipers. Fighting through hordes of undead and malevolent priests they found in a dungeon cell the princess tortured and almost drained of blood they found that she had been placed under the medusa curse her visage capable of turning men to stone freeing her and healing her they found it was her horde of goblins had come here to walk on the capital and demand the throne.

The group returned to the keep to get healing supplies and information they discovered the Chaplin had been dominated by a vampire and were trapped in a old church outside of the keep they found a secret passage under the church that led back to the caves. After talking to the princess they went to investigate a particular cave that the goblins feared there they found an owl bear nest and the entrance to an ancient tomb of sorts they also found an agent of the unseen hand an order of brothers who work behind the scenes to further royal interests Filious explained the the queen did not enact the medusa curse for she had neither desire or ability and was grief stricken when the princess had fled. They also learned that through the use of some old book and the cursed blood of the princes the cult had broken the seal of the tomb.

They followed the cult into the tomb and found themselves lost in a labyrinth were they ran afoul of a raging beast using illusion to calm it Fancyman broke the curse that held the barbarian Dolron in a perpetual rage. That is when a Druid thane appeared saying having freed his guardian they had to replace him or find the cultist kill them and give him the book. They found the cultist in a large cavern that had a tower floating in the centre of it standing on the bridge was a member of kings guard and trying to gain entry to the tower was the royal vizier and a cloaked figure. Before they could engage them a Fomorian giant attacked while everyone was distracted Malarkey attacked the vizier breaking the paladin free of the charm spell that held him enthralled. The vizier and cloaked figure with a feigning charmed Malarkey escaped into the tower.

In the tower they found the rogue in a magic circle hold open a gate spell following through they found themselves on top of a giant ziggurat made of obsidian with a statue of Orcus on top following into the ziggurat the found an ancient elf in a secret room in a magic circle who explains that this is a prison for an ancient sorcerer king the same that had cursed the barbarian a thousand years before and the prison itself was the sorcerers own soul to which he had become warden

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Welcome to your Adventure Log!
A blog for your campaign

Every campaign gets an Adventure Log, a blog for your adventures!

While the wiki is great for organizing your campaign world, it’s not the best way to chronicle your adventures. For that purpose, you need a blog!

The Adventure Log will allow you to chronologically order the happenings of your campaign. It serves as the record of what has passed. After each gaming session, come to the Adventure Log and write up what happened. In time, it will grow into a great story!

Best of all, each Adventure Log post is also a wiki page! You can link back and forth with your wiki, characters, and so forth as you wish.

One final tip: Before you jump in and try to write up the entire history for your campaign, take a deep breath. Rather than spending days writing and getting exhausted, I would suggest writing a quick “Story So Far” with only a summary. Then, get back to gaming! Grow your Adventure Log over time, rather than all at once.

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