A King's Ransom

The Lord's Hall, Hannsport

 

"His Grace, Sigfrid, the Fourth of His Name, King of Viborg and Lord Protector of the North, congratulates you on your recent victory over the foul creatures that sought to harm His Grace's subjects."

Lord Donaghast sat patiently on his throne as the king's herald began his oration.  The messenger had appeared not long after they had all returned from Gorum's Vale and rumor had quickly spread of a great treasure having been won from the clutches of a wicked foe.

The king had kept a small retinue in Hannsport ever since the threat of He Who Dreamt in Darkness had been banished back to the unspeakable realms from whence it had come.  A herald, a few servants, and a few bored royal marines.  The retainers were there to mark the king's taxes on goods coming through the ever growing port town, and to send them back via the king's ships that regularly visited the harbor.  Or so it was said.

Donaghast knew it was as much to keep an eye on the Heroes of Hannsport as it was to count coins in a ledger.  The one-time sleepy fishing village had grown significantly over the years, and had transformed into a bustling trade town.  Merchants, prospectors, and even small groups of Northmen flocked to its shops and warehouses.

But most of all, Hannsport was a long way from Yorvik.  A long way.  It had good relations with the elves.  It had brokered the return of the first dwarven clans to the Seawall Mountains.  It harbored several doughty adventurers of great renown.  It was all but self-sufficient.

And it was a long way from Yorvik.

"His Grace has heard of your wondrous success even as far away as the shining halls of the Citadel Palace.  He has most graciously offered to pay you a fair price for the ore you most recently won by right of first claim, as is his wont.  And by calling for the exercise of this right, also fairly acknowledges that no tax shall be levied in return on the payment you receive."

Well, Donaghast thought, it shouldn't have been a surprise.  He looked at St. Yorick and Captain-General Mercer in turn.  Both looked back knowingly and nodded.  He spied Calgrot near the back of the hall where he had perched, and the gnome, too, acknowledged the situation.  Had Moghash and Professor Malort not been absent out among the elves of the Woode, he was certain that they too would understand the state of affairs.

The king could not afford to have a vast store of adamantine in a place so far from his control, in the vicinity of dwarven and elven smiths who could forge it into instruments of war.  Instruments of independence.

"His Grace has dispatched the Golden Lion from its mooring in Yorvik.  His Grace's capital ship and its convoy should arrive before the first gales of winter, sufficient time to prepare the store of raw ore for transport thence.  As such, His Grace offers you His hospitality and admiration as you heed his Royal Summons."

With that, the herald bowed deeply and took his leave of the hall.  Amidst the murmuring of the petty courtiers and wealthy merchants who had assembled in the Lord's Hall to hear the king's words, Donagahst retired with his closest friends and advisors to mull over what had transpired, and to make preparations.

                                                                                              King Sigfrid IV

* * * * * *

The young bard sat cross-legged on the walk just outside the Tin Pot Saloon.  The patrons of the tavern had a very well-earned reputation for hard drinking and hard fighting.  Said activities were mostly restricted to the evening, although if a ship arrived to port early in the day, the newly paid crew would likely turn up and see if they could get the festivities started early.

The Tin Pot was the toughest saloon in the toughest part of Five Corners, the beating heart of the Low City.  In all of Yorvik, it was Josie Nightingale's favorite place, even more than the Citadel Palace of the Kings.

"Why're ya settin' on my stoop fer, lass,"  a hulking half-orc grumbled as he trundled through the swinging doors of the drinking hall, carrying out the last of the slop buckets.  "Yer always welcome in my place, mornin', noon or night."

                                                                                    Ghrakus the Saloonkeeper

"I am enjoying the morning sun on my face, an all too infrequent event this time of year."

"Well, when yer ready, come on in out of the chill and havva bowl a hot soup.  I just took it off the flame."

As the bard considered her old friend's offer, a disappointing sight caught their attention.  At the mouth of the alley across the way, a young sailor was huddling with a shifty looking guttersnipe.  

Josie had seen many purchases of street poison in her years of travel.  This transaction was different.  The guttersnipe disappeared and the sailor popped the small glass vial he was holding, and tipped back its contents right then and there.  The poor soul turned suddenly flush, only to slump down against the nearest wall into a blissful stupor.

"How long have the lost ones been getting their fix in the middle of the street in broad daylight?"

"Not long, lass," the saloon keeper replied.  "I've only seen it fer tha last few weeks.  But never before, not even here in Five Corners."

"Well, Ghrakus," she said.  "I think we should go move the poor soul indoors before he freezes to death."

"It won't be necessary, lass.  The strongest effect will run low soon, and he will wander off back to his ship."

Within a few minutes, the ship's hand got up and shuffled off in the general direction of the docks.  Josie went over and retrieved the discarded glass before joining Ghrakus inside for a bowl of soup.

"What is it?" she asked as they stepped inside.

"They call it Green Paradise."

"Green Paradise?"

"Aye.  It is said that Bad Luck Tevs' gang slings the stuff outta the Slippery Squid."

"Bad Luck Tevs?" she asked.

Ghrakus nodded.

Josie Nightingale looked at the glass bottle and sniffed at it.  "Oof," she she muttered, recoiling at the smell, the feel of the thing.  She looked down at the small glass and her brow furrowed in thought.  She whispered a few words of an incantation, and after a moment, her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I know that look o' yers," the burly half-orc said.  "And I don't like what follows."

"This is no common street poison, Grhakus,"  she said, looking down the cobblestoned way to where the doors of the offending tavern hung.  "I might need to pay a visit to the 'Squid to see what's what."

"Not alone, you ain't." 

                                                                                           Josie Nightingale

Campaign Notes #6

The one shot for Kurtuanicon 2020 was inspired loosely by The Colour Out of Space, continuing the trend of Lovecraft-inspired themes in the campaign, which Foose astutely hit upon.

Tuan, Foose and Scotty were present for the adventure, with Tim out of town on a brewery tour in Michigan, Andercles bowling and Erick somewhere down south (Florida maybe?).  With reduced party numbers, the adventure was scaled back, but was still quite challenging.

Everyone's character is now 13th level.  And, between the mysterious Mindsplinter and the abundance of adamantine ore from the meteor, each party member has the equivalent of an additional 32,000 gp in wealth, BUT... the party will have to figure out how to convert these things into coins or something else.

An adventure in itself!

So, until the next time...

SESSION 16 - IT CAME FROM BEYOND!

The party received a sending message from Gorum's Vale, or rather from the crash site of a meteor a day's travel outside the village.  The sending had come from Kendra Marrigan, the village wizard and the daughter of the local seneschal, Sir Ulysses.

It appeared that the young wizard and her apprentice, Mathilda Vyrlich, had ridden out to investigate the site where the object had fallen from the sky, and they had run into distress.  The meteor appeared to have been the same one that the party had seen during their hunting trip the night before.

They quickly mounted a rescue operation and headed toward the mountains.  After briefly checking in with Sir Ulysses, the group of adventurers headed back out into the wilderness in the same direction the two wizards had gone the day before.

Upon reaching the site, they were ambushed by horribly mutated wolves that were using the nearly-dead Mathilda as bait for a trap.

Wolf Mutate

They fought off the wolves and healed Mathilda back to full strength.

Mathilda Vyrlich, Apprentice Wizard

The party then moved on to the crash site proper.  There they came upon a large mass of stone half buried into the earth.  Several holes had been rent into the ground, and a sickly yellow smoke slowly leaked out from somewhere underneath.  The party chose the largest hole, and descended into the darkness.

In the first large chamber they encountered a number of ankhegs.  But the insectoid creatures were not like those that sometimes harried the countryside.  These ankhegs had pulsing, glowing yellow crystal shards embedded in their hides.  The creatures quickly attacked, and the party was able to defeat them straightaway.

Slightly Mutated Ankheg

Moving into the next chamber, they came upon more ankhegs, only these had had longer to mutate, and were of a monstrous size and full of rage.  They too sported the same crystals as the last ankhegs had.

Greatly Mutated Ankheg

Also in the room were several molted husks, the remnants of the creatures' various chrysalis mutations, and in the back of the room, plastered against a wall by solidified ankheg mucous, was a barely conscious Kendra Marrigan.  She was trapped near a pool of still-viscous, glowing mucous.  Trails of the hardened slime traced their way to the dried husks scattered about the chamber.

Kendra Marrigan

The creatures were very resistant to damage, but Lord Donaghast hit upon the idea of dipping his sword into the glowing pool and attacking.  Lo and behold, the weapon now sliced through the creatures like a knife through bread!  With this tactical advantage, the group was able to quickly turn the tide.

After defeating the creatures, they freed Kendra Marrigan.  As they healed her, she told them that another, more powerful creature was trying to crack open her mind.  She warned them that they should all flee, but before they could withdraw, the hive mother burst out of the pool and attacked.

The mutated hive mother was the largest ankheg anyone in Primordia had ever seen.  Lodged into its back was a very large shard that glowed with a steady, sinister light, the source of all other shards they had seen in the caverns.  It appeared that the shard was in the process of merging with the hive mother, and the symbiotic monstrosity quickly turned its vicious hatred onto the party.

Mutated Hive Mother

As the huge ankheg attacked them physically, the alien mind shard attacked them psychically.  The battle raged on and on, so that Sir Mercer was laid low by a mighty psychic blast, while Lord Donaghast received many grievous wounds.  In the end, the party laid the hive mother low and shattered the alien mind shard.

One of the pieces of the alien being still glowed very slightly, and the party realized that the crystal sliver could be wielded as a magic shortsword.  Such an item would require further examination in the proper environment!

Mindsplinter

They also realized that they were standing in the middle of a mother lode of adamantine, and they would have to figure out a way to mine it and transport it!

Adamantine Ore

With victory in hand, they considered their situation...

Falling Star

"My lord, we should come to a decision on the king's request," Dame Abbie interjected.  Even after five years, it was still odd to hear herself address the paladin she had once knighted as her liege lord.

Constable Dreng nodded his agreement.  "Aye, milord Donaghast, I agree." Just please don't send me to the capitol with the response, he thought to himself.  If he were Hannsport's envoy, he would have to deliver the communication to his sister, N'Diaye, who now directly served the King of Viborg as his Chancellor.  When she came to Viborg five years past to deliver Sigfrid IV's commendations to Donaghast and his fellows, he had not known what to make of her sudden reappearance.  Fortunately, her stay had been brief.

Markus rolled his eyes.  "Always with the politics!" he huffed in exasperation.

"And why did you even come, then, priest?" Dreng replied.  "You didn't even bring a bow to hunt with!"

The group broke out with light laughter as the two friends verbally jousted with each other.  The merriment was welcome on such a cool spring night.

As they enjoyed the evening, a meteor streaked brightly across the sky, before disappearing across the northern horizon.  Was it  a sign of good omen, or ill?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * *

"A falling star!" Mathilda Vyrlich exclaimed, looking up from the small brass telescope.  She looked over to her mistress, who had been watching the night sky without the aid of an optical apparatus.

Mathilda Vyrlich

"Aye, my apprentice," Kendra Marrigan replied.  The high tower of Gorum's Vale had always afforded an excellent vantage point to mark the passage of the celestial bodies, and a clear spring evening such as this was no exception.

Mathilda swung the telepscope in the direction of the crash site.  It could not have een more than 8 or 10 miles away!

"We shall make preparation to examine the crater at first light."

"Dagon" by H.P. Lovecraft

https://soundcloud.com/mrkawfy/dagon-by-h-p-lovecraft-read-by

EPILOGUE

"What did you say your name was, again?"

"Naris," the hooded traveler lied.

"Well, Naris." the silver-haired man who had named himself Alfwaer said to her. "You are rather... sturdy looking... for a sorceror."

It was true.  Naris was strongly built for a human female, if rather plain looking.  She was, in fact, downright nondescript- brown haired and brown eyed, garbed in dun colored robes and cloak.  The only thing that stuck out about her was the finely wrought silver pin tucked into her hair, just barely visible beneath the sorceror's low slung hood.

"I thought your kind were supposed to be more... charismatic."

The speaker's smugness was starting to wear on her.  She wondered whether she might simply incinerate him where he sat.

A woman who looked nearly identical to the dark robed man, right down to the same obnoxious silvery white hair, leaned forward.  The sorceror could feel the chill in the woman's aura right through the stifling heat of the inn's common room.

"You must forgive my brother," she said.  "We mean no disrespect to you, Naris.  As an adventuring troupe we must take care for whom we take into our company.  You see, on our last excursion, our arcane caster  proved himself entirely unequal to the task at hand."

"And so now you need a replacement," the sorceror supplied. "or, rather, you need an upgrade."

"Precisely," the woman replied.

Naris smiled ruefully.  She spread her hands out flat on the wooden table before her, then remained motionless.  Flames limned the sorceror's eyes as the light in the room seemed to shrink and the shadows grow and deepen.  The scent of ozone hung heavy in the air, with an acrid promise of mayhem following close behind.

"Charismatic enough for you?"

The woman smiled ruefully in return.  The sorceror leaned back and the warming light of the common room carefully crept back from hiding.

"An upgrade, indeed.  What say you all?"

The group's burly warrior, who had heretofore remained silent, answered first.

"Bjor Olafssun votes yes."

"Alfwaer Alarik votes yes," the slayer added shortly thereafter.

The cold woman went last.

"Solvi Alarik votes yes."

"Welcome to the Esoteric Order of-" the young oracle's hand instantly touched her brother's forearm, cutting him off before he could complete his salutation.

"-the White Wolf," the silver-haired woman smoothly interjected, her pale eyes never leaving the disguised half-orc.

We are all liars here, Naaruz the Witherer mused silently to herself, then said "Wonderful.  When do we get started?"


                    *                     *                     *                    *                    *                    *


Constable Dreng watched as the skiff slowly approached the main dock of Hannsport.  The sailing vessel anchored offshore bore the royal pennons of the kings of Viborg.

The king had sent an ambassador.

All the members of the village council waited on the docks.  All except the half-orc archer, who had returned to the forested mountains to pay his debt to the Spirit of the Woode.  Most of the villagers had gathered further down the dock to see the spectacle.

Dreng watched as the members of the delegate exited the skiff and assembled on the broad pier.  The one who would be the ambassador moved through the group to the front, her embroidered hood preventing the southern guardsman from seeing her face.

She stepped before Lord Donaghast, and each bowed slightly in unison.

"I am Sir Donaghast, Lord of Hannsport and paladin of St. Cambrace the Redeemer," he began in the formal tradition.  "I welcome you to our lands and offer you our hospitality."

The tall woman drew back her hood.

"I am N'Diaye Dreng, Countess of Isunda and paladin of the Radiant Orb," she replied.  "I come to you as envoy of our sovereign, his grace Sigfrid, the Fourth of his Name, King of Viborg and Lord of all the North.  In his name, we accept your hospitality."

The warriors clasped arms and a great cheer went up from all who had gathered.

Only Mamadou Dreng held back.  He had not known that his sister had come to the north.  He had no idea why she would have left her place at the Chancel of the Radiant Orb.  She was also now a countess in these lands, as well as a trusted enough advisor to the king that she served as his ambassador in this place.  She also still wore the armor of a servant of the sacred flame.

As he considered these things, N'Diaye's inscrutable gaze fell on him.  He knew the look, and did not like what it implied.  He would speak to Lord Donaghast privately as soon as the opportunity arose.

N'Diaye Dreng

                   *                     *                     *                    *                    *                    *

Josie took one last look back at the village before she departed.  She knew she would not need to return to Hannsport for many a season, if at all.  The land had finally passed from the cursed bloodline of the Kells, as it should have long, long ago.

With the death of Davin Kell, both of her parents were now interred in the sacred soil of the hawthorn grove.  She hoped that her mother, Lady Genevieve, would once again be her father's saving grace, this time into eternity.

With no further ties binding her to this land, she weighed her options.  She could literally go anywhere she pleased.

"North it is," she said aloud to herself after a moment of further reflection, humming her favorite saga as she headed off down the trail.

Josie Nightingale

                   *                     *                     *                    *                    *                    *

Moghash stood once again in the central clearing at the edge of the woode.  It was the first time he had returned since the defeat of the Splintered Skull.  He had felt the call, and he had come to fulfill his oath.  As he waited, he could feel the presence of the Spirit of the Woode fill the open space around the central pool.

It is mete and right that you have answered the call, Arvae'nath of the Valinesti. Today you shall fulfill your obligation.

 In payment of your debt to this one, you will replenish the line of your forebears.  Although the line is nearly spent after so many great losses, the results of this day shall set the elves of your clan back on to the path of prosperity.

Moghash took a moment to consider what the spirit meant.  How was such a thing even possible with an insubstantial spirit, he wondered?

Not in the way he thought, as it happened.  In time, the fruit of their union would come to take up the ancestral bow of the Valinesti, and lead them into the future for many years to come.

The Heir of the Valinesti

                 *                     *                     *                    *                    *                    *


Emune the Fey ran her finger disapprovingly across the dusty lid of a stone sarcophagus slab.  Humans were so morbid when it came to their dead.

Emune the Fey

“And why are we down here, Naissa?”

“I am curious, lover,” the young woman answered, unhelpfully.

Naissa Mirian

“I don’t think Abbie March would appreciate your nosing around in her family’s crypts.”

“I am not nosing around,” the wizard indignantly replied. “I am merely investigating. When Jhessa March came down here, she raised an army of the unliving.  I am concerned that some remnant of the negative energies she drew upon may still linger about.  You see,--”

As Naissa droned on about some obscure arcane theory or another, the words all bleeding incomprehensibly together, Emune drew her slender, curved blade from its sheath.  She inspected the weapon’s edge as closely as she could, desperately trying to stave off an overwhelming wave of boredom.  When that failed, she resorted to staring at the walls, in the hope that somehow it would help...

“What’s this, then?” the drow-blooded woman remarked suddenly.  A slight crease in the nearest wall had caught her sharp elven eyes.  Gesturing to the spot, Naissa moved across the crypt to inspect Emune's discovery.

Naissa pressed in on the sconce, and a concealed panel in the stone wall slowly slid open, revealing a most unusual sight.

Campaign Notes #5

And so the campaign has reached its final conclusion, with the PCs successfully ending the existential threat to Primordia posed by the awakening of the great old one Dagon, He Who Dreams in Darkness.

With that said here are some random, concluding thoughts:

After thirty years of all of us gaming together (well, 20-25 or so for Andercles) we also added another member to the group, and we hope Tim gets to experience many more campaigns in the future!

 I believe this was also the first D&D/Pathfinder campaign I've gamemastered that we successfully completed, and there have been sooooo many, some of which were...  the Reavers in the 80s, the Furyondy agents campaign in Greyhawk in the 90s, the Cauldron campaign once again in Greyhawk 7 years ago or the Second Darkness campaign in Eberron 4 years ago.  All long term.  All memorable.  All imploded.  At least we got one in the books before turning 50.

As for the campaign itself, there were only two adventures set in stone- the very first, and the very last.  We started in Hannsport, and we would finish there.  Each of the others were mix and match depending on who the PCs were, and where the players wanted to go, or what they wanted to do.  One surprise for me was that there was not a single dwarf PC in the campaign, and not a single elf PC until the introduction of Profesor Malort halfway in.  There were a handful of adventures we never did because we did not more closely explore the environs around Dark Oaks, or Gorum's Vale, or especially the capitol, Yorvik.  Some of these I hope to adapt for one-offs or two-shots, whether for Kurtuanicon or as filler in between campaigns.  So as I requested, send me cleaned up copies of your final character sheets!!!!

Some of the NPCs I created that the players haven't met yet will appear in the campaign Epilogue, leaving everyone wondering who they are and how their paths might cross in the future.  There are even more you may not meet until or unless we revisit Primordia some day.

Family and community ended up being major themes in the campaign--  Erick's arcane archer and his ties to the elves of Valinost (so I still got to use the elf campaign arc, even though in an entirely unexpected way!).  Tuan's paladin and his long lost mother, one of the hags who served Dagon.  And of course, Josie Nightingale and Davin Kell.  Everyone was deeply connected to Hannsport and its environs in one way or another.

Josephine Tinúviel Charlotte Kell.  Lúthien Tinúviel was of course a character from Tolkien's Silmarillion, and the word Tinúviel translates as "Nightingale.'  The Bard of Viborg's elven heritage was strong, even though it did not outwardly manifest, except for her apparent youth.  Hints were dropped at various times from the moment she appeared, although I think it was still a satisfying surprise when she revealed her true heritage.  The reveal was a bit rushed, but the fight with Dagon took over 3 1/2 hours and it was getting late!  Josie was a young child when Erick's character was born, and has maintained her youthful appearance despite nearly twenty years of wandering the northlands by the time the campaign has ended.  She was the forgotten secret of Hannsport, the child born just before her mother was murdered by the northmen, spirited away to the care of distant kin.  Her story was never fully explored, and might yet be the subject of further story posts.

Interestingly, I thought Tuan might challenge Lord Kell's harsh rule at some point, but in the end, the paladin still became the Lord of Hannsport, by popular acclaim.  A just result!  And lest Scotty thought there might not be a conclusion to his character arc, becoming the saint of his own faith tradition, just as Saint Cambrace did with the Redeemers, was also a just end.

I hope everyone enjoyed this two year long campaign, and I am looking forward to a long break from DMing and now just playing in Tuan's upcoming Underdark campaign!