"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?"


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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

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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

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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

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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!

SESSION 15 - HE WHO DREAMS IN DARKNESS

As the party returned to the environs of Hannsport, the monotony of the trip was suddenly broken by a magical sending that manifested out of thin air.  The adventurers heard the voice of Magda Vyrlich shout a warning before the message abruptly ended:

My friends hurry back we are under attack from the sea He Who Dreams in Darkness ret-

Now only a few hours out of Hannsport, they raced back to the village.  As they approached, they could see an infernal red light emanating from deep within the storm clouds that hung over the bay.  When they entered the village, they found the streets deserted, the windows of the buildings seemingly shattered by the gales driving in from the sea.

Upon moving deeper into the settlement, they heard the church bells of the martial orders tolling an alarm, and as they arrived at the fortified strongholds, they were greeted by a dreadful sight- the Academy of the Whispering Wind was a smoldering ruin, and many of the buildings nearest the explosion had been leveled.  Calgrot managed to find an intact Constable Dreng sleeping off a hangover in the fortified sub-basement beneath the jail of the guardhouse, and the groggy lawman joined the others above ground.

Following the emergency protocol, they mustered in the village square, only to be mobbed by the emerging villagers, who had been horribly mutated into wretched, alien creatures from the deep. 

Transformed Guardsman

As the masses gathered, a great, fiery pillar dropped from the clouds into the sea.  And where the sky had once glowed hellishly, it was the sea that now frothed and churned with the same illumination, as He Who Dream in Darkness was birthed into the world.

With that, a wave of grotesque Deep Ones emerged from the sea, an advance force to invade the world of men.

 Deep One

At that moment, Lord Kell and his retinue arrived on the scene, with the bard Josie Nightingale in tow. 

The combined forces of Hannsport delivered ruin to the creatures before they could do any harm, bringing them low with steel and searing, divine light.

They could not savor their victory for long, however, as a fearful din emanating from the sea pierced through the howling winds, calling out to the mutated villagers and drawing them toward the waters of the cove.

The Doom of Hannsport

Ascertaining that the summons was intended to draw the infused villagers to He Who Dreams in Darkness in order to serve as a source of fuel, the party swung into action.

The bard went to the docks to perform a countersong, while Professor Malort created a long wall of stone from the granite pilings of the great pier to the base of the rocky promontory, sealing off the northern shore and funneling the villagers toward the bard's countersong.

On the south shore, where no magic was available to redirect the horde, Lord Kell and his retainers charged their coursers up and down along the beach, their lances impaling any who were not trampled outright.  The adventurers spotted the telltale shapes of Brother Markus and Magda Vyrlich amongst those shambling toward

As Sir Donaghast, Yorik, Calgrot and Moghash dashed to the south to seek some means of sparing the villagers from Lord Kell's ruthless solution, the hellish light in the center of the cove launched toward the great pier, right where Josie was performing her countersong.

The submerged glow rammed directly into the pier at high speed, shattering the structure and throwing Josie into the cold waters of the sea.

The waters churned, and one at a time, four immense, gaunt limbs took hold of the remains of the pier and heaved up the dread form of He Who Dreams in Darkness, a fell aspect of the Great Old One that men dared in whispers to name Dagon.

He Who Dreams in Darkness

A battle worthy of legend then unfolded.  The heroes assembled before the massive nightmare, smiting it with holy power and eldritch might.  In return, it smote them with a breath weapon of inky blackness, shrouding them in darkness while simultaneously draining their life energy and poisoning them all at once.  The villagers caught in the wide blast were instantly turned to dust, and the newly birthed horror drew their life energy into itself, doubling itself in size and power.

The battle raged on across the shoreline, as the great creature moved from location to location to absorb the life energies of the converted villagers.  Each time the party had nearly brought it low, it replenished itself at the expense of the denizens of Hannsport.

The party was able to fight off the monstrosity before it could absorb their friends, Brother Markus and Magda Vyrlich, but they had suffered devastating amounts of damage, only staying in the fight therough the healing powers of Yorik Mori and Sir Donaghast.

With one last group of villagers available, the unworldly thing raced toward the villagers in the north to replenish itself.  In the ensuing mayhem, It grabbed the paladin and rended him, tossing him backward into the sea as it then focused its attention on Lord Kell.   The lord of Hannsport charged in to attack the creature, holding it at bay as the party moved up to assist.  The actions of Kell might have saved the village, but only at the cost of his own life, for the creature soon breached the knight's defenses and smashed the half-elven warrior into the ground.

With their assembled might, the party was able at last to bring the cosmic horror to defeat!

As they milled about, surveying the damage, they noticed Josie Nightingale kneeling next to the fallen Lord Kell.  She reached into her tunic and drew out a silver medallion that hung from a golden neckchain nearly identical to that worn by Lord Kell as his signet of rulership.  She drew off her own necklace and took the signet from around the fallen knight's neck, and as she prepared to place the Lord's signet around her own neck, she hesitated at the last.

She stood up and looked out over the sea.  After a moment's contemplation, she tossed the jeweled chains to Yorik Mori.

"I think the people of Hannsport have had enough of the Kells," she began.  "I do not carry my father's burdens, but I fear I would be just as poor a steward of these lands as he.  I am a wanderer, and the weight of rulership would only make all of us miserable."

"I will bury my father with my mother in the hawthorn grove.  I leave it to the people of Hannsport to select their own Lord, as they deserve."

They helped Josie load the knight onto his horse, and the bard led them off.  The party then collected the remaining villagers, who had all fallen along the beach as if seized by feverish dreams.  They moved the villagers to Yorik Mori's stronghold.  As he tended to the fallen, he realized what he must do.  The great calling he had felt long ago suddenly revealed itself to him in full.

The priest began a great, inspired ritual of the stigmata, releasing bursts of channeled holy energy into the hall of the wounded, healing their otherworldly wounds and drawing them into himself.  After several bursts, the priest fell as if dead, but the villagers had been healed of the alien infection.  His acolytes took up the body and wrapped it in a funerary shroud, as the priest had previously instructed them to do.

They placed his body into the chapel crypt and with the coming of the dawn he arose and returned to the world as a celestial being, Saint Yorik the Untainted.

With much work to be done repairing the village and seeing to the continued restoration of the remaining villagers, the council of Hannsport once more assembled, in order to select a new lord.  Professor Malort immediately nominated Sir Donaghast, and within moments, the vote had carried unanimously.  And with that Lord Donaghast's rule had begun.

Evening drew on and the assembled feasted in celebration of their victory, and at long last the sea was calm as the threat of Dagon, He Who Dreams in Darkness, was forever ended.

Doom Comes to Hannsport

"... oh, no."

The words came as little more than a whisper.  Markus looked up from his pile of notes and stared at the massive basalt disc mounted against the far wall of his laboratory.

It was a lens.  A focusing lens.  How had they missed it for so long?

Gathering the papers, he stuffed them into the nearest satchel he could find and made to exit the academy.  He had to warn everyone before it was too late.  Something was coming.

No... not something.  Some one.

The young priest raced out of the chapel and made his way down the promontory and past the ruins of the village council hall.  Although it was a moonless and blustery winter night, he knew the path by heart, and did not slow a single step for the darkness.  He rushed into the still-standing guard house and immediately accosted Constable Dreng.

"Mamadou, you must send your men to the Chapel of St Cambrace and to the Hall of the Untainted immediately!"

Dreng did not know what to make of the wild-eyed priest.  "Markus, what is going on?"

"The bells, Mamadou," he continued without seeming to  hear the constable's question.  "It's our only hope!  The sound of the bells will let the village know we are under assault!"

"Under assault?" the lawman asked incredulously. "There is no assault- I've received no word from any of the guardposts, nor from any of the Redeemer's outriders that we are under attack..."

"It's not from land, old friend.  The assault is coming from the sea- the unfathomable depths of the sea!  You must trust me in this!"

Dreng sat silently for a moment, weighing the sanity of the young priest.  He rose and looked to his first leftenant.

"Tanner," he said to old Eli's eldest son.  "Take these tokens of my office.  Send two men to each of the martial orders and tell them to ring their bells.  Send the rest of the men throughout the village and tell them to spread the word-- we under under attack, and the attack comes from the sea."

The guardsman saluted and rushed from the room to execute his duty.

"Now Markus," Dreng began, repeating his earlier query.  "What in the nine hells is going on?"


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"You were very kind to come here tonight, Josie," Anton Vyrlich said as the Bard of Viborg retrieved her stringed citole from the entry hall.

"Actually, Anton, it is you and Magda who are kind," she replied, smiling warmly.  "I am afraid that on this solstice I have nowhere to go- the Kraken is closed for lack of holiday business and I have no family to celebrate with here in Hannsport."

"Nonsense," Magda called from the parlor, momentarily breaking away from her preparations.  "You are as much family as are our own children.  Markus and Mamadou will also be pleased you are joining us for the yule feast."

"Well, the least I can do is help with the place settings, I-  what is that?"

The bard froze.  Listening carefully she thought she could just pick out the tolling of bells.  In moments, she was certain of it.  The tolling was soon loud enough for the others to hear, as well.  As they exchanged quizzical looks, it dawned on the bard what was happening.

The church bells of the martial orders of Hannsport were sounding an alarm.


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Markus and Dreng burst through the door almost as soon as Mayor Vyrlich could release the lock.

"Well," Josie Nightingale wryly remarked as the pair made their unruly entrance.  "We know it's not a fire burning down the town.  I looked.  Are we under attack, then?"

"You've no idea," the priest answered, frantically searching about the hall. "Come and see."

He entered into the dining parlor and dropped his stuffed satchel on the perfectly set table.

"Markus..." Magda nearly growled at him, anticipating what was about to come.

"I do apologize, Magda," he said, taking hold of the long table cloth.  "But I do not think there will be time for a yule feast tonight."


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They peered uncertainly at the diagrams and papers that Brother Markus had spread over the newly cleared dining table.  The act of roughly making space for the priest's copious documents had put the night's hostess into a cross mood, but one that quickly subsided once the priest set to his purpose.

"I will make my explanation as short as I can." he began, arranging a handful of large parchments into the center of the table.  "Magda, Professor Malort and myself have all been puzzling over a very particular conundrum these last several months."

"The ley lines?"  Magda asked.

"Yes.  The very same."

"Isn't that something to do with magic?" Dreng interjected.

"Yes, indeed," Markus replied.  "Anyone who manipulates mystic energy taps into the ley lines that crisscross Primordia.  It does not matter whether you learn to tap this energy through faith and devotion, or memorizing incantations, or by force of personality, or through any other discipline.  The ultimate source remains the same."

"The strength of the ley lines fluctuates predictably over time and place.  We theorize that this is because the lines move ever so slightly over very, very long periods of time.  We also believe this is primarily related to the force that makes compasses always point north, although there is some debate on that point especially concerning the variant forces that account for earthquakes, vulcanism or even celestial mechanics, in fact-"

"You said this would be brief, priest!" Mamadou warned him.

"Indeed, I did."  Smiling ruefully, Markus returned to the matter at hand. "My point is that the forces that cause the ley lines to move are beyond the scope of we men and women.  We simply do not possess the raw power to affect such things.  That is why mystics have always sought out those places where different ley lines cross each other- if we cannot bend the energy to our own purposes, we can at least find those nodes where the energy converges and magnifies.

"As a result, mystics often spend time researching how these energies move.  For example, we take measurements of the energy in our surrounding ley lines and calibrate our mystical instruments accordingly, whether they be brewing cauldrons or forges or any of the other tools we use to fabricate enchanted items.

"Calibrating is how the three of us recently became aware of... irregularities in the ley lines.  My brewing and alchemy, the Professor's rituals and summonings and Magda's scrolls and trinkets.  We all noted the same issues."

"And we haven't been able to identify what exactly is happening," Magda added.  "What have you learned Markus?"

"I know why we were detecting the irregularities, Magda."

"The disc is a lens," he announced.  "It is a very large focusing lens.  In order to work properly, it needs two other pieces to siphon and redirect energy from the ley lines directly into the disc, which then focuses the energy.  The disc is the lens, ad the idols are the siphons.  We had all of these things in proximity to each other, but not in the proper pattern.  It was enough, however to cause the disturbances that we have been measuring.

It seems that someone has now arrayed all of these items in a specific pattern according to instructions that are deeply coded into the runic sequence on the disc itself, and now this array is moving the ley lines."

"You said no one could do that..." Dreng grumbled.

"I said no man or woman could do that," he corrected.  "The disc and the idols are ancient things, infused with a dark and malevolent essence that is not of this world."

"Markus, do you know why the lines are being moved?" Josie asked.

'There can be only one reason."

"It is the 360th winter solstice in our current cycle.  The significance of the markings along the 360 degrees of the circumference of the disc are now revealed!  Every 360th solstice, the ley lines are in proper alignment and also converge with the alignment of the celestial firmament.  It appears to be the ideal condition, or rather, the only condition where one might use the disc and the idols to move the ley lines and open a very, very large doorway."

After a moment's pause to mull the priest's revelations, the ground began to violently shake, as the rising winds outside howled their fury, drowning out the deep peeling of the bells of Hannsport.  After the shaking stopped, Markus gathered himself and pronounced his final assessment to the gathered throng-

"I believe that He Who Dreams in Darkness is about to be awakened."


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Josie looked out over the balcony and toward the sea.  An angry red light was growing in the depths of the storm clouds that hung over the middle of the bay.

Frowning darkly, the Bard of Viborg knew what she must do.  She would have to alert Kell.

She reached into her vest and drew forth a small vial of a faintly shimmering liquid.  After a lusty curse of fate, she tipped it back and drank down the potion in a single swig.

"I am flying to Kell's keep," she told the others, who had come out to join her vantage point.  "The Lord of Hannsport will need to know what is happening."

"The Whispering Wind guide you," Markus blessed her.  "Magda and I will make a sending to the heroes of Hannsport, and hope that they will join us in time."


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"Alright, that should do it," Markus stated, looking at the heavily edited message they had been working on.  Magda nodded, and they began the sending.

My friends hurry back we are under attack from the sea He Who Dreams in Darkness ret-

As the duo were in the midst of their arcane transmission, a second greater calamity befell them.  At that moment, the entirety of the Academy of the Whispering Wind was engulfed in a massive explosion, as the process of focusing the ley lines' energy reached its climax.  The force of the eldritch blast washed over the town, leveling those buildings nearest the detonation, and shattering windows all the way to the edge of town.

The biting winds of the winter gale swept into the Vyrlich manse through the broken windows, extinguishing all flame save that of the roaring hearth fire in the great room.

Both Magda and Markus had been cast to the ground from the impact of the blast, and it took several moments for the young priest to regain his senses.  Slowly rising back to his feet, he noted that Magda was still lying prone just outside the glow of the hearth.

He moved immediately to her side, and turned her over.

"Magda, are you alright?" he said, an edge of worry in his voice.  "Magda, are you--"

He froze in horror at the sight before him.  The visage of his old friend had . . . changed. What lay before him could not be the matron wizard of Hannsport.  Some nightmare had claimed her place, and the priest recoiled from it in shock.  As he drew away, the thing opened its eyes and looked at him unknowingly, pushing his grip on reality even further to the edge.

"Magda, stay back.  I don't want to hurt you!"  He muttered in a voice almost not his own, continuing to withdraw from the impossible horror that continued to advance upon him.

As he retreated out into the hallway, he caught sight of a dread vision in the full length mirror mounted just outside the great room.  He was surrounded!  But no...

At that moment, his sanity finally crumbled with the realization that the monstrosity that stared at him from the glass was none other than he, himself.

Rogues Gallery - Josie Nightingale

JOSIE NIGHTINGALE

CG Human Bard ??

Josie Nightingale is a charismatic young troubador who appears to be no more than seventeen or eighteen years of age, yet one look into her eyes leaves no doubt of the old soul within.

No one is quite sure where she is from, nor the first time they saw her in the village, but the young bard often appears abruptly, without any fanfare or warning.  She may stay a single night, or for weeks at a time, and then she's gone just as abruptly.

The Bard of Viborg wanders all about Northern Primordia, exploring wild and writing sagas to commemorate her travels and adventures.  It seems, however, that the young one has a special place in her heart for the little fishing village, and on bright, moonlit nights, more than one villager has spied her lingering in the hawthorn grove in the center of town.

SESSION 14 - THE HEIR OF THE VALINESTI

The party quickly assembled after receiving the news from Gorum's Vale that two dozen wounded elves had arrived from Valinost.  As they saddled their horses, Brother Markus passed Professor Malort a satchel of scrolls representing their combined research notes on the recent examination of the regional ley lines.

The party then rode out of Hannsport, reaching Gorum's Vale the following day.  They arrived at the walled compound and were quickly shown into the keep, where they met with Sir Ulysses Marigan, and his daughter, Kendra.  During the audience, Brother Yorik attended to the wounded, providing much needed healing to each of the refugee elves.

The party agrees to investigate the orc attacks, to survey the scene and provide whatever relief they can.  Kendra Marigan also accompanied them as an emissary and guide-- in the last few years since the re-emergence of the elves she had been accepted before at the edge of the elven lands, where news and goods had been exchanged.

The party set out and after another day's travel, they had reached the outskirts of Valinost in the heart of the elven realm.  After dispatching a handful of orcish scouts, they pressed on and came upon a stunning scene.  Several heavily armed and armored orcs milled about the scene, executing captives for sport.  A colossal creature stood regarding the shattered and burning gates of the underground grotto that served as the elves' stronghold.

the Rift Colossus

The party quickly moved to engage, attacking both the creature, which Professor Malort had identified as the Rift Colossus, a creature of legend, and the accompanying orcs.  The party soon realized that the orcs had been expecting them, and as the battle  raged on, Professor Malort's planar pact with the planes of weal reached its conclusion, and a new ally entered the field-- a movanic deva known to myth as Zarachiel, the Sword of Dawn.

Zarachiel, the Sword of Dawn

As great heroes and creatures of myth and legend did battle, heavy casualties were inflicted on both sides-- the Colossus was slain, as was Black Kazok and his retinue of orcish fighters and rangers.

Black Kazok

The party suffered heavy casualties in return, as Brother Yorik and Sir Donaghast were brought low during the fighting.  In the mayhem, Naaruz the Witherer had escaped yet again.

Among the dead, the party discovered the body of Lothlaeril the Runner, who was the lifemate of the chief of the Valinesti, Ghaelvwynne Swift Hands.  It appeared that the chief of the elves had been taken elsewhere as a prisoner.  Among the items taken from Black Kazok was the ancestral bow of the Valinesti, Sadekeha, which had been bourne by the chief until her capture.

Given the dwarven made arms and armaments carried by the orcs (in addition to their recently won elven spoils), Kendra concluded that the folk tales saying that the orcs of the mountains had overrun the last dwarf stronghold in the Seawalls were true.   She knew where the location of the stronghold lay from her study of old maps, and also knew that the orcs would not have been able to take a direct path to and from Valinesti-- between the two lay the realm of an ancient spirit people knew only as the Lady of the Woode.  The spirit would never allow such foul and wicked things as the orcs to pass.

Having nothing to lose, and much time to gain, the party elected to request passage through the spirit's lands and make quick passage to the orcish lair.

At the edge of the Woode, they were magically shuttled to the heart of the enchanted lands and into the presence of the spirit herself.

The Lady of the Woode

She greeted each of them by name, waiting until the last to address Moghash the half-orc.  Addressing him by his secret name, Arvae'Nath, she recognized him as the true, if tragic, heir of the Valinesti.  In other times, she explained, his existence would not have been possible, but the world was shifting in this age, and he was living proof.  With this knowledge came full realization of the weapon's power when in the hands of the true heir of the Valinesti.

She then told him the full significance of the weapon.  It belonged to his mother, the chief of the Valinesti.  The party sees in the spirit's reflecting pond a vision of two fleeing elf warriors- Amarylle of the Arrow, and her sister, Gahelvwynne.  Ghaelvwynne is injured and Amarylle gives the bow to her.  Amarylle would hold off the orcs to cover their escape.  At that, the vision fades.

"This happened at the edge of my sight, many summers long past.  I know no more."

Moghash's destiny had been fully revealed!

As further relief and assistance, the Lady resurrected Sir Donaghast and Brother Yorik, and further refreshed the adventurers so that they were fully healed and rested, regaining the use of any spells or finite abilities they had used in the fight with the Rift Colossus.

For all of her aid, the Lady of the Woode took an oath from Moghash, made upon Sadekeha, that he would perform a service for her, of any kind and at any time or place of her choosing, reminding him: "This One was ancient when your people carved yon bow from this grove's branches.  Do not forget your word to me, Valinesti..."

With that, the entire group was transported to the very edge of the Lady of the Woode's realm, the dwarven ruin being a mere few hours march into the foothills of the Seawalls.

the Main Gate

They set out and in time came upon the massive stone gates carved into the side of a mountain.  Professor Malort found the postern gate through scouting with his familiar, and the party quickly made their way to the side entrance, slaying the guards there and beginning their assault on the orcs of the Splintered Skull.  As they made their way into the dwarven ruins, the postern gate portcullis dropped behind them.  It was all or nothing at this point!

Following the main passages of the underground stronghold, the party at lst came upon the Great Hall of the Dwarf Kings, where their final foes waited for them-- Uraak the Reaper, chief of the Splintered Skull and a powerful antipaladin,

Uraak the Reaper

the massive, unarmored warrior called Brog, their old nemesis, the sorceress Naaruz the Witherer, the Witherer's pet cave troll, and the full retinue of the chief's elite guard.

Once again, the Witherer had set an ambush for them, and once again a mighty battle was joined.

The fighting ranged all across the massive throne room, as powerful and fell magics were unleashed amongst great feats of swordsmanship and archery.  An invisible Naaruz began assaulting the party with offensive magics-  freezing Brother Yorik in place with a holding enchantment and taking Zarachiel  out of the mix with a confusion spell.  Brog and Belleros the hound archon fought until the massive half-orc brought the celestial low, banishing him back to the seven heavens from whence he had come.  Even as they lost the upper hand, the party rallied and brought down the troll, the guards, then Uraak, and then Brog.  Near the end, Uraak had smited a n already badly wounded Sir Donaghast with his unholy blade, killing the paladin with the fell energies of the lower planes.  It was then the archery of Moghash and the vengeful fury of Sadekeha that brought the antipaldin down for good.

As the tide of battle turned decisively, Naaruz the Witherer made the calculated decision to exit the field, abandoning the others to their fate.  The consummate survivor had concluded that the introduction of the Valinesti's heirloom weapon was too great an obstacle to victory, and she would rather live to fight another day than to day foolishly with the Splintered Skull.

Naaruz the Witherer

The group then turned their attention to Brog and the remaining elite guards, slowly whittling the massive hulk down until they had ended his wickedness for good.

Brog

With that, the riches of the dwarven ruins lay open before them, and yet, they found no sign of Ghaelvwynne Swift Hands...

Madame Eva's Dream

Madame Eva Meszaros

Eva Maszaros studied the leaves intently as the mind-altering incense sharpened her inner sight. A deadly curse had touched close to home, and she felt driven to learn more. An unnamed, lingering dread was rising from the land, and she could feel it deep in her bones. She breathed deeply as she closed her eyes and let her deeper vision wander into the shifting, fleeting, jumbled images of the past, some nearer to this time, some farther away, but all of them hovering around the dark shroud descending upon the world. . .

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Sir Davin Kell, Lord of Hannsport

"Bring Astrid. I would have her conduct the rites here in the keep."

Magda Vasil’yevna nodded and prepared to leave the chamber. Before recent events, Dame Astrid March had nearly finished clearing out the last goblins from the countryside around her hill encampment, and had desired to return to finish her work. Magda knew that Lord Kell intended the place to become his newest village, a further extension of his authority into the wilds. She also knew Astrid would not be pleased to be further delayed from her task. Magda was always amazed by how much Kell and his people hated the goblinoids. And the orcs. And the Northmen . . .

Magda Vasil'yevna Vyrlich, arcane apprentice

Kell returned to his silent vigil after giving the command. The half-elven knight had been keeping a motionless watch over the dying lass for hours, arms folded, staring down at her with his inscrutable gaze. Magda shivered at the thought of the knight's one good eye boring a hole into her own soul.

And was the elf woman truly a lass? She looked young enough, but old folk tales said the elves lived for centuries. The green-haired girl could have been older than her own grandmother, for all Magda knew. The elf spoke only her native dialect, and only rarely at that. Until tonight, Magda had only seen the girl speak with Lord Kell. But, being conversant in the elven tongue-- the language humans most closely associated with magic-- Magda had overheard the elf explain to Kell that she was from a forest clan called the Valinesti, and that no Valinesti had come anywhere near to this place in close to a century.

the elfmaid

Even so, this lass had appeared suddenly on the edge of Hannsport badly tattered and some months visibly pregnant. When she was presented to Lord Kell for review and had spoken to him, the half-elf immediately assembled his retainers and men at arms and marched off into the woods, somehow leaving Magda temporarily in charge of both Hannsport and the girl. Some sort of combat had then taken place not far from the village.

Sir Ulysses Marigan and her fiance, Anton Vyrlich, had both been gravely wounded in the engagement, and afterward all Magda could get out of Ulysses beyond the usual cursing and growling was something about orcs from the foothills. It had been the same from everyone else- a large scouting party of orcs, a pitched battle, heavy fighting. From everyone but her future husband, apparently, who refused to speak of anything on the matter at all with her.

In any case, the elf had been sickly when she arrived, and now nearly three months later, it was clear the pregnancy had not gone well. It had gone so poorly, in fact, the young woman clearly dying. Magda had only just learned that the girl had born her child this very evening, and the wizard was not confident the elfmaid would survive the night. Only Astrid and Ulysses’ wife Yulia had been allowed to attend the birth. There had been no one else-- Kell kept no servants beyond his single valet and a retinue of men-at-arms.

Magda could hear the child squealing in the other room. She was uncertain of what was now to come. The young woman dared to question her new lord’s order.

"Will you not send her back to her people, to be laid to rest in their sacred burial lands?" Magda asked, gesturing to the dying girl.

"Her people?" the knight scoffed, looking up at the apprenticed wizard. "They gave her neither aid nor comfort in her time of need. She is but one more lost soul come to my land seeking respite from the storm."

"Then what of the child?" Magda replied, her concern growing. The elf girl's eyes opened weakly at Magda's question. The woman whispered several elvish words to Lord Kell that Magda could not hear.

With her last breaths, she rasped a single word- "Arvae'nath."

"So be it," the half-elf replied aloud in the common tongue of men. The elfmaid had passed.

"Go. Bring Astrid to me," the harsh knight repeated impatiently, adding "Summon the bard."

"As you say, my Lord," the wizard replied. She curtsied low and took leave in search of both the bard and of Lord Kell’s most trusted henchman.

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

The elves moved undetected through depths of the Black Edifice. Something had disturbed the ancient evil that slumbered beneath the structure, and a warband of orcs had encamped themselves just outside in the valley.

The chief of the Valinesti had sent his three finest warriors to investigate- his two children,  Amarylle of the Arrow and  Ghaelvwynne Swift Hands, and Ghaelvwynne's lifemate, Lothlaeril the Runner. Upon reaching the Edifice, they had slipped past the unwitting guards and descended into the darkness.

As they reached the underground shrine, they felt an overwhelming malevolence wash over them. They quickly retreated back toward the surface, killing as swiftly and as quietly as they could. But the escape from the tunnels had had come at a cost.

Amarylle looked down at her sister's wounded leg.

"Ghaele, take Sadekeha. We cannot risk its capture by these creatures!" she said, pressing the weapon into the injured druid's hands. "I will slow the wretches' advance and rejoin you on the trail once it's safe. You can return the bow on the way to Valinost."

"Now go!" she cried, drawing her scimitars and disappearing into the thick overgrowth.

Amarylle of the Arrow

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Josie Nightingale saluted the evening crowd in the Black Kraken at the conclusion of her performance, headed over to the bar for a quick swig of whiskey, and silently took her leave. She hoped no one noticed that she hadn’t remained at the inn tonight after she was done. Normally when in Hannsport, she would always linger in the common room after strumming and singing, drinking late into the small hours and sharing tall tales and rumors with the villagers.

But not now. Earlier in the evening, Magda Vasil’yevna's owl familiar had delivered a note to the dark-haired bard, asking her to attend the wizard at Lord Kell's keep once she had finished.

And so she had gone. Josie had slung her travelling pack and her lute across her back, tightened the rapier at her belt, and begun the trek up to the keep nestled into the foothills of the Seawall mountains.

Josie Nightingale

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

“Do it,” Kell commanded.

Magda reluctantly passed Josie the child, as the two young women looked at each other incredulously.

“And what am i supposed to do with a swaddled babe?”

“Sing to it if you have to,” Kell snarled. “That is what you do, isn’t it?”

The young bard gritted her teeth at the slight. How she hated the half-blind knight!

“If you will not have it, give it to one who will. You are reputed to be wise beyond your years. Do whatever you think best...

“You’ve never had much of a way with children, have you, One-Eye?” The bard couldn’t resist returning the earlier slight, deciding to raise the stakes of the game.

The half-elf glared at her darkly.

“You know nothing, child.”

The Bard of Viborg sneered at the knight in response, as Magda did her best to gently guide Josie Nightingale out of the chamber.

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

The orcish brutes threw the battered elf warrior to the ground at the feet of their chieftain. The woman’s green hair was matted with mud and blood, obscuring the purplish swelling around her mouth and eyes.

"The she-elf murdered several of our warriors," the pack leader roared. "It must be punished!"

Uraak the Reaper looked down at the nearly unconscious woman, leering with malice and lust. “It will face it’s punishment after it has served my needs...”

Uraak of the Splintered Skull tribe

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Josie Nightingale gently placed the basket before the foot of the faded double doors. She retreated from sight into the nearby foliage, and whispered a few words to herself under her breath.

A sudden magical knocking at the door roused the occupants within.

“A baby!” the aging woman exclaimed. “A gift from the Homely Hearth!”

Josie smiled wearily to herself. She knew this elderly couple had lost their children to disease and starvation over their span of years. She knew them to be poor but true and honest folk. It would not matter to them that the babe was not human. The child would live and thrive here, and the lord of Hannsport be damned for a cursed fool.

Without further charge, the young bard disappeared into the night.

Arvae'nath