IN A SMALL VILLAGE AT THE END OF THE WORLD, A HAUNTED LORD BROODS ON HIS THRONE AS A DARK TIDE RISES . . .
Sunday, December 22, 2019
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.
* * * * * *
"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.
"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.
* * * * * *
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.
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.
Sunday, December 15, 2019
Campaign Notes #5
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, December 7, 2019
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?"
* * * * * *
"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.
* * * * * *
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."
* * * * * *
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."
* * * * * *
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."
* * * * * *
"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.
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