Liam, Jesse and Brendan will be skipping this game. In game terms, we’re going to say Lothric, Tiberious, Laminar and Aradellus are leaving to scout the northern cairn.
Reminder: bring a lunch and your character sheets!
Liam, Jesse and Brendan will be skipping this game. In game terms, we’re going to say Lothric, Tiberious, Laminar and Aradellus are leaving to scout the northern cairn.
Reminder: bring a lunch and your character sheets!
One of the best things to do before a D&D campaign is to review the rules. All the books are online as PDFs. All your skills are on your character sheet. Stopping to ask how to do something is inevitable, but running through some tutorials is a good reminder.
I’ve reserved the BUF library for next season of the game.
Our group, comprised of both Jesse R and Jesse P, Brendan, my character, Lothric, and the two NPCs Hadreus and Nillaffin, began the quest outside the entrance to the tunnels in which the bugbears had taken up accommodation.
The group schemed up an idea to use Grotto (Jesse R’s character, a halfling sorcerer), the stealthiest of the group, to run in and lure the bugbears out, into the fire that would be set around them. However, as Grotto was spelunking through the dark labyrinth of tunnels, he heard a faint clunking sound.
Assuming this was the bugbears, he cast light on a rock, threw it down the tunnel, and ran back to the party. Convinced he was followed, he told them to light the fire. However, no bugbears came through the tunnel. After several minutes of waiting, Brendan’s character, Lamanon (a halfling bard), ventured up on top of the cave, only to be ambushed, by a bugbear, and run through by a javelin. The bugbear, perhaps not the brightest, jumped down only to be annihilated by a flurry of blows from the whole party.
Not wanting to be sitting ducks, Jesse P’s character (a human cleric), Grotto, and Nillaffim all ventured down into the caves. They went onward, twisting down the narrow tunnel into darkness, until, suddenly, Nillaffin was grabbed by some unseen force, and pulled down deeper into the darkness. They rushed after him, and found themselves in an old prison, or bestiary, of sorts. After walking a few steps, a bugbear, covered in scars, cuts, and scabs, stumbled out of one of the cells, as angry as it was injured. In one blow, it felled the cleric, and sent the others screaming for help. Miraculously, the others heard, and rushed to their aid, sliding down the steep tunnel. Lothric was also nearly downed fighting the beast, but they succeeded in slaying it.
Moments later, the door at the end of the hall burst open, our party prepared for another bugbear, but instead they encountered Nillaffin, barely conscious, carrying the head of a slain bugbear. In the room he came from, they found a great portcullis, leading to the coliseum. There was a lever, but it appear protected against people’s hands touching it, so Lamanon used mage hand, pulled the lever, and opened the gate.
They escaped into the open coliseum, hoping for an easy walk back to camp, but the gods were feeling cruel today, and as they marched forward, a bugbear chieftain and his two guards ambushed them! They, dragging the corpse of their cleric, rushed up one of the watchtowers, bolted the doors, and fortified their position as much as possible.
In the tower, they found an old wooden chest, containing a first aid kit for competitors in the ancient tournaments the coliseum once held. With it they healed their cleric, who in turn healed the rest of the party. They rained projectiles on the advancing bugbear cohort, but the damage was minimal, and the bugbears rushed up the narrow stairs, smashing the doors as they went. They managed to defeat both of the however, by dropping flaming objects on their oily fur.
Finally, the chieftain charged up the stairs, straight into Nillaffin, crushing him, and very possibly killing him. Fortunately for our party, they were able to defeat him, as he was totally surrounded.
Faroth Adventure 2017-02-04
James: Sabanin Lucas: Sakool Alice: Erin Dylan: Barron Poorrich Rob: Taj Alan: Laferic
The roosters crow in the gray morning of Sing’jar while our characters start their day. Shouts are heard and orcs are spotted on the horizon. Before the full city guard can make a line of defense, the orcs have over-run the city boundary and farmsteads are already aflame. Surviving city guards drop their spears and turn to try and save the residents, herding them to the marina. Our party is alongside the members of the soon to be members of the Singing Dragon Scales, getting sea sick, trying not to fall overboard, and after an interminably dark night, struggling off the fishing boat onto the pier at Faroth. Up they straggle to the town square and are greeted by the irascible captain of the guard, then they nap at Drafter Crushton’s ranch.
In the morning, they are greeted by Drafter and his rangers, and ranger Bildar picks Sakool, Erin, Taj, Barron Poorrich, Paladin Laferic, dwarf Sabonin, and mainland ranger Gragor to find a neighborhood in the northeastern ruins of ancient Faroth to settle. They don’t mind each other’s company. They chat a bit about retrieving the dragon-born Manja out of the bay when they were on the boat. They all seem to be in agreement that they can be a make-do group, but start to have doubts about Barron Poorrich, who tends to laugh at his own private jokes out loud.
After a mile of hiking, they find a relatively intact neighborhood in the ruins, once clearly populated by Dwarves. Runes are visible on doorways, and between three giant hill-sized boulders, is a dell harboring a stone-walled workshop, an open-sided blacksmiths forge, a small two room dwarven house (probably for the previous blacksmith), and the roofless remains of a museum: statuary and scupture were once whole on the pedestals and bleached remains of tapestries drift and swing on the walls. The forge is in surprisingly good condition: two sides of it were covered in blown sand and the mouths of half a dozen coal barrels quietly gape out of this accidental slope. The anthricite in the wooden barrels has started petrifying the wood. Tools are scattered amongst flaky and rust scabbed piles of once-iron sheets used to make iron. Stone pedestals in the workshop reveal body-shaped indentations used to for pounding iron sheeting into armor.
Bildir coaches the team on conserving wood, shows them how to find the ancient caches of charcoal buried in the sands of the island. The decide on shifts for tending the fire and keeping watch at night. Our group is tired and they decide to split into a watch and a rest shift. Bildir suggests the rangers and Erin the elf, gather for a moment of prayer to Elhona. They surround the carefully constructed circle of stones shrouding their small fire and each feed sticks into it with their prayers:
Elhona, we thank you for your guidance and protection
We have traveled far and lost much
Yet we remain to protect the forest and the life it gives
Please, Elhona, grant us luck in this new chapter of our lives
…and they bow their heads. And tingle! Erin looks at Gragor. Gragor looks at Taj, who looks at Sakool. They are surprisingly refreshed and feel like they have been touch with the grace of Elhona herself. No one knows if they will get to sleep if they feel this good.
Sabanin lays down in the workshop, his cloak under him, a burlap bag wadded up as a pillow, and stares up at the darkening ceiling. As the light fades, his the elven quality of his vision picks out a mist covering the underside of the roof slates. No wonder this building didn’t burn: slate roof, he thinks. But that mist isn’t campfire smoke. No…it’s spider web. He gets up and rustles Sakool, Erin and Gragor.
Sakool watches the web sway as if eight giant fingers walk their way across the web into the darkness of the loft–and takes a nervous step backwards. His mind races. Rangers protect wild life… but these last two days…He’s been the wildlife without a home. This is the only building for miles he can call his own. A giant spider is not going to share it with him. “Fire…” he mutters.
Sabanin, poking his head out the door, he tsk-tsks the Baron into the workshop. “What’s that?” he points. Barron Poorrich walks into the workshop and says, and ducks his hand into a pouch at his side. No, wrong pouch! Well, to heck with that—and throws a rock. The spider darts to the middle of the margin of the loft.
Erin hears him, but doesn’t know what to think. This is strange: why is this ranger so afraid? I should nock my bow…but how will the spider feel when we light it’s home on fire? Angry. “Open the door, and don’t block it!” she says.
Taj doesn’t want to kill a wild animal, but where are they going to live? The broken down forge? The museum without a roof? Maybe if they get to the back of the workshop they won’t attract attention…no chance. I have a staff! He leaps onto a work pedistal, does a leap and whacks the spider with his quarterstaff. A crunch of chitin is heard as the staff crushes one of the spider mandibles.
Barron Poorrich says, “Oh, I should burn this critter with acid–” but picks up a rusty iron plate and throws it at the spider—and whacks it in the face! Laferic races out to grab a burning stick from the fire pit. Sabonin unsheaths his short sword and grips his shield tightly. No dumb arachnid is going to munch on my friends…Gragor nocks an arrow. Sakool readies his bow. Erin fires and hits with a rich cracking sound as the arrow pierces the thorax.
The spider jumps! It springs at the Barron and Poorrich reflexively shoots an acid spell at the spider. His shot strikes low and sprays onto Taj who starts screaming. The spider falls onto the Barron, failing to bite with its broken mandibles. Sakool, Sabanin and Gragor strike, and the spider is pummeled to death in a moment, surrounded by the party.
Things are looking up as Taj and the Barron surprisingly agree on something: spider carapace and spinnerets are valuable spell components and magical armor materials. They might be able to sell these items in town. Maybe they won’t be in dire straights for very long if they continue to be this brave?
Jesse Pickard joins us for the first time this week. Welcome, Jesse!
Thorfinn, a young priest of Elhona, was was enjoying the sluggish winter sunrise after visiting the market in Sing’jar, the largest community on the west coast of Vastlaan. The kale was good this year, and there were some nicely wintered squashes in his satchel bouncing on his hip as he made his way east to the church. The sound of town became drowned out by the cries of crows and gulls fighting in the air overhead, followed by shouts. Thorfinn looked ahead at the horizon: figures…marching. Hundreds of figures with torches and spears, growling and shouting violently: orcs!
Orcs would over-take the church well before he got there. Thorfinn spun on his heel and sprinted back to town. “Grab the children! Get to the dock! Orcs are attacking! ORCS ARE ATTACKING!” he screamed. Panic…chaos, screaming children and crying mothers…pushing onto the boats…then the rain and the swaying for a day suffering under a bitter chill that left him and all the other townsfolk that escape stiff and cranky with the inability to move their fingers or even get warm huddling together.
Thorfinn barely made it off the boat, slipping on the planks and falling onto the wet cobbles on the beach. But the clouds were breaking and the sun was rising again. He received food from the market and gladly slept in the hay at Drafter Crushton’s ranch. The refugees were brushed out of the stables the next morning, and rangers lead them into the ruins. Gunjor Tinwiddie, the butcher from Sing’jar, took on a bravado that befitted his large belly and callous attitude, and bossed people into a group. Thorfin could see where this was going. Before Gunjor could give him a turn of shouting and clouting about being a weak orc lover that let their town be crisped to cinders, Thorfinn ducked behind a large boulder and hiked in the opposite direction.
He found stark, plain beauty of the island as he hiked through the ruins. The food could be conserved, he did not need to exert himself, and there was plenty of time to reflect, meditate and pray. Sing’jar and its sacking was a shocking trauma, and he woke up easily. The time alone helped him find some peace. It also strengthened his resolve to help those in need. This island started presenting mysteries to him: how, with such a rocky landscape, do they raise cattle? How can they live on salted fish for so much of the year? Who were the dwarves and giant(s) that lived here previously?
The questions drifted between the horrific images slowly fading in his mind after about four days when Thorfinn saw a dust cloud billowing into the air about half a mile before him. He raced up the side of the hill he was climbing to the ridge: to his east was the remains of a dwarven statuary and below him was an impressive rock slide grinding to a halt, pinning some bugbears into the dry creek-bed below. Little shouts to made him look carefully: two halflings jumped for joy and smacked their hands in a high-five. The neighing of horses drew his ear next: on the adjacent ridge, a fighter and five rangers on horses split between two heading down the to the creek bed and three leaving down the opposite ridge. The fighter did not see Thorfinn or his wave, and started limping away from the scene.
The halflings and the fighter made their way back to an ancient coluseum, and through some giant, rotten wooden doors with rusty ironwork, some cook fire smoke drifted. Thorfinn walked through the ajar doors and everyone looked up at him. “Hello! My name is Thorfinn, a priest from Sing’jar.”
And immediately, a dwarf, a halfling, and a tall human started bickering about who this guy was. Clearly, they didn’t hate each other too much. Maybe there was hope with this group of refugees?
A pretty dwarven woman hopped off a ledge and said, “these know-it-alls get on my nerves, so I’m going to town. To the pub. You coming with me?” And before Thorfinn knew it, he was following a spunky dwarf, followed by a the sullen fighter who waved off his offers of healing, trailed by the chatty human and argumentative halfling.
Thorfinn had not been back to town. Clearly, the master of the guard there was an authoritarian jerk wad, and the overall greeting to the refugees was tight-lipped. The group rolled into the Axe and Sparrow, and a large, wrinkled old half orc, Antsy, greeted them and served them some water. Bickering. The less argumentative halfling (there were two, that’s right) Laminon, tried raising the spirits of the pub with a song, but the patrons were busy and preoccupied. The argumentative halfling went up to the town square to practice his mime routine. The scene sucked at the pub, and Thorfinn headed out to the street.
In a moment, he discovered a church of Chauntea, surrounded by refugees of Sing’jar. They were pleading and badgering the three acolytes outside the door with their needs. Just inside the door, the priest, a huge shouldered farmer and probably ranch hand, was biting his tongue while pushing a refugee out the door. He glaced over to Thorfinn, gave him a nod and gestured him inside and shut the door. Thorfinn glanced behind him to find Kevbin has been shadowing him the whole walk and snuck in as the door closed. Our priest complained grumplily these refugees weren’t giving anyone a break, there were too many of them, and they were tearing up his lawn to make stupid little charms to be blessed. Grass is precious on this barren island, why don’t they open up their eyes? They need a leader to get them settled into the ruins, he said.
Back to the pub, they agree they need some money, they need to collect a bounty. These bugbears—now that’s a threat. The priest was flabbergasted that they encountered so many. Apparently the master of the guard isn’t doing his job. Kevbin proposes, let’s approach Drafter Crushton as merceniaries against the bugbears! And to the ranch the return. Drafter greets them at his desk, filled with maps and a half finished meal, looking engaged and eager-eyed.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen! Nalliffan, these are your charges?” And Nalliffan nods, as Drafter continues, “you people seem to have weathered the last few days better than most. You’ve actually defeated some bugbears! This is a problem we want your help with: why don’t we outfit you with some weapons and in return, you be our bastion against the bugbears since you’re the closest to them.” Yes, and opportunity arrives! And in minutes as they are passed swords, bows and quivers from the armory, a horn sounds, the sign that a ranger is in need!
Charging on horses through the ruins, they bring up short at the entrance to the coliseum to see a ranger prancing his horse around a pair of bugbears, a horn in his hand. As a skillful rider, the ranger has stayed out of reach, and the bugbears are mad and thrashing their spiked clubs at him. Our team leaps into action with accurate arrow flights, magic missiles and a flanking tactic. In a minute, both the bugbears are dead and blood from one’s neck has sprayed half the party.
“I’m not making any more soap!” shouts Kevbin, “no no no more soap! Let’s render these guys into oil so we can burn the rest out of the beastiary!” And up race the dwarf, the dragonborn, and the halflings to carve and render the bugbears, preparing for their next battle.
We Faroth players should be participating in the Women’s march, which is from 10am-12pm. I will be available to start the game at 1pm. I’ll contact Alison Youde or Tammy Jo to work out room availability.
The town of Faroth and the outlaying ruins of the ancient city lie amidst shallow rolling granite hills, a slightly peach colored rocky plain with patches of soils and lots of stiff weedy grass. Occasionally there are crags of weathered, spiky, gray, limestone that hold less soil but whose cracks foster rock roses among their sprouts of weeds. It is impressive that there is any ranching economy on the island, but Drafter Crushton proves it’s possible.
Drafter’s rangers, Nillaffin and Hadreus are in the ruins with the party. Nillaffin leads Ofric, Lebranon, Manga and the Alchemist from the library building, north across the old coliseum. As they’ve been walking, they notice that the well weathered lettering on the stone is mostly in dwarven runes, but there are also plaques written in giant and draconic. Did dragons once attend gladiatorial battles in this coliseum?
They pass north through a rent in the 30′ tall coliseum wall. From their left a bugbear rears from atop a pile of rubble and hurtles a javelin. Before them, in the mound that covered the gaolers pit, another bugbear rears and throws. Nillaffin charges forward and the Oferic, Lebranon and Manja attack the bugbear to the south. Oferic charges and collides with the bugbear and flips over backwards, confusing the bugbear for a moment. Nillaffin gets pummeled with an add-hoc mourning star that’s more of a heavy spiked club. Rocks are thrown. Oferic tries to topple and grapple and gets smashed. Nillaffin has drawn out the northern bugbear but is getting punished, and heads towards his horse. Manja, who distrusts Nillaffin’s intentions, rummages the saddle bags of the horse and finds no weapons, just a hatchet and some woodworking hand-tools. Manja throws the hatchet and misses.
Nillaffin returns to his horse, slaps Manja away and tells the group to retreat. Oferic has been killed and the northern bugbear runs up the southern rockpile to eat. Manja, in his desperate anger, climbs after the bugbear and breaths poison on the hunched over, eating foes. Now these bugbears are mad and coughing. Manja runs away into the rent, leaving Nillaffin on his horse to defend the party. He rears the horse and attacks, retreats a bit, fires his bow, trades out for his longsword and attacks on horseback again. The strikes from the hooves are powerful enough to finish off both bugbears.
Nillaffin’s party returns to the library and Hadreus helps him heal with some potions. The group goes back to town and visits McGinty’s general store and sells the reclaimed javelins. To establish a party credit line, they adopt the name, “The Singing Dragon Scales.” Maybe they can make some money making soap from the charcoal common in the ground. They pass through the Axe and Sparrow, Ansty Thinbone’s pub, and earn some drink credit with a song.
Tune in next time as the party continues their adventure!
Today we changed the game from classroom 3 to the library for the sake of other services. The library appeared to work well for us and so I’m asking if we can make that a persistent change.
Jan 8 Update: Alison has approved our ongoing use of the Library. See you there.
A thousand years ago, the stone giant Thromcron invited families of Mountain Dwarves from the mainland to mine the rich ores of Faroth, and the Forge Dwarves were so founded, and a rich mansion of stone and ancient trees was made and a city prospered as the quality of gems and steel crafted on the island grew in reputation.
The fire giant Crimskill became jealous and brought forth an army of bone devils, ruining the city of Faroth. The mansion was set on fire and many houses were crushed. The dwarves prayed and Morodin granted them a boon, and Stingren Gembeard, an avatar of Morodin, commanded a counter army of stone elementals and defeated the bone devils. Crimskill was badly hurt and driven off.
Hundreds of survivors were left in ruins. Most left the island and returned to the mainland. Six hundred years later, what is left are a few intact tunnels and the stone foundations of a city that is mostly profitable from fishing and boat building. The proud trees of the island burned, and re-planted trees now ring the rebuilt mansion on the top of the hill. The cattle feed on grass but most of the soil washed away from the rough storms of the sea every winter.