(D&D) Fall Season Wrap Up

Today I’m catching up the last few session to the end of the fall season. We’ve had great participation by our players, and two new regulars have appeared (Sawyer and Sander). Rob Johnson and his kids Axel and Soren are eager to return next season as well. A few brave parents have also offered to come to games as well (Mark and Rob).

Our heros have split into two groups: Liam, Jesse, Carl’s characters were attacking the cairn in Botilo. Shane, Allan, Henry and Brendan’s characters were still inĀ Anitus, attacking the orcs around the cairn in that town.

In Botilo:

Our northern group defeated Wiri Bentspear fairly easily, and then fought some beefy orcs. One of them pushed the obsidian pyramid off the cairn, threw it in a backpacke and then out of the cairn, the stones fell and up rose a deamon. The fight was fierce, but they bested the demon. Then they freed a hundred slaves and helped defeat the remaining occupying orcs in the town.

In Anitus:

Our southern group captured Fray Underhof and ultimately killed him in a tense grapple where his throat was slit. The captain of the orcs went down next. Rushing out to the pavilion, Henry’s character climbed the cairn and pushed the obsidian
pyramid, which fell to the grouund, and cracked open. A circle of fire slowly spread from the point of impact and grew into a pentagram–being obsured as the sooty wings of a horned devil rose from the ground.

A horned devil is a vicious foe that could easily destroy them all. Devils, hating oathbreakers and betrayers above all others, strive to punish the unfaithful first, though. Levelling a firey gaze on our motley heros, he growls “Who imprisoned me for so long?”

Thinking fast, the group said, “It was the drow! In the gravel pit!” Making up a name on the spot, they said “Fasmere the drow wizard, below Galentaspar in the caverns of the drow!” The devil thanked them, stretched its wings and launched into the air trailing sparks and a sulferous stink.

The dark clouds over the region, familiar to all whom have seen the pyr1amids
at work, drifted away on an easterly breeze. Mist rolled in from the western
foothills and the first rain in two hundred years fell on Anitus.

Soon, fifty elves on horses and a hundred and fifty more on foot routed the orcs and drow that fled east to Galentaspar.

Everyone returns to Oaksparrow Camp in the mountains.

In a few days the heros had walked back to Oaksparrow camp where Feltor gladly greeted them and a feast began. Magical weapons were bestowed and our characters outfitted in better elven boots and cloaks. Feltor addressed the group:

Good has triumphed and the eastern slopes of the mountains are as safe as they have been for hundreds of years! But…our western slopes and our access to the bay are blocked by the same filthy evil creatures we bashished in the east! We are fewer, but now we are wiser…and we are stronger!

You freed from slavery are invited to our ranks, you will be fed, trained and outfitted. Our chances are good, but we are still outnumbered–enjoy tonight and we fill find our strengths renewed to liberate Sing’jar on the morrow!


The future of the campaign

  • Level your characters up or draw up a new character–but bring only one character
  • You may NPC your second character and the DM will keep them near
  • The plot will head west and liberate Sing’jar from the orcs occupying it
  • It will likely involve geurilla tactics
  • players are encouraged to draw maps with building for encounters
  • We hope to play in the Library, but not all times will be available, so we will have to use the hallway occasionally
  • STILL WANT A SECOND ADULT, I see no sign of this group ever being smaller. You will be encouraged to play, contribute or participate–because it is fun :-)


Faroth: Avo of Knives

One hundred years before the orc’s sacked Sing’jar, the elven tribes of the Sing’jar mountains ruled out to the plains far to the east. The crops were bountiful, and there was feasting every season. Thoughts of the fire giant were distant and dim. Ginndale the Swift, at five hundred years old, decided he would push the eastern border of further to the river of Y’lima. The quest was worthy and fighters from north and south trekked through the mountains to join up.

I was a child, and my father was tempted to join up as well. His friends would stop by our tree and ask if he were going, but I was always at his knee with my wooden play sword pretending to fight orcs. I’m glad he didn’t leave me, and those are my fondest memories. When the crusade to the east left, I remember trumpets playing to send our troops off.

I must have had two birthdays before we heard from them…of them again. A wildfire was set in the fall when the hay was dry, before winter began, and burned many farms on the east side of the mountains. Maybe a dozen families lost their trees and houses. The eastern foothills were black for years. The place where the fire started, there was a burnt wagon with the skeleton of an elf placed with a red sash over its rib cage, with the symbol of a serpent-haired monster.

My uncle told me that story, because he was right next to my father when they both discovered the wagon. The circlet on the skeleton was of Bindle’ti, a young second cousin that went on the crusade. The wagon was filled with elven skulls. The night my father’s patrol found that wagon, they were attacked by a hundred orcs, and he and the rest of the squad, except Feltor, were killed.

Only magic could have masked the scent or sound of that many orcs from an elven patrol. Since then, the orcs reclaimed the eastern foothills and have pushed west almost right through the middle of the mountains. With our best warriors lost, the camps of the Sing’jar elves retracted and became defensive.

I harnessed my anger and hatred and forsook Ehlonnah and all the spirits of the trees and I looked to the stories of Erevan to help me take revenge on the orcs. Down through the east foothills I traveled, constantly sharpening my knives, shadowing the orcs, flaying and torturing them to find which killed my father, and who led them.

In one midnight fight, a Drow priest of Lolth and an unnaturally ageless priest of Sevarash caught me in a magic circle. Playing up my madness, I tried to convince them we were on the same side: full of vengeance, powered by hatred. The priest of Sevarash said, “You lie, green stick of an elf. You love killing orcs, but you are not mad.” And the priest of Lolth said, “We plucked you up in the night, creature of the day. Your hatred is only a folly. If you drip your blood in this circle, you will be bound to powers greater than Ehlonna, and no orc nor man will stand in your way! But you will sacrifice your vengeance forever.” Faced with this dark choice, I rejected it and they released me.

Halfway to the river, I found a huge pit mine, home to a thousand orcs. The whole countryside stank of waste and was littered with corpses of starved and mutilated cattle and humans. This wasteland was an orc’s dream, but on a scale that no elf had ever told stories of. I only made it as far as the edge of the pit mine before some frightening magicĀ  began to hound me…and I fled. Nightmares for two years drove me to the islands. The sight of trees made me break out in a sweat–trees felt like skeletons to my spirit–all my hope drained away for months.

The mountains have no love of me–I’m a bad example. I have no respect of those cowardly elves, either. These islands are full of survivors, and I respect that. So it is quite a surprise to see Simon here. It is time I related my story to Simon, of the dark evils on the east side of the mountains. The young fighter, Eliza, she reminds me too much of my youth and I don’t want her company. This Lothric and his gang…they can be my hammer to flatten more orcs.