Adventurers
| Character |
Class |
Description |
| Ajar of the Plan |
Dwarf level 2 |
Unbelievably strong and dexterous dwarf. |
| Balarus |
Fighter level 1 |
An ex-woodsman, quite a crackshot with his bow. |
| Gomm |
Thief level 5 |
Swarthy, good looking, dark-skinned thief. Sweet opium-like aroma is his fragrance of choice. |
| Zhoron Trisrie |
Elf level 2 |
Always frowning and morose; sporting thick handlebar moustache down to his chest and a black top knot. |
| Tarkus the Promising |
Cleric level 4 |
Follower of Bachontoi, God of Red Wisdom. |
| Beorg the Gravedigger |
Fighter level 3 |
Inspired to adventure after burying several adventurers. |
| Ambros |
Cleric level 5 |
Follower of Aniu, Lord of Time. |
| Ignaeus |
Elf level 2 |
A slightly weathered looking elf with dull blonde hair and chiselled features. Seeks wealth and knowledge. |
Thistleburn 15th–19th
A week of feasting, partying, and negotiating in Ketche!
Upon the return of our merry band of adventurers, Beklomda Mor, Altanian chieftain ruling the village, threw a feast in their honour. It was a humble gesture of gratitude for slaying the troll that had slain some of Ketche's inhabitants.
The feast was fish-heavy, with local fruits and vegetables from the Eyestone jungle. Games of strength and dexterity were held: pulling rope individually and in teams, fishing with throwing daggers, naked wrestling in knee-deep water, and jumping over boats.
“As long as you stay here” Beklomda roared in front of her warriors “you shall have food to eat and soil to sleep on!” Lithe, muscular, and ferocious, Beklomda had all the characteristics of typical Altanian women. Her long black hair was tied into a single braid with dagger at the end. Few could stand a sustained gaze into her brown-green eyes. After all, she earned her post by slaying all other pretenders.
Ketche Livery and Transport, a run down house with attached barn that has been abandoned, was another gift. It is no fancy townhouse like the one they own in Hara, but it has a roof and straw.
Following the feast each adventurer found something to do... With vary levels of success.
Beorg the Gravedigger volunteered to tend to the village plot, chatting with the local gravedigger, giving him professional tips while inquiring about any rumors of interest. That's how he learned about old graveyard sitting atop small hill three hundred yards into the jungle. It was in fact several centuries old, hailing to the days of Great Empire of Kelnore. Altanians don't bury their dead—they let them feed the soil, or they burn them, or they eat them.
Tarkus the Promising attempted to preach about wisdom of Bachontoi the God of Red Wisdom. He was met with ridicule. “Are we not red enough? Perhaps you should worship us!”
Ignaeus spent time with Aaron, a half-elf fletcher. He ended up buying a quiver of arrows, after inspecting each personally.
Balarus loitered by the mill and Church of the Ever-Shining Sun, hoping to run into the local druid whom visits Ketche from time to time. He ran into Ernsorn Blue on the fourth day. Supposed druid was a youthful man with little possessions but loincloth, a haversack, and an iron necklace with inset egg-sized dark green gem. Failing to make a good first impression, Balarus was rewarded with ominous advice “Jungle knows how to take care of your ilk.”
Ajar offered a helping hand to Jeffar, the priestess tending to the Temple of the Ever-Shining Sun. She welcomed his help as long as he didn't bore her with his adventuring stories. Although she gave Ajar the cold shoulder treatment most of the time, she did mention that “old mausoleum” at graveyard ought to be checked as well.
Zhoron made use of the temple as well. First he asked Jeffar to bless him. After she said no he decide to stay in the temple anyway. He prostrated himself in prayer for eight hours straight and then attempted to communicate with the spirits within Oathkeeper, a massive slab of sharpened steel no one dared to wield ever since young Harker died.
Elf took up a lotus position, sweat pouring from his topknot after many hours of bowing, entering a state of deep focus. In the candle light he drew the blade named Oathkeeper, his eyes swimming along its steel in fascination. He stilled his mind and asked the spirits within a single question.
“Whom must I slay?”
Sun poured through all stone orifices, blinding Zhoron. Surrounded by total whiteout he sat alone. Before him silhouettes of three warriors clad in full suite armour stand. They threw no shadows.
A cacophony of voices boomed:
“We see you!”
The middle figure transformed, a giant warhorse appearing beneath it. It charged Zhoron, roaring “Know Evil when you see it!”
It did not trample him; in fact it felt as if it entered his body.
The left figure flied up in the air and transformed into a ferocious dragon of pure light. It dove into elf, whilst a deep voice echoed “Protect others from Evil!”
The right figure stood in silence as huge bird threw shadow over everything. The paladin turned to Zhoron and whispered “Consume no Evil.”
As darkness engulfed him, Zhoron found himself sitting in the temple as he was. The sword emitted a low hum as he grasped it. Further, it felt almost weightless, surprising for such a large two handed sword.
Zhoron cleaned the sword in silence. Then he said, loudly “I shall known Evil when I see it. I shall ensure Evil harms no-one so long as I can aid them. I shall never commit or consume Evil.”
He sheaths Oathkeeper. Then he approached Jeffar and told her of his vision and asked to be baptised and renamed as a warrior of Law.
Jeffar promptly kicked him out of her temple.
“Booo!” Zhoron muttered to himself, too full of religious zeal to feel bad about it. “Too bad I am an elf, I should have been a paladin!” he thought to himself.
Ambros spent time contemplating his remaining geas. He was to help Jeffar, and Jeffar asked him to kill Greylock, a vicious gnoll terrorising inhabitants of the Eyestone jungle. But he knew not where the beast laired, nor how to secure resources needed to find it in a jungle he knew nothing about. Hence he approached Beklomda Mor, asking for help.
Ketche's chieftain felt generous and offered Nem, her best tracker. In return, once he helped Ambros find what he was looking for, the cleric would remain in Ketche for three months, providing divine services. And if Nem dies, then Ambros would take his place in Ketche.
“Clearly, Ambros is no longer wanted by the gods in this path!” he lamented in exasperation.
Failing to negotiate a better deal, Ambros politely refused the deal and continued contemplating further action.
But Ambros was not the only one contemplating and scheming. No, no. There was Gomm, too, weaving his own web of ambitions. Following the feast, he requested audience with Beklomda Mor, which he was immediately granted.
“My lady, I bring a gift. Finest tigers eye from the belly of the highest Atlanian mountain. Seven men died to procure it from an idol of a jade dragon that breathed lava. Or so I'm told. It was their finest treasure. And I took it from them. And now, it makes its way into its new home.” Gomm said with a pleasant, silky voice, as he swept his cloak, fell down on one knee, and produced the gem.
Then he continued, charming as ever “You see I am a cunning thief and expert burgler. My name be spake as far afield as Antil. Now I wish you to name a thing to be stolen. Something you desire. And I shall name my price.”
“You talk fast and your words are as sweet as honey, Gomm! Do you dare steal the cloak of terrible witch Ah'sas?!” Beklomda replied. As she asked, the warriors around her giggled. They stopped after she booted one straight in the head.
“The cloak is as good as yours. It shall adorn your shoulders in no time at all. Now, let us discuss my my fee, should I succeed.” Gomm took a long draw on his pipe and blown out a cloud of fragrant smoke. He smiled with finality. “After you claim the prize, I shall claim my own. You shall become my bride, and all those who follow you shall thenceforth, also follow me.”
Audible gasps could be heard.
Beklomda smirked.
Her elongated muscles flexed as she lunged off the ground towards the thief.
She moved on all four, like a panther.
In a blink of an eye she cut through the cloud of smoke and was now face to face with Gomm.
She gazed into his eyes without blinking.
Gomm felt like he was at the open sea, floating.
“You amuse me burglar. You will bring me Ah'sas cloak and wand. Then we will throw you a feast and give you to the prettiest girl in our little village.”
As she broke eye contact, Gomm felt like he was pulled into the water, drowning.
That sensation continued until one of his fellow adventurers shook him to answer.
But Gomm couldn't think clearly anymore.
He will do what Beklomda wants.
That's all he can think about.
He will do it.
Thistleburn 20th, Spiritday
“I am delighted that you've changed your mind, Ambros! Nem shall be at your service—just say when you are ready to leave!”
Ambros conceded to Beklomda. He decided to put the greater good ahead of himself. After all, once his geas is done what is to keep him in Ketche? Some band of barbaric Altanians? Now that is a preposterous thought.
In a sudden turn of events, Gomm persuaded everyone to focus on Ah'sas the Witch, instead. Surely she would know where this gnoll was!
It didn't take adventurers long to learn that Anit, another witch who was actually the sister of the first witch, lives just a mile north.
Four or so hours later the party had found a small cottage surrounded by exotic herbs and plants. It was a simple lean-to, almost indistinguishable from surrounding foliage. Tarkus, Ambros, and Ignaeus were the chosen three to approach the woman working in the garden. Other brave souls hid between the trees and prepared their bows.
After a surprisingly pleasant exchange, the trio had learned that it has been a while since Anit had seen Ah'sas. The latter had left Ketche several years ago and hasn't been seen since.
“My sister got a bit odd and started keeping some questionable company. But she is not a bad person! She is just a bit lonely... Could you please take this to her?”
Unable to resist Tarkus's charm, Anit divulged that they had a favourite spot in the jungle—a secluded area where the river emerges from and flows through the jungle. She also asked the cleric to take a basket of herbs and colourful potions to her sister.
“And do no harm to her! Promise!”
“We won't do anyone harm who doesn't do harm to us.”
“Well, she might harm you because look at you! She might confuse you for danger!”
“Wise people know that we won't hurt them. And your sister sounds wise!” Tarkus pounded. Equipped with this new information, the party headed north, deeper into the jungle.
Harvestime 6th, Airday
“Look! Up, between the trees!”
Gomm's voice could be barely heard from starvation sounds coming from adventurers' bellies. It's been six days of trudging through green hell. Having brought enough rations to eat for one day, the adventurers thought they could forage with great ease.
On the first day Beorg was surprised by spitting cobra. He had snake for dinner while others split rations. On the second day they failed to find any food whatsoever. Many went hungry. On the third day they failed at foraging once again. On the fourth day two stumbled upon three great bushes of nuts, sufficient to feed everyone. They found the river on the same day. On fifth day only one adventurer found food, but at least it was enough to feed half of the party. By now everybody wast starving, but no one was dying. Yet.
Following the great jungle river upstream led them to a copse of absolutely massive trees. This hardwood jungle was dense in general, but what stood before them was almost a wall of trees.
River burst out from the bottom of the largest tree. Some forty feet in the air, a platform with nice wooden cottage, was suspended between three trees. Smoke was coming out of chimney.
“Listen, here is the plan. We wait for the night to fall. You will cast Silence on me, and you will cast Bless on me. Then I will cover my lantern, climb the tree, sneak into the cottage, steal the cloak and wand, and we are out of here!”
Everybody marvelled at Gomm's plan. No one objected.
Come night, and Gomm put his plan in motion. First he snuck up to the tree east from the hut. Then he slowly scaled them, lantern hanging from his belt. He made sure to climb on the side opposite the hut, and always tried to remain within shadows of surrounding trees. That was not so difficult given it was night and jungle had thick canopy, letting little moonlight inside.
Once he was above the hut, he took a good look. The suspended platform was quite large, measuring some seventy by fifty feet. Cottage itself took a little but under half of that surface. East wall was baked clay, warm to the touch. Chimney was on that side, and smoke was still slowly rolling out of it. Rest of the hut were wooden planks; thick and warm to the touch.
Landing like a cat on the east side of the platform, our thief snuck up to the clay wall. Then he prowled north, took out his little mirror and checked around the corner. Tall opening at the end of sight suggested doors. Moving south and repeating suggested south wall had two windows.
At this moment Gomm caught sound—loud, deep snoring sound. Wondering how clerical silence exactly works, he snuck up to the first window. By now he had completely covered his lantern so he worked purely with minimal moonlight and his tactile senses.
The window opening was covered with hanging blankets on the inside. The sill was full of flowerpots, making it impossible to climb on without first clearing them or making noise. Gomm careful pulled the curtain to the side, revealing a back of hulking figure going up and down.
Next, Gomm grabbed the upper frame of the window, pulled himself up, then extended both legs sideways, jamming himself in place. Then he freed his hands, and pulled the curtain wide open. Sweat running down his face, he observed the insides.
Dying embers in the fireplace illuminated bear-skin carpet, a cauldron, part of straw mattress and hulk sleeping on it, and a proper, framed bed with decorated blankets on the north side. The bed was empty.
Gomm jumped over the sleeping beauty, and landed softly. Keen as always, he sensed immediate danger.
Glancing to his left, a monstrous ogre charged him, hands spread wide open. Master thief pulled a small pouch from his belt, jumped towards the charging beastman, and waved his left hand, opening the palm just before the monster's face.
Ogre took a deep inhale of powder that Gomm sprayed him with. He began heaving, then he grabbed his neck, panicking. Then he fell to his knees, and then to his face; dead; chocked.
Alas, Gomm did not have time to celebrate, nor to complete his mission. As ogre died before him, so did Gomm feel all his muscles tense unnaturally. Next thing he knew, he couldn't move at all. He could still feel everything, but he couldn't move a muscle if his life depended on it!
He watched as hooded figure ran up to dead ogre, threw itself on it, and wept. Then it jumped up, hood falling off her head, revealing gorgeous facial features. Long locks of auburn hair framed her perfect face; her emerald green eyes captivating as most precious jewels; her locked jaw signalling utter contempt and rage.
The woman walked up to Gomm and slapped him. Three times. Then she woke up to the sleeping beauty, slapped her awake, and commanded her to squeeze Gomm. Thief could not scream, for he could not move. But he could suffer in silence, and so he did.
Realising what is at play, woman sat at her bed and waited.
By the time Silence and magical paralysis had worn off, Gomm had been properly hog-tied. He couldn't move his arms, not even an inch! Standing upright, he faced the woman's gaze. As soon as he felt he can move his lips and tongue, he spoke in monotonous voice:
“I must steal cloak and wand from Ah'sas the Terrible Witch. I must do that for Beklomda Mor.”
The woman gasped, and covered her mouth with both hands. She stood up, revealing she had nothing but hooded blue cloak on her, poorly concealing her luscious figure. Then she walked up to Gomm and caressed his face, speaking softly:
“Oh, you poor soul. Another victim of that greedy bitch! Men, it is always men! You were not charmed, nor were you cursed. It is all in your head. Altanian women easily get into mens' head. Snap out of it!”
Her soft voice slowly progressed towards more aggressive tone, culminating with a slap. Gomm, unchanged, repeated his lines.
“I see that you are a foreigner. Did you not know Altanian women have psionic gifts? Oh, you poor soul. And now my Gronk is dead. But do not worry, Ah'sas the Magnanimous will heal you. With a little bit of Cronk's help, of course.”
She motioned to Cronk to grab Gomm's head. Then the monster squeezed the thief's jaw wide open as Ah'sas poured vile tasting liquid down his throat. Gomm almost vomited, but his mouth were welded shut by ogre's strong grip.
“Thinking clearly now? Thinking with the right head?”
“I must steal cloak and wand from Ah'sas the Terrible Witch. I must do that for Beklomda Mor.”
“Give him another hug.”
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”
This time Gomm's suffering was audible. All his friends could hear it.
Thinking quickly on his feet, Gomm continued pretending and speaking in monotonous voice. He explained that he was here with a band of adventurers, but they didn't know what he is up to. He lied to them so he could find Ah'sas and steal her cloak and wand.
“Friends! Invite them over!”
Cronk took Gomm out, and hanged him over the platform. Ah'sas pulled the curtains and looked through the window. Gomm politely invited his friends up—there are a set of wide ladders just on the north side—stating he is being nicely cared after this nice witch.
Hungry and slightly bemused, adventurers came up to the hut, one by one. Ah'sas was completely delighted. She ordered Cronk to hang Gomm upside-down from the platform while she put fire to the stew. Then Cronk the Oger set up a nice round table outside, with candelabra. He put on a tattered silk apron and acted as a clumsy server until Ah'sas ordered him to do something else.
Adventurers gorged themselves on fresh fruits and vegetables, nuts, and warm stew. Everyone but Gomm, of course. He could hear the conversation above. Ah'sas was absolutely enthralled to have such fine visitors. Strong! Wise! Educated! After all, it is so difficult to find such good company in a jungle infested by Altanian barbarian, cannibal elves, and dim-witted monsters like ogres and trolls.
“Oh, Tarkus” the witch moaned “it's been so long since I had a conversation with someone so wise. Tell me more!” Indeed, Ah'sas took a special liking to the cleric of Red Wisdom. He tried to keep the conversation professional, but romantic candle-lit atmosphere did not work in his favour.
Feast and pleasant conversation flowed well until sunrise. In those hours the adventurers had learned that Ah'sas knows a lot about the jungle and surrounding region, is very pleasant and lonely, and that she is probably very, very powerful. After all, she lives alone at the heart of Eyestone jungle.
The question is, will they be willing to pay the price of knowledge?
Discuss at Dragonsfoot forum.
#Wilderlands #SessionReport
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