Original Dwarven: Sniff. Fings attacked us, I bashed ‘em. Sniff. Cuzin Pint got lost in a bush. No one else did nuffin. Sniff. I need somfink else to smash. Whose round is it?
Translated into Common: While the rest of the party healed up, bound wounds, and cleaned their weapons, the sly and stealthy Elf Bae-Wynn set about exploring the seemingly abandoned Goblin village. All she found were a couple of Goblin babies we she handed off to the bemused Dwarven cousins, who hastily passed the children onto Mira, the Half-Orc ranger. Going back to investigate the crude shanty town, Bae-Wynn was ambushed by the leader of the tribe, an impossibly tall and thin Goblin wielding a nasty-looking club, but the Elf’s natural charm managed at least to get the Goblin leader agree to talk. The two Goblin infants were returned to the remaining Goblin warrior
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“OPEN UP!” Pint Bloodhorn bangs at the door of the temple. Impatient, he curls his hefty fist and raises it to again hammer against the wood when it flings open. The priestess, looking very distressed, surveys the groups. Her displeasure is apparent, but she does not voice her anger at his discourteous manner. Before Tank can further damage the situation, Bay-Wynn steps forward to beseech the healer.
“My lady, our friend is in dire need of your assistance. We would be humbled if you would offer us your assistance.”
“Of course, my child. Please, bring him in” the healer urges.
The group enters the temple and Mira looks to the healer. When she waves a hand over a large waist high stone altar, Mira lays Otho across it. Though it is well past sunset, the temple is bright with the light of thousands of candles, including three ornate wrought iron chandeliers hanging high above their he
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We begin our story in the Sitting Duck tavern as we attempt to wrangle the ranger, Badiel, into caring that there may be a necro-cult in his midst. He could care less. He was mildly amused by the signet ring of the Necromancer he had been tracking down after killing his father. He gave us 100g reward (minus the cost of the drinks). The map of the Hall of Dead Heroes did pique his interest but we snatched away our map to its location before he had a chance to study it at length. I don't trust him.
Attempting to arouse interest in the cult with the local "good" Necromancer didn't seem to work either. People just don't care about cults the way they used to. During our conversation with the N'mancer, Bay-Wynn attempted to gain access to his laboratory to search for clues that might link him to the cult. Nothing was found. Another d
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The Journals of Njörd Eissen - The Caves of Necromantic Mystery
“And may this foul creature rest tranquilly forever in the same squalor and filth that he preferred.”
With those words, said at every Goblin burial, Nobbla’s somber and impromptu funeral came to a close. We wrapped him in the leftover pelt of the fatal feline killer and laid him to rest.
Afterwards, we searched the cavern. Across the way, a brick wall stood, behind us, a ledge. I benevolently provided a boost to our bard, Bay-Winn, in order to ascend. Upon the ledge she discovered the the skeletal remains of a black robed figure. Upon his persons, besides tattered and unkempt covering, gold, a signet ring, and magical blue vials. Magical detection determined the intent of these potions, being of the ability to cure light wounds. We surmised that the remains belonged to one of the necromancers that we had heard of in the area. This morose discovery prompted many new theories as
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I'll be honest, I did not expect to come out of this in one piece. It's not that I doubted my battle prowess, I think I've proven there's no one tougher than a dwarf through my actions, but when you're down there in the dungeons, it's not always about skill or strength. Sometimes, you're just unlucky enough to fall in a spike pit or inhale something you shouldn't have. Dungeon crawling can be heavily dependent on good fortune and given what we've been through so far, I wasn't completely sure our luck would hold out.
Randallo was dead and so was Godric, though I knew them only for a short time, I had consider them part of my unit, my brothers in arms, and I took their loss harder than I imagined. Especially Godric, poor bastard, it was definitely not his time.
When I stood toe to toe with that blasted Fire Spawn, it was not my skill that I doubted, but my luck. I was sure that the bli
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It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
We had dispatched the Kobold king and his wizard. We all stood victorious and covered in the blood of our enemy. Still there were mixed emotions where most would rejoice. The children were safe and we had recovered a pile of loot to boot. Inside though, all of us knew that we were only half way there. We still had to get out of this all-gods forsaken place. Given our current state which was best described as exhausted and almost spell-less, this would most likely not be a simple task.
Gnobbla identified one particular piece of loot that was especially valuable. Valuable in a way that could result in the party owning our own small kingdom with endless hedonistic luxuries including having our subjects waive banners to our heroics every day at noon.
But our comrades bodies lay strewn throughout the dungeon. There could be no celebration when the cost was so high. Pint rose and leaning his weight up
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