02/14/745 A.E. Around 7 p.m.
The eerie sound of silence permeates the small chamber once again as the battle ends. The berserker lies in silent death at the party's feet as each member takes stock of their current status, checking their wounds, their comrade's wounds, their own equipment, and counting their blessings.
Healing, what little of it there is, is used by Garren to save Alaian's life and bring the elf back from the brink of death. Rest is suggested so the spell casters may regain another compliment of spells, and the group hunkers down in the berserker's chamber to wait, resting, praying, studying, all while examining the berserker and his strange tattoos.
Scored with blood (apparently self inflicted scratches along the runic lines of the tattoos, the artistic style identified by the bards as almost certainly having come from the barbarian tropics), nothing of great worth is found on this barbarian, but perhaps, it is surmised, this form of ritualistic magic might account for why the barbarian did not attack the party earlier since it may have taken a great deal of time. But speculation is just that, and all who may have known the answers are now dead.
02/15/745 A.E. - Midnight.
The slow rotation of the planet Orlantia carries the party into yet another day, but such things frequently go unnoticed while in the underdark, the underground environment many find more suitable for life for any number of reasons that might escape most surface dwellers.
Nothing unusual happens while they pray, and a compliment of healing spells is delivered and then spent, summoning the healing spirits directed by various gods to ply their services at the behest of the deities' Orlantian representatives. The priests do well and soon the party begins to look like something other than the walking dead.
Though now far better off than they were moments before, the adventurers decide to play it safe and rest again. This is done. Garren softly plays his violin, hoping a happy tune of bardic skill will lift the spirits of the party. Unfortunately, the music seemed to attract some other kind of spirit, and that's not always a good thing.
Fen, standing guard at the time near the open door, was slightly surprised by a hint of movement from the northern half of the large room where the orcs had dwelled. What was most surprising was the fact that though lamp and Continual Light did flicker where the night of the underdark met the day of their illumination, revealing movement, her infravision didn't detect a thing, and there was no sound; none at all. Whatever was moving out there was quiet and without body heat. A shudder went through her spine at the thought of the abominations that might lurk on the outskirts of her vision. Fenarellnen passed a whispered word of warning to her traveling companions.
The adventurers prepare to meet new foes once again, getting their weapons ready and taking their positions around the door or just outside it. There! In the darkness; the hint of movement shows itself again. The tensions began to rise.
Partially obscured lights are now pulled out without warning, and Fen stifles a cry as the wash of brilliant light hits her straining eyes peering into the once utter darkness. She blinks, almost as if in pain, like a human who had looked into a flashbulb to get a real good look, but she recovers quickly and her eyes adjust to normal vision once again. Before her, Fen sees perhaps a half dozen skeletal figures moving toward her and the party.
"Pull in; let 'em come ta us!" shouted Gillmesh, always thinking tactically like that.
COMBAT BEGINS:
R1: The skeletons rush forward and Gill's blades are thrown, clattering in the undead's rib cages, the edged weapons doing very little real damage. Alaian boldly presents his faith, "Corellon, send these creatures of the dammed back." Taken aback, the skeletons seem afraid and begin to retreat without exception. Fen leaps forward to slash at the retreating figures, seriously cracking one of the skeleton's arm bones, but it manages to run off into the darkness. A soft "click" is heard, and Fen knows from whence they came and where they went; down the secret door to the lower levels where the party had been not so long ago. No one feels like giving chase.
COMBAT OVER:
A few party members look for things to block that secret door and then do so. Other's give thanks and continue to rest once again. Soon, more healing spells are cast and the party prepares to explore the western door.
Fenarellnen takes the lead, but in the fullness of time what was once a bedroom and an adjoining bathroom (now filthy with the signs of messy orcs who never cleaned up after themselves), offers the party no new avenues of exploration. However, under the fantastic and sun-like shine of the CL rock being passed around, Fen did discern a secret compartment in the walk-in closets. There, within the secret compartment, she found a small, velvet bag, and in it, a small but flawless blue sapphire. Quite impressive.
Next, the southernmost door. Drael gives it the once over, and while the party stands behind her and tries to decide what to do, she opens it on her own initiative. The hall can be seen, and it leads to the door the kobolds could never get through. She can see why. Spiked and bared, no one was coming through this door. But from this side, she could easily remove these things and soon found herself admitted into the kobold's hallway once again. An extended discussion with kobolds, rest, and food are had before the party decided to leave the complex behind and head to Alodar once again, confident the orcish menace was over and their kobold employers were safe again, and therefore no longer technically in their employ anymore.
Training would probably benefit all of them, and so up the muddy tunnel they went to find their mounts waiting under the sun as it approached the late morning hours. Luckily, the fleeing orcs did not come this way. The party loaded up their gear and set off toward the city once again.
Close to noon before they really got every thing together, they could not make it to Alodar before sunset, and the party makes camp. Fenarellnen changes her bandages, packing in fresh healing herbs, then curls up, quickly falling asleep.
After most of the party starts their slumber, Garren and Kat keep vigil during the early part of the night. Not long after their watch has begun, Garren notices a pair of yellowish eyes staring back at him from a tree in the distance. Calling Katsumi's attention to it, the word is soon passed and the party is aware of the potential danger nearby.
Taking to the air, the eyes approach swiftly, entering the camp with some speed. Alaian begins casting a Magic Missile spell, but disbands the evocation, letting it fade from memory when he sees an extremely large, white, snowy owl, perhaps 10 feet tall, land in a non-threatening posture. Garren simply blinks.
"Pretty," it says as it looks at the Continual Light rock. Drael pulls both of her daggers and begins to slink toward the owl's rear position.
"Pretty, pretty," it says again, as Gillmesh rises and draws his broadsword, putting himself between the giant owl and most of the rest of the party. "Hold it guys," whispers Drael, thinking perhaps a different tactic would be in order for something around here that wasn't simply trying to kill them. "It seems only interested in the CL rock. Anyone ever see one of these before?" she asked, looking up and down the overly large bird.
"Very pretty," says the owl as it grabs the CL rock in a way no one ever expected an owl capable of doing. Exclamations arise and Al demands the rock back. "Hey! It's not yours, it's mine."
"Trade?" is the only response, the owl not really looking at any person, its eyes fixed on the glowing CL stone. "Trade it for what?" asked the cleric/mage, a bit embarrassed when he suddenly realized he was talking to an owl. In response the owl produced a leather thong from its feathers, at the end of which hung a small, greenish stone. Interested, Drael examined the stone since the owl let her have it. "Pretty. Trade your pretty for my pretty?" Drael examined the stone, apparently an uncut rough emerald, wondering where the giant owl had gotten it. Properly cut, it might fetch 500 GP or more. "Simon like pretty rock, glow pretty, very pretty. Trade?" They offer Simon some food, but he refuses, only saying he wants to trade for Al's pretty. Eventually, taking the better deal, so it seems, they make the trade and Simon immediately flies off to the north with his new Continual Light rock, a rather interesting sight to watch as the magical illumination could be seen heading north for miles and miles. Afterwards, Al looked at his new emerald before going back to sleep.
The night harmlessly passes over.
02/16/745 A.E.
Without the slightest difficulty, the party crosses small bridge over the White Water River and slides into Alodar a few minutes later. A few people go off to make this arrangement or that arrangement, but within an hour's time they all meet back at the Ferryman's Inn. Banter and discussion are had, and they end the day with dividing up their treasure from their latest outing. Selling the enormously expensive Platinum Pearl, a magic item worth perhaps 40,000 GP, paying their tithes and taxes, paying for Identify spells, and paying for what not, selling the rubies and the one sapphire they found, each member ends up with about 5,040 GP for their personal share. Additionally, some magic items were gained; a +1 Cloak of Protection, +1 Platemail from the dead paladin, and his SUMMUM BONUM amulet remained with the party, and some serious trading was occurring at the magic shop.
Experience was giving and a few bits in town were roleplayed before the party broke up, agreeing to meet back at the Ferryman Inn in four weeks' time.
04/04/745 A.E.
After training and fooling around in town (and other things I won't go into here), the party meets back at the Ferryman Inn for breakfast, discussing their next move over their morning meal. Their mounts and provisions taken care of, the only thing they must do now is decide upon their next course of action.
The breakfast crowd is usual, and many customers are entering the inn and leaving when they finish. Eventually, a table opens up and the party settles in. Garren performs on the small stage while the thunder outside becomes increasingly louder.
Gillmesh looked at Trekken, the holy warrior, with some concern. "Trek, Ah want ta mak sure ya ain't gonna be yellen like ya did aht the orc's lair." Trekken replied, "I already admitted I was a bit hasty there, and I have apologized several times. Sure, I think the more honorable battle occurred, but since I've admitted it was rash and apologized already, what more do you want? I'll apologize again. I'm sorry." Trekken looked into the party member's eyes. Fenarellnen jumped up, pushing her chair back quickly, obviously angry at Trekken and not happy with his apology. She calmed down but continued to glare at him. Drael patted Fen on the back, comforting her, but she, too, only gave Trekken a dirty look. "I don't give a damn about any philosophy, Trekken. I don't trust you and I don't care how often you apologize or admit you were hasty. You'll probably do it again since you think it was so honorable and yourself so honorable, and I'm not going to be killed by an idiot like you." Drael arose from the table and looked at the party. "I'm leaving. I hate it here; the company leaves a lot to be desired," she said looking directly at Trekken. With that, Drael leaves the party. Exit Drael.
Fenarellnen's breathing slowed. She may have had different motives (not that she was happy with Trekken either), but she also felt her time to leave was long past. Wallowing around dark, underground dungeons was simply not her style. She looked at the bottle of wine a patron had sent her to entice her to sing for them. Hmmmmm, the label bore an elven family's crest that no longer existed; it had been wiped out many human generations ago. This bottle had to be over 200 years old. There was a story here, but the man who had sent the bottle had already departed. Again, she looked at the group. "I'm afraid that crawling around under the ground with such regularity is quite beneath me. I'm a ranger, and a bard, and a moon elf. I am wasting my time here and you clearly do not need my skills. I am sorry, but I, too, must bid you farewell." Fen leaves the inn, perhaps to search for the patron and get the story on that bottle of wine. Exit Fenarellnen.
The remaining party members sat dumbly, looking at each other. Another crash of thunder sounded, this time rattling the very walls of the inn, making it seem the entire world was in torment, and outside a heavy rain began to fall as the gods wept. Things looked very gloomy, indeed.
SESSION ENDS:
© November of 1999
by
James L.R. Beach
Waterville, MN 56096