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Topic: Scourge of the Black Claw (Read 404 times) |
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xanofere
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Father ... We have descended into the bowels of the ruined Temple of Mielikki. However, I should probably no longer refer to the temple as just ruined because it is also greatly defiled. Its corridors are bursting with ravenous blood-sucking stirges, Orcs infest and have dedicated the once sacred rooms to Besheba knows what dark god or gods of the Orcish pantheon, and ghouls, giant ants, and living, tormented trees overrun the once pristinely forested inner cemetary. The Tainted Temple of Mielikki has it become.
The fog of hatred and insideous evil that we are surrounded by is getting to be overbearing; it is constantly trying to slide beneath our skin and drench every fibre of our beings. Even as we attempt to gather our strength in a secure room, rest and calm do not come easily, and I find myself stumbling over my prayers to the Rider of the Winds. Angus with his recently acquired magical flaming sword and Sleet's newly summoned familiar - a red eyed, fire breathing dog - have provided a boost of morale and helped to keep the gloom at bay somewhat.
I fear that even after clearing the temple of its present inhabitants that our task will not be complete. Only the prayers of a hierophant can cleanse this oppresive taint. For Zanthyr's and Highport's sake I can only hope that we can tap into our reserves of strength and willpower to make it to that point. And by Shaundakul's helping hands we shall.
Till next ... Father.
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Zanthyr
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...at last, a faint hope that all has not been in vain! Zanthyr feels as though the heavy burden which has been thrust upon him has been lifted, ever so slightly. As he and his friends cautiously make their way out of the now, less tainted cemetery, a faint glimmer of hope surges through his tired, battle-worn body. "Now, I see, I can seek all that I have been striving for, while maintaining a peaceful balance between the skills and values that my parents have taught and those sacred values of Mielikki upon which I am bound and proud to honour! Holding his head slightly higher, eyes wide and alert to any movement, and grasping his katana with more determination, Zanthyr, together with Xeq'iir, Sleet and Angus, makes his way out of the less tainted cemetery, and further into the ruins. "With Mielikki's guidance, we will prevail and rid this ENTIRE temple of the foul evil which has taken hold! Come friends, let's show any evil fiend which stands in our way the edge of our steel, and the might of our will!
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Sleet
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Sleet looks about the msall room - perhaps once a priest's meditation chamber. The rogue frowns. "They may know their defenses are breached so we should be extra careful lads. We have to find Calidor soon..."
Taking out his newly found torch and enchanted shortsword, he looks out the doorway into the darkness. "Shall we be off mates? Remember our discussions aye?"
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Lord_Of_Games
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The last battle was fierce. We unwittingly climbed a ladder at the end of a darkened hallway and upon opening the trapdoor above found ourselves in the midst of the slavers high guard. Many fell, Devar, and if it were not for the rangers quick thinking - throwing our unconscious bodies back down below and locking the trapdoor we would have all been lost. We managed to get healed up and were ready when they managed to open the trap door and find us. Again it was a tough battle but this time we were ready and we slew them all. At least now, for me anyway, I am optimistic that we will see all the slavers dead.
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Zanthyr
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...Zanthyr wipes his brow and has a moments' reflection, "Boy, got out of that by a whisker". He checks his bandaged friends, whom he had almost lead to their demise. Fortunately, by some fate, he had managed to help them escape back down the ladder, healed and escape the slavers' pursuit. "These tunnels must be affecting me more than I expected", as he wraps his cloak around himself more closely, to ward off the chill. "How I long for the comfort of a forest, and a clear springwater stream to rejuvenate my soul". Perhaps the most recent event of eliminating the same pursuing group of slavers will inspire Zanthyr to surge forward and help bring to justice those who are perpetuating the assimilation of innocents into slavery...
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| « Last Edit: on: Sep 11, 2006, 2:07AM » |
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xanofere
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Father ... death is all around me. My armor is splattered with the icor and blood of the dead my companions and I have left in our wake throughout the tunnels beneath the tainted temple. I detest and regret the fact that so many giant ants and ant-people fell to our blades and spells protecting the path leading to the vile slavers' hideout. The tab of despicable deeds the slavers have left behind just keeps mounting; innocents are used and abused, and a temple polluted. I suppose in my naivety of youth I never imagined that my journeys and quest for hidden secrets and magics in the name of Shaundakul would involve so much violence and bloodshed. But wrongs need to be righted, so I will swallow the pain of sorrow and remorse that currently infects me.
Till next ... father.
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Zanthyr
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...Zanthyr and his friends open a door and immerse themselves into what was once, long ago, the majestic main area of the ruins of the temple of Mielikki. Just for a moment he feels they have begun to undo the terribly evil taint that has stained this place. Just for a moment, though, as his friends' furtive glances upwards, towards the ceiling in one direction, gives Zanthyr the greatest and most damaging shock of their journey. Far greater than any sword can wound him! He turns in place and slowly, horribly, his eyes meet that most evil taint of all. Zanthyr falls to his knees and winces, tears welling in his now, large as saucer eyes, and a great, searing pain shoots through his heart. His blurred, tear-filled eyes come to meet the grotesque image of a statue of a horrible orc god, which has been erected on the same pedastal that was, ages ago, occupied by that of his god, Mielikki. Zanthyr leaps to his feet, rushes at the grotesque statue, carefully avoiding the ruins of his most cherished god, and strikes at the statue with his katana. Shards of granite and sparks fly off his blade as he tries in vain to remove the cancerous growth of a statue. His friends rush to his side, and struggle to hold him back. "We must destroy this evil structure" he bellows, with a hoarse, anguished voice. "Yes, Zanthyr, we will" Xeq'iir calmly assures him. "But for now, lets help the slaves". "Wuh, huh, slaves?" Zanthyr gasps and then, finally, after composing himself, he hears their moaning, coming from a corner of the temple. "Yes, Xeq'iir, you are right. I am sorry for my outburst. C'mon, lets free them and then deal with this...thing"!
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Lord_Of_Games
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The armor that Angus had been carrying for the last few days started to annoy him.
The party was yet to decide on how to split their well-earned loot and the northern barbarian pondered how to bring the subject up. In town the cleric Xeq’iir, that they had rescued, spoke of the spoils being resources to use for the common good – the destruction of the slavers. The other members agreed as they clashed their pints of mead and swore death to the slavers. Had he been carrying someone else’s item for these last few days with no chance of claiming this for himself? His mates would have to know that the items they recovered had to be divvied up with no chance of shared ownership. If need be he would have to sell what he earned to pay for entry into the Baldur’s Gate underground Games of Destruction. Having lost all his gained loot to the slavers the chances of paying the amount seemed almost impossible.
“Sleet? I ask that you try your skill at identifying the unknown. I must know what this armor is,” the barbarian whispered to the rogue.
“Very nice armor,” he returned “thrice the normal strength of chain”.
The barbarian was in a quandary again. This armor was better than what he was using and he should have a chance that it would be his. The cleric had been the one though that asked him to carry it for him. Should he then assume that it was his since it was better than the non-magical armor he was wearing? Would it be just until they got out of this damned place or would this be something the party owned and he would have no chance of claiming?
As the last of the band awoke Angus stood with his back to the fire, staring off into the darkened corridor.
“What deep thoughts hold your gaze fixed so Angus” the ranger Zanthyr asked.
“We have travelled far across land and sea and battled many beasts in such a short time my friend. I know that I must finish my business in Baldur’s Gate but cannot with how our group speaks of spoils gained Zanthyr,” the barbarian said as he turned to face the party.
“We must decide here and now,” he said as he sat heavily onto the dungeon floor, leaning back against the ancient stone wall staring upwards toward the statue of the orc god, “we either come to some method of splitting the loot we find, with no grey area regarding ownership, or I must leave you”.
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Sleet
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While the barbarian talked, Sleet had been readying his bedroll, and picking up various camp gear.
The Slaver stronghold he knew had not been defeated, a small contingent of power had been foiled but nothing more. Finished getting ready to travel, he rolled his shoulders and faced the group. "Well mates, we have discussed a few options on how to divy up the various spoils and it seems the consensus is we will leave it to chance. The high roll on a set of bones.. aye?"
Taking out some dice from one of the many pouches on his belt he shook them, a twinkle in his eyes. "Items will be chosen in order with Lady Luck's sweet breath on the die."
"All items will be split up, those not of interest to the group will be pooled and sold to stock up on potions, scrolls and other supplies to aid us on this journey. Fair enough Lads? We have a great evil to defeat. Let us continue as we have agreed over pints of ale." Sleet finishes, a penetrating look at each party member.
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xanofere
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Father ... I sit now with my comrades beneath the dancing shadow of a vile statue of Grumsh, the one-eyed overlord of the orcish pantheon, cast by our torch light still within the underbelly of the tainted temple. Our flesh and lungs are still raw from sloshing through some sort of sewer system filled with acidic sludge, which frequently vomitted noxious fumes.
As far as we can tell we have ferretted out and dealt with the bulk of the slavers, but it is unknown as yet the full extent of their lair or numbers. A sense of great evil still bombares my senses; I feel that there is still much left undone.
My fear is that if one of us shall fall it will be our undoing as Angus, Sleet, Zanthyr, and myself have begun to draw more and more strength from and act more in concert with each other the farther we pursue against the dark tide that has arisen against us. Now, in the belly of the beast more than ever we cannot and must not waver from each and our unified task. And I believe we each acknowledge this fact without having acknowledged it to each other. I read it in my companions' eyes; the resolve, the tenacity, and the respect. We will survive, father, and we will achieve our goal, and we will do it together ...
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| « Last Edit: on: Sep 25, 2006, 2:29AM » |
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Lord_Of_Games
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I feel a great weight lifted, Devar. The party has decided to abandon their desire for communal ownership of the loot and gear we find and instead we will let chance decide. I should now be able to accumulate enough items - to sell if need be - and enter the games.
We have continued to pursue the evil slavers uncovering bands of orcs and half orcs set up as guards to the inner areas. We have found an important choke point that may be impossible to breach. The orcs have ballistaes targetted on the only entrance and there are numerous orcs and half orcs set ready to attack. We have been discussing many different scenarios but all end with us being cut down. We must take out the ballistae but to reach them means being cut down by the foot soldiers. Perhaps the rogue can sneak in behind them. Perhaps the casters can summon some creatures behind the ballistae...I think though if we were able to disguise our selves well enough perhaps we could walk right in, sever the ballistae strings, and cut most of them down before they clued in.
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| « Last Edit: on: Sep 26, 2006, 10:59PM » |
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Sleet
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Stepping up to the door, Sleet pauses. This door is metal and heavy, the hinges are well oiled. Frowning Sleet holds up his hand and steps closer. The party members halt, and talk in quite murmurs.
The rogue scans the door closely but sees no signs of a trap. Putting an ear to the cold metal he holds his breath.. nothing.. just the pounding of his heart.
Turning to the others he gives an okay sign, waiting for them to get ready. Opening the door he looks into gloom, a set of steps lead to a small bridge. No sounds or lights. The rogue steps forward and down onto the landing scanning the flagstones for traps. As Angus, Xeq'iir and Zan step through the doorway. The rogue looks around and sees the door slamming shut behind them!
"No.. block..". *BANG!!* the door closes solidly. at the same time, growls can be heard from some creatures on the bridge.
The 4 adventurers prepare for battle, as guttural voices and laughs can be heard. Zan spits. "Orcs." Dweomers must have kept the enemies silent and invisilbe he imagines.
Sleet grins. "I think we are finally here Lads."
Then the swirling melee erupts.
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Zanthyr
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Zanthyr stands among the mangled bodies of a group of dead slavers. His katana, bloodied and nicked from the most recent skirmish, hangs by his side, grasped in his calloused and aching hand. The many battles have taken it's toll on him, but a newly found inner strength has renewed his resolve. Beside him stands his faithful panther animal companion, Phalanx, sleek and black as night, and very deadly up close. Zanthyr pats the top of his head and praises his friend. "Good job Phalanx, and thanks for showing up in the nick of time". Phalanx nods, acklowledging his friends' praise. A welcome companion, Phalanx had been in his first skirmish, and had done admirably, taking down one of the slavers by himself in a deadly sneak attack, his trademark method of fighting. Sleet even acknowledged his prowess, "Deadly kitty", he praises Phalanx. "Yep, he is that, and another good friend to have at one's side" Zanthyr responds. He is thankful to Mielikki for sending him Phalanx, when the need is greatest. For in front of Zanthyr and his friends stands the biggest test so far in their quest: finding and, if he does not surrender peacefully, eliminating the head slaver himself: Sturm.
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| « Last Edit: on: Oct 1, 2006, 9:06PM » |
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hoyasaxa
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***
Stumbled on this thread. Cool posts, sounds like a great campaign. All the best, Hoyasaxa
***
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xanofere
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Father ... We are trapped!
At last we have come upon the slave pits and released the poor tormented souls held in its cells. By He of the Helping Hands's mercy one of those held captive end up being the young boy Tomas' mother who we promised to find and rescue. Of Calidor we still have no indications as to his were abouts.
But alas, I unknowingly entered a door which I had assumed we had all just come through only to find that it locked behind me. I was attempting to go back down to the last level we were at to free Sleet from a slave pit he had fallen into when these twisting halls got the better of me. The others managed to find me only to be left in the same predicament as I. Now the only way left to us is forward into the room beyond. ... Father
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Sleet
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A scream pierces the relatively calm evening as the group walks towards the pawnshop. Not the safest part of the town at the best of times, orcs, goblins and other denizens of the Slaver's port city watch the over-burdened party with gleaming eyes.
The two-handed swords prominently displayed on Angus' and Xeq'iir's shoulders as well as Zanthyr's katana seem to quell any notion of potential gains..
Sleet hefts his pack to his other shoulder as he reaches the shop's door. "Will be good to lighten this load lads, and acquire some new equipment.. aye?"
The rogue grins, pushing the door open and stepping into the smokey shop interior.
"Once we have sold off and split up the loot, let's be off to the tavern. A few pints to quench our thirst, aye? Another look at those papers we found would be a boon as well - and the map." Sleet finishes with a whisper as the merchant calls out to them.
OOC: DM, can you post those papers we found last? Thanks.
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Sleet
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"Well laddies, looks like we have quite the trek before us. Perhaps some provisions and supplies.. aye?" The rogue queries.
Taking out his pipe, Sleet lights it up with a cantrip spell. Puffing away he looks over his gear, "Rope. Need rope by the gods! Some wine, rations hmm... let's see what we got in the haversack.."
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xanofere
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Father...
It has been a while since I had spoken to you last. Be relieved that I am still among the living (by Shaundakul's good grace it seems).
My companions and I (with the exception of Angus Steelbrow who has parted ways seeking his own fortunes) having been travelling for about 10 day now [a Faerunian week] with the Cloud Peak Mountains as our destination. My spirit soars with great relief at being on the open road and under open sky once again, but even now I still haven't been able to totally washed away the stench and residual vileness that we had been immersed in beneath the ruined Temple of Meliekki in Highport, which is still swarming with slavers despite our best efforts.
Not all is lost though, for we have obtained more information with the assistance of the priest of the Crying God on the whereabouts of the missing Calidor. He has been taken to a stockade in the Cloud Peaks, and only Shaundakul knows if we can reach him in time. I hope that we have a chance to re-supply before challenging the mountains and what lies in wait for us...
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| « Last Edit: on: Jan 15, 2007, 12:53AM » |
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GateCrash
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Sitting on a rock, his green eyes surveyed the rocky landscape. He was far from any home he'd known in his lifetime, and it had been long enough that he'd known more than one.
He shifted his weight forward off of the rock, squatting easily on his haunches as he drew a crude map in the dirt. Judging from the amount of time they'd been in the wagon, he guessed these were the Cloudpeak Mountains. That still left a considerable area in which he could be, though, without supplies, rations, or even so much as a warm cloak. Thank Corellon they'd tried to steal his armor!
He hefted the blade in his hand, feeling its unfamiliar balance. Pity they didn't try to steal my sword, too, he mused. I could've used that back there. He'd have thought it unlucky, if he believed in luck.
Indeed, if he believed in luck, he'd have to wonder what he'd done to deserve this particular spate of ill fortune. But he didn't waste time with such things. Luck was what you made it.
The sound of distant voices reached his keen ears then, ending his reverie on that thought. Two--no, three of them, approaching from the southwest. The voices of men, moving fairly easily, and without the sound of crunching brush of scattering stones. Likely there was a trail over there.
He rose lithely to a crouch and moved forward, parallelling the voices. Time to make some luck.
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