Oneshot: The Dead Enders

Còigeamh 3-4, 6639 (about 4 months before the current events)

Party: ...unknown?

Around town, a number of people began to awaken...

A young woman awoke, pain washing over her. She had fallen through the roof of a barn, and though her helmet saved her life, it hadn't saved her life. Drifting in and out of consciousness, she managed to remove the chunk of wood from her face and stop the bleeding, but her eye was long gone. Once she rested, she was able to find her sword, and make a dress from some cloth. Hearing footsteps outside, she quickly left, hoping to find healing at the medical clinic up the street.

Scared, hiding in the dark, a young mortician - Jesper Sharpe - listened to two men as they argued with his boss, then murdered him. Gathering a set of armor, and the coins from a dead man's eyes, Jesper fled to the safety of his friend's shop - George Weapon, a dwarf. The dwarf suited up in armor and grabbed a massive hammer, but by the time they returned, the murderers were gone... as was the corpse!

Who, only minutes before, had sat up with a groan. Again, with no memory, he grabbed what he could, and tried to run to the church for help. The church was locked; turning, he found the front entrance of Mr. Lloyd's Mortuary and Clinic. Inside was the body of the proprietor, and naught but a tangle of medical tools on the ground, scattered through his blood. A single footprint marked the killer's passage. Through the door, he ran into an angry dwarf and a shaking mortician; and, in the middle of arguing with the two, a young woman entered the shop, still in some pain, and seeking medical attention...

A thief gingerly sat up, trying not to jostle his aching head; his "friends" from the thieves' guild had tried to murder him, but did a rather bad job of it. Not that he knew that, the blow from behind had ended his memory. Finding a knife and a note, he stumbled to his feet and wandered down the hill, to check out the barn. Inside, he searched around, seeing a few footprints, and high above... a helmet, impaled on a beam, with a shred of cloth fluttering in the breeze. Looks like someone took a tumble through the roof. He searched the hay, and found a sword - and as nice as it looked, it wasn't, because it zapped him, badly! Leaving it, he wandered into the pub across the street.

Meanwhile, a cleric of a dark god came to, and fell off his chair with a crash. He spent a few minutes trying to remember where and who he was; the potion he had imbibed was meant to kill him, but he managed to survive, losing only his memory. Shrugging, and gathering a broken chair leg to use as a weapon, he decided to head to the pub. Why not?

The third actor in this play is undoubtedly the saddest. Awakening in immense pain, the once-guardsman drank his last health potion, stabilizing himself, though at the cost of his memories. The stroke he had left permanent damage that would never be healed. His memory gone, he could only struggle into his old armor, and go in search of answers. He reached the Mangy Cow the same time a handsome young man, clothed in plate, arrived. The barkeep, recognizing the old man, greeted him by name. "Hey, Burl! You don't look so good..."

He poured some ale, and handed it to the fellow, refusing payment. "You can always drink here for free, good man. You've earned it."

Behind them, a smelly fellow wearing a hyena-skin jacket wandered in. The barkeep frowned. "You, however, pay double."

The thief saw a young woman, who introduced herself as "Sin" - short for Cynthi, the name on his note, perhaps? "What? Cynthia? That witch!?! No! It's short for Sinda'alellechna, my great-grandmother's name!"

The well-armored man set off for the inn; the old man followed, and the thief brought up the rear. They arrived just as another unlikely three were heading upstairs to their rooms - a thin, pale man, a frightened mortician, and an injured woman, missing an eye, but still carrying a sword.

The group retired for the night. In the morning, the thief went for a stroll, looking for some nicer clothes with all the money he had. Walking past the thieves' guild, he was recognized by the two members, who attempted to kill him again. They failed, and lost their lives for the trouble... but he gained a few more knives, a bow, and a handful of arrows, so there's that, right?

Back at the inn, they met with the others. Confessing they had lost their memories, they began working together to find out what was going on. The only clue they had was the thief's note, which lead them to a woman named Cynthia. Still wondering what the sword did, the thief suggested the well-armored fellow try it out. The armored man, reaching to pick it up, felt a jolt of energy, twice as powerful as the one the thief had felt; he nearly fainted, then and there! Dropping the sword, he suggested no one ever do that again.

The group moved to the church, to speak with the vicar; the cleric felt a case of the willies upon entering, and the vicar demanded the ex-corpse leave immediately. He kept his eye on the thief, but reacted with surprise and happiness upon meeting the swordswoman. They seemed to share a connection of some kind. That symbol of the church - a rising sun or starburst - seemed familiar...

Recognizing the design from the sword, the thief suggested the woman try it out. As she lifted it, a flood of warmth and happiness suffused her. Not only was this sword her own, but she could wield two swords at once!

The six descended on Cynthia's. Distracting some guards, they allowed the thief to slip around behind, where he found Cynthia! He threw a knife at her, and she returned in kind a magic missile, and the battle was begon in earnest. The two guards at the front went through the building; the party ran around the sides, charging in. The ex-corpse, having cast a spell into his weapon, swung at the first guard. His blade cut deep, tearing the mail, then blasting the female warlock, her imp familiar, and the other guard with burning fire! The first guard crumpled to the ground, dead, as the others - ineffectually - swung and missed. Cynthia fired another magic missile, striking the thief again, but then the greataxe of the Ruinguard - for that is what he truly was - sliced again, the blade passing through her familiar, the other guard, and finally embedding in Cynthia's spine.

Cynthia dealt with, the party moved into the shed, where they found a great cauldron, guarded by a young girl. The girl took the arm of the Ruinguard, and began to lead him out, but the mortician - really an Ectomancer - began casting a spell, and she changed form. No longer a little girl, but a desert ghoul! All but the ruinguard were paralyzed in shock; she clawed at him, but her touch was not paralyzing, oddly. The others shook themselves from their shock and attacked, the old guard finally stabbing a hole cleanly through the ghoul.

Outside, two more foes were waiting: a bulky barbarian fellow, and a pale-skinned man in a cloak. Between them was Lt. Mangrave, of the city guard - and Cynthia's lover. The fight began as the barbarian began to shift into a werewolf...

Mangrave managed but a single strike before he was brought down. The blade-dancer, two swords flashing, struck down the werewolf, and together, they brought down the cloaked man - a vampire! The cleric struck last, jamming his broken chair leg into the heart of the foul creature, and in a moment, the campire was naught but ash on the wind.

They turned to the casualty - the old guardsman, fired for doing what was right, now struck down by the vampire. A good death, after a long life, full of hardships...

The ruinguard's memory came back slowly. He remembered a conversation; the men who had kidnapped him had said they were going to control him, then swap him for someone he looked like - a lord's son. However, he was that man! The son of a lord of Zahar, sent to earn his battle-scars.

The thief was part of it from the beginning; he had kidnapped the young lordling, and his "friends" turned on him, hoping to be paid more for it. The cleric, too, had assisted with the ritual in bringing the dead man to life again, though none had counted on the man having a bloodline from ancient Zahar, and becoming not only more powerful, but retaining his independance.

The guard, old and tired, had overheard the plot, and tried to stop it, and was fired for his troubles. His suffered a stroke because of it.

The young Ectomancer, Jesper, learned his true calling from his master; his master had put in a call for help from the church...

...Who sent the blade-dancer to investigated. Pursued by corrupt guards, she hid on top of Mr. Bodb's barn, only to fall through the roof. The injury damaged her brain; while she eventually remembered most of her life, there were always parts that would escape her.

Finally, the cleric never really got his memory back. While a simple Neutralize Poison would have sufficed, he never really got around to figuring that out.

That leaves only the black cauldron, the tool of the enemy, to account for. But, I think, its story may not quite be told...

The Pointless Tower: Not Very Towerlike

Dara 13; next holiday, Darkest Day, Dara 35.

The Party:

• Rig Bigny, Gnomish Beastmaster
  • Flit, the bat familiar
  • Clench, the Wardog War-Badger
  • Midnight, the Panther
  • Noona, the Lion
  • Faufe Yitaw, Dogwere (Badgerwere?)
    • Rawf, Wardog familiar
    • Aroof, Wardog familiar
  • Llarm Paphyra, Elvish Polydoctorate
    • The Metal Man, construct
• Caranthir, Human Leader of Men
  • Rhea Trueheart, Elvish Nightblade
  • Lucille "Luce" Burwood, Fighter
  • Elenora Garrard, White Mage
  • Gimli Trollriver, Dwarven Fury
• Gróin of Norston, Dwarven Sapper
  • Laurita Gomez, Priestess
• Quetgar, Thrassian Assassin
  • Zarc, Thrassian Gladiator
• Sorvald, Thief
• Mor Gibs, the Wonderworker

The party was lead by the Winter Princess to the secret opening of the Pointless Tower...

Legend has it that a man wanted to open what was then the Wild Tower; knowing great riches existed within, he figured it was a safe bet to make a deal with the Fae (or, possibly, the Gnomes). With their assistance, he indeed gained access to the tower. However, something went wrong; the Gnomes (or was it the Fae?) betrayed him, and locked him inside the tower, enchanting it so no one could rescue him. It is his laughter and screams you can hear, carried on the breeze, at the top of the tower.

As the Princess opened the magically hidden door, the party stepped into the hallway. In a moment, they were staring into a strange forest; they could see the forest stretching out in front of them, and could easily make out the trails and meadows within. Behind them, however, the door they walked through was nothing but a stone wall...

Sheltered under a stand of trees was a plaque, moss growing in the letters; or... perhaps making up the letters? The sign seemed to be discernable in any language, and read: "Before you lies tainted ground, tread by the Spirit, the Dark Soul, the Betrayer. Enter at your peril, for there is no return until the prophecy has been read."

The party started down the left path, heading into an area filled with dead ends. Investigating each dead end resulted in finding some mundane armor, cleaned and repaired; a Treant named Brushbeard, who seemed very confused; and Cla and his three friends (family, actually), all kindly brownies. Neither Brushbeard nor Cla were able to shed much light on the forest, though they both mentioned that it was not what it appeared.

Around a corner - warned by the brownies - they found a patch of stinging nettles. Rig attempted to investigate, and caught a slightly painful blast of nettles to the face! One potion of Command Plant later, and the path was cleared. Not long afterward, four dire wolves felt the sting of the party's blades (and claws, and teeth...). The party emerged into a glade, where four pools of water, surrounded by moss and clover, bubbled gently. Gróin, suspicious, walked up to poke the pond, and was rewarded with an explosion of movement - the clover reached up, bundles of tendrils tearing and pulling at him! He jumped back, and the others joined him in beating the strange pond-monsters back to dust. When the last one curled up dead, the brush to the right unfolded, revealing a wide plain. More brush moved, and the third meadow was revealed - and battle was once again joined! Three Arane began by trying to capture the party, as Spellwoods began creating grassy monsters!

By sheer luck, the third, more powerful Arane was interrupted in her spellcasting. As the spiders were dealt with, so were the feral trees, and soon the area was again quiet. The party explored the third branch, and eventually returned to follow the newest opening, to the south. After walking in relative peace, they came upon a great pond. Caranthir, in dragon form, began flying across it, but realized his reflection was laughing at him! The reflection grew and grew, until his eye filled the entire pond, which then bubbled up into an enormous mound... and began to shrink, and shrink, until it was small, and round, and plopped into the face of a strange creature rolling on the ground laughing.

Coyote, property of Gunnerkrigg Court by Tom Siddell

The creature, its tongue lolling out of its mouth as it laughed uproariously, crowed, "Oh ho! Hoo hoo! Ahhhahaha! Fooled! Oh dear! Oh my! Such foolish mortals!"

Finally, he finished laughing, and challenged one of the party to a fight. "Oh! Oh yes! A battle! Hooray! It's been so long since anyone fought me! Let me see... I shall be a tree! With rocks for teeth! And the rivers of the world will be my blood!"

Caranthir, sighing, prepared to face the strange animal... until he suddenly found himself staring up, a small, fluffy, dragon-tailed kitten! The being once again collapsed into a writhing puddle of giggles and guffaws, much to Caranthir's irritation. The animal laughed so hard, his mouth opening so wide, he suddenly flipped inside out! Luckily, the inside seemed to be about the same as the outside. He spit out his eyes, replaced them in his face, and winked. "Storytime! About me, of course."

He began his tale: "One lovely century, I was strolling through my woods - they're all mine, you know - and I saw a nasty spirit thing. He was happy to see me - everyone is happy to see me, of course - and asked if I wanted to become overwhelmingly wealthy and powerful. How I laughed! I already own all the gold in the world. I keep it in other people's pockets! And the trees are my bones, and the stones my teeth! What other power is there? Well, he was very upset with me. He hissed and shouted, but I just winked at him, because I was the moon."

Thoughtfully, he added, "I'm always the moon, of course."

"But he wanted to stay in my woods, and he was eating all my children, so I barked at him. He grew angry, so I picked him up and put him on a mountain, but then he was too big, so I had to travel there myself and make sure he was the right size. Oh! But let me tell you about the time I was a dead goose! No? Some other time, then! Oh, but before you go, I have a gift for you!"

He tossed a small flask onto the ground. The liquid within is black, red, blue, and white, much as the Coyote (for, indeed, that is who he was - the trickster god of the forests!) is; shaking the fluid causes the colors to swirl, but never mix. It's vaguely unsettling, and the party had the strangest feeling they were being taken advantage of, but abandoning their gift seemed... imprudent. Coyote bowed, motioning to the twisting staircase.

As the party climbed, the sky turned to walls, then to stone, and finally, to the top of a mountain! They could see a few nearby peaks, and a twisting set of stairs leading peak to peak. They could see a few problems, not the least of which was a crowd of four stone giants, nudging each other and hefting huge stones. Caranthir tested to see if he could fly over the chasms - no such luck. A powerful downdraft threatened to suck him into the void below. The party was forced to cross carefully, avoiding the thrown rocks. Of course, it's always nice to have a sapper along; each broken path and rickety plank was replaced with a sturdy wooden tunnel-bridge, much to the annoyance of the giants. After quickly tearing through a series of gargoyles, the party reached a safe spot. Only one giant managed to hit anyone before Caranthir reached them; his armored hide blocked many of their blows, but a few got through. Finally, the giants were dead.

Past the giants, the party were surprised by two huge, grey-skinned worms, which they defeated handily. The two stone giants they faced met a similar fate, though they were much harder to hit, with their powerful stone skin.

Winding around the mountain, the party finally crested the top, to find a man seated on a golden throne. The man tossed the chalice of wine he was drinking over the edge, and greeted them with open arms. "Friends! I thought you'd never make it! After my dear friend, that old deceiver Coyote, told me you were on your way, I was simply delighted! Why, I've even prepared a welcome gift for you!"

And with that, he suddenly turned into a very large giant. A frost giant, of course. The party attacked quickly, and though Loki cheated once or twice, they eventually brought him down. When defeated, Loki changed back into the form of a man, laughing. "Such fun! Oh, your faces! If only you could see them - you look like this!"

His face changes into a row of faces, perfect duplicates of each of the party's, except each face has crossed eyes, its tongue stuck out, or some other goofy expression of fear. "Ah, but perhaps you'd like to hear my part of the tale! As I'm sure Coyote told you, a dark creature attempted to live in his woods, and he most graciously carried the hideous thing here. The creature offered me a deal - power, wealth, anything I'd like, in return for my assistance, and the ability to live in these lands. I, of course, refused; I needed my followers, and he seemed intent on eating them. We fought, and thankful was I that he had little time to rest since Coyote brought him; the battle was difficult, even for one such as myself. I'll tell you, by the time we were through, I was quite Thor!"

"I booted the foul thing from my mountains, into... into... into the lands of the elves!" Loki guffaws, unable to continue. "Oh! Their faces! Such a terror! Oh, me!" With a wink, he tosses a small vial to you. It contains a glistening liquid. Loki bows, and announces, "My tears! I have only cried thrice, so those tears are certainly worth a fortune! But now, I am afraid you have somewhere else to be. Up, up and away!"

The earth surged beneath their feet, flinging them into the air. Instinctively, they braced themselves for impact with the invisible ceiling, but instead, they found themselves falling onto soft, grassy earth...

• XP from Encounters:
  • 4 brownies (peaceful)
  • 1 Treant (peaceful)
  • 4 dire wolves (140)
  • 5 Cloverfield (325)
  • 2 normal Arane (2140)
  • 1 magic-wielding Arane (1570)
  • 4 Spellwood (3280)
  • 1 4HD bat swarm (peacefully spoken with)
  • 1 Coyote (survived)
  • 3 gargoyles (405)
  • 4 stone giants (2800)
  • 2 Caecilian (570)
  • 2 stone golem (7800)
  • 1 Loki (as a huge, tricky Frost Giant) (1700)
• XP from treasure: N/A (oddly, usually the creatures carry or horde things)
• Total XP: 19030
• XP per PC: 2537
• XP per Henchbeing: 1269

The Temple of Thul-Gaal

So, last week I had a dream. No, seriously, it was a real dream of GMing an RPG. The rules were a bit fast and light, and there weren't any dice rolls... more of an interactive cinematic sort of thing. But that's beside the point. I have, in the course of the last week or so, come up with the beginnings of a one-shot. Or some-shot. A short campaign.

When I first started writing it all down, I was pretty excited - this would fit into the current campaign, and be a lot of fun. For me. Because I would kill everyone. I realized that maybe, just maybe... that wouldn't be fun for everyone else. So, I took a step back, and decided that I would tweak a few things so it would become a one-shot, where people wouldn't care if their characters get absolutely slaughtered.

Now, I still have some tweaks left, and a few puzzles to work through, which is perfect, because you guys have some work to do, too. You need to make up some characters.

Your character must follow these guidelines:

• Roll up character stats
  • Roll 3d6, five times, to make a column of stats; repeat to make 5 total columns
  • Choose a column; you may use the chosen stat column in any order
  • You may trade 2 points from a non-primary stat to add 1 to a primary stat
• Choose a character - any character class from the original list
• Your character starts with:
  • 620,000 XP
  • 815,000 gp
• You may trade gold for:
  • Normal equipment, mounts, etc.
  • Any magical item, at its base price
  • A chance for random magical items
    • Trade 1,000gp for a 15% chance of two magic items of a random type.
    • Trade 3,000gp for a 25% chance for a weapon or armor, a 25% chance for a potion, and a 10% chance for a miscellaneous magic item.
    • Trade 10,000gp for a 50% chance for four randomly determined magic items, one random potion, and one random scroll.
    • Trade 30,000gp for 1d4 random potions, 1d4 random scrolls, and a 50% chance for six randomly determined magic items.
    • Trade 100,000gp for 2d4 random potions, 2d4 random scrolls, and a 75% chance for each of the following: 1d3 swords, 1d3 armor, 1d3 miscellaneous weapons, 1d3 wands/staffs/rods, 1d3 rings, and 1d3 miscellaneous magic items.
    • Note: You may trade a (random) scroll or potion for two (random) recipes.
    • If you have the core rulebook, you can roll up your own magical items; however, I have a spreadsheet that does it instantly, so if you want to trade for magic items, let me know and I can do it automatically. If you want to trade scrolls/potions for recipes, tell me before hand, so I can roll recipes instead.
  • As many henchmen as you'd like
    • Roll up each henchman as a character
    • Trade 1 gp for 1 XP (a henchman with 100,000 XP costs 100,000 gp)
    • While henchmen can have henchmen, you cannot exceed the number of henchman your character is allowed in total (4, plus Charisma bonus, plus any proficiency bonus)
  • Creating magical items, new spells, ritual spells, constructs, etc.
    • To create a magical item (etc.), you must:
      • Purchase a library
      • Spend the money for the item/scroll/potion
      • Make any rolls required for research, etc.
      • Note: failed rolls still use money!
• Mages and other studious casters begin with 50% of their spell list generated randomly, and the rest chosen.
  • Researched spells (see above) count as a chosen spell
  • If you want to replace a randomly chosen spell, it costs 1,000 gp per spell level to replace; you may choose any spell you have as a scroll or recipe.
  • If you do not have the spell as a scroll, it costs an additional 500 gp per spell level to buy the spell. Only spells in the spell list may be purchased; spells not on the spell list must be researched (see above).
• Wishes will be neutered for this one-shot. They are allowed to be cast as any spell, or the reverse of any spell, instantly; they also allow a character to be resurrected, returned from another dimension, or cured of an affliction (insanity, possessed hand, etc.), but they cannot be used as an open-ended "true wish".

Whew! What a list! If you have any questions, let me know. I'll wait to run the one-shot until everyone has a character rolled up, spells and all. Also, if you want to roll up any number of backup characters, that would be awesome. I'll have some upper-level characters created, probably, so nobody is left out, but if you want to make your own backups, go for it.

Long ago, in a land far away, an ancient temple was built in the wastelands...

The temple belonged to an ancient race, the Thrassians, cruel, dark creatures, with scaly skin and terrible claws, with great leathery wings and horrible sharp teeth. These Thrassians ruled the land with iron fists, but like all terrible rulers, they were vanquished, and their ways were lost to history.

These days, the Thrassians of old are but legends; stories told by old soldiers to frighten the new recruits, and told by parents to get their children to bed or to eat their vegetables.

Nonetheless, the stories (at least most of them) are true. And, deep in the Desert of the Dead, our heroes gather to face the greatest threat these ancient monsters ever built: the Temple of Thul-Gaal. Undead - and worse - prowl its dark hallways, and magical traps pervert the very earth on which the temple stands. The tower is hidden behind a ridge of mountains; inside is an ancient volcanic desert, devoid of life. During the day, wind blows through the desert and shifts the sands, obscuring the path to the temple, but never burying the temple itself; that site juts out of the landscape like the hellish claw of an enormous demon...

Few have returned from the voyage; the dizzying heat, the blinding dust, and the unforgiving rocks have claimed countless lives. Only those who turn back from the temple's gates have survived, and even those have faced staggering casualties. No one who has entered the temple has returned to tell the tale.

Even so... stories persist of a treasure in the temple, unimaginable wealth. For ages, adventurers lost their lives in pursuit of that treasure; soldiers, mages, clerics, and thieves left and never returned. And yet, they must; as the adventurers stop coming, the undead grow restless. Like a cat sharpening its claws, if there are no adventurers to lay them to rest, the undead creep forth, raiding villages and destroying lives and livelihoods. It has come to the point that those nearest the temple feel they must step in and destroy the temple, or die in the attempt...

The Journal of Görkem Ebrahimi

The journal, taken from the corpse of (as is noted in its pages) Görkem Ebrahimi, contains a wandering missive of the last several months of Görkem's life. While Llarm read every detail, the majority of his story could be wrapped up in the phrase, "Fighting is fun, but now I'm hungry." In short, his story read as follows:

One-shot: Rise of the Beastmen: The Generals

Near the end of the Age of Men, mages began magically combining men, dwarves, and even elves with beasts. Generation after generation of beast-men were created. Some, like halflings, were quite peaceful, and served as farmers, or other peaceful work. Others, like goblins, were savage creatures, employed as laborers or soldiers. As the original, somewhat more lawful mages died off, their secrets were aquiered by others. The peaceful combinations were left on their own, while the more feral beast-types were combined and combined again. Though countless combinations were created, certain archtypes seemed to be the most successful: goblins, hobgoblins, bugbears, orcs, orgres, kobolds, gnolls, and so on; the beastmen known and feared today. These armies gathered materials for their masters, ransacking villages and pillaging farms. As beastmen were released or escaped, more and more wild beastmen roamed free, which meant the armies increased to fend them off, which meant more beastmen escaped, and on and on. As the second generation of creature-splicing mages died off, a third generation arose. Hungry for power, these mages has none of the restraint of their old masters. The new masters created monstrosities, horrors of necromancy and unholy power, powerful and untamed. They reached too far, and the edges of their control began to slip. But still, power-mad, they churned out beastmen...

One Shot: Rise of the Beastmen: Battle for the North

My kids, ages 7 and 9, have been begging me to play an RPG with them; having a few free days around Christmas, I finished fleshing out a bit of lore, and built a one-shot campaign for them. It, too, is set in this world, a few short years before the age of the beastmen truly begins. It's a bit long, as it was actually three sessions, stuck in between shopping, presents, and general holiday spirit.

The Emissaries

It is the year 3781, 7 years before the Wall of Mareten is completed, and 19 years before the Age of the Beastmen. The Council of Five - that is, the top diplomats of the Humans, Elves, Dwarves, Halflings, and Gnomes - called two of its last heroes to begin what may be the most important mission of the century. Beastmen activity was increasing; incursions were digging further into civilized territory than ever before. The Elves (that is, the True Elves) in the West were pressed to the breaking point; already, the southern city had closed its gates. Roads were not safe. Worse, rumors began to filter in of a danger to the North. If the Northern Tribes were conquered, their precious knowledge would be lost.

Thus, the Council summoned Gimli Thorson, Dwarvish Craftpriest, and Evindal Elaric, Elven Enchanter, to begin a perilous journey to warn the people of the north.

How does Wish work?

On Wishes

By Lucious¹

Property of Wrapport Library, Wrapport College, Wrapport, Mareten, Mor-Thir.

Wishes and miracles are strange, powerful spells, capable of manipulating reality itself.

Miracles, of course, are infrequent blessings handed out to faithful followers, and are often accompanied by divine quests, as difficult as they are mandatory. The more powerful the miracle, the more stringent the quest. The most powerful miracles, granting immortality, powerful enchanted weapons, and so on, are simply refused, or even punished, at the whim of the miracle-granting deity. Wishes, on the other hand, seem to have no oversight; at face value, it seems even the most exploitative wish could be made reality.

The Planets

There is no session today, so instead, you're going to get an extra, special (and also extra special) blog: the planets!

Mor-Thir is a popular continent (why is that? All will be revealed... eventually), but there's more to the universe than just one continent. Ignoring, for the moment (and for the sake of the plot), the other continents surrounding Mor-Thir; allow me to introduce you to the other planets in the solar system.

Now, even without magic, sages and wise men can chart the celestial bodies in the sky. Add in even a little bit of magic, and the other planets can become clear. While little is known about what inhabits these other planets (if anything), sages at least know about them.

Blind Ajeela

Long ago, there lived a devout priestess named Ajeela Lightbringer. She served her god with fervent devotion, caring for the poor, the sick, and the injured. Throughout her youth, she grew in wisdom and power; men, women, and children came from all over to receive healing and blessings from her. Her congregation grew to thousands, then tens of thousands, with no sign of stopping. Her life was blessed by her god; anything she set her mind to, she could accomplish.

If that was the entire story, she would have been remembered as a great saint, and likely immortalized in stained glass or painted fresco in countless chapels and cathedrals. As it is, however, few even remember her; the church erased her from their scrolls, and she vanished into legend.

Knowledge Sought is Knowledge Found

A while back, the warlock Morthor was given a letter by an old woman, and told, "Knowledge you seek? Knowledge you find!"

The front of the envelope was blank but for the world "Knowledge"; the back was sealed with wax, with a strange symbol for the stamp.

Inside was what appeared to be a page, torn from a book; page 117, as written at the top. The page contained two things of note: first, a poem, and second, a map.

The poem reads:

Knowledge sought
   is knowledge found,
An Orb of thought
   deep underground
A hidden spot
   near Gnomish Mound
Knowledge Sought
is Knowledge found

The map is reproduced to the left. It appears to be a maze, with the entrance either at the bottom of the page, or near the top, next to a group of brightly-colored houses. At the top and bottom left of the maze are two trees, each with slightly different fruit. In the middle of the map is a strange image of a brownish blob with a yellowish cone on its top, next to a blue ^ over a grey v.

Last, and perhaps most importantly, there is a section that appears to be closed off; inside is a symbol: a circle with a dot in its middle, very similar to the wax seal.

It is slightly odd that the area under the poem is blank, while the maze takes up the margin to the left; naught but ink-stains mark the rest of the page.

Bardbarian: Beyond the Wall Tour

An excerpt from Norston Times:

The Bardbarian is a modern marvel; with magic and music, he draws staggering number of people to his concerts. Rich and poor, young and old, filling even the Slowhaven Amphitheater; people travel from miles around to attend. His diverse band includes a bard, a mage, a dwarf, and even a bladedancer, and his music reflects that diversity, ranging from the thunder-and-lightning scream-fest of Reigning Blood, to the lyrical ballads Stromsloja Rhapsody and Hotel Annhoradwy.

The Bardbarian will be visiting Norston 8/14, and will be preforming new songs from his Beyond the Wall Tour. Tickets are 1 sp standing room, 1 ep for mid-row, and 1 gp for front row seats. Please see your local message board for details.

Magical Items II

As previously noted, incredibly heroic actions can sometimes imbue weapons, armor, or other items with magical power, granting bonuses or abilities to their users. Other magical items have been upgraded by less fantastic (though still magical) means; +1 shields, swords of life-drinking, and all manner of scrolls and potions are available, at a price, enchanted by mages and their hard-working assistants. Finally, some items are called from the ether by a Wish or a Miracle, often with a sole purpose in mind: slaying a dragon, capturing a demon, or driving back some monstrous force.

Expanding on Religion

I previously discussed religions quite a while ago in my post Language and Religion. However, that was a pretty brief overview, and I would like to expand on the basic names and descriptions, and include some lesser gods as well.

The Desert People

In the deep desert, nomads roam, moving from hidden oasis to secret wells, tending their flocks, always on the move. They carry all that they own with them, caravans of wealth, though easily able to protect their fortunes. At its outskirts, men and lizardmen build their cities; few cities survived the attacks of the beastmen, and fewer cities still manage to flourish in the harsh environment. However, a few great cities managed to fend off monsters and brigands long enough to survive; of these, Korcu Baskenti is the largest, and most powerful. Desert spices and exotic trade flow through the city, as well as darker trade: slaves, stolen treasure, and dark magical items.

The Fae

This is, of course, the Age of the Fae; but why? The Age of Elves was ruled by elf-kind, and the Age of Men was ruled by humans; the Age of the Beastmen was full of the nasty brutes. But the Fae do not seem to be quite as well-heard of; their place in stories is mysteriously absent.

The Fae, or Faerie-folk, are not an outgoing people. They are sly, and wild, and ethereal. Unlike the solid elves or brash humans or brutish beastmen, the Fae would rather sit back and manipulate, pulling strings in the shadows. They are wild, and yet there is a method to their madness; all Fae are bound by an extraordinary set of rules. The rules bind and free; they are loved, and hated, and all faerie-kind know them intrinsically. Fae hate iron, and cannot bear to wear it; likewise, if asked a question three times, they must answer truthfully the third time. Their promises have permanent bonds; a promise must be carried out, though admittedly only the word, not the intent.

Street of the Gods

In the city of Slowhaven is a street paved with white stone. The only access is a single road that meets the street in its exact center. A wide sign marks the street as the Street of the Gods; the 'G' has obviously been repainted many times, having alternated between uppercase and lowercase, depending on whether the painter was monotheistic or not. Not that it matters; if anyone is close enough to read the sign, their attention will obviously be elsewhere.

The Seven Scales

Long, long ago, before the First Age, when the great wyrm called Mor-Thir his home, there was a great battle, and Alehim smote the wyrm; in the end, the great wyrm was defeated. But during the battle, it shed seven scales, which were blown far and wide. As the scales were found, they were forged by the dwarves into items of power, and of war.

The first scale was found by a group of mechanics and tinkers; they wrought the great scale into an artifact of power, directing its power into a colossus to protect their cities. The scale became its great eye, through which the golem watched over the dwarves. During the dark days of the Age of the Beastmen, the giant golem was the only thing to stand between the dwarves and their doom; at the conclusion of the many wars with the beastmen, only the golem was left standing. It's eye resembles a great emerald, the size of a man; there are many rumors of the powers of the great eye, but there are few alive today who have seen the golem in battle.

The Age of Dragons

From his seat at the edge of the bazaar, an old man beckons you over, waving his long pipe. Expecting another beggar grasping for coins, you step towards him. The warm brick walls and the rug-seller's wares deaden the noise; in this tiny corner, the market is almost quiet.

"The stories're wrong, y'know," he chortles, smoke puffing from his mouth with each word. "The first age weren't th' age of th' elves, bless 'em. Oh, sure, they were th' first ones to write it all down, but who knows what happened before then, eh?" He wheezes an approximation of a laugh. "I'll tell ye - me!"

Librarians

I've created a few new races, classes, and magic types for this campaign, including the wolfwere (an animal able to turn into a man, rather than the other way around), the Skinscribe (a mage who uses his tattooed skin as his spellbook), the Dwarven Sapper (who builds and destroys), and the White Mage (which uses the cleric spells, but the mage spell progression, including the ability to research new spells); however, there is one particular class of magic that has had tremendous impact on the world of Mor-Thir, especially within Mareten: Librarians.

Long ago, in times not forgotten, lived a man named Quentin Querulous. While scrolls and books of ancient knowledge were present even then, they were stored is jumbled heaps and stacked on creaking shelves. Mages kept their own books, and few outsiders were allowed to read them - if they even could. It was unheard of to own a large collections of books, simply because of the space required - many books could not sit in the same room, let alone the same shelf, as other books, simply because of the amount of magic contained within. The more books one owned, the more likely stray magic would begin arcing between them, killing anyone nearby and usually reducing the area to a glowing crater.

Orrin and Lia of Grove

Orrin of Grove began his life as a simple peasant. Poor but hard-working, he and his wife Lia labored in the fields. Every evening, they would wander the nearby woods in prayer. One night, the couple chanced upon a young apple tree; every night after, the two visited the tree, tending it as they prayed and talked. Over time, it grew; every harvest, its branches were laden with fruit, providing Orrin and his wife with more than enough food. Eventually, Orrin approached the owner of the woods, and asked if he could purchase the small plot where the tree grew. The owner had no plans for the area; it was overgrown and too hilly for crops. However, he never expected a poor farmer to be able to purchase land. Laughing, he agreed to a fair price, and sealed it with his signet, fully expecting to never hear from young Orrin again.