D&D Session 41 (5/3/22): Making It Personal

 Text by Paul O'Connor, Dungeon Master

There is the stench of death in the air, and not just from the fragrant corpse pile the undead Axton calls a bed. A sense of DOOM clutches at the heart of the party.

And that's because of ... The Hellfire Orb! The ritual was a (real time) month in the coming, but it did not disappoint. Arthur was hurled aside like a broken doll, and Blah was staggered. Death saving rolls ahead! Boom goes the dynamite!

Quaffing a healing potion (and it's a good thing he did), Blah had a moment of inspired madness. "NO MAGIC!" he shouted at the undead king! "Fight me like a barbarian!"

Now, Axton should have known better. But you know what they say -- you can take the boy out of the barbarian, but you can't take the barbarian out of the boy. (They do say that, don't they?) Somehow, Blah's word wormed their way into Axton's worm-eaten heart (and it helped that I rolled a fumble when checking to see if Axton kept his cool). 

"No magic, hey? I'll show you no magic!" I mean why use a prepared spell that might banish your foe to another plane of existence when you can wade in and slash with a sharp piece of steel?

(You know, there's a reason that even when he forged the Rehged Barbarians into a single fighting force that Axton failed to build a kingdom. He stooooooo-pid).

Slice, hack, slash! Blah takes the hit ... but when raging, he's all about taking the hit. Does it say something on his sheet about half-damage from being banished to another plane of existence? No, it does not. Good thing Axton didn't do that!

Slice, hack, slash ... and down goes Axton, exploding into ribbons of bandages and mummy dust like spring snakes released from a can!

(Gotta love D&D -- "Personal challenge improbably unhinges campaign end boss and prevents total party kill." Yep, had that on my DM bingo card).

A healing potion down Arthur's throat and he was right as rain. And looking around the burial chamber, our heroes find more gold and platinum pieces than they can carry. Plus -- not to be forgotten -- Axton's legendary axe, the key to rallying the barbarian tribes against the giants! (Theoretically).

Problem is, our heroes are on an island, surrounded by raging, frozen waters -- how do you transport all those hundreds of pounds of coin across the water?

I'll tell you how NOT to do it -- Iago's way. Maddened with greed, his pockets stuff with WAY too much loot, the unloved NPC Bard waded into the water, convinced he could make the other side. Only being swallowed by a Frost Salamander saved him from drowning before he could freeze to death.

Spending exactly zero seconds mourning Iago, Khostov froze our gang a temporary causeway through clever application of his Frost Fingers spell, and with only a few white knuckle moments, the gang got off the island, their treasure intact. They spent the night in Khostov's tiny hut.

An under-appreciated feature of that tiny hut spell is the hut is transparent from the inside ... so the party easily saw the Ice Trolls laying in wait for them, and dispatched them with contemptuous ease come the morning. This had the dual benefit of helping much of the party hit Level 9 ... AND it let us scratch "Troll" off our list of classic D&D monster encounters.

Laden with treasure, fully healed and rested, in possession of the fabled Ax of Axton, our heroes set out on their last (?) and greatest (?) journey ...

D&D: Highlights of the Axton Fight. We all really should have died. The dice were kind.

 

D&D Session 40 (4/5/22): The Tomb of Axton!

Text by Paul O'Connor, Dungeon Master

Winter's chill draws close as our intrepid heroes ride their disk across frozen waters, like some D&D homage to Washington crossing the Delaware.

Mephits streak down in icy fury; skeletons swarm the shore. But they were little match for the Pipes of FEAR (and yes, I'm as perplexed as anyone that skeletons know fear). Our heroes gain the far shore without hardly taking a scratch. In a twinkling, Omaha Beach turned into Malibu Beach!

On the island, a horse's tomb (quickly looted), and a burial mound, surmounted by a spiral stair. Iago was persuaded to dig, uncovering a stone lid, shrugged aside by Blah.

 Below -- a burial chamber, a pile of treasure, and atop it the armored form the Axton himself, cradling his legendary axe in his dead hands.

(You know what happens next, of course).

Blah roped himself off and lowered down. He knelt before the dead king and said the axe was needed to unite his people ... but Axton was having none of it! Awakened from his slumber, he rose and began casting spells. Grovel, Blah! Hold, Arthur! 

It was all a swirling melee, with Axton shrugging off Khostov's spells, trading blows with Blah, and managing to keep his britches up from Arthur's Chimes of Opening (and drat, but that would have been something).

The battle reaches fever pitch ... Axton raises his blade high overhead ... it glows, as if he's readying some mighty ritual ...

(... and then we broke for the night!)

D&D Session 39 (4/1/22): Taboo!

 

 Text by Paul O'Connor, Dungeon Master

Missing the chance to kill off the entire party as an April Fools' joke, we got right into it ...

... with our intrepid heroes wandering about Icewind Dale, while Iago hummed and hrrmed and got the rhymes wrong, trying to remember which great icy mountain, precisely, it was that contained the fabled Tomb of Axton. Every step of the way they were dogged by wolves (wolved by dogs?) with the savage Wolf tribe of the Reghed Barbarians fast on their heels.

When it became obvious the party was headed for ground so taboo to Mal-Do that he could not even name the grounds, the boastful barbarian's heart dropped into the sink of fear, before a bit of shaming and cajoling by the heroes got him going again. 

At last they arrived at the Forbidden Zone. Mal-Do watched the horses while the heroes and Iago squeezed through a narrow cleft in the rock beneath an ancient rune identifying the taboo grounds. Inside the cleft -- strange spoor, the tracks of big cats and slime left behind by ... something.

Beyond the cleft a hidden punchbowl valley, dominated by a roaring waterfall and a treacherous, switch-back set of natural stairs rising to the Tomb of Axton embedded in the far rock wall!

Dismissing the waterfall entrance as entirely too chilly, the heroes entered via the main gate, and passed through chambers that had lain silent for thousand of years, the walls decorated with frescos depicting barbaric glory.

Soon the lads found the tomb was built around a vast underground lake, with an island in the middle that held a burial mound and standing stones ... the heart of the Tomb of Axton!

A bit more sneaking about and the team found their way to a ruined causeway, which promised to bring them close to the island. A few desultory arrows launched from the island greeted their explorations, but all was chill (in more ways that one, as ice waters roared about the pilings near the causeway). Khostov began a ritual to conjure a floating disc to move the party across to the island. But then waterlogged undead assassins dragged themselves from the lake bottom and swarmed to attack, tearing off their own faces and infecting luckless Arthur with Bluerot (sad, but true).

Blah and Arthur dueled the wet undead while Khostov completed his spell. The heroes stepped aboard the floating disk and began to hover across to the island, which should go perfectly aside from that one remaining skeletal assassin in the water, aiming at them with twin crossbows ... oh and the skeletons gathering on the far shore ... and the flock of mephits that detached from the icy ceiling and flapped down toward the floating disc ... and also the great bulky shape cutting an ominous vee through the water toward all the action.

Join us next time to see what happens, same Bat time, same Bat channel

D&D Session 38 (3/15/22): The Pleasure Tents Of Bjornhild Solvigsdottir

 Text by Paul O'Connor, Dungeon Master

Barbarians show their grief through celebration, and they really tied one on to mark Sommpher's death. Sommpher's Rest was magically transformed to a hidden crater of eternal spring in the windy Icewind Dale. As a sacred place, Blah's reindeer friends can live here safely. A magic lake fills the bottom of the bowl.

Bjornhild Solvigsdottir arrives -- she is Queen of the Tiger Tribe, a fierce follower of Auril Frostmaiden. They say ice flows in her veins, but her blood beat hot for Blah.

Gifting, dancing, drinking, boasting. Dagger-throwing games, thanks to Arthur. All conducted beneath the tents of Bjornhild, overflowing with savage splendor. Tiger hides! Mammoth tusks! Fermented horse milk! You can practically hear the Basil Poledouris score!

Rumor in the court -- King Hekaton, wise old master of the Frost Giants, has gone missing, and in his place the hotheaded Jarl Storvald leads the Frost Giants of Icewind Dale. He's also the master of the Kringvind raiding ship, which sank our heroes outside Fireshear. Definitely owe that guy some payback.

Arthur finds himself the leader of a little carnal cult (!) -- The Sister Riders made a jockey of him, and enjoyed their game of "lock and key." (Arthur later pilfered the Chime of Opening central to the game).  

In his own tent, Khostov was stirred from his studies by what he swore was the voice of Sommpher, warning him of an Invisible Stalker about to strike. There was an exchange of spells before the tent was carried away by swirling winds and the monster disappeared, but not before Khostov was clouted in the head by a chamberpot. Could the fiend have been sent by the Tiger Tribe's shaman, the sinister Shag-Ga (also called the ... ahem ... Wind Father)? That old fart was definitely giving Khostov the evil eye.

But most of the action was in Bjornhild's tent, where she and Blah wrestled the night away. Between bouts of wild lovemaking, Bjornhild shared a dream she'd had since she was a little girl -- that she and her husband would unite the Reghed Barbarians and return them to the glory of Axton's day. Her husband died a year ago, battling the two-headed frost giant, Gud ... but in Blah she saw her dream alive again. With Axton's Axe, and the four tribes of the Reghed gathered at Sommpher's Rest; with the curse of the Giants' Rest broken -- surely this is a sign. Bjornhild pledged her love to Blah, said she would bring him strong sons, that they would unite the Reghed tribes to drive the giants back to their glacier holdfasts, and Icewind Dale would be their's -- hunting for all, tribute from the Ten Towns, and peace above all. But bring us the AXE!

Come morning there is gift-giving -- resplendent tiger fur clothing and potions of healing. Together with Iago (remember him -- the captured bard who claims to know the location of Axton's tomb?) and Mal-Do, the heroes begin their quest for the Axe of Axton.

At the end of the first day's march, a grim discovery -- the remains of the fur trappers the heroes had met some days before. Slain and half-eaten, Mal-Do says it is the work of the Wolf Tribe of the Reghed Barbarians -- insane cousins that no one trusts. A bad sign that they are in this part of Icewind Dale.

The next day saw our heroes headed into the foothills of the Reghed Glacier in the northwest of Icewind Dale. They surprised a loutish Hill Giant and his Ogre pals on the trail; Khostov's Acid Sphere struck home, and Arthur put his dagger-throwing skills to good effect. Down went the hapless brutes, but not before Mal-Do claimed victory. (Lots of bark, not so much bite with that guy). They made him stay outside and keep watch while everyone else bunkered up in Khostov's Tiny Hut for the night.

I am featured in a documentary on the Republique series by game developer Camouflaj.

 Those were fun, scrappy days.  A great game developer story.  

D&D Session 37 (3/9/22): Sommpher's Rest

 Text by Paul O'Connor, Dungeon Master

A sense of doom hangs over the party. Sommpher is not himself, spending extra hours in prayer. Something troubles him.

The Barbarians were as patient as they were silent, forming a quiet ring and observing our heroes as they counted their foes, and counted again, and concluded they best not try to cut their way out of this one.

Cummings knew this tribe -- The Tiger Tribe, a warlike group, but one that could be reasoned with. Sometimes. They rode broad, squat, powerful, shaggy ponies and draped themselves in snow tiger furs. Their leader -- a giant of a man named Mal-Do -- was so tall that even astride his tallest of the horses his feet nearly touched the ground.

And it's not just any horse. It's Horse! A shock of recognition runs between Blah and his old animal friend.

Mal-Do bargained with the heroes, in the manner of his people, which mostly meant threats and bullying. Give us the furs, and the girl, and the owlbear, and we will offer you tiger teeth, and let you keep your lives. And we can heal the half-man.

Mal-Do knew more than he was letting on, though. He admired that our heroes had slain the orcs the night before, and seemed satisfied to confirm our gang were the Heroes of Blue Mountain. He'd heard something of them. But he knew he had a stronger hand and intended to play it. The Tiger Tribe withdrew to let our heroes consider his "offer."

Sommpher was willing to buy out Cummings' load of furs but giving up Jenny and Dee Dah was obviously a non-starter. The group decided to saddle up and head for Bryn Shander, and take their chances when Mal-Do returned.

But then a strange fate intervened, in the form of the Blue Mountain Reindeer, who had been tracking Blah across the tundra. A joyous reunion! And also one freighted with portent, as Mal-Do's opinion to the heroes softened. 

He admitted that he'd been sent to look for the group, that he'd had word of their heroics, and offered to bring the group to a place sacred to his tribe, where he said the "half-man" would be cured of drinking from "dark waters beneath the mountains."

A parting of the ways! Cummings and the Blue Mountain Brothers headed for Bryn Shander, and Jenny with them, but not before she begged Sommpher not to go into Icewind Dale. She'd had a vision that he'd die there. Sommpher told her to stay with Cummings and go on to the city. Jenny left Sommpher with her locket, then stood atop a wagon to watch her lover and the others ride off into the mist.

Mal-Do did some boasting on the ride that followed, lying that he'd tamed his wild Horse, chiding the "village-soft" heroes that they could not keep up with his horsemen, but his tone was less threatening. There was even some respect for Blah, a half orc he might otherwise hate, especially when Blah showed off the vorpal sword he'd taken from King Gud. Mal-Dao said the orcs the heroes had slain were one of several warbands raiding the plains now that Blue Mountain Castle had fallen. Trappers joined the group at campfire that night, and shared news of giants on the march across Icewind Dale, including a small Frost Giant army of a dozen or so, headed east.

Horse met Blah in the night, said how he'd searched for the party but lost their trail, and fell in with the Tiger Tribe. He loved the mares in the herd -- "They all had long manes, and brains!" But he was also growing tired of the herd and recognized his pledge to the heroes. If they needed to get away in a hurry, just whistle, and he'd be there with some fleet friends to bear them to safety.

The next day everyone was blindfolded and rode out to Giants Rest, a sacred site to the Reghed Barbarians. A strange mound, where Spring seemed perpetual, at the bottom of a bowl formed from a massive crater. Thirteen standing stones ringed the mound, and clear spring bubbled atop it. The Tiger Tribe would go no further -- they said the place was cursed, and they'd die if any one Reghed Tribe touched the mound without the many others in attendance.

Nearing the mound the heroes could read Giant runes on the rocks. It was the Rune of Death! 

Which they'd find out soon enough! Skeletons erupted from the earth, praise St. Harryhausen!

Arthur dashed for the spring, dove in, and was restored!

Sommpher turns many of the skeletons; Khostov blew others away with his pipes; Blah decapitated a few for good measure.

But that was just the opening act. Then the MOUND stood up -- a colossal, undead giant, dripping grave mould, mud, and stone. He hefted a mighty axe and threw boulders with casual ease. Arthur carved at his ankles but was knocked aside; Blah deflected a mighty boulder. The giant exuded an aura of icy cold which slowed our heroes and made them wonder if the sense of doom that hung over them all was about to play out.

Sommpher rises up, holds aloft his holy symbol, rebukes the giant with holy words that split the sky like thunder!

The giant was checked, lurched ... and then fell in sections, a titanic avalanche of bone and ice. Right atop Sommpher, who fearlessly held his ground, an avatar of the Silver Flame, to the final moment and beyond. A blinding flash of silver light ... and then silence.

The undead -- destroyed. The curse of Giants Rest -- broken. The Barbarians gathered around in respectful silence. And no sign found of Sommpher, aside from the locket Jenny had given him (and many miles away, Jenny rose from her bed in Bryn Shander, went to the window, and looked to the west).

Giants Rest is now Sommpher's Rest.

(Happy trails, Frank, who leaves the campaign, for a week or forever as he wishes!)

Sommpher's moment of glory: