Vorrioch Chaotic Hungry Karma: 38/6 406 Posts
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Epilogue: The Primrose Path
After a long, hard fight the swamp-demon Black Marsh is finally struck down, felled by Pelor’s divine vengeance. Exhausted by the battle the party chooses a third batch of sentries and finally settle down to get some sleep. The rest of the night passes without incident and, come morning, you are all roused from your slumber (or meditation) by the sight of sunlight seeping through the canvas of your tent.
The campsite appears much as you remember it: the ground seared and blackened in several places by lightning flashes while a circle of drying mud and dead insects is spattered across the entire hilltop on which you set your tents. Aliira and Isilifeline both appear pale and feverish, no doubt infected by the touch of the demon’s filth-encrusted claws. Iskandel, in contrast, whether by mere chance or the unseen blessing of his god, appears as healthy as ever and healing magics are soon prepared to cure the duo’s illness.
No more light or heat can be coaxed from the gorse-fire than you had managed the night before, but after a meagre breakfast of hard tack and salt pork (washed down with the dregs of your water skins) you all feel somewhat better prepared to tackle the old ruins where the demon had made its lair.
Four broken, crumbling walls mark what is remains of the ruined building, rising above a great deal of rubble and broken masonry. Once the group manage to pick their way across the accumulated debris, and through the boggy earth in which it is engulfed, entry proves easy enough and you are confronted with a broad tunnel in the ground within, offering an almost vertical drop through the black, marshy earth and down into the darkness below. After dropping a few stones into the hole to check its depth you decide that there’s nothing for it but to make the plunge. Securing a rope around a collapsed pillar, and cautiously checking the weight before departing, the first of your group is lowered down into the waiting darkness.
The tunnel descends through a good forty feet of wet, sucking earth- perhaps more- and the first to descend have good cause to fear that the rope will be exhausted before they reach the bottom. The passage is never more than a few feet wide, and appears alive with large, pale worms and burrowing insects that thrive in its demon-filth encrusted walls. A good deal of this greasy, noxious filth rubs off on your faces and clothes as you continue downwards, but appears to have little ill-effect save the unpleasant smell.
After some time, the first of your group emerges in a broad chamber at the tunnel’s end. Whether by virtue of natural dark-vision or of hastily lit torches you soon perceive a large, tapered cavern- littered with what you can only assume to represent the remnants of Black Marsh’s previous victims. Amidst a mess of well-gnawed bones, torn rust-pitted armour and broken weapons you are able to piece together a ready prize of treasure, which is summarily hauled up to your waiting companions.
Nearly ninety crowns are unearthed amidst the wreckage and stagnant mud of the demon’s lair, along with a tidy haul of items in better repair. A timely casting of Detect Magic on Aliira and Emmerus’ part is able to confirm that some of these items do indeed bear some manner of enchantment.
A large, smooth blue crystal is discovered near the bottom of the pile and, once examined closely under the light of day a distorted, smoky figure can to be perceived within. A flanged, iron mace is also excavated, fast becoming an object of some interest among your group once it is discovered that the weapon emits a bright glow at the merest touch. A dented and greatly battered triangular shield, bearing the emblem of five faded red chevrons upon a peeling and now mud-spattered white backdrop, a chipped red garnet and a slender electrum circlet complete the haul. A few old books and what might once have been scrolls are also unearthed, though these are illegible after years of water immersion.
When the group finally decides to depart these valuables are loaded, along with the tents from your camp, into the badly scorched sailboat. The winds are favourable, skirting northward over the placid, boggy waters but such is the state of your sails and rigging that you’re given little option save to row back.
***
By the time the group return to Bridhvale the Minster is already preparing for that evening’s service. The four templars stationed as door guards have obviously been given instructions to expect you, and in any case immediately recognise Iskandel as one of their Brother-Sergeants, for the group is shown through with a minimum of fuss. Candles are already being lit in the Minster’s central chamber as your party is shown through, and the acolytes are busy filling braziers with incense and hastily straightening cushions on seats.
In short order the six are shown up into the Bishop’s office, where Abner is busy reviewing his sermon for the service. The old warrior rises stiffly from his desk to great you as you enter, garbed already in a cassock and yellow chasuble for evensong. It is obvious that he had expected you back some hours before, but makes little move to interrupt or hurry along your account. He seems genuinely relieved to hear that Tomas’ soul stone has been successfully recovered and nods approvingly when you inform him of the destruction of the demon, Black Marsh. The merchant, Tomas Wainwright, is on hand to verify that this is indeed the crystal in which the demon entrapped his soul, and the promised reward (500 crowns) has been assembled in expectation of your return in a large, muslin bag. With the church bells already calling the faithful to prayer there isn’t much time for further conversation, but Abner takes the time to invite any party members so inclined to stay for the service and ask any further questions afterwards.
***
On the night after your return some disturbance can be heard from the heart of the forest: the sounds of shouts, an unearthly keening and the noise of running battle, echoing down from across the hills that overlook the town.
Come morning you are first on the scene. A frenzied chase appears to have been cut through the wight’s devastation: dead, rotting foliage and black, withered branches trampled and snapped in the wake of a great stampede of bodies.
After perhaps half a mile the tracks near their end, culminating in what appears to have been a fierce struggle near the undead’s lair in the old abandoned chapel. The results are plain to behold- a shrivelled, long-dead corpse swings loosely from the branches of a nearby tree. The body has been quite literally torn apart, bearing the marks of a great many teeth and claws (most of which you easily identify as canine or ursine in origin) and the ribcage has been liberally pried open in some feat of inhuman strength. Further investigation into the withered, rotting crevice reveals that the heart and a good many other vital organs are missing, the wound has also been stuffed with holly and mistletoe.
For the sake of completeness, you make a quick search of the overgrown chapel, but any treasures the wight may have stored there are gone. Impossibly, fresh green shoots already appear to be growing through the carpet of dead and decomposing plant matter in the woods outside…. perhaps the spirit of the forest truly is being restored.
***
Abraham agrees to cast a spell of identification over the treasures you’ve recovered in the course of your last excursion as before. It seems that he’s been getting good use out of the telescopes you sold him, for the diviner speaks at some length about recent astrological movements (little of which you particularly understand). One point that does particularly catch your attention, however, is when he speaks of a star having fallen some distance to the south. This unlikely occurrence was, as far as he can tell, only visible to him through the second telescope. In any event, it is clear that you have garnered some measure of respect in his eyes through your good work on behalf of the town.
When the group return the following morning, Abraham has assembled the items as promised. Anna is absent, apparently off visiting a sick sister on the other side of town, so the master conjurer shows you in himself.
“This shield,” he holds aloft the first of the items, struggling slightly with its heavy weight, “is warded to draw missile fire. Arrows- or any other sort of projectile I suppose- fired at its wearer will be drawn magically towards it. Not a bad tool to hold onto in a fight, I’d imagine. Though it is perhaps noteworthy that said projectiles will be compelled to take the most direct route,” he pauses a moment to allow the significance of that last statement to sink in. “I’d also be surprised if it could withstand a direct hit from a ballista or catapult.” Tapping the already battered shield gingerly with his left hand, Abraham passes it back to you and moves on to the next of the treasures.
(The shield will give a +3 AC bonus against missile attacks directed from its user’s front. They’ll also take a -3 AC penalty against missile attacks directed from behind. Boulders and other larger projectiles may well be drawn towards a character carrying it.)
“The mace,” he hefts the second of your recovered items, which responds to his torch by illuminating the chamber with a warm, azure light, “is a fairly simple weapon. It is lighter to the touch than a mundane object of its sort,” Abraham passes the mace nearly from one hand to the other, “facilitating easier use in combat. And yet it is warded to deal more grievous injury. The mace does have one other noteworthy feature, as I’m sure you’ve noticed: a Light spell has been cast upon it and, once drawn, it will offer some measure of illumination. Not a bad trick, I’d guess, for those exploring dark places.”
(The Mace is a +1 weapon. It gives its user a +1 to attack and damage rolls. Once touched, the mace functions as though a Light spell (Wizard 1) had been cast upon it, useable any number of times each day).
(Legend Lore: Derry will be aware that the mace appears to be of dwarven make. Rumour has it that a similarly enchanted weapon, named “Our Light Through Present Darkness” was stolen from a priestess of a local moon-goddess some years back. How it would have found its way into Black Marsh’s lair is anyone’s guess.)
“The pendant is a slightly more interesting item,” he holds aloft the silver ornament, carved in the shape of a running horse, by the chain to which it is attached. “It’s been enchanted to offer some measure of disruption against any spell cast upon the wearer. Of Serian make if I’m any judge,” he continues, naming an Empire to the South.
(The pendant gives +5% magic resistance to its user. This functions against both offensive and potentially beneficial spells).
“This circlet,” he proffers the slender electrum hoop, the last of your treasures, “has been enchanted to offer some measure of protection against simple mind reading spells. With a little concentration, its wearer could possibly even focus its power to try to decipher the thoughts of another.” He frowns, “the ethics of such use I’ll leave in your, no doubt, responsible hands.”
(The wearer of the circlet is immune to ESP spells (Wizard 2) and possibly similarly low-powered attempts at thought reading. Once a day its user can focus to try to read a target’s thoughts for a single turn (10 rounds), this requires full concentration and its user can take no further action whilst mind-reading besides walking at up to half normal speed. Taking damage disrupts this effect.)
***
Three days after the group returns from Black Marsh’s fens, a public ceremony is held in your honour in the town square. Appropriately polished medallions are offered to the six heroes who played some part in warding off the dragon’s ire and you are proclaimed “protectors of Bridhvale”. The Mayor makes a speech praising your achievements and any of your number who feel particularly inclined to polish their oratory are invited to do the same. There is a healthy turnout, which includes a good many of the town councillors and other local dignitaries. The Minster also appears to be out in full force, a few clusters of acolytes and religious figures up to the Bishop himself intermingling with the crowd. The town anthem is played at the beginning and end of the ceremony, and a hog roast and drinks have been prepared for those intending to stick around a little longer.
There is a decidedly parochial feel to the proceedings, though for the most part the townsfolk appear appreciative enough of the group and their efforts. A good number of the councillors and other local worthies take the time to pass their thanks on and offer handshakes to the group, and there is ample room for networking (not to mention a free meal and drinks) for those with the good grace to stay until the event’s end.
***
In her dreams, Aliira hunts the overgrown forest, the wolf-pack hard on her heels as she darts through the tangled, densely packed wilds, racing southward towards the town. In the darkness, ahead of her, she knows there runs some great, magnificent prize- perhaps the finest, most dangerous quarry she has hunted yet, but the druid knows not what.
Faster and faster she runs, till the trees and bushes to either side- underfoot- overhead- are little more than a haze of green and brown. The scent of her prey- an acrid smell of anger and fear- is almost impossibly strong in her nostrils. It cannot match her pace. It is losing ground and she will soon be on it, her fangs, her claws tearing savagely for its jugular. In a heartbeat she will be on it and it is too late to turn back. Maw slavering, the wolf she has become clears the last patch of foliage with one almighty bound- and finds herself at the edge of the forest. Far below, little more than fireflies from the heights of the hillside, glitter the lights of Bridhvale- warm and terrible in the valley below.
There is a figure beside her, one the druid had not noticed before, “Power has its price and I sense you must soon depart from this place,” Immuriel informs her sadly. The dryad appears flushed, some hint of colour in her formerly deathly pale cheeks and the vines woven about the dryad’s skin and tunic have flowered with some manner of sweet-smelling white blooms.
“Bring me another offering from the town, a gift of retribution,” the dryad implores. “Then the woods will be strong enough to extend their blessing over you- to offer you their fellowship- as you venture further from their hold.”
(A plot hook for the next choice of adventure will follow at some point in the near future.
As I don't want anyone to feel steamrollered into any particular choice if you feel that there’s a point where your character would want to interrupt/ do something then just let me know. We can take it from there.)
Posted on 2008-03-26 at 17:23:40.
Edited on 2008-03-26 at 22:44:53 by Vorrioch
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