Telengard session 18

The next session saw the party mostly reassembled (only the cleric was absent) and they decided to press on into the ruins of the dwarven city, this time taking on the garrison again. The party defeated a series of rooms full of orcs (but no pie), a few ogres, and a finally a roomful of uruks which were unexpectedly challenging for a bunch of 5th level characters.  Indeed the assassin was so badly wounded that he abandoned his companions to return to town for healing.  But the party pressed on.  The last door of the garrison led to a stairway leading down, and so the party began exploring.

This session saw the party split for the first time in quite a while (actually I can’t remember any splits before except for scouting details) and this added a little tension to a delve that was on the easy side for the party.  Below the garrison the party found what turned out to be an old bath-house complex (yet another OPD), and the party found and killed a ghost.  The planning and debates about facing the ghost took a lot of time, and the actual encounter was over in moments — the paladin and assassin fled in terror, the dwarf stood his ground, and the wizard used his d30 to boost a magic missile … and rolled a 30, laying the ghost to rest for good! (Dell’s player had to bow out just before this as he had a personal thing to attend to.)

The players once again made some good write-ups.  The dwarf player summarized the session, and the wizard player recaps several sessions in am ore general manner.  Here they are:

1. Grundel’s

“Filthy orcs,” Grumbled Grundel as the orc axe slammed into his armor.  Pathetic was the resistance of the humanoids so far.  But now they fought as if they knew the end was near.  The very thought of humanoids taking up residence in the dwarven halls had caused Grumble to forgo his normal caution, barely giving Dell time to listen at the doors before charging in.  For their part Turbedish and Del were keeping pace with him.  Well at least until they find the others.  Now Dell laid under the table, perhaps breathing, perhaps not.   The torch light in the adjacent room went out, more correctly fled.  “The Henchman and Assassin are racing each other to the surface,” Grumble thought “at least the mage was showing his worth.”  He had hoped one of them might pull the rogue out of harm’s way.   Previous deaths had sapped what little courage remained in the Assassin’s blood.  Who was he to judge?  Who knew what the assassin saw waiting for him in the afterlife?
Blows continued to rain down from the orc bodyguard.  A few found the mark on Grumble, the Paladin seemed to be faring much better.  Then Turbedish cast a spell that turned the direction of the battle. The paladin was suddenly 10 feet tall with the strength of a giant. 
 
Soon the battle was over, and Dell yet breathed.  No sign of the Assassin or the henchmen.  Talk was of turning back and regrouping.  Grumble laughed and said “I am fine; let’s kill more orcs — who needs the assassin anyway?”  Sound judgment gave way the dwarf’s stubbornness yet again.     
 
Deeper in the dwarven halls the adventurers found a ghost; now Grumble was racing to the surface.  Beasts of flesh and blood were one thing, to defeat the undead you need magic.  The wizard had only a few cantrips remaining.   They had to regroup so Grumble paid no heed to the paladin’s mocking. 
 
Back in the tavern the Assassin emerged from the shadows.  Dell, more than half dead, sipping some stout told the group he might sit this one out, as the strong drink and blood escaped through a hole in his cheek.  The remaining four came up with a plan.  The best they could come up with was to confront the Ghost with newly memorized spells and have the paladin and the dwarf attack the creature.   Now the confrontation…
 
The paladin and the assassin raced blindly to the surface as the wizard’s magic missiles dispensed the ghost without a single swing of a weapon.  “We have a wizard!” Grumble later exclaimed to the assembled group. Then,  “Who won the race?”
2. Turbedish’s letter home
Dear Father,
My apologies for the long delay since my last. Adjusting to the Northern “climate” was something that took me by surprise. Hopefully, the illnesses associated with such travel are now behind me. The filth these people seem content to live in shall never cease to amaze me. As you suggested, I have made it to Skara Brae, though I find it in disrepair greater than you knew. In spite of most of the old city being overrun with many types of foul creature, the human inhabitants had not relinquished it to the forces of the Night. Some months before I arrived, a few groups of would be heroes took it upon themselves to begin reclaiming the city. I cannot fathom the method of their success, given the bouts of insanity to which they seem to be subject. Patience does not seem a virtue in their eyes. Perhaps I am getting ahead of myself…I have taken up the “hero” business. The “Mayor” of this ruin has a seemingly endless supply of gold, which he uses to reward “adventurers” for reclaiming buildings from the creatures of the Night. One such group (purported to be the most successful as luck would have it) was in need of a Wizard as I arrived. Joining them seemed the most efficacious method of inserting myself in the community, if not with subtlety. I began to question my decision almost immediately. They constantly bicker and squabble over the smallest of things. I hesitate to call any of them the leader of the group. However, a “Du-arph” by the name of Grundle seems to be a driving force in their success (if only through his avarice). I had, at first, mistaken him for a particularly large and stout peck, but apparently these Du-arphs are of different stock. This Grundle alternates between ruthless efficiency and profound cowardice, at times running (slowly) into a horde of uruks or fleeing (also slowly) from a mere ghost. He carries enough metal and gear with him to supply a platoon, there are times I marvel that the floor doesn’t give way beneath his feet. Nonetheless, he possesses a sort of cunning and paranoia which suits his career choice well.

We are accompanied by two servants of the Lords of Light and two other rather queer persons. They are all possessed by a certain disregard for their own safety. Recently, while assaulting an uruk infestation, I witnessed two of them leaping through a horrid defense of whirling blades that the brutes had established, only to be cut off by flaming oil. Luckily, we rescued them before anything tragic occurred. In dangerous circumstance, it is the group’s habit to send Dell and Mazrim (the aforementioned queer persons) ahead on “scouting” missions. In spite of taking on this dangerous task with little armor or defense beyond their wits and nerve, they are relentlessly teased for their ineffectiveness. Still, given the scant help these missions yield, I question the wisdom of the practice. The one named Mazrim concerns me. While his actions seem innocent, he bares a striking similarity to that son of cousin Hajima’s (the one that people whisper about.) I cannot say much about the two devout. One seems to be mad in the manner of that barber from Nisr Street. He mutters the blackest suggestions under his breath and then proclaims virtuous action with a loud voice. Still, the Lords appear to favor him, so who am I to judge?

Here’s an odd bit of news. Apparently, beneath the human city which is almost overrun by Nightkin, there is also a Du-arphic city in the same state. These Du-arphs dwell beneath the rock in stone warrens they cut. Our most recent escapades have involved traipsing about in the wretched darkness that the Du-arphs call home, picking off the endless supply of creatures which inhabit it. The whole thing seems rather odd. Grundle seems singularly effective in combat against most of these brutes, yet they somehow had nearly exterminated an entire city of his kind. I expect this task to soon be over, and we can return to the task of cleansing Skara Brae. I have begun to wonder from what source all these villains, both above and below ground, have been supplied. Certainly their population would demand a steady stream of victuals, as well as arms. I will investigate further, perhaps this task can be made easier by starving the horrid things out.

Tell Mother not to worry. My companions are singularly suited to this violent task and quite capable of getting along with little help from me save organization and notetaking. I’ve only been in one risky scrape, and survived quite nicely. No progress yet on that other issue.

Live long and prosper,
Turbedish 

 
 
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Published in: on June 5, 2012 at 8:00 am  Leave a Comment  
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