UNOMAHA D&D

Agenar’s journal, page 226

Tonight the group gathered at the Apple to make plans: tomorrow we travel west, to the great Stone Circle in the Wood. Afterward, Wynlynn dragged Val off to wherever they sleep, so I went to bed relatively early, and relatively sober, where slumber soon found me waiting.

Tymora holds out a coin, face up, and I see…

As we approach the cave, it begins to glow from inside, more brightly than any torch – as if Light were cast upon it. Two of our party rush ahead, anxious to discover the great treasure it must contain. I enter more slowly, stooping under a grass-covered out-crop that provides a porch before the cave entrance. From here, I can see what looks like a gentleman’s sitting room or office, with walls covered by portraits, tapestries, and shelves filled with curios and leather-bound volumes.

Yet even as I step inside to look more closely at these, I am pulled deeper into the cave. My feet, unwilling, follow my friends. I try to resist; I turn myself completely and continue walking, now toward the entrance again – still I am pulled deeper. Striding faster, my backward progress slows, but I begin to spin, first slowly, then faster, until I lose both balance and consciousness.

I wake in a cold sweat. The pulsing glow of Dagon’s Reach comforts me, and I choke back a cry. The staff had protected me from dreams, until now.

What is Travis Anyway?

When I woke up, I had already been fighting for what I am told for a month. I never attempted to kill anyone, just knock them down. If I ever connected (again, I am told) and did damage, I would heal my opponent quickly.

I woke up at some point. By woke up I mean to say that I realized that i didn’t have to keep fighting. I am unsure if this period of blankness (I can remember brief glimpses of my fights) was simply what I had been doing when the ruins I was found in became a ruins or if I had been fighting some sort of betrayer. Was I a soldier or a teacher? What was this name Travis that kept running through my mind?

The name means something to me but I can never remember what it is. Is it a name? I’ve never seen a language use anything close to this word. Was it a method that was used to create me? Was it slang? Derrogatory? Complimentary?

It all sits there as a swirl in my mind.

It’s a strange thing to say that I have a mind as looking around at these fleshy beings around me, I have seen the thing that contains their mind. Mine seems to be in my chest.

When I answered the first question I can remember answering, it came after a flash from my chest to which I said Travis. The question, I learned later, was, “Do you have a name?”

And so it is that this strange being has an equally strange name. It, like me, seems to have no memory of being born, of existing, or how far in the past I stopped existing for a time.

So it is that we come close to the present.

Continue reading “What is Travis Anyway?”

Agenar’s journal, page 224

Woke next to Val today, on a lumpy straw mat in the room above Yeoman’s Apple. Seems the barkeep made the standard assumption that a man and woman who spend all day drinking together and fall asleep in each other’s arms require only a single pallet upon passing out.

“Well, isn’t this embarrassing,” I kicked Val awake too.

“No,” she answered, lurching out of bed to the chamber pot.

Young love can overlook all. A pity this ain’t it.

I’d gone to the Apple, recommended by Travis as the “more interesting” local drinking establishment, while the rest of the group went to collect on their Tri-Point Mine contract. I needed cash – rations are cheap in The Glade, but it still costs coin to eat – and with the Tankard of Sobriety, I can always win a drinking contest. And this time, I had stories that would surely draw a crowd.

So I’d been drinking and lying and telling true tales about great ants and floating eyeballs with arms, and building up a nice little pile of silvers and coppers, when Val came in and dropped a sack of gold on the table.

“What’s this?” I asked. She’d almost spilt my ale.

“Your share,” she said. “From the mine, duh.” She turned to the barkeep and called for a drink.

“Well, okay.” I quickly shuffled the loot into my rucksack. “Didn’t expect that. Thanks.”

“Thank me by buying the booze.” She shouldered her way to a seat by my left hand, then added, “We’re not supposed to discuss the mine, got it?”

“Oops,” I laughed. “What you think I been telling these blokes? But they don’t believe it, so no worries, right?”

“Hrrump.” Val drained her mug and handed it back for a refill before the serving girl could leave. “I can see I’ll need a lot more of this.”

“Okay,” I said once everyone had settled in again, “let’s change the subject. Tell me about that cute elf, the ranger.” A groan went up from the table, and we were immediately left alone. I took the opportunity to finish my tankard and call for the next round in a fresh glass. I had gold. To the ninth hell with sobriety!

When collecting information, I find it better to let others talk as they will. They are more likely to tell me what I want to know if they don’t know what that is, and silence is a great motivator of speech. My tales of the mine have loosened other tongues, and from far corners I hear hushed rumor of a dragon attack near Sriss, or trappers beset by – something – in the Northwest. Someone worries that Voss has gone missing, until told that Hot-legs Jen hasn’t been seen either, so they must have run off together. Yet time and again I hear threat of an Orc invasion from the North, and all seem agreed that The Glade is no longer safe.

Val, her handsome Elven features more pronounced in the firelight’s soft glow, leans her head on my shoulder. She is soon snoring, and when I awoke it was morning.

Tilia’s Field Notes: Standing Stone Tunnels

Observations on the way to the standing stones, along the main road:

Usual songbirds and “small woodland creatures” including squirrels, chipmunks, and a cottontail rabbit
Seemed like there was something moving on the mountains above us, but never got a good view, much like the elusive creature in the forest

Observations in the dwarven tunnels beneath the standing stones:

Reanimated skeleton warriors, 5, which our party quickly dispatched through rough blows
A series of sarcophagi sized for dwarves and elves, occupied
A mummy interred in one of the sarcophagi, loosed because one of our party was convinced live persons were trapped within, despite clear indications of necromancy around us

Our strategy for handling the creature released from the sarcophagus was deeply flawed. Our inexperience maximized our vulnerability, and after I cast a spell to create a bonfire beneath it, the mummy’s blow knocked me out. The last thing I saw before losing consciousness was its desiccated fist.

Our trusty paladin and one of our clerics came to my rescue, but all is not well, as it was after tending our injuries following prior encounters. The undead creature’s fetid blow left a blackened wound on my arm where I’d raised it in self-defense, the veins connecting to the adjacent brachial artery blackened along with it as the necrosis started to spread. My head is… not right… and the flesh is literally rotting off my arm.

It is terrifying. I have never seen anything like this undead rot when observing decomposing bodies as they fulfilled their final role in the ecosystem; the putrid aroma is suffocating. I believe that I have been infected with something grotesque and unnatural. This is no ordinary wound.

Although the party continues to chase muffled voices through the subterranean tunnels, like dogs with an awful undead bone, I fear we are no match for whatever lies behind the next door. And I am now a liability to the others. Another blow like the last could push me beyond the saving graces of spellcraft. I have retreated to the surface to tend my wounds, since it would take at least half our party to extract me from those narrow passages if I could not move on my own. I think I can still perform a healing spell to restore some of my energy, but after taking a moment to commune with nature, there was no restorative effect as there should be. I can no longer feel my left arm below the elbow. My body is heavy and weak, and my mind grows clouded.

Letter to Caedmon, 13th Day of Mielikki

Dearest Caedmon,

I’m not sure when this letter will reach you but I’ve always found writing calming—and how I long to tell you all our party has been through since we left the Glade, especially the last twenty-four hours!

Apart from an encounter with some marsh bandits (of which I hope to tell you someday), our journey to the Tri-Point Mining Company site went smoothly. We even acquired an interesting new companion, an itinerant cleric named Agenar. In spite of his somewhat grimy, emaciated appearance (we found him in a ditch), he seems to have some kind of glow around his person. It’s not just that he’s super-handsome, he resembles one of those angelic figures you associate with the traditional lore of the Raven Queen Festival.

Anyway, after we had revived, fed, and cleaned Agenar up, we proceeded to the mine and spent some time sorting through some of the mysterious papers we found in an abandoned house near its entrance. They were in a language that only Val could read—she said that they were mostly contracts that people had signed with the company. Close to the mine’s entrance, there were the gruesome remains of some poor humanoid creatures: they proved the source of some excitement during the night, when Pentaghion became convinced that there were ghoulish energies emanating from them. He conducted a purification ritual during which he burnt their remains, which had already been thoroughly mangled by various critters.

It was an unquiet night. Val, Wynlynn, and Pentaghion, who all have dark-vision, were convinced that they saw shadowy figures lurking around in the undergrowth; Telia received a warning from a screech-owl with whom she conversed—of a giant creature that would eat us; and the mysterious flickering of stars in night-sky, the ominous sign that preceded the marsh pirates’ attack, appeared to signal our imminent danger.

Half-rested and with our minds clouded by night-terrors, we descended into the mine. I even forgot my hogshead of formic acid powder that we had purchased expressly for the purpose of warding off the giant ants we might encounter. Down, down, down we went—interrupting our descent only to explore a chamber in which we collected some peculiar crystals (along with some ale). I, who have swum in the deepest regions of the Tangled Depths, am no stranger to the darkness of the deep, but I felt increasingly numbed by fear the farther we proceeded. Perhaps my human weakness was getting the better of my elemental nature; perhaps it was the fact that, not submerged, I could not use my sensation of the ebbing currents to “see” in this subterranean cavern. Or perhaps it was because I could sense something that none of the others could: a dull, throbbing sound, resembling the pulsating field of an electric eel that is poised to strike.

Out of the darkness, our adversary emerged: an angry ankheg moving swiftly toward our new friend, who had wandered a little farther from our group. Arrows and weapons struck the creature’s armored body in vain. Hoping to discourage it with a different approach, I cast the frost cantrip with no better luck. We watched in horror as the ankheg nearly disemboweled poor Agenar with its powerful jaws. Fortunately, Travis magically healed Agenar and Val and Wynlynn were eventually able to inflict enough damage on the creature to frighten it away; indeed, Telia had learned, in trying to communicate with the ankheg, that it was itself terrified and attacking us at the bidding of some other sinister power.

Oh, Caedmon! If you think that was a fearful encounter, the worst was yet to come.

As we descended deeper into the mine, we suddenly found ourselves in a large underground chamber, surrounded by numerous statues of various deities, at the base of each was a crystal similar to the ones we had found earlier. At the center of the chamber was a tall tower-like structure, pulsing with lurid red light. I immediately recognized it as the source of the mysterious throbbing I had sensed in the upper regions of mine. Gigantic tentacles coiled around the base of the tower, writhing menacingly.

As if out of nowhere, what seemed like a creature out of a triton’s nightmare materialized: with a monstrous, single eye and cruel-looking tentacles, it glided toward us with surprising speed. At the same moment, the shadowy outlines of several humanoid creature appeared—but when I was eventually able to make out their actual features in the gloomy light, I let out a gasp of horror. They had tentacles instead of arms, and atop their humanoid torsos, their heads resembled those of the ghoulish denizens of the permanent darkness of the ocean’s farthest depths.

Our party fought valiantly, but our foes were formidable. Travis was floored by a beam that appeared to emanate from the cyclops-eye of the largest monster. Val demonstrated her acrobatic prowess by vaulting over the tower to attack the monster, but she was soon trapped in a deadly struggle with it. Wynlynn’s arrows inflicted some damage on our adversaries, and Tilia managed to slow down the creature by igniting a bonfire under it, but the humanoid ones were closing in on us. It didn’t help that Pantaghion and Agenar were still recovering from the effects of having sampled some mushrooms growing on the walls of the caverns.

Struggling not to panic, I froze the ground under the approaching creatures, causing one to slip, and hit another with the ice knife spell, but was overcome in the melee. The last thing I remember was the horror of seeing the creature’s jaws open impossibly wide; a sharp searing pain, and then all was darkness.

But fear not, my friend. Although I am told I sustained grievous injuries, Travis stabilized me and Pantaghion’s healing magic knit up my wounds, and they healed Val as well. I can’t say the same for my leather armor, though! While I was unconscious, the others had dispatched with the remaining creatures, with a powerful spell cast by Agenar destroying the cyclops-monster in spectacular fashion.

How I long to see you again my dearest friend! But I write with a more urgent message as well—for what we have discovered in this mine may have implications for the whole of Arklan. After Agenar destroyed the monster, he found a scroll that enabled our party to decipher an ominous prophecy on one of the cavern walls, foretelling the rise of the god Dagon and darkness being “remade.” The images and hieroglyphs on the walls depicted fearsome marine creatures of different kinds paying homage to some terrible behemoth. Although I couldn’t identify these images, my wise teacher Ama Halla might be able to. Please relate what I have told you to her and the elders of the Talpin Water Ansari when you next visit our beloved island, and bring their message with you when you return to the Glade.

I hope to hear their tidings directly from you in the Glade, but after yesterday’s adventure, I now realize what terrible risks we’re undertaking—and what grave dangers await us I cannot say. If I do not return from this expedition, then convey the Water Ansari’s message to our party, and take comfort from knowing that I gave my life pursuing my Aramenté and (hopefully) a worthy cause. Think of me softly sometimes. In the lapping of the waves, the spray of sea foam on the wind, a part of me will always remain with you.

Ever yours “from the ocean’s depths,”

Teal

Tilia’s Field Notes: Mine Quest Day 3

Observations outside the mine:

Scavengers present when we arrived — including “buzzards” (vultures), some small animals, and a larger animal, likely a canid such as a wolf or coyote — consuming the remains of a dwarf and a human. Could not confidently identify animal species due to our distance from them when they scattered.
Unknown moving creature in the woods. Spotted multiple times by different parties, unable to directly observe or identify. Present during overnight watch when Val and Agenar got drunk and fell asleep.
Songbirds, mice, and a small owl active during the overnight alert incident at the hut by the mine. Unusual for songbirds to be active at night, but nothing strange about the others. Talked with the owl (a screech owl) to get information about potential threats; it told me there was a tentacled creature in the mine that would eat us, but did not identify the observed moving creature in the shadows as a threat.

Inside the mine:

Strange glowing crystals that have strong potential to hold magic charges. Unusual, have not encountered such deposits in dwarven mines. Picked up a couple samples for later evaluation.
Psychoactive glowing mushrooms in the mine tunnels. They were sampled by Pantaghion and Agenar, and clearly have a strong hallucinogenic effect on humans and half-elves. Plan to collect some for sale to the herbalist upon return to The Glade.
Ankhegs: one encountered and engaged in battle by the party, three additional individuals observed in their tunnels. An approximately 6′ arthropod, like a massively overgrown ant that’s a bit smaller than me, with large mandibles and formic acid as a defensive adaptation. Hive-minded social animal that prefers not to interact with humanoids; while it appears quite vicious and is capable of inflicting substantial damage (as one of our party learned the hard way, and likely others before us), they are actually a rather peaceful species that keeps to themselves unless threatened. I tried to communicate with it; the poor thing was utterly terrified from the start, and did not want to attack us — it was compelled by some force to do so. It was quickly overwhelmed by our party’s attack and the others nearly killed it, which was very distressing to me because the insect was only the instrument of the attack, against its own will. However, there was at least an attempt to heal it slightly when it retreated, which may have helped prevent additional attacks by the other ankhegs in its colony, whose eyes I saw peering from the holes in the side of the mine shaft. We need to mend these holes before departing so that the ankhegs’ colony can be left undisturbed in the future, as they would not have interfered with mine operations had they not been compelled by an external force. Believe we’ve neutralized the source which made them attack, so sealing off their passageways should fulfill our contract to remove the insects from the mine.

In the “eldritch chamber”:

A round, floating creature with several eyes on tentacles, not native to this plane, and a fierce foe. I was able to help slow its attacks by creating a bonfire around it, but it took the combined efforts of several of us to slay it.
Several abhorrent lanky creatures with disjoint jaws, like snakes, and odd tentacle-like limbs without digits. Also not native to this plane. Not as strong as the many-eyed creature, but the four individuals collectively inflicted considerable damage on our party before my battle-skilled companions dispatched them.

The creatures present in the eldritch chamber did not belong on this plane. There were also images of many other strange and terrifying non-native creatures on the walls of the chamber, many of which appeared to have marine origins — not my strongest suit for species identification, to be honest. Such creatures obviously should not be encountered underground in an inland location such as this, which is quite troubling, but may have something to do with their being non-native to this plane. Perhaps Teal will be able to determine whether the creatures were unnaturally transported to this location, or traveled to it via a subterranean waterway that connects the chamber to the river, which could indicate a more substantial threat lurking in the seas.

Agenar’s Journal, page 220

“What in the Dragon’s name is that?”

“This will help.” Val, who just shook me awake, holds out her flask. I take it and drink deeply; the ale soothes my throat. Returning the flask, I ask again, “What is that?”

I am slumped across an empty barrel that smells like the ale I just drank, but I am looking at my staff. The well-worn ash rod I carried yesterday is reaching for me? with its tentacles? while the crystal at its tip pulses slowly.

Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten those mushrooms.

“The firbolg gave it to you.” Val took a long swig and passed the flask back to me. “After you killed the Beholder.”

The prior day began to return.

Val is a half-elf, and she seems to love ale as much as I do – though I think she loves fighting even more. Her party found me in a ditch outside the Glade two days ago, fed me, and didn’t ask questions other than if I wished to join them.

I didn’t have anything else to do, and Val had ale, so I did.

There are five others in her group: the firbolg, a paladin, a ranger, a water genasi, and some sort of sentient tree that calls itself Travis. They were en route to investigate a nearby, abandoned mine.

“Killed the what?” I took another long drink. The world sparkled around me like sunlight on hoarfrost; the mushroom hallucinations hadn’t entirely faded.

“In the mine?” Val looked at me carefully, and I shook my head. “Long, searching eye stalks, tentacle-monster minions….”

“I thought that was… that wasn’t a dream?”

“I told you not to eat those mushrooms.” Val reached for her flask and put it into her pack. “Probably don’t need more of this now, either.” She looked at me again. “How did you do it?”

“Do what?” I asked.

“Travis should have left you dead.” She shook her head again. “Come on, it’s time to eat.”

I’m going to need more ale.

********

page 223

I’ve spent the past week playing with, and learning about, my new staff. With help from Travis – who, he explains, is Warforged, also possesses arcane knowledge, and in who’s chest pulses a crystal of the same sort that tops my staff – I have discovered that it is called Dagon’s Staff, and that it has magical properties beyond its writhing, grasping tentacles.

And I have also learned to charm, to calm those tentacles, so that they relax into a braided nest or cocoon around the crystal, only coming alert when called upon. I rest easier since this development – in part because I no longer fear it will kill me, and in part because it seems to keep the dreams away.

Agenar’s journal, page 218

I awaken, as most mornings, to a boot in the belly and a powerful thirst. “Ale,” I mutter. “By the blue head of the dragon, give me Ale.”

I get another kick instead.

The gutter isn’t my first choice for slumber. Some nights, I’m under a wagon; some nights, in a barn. I even, on rare occasion, wake with a wench – but I’m usually too drunk to choose where I sleep. As I have been since my excommunication from the Church of Tymora. If I’m lucky – I always am – enough ale keeps the dreams at bay.

I left the Church, but Tymora, it seems, never left me.

My father was a brewer, and my mother ran a tavern in Dranseri’s Fourth Ward. The night I was conceived, she said, an angel visited her dreams; she always wanted more than my father’s life for me. As luck would have it – and luck always has her way – Tymora’s temple Fortune’s Will was across the street from our tavern, and I was apprenticed to the priesthood as soon as they would have me. “The god doesn’t matter,” mother said with a barmaid’s insight. “They’re really all the same.”

Before I was apprenticed, my father taught me to make, and to love, ale. He gave me a set of brewer’s tools that I still carry, prophetically saying “every man should have an honest craft.”

My dreams began soon after I moved into Fortune’s Will.

High Luckbringer Daevemon Songsteel took an interest in me upon learning of my dreams, and when he saw me unconsciously manifest Light, identified the celestial touch. He trained me in the divine magics as a cleric.

I learned more than Songsteel intended, and one feast day took the pulpit after too much holy wine. My prepared homily forgotten, I gave the assembled parishioners an accounting of how their Luckbringer rigged their matches and spent their contributions, leaving out no salacious detail. The people, who faithfully sacrificed from meager harvests in hopes of better luck going forward, were furious. As was the Luckbringer.

Now the people of my home call me “hero,” which, with a few coins, might buy me an ale if I could return. Since then I have wandered, hiding where I could, sleeping where I could, and helping, where I could. Expelled from Fortune’s Will and angry, I renounced Tymora and her divine magic and turned to study of the old ways. Tiamat’s magics are strong – her name is the strongest magic I know.

Her name, uttered forcefully, will send my tormentor running – once I can stand upright to pronounce it. And her name will keep others, and their questions, away as I shuffle along the Queen’s Road to nowhere. Songsteel will not find me. Tymora, it seems, is still watching.

Ferryman’s Log, Entry #1, 11th Day of Mielikki

Dawn on the river. Everyone’s asleep, except Val, who was gone even before I stirred to check on the boat’s course—an early morning hunting expedition? How playfully the little wavelets shimmer in the early morning light! How tranquil the beauty of these woody streams, so distinct from—and yet in some ways just as alluring as—the ocean surf at sunrise.

And what a contrast to the terrible happenings of last night. To think that so much blood was shed over an encounter with a common band of marsh bandits. Although Uriah Styx and I have been used to guarding against such lowlifes, I at least had never been attacked by marsh bandits—perhaps because we almost always ferry people by day. In any case, it may be helpful to record as faithfully as I can my impressions of last night. Uncle John always said that careful record-keeping is the key to problem-solving. I’m not sure how effective his philosophy will be under the circumstances, but given the mysteries deepening around us, we’ll need all the help we can get!

We were making good progress toward our destination—the worksite of the Tri-Point Mining Company—and were on the third watch of the night (Travis and myself) when things started to go awry. I noticed two dark figures crouching in the bushes, and tried to communicate my observation to Travis as quietly as possible. But he must have misunderstood my intent to warn him, because he started waving to the two figures, whose intentions were anything but benign. One of them had a crossbow: he discharged an arrow, which grazed Travis, injuring but not immobilizing him.

I instinctively plunged into the river for refuge: to be honest, I was terrified. I knew how desperate these bandits could be—how mind-numbing poverty and routine violence had completely eroded their sense of value for human life. And as much as my friends urge me to believe otherwise, I am more an inn-keeper and a guide than a fighter. As I dove in, I yelled loudly to my sleeping friends, “We’re under attack!!” deliberately making a loud splash to wake them up.

Emboldened by my relative safety underwater, I surfaced and tried to cast a frostbite spell on the attacker with a crossbow; but I was too excited, and couldn’t focus properly, succeeding only in encasing one of his limbs in frost. Meanwhile, the others were stirring. As bold as ever, Val had plunged into the river to confront our assailants head-on; meanwhile, two other bandits had appeared on the other side of the river and were showering the boat with other projectiles, which fortunately flew wide of their intended targets.

Staying submerged, I headed in Val’s direction in case I could provide any assistance. But meanwhile, things were going badly on board the boat. The ever-good-natured Travis was trying to enter into dialogue with our attackers—and although he had succeeded in extracting some potentially useful information from one of them—his position on the boat left him vulnerable to further arrows, and one pierced him fatally through what I guess is the Warforged’s equivalent of a heart. I was not on board the boat to witness his awful predicament, but I can only imagine the horror of Tilia, Wynlynn, and Pantaghion. Pantaghion jumped into the water and Tilia tried to use an entrapment spell to ensnare two of our attackers—but they managed to evade the water weeds that she conjured up to catch them.

Wynnlynn must have been extremely shaken; though an amazingly sharp shooter, she aims to kill only very deliberately—this time, though, she sent an arrow straight through the jugular of one of the bandits instead of incapacitating him as she usually would. The dead man’s companion immediately turned tail and fled.

On the other bank, Val had tackled Travis’s would-be killer and overpowered him. I’m still in awe of her physical bravery—not to mention her lack of squeamishness, because I could smell the unwashed stench of the wretch even from where I was in the water. I cast the frostbite cantrip again, with better results this time. The other bandit gasped pitifully and started to shiver as crystals of ice rapidly formed all over him.

We had won. But at what cost? Fortunately, Pantaghion was able to use his healing powers to bring Travis back from the brink (of death? Can Warforged die? Isn’t there always a possibility of repair?); the bandit whom Wynlynn had shot wasn’t as lucky. We gave the survivors some money and Val put the fear of Corellon Larethian into them, commanding them not to harm any other travelers (or else!)

Thankfully, we were able to rest from the troubles of the night and have virtually reached our destination this morning. Though the dangers ahead of us seem considerable. After interrogating the surviving bandits, we were able to ascertain that there is some truth to Bradley Leggedy’s tale of monstrous ants (I forget what Tilia called them) terrorizing the mining community.

But I must end here. We have reached the dock—I must secure Styx’s boat and help the others disembark safely.