Session Recap - 6 July 2007
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| == Treasure Obtained == | == Treasure Obtained == | ||
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| == Player-submited Commentary == | == Player-submited Commentary == | ||
Revision as of 01:14, 27 July 2007
| Session Recap | |
|---|---|
| 6 July 2007 | |
| Start Date | 8 February 1332 |
| End Date | 12 February 1332 |
| Adventure Locations | Shroudbase, Darkmoon Vale |
| Previous Session | 30 June 2007 |
| Next Session | 14 July 2007 |
| Image:Session Recap - 6 July 2007.png | |
Participating Characters
Bisquick, Daeron Elensar, Fagan von Feld, Lars Blaine, Malic Citrate
Shroud's Last Hope
The player characters began the session waiting around for Madame Losa, who would end up never making contact with the characters. While whiling away the time at Jak'a'Napes, an older fellow began having horrible coughing fits which he ultimately died from after violently coughing up his insides. While the local guards were trying to calm the situation, numerous other people in the streets began having the same coughing fits. Malic Citrate went to work setting up an improptu hospital in an alleyway before securing the aid of Lady Cirthana at the Shroudbase Shrine to Heironeous. Cirthana lacked the ability and general interest to cure the outbreak that was happening.
Blackscour Taint
The party tried to find out more about what was happening to the townsfolk and that led them to a long line at Roots and Remedies, an herbal remedy shop run by Laurel Langedon (for those that missed the reference, she is the cousin of Trejan Langedon). Once inside, the party was able to determine that it was Blackscour Taint that was infecting the populace, a fungal disease that is not generally deadly but hits the population hard due to poor conditions and a lack of supplies.
Laurel explained, "There is a mold growing inside the people. It starts eating away in the chest and bellow and is damned determined to stay. The body turns itself inside out trying to hack the stuff up but all that does is cut your guts up."
Laurel first tried to sell the party what she was already selling to all of the other cautious townsfolk, stating that she hoped it worked. It did not and the player characters came back the next day hoping to find some other cure. She mentioned that her grandmother's old book of remedies mentions something that may do the trick, but it sounded more like hoojoo than actual medicine. Unfortunately, she didn't have all of the ingredients that the weird concoction called for. The three items she was missing were:
- Elderwood Mold - mold that only grows on the eldest tree in a forest
- Rat's Tail - a specially pickled root
- Ironbloom Mushrooms - stunty mushrooms that grow in places heavy with metal, a favorite among dwarves
The party set off to find out where these items could be found.
Milon Rhoddam and the Mining Consortium
The player characters gathered information regarding anyone that knew the area very well and were led to the best woodsmen in the area, a man in the employ of the Shroudbase Mining Consortium. When they arrived at the organizations headquarters they were treated roughly until Lars talked his way into meet Milon Rhoddam. Milon was able to sketch a map that detailed where the party might find the eldest tree in the Darkmoon Vale, the witch's hut, and the dwarven ruins.
Murder in the First Degree
On their way to the oldest tree, Daeron shot a hobgoblin in the throat without provocation. After feeling sorry for the creature, Malic healed it back up only to have it cut in two by Biscuit's axe. The rest of the party thought nothing strange of this blatant killing and left the body to rot. A hobgoblin mommy and her two children starved that night and succumbed to their hunger and the wintry environment a week later.
Elderwood Moss
The dense trees and thick brush of the forest give way, parting seemingly in respect for the titanic darkwood tree that dominates this clearing. Several times taller than a temple minaret, in one direction the obviously ancient tree reaches into the sky with branches like a giant’s arms, while in the other it plumbs the earth with roots thicker than a man’s waist. Its limbs broad and strong, its bark thick and so richly colored as to almost be black, and its leaves the size of bucklers, the giant thing is less a tree and more a cathedral of boughs and branches.
As the party approached the massive tree, they were set upon by a Tatzlwyrm, a dragon-headed snake. They made short work of it and were able to claim the Elderwood Moss.
Ironbloom Mushrooms
Sitting squat at the foot of an imposing mountain, a ruined monastery comes into view between ancient gnarled trees. Made of simple stone blocks, worn smooth with the passage of time, the stout building is falling apart. Sections of the slanted shale roof have collapsed and portions of the outer wall have crumbled. Weeds and wild thorn plants run rampant across the field leading up to the place, leaving only the slightest indication of a path that ends at the ruined front doors. Beyond, an overgrown yard sits in shadow.
The party identified the ruin as a long-abandoned dwarven monastery to Moradin.
Throughout their explorations of the ruin, they found all of the Ironbloom Mushrooms that they needed.
Rat's Tail
Return to Shroudbase
Updated Wiki Entries
Treasure Obtained
PC Info
PC:Session Recap - 6 July 2007
Player-submited Commentary
The bonus XP question this week was:
What has been on your character's mind most recently? What is he thinking about, what conclusions has he come to, what has he been thinking about for the future?
Lars:
Lars (Alan) has been feeling a bit off since meeting the gnome shopkeep. He had previously been able to bury memory of his alienation from his homeland, but hearing a gnomish name and thinking about the human names he has affected recently has put him into a sour mood. This is making him look over his recent decisions and suggestions critically, filled with self-doubt. Was it a good idea for a group of strielings to bring an evil artifact of immense power with them? Can they possibly know the consequences of such actions?
Lars badly needs guidance. Something to center himself on. More information is the only thing he can think of could help. What have we gotten ourselves into with all this hero business? Off on a lark saving a bunch of miners from some disease, looking for lost children. We're still children ourselves! Can't even focus on a single objective like delivering a simple letter. No, he had to have it the adventurous way, letting her come to him rather than leaving the message with the bartender.
The world is a large and dangerous place for a gnome, and he doesn't even have a home to return to at the end of the day. WWGGD?
At night, Malic Citrate is happier now than he ever was as Rymlli Flamebullion. His dreams are filled with exciting battles and the subjugations and slaughters of entire nations. Nothing makes Malic happier than when he is swinging the morningstar of his dreams. He can't wait to obtain one for use during his waking life.
During the day, Malic has never been more miserable. He is surrounded by incompetents and dullards. The worst of them, Lars, constantly makes up stories about every person, place, and thing that they happen to encounter. The others seem enraptured not only by these blatant lies but by his incessant "jokes". Malic can't wait for something to happen to the beautiful face of Lars during combat so that he can perform a "joke" of his own. The plan is to sink as many fingers as he can into the wound while pretending to inspect it. At the height of Lars' screams of pain he'll rend away the flesh of Lars' face to see if the bard is actually capable of screaming any louder. Whenever the others are laughing at one of Lars' jokes, Malic thinks on his own so that he can chuckle along with the others.
Malic has also grown increasingly infuriated at the druid's wolf. Without fail, whenever a combat has occurred that fucking wolf will literally bowl him right over so that it can lick his skin clean of the blood that now seems to ooze right though his skin at the height of battle. Malic plans to poison the wolf as soon as he can acquire the proper ingredients.
During the day I'm fine. During the day there are things to do. During the day I don't think.
At night my mind wanders...
I've spent many nights so far looking at the statue that came from Cauldron. I wonder what it is, what it means, and why I have it. I wonder why someone went to the trouble of setting me up. I wonder why they wanted me alive. I turn over in my mind over and over the image of the man who gave me the job. Who was he? Would I recognize him if we cross paths again? There's something odd about my memory of him, his image is misty in my mind's eye.
I think of Nessa. I wonder if she's well, I wonder if she remembers the promise we made. I think of her face in the starlight. She's been in my dreams lately, always in my dreams.
In dreams their faces: Nessa, the old man, even my father, all flash and intertwine.
When I awake I wonder what it all means...
Bisquick has been thinking a lot about the branding on his back. On the one hand, Bisquick wants to find out as much as possible about his past. On the other, he really wants to stay the fuck away from the Underdark. Perhaps when he and his companions become stronger, he can persuade them to investigate further.
Additionally, Bisquick has been feeling uneasy lately. He dreams of +5 Keen Sonic Burst Dwarven Waraxes of Whirling, and slaughtering innocents with them. Killing that Hobgoblin seems to have whet his appetite for murder. Bisquick feels slightly guilty about his wanton lust for blood... but only slightly.
Bisquick has also been thinking about Alan Bree, and what a completely useless character he is. If only he had been a Wizard; then the party wouldn't have to deal with all these ass-fucking lunatics when they wanted magic items identified. They would still need pearls though... well, Wizards are proficient with knives... they could send him pearl diving. What a good idea. Bisquick thinks he should be the party leader.
Goare had often talked to Mazer about his time on the Path. Long before Goare had left the adventuring life and sequestered himself amongst the forests, he had been a leader of men -- he'd adventured with a large group of folks, righting wrongs, fighting the good fight, acquiring wealth and doing what he could to make the world a better place. That kind of thing was expected on a Walk. Goare had left it all behind though, preferring the silence and peace of the forest.
Mazer had now been adventuring with these new companions for several weeks now, and things seemed to be a blur. Half the time he could hardly keep tab on what was going on. His time in the forest had caused him to be less comfortable with city folk, and these heroes that he was now with were no different. At times he longed for a return to the peace and tranquility -- but the excitement and adventure that he was currently dealing with were at odds with that.
There is no doubt in Mazer's mind that he'll eventually return to the forests, but there will be time for that in the future -- what is life without the stories of youth?
Things are looking up for Fagan von Feld. For the first time in his life he's found something that he's really good at. He's become increasingly skilled at combat, and he's managed to walk away from everyone of them, which is impressive in it's own right. The idea of him becoming a great hero like Patrick is something he strives for, so he's more than happy to continue in his adventures, despite the obvious dangers. Life's no fun without a little bit of risk.
While he fears that traveling too far abroad will bring increased danger to the citizens of Dormantown, he must admit he's become increasingly curious about the stone embedded in his chest. He has tried communicating with it like he did when it first spoke to him, but so far it's remained quiet. He knows it's still working because he has to draw on it's power every so often to get through a particularly rough spot.
He's a bit worried about Malic Citrate. The Dwarven cleric has been changing lately, and he's become increasingly more aggressive. Fagan assumes this is due to his first tastes of the violent nature of adventuring. Fagan remembers the effects killing the Ogre had on his personality two years ago, and struggles between trying to help the Dwarf out or simply letting him sort through his feelings. All things considered, Malic has been one of the more reliable members of the party, and it wouldn't do him any good getting on the wrong side of him.
Lars was quickly becoming his favorite member of the party, and he'd always share a good laugh when Lars was cheering them up. He'd intersperse a joke or two of his own, but more often than not they weren't any where near as humorous or as witty as Lars, so he generally stayed quiet.
One thing that was bothering him was his application to the Order of Smashdor. He realized that there were much quicker ways to relay information than a letter, but he opted for the letter as it felt more formal to him, but now he was so far away from Dormantown, he hoped the Order would be able to contact him when they received the letter. Their organization was a strong reason why he sought out a life of adventure, though now he was unsure if he would be able to commit the time they would expect while also serving as a member of his party.
Finally, he worried about his family, who were stuck back on the farm, and no doubt would be in grave danger if the Orcs of Scaun attacked. He resolved to have a messenger check on them next time he was in Dormantown, if he himself did not have the opportunity to do so.
