Faerun Adventures

Bent over her anvil, Greeba was putting the finishing touches on the forged steel sculpture in the shape of a bard’s lute.  This will be placed on a plinth in the Druid garden in Fort Skulnar, in memory of the half-elf bard Trystan who laid his life in the battle with the half-dragon twins.   Greeba wiped her brow with the back of her hand.  The garden was getting full of her steel forms - a wolf’s paw, representing Arian the elf druid, a lighting bolt for the young sorcerer Xarius, a highly decorative, if not sharp, knife for Errol the halfling rogue... The life-sized paladin shape representing Thibault was placed more centrally, in the middle of the grounds, as it was to him that the Fort was bestowed by the local Duchess.  Greeba thought of Bryn, the elvish lady thief who first offered her friendship when she reached these parts, and not for the first time thought of making a memorial for her - but she fell before the taking of Skulnar, and at least her body was resting in a real gr

 Errol: "There are my notes. I sometimes scribble down some notes when I have some spare time... ;-)  Apologies for the bad style, I don't have time to write chronicles while I fight spectral demons and whatnot!" Entering the Crypt of Green Shadows, we are at the crossroads room at the bottom of the stairs: 3 doors for N,E,and W. Took the eastern door: a dead worm is in the tunnel but we can't see much else due to some magical darkness obliterating everything. Three octopus-like creatures (Gricks) attack us unsuccessfully. Progressing in the tunnel, we meet three Shadow Fey Guardians. One of them, Tilmarandë, tells us that their leader Zaraka got killed earlier. The room where we found the guardians has some statues and tapestries with writings describing three heroes (Krythitas the elf paladin, Hassan the human wizard & Tymande Firestorm the half-elf Warlock.). Nathia is suddenly inspired by the picture of the female Warlock Tymande who has her arms crossed and d

Arian's last accounting. Looking at the group of survivors, the adventurers weren't sure what to do. The vampire and wraith had been turned, but for how long? It was obvious that the villagers would not be able to help in a fight, not even Bruf, for all his blacksmithing muscles. They had to get them out -- and past the ogre. "Mirna, you and the rest, stay behind us. There's an ogre outside the door we need to take care of," said Arian. Mirna nodded, a trace of fear in her eyes. "And," added Arian, "any that can hold a weapon, it wouldn't hurt to be ready, just in case, though we pray it does not come to that." A few of the villagers picked up some of the weapons the skeletons had dropped. All looked scared. Thibault, taking a deep breath and little suspecting what would happen next, opened the door. "Hello Orgry!" he declared. The ogre zombie stood just outside the door, hefting its club and looking as annoyed as something can wh

An accounting from Arian.  After unceremoniously (and quickly) leaving the wizard's booby-trapped tower and taking Eamon to see the Prior before he rotted away before their eyes, no one was sure what to do. Go back to the tower? Go home? Go somewhere else? But then they heard a rumour of some kind of witch taking commoners and children from a village -- and bleeding them! -- and then not returning them as promised. It certainly seemed a worthwhile endeavour.  Leaving Eamon behind to rest, they approached the manor house with the temple next door. No one was home, though an undead ogre guarded the entrance to the temple. Wisteria thought it best they try to avoid a fight with the ogre and sneak in so as to surprise the priestess (or whatever she was). She managed to cast Turn Undead upon him, which allowed them to enter without a fight. Arian wondered if he would be as amenable when they were ready to leave, but that was a problem for another time.  Inside, they were soon met with a

Trystan's account of Raganni's Tower. Waking up with a cracking hangover and snuggled up in bed with several of the Fest Hall wenches, Trystan really wasn’t in the mood to go traipsing through the mountains and the rain, with nothing but some raw meat to fend off a grumpy white dragon.  Still, a heroic bard such as himself had a responsibility to find and pen adventures of all colours; and he had to admit that the mention of a wizard’s tower had him intrigued! Well, they got there in the end, hulking all that beef around for absolutely no reason: Trystan could swear he could hear that pesky dragon laughing at them from behind a mountain somewhere!  The wizard’s tower proved to have an extremely strong front door, that no amount of bashing with Greeba’s hammer could loosen.  Trystan tried to tell the others that perhaps they should go around the back to find an alternative entrance, being something of an expert in hasty escapes from jealous lordlings and their lonely wives, but

An accounting from Arian. Two of the gricks wasted no time in snipping away bits of Greeba with their sharp beaks, but Sirondar was there with his new lance -- he charged forwards with a battle cry that would have done any barbarian proud, and skewered one of the gricks. Trystan, having heard Greeba's delicate cry of pain, rushed into the room and cast his last healing spell upon her. Wisteria followed on his heels, ready for action. Gorlock blasted another grick with an eldritch blast that lit it up in a blaze before it sank back into the murky water. Arian cast frostbite upon another, though she only managed to freeze just the tip of it's beak, but at least it seemed to disorient the beast. Thibault and Greeba both attacked the remaining gricks -- the half-orc landing a particularly mighty blow, but the nasty beast seemed to shrug it off. It did not, however, shrug off Xarius' firebolt. Little by little, they whittled away at the gricks until finally, finally, they all la

An Excerpt from Thibault's Diary. The previous combats were a series of blazing victories but it was not a reason to get complacent or to sleep on it. Everybody in the group was nervous, wary of some unknown evil that could be awaiting at the corner of a corridor, or crawling in the impenetrable darkness on the levels below. Arian, still sporting her majestic, fearsome wolven form, was sniffing the air around. Smelling the tiles on the floor, she tried to capture some intelligence about any impending threat and who could be our next enemies. Because two pairs of nostrils are better than one, I decided to do the same with my own modest talents: I reached the eastern staircase and stared along the steps until they disappeared into the darkness. I took a deep breath and muttered a prayer to let the divine open my senses for any emanation of an evil nature: Nothing… I never know if it’s reassuring news or if I should be more alarmed.  Trying again on the north stairs, this time I sense

(The following letter in Goblinese was sent from Underhall to a nearby goblin settlement. All spelling errors are the fault of the original writer) To Grik, You not believe what we been threw last day! Roxx might move clan to another ruin! These adventurers keep coming and bunging up place. Even worse than last ones who broke statue. At least we feast off of them. This time, lot of big jobs come in, kill my favourite two headed doggies AND the giant spiders Roxx was saving for silk harvest. They tie me up, muck up all the dirt and get blood everywhere! And mess up my ear collection! And they burn dinner all up! Say it some rite or something. Perfectly good meal wasted.             I tell them about tentacle thing, hope maybe they take it out or just LEAVE already, but they faff about and wander all over like they drink too much Gnrglbrsh.             I tell you funny thing tho—they run right into gargoyles! Almost kill them! I laugh til I almost wet pants. Bash! Crash! But stupid ventu

An accounting from Greeba. Greeba had already lost one javelin to the rust-making ooze, but she hefted another one to her shoulder cheerfully, as it was destined to pierce the two-headed death dog coming out of the left passage.  Underhall was a dark and smelly place, neither of which bothered her, really, as long as there was some treasure to be found, and foes to be felled.  The snarling beasts emerging ahead were much more alive, and therefore easier to kill, than the slime that had oozed out of the murky underground pool. The new guy Trystan, the bard that bonded with Gorlock, spelled the beasts with a piercing sound that made one bleed from the ears.  The warlock quickly hexed it with another spell, and Wisteria followed the curse with necromancy, probably, and killed one of the dogs.  Greeba didn’t really understand spells, except that it was better to have them cast by your side than by the enemy.  Thibault, the paladin, rushed in to attack the second death dog with a glowing sw

An accounting from Arian. Much had been accomplished at the Ironwolf Keep in the last ten day. A new well had been dug and the old one cleaned out. Grimsby, the stonemason they had hired in Ravensburg, had made much progress on the new entry to the Keep, even putting in a murder hole. Thibault’s servants had been busy cleaning and many of the rooms were now habitable. Frank and his boys were busy patrolling and training. Arian and Wisteria quickly put in a small garden plot so that the plants and herbs they had brought with them from The Grove would not wither and die. With a bit of searching, Arian also located the remains of an old orchard full of apple and pear trees – very promising for future cider or perry concerns! She brought back as many of the late fall fruit as she could carry. Trystan the bard had accompanied them back, having made fast friends with Gorlock. He regaled them nightly with cheery songs of conquest. Elia in particular seemed quite taken with him, much to Sirond

 An accounting from Arian. The Fort was bustling with activity when she returned; the new recruits had arrived and been put to work. The sounds of hammering and sawing filled the air punctuated by the surprisingly authoritative barked commands of Frank as he drilled some guards in the yard. Arian took care of her horse and nodded hello to anyone she passed. She’d felt a growing sense of unease since Jaroo’s sending, especially after casting shillelagh on her staff and seeing it suddenly sprout sharp thorns. Something was amiss. But the others had rightful concerns; there was much that needed doing at the Fort and training besides. Could they hold off for a ten-day before leaving for Feycircle Tor? Or needs must they leave immediately? She hoped – she prayed – that the Forest Father could give her the answers that she sought. She spent the afternoon preparing the things she would need; grinding acorns into a paste, collecting mistletoe leaves, and rainwater from a barrel. She also gathe