The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the blood-soaked battlefield in the Hinterlands. The maniacal sorcerer, let out a twisted laugh as he surveyed the carnage. His robes were singed, and his eyes glowed with an unsettling madness, the aftermath of unleashing chaotic spells upon the forces of Kronan.
Beside him, a vicious, secretive elf, silently cleaned viscera off her staff. Her hood concealed most of her face, but the glint in her eyes betrayed a feral satisfaction at the outcome of the skirmish. Shadows clung to her like loyal companions, reflecting the stealth with which she stalked her prey.
In the midst of the battlefield, an enigmatic gnome ranger, communed with the earth and sky, their hands gently caressing the wounded land. Their eyes, an otherworldly shade of green, reflected the ancient magic that flowed through their veins. They sensed the delicate balance of nature disrupted by the chaos of battle.
As the trio rested, sharing tales of their exploits and reveling in the spoils of victory, The druid's ears twitched at a faint whisper carried by the wind. They rose, their demeanor shifting to one of grave concern. "The Mirkwood," they murmured, their voice like the rustle of leaves, "its hidden depths speak of an altered balance. The harmony of the forest is disturbed."
The sorceror's eyes lit up with excitement, the prospect of more magical mysteries driving his lust for power. The ranger, ever vigilant, tightened her grip on her staff. "We can't let such spoils go unchecked," she declared, her words as sharp as keen look of menace in her eyes.
With an unspoken agreement, the trio gathered their belongings, ready for another adventure. The moon hung low in the night sky as they ventured into the shadows of the Mirkwood. The dense canopy above obscured the stars, and a haunting silence enveloped the forest.
Their journey into the unknown began, each step echoing with the promise of peril and the allure of discovery. The air crackled with magic, and the twisted branches of the Mirkwood seemed to whisper secrets only the forest knew. Fate, unpredictable as ever, awaited these adventurers, ready to weave a tale of danger, enchantment, and the relentless pursuit of power.
Campaign 1: Stronghold Leveling Party (All Are Welcome)
Campaign 1: Stronghold Leveling Party (All Are Welcome)
Last edited by Skoden on Sun Feb 18, 2024 9:20 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Re: Campaign 1: Stronghold Leveling Party (All Are Welcome)
A human sorcerer, an enigmatic gnome ranger, and a vicious elf, bound by a common purpose – to unveil the mysterious predator lurking within the ancient woods.In the heart of Mirkwood, where shadows danced to an eerie tune, a trio of unlikely allies emerged.
The scattered remains of men, goats and the mixes both lead them in. They treked forward, spotting a foreboding cave that concealed a grove beyond. "There's something out there waiting for us, and it ain't no man." the ranger uttered stoically as he studied the cave. "We're all gonna die" the rangers unnatural calm echoed in their dream as they rested on the precipice. At first light the ranger was no where to be found, leaving evidence of a skirmish and the echo of the wind in the silent night. The remaining two soldiered on.
As constant rain obscured the duo's path through the mystical grove they found themselves ambushed by goatmen and mischievous pixies. The predator concealed in the canopy stalked their progress, studying their new found prey. Relentlessly the party continued, unabated, sharpening their skills and understanding of the grove as they pursued. In a veil of constant rain just outside an encirclement of stones a gathering of murmuring bleats halted their hunt as they exchanged knowing glances. The elf motioned to lay low as they fell back to set traps while the sorcerer conjured arcane defenses.
The steady rains gave way to thunderstorms as the predator summoned the forces to shroud the grove. The adventurers lay in wait until in the brief flash of lightning the predator's position was betrayed, a curiously lithe silhouette shaped from the shadows. With a quick pull of the weave, the sorceror breached the predator's hex proof. The rains pattered to a halt leaving an eerie silence, broken by the predator's guttural war cry.
"Gettuda choppa!" the sorcerer exclaimed in a half panicked yelp, and the duo skirmished back towards their prepared position, leading the predator in. The rhythmic thwap of wing beats momentarily buffeted the arcane clouds as a helmed dragon knight descended and methodically began to hew the satyrs and pixies with arcing blows as the fog surrounded them.
The predator waited just outside the fog of war, studying the prowess of their new prey waiting for its chance to strike. With a wild, blinding cacophony of spells she overwhelmed the party, sundering the dragon knight from existence.
Undettered by the onslaught and animated with a savage fury the elf unleashed a vicious pummeling on the predator. The rough bark on what she thought was the predator's head cleaved, giving way to an alien visage and a viscous green ooze seeping from the wounds. As she stared into the uncannily menacing expression, confusion and frustration burst out of the elf, "What are the hell are you!" she wailed. Confusion gave way to terror as the alien mocked the elf in an eerie pantomime "What are the hell are youuuuuu?!"
"If it bleeds, we can kill it!" The force of the sorceror's howl coalesced into a barrage of magical missiles that found purchase in the core of the predator's form. Each strike sundering more and more bark from the predator, yet the deepening wounds only began to give off a growing malevolent verdant glow. Growing brighter and brighter with each strike, the radiant heat began to pulse quick and quicker. The predator's head lulled as it issued an undeniably maniacal laughter. Flight finally took over as the duo dove under cover just as a burst of light broke out from the predator, followed by a critical mass of force that shook the grove and bathed everything in light.
Addled and confused, the sorceror pulled himself up to an opening in the covered caravan, clambering for fresh air. He thought he might not regain his sight after the day blind sun reflected off what he made out to be desert dunes. "What circle of hell is this?" When the blindness finally abated he spotted a group of knights clad in silver atop one of the dunes in the distance, banners raised. "Doesn't look like a welcoming party." he sighed as he collapsed back onto the floor of the caravan.The jostle of the caravan did nothing to urge them out of their half dead sleep. It was the choking heat, that throttled the sorceror back to life.
Last edited by Skoden on Sun Feb 18, 2024 9:20 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Re: Campaign 1: Stronghold Leveling Party (All Are Welcome)
In that parched Oasis, where tumbleweeds told tales in the whisperin' wind, a lone gnome ranger draped in a ragged poncho moseyed into town. Followin' rumors of slavers driftin' from the shadows of Mirkwood. Old Ozban, face leathered like a saddle, yammered on 'bout a dust-up brewin' 'twixt them Silver Knights and them Dragon Cultists, like a rattler coiled for a showdown. Talk circulatin' 'round town painted a picture of smugglers, chests full of gold, and feuds that soaked the desert dirt dark.
Our stranger, face etched with his own yarns, reckoned it was time to pull the strings. Twin axes at his hips and squinty eyes that'd seen too much sun, he let the town know – four throws, four blows, swift and lethal, a warnin' that this here ain't no place for tender souls.
Lurkin' by the saloon like a vulture on the fringe, the stranger eyeballed the Knights spillin' blood in their raid on the caravan he sought, their greed leavin' a trail of red. The gods forsaken cemetery in the wasteland became his stage. Two bodies, knicked from the chaos – one human sorcerer and one hooded elf – stood like ghostly sentinels as the stranger span his yarn for both the Knights and the Cultists. A tale of two survivors, witnesses in this land of the departed. The oasis buzzed with whispers as both crews raced to the graveyard, the Cultists salivatin' for fresh meat, the Knights hankerin' for some silence to cover their spoils.
In the thick of the ruckus, the cowpokes in armor threw down with them cult fellas, Demetari slashing like a devil, takin' down them supposed survivors. His brother roped in The Cultist's big shot cleric, tying him up good.
While them knights and cultists traded blows, this Stranger feller snuck into the knights' hideout, aimin' to nab some gold. In the dim shadows, he plumb knocked out a gal, a gnome slave named Marisol. Not meaning to, mind ya. This Stranger dragged her to them Cultists, and they cut a deal to swap her for that High Cleric. The hostage swap went south when the gnome gal's kin showed up. Demetari, that cold-hearted snake, ordered a hit on the gnome woman's old man. But by golly, that revenant Sorceror, ghostly elf and the Stranger, workin' together like the undead marshals of doom, put a stop to it.
The Stranger, takin' charge like, told the gnome woman to mosey back to Demetari, while her old man wrangled their young'un home. Turns out, Demetari snagged that gnome family in a poker game gone sour with some shady hombre named Knöller. Them cards dealt a wicked hand, partner. But the Stranger's got a plan you see, under the cloak of night, while them Knights were hoistin' a ruckus, the Stranger, the sorcerer, and the elf took down them guards, busted Marisol loose, and left the joint lookin' like it had been mauled by a pack of wild dogs – all to make it seem like them Cultists threw the first punch. The Stranger tossed some coin to Marisol, tellin' her folks to hightail it outta town.
Soon enough, word got around that it was the Stranger who set Marisol free. Them Knights, hotter than a basilisk's balls, snagged him and tried to squeeze the truth out with a taste of the whip. But that crafty feller slipped their grip. Them Knights circled that Cultist's temple, thinkin they been shelterin' the stranger. Oooh boy the hellstorm they unleashed, no mercy for womenfolk or young'uns as the cultists bolted for cover in them inner chambers. Their clamorin knockin woke up something fierce, them cultists let loose that damned dragon! It came a hootin an' hollerin up from the basement of theirs. Singed by the tail flap of them britches, and with a sprinkle of mystic mojo from the sorcerer, the Stranger and his crew skedaddled that temple. Laid low and nursed their wounds in a played-out salt mine.
The elf came round from one of her walkabouts, brings word that Old Ozban's been snatched and whipped for info on the Stranger by them ruthless Knights, our hombre dons his worn-out poncho and heads back to the stronghold, itching for a showdown. Demetari, with his halberd gleaming like a snake's fang, gets taunted by the Stranger to "aim for the heart." But that poncho ain't just for show mind you– Clang! Slash! it deflects them blows until Demetari's left swinging in the dust. Under that shredded poncho the stranger done himself up some fancy armor, you see.
The Stranger, quick as a sidewinder's strike, slashes the halberd from Demetari's grip and cuts down all them henchmen standin' tall. With one axe left, he hacks through the rope that's got Old Ozban danglin' like a fish on a line.
Throwing down the challenge, the Stranger dares Demetari to grab his halberd before he reclaims his axes. Our nimble Stranger dives, tumbles, and hurls his axe, takin' down Demetari in one smooth move. The last knight, sneakin' up from behind a pillar, meets his maker as Ozban, with his magical staff, sends him to the great beyond.
The Stranger tips his hat to Ozban, bids him farewell, and the trio, ridin' into the sunset, leaves that Oasis in the trailing dust.
That's the story as I reckon. I ain't never seen the likes of an hombre like that again.
Just some stranger who rolled into the oasis, a man with gnome name.
Our stranger, face etched with his own yarns, reckoned it was time to pull the strings. Twin axes at his hips and squinty eyes that'd seen too much sun, he let the town know – four throws, four blows, swift and lethal, a warnin' that this here ain't no place for tender souls.
Lurkin' by the saloon like a vulture on the fringe, the stranger eyeballed the Knights spillin' blood in their raid on the caravan he sought, their greed leavin' a trail of red. The gods forsaken cemetery in the wasteland became his stage. Two bodies, knicked from the chaos – one human sorcerer and one hooded elf – stood like ghostly sentinels as the stranger span his yarn for both the Knights and the Cultists. A tale of two survivors, witnesses in this land of the departed. The oasis buzzed with whispers as both crews raced to the graveyard, the Cultists salivatin' for fresh meat, the Knights hankerin' for some silence to cover their spoils.
In the thick of the ruckus, the cowpokes in armor threw down with them cult fellas, Demetari slashing like a devil, takin' down them supposed survivors. His brother roped in The Cultist's big shot cleric, tying him up good.
While them knights and cultists traded blows, this Stranger feller snuck into the knights' hideout, aimin' to nab some gold. In the dim shadows, he plumb knocked out a gal, a gnome slave named Marisol. Not meaning to, mind ya. This Stranger dragged her to them Cultists, and they cut a deal to swap her for that High Cleric. The hostage swap went south when the gnome gal's kin showed up. Demetari, that cold-hearted snake, ordered a hit on the gnome woman's old man. But by golly, that revenant Sorceror, ghostly elf and the Stranger, workin' together like the undead marshals of doom, put a stop to it.
The Stranger, takin' charge like, told the gnome woman to mosey back to Demetari, while her old man wrangled their young'un home. Turns out, Demetari snagged that gnome family in a poker game gone sour with some shady hombre named Knöller. Them cards dealt a wicked hand, partner. But the Stranger's got a plan you see, under the cloak of night, while them Knights were hoistin' a ruckus, the Stranger, the sorcerer, and the elf took down them guards, busted Marisol loose, and left the joint lookin' like it had been mauled by a pack of wild dogs – all to make it seem like them Cultists threw the first punch. The Stranger tossed some coin to Marisol, tellin' her folks to hightail it outta town.
Soon enough, word got around that it was the Stranger who set Marisol free. Them Knights, hotter than a basilisk's balls, snagged him and tried to squeeze the truth out with a taste of the whip. But that crafty feller slipped their grip. Them Knights circled that Cultist's temple, thinkin they been shelterin' the stranger. Oooh boy the hellstorm they unleashed, no mercy for womenfolk or young'uns as the cultists bolted for cover in them inner chambers. Their clamorin knockin woke up something fierce, them cultists let loose that damned dragon! It came a hootin an' hollerin up from the basement of theirs. Singed by the tail flap of them britches, and with a sprinkle of mystic mojo from the sorcerer, the Stranger and his crew skedaddled that temple. Laid low and nursed their wounds in a played-out salt mine.
The elf came round from one of her walkabouts, brings word that Old Ozban's been snatched and whipped for info on the Stranger by them ruthless Knights, our hombre dons his worn-out poncho and heads back to the stronghold, itching for a showdown. Demetari, with his halberd gleaming like a snake's fang, gets taunted by the Stranger to "aim for the heart." But that poncho ain't just for show mind you– Clang! Slash! it deflects them blows until Demetari's left swinging in the dust. Under that shredded poncho the stranger done himself up some fancy armor, you see.
The Stranger, quick as a sidewinder's strike, slashes the halberd from Demetari's grip and cuts down all them henchmen standin' tall. With one axe left, he hacks through the rope that's got Old Ozban danglin' like a fish on a line.
Throwing down the challenge, the Stranger dares Demetari to grab his halberd before he reclaims his axes. Our nimble Stranger dives, tumbles, and hurls his axe, takin' down Demetari in one smooth move. The last knight, sneakin' up from behind a pillar, meets his maker as Ozban, with his magical staff, sends him to the great beyond.
The Stranger tips his hat to Ozban, bids him farewell, and the trio, ridin' into the sunset, leaves that Oasis in the trailing dust.
That's the story as I reckon. I ain't never seen the likes of an hombre like that again.
Just some stranger who rolled into the oasis, a man with gnome name.
Last edited by Skoden on Wed Feb 28, 2024 11:05 am, edited 3 times in total.
Re: Campaign 1: Stronghold Leveling Party (All Are Welcome)
The human sorceror, his maniacal visage twisted in a semblance of coherence, sought a focus to channel the roil of power within and guide him through unknown challenges.The wind carried echoes of their hopes across the desolate landscape of the desert, a quartet of companions, each burdened with desires, walked along on the forlorn path of the Yellow Dirt Road.
The gnome ranger, yearned for a heart to bulwark against the dark void of those whom he had lost. A futile quest for warmth in the cold embrace of the forsaken realm.
The hooded elf, a creature born of the wild, roared silent pleas for courage, a desperate howl swallowed by the unforgiving emptiness that stretched beyond the horizon.
The winged monk, a spectral presence with haunted eyes, guided them through the wasteland, haunted by the specter of hope, a false god lurking in the shadows of the Keep.
They waded through through the morass of spent souls lost in the seeking. Cutting them away like an overgrown jungle. Each sundered soul tore away at their resolve leaving shadows that clung to them like a curse. Door after endless door of the Shadowkeep, revealed more and more souls crying out in a cacophony of hopes yearned in silence.
On the precipice of surrender, the last door cut through the din as it shook like a drum at the boom of voice from within. As they stepped into the theater a curtain of shadow and a voice beyond greeted them.
"The Great and Powerful grants you the treasures you seek!" momentous steps of a giant form plodded its way towards them. Three man lengths above them the frightening mandibles of a monsterous Umberhulk thrashed through the curtain of darkness.
Its multifaceted eyes gleaming with hostility. The sorcerer, unleashed chaotic bolts of energy that crackled through the air, creating an otherworldly light that danced on the walls. The nimble gnome ranger, landed axe blows at the Umberhulk's vulnerable spots. The hooded elf with an air of eccentricity, darted in and out of shadows, slashing at the creature's underbelly with razor-sharp blades. The winged monk, soared gracefully above, delivering precise strikes with ethereal staff blows. The battle unfolded in a symphony of elemental chaos, with the Umberhulk retaliating ferociously. In a final, coordinated assault, the party subdued the monstrous foe, and from the carcass erupted a chest, its ornate surface revealing a trove of long-sought treasures.
As the party counted their trinkets and baubles on the stage before the curtain, a particular curio called out to the sorceror, a faceted gem lay embedded in a small stone tablet. The sorceror held it up to the light hoping to peer through the shadows, the facets split the image into a kaleidoscope of possibilities, but only one with glimmer of a foreign horizon projected into his mind's eye.
The sorceror stared into curtain, befuddled by the audacity of this discovery. "The Great and Powerful has spoken! Now Leave!" The voice reverberated through the curtain. The sorceror tore at the veil. "Pay no mind to whats behind the curtain!" the voice beyond boomed.
The unspooling weave of curtain buffeted the air around them as it fell and shadow gave way to nothing. Not the absence of light, nor the cold vacuum of void. Nothing.
"The Great and Powerful can shred your chance of hope into myriad until Nothing remains. Our invisible hands can errata the very fabric of your reality. Words will be reduced to mere scribbling and babble. The lessons of death will be of no consequence. The weight of your choices will amount to naught. You don't belong in the realm of Nothing!" the voice beyond decreed.
The revelation sent tremors through their weary beings. The sorceror stumbled backwards and dropped the curio, the gem shattering into 400 pieces. His heels clicked together as his misstep vaunted him backwards, dazed by the revelation his head dashed onto the cobbles.
The gnome, quick to act, pulled an elixir from the sorcerors robe, thinking it would help revive his companion. But with a flash of light he was gone. Vanished. The others, left to grapple with their own afflictions, found solace in the shared agony of their journey. They turned to each other, forged by the crucible of the forsaken land. They remained bound by the tethers of their desires and the unforgiving reality, haunted by the wind that carried whispers of an elusive path, a frontier that existed only in the recesses of their tortured minds.
The door behind them swung open revealing the forlorn path of the Yellow Dirt Road, the remaining three linked arms, refreshed by the light of day shining on them as they skipped merrily down the path and sang.
"HA – HA – HA!
HO – HO – HO!
AS THE INFINITE LOOP REROLLS,
THAT’S HOW WE LAUGH
THE DAY AWAY
WITH A HO – HO – HO
HA – HA – HA!
IN THE BLACKENED KEEP OF STONE!"
Epilogue
Bleary eyed the sorceror woke up with a violent shake. "Wake up, we're here. Why are you shaking? Are you ok? Wake up." A dark elf face looked back at him with a look of concern. "Stand up... there you go. You were dreaming. What's your name?" the sorceror stared blankly for a few moments before mummbling something incoherently. "Well, not even last night's storm could wake you. I heard them say we're on the Morrowind, I'm sure they'll let us go when we've reached the keep." the dark elf reassured him. "Quiet, here comes the guard." the dark elf motioned towards the stairs leading into the galley, a guard in strange armor descending. "You better do what they say."