New Houserules

Just as a heads up - as of tonight I will be using fumbles on a natural one and save or dies.

Cheers!

The Railroad

Forgive me for taking liberties but in order to maximize Matt's play time I'm going to railroad you into a new quest: 

Whilst the PC's were away Douven got wind of another interesting location in the Winterhaven area from Valthrun. Of course the normally tight lipped Valthrun didn't give much information and what was given was inadvertent and vague but Douven was able to read enough between the lines to formulate another crazy theory. With what limited information he actually got from Valthrun Douven surmised that what was on top of the mountain that Valthrun called the "abominable mountain" must somehow be linked to his dragon burial site putting himself one step closer to solving the mystery of the Jormungandr, the last of the 7 great dragons of old. This was about as much as could be gathered from the note that was found in his room. Apparently he slipped away at the beginning of the celebration feast and it was the next afternoon before it was discovered so he has about a day's lead on the PC's. Douven is a lot of trouble, but Axis wants his money and he didn't come all this way not to get paid so he implored and pressed the rest of the party into yet another quest to save Douven.

Valthrun explains that this mountain was once the location of another mysterious death cult that claimed perhaps thousands of victims and that it was surpressed about 100 years ago. Since then the mountain has been forsaken and forbidden by penalty of law. He also says that about 50 years ago a band of adventuring dwarves had made their way up the mountain. The authorities waited at the bottom of the trail for days to arrest them but they never descended. One of the dwarves was a cleric and he wore a very nice HOLY SYMBOL and that a fellow would do well to have one of those things around his neck.

And furthermore at the conclusion of the banquet a snow storm has blown in. It's very early in the spring yet and such things aren't unheard of but it seems like a particularly ill harbinger of things to come.

If anyone has anything they'd like to sell or buy while they are in town please do it by email post before tomorrow night. Otherwise you'll be ready to set out at 7 on Friday. There are a couple of local youths who have been impressed by the party's valour and your success in the keep that are requesting to accompany you as porters on the journey up the mountain. You'll probably need them to haul all that cult gold back ... or your corpses.

What happened next...

was this:

After slaying the evil death priest Kalarel our adventurers took turns urinating on his corpse and then Bronn dragged the body to the other side of the room and threw it down the shaft on top of the wights. Cael then defecated into the pit. Bronn, Macon, Oskar, and Silas then went back into the rooms that were skipped and slayed a gelatinous cube and a dozen more hobgoblins and brought back two untapped kegs of very fine beer from the hobgoblin's stores. A good time was had by all. Keegan even left his crypt to come down to the cathedral of shadows to have a few rounds with the chaps. Then Cael got down to business. After thumbing through Kalarel's ritual book he decided on a course of action which consisted of chanting an ancient drawven exorcism rite that drove the thing in the portal back into shadowfell. With the assistance of Maro he then ritually cleansed and purified the altar from which Kalarel had carried on most of his infernal work. The bodies of the sacrificial victims that were found were blessed and given a proper burial. The party then found the good stuff from the kobold's raiding in Kalarel's coffers -- 981 gp, 260 sp, some very fine silver goblets, a painted portrait of a very stuffy looking noblewoman, and ritual scrolls for Traveler's Feast, Make Whole, Comprehend Language, and Water Walk to be exact as well as a magic dagger (which gives a +2 to hit and to damage rolls as well as dealing an extra 1d6 damage on a crit) and every PC also gained another 400 xp for completing the quest.

The villagers of Winterhaven were eagerly awaiting news of the outcome of the party's success or failure. Lord Padraig and the town guard had actually mobilized and defeated some undead who were rising from their graves in the church yard. When the PCs returned to town with their loot in tow there was a banquet held in their honour by Lord Padraig in which the whole village was invited and Macon finally got his steak. And it is from this banquet that we will probably begin our next adventure in two weeks.

Rune

KotS Session ...4? 5? I forget.

In the latest chapter our party continued their exploration of Shadowfell Keep. We witnessed:

1. The recovery of a magical gimp suit from the body of a hobgoblin torturer, everyone agreeing it seemed like Axis' size and style;

2. The recovery of a halfling sorcerer from the hobgoblin's gaol who insisted on being fed steak. No one obliged him so he grilled himself up three goblin burgers with a rogue-b-que as a side item;

3. A new deck of cards with hand painted Goblin girls on the back;

4. Zombies, zombies, zombies;

5. Record time, a milestone, 3.5 encounters in 5 hours of play;

6. and Dustin not throwing a single die, another milestone.

Specks of sunlight flitter down through the dappled forest leaves. The autumn wind has just kissed their branches and they shiver with a flurry of color. Leaves unhinged from their natural homes upon the limbs of giant forest oaks glide silently down and dance upon the whimsical kiss of this chilly wind. I pause to collect my thoughts and to formulate a plan of action. Autumn caresses the long black stray hairs loosened above my elvish ears with her soft breath. The voice of my mentor soft in my ear, 'My roots are flesh and blood, but supple as the soil they

suck.' The forests mysteries unfold before my senses.Supressing a shudder, I gaze diligently into the forest and open myself to its mysteries. It speaks and I listen ever the diligent scholar. Seeking enlightenment in the twist and sway of a bent blade of grass or twig the forest gives unto me its secret gnossis. A sharp biting wind disrupts my current course of study and my mind leaps to memories of her. She lies out there somewhere; for the nonce she is safe though in what condition I know not. The gods shall not defy me in this. I have not travelled lonely from the halls of our fathers only to be denied our destiny. I have not shed blood upon the stones of Kier Dunnow, nor lain wasted and left for dead upon the moss carpeted floors of Mith Drannor only to be denied now. I will find her and assume my rightful place as her protector. Corellon Larethian guide my endeavors. All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.

It is with much hope and trepidation that I have agreed to undertake my current task. The wife of a wayward man named Duvenstall has enlisted my talents as a scout and tracker to uncover his current whereabouts. She fears the worst for his condition as she has not had word from him for many a day. A moon and a day upon his path the road leads me to Nentir Vale. From conversations and information gleaned and gathered upon my journey it

seems my quarry has moved north to conduct some form of business in a town named winterhaven not many days past. I have followed him from Fallcrest. A secret meeting in the forest outside of town not many days before.

Branches and leaves make no sound as I tread lightly through the domain of moss and fern. My feet float in the effortless dance of the hunt. At one with the forest and my quarry, the unwieldy tread of his boots emerge from the forest floor and guide my direction of travel. His city ways leaving a trace in my domain as easily followed as if he were magnetized and I a compass. A heavy and sharp crack behind me, cloak spinning and blades drawn, brigands hoping to catch me unawares. There are three men now before me. Feral and evil is the gleam of

their eyes. Wicked and sharp is the glint of the sun off the swords in their hands. The steel of my drawn knives is cold where it meets my lips, a kiss before the dance of death. Flesh and steel meet, flesh giving way to the power of sharpened steel. My steel is sharp, my skills keen. The veins of my foes offer up their sanguine gifts. A shifting foot, a spinning slash...a wonderfully macabre dance in which my skills surpass those of the wastrels moving higgledy-piggledy before my stinging blades. A slight shift of the weight to the ball of the left foot, right hand flashing down. A spin following to the left, bow to your partner(wind breaks the reeds) and up slicing in a silver flash the steel in my right hand. Poetry....

Quickly now moves the right,

jugulars part

bright red delight.

Crimson drops

....tap

...tap

..tapping

like rain upon the eaves...

falling down on forest leaves.

And the task is done. Bending down I cleanse my steel. Your rot shall not pit my blades. There is an awkward silence now. All the woodland creatures have fled from the sounds of slaughter. A moment more to regain my bearings before the hunt resumes. She is out there and I will find her. And him...I will find him as well. One task before the next. She is safe, for now...and in that I must take comfort.

Ahhh...Winterhaven..what secrets dost thou hold.