Campaign Journal
Vermillion "Red" Demond
Day 1 (continued)
Well, today was not quite as climatic as I had feared after our first battle, earlier today. After trying up the hobbos, and getting the prisoners conscious, we marched towards Drellin's Ferry. Along the way we, and by we I mean everyone by myself, interrogated the hobbo cleric, who followed of all gods, Tiamat. We got some useful, and some not so useful, information. Mainly we learned that he's just a cog in the gears of the large army of hobbos, led by a powerful, according to the cleric, sorcerer who united all the warring tribes under his banner.
This sorcerer, the Wyrmlord Koff (well, I never asked how to spell it), is held up in Vrath Keep, our original mission goal. He also revealed that Koff's second in command is a minotaur, and that the two aren't as friendly as you'd think.
We took the hobbos to the town, which apparently is a ferry because the original bridge was destroyed during the giant wars long ago. The locals weren't happy we took the hobbos prisoner, but wouldn't actually go out and tell us to kill any further hobbos we were likely to come across. While Burris, Boomer, and I watched the hobbos, Zerth, Roland, and Jez talked to the mayor, and the captain of the guard, whom Burris was sent to talk to by a man in Greyhawk. They got a small mission to help defend the town, though even with twelve hundred citizens is going to be rather hard to defend, since they don't even have a walled town center.
After talking with the mayor and the captain of the guard, and getting the hobbos into some simple stockades, we sold what gear we could, getting about seven thousand gold from the town, got what supplies we could, staked out the local magical provisioners, and set out to get a good night's sleep. At least, most of us, Burris will probably be up late with the Dwarven barmaid. (Burris was a victim of a reincarnation much like myself, his previous form was a male dwarf, while now he's a male human, a step up if you ask me).
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Sunday, June 10, 2007
RHoD Journal #1 [IC]
Campaign Journal
Vermillion "Red" Demond
Day 1
Okay, so it's not actually Day 1, since we started yesterday, but it was just shopping in Greyhawk and the hook.
Ah, the hook. Well, it's all Jezabel's fault really. She got us together for this. Some guy, forgot his name, and it really doesn't matter, hired her, well us, to get a bunch of treasure from an abandoned keep. This place was supposed to be abandoned years ago after the kingdom, Rhest, was overcome by Forest Giants. Forest Giants, some of the nicest giants I've ever heard of, so I take the rest of his story with a grain of salt. But, he paid enough to get us teleported down to Sterich, so I'll give the weasel that much.
Of course, the teleport trip itself was quite interesting. The plan, which we formulated yesterday, was for the druids to load up with all our gear, wild shape, and then get into a pair of haversacks, hold their breath, and teleport away. The second wave had me getting into a haversack myself.
There's nothing quite like being nowhere. It's a bit cold, but not, wide open, yet enveloping. Very odd.
Once we were in Sterich, this morning, we got re-packed, and then got on our way, heading to the keep, yet knowing that things would probably be a bit more deep than that.
Which it did.
The ambush was in a very smart position, the road gullied through the forest, and the hobgoblins got us from cover in the forest. The battle, which lasted a good two to three minutes, involved the six of us and fifteen hobgoblins with three, one summoned, hell hounds. Most of the damage was dealt, at least on our side of the battle, to the animals, though Jez and Roland took their share, as did I.
We've stripped the ho-gos for their gear, looted the bodies, and taken prisoners, and now we're on our way, though I'm not sure if we'll ever get to loot the keep, since the ho-gos seem to be a bit thicker than just the fifteen.
Well, we're off down the road, here's hoping it's going to be easy.
But I'm not holding my breath (at least, no unless I need to hide in the haversack).
Vermillion "Red" Demond
Day 1
Okay, so it's not actually Day 1, since we started yesterday, but it was just shopping in Greyhawk and the hook.
Ah, the hook. Well, it's all Jezabel's fault really. She got us together for this. Some guy, forgot his name, and it really doesn't matter, hired her, well us, to get a bunch of treasure from an abandoned keep. This place was supposed to be abandoned years ago after the kingdom, Rhest, was overcome by Forest Giants. Forest Giants, some of the nicest giants I've ever heard of, so I take the rest of his story with a grain of salt. But, he paid enough to get us teleported down to Sterich, so I'll give the weasel that much.
Of course, the teleport trip itself was quite interesting. The plan, which we formulated yesterday, was for the druids to load up with all our gear, wild shape, and then get into a pair of haversacks, hold their breath, and teleport away. The second wave had me getting into a haversack myself.
There's nothing quite like being nowhere. It's a bit cold, but not, wide open, yet enveloping. Very odd.
Once we were in Sterich, this morning, we got re-packed, and then got on our way, heading to the keep, yet knowing that things would probably be a bit more deep than that.
Which it did.
The ambush was in a very smart position, the road gullied through the forest, and the hobgoblins got us from cover in the forest. The battle, which lasted a good two to three minutes, involved the six of us and fifteen hobgoblins with three, one summoned, hell hounds. Most of the damage was dealt, at least on our side of the battle, to the animals, though Jez and Roland took their share, as did I.
We've stripped the ho-gos for their gear, looted the bodies, and taken prisoners, and now we're on our way, though I'm not sure if we'll ever get to loot the keep, since the ho-gos seem to be a bit thicker than just the fifteen.
Well, we're off down the road, here's hoping it's going to be easy.
But I'm not holding my breath (at least, no unless I need to hide in the haversack).
Thursday, February 01, 2007
The Last Mimzy
Yeah, yeah, I know, it's been about, oh, forever since I last posted, but I haven't had the need.
Well, now I feel like I need to.
I stumbled up this movie trailer over at apple, and find it quite interesting. Apparently it's a movie based on a story, based on the Jabberwocky. Very cool. Apparently these two children were sent learning toys from the future that allow them to think and learn a bit outside the box we call reality, allowing them to do things like TK/PK, as well as controlling spiders with sound, all very interesting stuff.
Also, the website is very cool.
Well, now I feel like I need to.
I stumbled up this movie trailer over at apple, and find it quite interesting. Apparently it's a movie based on a story, based on the Jabberwocky. Very cool. Apparently these two children were sent learning toys from the future that allow them to think and learn a bit outside the box we call reality, allowing them to do things like TK/PK, as well as controlling spiders with sound, all very interesting stuff.
Also, the website is very cool.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Fence-post
I'm a fence-post right now, as in "Between you, me, and the fence-post". Yeah, but, I'm really excited about the possibilities. I can't go into what exactly it is, but it's going to be fun, and it's going to be very, very, interesting. Enlightening. Invigorating. Exasperating. And tons of other adjectives.
But, until I can say anything about it. I'm still a fence-post.
*sigh*
But, until I can say anything about it. I'm still a fence-post.
*sigh*
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Future Imperfect - Prologue 3
Day of Mourning - Olarune 20, 998 YK - Mid-morning in Flamekeep
"We gather here this morning to remember those lives that were lost four years ago," preached the priest from atop his makeshift pulpit. There weren't many people gathering around him, but it was his duty to speak. "Four years have gone by since Cyre was claimed by the Mists, and we still do not know why. But we do what we can, pray to the Flame that the souls of the departed find refuge and comfort."
The priest paused to take a breath, and heard a dull roar coming from the Cathedral. He turned, and saw a mass of people running down the steep roads that lead to the highest ground in the city. He could not tell what they were running from, but they were panicked.
"Brothers and Sisters. Do not fear, for the Flame protects us here in the city. What harm can come to us here?" he shouted to the first of the evacuating mob. They didn't slow down at all.
The priest stepped down and was quickly swept up in the flow, his body buffeted by the current of bodies. He finally relaxed and moved with the flow, allowing himself to become a part of the rushing mob.
The priest and the mob continued down the streets of Flamekeep, until they reached the edge of the water, and stopped. Some, brave or foolish, began to wade into the water.
"What happened?" asked the priest to one of the panicked members of the milling mob.
"The Flame, the Flame, the Flame," was all that he got in response, as well as an arm pointed at the Cathedral.
The priest looked, and even from the edge of the water, he could see the smoke rising from the Cathedral. It was not much, at least now, but as he watched, it increased, and grew darker. Within a minute the smoke flowed from all the windows and doors of the Cathedral, filling the sky with it's billowing darkness.
"Flame protect us," the priest said to himself.
He could not make the motions of blessing himself before he died.
Two miles away a caravan rider stopped when the bright flash erupted from the direction of Flamekeep. He stopped his wagon and stepped to the ground. As he began to walk past the horses, he fell to the ground, a massive shockwave causing him to fall.
An hour later the teamster crested the final ridge before Flameseep and stopped. Before him he saw only devastation. He fell to the ground, head in his hands, weeping uncontrollably. A minute later he stopped sobbing and stared up into the sky, raising his hands in protest, shouting at the top of his lungs, "Why!?"
"We gather here this morning to remember those lives that were lost four years ago," preached the priest from atop his makeshift pulpit. There weren't many people gathering around him, but it was his duty to speak. "Four years have gone by since Cyre was claimed by the Mists, and we still do not know why. But we do what we can, pray to the Flame that the souls of the departed find refuge and comfort."
The priest paused to take a breath, and heard a dull roar coming from the Cathedral. He turned, and saw a mass of people running down the steep roads that lead to the highest ground in the city. He could not tell what they were running from, but they were panicked.
"Brothers and Sisters. Do not fear, for the Flame protects us here in the city. What harm can come to us here?" he shouted to the first of the evacuating mob. They didn't slow down at all.
The priest stepped down and was quickly swept up in the flow, his body buffeted by the current of bodies. He finally relaxed and moved with the flow, allowing himself to become a part of the rushing mob.
The priest and the mob continued down the streets of Flamekeep, until they reached the edge of the water, and stopped. Some, brave or foolish, began to wade into the water.
"What happened?" asked the priest to one of the panicked members of the milling mob.
"The Flame, the Flame, the Flame," was all that he got in response, as well as an arm pointed at the Cathedral.
The priest looked, and even from the edge of the water, he could see the smoke rising from the Cathedral. It was not much, at least now, but as he watched, it increased, and grew darker. Within a minute the smoke flowed from all the windows and doors of the Cathedral, filling the sky with it's billowing darkness.
"Flame protect us," the priest said to himself.
He could not make the motions of blessing himself before he died.
Two miles away a caravan rider stopped when the bright flash erupted from the direction of Flamekeep. He stopped his wagon and stepped to the ground. As he began to walk past the horses, he fell to the ground, a massive shockwave causing him to fall.
An hour later the teamster crested the final ridge before Flameseep and stopped. Before him he saw only devastation. He fell to the ground, head in his hands, weeping uncontrollably. A minute later he stopped sobbing and stared up into the sky, raising his hands in protest, shouting at the top of his lungs, "Why!?"
Future Imperfect - Prologue 2
Day of Mourning - Olarune 20, 1048 YK - Evening over Flamekeep
The Golden Dragon slowed and began to fly in a wide circle. Fifty years previous, it would have been circling far above the busy bay around Flamekeep, just one of many ships, both in the air and on the water. It also would be among the rubble it was now circling.
Her captain stood at her bow, hands clasped behind his back. He we looking out at the hills to the west, and as the Golden Dragon circled, his gaze fell upon Scion's Sound, the bustling Throneport in the distance, then once more upon the hills. He gaze never ventured down, to look at the ruins of what was once the greatest capital in the Five Nations.
"Captain," said a tall female shifter, breaking his reverent silence.
"Yes Ms. Fraser?" he asked, a slight tone of annoyance in his question.
"Captain, you asked me to tell you when one of the other ships had arrived," she explained.
"Ah," he replied, then time with interest.
"Yes, the Ash Valley and the Angorn's Fancy have both arrived and have fallen in behind us," she informed him. "April says that the Argentvorax might be late, both otherwise the sending stone has been silent."
"Good, I guess it's time to inform our passengers that they can come out on deck. with both the Valley and the Fancy here, the Riedrans or the Karrnathi shouldn't interrupt us before the ceremony," he said, then sighed and walked aft, towards the bridge. "Dismissed Ms. Fraser."
She nodded, gave a quick salute, then turned on the ball of her foot and jogged off towards the stairs down into the ship.
The Golden Dragon slowed and began to fly in a wide circle. Fifty years previous, it would have been circling far above the busy bay around Flamekeep, just one of many ships, both in the air and on the water. It also would be among the rubble it was now circling.
Her captain stood at her bow, hands clasped behind his back. He we looking out at the hills to the west, and as the Golden Dragon circled, his gaze fell upon Scion's Sound, the bustling Throneport in the distance, then once more upon the hills. He gaze never ventured down, to look at the ruins of what was once the greatest capital in the Five Nations.
"Captain," said a tall female shifter, breaking his reverent silence.
"Yes Ms. Fraser?" he asked, a slight tone of annoyance in his question.
"Captain, you asked me to tell you when one of the other ships had arrived," she explained.
"Ah," he replied, then time with interest.
"Yes, the Ash Valley and the Angorn's Fancy have both arrived and have fallen in behind us," she informed him. "April says that the Argentvorax might be late, both otherwise the sending stone has been silent."
"Good, I guess it's time to inform our passengers that they can come out on deck. with both the Valley and the Fancy here, the Riedrans or the Karrnathi shouldn't interrupt us before the ceremony," he said, then sighed and walked aft, towards the bridge. "Dismissed Ms. Fraser."
She nodded, gave a quick salute, then turned on the ball of her foot and jogged off towards the stairs down into the ship.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Future Imperfect - Prologue 1
Day of Mourning - Olarune 20, 1048 YK - Early Morning over the King's Forest.
The rain was getting worse, already her visibility was barely a hundred feet off the bow. She looked out the glass of the small pilot house, watching as one of her crew, a warforged, came up to the door on the side.
She sighed, and stood up, hoping that the construct had good news, but doubting it in the weather.
It opened the door, quickly stepped inside, and closed it.
"Thirty-Six," she said, looking at the wet 'forged. She then commanded, "Report!"
It bowed it's head, the grey metal of it's armor plating dimly reflecting the small lamp mounted on the back wall of the pilot house, "This one regrets to inform you that the ship has disappeared."
She had expected this, especially in this weather, "Regrettable, but we should still be able to track it's rings, in fact, that's what you were supposed to be doing. So," she paused to adjust her uniform, "tell my how it disappeared."
If the warforged could be nervous, it probably would have been, "One second, the rings were there, just as before. Next second, rings were gone, no where in sight."
She sighed, "Dismissed." She then stared out the glass as the warforged opened the door into the rain, then closed it. She could see it make it's way across the small deck and the secure itself to the bow viewing station.
"Darlona," she said to herself, "what have you gotten yourself into?" She looked around at the small pilot house, barely five feet on a side, it's front dominated by glass windows, and it's back wall by various maps of the area. She sat back down in front of the wheel, and let out a heavy sigh.
"Back to base then," she said, turning the ship in a while arc, "Maybe I won't get demoted for losing the ship. It is quite stormy." She laughed to herself, looked down at the compass, and began the long journey back to base.
Half a mile away, though only a hundred feet or so above the ground, cruised an old and battered luxury airship.
"Captain," shouted a sailor as she let herself into the bridge, "The Kharvin is turning around. It worked."
"Good," said the captain, "we might get to Flamekeep after all." He slid his hand through he short, greying hair. His ship was old, but she had a few tricks up her sleeve. As long as he didn't crash her into anything in the rain.
"Mr. Rancid," said the captain, looking over to the mithral plated warforged that piloted his ship, "take us to two thousand feet, and set a course for Flamekeep."
"Sir," it barked, and obediently began the effort of willing the elementals to go higher.
"Oh, and Mr. Rancid," said the Captain as he headed for the door at the front of the bridge, "do try and be graceful. We have an image to uphold. The Golden Dragon has been flying these skies for over fifty years. I intend for her to keep flying for fifty more."
"Aye Captain," replied the warforged as the Capain left the bridge for a walk in the rain.
The rain was getting worse, already her visibility was barely a hundred feet off the bow. She looked out the glass of the small pilot house, watching as one of her crew, a warforged, came up to the door on the side.
She sighed, and stood up, hoping that the construct had good news, but doubting it in the weather.
It opened the door, quickly stepped inside, and closed it.
"Thirty-Six," she said, looking at the wet 'forged. She then commanded, "Report!"
It bowed it's head, the grey metal of it's armor plating dimly reflecting the small lamp mounted on the back wall of the pilot house, "This one regrets to inform you that the ship has disappeared."
She had expected this, especially in this weather, "Regrettable, but we should still be able to track it's rings, in fact, that's what you were supposed to be doing. So," she paused to adjust her uniform, "tell my how it disappeared."
If the warforged could be nervous, it probably would have been, "One second, the rings were there, just as before. Next second, rings were gone, no where in sight."
She sighed, "Dismissed." She then stared out the glass as the warforged opened the door into the rain, then closed it. She could see it make it's way across the small deck and the secure itself to the bow viewing station.
"Darlona," she said to herself, "what have you gotten yourself into?" She looked around at the small pilot house, barely five feet on a side, it's front dominated by glass windows, and it's back wall by various maps of the area. She sat back down in front of the wheel, and let out a heavy sigh.
"Back to base then," she said, turning the ship in a while arc, "Maybe I won't get demoted for losing the ship. It is quite stormy." She laughed to herself, looked down at the compass, and began the long journey back to base.
Half a mile away, though only a hundred feet or so above the ground, cruised an old and battered luxury airship.
"Captain," shouted a sailor as she let herself into the bridge, "The Kharvin is turning around. It worked."
"Good," said the captain, "we might get to Flamekeep after all." He slid his hand through he short, greying hair. His ship was old, but she had a few tricks up her sleeve. As long as he didn't crash her into anything in the rain.
"Mr. Rancid," said the captain, looking over to the mithral plated warforged that piloted his ship, "take us to two thousand feet, and set a course for Flamekeep."
"Sir," it barked, and obediently began the effort of willing the elementals to go higher.
"Oh, and Mr. Rancid," said the Captain as he headed for the door at the front of the bridge, "do try and be graceful. We have an image to uphold. The Golden Dragon has been flying these skies for over fifty years. I intend for her to keep flying for fifty more."
"Aye Captain," replied the warforged as the Capain left the bridge for a walk in the rain.
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