Banewarrens d20 (Angelsboi's party)

Bernedette is not fat. She looks like Neve Campbell.

And id rather be fat than a drow traitor. And murderer.

as ye have sown

"Or," continued the drow "You can sacrifice your life and we will give them theirs."

In the back of his mind Veridian heard Her voice again. The low mocking tone she normally used was gone replaced by one dripping with sincerity and reason. "Think really carefully before you decide to do something all <i>noble</i>. In your misguided efforts to help them all they've repaid you with is suspicion, accusations, insults. To your face the druid said that he suspected you were some sort of daylight adapted drow, the fat girl has been ntohing but an annoyance, when she realizes you know the langauge of the underdark she won't think you learned it to hunt their kind, she'll think you learned it to ally with them, the half human, well, what did you really expect of someone with polluted blood anyway, He doesn't even have enough respect for the dead the bury them properly, and the only person you were close to too. such a shame, there's no way to bring him back now. What have they ever done to deserve your sacrifice?"

"Do you swaer that they shall be kept safe if I do sacrifice myself?" he asked the female drow

silence was all the response he recieved

"You know they're trained better than that. She's let you twist in the wind this long becuase your indecision amuses her. She's not going to let them live even if you do die. The dwarf and the half-human will be taken deep into the underdark and tortured until the end of their natural lives. The humans will be used for the children to cut their teeth on and to practice new torture methods until their frial little bodies just give up. The girl will be raped repeatedly, she and her half demon children will be the torture toys of some preistesses son, the children sold off as pincushions to drow spinsters or perhaps used as a sacrifice. Look around you, they've all stabilized themselves. Their wounds are not flowing, they're alive. Any chance they had of a quick painless death did the minute they didn't. She will kill you and bring them back to her clan as hostages. If you leave though... She's partially wounded and the wizard is useless for the rest of the day. She's almost sure she can beat you in a fight, but that doubt is what's keeping you alive. As you stand here listening to me it slowly runs out. Decide now before it is too late."

"Farewell" he said

The warrior and wizard's faces broke into smiles. They took the key off Bernedette's body escorted him to the dorr, showed him out, bowing in a gesture of mocking respect, and slammed and locked it behind him.

He returned to the camp to talk to a very puzzled Elwood

"Where's everyone else?" he asked

'Dead if they're very lucky' thought Veridian "We ran into a party of drow, probably a dosen of them total and I don't think we even met them all"

"We..we must save them mustn't we?" Elwood replied

"They're drow, if they're very lucky their beyond our help now, and if they aren't then I truly pity the agonies they will go through before sweet death takes them."

"But...but" Elwood stuttered

"They have the key to the door and I know of no other way in. I tried to save everyone, but in the end I was only able to walk away with my own life."

The bard's face fell "so it's..." "Hopeless? Utterly" finished Veridian "I am going to Peldan's Helm" he continued "I reccommend you come with me if you wish to save your own life. It's approaching winter and the roads will be rife with hungry animals and gangs of bandits. I suggest you come with me and we can protect one another. I'd offer you my firendship, but that doesn't seems to have done anyone any good lately."

Packing up the horses, releasing the wolves, the packed up the horses and marmaduke and began the trek to Peldan's helm. "How ironic," thought Veridian, "now we have more than enough food."

In his meditations those nights all he heards was Her mocking raucous laughter.

New Beginnings

The young man sat at the table of Wulf's Tavern in Peldan's Helm. He had arrived with another group of travelers just days before. His clothes betrayed his nobility. He wore a silver necklace with an ornament of a skeletal hand holding scales. His armor was spiked and dyed studded red leather finely made. It matched his 'wake-up-and-rolled-out-of-bed' styled hair.

His whip was studded and made very well. Across his back he had strapped a bastard sword. He was grim and looked stern.

He saw an elf walk in seeking a room and then asking for adventurers. The young noble looked at his hafling friend, the mysterious hooded human who appeared to be with the Riders of the Dales, a monk who was seeking a temple and another human male.

The noble raised an eyebrow as the elf talked and another elf across the way started waving a flaming sword around. The elf with the flaming sword introduced himself as Highmul and claimed he had got the flamming sword in the Barrows to the south. Undead were fought there. They even met with a creature wrapped in cloth.

"A mummy." The man said. The elf looked impressed.

The man introduced himself as Richter Belmont, of House Belmont from Cormyr. He claimed to come from a long line of Hunters and was seeking adventure slaying the undead, and finding a temple to Kelemvore.

After the elf, who introduced himself as Veridian, explained what happend, Richter and the others looked at him suspiciously. The elf claimed he didnt care much for the group and one of his party members sacraficed another party member to something called a Roper.

News came from a priest called Abercrombie about the Company of the 11th Hour Heros. They had died. Richter put 2 and 2 together and realized Veridian came from that very same group.

Wulf closed the tavern down early and the next day, the town sage Elliar gave a memorial to the heroes. Richter had introduced himself to Elliar as did Veridian and the monk. Elliar told them of a temple the Heroes were supposed to liberate and had failed. Elliar mentioned they had fought a creature known as an Allip. Richters eyes lit up. Elliar told the three to come back the next day after the three had vowed to go fight it.

They all went back to Wulf's were Veridian began to speak to Highmuls friend, a dwarf, who had fought in the barrows. Veridian began to speak to him and his story changed yet again about what happened with the Heroes.

"So you lied to us?" Richter asked, wanting a straight story.

The elf looked at him and said, "Excuse me do I know you? Ive never met you before yesterday."

Richter smiled. "Remember you dont know me when we go to that temple Elliar wants us to and you need to be healed."

Veridians eyes widened as he realized he had agreed to travel with him and another to the temple.

Richter got up and left for his room.

Fiddle SKipstone

Fiddle Skipstone is not your typical halfling. His parents were of mixed race. His father, Kendal Skipstone, was a strong warrior through and through of true Strongheart descent. His mother, Dyal Willberry, was a Lightfoot seamstress in a travelling show. They met in Luiren. And for 2 whole years they remained together. But like all Lightfoot halflings the road beckoned. So away the Travelling Willberries went. As a parting gift, Kendal gave their son, Fiddle, a masterfully crafted short sword. He had Dyal promise that someone would teach the lad its use.

So from the time, Fiddle could walk he dreamt of using his sword. The Willberries crossed many lands. By sea, by foot, and by wagon they roamed. The leader of the troupe was a ranger. He was the most admired figure in the camp. Breaking new trails, finding new lands, and living the life of constant travel and adventure, the halfling ideal. But it would be many years before Fiddle learned the way. His first stop was to help keep food on the table in another fashion. Fiddle had quick fingers and feet.

Fiddle part in the troupe was to collect things in their travels. Things people left carelessly unattended. Things they obviously didn't want. Things they wouldn't miss. Fiddle was a good collector. Eventually, the troupe reached the Dalelands. The land of more big people. But also the land of relatives. Fiddle's aunt was a legend. She was said to know the answer to almost any question. She was full of advice. And gave it freely. Something Fiddle admired. And her daughter, Pepto, was just as quick of wit. She and Fiddle enjoyed each other's company. Although, Pepto had all Lightfoot tendencies. She left home often and came back with grand tales.

One such tale was recent, this would be Fiddle's first great adventure. A dragon as big as a barn. Fiddle practiced his tracking techniques. He practiced with his sword. But years as a collector taught him, he favored the dagger more. And he practiced dressing wounds and game. When he was finally ready. Fiddle set off for Peldan's Helm.

Now that he was a ranger, Fiddle learned the truth. The life of a ranger is a difficult one. He was a solitary figure. He was disconnected from the rest of his family. He was denied the comforts of which he was accustomed. He missed them. For these reasons, he turned back to his old trade. And found himself in an Inn, The Man with Fire in his Hands, in Peldan's Helm. With winter's nasty truth wailing outside.

A night at the Inn...

Fiddle sat at a table with several peculiar big folk. Sir Richter Belmont, of the Cormyr Belmonts, a fighter type with a nasty looking whip and bastard sword strapped across his back. The noble, or so he said, called for some salt. His pouched bulged with coin. He and Fiddle had met on the road to Peldan's Helm.

Vlad, another fighter type, but also in light armor like Fiddle. A good natured fellow. Just returned from Damara. He said he was eager to help clear the trouble of late. Even word had reached Damara of the battle at Peldan's Helm.

Aaron, a monk of the Old Way, in search of lost knowledge. Bald of top with a tuft of hair on his chin and around his ears. A glowing gray coloured stone circled his head. He was looking for more of his order.

Hawk, a Rider of the Dales, or at least connected to them for he wore the garb. He professed to be an archer and a tracker. His bow was close to his hand. He was the quiet type.

At a nearby table were some guards of the Helm. And local artisans occupied another table. The last table, however, was noteworthy. A female dwarven cleric, a female elf, a human mage, and standing; an elven warrior. He was showing off a flaming sword. The magic was quite impressive. If not alarming.

"Fool," Vlad spoke. "Do you want to burn this place down?"

Before the elf could answer. Another elf entered the Inn. He looked ill-equipped for the weather. The elf was decked out in all black leathers. His boots showed much use.

"Innkeep," the elf spoke unconcerned that Wulf was busy. "A room and some ale."

"Anon, good sir," Wulf answered after quietly apologizing to the guards. "We are all out of rooms. Perhaps you could convince someone to share theirs."

The elf continued, "I have just returned from battling a Roper and many drow."

Soon everyone returned to their conversations. The mention of drow sparked Fiddle's curiosity.

He slipped outside. And followed the path to the stables. He entered undetected. The stableboy was very busy. He found an interesting sight. Two riding dogs , a splendid warhorse although poorly cared for of late, and 3 other riding horses. All of the animals looked worn out.

Fiddle made friends with the dogs. So as not to cause them to bark. He examined the horses more closely. A large number of laden sacks were deposited in the stalls. Although curious, Fiddle left them. The mention of Drow ringing in his ears. He looked at the soil and the horses droppings. They had come from the West. Several days travel. Fiddle's ranger skills paid off. He went back inside.

Diaglo can take it from here, I'll provide color commentary as neccessary.

A few days journey brought us to Peldan's Helm. Elwood went to get us a room while I looked for some place to sell the rest of the party's good, they wouldn't need them any more. A bear skin, a lizard skin, some odds and ends, a nice sword and a saddlebag full of silver. Over the few days I had told Elwood all about the cancer. There was nothing else to do, I figure he may as well get to know who he's traveling with. Am I a fool to trust a bard I just met to keep him mouth shut? Perhaps. But I'd be no bigger fool than I had been in my negotians with the drow. dreams continued to haunt me of ways I could have handled that better. Just as before. And they would fade over time, just as before.

I went to the local trading post and got my money changed for something lighter and less noticable. This was the moment I'd been dreading. The Druid was the only one who'd not worn his hero's medal. I felt it only right to return it to them. It had no value to me, it wasn't something I'd be able to sell here, nor would I want to. I'd taken enough from them without tarnishing their memory further selling their glory in some local pawn shop for barely enough coin to buy drinks. The man was flabbergasted and immediately asked where I had obtained this. I told him I had found it on a party of dead bodies. It was close enough to the truth, I could always be more honest if neccessary, right now I just wanted to have a few days off of the road to rest and relax my mind. The man shooed me out and told me to come back tomorrow. Soon the entire town would know about the destruction of the company of the 11th hour. I needed a drink and went next door to see how Elwood fared with our rooms.

Angelsboi said:

Bernedette is not fat. She looks like Neve Campbell.

Click to expand...

Well, maybe she wasn't fat.

She's spider food, now, though.

It was a bit presumptuous posting Elwood following along to Peldan's Helm. I'm guessing that my absence Sunday was covered by Elwood staying with the Myconid Sovereign and nursing his roper wounds which were stubborn to recover due to the malnourishment and fatigue of his recently-ended capture. And when Veridian came up and told of the party's demise, Elwood would mourn but then part ways and travel to Shadowdale for the winter in order to give a report about what's transpired at the dungeon and raise a call to clear it. He would insist that Veridian travel to Peldan's Helm in order to relay news of their heroes' deaths while Elwood addresses his mentor's fate.

I saw the line-up of the new party and it needs a lot more than a bard, so with the DM's permission I am wondering if a cleric of the Red Knight might take quarters at Peldan's Helm for a winter's break from pilgrimage throughout the Dales' holy sites. The Harper joke just wouldn't be funny anymore with Bernadette dead. The company now needs a chaplain far more than a publicist, regardless.

It was awful. And we'll have two clerics. Just as soon as Richter can find a temple to Kelemvor.

So Veridian traveled back by himself eh ...

spider food

well I guess I can't cell her fat anymore, she's finally achived that figure that even elven females dream of having, just bones and bumps. Still like I said better dead than subjected to the tortures of the drow. Especially since we didn't see anyone die.