Age of the God Towers

Welcome to your campaign!
A blog for your campaign

Wondering how to get started? Here are a few tips:

1. Invite your players

Invite them with either their email address or their Obsidian Portal username.

2. Edit your home page

Make a few changes to the home page and give people an idea of what your campaign is about. That will let people know you’re serious and not just playing with the system.

3. Choose a theme

If you want to set a specific mood for your campaign, we have several backgrounds to choose from. Accentuate it by creating a top banner image.

4. Create some NPCs

Characters form the core of every campaign, so take a few minutes to list out the major NPCs in your campaign.

A quick tip: The “+” icon in the top right of every section is how to add a new item, whether it’s a new character or adventure log post, or anything else.

5. Write your first Adventure Log post

The adventure log is where you list the sessions and adventures your party has been on, but for now, we suggest doing a very light “story so far” post. Just give a brief overview of what the party has done up to this point. After each future session, create a new post detailing that night’s adventures.

One final tip: Don’t stress about making your Obsidian Portal campaign look perfect. Instead, just make it work for you and your group. If everyone is having fun, then you’re using Obsidian Portal exactly as it was designed, even if your adventure log isn’t always up to date or your characters don’t all have portrait pictures.

That’s it! The rest is up to your and your players.

View
The Tower on the Cliff

The river that came out of the mountains had many names among the various people who lived in the plains, forests, and hills near the river. The dragonborn called it Kr'thlic, "Mountain's Breath". The dwarves of the mountains called it Drostoak, which loosely translates to "Fast Ice". The few elves called it Mystis which they claimed had no common translation and the numerous humans called it by dozens of different names. However, the towering cliff that ran parallel to the river's west bank shared a common name among all the races: it could only be called The Cliff.

For hundreds of years, The Cliff was the edge of the world. It was over two miles tall in most places. They said that when the gods had left, they had climbed over The Cliff. Gifted magic users had climbed or flown to the top, but their tales of a different land above were quickly forgotten in the shadow of The Cliff.

Then 10 years ago, near the base, not far from the river's origin, in a matter of only a few hours a tower rose directly out of grey stones of The Cliff. Soon after the tower was complete, a woman appeared and organized workers and began the seemingly impossible task of building a road that scaled the entirety The Cliff. She told them about the return of the gods and how Lord Cyrna had reestablishment of the [[Kingdom of Rosea]].

Many people of various races joined her and soon the city of Cliffsreach was founded. The work on the road proceeded quickly, and was completed in only five years. Today, the road serves as the only link between Kingdom of Rosea and what has become called The Cliff Shadow.

Our heroes find themselves in the city of Cliffsreach looking for adventure and fortune. Whether they came from the Kingdom or the Shadow, all are welcome as long as they're willing to work.

View
Prologue

Cliffsreach

Enveloped by the vast shadow that The Cliff casts down extending across the farming plains near Cliffsreach, we find a small group of four fresh adventurers looking to put a small amount of coin in their pockets. Lead by Bekham Sedu, a grisly old veteran of the land, the group was set to keep peace in the farmlands from dangerous beasts and the occasional monster. With an inevitable storm approaching, Bekham recommended they take shelter in a mill ruin, from the past age.

As the group sits around the fire pit, they begin getting to know their fellow workers. Zip, a young and sprightly human lad. Born and raised from underneath the reach of the cliff, began sharing how he was excited to see more of the world. Bekham, hardened and slightly intoxicated man regaled the group with an old story of service, to stir the blood in the new adventurers. Baelnorr, a hearty Dragonborn Bard offered little information about himself besides a name an general information from his origins in the mountains far to the West. Pikel, a strange and dirt-soaked Dwarf offered little but a name and animal sounds. All the group was able to gather was that he came from the Mountains, possibly nearby. Artirious, a gangly Aarakocra perched near the fire. He began telling of who he was as the door to the mill burst open with a flash of lightning and crash of thunder, Jolee, a farmer’s eldest daughter entered in with pales of Springberrys. Following close behind was her three younger siblings. The group welcomed them to enjoy the fire and shelter the mill had to offer. As the night went on with the storm whirling all around, there was a thunderous crash from the roof as a large bolder came bursting through the decrepit roof. Upon inspection, the bolder had odd markings upon the surface. As Artirious inspected the markings, he realized what those represent, as he looked up he began to say, “I have seen these marks before… they are a…”; when suddenly there was a crash outside the door. Everyone went silent, as Zip headed to the door to see what was causing the noises. SLAM… the door blasted open coming straight down onto Zip, rendering him 1/3 the thickness as the weight of a Stone Giant crushed him beneath his massive weight as the giant stepped on the door.

Protecting the children, the group sprang into action. With Bekham’s dying breath, was able to subdue the Stone Giant inches before he was able to harm the children. With the Giants last breath, scratched a crude “V” into the ground, and effectively into the minds of all in the room. The group counted their blessings that they were able to survive an encounter with such a massive beast.

For The Next Three Months

Our three surviving adventurers all stayed around Cliffsreach pursing their own paths, but keeping in contact from time to time.

Pikel – for the next three months, he spent a majority of the time in the forests just outside of Cliffsreach. The time he did spend in town, he spent in animal form, so he was able to observe and learn about these fascinating and strange culture and its inhabitants, humanity.

Artirious – worked with Isabella Cornwallace, the Town Leader, working odd jobs as she saw fit to give this strange creature. He subtly began to notice that he was not getting the first tiered jobs, if any.

Baelnorr – periodically worked with Artirious on various jobs, and any pity jobs that Isabella would throw his way. He spent his evenings moonlighting as an enforcing bouncer at the Vaulting Devil. A quaint tavern, run by Prudence a feisty female Teifling who’s personality is as pleasant and body slamming a porcupine.

View
Session One
Darkstone Mine

Leaving Cliffsreach

Scurrying around Cliffsreach, Pikel went from this place to that, listening and learning about this strange culture that he has found himself in. Upon entering the city one morning, he overheard Dinane Brikbrow, the Dwarven leader of the caravans that frequented Cliffsreach and traveling to the Kingdom of Rosea; speaking with her second in command about the troubles they were having with a late shipment of goods from the mines to the north. Seeing opportunity to help, and possibly find some needed shiny trinkets that the people seem to exchange for goods or services, Pikel set off to find his old friends from the Mill to purr-suade them to join in his adventure.

One night with “working” the tavern by regaling the patrons with a mysterious and embellished tale of his heroism, Baelnorr ran into his old friend Artirious at the Vaulting Devil. They began to drink and regale of times of the Mill and other small jobs they worked together. As they drank, they overheard some of the customers talking about the mysterious Wizard’s Tower that has seemingly sprung up out of nowhere in the Mountains to the South. Curious of the odd tale, the two pursued more information about the tower, finding that all known roads to the tower seem to have collapsed. Intrigued by the tower, the two set off to question ones they feel would know more. Artirious went to Isabella, but was given the cold shoulder about the tower. Baelnorr asked one of his Dragonborn friends that he met in the city about one who may know more, and was directed to speak with Tag, the Halfling who owns the Half-stock General Store. Upon questioning Tag, they did not get the information they wanted, but what they needed. They were told of a shipment issue with Dinane’s caravan headed in from Darkstone Mine. Tag hinted that with motivation, Dinane would pay well to have her goods returned to her in a timely manner.

Heading to the gate, post-haste, they ran into an annoying cat that kept following them around, who turned out to be Pikel, attempting to get their attention. The three of them spoke with Dinane, and after settling on a large sum of GP to be paid upon return of the missing shipment, the group set off to the mines.

Venture to Darkstone Mine

While heading up the mountainside, the group decided to travel at a grueling pace, as the faster they got their job done, the more the stood to make on the deal. This plan did not serve them well, as when they got up the mountain path, they were unknowingly jumped by a wicked Phase Spider. This was the first time the three have worked together in battle since the Mill, but they fell upon the spider with all their force, as they found harmony in their attacks.

Finally looking around them, they noticed that they had stumbled into a wooded area with many more large and fresh spider webs, but decided to turn tail and venture on, as they did not want to stick around to see how many more giant spiders lurked about.

On their last night of travel, before reaching Darkstone Mine, in the twilight of the morn’, Baelnorr encountered quite the strange person who popped into their camp. Spoke of how he was a friend and not to be frightened, but Baelnorr’s past experience made him think that if one need say he is a friend and not to worry, there typically was cause to worry. Upon awakening his friends with haste, the man disappeared from sight, just as he had appeared, without a trace. The three attempted to track this mysterious man, but were left stumped when his tracks came to an abrupt end.

They came to the unanimous conclusion, that they should not delve here any longer, and pushed on to the Mines. Upon approaching the mines, not 20 minutes from the entrance, they found a questionably caused landslide. Two mules and three dwarves lie decrepit and torn asunder, half-eaten by the wildlife, at the bottom of the 150’ drop.

They investigated the goods at the bottom, but oddly found nothing of interest in the packs of the mules or not the persons. Nothing that would cause Dinane to get worked up, about. When the made it to the entrance of the mine, they spoke with Groth, a human of all races, running a Dwarven mine. He seemed to overly shocked by the news of his missing caravan, and set off with not time to waste to retrieve his fallen friends. When he got to the site, however, he seemed to pay no mind to the fallen dwarves but only focused upon the packs that the mules toted. Upon digging through the last pack, he let out a sigh. Artirious and Baelnorr picked up on the suspicious behavior from Groth and questioned him… aggressively.  Groth finally broke letting the group know about a stone artifact that they had discovered in the mine. A rune with Draconic engravings upon it. This must be what had Dinane so concerned. The group went to look for more leads to follow with the missing rune, but with no luck, they turned to the only place that seems to fit. When an mysterious artifact goes missing, look to the mysterious Tower that has also just came into being. Thinking this is no coincidence, the group traveled across the mountains, crossing the cavern where the bridge had fallen (or burnt).

Making it to the crooked, stone, spiral tower now commonly referred to as the Wizard’s tower, they forcibly knocked on the door, and who would open it, none other than the odd vanishing man who they encountered the night before.

View
Session Two
The Wizard's Tower

The Wizard's Tower

Upon Arriving at the Wizard’s tower, the group found someone unexpected. The odd man that visited them in their campsite the night before. They were welcomed in as old friends, offered mead and food. They met another adventurer, Sandraudiga, a female barbarian. She was a towering woman with an upbeat attitude that did not fit her intimidating presence. The group questioned the man about the mysterious collapse near Darkstone Mine. The man, who offered his name as Tane Clothwright, although as soon as he passed out of sight, for but a moment, he seemed to take the form of a woman, some species would even call this woman attractive. The wizard seemed to know about the odd happenings around the area and of the Rune'd box that the group was searching for. Tane then told them of the Kobold clan to the South near the lake. She/he also mentioned one of its old friend, Lisserath Milthrick. A very powerful man and that if we were to encounter the man, that for our own sakes, we should turn tail post haste. Giving the group directions to the lake, to retrieve the missing Rune'd box, the group decided to set off at first light to the lake. Tane offered the party food and a place to sleep for the night. The group looked at each other with a cautious eye, but ultimately decided to spend the evening at the tower. After all, Tane seemed to be quite hospitable and loved telling stories, almost as much as Baelnorr. Sandraudiga, Baelnorr, and Tane all regaled each other with tales of their previous conquests, some more far-reaching than others. Tane seemed to tell many stories of Lisserath, fighting side-by-side with him/her. All the while, Tane seemed to take on a new shape every story. The group and Sandraudiga quickly found that they would serve far better to travel together to attain their goals, than separately and that Sandi would be joining them at first light, to set off to the lake.

The Lake

While traveling South to the lake, the party assumed their typical roles of passing time. Arterious was high above scouting ahead and off chasing small game as he found them. Baelnorr and Sandraudiga continued to tell stories of past ventures. So many that it makes one begin to think of how many of these tales are actually theirs. Pikel walked along beside Baelnorr and Sandraudiga, mostly off the worn trail and in the thicker brush, listening intently to all the stories, occasionally growling, or purring as the story would influence. Upon first sight of the lake in the distance, Baelnorr and Sandraudiga looked up to Arterious, whom was no longer overhead. [Enter actual events of this time here]. The group looked at each other and Balenorr burst out, "Ha, birdmen! Must have seen some shiny thing off in the distance and couldn't help but venture off on his own. He'll be back, he always comes back."

The lake glistened in the morning sun as the group approached near it's shore. The sweet smell of freshwater overwhelmed the group and they couldn't help but feel a longing to wade in and enjoy themselves, but now was not time to become sidetracked. They have a job to do, with people counting on them. There will be time enough later to enjoy the pristine crisp water and gentle warmth of the sun.

The Cave

Upon arrival to the Cave entrance at the lake, the group runs into a small pack of Kobolds. They were very excited to have some travelers who would walk into their traps, but as they spotted a Dragonborn, they immediately changed their persona. They began to exclaim praise to see that an esteemed Dragonborn was among their presence. Sandraudiga began to clutch her enormous battleaxe, but Baelnorr stopped the barbarian, in hopes of gaining favor, and let's face it some new minions. They party followed the tiny Kobolds into their cavern, through a mouth with odd holes throughout. Into a small open area. A deep crevasse stretched out to both directions upon entering. Across a small bridge there was a small chair. Baelnorr's new throne, perhaps? The Kobolds ushered Baelnorr to have a seat, and like a gracious leader, Baelnorr obliged, despite the hesitation from Sandraudiga and the odd looks that Pikel gave.

As Baelnorr sat upon his new found seat, he had a fear that the small chair may not hold his enormous weight and as the thought that, he heard a click. Not a snap as he had anticipated, but a mechanical "click". Before he could realize what was happening, he found himself being launched into the air. Making a quick and abrupt stop as he crashed into what felt like thin silky vines. Just then, Pikel and Sandraudiga spotted the hairy, creeping, nearly silent, eight-legged monstrosity that also called this cavern Home. The group broke into fierce battle, obliterating the wretched deceiving Kobolds and their Giant Spider masters. Pikel assumed the role of a giant spider, himself. now fighting the other spiders and an odd urge within himself to turn into a puppet of the great spider of the cavern. Baelnorr spent a majority of the battle attempting to free himself of his silk imprisonment, while Sandraudiga cleared out the ground below of Kobolds, small spider swarms, and the Great Spider Leader. Just as Baelnorr made it to the ground, the spider attacked him, not issuing a lot of physical damage with the bite, but within seconds, Baelnorr found that he lost all control of his body and fell, paralyzed onto the ground. Sandraudiga finished off the great spider with a mighty swing of her battle axe, with a smile on her face, and a faint giggle with each massive swing. After the battle had ended, the two members that could move around, picked up (drug) Baelnorr out of the cavern in attempts for him to recover from the poison. As they made it near the mouth of the cave, they heard a slight rattle sound of glass on stone. A fiery eruption burst all throughout the tight corridor that they found themselves in. Not until the first explosion happened, did they realized the scorch marks all throughout the walls. A Kobold trap. The group quickly made their way out of the tunnel, taking on some new burn marks as they were licked by the flames intense bite.

A few hours passed outside. The members were able to gather themselves after such a treacherous betrayal and battle. With a scorned look in his eye, Baelnorr marched into the cave once again, but not as a friend of his new hosts. As soon as he made it to the fiery trap, Baelnorr let out a massive concussion of magical energy, a thunderous boom of energy crashed forth from him, the sound of explosions and echoing clap of thunder could be heard reverberating off the walls of the cave, deep into the bowels of the cavern.

The group flounced through the cavern, offering no quarters for any Kobold that crossed their paths, say for one. This one was a different green color, unlike the red Kobolds encountered so far. Tied up in what seemed to be a storage room; they decided to question this one, who named herself Night Tail. She said that she was being punished for her crimes against the new human leader that this group of Kobolds became subject to, recently. She said that she was not originally from this area, and that she has no real ties with this faction of Kobold. The group helped her rescue her pet, Hack. A young [Enter Dinosaur Type Here], which is very friendly to its master, Night Tail. The group questioned Night Tail further, getting information about Rohas, the clan leader, as well as a general layout of the cave. With the trust so freshly lost, Baelnorr opted to keep the Kobold semi-restrained and forced her and Hack to proceed down all the tunnels first, in case of traps or ambushes.

View
Summoning of the Gods

Snow flecks swirled to obey commands fierce fickle wind. The abundance of crystallized rain drops were thick enough to taint the atmosphere steely gray. Towering evergreens, ancient to these lands, slumped heavily as their thick coats of snow clung to every branch. However heavy the snow fall, it was barely worse than normal and only noticeable by those who cared.

The native peoples to the Rosea Empire were accustomed to frigid weather. During this time of year the temperature settled under the bosom of below zero. Some lodges took great pride in their ability to withstand such extremes, such as the Ice Troll Lodge. Compared to their cousin tribes, Ice Troll Lodge members needed far less clothing to protect themselves from freezing weather. The biting wind and nearly blinding snow proved to be a minor irritation as members from all of the lodges gathered in one of their most sacred place, the Howling Hag.

Group after group carried large leather bags full of food, bedrolls, and offerings to the Gods. Some carrying the elders who no longer possessed the strength to make the entire trip. One after another they made the week long hike along the treacherous mountain path. Unstable rocks slipped out from beneath well planted footsteps, winds thick with snow whipped and lashed, and unpredictable geysers spat at unaware lodge members. Anyone who lost their footing was met with a helping hand and a roaring laugh from their peers. A slap on the back or shoulder mended bruised egos and eased the tensions of their journey. Dirty jokes were told, marriages mulled over, whispered alliances danced under breaths, and mighty songs were sung loudly as though nothing exciting were to happen at the end of their journey let alone the life threatening trek they all embarked upon. As a collective, they treated this quest like another mundane day to as it was considered weakness to be fearful or trepidatious.

While the last day came to its end, the hundred strong group turned the final bend, the setting sun parted the clouds. The sky burned and set the clouds aflame. High on the mountain face, the awe-inspiring mouth of their sacred monster had also caught fire. The agaped jowls of a mad creature remained forever frozen as though cursed to scream for eternity. Hundreds of gleaming pointed teeth, protruding icicles, caught the flames. Glistening in the red, orange, and purple hues of sunset. Its mouth, lined row after row above and below. Some out-weighed warriors while others so thin they resembled the teeth of krill eating whales. All catching and reflecting the suns glorious display. Whatever the size, should one massive icicle drop, even the best warrior would have been impaled into a gory scarlet warning to others. The monstrous cave was an invitation to test ones fate. 

Those who had never laid eyes upon the creature-like-cave stopped in awe. Some momentarily breathless, while others fell to their knees. They offered tears and prayers. While most others offered whispered praises, all were anxious to get inside to warm up and to begin the evenings events.

The inside of the mouth was larger than any hut, cabin, or stationary ship most lodge members had seen. The norther most point of the Rosea Empire was located on a cliff overlooking an eternally frozen sea speckled with the frostbitten corpses of ships. Their gods granted them the ability to sail through the frozen solid waters for centuries. Like the direction of the winds, a Gods blessing is fickle and unpredictable. Thusly, the once mighty fleet was stuck in place and has been the homes of Ice Troll lodge of generations. Much like a caged and beaten animal, these ships were never again set to roam free. The Rosea people were resourceful and took lodging in the ships. Ones social standing determined the ship one would call home which was no different in the Howling Hag.

Walls smooth to the touch from ages of lashing winds exposed the mountains swirling horizontal stone pattern. Drawings, carvings, and offerings decorated the cave sides. The 
ceiling reached so high a dozen camp fires would not illuminate it.

Though its size and toothed entrance was enough to make this cave awe-inspiring, the horrific sounds which resonated inside is where “Howling Hag” got its name. Every so often when a gust of wind was strong enough, the cavern erupted with echoing roars. They believed the cave was a cursed creature frozen in time but not asleep. The howling was told to be screams of anger, woe, and insanity. These sounds served as a warning to those who did not heed the will of the Gods.

Once inside, the political ebb and flow of who will camp with whom began. Everyone making sure to have the best view of the ritual while not offending alliances. As arduous the task was, people began to unrolled their bed mats, made fires and organized their belongings. An electric buzz filled the room as preparations were made for the ceremony. By the time everyone had set up their camps the elders were ready.

Along the caves wall, flames licked the cavern wall and fierce heat emanated from the enormous erected fire. Well over 30 elders, witches, berserkers, warriors, and important figureheads seated themselves in a semi circle around the fire. All of them adorned with their best. Ettercap Lodge members, replaced the hair on their head with scale tattoos, berserkers donned the skins of poisonous snakes, lizards, dragons and other poisonous creatures. They often split their tongues and used herbal oils to change their eyes to resemble the venomous creatures they regularly subjected themselves to. No other lodge could withstand the amount of poisons Ettercap was accustomed. The Ice Troll berserkers, being extra careful not to cover their valued tough scarred skin, wore enough tanned leather to leave only genitals to the imagination. War paint accompanied the proud bare chested men and women of the Ice Troll Lodge. Subjecting themselves to extreme drought, cold, and regular ritual scaring resulted in their inhuman like ability to withstand cold. Their scars were their source of magic. Unlike their nearly nude cousins, those from Snow Tiger covered nearly every inch in the skin of their lodge. Every element of the Snow Tiger was used to transform a warrior into a guardian. They wore beautifully lush striped fur around shoulders, thick ivory claws fashioned into fist weapons, and teeth strung on sinew thread. Undoubtedly the most stunning of the lodges. Those of the Owlbear Lodge were much less organized in their dress. A mix of feathers and fur braided into hair locks. The spiked armor was not for show, but rather a weapon in itself. They were known for their superior wrestling techniques and prided themselves in taking down creatures much larger than themselves. The spiked armor caused more carnage with the added benefit of being intimidating. The Great Stag Lodge was not a stranger to carnage. Like their guardian, their berserkers were the battlefield chargers. They were the best at bullrushing their enemies. Regularly, on the front line screaming and smashing into opponents. Their elders, warriors, and berserkers wore great stag antlers adorned with charms, paint, and herbs. As intimidating as the Great Stag Lodge was, the Wolf Lodge incited the most fear. Once under a Wolf Berserker, an opponent would be torn apart either limb from limb or guts first. Like the master hunter, the foe did not need to be dead before the flesh tearing began. They fought best in packs of four to five. Unlike the Great Stag or the Snow Tiger lodge, they did not wear the skins of their guardian. Instead, they modified their bodies to resemble wolves. Sharpened teeth, they participated in facial bone cracking to make the face more wolf like. Even amongst the other berserks it was seen as barbaric.

Each lodge picked their best warriors, witches, and shamans to sit amongst the elders. Some wearing furs or feathers, antlers or claws, snake skins or simply their own skin. While the remaining hundred crowded at a far enough distance to respect the semi circle of important figureheads while getting the best view. The wisest and oldest witch stepped forward to begin the ceremony. A hushed lull spread throughout the group. It seemed the cursed creature stopped howling to pay respect to the elder. 

A curled figure shuffled her way to the fire. Her body covered in ratted clothing accessorized with dried herbs, mummified rodents, twigs, teeth, feathers, and pouches. Her ash gray hair protruded from her hooded cloak so thick her deeply wrinkled and sunken face was barely distinguishable. All members recognized her at once. If awe had a sound, it would have be audible at that moment. Rumored to have wondered into the mountains to die as a young witch, she returned a decade later alive with the gift to commune with the gods and guardians. The price…her sight, sound, and voice. The shiny skin of old scar tissue had grown over where her eyes once were. The same scarring had replaced her ears and grown into her ear canal. Though her lips were not fused shut, her tongue and teeth had long been removed with no laceration, acid, or magical evidence of how they were taken from her. If the word “taken” was accurate, she never said. 

Her knuckles were as gnarled as the knots on her staff. She reached into one of her pouches and threw handful of herbs into the fire. A black billowing smoke rose with golden flakes floating towards the ceiling. She motioned for the sacrifice. A large, broad shouldered man with a mane of chest hair and the locks of a lion stepped forth with no assistance. Fearlessly, he approached the witch. With only paint and herbs on his skin, he stood in front of her naked. A low rhythm of feet and staves pounded the cave floor accompanied by the humming harmony of the crowd. The old woman threw more powders into the fire. Each handful resulting in explosions, thunderous cracking, and spectacular colors. The group began to sing and pound harder as the fire burned brighter. The old woman bounced, as best she could with her tired frail body, in a circle around the man. To the energy of the song, she touched him with oils and spat salves on his skin. When the man fell to his knees, another elder came into the circle with a human skull filled with a black tar liquid. The blind deaf witch graciously took the skull from the elder and rose her hand to the crowd.

Soon the song became a low lull as they watched. The elder placed a hand on the young man’s back, while the old witch stood in front of him.

The elder spoke to the crowd as much as he was to the young man, “Only those willing to give their life are worthy. If there is even a drop of hesitation it will taint our sacrifice! Just like a drop of poison in the well will kill a village…” to that some of the Ettercap shifted to a cocky stance which said takes more than that, “… it will anger our Guardians and kill our 
villages.”

He moved a hand to the young man’s shoulder, “May any of you have something to say, be it love, confession, or rivalry, do it now. This will be the last time you speak to Guhreth.” 
The young man surveyed the crowd. Those he loved wept with pride and some with sorrow. Approving nods from family, friends, and foes. There was no need to speak. He knew what they had to say. His heart swelled with pride and he was ready. 

“Then it shall be!” The elder roared and the crowd followed suit. Cheering rose higher than the fire and melted into a rhythmic song once again. The elder took his place again 
and the old woman resumed her ritual.

She offered a small dagger to Guhreth and turned her palm face up. He drug the sharp blade along her flesh. Once she bled, she squeezed her hand into the tar filled skull. The concoction began to boil and soon caught fire. She spat a great mouthful of spit into the fire which killed the flames. The chanting grew louder as she drank from the skull. What was left she offered Guhreth. He drank the oily tar passionately. The old woman danced again in front of him for a few seconds more. Suddenly, with a strength which surprised the young man, the old blind woman lifted his chin back to expose his throat. She smeared a line of her own blood, from her still bleeding hand, on his neck from ear to ear. It looked as though she was cutting it open with a blade. Seconds later, Guhreth began convulsing. Blood oozed from his lips, eyes, nose, ears, and even his pours. He soon was covered in blood sweat. His voice gargled as the line from the old woman’s blood opened his flesh like the dagger did to the witches hand. The blackest oil erupted from the magical throat wound. The liquid tar spurted fiercely as though it was his own blood. The oil reflected no light from the fire like oil normally would. Instead, it seemed to consume light. Spewing with rage the rich dull liquid slashed onto the old woman’s clothes and onto the floor. Guhreth, remained on his knees, slumped but did not fall. The crowd cheered with fright and awe.

All went quite as the tar gathered itself. Rising from the puddle it began to take detailed shape. First a snake, then a wolf and into each guardian with surprising accuracy. Lastly, it became a tall lanky figure. Nothing like the guardians it imitated before. It was skinny and tall with no defining details, no fingers, no ears, and sexless. It was as though one of the drawn figures on the wall took shape in front of them. The blazing fire behind it made it seem thinner than it was. It turned to face the crowd. With a silent unnatural step, it moved towards them and they collectively leaned away. It stepped again. Panic was about to hit the crowd if this light canceling oil creature kept getting closer. It was about to move again, but stopped as though it remembered why it was there. It turned to the old woman and strolled over with an unnerving gate.

She held its hands like an old friend she had not seen in years. She looked up with her empty scarred sockets, smiled, and nodded. She brought its hand to her mouth. Her parted lips were suddenly spread wide as the creature forced its hand into her. The crowd gasped but did not move. Soon the hand disappeared down her throat, then its elbow, and up to the shoulder. The old woman did not make a sound or movement of pain. She stood with her toothless mouth open. The oil creature shoved hard into her the old woman’s mouth. She reached out with her knotted fingers to assist it. Its body did not react as oil would. No slippage between fingers. She grabbed a hold of its body and pulled it into her. All the while it forced its body down her throat, it began to melt over her face and down her body. The creature slipped the rest of its black bulk into her mouth and any remaining oil followed.

The old woman fell to her knees. Nervous eyes shifted amongst the inexperienced figureheads. Perhaps they should help her. She curled into herself and began violently shaking. Her cloak covered her entire body. A piercing scream came from the lump in front of the fire. The shape under the cloth shifted and shook. Faces, hands, breasts, and many other body parts appeared to be pressing from within the fabric. Finally, a Berserker from the Owlbear lodge lost his composure. With frightened steps, he walked rapidly to the morphing cloth pile. Others readied their stance for battle.

He grabbed a handful and threw the cloak as aside. What was reviled was not a terrifying creature, not the oil figure, not some multi limbed monster, but instead, an incredibly tall naked woman. All sat in awe. Her hair long and full of waves was not the color of a human. It was as though someone spun silk from the sunset yet, it shimmered in shades of black oil as the light hit it. A constant change from sunlight to blackness. Though it moved weightless like silk in water. This effect was true for her eyebrows, long thick eyelashes, under arms, the hair on her mound. Shoulders slight with defined collar bones transitioned into long fit arms and slender fingers. Her skin, impossibly soft like snow in the distance. Once touched, it melted away. Resembling Goddesses of fertility, her hips and thighs were thick. Though her waist was small, her stomach had the pooch of healthy mother which accentuated her figure. Her large eyes, one blue one green but both holding their own universes, swept across her people.

She moved past the warrior whom uncovered her with grace unlike the old woman. Everything about her was contrast to the old woman. Her face was smooth and free of aging. No stray hairs grew from her chin. She stood immaculate and unabashed in front of the crowd. A blanket of motherly calm swept the cave.

Her voice rich with wisdom, clarity, compassion, lust, passion, and mystique boomed yet whispered as she spoke, “My children. It is time again for a legend to live amongst us.” Within the fire, there stood a heroic figure.

Motioning to the heavens she said, “The gods have come to me and spoken. A child with one eye green and one eye blue shall be born in each lodge nine months from tonight. But only two will make it to adulthood.” The flames illustrated her words as the heroic figure transformed into six infants.

Her multi-leveled voice rose the hair on everyone’s neck. For they knew none of them were going to be legend and their children might die. She said, “Do not mourn the souls of our children. They will rise to the heavens.” Four children faded and the remaining grew to adults.

She paused, “With the exception of one.” For a moment her lips curled into a frown.
Her smile returned, “One of our children will bring great glory to our people. Prosperity for generations and the ability to defeat our enemies. They will bring home unknown knowledge from faraway lands to aid us and unite us.” Images of battlefields won, embracing families, and other pleasant images emerge and melt into each other.

With a scowl she said, “The other will lead Death by the hand, like an eager child rushing a parent, to our lands. The soil will become sterile. Those who do not die from disease will die of starvation. Those left will be sold into slavery to survive.” The fire went from reds and oranges to sickly greens and grey ash. The cave darkened and people began chattering.

Women covered their mouths in shock. Men shuffled uncomfortably. A man in the crowd with golden blond hair spoke up, “What if we choose not to fornicate this night? Or if we kill all the blue and green eyed children to prevent the destruction you speak of?” The crowd nodded in agreement with the courageous man.

A wind blew and the cave howled. The fire behind her flared hot. Once again the cave was brightly lit. She locked her wild eyes on the man. The volume of her voice rattled the cave. Dust, rocks. and ice fell from the ceiling, “YOU DARE CHALLENGE THE PROPHECY GIVEN TO YOU DIRECTLY FROM THE GODS?!”

The man fell to knees. All color drained from his body. Her demeanor softened and her voice resumed its multi-toned melody, “The Gods would not put such a decision before us all if they did not feel we were ready. We must train them with books and battle early and equally. When they are ready, we are to send them away to learn the war techniques of other lands. They are to learn as much as they can. The greater their journey, the better prepared they will be to decide our fate. Songs will be sung for ages about them, tapestries woven with their images, and everyone will know their names.”

She walked to the slumped body of Guhreth. “The gods have a gift for you to show their confidence.”

Kneeling down to pick up the dagger, she held his hair and leaned his head back until the wound across his neck opened wide like a Venus Fly Trap. Without flinching, she raked the dagger from ear to ear along her own throat. Deep scarlet blood pour from her throat into Guhreth’s. Once the blood became black, she covered her wound and spoke under breath. Her neck was healed. Repeating the same motion on Guhreth’s neck, she showed the crowd his healed wound. His lodge began chanting quietly and it quickly spread. With godlike strength she lifted the body until his toes brushed against the floor. One arm under his kept them chest to chest. The other hand held his mouth to hers. She began to breath into him. The crowd got louder. Starting from the lips, black tendrils grew under Guhreth’s skin. The deep dark web grew with every breath. It filled his veins until his whole body was black.

While she continued to breath into him, she began to change. The unnatural weightlessness of her hair dropped into curls, the surreal sunset in her hair settled into a deep red mane, the shimmering oil which accompanied the sunset fell into a puddle around her, the softness of her skin began to look human, but her eyes remained the same. One blue, one green.

On her last breath, she lost her strength and dropped Guhreth. He fell into the same position he was in before she lifted him, slumped over on his knees. The onlookers waited silently. Anxious moments passed. His unnaturally black body jolted and startled everyone who watched. It jolted again. Soon he was writhing. Curled over with his hands around his midsection, he began to vomit. Greenish black sludge plopped from his mouth to the ground with each heave. Starting with his toes, the tendrils receded. By the fifth full body contraction, a pile of oily tar laid in front of him.

With intelligence, the pile seemed to let in a large breath and sighed. Then began to roll towards the fire. It entered the base of the flames and melt. Quietly simmering and hissing 
until nothing was left of the sludge.

She took his hand and lifted him to his feet. They faced the crowd.
She addressed the onlookers, “Do you see the will of the Gods?! He has been given back to us.”

Her human voice was eerie in comparison, “And I have been given youth for the night.”
He held her hand in the air and said, “Do as they wish and we will be rewarded. My fearless sacrifice pleased them and I have been reborn as Gyhren. Now let us drink, eat and fuck for the Gods!”

They embraced again. The crowd cheered and wept for the naked couple.

For three days, those hundred who gathered at the Howling Hag to witness the avatar perform a miracle, partook in a three day celebration. It was a true Feast for the Senses. In the evenings, one’s cup was never dry of Jhuild, better known as firewine. Bellies were full with exquisite fruits and rich meats. Glistening skin rubbed against other willing bodies regardless of gender or social status. All infidelity and sins of indulgence were forgiven during the celebration. No one was to deny any advance. For doing so would dishonor themselves. The sounds of pleasure roared louder than the Hags Howls.

The mornings were dedicated to easing the headaches, nausea, and dehydration from the evenings festivities. By midday, gambling and good natured contests took place. Friendly competitions amongst berserkers were great entertainment. The loser performing whatever bet, sexual or humiliating, was made before hand. Stories were sung and created to be passed down the generations. By the time the sun fell behind the mountains, the drinking and partying began again.

On the morning of the fourth day, everyone began packing their belongings. They said their goodbyes to old friends and new lovers. The women all secretly hoping to bare the child from prophecy. Like the trek up, they marched group after group back to their homes.

Gyhren had accepted a place amongst the important figureheads. The old blind witch had not been seen since the first nights festivities. She would not be seen again for nine months when Sandraudiga and her siblings were born.

View
Session Three
The Lower Cave

The Lower Cavern

Kill Kobolds!!!

Met with Sebastian Aurprise.

Killed more Stabby Kobolds!!

Pikel Nearly Dies!!

Balenorr Saves Pikel.

Baelnorr Nearly Dies!!!

Sebastian Saves Baelnorr.

Nearly Kill and Question Rohas!

Find out Lisserath Milthrick ran the Kobold clan.

Night Tail and Hack escaped through a small escape tunnel.

View
A Barbarians Pre-Funk

 

<meta />

Cheers and curses spewed from frothy toothless mouths. A circle of dingy crowd members surround the two oily bodies sparring for dominance and coin. The loose soil from the ground they fought on soaked up sweat and blood. It was impossible to claim the who’s the blood splatter on the dirt belonged to.

Coin exchanged hands with the ebb and flow of every punch, kick, or grappled hold. The crowd exploded as the heavily tattooed brawler got the upper hand on the challenger. He had a fistful of wild golden locks in his left hand. He twisted her head to make her body open and vulnerable to attack. With a powerful hurl of his fist, he landed it square on the bridge of her nose. Blood splashed in a violent display of gore and snot.

That is what you get for not guarding you fucking idiot! The challenger thought to herself as she saw white from the pain. She brought her forearms to her face as the brawler brought down another heavy hit. Take this loser down. The crowd is yours, she thought to herself. She hoped his focus on her upper body would leave his lower half unguarded. She lifted her foot and it smashed down on the side of his knee. A loud popping sound rang above the cheers followed by the wet mulching sounds of the brawlers screams.

She could feel her weight shift to the ground as he fell. He won’t quit. Oh this is going to be great. Their bodies landed with an earth shaking thud. He had her thick neck between his meaty hands. As the pressure of his hold increased, her vision became spotted. With all her strength, she relentlessly kicked his now shattered knee until the pain was too much and he released her. As Saundraudiga gasped and coughed for air, she crawled on top of the brawler and rained down her calloused rock hard fits on his face untill he fought no more.

She stood victorious and felt the pulse of the room lulled as their realization sunk in. They witnessed their champion brought down by an outsider. Yellowish bloodshot eyes shot back and forth searching for someone to tell them how to act. Just when Saundraudiga thought about how lovely it would be to fight this whole room, an old gaunt woman with spider webbed hair and no eyes shouted in glee and the whole room broke out in drunken jubilee despite most of them losing their bets.

The old woman approached the mountainous woman. She lowered her eye-less face to the ground and uttered a series of grunts and hisses. Green light glimmered from her hands and touched the new champion. Light spread throughout the barbarians body. The swolleness of her black eye deflated, the flesh of her broken nose weaved together like a fine tapestry of pink skin, and her nose made an inhuman jerking motion as the magic cracked the cartilage back in place. She inhaled sharply, “OW! I told you that hurts!” Sandraudiga snapped.

The blind old witch smiled her gummy smile while she patted Sandraudiga’s hand lovingly. Shuffled her brittle body over to the unconscious man on the ground. With the same magic, she glued the bones and ligaments of his knee together. His face looked less and less like a bag of purple meat and more like the tattooed man he was.

He woke startled to a roaring crowd. Like a child out of a nightmare, he checked his body for the wounds he was sure he endured. But could not find any. “HA HA! What a great fight my friend!” Sandraudiga shouted over the commotion. He winced as her voice because his head to beat with pain, “We are not friends!” he spat.

Sandraudiga smiled and extended her hand, “Maybe not, but I’m sure after a round or two you’ll say otherwise! I will buy the first round!”

With a bruised ego he heartily grabbed her forearm.

She patted him on the shoulder and asked, “Have I ever told you the time I punched a BugBear into a pit of sharks?!”

View
Fireside Thoughts

<meta />As Pikel sits and stares at the fire that night. He misses his home and all his animal friends. Especially Eeeeee-Eeeeee, that squirrel could always find the best nuts. Although it has been tough for Pikel, he knows he needed to leave and find this evil that his haunting dreams have been about. He has come to like the companions he is traveling with. Sebastian is his favorite though because he is good at explaining some of the bigger words that Pikel doesn’t know into words that he can kind of understand. It seems too that some of his other companions aren’t good at words either so he doesn’t feel so bad. Speaking most of the common language is still very tough for Pikel. Some smaller words are starting to come back for him. It’s tough for him to speak in full sentences. He hasn’t spoken the common in almost 200 years. Animal speech is more a feeling than actual noises put together to make a word that then means something. When Pikel does want to speak a sentence, he needs to sit down for a bit remember how to speak them. It takes him a while to do this so he doesn’t do it very often, but as the days go by he is getting better and better at this. Pikel’s stomach starts to growl. He thinks about conjuring up some Goodberries, but decides to hunt for some nuts. Maybe he can find some tasty ones. Ones that would make Eeeeee-Eeeeee proud.

View

I'm sorry, but we no longer support this web browser. Please upgrade your browser or install Chrome or Firefox to enjoy the full functionality of this site.