P'ton RPG

currently taking up residence with other adventurers in Spellslayer's Keep. the name seems a little discouraging, but i'll hope that i don't get draggd out and lynched in the temple square just yet.

entered a tower of stone. interesting door. battled zombies, followed by zombies with spears. interesting design on the floor, plus a book about the elements. plus death, plenty of death.

went up another floor and found some undead wyverny creature. it stabbed the orc monk real nice. he started running around screaming while shooting blood from the neck. v intriguing.

the dwarven fellow quickly looted the place and put it to the torch. we made escape only to OH GOOD GOD I AM BEING ASSAILED BY SWAMP CAMELS!!!!

as i write this, i am being crushed underneath the corpse of a swamp camel. it is no fun. i fear their prehensile necks and dual-suspension eyes, and will live in fear of this encounter for the rest of my days. the orc (who looks dead) did me the service of moving the corpse. that was good, since i am not particularly strong.

Week III, Jik'harra and Shame

Author's Note: I believe Espagra has been reading my journal. I found meat juice on an entry a few pages back.

We arrived at the surface in due course, and were immediately set upon by a flock of grotesque flying creatures. Ren took out the book to see if he could banish them and they attacked him, wresting the book from his fingers. They organized a canny defense and we were unable to recover the book before they flew off into the severe blizzard that surrounded us.

With no other alternative left to us, we returned to the Cloudrunner to report our loss to the Air Marshal.

Once aboard the ship, we noticed that the crew had discovered a stowaway in the hold of the drakkar. Apparently a traveling companion of ours by the name of Vai. We rescued her from imprisonment and gave our full report to Drismby, who was dismayed to know that Kathleen was horror-marked.

Suddenly, I heard Kathleen's shrill voice from behind me cry out, and a heavy blow smote me across the back of the head. I was reeling, once again jolted back into the past.

--

My mother was asleep in front of me, thrashing beneath the torments of the being which was slowly destroying her sanity. My face was still bruised and bleeding from the beating she had given me earlier.

This had to stop.

Clutching the paring knife I had brought with me from the kitchen, I walked towards her pallet. She stirred at my approach and opened one eye.

"Tzen'e?"
"Yes, mum?"
"I'm so sorry, my son."
"I know mum, I know."

I leaned towards her and caressed her face. When I was naught but an eggling, she had been so strong. It's no easy task to raise youngsters aboard a slave ship, but she managed by sneaking food from the kitchen for me and my sibling. She once commented that she was blessed to have such a productive clutch, but I believe we were cursed. My clutchmate died before kaissa, thrown against the mast by a Theran slaver. Such loss... and now this.

"Do it, Tzen'e... please..."
"Yes, mum."

As I brought the knife down, my mother's eyes flared open and I could see the beast behind her grossly dilated pupils. Suddenly her hands fastened around my throat and began to twist.

"Mother! Stop! Pleas--"
"THIS PAWN IS MINE, MORTAL!"

The voice was hers, but the timbre was all wrong. Her hands were twisting my neck, and I could hear the music of my life ending in a single dissonant chord. I could not let her... I would not...

"I will not be destroyed!"

---

The red haze lifted. There was a weight on the end of my sabre. I looked up in time to see the last light fade from Kathleen's eyes. In that last spark there was something. Alas, I shall never know what it was.

The crew was staring at me, open-mouthed to a man. I freed my sword, dropped my sword to the deck and held out my hands for the shackles.

There is much else to tell, but I shall leave that to my compatriots. I have renounced the names of my teachers. I am not worthy of the lessons they taught me. From now on I will be as my mother knew me.

-Tzen'e Ishkarat

Week II Cont'd, The Windling Kaer

Following the instructions of Tyrannisis, we descended into the windling kaer. It quickly became apparent to the learned members of the group that all was not as Tyrannisis had said it would be. The three levels of the kaer were populated by horror constructs and filled with the long-decayed bodies of windlings.

There are few things more tragic than the death of a windling. To see so many of the free people crushed beneath the iron heel of eternity strained my composure to the limit.

Finally we arrived ('fell' is perhaps a better description) at the bottom of the kaer. More bodies littered the floor, and we slowly made our way to the great lake that separated the mage's tower from the rest of the kaer. On the shore of the lake stood a strange being, which had gathered around itself some of the lost treasures of the kaer. Apparently it was amenable to a limited form of exchange, so we traded for the items of greatest value and proceeded across the lake.

On the far shore we found the entrance to the mage's stronghold. Tyrannisis' letter mentioned a barrier that the windlings had erected to forestall the depredations of any horrors who might have noticed the weakened kaer protections. We did not find any evidence of a barrier. Windling bodies were scattered about like leaves, many of them clutching spears and bows. These people had died as part of a delaying action, and had given their lives in order for others to flee.

Sadly, in the end their sacrifice was for naught. I find it hard to believe that any kaer dweller survived the onslaught of whatever killed these brave defenders. Still, we were here to save the city of Travar, not to mourn the countless victims of the scourge. Life must go on, after all.

The area surrounding the mage's tower was apparently hit the hardest. The dead were beyond counting, and all the buildings in the area showed signs of being assaulted by some impossibly powerful beast. We explored the area fully but found no further signs of the horror, or "Tyrannisis of the Thunder Peaks" as some of us have taken to calling him.

The mage's tower was completely empty, except for locked door built into the ceiling. The door showed signs of heavy assault by a large beast, but it had not been breached. An inscription told us that "only the purest heart touched by the vilest evil" could open the door.

Horrors. Horror marks.

I cannot express my loathing for the creatures which nearly destroyed our world, but the idea of surrendering one of our party to their foul influence was almost too much for me to stomach. Ren refused outright to play into the hands of this mysterious creature, and neither Espagra nor I could weave the necessary raw magic threads to attract the attention of such a beast. It seemed that the best course was just to give up and inform Air Marshal Drimsby of our failure.

Then Kathleen volunteered. My heart sank. To see such beauty condemned to the inexorable corruption of a horror mark was a high price to pay, even for the salvation of a city. Still, she was determined to do it, and it was my duty to lend her my strength that she might accomplish the task. Finally, she wove the thread and even those of us without the gift of astral sight could feel the surge of pure evil that sought her out. It was a darkness devoid of light, a silence that consumed all sound, a crashing wave of despair. All these things and more filled me to the brim with a quiet, enduring terror.

The sensation awakened memories long held beneath the surface of my consciousness. Before my very eyes I could see my mother falling victim to the same force. I remembered with crystal clarity the weeks lived between the overseer's whip and my mother's steadily worsening temper. The floggings on deck were followed by beatings in the cabin. I could not fight against either. The overseer would have me killed, and my mother... well... she was still my mother.

Now that nightmare was beginning again. When Kathleen looked up at me, I could see the kernel of evil in her eyes. Soon it would sprout, and its foul tendrils would take control of the young woman I had grown to care for these past weeks.

We retrieved the book and made for the surface. Already Kathleen's temper took on a new edge. She cursed at me, and even raised her voice in my presence. I knew where this was going, but I hoped that I was wrong.

Naked Before The Coming Scourge
-Eugene Jerome Tzen'e Ishkarat

Week II Cont'd: The Thunder Mountains

Following up on the letter from Tyrannisis of the Thunder Mountains, we boarded the mighty Cloudrunner and made for the windling kaer atop Mt. Talon and the Tome of Banishment that purportedly resides within. Drimsby calculated the journey at 1.5 days, and we settled in for a long flight. Jokes were told, word games were played, air was surfed, knives were thrown and people were trained. A good time was had by all.

On the evening of the first day I happened to be leaning over the rail to take in the magnificent scenery when I noticed some flames flickering in the village below. I called Drimsby over, and he (with the aid of a spyglass) informed me that some Orks were once again demonstrating why they are called scorchers. Since we were ahead of schedule, I figured a little bit of the rough and tumble might hone our skills and consulted with the rest of my traveling companions who jumped at the chance for a a healthy dose of derring-do.

Now then, I don't make mistakes, but suffice it to say that I learned the price of gallantry. I have never stood before a charging Thundra beast before, but as jik'harra filled my body and I felt the sublime onset of haropas, a tiny treacherous part of me whispered:

"You're going to die. Today. Right now."

In order to quash that craven voice, I took a moment to glance back at the beautiful Kathleen. Such a delicate flower as she must surely be worthy of this sacrifice... right?

Well, if gallantry has its price, so do cowardice and doubt.

As my riposte went wide and the Ork spear entered my chest, propelled by countless pounds of enraged Thundra beast, my final thoughts were that my lack of faith would surely doom me.

In the end, Kathleen survived almost unscathed, and my sacrifice was not in vain. I must spend some time in meditation to discover the source of this doubt. I believe the scars of the slavers (both mental and physical) still torment me.

In search of clarity,
-Eugene Jerome Tzen'e Ishkarat

adventures in travar


i'm unsure of the date; i suppose it doesn't matter terribly much, since my life was, until a week ago, entirely nomadic. this is the first entry of many in my journal-- i felt no need to keep a record, until i...happened to find a page from eugene's journal that he must have dropped. the truth must be voiced! and i am the one to voice it. apparently.

what eugene says is true: upon our arrival in the shining city of travar, eugene and i were all but abandoned. various excuses were provided, but i'm sure that all our compatriots could be found in any one of many brothels in the city. regardless, eugene and i were left to our own devices, and decided to immediately follow up our lead on a steady paycheck. this brought us to the Picky Palette, perhaps the most exquisite eatery outside of t'skrang territory. unfortunately, though the staff is extraordinarily well shapedfriendly, they are also supremely weak-kneed, so when a tiny dwarvish man stormed in (interrupting my fine meal) and announced that the "dawn" had gone down, our waitress (kathleen) dropped my fish soup. however! despite eugene's delusion, never did i dock kathleen's tip. this terrible distortion of the truth must be a subconscious reaction to eugene's obvious envy of my (far superior) wealth.

regardless of the tragedy of my lost meal (which was on the house!), a larger crisis had literally fallen upon the city: the large, flaming wreckage of the crimson dawn, which had built a new canal in the center of a residencial area. unfortunately the blaze was too large for us to really do anything about, but eugene and i were fortunate enough to be able to save a life from the wreck. after healing some of the scratches we suffered in the rescue (at the sanctum of garlen), eugene and i returned to the Picky Palette for some wonderful foodstuffs.

some amount of time afterwards (hours? a day? i don't remember), we went to interview for our new job, with Air Marshall Drimsby, who turned out to be the same diminuitive figure that announced the wreck of the dawn and indirectly caused the tragic loss of my soup (which i did not lap up from the floor!). the man, though a poor judge of timing, is apparently an excellent judge of character, as he hired eugene and myself on the spot: we were now air sailors. our job was to aid in the defense of the cargo fleet, which had been beseiged by "something" for about two weeks.

our first day of air sailing was preternaturally successful: though we didn't have the opportunity to guard an inbound ship just yet, we did locate the wreck of a ship that had the misfortune to lack our protection, and thus succumbed to the winged evil that plagued the skies. and here is eugene's second lie! lies, oh lies! the ship had gone down under the canopy of a calamus tree, whose sap is a sweet delicacy, but whose bark is covered in thorns (which is why many a lazy troubador has used it as a cliched metaphor for the blood elves). though there was a transfer of fluid between myself and the tree, it was not me consuming the sap, as eugene apparently hallucinated, but rather several ounces of my blood being spilled on the thorns while recovering the crew's bodies. we were actually able to save one life, a t'skrang who we later learned was named slilith, and recover two dwarven bodies for decent burial.

later that night eugene and i bonded with our shipmates, karl and yorlk, by participating in the "sport" of hull-jumping, which is apparently a contest to see who can dash their skulls against the ship's hull the most. jik'harra is one thing, but this hull-jumping is simply asinine. after that excersize is self-mutilation, we retired to the Broken Cutlass tavern, where a supernaturally large amount of alcohol was consumed, and i bested well over a dozen combatants (including trolls) in a marathon arm-wrestling tournament.

needless to say, i made much silver that night.

that week was spent training at the warriors' stronghold in travar. the training regimen is strictly confidential, but needless to say the sessions were plenitful and belligerent.

towards the end of the week we were sent out to escort a large freighter into port, and were almost immediately attacked by the aforementioned "things", which look like gargantuan tadpoles with wings and an insatiable bloodlust. floranuus save us, the things shot fire from their arms. fire! from their arms! during this combat Ren actually appeared, apparently recovered from his week-long binge. fierce combat ensued. hull-jumping actually demonstrated some use, as i tied a rope around myself and swung into one of the beasts, which had hidden underneath our ship. we managed to slay one creature, and the others dispersed, though our ship was quickly going to have a close meeting with the ground (and the thousands of denizens of travar walking upon it). karl and yorlk were able to keep the ship from crashing, but before that, when it seemed as though we would follow the lead of the crimson dawn, i took hold on eugene's unconscious body and lept out, protecting him from the fall.

once we had recovered, we learned that a kaer in the thunder mountains may contain the means of destroying the creatures and saving the city.



and now a note on my attire: i proudly admit that i am what most name-givers call "jungle" t'skrang. in reality, we are a niall just like any other, only located in the servos jungle, where the servos and galanga join. still we live underwater, but because we are deep in the beauty of the jungle, and wisely avoid the trappings of aropagoi politics, we are labeled "savage". i wear my k'tsuri (the "leater pants"), because that is all i need to wear. i feel no need to constrict myself with the artifice of "appropriate" behavior, but this does not mean i have no manners. i'm not, after all, an ork.


humbly submitted in the interest of accurate history,

kulrikhan ata'selas tukri g'nomsha

Week II - Travar and environs:

We arrived in Travar early in the morning, and almost all of my traveling companions deserted me. Their excuse? My dashing good looks. If anyone should meet with our future employer, it should be me. Espagra, a fellow t'skrang, stuck around for kicks. Our quest for a positive cashflow led us to the Picky Palate, a reknowned restaurant and tavern.

After a brief word with the owner and some witty repartee with our very attractive waitress, we determined that Admiral Drimsby of the Air Patrol would pay handsomely for a few extra helping hands. We t'skrang are not known for our love of heights, but silver is silver.

As we prepared to eat our meal of t'skrang fish soup, a short man stormed through the door. Our waitress paused as she prepared to serve us, and stared at him. When he mentioned that there had been another 'incident' and that the 'Dawn' had gone down, she gasped a name and dropped our food. Espagra docked her tip accordingly. This short man, who we later learned was Drimsby, called for all able bodied men and women to help contain the damage. Naturally, we answered the summons and left our food in a pile on the floor (though not before Espagra got a mouthful or two).

The Dawn, a cargo freighter, had gone down in a heavily populated area and had been reduced to an inferno. I managed to catch sight of a hand, withering in the flame, and Espagra and I managed to pull a male elf from the wreckage, badly burning ourselves in the process. He was unconscious, but several Questors of Garlen were on hand for just such an occasion. At least one life was saved.

We went back, enjoyed a hot meal, and fell asleep, exhausted from our labors. The rest of our party was nowhere to be seen, though I have no doubt that they were either face down in the gutter somewhere or wallowing in a house of ill repute.

The next day we reported for work, learned the basics of air sailing, and recovered an unconscious T'skrang and some bodies from an airship that had been escorting the Dawn and had conveniently lodged itself in a tree covered in thorns. I caught Espagra licking up some sap from the wounded tree. Uncouth, but what can you expect from a male who wears nothing but leather pants?

Two of our fellow crewmen, Karl (Human) and Yorlk (Ork) invited us to a Skyraider bar called the Broken Cutlass. There we drank, gambled, fought and told stories of our exploits to the sound of thumping mugs. I don't remember much, but Espagra assures me it was a good time.

The next day we were introduced to the sport of hull jumping. Truly, this is what jik'harra is all about. Karl challenged me to a contest, and we tied ropes around our waists and jumped off the gunwale. While our companions bet and laughed, Karl and I smashed ourselves into the hull of the airship repeatedly. Once more, I don't remember much, though Espagra claims that he turned a profit.

The week went on like this, and in our spare time we trained. My instructor (a Troll) looked at me strangely when I told him I wanted to learn how to riposte and build my endurance. Then he beat me soundly with a practice blade until I was both more durable and able to make a passable riposte attempt.

During the day, we wandered the marketplace. A crazy beggar by the name of Martin assaulted us with mud, and only a few last minute please kept Espagra from wounding him severely.

Finally, we received a call in the middle of the night. Apparently a cargo ship by the name of 'the obsidian flyer' was due in a few hours ago, but was behind schedule. As we prepared to escort it down, we noticed a flickering red light on the horizon. Several huge shapes descended on our little flotilla. Their horror defies description, but we stood firm. The windling popped out of a barrel (no doubt he had become besotted and fallen asleep there. Bookish types have no head for alcohol) and attempted to aid us. I myself was decorously protecting his battered body from the falling corpse of the creature.

Nevertheless, our ship went down, and only the last ditch efforts of the badly burned Karl and the severely chewed Yorlk prevented it from crashing into the city. The other ships were not so lucky and crashed, but people had seen the battle in the skies and were on hand to contain the fires.

Soon, we received a letter, whose contents I do not have the patience to relay here. Suffice it to say, we are going to the Thunder Mountains in search of a kaer that may contain a book that may provide the key to stopping these evil creatures. It may also contain unspeakable evil.

However, I remain (until I am devoured by some ghastly creature or other)
--Eugene Jerome Tzen'e Ishkarat.

Only janus_x5 and dangermouse82 showed up to this session, which had me a little worried, since although there was probably only one combat encounter unless Shit Jumped Off, it was with some mighty powerful dragony Horrors called rakken, that could probably be a challenge for a 8-10th circle party if they used their karma. In fact, they weren't really supposed to be able to kill any, but I'm not going to let a swordmaster and a warrior go a whole session without whackin' something.

This session kind of reminded me about my favorite parts of a 2 PC game in the old Conlon-GM'ing-for-me-and-Jake days: with only two PCs, they both have the spotlight and are welcome to do whatever they really please. Even though this module is out of a book, I tried to pare it down to work for two or three PCs rather than the 6-8 that the book asks for. If there's a GM that can run for 8 PCs that all have their own motivations and agendas, he must have two brains and two mouths, and be able to eat two hoagies at once. With the Force.

Background and Goals
Foreword: Since I think that the campaign will be a lot more fun if we actively cultivate the understanding of each other as "characters" and not as "Jake and Matt and BJ rolling dice in the basement" I'll take the plunge and write a short entry about my character's background and goals. To avoid the metagame mire of "how much of this do I know" assume that you were told this by Tzen'e one night at a bar.

Notable Events in the life of Tzen'e Ishkarat:

Born into slavery, served as a sail rat on a Theran skyship, the Dominant. The ship was attacked by a horror when he was 15. His mother was horror marked, and as a result he was forced to end her life. Among her things, he found an obisidan dagger and a small journal. The journal revealed much about his mother, that she was a member of House Ishkarat, and that she hoped that one day her little eggling would grow to be a swordmaster of the aropagoi. Fueled by the Passion Lochost and determined to carry out her fondest wish, he made inquiries and discovered a pair of venerable elves (Jerome and Eugene) with the necessary skills, and trained clandestinely in the vast holds of the ship. Finally, when the opportunity presented itself, Tzen'e led a rebellion against the crew and captured the ship. His masters died in the process, and he took their names to honor their memories. After ordering the execution of the slavers, he went to ground in the city of Kratas, eventually ending up on Lake Ban.

Goals:

Become a full member of House Ishkarat, destroy slavers wherever he finds them, and help fight against the Theran yoke. Weaned on stories of the Crystal Raiders and their daring attacks on Theran supplies, he would like to take up skyraiding at somepoint in the future.

Yeah, so that's as far as this train of thought goes.

-Adrian

Wow, what a week. Due to my perpetual poverty and status as a wanted criminal, I was forced to leave Theran occupied territory in search of a J-O-B. The quickest way to do this was to hop on a riverboat and work my way to the nearest city. Due to some unexpected problems, I was forced to join a crew headed to Travar via Lake Ban.

On the way to Lake Ban I ran into some trouble with a rival riverboat company, but the Captain smoothed it over, and everything was hunky-dory until I stopped into a bar for a refreshing drink. Some of the sailors from the rival company were discussing the Cap'n and crew in un-gentlemanly language. I felt the need to intervene, so I wandered over and suggested that the rash on my genitals was probably due to the unsavory character and unhygenic nature of their collective mothers.

Three unconscious or fleeing crewmen later, I was enjoying a free round of drinks from my admirers and nursing a few severe bruises.

I returned to the ship to discover that a troll and a windling had joined the crew. Before I could introduce myself, the Captain chewed me out for fighting and gave me double duty.

Two days passed without incident.

Then the rival crew passed us on the river, and that night our ship's paddlewheel was fouled by a trap, the crew succumbed temporarily to poisoned fish and we were assaulted by saboteurs. Coincidence? I think not. Of the three who made it aboard, only one escaped back to the river, an accomplishment that can be justly attributed to the Windling (called himself "Ren" or "Wren" or somesuch) who has considerable expertise with mind daggers.

Naturally, a counterattack was called for, lest our already flagging espirit d'corps diminish further. Since their friends were out of comission due to the befouled fish, the Windling and the Troll opted to take me along.

Our plan was a masterpiece. The Troll and I would assault the riverboat in a skiff with both cunning words and large rocks, while the windling would use his spells to set fire to their sails. According to the Rules of Fair Trade and Competition outlined by the Marquis de Troglodyte, we could not inflict further damage without sullying our reputations.

It went off wonderfully, except that we forgot about their firecannons and, as a result, lost our skiff. This sad turn of events required us to spend the night on the riverbank, and wait for our ship.

While we waited out the night amidst the strange ululations drifting from the Servos Jungle, we were assaulted by some sort of large acquatic millipede, which (so the Windling tells me) were quite skilled in magic and gave us no other option but to flee their dangerous spells and retreat further into the Servos.

If anyone ever tells you that the Servos is a balmy vacationer's paradise, they are lying and you should teach them a lesson at once. We bushwhacked due west from the riverbank, and cleared a place to rest for the evening, away from the devastating magic of those infernal diplopods. During the course of this evening, we were assaulted by large frogs sporting even larger fangs. We were able to find many chinks in their armor and defeat them swiftly, but the Troll suffered a vicious frog bite in the process.

In the morning, we were picked up by our boat and greeted by the Captain. The fact that we were found along the bank of the river when we were supposedly recovering in the infirmary caused no small amount of consternation, which changed to amiable congratulations once we passed the severely burned rival tradeship.

The rest of the trip was uneventful, and we were let off near Travar with pay and thanks, but also a fair amount of haste by the Captain.

Apparently my newfound companions know of a job opportunity in Travar, and they have graciously agreed to share it with me.

We will see what tomorrow brings, as they say.

Until then, I remain Eugene Jerome Tzen'e Ishkarat, Swordmaster of the First Circle and Servant of Lochost.