The Path of Iron

That could go into heavy philosophy. I would just like to point out that I find the different path to be that of light, in a world filled with selfish agendas and vile intentions. That is why they call it "succumbing", no?

I lack patience. Thus I prefer the easy path.

No! The tropes, their gravitational pull is far to great! I AM LOST! Curse you, Pampu, curse you to the blackest depths of the warp!

Nice analogy.

Per the party's vote [and eternal regret, very soon] I'm not going to write the synopsis to the sessions anymore, Garak will. Enjoy the poison food guys, also, your characters are all dead!

In other news, you need to think on what you're characters want to do in 8 months time. The only impositions being that you must do at least 3 things at a minimum that do not imply sitting around and drinking/whoreing. The success of the actions will be decided by relevant rolls.
*Edit: These are notable things, that fall outside your jobs or usual endeavor, like, say, killing a dragon or fighting in a tourney.

I'll come up with some form of reply soon enough I only got rough ideas what my character would do.

With the tree and the great blob of meat and sinew dead, we slumped to the ground and breathed as we realized we got to live another day. Jerwin took the time to heal Neerson's arm while Haraad remained unconscious. A few of the "elite" elven soldiers emerged from the ruined flesh horror, their shoddy armor nowhere in sight, and at the sight of the dead tree they cried out in dismay and anger, blaming us humans for this disaster before running away. I wanted nothing more than to stuff their crappy weapons down their throats. Arrogant pricks.

When Haraad finally woke up he was shocked by what we told him had happened and kept saying that something was wrong. He set off on the trail the flesh monster had created through the forest and we followed him, lacking anything better to do. Soon enough Haraad began bleeding from his nose and eyes and fell to his knees. He seemed to be in a state of utter confusion - kinda in the same way a baby is in a state of utter confusion. Magical healing seemed to have no effect on him but at least he didn't resist when I put him on a horse.

We followed the trail only to discover where the creature had come from - a magic circle with what looked like a sacrifice in the middle. Whatever that thing had been it's good it was killed - only abominations and the most evil of conjurations require sacrifices. We found several items in the area - a note in a strange cypher that no one could break, a sextant, some more signet rings (like the one that allowed Muertte to fly), a dagger, some gold, a confused note with nothing sensical and a strange puzzle device that turned out to be a small sphere that kinda looked like the world (it's use is unknown but at this point the chances it's going to explode in our faces is pretty good). Oh, Jerwin tried to tap into it and it apparently hurt him - he seems less bright as a result. So it's either warded or it's simply made to make people stupid. Eh, I just hack off heads, what do I care?

Seeing as nobody knew the way out of the forest, Muertte flew high up and guided us - back to the elven "city". Most of the elves ran but a squad of their "elite" marched toward us. Muertte roared in their direction and they broke and ran like raw recruits when faced with the wrath their drill sergeant after a failed prank. Pieces of weapons and armor were left behind. I'd pay money to see their regulars or even their militia - I can't imagine how crappy they would be. Gale then approached us, laughing and cackling like mad, spouting nonsense about fire consuming everything and whatnot. I stopped paying attention, I have to listen to the ramblings of mad men enough as it is.

Muertte attempted to take the elf's head off but he evaded the blow and with a gust of wind threw everyone but Jerwin to the ground. We tried to rally and kill Galen but his magic was to strong and he turned Jerwin into a briefly lived human torch (so much for becoming a god). His fire scorched others as well and he seemed not to notice or care about our attempt to do him harm. Laughing like mad he killed Zax and Pietrov, and severely wounded Muertte and me (I almost got skewered by a giant spike coming out of the ground but the plate shrugged it off). We finally decided this was pointless and retreated each grabbing a body and running as fast as we could. After several hours of wandering through the woods, we decided to make camp and treat the wounds of those we managed to get out of there - namely Neerson and Haraad.

By morning we were joined by our dead comrades. Apparently the High Druid was kind enough to resurrect them without even asking for anything. Not suspicious at all. Nope. Not at all.

If I live through this shit I'm looking for a new job. Something sane maybe. Like dragon hunting.

I spent the ride back to town talking with Haraad who seemed to get better the farther away from the forest we were. He didn't seem to remember going all hot for Kosuth and thinks someone may have done something with his mind. I talked with him about Kelemvor, not trying to force him back there but making sure he wasn't against. I'm hardly the most religious person in our group but in my line of work (especially the current one) I'm going to end up chatting with Kelemvor sooner rather than latter - I'd prefer not to piss him off.

Five minutes after we entered Rayvajiik we were attacked. Go figure. Someone rained fire on our heads - I'm starting to develop a hatred for evocationists. Beside the mage there were also 3 fighters and 2 archers on the roof. Muertte charged one guy and almost chopped his arm off. I went for the same guy but was still unsteady from trying to avoid the damn fire! Guy tried to run at one point and I hacked his head off while Muertte engaged the others. I can't recall what happened next but we had captured a mage (I think) and one of the archers who fell from the roof - one of our mages used some wind to blow him off. Jerwin tried to pry into the mind of the mage (or some shit) and the guy promptly died. Sigh. If he tries to call his soul back into his body I'm going to beat him silly.

I suggested we take the other prisoner to the academy and try and keep this away from the public eye. Where the frak are the guards when you might need them? Never mind, I can think of several places.

We got back to the headmaster - who seems to have finally put a door to his office and hire a secretary. So much for the open door policy. Anyway once inside we saw he still had that damn box on his desk. He said something about it but I try not to think about it so I wasn't listening. I gave him a full report while Zax and Muertte explained that Jerwin drank a potion made out of souls. HOW DOES ANYONE THINK THAT'S THAT A GOOD OR EVEN HALF-SANE IDEA!!! Oh, but the immortality. Screw that! Cheating death like that is just wrong and leads to utter depravity - imagine a world were all live forever but because we're immortal our humanity goes out the window and we also keep breeding like rabbits. Also I still think immortality is a curse. Why? Hi mister immortal I'm here to break every bone in your body, throw you in a circle that cancels magic and put a rock over ya. Enjoy eternity.

Also how more depraved can you get than drinking SOULS FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!!! Yes I have a severe problem with anyone drinking or otherwise abusing souls!

Well the headmaster thought the same he put a collar on Jerwin. Among other things, if he tries to take it off, his head will explode. Muertte seems eager to test it.

Well me, Muertte and Pietrov got paid and we got invited to the feast. A five day feast. Oh, gods. Well, I think I'll spend the two days till the feast at the whore house. I'm in a severe need for relaxation and the redhead twins always managed that.

First day of the feast and we mingle. I felt fraking naked without my armor and weapons. I still hid a dagger in my boot. Lots of students, nobles and rich twats who couldn't beat a goblin if it was tied up. Sigh, rather spend the time at the whore house in all honesty. Muertte found a bunch of half-orcs to talk with. Kelemvor forbid he gets them to follow him and start a merc group - I don't think the world is ready for a horde led by Muertte. He'd reduce it to nothing but a collection of little villages. And one giant castle for himself.

Sigh. I mostly ignored the nobles and they ignored me back as the social gap between us is pretty big. Spent my time talking with the various bodyguards. Sadly no one was looking to hire but several mentioned a training camp where one can get some good connections. Might be worth checking out.

Also talked to Helena, the diviner. Pointed out the fact that we did our job and are still alive. She said something bad was going to happen soon. Well ... remind me to kick myself for thinking the crap storm has passed. Right, now get panicking. I spent the rest of that day quietly warning every bodyguard in the room that crap might happen and then went to the rest of the academy guards and repeated my warning. Well, now that everyone with a blade was on edge, suspicious and ready to kill at the drop of a hat I was feeling mildly better.

On the second day it turned out Vladici wanted to get the ceremony out of the way early. Sigh.

"When I first founded this school, it was with a clear purpose, today, after all this time,with the help of these few brave souls that purpose is becoming reality. I once dreamt of such men and women, leaving these halls learned and ah, well. Look well upon our guests of honor, the teachers have taught, I have provided, but they, they have made all this possible. Tonight marks a century of labor, toil and sweat, but it is not about me or my struggle, no, you alone are worthy of tonight's praise. Now, brave champions, look upon your fellow class-men, your teachers, the guards in my employ. Know that while I have worked for this moment, it all fell to you and you behaved exactly as was needed. This feast marks a new beginning, an accomplishment long overdue. You did this, and for that, you have my eternal gratitude. LET THE CEREMONY BEGIN!"

And shit got dumped on us from the top of a mountain.

Vladici, the miserable backstabbing bastard, disappeared while portals opened in front of the only exists from the room. And out of those portals poured forth the legions of the Abyss as horrifying demon after demon charged through and began tearing into the crowd with wild abandon and glee. Sanity blasting figures were gorging themselves on terror itself as they maimed and killed, crushing skulls and torsos, biting off faces, ripping off limbs and even mutilating the corpses of the those already dead. The students were being cut down mercilessly as they stood rooted to the ground in mind numbing terror and the smell of shit and piss soon joined that of blood and the cloying smell of overripe fruit and rotten eggs.

I admit I lost it. Seeing that horde come crashing through the crowd like an avalanche of pure carnage and chaos, mangled corpses spraying outward from it and coating the room in blood and entrails I lost all reason. One of the disgusting, puss dripping, boil covered, rotten egg smelling things tried to grab me but in my panic I was to slippery. No matter, the doors were blocked by gates to the Abyss - there was no way out, we were all going to die. *incoherent scream*

I ran for the stairs leading up to the catwalk where the musicians were - as if that would prove a way out. Still, I'll take a false hope over no hope in this case so I just ran, while blood was raining down on us and the screams of the dying were playing the most horrifying, nightmare inducing, sanity fraying symphony it has been my horror and disgust to hear. I'm pretty sure the screams of the people the demons simply threw into the gates - alive and relatively unharmed - will stay with me even beyond Death's gate.

I don't know what the rest of the group was doing - if they still lived and weren't even now spilling their blood upon a floor more than simply soaked in it. I swear it looked like the blood was starting to spill FROM the floor itself and the cackling of demons as they ripped people to shreds was grating on my very soul. I barely noticed lights and fire, someone casting a spell that seemed to close some of my scratches - when did I get those and why is I severed hand clutching my ankle? At the top of the stairs I saw that all the musicians were dead, tiny winged skulls having eaten them alive and even now cleaning the last shreds of meat from their bones. I was dead. There was no fraking way out of this. We were all going to die.

I vomited.

I'm pretty sure Kelemvor couldn't care less in what fashion we greet him when we die. Still, it rankled. Spitting in a vain attempt to get the acid out of my mouth I took my dagger and started back down the stairs. We were dead. FINE! *hysterical laugh* At least let's show those nightmare fuel, sanity raping, soul scarring ugly bastards how we mortals die. WITH LOTS OF BLOOD AND SCREAMING!!!

Tiny lights - which I later found out were lantern archons - were now attacking the demons. Where the hells did they come from? Not that it mattered, there weren't enough of them and the demons seemed to be ganging up on them. Well, that bought us twelve more seconds of life. For some reason Jerwin turned into an angel for six seconds [Pietrov did an illusion] but at this point carnivorous flying pigs wouldn't be weird. I noticed Muertte was wrestling with a demon, which he then ignored as he ran for the stairs. In fact most everyone still alive was up the stairs by now. I saw the Baron's son on the stairs on the opposite side of the room and shouted for someone to help him - so we were dead, that didn't mean I couldn't think about money damn it! Haraad and Neerson were at the bottom of the stairs, demons pressing them hard. I shouted to Haraad to knock Neerson over the head and run for it with him. He did so as I slipped past and started stabbing with my dagger. *incoherent screams and hysterical laughter combined with a smile that said sanity was taking a break*

After I have no idea how long I bolted after Haraad. It looked like two of the gates had closed thus opening our way to freedom. One of the mages, I think Zax, cast something that allowed us to jump over the side of the catwalk without breaking bones or fracturing legs. Which would make running for our lives a bit hard.

Oh great. Amid the sanity shredding, mind blasting, gut wrenching horrors there now strode impossibly beautiful women whose curves got a part of me to respond despite the fact that their heaving nude chests were glistening with freshly split blood which was all the more obvious on their milky white skin and one of them had a head dangling from it's spinal cord in her hand. She licked her lips seductively and winked at me while she casually tore out the throat of a student. My head and the nearest wall collided. On purpose.

Muertte meanwhile tried to bash open the door only to manage cracking it. Dammit, someone really wanted us dead. Neerson, who had regained consciousness, was in a panic and he set the door on fire which didn't seem to help much. Zax finally managed to break down the door with a some sort of force battering ram.

The hallway outside was filled with guards and demons and looked like nothing so much as a slaughterhouse out of some demented psychopath's worst soul rending nightmare. Picking up a shield and sword, both dripping in gore, I took up the rearguard. I was fast becoming to exhausted and my mind to battered to notice the horror all around me. I fell back on my training and began using my shield and voice to form the surviving guards into a semi functional rearguard as we fought a fighting retreat. Needless to say we were all soaked in blood and more of us kept dying with every step we took. Zax and Jerwin were leading the group, I think, since they knew the layout of the academy. At one point we saw a woman, incredibly beautiful, being beset by two demons. A few of the guards had stopped and I bashed them over the heads with my shield. After seeing the succubi I wasn't taking anything for granted. I screamed at them to get back in line and we kept our retreat, the woman dying with her throat ripped open.

When we reached the courtyard we noticed that the sky was a pure, light sucking black in whose stygian depths vague forms flew. Through the gates we saw daylight but the portcullis was down. The mages tried to break it open together as more demons pursued us and the academy seemed to be falling in on itself.

With a roar as he felt that the magical energies he was wielding were going to tear him apart, Zax broke open the portcullis and after a brief hesitation - the light was too obvious, it could simply be another trap - we all ran for it. Haraad screamed as a demon grabbed his ankle and I cursed as I turned and slashed through the arm. Haraad barely took a step before something began clawing at his face but I couldn't see what and the demons were almost upon us and the ground was crumbling from beneath our feet so I grabbed him and dragged him through the portcullis. He screamed as something tore his leg off but by then we were through.

I fell to the ground, to exhausted to stand. Behind us the academy was no more, there was simply a giant crater where a building had once stood. Jerwin used his magic to seal Haraad's wound so he wouldn't bleed to death. As I lay there, panting hard, I noticed that the Baron's son had managed to make it out as well. I looked around to take a tally of the survivors and there were pitifully few: myself, Muertte, Zax, Jerwin, Pietrov, Jerwin's cousin, Helena, Neerson, Haraad and the Baron's son.

Dammit I'm going two spend the next to nights drunk at the whorehouse trying to forget this shit ever happened. Kelemvor help me.




[Right ca oricum nu tin minte ce facea fiecare in haosul ala, feel free to add ce faceati, in special Bogdan, Motzi, Harry. Ce facem in alea 8 luni putem discuta la un suc, toti]

Ce facem in alea 8 luni putem discuta la un suc, toti]

Seconded, assuming we're going to stick together in these 8 months. But this is precisely why "what garak said".

My character will visit the group now and then but with the school gone he'll undertake a journey of self discovery (I mean it) and attempt to research more on the path of Religion, perhaps finding some sort of redemption. Also researching any Scions that have had similar results of aiming for the divine. He'll also preach intolerance toward the wicked after his experiences, encouraging people to persecute any magic users that are not kept under control or using magic to harm people.

He'll give up his worldly posessions and keep simple robes, a staff and his book on his person and heal people in towns he may visit. Overall direction is not decided yet.

So sum it up he will do the following:

• He will go about preaching actually based on his knowledge of religion and spread the message of intolerance toward mages abusing their abilities to harm others, preaching of how magic should serve man, not rule over him and encourage people to be open minded to mages as long as their abilities are used for the good of others.
  
  
• He will also give away his worldly posessions except clothes, money and spellbook and travel like that. armed with his basic weapons. crossbow, staff and dagger
  
  
• He will also use positive energy to consecrate burial grounds to avoid undead being raised.
  
  
• He'll also spend his time studying the Gods as he visits temples, namely the Gaylord, Torm and his Ascension, Ilmater and Helm.
  Tyr.
  
• Once his pilgrimage is done he'll return toward revajik and settle as a school teacher imparting knowledge of the world he has accumulated to people who cannot afford it free of charge, working also as a healer.money will be required. he'll live off the people's mercy. so if someone wishes to give him food, fine, if not... fine again.No money required.
  
• he'll also encourage people to be more compassionate and help others just like he does and Ilmater teaches people to for through compassion one may earn the Gods' salvation.
  
• he'll keep the collar as a marker of his penance
  
  

As a second action Jerwin will attempt to research the collar and any magic behind it and have it removed if possible.

Once that is completed as action 3 over the course of the remaining time he will assist the group or if he is not required he will travel around, resuming his journey before returning to the appointed time back to his City to see the Baron. In this time he'll heal, protect and help whoever he can while continuing to study religion and the planes.

The final gambit will be submitting himself to the Temple of Tyr for judgement after providing a manuscript with an HONEST report of what he had done and his troubles, seeking judgement and penance from Tyr, willing to endure whatever the God wishes him to endure!

Jerwin decides to quickly try and evade his fate, but destiny has an odd sense of perseverance.
As he makes his way, traveling from temple to temple he is beset by the lowest of scum: bandits, thieves and murderers. There is a pattern, he feels. One day, while tending the wounded in a small village between cities, his suspicion is confirmed as swarms of lesser demons descend upon the village. He fights them off, but one thing is made clear, there can be no rest for the wicked.
As he walks the earth, like a disease the creatures follow, as he strikes them down, angry human eyes find a source of blame quickly enough.
A myth is born, the chained man, a lone wanderer who goes from village to village, seeking something lost. Welcome him not, for he is the harbinger of doom.

2nd Action:
With no money, no true friends nearby to render him aid, Jerwin finds that the world is a bleak and unwelcoming place. He speaks with some blacksmiths, the more generous of enchanters, but the collar is welded shut, magic keeps it intact and opening it up would trigger an explosion. Any attempt at altering it in any way would likely mean his death.

Finally, Jerwin tires of this incessant chase. So much effort, all in vain so much is lost, little gained. Where was the balance he was taught resides not only at the base of alchemy, but indeed, the whole world? Had he truly gained anything? Black despair wrapped itself around his mind. Yes, there is only one thing to do, after all. Going to a temple of Tyr, he confesses all his sins, all his transgressions against the very idea of life. Either he will be redeemed, or put out of his misery.
The priest hears his pleas, nods once and Jerwin is thrown in the street. "We are not executioners" he yells, "whatever punishment you earn is of your own making, redemption is a hard road and you've yet to take a single stride."
An old saying comes to mind, from some old fable, or legend "Redemption is a small thing, but precious, most never get a second chance".


Every once in a while, Jerwin risks being attacked by a random abyssal creature, along with any other random encounters the party is exposed to.
Also, if he does not conceal or otherwise attempt to hide the collar, he is unwelcome in most small villages.

The Fantastic Tales of Cotillion Blackleaf (solicitor)

I had just arrived in the city of Reyvajiik on a journey of great enterprise. 4 gold pieces, mostly in change, burning a rather small and almost imperceptible hole in my pocket. It would appear I shall be destitute again. no matter, i've had worse. If it comes to that i'll just fall off a creaky stair in a tavern and then proceed to claim compensation. *sigh* I was hoping that part of my life was behind me. Mayhaps my long lost cousin could help with my financial difficulty. Alas he remains rather too lost for such a thing. Best i find a cheap tavern and try and get some feelers out for how this city works and who's running it.

Some time next week:

Having had such a boon and finding myself in the employment of a pretty young lady who goes by the name of Helena (indeed a most attractive woman) who also happens to be in the family that's mainly leading this town economically and illegally it would appear I have made giant steps in securing my position in the city and finding my lost relative, Jerwin. He is one of the greatest students of the city's Magic University. A place run much like a mob's prison, it would turn out in further research. After some enquieries were made at the university proper it turned out that Jerwin has been locked away as a danger to himself and others. perhaps it would be best i do not disturb his incarceration. Who knows what a probably insane mage might do. Perhaps it's best to simply see him at the graduation feast. I seem to be going as a bodyguard to lady Helena anyway. She seems to have a bad feeling about the whole affair..... knowing her, such a thing should not be taken lightly.

I enter the great double doors of the great feast hall with Helena on my arm, dressed in fine silks I have not had to pay a cent for. Twin daggers secreted on my forearms. The one infused with magic keeps reminding me of it's presence with a (in truth comforting) tickly feeling.
The eating and drinking start, a feast in truth. I often must remind myself to pace it correctly. After all, this whole chebang lasts 5 days........

On the second day i am already starting to get tired of the many noble born students with their bodyguards and ''cousins'' in tow. It amuses me to remind myself I too am just another escort. I spot Jerwin in the crowd, he seems to be wearing a large iron collar, how queer.... oh well, I was never one for such fashions. Some time later i am introduced to the man himself, Nicolau Vladici. Truly a great man, from what I've heard around town. Dedicating his life to the good of the common people and the eradication of the rift between them and the nobles through the magical education of the masses. One of the greatest people I've ever met. That is' if this whole university didn't reek of personal gain. How much money could this man be making in a month? Surely enough to buy the inn I'm staying in 10 times over. Still, a gracious tone and some praise never closed a door. There's one thing to say about the old elf, he's one to remember.

Eventually, after more feasting Vladici goes on stage and starts making a speech. All in all a rather foreboding thing, really. A feeling of dread washes over me and i grab Helena and try to slowly walk towards the doors as the final words of his speech are spoken..... And then he explodes into thin mist and just as i hear a sound from behind me like the ripping of a ship's sails. I glance back and see the legions of the Hells themselves pour into the crows. Ripping through the poor bastards like barbarians through a candy shop. Screams fill my ears, time slows down and a strange calm washes over me even as i start to scream. I try and make for the stairs to the catwalk. I need to get to those doors while avoiding the demons.

As i turn my hand seems to snag on something. After some investigation it has been revealed that i was still holding Helena, Who for some reason was trying to save the students. Somehow i manage to convince her to let the bastards die (because really otherwise who's gonna distract the mighty mounds of malevolent muscle mashing majestically through the crowd....right...at....us.)

To be continued when I have more internets.

So pe scurt the 3 things I do in these 8 months:

- participate in a tourney (in the melee, I'd suck at jousting - also daca the Baron nu-mi da some weapons and armor as thanks, I'll buy some with what money I got)

- go to that mercenary training camp and makes some connections

- go to the church of Kelemvor and train to become a cleric

Garak, duty of recounting last session falls to you, or someone else if you want to do POV descriptions. I'm going to post the results of everyone's 8 month endeavors, the ones yet to be

Martin:

You entered a tourney to the south-east, at a nobleman's name day. The melee was a tough battle but you managed to get a good position, only falling to a rather suspiciously strong man whom no one would bet against. Still, you came away with 2500 gold and that's nothing to scoff at.
Going south still and even more to the east, across the Reach you eventually find your way to a large Landsmeet. It's everything one would expect of such an event, countless small tents, a few large pavilions, soldiers of every stripe, breed and moral persuasion. The only permanent structure, a rather large stone hall, lovingly dubbed 'Headquarters', seemed to serve no other purpose than the storage of booze and whores. Unfortunately, you didn't have much of a reputation, nor, for that matter a voucher of any kind. You hear about a mercenary company that is only forming, the only one in your area interested in hiring those without credentials. The group calls itself "The Abjurant Knights". There are other groups, of course, but their actions and names leaves an unpleasant taste in your mouth.
One evening you encounter several young men harassing an old timer, looking like violence was about to break loose. You run them off, they don't care much for a fair fight, it seems, but the veteran is grateful enough, he even offers to buy you drinks.
Late into the night, after more than a few rounds and many tales of the mans youth and exploits, he takes out a worn leather package and says with a slur in his speech "You take thish, take thish an' ushe it in good health, it'sh been great fer me". He then takes another drink, sighs heavily and closes his eyes. In the morning you wake to find yourself clutching the package, the old man still and pale at the table, holding a mug.
Inside the pouch you find a note in archaic Dalish and a map, following the instructions, you come upon a hidden cache, wherein lies a sword, a hand-and-a-half, a silvery blade etched with symbols you do not recognize.

Hareidr:
INT 17
WIS 17
CHA 10
Speaks*(Dalish, Thorass, Jotun, Dwarven[Dale-lands])
Telepathic[Wielder Only]

Knowledge(Military Logistics) =10
Knowledge(Military Tactics) =10
Cast Daze 3/day (Resist DC = 15)
Detect Thougths at will(Resist DC = 13)
+2 Enchantment
(Made from Cold Iron)
Alignment: LN

Hareidr used to be the sword of a famous Mercenary General, in a time so long ago
that even legend has forgotten his name. Borrowing from his extensive knowledge
of troop disposition and fighting styles, the sword offers useful, if somewhat
irreverent advice on matters of military importance.
The sword admits it is unsure how old it is, or from where. It claims no true
knowledge to any specific purpose.

As for joining the church, you are perhaps dismayed at the ease by which they accept you. You take to the altar, kneel and pledge yourself to the god and his service. A priest of Kelemvor recites a few lines and you are told to get up.
A few hours later all is when you leave the temple. It's simple, the priests say, handing you a book. Here are your prayers for the dead, the first few pages are the few rules you must obey, welcome among the faithful. But you feel no different, there's not soothing presence there, or the knowing of a god looking over your shoulder. Nothing is different.
That night you dream. You walk among the dead, recent and otherwise. The Gray City sprawls around you, infinite in all directions, the next memories are blurs, blood is spilled, a sickening crunch and a vivid memory seems burned into your mind, the face of a man looking at you, with no emotion, just serenity. When you awake, the fire is cold, but you are not. Something else burns within you, and only despair may quench it, should you prove so weak.

Pietrov:

Unsure of how to proceed and unwilling to return to Lyrabar you've decided to accompany Martin and see where your journey takes you. After all, the road goes where it goes, why try to change that. You join the same tourney, follow him to the Landsmeet and try to live as he. But you are not Martin, your skill with weapons is not as good and the path you take, while informative is not your own. In the melee, you quickly fall, a blow from the back stealing your consciousness enough that you are out of the match.
At the Landsmeet is where you truly feel out of your element. The men here are present for profit and that alone. Nothing seems to bind them together, nothing shared except a willingness to harm others and put themselves in danger for coin. Some claim it is glory, others justify their acts by swearing only to help those worthy, but in the end even the most well intentioned mercenary is simply a mercenary. One morning, just as you were sure you'd gained nothing except a greater resistance to cheap ale, a man decides you look weak enough to be a good victim and he challenges you to a duel. His armor against your coin, obviously desperate at the time.
You quickly dispatch of him, but he refuses to hand you the prize, his friends gang up on you and it becomes a tiring fight. You prevail though, don't you always? Claiming the armor as your own finding it warm to the touch and strangely light, you soon find it has magical properties, or so claims the diviner you hired to try and find out.

Armor of Arctic Exploration:
Plate Mail(Adamantium)
+1 AC bonus(magic)
DR: 5/magic
Immunity to natural cold
Resistance to frost and cold effects: 10

The Landsmeet has soured on you though, you convince Martin to be on your way, he had meant, for his own reasons, familiarity perhaps, to join the faithful of Kelemvor, as a priest, no less.
While there, Martin is done is a few scant hours, but the priests allow you to study in their library for a small sum of money, you read of Kelemvor, his teachings, what they know of Undead and the few other religious texts in your time there.
Pietrov gains the Skill Focus(Knowledge:Religion) feat

Zax:

As the rest sit and dream of riches, glory or whores, Zax smiles to himself. He knows that despite their well meaning demeanor, they are not Zax and so should not be faulted with their lack of ambition. Zax believes he will affect the shape of the Multiverse, it was something all serious mages did at some point or another. After all, a pocket plane is so incredibly useful!
Zax then does what Zax does best, everything! But in this particular circumstance, magic. With the compensation he received, a bit of good luck and the simple act of breaking a part of his soul and anchoring it into the planes, Zax hasn't decided which yet, his realm shall be complete! Once the infinite world is made, he shall, hmm, Zax hasn't considered, but something will happen!
Zax succeeds in creating a pocket plane, it stretches for 50 ft in every direction, the particularities are to be handled by him
Ah, to lounge inside one's own personal realm, a god within this world. Well, not quite. The place is rather small, by dimensional standards, and it still drifts around the planes. It'll settle, eventually. Hopefully before Zax starves, conjuration doesn't work well if one doesn't know where in the planes one is, apparently. On the bright side, it's rather pretty, in an existential dread inducing sort of manner. Right now it has the shape of a sphere, a globe really, with transparent walls, in the middle lies the new born realm, outside merely the infinite show of power and chaos, sometimes unspeakable evil, that come with drifting around the realms uncontrolled. Thankfully Zax is unnoticed. Mostly. Hardly anything dangerous tries to break in and eat his soul. Besides, Zax has handled worse. One the better side of things, Zax has found a new friend! Well, friend is not the proper term for it, more like 'meat-puppet' but the concept is the same.
[Zax has gained the Improved Familiar Feat, as if he were CL 6]

Muertte:

Muertte decides to revisit his ancestral roots, to enkindle his faith in Gruumsh and maybe to gain material possessions. Wisely, he decides that only one course of action would permit him all of these, and so he goes of to find and enroll orcs and half-orcs, that he may lead them into a rampaging barbarian horde.
A shame there aren't any known orc tribes in the area. And half orcs are as rare as pretty half orcs around here. Still, a raging horde! Sure, most are human, and it's not a horde so much as a gang, but it's rampaging, at least. Muertte is such an effective leader, his methods so brutal and quick that the gang swells, devouring other gangs, one way or Muertte's way. They become such a problem they cause a huge bounty to be placed on their leader, somewhere in the vicinity of 10000 Gold, or near enough. The pickings become slim, as people avoid the areas where they reside, attrition takes it's toll, these humans are not orcs, nor are they that numerous. In the end an ambush set up by several groups of adventurers catches the bandit horde and battle breaks out in earnest. Among his enemies, Muertte spies a man, twice as large as he, with the upper body of a bull, as the blood rage overtakes him, Muertte's battle cry becomes a below to chill the blood and with one mighthy swing of his greataxe and a leap Muertte beheads his foe in one fluid motion.
The battle rages on, for a few hours more. In the end, there is only Muertte, holding aloft a his greataxe, some strange power coursing over it, imbuing it with power.
[Muertte makes 2600 gp from the looting in profit, his greataxe now becomes a +2 weapon. Three times per day Muertte may unleash the power of molten fire upon his enemies, he rolls his HD worth of d6s to damage undead, the dc is 10+HD.
Vampires instantly die if they do not make the save, living opponents take half damage.

Cyber should do this session, he did more than I and I'm doing only POV ones.

As long as someone does it. I will default to the task if no one steps up. But I'd rather know. Also, check out Motzi's char above.

I'll do this session. It will however probably be posted either in bits or from Bucuresti.
I've asked Zekel to do the 8 months, he rolled the dice, it only seems fitting he do the writing (and I really wanna` read about it)




The Fantastic Tales of Cotillion Blackleaf (solicitor)

A Flight most Brief and Frightening

After a brief and invigorating run up the stairs up to band's walkway, a close inspection revealed flying floating skulls and the pink, fresh skeletons of the band members. With deft mental work i quickly put 7 and 8 together and realize that the skulls swarm people and devour the soft bits. I then tried my best to make the little flying bastards sleepy, if at all possible, an endeavour with moderate success I might add, though nobody would have noticed, as a bunch of people including a half orc struggled past me, ramming into the beasties and proceeding to jump right down the other side. Damnit, that was my idea!

I then quickly followed. As i jumped down i was trying to aim for something soft, a useless endeavour as it turns out some sort of mage though of just that. I landed as softly as a feather. We were not next to the door, with the hordes of hell at our backs. Others of course were with their backs to the door and staring at the abyss....FOOLS! The damned door turned out to be locked but that was quickly fixed with the careful and deliberate use of frantic bashing at the bloody thing.

The corridors were nothing as i remembered them to be, damn a dwarf's stumpy legs! They were filled with guards fighting (with little success) more demons. In a moment of clarity it occurs to me we might not make it out of this damn bosom, heaving and steaming under freshly spilled blood, striking newly discovered sparks of soon to be discovered fetishes and deeds any man thinks about on ocassion in the confines of their own privy (or a park). Thankfully my logical brain was pulling at my sleeve as i tried to push it away. It then slapped me hard on the side cheek and started yelling at me. Right... Helena. Back to fleeing. They probably weren't my type anyway, what with how they kept butchering people that came to close.

We started to really get into the rythm of the whole ''running for our lives''. A mage, Zax, was ploughing through doors with his mind while a more martial fellow by the name of Martin started breathing an ordered rearguard out of what living guards we found by using his shield both violently and creatively. There was lots of dying everywhere around us in those moments, though thankfully in our group only the scarlet tabarded guards of the rear guard seemed suffer from it.

We eventually reached the freedom of the courtyard. The sky was a black abyss swarming with shapes from another world, the ocassional tentacle coming out in an attempt to grab people cowering in the yard. Foreboding rumbles, maybe a strange and primordial dialect seemed to be the only thing escaping it's dark embrace, at least for now. We make for the bared gate. Once there our desperate efforts to get at it and start bashing with our fists seem to be thwarted by some sort of ward. Unacceptable. The ones that can in the group concentrate their efforts and try to sunder the whole thing. It even seemed to be working for a while, but the damn things held fast. Outside daylight awaited, with inviting and particularly unmenacing skies above. WE try again, channeling our power through Zax, who, veins bulging on his shiny pate manages to break apart the portcullis. We quickly scramble through. Screaming beside me, a demon seemes to have caught some man (not yet formally introduced but his name is Haraad). But wait, that one guy with the shield seemes to be turning to his rescue. Most spectacular, he fights off the demon with his sword, clearly a man of many magnificent martial masteries.

'Time, i think, for a nice sit.' I sprawl on the grass. Around me the few survivors of this strange ordeal collapse and do the same. Brave men and women all. Good lord it's the Baron's Son, what's-his-name! I was sort of hoping he'd still be in there. By the wizard's pointy hat, he'll be a bad baron some day.
With a faint 'plop' sound, the academy seemes to fold in on itself and dissapear completely in a way that makes one's eyes hurt. Well, that was one hellish feast.

Heh, the point was that you say actions, I determine success, a funny/interesting story is born. By you. No one is really feeling creative much, so here's your 8 months, in glorious detail. If you don't like it, make a different one.
Click on the think to see it.

Spoiler:

Cotillion makes 1000 gp from his time as a bandit.
You also receive your +1 Dagger + Harper Whetstone

After the last year or so quite a lot has changed in the world.
The city of Lyrabar has been devastated by plague. The pestilence seems to linger there, for no discernible reason. Undead have been said to rise in the streets and shamble in the streets, a mockery of the life they led before the disease ravaged their minds and bodies. It is a ghost-town, inviting only to those who would seek to purge it of it's curse. All attempts to repopulate it have been met with tragedy.

Bandit activity in the north-west has increased, the mountain passes are more dangerous than ever, the local economy suffers as a result.

News of The Feast has spread. Already there are theatrical plays portraying completely inaccurate versions of what happened. In the aftermath of so many minor nobles and over one hundred working class mages being removed from the workpool, cities that rely heavily on magical intervention and industry are ceasing all expansion and are reducing their production.

While it has not governed a lot of support, there have been movements that demand the restriction of magic, the extremists want all magic users to be killed, the more reasonable only want them competent and sane. A new mercenary company is being formed, called "The Knights of Abjuration". They advertise a much stricter policy on magic, claiming all mages need to be specialists. Some mutter their ideas are too close to Thay, but the company holds firm this belief.

Jerwin, one of the survivors of The Feast has died due to unsafe manipulation of the collar binding him. In a fit of panic as he was being swarmed by demons he attempted to wrest it off, resulting in an explosion.

The mines in the west are reporting fewer findings, it seems some may dry up soon.

The federation is abuzz with word of a serial killer stalking the northern regions. The victims are all mutilated, yet no magic has been able to find the criminal yet.

On a global scale:

King Azoun the Vth ascends to the throne of Cormyr. The kings penchant for egalitarian treatment for nobles and commoners alike causes some political unrest.

In a duel over stakes mortals could barely understand Helm is slain by Tyr. The Helmites are in mourning, yet they retain their faith and swear to resurrect him. Torm extends his divine grace to Helm's followers, until his friend is returned.

Illmater and Siamorphe are invited into Brightwater, joining the goddesses Sune, Tymora, Sharess and Waukeen.



Session 5:

Eight months after The Feast, the dissipated group meets once more, to receive more rewards and for something more.

Cotillion is the first to be in the city, more than a month before the appointed time, during his stay he makes several contacts and decides to make his home in the 'Row's House' a fairly exclusive brothel where the rest are to meet him. Two weeks before the meet Neerson also arrives, as does Haraad. Cotillion notices the warrior has no religious markings on his person, he walks with a slight limp, but the mechanical leg he uses seems to be working fine otherwise. A week before Marin and Pietrov, followed by Muertte also arrive. There is some swapping of stories, some banter and an idea sprouts between them. Martin, Muertte and Pietrov pool their resources together and acquire the establishment, Cotillion overseeing the paperwork and ensuring the transaction is fair. Several thousand gold lighter, but with a new sort of "wealth" the group enjoy themselves the whole week. In the evening before their meeting a thin, ragged figure enters. The gaunt man is soon identified as Jerwin, but even from his cousin, there is little in the way of hospitality. He is not welcome there and he is made aware of such, rumors of a man fitting his description have been popping up in the countryside and they'd rather not have demons infest the place. A note arrives, early in the morning, Zax seems to be trapped somewhere, there's some magetalk about space time continuum and anomalies but the gist of it is that Zax will most likely not make it to the meeting, and should be represented by the group.
A bit of prepping and they are off to meet the Baron.

Yurik von Reyvajiik is not a man who fits the common notion of nobleman. For one, he is a very capable mage, the other, he seems very informal, if somewhat rambling.

With some focus, a bunch of non-sensical words spat out and windmill like waving of his arms, the baron seems to rip open the fabric of the planes to unleash a cascade of feathers and in the middle of them a confused Zax.

The Baron and Argath, his adviser offer the PCs titles of nobility and the function of ministers of foreign affairs. In essence, he explains, they are to act as agents of the barony to ensure peace, cooperation and economic prosperity by careful adjusting the existing parameters of neighboring city states. In short: cloak and dagger kidnapping, sabotage and assassination. Neerson refuses to this, he prefers the quiet life, he says and will retire from all this walking around fixing everyone's damn problems. He is going to open up an enchanters shop in the city.

Haraad also refuses, claiming he would never fight in anything less than a duel or open battle.
Once they leave the Baron charges the party with the task of infiltrating Sarshel, their neighbour to the east and stealing information on some sort of new metal they have developed. They are to destroy anything they cannot bring back, documents, facilities and people that relate to the metal. Secondly they must not harm the economy of cause unrest beyond what is absolutely required. The ruling family, the Triokas, are said to also have very strong influence even in the underworld there, the party is told to be careful.

In private, the group receives a second task, from Argath. She claims the Baron's son is unfit to rule the city and should he inherit the throne he would be an incompetent leader, no more than a puppet for whomever got to pull the strings.

She requires the PCs to assassinate the young man, nothing serious, of course, they must simply kill him without being detected or letting him see their faces. The boy will be resurrected, but once a noble is dead, it is considered that he is dead forever, his right to inherit lost. He may still father a child, and that child maintains all the rights it should.

With some reluctance the group agrees, save Martin who believes this to be an act beneath a servant of Kelemvor.

Much deliberation and planning later, at an inn near the palace, Zax focuses in the dark to open a portal. Pietrov enchants Muertte to look like a shadow, while Jerwint turns his actual features into those of a wraith.

Two heartbeats later and Muertte is in the boy's room. He looms over the bed and in one swift and terrible motion he grabs the boy's throat and rips his head, along with a portion of the spine off his body. The walls seem to be melting, lances of darkness shoot out, almost impaling Muertte, he scrambles toward the portal and jumps through, Zax closes the doorway moments before the spell reaches them.

The dark deed done, they resume their routine as to not rout suspicion.

The next day they see the Baron, he is tired, Argath is with him, together they congratulate the PCs on a job well done, it was very good and only the Baron himself has managed to scry out the culprits. They are given rewards "for bringing the guilty party to the Baron's attention" and told to hurry toward Sarshel, they have three months to finish the mission, before the Triokas family succeed in mass producing the alloy.

The second day on the road the party is beset by swarms of small demonic beings, very similar to the things they encountered at The Feast. Zax quickly opens up a portal to his pocket plane and the group shelter inside. Zax is pleased with himself, a bit too soon, it turns out. From the elemental chaos around his plane the swarm emerge and besiege the walls of his dimension, attempting, Zax realizes to get to Jerwin and his damned, literally, collar that he now understands summons the creatures. The swarm breaks through and while they attempt to battle it, it becomes obvious that numbers might overcome in the end. In a flight of panic Jerwin heeds his cousin's advice "Can't you just make the damn thing bigger or something?" and attempts to use magic on the artifact, forgetting that doing so will cause it to explode.

A bright flash of light, intense heat and some burn marks later the demons are gone and all that remains of Jerwin is his lower torso and legs.

The group discusses, they conclude that Jerwin is not to be raised, at least not yet. In the meantime Zax believes the intestines and human remains would make nice decorative elements of his plain, and the group leaves Jerwin's mortal coil there, until they figure out what to do with him.

The city of Sarshel is impressive, but not in the most pleasant of ways. Gray forges tower over the city walls, smoke bellows from everywhere and smog is in the streets. The part of the city where they are is government built worker housing, endless grey building in box shape, each containing far too many people.

They find a small inn, one of decent quality and decide to bed there. In the morning Cotillion attempts to pass himself off as a worker in order to find out where the special metal is being produced. He fools the overseers and guards. Sadly, he ends up working as a man facing disciplinary duty, waste cleaning and hard labor. At the end of the day he along with a fellow worker are almost put into solitary confinement before they flee the factory.

In the wake of recent events, now lacking a member, undertaking a mission that may be on the very cusp of their competence, the group decide, or rather, Cotillion decides to hire out the local who lost his job because of him. The fellow’s name is Wellis, a half elf, one of few mix heritage in the city.

It appears he is not a local, but a laborer, the city has some odd customs. For one, passports are needed to travel between certain areas. Secondly, the inner city, with all it’s wonderful sights and sounds is open to visitation, but as mere travelers, residents or second class citizens, none of the group may use it’s services, barring renting rooms and drink, that is at the discretion of the establishments in question. Elathanii Wellis, himself is not a true resident at all, he possesses a forged passport that holds under mundane scrutiny, but not against the stricter magical surveillance common to the well established quarters.

The company find themselves in the Forgeworks, the dismal abode of both the poorest and downtrodden wage-slaves, the city’s largest industrial foundries and a stone throw away from the Arcanite Ward, a neighborhood created especially to care for the Structure that powers most of the city’s spells.

After Cotillion’s original scouting, the group decide to once again make certain they have the right target, the proper mission and most of all, that all of this isn’t some long winded and overly elaborate trap. Wellis believes he knows someone who could be of help, a certain woman, called “Red Anya”, rumoured to be found in the Pit, the worst of the slums.

Originally a bustling merchant district, an invasion, subsequent revolution and an earthquake have since left the place a mess of condemned buildings no one wants to spend money to demolish, littered with the human refuse common to all large urban areas. Moreso here, where the punishment for failure means the withdrawing of all rights, from the ability to buy goods to the privilege of employment. All who lack a passport reside here, squatters who’ve left whatever life behind them yet cannot move on to something new, the sick, the mad, yet not mad enough to be interred in the Asylum. Violent gangs of bloodthirsty monsters shaped as men roam the grounds, borders defined not by any strict geographical landmarks as by the absence of armed guards.

Hearing of all this, Zax wisely and most insightfully decides to forgo on the trip, he is most brilliant, handsome and ingenious, but brittle. It would serve no one if Zax were to meet his end in such a squalor, he decides. Muertte too sees no particular need to journey there, instead, he elects to scribble vulgarities on the walls of some buildings then get into fights with the local guards, as he is bored.

Martin, Wellis, Cotillion and Pietrov suppose the LevCart, taking them far into the heart of the Pit is perhaps the best route. On the one hand, it takes less time, fewer people see them and as they’re not on the fringes of the place, less likely to be seen by potential muggers. On the other, it does take them into the middle of a place called ‘The Pit’.

Waiting for them on the terminal, as soon as they debark and a hurried operator launches off, the four are greeted by half a dozen scalpel wielding maniacs, obviously wanting blood or gold, most likely both. Some quick thinking on Cotillion’s part, a bit of straining and they find out three things: the thugs around here are cruel, not smart, they’re also fairly open to conversation once you cut their leader down as he’s fleeing from imagined spectres, courtesy of magic and finally Red Anya happens to be one of the Druids working for the Circle and trying to restore some semblance of order and humanity to this place, she’s most likely in The Squat, the safest place, as if the word has any meaning, of the Pit, where druids and the people of the Eastern End have banded together to help the unfortunate.

A quick eye, Pietrov notices that as they make their way to the Squat, at least seven different groups of people are shadowing them, one on the roof, several moving in parallel, it’s obvious they’re going to try an ambush. Not wishing to engage in combat in what must be at least one hundred men, Pietrov prays to Liiria for safe passage, the goddess grants her servant and his companions the ability to fly as Pietrov gives praise. Gliding safely away arrows pass by, as close as if blind beggars were chucking them by hand, which may have been a possibility. Back to the mobs, Pietrov realizes they weren’t organized, or indeed, even allied. The two larges groups fight as several small ones stand by, obviously intent on fighting over the scarps and scavenge.

Red Anya proves to be an easy enough person to get a hold of, she, along with several workers are restoring an old temple or hall, colloquially referred to as “the Eldritch Synagogue”.

There, for a measly donation of 200 gold she shares some contacts with the party, and also her obvious dislike of how the nobles rule this land. It felt rather ridiculous, in retrospect. Coming all the way here, nearly getting gutted for an address and a name. Troy, at the Hearsay Express. In exchange for that phrase they payed several months wages from a rather well to do merchant. Ah, well, at least it’s for a good cause.

Few people challenge them on the way out, the LevCart terminal in Shou-Town is easier to reach, the stretch of land between The Squat and civilization meager. An old woman approaches them with searching eyes and a pained expression. She begs Martin for aid, they seem to have a haunting of some kind in the house. “The House” it turns out is an old abandoned inn, the second floor collapsed, the windows mostly barred, with bent supporting columns, all held together tenuously by hope and desperation. As Marin enters an aura of oppression can be felt, his eyes are drawn to a darkened man shaped stain upon the moldy burgundy tapestry. Old blood is smeared around the floor. Something terrible has happened here and it keeps happening, it seems, not all the blood is that old yet. She shuffles closer to Martin pleading with her eyes, “I’m sorry ser, truly”. The door slams shut and the light in the room wavers. Cotillion has a vision of limbs descending from darkened corners to grasp at them, to crush the life from their mortal bodies and drink the soul. He focuses and sends the vision to the rest, giving almost all of them time to jump away as long fingered, almost slender arms reach out from the dark places of the house toward them. Almost all, Martin’s plate does not permit him as facile movement as the rest, even with the vision he can do little but stare as the hand clasps upon his torso and the fingers close in on him. Where they touch flesh there is pain and numbness, his strength leaves him, he is so very tired, it’s so hard to think. The symbol of Kelemvor burns brightly in his mind, a last anchor to tether his mind to consciousness. The party struggle to evade the things grasps, a voice coming from beyond the material plane hisses threats and promises of doom. With a final surge of adrenaline, Martin breaks free, almost staggering to his knees. He is very weak. They try and fight off the shadowy assailant, giving Cotillion enough time to see what is coming, what the future holds, he knows no one will be spared, not even the children. He frantically attempts to scry a weak point, a soft spot, anything of use. The old woman! Her body was coming back to life! Of course, the shadow, the threats, just cheap parlor tricks and stalling tactics. If they destroyed the body the thing couldn’t possibly come through, could it? Chancing a glance at where the stain was, Cotillion sees it bulging underneath the tapestry, the surface cracked revealing masses of maggots underneath, squirming and trying to free themselves. Well, he had better be right. Shouting instructions, he lunges at the moving corpse, all of them attack it, sword and mace, anything that could be of help. As they cut it to ribbons, the light shifts, the voice hisses no longer. They are just four men butchering a body.

They leave then. To the tavern, to rest and drink and plan what comes next, not to speak of this event unless they had to. And Martin knew, that they would have to. This wasn’t over.

Martin needed rest, so Muertte and Zax joined the rest of the crew, would be spies one and all, to find the Hearsay Express. A messenger post, the Express was perhaps not the picture of work ethic. They’re headquarters sported a tavern, where a lot of the employees, obvious by their similar garb, sat, drank and spoke with each other and friends. A young, fairly round man sat in one of the corner table, he seemed to match the description they were given. After denying being anything more than a simple messenger, the courier eventually penned down the message, noted some things down and asked them to follow him. Leading them into the basement, he knocked in a patter on a metallic door. Inside, to either amusement of dismay the group find themselves speaking to a cell belonging to the “Anarchists”. All around them stood serious faced young men, mostly teenagers, likely there simply because they wanted to feel important and oppose whatever they thought “authority” meant. The one man who seemed older, intent on the cause was the leader. Eschewing labels such as names the man said he had all the information they needed but couldn’t trust them. Unless, of course, they were willing to prove themselves friends of the cause. The task was a simple one, in theory, the group was given a map. On it was marked a secret route, a cache and a mark, the cache contained a crate of explosives, the address was a mansion that housed nobles who had been deemed enemies of the people.

The tunnel they used brought them to Hightown, the Inner City, a hive of decadence and obstinate treachery. The house was situated in Goldroad, well named for the gaudy displays of wealth and sickening superiority they insist on exhibiting. The houses are build solely to lord their wealth and influence over their neighbors and rivals. Finding a rather sneaky way in the city sewers the group, Martin joining them for this mission, they managed to find their way into one of the privies. Remembering what appeared to be golden statues in the grounds, they decided a bit of looting would really hit the spot, fiscally speaking. Wellis was sent out to scout the house, trying to remain hidden, but Zax decided he should supervise, all things work better with Zax there, Zax noted. Indeed, he was proven correct. For when the guards found Wellis, they would have surely killed him on the spot had Zax not been there. The fools tried their iron swords on Zax, only to find him impossible to hit. Why, he might even condescend to use magic on them. Sadly, as Zax worked his arts on them, one let out a scream, enough to alert the rest of the house to their presence.

Zax attempted to improve the crude design of the explosives, sadly he had not the time, for as Muertte battled a golem, another two had managed to sneak up on him and bash him across the back. Some spinal damage aside, he decided it was nothing to be worried by, though a healer should be consulted, just in case.

Time was of the essence, specifically, there was not enough time to rig the explosives, defeat the golems, fight off the army that was heard mustering about and loot as well. As Martin suffered a blow that nearly broke his torso in half, they decided to explode the case as it was and try their luck. Zax opened up a doorway into his pocket plane, they all crowded inside and closed the doorway behind themselves.

Deciding to wait it out for five days before checking again, Zax and Martin set up a ritual to create a barrier, just in case there would still be debris left over.

The doorway opened, in their sight was a charred, blackened corridor, holes and remnants of wood. Hammering could be heard around, along with voices shouting some banter.

Considering this session and the one on 08/05/2011 the party XP situation is as follows:
Cotillion Blackleaf: 13675, needs 1325 for next level
Elathani Wellis :12755, needs 2245 for next level
Martin: 15355, achieved level 6
Muertte: 15130, achieved level 6
Pietrov: 15355, achieved level 6
Zax: 15030, achieved level 6

Letter to my father - sent by Elathani Wellis before the Hightown Mission to an address to a small town in the West.

Dearest Father,

I know it has been years since I last saw you, departing with the caravan of Pilgrims into the East. I had hoped I would learn many things, I was hoping i'd see places you never have and I did. After a few sent letter, which I dearly hope you received I find myself on the Impiltur Coast, in the City of Sarshel.

I feel ashamed to tell you, I never took up arms, except a failed attempt in the township of Wye, where I miserably failed at my duties. Staying clean, putting corrupt people in jail did not do much good to my situation. To my shame I was framed and the Temple which I sent evidence to, a Temple of the Maimed God sentenced me to Death, without much proof, heeding the lies of the others.

My actions afterwards are not what you taught me, not honorable, not worthy of a man, or so I believe. A prison Riot, people dead, burned property in my act of vengeance against the unjust.

Sarshel itself is a scum of villainy, oppressive laws, downtrodden people, forgotten and abused. I found a new job after a man managed to get me fired and now, I work for a group of people I can't put quite my finger on. A Sworn of Kelemvor, a flamboyant yet sissy man called Cotilion (who gives people such names these days?), a half-orc called Muertte (another strange name, I know), Zax, a rather quiet and sometimes incompetent fellow and Pietrov, a traveller from the Hordelands.

While I do agree villains abusing laws for their own end must be brought down, I do not agree with the people fighting for it, people i'm supposed to contact. Anarchists or sothey call themselves. Being pennyless I barely could say no, after Cotilion hired me for my knowledge of the local scene. My fellow "Freedom Fighters" have agreed to blow up a man's house along with him and extended family. I should take solace that the deaths of children who will grow up to become snobbish are a welcome thing, but in my soul they are not.

People have a chance to change, to become better. I agree that corrupt nobility must be brought to justice as you once taught me yet I fear the Temples of Torm and Lathander here care too little due to generous donations from the Nobles.

Thoughts crossed my mind of sending letters to the Ecumenical Council, a group of priests sitting at the same table with the ruling families but I fear i'd be ignored. I will make an attempt to send a letter to the Temple of Torm, hoping they might care enough to do something.

Before I leave, I wanted you to know I am alright still and I pray to find you in good health in our small farmhouse some day. I still think of Mother and I wish she had been with us as I grew up. I hoped you would reveal more of her, I hope still to meet her.... I remember a voice vaguely still in my dreams, an enchanting voice singing to me as a child, a voice that is mere memory.

Should you not hear from me again, I pray Torm, Helm and the Maimed God have mercy on me for my injustices and crimes. I hope we meet in the other side or in our home perhaps with better news. If mother comes, a vain prayer, I know, .....

May Torm and Tempus keep you safe, may the Morninglord bring Light into your life.

Your loving son,
Elathani Marcus Wellis

Letter sent to the Temple of Torm - before the Hightown mission, destined for the High Priest/Temple-Knight.

Your holiness,

My name is of little consequence yet I write to you, to draw your attention to events which might occur. As my hand writes this down the deaths of perhaps innocent people is planned by people who would subvert the rule of Law, Law that treats people with Injustice and Evil.

I beseech you as one raised in the Loyal Fury's faith to act, act now against a corrupt government, act for the people that need protection. The ruling families rob people of a decent existance, homeless die in the streets and Undead hauntings appear in the Pit. I am well aware your temple may not be adequately influent to do something yet I pray something will be done.

The Families, the Triad of noble families ruling our city exploit us with every second of their existance, their depraved and vile lives keeping the people from a decent livelyhood. Question these men and women, do Torm's work, I beg of you.

The Ecumenical council may receive donations from the ruling families but I dearly hope this does not make you turn a blind eye to ongoings in Sarshel. I believe that your Temple is adequate in sheperding these people to a brighter future, away from Unjust laws. I hope the Morninglord's faithful might see the same things in equal Light.

Praying to the Loyal Fury you act for the benefit of these people, I will end my letter and ask for forgiveness of what I must do. The Flame of Justice must burn the corrupt and bring the Light to the Faithful. I pray for the souls of the people I will take soon and for forgiveness.

A humble follower.

I will no longer be posting the Synopses on the forum because the formatting is unfriendly to long bricks worth of text. So I'll be posting links to my Google Docs where I have them put on public, not open for editing, of course.

The session
http://tinyurl.com/3jyo39b

EDIT: Yeah, it's session 7, not 8, my bad. This also should alleviate my fears ca you guys might be too low level. It's all cool.


Motzi has since informed me that his dimension is aligned with the positive plane, to a minor degree.


The loot gained from the adventure.
Remember that this is split 8 ways.
6/8ths for the party
2/8ths for Stephen and his inside man

Coins 54000 gp
Gems

Aquamarine (300 gp)
Banded Agate (10 gp)
Blue Star Sapphire (1100 gp)
2 x Chalcedony (30 gp)
Chalcedony (70 gp)
Chrysoberyl (100 gp)
Deep Blue Spinel (300 gp)
Fire Opal (600 gp)
Freshwater Pearl (9 gp)
Golden Pearl (70 gp)
Golden Yellow Topaz (800 gp)
Red Garnet (110 gp)
Rhodochrosite (10 gp)
Rose Quartz (70 gp)
Sardonyx (40 gp)
Violet Garnet (300 gp)
Violet Garnet (400 gp)
Zircon (80 gp)

Total value = 4429 gp
Art Objects

Bolt of Fine Cloth (70 gp)
Bronze Longsword Scabbard (1200 gp)
Crystal Ewer inlaid with Platinum (1500 gp)
Ebony Miniature (of a Fire God) set with Rose Quartz (1400 gp)
Ebony Sundial inlaid with Gold (4000 gp)
Ermine Belt (1900 gp)
Gilded Wooden Scroll Case set with Red-brown Spinel (1400 gp)
Glass Eye (1000 gp)
Gold Chain inlaid with Bronze (1000 gp)
Iron Earrings (90 gp)
Large Tapestry threaded with Copper (2000 gp)
Leather Shoes (10 gp)
Leopard Fur Pouch inlaid with Brass (700 gp)
Leopard Fur bound Book (blank) (1200 gp)
Ornate Silver Mirror set with Rhodochrosite (800 gp)
Platinum Armlet (500 gp)
Polished Stone Sundial (130 gp)
Silk Belt inlaid with Cold Iron (8000 gp)
Silk Ribbon (400 gp)
Small Bag of Rare Spices (300 gp)
Star Rose Quartz Miniature (of a Dwarvish Wizard) set with Rock Crystal (1500 gp)
Tooled Leather Coinpurse (500 gp)
Tooled Leather Corset wreathed in Continual Flame (6000 gp)

Total value = 35600 gp
Magic Items

Breastplate (Medium) (+3 armor, Improved Slick) (24350 gp)
Golem Manual (flesh) (8000 gp) (Inscription provides clue to function)
Stone of Good Luck (luckstone) (20000 gp) (Design provides clue to function)

Total value = 52350 gp
Total value 146379 gp

So a full plate +3 would be 10650 gp, tattoos to sense undead would be 1k gp and to see invis would be 3k gp. Hmm, how much for a tat that raises an ability by 2 points (basically giving me a +1 bonus). I'm making a shopping list right now.

Also guys if we sell everything we get 18.297,375 gp but if we keep the magic items we get 11.753,625 gp. Just so we know. And that's per person btw.