| Game Master: System: Date: | Ken Dungeons & Dragons 5e Homebrew Campaign 14th August 2022 |
| Characters: | Fayd – Half Orc Barbarian Gunnar Orcsson – Half Orc Barbarian Jaraziah Grimm – Human Cleric Iivan – Drow Rogue Balasar Aurumingis – Dragonborn Sorcerer Luther – Half Elf Bard Navarro – Half Elf Paladin Tad Hemlock – Halfling Bard (Retired) Tianzi – Half Elf Sorlock (Retired) |
Gunnar watched transfixed as the rotting bulk of what could only be Assok pulled itself upright, even in decayed undeath the beast towered over the big orc. Bellowing a challenge Assok lowered his head and charged, crashing into Yorhorn with bonebreaking force, jaws snapping and goring the Paladin badly before smashing him to the icy cavern floor sensless. The brutish figure continued it’s charge scattering Iivan and Hamlet before him. Gunnar was frozen in place, awestruck at the uncontrolled violence of the beast but before it barrelled into him Fayd stepped in front of Gunnar and met it’s charge with his own savage attacks.
“Gunnar! snap out of it man!” the younger Orc shouted back to his companion.
Gunnar shook his head trying to clear his senses and gather his thoughts, beyond Fayd and Assok he could see both Iivan and Hamlet skirmishing with an armnoured knight, presumably what remained of the famous Sir Mayton – the noble warrior of legend now an undead monstrostiy grimly stalking it’s prey. The corpse warrior’s armour seemed to shield it from most of the shots and magical blasts and it was clear the two would have to cede ground and try to evade the powerful figure stalking them. Finally, Gunnar snapped out of his reverie, snarling he surged forward to Fayd’s side, slashing his sword in savage arcs and driving his blade deep into the rotting flesh. Pressing his attack the wounded barbarian kept hacking at the roaring creature until he finally managed to cut it down. Before anyone could react, Assok’s corpse twitched and began to rise again, Fayd howled and tore into the rotting flesh to snap the creature’s exposed spine – felling it for good this time. Seeing an opening Fayd launched himself at the arnoured figure of Sir Mayton and, wrapping his arms around the undead warrior drove him to the floor pinning him, the pair thrashing near where Yorhorn lay bleeding.
“I’ve got him, kill the fucker” called Fayd, desperately trying to keep the struggling figure from escaping.
Assessing the situation Iivan realised he didn’t have a clear shot and dashed to the fallen paladin’s side, ducking past the flailing tangle of limbs as Fayd and Mayton wrestled the Drow slipped a healing potion from beneath his cloak and poured the acrid liquid down Yorhorn’s throat. Coughing back into life the dazed paladin got to his feet and lashed out at Mayton with his glaive, the blade finding a chink in the knights armour and biting deeply before the paladin unleashed his magical power and smote the former holy warrior with Helm’s wrath. Yet even in death the dread knight was a powerful foe, and shrugged off this assault with barely any reaction. Seeing Fayd was badly wounded Gunnar charged forward and began hacking away at the armoured corpse
“The power of Helm compels you!” spat the enraged barbarian, hoping that Navarro and Grimm’s God might aid him in this fight against one of her fallen champions.
Again the armoured figure seemed to soak up the damage being wrought upon it and managed to bring it’s blade to bear on Fayd, stabbing the wild orc and leaving him immoble in a growing pool of blood, dripping gore the armoured figure stood and lashed out at Yorhorn, sending Father Lucius’ warrior crashing back to the floor with another rent slashed in his battered mail hauberk. Iivan scrambled backwards firing his guns but Sir Mayton brought his shield to bear and deflected both shots before spinning with inhuman speed to catch another blast of potent magic from Hamlet. Gunnar lashed out again determined to save his friends but was hacked down by the undead warrior’s riposte, only the blind fury of his orcish bloodline keeping him on his feet…and that barely. Another volley of shots echoed round the chamber but failed to find their mark as Iivan slipped away feet scrabbling for purchase on the icy floor. The grim figure of Sir Mayton turned to the Drow, an unspoken malice and threat radiating from the eye slits of his steel helm.
“For Yorhorn!” cried Hamlet, pushing past the rogue and unleashing an atnic lance of blazing energy that enveloped the figure in blinding light, finally the smouldering figure slowly toppled to the ground motionless.
The beleaguered survivors went to the aid of their fallen comdrades, Luther fighting down his near catatonic terror long enough to use his magic to heal some of them while Iivan, in an uncharacteristicly generous moment administered another potion to the fallen Yorhorn.
“You owe me churchman – these things aren’t cheap” grunted the drow as he helped haul the armoured half elf back to his feet, Yorhorn nodded his thanks and took a moment to gather himself, a mailed fist pressed to a wound on his side. Meanwhile as one of the least injured, Hamlet had moved to check for any danger approaching from the only other passageway.
“Guys, there’s a cat down here” he called back over his shoulder.
“Fucking cats man” muttered Fayd clambering unsteadily to his feet as Iivan moved past him but even with his Drow eyes accustomed to seeing in little or no light the rogue couldn’t see anything in the long corridor stretching before them. Fayd gently took the shaking Luther and helped him into a corner.
“They’re here Fayd, those things….I know it” he replied, his grip tightening round the muscled forearm of his friend “I’m sorry, I just can’t” his usual bravado totally subsumed by the terror of the demonic threat they might face.
“Stay here Luther, we’ll be back for you” promised the battered wild Orc gently, Clutching his arm tightly the terrified bard nodded.
Joining Hamlet Iivan asked if he was feeling alright, eyeing the half elf spellcaster suspiciously after checking the entirely cat free passageway.
“Yes, look it’s there” Hamlet pointed “oh, well it was there a moment ago” he tailed off uncertainly.
“Well, cats or no cats this is the only path open to us now” replied Iivan, clapping him on the shoulder before carefully edging forwards eyes searching the shadows on all sides for any signs of traps or further cave ins. Reaching the mouth of a new tunnel the rogue waved his companions forward to join him. They gathered round the rogue as quietly as they could, Iivan looked from face to face noting the grave wounds showing on all of them.
Lingering back so that no one else would notice Yorhorn wincing in pain as he saw what looked like a large bite mark, the surrounding flesh already beginning to discolour. Looking round sharply to check there were no witnesses, the warrior of Helm surreptitiously tore a strip from his clock to bind an hide the festering wound before collecting his glaive and limping grimly after the others. Slumped unmoving in the far corner Luther watched the paladin silently until he limped out of view.
“Wait here, I’ll scout ahead” he whispered before slipping away into the gloom, this new stretch of tunnel seemed to have remained unused for a long time, no footprints or marks appeared anywhere despite fresh falls of ice. Seeing the drow reach the opening at the far end Hamlet let the rest forward, followed by Yorhorn – Gunnar and Fayd exchanged a look and Gunnar gestured for the younger orc to go ahead while he shuffled backwards, eyes searching the way behind them for any sign of pursuit. Iivan had emerged into a wide icy chamber whose far side was shrouded in darkness even his keen senses couldn’t pierce when he heard an ominous groaning noise from behind him, whirling he tried to call out a warning but before he could a crushing weight of ice and stone fell from the ceiling onto his companions flurries of ice and snow billowing up to hide them from sight. The nimble Drow dashed back to find the others battered but alive, digging themselves out of the fallen blocks of ice, his keen hearing picking up Gunnar’s near continous cursing of ice, tunnels, horny giants and whoever had carved out this icy warren.
“Gunnar, you’re not a bloody Bard – try not to keep bringing the house down” quipped Iivan to cover his relief that his companions weren’t laying dead beneath the crushing weight of fallen detritus. Turning back to the chamber he saw portals open in a flash of purple light, each rent in the fabric of reality flashing into existence before vanishing and leaving the unmistakeable shape of a pack of rift demons.
“They’re here!” he cried in horror as the demonic host sped swiftly across the ice on their sinous lower limbs, keeping his wits he spotted a familar larger creature looming over it’s smaller brethren “We kill that one” he called pointing to the pack leader for Hamlet and Yorhorn’s benefit before he was assailed and surrounded by two of the rift demons, ducking and weaving he was caught by a number of the flicking claw blades, fresh blood erupting from the slashing wounds in his body. The other demons swifly surged past him and began to slash at Hamlet and Yorhorn, the already injured Paladin being cut down again between two of the demons – their sudden appearance and unholy speed catching the pair totally unprepared. Further back Gunnar and Fayd watched agast as another portal appeared behind them, revealing a massive creature that, while bearing superficial resemblance to the rift demons was not something they’d encountered before. Gunnar felt more than saw the horrific creature lash out with it’s alien mind, hammering the half orc who doubled over clutching at his head in agony with blood pouring from his nose and ears. Panicked, Hamlet unleashed a storm of flames into the packed group, catching several of them in the conflagration but also scorching his fallen ally. Behind him Gunnar, senses reeling looked up at the creature filling the passage before him – panting for breath and knowing he wouldn’t be able to survive another assault he turned to Fayd.
“Go! Save the others – I’ll try and hold this off and buy you some time” and with that he roughly shoved the smaller barbarian toward the fight boiling at the far end of the corridor. Turning back to the creature he was facing he fixed his gaze on it’s eyeless face and hefted his shield, before brining his sword to his lips he whispered an entreaty to it before kissing the blade and surging forward heedless of the risks of further cave ins. But despite it’s huge size the creature somehow managed to avoid the barbarians desperate swings. His energy spent, Gunnar, waiting for the final blow glared at his sword – seeing for the first time since he’d found it that maybe…just maybe… it wasn’t the finest blade in existence after all. But then the blade flared into light – a wave of healing energy washed over and through Gunnar filling him with new vigour, cries of surprise and delight from behind him told him that his blade’s magic had done the same for his allies too.
Fayd slashed into the horde of demons, laying about him with his talons flashes of the dream memory of watching his village slaughtered fueling his rage and savagery as he tore chunks of bloody flesh from the largest of the demons. Yorhorn staggered upright and joined the fray, his movements slowed by the injuries he’d already suffered and reducing his effectiveness. On the far side of the press of bodies Iivan could be seen dodging between murderous talons and sprinting across the ice pursued by two of the rift demons. The melee in the tunnel mouth was a swirling brawl, all sense of order gone as the embattled party struggled for their very survival. Yorhorn was felled again by another of the rift demon’s scything talons before Fayd tore the larger demon apart in a spray of foul ichor – immediately flaring purple portals appeared and sucked the remaining demons back to whatever realm they hailed from. All that is aside from the one facing off against Gunnar behind them, it lashed out again and again – finally bringing the raging barbarian down, the others braced themselves for a final effort when Iivan stepped into the corridor and fired his guns at the creatre, punching several gaping wounds in it’s carapace and sending jets of demonic blood blasting back over Gunnar’s supine form. The ceiling above them creaked ominously and they all turned their gaze upward.
“It’s not going to hold, we need to get him out of there” whispered Fayd “I have a potion, Iivan – can you get it to him?” the drow looked with concern at the roof above them and shook his head.
“I can do it I think” murmoured Hamlet, who had helped Yorhorn back to a sitting position “Give me the potion.”
Fayd held out the vial of red liquid and jumped back in surprise as he felt a ghostly hand take it from him, the apparition carried the potions silently down the passage to where Gunnar lay and poured the viscous liquid into the senseless orc’s lolling mouth. Spluttering back to his senses Gunnar looked around him and saw Fayd and Iivan beckoning him towards them, gingerly the big orc carefully crept back to the others.
“What happened?” he asked when safetly out of the passage.
“Cave in” replied Fayd, he tilted his head toward Hamlet “he managed to get a potion to you – I don’t think we could have reached you otherwise.”
“My thanks, you’re a useful man to have around it seems” Gunnar grunted to the half elven spellcaster before slumping down on the floor next to Yorhorn “I’m done mates, we need to rest a while.”
The others agreed that they could go no further for the moment, while the injured tended their wounds Hamlet summoned a magical familiar, a snow fox and offered to keep guard with it. Exhausted as they were the others were happy to agree and they turned their attentions to their own injuries. Yorhorn moved to the far side of the cavern, seeking some privacy to examine the bite wound he could still feel radiating pain…and something…else…through his body.
After an hour or so they were feeling, if not better – at least less bad than they had been and gathered at the top of the steps Iivan had discovered.
“It’s got to be down there” the drow offered.
“Down isn’t the same as out though” replied Gunnar, worried about getting further from the surface with no surety that this passage would lead them to freedom.
“What about Luther? I’m not leaving him” declared Fayd, Gunnar nodding in agreement.
“He’s in no shape to travel yet, let’s just check this out – we can always come back for him if we find an exit” suggested Iivan.
Fayd hesitated, Gunnar clapped a hand on his shoulder “the Drow has a point – the sooner we find this magic rock the sooner we can all get out of this shit hole” Fayd nodded in reply and turned to follow Iivan.
“You coming Yor?” asked Hamlet as he passed the battered follower of Helm.
“You go, I’ll mount a watch here and make sure we’re not cut off from their friend” answered Yorhorn, striking a flint and lighting a torch to push back the shadows and add a little light to the cavern.
So as the others descended the stairs Yorhorn hung back, finally allowing himself to slump against the cold walls and calling out in pain when he could no longer hear the echoes of their passage on the steps below. Unbinding the throbbing bite wound he saw that the flesh was now visibly rotting, maggots writhing as they feasted on his flesh. Overcome by revulsion and fearing what might come next he pushed himself unsteadily back to his feet and alone, staggered off into the dark searching for an escape.
Below, emerging into a small ice chamber the group saw a small orb atop a stone plinth, Iivan approached it carefully before reaching out to grab it – as he did so magical energies flared purple around him, the arcane power imbued into his armour seemingly being ripped away and absorbed by the glowing orb as if it were a Nearith monolith being charged for activation.
“Iivan!” called out Fayd in alarm.
“I…I think..no it’s fine, I’m fine” replied the relived drow as he pocketed the artifact – his armour suddenly hanging heavier on his body and restricting his movements more than it had before. The others pressed around him to congratulate him on recovering what must surely be the stone named The Promise that they were seeking. Gunnar wandered up to the plinth the orb had rested on, reaching out gently and pressing against it looking for hidden compartments before thinking better of it and straightening up with a rueful shrug.
“This is one promise I intend to keep” Iivan grinned at his companions as they shepherded him back the way they had come.
Ascending the icy steps they found no sign of Yorhorn, just the burnt out remains of his torch laying untended in a puddle of melted ice.
“Where’s Yorhorn gone?” asked Hamlet, the concern for his companion clear in his voice.
“Probably off to praise Helm in the nearest brothel” muttered Fayd “…look, there’s only one way out of here, we’ll find him along the way I’m sure” the half orc continued, seeing Hamlet’s distress. Nodding the warlock reluctantly followed the others as they made their way slowly back. As they reached the scene of their battle with the rift demons Gunnar slipped on a loose pile of debris and fell, sliding into the tunnel. As the echo of the big orc’s fall surrounded them they each heard a familiar rumble, looking up at the ceiling Gunnar had time to utter a desparing “Fuck” before being buried under a fresh cave in.
Slowly, Gunnar’s senses began to return to him – he felt numb from the cold and there was a strange rythmic drumming in his ears….it took him a few more moments to realise that it was the sound of his own heartbeat. There was something else now too, hard blows to his face, he was in danger! Furious his eyes flicked open and he caught the raised hand of Iivan as he was about to slap Gunnar again.
“Easy big guy” leered the drow “you halfies are too noisey for this place”
“What the fuck happened?” asked the dazed barbarian as Fayd helped him back to his feet.
“What happened is your clumsy arse almost got us all killed again” laughed Fayd, dusting the worst of the debris from his friend’s clothes.
Together they continued through the chill tunnels, finally emerging in the chamber where they’d left Luther. Fayd hurried to the young bard’s side and helped him to his feet.
“I don’t understand, where’s Yorhorn?” asked Hamlet plaintively.
Luther raised his head “He didn’t come back this way – I thought he was with you?”
The others looked around in confusion.
“Maybe he found another way out” offered Fayd “something we missed?”
“Maybe” muttered Iivan doubtfully “come on, we still need to figure out a way out of this place”
“I was thinking, this tunnel wasn’t very long – maybe we can dig our way through?” replied Luther.
“It’s better than dying down here” grunted Gunnar, slinging his backpack and hunting for his crowbar “it’s a shame Balasar isn’t here, with his fire magic he’d make short work of this crap” and he gestured at the ice fall blocking their escape.
“Err, actually I think I might be able to help with that” they turned to see Hamlet grinning, his hand wreathed in magical flame.
Gunnar grinned back “a useful man indeed” and put his crowbar aside and moved to investigate the body of the fallen Sir Mayton, thinking that he might find a ring or other identifying object he could take back for Navarro….and if the Paladin didn’t want it well, then maybe someone else might pay handsomely to learn the fate of this once mighty champion of Helm. Grimm would certainly appreciate the armour even without it’s historical importance. A sicking tearing sound behind him announced that Fayd had ripped one of the minotaur’s horns from it’s mighty head, elated with his prize he didn’t notice the gobbet of flesh still held between the creature’s teeth.
“The sword is mine” called Iivan spotting the former knight’s blade laying on the ice, reaching down he tried to grab it but his fingers couldn’t find a purchase “Gunnar, a little help?” he muttered but the big orc was reverently rubbing his own blade with a scrap of cloth, he looked over and snorted – making it clear to everyone that the only sword worth having was the one already in his hands. “Fayd?” tried Iivan “You’re strong – maybe you can get this thing?” Fayd ambled over and reached down, but again he couldn’t grip the hilt no matter how much he tried. Hamlet, his search for Yorhorn forgotten walked up and offered to help, Iivan gestured to the blade “Be my guest” and the slight half elf reached down and picked up the blade without any difficulty, leaving Iivan and Fayd incredulous and confused.
Some miles away and far above the party – soaring across a barren landscape of snow and ice, a cold harsh wind screaming through the snow laden trees a raven rode the air currents in search of food. It’s sharp eyes fixed on a small figure struggling through the deep snow below, descending lower to investigate it swooped in and watched as the figure tripped and fell into a drift. It’s simple avian mind saw the weakness of the creature’s movements – a sign any creature surviving in this desolate region would recognise as an opportunity for a good meal and settled down to wait.