| Game Master: System: Date: | Ken Dungeons & Dragons 5e Homebrew Campaign 3rd November 2022 |
| Characters: | Fayd – Half Orc Barbarian Gunnar Orcsson – Half Orc Barbarian Jaraziah Grimm – Human Cleric (On Hiatus) Iivan – Drow Rogue/Fighter Balasar Aurumingis – Dragonborn Sorcerer Luther Merton – Half Elf Bard Navarro – Half Elf Paladin Hamlet – Half Elf Warlock Dorian Hammerbeard – Dwarven Cleric Tad Hemlock – Halfling Bard (Retired) Tianzi – Half Elf Sorlock (Retired) Yorhorn – Half Elf Paladin (Retired) |
Having hurriedly packed the strange deck of magical cards away for the evening after apparently summoning a demon the party continued to drink, albeit in a more reflective mood than before. Luther staggered into the inn to join them after what seemed to be a debauched tour of the upper echelon’s of the city’s society, though unusually he remained relatively tight lipped about exactly what he’d been up to….and with whom, though Fayd’s keen sense of smell could pick up a number of different people’s scents on the exhausted young bard. Hamlet, deep in his cups decided to make his way unsteadily up to their room in search of Kevin – surpisingly followed by the lumbering form of Fayd.
The others continued to tease Luther about his whereabouts when Fayd returned to the table, he’d scavenged a dapper suit from somewhere and there was a change in how he held himself and moved….almost elegantly through the room to join them. Gunnar groaned under his breath fearing he recognised this change in his friend’s demeanour.
“Helloooo friends” purred Fayd as he fell lightly into a chair and propped his feet rakishly on the table
“Handler” nodded Gunnar flatly, trying to judge the distance between himself and the nearest door in case this strange entity tried to escape again
“Handler? What are you talking about?? It’s me your friend Fayd, woof woof” leered back Fayd, or at least his body
Luther frantically elbowed Gunnar “What the hell is this?”
“This is the Handler, he likes to take over Fayd from time to time and go off eating people” replied the orc as casually as he could waving a hand at Fayd who was beaming at the group happily.
“Oh come now, we’re all friends here eh?” continued the Handler through Fayd
“We certainly are not friends!” complained Luther
“How can you say that? I know you always share a bed with Fayd, err I mean me – we can do it again you know if you like, you could be the little spoon” leered the Handler
“Fork you” snapped Luther, gathering himself he channelled his power and uttered “Handler, you will leave my friend’s body and never return” on that last he leapt to his feet and pointed his finger at Fayd who slumped back in his chair eyes closed. The moment stretched, before Fayd coughed and his eyes flicked open
“Uh, hey guys – sorry I think I must have nodded off there for a second” he began sheepishly before the others explained he’d been possessed by the Handler again and that Luther seemed to have been able to banish the gregarious spirit from him this time. The others decided it was time to call it a night and get some rest and began making their way upstairs, Fayd lingered
“You ok man?” asked Gunnar
“Yeah I’ll be fine, I think I’ll go get some fresh air and clear my head though” replied a drained Fayd
Gunnar made his way up to their room and, wisely deciding to ignore Hamlet and his cat who had the air of people caught in a private conversation and collapsed into his cot with a contented sigh. The rumble of his snoring soon permeated the room and one by one the others all fell asleep themselves. Returning to his room after another day researching in one of the city’s many impressive libraries Balasar settled down to sleep while the others were still celebrating in the tavern below. In his dreams he found himself once more drawn to his ancestor’s plight – noting the new injuries and further diminishing of the once mighty creature’s bearing he pledged to come to the dragon’s aid soon. Waiting for the last of his companions to be safely asleep Iivan silently moved across the room and placed retrieved the Emerald crown they’d stolen from where he’d stashed it. Checking none of his fellows was awake to witness him, he gingerly placed the crown on his head and began to admire his reflection in the room’s only mirror.
After a while Fayd returned to the room, Iivan was sat cross legged in his strange trance – oddly he seemed to be wearing the emerald crown while he rested but Fayd shrugged off his companion’s vanity and collapsed into his bed. After drifting into sleep he found himself seated at a table, facing him was the being he knew as the Handler and sat to the side between them appeared to be a manifestation of the orcish god Ilneval.
“How nice of you to join us dog boy” purred the Handler, enraged by the smug tone ayd tried to rise from his chair but found himself frozen in place. A deep growling voice emanated from Ilneval at his side
“When…I….get….free….I’ll….tear….your…heart….out” grunted Ilneval, before spitting at the Handler, muscles and sinews standing out on his neck as he tried to break free of the spell holding him in place
“My, how rude you are” laughed the Handler – Fayd wondered at the balls on this creature to be mocking an actual god, the Handler turned to Fayd “…and you dog boy? After all we’ve shared are you still angry with me?”
Unable to move Fayd followed his god’s lead “I’ll find you and fucking kill you!” he gritted out
“No” Fayd felt a vice like grip clamp down on his forearm, somehow Ilneval had broken the paralysis long enough to grab Fayd’s limb and his crushing strength was biting into the muscle “This one is MINE” contined Ilneval, his hand squeezing ever harder on Fayd’s arm until a sharp crack announced that he’d broken the bone. The pain wrenched Fayd from his dream state and he sat up in his sweat soaked bed screaming and cradling his arm.
Cries of alarm from the others faded into annoyance as it became clear the noise did not herald an attack or imminent danger, Dorian tried to bind Fayd’s arm in a rudimentary sling – promising to fix the wound properly in the morning when he’d regained his powers.
The rest of the night passed uneventfully and the party woke to discuss the strange events of the night before, Balasar explaining that he was certain his ancestor was being held captive near the Drakenberg, a place shrouded in myth and legend and rumoured to the the home of the ancient dragons who had sided with Tal during the great war. Fayd also shared his vision, Dorian calling on Helm to heal his broken bones – the injury lending weight to the strange tale Fayd told.
“So what’s our next move?” asked Luther
“We get paid” offered Gunnar hopefully
“We need to find the Drakenberg, quickly” suggested Balasar, dismissing the Barbarian’s suggestion with a wave of his hand
“We still need to find the knight” interrupted a once again crownless Iivan
“The night?” asked Gunnar “you mean the dark bit of the day we just had?”
“It’s spelt with a K Halfie” snapped Iivan, rolling his eyes at his companion’s ineptitude and reminding them all of the vision of a knight in red armour seeking one of the ord stones in the South.
After the bickering subsided it was agreed that they would seek advice from Amberclad, Navarro outright refused to engage with the odd little man and so Iivan, Luther, the two orcs, Balasar and Dorian steeled themselves and headed to the basement where Amberclad was staying. Finding him almost fully clothed was a relief, particularly for Fayd who was well aware of the stick he’d be getting from his friends following his recent nighttime arrangements. Between dealing with Amberclad’s amourous requests for Navarro’s presence and his teasing of the others they managed to ascertain the location of some more Nearith outposts the diminutive scholar had managed to extract in the course of his research. Dorian bore the brunt of his attention after asking for more information on the mysterious illness known as the Blight which was affecting his people, during the course of their discussions it became clear there was some kind of link between the Blight and the zombies which plagued the land – indeed the two Barbarians were dismayed to learn from Amberclad’s off hand comment that it was likely that a zombie bite would spread the disease and so many of the party were likely to be infected already. Gunnar’s dissappointment deepened when Amberclad was unable to identify the “magic stick” he’d found in the Grand Library’s vault – while he had little interest in the artifact itself, the ruby which floated at it’s tip seemed like it might be worth a lot of gold to the right buyer and Gunnar was keen to replenish his purse after the losses he’d suffered in the preceeding days. During the discussion Luther took offence at Amderclad’s ascertion that they were almost brothers, his irritation turning to confusion as the mischivous scholar implied that his father may not have perished in the fire that claimed his mother after all. Luther seemed to fold in on himself and his usual stream of chatter evaportated as he pondered the implications of this news and it’s import on his own search for his missing brother.
Aware that they had to meet with Lord Lohurtz outside town to make the exchange and recieve their payment they left Amberclad and travelled through the city, it was quieter than it had been in previous days – no doubt many of the locals were sleeping off the excesses of the previous week’s festivities. Iivan slipped away from the rest of the group to scout ahead, returning to report with some relief that there was no sign of Madga or the rest of the Crimson Blade. Cautuiously the party arrived at the designated meeting point, a coaching inn to the East of town, but true to his word Lohurtz paid the full 10,000 gold pieces he had promised, and they encountered no double dealing or trouble from Lohurtz’s guards.
After splitting the money they headed back to town so they could spend some of their new found wealth and plan their next move. After paying a local mage Gunnar learned his magic stick was a powerful artifact known as a Staff of Fire. Balasar and Hamlet both begged him not to sell it and eventually he gave the magical staff to Hamlet, reasoning that a ready supply of fireballs could be a useful thing to have in a fight.