TOPIC: R4: 13th Age - Adventurer to Champion and beyond!

The Journal of Karl Dreghorn (Level 4 Dwarven Barbarian)

Day 5 (cont): After Merveer had bound my broken ribs, I clambered up onto the lizard I had killed and took a moment to survey the battlefield. The other two monsters lay where they had fallen. From there, I could see the Blasted Wastes spreading out in all directions; it felt as though we were stranded in the middle of a great, grey, dusty ocean. I looked to my companions and saw Meveer still fussing over Rasmus’s wounds and Gandolt tinkering with the mechanical brain of his clockwork guardian.

“Hey,” I called down, “Where’s that pointy-eared sneak got to, eh?”

Nobody knew. There were no tracks leading away from the battle.

“You don’t think he was...” Merveer suggested, turning pale as he stared at the dead lizard’s toothy maw. I remembered how wide those jaws had gaped when the beast had tried to swallow our wizard whole.

“Only one way to find out.” I said, slicing the first beast’s belly open. I told the others I was looking for Hurl’s partially digested corpse, but really I was hoping to find a magical trinket or two that the lizard had eaten by accident. I remembered being told stories as a smooth chinned dwarven child; tales of magical rings turning up in the strangest of places. I already have one relic that I keep on my person at all times; it’s a magical timepiece that was first purchased by my great-grandfather. He gave this timepiece to my father for good luck when we went off to fight the drow. Unfortunately, our luck wasn’t so great and we were both captured. This timepiece was on my father’s wrist when we were taken to the dark cells beneath the Elf Queen’s castle. He knew if the drow ever saw the timepiece it’d be taken away from him. The way my father looked at it, that watch was my birthright. He’d be damned if any dark elves were gonna’ put their inky black hands on his boy’s birthright. So he hid it in the one place he knew he could hide something. His ass. Ten long years, he wore this magical timepiece up his ass. Then he died of dysentery, he gave the watch to me. I hid this uncomfortable hunk of metal up my ass for fifty years.

Anyway, I discarded my axe and reached into the lizard’s stomach, unravelling a long rope of black guts. Strangely, the intestines turned to ash in my hands and blew away. No sign of our missing rogue and no epic loot. I carved open the other two lizards and found nothing inside either of them either.

“He’ll turn up sooner or later.” Rasmus said, shrugging his broad shoulders, “We’ve wasted enough time here already, it’s past time we got moving or the tower’s wards will fail before we even get there.”

---

Day 6: We spent another ‘day’ trudging across the blasted grey wasteland in a north-easterly direction. The pale sun overhead never budged an inch, so we were never in any doubt as to the direction that we were travelling. Eventually and without ceremony, we stumbled upon the border of the Wastes. One moment we were trudging across the seemingly endless grey desert, the next we had emerged into a cool, dark forest; full of noise and life. A bat flitted between the dark trunks and I licked my lips hungrily, stomach grumbling.

We came upon a rude hovel on the edge of the wood and knocked upon the threshold. The man who answered must have been the identical twin brother of the joyless fellow we encountered on our way into the wastes, for he looked so similar; save for the expression of slack-jawed incredulity that he wore as Rasmus explained how we had just crossed the Blasted Waste alive. To his credit, the man offered to share his supper with we weary travellers and offered us a spot in his vegetable patch where we might pass the night. I remembered the bats flapping around in the dark woods and headed back to sate my appetite. Raw bat is an acquired taste, one that I acquired in the dungeons of the drow. In truth, I’ve grown accustomed to the flavour, although they do give me the shits.

---

Day 7: The next morning, we headed off in search of the Archmage’s tower. Until noon we wandered aimlessly - then Merveer remembered the magic stone he had been given by the Golden Man. No sooner had he excavated the stone from his deep pockets; the invisible edifice shimmered into existence no more than one hundred feet distant. The tower towered over us, as towers will. I was not impressed; the quality of the exterior stonework was in a disgraceful state of disrepair. I kicked the wall with my hobnailed boot and was a little surprised when the entire thing failed to fall over. The front gates swung inwards as Merveer carried the stone closer. Beyond was a circular room with a spiral staircase ascending to the next level of the tower. Halfway up the steps, the stone beneath Merveer’s feet crumbled away and the cleric fell back into the room below. Like I said, shoddy workmanship.

We continued on, taking care where we put our feet. The first floor of the wizard’s tower was a real mess; an untidy mountain of broken furniture and mouldering skeletons had been stacked haphazardly in the centre of the round room. Merveer went clambering through the junk and emerged carrying a dusty potion and a human femur.

“It looks like something has been gnawing on these bones.” he said.

“Probably rats.” I growled, remembering how the vermin in the Elf Queen’s dungeon would swarm over those prisoners too weak to fend them off. “There’s good eating on a rat, if you can catch ‘em.”

It turned out that it wasn’t rats that had been gorging on the dead, it was a band of nasty, sneaky kobolds! First we knew of them was when they started throwing jagged metal stars at us from where they’d been hiding up near the ceiling of the chamber. The biggest and meanest among them had leathery bat wings sticking out of their backs, which they flapped to fly around the room, barking out commands to the rest of the pack. Gandolt bought the first down with a barrage of magic missiles and Rasmus chopped a generous slice out of his skull, almost like he was cutting up a birthday cake. We put down the rest of the kobolds easily and tossed their bodies onto the junk pile.

The next floor up was a communal kitchen/dining area. A hulking, great ogre stood by the fire, turning a spitted boar over the hearth. The delicious smell of crackling pork wafted towards us. I was so distracted by my stomach’s insistent rumbling that I almost missed the large gemstone embedded into the ogre’s skull, glimmering in the flames from the cook fire.

“Who you? This MY tower now!” the ogre roared, bunching his ham-sized fists and advancing across the room.

The brute could not be reasoned with and Rasmus led the charge! I flew into a rage and swung my battleaxe with reckless abandon. The edge breached a barrel of beer and I was knocked off my feet by the foamy geyser that burst from the cask! While I flopped around in a puddle of beer, choking on my own sodden beard, the rest of the group finished off the ogre. Almost.

“I’ll be back!” the brute promised. The gemstone flashed and the ogre disappeared!

We continued our climb. I squelched along at the back of the pack, dripping onto the floor and grumbling loudly about the waste of all that good beer. Rasmus shushed me and pointed ahead; three sleeping minotaurs lay in three minotaur-sized hammocks, snoring loudly.

“Can we sneak passed without waking them?” Merveer mouthed.

I snorted. Without our rogue, we were about as discrete as a dragon with explosive diarrhea. Hurl may be a fancy, lettuce-loving wood elf but at least he can move quietly when he needs to.

What happened next is still a bit of a blur. Sometimes I have trouble managing my anger and slip into a murderous, bloodthirsty rage. I must have taken a knock to the head. One moment I was sinking my axe into a minotaur’s brawny chest, the next I’m lying under the great bull-headed bastard, unable to move and barely able to breathe past the thick animal stink from the brutes sweaty armpits! Rasmus managed to pull me out from under the body and I lurched to the window overlooking the bay, gulping in deep lungfuls of sweet, salty air!

@ Bane: Another priceless record of our misadventures.

A very nice piece of penmanship Mike, I enjoyed that a lot.

I think we are spoiling them, with these write ups.

I'm hoping that someone got my Pulp Fiction reference....

The chest contains a fine silk robe that has little value other than its intrinsic material and colour It is cast aside by the plundering Brian, “Useless, got to be some good stuff in here.” Brian keeps rummaging.

“Ah ha!! A shield, here take this Rasmus” Brian continues to rummage whilst Rasmus inspects his new shield. It is of fine craftsmanship and to top it off it has the sigils of the Great Gold Wrym Rasmus’s icon as luck would have it.

“Ohh lovely, and it has my Icon, the Great Gold Wrym on it, Karl try and hit me!” Karl takes a swing. “No really try and hit me” Karl takes another swing. “Look if you’re not going to try and hit me properly I’ll ask Gandolt to hit me”

“Ach, ya cheecky beggar” and Karl absentmindedly switches the eye, the eye patch is covering. After Limbering up he takes a mighty swing with a resulting “PANG!!!!” as his axe hits the shield.

“I feel the same” says Rasmus fondling the back of Brian’s hair.

“Och, an eye da too” says Karl, who know seems to be Scottish.

“I feel like some magical effect, is making an attack on me harder” I say. “And by the bonds of magic, the tendrils and wisps emanating from it, I would say it gives a defence bonus to your allies, and seems to be making you forget about personal space and behave inappropriately by the way you’re stroking Brian’s hair”, Brain is almost purring with delight.

“Well its better than nothing, did I mention it has the Great Gold Wrym on it”

“Yes” we reply.

“Ah, ha, hah!!” A triumphant Brian is now wearing a helm, it matches his armour well. “Try an hit me, if you can”.

“Easy” I say as I blat him with two magic missiles. “It would appear that this helm helps you when you need to stop effects of spells or poisons”

“That will be useful”

“It also seems to make you want to sing in battle” I advise him.

“Isnea, an’ a tin in der fa me” says Karl his accent is getting worse.

“Pardon” I say.

“Well wit al da troosure, ah wondard if, an a ma’be wrong, wha I goot” says Karl slowly. We all look puzzled at one another.

“Rasmus, Brian come here, oh and you Hurl, were have you been?” I say

“I needed a poo” says Hurl sheepishly.

“What a three battle poo” I ask

“Er yeah” he agrees

“You went for a poo that lasted three battles?” says Brian

“So it would seem”

“At least there is no chance of anyone stepping on it by accident, it must be humungous” says Rasmus.

“Stop rubbing my head before I turn you into a chicken Rasmus!!” I glare at him “This is getting weird, even for us!! Karl is now unintelligible, Rasmus has gone camp and Brian is, well Brian is Brian.”

“The eye patch keeps moving too” says Brian.

“We know, we watch him do it” says Rasmus whilst copping a feel of Hurl.

“Get off me” and Hurl steps back from Rasmus, and Brian gets a little closer. I shake my head.

“Weeell a ta doo der noch der nanauy noo”

“Look the top and bottom of it is we can’t understand him, since we met up with Strensvarsi it has all gotten a little weird. I am going to cast a spell on Karl okay?” They all agree

“Tongue of fool, and tongue of twat, stop him being Scottish just like……”

“Der moch ner riddin da moons der bin” says Karl helpfully

“THAT!!” poof a little cloud of smoke goes off around Karl’s head.

“I say Old Bean, what. Do you think you may have per chanced upon anything in that old coffer for me” asks Karl.

“Okay not the best fix but at least we can understand him now.” I say.

“Nah but you can have the silk robe if you want it” Brain tells Karl. Karl snorts whilst breathing in.

“Jolly good. I may use that as a rather fancy hanky.” He picks it up and waves it around theatrically.

“Onwards?” I ask, they give their approval and we go up onto the final floor.

Light beams emanate from a stone pillar and hit a cloud like wall of blue, Brian is about to do something stupid. Sorry dear reader you are right, Brian is about to do something else really stupid when I say.

“You may want to reconsider that, this is ritual magic of the highest calibre, well as high as it can get without me being a part of it anyway. If you do what you are thinking you will very likely blow this entire tower up”

“We don’t want anything getting blown, (pause for innuendo) up that shouldn’t be” say Rasmus letting his finger slide down Brian’s cheek.

“Jeez get a room” says Hurl.

“So what do we do then?” asks Brian.

“Stick your stone in that hole” mortified I realise what I have just said.

“I say Gandolt, are you joining Rasmus with the inappropriate annotations” says Karl.

“No just a slip of the tongue” I say and Rasmus giggles effeminately.

“Put that bit of stone, you were given by Mr Gold and place it in that receptacle there” Brian carries out the instruction and we hear a deep low thud as if something has opened. The next thing I know I am screaming in pain as a javelin is almost pushed though me.

“Told you I’d be back little man” roars the Ogre. I turn an clap my hands together the thunder clap forces the Orge back and I make a hasty retreat. Karl, Hurl, Rasmus and Brian singing

“


wade in fighting the Ogre and as quickly as he arrived he vanishes and we are all stabbed in the back by more of those pesky Kobolds. I cast colour spray killing the two on me instantly and Rasmus seems to have learnt from last time and dispatches his quickly, so does Hurl and Brian who is now singing another song.



The Kobolds attack Karl again.

“You dirty rotten swine’s, I shall have back at you” he hollers, and my how he does killing them both in one might blow. We deicide time is of the essence and continue on, back down the tower to the bottom floor.

There is now a hole leading down in the ground floor and area previously examined by Rasmus.

“Listen here old boy, you said der wannea nuttin ta fund” It appears my piece of arcane trickery has worn off.

He gesticulates at the rug “Ta chukin nuff an an eh fundun nae a mosel”

“Tongue of fool, and tongue of twat, stop him being Scottish just like that” poof

“You said you checked here and were unable to find anything of significance” Karl explains now we can understand him. Rasmus pushes past Hurl and squezzes his bum at the same time. In an instant the wicked black blades are out but Rasmus carries on as if he hadn’t noticed.

“There was nothing to find when I checked but now there is” says Rasmus.

“There is no light down there let alone low light, I cannot see, well not without a torch anyway” Says Hurl lighting a torch and throwing it down the steps. We follow the torch and are in cool damp air in a small chamber that contains coffins, most of them are broken and the lids are on the floor.

“Can you not cast some kind of spell to cast light” asks Brian,

“No,because that would be useful” says Rasmus, with his arm round Brian

“And he doesn’t so useful” continues Brian, and so for his cheek I cast light on his head making him the centre of our party.

“Which way Mr Sun Head” I ask

Karl interjects “When one is captured by the hideous Drow, one has to learn to adapt. I have personally spent many hours trapped in places like this and you can always smell fresh air.” He sniffs the air theatrically. “This way for adventure” and moves off, we look at one another, look at the back of Karl and follow. We travel through passages and eventually appear in a large cavern with a thick black lake. We hear

“Brains,mmmm, brains”

“Not in this group. I thank you, I’ll be here all week.” I joke.

A group of Skeletons descend upon us. Their attacks are feeble but what they lack in power they make up for in numbers. I cast colour spray killing three of them then two big shambling creatures attack with beam weapons cast from their eyes, this is no longer amusing, the situation not the commentary.

“This one said he couldn’t go out to eat, he had nobody to go with” says Hurl

“You can’t fool me I can see right through you” says Karl

“This one is afraid; he just hasn’t got the guts” I quip

“No sex for me, I couldn’t unhook her VerteBRA!” says Rasmus and we watch the tumble weed roll past

“Really?” says Hurl

“What?”replies Rasmus

“That was terrible” says Karl

We carried out the rest of the fight in silence other than listening to Brian’s song,



Leaving this cavern we enter into another and this one has a large pedestal with a crown on it.

“Mac Neggle Mc Fleegal moch doc darn och ae an inner da nooo” before I can cast the intelligible spell on Karl again the ogre appears, I knock him back with my thunder clap and Karl lashes out with his sword, the Orgre roars and hits the rest of our party who are all nicely grouped with a beam weapon, I strike him with a ray of frost and Rasmus deals the killing blow and the ogre falls

“Da geeem stane is maine”

“What on earth are you saying”

“Da gem stone is mine”

“Ohh, I rather think I’m getting the hang of this”

“A little help over here please!!!” Shouts Brian, who has managed to find some kind of female undead Lich all to himself. He continues in song



Rasmus is over in an instant and deals a considerable blow to the creature, Karl is in quickly too and hits her with a massive strike, I hit it with colour spray and it seems susceptible to this psychic damage. Brian strikes at it using his icons vegenance and the creature explodes into dust.

Karl turns his attention back to the large Gem sitting in the ogre’s forehead, and we turn our attention to the pedestal.

Rasmus and Brian are standing to close to one another again but are working on the pedestal.

“Got it” says Rasmus patting Brian on the bum. “The crown is disrupting the……”

“Ah Ruddy noooo, der ruddy ting, ma gem’s gone an’ evapor’ted” cries Karl

“….the flow of energy from the pedestal up the tower, we need to move.,…”

“Och, git oot ma wey” Karl touches the crown and gets blown back about twenty feet.

“May be a canae” I bring forth a mage hand and pick up the crown, as soon as it is lifted off the pedestal the energy starts to flow correctly and we know we have fixed the tower.

Wrapping the crown in the silk robe I stow it in my backpack for Mr Goldman to look at.

To be continued.

“Da geeem stane is maine”

“What on earth are you saying”

“Da gem stone is mine”

“Ohh, I rather think I’m getting the hang of this”


Great write-up, Bane.