Session 15 Recap & Experience Points Awards
The first crack of light on the eastern horizon drew the weary travelers from their rest. The path would grow more difficult today, as the grassy prairie had faded and now mountains once again beckoned. But at last the company drew near its destination. Or a destination, at least; through a window in the peaks, the group had spotted some kind of structure high on a rocky crag at the far side of this ridge. They would reach it, no matter what it was.
They would not, however, expect the journey to be a safe
one. And sure enough, deep into the
forested ridge at mid-day the company came upon a solitary pair of mountain
trolls—vicious dark green titans with the gift of regeneration. The trolls charged quickly and ripped at the
company’s warriors with their sharp claws and teeth. The party fought back, sinking arrows and
blades into the trolls’ sinewy flesh, but their enemies betrayed little concern. The wounds closed quickly, as if by magic,
and the onslaught continued.
The dwarf Jowdain soon turned the tables on the battle,
however, landing a perfect strike on the lead troll just as the fan of intense
magical fire from an ally’s burning hands
spell arced across the troll’s stunned body.
Powerful as its regenerative abilities were, the troll could not
overcome fire, and the first of the hulking enemies fell dead.
Moments later, the second troll came under the influence of Tasha’s hideous laughter, a cruel
enchantment that effectively immobilized the troll and rendered it defenseless
against the party’s blades and points.
Brought down by the barbarian Nomak, the company set the troll ablaze
and it too passed on into the next realm.
Having defeated the trolls, the party quickly searched their
rough mountain shelter and came across a wooden lockbox—one undoubtedly stolen
from victims of a more civilized bearing.
Without hesitation the gnome Schlemeel set to assimilate the contents,
prying the container open with his rapier.
Alas, the rogue’s haste proved to his detriment, for he somehow managed
to break off the weapon’s tip in the process.
The loss of this mundane arm deep in a hostile wilderness was but a mild
annoyance, the rogue being otherwise comfortably equipped. This deprivation certainly did not diminish
the splendor of the take—hundreds of coins, several precious stones, and a
curious rust-colored rod.
Just then, a massive wolverine leapt from nowhere at the
dwarf Jowdain, nearly knocking him to the ground. While the stout dwarf managed to keep his
footing despite the impact, the beast’s fierce claws still ripped terribly into
Jowdain’s flesh, wounding him severely and forcing a retreat.
The wolverine is a fearsome species to begin with, no
doubt. But as Jowdain’s colleagues encircled
the lone animal, they soon noticed this one was especially vicious. The same taint that had affected other
woodland creatures also gripped this wolverine, which had attacked without
warning and now fought the company to its death.
On dispatching the marauding wolverine, the company returned
its attention to the unusual metal dowel they retrieved from the trolls’
abode. Close inspection revealed faint
magical inscriptions embedded along the rod, from which the elven mage
Greyndalf soon discerned the manner of its activation. “Cromulent!” he uttered, tapping the rod to
the gnome’s broken sword. Instantly the
weapon crumbled into reddish-brown dust, as if centuries of corrosion had
occurred in an instant. Another small
mystery solved, the elf tucked the rod away for unknown future use.
The next day, as the party drew near the enigmatic alpine
redoubt, they caught sight of a black smoke rising from just below their
destination. Hoping to reconnoiter the
site, Schlemeel entrusted his Quilderran squirrel figurine to the eagle Tupac
Shabird, familiar to the ranger Unagi, with instructions to approach by air and
deposit the squirrel on target. But as
the adventurers of old have long said, “never send a wooden squirrel and
telepathic eagle to do a human or demi-human’s job.” Or something like that. Anyway the raptor took to the sky with the
squirrel firmly in its grasp, yet returned minutes later with its talons empty
and the mission not accomplished. The
squirrel was lost, somewhere in the vast distance.
“The eagle’s failure is great,” offered the barbarian
Nomak. “Though hardly so terrible as an
Eagles’ song.”
The company could then continue only on foot, drawing to
within sight of their destination as dusk finally approached. From a distant tree line, they watched a
bonfire rage at the base of a rocky hill—and large figures lug bales down the
hillside by twos, then toss them into the blaze. Moving closer still would reveal the contents
of those bales—not from sight, but from the tell-tale sign of burning
flesh.
With his companions a safe distance behind, it was the gnome
Schlemeel who dared approach the pyre at nightfall. He found there four ogrillions—large, brutish
men who carry the blood of orcs, trogs, and even ogres, dressed in hide armors
and bearing the crest of the Galjenkito.
The stood disinterestedly, warming themselves over the macabre bonfire. “The shrine is closed,” said the first of
them to Schlemeel. “I suggest you be on
your way.”
In the smoky darkness, the gnome had TOTALLY mistaken the
ogrillions for mere half-orcs, kin of the company’s sorcerer, Onog. So on Schlemeel’s return, the sorcerer
cautiously strode to the pyre and introduced himself.
The ogrillions remained uninterested. “The shrine is closed,” the first again
barked, this time to Onog. But the
sorceror had come prepared for this, and suggested some amount of silver might
secure his admission.
After further discussion, the ogrillion confirmed the
company had indeed reached the Shrine of Sil-Hurk, which sat near the crest of
the present hill. The ogrillion agreed
to escort Onog and the gnome Schlemeel to his master, one Mizlokk. And so the climb to the shrine began, with
the four ogrillions escorting Onog and Schlemeel up a series of wooden steps
and landings built into the forested hillside to an unknown encounter at the
top.
The climb was swift, the orgillions brusquely moving their
guests/captives along the portentous boardwalk.
They soon passed the body of a female cleric, recently killed, and
pinned to a tree by a hurled javelin.
They next passed an ogrillion corpse, one clearly blasted into oblivion
by some manner of electrical force.
“What happened to him?” Onog asked cautiously.
The ogrillion’s answer was matter-of-fact. “He didn’t duck.” And the group passed further onward and
upward to the shrine, past two ogrillion sentries, several more bodies, and
other detritus of a very recent and very bloody battle.
Soon as Onog, Schlemeel, and the orgillions passed out of
view, their companions charged from the bush in pursuit. They came first to the abandoned funerary
pyre, which still raged in the tiny forest clearing, until the mage Greyndalf
promptly extinguished the same with a massive frost incantation.
Proceeding up the wooden walk, they came next to the same
lifeless cleric their colleagues had silently passed. Yet the servant of Cygnival, Gambol, employed
a speak with dead spell here to
converse with the cleric’s departed spirit.
Katchmyal was her name, of the despised Encrod people. She had come to the Shrine of Sil-Hurk in
search of information on an ancient vampire known as Tombasson. “If the Lord of Curses yet exists,” she
declared, “perhaps the burden of my people can yet be lifted.”
Yet Katchmyal had perished here, defending the Shrine of
Sil-Hurk from these ogrillions—cruel defilers who called themselves the
Galjenkito. Her mission incomplete, the
spirit made one final request of the company.
“Sil-Hurk must know whether the vampire yet rises. If he does, will you send word to my people?”
The party, under Gambol’s leadership, readily agreed to the
request—and were instantly rewarded by Katchmyal’s promise of aid. “To an ogrillion, a branch be but a branch,”
she intoned. “But you might look more
closely.” And sure enough, in the bushes
beside the blood-soaked landing, the company discovered the cleric’s magical wooden
staff.
“Their leader, Mizlokk,” the spirit finally cautioned, “ He is
of unbelievable strength. It was
his…javelin.”
The spell at last broke with those last words. The cleric bade her final farewell, and the
party continued up the wooden stairs.
They soon came upon a pair of ogrillion sentries, whom they quickly
overwhelmed and dispatched before continuing their desperate ascent.
Several flights above them, the ogrillions continued to prod
their visitors forward—until they at last reached the top landing and stood
before the heavy wooden doors to the Shrine of Sil-Hurk. Still more ogrillions pulled them open to
reveal its battered and ravaged interior.
The Galjenkito chieftain Mizlokk stood there with his team of grainy
warriors, with the beaten figure of Sil-Hurk unconscious and lashed to a pole
in the corner. No words were exchanged
as ogrillion head man studied the sorcerer and gnome who stood before him, and
received the pouch of silver his underlings had taken from Onog.
Suddenly, the ogrillion leader gave his command. “Ka okak na ek?” he shouted—an orcish phrase Onog
heard as “what are you waiting for?”
With his words, a veritable wave of ogrish war cries washed over Onog and
Schlemeel as the ogrillion warriors charged.
The rogue and sorcerer quickly descended the first of the many
staircases they’d taken to reach this place, and then Onog turned a fog cloud spell to slow their furied
pursuers.
Within moments, as Onog and Schlemeel flew down the stairs,
they met their companions coming up—and still felt the rumble and shake of many
heavy bodies scrambling down from the flights above. The Galjenkito were coming, and with
murderous intentions.
Adventure Notes:
·
·
Orgillions.
People of the central range use the term “ogrillion” in
reference to any number of brutish species with ogre blood. Almost all ogrillions are the offspring of
half-ogre parents, but many also carry the genes of orcs, trogs, or other fell
species. Despite—or perhaps because
of—their mongrelized nature, ogrillions seldom fare succesfully in the company
of orcs or other tribally-organized humanoids.
Many wander off to join marauding bandit groups, such as the
Lono-Knollen, while still others choose a solitary existence—often underground
or deep in the forested northern mountains.
But one thing all ogrillions have in common is tremendous strength
(17+), and a tendency to favor animal hide armors (AC ~12), immense bashing
weapons, and frightful throwing spears.
·
Rod of Rusting. The mountain trolls you defeated had
somehow come into possession of a magical rod with the power to disintegrate
metal. Its color, or perhaps your favor
for alliteration, led you to deem this wonder a “rod of rusting,” though you’ve
already observed that its powers greatly exceed mere oxidation. Its command word, revealed to you in faint
runes etched along the rod’s side, is the Lisa Simpson-approved term
“cromulent”—which strangely seems appropriate.
Experience Points
& Inspiration
DM’s experience award moderation note: In this campaign, experience
points are awarded for overcoming obstacles, solving problems, and achieving
goals. Although experience points are
typically awarded for defeating adversaries, note that an adversary need not
necessarily be killed to earn those points if the adversary can be defeated in
another way. Experience points are
earned collectively and then divided among the player-characters. In addition to experience points, players can
earn inspiration for creativity, superior tactics, and especially strong
role-playing.
The party defeated
two mountain trolls, a corrupted wolverine, and two ogrillion sentries in combat
this session. The company is awarded 5,140
experience points for defeating these foes.
Although Onog and Schlemeel have momentarily escaped from the Galjenkito
chieftain Mizlokk and his warriors, this encounter remains in progress and thus
XP will not be rewarded for “defeating” those foes (though some experience
related to that escape is awarded below).
Divided among the seven participating player characters, this portion
amounts to 734.29 apeice, which we will round up to 735 XP.
In addition, the party earned experience points for the
following accomplishments:
·
Successful experimentation on the rod of rusting, 100 XP
·
Reaching the Shrine of Sil-Hurk, 125 XP;
·
Daring “visit” to the Galjenkito, 750 XP;
·
Successful communication with the spirit of
Katchmyal, 500 XP;
·
(Momentary) escape from Mizlokk, 80 XP
This total (1.555 XP), when divided evenly among the seven
current player characters, comes out to 222.14 XP per character. We will round that up to 225 XP each.
Onog’s bold decision to leave his companions and accompany
four ogrillion sentries up to the Shrine of Sil-Hurk with only a gnome for
backup duly impressed the adventure gods in this session. The sorceror may not yet live to tell of the
affair, but the gods bestow two inspiration points upon him to enhance his
chances.
Final Session 15 totals:
·
Jowdain
acquitted himself well in battle, garnering 960 XP.
·
Gambol
pleased his deity and is rewarded with 960 XP.
· Greyndalf remained a cunning and
resourceful (and mostly naked) adversary, earning 960 XP.
·
Schlemeel
still don’t give a f*k, but he picked up 960 XP.
·
Onog played
it cold as ice, and acquired 960 XP and
two points of inspiration.
·
Unagi looked
fresh as ever and gained 960 XP.
·
Nomak
contained his rage, and is enhanced by 960 XP.
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