Sessions 29 Recap & Experience Points Awards

Having failed in their prolonged efforts to disarm the poison dart trap, the Wildcats begrudgingly turned their attention to the wooden double doors at the far end of the corridor.  Unlike the vault that had so wickedly frustrated them, these doors showed signs of heavy use; they stood clasped—but unlocked.

The doors opened easily to the mage Greyndalf, who fearlessly threw them wide and strode briskly through.  He found on the other side a fine bedchamber, with tall windows on both far walls admitted a cool breeze and revealing the room’s position at the northwest corner of the Old Lordhouse.  A solitary human girl waited here—young, causally dressed, and with a peasant’s bearing.  “I am Dacha,” she announced in the local Balvin common, her voice unsteady with fright.

The mage studied her for a moment and discerned that she posed no threat.  He turned his attention to the windows, pausing briefly to survey distant hearthfires and cookfires in the village below.  “Where are the others?” he finally asked, as more Wildcats stepped into the room.  The girl’s right arm ascended, slowly and stiffly, until her finger aimed directly to a wooden wardrobe ten paces hence. The company’s warriors took their positions astride the cabinet.  But the doors pulled open to reveal only two more young women, huddled fearfully beneath a rack of dark cloaks and robes.

“Do you know how to enter the vault?” the mage asked the lot of them, already knowing the futility of his question.

“That vault?” Dacha answered.  “Master Leddle told us never to go in there.”

The company suddenly felt strong vibrations emanating from the very floor, and the first of many loud bangs and crashes from below.

Uncertain of their next move, the Wildcats insisted the women reveal any remaining secrets of the Lordhouse.  But there was little remaining to tell.  “The wizard Alcott left earlier today with ten men,” Dacha offered.  “I don’t know what more would interest you.”

Her interrogators found themselves equally befuddled, as the thumps and crashes from below continued.  Seeing no further use in these women, the Wildcats resolved to send the out the nearest window to safety.  The cleric Gambol, follower of Cygnival, took the moment to suggest the women  consider the ways of the centaur god as his mates fixed a rope to the southernmost window.   Apprehensively did the women climb down, perhaps none of the trio bearing even meager athletic inclination.  But they each proved equal to the task, all three safely reaching the ground below and fleeing along the hillside path.

It was then that the first wisps of smoke wafted into the chamber, and Wildcats glimpsed the first signs of firelight dancing off the walls at the opposite end of the corridor through which they’d come.  With no room left for debate, the company followed the women down the rope.

On reaching safety at the base of the hill, the company passed into tens of Admark villagers gathered at the Lordhouse gate, watching as roaring flames devoured the structure’s beams and thatch and floorboards.  But the Old Lordhouse had bones of stone; much would remain intact, as the retired swordsman Kelidor Tertan seemed to know.  The Wildcats found him here, watching the fire take the Lordhouse, and stepping forward from the crowd.

“You have done this?” Kelidore called.  “I must say ‘well done!’  Dicant Leddle has fled, their stronghold burns.  You have done this village a great service, you men have.”

“Have you seen Dicant Leddle then?” Greyndalf asked.  “Do you know which way he went?”

“Has ridden east,” Kelidore replied.  “Likely headed for Balvin Port.  Did you secure his treasure?”

The company confessed their frustration to the elder.  “A poison dart trap guards the vault,” the mage related.  “We could not get inside.”

“Ahh, ‘tis most unfortunate,” Kelidore replied.  “For the Leddles are said to have come into possession of most splendid jewel—a sapphire of the deepest blue, but which holds a fairy inside.  Legend has it that if the fairy can be released, great power shall belong to the one who frees her.”

“We’d like to come back for it if we can,” Greyndalf answered.  “Will you guard the ruin site until we return?”

Once more, the company’s attempt to enlist Kelidore in their local endeavors proved unsuccessful.  “I am too old for guarding anything,” the elder replied.  “Anyway there is no need.  Return tomorrow after the fires have died out, and your prize shall not be disturbed.

Moving on, the Wildcats returned to the House of Opposition, where the gloomy acolyte Goldreth admitted them to make camp on the temple floor.  “I regret we haven’t better quarters,” she remarked.  Yet this was sufficient for the company’s needs, and as morning arrived so did a team of mounted mail-clad warriors approaching from the west.  The local head cleric, Mata Bolina, cursed that his elders had sent only eight men when he’d asked for fifteen.  Yet he greeted the riders warmly, and soon introduced them to the Wildcats.

The riders were templars of Q’in, led by the sturdy paladin Marth Nikkel.  They had come expecting only to guard the crystal tower, and grew rather annoyed when the Wildcats informed them the tower had been sezied by thugs from the Leddle gang.  Their annoyance turned to outright consternation when the Wildcats suggested as many as 30 such men may occupy the structure.  But it could not long remain in such thugs’ hands.  “No matter, they are but disorganized ruffians,” Greyndalf declared.  “We will help you take it back.”

Nikkel also brought from Q’in an important scroll Mata Bolina had been awaiting to further his research into the curse which denied Greyndalf his magic in sunlight.  After a brief study, the priest emerged from his chambers with a dire pronouncement.  “Yours is no simple curse, which any brief prayer to Sol or Zoe or Liné might resolve,” Bolina told the mage.  “No—I am afraid yours is a dread curse—the work of a creator so powerful that a unique transmutation is needed to remove it.”

This creator, Bolina posited, was likely the being Dombosson—the Lord of Curses.  Once the Encrod high priest of the fallen god ToaToboh, Dombosson is rumored to have taken vampiric form in the aftermath of the Darkfall and disappeared into the frigid north.  If this was true, then the secret to removing the curse could only be found among the marsh hobbits far to the west in Tivitin Shire.  “ToaToBoh looked fondly upon them,” Bolina added, “much as his own fallen people.”

Mata Bolina’s words had offered promise of an end to the affliction.  But the distance was great and the perils of the marshes truly legendary.  “Those who embraced the hard life of the swamp, who made themselves of service to the Tivitin Shire—they are said to have been made free,” the priest finally concluded.  “Free of the madness.  Free of the curse.”

The solution was not has Greyndalf had hoped.  But more immediate tasks remained.  For the mage, this meant retreating to a quiet room in the House of Opposition to study his arcane methods.  For Nikkel and his knights, this meant a brief rest from their journey and preparation for an assault on the tower.  And for the remaining five Wildcats, this meant a brief reconnaissance mission to assess the strength of its Leddle occupiers.

The excursion was hardly a model of stealth.  Though the ranger Unagi’s pass without trace spell ensured the group did not acquire a tail, the spotty orchard offered only imperfect cover, the dwarf Jowdain plodded through the brush in metal armor while his comrades seemed unable to locate single footfalls free of crunchy leaves or dried twigs.

Ultimately this was of little consequence.  Upon drawing to within roughly 35 yards, Unagi loosed an arrow into the lone Leddle sentry and sent the wounded man scurrying for the tower.  The sentry shouted for aid as well, but the sound of his voice found no conductor on account of Gambol having centering a sphere of silence on the sentry’s position.

The sorcerer Onog next cast Snilloc’s snowball swarm, blasting the sentry with a hail of ice, as his companions gave chase.  The Wildcats were not able to catch the sentry until he’d reached the ground-level courtyard of the crystal tower, however, whereupon the wounded sentry and two companions urged their assailants to simply take the tower.  “Let us pass,” implored one man.  “We will leave you in peace.”

Pressed for explanation, the guards readily disclosed that the mage Alcott had departed in the night, evidently leaving these men to their own devices.  Several of the others had already wandered off, and ennui and inertia appeared more responsible for keeping these men here than any measure of loyalty or discipline.  “We shoulda left too,” another guard offered.  “Ain’t nothin’ here for us no more.  Just kinda stayed behind…by default.”

This proving satisfactory to the Wildcats, the Leddle men were sent on their way—Gambol even taking pains to pull the arrow points from the first sentry’s flesh and restore his health by way of Cyngnivalian magic before he departed.  “There is a temple of my god, Cyngival, at the east of Admark,” the cleric suggested, “should you find yourself in need of purpose.”

The company returned to the House of Opposition, where their news—that the tower was cleansed of the Leddle interlopers—brightened the mood of Nikkel and his men.  As they departed, the Wildcats readied themselves for a return to the Lordhouse ruin.

There, Kelidore would prove almost correct in his predictions.  For as the Wildcats passed back through the same Lordhouse gate and climbed the path to the smoldering rubble, they found only the wooden central halls of the Lordhouse totally destroyed, while its stone flanking towers still stood tall.  The damage to the towers was much worse than Kelidore had predicted, however; the roof was mostly gone, leaving the structure open to the air, strewn everywhere with debris—all as to be expected.  Yet in places, even the stone itself seemed to have burned—as though the fire had burned with an intensity beyond the bounds of nature.  Even so, the these towers stood solid, firm—and salvageable.

The wooden stairs were, of course, burned away too.  But this proved no impediment as the rogue Schlemeel tossed his grappling hook through the same upper window as the company had exited the previous night, and the Wildcats were quickly back before the vault once again.

Now the gnome turned his magic to use on the vault door, employing mage hand legerdemain to  twist the doorknob and release the remaining poison darts.  Indeed only one remained, and clanged harmlessly to the scorched floor stones ere the company proceeded to the vault.

The treasures were a motley collection; one chest of silver pieces and the balance various trade good: a wealth of cinnamon, fine gowns, a collection of fine slivered throwing daggers.  Surely the Leddle gang had acquired this inventory through its raids on passing merchants, and had not yet been able to sell it off.  The Wildcats would resolve that problem soon enough.  And yet this was not all the vault concealed.  In a small steel box, the company did find the deep blue gemstone of which Kelidore had spoken.  On holding it to the light, there did indeed appear to be a microscopic fairy, dancing in the center of the jewel. 

The Wildcats wasted no time in carrying these treasures to the relevant town merchants.  The incomparable trader Alden Mirvak paid the company handsomely for the cinnamon, while the jeweler received a break from his prospecting to set the fairy stone into a fine necklace and barter with various Wildcats over precious stones and metals.  Meanwhile, the Greyndalf received the expert nose-piercing services of the jeweler’s wife, Astruda Zumero, and left the shop sporting an exquisite nose ring and modestly improved olfactory abilities. 

Night crept upon Admark once again, as the sun faded behind the western peaks and Kelidore Tertan again crossed paths with the company.  “We seek the Temple of the False Prophet,” the Wildcats disclosed.  “Might you guide us there?”

True to form, Kelidore pleaded age again, declaring himself too “infirm” for the task.  “But come find me at Caelen Bard’s,” the codger urged the company.  “You’re owed a round of ales.  And then some.”

Adventure Notes 

Marth Nikkel.  The cheerful, yet no-nonsense paladin Marth Nikkel led a troupe of Q’in Templars to occupy the crystal tower of Admark.  Neither you nor he seemed to know quite how long he might remain. 

The Fairy Jewel.  The strange rogue Dicant Leddle had come into possession of a renowned treasure—a fine, midnight blue sapphire that encases a golden fairy.  Where or how the jewel came to Dicant Leddle remains a mystery.  But Kelidore Tertan told you that if the fairy can be released, the person who frees her will receive great powers.

Experience Points & Inspiration 

Combat/Encounters
Five members of the company skirmished with a few leddle men in this session, but none had an appetite for serious combat.  The party is awarded 375 XP for this encounter, with an additional 100 XP awarded for preventing the fleeing sentry from alerting his comrades before the party had closed to within melee range the crystal tower courtyard.  These 475 XP are divided among the five participants in the reconnoiter-crystal-tower activity, for a smooth 95 XP per character.

In addition, by escaping the burning Lordhouse by rope through a side window, the company avoided an encounter with a foe/group of foes it never saw.  Suffice it to say the company is better off for having done so, and is therefore awarded an additional 250 XP (or 41.6 XP per character, which we will round up to 42 XP apiece).

Interactions/Role-Playing/Quest progress
The heart of session 29 were the role-playing encounters, and the company made substantial progress along multiple major quest lines:

• Rescued the Dicant Leddle’s “chamber women;” (300 XP)
• Drove the Leddle Gang from Admark (6,000 XP);
• Earned Kelidore Tertan’s trust and approval (200 XP);
• Learned the secret to lifting Greyndalf’s curse lies in the marshes of Tivitin (1,800 XP);
• Delivered the crystal tower to Marth Nikkel (1,000 XP);
• Successful negotiation with Alden Mirvak (100 XP);
• Successful negotiations with Pebin & Asruda Zumero (150 XP)

These awards total 9,550 XP.  Divided six ways, this figure equal 1,591.67 per share; we shall round that up to an even 1,600 per character.

        Inspiration
Evangelism is never without controversy, and even the adventure gods themselves are of multiple minds regarding the subject.  But there can be no doubt that proselytizing to those one has saved from fire or spared from the blade must bear a heightened probability for success.  May the cleric’s opportunism not diminish his virtue.

Final Session 29 totals:

• Jowdain acquitted himself well in not battle, garnering 1,695 XP.
• Gambol pleased his deity and is rewarded with 1,695 XP and one point of inspiration.
• Greyndalf remained a cunning and resourceful (and still reasonably naked) adversary, earning 1,600 XP.
• Schlemeel still don’t give a f*k, but he picked up 1,695 XP.
• Onog played it cold as ice, and acquired 1,695 XP.
• Unagi looked fresh as ever and gained 1,695 XP.