Session 35 Recap & Experience Awards (draft)

Drawing by @matt_hilker

The green-tinted stone walls, impossible smooth, gave no clue of their origin.  But they undoubtedly hid something sinister, for every few moments the Wildcats spent within them came some beastly howl or terrible groan reverberating through.  What was this place, one could only wonder,

Such contemplation would need to await some other time.  For the echo came through of approaching voices--multiple loud men barking a gruff ogrish tongue.  Darvaloths, undoubtedly. The Wildcats had come upon other of their ilk only minutes previous, and now more would come.  

But the company would be ready this time.  Their foes' clamorous approach had tipped a clear advantage to the Wildcats, who would use it well to set a simple, yet effective ambush.  The ranger Unagi set his cordon of arrows, while his comrades tiptoed back around a near corner to await the coming foes.

The prolonged distant dialogue betrayed a confusion unexpected for residents of this labyrinth, who might be expected to know its twists and turns with intimacy, much as a weaver knows her threads or a woodsman knows the feel of his axe.  Not so these brutes; they were lost, and bickered haplessly in search of some exit.  

They would never find it.  Rounding the corner into the ranger’s arrow trap, the darvaloths felt the first sting of Wildcats’ ambush.  This sent them charging, enraged, through the corridors in search of their foes. Outnumbered and outgunned, the darvaloths were soon divided--then pelted with the sorceror Onog’s ice knife and the roasted in the gnome Schlemeel’s burning hands.  As the last stood weakly before the company, dazed from his wounds and feeling the grim reaper’s foul breath strongly upon him, the cleric Gambol suggested he surrender--for which he might be spared.  But the fog of battle was too thick in the darvaloth’s blood-spattered mind, and he could think of nothing but to raise his axe in a final fruitless fury.

When the last of the darvaloths fell silent, still another hideous cackle echoed through the walls of the strange underground maze.  “Good, good,” the unseen voice taunted. Gathering themselves, the Wildcats ventured forth.

Before long the company came upon a solitary hooded gnome, taking an impossibly nonchalant pose amid the perilous tunnels.  His deep grey skin marked the gnome as one of a seldom-seen race, the Svirfneblin (or “deep gnomes”), provenant of the underdark--and the potions, scrolls, and wands dangling from the belt slung across his midsection equally revealed his profession.  “You’re no tranx,” he matter-of-factly greeted the Wildcats.

Instantly suspicious, the company slowly encircled the Svirfneblin, who soon gave his name as one “Taktut Craddock,” bound for the surface from his home--the deep and dark city of Korrod Tortha.  Craddock mocked the surface dwellers for their measurement of time and reported having snuck past several darvaloths cooking a tranx corpse, but his words felt guarded--forced even, and the party wasn’t having it.  Of a sudden, the pious Gambol turned a blindness spell upon the Svirfneblin--who instantly vanished in a wisp of smoke.  

Unsure of their next maneuver, fellow gnome Schlemeel glimpsed a faint squarish outline high on a corridor wall behind the company.  Further investigation revealed the panel was hollow behind, and Gambol was able to easily breach the barrier by means of a stoneshape spell.  

Affixing themselves to a length of rope, the company surged single-file into the gap.  But their progress came quickly to a halt, as a new sheet of the same greenish tone suddenly sealed off the hole, severing the rope behind the first man through.

That solo Wildcat, the gnome Schlemeel, found opposite the wall a broad, square chamber, reeking with the filth of some strange being--a mottled, purplish-grey figure that stood well over six feet tall on two stout forelegs and a heavy, bone-studded tail.  All about, the rotting flesh of tranx and who-knows-what else lie in various states of decay, as the beast raised a sinewy finger in the rogue’s direction.  

Endowed with spider climb, Schlemeel spotted an opening at the domed top of the chamber and clambered quickly up, escaping into a thin, narrow hall bearing rows of spy holes and a host of genuine treasures.  The beast did not follow, choosing instead to draw a new wall across the entry point and entomb the gnome inside.  

Schlemeel moved directly to sort through the riches, finding much of great value.  Yet nothing caught his interest so much as a single black rod bearing the glowing crimson head of a bull.  The gnome sanned and stared, and finally tested the wand with a flick--only to discover its curse. Schlemeel’s very foot was suddenly a cloven hoof, and his entire right leg suddenly like cow-like in nature.  

Meanwhile, Schlemeel’s comrades managed to punch a second hole in the beast chamber’s wall, and this one remained open long enough for both the elven mage Greyndalf and the dwarven warrior Jowdain to dive through.  Plummeting into the filth, the resident evil aimed its staff at the dwarf and and discharged a beam of brilliant ultraviolent. But its aim was not true, and the beam ricocheted harmlessly off the dwarf’s gauntlets and into the ether.

Certain of their peril, the mage did not hesitate--calling forth an intense stroke of lightning that slammed into the far wall, and back, and back again.  The lightning bolt struck Greyndalf’s foe no fewer than three times, and frankly eviscerated the room’s contents--all except the mage himself and his dwarven companion, shielded by the wizard’s mastery.  

Moments later the company would runite, retrieving Gryendalf and Jowdain from the suddenly-spotless beast chamber and freeing Schlemeel from his well-appointed prison.  They divided the loot, and Greyndalf detected the trigger word “Gwegg” along the side of the ebon bull wand. It was a fateful discovery.

Aiming the bull’s head tip at Schlemeel’s bovine leg, the wizard uttered the phrase “Gwegg” in hopes of reversing curse.  The wand flushed with color and sparked--but the gnome’s bovine leg remained. But there was far worse news, as Greyndalf sensed in the gazes of his companions.  The rest of the company looked on in horror as the wizard’s very own head shifted and stretched--and when it stopped was also that of a bull.

Adventure Notes.

Svirfneblin.  Travelers from far northern mountains have sometimes told of a race of strange, grey-skinned gnomes who dwell in cities deep beneath the surface.  You’ve seen plenty of things more bizarre in the world than would lead you to doubt those stories--but now this has been confirmed.  

Taktut Craddock. You remain puzzled by the avatar or illusion you encountered of some Svirfneblin mage.  Perhaps you have not seen the last of him.. Or perhaps you have?

Darkon.  Amid the blathering arguments of the lost darvaloths, you recalled some off-hand mention of “feeding the darkon.”  What’s the matter, don’t remember that? Anyway, you suspect that may have been the name of the strange purple-grey beast that conjured sections of wall from thin air and devoured tranx flesh.  Of course, the manner of its destruction left you with little insight as to its powers or susceptibilities--though you did manage to discern that it seems vulnerable to multiple lightning bolt strikes. 

Experience & Inspiration

In this session the company defeated four darvaloths and a darkon.  The company also managed to detect and enter the Darkon’s chamber, avoid being suckered by Craddock’s obvious illusiion, and looted the treasure room.  Each character is awareded 1,500 XP for these victories because reasons (again). In addition, Greyndalf and Jowdain are awarded a bonus of 500 XP apiece for having faced the Darkon alone.  Schlemeel is awarded a bonus of 250 XP and an inspiration point for facing the Darkon alone and successfully….uh, running away.