Playin' the Get out of Oath Free card

A simple plan: Teleport into Witchthorn's glade a week before the deadline, pick a fight, win, and free ourselves from the obligation to deliver vile merchandise to said Verdant Prince. The exploding box of excrement we handed over in place of our price was Durthen's idea, and I had little to do with it, I swear.

Mercifully, Witchthorn wasted little time berating us, and there was little feigned shock on either side, merely a contest of might making right.

Witchthorn's enchanted circle captured Durthen early on, and Witchthorn himself proved terribly hard to pin down, instead throwing his ensorceled Verdant Reavers and Oaken Guardians at us. My usual approach of staying rooted to the spot become all too real as one of the reavers entangled a large area; subsequently I got stomped by one of the reavers when I couldn't move out of the way fast enough. Maybe next time I'll dimension door a little sooner and save myself the pain.

No Ocelot for this guy -- he dodged most of our attacks and all of our spells, and hurt Livia and Durthen terribly. He almost turned me into an animal, too, but fortunately by that point all my companions had the mobility to chase him around, and he dimension doored when his last servant fell.

More pragmatic than most of our opponents, he returned to offer a deal: he'd release us from our oaths in exchange for breaking off the attack. I'm almost impressed! He ended up alive, and didn't give us any reason to come hunting him again. He might not even bother to send attackers against us, although I wouldn't be surprised if he uses us to get rid of a future pest, now that he's seen our growing skill. All in all, the outcome seems a viable compromise between fulfilling our oaths, and killing him just to get out of them. Witchthorn is still out there, but he's far from the worst evil this world has seen.

Malakar's new destructive array of spells are imposing, to say the least. I may have to reserve disintegration for walls and such, leaving the utter demolition of creatures to those more qualified.

Corcordant Kitten

The return home to Dragon Keep was almost anticlimatic -- as we destroyed the Aspect, Oleanth managed to alter the cycle of the Isle of Secrets so it would be part of our material plane during the daytime. Thus we were able to Greater Teleport right back home.

Oleanth expressed his gratitude by giving us custody of his Tome of Stuff. For now, I'm keeping it in my laboratory when we're at Dragon Keep, and in my pack when we travel. As it turns out, some more sophisticated defenses may be in order: the day after arriving home, we had an unexpected visitor.

I was in the observatory at the time, relaxing with the familiar patterns of the stars. A guard shouted up the tower shaft that Malakar was under attack near the chapel. I zapped in as quickly as I could using the nearby Platform of Jaunting, and rounded the corner to see a Concordant Killer threatening Malakar and Durthen, as Borrow approached from down the hall. I didn't know a lot about Concordant Killers at the time, but I knew enough to be concerned. Once combat began, it set up a force wall to divide us in half, and incapacitated Borrow and Malakar with a blasphemous word. I dropped the force wall with a disintegrate, but it dispelled most of my efforts to disable it. Finally, in desperation, I attempted to transform it into an Ocelot -- and it worked! Malakar stepped in to pin the angry kitten, and the fight was over.

As we prepared to probe the thoughts of the incarcerated kitty, we were interrupted by another teleporting visitor. I looked up from my spellcasting to see none other than Syneri, the immortal elven archmage and benefactor of humanity. Whoa! Knowing Syneri's legend, I was speechless, but Malakar and Durthen established that he was testing us to see if we were capable of protecting the Tome of Stuff from the Medusan Lords. Apparently Syneri is a member of an anti-medusan-lord capabal called the Ten. (Do they have to rename themselves every time the membership changes, I wonder?)

Syneri is gone now, taking his Concordant Kitten with him. Now our deadline with Witchthorn looms, and we need to raise Livia to face it. I hope she's got a plan!

Belated Aspectations

Livia is dead.

The Shield Guardian is destroyed.

Malakar and others cheated death by a slim margin, and I nearly died myself, scorched by acid and fire, tainted by an indefinite vile corruption.

It could have been much worse.

I believe the killing blow was Durthen's, but my memory of those scant seconds before the Aspect exploded is hazy. It was certainly his axe, wielded with superhuman precision and no small amount of luck, which brought it to the brink of disruption.

With the Shield Guardian aiding and flanking, Durthen, Erson, and Borrow all together had hacked and poked away at it's disgusting tentacles for what seemed like ages. It was, predictably, proof against nearly all my magic, though the ancient artifact spells I gained from Oleanth made a minor dent. So I helped Malakar to heal and protect the fighters as best I could, summoning short-lived Eladrin at opportune moments.

Livia and I should have been fine -- she was blasting away from well outside the Aspect's reach, and I was safely ensconced behind a small ridge. But the Aspect had one final surprise for us in defeat, exploding in a nigh-unresistable torrent of elemental evil. I survived only because the Shield Guardian gave up the last of his animating energy to absorb half of my wounds; Livia had no such protection and was charred beyond recognition. I have some hope, with the resources now at our disposal, that we can return her to life; Malakar will know more about that possibility.

Things looked grim from the very beginning of the battle: before assuming its true form, the Aspect called down a shower of meteors, burning us undiscriminately and smashing the terrain into unstable rubble. I haven't seen magical power exercised on that scale since the raising of the Arak Spire shield, and never by a single entity.

The Aspect was heralded by a pair of Chaos Dragons, who proved a minor challenge. A little bit of disintegrate, many sparks from Erson's energetic will-o-the-wisp form, the usual axes and swords and eldritch blasts, and they were history.

The skies now appear clear, and I believe we have succeeded in the mission Oleanth gave us. I expect that one of him will be here to retrieve us soon. For now, we can carefully collect Livia, and cautiously search our immediate surroundings. I hope we don't find any more big surprises.

I slew the Dragon (mostly), but I did not slay the Malakar (mostly)

After we rested and re-equipped, Oleanth's four avatars escorted us back to the Isle of Secrets to the forest just outside the tower entrance. There he/they constructed a conjuration circle and began the ritual to teleport us to the moon.

While we were concentrating (at least those of us with the necessary attention span were), a huge dragon winged out of the sky at top speed and stole away the lead Oleanth. Just as suddenly and without a word, Malakar sprinted off in the same direction at inhuman speed. I identified the dragon as a Tarterian Dragon from a chaotic plane, an apropriate servant for Bascaron, but I couldn't figure out why Malakar was behaving so strangely. The remaining Oleanthkin warned us that if the lead Oleanth were kept captive, they would be unable to complete the ritual, so we set off immediately to follow Malakar's unmistakable trail through the woods. The Oleanthkin sent a powerful servitor with us, a Ghaele Eladrin, to assist.

We hadn't been hustling very long when Malakar's trail suddenly disappeared. As we paused, cautious of a trap, the dragon returned to swoop and breathe a foul gas of despair at us. Of course I shrugged off its suggestion, but Durthen may have been affected, as he seemed to pause to recollect himself and reconsider his approach to this combat. He didn't have to wait long for a clear answer, as the dragon chose to picked him up and hurled him bodily to earth from the zenith of its next swooping pass. Fortunately for us, Durthen bounces well, though perhaps not in the sense his usual boasts intend.

We peppered the force-oriented dragon with ranged attacks (many trusty magic missiles from my staff) while the Ghaele kept us healed. Eventually the dragon came to earth to attack a small grouping of us, and the Shield Guardian dealt the killing tap.

But before the body had ceased twitching, an alternate version of Malakar charged us from the nearby trees. Clad in reddened mithril plate mail, and bearing a toothed falchion in place of his usual greatsword, he hurling a defiantly coarse cry of "Bring it!" at us. Evil Malakar had arrived, and in signature Malakar style he glowed with stacks of divine spells to aid his fell purpose. Since we had no everburning torches with which to sate his hunger, we were forced to fight.

Unlike the dragon, Malakar knew our strengths and weaknesses and deployed his forces and abilities to great tactical effect. He commanded two Mooncalves to surround and harry Borrow with their plethora of tentacles, while he concentrated his efforts on the Ghaele, trying to remove our ability to heal and protect ourselves. He was as difficult to hit as ever, and magically defended too: my scorching rays were deflected astray, and my chain missiles blocked completely. I didn't manage to hit him with my staff either, but that's a surprise to no one. Fortunately Borrow was having better luck with the Mooncalves, dodging tentacle blow after tentacle blow and piercing their most sensitive anatomy with uncanny accuracy -- a reversal of their usual experience with humanoids, I am sure.

Livia proved essential again, stripping Malakar of most of his defences with her incomparable innate dispelling abilities. Even hampered thus, Malakar managed to kill the Ghaele before he was finally brought low by a blow from Durthen. As the killing blow became apparent, we feared that we had lost Malakar permanently, out of the frying pan of Evil and into the fire of Death, as it were. However his form blurred momentarily and Malakar, our Malakar and breathing freely, returned. I hope his possession by Evil has been purged, since we omitted the crucial "looting" phase of his concurrent defeat and rescue.

Now we return to the eldritch ritual of fleimituthamune, flush with success yet knotted with worry about our ally Malakar. We'll need his tactical genius unfettered by moral confusion if we're to face a nigh-immortal Aspect of Bascaron.

I just hope I can get some sleep during the flight.

Aspect-Oriented Powergaming

We passed the tests, fighting projection after projection. Oleanth, the headmaster of Windsong Tower, was testing us to see if we were powerful and cunning enough to aid him in his goals. He wishes to reconnect Windsong Tower to the Accordlands so that it is not isolated by the twisted Isle of Shadows. I'm so glad that the book wasn't angry with us after all -- gaining the enmity of inanimate objects would be a new low for us.

Flush with success, reward, and hope of return to our home, you'd think we could relax now. Ha! The extremity of Oleanth's request is such that I'd laugh it off, were we not already beyond the boundaries of our ordinary reality. He needs us to travel to the Broken Moon to assault and temporarily disrupt the Aspect of Bascaron. Only with the Aspect disrupted can Oleanth break free from Bascaron's pull and reconnect the tower.

It's a good thing we have time to prepare and plan; I know very little about the environment of the Broken Moon, or the powers of his Aspect, but I doubt they'll be hospitable.

The Six Keys to Highly Successful Dungeoneering

Jartik has placed a sixfold set of tests into the octagonal entry hall of his mountain stronghold. The doors in or out of this area appear to require all six artifact keys to unlock, and we have recovered five of them. The last one, guarded by a gigantic water elemental, almost cost several of us our lives.

Now we fight a bunch of small beholder-like creatures, popping in and out of holes in the ceiling. Ick!

I expect Jartik to appear, clapping sardonically, when we're finished. I can't imagine anybody who runs this gauntlet every day to come home, so this must be set up for his entertainment.

Divination: the Most Dangerous Art

My specialty school of Divination has been confirmed as the most dangerous, glamorous art of all. We discovered first-hand the fate of Stannis, Mage of Windkey Tower and former Head Diviner of that lost school: while preparing a divination ritual from an ancient tome, he was warped by the power of Bascaron and merged with his companion Nithas and an Athach into a foul, oily black abberation. Whatever good was in him must have died in that transformation.

Fighting the abomination was a long, grueling process, as it hurled spell after spell: Nithas could cast divine magic even at night, since his dedication to Bascaron excused him from the moon's isolating power, and Stannis himself was a potent sorceror. A long battle of attrition ended with the merged beast dead, but Malakar's speak with dead got us most of the answers we needed.

Malakar has adjusted to the limitations of this plane with his usual exuberance, pre-casting a plethora of spells before night falls. He transformed us into clouds with wind walk so that we could quickly ascend the mountain where, according to Stannis, Jartik is to be found. Once there, we were accosted by a Yakfolk who claimed to guard Jartik. The Yakfolk attacked us when we did not agree to his terms, and awoke two dangerously huge earth elementals from nearby pillars. The fight looked grim, until Livia confused the Yakfolk and one of his elementals into attacking each other: we made short work of the remaining elemental, and let the confused enemies weaken each other. Creative elimination of threats has become a recent theme, an effective and rewarding one.

Now we proceed down the countless* stairs (fortunately in vaporous form, obviating the need to actually step on each of them), seeking the answers only Jartik has. I just wish we had more of a plan for getting those answers out of him: speak with dead won't serve us this time ("using at most 7 words, please explain in detail the fortifications at K'culdan's keep").

*The stairs aren't actually countless, but why would one bother to count them?

Things that go Squelch in the Night

With the foul Kraken sinking into the depth, we returned to the gutten Black Lightning to salvage what we could. None of the sailors had survived the Kraken's rampage. The Captain carried a remarkable shrinking treasure chest with some of Harthn's most potent potions in it, and the navigational artifact I later determined to be a planar gate compass. Perhaps if I'd studied the compass more thoroughly before we rowed into the blackness, I could have prepared us for what came next. Then again, perhaps not.

Once through the blackness in our modest skiff, there was an almost imperceptible change in atmosphere. Looking back, we could see no blackness and no ship: it appears we traversed a one-way portal or barrier of some kind. With Durthen manning the oars, we quickly approached the sole island in sight -- the so-called Isle of Secrets.

It was clear to me that we were no longer on the material plane of Larisnar, but I didn't suspect the magnitude of the metaphysical journey.

The island seemed pleasant enough, a wide beach leading up to a temperate forest. We beached the skiff thoroughly (unsure of the magnitude of the tides here), and set out to find civilization. A thriving village named Sandpoint rested on an island in a river delta. The sparse population seemed happy and friendly, though unused to visitors. The first person we met in the street inquired curiously as to where we were from, and told us that the mayor was most likely to know about the Nothrog we sought. He also directed us to a tavern where we could rent lodgings.

Kern, the mayor, was again friendly and helpful, if rather uninformed. The town was apparently isolated by the prevalence of dangerous beasts and sea monsters in the surrounding waters and forests; townspeople who ventured too far generally didn't return. Kern did remember the Nothrog Jartik (he called him a 'half-ogre'), but apparently Jartik only stayed long enough to extort supplies before heading off across land. No sages nor colleges graced the village, and their longest-term records were lost when the lighthouse where they were kept was destroyed in a storm. Kern's passed-down understanding was that the island was about 100 miles by 80 miles, but no villager had explored in and returned in living memory.

We went to the tavern to rest for the night, but as we stepped into the common room, something unexpected happened. The sun was setting, and as the last light faded, the handful of villagers and the barkeeper changed horrifically into squirming masses of tentacles, terrible to behold. Durthen's Axe glowed brightly as these monsters moved to attack.

Not wanting to cut our way through a village of monsters (especially ones who were so friendly to us recently, I suggested that some of the villages stay back and see how things went before engaging us in combat; fortunately some of them listened to my forced advice. The remaining three who fought showed pseudonatural resiliance, but didn't last long against our combined onslaught. Before the others could join the fight, we retreated upstairs and I did something I hope Malakar never finds out about: I cast rope trick for us to retreat into and sleep in. First, though, we hid the bodies.

In the morning, as might be suspected, the villagers were back to normal. The tavernkeeper was curious whether we'd seen the "missing" villagers; apparently people have disappeared before, though never leaving bloodstains such as this before. We protested our ignorance, and he seemed satisfied.

Clearly something bad happens here at night. More investigation revealed some of the most inconvenient and disturbing features of this plane:

• no divine magic at night (hence no healing)
• no teleportation effects (perhaps indicative of limited access to the astral plane)
  
• no access to the plane of shadow

Erson's scouting efforts were thwarted, too, day after day: he became unprecedently disoriented and barely managed to find his way back to town. Some major effect must distort the landscape, preventing navigation. Finally, we tried heading out together with ample supplies, only to find ourselves hopelessly lost and getting nowhere even after a week.

Borrow finally hit on the solution: we'd been travelling during the day and rope tricking by night to avoid the assumed profusion of nightly monsters (who knows what the squirrels might turn into!). As it turns out, the confusion effect functions only during the day (I begin to see why these are called the Islands of Light and Shadow), so we were able to get our bearings merely by staying out past sunset. Somehow we'd travelled into the forest, past a river which we'd never crossed: heavy magic indeed.

Proceeding eastwards, looking for Jartik, we came across a half-ruined tower keep in the forest. A brief battle with Athachs ensued as we entered its clearing, but the best part was yet to come: by some deft scouting and creative use of passwall, we obtained a potent Shield Guardian companion without any fighting at all.

I am intrigued, too, by the 700-year-old journal we found, written by a person named Stannis. Some of the pages show the aura of transmutation, a telltale sign of secret arcane writing, and tomorrow I will prepare the spells to read them. Though it may have nothing to do with Jartik, I feel this journal may be of great importance.

Wrecked at the Edge of the World

Faced with a binding oath, all the brashness and bravado seems to have faded from my companions. I stepped into the faerie ring alone, accepting Witchthorn's oath, so that we could continue with our mission. Quailing from a commitment seems odd; it's no worse than the violent deaths we court on a daily basis, and the gains are obvious.

Thanks to the shirkers, we only have a month to return with Witchthorn's price (or with sufficient force of arms to unseat him -- though he could simply avoid us in that case). Witchthorn told us that Jartik went to the Isle of Secrets, among the Isles of Light and Darkness, 3000 miles east of the shore of the Shattered Lands. That's much too far for any means of transport that I can muster. In an ironic twist, he then revealed that the only man with the knowledge and means to reach the Isle of Secrets is the Captain of the Black Lightning -- who we so recently crossed in Valen.

We could teleport to reach the Black Lightning, but there was some concern about a mishap landing us in the ocean, so I first fabricated a launch out of a suitable tree. The others were suitably impressed; I'm beginning to wonder how I ever lived without this kind of power. This ease in transformation is so fulfilling I forget how newfound it is.

When we appeared without warning, in a boat, on the mid-deck of the Black Lightning, the sailors overcame their surprise to closely surround us. Fortunately the Votaur Captain was more bemused than angry, and agreed to take us to the Isle of Secrets for a surprisingly small one-way fee. Apparently he dealt with Witchthorn in order to gain ths ship, which is full of surprises: a Storm elemental drives it at immense speed, and he uses an obscure magical artifact for navigation.

Days from land, we sighted a wall of inky darkness across the horizon. The Captain stopped the ship within a few miles (so he said) of the blackness, and told us that the island we sought was about fifteen miles away straight on the other side. Before we could negotiate for return passage, though, the ship was attacked by a monster out of the deep -- a guardian or a wandering marauder, I don't know.

The Kraken emerged and slapped huge tentacles and arms across the ship, bellowing out a cloud of evil which paralyzed Malakar and Borrow before they had a chance to act. I knew it wasn't a "natural" Kraken (well, as natural as Kraken can get) but I couldn't tell exactly what planes had warped it. A bitter fight ensued, as the Kraken wiped the decks clear of crew and shrugged off our attacks; though the Captain got in a few good blows before falling.

It became clear that we were losing the fight, with Malakar and Borrow helpless and most of my spells exhausted, so Livia and I raced back to the deck (I was levitating out of reach of the beast, naturally) and dimension doored us all away into the water. I held us levitated just out of the water, using the ship as cover from the Kraken, as Ili hacked Malakar's divine scrolls to release and heal him and Borrow.

Picture this: we're dripping wet, half dead, having lost definitively to the Kraken, all the sailors are dead, and the ship is being torn apart. The nearest land is 15 miles away inside a mysterious darkness. What does Malakar want to do as soon as he is freed? Attack the Kraken, of course! I thought he was nuts but Borrow was game, so I protected them as best I could with invisibility and followed along at a safe distance.

We came awfully close to defeat again, but Malakar's smote the beast with his full fury, and Borrow's unleashed the full lethality of his shortsword, and the Kraken fell into ruin.

Now we board the remnants of the ship, barely afloat, to see what we can scavenge. I do not plan to linger here, lest another monster attack. It looks like at least one of the launches is left, so we should be able to reach the island as planned. Getting back without the Captain may be another story.

Webs of Deceipt Unraveled, Nets of Evil Spun

With Millan Rourke's death, our long side-track through the cult of Bascaron in Valen has ended. The mysterious woman turned out to be no woman at all, but a Phoelarc, who led us with subtle clues (the Mournish coin, the theft of my Spire pendant) to discover and dissect the local cultists and their allies. Her ultimate goal was the release of her mate, now a Phoera, from Millan's menagerie.

She rewarded us well in gold and in information, introducing us to the esoteric Tellers, an extraplanar race of librarians and historians. The Tellers brought us a record of Jartik's deal with a Verdant Prince named Witchthorn to locate his master. Jartik had killed a previous headmaster of the wizard's academy as payment, which led tangentially to the peripheral involvement of the Aranea, Katlyn.

As usual, we didn't understand what was going on until it was over, but at least this time our puppetmaster was benign, well-motivated, and well-connected. We made enemies among the cult of Bascaron and the pirates, but that's par for the course.

Finished with Valen for the time being, we shadow walked off to Myreth Forest to find Witchthorn. Livia had heard of him, and even knew where we could go to find him: in hindsight we should have questioned her in detail about how she knew so much. Upon reaching a mushroom-warded glade, Livia told us to wait outside and called for the Fey to appear. And that's when things went in an entirely unexpected direction.

As we later came to understand, Livia had made a terrible bargain with this Verdant Prince: in exchange for her growing power and a Fey connection to dodge her impending Elf-hasty mortality, she was to deliver fifty thousand gold pieces worth of gems and a cornucopia of vile materials. Livia hoped to kill the Fey in this one confrontation, and be free of her burden.

Sadly, she chose not to tell us what was going on, and doesn't seem to care that we need Witchthorn to find Jartik. Malakar's success rate at speaking with the dead has been less than stellar, and I suspect that we'll need more from Witchthorn than an X on a map.

When Livia made to attack Witchthorn without provocation, I prepared to disable her. Unfortunately, none of my spells stuck (she remained most un-turtle-like), and Witchthorn's swift retaliation took her out of the fight before most of us could react (Malakar's pillar of fire was impressive, but didn't seem to alarm Witchthorn too much).

With Livia pinned unconscious by a newly-awakened Oaken Guardian, Witchthorn offered us a dubious deal: if we assumed shared responsibility for Livia's debt, then he would help us reach Jartik. Which leaves us with a debate; deal sincerely, deal falsely, fight, run? Do we leave Livia to her fate, justified by her secrecy and unilateralism? Do we assume her burden and risk the treachery of the Fey? Do we fight (so many reasons)?

We've come this far, I think we need to deal to continue. The question then becomes: who will break faith and when? And the small matter of obtaining the vile goods the Fey has demanded without tainting our souls beyond recovery: perhaps another evil could be defeated in order to satisfy this one, but life doesn't always offer such neat packages. Premeditated vile deeds are far from any path of wisdom and truth that I have known; violence and chaos dog our heels, but our shadow does not yet fall as evil.

[dnd-monitoring] accordlands High_body_count_per_answer

So far we've established that Basc Trading, led by the late Annie Basc, is indeed a front for the cult of Bascaron. We haven't figured anything else out. I continue to be underwhelmed by our investigative prowess, but at least we returned to form by decimating (perforating, liquifying, etc.) a decent number of cultists. As is so often the case, our progress picked up as soon as our cover was blown and fighting started.

I am considering suggesting a new modus operandi to enhance the efficiency of our investigations: we go to an arbitrary town, and walk through it announcing that we're heroes, we're on to the local bad guys, and we're going to bring them to justice. Then we see who attacks us, and assume they're the bad guys. The only hitch in this plan is that the bad guys only ambush us once we appear to be a credible threat, so there remains a tedious initial nosiness-establishing phase. Perhaps I could develop an easily-detected clairvoyance spell, to speed things up. I guess it would be simpler to just send Malakar on scouting missions instead of Borrow, or put me in charge of diplomacy.

Of course, the "spring every trap by walking into it" policy does have some drawbacks. Vis a vis dangerous opponents, such as the living spell and tentacle-faced high priest we face at this very moment. Knock knock. Ooze there? Oh no, a magical ooze! Love me tendril, love me true, never let Erson go... crap this cultist insanity is getting to me.

Crate Expectations

With the Aranea's death, I became aware of my Spire Pendant again; perhaps she had cast nondetection on it, and that expired with her, or perhaps it was coincidence or contingency. In any case, we rushed across town, tracking it. Surprisingly, Durthen emerged from his room accompanied by a sorceress he called "Woe" (or perhaps "Whoa"; I'm pretty sure it wasn't "Ho" but you never know with Durthen). There wasn't a lot of time for explanations, but apparently she's from the Arak Spire. I don't recall running into her, but he seemed to trust her, and she was willing enough to follow him into adventure and happenstance (strange, that!).

In a dark alley near the building containing my pendant, I cast clairvoyance to preview the scene. In doing so, I set off some kind of magical alarm, and alerted a man in a loft apartment who hurriedly gathered some items and rushed towards the rooftop. I called out to my companions to join me and Livia for a short dimension door up to confront him, and a complex chase ensued. Our quarry was nimble and well-suited to running the roofs, and we had great difficulty pinning him down. Even a twenty-five foot wall of iron could not stop him, as he leapt and scrambled to the top, leave Durthen to chop his way through in signature destructive style. Eventually, however, the seven of us proved too much for him, and he surrendered to us.

Finn (we didn't bother to learn his name, but later heard it from another) didn't know how he came to possess my pendant, and was busy forging papers for the transport of wine and food aboard the pirate transport The Black Lightning. I curtailed his haphazard interrogation with the locally illicit but ultimately effective probe thoughts (note to self: this Dythanus character crafted a most excellent grimoire, despite his predilection for the dark arts). We left to deliver his forged papers in his stead, after the usual minor squabbles about the appropriate ordering and dependencies between "pillage" and "burn".

Although we suspected that the pendant may have been planted to point us towards the pirate ship, we saw no better alternative than to go there to investigate. Livia borrowed Malakar's hat of disguise and posed as Finn, delivering his papers to the Votaur captain of the varag-crewed vessel, and receiving some gold in reward. She attempted to bribe some of the crew for more details of the cargo, but they only knew the cover story of wine and food.

Malakar suggested sending Borrow in to scout in gaseous form, and Borrow agreed, so I called the spell (fortunately the pendant remained attuned) and he proceeded to explore. He discovered that one of the crates of wine appeared different than the others, with slightly ill-fitting labels, and reported his findings to us via telepathic bond. It was decided the I would fly into the hold under cover of invisibility and shrink item the crate to remove it.

While I knew that removing the crate would make a noise, I didn't account for the magical protections covering the hold. As soon as I crossed the threshold of the open hatch, the captain burst from his quarters and announced the presence of an invisible intruder. I proceeded downward, shrinking the crate and barely maintaining my hold on it, even as the sailors slammed shut the hatches. A moment later I teleported out as our new companion Woe distracted the sailors with a ghost sound, and waiting for the others back at our suite.

I was amazed that our little plan worked out! We didn't have long to wait, though, before the captain showed up at our inn, accompanied by five of his soldiers. After a while he sent his bodyguard away, and we agreed to parlay with him, Durthen and Malakar showing themselves and meeting him in the common room. Through conversation (remarkably reasonsable), seasoned with detect thoughts, we learned that he was taking these magical potions (perhaps poisoned, or perhaps some were poisons?) to a city in the north. He was commissioned to take this cargo by the Basc organization (a rather poor choice of pseudonym by the cultists, I presume, but that's what you get for worshipping a mad god). He didn't think much of us, but deigned not to attack, and we decided to give the cargo back rather than risk pointless open conflict.

It's clear that somebody is moving pieces around the board, but we still don't know who and for what purpose. My best hypothesis is that there are cultists of Bascaron about, and that another group opposed to the cultists is leading us in their direction. If I'm right, the Aranea was involved with the cultists and the beautiful stranger with their antagonists. However, it could be that there are all in league, and are just drawing us into a deeper plot; it's difficult to say with so many wheels turning, and so much evil and conspiracy at work. How this all connects to our search for Jartik (or whether it connects at all) I cannot begin to guess.

Our next obvious investigation will be the offices of this "Basc" group. I hope that we have crossed over from those facts which we were meant to see to those which we were not meant to see, and that soon we will be foiling the plots of those who would ensnare us. I wouldn't bet on it, though.

Today there was some comment on the change in my behavior, I think perhaps Malakar started it; a certain tendency towards expedience and even deliberate unpredictability. I appreciate and acknowledge that change: our often bitter and precipitous experiences have taught me that if you don't know what to do, it may be best to do something dire, to maximize the chances of disrupting our opponent's control of the situation. My long education in patience and full understanding simply doesn't hold up to the reality of a world mired in conspiratorial evil. There may be an accounting some day, and I may be held wanting by the standards of the world that I once believed existed, if such should come to exist again. Until then I shall go on to my doom knowing that I strenuously avoided the snares of organized evil, and tried to do more good than harm.

Time is not on our side. We can only trust that fate may yet be, and follow our instincts when our principles and plans falter. If you can't go by the book, at least veer wildly from the hook!

Taking it Easy

(with apologies to the Eagles)

Well I'm shadow walking down the road,
tryin' to loosen my load
I've got seven women on my mind,
Four that wanna own me,^*
Two that wanna stone me,^**
One says she's a friend of mine,^***
Take it easy, take it easy
Don't let the sound of your fellow PCs
Drive you crazy
lighten up while you still can
Don't even try to comprehend [languages]
Just find a place to make your stand
and take it easy
Oh we got it easy
We oughta take it easy, yeah

^* Cassandra (employer and representative of our liege), Sorscha (arcane Medusan puppetmaster, reluctant ally in our resistance to the secretive Medusan Lords), and the mysteriously beautiful woman who kissed me in the streets of Valen, giving me a coin from long-lost Mourn and a note that she has what we seek. That's only three women, I know, I don't know about the fourth one yet but I'm sure she's out there.

^** The High Elf Queen, whose clutches we so recently escaped, and a mysterious Aranea assassin who invaded our suite at the inn and now lies dismembered before us.

^*** Livia, the Elf who joined us. Don't know much about her, but she seems too smart to be hanging out with us. The contrast to our recently-departed (in both senses of the word, but in the wrong order, it's complicated) Ili couldn't be greater: Livia shows tolerance, restraint, and a preference for hanging back and choosing her actions carefully. I still miss Ili, and I'm sorry we couldn't save her.

Things are getting heavily weird again, with string-pulling at all levels. We're working for Sorscha against Nassiral Hate, but not directly. We're looking for the guy, who worked for the other guy, who works for Hate, based on where he was 25 or 30 years ago. It was terribly complicated even before the mysterious woman and her coinage of Mourn showed up. We follow a trail long-dead, and as usual we're floating around without a clue, being manipulated by unknown (but drop-dead gorgeous) forces. Fortunately, our usual strategy seems to be working: flail around and lull our opponents into a (false?) sense of security, then respond with an unpredictable mix of compliance and violence when they show themselves. We may not know what we're doing, but at least we're dangerous. Very dangerous. Critical hit from a dwarven waraxe dangerous.

Evil Elves Practice Especially Partisan Politics

Our escape from the necromancer's keep was rudely interrupted by a party of elven wizards, led by our aquaintance Icarus (cousin of Alerac). I tried to teleport the human captives to safety, but the keep's field suppressed all my teleportation spells. With the elves blocking our own exit, Ili and I charged towards them as a distraction, but they disabled us with rays of dizziness and searing blasts of eldritch fire. I surrended, but Ili would not. Her noble and stubborn bravery was for naught, as a final fell blast immolated her, leaving her lifeless on the floor. Ili, with her durability and deftness, once seemed the least likely of us to fall, but she now lay beyond even Malakar's aid.

After Ili's fall, the other soon surrendered. Taking our equipment, our captors marched us to the inactive teleportation circle and whisked us off to a cell in a fortress somewhere in the Elven capital city. After days of waiting in an anti-magic cell, we were taken before the High Queen Tephiroth and her court, denounced as murderers, and taken away to await execution. Apparently the Elven high council, consisting of the Kings and Queens of the seven houses (five for now, with Rowan in exile and Tansiq no more), were entitled to interrogate us individually if they wish.

Our first visitor was the Queen herself. Speaking through a second, she offered us a chance at life if we admitted to conspiring with Icarus of House Netheren against the dead Lord Dimethon of Dythanus. Later, Icarus himself came by with the opposite offer: name the Queen's own House Calix as our employers, her motivation fear of a Dythanus plot. Icarus offered us our freedom and our possessions if we served him in this, and admitted that it was he who send me the nightmares. Apparently, he hoped that we would arrive soon enough to stop Dimethon's raid, and he didn't expect the nightmares to so thoroughly disable my spellcasting. We argued for a time about which side to support in this matter; the truth of the Medusan Lords involvement was rendered irrelevant by the political maneuverings of the court. In the end, we agreed to support Icarus (on the basis that he may be less inclined towards continued war with the humans, and less inclined towards necromancy, and perhaps even non-evil), with Erson dissenting.

Our next appearance in court was brief; when I told the prepared storyof our employment by Calix and their subsequent betrayal, the Queen ordered silence and had us removed back to our cells, as the court erupted into furious debate. Later that evening, as we waited watchfully, guards (sent by Icarus, presumably) returned our equipment and used scrolls of ethereality to run us out of the cells and city. Strangely, they brought with them the semblance of Ili, returned to animation but clearly not to life. Hurried questioning revealed that she remained intelligent, and aware of her former life, and I can only imagine the torment her soul must be undergoing with her connection with life and Albrecht rudely and evilly severed.

When we reached the nominal safety of the forest outside the city, the guards turned on us and began to attack. Fortunately they were no match for the rested and re-equipped might of our party. One fool struck me with a sword, only to fall writhing with the backlash of spell energy from my Robe of Retaliation; another was crushed in midair by Ili's mighty fist, as the battering energy from my staff drove him backwards. I suspect that Icarus allowed them to attack us knowing full well that we would defeat them, and that in this way evidence of his deed would be obscured. (In hindsight, we could have done him a favor by hiding the bodies, but we were rather in a hurry to escape).

Finally free of suppression fields, I teleported a few of the human refugees back to Dragon Keep, and Ettor sent dwarven wizards back with me to assist in a final mass teleport. We had escaped from elven clutches, but at what profit and loss?

Borrow, Malakar and I set ourselves to removing the traps guarding the Dythanus's spellbooks. I knew they would hold great value for me, and great value too on the open market. First, I identified the kinds of spells involved. Then Malakar wove a rich net of protective spells around Borrow, and Borrow proceeded to carefully disarm the spelltraps. Perusing the books, I rejoiced at our fortune: many useful spells punctuated the distasteful necromantic rituals, and Dythanus' sheer volume of arcana dwarfs my current repertoire. It will be weeks before I can begin to utilize these spells, but the study will be well spent.

But what of Ili? I buried myself in my work, and I do not know what has become of her.

Necromancy Bites

Never before have we fought so hard for so little ground. With the as-yet-unidentified elven necromancer dead, and his undead lieutenant destroyed, and the Medusan Lord assassin gone, I expected a grim but rewarding cakewalk through the rest of this forest keep. I couldn't have been more wrong.

Merely opening the first of the wizard's spellbooks left me wracked with burning pain, kept alive through minutes of agony only by the divine interventions of Ili and Malakar. On the lower lever, door after door battered us with energy: fire, electricity, and acid -- even my attempt to open the door from afar by projecting force from my staff yielded me acid burns. Apparently this just isn't my day.

Traps and guardians filled each nook and cranny, and golems and bone creatures proved difficult to kill. If we can get out of here, and if I can unweave the protections around these spellbooks, and if the assassin has not wreaked some subtle doom upon me (research required!), this may prove a profitable adventure. So many questions, however, remain unanswered: who is this dead elf? Why and how were we called here? Did the assassin expect to find us at the scene? Where is the army of undead? How did the Owlbear get his beak?

Finally: why, oh why, do necromancers get all the best toys? The divinations which filled my hours with wonder back at the Spire cannot pierce the veil of obscuring chaos which has befallen this world. Power, rather than insight, is in the ascendant. We are modestly good at ferreting out secrets, but hopeless at keeping them. Perhaps that is for the best, lest we become like those we fight.

Death and Taxes

The good news is that we got out of the cavern safe and sound with (as Borrow succinctly put it) 1.9 dwarves saved, sold a bunch of loot at Dragon Keep, and discovered the my shiny new teleport works well enough for shopping trips to Stonyvale.

The bad news is that I died.

Rewinding a bit, our triumphant return to Dragon Keep was marred by nocturnal torment, as I dreamed of a human village near Myreth forest being overrun with an elf-led undead horde. We identified the village as Venteton, and set out on horses right away to investigate or help (since I was unable to concentrate well enough to memorize more teleportation spells). Night after night my sleep was interrupted, and I required help from Ili just to keep going. Venteton was thoroughly destroyed when we arrived, and Erson opined that the attack was probably coincident with my first dream.

Following the tracks left by the undead army, we came to a large building crafted entirely of densely packed bone. Dispatching undead sentry birds and entering by the main door, we were accosted by an eerily beautiful elven warrior who demanded to know if we were invited into her Lord's home. Once it became clear that we were not, she revealed her vampiric fangs and attacked. It took quite a while for the fighters to pin her down as she danced around, sidestepping he majority of their blows. When finally defeated, she took gaseous form and fled; knowing that we needed to destroy her recuperating form in her coffin to ensure that she didn't return, we hastily follow. And that's when things went really wrong.

The nigh-unstoppable elven assassin we met months ago at Ghostwood stepped out of a doorway, and cackled with happy malice when he saw us. He tossed a bloody dagger at our feet and warned us that they (meaning the Medusan Lords) had tolerated us for now, but if we proved more of a threat or interfered too much they wouldn't hesistate to deal with us. We attempted to fight but he shrugged off spells and attack with ease. Disappearing, he must have teleported behind me, and I knew unspeakable pain as his blades connected. When I returned, improbably, to life and consciousness, he was nowhere to be seen. A strange tingling from the unnaturally-closing wound left me uneasily certain that he had marked me, forging a connection I don't understand how to sever.

Lacking better options, we continued to search out the coffin of the vampire. In the next room we discovered the Lord of the house dead in his bed, and the coffin of his guardian hidden in an antechamber. How did this Elven necromancer cross the Medusan Lords, and why were we "invited" in such rough fashion to his demise? Perhaps the answers lie in his library. We are all uneasy at being "let off" by the assassin; whether this is a set-up or just a happy opportunity for him to combine business with pleasure, nobody knows. With no answers, it seems worthwhile to risk staying a little longer: I believe I can teleport at least some of us out should the dead Lord's undead army return.

Longer term, I fear for my health and longevity. I overheard Erson muttering about killing me to ensure that no malign influence is exercised through me. Some part of my sympathizes with that catastrophic sacrifice, but I cannot give up so easily. Perhaps Gaston can advise on a way to insulate myself from whatever connection the assassin made.

Dragon vs. Dragon, Rime against Reason

Returning to the temple with the head of the Kuo-Tuo whip, we found six potions accompanied by a message from the detestable Rime. Borrow guessed the contents of the draconic note correctly: we were to drink the potions of water breathing and swim south to rendezvous with Rime. Lacking any better ideas, Durthen, Borrow, and I quaffed potions and headed into the river with our capitate burdens.

Six hours of monotonic and claustrophic swimming brought us out into a river gorge within a cavern, wading knee-deep towards a bridge spanning us above. Durthen easily climbed the rough stone walls and lowered a rope for us. The bridge led to another dwarven door, and we entered into a disused complex. A mess hall and a temple of Kor were mostly bare and dust-laden, but a tremendous hall with high ceilings beckoned us back into the darkness.

At the far end of the hall, we saw a raised platform featuring a throne and a huge glinting pile of gold and treasures. One gem in particular caught my eye, a bright green match for the faded one atop my Kaballite staff. As we debated how to proceed, a booming voice accosted us and bade us leave. A huge copper dragon emerged from the darkness, and accused us of being selfish slayers of dragons. Fortunately the dragon spoke common, so Durthen boldly explained our presence (saving dwarves from Rime's terror) and our motivations in our past encounters with dragons. Apparently the dragon had heard about us from Rime, and it seemed likely that Rime was trying to play us off against each other. Remarkably, the dragon believed our story, and was even willing to trade amicably for some of the more exotic items we'd retrieved while down in the cave.

This happy interlude was brought to an abrupt end when Rime approached, flanked by four of his blackspawn raiders and accompanied by a larger half-dragon (later learned to be "Rot-tooth"). As they approached, ready for combat, Rot-tooth called out derisively to Ironfang (our copper acquaintance), disappointed that he hadn't initiated a fight with us. We tried briefly to negotiate, but Rime revealed that the dwarves were already dead. With that, they attacked.

Rot-tooth proved himself a powerful sorceror, focusing ray after ray of weakness and dizziness on Ironfang. The blackspawn were suspiciously well-prepared for battling true dragonkind, and I wonder if we were simply pawns in a larger scheme of theirs. Ironfang stoically endured an assault which would have killed any of the rest of us, while we chipped away at the edges of their force.

Durthen claimed the right of single-combat with Rot-tooth, some matter of honor to him. While we didn't completely understand, we complied (even Ironfang, at considerable personal risk). Durthen's charismatic valiance inspires that kind of indulgence now and then.

My own vendetta was with the corruptor Rime; this time, my hold monster finally stuck, and Borrow seized the opportunity to strike him down. Even with Rime out of the fight, things looked grim: Rot-tooth had prepared extensively for the fight (taking a page out of Malakar's book), and it was all Durthen could do to hit him as Rot-tooth danced around casting spell after spell at Ironfang. Ironfang was acting defensively for the majority of the fight, taking the brunt of the damage and helping to dispel or defuse Rot-tooth's magic. By the time Durthen finally wore down Rot-tooth, Ironfang was in deep trouble, but fortunately we were able to take down the remaining raiders by concentrating our attacks. As usual, my greatest contribution to the later stages of the battle was in keeping our deadly little dwarf invisible, so that he could wreak his usual havoc.

With Rime, Rot-tooth and the Kuo-Toa leaders dead, and with Ironfang more favorably disposed to us, I have more hope that we may adequately secure the caverns under Dragon Keep. There are still monsters about, and the thread of Abyssals in the deep, but the dwarves should soon be able to begin constructing layered defenses. Ironfang informed us that the underground river continues south to emerge in Tyranial forest, so there's another option if we are unable to return to the surface the way we came.

I believe that we have earned a brief respite, and look forward to returning to dragon keep with some of the spoils of our adventure, and with the two dwarves that we managed to save. I have unlocked the astral-spatiotemporal patterns necessary to teleport us back to Dragon Keep, and I am eager to try my hand at something longer range. This gem I traded with Ironfang for may allow me to unlock the great powers of my Kaballite Staff, and I believe Durthen is discovering similar depths in the Axe of King Gorek. Perhaps Malakar, Ili, and Erson will be disappointed to have missed the heartily satisfying defeat of Rime, but they should be happy enough with the outcome.

It's getting very very crowded in here

These caves just keep going and going, opening up and then closing off. At least half the tunnels are flooded so full freedom of movement is only available to amphibious creaturees, which we (with the exception of mutable Erson) are most definitely not.

The dragonspawn despot may yet have his way, as our attempts to locate him directly and free the dwarves have come to nothing. He used his secure position to restate his demands: bring him the head of the Kuo-Toa "whip" or he will give a dwarf to the elves. If his threat isn't idle, then there must be another exit into the Elven lands. We have yet to find a way out, and I'm regretting the choice to teleport down here without a sure way back.

Going deeper, we were shocked by our first encounter with the Abyssals -- they were just as fearsome as Barrin had described them, and we've seen only their weaker representatives. I claimed the head of one of the vulturine fiends, proof of their solidity and nearness for yet-unbelieving topsiders. The dwarves abandoned these depths hundreds and hundreds of years ago, leaving behind Gargoyles and traps but little of direct value. Apparently this area used to be an Adamantine mine.

With all other options (save a frontal assault on the Abyssals) closed off, we proceeded back to the area where the others encountered the Kuo-Toa earlier. Wasting no time, we pre-viewed and dimension doored in, then burst unannounced upon a religious ceremony. Before any of the pathetic but hardy frogmen could react, Erson (in Cave Troll) form pounced upon the hapless whip and ripped him limb from limb. A length battle ensued; fortunately the Kuo-Toa expended their rage against Erson to little effect, leave the rest of us largely unscathed (Erson's amazingly tough in that form). With the whip dead, the battle was reduced to a lengthy and grim application of fireball and steel and claw, to put down the remainder of the dozen evil amphibians. Two fled into the pool (there's always a pool) at the end, and now a disturbance in the water presages something large that we perhaps don't want or need to fight.

If we assume that the poison dusks belong to the same community as the blackspawn, then there are at least four different factions vying for control of these caves (us and the returned dwarves, the blackspawn and his servants, the Kuo-Toa, and the Abyssals). I don't know if the Ooze Drake and other solitary threats are associated with one of the above, or if they're wild-cards. In any case, it's quite crowded, and I have my doubts that we'll ever be able to secure these depths permanently if the dwarves of ages past couldn't do it. Perhaps we'll always be watching the back door into the mountain, wondering what will emerge next, going down to fight and explore when necessary.

Today Borrow again lied casually about checking a door for traps, and Malakar paid the price in caustic burns. I really don't know what his game is; perhaps he just doesn't take this seriously, or perhaps he really wishes us ill. I will do what I must to prepare against any more consequential betrayals.

Dragonspawn of the Depths

Erson interrupted my research to tell me that Malakar and the others were trapped by a cave-in, after they went to search for the missing dwarves. I dimensioned doored us in, but it took us a long time to catch up: apparently we missed out on some interesting archaeology and a fight or two.

Right after we rejoined the party, and before I had a chance to ask about what had happened, we were attacked by an Ooze drake which leaped into the air from a deep lake. Durthen was substantially burned by its acidic sheath, but it didn't last for long after I dampened its fortunes with unluck. It's good to see Durthen shiny and whole again, I missed his good cheer while he was mourning his damaged equipment.

Erson demonstrated his infinite versatility yet again by diving into the Drake's pool and recovering a chest of silver coins. He reported that a grotto lay through another tunnel, but we didn't feel like exploring it yet: we're not well equipped for aquatic adventures en masse.

Malakar urged us onward, down another few miles into the earth through a winding tunnel. He and Borrow pointed out where the rock faces abruptly became smooth and well-worked, indicating dwarven craftsmanship. We exited into a truncated square antechamber with three doors. Tracks of some kind of reptilian biped led to and from the left door, which we promptly opened.

Stepping into the corridor, we were pelted with arrows by small but muscular lizard-like creatures (later, Erson identified them as Poison Dusks, and Malakar commented on their advanced archery discipline). They were surprisingly tough adversaries, and we almost let one of them get away. It appears that they were guarding some kind of community down here, with organized patrols and traps to discourage intruders.

Right after that we came upon a large temple space, with pews and altars. To our shock, we were derisively greeted by the reptilian black humanoid who we last saw dragging Son of Clouds beneath the waves on our first visit to Dragon Keep (during the fight with the shadowy black dragon). Though I couldn't place his species, he was accompanied by two formidable Blackspawn Raiders, each with a blade held to a Dwarf hostage's throat.

He sardonically greeted us, threatened the dwarves perfunctorily, and suggested some kind of a deal (our service in securing his domain against monsters, in return for the release of the dwarves). He was so obviously evil I didn't really need Ili to point it out this time. He mentioned that the dragon we killed was his "sire".

I finally decided that enough was enough: it's time to stop letting villains and scum call the shots. We've now thrice regretted our merciful treatment of Borka at our first meeting, and between Sorscha and Cassandra we are rife with powerful string-pullers. Negotiating with evil terrorists, who openly attacked us at our last meeting, is a step I have no interest in taking.

I believed that I could hold the monster, but he turned out to be a strong-willed spellcaster, and my enchantments were to no avail. Fortunately I was able to aid the others with transposition, and we saved the two dwarves (minus a hand), but the spawn and the leader escaped down a deep and twisting well. Erson could have pursued them along, but would likely have been ambushed. Unfortunately they still have the other four dwarves; they may be lost now. The price of bold action may be bold failure: still, I don't regret my choice. Had things gone but a bit differently, we might have ended this villain's power swiftly and decisively.

I believe we should explore and secure our environs now: hasty pursuit of the enemy, with no foreknowledge and no aquatic spells prepared, would be foolish. The best thing we can do for our dwarven friends is to prepare for our next encounter with their captor. If they are dead already, then our vengeance will just be that much simpler.

Staff Meeting

Our meeting with Sorscha went much better than I anticipated. In return for giving her back all her assorted scrolls, potions, books, mirrors, and artifacts, she freed us, fed us, and explained much about the Medusan Lords. What a relief that we didn't alerady head out to explore The Pit or C.M.'s lair -- those being the homes of two powerful M.L.'s, according to Sorscha.

For now, I'm going to keep our alliance-of-convenience secret: the enemy of my enemy is my friend, especially if the former is just a power-mad wizard, last of a dead race, and the latter is a world-spanning genocidal cabal. I told Cassandra that another Beholder was responsible for the monster army, and that its death had ended the threat, and she seemed to believe me.

On the way back to Dragon Keep, we encountered several fascinating foes. The least imposing, but best equipped, was a trapper of some sort on his way to sell Borrow's favorite shade lion back into slavery. Malakar constructively picked a fight with him, and I was fortunate to liberate a potent Staff which he himself had taken from an elf. I have only begun to research the Staff's potential, but I now believe it to be an Archmage's Staff of Power, heavy with the weight of legend. It is perhaps auspicious that this has come to me now, as our exposure to the wrath of the mighty rapidly increases. I will strive to understand and master it as quickly as I can.

Now I must hurry, for it sounds like the others have gotten themselves into some sort of trouble. Typical! I wonder if it was Malakar or Ili who started it this time?