Beyond the Wall

Mellion

2012-02-24T12:00:00.000-08:00

One of the bravest in the group.

Evolution of a Character: Miss Adventure

2012-02-20T08:46:00.000-08:00

Looking at her, Miss Adventure seems very much unchanged since she entered Wall. Unlike most of her companions, she hasn't spent much on the latest fashions or armor. She has squirrled away most of her money. Her only weakness seems to be fine cheeses.
Most of her equipment is watch she started with except for her very "un-halfling" like boots. Where most of her kin go barefoot, she has kept the very special boots she found in the dark depths. Indeed, she has collected many of the overlooked, seemingly useless items, that turn out priceless.

Evolution of a Character: Gildrid

2012-02-14T12:23:00.000-08:00

Gildrid at 2nd Level.

Alabazium's Tale

2012-02-13T09:44:00.000-08:00

They came in the night. Henchmen of their ilk rarely conduct their sort of business in the light of the day.
Alabazium had known on some level they would come. He'd known since he came to Wall. He thought his first foray into the adventuring life would pay off his debts. But that expedition had brought little gold, and many nightmares of cannibals in the dark.
Since then, he had wandered about Wall, trying odd jobs. His magical abilities barred him from most honest work, and attracted the wrong sorts wanting him for dishonest work.
A terrible winter spent on the streets of Wall, had lowered his standards. It's amazing what an empty stomach will make you capable of.
It was a simple job. All Alabazium had to do was loosen a few magical wards on a merchant's shop. The others would do the actual snatch and grab. In and out.
It all went remarkably well. His share would get him a food for a week and small room out of the cold. It even had a view of the wall.
It was on the third night, in his tiny room above the inn that they came. The boot to the head woke him. The room spinning, he tried to focus on the bearded man holding him firmly to the floor.
"Where's the money, Az?", he said grinding his heel further into the back of the magician's neck.
Alabazium managed a croaking, "In the bag. It's all I have."
There was shuffling noise as the tall one rummaged through Alabazium's bag.
"That ain't gonna even cover our expenses from the Border Kingdoms. By the way, nice trick joining those circus folks. Six weeks was it? You'd think they'd have more loyalty. They gave you up for two Crowns."
No doubt, Alabazium thought, they were still a bit mad over his incident with the lion. "I have an amulet. It's worth a king's ransom!"
"A king's ransom, huh?" The bearded one said."Judging by the rags your wearing, I doubt it. Let me see it anyway".
Alabaium felt the weight release from his back. He got up. A quick glance around showed four large men, filling his tiny room. The normally chilly room was warm with 5 men crammed in it. Two had crossbows trained on him.
"No funny stuff, or you'll get two in the chest. You may be worth more alive to Lurtz, but dead'll still pay us handsomely."
The skinny magician crawled over to his simple bed. Reaching under his pillow, he found the amulet. The crossbowmen were aiming at his head. Clutching the cold necklace in his hand, bead of sweat rolled down his forehead.
"Terrazahh!"
There was a flash of light. Alabazium went from the warm, musky room to freezing air of the Wall. The teleportation amulet had worked! He almost laughed, then he realized he was scant yards from his room. He was standing on the Wall, almost eye level with his window. About the time he realized this, so did the thugs.
Glass shattered as two crossbow bolts whizzed past Alabazium's head. He turned and ran down the length of the Wall, into the night.

Sidenote: One of our gaming crew has left us to return home to the magical land of Ohio. Alabazium was his PC. I thought it on;y fitting we send him out with a story...

Gnolls

2011-12-12T12:27:00.000-08:00

Gnolls. Those hyena-like hunters of the fringe. Many see them as scavengers and cowards.
Gnolls have often been lumped in with many of the other humanoids that prowl the wastes Beyond the Wall. This would be a mistake. Unlike the goblinoid races, which spend much of their time in inter-clan warfare, gnolls packs are highly cooperative. They are are experts at the ambush. Combine this with pack hunting tactics, and you have a highly effective hit and run force. This is often see by civilized races as cowardly, but gnolls just see it as wearing down your opponent for later.
Most of the tactics are used to accumulate slaves. Gnolls are consummate slavers. Those that are not judged strong enough to trade with other packs, or sell to the goblinoids or evil humans, are, of course, eaten. But, this is a last resort, as gnolls are a particularly greedy bunch. It is rumored that demi-human slaves can fetch a high price from the black ships of the Broken Coast.
Beware ye, those forlorn places. Indeed, for many an adventurer the last thing they hear is the eery laughter of the gnoll pack, before they pounce.

Meanwhile, in the "Real" world

2011-11-14T10:20:00.000-08:00

I was the perfect age when D&D hit the big time. For my 11th birthday I received the AD&D boxed set and a little something called the Official Advanced Dungeons and Dragons Coloring Book. I loved this box like a fat kid loves cake. I stayed up at night looking at it over and over. I didn't even have the guts to color in it, I didn't wan to mess it up.
Over 30 years later, there are still images in my head. A Bullette bursting through the ground, the party before the adventure. It has shaped how my D&D world is in my head.
Somewhere over the years through moves, etc it was lost to me.
But now, a wonderful gentleman over at Monster Brains has lovingly scanned in every page. I can print it off as many times as I want. My kids can color it. I can color it (now with photoshop).
At last, the internet was good for something.

aforementioned Bullette

Ogres of the Black Mountains

2011-10-24T08:21:00.000-07:00

Ogres, those largest of "black bloods" are not, in fact, related to other goblinoid races. They have a distinct language and culture, for lack of a better word.
Many of these solitary creatures live Beyond the Wall, in a small branch of the Widowfangs known as the Black Mountains for its ash covered peaks.
Ogres have a strange place in Imperial history. Befriended early by the tribes that would someday form the Empire, ogres helped shape early Imperial history. Ogres were used as shocktroops and even bodyguards. But, once imperial society had become more "civilized", Ogres became more and more marginalized.
The ogres that haunt the black Mountains now, are descendants of those former Imperial troops forced to settle north of the Empire.
They have become more brutal and barbaric than their ancestors, preying on any passerby, and even their own kind. But, rumor has spread south, of a larger, more powerful force, organizing these brutes into a cohesive force. Ogres may march once again. But this time against the Empire.

The end

2011-09-12T08:03:00.000-07:00

Gruffydd went to stand above the body of Newly. She looked like a log pulled from the fire. A burnt husk. The dwarf went to touch her, but she turned to ash.
All was quiet.
Miss Adventure began fumbling through the ashes. Gruffydd was about to say something when the halfing pulled something shiny from the mess. She lifted into the cold morning. It was a lrge seed, the size of an egg. Golden.
Without hesitation or a word, the party began hacking at the frozen ground. When they had a small pit, Miss Adventure gingerly placed the seed into the hole and began covering it up.
Next, they hauled as many of the stiff guardsmen's bodies onto the horses as they could, along with a hobgoblin standard, and a few black masks. Laden with gold and the dead, they returned to Wall...

Blood and Snow

2011-09-06T08:49:00.000-07:00

From the moment they emerged from the Well, they felt hunted. Sometimes, by the very weather itself. The wind blasted them, the snows deepened, and always hounded by a feeling of dread. It took a day and night to find the ford. They had dared not try to make it past Ol' Nick at the bridge. Better to face the hornet things at the river crossing. The cold had kept the things inside, but the river was half frozen, making the crossing treacherous. Miss Adventure went under, but was rescued by Gildrid.
The river claimed the packhorse and most of the supplies.
The party was exhausted by the time the weather let up. It was cold but clear when they neared Wall, and the abandoned logging camp that was the home of one of the party's few friends, Newly, the Dryad.
Before Gruffydd, on point, crested the hill that ringed newly's hollow, he saw blood in the snow. It was frozen. A black splash like ink on crisp white paper. And the smell of smoke.
He signalled to the others to lay low and approach slowly.
What they saw battle sight. Bodies half buried in the snow. Blood, red and black, frozen in large pools. Blackened trees, including Newly's great Oak. But no movement. The battle was long over.
THe party scrambled down the hill. Some of the bodies were goblins, some the larger hobgoblins bearing the blue moon badge they had seen in the caverns. There were humans. A few wore the armor and uniforms of the Wall Guardians, but most had dark hunting clothes, and a few black hoods. There were also elves and halfling. The party knew them. They were members of a small adventuring party also operating out of Wall.
They were too cold and tired to try and give anyone a decent burial here. Better to wait and call out the garrison.
Then, a gasp. Miss Adventure had gone to check on Newly. The halfling stood next to the burnt remains of Newly's tree. There, half buried in the snow, was a blackened form. It had the shape of an old woman.

Quietly, hardly more than whisper, Miss Adventure spoke, "No......"

Fire and Ice

2011-08-30T11:33:00.000-07:00

Chaos. Every member of the party not fighting was trying to put burning parts of their clothes out. The elves tried to stay back, and pelt the bugs with arrows, but they proved a tough target, skittering about. Everyone else tried to get in stabs between bursts of flame. The beetles that were left alone, passed by the party and down side halls. But, those were few.
When it was over, all had been wounded and burnt. The hallway still smoldered, and was full of the twitching corpses of bugs. Gustav was found trapped under the coach.
"Baby Dragons, huh?", Gruffydd said as he tossed the burnt wreck of furniture aside. The party shot Gustav murderous looks.
Gustav said nothing but scurried into the small room the beetles had been trapped in.
Empty.
Gruffyd studied it. He then bent and began scrapping with his dagger on one of the stones near the base of the back wall. He pried it out. Then a stout wooden box.
It contained 500 electrum pieces!
The young cleric had a look that told everyone "I told you it was worth looking in here."
Burnt, bruised and bloodied they crawled to the level above. Rather than face the long rope climb to the surface, they were able to find the entrance Morey had discovered.
Outside, it was cold. It was dark. And the world was covered in snow.

Another log on the fire

2011-08-26T06:58:00.000-07:00

Nemon put a torch near the bars. He almost lost his arm, when a huge claw made a swipe for him.
"Weasel", said Gruffydd. The group gave a collective shutter. They had witnessed the death of Dimzad, a former member of the group, to a giant weasel. They still remembered the lower of half of the dwarf's body walking around, spurting blood. The top half devoured by a weasel just like this one.
Everyone began notching arrows.
"You're not going to simply kill a caged animal?" Morey the young magician asked, horror in his voice. "It can't hurt us, locked away like that".
Just the then the giant lunged at the cage. The rusty bars gave way in a few spots.
"Shoot it! Shoot it!" Morey screamed.
It took way more arrows than anyone had hoped. The cage opened, Gruffydd rummaged through the cage. He was, like the rest of the party, already covered in blood, dirt, and soot. What was a little weasel crap too? He found a few undigested coins and a belt buckle. Probably from some hapless adventurer.
Miss Adventure yawned, "We should leave. It's getting late, and this level is empty."
"No it's not", came the retort from the cleric Gustav. "we still have that room full of baby dragons."
No one seemed interested in the room.
"Look", said Gruffydd. "I'm gonna find some other way out of this place that doesn't require me hauling my ass up that rope to the top of the well. Who's with me?"
The group began shuffling towards the door and to the stairs to the level above.
Nemon, the tough mercenary from the wars in the South, took pity on the young holy-man. "I'll go with you".
With the rest of the party waiting to move on, Nemon and Gustav made their way down the dark corridor to the doorway plugged up with the filthy divan. Nemon stood back a ways as Gustav clambered up the side.
He peered in. Still dark, except for the occasional flash on light, and the soft clicking that proceeded it. He held on with one had, while he rummaged through a bag. He pulled out a flask on torch oil. Then Gustav threw the flask through the small gap between the sofa and the top of the doorway. He heard the flask break.
Click-click. Nothing. Click-click.
"BOOOOOOM!"
There was a flash of light and an impact. The group down the hallway felt the concussion and the heat. Nemon was knocked off his feet. Gustav disappeared under the burning wreck of the divan.
The hall was engulfed in fire.
And movement. A least a dozen beetles, the size of large dogs, came pouring out of the room. Fire spitting out of their mouths...

Caged

2011-08-24T06:15:00.000-07:00

Map in hand, the party left the room and headed for the as yet, untried door just outside the chamber. A quick listen revealed little.
It was unlocked. Gruffydd pushed the door open slightly. A sputtering torch lit a small room. In the center a small goblin ate something nasty from and earthen bowl. Another slept on a cot nearby.
The dwarf kicked the door open and the party barged in. The eating goblin had just reached for a spear next to him, when Gustav brained him with a mace. Miss Adventure buried a sword in the sleeping goblin before it stirred. The room was mostly empty, and smelled terrible. Nemon was pondering where he had smelled the odor before, when something stirred in the corner. That's when the group noticed the back wall had rusty bars along it's length. Something moved behind those bars. Something big....

the Map

2011-08-23T08:52:00.000-07:00

The big hobgoblin roared and swung a huge curved blade at the party. Behind him, two goblins had been looking at a map on a table. They also sprang forward, blades drawn.
Nemon and Gruffydd took the big one, while the rest went after the goblins.
Gruffydd landed a hammer blow squarely on the hobgoblin's chest. He staggered. Nemon, shield bashed the boss further back, knocking the hob into the table, shattering it.
Meanwhile, the others wee picking off the goblins. Seeing his leader down, one of the goblins made a run for the door. he was struck by an arrow and a bolt, dropping him.

The winded hobgoblin was trying to stand when Gruffydd hit him again. The boss took it and slashed with his sword. The dwarf fell, but not wounded. The hobgoblin stood above the dwarf, ready to finish him. That's when Nemon's throwing knives hit him. He stepped back, knives sticking out of his orange chest. The hobgoblin leader dropped to one knee then fell forward.
Two golden torcs were found on the goblins along with shining silver gauntlets.
The big leader had a small bag tucked under his belly sash. It had 8 sizable gems in it. Most importantly, a map was found. Not a map of the Well of Souls, but of the Wall. Diagrams and movements were scrawled on it.
Someone was planning a coordinated attack on Wall soon...

the Boss

2011-08-22T08:31:00.000-07:00

Gildrid's arrow thudded into the guard's shoulder pinning him the door. He let out a small squawk, right before two crossbow bolts hit the hobgoblin in the throat and open mouth. He sagged down, still pinned to the door.
The party quickly moved down the hall. There was a door at the corner to the right. They ignored it. As quietly as they could they pried the guard form the door and set him down. The fighters crammed the doorway.
Gildrid cleared his throat, then while banging on the locked door, in hobgoblin said, "Hey, let me in!"
A loud voice replied, "Who in the Nine Hells do you think you are? Banging on my door! Grashnak, I'm going to stomp a new hole in yer face!"
THe door swung open to reveal the largest hobgoblin yet.

Silent Death

2011-08-18T12:20:00.000-07:00

Behind the banner was hidden two boxes. One was made wood, heavy, bound with iron. The other with small, made of metal. Miss Adventure stepped forward as the party's only thief. She looked both boxes over, then carefully opened them. The larger of two was full of electrum. One hundred pieces to be precise. A collective gasp went through the group.
A faint blue crack of light appeared when the smaller box was opened. Inside, resting inside the velvet lining were two vials of the Tears of Shyalla. The blue light gave them away as the famed healing draughts they were.
Now the only thing left to investigate was the wooden door on the south wall. Torches were quickly extinguished, lest their light give them away when opening the door. A quick listen...
Nothing.
A tug. It was open.
Those with infravision could see a single shape at the end of the hallway. A guard for the door beyond. He a was an especially large hobgoblin, absently digging under one of his clawed fingers with a dagger.
Gildrid quietly stepped out. He took a breath, and aimed. Then released...

Roaming about

2011-08-17T12:01:00.000-07:00

"Thunk!"
A bolt from Mellion's crossbow hit the goblin squarely between the eyes. Everyone held their breath as the goblin teetered back and forth before finally collapsing.
"Boom!" When the goblin dropped, the jar hit floor, engulfing the room and its junk in flames. Gruffydd quickly grabbed a tattered tapestry from the wall and began to beat at the fire. Nemon went to grab his water bottle, then remembered it was empty thanks to Mellion.
Miss Adventure watched the hall as Morey began an incantation.
Awhile later the fire was finally tamed. The party was now covered in soot along with goblin blood. Anything that might have been valuable in the room was destroyed. A search of the goblin, however, yielded a large gold necklace and well crafted leather armor under his rags. Miss Adventure took the armor as she was the only one small enough.
After a checking the room and surrounding passages for traps and secret doors, the party finally ventured towards the southern passage where most of the goblinoids had emerged. They moved cautiously.
The hallway made sharp turn towards the east that ended in an open door. Peering through the crack they saw what must of been barracks. The room was too tidy to be goblin living quarters. The cots were made, and the place was generally well kept. And it was empty.
On the western wall hung a banner....

Fire, fire, fire!

2011-08-16T11:12:00.000-07:00

The crazed barrel chested goblin was hacked in two by Nemon's sword. This prompted the rest of goblins to attack. They came in one big rush. Nemon stepped back into the cover of the southern passage. The goblin horde was forced to not only split their attacks, but become funneled down the hallways, thus reducing the effect of number.
Gruffydd and Nemon took the brunt of the assault, being at the front of their groups. That didn't keep the elves from firing over their backs. Two greenskins died this way, arrows in the face.
Next, the hobgoblins cam roaring in. One managed to stab Gruffydd with a jagged spear, but didn't do much damage before the dwarf's hammer caved in his face. Miss Aventure had crawled under the fight and was jabbing at ankles. Anyone goblin who fell was quickly dispatched.
Soon, only one hobgoblin was left. Surrounded, he gave a defiant war cry before Gustav crushed his skull.
It had been a bloody fight. The party had only been scratched, thanks to the carefully laid ambush, but they were covered in black blood. A quick search of the bodies yielded more electrum. Where was all of this rare coinage coming from?
Despite, Gustav's constant urgings to "go back and grab the dragons", the party headed down the south passage to a door. Shouting was heard behind it,
Nemon kicked the door in. It was a small, filthy room full of debris and junk. In its center stood a lone, dirty goblin. Instead of being frightened, he smiled and grabbed a sputtering candle. With this, he lit the top of jar at his feet. He picked up the flaming jar and cackled at the adventurers.

The Ambush

2011-08-15T08:46:00.000-07:00

Two heavily armed and armored hobgoblins stepped into sight. Gildrid's arrow caught one just above his gorget. Black blood spewed all over his companion as he thunked to the floor. The remaining hobgoblin turned and fled. Mellion drew a bead on him, but the bolt from his crossbow went wide.
The two elves alerted the rest of the party. "He'll be back," said Gruffydd, "with friends."
After some discussion, it was decided to lay a trap at the intersection where before the secret door. Half of the party would hide on north, the other half to the south. The fighters, Nemon and Gruffydd would be in the front.
It wasn't long before a group of goblinoids came down the hall. There were two hobgoblins and 6 of their lesser kin. One of the goblins, a barrel chested larger creature, was sniffing at the air.
"This way!" he squeaked, and pointed the direction of the party. With a bellow he charged ahead of the rest.

Hitting a wall

2011-08-11T07:51:00.001-07:00

Gruffydd was up and over the barricade before the goblins knew what was happening. Miss Adventure was atop the pile, swinging away with her short sword. Even Morey, who until then had held back from most of the frays, had waded in, stabbing with his dagger.
Gustav the cleric took a barbed spear to the stomach and retreated, to be replaced in the line by Nemon, whose heavy armor often meant he got to the fight last.
It was quick work with only Gustav and Gildrid hurt. The benevolent cleric decided to use a healing spell on himself, and left Gildrid to beg for a healing draught from Miss Adventure. The halfling begrudgingly handed it to him.
After loot was taken (more electrum), the party headed west, with a keen eye to the dark passage south. The passage ended with another junction north and south. At this intersection was a wall. On the wall was a carved relief of a bearded man with a hand held aloft. Light rays sprang from his hand, while his other held a staff. At his feet were skulls. A wizard? A god?

Gruffydd, the only dwarf in the party stroked his beard as he often did while deep in thought. He reached forward and touched the wall. With cloud of dust and a deep creaking the wall rose up, revealing a huge cavern beyond. It appeared to be a temple of sorts, with tall pillars and an alter.
Another fierce debate began. Some wanted to enter the temple. Some wanted to see what lay north or south. Gustav wanted to go back to where he believed his baby dragons dwelled.
Mellion and Gildrid, the two elves had been left behind at the barricade could the party's shouting from where they were. Apparently, they weren't the only ones.
A voice from the unexplored southern passage shouted, "What's all this, then?"
The question was asked in Hobgoblin.

the Barricades

2011-08-10T10:49:00.000-07:00

Having searched the room, it was time to move on. The party had passed a corridor leading south on the way to the goblin guard room. It ended in a "T" junction with a corridor west and one east. The eastern route lead to a doorway blocked from the outside by a filthy and scorched divan. The way west had movement for those with infra-vision, Unfortunately, the torches burning for the Men in the group were obscuring said vision.
Miss Adventure was tasked with crawling up the dirty couch. There was a small opening at the top where the doorway wasn't blocked. Through the crack she saw bright flashes, almost like someone trying to start a fire with a flint. Then, there was a bright flash of fire. Whatever lurked inside, there was lots of scurrying about in the small room.
"Baby dragons." Gustav the cleric concluded. "It has to be. We should grab them."
"You don't know that," said Miss Adventure.
This only started more debate. More arguing.
Gildrid had been left to watch the junction. He heard a whirring noise, then felt the impact of a small barbed javelin hit his shield. "Hey! Someone's shooting at us!"
The strange barricaded room was quickly abandoned as everyone ran towards the commotion.
Another javelin flew by. A third thudded into Gildrid's shoulder. The elf dropped to his knees.
Gustav, Gruffydd and Nemor rushed towards the source of the missile fire. There, in the middle of a corridor junction, was a small barricade. It was made discarded furniture, boxes and the detritus of passing adventurers. Behind this, a gaggle of goblins waited.

Of goblins and gold

2011-08-09T06:23:00.000-07:00

Gruffydd's hammer smashed the goblin's head like an eggshell. The rest of the goblins inside hissed in alarm. The table they were gaming at, quickly went on its side, to act as makeshift cover. A fat one fumbled with a crossbow, trying desperately to load it. Mellion, still in the doorway fumbled with his own crossbow.
Gildrid, and Gruffydd charged from the doorway, while the rest of the party, further back moved up. Gruffyd, the dwarf, barreled into table, trying to smash it. Instead, the table slid back against the far wall, pinning the goblins.
A desperate struggle ensued, with both sides slicing at each other over the top of the table's edge. The goblins would pop up, and the adventures would try to whack their exposed heads, like some silly game. Except, this game was more deadly.
With everyone crowded around the table, Mellion decided it was time to take a shot with his crossbow. He closed one eye. His tongue sticking out the side of his mouth in concentration.
"Kwing!" went the crossbow string. "Twack!" right into Nemon's backside. Luckily it hit the fighter's water bag, emptying the contents on the dungeon floor. "Hey!," Nemon shouted, "Who's side are you on?"
Miss Adventure had by this time creeped around the side. She dispatched a distracted Goblin with a quick sword thrust. The others finally smashed, hacked and hewed the remaining goblins.
The small room seemed to have been a guard room. It contained the usual mishmash of untidy goblin life. The goblins themselves though, were curious. Their equipment was in good shape for goblins. Weapons, however crude, were polished. And strangest of all, they carried Electrum pieces!

...and into the dark they went once more

2011-08-08T06:59:00.000-07:00

The arguing about where to go next ended abruptly when the stranger entered the room. He was a young Man, dishevelled, in a blue robe. He was out of breath, "Rat......big rat...down that way..."
He pointed towards the caverns to the south.
"Yes," said Gruffydd, "we know. More importantly, where are you from?" The dwarf lifted his hammer.
"m-my name is Morey." He stood up straighter. "Morey the magian. I came seeking adventure, but my party was ambushed outside these caves...." His voice trailed off as his looked around, as if seeing the finished stone of Well of Souls for the first time.
"You're welcome to stay with us", said Nemon. "but know, we aim to delve deeper into this place. Tis, a dangerous, dark place, fraught with peril."
Morey simply nodded.
As they readied their gear to head down the dark stairs to the west, they heard the great warrior Laramine stagger and make sounds as if to speak. He shook violently until he was almost a blur. There was a loud "POP!" with a bright blue light. There, where Laramine stood, was Mellion the Elf, looking a bit surprised. He shouted "It worked!"
Everyone was a bit stunned. The Elf explained. "When I found out you had left Wall a few days ago, I wanted to follow, but I knew it would be suicide to follow alone in the wilderness. I went to see Professor Nodd. I asked if there was a way to transport me to you. He said there was, but it would not teleport me, but tranpose me with another. He asked if a I had something that belonged to one of you. I said I had "borrowed" one of Laramine's daggers. A handful of gold pieces later, here I am. By the way, what's "transpose mean? And where's Laramine?"
Gruffydd growled and hefted his gear. "Cmon! this way."
The party started down the steps. Morey leaned close to Miss Adventure, who was eating a apple, seemingly unsurprised by the recent happenings. "Does this sort of thing happen alot?," Morey asked her.
Miss Adventure shrugged, and threw the apple core behind her.
The stairs wound down and around. Gruffydd reached the landing first. There and the end of corridor was a slightly open door. A faint light shown through the crack. He looked behind him and whispered, Elves, up front".
Gildrid and Mellion tiptoed to the door, Gruffydd close behind. Mellion pressed a pointed ear close. Inside, he heard voices. There was also laughter, or screaming. It was hard to tell.
Gildrid did like-wise.
It was then the door creaked open. There, in the doorway, stood a very surprised goblin.

Update

2011-08-02T08:53:00.000-07:00

Patience gentle viewers. Friday night the quest continues....

The Lord High Marshal of Wall

2011-06-09T10:56:00.000-07:00

Otho Baldrac has been Lord High Marshal of Wall for more than 30 years. Unlike the rest of the Guardians of the Wall, the position of High Marshal is not hereditary, even though his father held the title before him. Otho's father Baldwin was Lord High Marshal during the last Great Incursion and had fought bravely defending Wall. He was awarded the the Order of the Dragon by the Emperor himself for his actions.
Otho had a lot to live up to. Baldwin was a very tough man, and expected great things from his sons. Otho was the second oldest and spent most of youth away from Wall, studying at the capital. In reality, Otho was a political prisoner. His father had become a bit a of a hero. In the politics of the Empire, famous generals, easily become new emperors. So, Otho's schooling was paid for by Baldwin's political enemies, but held captive against his father's ambitions.
This was to change, however, when Mallian, the oldest, and successor to Baldwin was killed in a failed expedition Beyond the Wall. Otho was quickly recalled to the place of his birth, but a place he hardly knew. The student, would have to become the warrior.
Otho's training began in the Underguard, those tireless tunnel fighters who protect Wall from below. From all accounts, Otho served admirably, taking to his new warrior role quickly. His father then began schooling him in the logistics of running such a far flung garrison. Here Otho's years of education paid off. He was an even better book keeper than fighter.
During this time, Baldwin began more expeditions north. Otho, more and more would take to the day-to-day running of Wall.
At age 25, Otho's father would be killed Beyond the Wall. An ambush by Hobgoblins was the story, but few believed it. Baldwin's journeys had become epics, song by bards across the Empire. The Imperial council, it was said, had arranged Baldwin's demise. Thinking Otho was just an inexperienced lad, the Emperor promoted him to Lord High Marshal of Wall in hopes he would have a more controllable Marshal.
Rather than be intimidated, Otho dived into the role he already knew, and all this time has kept the Darkness at bay.
Now, Otho tries to man the crumbling walls with fewer and fewer men. Imperial corruption and neglect have Otho ranging farther and farther for supplies, and becoming more inventive when it comes to making ends meet.
The few times he is seen outside his office strewn with paperwork, Otho is walking the walls befret of all the trappings of his office. Mostly he is seen at night on the battlements, staring at something, out Beyond the Wall.

Hogram's Keep

2011-05-20T08:23:00.000-07:00

When the Empire made the decision to build the Wall, and abandon those lands to the north, it was imagined at the time there would still be an Imperial presence. Indeed, the lands Beyond the Wall were not immediately swallowed up by the wilderness and the creatures of the dark.
A system of forts were set up as way points for trade and to protect those settlements still out there. Really, they were a way for the Empire to still collect taxes. Soon, those tax collectors started wondering why they were sending the money south, and not just keeping it themselves.
One of these warlords was named Captain Hogram. He held Imperial Fort Number 457. It was one of the most inaccessible fortresses in the land, situated atop a outcrop in the Stone Hills. Fort # 457, soon became known simply as Hogram's Keep, even though it is more properly a fort.
Once these petty warlords had cemented their place beyond the jurisdiction of the Empire, they started fighting each other. A combination of good location and cunning soon put Hogram at the top of the food chain. Two Imperial expeditions failed to dislodge Hogram. Both sieges ended in disaster for the Empire, and Hogram was left alone by the forces of Man. But not by other forces.
Kelval the Dark, leading what would later be called the First Great Incursion, stormed Hogram's Keep using a combination of magic and three Mountain Giants. Hogram and his bandits were wiped out, but his vast treasure was never found.
It is rumored that treasure still awaits would be adventurers. If they wish to find it, they'll need guts, luck, and a lot of rope.

Lizardfolk

2011-04-25T06:15:00.000-07:00

Though usually native to the warmer, southern lands, lizardfolk have been spotted Beyond the Wall. Most sightings have occurred in deep caverns or near volcanic vents. One expedition into the Northern Wastes found a small clan of lizardfolk around one of the magma pools that appear sporadically in that frozen land.
Lizardfolk or lizardman nests are usually run by a dominate male. He can be spotted by his elaborate, brightly colored crest. Duller colored, lesser males sometimes wear crude warpaint in times of battle to intimidate their foes. Females are not normally found outside the nesting area, which is usually the darkest, hottest area of their cave systems.
Lizardfolk are slow to rouse, but once started they are vicious combatants. They carry mostly crude stone weapons, not being metalworkers, but have been known to carry metal weapons, looted from war or traded with other subterranean races. In times of famine or duress, the stronger males have been known to eat their own. They are definitely not above eating captives.
One should not underestimate lizardfolk, as many a would be adventurer have found out. They may seem primitive, but they have managed to survive in what would seem inhospitable climates.

50

2011-04-12T09:41:00.000-07:00

I'm going to pop out of the narrative for moment to thank everyone who has travelled with me Beyond the Wall. This really all started when I discovered the OD&D revolution. The world Beyond the Wall has let me reconnect with old friends, introduce my kids to something that was special to me growing up, reflex some tired old drawing muscles and create a world somewhere just beyond the horizon. How many things let you do that?
Work, house moves and sports schedules have kept me away too long, so hopefully here in the next few weeks, you'll see new adventures from Gildrid, Gruffydd, Gustav, Laramine, Miss Adventure, Nemon and their new friend, Morey.
Until then, thanks for following along.

Lake Merr

2011-04-08T06:32:00.000-07:00

Lake Merr is located to the north and west of Wall. This expansive body of water is both uncharacteristically calm for a lake high in the mountains, and unfathomly deep. A thriving community once existed here, it's people prosperous from the bounty Merr provided, and protected by the surrounding mountains. The people of Lake Merr were envied by all the surrounding tribes. They built great temples with golden statues and market places full of the riches of the world.
All that remains now are the cold ruins of a lost people.
Long ago, it is said, Ul-Merr, great god of the sea fell in love with a simple daughter of a fisherman. She lived in a small hut on shores of the vast Western Ocean. Ul-Merr tried to woo her riches from the sea, treasure from shipwrecks, pearls and other secrets of the sea if she would love him. She spurned his advancements for she knew, like the sea, Ul-Merr was fickle god, and would leave her once he had his prize.
It was only when he promised that the offspring of their union would be a great and powerful being, that she relented.
Sure enough, Ul-Merr soon became tired of her and moved on to another conquest, and the girl gave birth to beautiful son. But, though handsome on the outside, the girl could tell something dark and powerful dwelled inside the child. She fled her village and ran east, deep into the wilderness, finally to rest high in the mountains by a lake.
There, the boy grew. His mother tried her best to raise a normal child, there, alone in the wilderness. But, the boy was powerful, vain and ill tempered, like his father. When a wandering tribe settled on the far bank of the lake, the girl, now an aging woman, tried to relocate to avoid contact with the world and her godlike son. He would have none of it, and in a fit of rage killed his mother.
Thus, the people of Lake Merr would come to know Him. He would make them into a great city, and in return they would worship him, sacrifice to him, and in the end, pay the terrible price.

The Tomb of Goroth

2011-03-17T12:42:00.000-07:00

Goroth the Mighty, Slayer of Kings, son of the war god himself, lived centuries before the founding of the Empire. He was the Hand of Death for three separate Kelmorian kings. So feared was Goroth that neighboring monarchs often capitulated rather than face him in battle.
When he finally did meet his demise, it was not on the field of battle, but in the bedroom of his lover, slain by his own Shield Bearer out of jealousy.
A great tomb was built by his last lord, Belmorca. It was extravagant for it's time, carved in runes and etched in gold leaf. So loved was Goroth that twelve of his finest warriors agreed to be buried alive to guard him in the afterlife.
Goroth's tomb sat undisturbed for centuries and it is only recently that rumors have surfaced that some misguided adventurers unsealed his crypt. It seems Goroth has had a troubled sleep. He has awakened, they say, bent on recovering the lost kingdom he once so loyally served.

Early depiction of Goroth slaying King Delos III

the Bugbear Clans

2011-03-14T11:30:00.000-07:00

Bugbears, probably the most dangerous of the goblinoid races, are scattered around most of the lands Beyond the Wall. At the Empire's zenith, bugbears, like most monsters were hunted to near extinction. They have made a dramatic comeback in recent centuries thanks to their strong clan ties and high birth rate. Whole clans are often hired as mercenaries by particularly evil or desperate warlords of the Wilds.
Bugbears are a warlike bloodthirsty creatures, created in antiquity some say, as assault troops for a mad emperor. If true, it is quite ironic, as bugbears have been in the forefront of many of the Great Incursions.
Adventurers Beyond the Wall are just as likely to run into these cunning brutes guarding a treasure horde in some dark hold as haunting a great wood. Either way, they are a deadly opponent, in need of a wide berth. Captives are taken only as food, to be eaten alive.

The Wailing Tower

2011-03-07T13:16:00.000-08:00

In a time shortly after the Wall was built, the great wizard Hurstis wandered out into wilderness. He had been a great man. He had been instrumental in the expansion of the Empire, and it's quick decline.
Hurstis had appeared when the Empire was at war on all its borders. He helped then Emperor Milleus hold one front, while another was assaulted, both through his use of battle magic and more subtle means. His duels against foes of the Empire are legendary. He strode as a god on the battlefield.
Soon, the new expanded borders were secure and peace reigned throughout the Empire. But, as in all things, it was not to last.
Hurstis saw this new, golden age quickly tarnish through corruption and decadence. He felt betrayed by the man he had helped, and not a little angry at the Emperor's ingratitude.
When a strong new leader emerged from the ranks of the Imperial Guard, Hurstis saw a chance to replace Milleus. With the help of the aging wizard, Kormac the Usurper took the Iron Throne.
I was a horrible mistake.
Where Milleus had been corrupt and lazy, Kormac was brutal and tyrannical. Rather than try to fix yet another mistake, Hurstis fled beyond the borders of the Empire, deep into the wilderness beyond the Wall. There he built a tower.
He raised it from the ancient rock, embued it with his power, and waited out his remaining years in meditation and study. But, alone, surrounded by monsters and wastelands, he went mad.
The lands around Hurstis's tower still bear the scars of his fury. Trees and rocks are twisted as if in horrible agony. The ground is cracked and scarred. The tower itself is avoided by monster and freebooter alike. A faint cry echoes from its ancient confines. Is it the wind, or the terrible melancholy of a mad man?

Stumbling in the Dark

2011-02-16T11:53:00.000-08:00

Morey tumbled through a web of vines and dead leaves into a dark cave. The sounds of battle still echoed into his new refuge, so the young magic user stumbled further into the cave. In the back, he found a small passage. With one more backwards look towards the cave's mouth, he ran down the tunnel.
After a few strides, he stopped. It was almost too black to see this far into the cave. Morey fumbled with flint, and fished a small bullseye lantern out of his pack. It was dented by his hasty retreat, but still functional. The new light showed a tunnel running roughly north east, carved by some sort of large burrowing creature. Cautiously, he moved forward.
The passage branched off back the way he came. He flashed the lantern down that way, and was greeted my large rodent eyes. A giant rat. Bigger than the ones sometimes found at harvest time back home.

With a startled yelp, Morey hurried up the passage he was on, hoping the rat wouldn't follow. His tunnel ended in a passage running east to west, this one of finished stone. Ahead, he could see a soft light. A quick glance around a doorway revealed a large room. In it stood another group of adventurers!

Interlude: Morey's Tale

2011-02-09T13:27:00.000-08:00

Morey was born a sickly lad. Too weak for the rigors of farm work, he spent his early years helping his mother in the kitchen. Often confined to his bed, he devoured books brought to his Westhold town by passing merchants and tinkers. He dreamed of being a great magus of old like Torvanol or Karus the Black.
When he finally grew out of illness, he was a tall gangly youth, who traded the confines of bed for the vast hills of his father's sheep herds. There, he learned the use of the sling. He could nail a wolf's skull from 100 paces, and often did.
One dismal, rainy afternoon, huddled in his cloak to escape the wet, Morey heard the sheep bleating in terror. This time, it was wolves again. But wolves with goblin riders. Two of them. They hadn't noticed Morey in the dark afternoon rain. They were gleefully massacring sheep, almost it seemed, for fun. Morey's first slingstone knocked the lead wolf dead.
The other turned and rode right at Morey. He fumbled in his sack where he kept the rounded sling stones. The bag was empty! There was a hole in the bottom. The goblin was almost on him, howling with anticipation. Morey flung his arms up to block the blow he new would kill him. It was then the goblin and wolf burst into flames before his eyes. His arms still crackled with eldritch fire.
Terrified, the other goblin took off as fast as he could.
Weeks later, standing before the council of elders, including Sir Fenwick, an old adventurer of some reknown, Morey was proclaimed a right and true magic user, bonded to Empire through sacred oath and sworn to never raise a hand against it. There was not enough money to send him to University for proper training, so as many a poor Hedge Wizard before him, he would gain his training on the road. His mother made him a cloak. She didn't have enough material for a solid color so half of one color, half of the other.
Sir Fenwick himself gave Morey the true conical hat of a wizard. Though, in truth, it looked like he found it in a rubbish bin. It was also Sir Fenwick who pointed towards Wall. The last place in the world left, he said, for true adventure.
Months later, battered by the road and weather, he arrived in Wall. An unimpressive place as he ever saw. That was, until he the Wall itself, dominating the horizon from east to west.
He found a small tavern, the Lazy Troll, and a group of adventurers in need of a wizard's powers. They would leave the next morning. What an adventure! to be in the company of true fighters. Morey had seen road wardens and militia aplenty on the way here, but not true sword carrying warriors for hire.
His four companions were tight lipped about their destination, spies they said, where everywhere. Outside the Wall, they followed a road in terrible disrepair. Occasionally, Morcar, their scout would dismount and look at hoof prints on the road. They passed the largest oak he had ever seen, alone in a filed of stumps. They camped overnight without a fire despite the cold, and the others seemed on edge, watching the horizon. The next morning was full of reading tracks and crossing a great bridge where he swore he heard off tune singing.
The next day found them in steep hills, climbing up and up. They were moving quickly now, apparently close to something. But in a small ravine, they were attacked.
Black arrows rained down on them. Morey's own mount went down quickly, along with one of his companions. Morcar was screaming at the unseen attackers in a strange, gutteral tongue. That's when a shaft pierced his throat and silenced him.
Morey ran blindly. The sounds of battle receded, but his first taste of combat had been more than he bargained for, so on he went until he found a cave.

Decisions, decisions

2011-02-08T10:30:00.000-08:00

The undead thing spoke in voice like steel scraping on stone, "Who dares disturb my tomb?".
"Saint Unther himself," Gustav spoke in a whisper, then shouted, "Back to sleep you wretched thing!"
The cleric's hand glowed briefly with righteous fury, then dwindled.
The saint gurgled what must have been a laugh. "You have no power here, young one..."
The creature moved with lightning speed. His rusty longsword bit deep into Gustav's shoulder. The rest of the party sprung to attack, but it was then that four unseen skeletons joined the fray, appearing from the shadows.
Gruffydd's hammer snapped the rusty blade. Laramine's mace destroyed one of the unholy man's shoulders. But, he still kept fighting.
Miss Adventure, Nemon and Gildrid faced the new attackers. It was an unelegant brawl in a dark, tight spot. Almost all the party was hurt in some small way. Saint Unther was still cackling with glee, flailing at the party with dislocated limbs, and biting teeth. It was Nemon who reached in and snagged the the gold dagger that was lodged in the creature's chest. Immediately, the red glow of his eyes disappeared with what seemed like relief. The saint's ravaged skeleton dropped to the floor.
A sealed closet was found containing a few coins and gems, and dusty scrolls. The body of the saint was left where he lay, despite the protests of Gustav.
A short while later the party emerged from a door they had previously passed up, and made their way to the stairs where they had encountered the giant weasel. Should they return to the surface? Should they make their way through the strange opening before them, and down the dark stairs?

Saintly things

2011-02-02T07:45:00.000-08:00

Three of the four skeletons cringed and fell back from the cleric. The fourth rushed forward with a ancient bronze spear. Gruffydd crushed its ribcage with his hammer, then did the same to the skull. Gustav forced the other undead back into alcoves, where they been waiting and guarding for untold years. Cowering in their holes, the ret of the party made quick work of them.

The tomb had a solitary sarcophagus in the center. The tomb was richly carved with reliefs similiar to the frescoes in the hallway. The lid was carved in the shape of the saint himself. Asleep in stone. Nemon and Laramine slowly removed the lid.

Inside, a skeleton in a plain gown rested. When it didn't move, Laramine and Nemon began feeling around the corpse, searching for treasure. Nothing.

All this time, the rest of party waited, ready for something terrible to happen. A trap. A screeching skeleton. But, nothing happened.

Gruffydd was first to notice a small doorway to the west. It was plain and stone. A closer look showed it was sealed in wax. Miss adventure produced a dagger and carefully dug the wax out. A qucik check to see if it was trapped, and with the help of Gruffydd, the door opened.

Cobwebs obscured their view. The Men had to crouch to get inside. A single torch was lit to burn away the webs and thrown into the room to give light for the members of the party without night vision.

Against the far wall a single figure stood, then stirred. Dressed in a dark, filthy rag of robe, a lone rotten corpse moved to seperate itself from the cobwebs and the shadows. It carried a long rusting sword. It's eyes glowed red with what seemd to be mailce. In the light of the torch, a golden dagger gleamed, protruding from the creature's chest.

Dead Things

2011-01-28T11:35:00.000-08:00

The hobgoblin gave a croaking belch that passed as challenge, then quickly closed the distance between himself and the party. Behind him, the cowardly goblin finally got some guts and charged in after him. An arrow from Gildrid bounced off the hobgoblin's breastplate. The fighters and the dwarf went toe-to-toe with the large goblinoid, as Miss Adventure and Gustav attacked the goblin from the sides.
The hobgoblin ignored axe and sword blows, while delivering slashes with his long halberd. A strike from Laramine's glowing mace, finally brought the brute down, but not before he had injured most of the fighters. The little goblin's demise had been much swifter.
Finally left to survey the room, they found found it mostly empty, except for crude piles of rage and sticks that served as the goblin's sleeping mats. A few silver coins were crammed in the refuse. Gildrid kicked over a bucket only to find it full of stinking offal.
"Ugh!, goblin piss." he winced.
With no seeming threat approaching, the party agreed to go down the corridor the hobgoblin had emerged from. The corridor cut back on itself like a horseshoe and opened to large room that must have served as a barracks or eating hall. Crude stools and tables were scattered about. A corner had burn marks and the remnants of small fire. Some unidentifiable creature was a blackened husk on a spit above it. Miss Adventure sniffed at it, then made a face in disgust.
A single door was ajar in the northwest corner. Crowded about it, the group listened. Nothing.
The door led to a darkened hall, leading north. The hall ended in spartan room. There was a rugged, neatly made bed, a sturdy table with chair, and an iron bound box beneath the table. The far wall had a crescent moon drawn in charcoal. Miss Adventure climbed under the table to pick the lock, but noticed a key nailed to the underside of the table. The box was full of silver pieces of different makes and sizes.
Meanwhile, Gruffydd had examined the walls, looking for hidden doors. Again, nothing. Dividing up the contents of the heavy box, they group moved to the hallway Miss Adventure explored earlier.
When they turned left and headed towards the open door, where they could hear noises. It sounded like a high pitched cackle that could be laughter. Torches were hidden, and those with low light vision moved to peer in the room beyond. Two goblins in heavy leather armor were running away from, ...no playing with a huge weasel!
A collective shudder went the the party as they remembered what happened to Dimzad, at the claws of a giant weasel. The goblin's rough-housing must have kept then from hearing the earlier scuffles.
Yelling, half the party charged in, while the other half loosed arrows at the weasel.
Despite their heavy armor, the goblins were defeated quickly, downed my a hail of blows from the Men and the Dwarf. Pin-cuchioned by arrows, the weasel whimpered off into a corner and collapsed.
The room must have been used to house the weasel, either as a guardian, as the kobolds from previous adventures had done, or some other nefarious use. There was a large bucket of foul smelling water, and a pile of dung filled with undigested bones pushed into one corner. More importantly, there was spiral stair, winding down into the dark, and a south facing door, covered in the painted skulls Miss Adventure had spied earlier on another door. Besides the skulls, there were words in crude script.
The party tried to decipher it.
"It says dead things,"Gildrid spoke. The party turned to look at him. He shrugged. "It's hobgoblin. It says dead things."
The boards were pried off, and weapons were readied. Gruffydd pushed Gustav to the front. "Here's your chance to earn yer money, boy".
When the door was wedged open, stale air crept out. Cobwebs covered faded frescoes painted on the walls. Gustav scraped a few away. The pictures showed the life of some forgotten saint. The holy man was portrayed performing miracles; guiding lost ships to shore, fighting dragons and other horrors. The final fresco showed the saint being held down by guards while an important looking nobleman plunged a golden dagger into the saint's chest.
While Gustav studied the pictures, he failed to hear the soft shuffling and low moans eminating from the dark tunnel. The skeletons were almost on him when Gruffydd gave a loud warning. Gustav turned and shouted" Back ye soulless beasts! Back to the abyss that spawned you!"

A Quick Tour

2011-01-24T08:51:00.000-08:00

To his credit, the stunty hobgoblin stood his ground. He put up a good fight, inflicting some damage before the final blow, delivered by Gustav's massive flail.

While this little melee was underway, Miss Adventure had been calmly donning her "Speedy Boots" as she called them. In a "whoosh" of wind she off.

The screeching goblin had disappeared down a corridor to the south. She decided to scout down a matching corridor to the east. Within a few strides she saw crude tunnel dug into the south side of the hall. She zipped down it. It looked to have been carved by some great burrower. The tunnel was tight, and undulated up and down, side to side in a somewhat southwesternly course. She ran for just a moment before tearing to a halt. Blocking the tunnel was a massive rat, nearly her size. With a yelp, she ran back to eastern corridor.

Miss Adventure ran further east. The tunnel ended in a hallway to the north, and a barred door to the south. The way north had a closed door. The door behind her was nailed shut with boards, and covered in crudely painted skulls. She zipped back to the others.

In the few minutes the little halfling's recon took, the others had checked the body of the dead hobgoblin. The body yielded a few coins, and a strange blue half moon tattoo.

The party had just decided to head down the way the goblin had run when a large figure entered from that very corridor.

Before them this time, stood a full sized Hobgoblin.

Up and Down

2011-01-21T08:09:00.000-08:00

"Up!" Miss Adventure yelled,"Up! I want up!"

Those above yanked on the rope, hauling her up. The goblin below hissed, and then disappeared. Moments later, yelling and screeching could be heard in the depths.

Miss Adventure appeared from the well, huffing, "Goblins...goblins down there."

"Yes, we heard," Gildrid said frowning.

As the party discussed what to do, smoke started slowly coming from the hole. The goblins were building a fire in the well, now turned chimney.

"There's got to be another entrance," Nemon said. "This can't be the only way in". He peered over the side of the cliff and shivered.

"We don't have time for this," Gruffydd spoke as he began tying a new rope around his waist. It'll be dark soon, and this smoke will act as signal to ever creepy-crawly within sight of this place."

Laramine tied a rope around hid waist also. "Two at a time I think".

Squashed together in the tight space, and coughing and gagging on smoke, the dwarf and the man dropped quickly down the well. They had to untie themselves and dropped the last few yards into the fire itself, which was still small at this point.

Standing in front of them, clutching a bundle of twigs was a goblin in armor that looked too big for him. Even though the helmet was of obvious orc design and obscured his face, the look of shock was unmistakable. He dropped the wood and ran back into the darkness. Laramine and Gruffydd stalked into the room behind him as two other party members above began their own journey down.

The room was large and square with a high ceiling. The whole place was of mortared stone. Forming up in the middle of the room in almost military fashion were three goblins.

A few moments passed as Laramine and Gruffydd looked at each other. Neither had seen any kind or discipline in goblins before. Behind the "soldiers", a slightly larger, fatter goblin was barking orders. The three then lowered their weapons and charged.

Gruffydd and Laramine charged themselves. Before contact was made the lead goblin fell with arrow through the visor. Gildrid had made it down. After dropping the goblin, he began stomping out the fire.

Gruffydd smashed a goblin flat with his hammer. Laramine missed with his magic mace, and the green skin he faced almost connected with the spear he wielded. It spun around to face the sea-raider, unaware Nemon was behind him. "Clang!" The goblin fell under the mercenary's blade.

Attention turned to the fat one. He was conversing with the wood-gathering goblin. The little one ran off down a corridor shouting at the top of his lungs. The fat one stood his ground.

His armor was in better shape than the rest. It looked like it was made for him and not scavenged. His skin was orange, not the greenish yellow of a goblin. He hefted a meaty sword and waited for the party to come to him.

Not a goblin. A Hobgoblin.

Down in a Hole...

2011-01-20T08:51:00.000-08:00

Two days of hard riding left them at camp by the river at night. It was cold, but a fire would attract the wrong sorts. Odess, the moon, hid behind the clouds, and it was on Gustav's watch that something moved in the dark.

There was a splashing in the river. He could only see a dark shape, set against the dark of the river. It was large. This close to the bridge, it could be Ol' Nik, come collect his toll.

Gustav woke the others as quietly as he could, but by the time they were roused, whatever it was, was gone.

Trekking east along the southern bank of the river that morning, they found the ford. The hornet creatures were already up, busy doing whatever they did. The group crossed without incident, but this time, bows were trained on the far bank whenever someone crossed. They couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

Across the river, they built a small fire, enough to dry a bit, and look at the newly acquired map. The "circle" was to the northeast. Uncharted territory. Hills were the common feature here. Lots of places to hide, and ambush. They moved a little slower than usual, constantly on the lookout for danger.

The hills grew steeper, and steeper, and more broken. Finally at the top of a bluff they found what they sought. It was a very unassuming spot, for a place of legend and fear. A circle of mortared stones, 3 feet high sat like a strange well, out in the middle of nowhere. Spikes, grapples and irons were rusting away in a circle all around. Many, it seems, had climbed into the well.

About twenty yards from the hole, the bluff abruptly ended. Far, far below the river made its way through the hills. A fall from here was surely fatal.

There was much debate on who should go first. The hole itself was tight for the Men of the group. All eyes finally ended up on Miss Adventure. She threw down the stale loaf of bread she had been chewing on, with an "All right."

A new iron spike was set, and a new rope lowered into the depths, with diminutive halfling attached. She went down, and down, until almost the entire fifty feet of rope was used. It was then Miss Adventure was able to see in the dark, the top most stair of winding spiral staircase. It was just in reach. Her toe could almost make touch it...

"It's okay!" she shouted, "I found some stairs!"

Those up above winched as her shout echoed up the well, and surely everywhere else in the depths.

Miss Adventure heard a hiss, then squeal below her. At the very bottom of the steps was a hole. A small creature held an arm up to protect itself from the few rays of sun filtering down. Beedy red eyes glared at the halfling. A goblin!

Interlude: On Running the Sandbox

2011-01-12T12:34:00.000-08:00

I don't usually like to interrupt the narrative, but Eli asked me about how I run the world that is Beyond the Wall. There are a ton of sites out there with probably better advice than I, about running OD&D games, but here goes:
Despite the fact that some of my best games have been run totally on the fly, ad libbing as I go (the kobold village was completely done, then I left it at work and had to make the whole thing up), preparation is key. Have your world ready, and then it's a matter of the PCs just going there. If they decide to left to the old tower, the tower's done. If they go right on the road, the old marsh is already stocked. Throw in random encounters (Logun was just rolled up, but instead of a werewolf just attacking the party, I had him appear in human guise, and halfway helpful).
I started with an idea, which BTW isn't really that original, of a world for the most part civilized, but beyond a certain point, the world was still wild and untamed. A little of the wild west mixed with Hadrian's wall. I've run a still floating-in-the-aether narrative campaign. It's completely frozen because too many members have a hard time meeting at the same time. The story is too ingrained in the membership to just drop one out. This began my interest in the sandbox. I wanted anyone to be able to play whenever. My kids want a quick session? Done. This website was set up, mostly as a way for those that might have missed a session to still keep up with what's been explored, who's doing what, etc. Players can come and go to the world as they please.
In my mind, too much time can be wasted screwing around in town, talking to PCs. For my games, Wall is where the adventure stops and ends. The world of Wall is there, the blog and descriptions from me are there so the PCS have place in their minds, but interaction is limited, unless it has to do with a adventure hook.
To wit, RUMORS. Both on the blog and in the Hole are rumors. These are story hooks to get the characters out Beyond the Wall. They can use them or not. The Well of Souls was just a rumor. The PCs had no idea where it was, til they found a map dropped by a bandit. Again, they could have just not gone there and ignored the map. You have to be prepared for that.
Back to the idea of Wall for a moment. I started with a rough map. I put it on the cover of my spiral notebook. It's 8 squares by squares. I decided each square was a hard days ride in good weather to cross. No scale. PCs don't know miles, they just know the narrative. "A day has passed, it's noon", etc. The squares are numbered A-1, A-2....I blew up each square and made a hex map 8 hexes by 8 hexes. Each takes about an hour to cross. This works for two reasons. 1-You check for encounters every hour, so each hex. 2- Helps me keep tract of time. And it's not so big an area you'll miss something
If you think about the traditional D&D sense of each hex size. Go walk into some local woods by your house. Even a in a small forest, you could walk for hours, but still walk right past the goblin encampment.
In each of these hex maps I've got 4-5 places of interest spread across it.. Normally I just make a little picture of a tree or a castle, then come up with some menacing name to match. These get put in the notebook. Then I start writing the info about each. Some are just quick little scenarios, some are huge modules in themselves. These get put in the notebook behind the relevant page. Now, repeat.
The area immediately outside wall are 1st level, then I fan out from there getting increasingly harder. So the farther they go, the harder it gets. There are pockets within that are harder, and some easier. Ol Nik, is a heavy creature in what is mostly a 1st level area. I use stuff from wherever I can find it. The current dungeon I found online, but tweaked to fit.
I by no means have the whole world done either. I have what I think the characters will explore in the immediate future done, but that's it. Hidden within all these random events/encounters is, I have to say, an overarching story that is slowly unfolding. The characters have little snippits here and there, but not the whole story.
Now, as far as DMing it goes I have some rules.
-Don't railroad. Part of having a complete world, is for them to explore, or not.
-Allow the dice to decide. Some of my best stories have sprung from random rolls. I also usually give everyone a second chance, but that's it. Dimzad was played by a somewhat reckless youth, and eventually he paid for it. His sacrifice allowed everybody to realize, they were mortal. That one death in the party has transformed how everyone plays now.
-Don't over think it. This ain't Lord of the Rings. It supposed to be fun, not homework.
-Embrace your inner 12-year-old. What would you like to have done/seen/fought.
Since I started it, it has been a blast. Our group ranges from 9 to way, way older than 9.
I rambled a bit, but hope that helped. I don't want to turn this into a blog about DMing styles, but if have a question you throw it my way.
I'm toying with the idea of letting others outside my group run around but haven't found a convenient to do it.

Into the Beyond Once More

2011-01-06T11:42:00.000-08:00

The night before their departure, the adventurers gathered at the Hole to pour over their new map and gather intelligence. Most wanted to make for the strange circle on map, hoping it was the rumored Well of Souls. They were also fairly sure the "X" was not treasure, but the location of the infamous Bandit King. Gustav was obsessed with finding Lake Merr, but the others voted him down.
It was bitterly cold outside. No snow, but one of those nights where the air burns your skin it's so chilly. So it was no wonder many were packed in the warm, loud tavern. Bits of conversations could be heard.
"...they say the Underguard caught 5 gobbos in basement below warehouse district. Heard the little buggers put up quite a fight..."
"...torches, right out on the Old Trade Road in front of the gates. Whenever the Watch go to investigate, they're gone...."
Tancred, the aging veteran barkeep brought the party ale himself. This was odd, as he hardly ever left the sanctity of his bar. As he handed the group their refreshments, he spoke low and to no one in particular, "You folks watch yerselves out there tomorrah. Strangers been askin' bout cha. I was tight lipped bout yer comings and goins', but not everybody else has."
The party shot glances around the room to catch some one giving them a look, but no one seemed suspicious.
The next morning, the party gathered outside the gate. The cold kept most inside, but a few well-wishers and gawkers showed to see them off. The guards were making their usual side bets on who would return from the group. Gates opened, they were on their way.
The wind across the rolling hills was brutal. When they reached the small valley that held Newly's tree they stopped. It was a break from the cold, but a chance to gather information, if the dryad so chose.
"Newly!," Miss Adventure shouted.
A slumped, gray, shriveled old woman appeared. Her skin was the same shade as the great oak. Twigs and dead leaves were trapped in the tangled mess that was her white hair. Her eyes were a pupil-less black.

"Eh? Who's there?, she asked.
"It's us, Newly. Your friends," was Miss Adventure's answer. The dryad just stared.
After a long, uncomfortable pause she spoke. "Who's this one then?" Her arm, looking like an old tree branch, pointed at Gustav. The young cleric simply grunted and gave her a disdainful glare.
Newly spoke again, "I see much blood about this one. Much darkness, and much potential."
Each of the group gave Gustav a look. Newly had never been one for prophecy before. It was odd statement.
"Newly," Gruffydd began, "do you have any news for us? Has any one been by here? Men with torches?"
The old dryad started walking back to her tree. "The comings and goings of Men are no concern to me." With that she disappeared.
"A girl in the Spring," Laramine said. "An old hag in the Winter?"
"We really need to show up about Summer," Gruffydd laughed.

A New Adventure, a New Friend

2011-01-05T13:31:00.000-08:00

Barely a week had past since our intrepid party had returned from the ruins of the lost village, when they decided it was time for another shot at fame and fortune. They had not recovered much loot, and finances were running low. It was decided that adding a cleric to their ranks might increase their chances of survival. A holy man could heal their wounds and maybe their luck. It was only a few days after nailing a posting to tree outside the Hole, that a cleric appeared. He was young, but full of vigor, and scrapping for a fight. The Lost lands Beyond the Wall were in need of some Religion, and Gustav was the boy, err man to do it.

Gustav had survived a great cataclysm, he said, but was tight lipped about which one. His god was great and powerful, but a again vague, about who they were. He carried a great two handed flail. With this he would vanquish the impure, and spread the Word.

The Way Back

2011-01-04T08:45:00.000-08:00

After emerging from the kobold caves, the party found their horses gone. They had wandered off, or had been taken. No one knew which, they just knew it would be a long walk home. They were packing their things, preparing for said walk, when a mounted figure appeared on the road from the south.
It was Gruffydd. "Can't go that way," he said. "Nasty troll guarding the bridge."
"I think we can figure our way back to the ford," Laramine spoke up, hefting the magical mace. It was decided he was best suited for it's wielding. "It can't be that hard. Find the river, and follow it east."
Indeed, the river was easy enough to find, but it was nightfall before they reached it. It was to be a cold camp. No fire tonight.
As the temperature dropped, so did spirits. It had been a dangerous trek, with little to show but a dead comrade, and a few bits of treasure. During Miss Adventure's watch, lights appeared in the west. There were at least a dozen. Maybe torches, moving fast south towards the bridge, which was barely in sight around the river's bend.
The halfling woke the rest of the party quietly, and pointed at the torches. There were mounted figures on the bridge. They stopped for a few moments, then headed south along the road toward Wall. The party watched silently. No one would sleep the rest of the night.
With little rest and a few mouthfuls of stale food, the group headed for the ford at sunrise. They heard the low hum of the hornet-men before they saw the ruined tower. A few of the creatures were flitting across the top of river, snatching fish up as they went and returning to their hive. When they reached the tower, the hornet men seemed to ignore the party, going about whatever it was they did.

Gildrid splahed into the river, "I'll go first."
"At least..."Gruffydd started, but the elf was out of earshot,"...take a rope"
Gruffydd follwed into the river and was behind him a ways, when the group spotted the riders. Gildrid was on the far bank, emptying his boots of water when three Men on horseback emerged from the trees lining the river. All were clad in leather mail and wore black hoods. Gildrid had his back to them, and one rider was raising a crossbow.
Gruffydd tried to shout a warning along with the rest of the party as they all started splashing across at once. The water was too loud. Gildrid saw their waving arms, and waved back, oblivious to the danger.
The rider loosed his bolt. It missed, but hit the elf's cloak, pinning it to the ground. Gildrid spun around in time to see a battle ax slam into his head as a rider flew by.
He circled his horse, ready to finish the stunned elf, when Gruffydd buried his own crossbow bolt into the rider. Another rode out to face Gruffydd while the one with crossbow reloaded. The injured rider took another swing at Gildrid and dropped him.
Nemon's thrown dagger caught the crossbow wielding rider in the neck. The hooded man fell from his saddle. Gruffydd crushed the leg of his own foe with a swing of his hammer. He too, fell from the saddle. Another blow from the dwarf, and rider was still.
As the rest of party came up the bank, the wounded rides departed in haste. He disappeared into the woods. Immediately, Laramine grabbed a spare horse and donning one of hoods snatched from one the bodies rode after in pursuit.
They party took stock of the situation. Gildrid was down, unmoving. There was a great gash beneath his crushed helmet. His breath was shallow. "Great, he;s dead again," Miss Adventure said as she plopped down beside him. She forced open Gildrid's mouth and began pouring healing draughts offered up by the group.
Gruffydd and Nemon examined the bodies of the riders. Their hoods were black sack cloth, similar to those put over the heads of men bound for the gallows. Holes had been roughly cut out to see, and indeed, a hangman's noose held their hoods on. The men themselves were skinny, bordering on malnutrition. Their leather armor and weapons were plain, well used, but in good condition. The party found a few coins, but more importantly, found a map.
It showed they immediate area to north of Wall. Few maps existed of the Fallen Lands. This one seemed to made by hand on rough lambskin, probably by the hand of one of the dead men. A strange circle was marked on an area close to their location, but it was judged best to head for Wall and investigate later.
As the party readied themselves again, and rounded up their new mounts, Laramine appeared.
"He was too fast. Besides, I'm a mariner, not horseman."
The rest of journey to Wall was cold and uneventful, but the party kept a watch over their shoulders the whole way.

Ol' Nik

2010-12-17T07:33:00.000-08:00

Trolls, are a sinister, clever, sadistic lot. They survive on the fringes of civilization, carving out little territories where they can. Trolls are tough. Only fire or magic seems to really hurt them, so one would think they would be bold creatures, unafraid of danger. But they are few, with an almost nonexistent birthrate. Male trolls tend eat what few children they have, as they see them as a threat to their territory. Cowards at heart, trolls only become bold when they see an opportunity. One such opportunity exists at the only known bridge across the Black River, Beyond the Wall.
Guarding this bridge is Ol' Nik. Know one is sure of his age, he has been at the bridge since the Great Collapse. Traders and surrounding surviving communities just became accustomed to "paying the toll" to Nik and for a time, his brother Klem. It's unusual for two male trolls to coexist in the same territory, but these two were formidable foes to any who tried clear the bridge of them. Many an armed group of peasants or traders had enough and made a run at the trolls. The result was usually quick and messy.
Klem has not been seen, however, for over 20 years, although Ol' Nik can still be heard talking to him. Tancred, barkeep at the Hole, has hinted that he is cause of Klem's disappearance.
For now, Ol' Nik still guards the bridge over the Black, extracting whatever he can from the few survivors Beyond the Wall. He takes gold, food, or the occasional lone traveller. Ol' Nik can the dumb old bridge troll when he needs to, but he should not be underestimated. He is a cold, calculating, survivor with quick talons and a sharp mind. And even sharper teeth....

Giants

2010-12-14T07:07:00.000-08:00

Giants have been a feature of the lands Beyond the Wall, since before the wall was built, or the Empire itself. Calling themselves the Children of the Fallen, giants claim their descent from the Elder Times when demons and gods walked the world. Giants seem a bit cloudy on which group they can call their parents, but most agree they are not the race they once were.
Giants were both a nuisance and gift during the Empire's Golden Age. Settlements could just as easily been both prey to giants, or protected by them, depending on the creature in question.
The most commonly encountered giant Beyond the Wall seems to be either the Hill or Mountain variety. Neither is particularly bright, or evil for that matter, but they are easily tricked or bribed into vile acts by darker souls. They are greedy, however, and fond of drink, much like the dwarves they have been known join in battle. Indeed, dwarvish and giant are similar languages, a fact which dwarves tend to gloss over.
All of the Great Incursions have included giants in their armies; their great strength used to tear large sections of Wall down. The creatures are usually countered by the garrison by lobbing huge casks of ale or sheep into the giant's ranks. Once drunk, the giants tend to wander off to sleep.
Giants tend to stick to the highlands, but lack of food and stronger forces have been driving them more into the lowlands Beyond the Wall. Adventurers be wary when a long shadow passes their way.

Interlude: Gruffydd's Tale

2010-11-16T07:46:00.000-08:00

Gruffyd emerged from the kobold tunnel below into the ruined temple, exhausted from dragging the sack full of Dimzad.

After scratching his arse for a long while and contemplating what to do, he walked out to the street to head towards the bridge and the troll.

Gruffydd’s pony was where he left it, happily chomping away at grass. The sun said it was mid afternoon.

Dimzad’s clan originated south and west of Wall, in the Fartnoth Mountains, known to dwarves as Zarnun-Affuk or Zarn’s Anvil. But that was long way off. Dimzad was the last of his clan, the others wiped out in the numerous wars with the black-bloods. There would be no grieving relatives, no feast, even if Gruffydd did find his way there.

Always sensible, Gruffydd decided it was best just to take it one step at a time, and try and get to Wall as quickly as possible. They had run so fast from the old ferry and the hornet-things, that he really hadn’t paid that much attention to how they got here. Trying to find his way back that way was out of the question. With that in mind, Gruffydd strapped what was left of Dimzad to the dead dwarf’s pony. Gruffydd got on his own mount, Lucius and rode south, down the road toward the bridge.

An hour later, he looked down at the river from a rise in the road. Where the party had crossed before, further to the east, the water had flowed swift and dangerous. Here it was sluggish and boggy in some places. The bridge it was a quite a feat of engineering even by dwarven standards. It spanned the river in four great arches. It was obvious the work had been done during the height of the Empire. Gruffydd estimated its construction to be around the time of Gustavus III.

Only one thing marred its otherwise awe inspiring features, a great chunk was missing about midway across, on the northwest side. The bridge was wide enough for 4 horses abreast, but was narrowed down to two at the damaged area. Weeds grew from cracks in the stones.

Gruffydd looked for any movement, or an outbuilding where someone or thing might hide. He slowly approached the bridge. Everything was quiet except for slow movement of the water. A hawk, high above, drifted on a breeze. Lucius took time to nibble some grass.

Gruffydd dismounted and eased the pony forward to drink. From the water’s edge he saw nothing to raise an alarm. Lucius slurped away at the water, nosing his way into the cattails that populated the river’s boggy edge.

He pulled the pony free of water’s edge and slowly began crossing the bridge. Again, the quiet of the place was disturbing. Lucius’s hooves made a steadt “clop, clop” on the paving stones. Suddnly the quiet was broken.

“Well Klem, ain’t that the darndest thing you ever did see…?” A deep rumble of a voice echoed from somewhere under the bridge. “Some one brought Ol’ Nik some supper.”

Gruffydd calmly dismounted and taking hammer in hands, stood his ground. It was then a great, clawed hand emerged unto the railing of the bridge. I was large, grey and covered in warts. The talons were as long as daggers. Next, a face appeared from below. Cruel yellow eyes looked out from behind long, wet, greasy hair. The misshapen head had pointed ears, yellowed, razor sharp teeth twisted into something resembling a smile.

It was a troll. Of that there could be no doubt. Cave trolls had long fought along side the gobinoids that raided Gruffydd’s homeland. But this was a river troll. They were smarter, faster and somehow crueler than their kin.

“Hmmmm, dwarf two ways. Live or recently dead? Makes it hard for a body to decide.” The troll cackled. “Klem, watcha think?” he said over his shoulder.

Gruffydd puffed out his chest and said “ I understand there’s a toll to be paid, troll. What be the price and I’ll tell ya if I thinks its too high.”

The troll came over the side of the bridge and drew himself up to his full height, which was twice as tall as Gruffydd. He wore wet pair of trousers, held up by a crude suspender. He tapped at his teeth with single long talon.

The troll whispered to itself, then finally said, “That there sack full of guts would make a tasty toll.”

Gruffydd glanced at the other pony, and the bag that sat on it. “That be a pile of ole nasty goblin guts. An errand of mine for my
employer. And we all know how stringy and sour be tastin goblin, alive
or dead. But how abouts the pony that be carryin the load. Now that’s a
fine plump morsel for your impressive teeth and talons.”

The troll sniffed. And sniffed again. “Hmmm, don’t smell like gobbo. As much as I hate to admit it. me and the little squirts gots blood in common. We can smell our own.”

“That’s why my employer wanted to study this nasty little gobbo.
Alright, then I withdraw my offer.”
The dwarf mounted his pony but kept his hammer out.
”No toll shall be paid to you today. You shall have to fish for your
dinner, instead of this tasty little pony.”
Gruffydd turned the pony around facing the other way as if to leave where he came from.

“Now, now, friend,” the troll said. “We can be reasonable. Fresh meat’s always better than spoilt.” He licked his chops a bit before continuing. “The pony’s fine, but I’ll need both. Klem’s gotta eat, too.”

“And how am I supposed to deliver my package, if I aint got no pony to
carry it?”
”Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give you this pony here, then the rest of
my companions, who are just up the road from here, will give you one of
their extra ponies when they get here. They should be here about the
time you are picking this plump little beauty out of you teeth with a
rib bone.”

“How’s Ol’ Nik supposed to know if there really is another group just down the road?”

The troll said. “Klem doesn’t doesn’t trust ya, and neither do I. Some of yer kin tried passing a coupla months back. Tried to trick me, then fight me. Had a few of them before they got away. I’ve developed quite a taste for stunties…”

“Well Nik. You can trust me or no. I think maybe I’ll let them know.”
When When Gruffydd said ‘know’ he slapped Dimzads pony on the behind and spurred Lucius on as fast as I could off the bridge and up the road.

“Come back here!” the troll raged. “Next time we meet, yer a dead ‘un fer sure!”

Mopping up

2010-11-12T08:35:00.000-08:00

The whole mob of kobolds surged forward, their king at the lead. The glow of his mace reflected against the cold stone of the throne room. The party waited for them. Small spears clattered past them, hurled by the kobold pack. Gildrid was too weak to draw his bow, and he was out of arrows anyway. Nemon began throwing daggers at the front rank of kobolds. They weren't really throwing daggers, but kobold short swords he had plundered from the dead earlier. Several of the tiny, angry creatures fell to the daggers. But the rest came on.
Laramine swung at the king. It went wide and missed. The kobold king's mace cracked into Laramine's side, sending him flying across the floor. The veteran sea raider was soon swarmed by barking kobolds.
Nemon flailed at his attackers, sending a kobold flying with each swing. Miss Adventure, glad to be finally fighting someone her size, dived into the fray with reckless abandon.
Laramine pulled free of his assailants to face the kobold king. He took the mace with his great sword. The metal of his blade hissed and sparked. Though the little king was half his size, the kobold's strength seemed doubled. A kick put the king a few paces back, then a swing sent his head in a great bloody arc across the hall.
The few remaining kobolds broke off and ran for a dark corridor to the right of the throne. Bruised and bloody, four adventurers looted the dead, finding a few coppers. The mace had stopped glowing once the king died. Laramine picked it up, but it remained dark.
"Lemme see that", Nemon said taking the mace. He tapped it on the ground and the blue flames ignited once again.
Using the light of the mace, they found another door to the left of the throne. It seemed more ornate around the entrance. A short hall led to a door, this one sturdier than any they had seen so far. It was locked.
"Ungh!" Nemon smashed the mace into the door. It blew apart and in. The room beyond was decorated with items looted from the above world. Everyday things were given special places of honor. An old butter churn sat upon a corner alter. Tools and farm equipment sat on rotting satin pillows, while books were used to prop up corners of a tattered, man sized bed. As much as could be grabbed, was. Nemon and Laramine threw anything of value in their oversized bags, while Gildrid collapsed on the bed. Miss Adventure made another discovery. Behind a moth eaten curtain she found a closet. It was packed with boxes and shelves, and guarding it was a hissing Kobold youth. It was obviously frightened. It's little hands held a dagger at the halfling, but those same hands were trembling.
"Hey fellas," she said" what do I do with this guy?"
Nemon marched over and bashed it's head in with the mace. Miss Adventure stared at the gore that spattered on her, in disgust.
The closet yielded little gold, and a few trinkets. Gildrid lay on the bed groaning and close to unconsciousness. "All right," Laramine spoke, "we gotta try something."
He grabbed the jar full of white paste they found earlier. "Here goes nothing", and began spreading on Gildrid's spider bite. The elf howled in pain. Whatever kobolds left in the complex, were now probably doubly scared.
To everyone's amazement, the salve seemed to work. The black and blue scar ceased its crawl across Gildrid's neck and face. He perked up immediately but was still weak.
"Okay", Nemon said, lets get out of here."
There was no way out of the room other than the way they came. They decided to follow the kobold's lead and head out the hall to the right of the throne. It lead to a tunnel up. Apparently this was the escape hatch. Struggling up the almost vertical earthen tunnel they emerged into the world above.
The sun was going down, and the party was unsure how large the kobold tunnels below stretched or how many might come to the aid of their brethren.
"Beaten and bruised, with one dead," Laramine said, "and nothing to show but a few lousy coppers and a glowing mace. Great. Let's find the horses."

"I want one of Those!'

2010-11-08T10:56:00.000-08:00

The beetle moved ever forward. The heat from the flames was on them. Nemon and Laramine brought their shields up to block the entrance to the small room. Gildrid was weak, but still able to loose a few arrows at the fire beetle by propping himself up against a shelf. The arrows clattered harmlessly against the beetle's tough armor.
Stil the beetle move ever towards them. The party could hear the yelps and taunts coming from the kobolds marching behind. The men's shields began to smoke and sizzle. Miss Adventure had enough. She began throwing anything she could find inside the pantry at the beetle. Jars of strange liquids and fermented staples shattered against the fiery insect. A jar full of yellow, foul smelling goo hit it square in the face. It stopped, shaking its head. The kobolds were prodding it from behind with spears.
Then, Miss Adventure hurled a mason jar of blue paste. BOOM! The shockwave knocked all four of the party down. The hall was full of stunned and dead kobolds, and a very charred, smoking beetle.
Laramine and Nemon charged forward stabbing the living kobolds that were too stunned to fight back.
Singed and a bit wobbly from the explosion, they headed down the hallway where the beetle had come from, ladened with whatever they could carry from the kobold "pantry".
The corridor ended in an open door. The doorway opened into a large hall. Furs and sleeping mats covered the floor around the edges, against the walls. There was a raised platform. On it sat a throne, and on it a large kobold. Well, large for a kobold. Standing, he probably didn't reach Laramine's belt.
Behind the kobold king, a dozen warriors stood, ready to attack. They hissed and barked, gripping their weapons, shooting glances at their sovereign, waiting for the order to charge the interlopers. The king stood raising a great mace. He tapped it on the floor and the mace's head exploded into blue flame.
All four party members uttered the same words at the same time.
"I want one of those."

Bugs and Burns

2010-11-04T11:15:00.000-07:00

The head cook died first, an arrow from Gildrid between her eyes. She dropped silently, falling forward into her great cauldron. The other kobolds didn't seem to notice right away. The party, now down to four crept into the immense kitchen. There was a crash. Frightened, a kobold carrying a tall stack of plates had spotted the party and dropped the stack in a panic. Alarm spread through the steaming kitchen. Barks and hisses of alarm mixed with dying screams as the party began hacking their way through a flood of tiny attackers. None were spared, even the kobold youths. Laramine booted one across the room when it came at him with a huge cleaver in it's tiny hands.
One kobold, however, managed to escape the carnage and ran through a doorway in the back of the kitchen. It's howling alarm echoed down the hallway. The party, covered in black Kobold blood, collected themselves, and followed.
A short hallway led to a large hall. The ceiling was high for the diminutive koblods, but normal height for a Man. From all the tables scattered around, it seemed to be a mess hall. They just caught a glimpse of the creature they were pursuing, as it disappeared down a hallway on the other side. Close to them, another hallway with low ceiling.
"That way!" Laramine said. Crouching, the Northman entered the corridor. It split into two rounded hallways, much like a tuning fork. He headed down the right. His torch illuminated a small room. It stank. The walls on three sides had low benches built into them, with holes in the seats. "Uh, a latrine."
Sure enough, at the far end, sitting alone and trying very hard not to be noticed, a male kobold sat, with his crude trousers around his ankles. It squealed as Laramine charged forward. He spitted it at the end of his great sword.
The others found a similar latrine down the other corridor, this one without an inhabitant.
The party then decided to head for the other hallway at the far end of the mess hall. It was paved with flagstones, as much of the other corridors were, with packed earthen walls. The hallway split into a "T". Yelling, and the sounds of many kobolds echoed down from the right hall. The adventurers moved the other way.
They found a small door. This one was reinforced and locked. Nemon and Laramine tried their best to bash it down, but the space was tight, and they couldn't get leverage.
"Outta my way," Miss Adventure said, shouldering her way past the men. She began fidgeting with the lock. A few moments later, a "click" came from the lock, and the door opened.
"Miss Adventure," said Nemon," why don't you put on those boots of yours and wait at the crossroads back there. If anything comes, let us know."
With that, the halfling was gone. The others took stock of the room. It was high roofed and cylindrical. Shelves packed the curved walls. The shelves were full of boxes, jars, containers and urns. "Must be some kind of kobold pantry," Laramine said to Gildrid. It was then he noticed the elf was pale. Paler than usual. The wound the spider had given Gildrid was purple again, and spreading.
"Hey Nemon, he doesn't look so good."
Some of the containers lining the shelves looked man made. Some were of kobold manufacture. There were dried herbs and food, and some things that were unidentifiable and smelled awful. Laramine and Nemon began rifling through all of them, looking for a hidden door, or a cure for their friend. Gildrid just crumbled up into a ball and drooled on himself. One of the jars crashed to the floor. It was the near comatose Gildrid that noticed the green liquid that had spilt was draining through the floor somewhere. Nemon started prying them up with his dagger. He found a small, square hole. In it was two jars. One contained a whitish paste. The other had dried mushrooms. They gave off the faint blueish light the party recognized as the fungus, that once refined, could be used as a healing potion. Nemon and Laramine contemplated given the raw mushrooms to Gildrid, but they could be poisonous in their non-refined state.
There was a rush of air.
"Here they come!" said a breathless Miss Adventure. Down the corridor they could see a bright light. Strange, for a race that lived in the dark. The light grew brighter, until they could distinguish a large shape filling most of the hallway. It was the source of the light. And the heat.
A giant beetle trudged through the tight corridor, fire squirting from it's open maw.

What's cooking?

2010-10-29T11:15:00.000-07:00

At first, there was stunned silence. Miss Adventure was the first to charge ahead. She dove under the closest weasel and began stabbing upward, soon up to her elbows in blood. Laramine swung at the other beast with his great sword, cleaving its head nearly in two. Gildrid was pelting them with arrows, and Nemon threw daggers.
Only Gruffydd stood, unmoving.
All the adventurer's rage at the loss of Dimzad was taken out on the giant weasels. The creatures were dead before they ever struck back. Miss adventure crawled out from under one, just before the beast collapsed.
It was time to take stock of the room. There was an almost identical door at the opposite side from where they came in. A large pile of weasel dung was piled in one part of the round, domed earth room. Amid the pile was undigested bones of large humanoids. There were two large copper bowls, full of water, and writing in a strange tongue on them.
Gruffydd began hacking away at the chest of the one who ate Dimzad. He cracked open the ribcage and dug the top half of Dimazd out. The others watched in muted disgust. Gruffydd was caked in gore by the time he was done with his grizzly task. He loaded what there was into a huge sack, kept for treasure and began to head toward the door they came through.
"Where are you going?" asked Gildrid.
"He was the last of his clan. He deserves a proper burial." And with that Gruffydd was gone.
Nemon spoke, "All right then, time to see what's behind that door."
A loud racket came from the other side. Nemon slowly creaked open the unlocked door.
Through the crack he spied a large Kitchen, full of large pots boiling over, and pots and pans of all description. A giant oven covered one wall. A horrible stench eminated from the roasting, boiling and baking food. It reminded Nemon of one of the layers of hell described in his grandfather's library.
All the noise must have covered the party's battle with the weasels. Above the racket was the squealing barks and hisses made by the cooks and their helpers. There was a small army of kobolds slaving away. One, a largish female by the strange, out of place dress she wore, seemed to be in charge. She wielded a huge frying pan she whacked other kobolds with occasionally, to reinforce her orders.

Interlude: What's been explored....

2010-10-29T08:01:00.000-07:00

A map showing what has been explored Beyond the Wall. Each hex represents a days walk, unhindered by weather.

Now, set within the larger context of the campaign world.

R.I.P. Dimzad the Beardless

2010-10-28T10:41:00.000-07:00

Pets

2010-10-27T07:07:00.000-07:00

Fire burned through Gildrid's veins. Pain, ...such pain. He dropped his shield and the spider with it. Laramine sprang forward and cleaved the spider in two. He quickly pulled out a vial containing the Tears of Verena to administer to the now collapsed elf. Black and blue veins of poison spread from the bite mark like a web. Laramine pressed the healing potion to Gildrid's lips and forced a drink down. The elf came to consciousness.
The spread of poison stopped, but had not been cured. Gildrid felt terrible. His muscles burned, and his vision blurred. Laramine helped him out into the sunlight and the square beyond. It was then, that Nemon finally won his battle with the temple door. With a great crash, it caved in, Nemon stumbling behind.
The others now swarmed inside. The temple was a round, domed, stone structure, sparse in it's decor. There was a raised dias at the far end with a stone altar, and a statue behind of a stern looking, robed man. The dome above was cracked, and let a few rays of sunshine in. There were long wooden benches, jumbled all around. Several were stacked against the now demolished door. But there was no one inside. No bodies.
Laramine, used to sacking such places in his youth, stomped up to the altar and kicked it over. As he suspected, under the stone was small hole. In it, was small bag of coins, and a large gold key. The key looked like it fit the temple doors, as there were no other portals in the temple.
Gruffydd, had meanwhile, found a loose floor tile. He kicked at it, finally getting the toe of his boot underneath and shoving it off.
There was a rush of cool air, and on it, more of the strange whispers. There was a tunnel. It went through the foundation of the temple and into the earth beyond. The passage went straight down then eased into a ninety degree turn horizontally. Everyone looked at everyone else, waiting for a volunteer.
Gruffydd let out a deep sigh, "all right, I'll go first. Dimzad, you're next."
The dwarves dropped down the tight passage, shoulders scraping at the packed earth. At the bottom, they could see the tunnel was reinforced with roughly cut timbers. It wasn't pretty, but it was well constructed. "I don't like the looks of this." Gruffydd whispered to his fellow dwarf. "Seems familiar some how."
The end of the tunnel held a small, round door. Gruffydd examined it, while the others noisily slid down the hole. Dirt and dust fill the cramped passage.
The door, like the tunnel, was crudely, but well construct. It had simple wooden latch on the outside. Loud breathing, a snuffling, sniffing, noise came from the other side. That was when Dimzad decided to jab his dagger under the door. There was a loud "Squeeeeel" and then scratching at the door. Gruffydd shot Dimzad a dark look. He looked at the others and gave a nod. "Are we ready?"
He yanked the door open and the others flew past into the room with much shouting and war cries. It was enough to startle the two giant weasels beyond. They filled most of the domed, packed earth chamber, two huge versions of an every day weasel. They hissed and showed their teeth, backs arched.
Gildrid, even in his weakened state, managed to sink a few arrows into the closest. It didn't seem to notice.
Dimzad led the charge, axe swinging, bellowing the war cry of his clan. The arrow wearing weasel hissed again, gave a great pounced, and simply bit the top half of Dimzad off.
The dwarf's legs took a few steps, blood spurting from the ruined waist, and toppled.

Side Note: Dimzad, the gods rest his soul, belonged to Lead Addict's middle son, a lad of 10 years. He took the loss of his first PC very well, better than I would have. It helped that the grownups all cheered his death, and called it heroic.
His secret background was he was the last of his kind, or in this case, clan. So farewell to Dimzad Ab Zogenbreth, known as the "Beardless", last of his clan. He joins his faithful goat Bob, in death and glory.

Interlude: Laramine

2010-10-26T08:18:00.000-07:00

Laramine grew, as most from his village did if you were strong, smart, and had the stomach for it, to become a sea-raider. The rest, to weak of body or mind, just became fishermen and reed-cutters, and started families. Laramine came from a region off a far ocean coast named the Kraken’s Teeth, a series of tall pinnacled isles known for piracy and death, where any good merchant ship captain avoided unless he was headstrong or stupid. As sea-raiders Laramine and his kinsmen spent journeys raiding coastal villages along the main coastlines, looking for gold and goods, or the occasional attractive maiden, although the latter was usually a short-lived fray, as the sea and adventure beckoned, while the maiden’s voice too often became shrill and that of a harpy. Laramine’s family had been small, born to a father who had also been a sea-raider, and eventually lost his life doing just so; and a mother who herself had been one of the hapless stolen maidens, taken against her will from some now unknown fishing village long decimated. Laramine had one sibling, a brother, ‘Salamel’, three years his junior, and with a temperament considered cold and ruthless even by a raiders standards. Some had even ventured to use the word, evil. This ruthlessness by Salamel propelled him to become influential as a leader, and many raiders followed his lead, with raids becoming more brutal, and focused on creating chaos and killing, and less about reaping gold and spoils to live on. While accustomed to killing and a life of raiding, Laramine became intolerant of the new breed of raiders, and journeys for fresh plunder became farther and farther away. There was no hint of honor or purpose in the attacks carried out, it was mayhem. On a warm day, while the winds were blowing fresh salt air across the isles, Laramine gathered his sword, armor, and what few possessions he favored, and took a small sailed fishing boat and headed for the mainland coast, putting his life of sea-raiding behind him. He sought a new course, looking for adventure and personal glory on solid ground. There was so much more the mainland had to offer. For several years Laramine roamed from village to village, joining small bands of adventurers, seeking hidden and rumored treasure, but as was so often the case personalities clashed, or the rumors were just that… rumors, and as always he moved on, looking for a better fit, trusting only in himself, wary of most. Finally in the 28^th year of his life, he happened upon a town simply called ‘Wall’, and in a small smoke filled tavern, with a one-eyed barkeep, he met an odd band of adventurers, Dwarves, a thief, an elf, a human, with backgrounds not so dissimilar to his own. This group of personalities intrigued him, as did the untamed land beyond the wall, and the rumors of treasures and creatures unheard of. Maybe, just maybe, Laramine had found a place he could stay a while.

Side note: This character belongs to Scott, a.k.a. JrGMan. He was one of the first people I ever played D&D with. Many moons spent in his basement spilling monster blood with his PC, Rasputin the Massive. It's nice to have him back in the fold.

I have my PCs randomly roll for a "secret background". Laramine's was "sibling a force for evil the world".

A Beating, and a Biting

2010-10-25T10:38:00.000-07:00

The great wolf snarled and snapped. It paced the campfire, eyes always on Dimzad. Then it leapt and knocked the dwarf to the ground. The wolf tore into Dimzad before the others could react.
With the horses in turmoil, the camp was chaos. It was Grufftdd who noticed the scar on the wolf's left eye. "Don't kill it him, subdue it!"
The order didn't keep Gildrid from drawing a silver tipped arrow."I said subdue!", Gruffydd shouted at the elf.
Gruffydd smacked the wolf in the side of the head with is hammer. It yelped and let go of Dimzad. Laramine slammed the flat of his great sword squarely on the wolf's skull. It dropped instantly.
"Quickly," Gruffydd shouted again," tie it up".
Bound and unconscious, the creature was kept by the fire and under watch all night. Dimzad had to be restrained too, in order to keep him from kicking the captive.
With the sun's rising, the wolf began to change. As Gruffydd expected, it shrunk in mass and hair, till only a filthy, naked Logun remained. He awoke with a start, "ohhhh, my head. Hey!" he looked around, frightened. He just noticed he was bound. "What's goin' on here, fellas? Some kind a joke again?"
"At what point", Nemon asked,"were you going to tell us about your little affliction?"
"Whatcher talkin' about?" Logun sputtered.
"Werewolf!", Gruffydd shouted. "You're a werewolf!"
The old trapper's eyes went from horror, to a look of resignation.
"I always kinda suspected. But I been out here alone fer so long, I also thought I might just be going crazy. You hafta believe me, when I say I didn't means ta hurt nobody."
"Kill 'em," said Dimzad. Gildrid reached for his silver tipped arrow again.
"No", Gruffudd said with a sigh, "let him go." The others began to untie Logun. "But, you're not with us anymore. You helped us find a way across the river. That's the only reason I'm letting you go."
The old man got up, rubbing his wrists. "well, I guess I thank you fer that."
"Next time we see you,...you're dead!" Gruffydd yelled, as the old man headed into the woods. Logun turned and gave the party one last look. Gruffydd could have sworn there was a smirk on the old man's face.
By noon, they reached the ruins of a large village. The size and scope of the ruins were impressive. One could tell this had once been a wealthy town. It sat astride the Old Trade Road itself, which ran directly north. The remains of a large mill were the closest, on the west side of the road. The place was strangely quiet except for the occasional creaking from ruined shutters, or the mill's water wheel, now hanging unused above a dry creek.
"I'm headed for the temple", Nemon said, gesturing at a stone building on the east side of an over grown square.
"I'm going for the mill", Gildrid said stringing his bow. Laramine followed the elf.
Then, the wind blew. Gildrid and Laramine froze, looking at each other. Just above the sound of the wind, came the hint of whispering. "did you...?" Laramine started to ask, when his words were lost under the noise of Nemon battering the temple doors down. He bashed into the sturdy wood of the doors over and over with his armored shoulder. The noise was deafening, compared to the silence of the ruins.
Gildrid approached the ruined doors of the mill. He looked through hole that had been smashed into the wood. Inside, he could see sunlight filtering from the damaged roof. There were sacks of grain and flour, long moldered and plundered by vermin, and the great grinding wheel sat askew on it's base. The most interesting thing though, was the fact boards had been nailed to the outside of the door. Rather than try to keep something out, they were trying to keep something in.
Prying at the rotted wood. Gildrid entered. Laramine followed, along with the sounds of Nemon's ongoing struggle with the temple door. The elf put away his bow and pulled out his sword, the better to poke and prod at the different sacks and boxes laying about.
On the third sack, a shape sprung from the shadows. A huge spider, the size of shield, leapt on him. Gildrid couldn't shake it, or get sword on it. The furry arachnid lunged and bit into his neck.

Another visitor to the campfire

2010-10-22T07:35:00.000-07:00

The drone of wings was almost deafening. Logun ran up the river bank, away. Arrows, rocks, throwing daggers, were all being hurled at the strange wasp-like things. Those that hit, bounced off harmlessly.
"We seem to have upset the nest!" Nemon shouted over the noise.
"They're not making moves towards us," Gruffydd yelled," they must be guarding something in that keep."
Without further word, Miss Adventure plopped down on a rock, and started putting on her magic boots. With a whush of air, she was gone.
Inside the broken tower, the halfling discovered interior walls packed with eggs, dripping a golden goo.
"Blech!" she she said with a shiver, and dashed out to the others. "The only thing in there is some gross looking hivey thing," she said to the party.
Gruffydd, looking over his shoulder to where Logun had disappeared, shouted, "Still, it bears investigating later. Let's get out of here." Just then, one of Gildrid's arrows struck home. The wasp-man-thing fell from the sky with a squish.
"Run!" he yelled as the drone grew louder. The party mounted, and raced up the river back, and didn't stop till they reached the road again. Out of breath, they found Logun gathering wood for a fire.
"I though everyone could use a drying off", he said.
Wet clothes were placed by the fire. A quick review of their packs found some of the rations ruined by river crossing.
"Logun," Gruffydd asked, "you're a trapper. Care to find us some meat?"
With a shrug, the old man headed for the woods.
The rest of party prepared for the evening. In the hazy distance, up the road, a ruins of large village stood. It would be another days march to their destination, if in fact, this was the village they were looking for.
By nightfall, Logun had not returned. The watches were set, and one by one the group retired. "Good," Dimzad said with a huff," I hope the ol' geazers dead."
During Miss Adventures watch, a rustling was heard in the nearby woods. She had been happily munching away on what remained of her rations, when she spied a dark shape at the edge of the trees. This shape exploded from the under brush, autumn leaves flying everywhere. With a heavy thump, a mass of teeth, claws and fur dropped into their campsite. The biggest wolf she had ever seen...

The Swarm

2010-10-21T11:07:00.000-07:00

Everyone awoke, weapons drawn.
"Easy now, ...easy," the stranger said. "The names Logun. I'm just a simple trapper, alone in these cold woods, attracted by the warmth of your fire."
Gruffydd stepped forward, to eye the shaggy man more carefully. "Well, Logun, is it? What's someone like yourself, doing out here alone, Beyond the Wall?"
"Ask myself that every day," he said with a cackle, showing his crooked yellow teeth. He opened his cloak. Everyone tensed, ready to spring if he drew a weapon. But, instead, the insides of his coat were filled with old pelts, beaver, fox, squirrel, and unknown.
"Ohhhh", Dimzad spoke in awe. "How much for that one?" He pointed to a fine fox tail.
"Looking for a replacement?" Logun held up the pelt to his chin, mimicking a beard. A beard that Dimzad had been missing since his encounter with a oversized crayfish. They all laughed. Everyone but Dimzad.
"Welcome to our fire", Gruffydd said patting Logun on the back. He nodded to those around the fire. It was all right to put away weapons.
The talk quickly turned to the area around them. How much did Logun know about the area? Was there a way to avoid the bridge, and the toll there? What was the toll?
Ol' Nik?" Logun asked. "Biggest, meanest troll I ever did meet. And bat-shit crazy, ta boot. Last time I saw him, cost me every shiny penny I had, and some furs, too. But, I found a few ways around him."
"We'd make it worth your while," the Northman, Laramine put in, "if you could show us those ways."
"Well, I ain't much fer company, but the fur trade ain't what it used to be up here. Fewer and fewer animals these days. So, I guess, so."
The rest of the evening and late into the night, Logun regaled everyone with his adventures Beyond the Wall. There was laughter, and the dark mood of the previous day was lifted, if just for a little while. Slowly, the party drifted off to sleep. Dimzad had been the first to his bedroll, but he did not sleep. He waited.
He waited until everyone was asleep, except for Gruffydd, who was on watch. He snuck quietly out from under his blankets and over to Miss Adventure's pack.
"What are you doing?" Gruffydd asked from across the fire.
"Shhhh!" was the only response. Dimzad furiously dug through the halfling's bag. Finally, he spied what he wanted. The nastiest, stinkiest cheese Miss Adventure carried. On several occasions, it had been debated amongst the party, whether to use it as a weapon against monsters. Now, Dimzad had another use. He carefully placed it in Logun's outstretched hand. Then, with just as much care, he plucked an arrow from Gildrid's quarrel, and began slowly tickling Logun's nose.
The old trapper sniffled and snuffed, almost sneezed, then brought up his cheese filled hand to swat away the imaginary pest.
The cheese exploded in Logun's face. "What in the Seven Bowels of Hell?!" He was angry.
The party, once again awoke with a start, weapons drawn. Dimzad couldn't contain himself. He howled in laughter. It was infectious. Soon everyone, including Logun was laughing. "You got me there, shorty", he said.
The next morning was bright, but still cold and wet. Logun led them cross-country, pointing out this and that. Where he had escape a rampaging Bullette, or dodged a Hobgoblin patrol. Soon, they reached the river. At one time, there had been a ferry. The ruins of a well built imperial mile fort straddled both sides of the quickly flowing river. All the rain lately had swollen it's banks.
"Gildrid", Gruffydd said to the elf,"you have the best eyes. What's on the other side? I don't want to get halfway across and get ambushed."
"Only a flock of birds, They seem to have roosted in the tower," Gildrid replied.
With that, they secured a rope to each other, and to a sturdy stone post, and crossed the river. To everyone's surprise, they made it across without incident.
But, as they untied and checked equipment, Miss Adventure noticed something strange about the "birds".
She yelled to the others, who followed her pointing finger to a fastly approaching creature. It had the body of an enormous wasp. Four limbs ended in clawed hands, and another two in sharp looking hooks. A nasty stinger protruded from it's abdomen, and strangest of all, it had a humanoid face. But, probably worst of all, it wasn't alone. Hundreds were swarming behind it.

Of Fires and Furs

2010-10-15T08:24:00.000-07:00

"Yes," the Dryad said. "That is my name".
"B-but, you look different..." Miss Adventure stumbled.
"Different?" Newly asked."I don't feel different". She approached the group, but stepped back when Gruffydd moved toward her.
"Newly, do you know of village near here? Perhaps up the road?", the dwarf asked pointing up the road, which disappeared in the rain.
She gave the dwarf a questioning look. "Village?"
"Where people live" Gildrid said with a little too much exasperation in his voice.
"Oh!" Newly said excitedly, perhaps understanding now. "I know what those are." But her face grew quickly dark. "They make their places to live from my dead friends...." She began to fade back into her tree.
"Wait!" Gruffydd tried to say as calmly as possible. "We need to know where it is."
"It is, as you said, up the road. Across the river. Be careful. The trees say something up there poisons their roots."
Before she vanished completely, Miss Adventure asked one last question, "Newly, have more people come around here since we visited last?"
"Always. Always someone or something searching... for you...." Then the dryad was gone.
Then, they too, were gone, up the road.
Just before dusk they picked a campsite on one of the rolling hills that covered the landscape. It was decided not to have a fire. First, in this landscape, a fire could be spotted for miles around. It would act like a beacon for any wishing them ill. Second, the rain was still coming down. A lack of any woods nearby, combined with the wet, would have prevented a fire anyway.
So that sat, miserable, eating what cold food they had. It was decided the two Men, Nemon and Laramine, would take the first and last watches, as their lack of night vision could be compensated for by some light at dusk and dawn.
Nemon fell asleep on his first watch. He woke to Miss Aveture beating him over the head with loaf of stale bread.
The rest of the watches came and went without incident until morning. Laramine had taken a moment to simultaneously admire the first dawn in ages without rain, and relieve himself. It was then he noticed something in the mud just outside their camp. Another older campsite they missed in the rain. There were scraps of clothes, bits of crockery, all strew about as if a struggle had happened.
Without waking the others, perhaps foolishly, he followed the trail of refuse to a small ravine. There he found a body.
It was torn and crumpled. It was a Man, at least from the size and shape. The face was gone, and body had been partially eaten by scavengers. The leather armor was ripped in half as if by huge claws. In a bag beside the body Laramine found a few coins and a black hood. He ran back to the others and showed them his discovery.
"Great." was all Gruffydd said.
Another days march, slowed by the mud. The little talk on the road revolved around the body, and the oddities of dryad life cycles. Another camp, but this time the landscape had changed, and there were woods. Which meant a fire.
Nemon fell asleep on watch again.
Miss Adventure woke again with a start. Nightmares again. She saw Nemon asleep and prepared to pummel him once more. Then, she saw a huge pile of fur parked by the fire. Before she could scream, the furs moved, turned to her a said" Hello."

A Long Walk in the Rain

2010-10-14T09:30:00.000-07:00

The others at the Hole hadn't been idle while Gruffydd was at the stables. Asking around, they had collectively gathered that the village of Ordilac or Ordilan (no one could decide on the real name) was somewhere along the Great North Road, across a river. This would be further Beyond the Wall than any in the party had ever gone. To complicate things, it seems a toll would be exacted at the bridge. Tancred, the barkeep, was unusually evasive about what the toll was. Was it in gold? In blood? He simply stated to "say hello to Old Nik" and "tell him Tancred gives his regards to his brother, Clem".
So, uncertain of their exact destination, and what they might find when they arrived, the party set out into the cold autumn rains. Weather kept the usual onlookers from watching them go. Only Sergeant Malloy witnessed their departure, and he was silent save the usual chuckle and head shake he gave them.
The Great North Road had been steadily deteriorating from lack of upkeep, and the elements for years. Combine this with steady downpour, it and took longer than usual to reach the deserted logging camp, and Newly the dryad's tree. They rested under it's branches, now covered in the orange and gold leaves of fall. Small saplings had sprouted in the area since their last visit. The little trees were trying to reclaim the area now covered by stumps.
Newly!", Miss adventure called, "Nuuuuu-leeeee!"
"Since when are you pals?", Gildrid said, sullen and wet beneath the tree.
"Shut up." The halfling replied. "I like her."
"First time you met her, you wanted to kill her," he murmured.
A shape emerged from the great oak. It was not the pale little girl they were accustomed to. Before them stood a tall, elegant, dark skinned woman in her middle years. She had fiery red hair, tangled with a few leaves snagged in the curls. Her eyes were a deep brown, like polished wood. She wore but a slip of a dress, that looked like it was made of cobwebs instead of cloth. When she spoke, it was with sound of rustling leaves, "Who calls?"

"Newly?"

Answers and Questions

2010-10-13T12:12:00.000-07:00

It was a cold a wet walk to the Royal Stables. There was no use in being quick, the stables were on the other side of town, and Gruffydd would be soaked by the time he got there, no matter what speed.
The Royal Stables was a vast complex, capable of housing hundreds of horses, from a time when mounted patrols still ventured Beyond the Wall. It was now mostly unused except for a dozen horses and countless mice, that now called it home. The ancient stable master Hogarth was shoeing a horse when Gruffydd arrived, soaked and in a bit of a foul mood. Hogarth indicated Gub's location with a wave of his hammer, and mumbled warning, "Be careful with young Gub, mind ya. He's a bit slow. Mule kicked 'im in the head when he was little, and we watch out for 'im. Bit of a mascot around here."
Young Gub, as Hogarth called him, had grown to be a burly teenager. He was twice Gruffydd's size in height and width. He was in deep conversation with a mouse when Gruffydd approached.

"Err, Gub is it?," The dwarf asked. "My name's Gruffydd. Mind if I ask you some questions?" Gub looked up. His face definitely looked like he had taken a blow to head. He also looked a little embarrassed and quickly grabbed a pitchfork and began moving hay.
"Gub, I need to ask you about the village you came from." The giant turned his back and worked harder. "I know you very young," he dwarf continued, "but anything you can remember about it would be helpful."
"Me Ma's dead", Gub mumbled. "She died when I was little."
"I'm sorry to hear that", Gruffydd said,"but I need to know about your village."
Gub turned, and eyed Gruffydd. "Me Ma told me stories sometimes."
"Go on" said the dwarf.
"She said people kept dis-pearin' from the village at night. Sometimes behind locked doors. Everyone was scared. Then one night, they came." Gub had started to tremble slightly.
"Who came?", Gruffydd asked.
"They was in our house. Lots of 'em. They swarmed all over Da, all claws and teeth." His voice had become a wail. "Red eyes!" Gub screeched and pulled at his hair. He dropped the pitchfork and began curling into a ball. "Red eyes!"
Before Gruffydd could speak, Hogarth burst into the stall. "What's going on in here?" He moved to comfort the boy. He glared at Gruffydd, "Didn't I tell ya to be careful with 'im? There, there Gub. It'll be all right. Shhhhh...."
Gruffydd turned, and trudged out into the rain again. More confused than before.

A New Adventure

2010-10-11T11:31:00.001-07:00

Though it was cold and rainy outside, it was hot and smokey inside the Hole. By the fire sat six adventurers, bound by past quests, and spilt blood. Gildrid, newly freed from the Land of the Dead and looking paler than ever, sat closest to the fire. Beside him was the halfling thief known only as Miss Adventure, munching on her cheese, seemingly oblivious to the conversation around her.
The talk centered around their next mission, led by the nominal leader of the group Gruffydd, the old dwarf veteran. They had been languishing inside Wall for months, waiting for a break in the terrible autumn downpours. There seemed no end to the weather in sight, and they were steadily using up their gold.
"Lake Merr,"Dimzad, the other dwarf present shouted,"we should head for Lake Merr. I heard there's something living there. Sea monsters mean gold."
Gruffydd shot him a tired look, "And how, do you suppose, we fight some lake dwelling sea beast? Drag a boat for leagues? Do you have some magical potion for breathing under water I don't know about?"
"There's always the rumors about the village." This comment came from Nemon, the fighter from the Free Cities. He stroked his well-oiled mustache. "I hear of a village where the voices of dead can still be heard. Haunted villages might bring treasure. What say you, Laramine?"
His question was directed at the new man, Laramine, a veteran sea raider of the Kraken's Teeth. They were a cold, hard people, who still made their trade from plundering the coasts.

"I'm new to your party, so I don't think I have equal say."

He was huge hulk of a man, accustom to hardship and blood. Gruffydd eyed him over his pipe. "I lean towards the village, but we can put it to a vote". All voted for the village, save Dimzad, who sullenly turned his attention to his soup.
Gruffydd shuffled over to the bar. The old barkeep Tancred collected rumors, like others collected coins or fine art. Gruffydd slid five gold pieces across the bar. Far too much for a tankard of ale. "What do you know of a village Beyond the Wall? One that was abandoned. One where the dead still whisper."
Tancred eyed him with his remain eye. There was one I heared of. Ordiland? Ordilock? Something like that. Was a nice place. Rich place. Made money off a furs and commerce along the Old Trade Road. That was back when the Dwarves still held the northern passes, and the Empire still had contact with the coastal cities.

Almost over night Ordi-whatever, emptied. People just disappeared. Only one survivor I ever heared of. She showed up in the middle of the night, banging on the gates. Had a small child with her. She was babbling about creatures in the night, attacking her village, getting people even though they were barricaded in their houses. She died soon after. Her boy has been living in the Royal Stables, mostly watched over by the Stable Master. He might have more information."
Gruffydd and walked out into the rain seeking the Stable Master.

The Blighted Coast

2010-09-22T11:50:00.000-07:00

Far to north and east, many leagues Beyond the Wall, lies the Blighted Coast. It is a windswept, somber place, with dark crags that rise like rotted dragon's teeth from beaches. The gray waves beat mercilessly upon deserted shores. Long ago, even before the founding of the Empire, a great city resided here. But, whether through fate or dark sorcery, a star fell from the heavens one fateful night, and blasted it to ruins, along with surrounding shoreline.
Now, not even the ghosts of those long dead people dare not walk the sands of the Blighted Coast. Black ships prowl the waters. Those foolish enough to brave the coast looking for treasures from past, find themselves at the mercy of these dark raiders.
The ships appear from nowhere, silent and sleek, their prows adorned withe terrible carvings of spiders and other fell beasts. They are slavers, it is said, come to take the unwary to their dark abode. Better to die, the old sailors say, than to be taken alive on the Blighted Coast.

Goblins of the Fellreeve Forest

2010-08-26T13:02:00.000-07:00

Travelers who make it far enough north Beyond the Wall, might encounter an enormous, dark wood known as the Fellreeve. As if the sheer size wasn't daunting enough (it would take weeks on foot to cross it), most of it's denizens are bent on the demise of said travelers.
Some of the worst creatures stalking the Feelreeve's dark shadows and haunted places are the Goblins. "Goblins?" you scoff. Though a single goblin is not a danger to most seasoned adventurers, they rarely appear in small numbers. In the past, the Empire had a strict policy of extermination when it came to goblins. Left to their own devices, they tended to breed like rats, overrunning many settlements by sheer numbers. The goblins of the Fellreeve have been left alone for decades. There they have grown to staggering numbers.
Being a cantankerous lot, once their numbers grew, the goblins starting fighting. They quickly split into several factions and tribes. Currently, three tribes fight for dominance; the Broken Tooth, the Blood Moon and Crooked Blade tribes.
It is this infighting that has saved Wall from an onslaught of goblin hordes. If a leader should arise, strong enough to unite these warring factions, Wall would certainly shudder under their weight.

A dark dream

2010-07-30T10:23:00.000-07:00

When she awoke, it was not her cramped, dirty room at the Hole. She lay beside a rushing river in the height of Summer. It was the Brindleshins, the river of her youth. The summer rains had swollen the river, but it was a hot, and often children snuck down to the 'Shins to cool off, despite their parent's warnings.
Today was such a day. She and her younger brother, Roderick, were supposed to be weeding the garden, but the heat had got to them and they dodged Mother to run down to the bank.
But, when they got there, even they were surprised by how swiftly the current was. Her brother paused on a rock jutting out into the dark water. He looked back at her hesitantly, waiting for the okay from his big sister.
Then she saw him. He was on the far bank. A handsome man. She had seen few humans in the seclusion of the Moot, but she knew one when she saw them. He was tall and well dressed. He had a sword on his belt and gold rings. Around his neck hung a single gold key.
He smiled at her.
He beckoned. Not for her, but for her brother. Roderick didn't seem to see the stranger across the river. She knew she had to help this man with whatever he wanted. He seemed so nice. "What's that, you want my brother to swim across to you? He doesn't want to go, but I'll make him, for you. " Just a little push...
This time Miss Adventure woke in the Hole. Screaming.

the Lord of Dreams and Eternal Slumber

2010-07-14T06:51:00.000-07:00

The servants of Mohr wordlessly took Gildrid along with all the halfling's money. They would keep watch over his body, and plead with their Master for the return of his soul. There was chance, ever so slight, that the fell creature who struck him down, would claim his body. Gildrid could return one of two ways, as himself, or as wight, possessed of a dark malice, but no soul.
That night, Miss Adventure returned to her bed at the Hole. Those who had seen her leave with Gildrid early that morning said nothing to her on her return. Word had travelled fast that their expedition had ended badly. No one, it seemed, wanted their luck to rub off on them.
She slept fitfully. Her dreams were filled with visions of the horror in the crypt, but also of a tall gaunt man in gray robes and a hood. Over the next few nights, she dreamed less of the ancient warrior and more of the man in robes. He appeared carrying a lamp and a sword. Around his neck hung a single key of ancient brass. Each night he drew closer. One night she dreamed he approached on a dark road. In the night sky above, the stars raced too quickly. The man came closer. He smelled of the cold, damp earth. Of his face she could only see a pointed chin jut out from beneath his hood. Grey skin stretched across a painfully thin frame, yet she sense about him a great power. He stooped and leaned to meet her face to face. Through yellowed teeth he spoke, "Remember me, little one?" His voice was like the rustling leaves on an Autumn night.
Miss Adventure's mind raced. Remember him? I think I'd recall someone like him.
"No?" he spoke again, "maybe this will help you..."
He threw back his hood.

Run, run, run, as fast as you can...

2010-07-08T10:18:00.000-07:00

With the creature's rising, the tomb had become cold. Mist was creeping from the floor like grasping, skeletal hands. Gildrid struggled against the ancient warrior's grip, stabbing and slashing at it. Miss Adventure leapt at Goroth, burying a dagger deep in his back. He howled with indignation, and released Gildrid from his grasp so that he could swing with both hands at the little halfling.
All the while Otto merely watched, uncertain what to do. He had been in fights before, but never faced horrors such as this. He backed towards the entrance further, his foot resting on the bottom step.
Gildrid and Miss Adventure traded blows with the fell creature. The strikes that landed seemed to do little or no damage, and all the time the tomb grew colder.
"Give up, little heroes," Goroth rasped, though his lips did not move, "your feeble weapons cannot harm me. Join my dark crusade, and live forever!"
With that shout he drove his arcane blade deep into Gildrid's side. The elf dropped his blade and sunk to the floor. Otto flew up the steps and out into the daylight.

Miss Adventure screamed and threw her torch at the monster. Flames exploded on the thing. Goroth flailed at the flames, his filthy rags feeding the fire. During the distraction, the halfling began dragging the much bigger elf towards, then up, the stairs.
She was out of breath when she reached the daylight, cursing Otto the entire time. Just then, the thief arrived with the horses. He had somehow goaded them against their instincts to approach the tomb. Wordlessly, they hauled Gildrid up and over a saddle. In moments they were riding hard back to Wall. Miss Adventure stole a look over her shoulder before they left the entrance to the tomb. A smoldering Goroth glared from the darkness with coal-hot, burning red eyes.
They reached Wall by nightfall. They would have rode harder, but feared the bouncing might harm the elf more. Gildrid had not stirred during the ride. They could old Sergeant Malloy shaking his head as they road past. He had seen this scene time and again.
They took Gildrid to the Temple of Shayalla, goddess of healing and suffering. The high priestess merely shook her head and said, "he is too far gone for us. We shall weep for him. Maybe you should visit instead, the Temple of Mohr."
Miss Adventure gasped. Mohr was the dread Lord of Death.

Day of the Dead Pt3 (Death in the Dark)

2010-06-30T07:10:00.000-07:00

Miss Adventure went first. She and Gildrid decided to put Otto between them, in case he decided to take off again. Shoe reached the bottom of the stairs first. The ceiling was low. Not low enough tall Gildrid had to stoop, but low enough swinging a sword could be difficult. Eight alcoves lined the walls, four to each side. Four were empty, and four contained silent figures in tattered armor. In the center was a low sarcophagus. On it's lid was a simple relief carving of a great warrior grasping a sword to his chest.
As all three reached the landing, the four figures in the alcoves sprang to life. Or, un-life. Four zombies, similar to the ones they had fought in the hills shambled forward. Gildrid drew his bow. Snap! "Dang!", he yelled as the spring snapped.
Otto, to the surprise of Gildrid and Miss Adventure charged the closest zombie. He swung high, forgetting the height of the ceiling. Clang! Snap!. His battleaxe snapped against the ceiling. While he stood cursing, a zombie swung at him, but missed,
Miss Adventure charged past and clove the leg off another undead. It dropped to the floor but still attacked her. Gildrid cast aside his bow, and drew his sword.
In the ensuing fight. Otto fell back to the door and cowered, uncertain whether to run for the horses or stay and help, brandishing his meager dagger. Gildrid and Miss Adventure hacked and stabbed, finishing the four zombies but sustaining a few wounds of their own. In the struggle the lid of the sarcophagus had been knocked loose. With the combined strength of all three adventurers, the lid finally slid off and hit the floor.
Inside, a long dead warrior lay. His skin was gray and desiccated, his armor tarnished with age.
There was a flash of bronze, and an arm shot forth grasping Gildrid's throat. The elf dropped his sword and tried to struggle free form the dead warrior's grasp. The creature rose from his tomb, eyes glowing a malevolent red. His jaw opened, but no lips moved as he spoke.
"Who dares enter the tomb of Goroth the mighty, slayer of kings?"

Day of Dead Pt2 (the Tomb)

2010-06-29T07:21:00.000-07:00

Gildrid drew back and released an arrow. It hit the lead zombie with an audible "thunk". The creature rasped, but trudged on. Miss Adventure pulled her short free of its scabbard, let loose a high pitched battle
cry and charged forward. Her blade missed and her momentum carried her forward into the second zombie, knocking them both down in a pile. The monster clawed at her, and snapped with yellowed, broken teeth. The rest of the zombies sensed a closer prey and began to surround the halfling.
Otto and Gildrid now drew their weapons and charged. Gildrid's blade cleaved deep into the skull of the zombie he had already pierced with an arrow. Black gore erupted from it's shattered skull as it dropped motionless to the ground.
Otto swung wildly with a battleaxe. He missed, and the zombie he swung at, turned to thrust back at him with a bronze tipped spear. Otto gave a yelp, and ran for the horses.
"Get back here you jerk!" came a muffled cry from between two zombies. Miss Adventure was sandwiched between snapping jaws and clawing fingers. She was jabbing repeatedly at the zombie she was intertwined with on the ground, while trying to keep another at arms length.
While Otto tried to unstake the horses, Gildrid dispatched the zombie with the spear. The creature beneath Miss Adventure finally ceased moving and another well placed thrust from Gildrid finished the final zombie.
"Thanks a lot, Otto, " Miss Adventure yelled as she pushed a limp zombie from atop her.
"Hey, I just thought we might need the horses if things went bad." the thief replied.
Gildrid searched through the rotting corpses, swatting away flies and trying not to gag on the stench. He found only scraps of rotting clothes and dented bronze armor.
"They came from that way" Miss Adventure said as she pointed over the hill. "That's where we should go."
They gathered the skittish horses and road up the hill and over. In the valley below stood a group of standing stones. The horses were reluctant to go much further, so they tied them to one of the closer stones.
Centered amid the tall stone obelisks was a low slab. A set of stairs led to a dark entrance beneath it.
As the party moved closer, they could see the flat stone door that had once enclosed the tomb, was now pushed to the side. Miss Adventure wordlessly lit a torch, started down the stairs...

(Side note: I recently had an incident where our garage freezer went out and it was weeks before we noticed. The stench was overwhelming when I open it. Within minutes of throwing the meat away, thousands of lies covered the garbage bag. So I realized two things Hollywood zombie films haven't got right yet. One, you'd smell the undead way before you saw them, and that's if secondly you didn't hear the constant droning of flies. Zombies should be covered in the little buggers.)

Day of the Dead (A New Adventure)

2010-06-28T09:53:00.000-07:00

It was the beginning of summer when Otto the Thief arrived in Wall. As is custom, he made his arrival known to the local Thieve's Guild. Of course, operating in a city without consent from the locals would have been a death sentence otherwise. He paid his dues, and went to where the local footpads and gutter snipes assured him he could find an expedition Beyond the Wall. A tavern known as the Hole.

He found self described adventurers aplenty, but none who had actually gone Beyond the Wall. None except for two. Otto found them arguing very animatedly with each other, One was a female halfling standing on a stool , shaking a piece of cheese, almost like a weapon at her tormentor. He was an elf. Tall and lank, as is their kind, with blond hair and new scar still healing on his cheek.

They became quiet when Otto approached. "Were they up for an expedition?", Otto asked. "Yes" was the reply. They had been rotting in this awful heat, running low on gold and the good graces of the Hole's management with their constant bickering. They were Miss Adventure and Gildrid the Elf.

The next morning was hot. The iron fittings on the great gates were hot to the touch. The Wall itself simmered in the heat. No wind blew Beyond the Wall. The grass of the hills surrounding the Old Road were yellowing and dry. The travelled slowly, trying to save their horses if need arose for a quick getaway. They sweated in their armor. They had nearly finished all their water when they reached the dryad Newly's tree.

Otto and Gildrid rested in the tree's shade, while Miss Adventure sought out Newly. "Newly", she called. "Newly, you have a new friend". The little dryad appeared, looking little more than a child.

"A new friend?" she asked. When Miss Adventure gestured towards Otto, Newly made a face like she ate something bad. "I don't like the looks of him. Are you sure he's my friend?"

Otto scowled.

The dryad melted into the tree, almost disappearing except now her face was knot in

the tree's bark.

"Newly, have any more bad men been around?" the halfling asked, referring to their last meeting, which had involved flight from some bandits.

"No" was her reply. But a party of goblins had passed nearby on their way towards Wall. They hadn't returned.

"Ask her if she knows about any treasure around", Gildrid said.

"Shut up, dufus, I do the talking around here!" Miss Adventure yelled back. She turned and gave her brightest smile. "Newly, from atop your glorious tree, can you see any places? Any places that might be of interest to us. Temples? Graveyards?"

The dryad brightened. "Oh yes!" she seemed exited when she thought she was helping. "To the north, there are standing stones. Does mean anything?"

"Perfect" Miss Adventure said as she picked up her pack. "Newly, is there any way we can pay you back for the help you've given us.?"

Before she could answer Gildrid spoke up. " I have some gold..."

Miss Adventure rolled her eyes. "Gold? Really? What's a dryad gonna do with gold, dummy? Gawd, you're elf. You're supposed to know this stuff."

"Actually," Newly spoke up. "The monsters. The ones that killed the men who destroyed my forest. They took something. Seeds. I need them to replant my trees. They're magic. The monsters went north long ago, but maybe you can still find them."

"Done." Miss Adventure said. They had mounted their weary horses and were headed north along the road. Soon, the sun was beating down again. Otto was listing in his saddle, and Gildrid was trying to get the last drops of water from his water skin. Tilting back the skin, he looked up and saw a lone buzzard circling above. That's when the horses stopped and an awful smell reached them. "Is that you?" Gildrid looked towards Miss Adventure waving hand in front of his face. He got a smile from Otto and a scowl form the halfling.

They were in a low defile between hills. Turning to pinpoint the smell Otto was the first to spot four figures cresting a hill, headed straight for them. Whoever they were, they weren't in a hurry. The shambled down the hill with a strange gait.

The party gathered their horses and tied them to a stake hastily pounded into the ground. They realized the stench was coming from the strangers. That, and a horde of flies that followed them.

Gildrid drew his bow. "I may not know much about dryads, but I know zombies when I see them..."

The Gray Fenns

2010-06-25T08:29:00.000-07:00

As the name suggests, the Gray Fenns is a vast colorless bog. The very pigment of things has been drained along with any form of life. No birds sing, frogs croak. Stunted, broken trees dot the landscape. A cloud of despair hangs over the Fenns, palatable to any who dare enter. Deep within heart of the Gray Fenns a faint glow resonates, a huge willow-the-wisp leading travellers to their doom. But, through it all, a great power fills the air. And where such places exist, so do the prospects for adventure and glory.
picture to follow

Character Profile: Gruffydd

2010-06-04T08:56:00.000-07:00

Unlike most of the adventurers who come to Wall, Gruffydd Stoneseat's past is no secret. He is the son of an infamous dwarven family of rogues and thieves. Embarrassed by his family and their less than noble occupations, Gruffydd left his home and ventured forth to make his own name,and restore his family name to honor and glory.

But, for all his good intentions he is still a callous, insensitive, jealous, and somewhat dirty young dwarf looking for his way in a very dangerous world. Despite this, he is well-spoken, driven, and at times verges on the brilliant. His ability to go on when others cannot, has

made him a valuable traveling companion. Gruffydd's weapon of choice is a large stone hammer he has boastingly named Spinecrusher. He has a love of exotic animals, but hates goblinoids and all their relations. He is cheap, and is ever playing the martyr, using his embarrassment for his family as a stone to be borne and shown to all to see.

Gruffydd is played by Lead Addict, fellow lifelong gamer and bestest friend.

Character Profile: Gildrid

2010-06-01T11:11:00.000-07:00

The elf known as Gildrid hails form The-Great-Woods-By-The-Sea, far to the south. LIke most elves his age, he has reached the time in life called Wundensheiv . This elven term refers to growing boredom with sedentary life amongst the great woods, and a need go out into the greater world. Gildrid arrived in wall with Mellion, a distant cousin (despite the fact that all elves refer to each other as "cousin", Mellion and Gildrid really are related closely by blood).
While adventuring, Gildrid has proven to be a fearless fighter, willing to step into danger, usually with a little more forethought than his cousin. He has a strange relationship with the halfling Miss Adventure. They keep up an almost constant banter, bordering sometimes on the hurtful. But, if either one is in danger, they are the first the help the other.
Another odd affectation is Gildrid's gruesome collection of trophies. Every monster slain adds a new trinket to his collection, giant spider legs, fangs, etc. Some of these trophies have been sold off to great profit at Professor Nodd's.
Whatever his sometimes odd behoavior, Gildrid has proven himself time and time again to his party.
(Note: Gildrid is played by my 9 year-old son, brother in real life to Miss Adventure)

Character Profile, Miss Adventure

2010-05-21T07:29:00.000-07:00

It was only a few months ago when a young halfling women arrived in Wall. She appeared from nowhere, and seemed ready for adventure in her polished armor and equipment. No one knows her real name, as she wants only to addressed as Miss Adventure. It is assumed that she hails from the Green Warrens, as most halflings do, the lands granted to halflings by Emperor Thaddeus in return for a particularly good halfling meat pie.
But, this is all speculation.
After visiting the tavern, The Hole, Miss Adventure found some companions for her first outing Beyond the Wall. She proved to be the party's lucky charm, finding traps when no one else did, spotting danger and generally being cool headed in most of their fights and encounters. Her one exception to this would be her immediate dislike of Newly, a dryad who has helped the party on several occasions. While the adventures trusted the dryad, Miss Adventure wanted her dead.
Miss Adventure has been a cool, calculating member of the party, keeping her thoughts to herself, and only speaking to make comments dripping with sarcasm. Her acquisition of a pair of Boots of Speed has made her the envy of at least two members of the party. As yet she has not giving in to the piles of gold they have offered her for them. With the money she has won herself, she has managed to rearm, and re-equip. She spends most of her time waiting in a dimly lit corner of the Hole, alone, ready for the next jaunt Beyond the Wall.

Miss Adventure is played by 11-year-old daughter, the only girl amoungst a band of smelly boys and weird old guys.

Hobgoblin

2010-05-14T11:54:00.001-07:00

the Gallows Tree

2010-05-11T06:10:00.000-07:00

For generations, the very worst criminals met their end at the Gallows Tree. It stands at the end of long road. Which road? Depends on who you ask. It never seems to be in the same spot these days, and it lays Beyond the Wall now.
Besides it's variable locale, the area around the tree seems to have its own rules. The air switches between a foul, almost unbreathable miasma and the perfume of flowers. Time is off. Hours may pass in the blink of an eye, or not pass at all.
Some people hear voices or hysterical laughter. Sometimes corpses hang from branches, dripping blood and offal, but most times not.
So, traveller, if your road leads you to a dark, leafless tree, step off the road and find another path.

The Well of Souls

2010-05-06T07:44:00.000-07:00

Somewhere, Beyond the Wall, on a secluded, wind blown hilltop, lies the Well of Souls. There are no signs of the people who dug this well, or why it lies in its current location. Those who know of its location are few. Its only description is of a low stone circle atop a hill. The area surrounding it is cluttered with spikes and grappling hooks and bits of old rope. These are the only remains of those who tried to climb down into its depths.
If you listen carefully, it is said, you can hear their low mournful cries.

the Glory of the Empire

2010-04-22T08:26:00.000-07:00

For most people who dwell in Wall, the Empire is a distant idea. Few give it much thought, other than when money is exchanged, and they glance at the Emperor's profile stamped on the coin.
Speaking of Emperors, the current Lord and Protector of the Empire is Theodotius III, a mere lad of eleven years. He came to power in a palace coup, involving his mother Ekaterina, the current regent and real power behind the Iron Throne. The rumor is the Regent poisoned her brother, the former Emperor, to put her son in imperial purple. This was a double betrayal, as not only did Ekaterina kill her own brother, but the Captain of the Imperial Guard (also known as the Thurnian Guard) was involved. If true, this would be unprecedented. The Thurnian Guard are recruited from the Northern tribes, not only for their ingrained fierce loyalty, but also because it was hoped being foreigners, they would be free of palace intrigues.
Whatever the case, Theodotius sits upon the throne, however precariously.
The imperial standard still flies within its much reduced borders. The Empire is usually represented by three pillars representing the Emperor, the Great Council and the People. Sometimes, a sun, the symbol of Arnor the Greatfather, is shown alone or in concert with other symbols. Lastly, a three headed dragon is used to represent Kelus the first emperor, slayer of the legendary dragon Gorguth.

the Krag

2010-04-13T07:09:00.000-07:00

When a vein of Mithril was was discovered in the mountainous Dragon's Teeth, dwarven miners quickly moved in. That small mining community quickly grew, and in time became a Karrak Un Kraggen, or simply the Krag because of the mountain's jagged appearance.

It survived much of the strife caused by the collapse of the Empire, but soon became more isolated by the building of the Wall. Communication became scattered, then suddenly ended after the First Great Incursion.

Several caravans and search parties have gone Beyond the Wall looking for the Krag. It's very location has become lost to Time. But none of the parties has ever returned. In fact, as recently as three months ago, a well armed dwarven caravan left Wall to look for their lost cousins. No word has surfaced of their condition.

In its time, the Krag was a wealthy Dwarfhold. Who knows what riches (or dangers) lie there still. Will adventurers find a still thriving Dwarven city, struggling to survive a hostile world, or a monster infested deathtrap waiting to engulf them?

the Sundered Hills

2010-04-05T12:15:00.000-07:00

Three days march northeast of Wall, lie the Sundered Hills. The area got its name from the broken appearance of the landscape. It looks like great mountains were bashed to pieces by an immense hammer.
Legend has it, long ago Krolos, the Lord of Battle, went to Vaul, the Maker of Things. Krolos asked Vaul to make him a great war hammer that would be the envy of all who beheld it. Vaul agreed, and labored many days and nights to complete it. When the hammer was done, Krolos stared in wonder at its beauty and might. Vaul asked for payment. Still in awe, Krolos said he would pay anything for it. Vaul asked for the hand of Valena, goddess of love, and sister to Krolos.
Snapped from his trance by these words, Krolos laughed and refused Vaul his payment. The god of the Forge was enraged and snatched back the hammer. The two fought.
Their battle spilled into our world. They wasted the land in their struggle, and thus the Sundered Hills were born.
These days, the Sundered Hills lie Beyond the Wall, and are rumored to be firmly in the hands of the Blue Moon Hobgoblin tribe. The Blue Moons are well organized and disciplined. It is only a matter of time before they attempt a raid on Wall itself.

the Northern Wastes

2010-03-31T13:06:00.000-07:00

The Northern Wastes. Once, the last outpost of the Empire. A testing ground for young heroes and a cold grave for old champions. An abode of giants and ice drakes.

A perpetual frozen wind blows across the Northern Wastes, down from the Dragon's Teeth. It is said the sun never shows his face in the Wastes, except to weep at its cold vastness. Indeed, the gods themselves seem to have forsaken such a place. Krolos, Lord of Battle and the cold places of the world, warred here against the Old Ones. It is their dying breath that still blows down from the mountains. After his fight, the wounded Krolos left, never to return. Where his blood dripped, pools of magma formed. These hot spots are the only source of warm in an otherwise frozen land.
For a time, people settled around these warm places, making their trade in furs and plunder from the sea. But they too, were consumed by the hungry cold. Their tombs are still heaped in treasure, it is said.
Brave, or foolish, is the adventurer who seeks fortune in the Wastes.

The Undergaurd

2010-03-26T12:27:00.000-07:00

For centuries, the Wall has kept the dark things of the barbaric North at bay. Its seemingly endless span is patrolled by the Guardians above, and its border is protected below, by the Underguard.
Dark forces have tried many times to circumvent the Wall by attempting to go around it, or hitting weak spots. They have also tried tunneling under. Each threat has been stopped by the stalwart forces of the Underguard.
The ranks of the Underguard are filled mostly by dwarves, with the occasional gnome, halfling or shorter human. Their life is just as harsh and under-appreciated as the Guardians that patrol above. The Underguard's life spans have been shortened by the sometimes brutal subterranean environment. A tragic fact given the normally longer life that demi-humans have over Man.
There is an almost endless maze of tunnels beneath the Wall, and earning all of them would take a lifetime. There is a cadre of mappers that do just that.
Most of time, however, the Underguard can be found at listening posts spaced inside the tunnels. A system of mechanisms, both magic and mundane, constantly monitor for the telltale sound of scratches and digging that proceeds an incursion.
Few above know of the small battles that happen more and more frequently below their feet. Not too long ago, a marauding Bullette found its way into the tunnels. Three Underguard died bringing it down. The harsh reality, is there are attacks, and fewer defenders each year. Who wants such a unforgiving job? How many Underguard die, alone in the dark?

Legend of the 3

2010-03-25T11:44:00.000-07:00

Legends, whether whispered over a mug of ale in the dark corner of an inn, or sung by troubadours at court, surround Wall and its environs. Some legends grow over time, while others fade or change. Few stay the same. One of those few legends that remain unchanged, is the Legend of the Three.
The Three first appeared over two hundred years ago. One of the last large scale military patrols left to go Beyond the Wall. It was supposed to be a raid against an orc tribe that had been plundering the last few settlements north of Wall. They found the orcs, but they had already been punished. The entire tribe had been slaughtered, and standing amidst the carnage were three figures.
All three wore heavy armor, and appeared to be human, but their helmets obscured their faces. One wore a helmet in the shape of a wolf, another a ram, and the last a stag or hart. The Wolf carried an ax with its crescent moon blades emerging from a howling wolf's head. The Ram carried a massive warhammer shaped like a ram's head. The Hart, a huge bastard sword.
Before the Captain could thank the Three for making quick work of the orcs, they attacked the patrol. They fought with the speed and strength of the champions of old. Only the standard bearer survived by hiding beneath the rapidly growing pile of dead. He alone returned to Wall to tell his strange tale.
Years would pass before the Three were spotted again. Tomb raiders and scouts would return with tales of the Three. Sometimes they would help parties, sometimes they would attack. Sometimes they were sighted alone, and sometimes together. There seemed no pattern to their actions, no cause.
Only one man ever spoke with them.
A group of thieves had escaped Wall and headed north to hide out for awhile. A wealthy merchant put up a reward for their return along with the stolen jewels they took. A mercenary named Toth, a grizzled soldier from the Widowfang Mountains took the job. He tracked them for two days, and on the second moonless night found their camp. They lay asleep next to a fire. He snuck up silently, but it was a trap. The sleeping blankets were empty. The five thieves jumped Toth and subdued him. The thieves were just about to finish him off when a rider burst from the tree line.
The horseman wore a wolf's head helmet. He slaughtered the bandits single handedly with his great axe. When his work was done, he rode up before Toth, and simply stared at him.
Toth, not knowing what to say, simple said "Thanks" and "What is your name sir?"
The rider replied, "I am the Wolf".
Toth swallowed. "Whom do you serve, good sir?"
"I serve He Who Waits". And the Wolf turned his horse and departed.
After finding the jewels, Toth returned to Wall. With his reward and his strange tale, he was the toast of all the finest drinking establishments. But it was not to last. A few weeks later, Toth went Beyond the Wall again. This time never to return.
Scholars have spilled much ink on the Legend of the Three. Some believe they must be undead because of the length of sightings. Other believe they are different people, a role passed on over the ages.
Whatever their origin, their true motives are yet to be uncovered.

Professor Nodd's: Apothecary and Curiosities

2010-03-24T06:36:00.000-07:00

On a dead end street, tucked up against the Wall itself, lies Professor Nodd's. You'd walk right past it, if you weren't looking for it. Some say there's a spell on the shop, that does just that.
Did you find an scroll that needs deciphering? Do you have a cursed sword that needs un-cursing? What about a magic ring, need one of those? You can find all that and more at Professor Nodd's. The old curmudgeon that is Professor Nodd has been around for as long as any can remember. He is ill tempered and sometimes rude, but a genius at all things magic. Like most of Wall, the Professor is surrounded in mystery. Some theorize he is a retired adventurer, others think he really is a professor, cast out from University for delving in the Black Arts. No one has actually seen Nodd perform any type of spell but on several occasions he has come to aid of Wall when demon has been loosed or a curse laid. Whatever his past, Nodd is tight lipped about it and all business.
For the right amount of gold, anything seems available at his shop, from cursed monkey hands to magic blades. Any adventurer worth his salt should make a stop by the end of the street, where there's a shop that isn't there.

Calavetti Bros. Arms and Armor

2010-03-23T12:00:00.000-07:00

For over six generations, the name Calavetti has been synonymous with fine arms and armor. They have been armorers to kings and the god of war himself, if their claims be accurate. Indeed, for a time the weapons were of such a fine quality, they were denied export by imperial decree.
The Calavetti's had fame, riches and the ear of the Emperor. All that changed when Donatello Calavetti was implemented in a plot to assassinate one of the emperor's favorite nephews. The charges were baseless, but the Calavetti name was forever tarnished among the nobility, and without their favor, the family floundered.
Enter Giovani and Nicoli Calavetti. These grandsons of Donatello pulled up shop in the south and moved to Wall. Ever since their arrival they have been providing quality equipment to the military and adventurers alike. "Good Steel at a Good Price" is their motto, and they stick behind every weapon or piece of armor. If you break a sword, they replace it, no questions asked. The ringing sound of hammers, echoes from their shop every day, where at least one of the brothers is working while the other dithers over prices in the front of store. (or they're apologizing to a local farmer over indiscretions with his daughter).

The Calavettis have earned people's respect in this harsh part of the world. When all else fails, you at least know the Calavetti steel in your hands, won't let you down.

Interlude: Life on the Wall

2010-03-18T12:45:00.000-07:00

Living on the very edge of of civilization can be hard. Living on the Wall is harder. The climate is harsh, ranging from the numbing cold blowing in from the Frozen Wastes to the blistering heat of the summer. Now, throw in the constant threat of being overrun by hordes of bloodthirsty monsters and you begin to understand why life on the Wall isn't for everyone.
But, the life of a Guardian has some benefits, full Imperial citizenship for one. In return for 25 years service, a retired Guardian can expect a pension, and a small plot of land, usually just south of the Wall.
While in service he will get a steady, if meager pay.
The Wall itself stretches for leagues upon leagues, interspersed with mile forts along its length. These forts become little fortresses in and of themselves, with villages springing up to service them. Some Guardians spend their whole lives here, never seeing the city of Wall, or any place within the empire. The post of Guardian has become hereditary with a father's post passing to his son. It can be a solitary life, with long stretches of the Wall abandoned and crumbling in places. Each generations has fewer and fewer Guardians. More and more would-be recruits head to the more prosperous south, in hopes of a better future than walking a seemingly endless parapet.
That hasn't stopped men from joining though, as many a desperate drifter has become a legend. For instance, the great Cerdic, who snatched back an imperial standard from the claws of a great War Troll at the siege of 1346, during the Third Incursion. Then there's Osbert the Slayer, who single handedly slew a great wyrm, but died in the process. Only his hand was found. Or there's Captain Martel, who served valiantly for 20 years, then one day disappeared into vastness Beyond the Wall never to return.
All these men and more have their names listed on a obelisk at the center of Wall. Many men will brave the weather, the danger, and the sometimes lonely life of a Guardian, simply to have their name someday etched on that monument.

Everything turns to dust...

2010-03-18T04:50:00.000-07:00

"Oh well," Nemon said. "this ruby ought to pay for a new shield".
The party gathered around the jewel and gazed in wonder. It was roughly cut and would probably have to be cut down to get a stone worthy of display, but the sheer size would bring some coin.
After putting the jewel safely away, attention turned to the chamber itself. There was a grand hallway to the north, but Gruffydd was staring at the bizarre geometric pattern that ran around the chamber like a belt. After a few minutes study, he noticed the pattern was off in the south east corner.
"Hmmmm," he said. "There's another hidden door here. You can see where the pattern's off."
Indeed, there was a seam. A few of the ceramic tiles were recessed, like a handle. But before Gruffydd tried it, he saw there was a black paste smeared on it. Using Guthix's torch, he burned away the residue, then tried the door. He pulled it open.
There was a blast of fresh air, and a soft ray of daylight shining down from the upwardly sloping passage beyond.
"This looks like a way to the surface." Gruffydd said. "A quick way to bypass the level above. Probably comes out on the back side of one of the hills."
"Let's go," Miss Adventure sighed. "This place is gross, and I'm tired."
"Let's go just a bit further," Nemon suggested. " we still might be able to come up behind a that room with double doors that we passed."
"Yeah." Gildrid said. "That room where you thunked that morlock to the door." He pantomimed shooting an arrow, then crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out like he was dead.
It was decided to head up the northern hallway. It ended quickly at a thick wooden door. It wasn't locked and opened to a small room, richly, but disgustingly decorated. It was personal quarters of the morlock's priest by the look of it. Shabby tapestries hung from the walls. Bones littered the floor, and blood was smeared everywhere. From behind a drawn curtain, snoring could be heard. Mellion yanked it back.
Immediately a bloated female morlock snapped awake. She was obese, filthy, caked in dried blood, and very upset to awoken from her sleep. She hissed while grabbing a bone dagger.
Three arrows sunk into her white, gooey flesh at the same time. A dagger flew passed.
"Damn!" Nemon muttered, "missed again."
The she-morlock gurgled and went limp.
A search of the room revealed various statues, gold necklaces (which straws were drawn to see who would pull them off the corpse), and a potion.
There was also a door to the east. It opened into a long antechamber. Along the south wall were dozens of cubbyholes, filled with various knick-knacks. But, covering the whole shelf was a fine yellow mold.
The air smelled faintly of burnt oranges.
Nemon grab a drape from the priest's room and tried to wipe away the mold. Poof! Spores exploded and filled the room.
"Everybody out!"
The slammed the door shut.
"Now can we leave?" Miss Adventure asked while stifling a yawn.
And so they did. The party decided to climb the long secret passage and out to the surface. The sun was just going down, and no one wants to be caught Beyond the Wall at night. Mellion's horse was rounded up and they began the march back to Wall. Nemon began coughing. He kept hacking up yellow foam.
The pace quickened. The very night seemed to stalk them. They felt pursued by unseen enemies.
Finally, the Wall loomed into sight. And with it, safety, for now.

A cold reception

2010-03-17T04:39:00.000-07:00

THWANK! The arrow flew straight and true. With a "Thud" it sank into the morlock priest's back. He howled and stood up. A quick look around and he had spotted his assailants. There was a commotion from the north and two huge guards appeared. These were the biggest morlocks yet. They wore ghastly breastplates and helmets made from bones. A few gutteral orders from the priest and they charged the hidden door.
"Shut it!, Shut it!", Gruffydd yelped.
The door slammed shut just as two crude spears smashed into it.
"What now?" Nemon asked.
"We open the door. Then fight them one on one." Gruffydd said. "I'll go first".

Mellion quickly slid the door open. Gruffydd slammed his warhammer into the skull helmet of the first guard, who fell backwards into the other. Abandoning the plan, the rest of the party poured through the opening and began hacking at the guards. Nemon's thick plate deflected the primitive morlock weapons and he skillfully beheaded one of the guards. The elves, Mellion and Gildrid cornered the other guard and brought him down.
The priest stood near the bloody idol hissing at the slowly approaching Miss Adventure, She had her poisoned dagger behind her back. Gruffydd gave a war cry and charged him. His attention drawn to the approaching dwarf, he didn't see the halfling until it was too late. She sprang, and drove the dagger hilt deep into the shaman. He howled again then fell silent against his bloody god.
"That jewel is mine!" Dimzad stomped up to the idol. He clammered up the pile of bones. He quickly became covered in blood. After a few precarious moments, he balanced himself, drew a dagger and began to pry the great ruby loose.
There was groan from the belly of the beast. "Ah-oh." Dimzad said.
A great blast shot from the central mouth of the statue. It was colder than the winds off the northern wastes. It hit Dimzad square in the face. He fell, covered in ice to floor below. The others came to his aid. Gruffydd cracked the ice from his face. Unfortunately, it took what was left of his beard, too. Dimzad was unconscious. Again.
Nemon sighed, and took the last vial of Verena's tears from his pack. He forced it down the dwarf's throat. Dimzad coughed, sputtered and regained his senses.
Nemon picked up his shield and climbed the idol. Bracing his shield between the mouth and himself, Nemon began to pry at the jewel.
Once again it belched forth cold. His shield whined and cracked under the freezing wind. At last, it popped loose. The cold stopped. Nemon dropped his shield and it shattered into a hundred pieces.

And in the depths, they worshipped a dark god

2010-03-16T06:14:00.000-07:00

There was surprisingly little hesitation. Everyone started harvesting mushrooms. Most of the party was knee deep in beetle dung.
"Hey Dimzad," Guthix said, "these mushrooms might be similar to the healing potions. Or they could kill you."
The dwarf started crushing a few mushrooms into a blue glowing paste. He stopped, looked at the others and began to vigorously rub it into his wounds. It tingled, then burned like dragon fire, but it seemed to have staunched the blood flow.
"Try eating one," Miss Adventure said with a smirk on her face. It was no secret that she found the dwarf a loutish, brainless oaf. "Go ahead. I'm sure it will be fine".
Everyone looked away, sure Dimzad was about to breath his last. Gruffydd just shook his head and went back to harvesting.
Miss Adventure had climbed to the top of the dung heap. She spotted a small doorway, mostly covered by the pile. "Fellas, I found a way out."
They all clamored over the top. All except Dimzad. He still stood in the middle of the room, staring at the blue mushroom. Gruffydd yelled at him. "Well? You gonna eat it or not?"
Dimzad sighed. He popped the glowing fungus in his mouth. It tasted awful. His stomach burned. The room spun. He dropped to his knees and wretched up his lunch. It glowed blue on the cavern floor.
But, amazingly he felt better.
The dwarf caught up to the rest of group huddled at the end of a stone passage. The end of the passage held a door that was made of wood, but disguised as the same stone around it. From the other side came otherworldly chanting.
"Great," Gruffydd whispered. "They probably grow these mushrooms, get high as shit, and do a kinds of crazy stuff I don't want to know behind this door".
He moved the door a crack a looked inside. Unlike the rest of the caverns, this one was lit. Candles and torches burned about the room, illuminating a thing of nightmares.
It was a large statue. It had many arms and mouths, and a great bloated body. It sat atop hundreds of bones, and bones littered the filthy floor. The whole statue was drenched in gore. Blood spattered every surface, but in the center was a large ruby glistening in the fire light. Surely this was god of the morlocks. A cannibal god.

Seated in front of the horrific statue was a large morlock. Unlike the rest, this one wore rudimentary clothes. A dirty scarp of red blanket served as his priestly robes. He seemed lost in his chanting, rocking back and forth.
Gildrid pulled an arrow from his quiver and set it to bow. He drew back and took aim on the priest.
Gruffydd whispered in his ear. "Try not to miss this time".

"Is a blue glow good?"...

2010-03-15T06:55:00.000-07:00

"I think I figured out what the big sticks are for!", Miss Adventure yelled.
The beetle was shiny, black and enormous. It's mandibles clacked and sputtered, in anticipation of a meal.
Dimzad and Gildrid charged, despite being already wounded. The beast knocked them aside with ease. Dimzad slumped to the floor unconscious. Miss Adventure grabbed a discarded morlock pole-arm and began to distract the giant insect. Nemon threw a dagger and missed, again. He then grabbed another strange pike and helped the halfling. Gruffydd slammed his great warhammer into the beast's carapace, there was an audible "crack". Mellion went in swinging.
It began a dance of sorts. The beetle would lunge ahead, whack a party member, then be forced back by Miss Adevture and Nemon wielding pikes. Finally, the creature was cornered, it's back to a small passage.
Mellion saw an opening. He dashed under the belly of the beast thrust his sword in deep. He barely managed to dive out of the way as the beetle crashed to the ground.
The party looked around. They were all bruised or damaged in some way. Dimzad was out, almost dead.
Before the group had left Wall, Gruffydd and Nemon had visited the Temple of Verena. A few donations had granted them five vials of "Verena's Tears". These magic potions, from the goddess of healing, were known to heal any wound or sickness. After using all but one, most of the party was invigorated. All except Dimzad. The battered dwarf had simply taken too much damage. He was alive, but barely walking.
"Look down here!" It was the ever inquisitive Mellion. He was peering down a roughly hewn passage to the south. It wasn't big enough for the beetle to have come through and there was a earthy smell to the place. And an unearthly blue glow.
Slowly, the party moved down the passage. It was muddy and slick, with a gentle downward slope. There were also two parallel furrows cut into the floor. After a few twists and turns it opened into a small cavern.
Piled against the wall was a large pile of what could only be beetle dung. And growing in masses from it, were hundreds of blue, glowing mushrooms.

Deeper

2010-03-12T06:59:00.000-08:00

The sword bit deep into the wood, missing the eyeslit by inches. There was a hoarse cry from behind the door. The lever would be pulled, the alarm would be raised, filling the tomb with hungry Morlocks!
"Coming through!" Nemor charged from nowhere and put the full weight of himself and his armor into the door. The hinges gave and the whole door smashed inward on the morlock guard within. There was a wheeze and a gurgle from under the door. Gildrid pried his sword free, then plunged into through the eyeslit.
Everyone gave a collective sigh of relief. There were no noises of alarm, no horde crashing in from the dark to eat them.
Guthix walked up to a sheepish looking Gildrid, "Smooth. Real smooth."
"Least I didn't waste my only spell for the day!" Gildrid retorted.
After a quick scan of the room, the party moved to the intersection. Half went north, half went south. The northern passage ended in a carved out section, recently used to house the great ape. All they found was a dirty nest of straw and rags.
The southern passage simply ended. No door or steps. The dwarves poured over the hallway, looking for any secret doors or traps. There was definitely a sliding door at the end of the passage, but no way to trigger it. Nemon walked back to the guard room. Close examination of the lever inside showed that there were three marks on it. It was currently in the top position. They knew the lowest position set off the alarm. So he took a breath, then slid it to the middle position.
CLANK! Shoomp! "Hey! Nemon! It worked", Miss Adventure said.
Indeed. Where the passage had ended before, was now a dark flight of stairs heading down. These steps were different from earlier ones. They were narrower, and construction was newer and less skilled.
They turned back on themselves and ended at a landing.
Unfortunately, the torches alerted the four morlock guards at the bottom.
They were big brutes. Yellow fanged and their nearly white skin filthy. They gave a low growl and charged, brandishing strange long hafted pole-arms. Nemon threw a dagger and missed wildly. The rest leapt forward to meet the guards. There was mad swirling of weapons. Dimzad and Gildrid were heavily wounded. Mellion got a thump on the head, while Gruffydd only suffered a few scratches. Three morlocks dropped lifeless to the floor. The fourth made a break for a hallway ending in two reinforced doors. It surely led to more morlocks.
Thunk! An arrow pinned him, dead to the doors. Miss Adventure smiled, and put away her bow.
Before anyone could take stock of the situation, the ground vibrated, and all attention moved to the lumbering shape emerging from a huge cavern to the south.
A giant beetle. A giant carnivorous beetle.

Into the Dark, again

2010-03-11T07:22:00.000-08:00

Sobbing, Dimzad hacked away the wooden stakes to free the body of his goat. Gruffydd quickly explained to Guthix and Nemon, that the trap hadn't been there the last time they entered. Someone was prepared for visitors. Down the long steps, the pits were still there, along with the iron spikes that were driven in to attach ropes to cross them. But someone had loosed the spikes to give way when weight was applied. Gruffydd pounded them in again, the echoes drifting into the dark below.
The pits were crossed quickly, without mishap, until it was time for Guthix. Whether overconfident, or just lost in thought, the young magician lost footing a plunged into the second pit, But, instead of plummeting to his death, he found himself falling into a crude net, strung not ten feet from the top.
"Hey!" he yelled, "get me outta here!"
It was dwarves that hauled him up. The net was made from white fibers. Hair, maybe?"
"Look in here!", Miss Adventure said. It was the chamber where they had battled the orcs. The torchlight revealed the bodies were gone, but dried trails of black blood lead away into the depths of the tomb.
The bodies must have been dragged away. The trail lead into the burial chamber of the king, then to the former lair of crab spiders. The body that had been there was gone too. The gory trail stopped at the closed door to the hallway where they had fought the giant albino ape.
The door was unlocked. The hallway beyond was quiet. It had a intersection at the end, where the carcass of the ape was gone, too. The hallway also had two doors. They knew the one on the south side was full of refuse and bones. The door on the north side had held a guard station, with a lever inside that had alerted the creatures below.

"We got lucky last time", Gruffydd whispered to the others. "I bet there's a guard this time.
Gildrid was elected to investigate. He slid along the north side of the passage till he was right next to door. His elven ears picked up harsh, rasping breathing on the other side of the door. Someone, or thing, was watching through the eyeslit in the door. Gildrid took a deep breath, readied his blade, and made ready to thrust it through the eye slit.
He lunged,... and missed.

back to the Tomb

2010-03-10T11:03:00.000-08:00

The rest of group could see Dimzad's flailing legs and and muffled cries. After a few moments they decided to grab hold of his legs and dragged him out. He was battered and bloody, and missing a large chunk of his beard. He slumped, degraded into the mud. "We can't get at tose critters till we get past that thing," Gildrid observed. Looking down the dark hole, he could still see it, waiting to pounce, but just out range.
"Here!", Nemon trudged up, and unceremoniously dropped a bloated corpse from up the creek in front of the hole. "That outta get him out."
Sure enough, after a few minutes, the giant crayfish emerged to investigate the bounty at its door. Wham! Dimzad slammed his ax into the creatures head, while Gildrid pinned it with an arrow. It squirmed, then went limp.
"Alright," said Mellion, "who's going in?" Everyone tuned to look at Miss Adventure who was absentmindedly eating a pear. She groaned, pulled out her dagger and climbed in.
The tunnel went in about 15 feet, then dropped quickly straight down. She peered down into the hole. She could here screeches and growls, the 3 pairs of eyes appeared below. A shriek. Then a lot of eyes coming up toward her.
Miss Adventure turned and scurried out the hole. Splash! "They're right behind me!"
But, instead of following, the kobolds began collapsing the tunnel. A few arrows and bolts were shot down the tunnel, but whether they hit or missed was unknown.
Muddy and empty handed, the party returned up creek to see what Gruffydd had recovered. It turned out to be little. There were a few coins, some daggers, which Nemon took after he assured them that he was quite the knife thrower, and some leather belts and bags. The corpses, both horse and human, were riddled with black fletched arrows. No one knew quite what to make of it. They began the hike up the hill to the tomb.

The tomb was much as they left it, although someone had cover the entrance up again, hiding it with vines. The door slid much easier this time.
Dimzad looked distressed, not only because he was bleeding and missing half a beard, but because he gained nothing in return. "What am I going to do with Bob while we're inside?"
Everyone looked at each other, then at Dimzad. "Who's Bob?", they said.
"The goat," Dimzad replied. "I can't leave him out here. "I know, I'll take him with us!"
He picked up the goat, who was not happy about being picked up, and pushed him through the entrance.
SHOOMP! A group of 4 sharpened stakes hammered down from just inside the entrance, impaling the goat, and pinning it to the floor.
"BAAAAWWWWBBBB!!!!"

The Fight at the Creek

2010-03-09T08:31:00.000-08:00

Mellion's horse was not a warhorse. And as such, it reared short of the little monsters. He swung wildly with his sword and missed. The creatures leapt at him. One dug a nasty dagger into the elf's thigh. The other slashed at his ankle. The dagger went in deep.

By now the rest of the party was on the way. "Kobolds!" Gruffydd shouted.
There was a rush of wind and a blur as Miss Adventure blew past the rest, off to the southwest to cut off the fleeing creatures. This was followed by a loud "Shaa-kow" as brilliant blue magical bolt leapt from Guthix's hands to slam unerringly into a fleeing kobold. The creature exploded in a dazzling blue flame. Chunks of meat rained down into the creek and further frightened the kobolds already running. "Crap," Guthix said. "I forgot, I can only do that once a day." The young magician cursed under his breath and trudged down the hill.
Mellion had managed to hack one of the kobolds to death, and the other was quickly dispatched by a charging hammer blow from Gruffydd. The rest of the party went after the fleeing kobolds, who were now dropping their loot to run faster. Nemon brought up the rear, clanking behind is his heavy armor.
Thunk! An arrow from Gildrid skewered another kobold, but the creature kept running. The little monsters were so busy looking over their shoulders they nearly ran into Miss Adventure. She drew her dagger that was now tainted with Crab Spider venom, and grinned at them. "Boo!"
The surviving kobolds were terrified now. They were trapped between an obviously fearless halfling, and a crowd of heavily armed strangers splashing down the creek. "Let them go!" Gruffydd bellowed. "We'll follow them to their lair!"
"No! Kill them now!" It was Dimzad, bouncing along on his goat. His blood was up, and he wanted a kill.
Miss adventure stepped aside. The kobolds looked at her nervously and saw the opening to run. They scurried off, carrying their wounded brother. The party followed at a safe distance, except for Nemon, who was winded by all the running in armor, and Gruffydd, who had stopped to examine the loot.
The party followed for a few minutes by lost sight of the kobolds once they reached an area where vegetation had sprouted along the creek. After a few minutes searching they found a hole in the side of an embankment. The sides banked up with mud, and kobold footprints betrayed this as their hide out.
Dimzad, though the hole was just big enough for him, dived in head first. He barely had room to move. The tunnel was pitch black, but his infra-vision showed movement ahead. "Gotcha!", he said.
A mass of claws and legs shot from the black. It was the biggest crayfish Dimzad had ever seen. He had seen big ones too, found in the pools and depths of his mountain home. Before he had time to react, this one clamped a claw around his face, slowly crushing his skull.

Return to the Tomb of King Loras

2010-03-08T11:08:00.000-08:00

The day was bright and unseasonably warm for winter. A fair group of Wall's citizens had assembled to watch the adventurers leave on their return to King Loras's tomb. Two weeks had passed since the group had returned, battered and bruised, with tales of bandits, orcs and foul things in the dark. The had gained two new recruits, Nemon, a mercenary from the the Free Cities, and a young magician, Guthix.

Alabazium would not be joining them as he was away at the library, researching tomes to decipher the scrolls he had found. Neither would Gwynfor be along. He had debtors to pay.

So it was that the elves Mellion and Gildrid, the dwarves Gruffydd and Dimzad, the halfling known as Miss Adventure and the two newest members left the safety of the gates and went again, Beyond the Wall.

They were rested and re-equipped. Mellion and splurged and bought himself a riding horse. Dimzad had settled on a goat for his mount, though the ill tempered little creature kept stopping to graze, and had to be led most of the way. About noon the reached the massive tree of the little dryad, Newli.

"Newli!" Miss Adventure shouted. "Newli, it's us. Your friends."

"My friends?' A little pale face had appeared in the branches above.

"Yes. Us." Miss Adventure gestured to the rest of the group. "Have you any news?"

"News? Newli looked perplexed.

"Has anything happened since we were here last?', Gruffydd asked

"Oh! Men. Lots of Men on horses came. They looked very cross. They looked like they were looking for something. Is that news?" Newli smiled.

"Yes,"the old dwarf said as he turned to his companions."looks like we should get going." Then to Newli, "Thanks again, we'll be back soon."

The party left the old logging camp behind and headed northwest, where they knew the old tomb stood.

After about an hour they crested a hill. Below them a small creek ran between the hills. At a ford in the water was a scene of carnage. The corpses of three bloated horses and two figures had dammed the creek. A half a dozen small creatures were stripping the bodies.

"Charge!" Mellion shouted. The impetuous elf drew his sword and put spurs to his horse. Gruffydd put his hand over his eyes and sighed. As Mellion flew down the hill, Guthix began a eldritch chant and Gildrid drew his bow. Miss Adventure calmly sat down down and put on her Boots of Speed.

The creatures were small. Smaller than even a halfling. They had scaly rust colored skin and small horns. They were somewhere between a dog and lizard in appearance. They were gleefully stripping the bodies until they spotted the elf charging pellmell straight at them. Six scattered and began splashing south along the creek. Two stood, gave a soft growl, and drew their tiny knives.

People and Places Beyond the Wall

2010-03-05T13:18:00.000-08:00

As you might have gathered, gentle listener, Beyond the Wall is a deadly place. Most that enter its wilds seldom return. But, a few see it as a sanctuary, a last wilderness beyond the reach of law and civilization. In fact, many infamous bandit chieftains have left the south behind and set petty kingdoms behind walls of ruined fortresses and deep woods. Karok Bloodhand is rumored to inhabit an old castle beyond the Black River. There he prays on adventures and monsters alike, safe to retreat within its walls.
Possibly the greatest of the these groups of cut throats, is the Brotherhood of the Black Hood. They have formed a veritable army of thieves and murderers. Some say Brotherhood spies creep into Wall now and then to collect rumors of expeditions. Then they wait to waylay adventurers and tomb robbers along the roads.
The Brotherhood often wears crude black hoods made of dyed burlap, and hangman's nooses around there necks. These serve two purposes. One, to frighten any would be foes, the other, to remind them of their fate should they be taken alive. Horns are also sometimes sewn on the hoods. From a distance, they appear as demons and monsters. Useful to scare off unwary opponents.
The Brotherhood's leader is a shadowy figure. He is an unnamed giant of a man and is known to have killed 13 contenders to his thrown barehanded. He is also thought to have amassed vast wealth in his hidden fortress. Any adventurers brave, or foolish enough, to enter his lands will have a fight on their hands, and possibly end up with a noose around their necks.

Interlude: Peoples Beyond the Wall

2010-03-01T09:11:00.000-08:00

When the Empire collapsed, and the Wall was built, some humans and demi-humans chose for various reasons, to stay beyond it's safety. Most of the communities and towns were quickly destroyed in the monster incursions that followed. Others were consumed by wars of dominance in the lands free of Empire's grasp.
Some went underground. They survived for a time, but over the decades became no better than the creatures they fought above the surface.
The human survivors were the worst. Shunning the light, they devolved into degenerate versions of themselves. As food became scarce, they began to pray on others, turning into cannibals. Stories reached Wall of roving packs of pale humans that hunted at night. They had created vast communities underground, in old tombs and monster warrens. They were given a name. Morlocks.

Though appearing as dirty albino cavemen, Morlocks can be quite cunning, setting traps for would be invaders. Anyone foolish enough to enter one of their lairs, is often taken alive for sacrifice to their blood drenched god. Their eyesight might be poor, but their sense of smell is excellent.
Morlocks are vicious predators, and should not be under estimated.
Rumor has it, morlock communities in the north are being pushed closer to Wall by invaders far darker and malign.

New PC: Nemon the Bold

2010-02-26T07:54:00.000-08:00

Nemon is recently arrived from the Free Cities, where he claims to have been a mercenary captain. Indeed, he did show up in Wall with several hirelings, but they quickly departed soon after. Nemon affects a roguish attitude, and seems eager to "go adventuring", but also has developed a reputation for sullen periods full of drink and despair.

NPCs: Miss Maggie

2010-02-24T07:02:00.000-08:00

The Hole tavern has existed almost as long as Wall itself. And for as long as anybody can remember, Miss Maggie has run it. Assisted by her barkeep, Tancred, the Hole is a run like a well oiled machine. No one is without food, drink or information if the money's right. There isn't much that goes on in Wall that Maggie doesn't know about, and she watches over her kingdom from her throne, the last stool on the right.
Few things are known of Maggie's past, but the general consensus is she was an adventurer of some renown. Her opinion is much respected by customers and city fathers alike, and her word in the Hole is law.
No fighting, no magic, and no mischief making are the rules. Lawbreakers quickly find themselves out on the street, and count themselves lucky if they still have all their teeth.
Anyone seeking adventure Beyond the Hole, should make their first stop in the Hole. The few that return usually have a bit of thanks to Miss Maggie. A scrap of information, or a bit of advice from Maggie has often saved their hides.

Drums in the Deep

2010-02-22T05:31:00.000-08:00

The great ape bared its yellowed fangs and swatted Mellion aside. The elf slammed into the far wall and slumped to the ground, bloodied. Its attention shifted to the party. Gildrid readied his bow. Gruffydd and Dimzad charged. Alabazium backed away and Miss Adventure disappeared. Further back in the tomb, standing by the sarcophagus having a smoke, Gwynfor felt a breeze go by.
Miss Adventure found herself by the steps to the tomb, not quite sure how she got there. The experience rattled her.
Meanwhile, the dwarves hacked away at the huge white ape. Gildrid was pelting it with arrows. Most bounced off its thick hide. Gruffydd was struck in the head, but the ape was wearing down under the repeated blows of the party. Finally, Mellion stood, and from behind drove his sword into the creature's hide. It gave one last growl and dropped to the floor.
Afterwards, while Mellion was busy hacking open the corpse of the ape with great delight, Dimzad and Gildrid checked the south door of the earlier passage. It creaked open. Alabazium held up the light. The floor was heaped high with garbage and rats. There were bones and offal, blood and filth.
They shut the door and backed away. The north door was checked. This door had a viewing sit cut into the door at roughly man height. Gildrid attempted a listen at the door. Dimzad banged on it.
"Will you stop?" the elf asked. "All I can hear is your stupid banging."
The door was locked, but a few whacks at the lock with Gruffydd warhammer knocked it open.
It was empty save for a few filthy blankets and a bucket in the corner filled with urine. On the wall near the door was a wooden lever.
"Looks like a trap door", Gruffydd said after eyeing it a few moments. The party decided it was best if they stood in the room when the lever was pulled. A deep breath, then the lever was pulled.
Nothing. Then a sliding, hissing noise. Then a loud crash down below. Then a BOOM! Then drums. Drums in the deep below. Howls and shouts and the sound of many feet.
The party paused and looked at each other, then ran. They went barreling down the passages. "Go. go, go go, go!" Gruffydd shouted at Gwynfor as they passed him. They finally reached the main entrance hall where they battled the orcs. They found a befuddled Miss Adventure.
"We'll form a semi circle here at the hallway, so we can out number whoever it is", Gwynfor instructed.
The party followed and waited.
First, they heard the gutteral shouts in the dark. Then, a few crude spears clattered to the floor in front of the group. The hallway before them filled with a mass of stinking grey shapes. They had long stringy hair, and feral red eyes. The had the appearance of degenerate humans, bent and twisted.
"There's too many", Gruffydd shouted over the monster's cries.
Mellion, Gwynfor and Dimzad threw their flasks of lantern oil at the floor in front of the onrushing creatures. Alabazium tossed his torch.
Whoosh! Flames filled the hallway. The albino creatures fell back, howling. The party turned and made for the entrance. Miss Adventure turned to run, and found herself at the top the stairs, with the party bellow, two pits between them.
With the help of the ropes they had hammered in earlier the crossing up the steps went well, for all except Gildrid. At the first pit, probably distracted by the creatures behind them, Gildrid missed and fell into the pit. He managed to survive the fall, but just barely. Dimzad volunteered to go in after him. He cut the rope from one side and slid down. After securing the rope around Gildrid, they partly climbed and were partly pulled from the depths. No sooner had they escaped the pit then the pursuers were on them.

The chase went all the way up the long stairs. Gwyndor and Mellion had been busy at the top, prying the entrance open. Just before the creatures were on them, the door opened. The last bit of sunlight of the day filled the stairway. The creatures howled and retreated. Apparently they didn't care for the light.
The party emerged from the tomb, beaten and bruised, squinting against the daylight.
The sun would be down soon, and their pursuers would soon follow.
"Back to the road, and south to the wall," Gruffydd said. "And hope we don't run into our bandit friends."
They didn't. They reached the road as the sun was setting, craning their necks in ever direction, looking for pursuit. Along the way Miss Adventure discovered she could cover great stretches of ground in short bursts. It winded her quickly and the disorientation it caused made her slightly nauseous. She decided her pretty boots would be put away in her knapsack for now.
When the party reached the Wall it was night. They were cold and hungry, and ugly stretch of stone separated them from civilization never looked so beautiful.
A lone figure leaned out from the heights at the top.
"Have a nice walk?"

I Don't like Spiders...

2010-02-19T06:59:00.000-08:00

They were part spider, part crab and the diameter of a tavern table. They hissed and spat, venom dripping from their fangs. The party formed a semicircle, trying to keep the circling crab spiders to their front.
"Hah!" Gildrid jumped forward and spitted one on his sword. The other one lunged at him and missed, tearing his cloak. The elf turned and pinned the other one to the ground. "Cool. I'm going to put some that venom on my sword. " Gildrid said happily.
"Me, too!", said Miss Adventure.
"Cut 'em open," Dimzad said. "There might be treasure inside."
Gruffydd, disgusted, turned away to check the rest of the room. There were two wooden doors, iron bound, in the otherwise empty room. After it became evident there was no treasure amidst the black guts of the crab spiders, the party decided on the north east door.
It was unlocked, but it took some work to get the centuries rusted hinges to let go. Inside the chamber was the familiar rectangular shape seen before. This one had been lived in. Ancient tombs of the north were sometimes open to the public, as places of worship of the ancestors. Priest, therefore lived in these tombs to act as custodians. This was obviously one of the priest's private quarters. A bed, table and chairs, and long rotted away under the weight of the ages. Dust covered everything. Along the south east wall, a book shelf still held. Alabazium eyed them, drooling with anticipation.
"Scrolls!" Dimzad yelled, then leaped across the room. His big, calloused hands ground the ancient scrolls to dust. A single tear rolled down Alabazium's cheek.
"Nice one, Hammy-hands'" Gruffydd said. "Sure your name isn't Dim-whit?"
But all was not lost. Amid the ruin of the scrolls, a single lambskin parchment remained. It was wax sealed with a dove symbol. He carefully placed it in his sack.
Dimzad, properly chastised, began to look around. "Hey, there's a place on the floor where the dust has been blown away". Sure enough, where shelves met wall, a faint triangle of dust was missing. After checking for traps, Dimzad and Gruffydd pushed the shelves inward. They swiveled on a central axis to reveal a small closet or pantry. The walls were lined floor to ceiling with all sorts of spoiled food stuffs and bottled curiosities. There was a lot of coughing, because of the dust. Tucked away in cubby holes and jars were gold and gems. A black box was found containing a small vial of black sludge, which Dimzad quickly pocketed. Gildrid grabbed a fancy robe, the only one that didn't fall apart when touched.
Another scroll was found, bearing a picture of a wolf. It was quickly handed over to Alabazium.
"Ooohhh, these are pretty", it was Miss Adventure. She had found some boots tucked away in a dark corner. They were velvet with little wings stitched on them.
Being a halfling, she could never understand the need for shoes. These were so pretty however, she had to try them on. They fit perfectly. Everyone got a good laugh as she tried to walk around in them.
The party left and went to the other door across the entry chamber where the spiders were. This door was locked. Much pounding and pulling finally broke it free. It opened to a hallway with a "T" intersection at the end, and two doors, north and south along its sides.
Mellion, as always, bounding to the end of the hallway. "Hey! The hall goes north and south."
There was rumble. Then a sharp hoot. The ground shook, and giant, fanged, dirty white ape bounded from the darkness of the north passage.
"When is he going to learn?" Gruffydd said as he readied his axe.