So I found this series on You Tube, and it's AWESOME! There are 17+ of these things, and it is people playing the characters in the PHB.
In the first one, we see the base classes and the Wizard freaks out about displacer beasts, the Cleric of Pelor talks about Gods, the halfling Rogue talks about sneak attack, and the gnome bard complains about bards.
In the second one we meet a Warlock and see why it's great to be a Dwarf!
So, Fletcher's gonna be here this weekend, and that opens up the opportunity for some old fashioned tabletop gaming on Saturday night for Sally, Fletcher, and me.
We could prolly also do one either Sunday/Monday night, so I was thinking both Dubro and I could do a one-shot?
So, I put forth the question:
Do you want to play Good/Neutral or Evil?
I have a setting in mind- something I made for Ashley's folks to encounter, but they've leveled up past some of the lesser stuff (Shael and Daley are at 18, Kaden at 19), but if we did a nice 10-12 level set of characters, you could do it.
For evil, any race would work, but something more monstrous (Gnoll, Ghoul, Orc, Ogre, Troll, etc) would be kinda of cool.
If you do good guys, dwarves and halflings would be preferred, but it doesn't really matter.
The scenario is this:
While Heirot, Kethry, Kaden, and Brother dealt with Kruegel, and since then, the Ironheels/Paladins of St. Cuthbert of cleaned up much of the north end of the continent (Where Lamero's Pass took place). In the Epic campaign, you're at the southernmost tip of the land. That leaves the largest portion- the plains below the forest where Char's castle was.
Key locations: The ghost-city called Arrowgrip. Once a major metropolis that rivaled the size and power of Sultar, this city is completely lifeless. It's well paved streets and sturdy stone buildings are cold and dusty, but the creaking, groaning sound of twisted metal can be heard some nights...
Arrowgrip's fine condition, even after nearly a century of abandonment lies in its construction- the city was completely under the rule of the Temple of Hextor, who took great pains to make it as much a fortress as a municipality. A few miles east of the metro area is a deserted hexagon-shaped training center for the entire world. There was a time when hundreds of children were whipped into shape (literally) as future clerics of Hextor. If it hadn't been for a rogue band of otherworldly adventurers...
South of Arrowgrip is Nob's Nub, the subterranean stronghold of Sir Knobkin, Gnome Paladin and his dwarven armies. The stone-cutters have made a working, safe haven against the countless zombies that no roam without anyone to command them.
A week's walk south west of the Nub lies the Shatterspine Mountains. That is where this story begins. For centuries, this area has been a bloodbath. Orc hordes and Gnoll throngs have done battle since the tusked humanoids and hyena-men first laid sight on one another. The orcs once were a threat to the supremacy of the Gnoll Chieftain: Gnarl Spinebreak. But, since the orcs have lost their biggest allies in the Ogres, the gnolls have dominated for nearly two hundred years. The orcs hide out in the hills, while the gnolls rule the entire Shatterspine range.
West of the Shatterspines are the great swamps of Emathuel. There, druid clans have a shaky truce with a Lizardfolk community run by a Yuan-ti sorcerer- both factions must keep a strong face up to dissuade Gnarl and the Gnolls from expanding their territory.
Problem is, about a month ago, Gnarl Spinebreak was utterly destroyed. That fateful afternoon, he led a scouting party of elite Gnoll Rangers. They'd heard from the clan's flinds (clerics) that a particularly lucrative shipment of fish (loaded with gold) was being sent to Sultar... via the Caravel (floating train). Gnarl attempted to overtake the train- something that should have been simple for the 20th level Barbarian Warlord.
What Gnarl didn't expect was that two of the passengers would be Brother Sionnodell of Lamero's Pass, and his new friend Grok'Tor. Atop the speeding train, Grok'Tor outclassed the raging warlord and kicked him off the Caravel. Gnarl might have survived, if Grok'Tor hadn't kicked him off the front of the train. The speeding construct hit Gnarl full force, and sent him screaming down to the forests of Yeeneghu's realm in the Abyss, afterlife home to all evil Gnolls.
In that month, the orcs capitalized on the gnolls' troubles, and have launched relentless assaults after the hyena-headed folk. It seemed the heartland of the continent was going to be a raging bloodbath, until during one particularly massive battle at the foot of the Spinebreaks, twenty-thousand zombies came shambling over the horizon at high noon. The Orcs were too stupid to broker a cease-fire, and as a result half of their entire force was devoured by the horde.
Leading a band of monstrous clerics was one human priest: Dane Wildtongue. The fiery haired holy man came bearing the symbols and garbs of Erythnul. His heralds beat drums of panic and madness, but above all else, when Dane spoke, waving his trust Morningstar of the Many, the zombies listened.
Dane's slick tongue and undeniable power over the undead has done something no other force in all of the world had managed: it's united Orc and Gnoll armies under the same banner... that of Erythnul.
Now, a group of pilgrims for the Necropolis called Elm have joined their fray, a ravenous pack of Ghouls that serve Doresain, hungry king of the Ghouls and minor Abyssal Lord.
Dane has considerable power at his whim, and rumour has it, he seeks to take the entire screaming mess of monsters to Arrowgrip and start a new capital for all the continent. Rumors persist that he'll first obliterated Nob's Nub, then the steel-walls of Traven.
After that? Whispers have said that Dane is working up a tribute of titanic proportions to the insane priest called Bachman Lord. That Dane Wildtongue wishes to broker a truce with Dagon's priest, so that he can set his sites on the rest of the world.
In the eastern port city called Port Sai-Djinn, where Cold Milk's exports head to the Great City of Sultar, Dane's emissaries have started asking one too many questions about Sultar's new rulers.
Could invasion be long off? Do Herschal the Incomprable, Gojir, Allis, Callista, and Tinnorean need to worry about an insane evangelist of the Many Faced god of Slaughter? -- So, you could wind up as some of Dane's lieutants, or some of the rebel fighters attempting to stop Wildtongue's expansion!
Just a one shot, as Dane Himself might be too powerful (especially given that he's been working on... a contingency plan, should that Troll-Monk ever coming look to finish him off, like Grok'Tor did Gnarl).
Recap of last night's RP-heavy session, and the portents/visions that befell Brother and Grok'Tor (aka, what's going on in the world, all poeticy).
In the night, Jerick was ambushed and captured by a small army of Succubi. He wound up strapped to a table in a corrupted temple of Pelor, sitting before the throne of one Graz'zt Dark Demon Prince.
As weird weather happening affect the city of Cold Milk, the party looks for Jerrick, using Scry to pick up the tiefling's scent. Upon seeing his captured form, they gathered information and found their way to the Temple.
Graz'zt seemed quite chatty and let them take Jerrick back by merely asking to do so. Graz'zt then spent the afternoon pestering the trio of Morelent, Brother, and Grok'tor. While the team took down a pair of 20 foot tall, 15,000 lbs bison-demons called Goristros, the docks of Cold Milk were all but obliterated.
Calling on Ayailla's divine favor for a Miracle, Brother whisked the homes of the dock-living townsfolks away as Grok'Tor and Morelent brought the huge fiends down. After the battle, a strange, sickly-pink light restored the shattered docks with another Miracle, this one originating from the peak of Yr'Red, Bachman Lord's private island.
Morelent and Grok'Tor used their monumental strengths to relocate many of the townfolks' boats; the civilians were far more interested in having their ships re-shored than with their homes being replaced.
In the clean up, Grok'Tor noticed that many of the town folks have simple alters in their homes, venerating some "Deep Swimming Lord" called Dagon. The peoples of the town were quite warm and appreciative of the help levied to them.
At the end of the afternoon, both Grok'Tor and Morelent received messages from Bachman Lord, in the form of scrolls. The messengers were hunched and hooded, but Grok'Tor managed to sneak a peek beyond their scaley hands...
Now, the time has come for Brother to make good on the invitation offered by Bachman Lord, and travel to Yr'Red, the strange clerics fortified home. Will the party take the ship offered to them by Graz'zt, or find their own way?
And, just why has Graz'zt, one of the single most powerful creatures in existence, taken an interest in our heroes?
Since your characters are the ones with the most divine pull, I've sent you guys little write ups of stuff that both Brother and Grok'Tor will have experienced in the night following the last adventure.
Fear not, Dwarven Defender, Elfin Wizard, and Tiefling Assassin! I've got special little "WTF is going on?!" stuff for you guys, too, but it just doesn't need to be as wordy as those two's.
In case you missed it: We're playing the Epic Level Game tonight, at SEVEN O'CLOCK Sharp! I'm going to try and make the game more talk-centered than fight-centered, since Epic Characters need to be able to do more than just kill shit.
They need to be able to do it with friggen STYLE, so that the Gods get their asses to the gym and remember that some of them might have been Epic Mortals at one point...
This Chain of Being game looks rather neat, here is the description:
What would happen to a fantasy world in which the most ridiculous character you've ever created became a god?
Chain of Being (or CoB, for short) answers that question with a roleplaying game set in a fantasy world gone haywire. The basic premise of CoB is that the old order of things has been disrupted by a small group of wacky mortals who have taken the heavens by storm and seized the positions of their complacent deities. Ever since then, they've spent most of their time drunk on fermented ambrosia, messing with gameality and making sure that things will never be quite the same...
If you're the sort of person who loves to laugh a lot while roleplaying, Chain of Being is your game. In CoB, all of the traditional denizens of a fantasy realm, like knights and dragons, now have to compete for attention with the likes of aliens, superheroes, mechs, conspiracies, corrupt corporations, insane dungeon designers, people who know that their universe is really just a roleplaying game, and lots of other insanity. CoB is "anything goes" fantastic fiction.
and here is the link: http://limestonepublishing.com/games/index.html
Because I plan on scanning select articles of the Dragon Magazines that we have, and finding some other key issues at Fanfare. For all those I can't get, I'll get the .pdf files from paizo.com...
cuz I want to make Draven the Archivst's Manual of Planer Powers!
I'll be combining the Core Belief articles about deities with the Demonomicon of Iggilwiv articles about the Demon Lords (there aren't any Devil articles comprable in my knowledge... but I'll be on the look out), so that I can have my absolute favorite part of D&D centralized into one handy document.
Of course, it'll be "penned" by Draven, who's been busy working on his History of the World and Sultar (see Fletcher's more recent posts to the Stove). But, somebody that has Boccob's Blessed Book, The Book of Exalted Deeds, The Book of Vile Darkness, The Silver Libram, The Book of Balanced Scales, Wee Jas' Limitless Libram, [Vecna's] The Tome of the Stilled Tongue, The Black Scrolls of Ahm, The Demonomicon of Iggilwiv, The Diabolist's Handbook, The Celestial Codex and the Tome of Ancient Lore, with Index
I had sent an instant message to Sally saying that I would not be gaming today, but I am guessing she did not get it. I just ended up having way too much to do today and I wasn't feeling to great on top of that. I appologize if this inconvenienced you in any way. Let me know what is going on for next week!
The earliest beginnings of recorded history wind back along the path of time some 700,000 years. In these ancient days the only intelligent species native to the material plane were the grey elves, and since then, over 1000 generations of elders have descended down the spokes of the great wheel. All data from these early beginnings have been lost, save for one legend, that of the Rainbow Vale.
In these days long past the grey elves had no elder to harness the powers of the natural world. They wandered aimlessly throughout Torn, prisoners of the elements. Many died before first child, and for a time it was thought the grey elves would fade away; a failed experiment of the Old Gods, to be driven into the Far Realm and forgotten. Alas, this prophecy was not meant to unfold. It is not known with authority how, but one young elf discovered the true fibers of the world, ley lines. Little is know of this elf, her name was Elu, and she was of first child, although the name of her child has passed from memory. A few rumors Elu's discovery remain; that perhaps she learned the language of the spiders, and befriended a dying widow who imparted upon her the knowledge of nature's web. Another tale, that with alcarity beyond even that of the gods she deciphered the many patterns of nature, and with that knowledge learned to pluck the strings of magic. Regardless of how Elu came upon this knowledge, its effect was profound. In an excerpt taken from the Book of Exalted, "In that day she wove a tapestry of magic, and with it showed the others of her kind what they could strive to be."
From there it is known that the grey elves found they had a strong predisposition toward the manipulation of the ley lines, that they could bend the flow of magic to power spells that would leave even the most powerful mages of our time stand mouth agape, dumbstruck like a fool witnessing an act of prestidigation for the first time. It was with this taste of power that the first seeds of corruption were planted. The grey elves soon found that even the ley lines had limits, and that if taxed too greatly, the surrounding land would suffer. Lush forests turned to barren wastelands in an instant, the life ripped out of it for one fool's glory. It was then that the elves turned to Elu to fulfill their cravings. Disgusted with their pitiful addiction, she forbade the practice of magic. Enraged, they funneled their hatred and rage into a horrid curse and flung it at Elu. Filled with love for her mother, Elu's son leapt in front of the blast, saving her from the grey elves' retribution. He paid a horrible price, the curse caused anything he touched to wither and die, all life's magic sucked out of it to sustain him. Terrified of what had become of the grey elves, Elu fled with her son.
Elu traveled far and wide with her son, avoiding the rest of her kind while looking for some way to remove her son's curse. With every passing day she saw the greed and addiction grow in his eyes. Soon his greed became insatiable, and he spent his days snapping ley lines and feeding on the magic they unleashed. Witnessing the destruction reaped daily by her son, horrified at what he had become, she set a trap for him. She lured him to the strongest ley lines she could find, and when he set about breaking them she twisted his magic and wrapped the ley lines about him, encasing him in a web of magic.
With her son imprisoned, she set about discovering a cure for his ailment. After four centuries of adventure, research and meditation she discovered the source of the ley lines, the Rainbow Vale. A non-descript shallow valley from which all magic flowed. It seems the name derives from the shimmering prismatic waves that emanated from it when viewed with the true sight. At the center of the vale, detectable only to those that understand the true nature of magic, stood the ruins of an ancient tower. Elu entered these ruins and from a block of its foundation forged a knife and chalice. She set the chalice upon the ground and took the knife in her hand. She set her son beside the chalice and wiped his face, wet with her tears. She plunged the knife into her chest, twisted and ripped it free. With a soft cry she stumbled to the ground, landing hard on her knees. Prismatic blood flowed in a stream from her chest into the chalice, filling it and overflowing onto the ground in a great shimmering pool. With her blood flowed her soul, filling the chalice with the magic within her, tying it, through her, to the center of the ley lines. Her body collapsed onto her son's still form as the webs of magic binding him came unravelled by her death.
He awoke and took a great breath in; as he did so Elu's body withered and turned to dust, her glazed, staring eyes shrivelling away into nothing. He opened his eyes and felt a dark, wrenching crave for magic, having not fed for many centuries. He sat up with start, clutching himself in pain. Through the haze of hunger he sensed the vivid hues of succulent magic. He grabbed greedily at the chalice and drank deeply, prismatic blood splashing down his chest. The magic of the ley lines flowed through and into him, latching onto every part of his being; he dropped the chalice in surprise. It was then that nature's pain rolled over him, he could feel with agonizing detail every atrocity his fellow elves were commiting, every life they destroyed was a stake through his limb arm, every ley line they broke a spear through his side.
There is where the tale ends, but it is believed at that point he sustained himself with the Prismatic Chalice, which refilled endlessly with Elu's blood. He then retook control of the grey elves and using his newfound power, bent them to his will and forced them to repair the destruction they had caused. Since then, every elder has has taken Elu's curse upon his or herself and made right the ways of nature. On an interesting note, the knife has disappeared from all records hence, yet the chalice has remained.
Since this first legend the chalice has been destroyed once at the end of the age of elves, the beginning of the Sultan's reign. It was sundered into twelve pieces, which were hidden in various magical palaces throughout the Wheel. There are texts enough on this subject, I will not delve into it here.
Most recently, and what provoked this writing, the chalice has been reformed by a group of adventurers, and has had at least some influence in the recent magical distortions the common folk are calling the "Apocalypse". I would assume their actions tie in directly with the death of the elder, and the Sultan's supposed ascension into godhood. It is rumored that the Lady of Pain has taken it upon herself to relieve this group of adventurers of the chalice, making it unlikely that it will make an appearance again in the future.
References Book of Exalted Deeds Deities and Demigods History of Sultar books I, MCCCVI and MCCCVII Manual of the planes Interviews with previous elven elders
Thanks to Mordenkainen for his work with plane shifting The Scryer for her help in contacting the dead The disciples of St. Cuthbert for allowing me the room for my studies
~The Archivist 3rd ride of Uktar, 1st year of the Apocalypse