GG3 week 16 – an end

20 December, 2011

Well, we had a big fight at the Temple of the Winds. It was getting late, real time, and the battle was grinding away. So the DM had an NPC drop a nuke that sent everyone to sleep. Our guys recovered fiorst, and gakked the bad guys.

We released Io, and he left the world, taking all the magic with him. The various D&D races became the humans we have now and tada. Kind of a middle-earth solution.

Well, at least Azroth got his wish. Lolth can’t touch him now. Ultimately, maybe it was a bad idea to release Io. Maybe not. Read “The Ones who Walk Away”, by Ursula Le Guin.

I have shredded Azroth’s character sheet. Bye dude. It was fun.

GG3 Week 14 – sorry, guys

29 November, 2011

Oh man, I broke Winky’s encounter again. I won’t even bother getting Azroth to describe it.

We had gotten our magic bolt-cutter from the dwarf (I picture it as a chunky hooked axe – heavy like a blockbuster or goliath hammer) and were heading towards an entrance back to the underdark. We were attacked by a big gold dragon and a bunch of demons. Veritas calls “save yourself, and get the MacGuffin the fuck out of here!”.

And that’s the set up for the combat: fight or flee? And, if flee, how to get everyone past the melee?

Unfortunately, I like mobility. I’m playing a druid. And I had levelled up Azroth to 16. 16th-level utility power: Dryad trees. Daily. Summon 2 trees within a burst 20. Any ally can tp from a square next to one tree to a square next to the other as a move action. And I rolled 19 for initiative, I was second of the PCs.

Azroth moved to the edge of the battlefield (taking a couple of AAOs), and dropped one tree next to Warryn (who was carrying the MacGuffin) and the other 20 squares that away, well into the “you manage to successfully run away” zone. I then left the table (our turns take a while – lot of players). When I got back, almost everyone was clear. The DM did drop a demon next to Azroth, but drow darkness + run away fixed that.

We finished early. Sorry guys – I broke the encounter. It’s kinda cool, but kinda sucks as well.

GG3 Week 12 – Ok. Now it’s just getting silly.

28 November, 2011

We join the refugee march. I – still attempting to escape my unwanted fame – adopt my form and travel on the underside of one of the wagons. On the second or third day, my unit is sent to scout a structure somewhat at the road, at which someone has seen some activity.

We form up, head out. There is debate, but I forget why. I examine the tracks around the structure, briefly, but determine nothing.

Another martial practice. It’s supposed to take 10 minutes, so Az wouldn’t have been able to do it … but the DM told me I found nothing, so that counts as a use, so I paid the price (1 healing surge) anyway.

Inside: Lolth! Whatshisname the traitor general (I’ll call him Fred) is there, and Veritas! Much is discussed. At the end, I am left with a few key points:

A lot of plot, a lot of story exposition.

Bahamut, it seems, ordered the black magisters to go to the temple of the winds. Two generals accompanied them. The generals were ordered that if the magisters attempted to free the bound dragon, they were to be killed. The magisters did so, and Fred disobeyed the order. Hence they were declared to be traitors.

I was, it seems, completely wrong about this bound dragon to which I spoke. Quite simply, I spoke to Io the progenitor. There is no other. Why the, did he reply yes that he was Kevin? Because it was true! What need has the progenitor of a name? If I call him Kevin, or Io, or whatever, then that is his name.

Io told me that he had been bound by “two infernal spirits”. Surely, Bahamut and Tiamat fit the bill. Likewise, he told me that he was bound by the souls dying in their names. What would better fit this, than their wars?

The problem here is that there are a few completely plausible alternatives.

Firstly, the standard story: Bhamut and Tiamat came from Io, and they contend with one another. The bound dragon may or may not be Io, but in any case if he were released then there would be catastrophe.

Secondly, Kevin’s version. Io was bound by two internals: Bahamut and Tiamat. They sacrifice mortals on the altar of war to keep him bound.

Or possibly, a hybrid – that Bahamut was recently deposed, or replaced by something else.

I am not goig to finish this before next game. I’ll publish it now. It’s incomplete.

GG3 Week 11 – a little peace and quiet

8 November, 2011

Why am I sitting here debating, when there is a gateway to a progenitor dragon not 20 feet away? I step onto the portal.

I find myself in a place much the inverse of where I came from, an upright pyramid all in white. I see twin stairs leading up to a balcony, doors below and doors above. I decide to try the upper doors.

Beyond, a library. Four shelves of books, extending into the distance. I walk along and come to a wall, and a door. The door will not budge. I elect to leave it for the moment and try the door under the stairs.

It opens into a room. More books. On a table in the centre of the room, two books and a recent outline left by two more. Hmm – it’s seems I am not the only one who habitually keeps secrets.

The contents are indecipherable. The first is perhaps Dwarvish? The second script I do not recognise at all.

I spend an hour and turn the room over thoroughly, a trick I learned from a halfling pickpocket. The key is to search every surface once and once only, to neither waste time revisiting places you have been, nor to suppose that you have already searched surfaces that in truth you have not. Deceiving oneself is surprisingly easy, without discipline and mindfulness. A lesson, there.

Yay! I used a ritual! Or a martial practice – same thing. “Thorough Search” – one hour and 1 healing surge. +20 to a perception check. 6 on the die, 46 in total.

But no, nothing. Or at least, nothing that I am able to find.

The candles are odd. Strangely bright. I put two in my pack, and two to light my way – perhaps the light is magical? I return to the door at the end of the bookshelves above.

This time I see that the walls are odd. I walk through – they are simply illusions. A simple trick, but it worked on me the first time. (How strange that I admit that so freely! I have not been among my own race for many weeks now, and I see them and myself more clearly. The defensive pride of the drow is rooted in their fear of one another.)

Beyond, more bookshelves. An arch filled with blackness that my vision does not penetrate. Beyond, a room and a dead giant. It seems that I am following Gabriel’s trail. I search the giant (why not?), but no loot.

And beyond that, finally, a dragon.

The dragon – I cannot focus on it, my mind or my eyes. Is it simply a huge dragon before me, or is it bigger than the sky? Its scales are a colour new to all the world: a new primary shade. I cannot name it, I cannot even visualise it in my mind’s eye. It slips beyond my grasp, even as I stand and see it before me.

It is fettered at every point with irons of metal, of some substance that I will not even try to name. Manacles on in its legs and feet, on each individual claw, on the thumb hook of its wings and each wing tip, on the joints of its tail and neck, heavy bindings around its head and jaw, a mighty pillory of solid metal across its back holding the base of its wings, and chains from all of them them anchored in the floor and massive dome of the chamber about me. Every link, every join written deeply with runes, deeply etched on the fetters and finely inscribed across each weld, every stone of the chamber likewise inscribed, even the mortar in exquisite detail, the very pattern and shape of the stones a great warding. The dragon is half suspended, half hanging from chains that have held it for an age, held as if about to take flight, its legs ready for the leap, its wings poised for that first great downbeat that will lift it free of the earth. Bright power plays across the runes of its bindings and the chains that anchor it to the ground, but they hold fast.

I waste no time, I probably have only one chance. “Dragon, do you speak?”

It replies! Psychically – its voice painful but not overwhelming. We talk. I am open with him – I think it wisest. I tell him that I am a renegade of my kind, that I desire to slip free of the hold of the spider-godess Lolth, that the blood of a progenitor dragon changed me and that I desire to change permanently. I name Io, I mention the war above. The knows the names Bahamut and Tiamat, and reacts, but what they mean to him I cannot guess. He tells me that he knows of no other dragons like himself and Io. He says that he was bound by two great infernal spirits, but he does not know their names, nor can he describe them to me.

He tells me that I may take his blood – he cannot keep me from doing so – but it will do me no good, for I have already tasted the blood of Io. I ask him if it is in my power to free him, but he says no.

A am … disappointed. We cannot bargain: I cannot help him, and he cannot help me. Nevertheless, I find a likely vein and tap a mouthful or two of his blood. It is like the blood of Io, but it seems to work no change in me. We talk a little more, but to little purpose. He says that the library contains “the knowledge of ages”, but I could have guessed this, as it is the nature of libraries to contain knowledge. It is rather the whole point of them.

I wander out, return to the room below, and retrieve the two books. I return to the dragon. His mind – his mind is clouded. He does not remember me. I think that the fetters about him also fetter his mind. The books are simply a pair of dictionaries. With the two of them, one may translate between supernal and dwarven.

The portal does not transport me away, but I neither eat, drink nor sleep. I read. I talk to the dragon, occasionally. With nothing to mark the time, I am not sure how long I was there.

I am suddenly snatched away …

I was going to mention some out-of-game info in this blog. But screw it. Youse can all find out later. Maybe 🙂 .

Oh – apparently Gabriel said straight up that he was working for Big B, and that threw the dragon off. Big B isn’t Azroth’s primary thing (Big L is), so he kinda dodged a plot bullet just by way of his backstory. Cute.

I am at the portal in the inverted black pyramid below. People – humans, dragonborn. I am dazed, slow to react. One yells “I know that drow! Get him out of here!” I am clubbed unconscious.

It seems I am a prisoner again. Of the Black Magistrars, no less: The Platinum One’s legal assassins. I tally up the ways in which this could have been worse: there are many. Best of all, they are taking me out of the underdark, which is the direction in which I want to be going. My captor is that Gith whose assassination of that diabolist we failed to foil, all those months ago.

There have been more intrigues. It seems that one of Bahamut’s own generals has denounced the Black Magistrars, that nearly all of have been executed. The gith assures me that there is some mistake, that the magistrates are loyal to Bahumut. Or at least that he is. I promise to take his message. Left unsaid is that while I might convey his message, I cannot vouch for its truth.

One of the magistrars accompanies me. A bowman.

New player. Welcome to the weekly chaos!

We make it to the capital. We are in a stable, preparing to infiltrate the Ivory Tower tomorrow. When utter chaos strikes – a major attack on the capital itself.

The bowman and I emerge. Dragons are warring in the sky, crashing to earth. There is some sort of enchantment on the whole city – ordinary citizens: barbers, tailors – are fighting one another on the streets. Singly and in knots of dozens and hundreds. In all this chaos, who should I see but my companions. What are the chances? Someone is moving the chesspieces around, I fear. Regardless, we need to make our way to the Ivory Tower, fast, without being waylaid.

We got together at the table and within half a minute had broken Winky’s game.

Who was fastest? Kriv, of course, who can fly in short bursts – enough to get past the various melees and other obstacles in our way. I used my power to transform all of us except Kriv into small spiders, and we all
clung to him as he took us directly to the tower.

Druid utility power “Animal Shapes”. Transform a bunch of willing allies into innocuous small animals – mice, chipmunks. Sustain minor. Azroth does spiders, of course. A few strands of webbing, and hanging onto a running, jumping, half-flying dragonborn is not a hassle.

At the tower we change back – Kriv shedding allies, and join the crowd. Someone wearing braid addresses us all – it seems that one of the generals, the same that denounced the black magisters, has turned traitor. Well, well, well. The Platinum one is elsewhere. We march to regroup.

Apparently my companions were granted an audience with his metallicness himself, Gabriel describing his meeting with the progenitor. Bahamut insists that this dragon must be freed.

I’m not sure how this might be accomplished. I have diagrams and rubbings of some of the runes on the fetters. Perhaps the great one might tell us how we could proceed to accomplish such a thing as loosing them?

Oh. I’d like to meet the platinum one myself, too. For a specific reason, which I will not relate just yet.

GG Week 10 – Damn. Crap. Poo.

3 November, 2011

Yeah, I missed blogging last week. It will be sketchy.

The gods toy with me. The Kresh, the hunters-of-blood pursue me, and the gods sit and mock. Even The Platinum One makes sport of me, and finds my predicament a fine jest.

I will begin where I left off.

We attacked the tower of this Malus – the orium dragon – in the form of dragons ourselves. We dealt with his underlings, but he himself was nowhere to be seen. Some of us entered his tower, some of us shook it, gouged rents in it. We were drunk on our borrowed power. But we were not dragons in truth, and did not think like dragons think, not fight like dragons fight. The whole time, Malus flew high above us, watching.

When our forces were split, he attacked. He was powerful, but we prevailed. A pyrrhic victory over this plotter – the only reason I desired his death was that he had tried to enmesh us in his intrigues. Now he lay dead, but enmeshed we remained, wrapped safely alive in the webs of the divine, soon to be the food of the gods.

In his tower we found what we had been sent to find. A key, and a portal to the underdark – my old home. We opened the portal, and descended.

Or possibly we teleported back to town and were ordered onward. I forget. Also, there was an encounter last week in the underdark, I think. I was distracted. Oh, and there was a drow preistess.

No, I am not happy to be back home. The surface is strange and alien, but it is safe. A refuge. Here, the familiarity does not bring comfort. I feel my habits of caution returning.

We find the “temple of the winds”, a great inverted pyramid standing on its tip. The design, the craft – this is no work of my people, its shape is too simple and unornamented, too clean and simple, too overtly brutal. My people are subtler, and delight in painstaking ornamentation. Or perhaps I mistake it: perhaps it is simply that the structure is built at a larger scale than we.

The pyramid is hollow, and stairs ascend up its inner wall. There is a platform above us. There is noise from above.

I break cover first. Running up the stairs I see a half-dozen or so of my people, and two priestesses standing at the edge of some design inscribed into the floor. I advance forward and obscure the area with darkness, to cover my companions as they ascend the stairs.

Not as effective as I would have liked – I should have left a little more clear area for the party to assemble in. But if the DM had had readied actions for when people started coming into view, then the cloud neutralises that. Meh. Who knows.

My allies enter the area and begin to attack. I change and move in to one of the priestesses, to bite her. She looks at me, commands me. It hurts! It burns like venom! I run, I help my allies as much as I can and I run as far from her as the platform allows, right to the edge

Not quite sure how “natural terrain mastery” is supposed to work on a flat platform: “Guys! There’s a flat bit to your left!” but I’ll take what I can get. Azroth was not very effective in this fight – crippled by all of his attacks being bursts that target “all creatures”.

Story-wise, it turns out that Azroth’s fear of the priestesses was not baseless. They can automatically suck hp out of any drow or spider: no save, no defence, no nothing.

Interesting. This works really well for character development. Azroth’s transformation into dragon was a real turning-point for him. It suggests a way that he can permanently be free of Lolth’s power. His best option has changed from “run away and stay hidden” to “find a way to permanently change race – dragon is good, but anything non-spider will be ok”. At this point, he’ll cut any sort of deal to make that happen.

I cower at the edge, running away. My allies fight while I watch, then a strange thing: Gabriel disappears and instead there is a dragon! A big dragon, but he is dead. We all attack it – even the priestess turns and attacks it. Here is something I can fight. I move in and bite it again and again, I cover its eyes and face while my allies sting it.

Can’t hit it with my weenie druid at-will, but it creates a zone as an effect: all enemies in the zone grant combat advantage. The piddling amount of damage also means it’s ok to occasionally catch allies in the blast.

It looks like it is trying to take wing, which will be bad because we cannot reach it while it flies, so I change back and call upon the roots of the earth to entangle it and keep it on the ground, then I continue to fight and distract it. Gabriel-ally comes back, which is good, because his bite is especially vicious.

And then: disaster. Do you recall my plan? My grand design? To run and stay hidden, to draw no attention. It was a blow to me, when that red dragon fell: my allies had cut it apart and shot it with a great magical ballista, but I had the misfortune to strike the final blow that finally dropped it. Our bard added a verse to his song about it, the caravan crew spoke about it, the news spread through the town – my name common currency.

My race, of course, does not help. I am inevitably a novelty. But, as someone put it: “a nine-days wonder is granted obscurity on the tenth day.”

The dragon totters, it’s undead sinews weakened by the power of our dragonborn devotee of Bahamut and the sword blows of Gabriel and Huru’s beast. But it is I, I again, who strikes the final blow that fells it. Worst of all – that priestess sees it, just as she flees. My doom pursues me, a rolling boulder the size of a mountain. I will never live this down.

Kriv pumped half a k of damage into that sucker – the DM permitted “lay on hands” to work on undead as per 3.5. My attacks do 1d6. The thing was just about gone and I (ooc!) was praying for a crit. Glad I got a witness or two: sometimes the dice are kind.

1d6 maxed = 6, +6 (wis), +1 (magic implement), +2 (feat, +2 vs foe w/ cbt advtg), +5 (feat, +5 vs foe w/ cbt advtg & bloodied), 1d6=+2 (+1 implement, so 1d6 on a crit)

22 points of damage. The dracolich had 18 left. At the table, Azroth let out a big “Nooooooo!”. Do Not Want!

We enquire of Gabriel, where he vanished to. The strange design in the center of the platform is some kind of portal. Those of us who speak draconic explain – it exchanges the location of two souls. When Gabriel stepped on it, his place was exchanged with that of the dracolich who had last made use of it.

On the far side of the portal, a dragon is chained. But not any dragon – no! Not Gold, or Red, or Iron, or Orium, or any other colour, but a dragon of a hue (as near as I can make out) that is completely new. One of us recalls an old story, a bard’s tale. Io was not the only progenitor dragon. There were other such, and this one seems to be one of them. At least: he fits the description.

I am seized with an idea. A mere sip of the blood of Io transformed me into a dragon for a day. What if I could acquire more than a sip? What if I could drink a gallon of the blood of a progenitor dragon? Transformation into dragonkind would make me forever proof against Lolth’s preistesses.

I carefully suggest it, broach the topic delicately. We do work for the Platinum One, and many of us have simple notions of “hnour”. But: was Bahamut not pleased to retrieve the blood of Io? Should we simply loose this new dragon on the world, when it may be greater than bahamut himself? And I am not proposing a gross evil, after all – this dragon surely has plenty of blood to spare. A mere bucketful, or two, will scarce make a difference to such a creature.

And so I argue, and I see that some of my words have persuaded some of them. In some cases, I doubt that much persuasion was needed: I doubt I am the only one who would gladly be transformed into a dragon – if it can be made permanent. I would risk all for such, I will step through the portal alone … but I prefer not to have to.

And all the guys at the table – supposedly working for the dragon-god of truth and honour, are nodding and going “hmm, you know – that kinda does make sense”. Fun times at Good Games.

GG Week 8 – Salty, but good!

18 October, 2011

Capital city, and before us, the ivory tower. At last I can be rid of this pestilent burden. I have some curiosity, of course, but my people are not without prudence. To pry unasked into the affairs of the six – I have no idea how this packet might be warded, and I do not intend to find out.

Securing an audience will, as always, be tricky for me. I make my quest known to Kriv, our dragonborn, and he of course announces it to all and sundry. Curse him. All of our unit elect to accompany me on my mission save the beast and his handler, who decide to pursue other business. Drat. Still, perhaps it is for the best. I would not get far, wandering about on my own.

Kriv tels the guards that he seeks to report to the local captain. He then, in some fit of propriety, elects to tell the captain that he has a message from the fort we came from, said message being that here we are. That line of subtlety exhausted, he simply spills the beans and states that we have a message from Veritas for the generals.

We are conveyed onward and admitted. The generals are seven gold dragons who directly serve Bahamut. We are not searched and prodded – the general needs no bodyguards. The one we meet is in the form of an elf. He is … impressive, his draconic might evident even through his chosen form.

I relive myself of my burden, handing him the package. He seems – shocked, if anything. In response to being ask why Veritas entrusted this item to a drow, I reply that I do not know, but clearly he chose wisely, for here we are. The habits of home do not fade in a few short months: never show weakness. Deference, perhaps, but never weakness or uncertainty.

He asks after the circumstances under which I was given the item, and we tell him of the battle between the red and the gold dragon. His grief is evident. He then goes on to tell us what this package contains.

Within is a mithril flask, and within that is a small amount of the blood of Io.

Io! Io the progenitor! Curse it, if only I had known. I carried it, I kept it, I bore it for days and never suspected. Such a relic – there can be no equal to it anywhere on earth. With such a prize, I could be forever proof against the wiles of the spider priestesses. Yet it lies beyond my grasp, now, not ten feet away and in the claws of a great gold dragon.

And while I regret my caution, I also am uneasy. Why tell us these things? Surely he is not so far gone in grief as to forget himself entirely. These things I do not wish to know – must fame dog our footsteps? In an attempt to cut him short, I ask what orders we have. He tells us to report back in two days.

We have liberty for two days. We shop, we drink. I catch a pickpocket in the act, a halfling. In exchange for not carrying out a series of gruesome threats (exaggerating only a little), I receive a little training in certain arts of civilisation.

Yeah, it’s weak. I wanted to take martial training “Thorough Search” – Azroth has a damn good perception so it synergises well. We wanted an in-game excuse, and this will have to do.

Two days later, we report again.

There is no escape. We return to the general’s quarters. He seems to have reached a decision. We have a mission.

We are to go to one of the hidden cities in the underdark – one I know of. I am: lost for words. After risking so much to leave it, I am to be sent back. But there is more: the key to this city (whatever form such a think might take) lies with a certain orium dragon, Malus. The very same who sent us to protect that diabolist, against whom I have – as far as I am able – been plotting. We are to kill him.

A grim jest indeed, one worthy of the Lolth herself. That the end of my plotting to have him killed should be that I am ordered to do it.

We are no match for him, and certainly this band will not survive an hour in the underdark. The general … hesitates, but his decision is made, it seems. We will each take a sip of the blood of Io.

Astounding! How mad or desperate must they be? Such a thing … such a thing could not possibly be done except at the express command of the platinum one himself. A sip of the blood of Io! Armies would raze cities – no – continents for such a prize. And yet our band of eight is chosen, by Bahamut himself, to be given such.

If I sought escape from the spider goddess, what greater power could I ask? Ha! An easy question to answer: the power to remain hidden. I should have stayed in the forest and hid as best I could. I am enmeshed in the affairs of gods, now. Such rarely turns out well for mortals caught in the mill.

We are to drink, then swiftly enter a telportation circle.

My turn comes. I drink. A sip, a decent swig. It is blood, yet so much more. I feel a change, like the change into my form, but very different. Through the circle and back to our fort. I change, grow wings and copper scales. I am a dragon. A dragon! Not for long, and yet – who of my people has ever approached such might? I fear we shall become legends, if the fates mock us much further.

My companions appear, and each assumes his form: blue and iron, cobalt and green. Our time is short. We take wing and fly to assault the tower of Malus.

We got a bit further than this on the night, but this seems a good spot to finish this blog entry.

GG Week 7 – a slight derailment

5 October, 2011

We were missing our cleric and our paladin for the session.

I took care of an item or two of business yesterday. In relation to my mission, I prepared a note for Nyx for him to carry on if I should fall. Of all of us, I think he is most likely to get away alive should some sort of disaster strike. He also will be best able to deal with the people at the other end of the mission. I may have to ask for his assistance anyway, and so there is not much loss of secrecy. Of course, I did not tell him anything more.

Didn’t tell Jamie OOC, either. But he didn’t bite.

The second item involved Veritas and that Orium dragonborn back at the other camp. I grabbed Gabriel and Warryn to back up my story and we described the events surrounding the assassination of that warlock. Like the assassin, Veritas knew who we spoke of, but stated that he was “slippery” – meaning “acting with ordinary prudence when scheming” – and that no-one had yet had concrete evidence enough to do something about him. Our own testimony, by implication, being worthless. I would guess that only that of a dragon or dragonborn would be enough. A pity that ours was drunk that morning.

Nothing could give me better satisfaction than hearing that that officer had been hanged for treachery, except to speak to him beforehand and explain that the reason that he was going to hang was that he had dragged me into his schemes. I remain alert for the opportunity to arrange it.

Eventually, we arrive at our destination – the dwarven fort of insert name here. It is worse than I imagined. I had supposed we would be shunned, assigned a barracks little better than a cell, and that our superiors would do their best to forget us or to assign us missions that would get us killed quickly.

Instead, we are fêted and celebrated everywhere – the mighty dragonslayers. Strangers know my name – I could cheerfully strangle Nyx (our bard), but it’s too late now. While the reactions of many of the dwarves are what I should expect, some of the younger ones attempt to engage me in conversation. I avoid them all as well as I can – a difficult task.

Having handed off our cargo and being given no orders, we inevitably arrive at a bar. I accompany. Much as I dislike it, I would dislike being alone in a dwarven city even more. There are passages to deeper caverns, but they seem well guarded. Still, I cannot help but be nervous – both about the guards, and about what they ward against. I can never return home.

My companions drink and make merry. The bugbear is permitted to drink, but no disaster ensues. Our half-orc attempts to procure a whore. I advise him that he would find better satisfaction boring a hole into a boulder and fucking it. The advantages of sex with a dwarven female are only two: firstly, she is a good height for servicing you while you stand; and secondly, you can hang onto her beard while she does it. We do not have sex with dwarves, except as a gambling forfeit or a punishment. And not for the dwarf.

The surfacers, of course, are thrown awry without the sun overhead to tell them when they should wake and when they should sleep. Without orders, they look for trouble. I suggest to Gabriel that we should look to moving on to the capital. There are a variety of good reasons – it is safer and we can lose ourselves there – besides my mission.

I also …

I also need to find an in-game justification for getting training in “Thorough Search”. The druid has plenty of perception and the ritual is 5th level, but it’s not really something that Azroth would look for. The DM ruled that there was no-one in town (that we could find) whoul could provide the training.

In any event – success. We find hire with another caravan heading in the direction I wish to go.

This actually de-railed the night pretty badly. There was game in town and we missed it. The DMs scrambled to put something together.

And here we are. There was a fight last night – giant centipedes. I ward our campsite each night, of course, and it proved prudent. While most of us dealt with the centipedes, I attacked a wolf-man of some description that appeared to be controlling them. But I was overmatched. I returned to the wagon and joined the fight. Once the centipedes were dead, our assailant ran off.

I am not entirely sure how far ahead capital city might be.