Loot Log, Murkoph and Crypts in Pella's Stand

Murkoph fight- 2450/4= 613 each.
Pella- 700/4= 175 each
Undead: 350/4=88 each.
Total- 3500/4=875 XP each

15×100 GP gems
Silvered Bell
*Periapt of Wound Closure: This talisman is of two hands holding three gems, two of which are missing. The central gem is a ruby the color of arterial blood. When the player wears this Periapt he receives advantage to all stabilization checks.
*Pipes of the Sewers:
This wind instrument is missing some of its pipes. The user must be proficient with wind instruments to use them. When the player is attuned, rats and giant rats are indifferent to that player unless threatened or harmed. Whenever a swarm comes within 30’ of the player while playing the pipes she can make a Charisma check contested by the swarm’s Wisdom check. If the player loses then the swarm behaves normally and cannot be affected by the pipes for 24 hours. If the player wins the check then the swarm becomes friendly to her and companions as long as she plays the pipes each round as an action. A friendly swarm obeys commands, taking no actions of none are issued. If a swarm starts its turn unable to hear the music then it behaves as it normally would and cannot be affected again for 24 hours.

Pella's Stand, Session 1
Campaign Log

When we last played the characters all found their way to the border town of Pella’s Stand. They soon discovered that undead had been terrorizing the community, and that children had gone missing. Though one had been recovered, she was raving and seemed to have gone mad. The other, a young boy, had still not been found.

As it happened, it was in the best interest of each of the characters to explore this situation. Sabas for coin, Baptiste and Bracul for answers, Alaric for his mission, and Tovan because dammit, it’s the right thing to do. Working your way through the catacombs, you could hear the tortured moans of restless undead clawing to be free of their tombs. Thankfully, many of those who had extricated themselves had already been destroyed, or had escaped to the countryside and would not harass you here.

Bracul discovered a hole, hidden beneath a collapsed section of the catacombs. There were scuff marks, and it seemed the children had been this way before. It took only a few minutes for the adventurers to clear the way before unveiling an ancient stone doorway. On the other side, strange texts adorned the halls, and tile work floors urged you forward.
You descended a long and curving stairway, ever downward. After some minutes it opened up into a massive cavern. Water gushed from the cavern ceiling, waterfalls from the river above flowing down to fill the chamber. The current was strong, below, and you knew immediately that you would not want to be caught in it. Unfortunately, the lone walkway crossing the underground river had collapsed, and a forty foot span of open air kept you from crossing to the other side.

Channeling his sorcerous energies, Bracul took on the aspect of a spider and crossed the mist slick cavern walls. Tying a rope to another walkway some twenty feet below, the other adventurers were able to follow his lead. Now, gathered at the base of an ancient and ornate column, you find yourselves committed to the exploration of this temple. And somewhere, in the back of your minds, you swear you hear deep, chaotic laughter.

A Christmas story by Adam

“I still can’t figure out why in the Nine Hells they put a Mourner like you in charge,” the man said. Crouched and leaning on a dead tree, the leather of his armor was damp from the ever-present mist, and a hoarder’s dream of tools dangled from it, their straps in various states of undone. He’d had to throw it on in their flight from the camp, and was even now doing his best to secure them. “It’s enough the greedy bastards sent us out this far, but they could at least put someone in their right mind to run the damned show.”
“If you wanted people in their right minds, why’d you enlist?” The other replied, performing his own, more indelicate gear check. Water beaded on metal all over him: on the blade in his hand, on the boss of his shield, on the maille visible beneath his cloak. Staring into the mists, he shoved his sword under his armpit, and began hastily adjusting his belt, tightening it over the armor. Standing straight, he towered over the other, smaller man. He glanced down unconsciously, then jerked his head back up. “Hope someone got the chew.”
“Din’s firecrotch, the CHEW?” Adjustment complete, the first straightened. He took no notice of the faint whispering that seemed to surround both men. “If I never have to see you spit that fucking stuff out again I’ll sleep easy the rest of my life.”
“Keeps me awake. Tastes like piss, keeps me awake. Worth it.” The belt shifted as the second man pulled the chainmail up a bit, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him as it moved over a particularly sore spot on his abdomen.
“Ukyrim shit, they probably found it out here. And don’t think you’re off the hook from me. If I come back and find your sorry ass praying or throwing the damn bones or something, I’ll just tell everyone you inspired the rest of the poor simpletons here to bravely sacrifice yourselves saving the rest of us and to meet at the rendezvous point after this one.” He shook his head, “Now give me Annabelle, ya dreamy fuck.”
“‘ere. And you know why I’m in charge,” The second man withdrew a slender bundle from under his cloak, tossing it to the first. As the first unwrapped the longbow inside and began to string it, the second returned his sword to hand, then used it to gesture at one of the small clump of men huddled around a sack nearby. “Aether wants someone who- Wren, what happened to your face?”
“What are you talking about? I’m-” Wren’s look changed from strain as he strung his bow to confusion as the red line that’d flared into existence on his face spread like a fissure, and he straightened, bow falling to the side, to claw at it. Alaric took a step forward and was halfway to sheathing his blade when he heard screams behind him.
The men were disappearing, simply being sucked backward into the mist in an instant, one by one. Their screams cut off as they left sight, but Wren’s rose above them, filling Alaric’s ears. Somehow, perversely, it’s warbling synchronized with the whispering, forming a rhythmic cacophony that kept rising well beyond what one man, Alaric knew, could make.
Alaric turned back to Wren, his right hand reaching for the almost-bubbling face, as the sound stopped. And Wren’s face split in half. And a roar filled everything. And the discomfort on Alaric’s chest flared from vague pain to sharp burning and his chain mail fell away and he looked down and-
Alaric jerked awake, his heart pounding in his chest. He closed his eyes, then started again: he was comfortable. He immediately sat up, quietly feeling around for his sword as his now-open eyes adjusted again to the dark. Grabbing it and shoving off the blanket, he got as far as a low crouch before his waking mind recalled his current location. Trying to ignore his body screaming DANGER at him, he deliberately laid back down, pulling the blanket back over him, and tried to meditate on the Oath as he listened to the incidental sounds of night in a building full of people.
Much later, he realized he was still clutching his sword.


I'm sorry, but we no longer support this web browser. Please upgrade your browser or install Chrome or Firefox to enjoy the full functionality of this site.