Session 9 - The Quest for Knowledge is Heavy with Blood

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The warriors paused at an extraordinary sight. A complete subterranean world stretched out before them for tens of miles. The floor in front of them sloped away towards a strange city which pulsed and beamed with lights of differing color as small rivers sprang from it center, gathering in pools at its edges before draining off into the opaque darkness at the city's borders. Stepping out of the opening, they heard a small shout of alarm and saw two small groups begin to run towards them.

The two groups each consisted of a large, gawky figure surrounded by three squid-like mollusks each about five feet in height. They immediately charged the young warriors, forgoing any pause for diplomacy. After mere moments of combat, the warriors realized that the mollusks moved as though extensions of the blue creatures' body, moving in tandem with the blue creatures as though they were not just the dancers, but the very keys played by these spidery organists.

The mollusks' patterns and colors shifted violently in reaction to their movements, forming stripes and explosions of color that seemed to ripple from one to another seamlessly. Not pausing for even a moment's thought, the warriors laid into the foremost mollusk, nearly killing it immediately. Shaken from the blows, its color shifted out of sync with its comrades and flashed violently. It staggered away from its allies and attempted to flee the combat under its own power. Not wanting to waste effort on noncombatants, the warriors committed their full attention to the closest shovel-faced, blue humanoid until its headless corpse lay twitching on the slick stone floor.

Instantly, his charges' colors strobed erratic patterns as they were released from his control. They confusedly scuttled away from the battle as arrows, axes, and blades soared over their enthralled brethren and into the spidery blue remnant. The puppets released, they made plaintive gestures to the warriors and began to draw several series of grouped, yet differing symbols in the dirt. Minas stepped forward and began writing in the dirt in his native language in an appeal for explanation.

---

The warriors hid in a hut of a deeply red resin while the mute creatures used their own ink to scrye a brief history of the city into porous, washable stone. The city ran on spring-water which spouted from its center and was diverted throughout, using raised canals to travel into the homes of the blue creatures nearer to the center and collecting in large, communal facilities near its exterior for the mollusks. The squid-like mollusks showed absurd amounts of intelligence, owing --as they claimed-- to very large brains, through which they shared limited telepathy with one another. This, however, proved their downfall, as even their basic motor skills fell immediately prey to the blue creatures who only had the most rudimentary telepathic understanding. Their intelligence was as massive as their vulnerability.

Garnt, Krusk, and Tarkrim had preceeded the warriors' own arrival, slaying scores of the shovel-faced creatures and nearly two-hundred of the mollusks in their charge towards the city's center. The warriors took this as a fair explanation for why they had been immediately allayed once seen by the patrols. The warriors assured the mollusks that they were not there to harm them. They merely sought their former comrades. The mollusks relented that communication with the three had not even been attempted, and so many of their own had needlessly fallen before the three.

Seeing that the warriors provided new opportunities, and at the very least, a possible end to their comrades' rampage, they drew for the six a map of the city and its vast network of towering canals, along with entrances to the sewers. They gave the six what little they could in the way of trinkets and weapons and collectively shifted their colors sympathetically with their cause.

The warriors hid until the patrols passed them by and climbed the nearest canal wall.

---

They traveled single-file up the narrow canals, trudging knee-deep through powerfully careening water. It became clear they were past the outer slums once the roofs of resin gave way to brightly filigreed awnings, twisting balconies of wrought metal, and dancing interior lights. The further they traveled, the more they ascended, and the taller the buildings became. After two hours, the warriors paused before they approached what they had been told were entire areas dedicated to government and commerce. Torym peered over the canal ridge to reconnoiter.

Undaunted by the height, the six spidered down the wall by rope moments before tearing down one of the nearby alleyways, ripping a sewer cover from its seating and descending into the darkness. The mollusks had told them that they could navigate the inner districts from below, but they had no idea where their comrades had gone. The warriors had to assume that this sprawling city state had some kind of jail. Being as they were so alien to this environment, the warriors assumed that if the three had actually been captured, they would be kept for questioning before any kind of execution.

The warriors ran to what they took to be the city's center, wherein a gargantuan tube of metal rose from below the ground at their feet and into what would be the palace, above them. They made note of their position and struck out from the center to view their position from street-level. Their first attempts netted a retinue of desperate guards who followed them into the darkened tunnels. After a couple of small struggles, they lost their pursuers easily before again ascending towards the street on yet another spiring ladder hewn from the living stone. Throwing a startled pedestrian from her feet as she walked across the sewer cover, Ashpaw yipped in delight upon seeing a large building with barred windows. He flung the massive cover into a group of startled civilians as he and his fellows poured out of the sewer as an unbroken column of howling, bladed beasts.

They tore the door from its hinges and split the gawking creatures like thin, blue fruits, carving a path towards the rear of the building. After breaking through a poor wall of enemies, they saw a broad stroke of the creatures' blood on the floor and walls that they hadn't yet caused. Further pursuit led them to three cells which had burst outwards from the inside, the metal bars laying in twisted ruin on the ground. Just beyond, a previously hidden door resembling a section of stone wall had been jammed open. As one, they tore down the hidden path, coming to a sharp right angle which led to a switch and a wall. Beyond this hidden door lay the sounds of combat.

The sliding door crunched on its hinges as it reluctantly opened for the six. What greeted them was the palace interior, one of its halls, and on its floors lay their lost three, surrounded by more than ten heavily armored warriors and dozens of dead. Tarkrim still held consciousness, though held in place by a spear which pierced his shoulder and foot. Ramfell lowered his shoulder and charged the spearman, knocking him from his feet just long enough to yank the pole from Tarkrim and lift him to his feet. Unquestioning of this assistance, Tarkrim clasped his hands together and unleashed a billowing word which roused his comrades and drained a small amount of their fatigue.

The guards made a movement to close again the circle around their enemies just as the six hit them as a broad hammer, driving them away from their comrades. They fought on the retreat, clearly outmanned as they shuffled the three towards the hidden passageway. Jeet-Fiske proved his usefulness as a harsh whisper exited his lips and slammed the foremost of his enemies backwards into the surging throng. Krusk and Minas stood at the entrance, waiting until the very latest moment to step through the door as it slammed quickly shut.

Ramfell ducked past the two, stealing a sword from one of the dead guards who had fallen through and jammed it into the door's opening mechanism. He shook Garnt who appeared cadaverously ill. "Can you walk, sorceror?"

Garnt nodded weakly. "The orb. Do you possess it?"

Session 8 - In Which We Find Further Oddities

After enduring the frosted evening, the warriors were awakened by the dawn as the snow broke the sunlight into sharp needles of yellow and orange. As their camp turned to slush, the six opted to continue upwards to avoid the crawling ice in the valley. The trail was quickly resumed and carried them to daunting heights of fierce peaks and abysmal cliffs. As they paused to examine again the snow-covered trail, a faint crunching noise whipped them around. Weapons drawn and hackles raised, they half-snorted at the sight of a young Goblin fumbling his way up the mountain.

“Aha!” He wheezed. “I knew I was getting closer. Two days without rest should yield some result!” He huffed from fatigue. From his knees, the Goblin told the group that his name was “Jeet Fiske,” the son of Sargle Fiske, their familiar benefactor. Jeet had acquired a wanderlust from his encounters with warriors and petitioned his father to allow him to aid the six on their crusade.

Uncertain of whether or not to let Jeet know of their status as traitors, the orb in their midst, or of their recent ministrations at the bridge and in the village, they resolved that the Goblin himself was earnest enough to have in their company, and they owed it to his father to see to it that he had allies in his wandering. Jeet explained that he was a sorceror of some ability, and he would be certain to make himself useful.

After ascending a thousand more feet into the mountain range, Minas motioned for them to halt. From the snow-dusted mountain wall ahead of them, he could make out the sound of a mild brook echoing its passage in what sounded like a tunnel. Approaching the wall in front of them, Ashpaw began to dig through the snow until he uncovered an opening which proved to be one of many that comprised a huge grate. Meltwater from the mountainside ran down its face and into the grate, which covered a massive tube of unknown dimensions.

Undaunted, the warriors slipped between the openings in the grate. Once inside, they sparked a torch and immediately lost their footing, causing the gentle slope to pull them, careening, into the nightmare heart of the strange mountain. For ten full minutes, they slid against the smooth stone walls of the cyclopean drain until the floor of the tube simply vanished beneath them. Their torch flew end-over-end into the mountain mere moments before they plunged into a deep pool in total, echoing darkness.

Following the walls, they found a small beach, where they dragged themselves from the water and took inventory of one another. Aside from the torch, they were whole. The land funneled into yet another simple tube, this one much much smaller. The exit terminated in a right angle, through which faint blue and orange lights swam.

---

Sessions 6+7 - Where Diplomacy Both Succeeds and Fails

The air began to cool as night approached. The trail of the warpath split ahead, one heading North, the other, East. The warriors were unsure whether or not they wanted to follow their tribes at all. As they trudged reluctantly forward for a few hours, a soft glow appeared in the sky to the West as the night began to darken. Encouraged by an alternative to facing a possibly hostile army of their kin, they broke from the warpath and pursued the warmer horizon.

After two or so hours of marching, the glow became a well-lit village, almost big enough to be a city. As they approached, the warriors saw a modest caravan attaching itself to the south of the village. Cautiously optimistic, the six kept from calling out to the familiar Goblins who appeared to be loading their vehicles with looted goods. Instead, they stole towards the town's center, stealthing their way through the alleys.

It quickly became apparent that their stealth would bring no reward. The town, rife with the trappings, precautions, and symbols of life, was completely deserted. The warriors braved the main road, wary of ambush, yet saw no sign of movement. Quickly, they stole into a nearby inn. Food sat half-eaten on the tables. Lamps burned on the mantle. Ruling-out poison, due to a lack of bodies, the group sat at a large round table and devoured what remained of a large meal, ravenous from the combat and marching.

“So.” Vulcan said between mouthfuls. “What do we suppose happened here?”

“Hard to say” Ramfell frowned. “There is no sign of fighting.”

“No blood, either.” Said Torym. “Did they vanish?”

“Maybe they all left for a gathering.” replied Minas.

“Then why did they not finish their meals?” asked Ashpaw.

Made only more curious by their discussion, they agreed to take what supplies they could from the town and confront the Goblin caravan. Upon exiting the inn, they spied a breach in the road between them and the Goblins. A large glyph had been torn into the hard earth in a ten-foot radius. The markings were crude and deep, inlaid with a viscous black ichor. The warriors walked its circumference, hoping that its meaning would arise from another angle. Not wanting to be completely bewildered, Torym stole an empty flask from a nearby home and filled it with the ichor, taking special care to not make contact with the substance.

One of the Goblins exited a home as the group walked towards the caravan and nearly dropped his looted goods from surprise.

“Oh! Oh! If it isn't the young champions!” He laughed, excited. “I'll go tell the rest! Come, join us!”

The warriors met Sargle with confused grins on their faces. It was the Goblin who spoke first. “We thought you lost to the fire! We're happy you survived!” He then went on to explain how as the massive fire approached the caravan, three travelers walked in out of the forest; two Hobgoblins and an Orc. The unarmored Hobgoblin was frightfully sick, but he still held enough power to raise his ceremonial blade, cutting a swath through the forest with some kind of unknown power. Once they made it to the chasm, they helped the Goblins construct a bridge just sturdy enough to transport the caravan.

The younger Hobgoblin frantically looked for remedies amidst the goods of the Caravan. Finding nothing which could be immediately used, the Orc found one of the books that had been excavated from a recent dig. Within hours, they had left the Goblins for the Eastern mountains.

Divided by twin mysteries, the warriors shared a gaze with each other. Understanding their link to the three travelers, Torym opened his pack and put the flask of ichor away, the decision made. They rested for the night at the deserted inn. In the early morning, they began their march Eastward. By midday, they had reached again the warpath and followed its eastward branch. Four hours gone, a black dot expanded to the smoking ruin of a small hamlet. The very ground had been milled by the footfalls of war. Ash and blood coated the earth in broad swaths.

Studying the marks of conquest, red and yellow moons on every building large enough to survive the fires, the warriors knew they had missed the razing by more than a full day. Searching for signs of Garnt, Krusk, and Tarkrim, Ashpaw found a series of miniature footprints in the ashes which led away from the village to the south. Falling prey to curiosity, the warriors decided to follow the footsteps of these unknown creatures, agreeing upon the virtue of interrogating any possible survivors. Before long, the land broke into a series of small hills. As they crested the first, the floor below them opened into the gaping maw of a large cave.

The warriors descended, spotting immediately a tripwire which would otherwise have dropped a spiked log onto them. Chuckling at the vulgar obviousness of the trap, Ashpaw stepped over the wire onto a dry twig. The snap echoed down the throat of the cave, chastening the six immediately.

Cautiously, they descended and rounded the narrow hallway into a large chamber, where crossbow strings twanged, breaking bolts against the ancient cavern walls. As they took cover, the warriors identified their foes; small humanoids, roughly four to five feet in height. Five of them, from behind immense stalagmites, stood guard over sixty or so females and children of their race. Frustrated by hesitation, Torym stole from cover, whipping arrows at the exposed guards, forcing them to take cover as the young warriors charged forward.

Their defense compromised, the Halflings were quickly dispatched by the savage warriors. Forgoing any formality and still painted with the blood of the guards, Ramfell stepped forward and demanded information in his most terrifying voice. The cowering screams of the children and women confirmed his success. However, any hope at obtaining help from these creatures vanished. In a display of inter-cultural diplomacy, Mahog began an inquiry in a less threatening tone. His efforts, however, were met immediately with flying stones.

Infuriated by the cowardly gesture, the warriors roared in unison and waded into the survivors with almost gleeful abandon. Tearing an infant from its mother, Ashpaw made a show of opening its abdomen with his teeth before slaying its mother with a wanton yip. The six splatterpainted the chamber with gore until even the twitching of the dead ceased. They heaved from the effort and collapsed, supporting themselves on the hilts of their weapons as their feet sloshed in the fresh muck.

\Having had no experience with cultures whose women and children weren't counted among its warriors, the perplexed six left the cave and returned to the small hamlet. Within an hour, Torym and Minas had sniffed-out a solid lead on where the three travelers had gone and began to follow their trail Eastward into the mountains. As they ascended the steep folds between the range, the air chilled immensely, and they had their first encounter with the alien substance of snow.

As the sky darkened, Minas overcompensated for the chill by constructing a massive bonfire to warm the troupe. Into the very first watch, the group was descended-upon by a ferocious pack of overlarge wolves. Surprised by the nature of the creatures, yet seeing the virtue in this encounter, the warriors slaughtered the huge beasts and skinned them by the fire. They washed the skins with snow before falling into a welcome rest under their new furs.

Session 5 - In Which a Meal is Enjoyed

The group collected themselves before pronouncing their adventure finished, stones or no stones. They traveled southwest until they reached a familiar stretch of crater wall. They began to prepare for their climb back down until Vulcan asked if they had swam 'round the land initially, since there was no boat in sight. Sighing collectively, they marshalled their equipment and hugged the crater wall. They walked for two days along its rim until they spied land below.

The climb was treacherous, especially with their fatigue, but the warriors were deliberate in their motions, risking as little as possible until they reached the steaming jungle below. After another three days of careful marching, the thick jungle ended abruptly, yielding to a vast expanse of clean stumps and gutted soil. The mist dared not pass these boundaries, so the warriors were granted a sight distance of several miles. To the northwest, a pillar of smoke rolled into the sky.

Weapons unsheathed, the six arrived upon a freshly constructed caravan, around which Goblins busied themselves with loading various provisions. Utterly baffled, they resheathed their weapons and called to the caravan, startling the busier of the bunch. A gruff, middle-aged Goblin poked his head out from behind a curtain in one of the vehicles and flashed a toothy smile at the six. Polishing a pair of brass-rimmed eyeglasses, he hopped down the steps and walked toward the adventurers with a look of curiosity on his face.

"What happened to our lands?!" Minas demanded.

Frowning with incredulity, the Goblin pulled his spectacles onto his face. "What happened? Isn't it obvi--- oh!" He caught himself and beamed another smile at the group. "You're the young warriors!" He laughed, obviously pleased. "You've returned. That's such great news. Yes. A lot has happened since you left."

He informed them that his name was Sargle and that it was fortunate that they had arrived when they did, for the Goblins had been making ready to leave, themselves. Apparently, nearly a week ago, there had been a massive earthquake, after which the skies had darkened, turning the sun a deep red and the moon a dirty yellow. The Orcs had taken the red sun as the symbolic Eye of Gruumsh, a command of war and bloodshed, while the Gnolls had seen the yellow moon as the Eye of Yeenoghu, a symbol of chaos and death. Being that the moon had been nearing the sun for the past few nights, the two races took this as a sign that they should war and began slaughtering each other in droves.

The fighting lasted for two days until Flaygh, the mighty Shaman, descended upon the battlefield with the might of the remaining races at his side. He split the battlefield into a wide rift with a wave of his hand and commanded their attention. He said that there was an ancient prophecy which bespoke that should the gaze of Gruumsh and Yeenoghu ever fall upon the tribes in unison, that the Great Divide would be sealed, and the tribes would retake the land of their birth in a hurricane of glory and slaughter. He had seen the future, and it was theirs.

Sargle was regretful that the six did not get to witness the tribes embracing as one. He explained that the local resources had been devoured in two days' time, constructing machinery and weapons of war before carving a vast warpath Northward, towards the Great Divide.

Being traders by nature, the Goblins had profited immensely from this turn of events. Wealthy beyond previous measure, Sargle began to feel charitable towards the six warriors, trading them their finest goods, weapons, and armor for a mere pittance. Normally, their respective tribes would have gifted them ancestral relics upon their return, but their tribes had left. Sargle only asked their mediocre surplus in return to "keep things honest."

Feeling much ingratiated towards the Goblins and Sargle, the warriors began to walk the Warpath northwards. The path drove directly through the earlier battlefield, and the warriors frowned at the sight of hundreds of slain Orcs and Gnolls, left to rot in the sun for a greater goal. Ashpaw voiced his discomfort at not having eaten anything. The stench of rotting meat filled him with remorse at how much war could waste.

Reaching the edge of the tree line, the group caught sight of the Great Divide, or what was left of it. What formerly separated the tribes from the main continent by miles of sea between sheer cliffs now only spanned sixty feet.

At the Divide's narrowest gap, a great bridge had been driven into the cliffs, six-men broad and supported by struts made of whole trees. It had clearly been built to carry the weight of war. Idling on the bridge, armed and bored, a group of seven spotted the warriors. The Orc nearest the front stood from his sitting, cracked his back and waved lazily to the party. As they approached, though, a Hobgoblin at his side shouted a warning, and he took a closer look. Suddenly moved to action, they drew their weapons and formed a phalanx at the mouth of the crossing.

"Halt, treasonous worms!" Spat the Orc.

Confounded again by surprise, the warriors convened momentarily before sending Ramfell and Minas ahead to speak with the guards. They quickly learned that they were not to cross the bridge with the tribes. Flaygh, in his vision, had seen their traitorous actions and had paid the guards to keep them from crossing by any means possible.

"But what was our crime?" Minas asked.

Sneering, the Hobgoblin replied "You turned your backs on the tribes and renounced your allegiance to us and to our gods."

Ramfell scoffed, growing increasingly more frustrated. "Ridiculous! We did no such thing!"

The Orc interjected. "The lies of traitors are worth nothing! Crawl back into the sea on your bellies. You do not deserve to die as warriors."

Minas took a step backward and drew his spear as Ramfell's axe bit deep into the Orc's shoulder. The rest of the six had heard the slanderous claims and bore the insult badly. They charged the guards, tearing against their defenses with furious determination. Unprepared for the progress that the warriors were making, one of the guards nearest the rear shattered a bottle of kerosene on the bridge and set it alight.

Due to the drying heat of the past week, the middle of the bridge rose into a wall of fire within moments. Howling in fury, the warriors created a breech between the defenders and charged towards the fire, braving the hailstorm of arrows which tore through the flames at them. They met the rear defenders across the bridge like a hammer. With practiced opportunity, they soon had the guards' backs to the fire while Torym whipped arrows from his quiver by twos, keeping the straggling defenders from surviving the trek through the fire.

Smelling cooking flesh, Ashpaw cornered the outspoken Hobgoblin who had successfully crossed the bridge with them. Snarling with hunger and offense, he licked his dagger. "I've chosen my meal, tonight, Hobgoblin!" He grinned. "Work hard at being delicious." The threat surprised the smaller foe, and he stepped backward to distance himself from the Gnoll. This motion motivated Ashpaw to sickening speed as he rammed the creature into the fire, where he was promptly murdered in a theater of flames.

The rest were quickly dispatched and thrown into the chasm. As the bridge buckled from the middle, the inferno spread to the dry grass on the land which the warriors had just left.

"He had a vision, he said." Mahog frowned. "Flaygh has branded us as traitors to keep us from interfering in something."

Torym patted his pack. "It might have something to do with this orb. Those stones were destroyed by it."

Picking meat from between his teeth, Ashpaw tossed the mangled Hobgoblin into the divide. "You know, if he's so great at seeing the future. You'd think he would have seen us winning and saved his guards the trouble of dying for nothing."

Irony was not lost on the warriors, but their mood had darkened. The fire across the gap had reached fable-worthy proportions as the party thought of the Goblins they had left behind, now with the barest hope of surviving the wildfire.

Session 4 - In which their actions provoke unforseen events.

As the closest to the sparkling amber gems, the two shifters, Mahog and Minas, pulled them from their nesting hemispheres. Immediately, their eyes began to follow the new lights which trailed from them, spiraling up towards the tower. Ramfell watched their gaze and shared with them a nod of understanding. From this distance, it was clear that many of these strange, flickering beams shared the same destination, sprouting from the tower in a thick net that pulled the storm at the city's boundaries.

Sending the Gnolls ahead, the seven warriors strode down the lane which circumvented the obsidian skyscraper until they discovered the entrance which yawned widely onto the street. The opening had been constructed like a massive gouge which dug deeply into the tower's interior. Steeling themselves, the group collapsed into a thick stripe with Ramfell and Minas at the front and Gunjir at the rear before plunging into the contrasting darkness of the tower's shadow.

The entrance opened up into a tall chamber with polished, angled walls which the dry interior drove the wind into fierce acoustics, amplifying the ambient sounds into fierce roars and purposeful whispers. The opposing side of the chamber rose in a series of hemispherical steps towards a thin exit to open air. The lights which sprang from Ramfell and the two Shifters bounced and rolled against the far ceiling like smoke in an overturned glass. As they finished their study of the massive hall, the warriors proceeded towards the small archway until the fricative sound of crackling energy interrupted their stride. Flanking their goal, twin forms bubbled and hardened in the walls and grew crude limbs before pulling their polished black forms from the very substance of the tower. The seven ripped their weapons free of their scabbards, preparing to charge the two creatures until the ground at their feet sprang three larger creatures of the same substance, wielding asymmetrical limbs, one bladed; one broad and circular.

The three creatures at the front brought their thicker arms to bear in front of their bodies before collapsing upon their two finer allies, blocking the arch entirely. Ramfell, Gunjir, and Minas charged into the now solid wall of stone as the two enemies at the rear began to spin delicately before forming small clouds in the air which released torrential shards of black glass at extreme velocity at the young warriors. Howling in frustration, Gunjir and Ramfell tore at the middle of the shielded foes, trying to dislodge him from the group while Vulcan and Mahog stole towards their teammates as Torym tried to interrupt the twin turrets by unleashing a rain of his own while leading their fire away from the others.

Succeeding in pulling the middle guardian free of the others, they left a small gap between the shielded ones and the two needling creatures of stone. Seeing opportunity, Ashpaw sprinted quickly towards Minas's back before leaping over both the Shifter and the freed construct, landing squarely in the middle of the stone abominations. Seeing the immediate danger posed to the Gnoll, Minas dug into his satchel, removing a handful of earth. Throwing it between the legs of the shielded enemy, he struck his spear on the ground, causing a bright and loud spark. From the charged earth, a mass of vines sprouted around Ashpaw, covering the small combat area with obscuring foliage. Ashpaw easily ducked two misdirected attacks from the backward-swinging arms of the shielded creatures before driving one of his daggers into the nearest of the two rear constructs which still sprayed with futility at Torym.

Their secure line failing, the foremost constructs tried moving to compensate. This movement set them at odds just long enough for the three warriors at the front to tear them from their feet, exposing the remaining needling creature to Vulcan's thunderous hammer. Without an ally to protect, the three shielded creatures, now surrounded, were quickly dispatched without ceremony.


----

Cautioned by surprise, the seven braved the unprotected arch slowly. Ramfell, the first to check, let it be known that it was simply an exit to a large flight of stairs which curved, exposed, up the exterior of the tower. Gunjir, wary of further ambush from these creatures, elected to stay behind to keep more from following. He swore that if he heard battle, he would alight the steps and follow. Quickly, the group formed a single-file line and mounted the stairs. The lazy wind proved to be a great antagonist on this climb, its merest breath threatening to toss them to their deaths as they rose a hundred fathoms into the sky.

Feeling new chill in the air from the height, an end to the steps became visible above them, where the tower plateaued before becoming a thinner spire further up. Due to their height difference, Torym's gaze broke the plateau simultaneously with Ramfell, even though he was second in the snaking line of seven which leaned cautiously against the tower. What they saw drove them to an immediate halt: A large circular plane, upon which sat four pillars that held the smaller portion of the tower hulking overhead. Beneath the pillars, chained to its center, a prisoner had been fastened to the floor. Hairless and unadorned, the humanoid creature writhed under its bindings. Its pale skin flickered and whipped as though he was a small flag in a monsoon.

Hundreds of thin strands of light sprouted from him into the distance, where they licked lazily on the wind. Three of these lines arced towards the ascending warriors. The prisoner followed these lines with his head until he saw his new visitors. From his eyes and mouth poured a milky white light as he made a mournful sound that echoed through the landscape.

Suspecting another trap, Torym vaulted over the small bit of tower still obscuring his body from the plateau and fired an arrow, preemptively at the creature. Howling in pain, the prisoner's gaze turned to a fierce scowl as he barked a powerful word at Torym, the force of which sent a blast of air so powerful, it threw Torym from his perch. With a teetering "thud," the red Gnoll hit the stairs, narrowly escaping a fall to his death.

Angry at Torym for his brashness, yet not wanting to chance a flailing end, Ashpaw and Ramfell vaulted the steps and set upon the creature whose fate had now been determined. The Half-Orc and grey Gnoll swung at the chained creature wildly, slightly unsure of which bits of its shifting anatomy was vital. The remaining warriors cleared the steps, surrounding the prisoner as Torym and Mahog obscured his sight of them from behind the pillars. His retaliation consisted solely of violent bursts of wind, flooring the troupe and shoving them away from him as he roared tornadic commands to the very air.

Seeing one of the axe wounds erupting with wind and sound, Vulcan struck at the prisoner's shoulder, raking the chains through the whistling breach. In agony, the creature's head whipped to the side and glared at the Orc with an ancient and alien fury. As Minas drove his spear into the creature's opposing shoulder, all of the warriors were blown back from him.

With a terrifying howl, the timeless prisoner strained against his bindings until his wounds expanded and finally tore his arms from his torso. Hurricanes of wind poured over the warriors from the holes at his sides. Against the wind, Ashpaw, Ramfell, and Vulcan regained their footing just as the creature leapt at them and swung a clawed foot in a wide arc, sending them sprawling again. Seeing an opening, Minas stabbed with his spear and hooked the creature. He dragged its roiling form to him before slamming into it with his shield, sending the creature careening into one of the pillars. Mahog snagged Vulcan by the arm and drove his glowing fist into the Orc's chest, invigorating his companion with new power. Two arrows pinned the former prisoner to his pillar only moments before Vulcan's mace drove its head down into its own chest.

The wind from its wounds slowed to a soft whistling before abruptly tearing its body to fetters. Occupying its former chest cavity, a large, grey orb spun so quickly, it drilled a dent into the obsidian as it landed. Waiting for it to finish turning, Torym lifted the heavy orb and looked skyward. He scanned the reaction of his compatriots before making space for it in his pack.

Ramfell looked at his axe with uncertainty before turning to Torym. "We may not have had to kill him, you realize."

Torym didn't turn. "Maybe not. What does it matter?"

Mahog interrupted. "Everyone, look!"

The warriors wheeled on their axises as they watched the stormwall surrounding them begin to fall from the sky like a massive curtain, rippling towards the earth from entropy.


----

They mounted the remaining stairs to the pinnacle of the tower in short order. They arrived at a smaller, circular plateau which housed a strange mechanism at its epicenter. At the top of an altar, a small depression in a flat area was surrounded on three sides by elongated depressions with twin niches apiece. Seemingly certain of its purpose, Torym fetched the orb from his pack and set it in the depression. Testingly, four of the amber stones were set in place.

The orb began to spin slowly, gaining speed as well as volume quickly. The six warriors nearly jumped backward as a blast of light formed a solid blue pillar into the sky. As their eyes followed the cacophonous beam, they arrested upon a single black dot adjacent to the beam which began to grow larger. Plummeting towards them like a massive arrow was a winged reptile larger than any foe they had ever faced. Without an exit, the group raised the blades of their weapons to the skies to ward the beast from landing.

At the last possible moment, the creature diverted its course, aiming for the thin stripe of stairs. Clearly too large to fit upon them, the beast clawed into the side of the tower, setting the ancient stairs crumbling with its weight. As it began to snake its way up the treacherous spiral, its wings flapping wildly to keep it against the solid surface of the tower, Ashpaw placed one of his daggers between his teeth and ran, sliding off of the edge of the plateau. He landed on the creature's tail, digging into its flesh with his weapons and bracing himself against the remaining stairs, keeping the creature from advancing without losing its balance.

Its head and foremost claws rose above the plateau, where its bright amber eyes immediately closed against a volley of six arrows which shredded its face. Opening one eye, it looked to the skies and roared plaintively, as though responding. Vulcan followed the stare to a black stormcloud which wafted towards them in the distance against a clear sky.

"No!" Ramfell yelled. "More?!"

"Kill it! Kill it quickly!" Vulcan shouted as he brought his mace into the flailing creature, breaking its beak in a bloody display.

Ashpaw yanked hard as the monster reeled from the blow, exposing its neck. Immediately, Minas drove his spear into the creature's jaw and pulled its head low to the waiting attacks of Torym, Mahog, Vulcan, and Ramfell.

It had barely breathed its last before Ashpaw clambered up its twitching body and tore its eyes from its head. Ramfell and Minas prodded at the corpse until gravity took its hold and claimed the cartwheeling monster.

As Ashpaw jammed the beast's eyes into the two remaining holes in the mechanism, they heard a shout from below. Gunjir had nearly completed his ascent, alone, and called to his companions to be careful with their leavings. He surmounted the broken stairs with huge leaps and had only just gained his footing when the topmost plane of the tower began to click and turn like a clockwork device.

From this distance, the cloud of dragons could not be mistaken for anything else. The beam's color began to shift wildly as it folded upon itself and began to spiral and descend, causing an uproar among the approaching dragons. Within moments, it became clear that the light was forming a transparent dome of blue energy.

At the outmost edge of the tower's pinnacle as the flying nation set upon the tower, Gunjir turned to his companions. "To the center, brothers! Fight from the center!"

Before he could turn again to face the attackers, a claw hit him laterally, taking him from his feet and the tower entirely. The grasping creature fought to bite the Hobgoblin as Gunjir's axe smashed into its scaly face repeatedly before it fell unconscious, dropping him into the mouth of an ascending attacker. The victorious creature rose above the six remaining and reeled its head back, preparing to strike before its eyes bulged, and its wings failed, driving it like a hammer to the earth thousands of feet below.

Fighting off swipes and the occasional acidic spray from the dragons' throats, the warriors held fast as the dome completed, shutting them off from the attacks entirely. The construction complete, the ambition of the dragons changed entirely as they fought direly to change direction and flee from the tower, beating their wings faster than the air could support. Some began to fight harshly against the wind created by their brothers, only losing altitude moments before the dome around the warriors erupted with a silent shockwave, lighting the sky in a bright arc before shredding the thousands of dragons into a blizzard of moist confetti.

As a thick rain of red and black fell upon the dome, it became very clear that the warriors had begun to move. The dust that carpeted the crater began to roil southward as they were pulled to the North. After what seemed like several minutes of this invisible travel, it abruptly ended, sending the warriors cascading against one another in the dome. Pushing against each other to see what had changed, their gaze was fixed to the mile-high wall of dust that hit them like a hammer.

The tower buckled as the metal shards which peppered its surroundings bounced unevenly through its city before breaking the obsidian monument with their incredible momentum. The warriors fell earthward in their dome, rocked from the forces destroying the tower. Before the fall could kill them, however, the dome erupted again, bouncing them in the air and sending a clean sphere of air into the tumult of the dust. After this eruption, the dome failed, and the group fell the remaining five yards to the ground in an exhausted and battered heap.

They arose as one, grimacing at the extreme pain of surviving such a fall as they watched the billowing canyon of dust leave them for the North, rising as it traveled.

( Jon exited the campaign, because he began his work overseas. We worked together to find an appropriate way for his character to leave the story. Farewell, Gunjir. )

Session 3 - In Which Indecision Drives Action

The warriors paused in thought while the storm raged around them, forming a brief vigil for Tarkrim's departure. After a moment, Ramfell stepped towards the gem which the fallen creature had left, gauged its weight with a light toss, then placed it into his bag. Upon doing so, a thin light erupted from him which rose gracefully into the storm, seemingly towards the center, their goal. Looking around him, it became obvious that only he could see the new leyline and soon alerted the others.

Ashpaw kicked at the large sack which Krusk had tossed in their way, revealing several objects. Vulcan's attention piqued, and he tore at the bag for a quick moment before ripping a large maul from its innards and brandishing it with a look of satisfaction. He swung the hammer through the air, producing a lightly audible boom similar to the sound a heavy stone makes the moment it strikes water.

"I had thought it lost beneath this damnable dust!" He said, grinning.

A few more items were quickly fished from the sack, yielding a shield for Minas, a studded leather harness for Ramfell, and a small dagger, which Ashpaw spun with a characteristic smile before sheathing it and attaching it to his belt. Mahog, who saw nothing familiar within the bag's contents, suggested that they press forward into the darkness, towards the coruscating center.

The young warriors pushed through the ruins and tornadic dust until it became clear that they stood in a broad lane which had to have been used for transport directly towards their goal. The further they went, the thicker the dust became until the obfuscation was complete, an amorphous black wall which drove sideways under the intense wind. Bracing their faces against the stinging onslaught, the seven warriors pushed through the cloud and into the blazing sun.

All but the eldest two were aghast at the sight ahead of them. An entire city, complete of nearly everything but roofs and citizens, lay spread out before them in the cusp of a hurricane's eye which rose from the ground to the very ceiling of the sky in what seemed like a lazy twirl for its immensity. Ramfell's gaze followed the light emanating from his pack, which now arced and flickered, as though a string in the wind, towards an obsidian tower at the city's very center.

Hours of walking towards the center did much to unnerve the group's sense of security. So exposed under the morning sun, they watched for any movement, expecting ambush. Not until they reached the road which encircled the tower's plaza did the broad lane finally end. Across the ancient street, immense, maintained gardens filled the space between pillars, boasting large, gnarled trees which bore new and strange fruit. Mahog explained that he and Vulcan had been stealing fruit from these trees between patrols to sustain themselves in this wasteland.

None had time to wonder which patrols Mahog had meant before Torym whispered fiercely. "Enemies!"

They quickly stole to the edge of their lane to formulate a plan. It became quickly clear that the "patrol" consisted of two of the constructs which they had encountered previously when they fought with Garnt and Krusk. Partially cowed by the previous fight, the group began to argue ceaselessly about how to approach the two or whether to approach them at all. Some suggested charging in at them to catch them before they created more lightspawn. Others argued stealth and simply waiting for them to pass. Still others wanted to try to separate the two, using Torym's range and speed to keep one of them busy until the rest of the group had dealt with the other.

Unable to reach a resolution, the frustrated Ramfell broke from cover and walked determinedly at the pair. Angered, but forced into action, the two Gnolls sprinted from cover and passed him, surrounding the two guardians almost immediately. Spotting the rest of the party beyond the edge of the corner building, the rearmost of the two guardians spun what could have been considered its head and opened a rift of burning light between itself and the warriors who had yet to engage. The ground erupted as they dove away from the blast, leaving behind a miniature city of fractured obsidian in their wake.

Forced to engage, the four remaining warriors encircled the two creatures, using the tower wall to corner them. Immediately, both constructs made a familiar mewling before peppering the battlefield with a total of eight fresh lightspawn. The new creatures tore at their surroundings, grasping at the dust at their feet for substance. Seeking to drive the guardians into each other, Ramfell charged the nearest, swinging menacingly. Seeing opportunity, Gunjir, the Hobgoblin slammed the handle of his axe into the side of Ramfell's target, throwing it off balance before turning his own motion into a powerful swing against the far guardian, hitting it square in the middle and digging a deep gouge into its armor. Unprepared for such an assault, the creature careened backwards, striking the tower wall with a loud crack.

Gunjir, Ramfell, and Minas cornered the two constructs while Ashpaw, Torym, Mahog, and Vulcan mercilessly slaughtered the half-formed lightspawn, herding them into a solid group before dismantling them one-by-one. To break free from its corner, the forwardmost construct spun its heavy arms under itself before stopping them abruptly. The weight of the swing launched it into the air, over the heads of the two axe-happy warriors, above Minas' vigilant spear, and into the midst of the remaining four.

Keeping with even temper, the four expanded to accommodate the creature before descending upon it unmercifully. Within moments, they had cracked its core. Remembering their last encounter, they dove away from the guardian as it exploded dramatically, trying to recover in time to deal with the remaining threat. Seeing opportunity, Gunjir and Minas ducked under one of the remaining construct's meteoric swings before striking it in unison, denting its exterior deeply and knocking it free of its balance. As it fell towards Ramfell, he widened his stance before whipping his axe into the guardian, leaving a deep crack in its side as he sent its body bouncing towards the remaining lightspawn.

A low whine escaped from the dying construct before it fell into the midst of its allies and erupted, vaporizing them in the shockwave.

Panting as they regained their surroundings, the warriors looked at the two new gems in the craters as symbols of their victory. They raised their weapons to the skies and howled in triumph.

Session 2 - In Which Many Obfuscations are Swept Away to Reveal Larger Questions

After a day's worth of navigating the swirling landscape by the light of the strobing sky, the warriors spied another set of lights in the distance. Cautioned by their earlier encounter, they stole towards the nearest metal shard and circumvented the lights, sending Ashpaw ahead. He returned with a resolute nod and drew his blade with a grin. In mere moments, the warriors were upon them, ripping the lights to fetters before they had the opportunity to fully coalesce. Howling back in mockery of the lightspawn screams, the group was silenced abruptly by a deep thrumming. Looking up, between the flashes in the clouds, a monstrous titan walked with deliberate, booming, invisible footfalls.

Ramfell turned to Torym. "How far?"

"... Miles yet. " The Gnoll whispered.

Bolstered by their quick victory, they decided to continue towards the crater's center. Mere minutes into the journey, and the warriors were halted by a hailing voice from behind. They drew their weapons and readied themselves as two figures pushed through the dust towards them, illuminated only by the coruscation of the sky.

"Five years already?" The taller one queried. "Be easy. We mean no harm."

Mahog, a Shifter, and the calmer of the two explained to the group that he and his weary Half-Orc companion, Vulcan, had been hopefuls from the previous expedition. They told the group that they were originally five, and that the crater is not all dust and storms. Deeper in, between patrols of ancient things, there grew gardens in open sunlight with edible fruits and pure water. They would join the warriors in their quest to the center, if they would be obliged.

Tarkrim narrowed his eyes at the two. "What of your companions, travelers? Where are they now?"

Ashpaw whispered to Tarkrim. "You suspect an ambush?"

Tarkrim turned, replying. "I suspect much."

Vulcan removed his hood and grimaced with disgust, telling them that the leader of their group knew something about the stones' ability to grant power and persuaded endlessly that they should be had for their own gain. In the night, Vulcan told, he slipped away treacherously. Mahog and Vulcan had awoken to find him gone and hunted him for hours, finally killing him for his treason. When they had returned to camp, the other two had gone. Vulcan's voice appeared shaken, as though trying to contain terror, rage, or both.

"Gone where, exactly?" Minas asked, clearly feeling that Mahog and Vulcan were hiding something.

"--We aren't sure, exactly" Mahog interjected. "They are traitors --that much is known. Can we not continue on your journey? It has been some time since we've had reinforcements against this wasteland."

----

Seeing no clear reason to distrust the pair, the party ventured further, now stronger by two. The further they traveled, the less cyclopean shards punctuated the darkness with harsh reflections and the more the dust seemed to solidify under their feet and rise ahead of them in sets of highly gothic ruins of reflective, black glass.

After hours of navigating what soon became the obvious ghost of an obliterated metropolis, the roaring sounds of battle burst and clanged in harsh echoes through towards the warriors. Voices boomed and howled, flashes of light challenged the lightning in brilliance, and the earth vibrated under thunderous slams. Now unofficially categorized as the group's spotter, Torym spidered himself up the nearest ruined wall before abruptly dropping down and returning to the group.

"Only three." He let this surprising fact sink in before continuing. "A Hobgoblin and an Orc fight a large beast of metal. They are illuminated by some strange power."

"And are these your companions, Shifter?" Ramfell demanded. "Tell us what you know!"

Mahog shared a look with Vulcan before sighing in resignation. "The Hobgoblin is Garnt; the Orc, Krusk. They somehow each found one of the stones for himself and began to supplement their power with them. From what we understand, the metal creatures contain the stones, and we've spent these last five years sabotaging their further acquisition by ambushing their attempts."

Vulcan again summoned his visage of disgust. "With the stones, they've grown far too strong for us to engage directly. It's shaming to us." He hooded himself again and drew his sword with a snarl.

The group reached an unspoken decision and shared its conclusion with one another with a singular nod. As they tore around the nearest ruin to engage the twin traitors, the Orc Krusk bellowed a cry of warning to Garnt, who saw the small army approaching and roared. Shaping the metallic dust to his will, the Hobgoblin enveloped his blade with the congealing material as the ancient, glossy construct retaliated by unlocking the floating hemispheres of his abdomen and spewed familiar light as a turret, forming lightspawn from his own bosom. With a spin, Garnt snapped his blade through the air, causing a shockwave beyond the dust's material, turning the jettisoned debris into tiny spears, killing the newborn lightspawn and driving the construct backward with the blast.

Krusk launched himself at the warriors, charging with his shield before spinning his axe into his palm, defining the combat distance before the party could reposition. Ashpaw, Ramfell, Minas, and Vulcan peppered the air around Krusk with strikes as he spun and roared with the fury of combat, keeping them from engaging Garnt at the front line. Tarkrim, seemingly unconcerned with Krusk, ducked under an axe swing, trying to gain a wider view of the battlefield.

The obsidian construct mewed with an ancient whirring as he ejected four more lights from his unfolding breast, spawning more flowing, dustborn assailants. Garnt caught a stone fist against the broad side of his blade, sending him backwards, nearer to Krusk. Seeing an attacker to his right, he turned to engage before redoubling his efforts against the guardian. He stopped in his own running footprints when he saw Tarkrim in full. "... Brother?!"

Frustrated by the lack of progress they were making against Krusk, Minas' patience broke at this new revelation. "Tarkrim! Kill him!"

Tarkrim, turning his indecision into resolution turned to the charging lightspawn to his immediate right, destroying it with his glaive with a single swing before diving under the congealing weapon of another of the creatures as he tried to engage the construct. The eldritch creature of stone bucked with seemingly sympathetic pains as its progeny were slain.

Distracted by the turn of events, Krusk caught a blade to his leg, dropping him to one knee before the butt of a weapon drove him unconscious to the ground. Ashpaw kicked Krusk's shield, exposing the Orc's midsection. He directed his victorious companions to Krusk's chest, where a large, amber stone was embedded in his sternum where it pulsed rhythmically with light.

Torym, guarding Tarkrim against the lightspawn's attacks with well-placed arrows, yelped a warning to the rest of the group. They looked up to find the two hobgoblins unable to keep the construct at bay as it advanced upon them with crushing fists and a small army of lightspawn.

Garnt, finally noticing how Krusk had fallen to the warriors cried out. "You fools! It will destroy us!" He leapt into their center, driving his blade into the ground, creating a harmonious sound which abolished the group's fatigue and awakened Krusk again to the battlefield. The group only had a moment to allow for confusion before the construct swung its impossible anatomy into the air, leaping at the group with a symphony of blows.

The group was clearly surrounded on all sides by the lightspawn horde as the construct moved to box them in for easy smashing.

The Shifter, Mahog yelled "The small ones! Kill the small ones!" as a rift of fire opened from his fist, destroying one of the lighstpawn in an eruption of smoke and sound.

On command, the group neatly dispatched two more of the smaller creatures while Minas and Ramfell bucked the guardian's efforts while Tarkrim assailed it from behind. It groaned monstrously as its conspirators were slain, clearly affected physically by their loss. In a move of frustration, it spun on one of its untold axises, bringing both fists to bare against the group as a whole. In a tactically genius maneuver, the warriors stepped behind the remaining lightspawn, dragging it into the path of the fists. Once the creature was swept away as mere smoke under the construct's flailings, the black monster fell onto its arms abruptly as its animation simply ceased.

The creature's matter began to shimmer after a moment before bursting with heat and light, leaving in its tiny crater, a pulsating, amber gem. Seeing opportunity, Garnt slapped Krusk on the back and began to flee. Krusk, slowed by his earlier felling, detached the large satchel that he'd strapped to his back, tossing it into the warriors in an attempt to slow their pursuit and followed Garnt into the darkness.

Uncowed by this suddenness, Torym readied his bow and fired, striking Krusk in the shoulder, dropping him immediately to the ground from the force. Torym moved forward to inspect the shot before a figure charged at Krusk, yanking the arrow from his shoulder and yelling a single booming word to restore the Orc.

"... Tarkrim?"

Tarkrim stood between Torym and fleeing Orc with a challenging gaze for a very tense moment. Receiving no reply, he abruptly shouldered his glaive as he turned away and began to follow the two into the darkness, leaving the young warriors behind.


( Edwin and Josh joined the campaign as Mahog(Cleric) and Vulcan(Avenger), respectively. Jon had to work, so Gunjir's actions didn't bear mentioning this week. )

Session 1 - Dueling, Sailing, Climbing, and Battling

Rites of passage are always filled with mysticism and wonder for the uninitiated. This trepidation was further enforced by demeanor of the hoary, cryptic shaman who lurked before the hopefuls. The goblin enjoyed the discomfort that the jungle's wet heat added to the troupe's nerves as he paced, muttering, atop the massive Ritual Stone. Bathed in moonlight, Flaygh, the Oracle raised his arms and regarded the warriors with a wicked grin.

"It seems as though your tribes think you worthy of ascension, young ones." The goblin snickered. "As you well know, your predecessors failed and never returned to our lands. With this knowledge, I hope you have prepared yourselves properly."

With grace that defied his limp, Flaygh hopped off of the cyclopean stone and hobbled towards the five young strangers. "I think that I will take your measure, children. If any of you were unworthy, you would damn your comrades. Survival would be difficult for the strong. You have to be more than strong." He scratched at his chin for a bit while sizing them up. "You, the... uh. Orc, is it? No, Half-Orc. You and the grey Gnoll, I want you to fight with all your strength." He stepped back and deliberated with himself. "The two armored ones, yes, hobgoblins. You two fight. Lastly? The Longtooth and the red Gnoll. You two. Give yourselves room, now." He chuckled. "Let's see if you have the brutality needed to be worthy of your company."

-------

Within moments, the Oracle bathed the warriors in a the rejuvinating power of his magic and commanded them to cease fighting. The savage hopefuls still flared with battle, twitching eagerly to resume the fight, snarling and flexing their muscles against the viscous magic. "Very good, children! Very good. Now calm yourselves and know your task." He released the magic suddenly, nearly causing the young ones to stumble into their former opponents.

When he was satisfied that all attention was his, Flaygh elaborated. "The Lightning Scar, you know the place, I assume? There are creatures there unlike any other. Where normally a heart resides, one kind of creature carries a powerful jewel. If you wish to be revered among your brethren, you will return with five of these jewels." He grinned. "Or... you could be like the last of your brothers and never return at all."

-------

For five nights, they sailed along the rocky coast of their forgotten lands, braving harsh tide and jagged rock. They bested the sea as though her tortuous ravings were beneath their notice and paddled the boat without murmur or complaint when she tired. As the sun rose on the sixth day, the rocky shore opened to a great wall of obsidion, topped by a cacophonous, roiling storm. They knew there would be no beach, nowhere to make berth, so they anchored their boat in the open sea and swam to the wall. While swimming, the Shifter pointed the easiest route up the sheer face to the rest of the group.

The climb proved absurdly difficult, nearly costing Toryn, the red Gnoll, his life. Ramfell, the Half-Orc, swiftly caught him and returned him to the wall quickly enough for the troupe to crest the summit before nightfall. The warriors were rewarded with the sight of an unfathomably large crater, wherein gargantuan metal shards twisted up from the ground as though rent as mere shavings from an impossible construction. The wind billowed dust so thickly that the horizon had no meaning. Seeing no more than 300 yards ahead, the warriors slid down into the crater and began their quest towards is roiling center.


-------

After several hours of walking and charting their progress on a crude map against the darkening landscape of twisted metal abberations, the Shifter spied a series of sharp and consistent lights beyond the metallic glinting of the swirling dust. The Gnolls, being the fastest and stealthiest among the group, broke off to investigate. As they came within 50 yards of the 5 lights, the curiosities suddenly ceased moving, as though spotting the two. The Gnolls stood, curious, before the lights erupted with motion, streaking towards the two scouts at a meteoric pace. Valuing caution, Ashpaw, the greyer of the two, signalled for them to run.

As they bolted towards their advancing party, the lights behind them began to pull the strange dust into their wake, billowing it behind them like long curtains of black and silver. The closer the lights became, the more the dust began to swirl around the lights themselves, pooling and rolling into shapes until solidifying into the vestiges of limbs, weapons, and roaring faces. Crying into the darkened sky, the warriors met the charge of the lightspawn like a hammer, driving them immediately to a standstill. There were five in all, diverse, humanoid shapes. Ramfell and Gunjir, the Hobgoblin, leapt forward, bringing their axes into wide arcs, attempting to overwhelm the creatures. The two lightspawn with weapons charged to the front, protecting the less substantial of their group from the marauding steel of the warriors.

The humanoids at the rear of the group began warping the surrounding dust to their will, shaping it into powerful, explosive projectiles which flew, unhindered through their own numbers into the savage young warriors. Surprised, but uncowed by the nature of their attackers, Minas, the shifter, Ramfell, and Gunjir maneuvered immediately into positions which exposed the weakest of their opponents to the ravenous attacks of Ashpaw and Torym, the Gnolls. Overwhelmed by the fury displayed by the young pugilists, the first among the lightspawn's number fell to Ramfell's axe with a haunting yell before erupting with light and dissolving into the wind. Immediately seeing opportunity, Minas drove his spear into the creature which had been behind the fallen lightspawn and dragged it, screaming, between Gunjir and Ashpaw. Gunjir swung his axe, forcing the lightspawn to back into Ashpaw, who furiously dismantled its core so quickly, he nearly mistook Gunjir for another attacker.

Now, with avenues of attack cleared, Torym notched his gargantuan longbow and dispatched the two least substantial, yet most troublesome, attackers. The remaining, unarmed, lightspawn, seemingly desperate, drove forward into the heart of the group, ducking arrows, axes, sword and spear to clap his hands over his head and drive them into the earth, creating a massive shockwave which surprised the virile warriors and drove them from him. Unaffected by the attack, due to his distance, Tarkrim leapt over the blast and brought his glaive low. The blow which would have decapitated the creature, disappointed Tarkrim as the corporeal dust evaporated with a scream on his weapon.

The warriors, confused by the nature of this place and its inhabitants, walked to the nearest, skyscraping hulk to rest and discuss their next course of action.

A Beginning

This blog will catalog the adventures of the current Savage Races campaign, which takes place in the campaign world of Yorg designed by Joshua La Forge with the help of his gamers.

The current campaign began on August 30th, 2009, and involved player characters solely of the Savage Races.

The list of starting characters and players is as follows:

Joshua - DM and Tarkrim, a Hobgoblin Bard
Liam - Ramfell, a Half-Orc Barbarian
Alex - Torym, a Gnoll Ranger
Jon - Gunjir, a Hobgoblin Fighter
Will - Minas, a Shifter Warden
Mike - Ashpaw, a Gnoll Rogue