D&D Campaign Session for October 20th, 2001

Played with 3rd Edition Rules

The Swords of Sunndi Player Characters:

Kespin eth Lunar, Male Human Bard (Josh)
Kobort, Male Half-Orc Cleric/Paladin of Heironeous (Bart)
Mike Steel, Male Human Fighter (Patty)
Westwind, Halfling Male Fighter (Andrew)
Wrye Leagallow, Male Halfling Ranger (Chris)

Shadows of Aniel

Richfest 4th, 574 CY: In the Menowood

Yesterday morning dawned clear, as far as we can ever tell beneath the thick canopy of the Menowood. Our diminutive ranger paced about the camp muttering as the rest of us ate a scant, cold breakfast. Finally, he stopped and announced that he was ready to set out. He was more confident than he had been since we got lost two days ago, but needless to say it was only slightly reassuring. Best any of the rest of us could tell, Wrye was right enough.

Kobort fashioned a cairn to mark the spot and direction in the unhappy chance that we should come upon it again in a few more days. It points north, just in case. We set out with a good guess at Aniel's location and at least a slim hope of actually finding it.

We had traveled southwest for some hours when Wrye nearly fell into a large track. The halfling could have laid spread-eagled within it and not touched the sides of a single huge footprint; indeed, he might swim in it were it filled with water and he could swim. More of the same tracks followed, and we traveled more warily until we saw the creatures themselves.

Luckily, they were at a distance and seemed more interested in grazing the treetops than in us. Strange beasts they were, of a kind I have never imagined. Thick of body and bearing small heads upon long and graceful necks, they stretched upward so as to seem trees themselves. A small herd of them peacefully gathered some furlongs away, and had not spotted us. Instead, we were alerted to something behind us only by its low, menacing growl.

A huge panther crouched, muscles tense and ready to pounce upon us on a whim. We drew up in a defensive stance; it had the high ground on a rocky outcropping overlooking what served as our trail.

Kespin sang and lights flashed past the cat, who remained steadily regarding us. Kobort cast something upon it, but the only effect it had was to annoy it. I cannot say I do not sympathize with that.

Instead of attacking, the cat stood and began to transform.

It shrank in size to that of a man, for which we were glad. After a few heartbeats it stood upright before us as the druid Inichar.

"Who are you that enters my forest?" He retained some of the cat about him, for his voice sounded as a low growl. From atop his rock he glared suspiciously and haughtily down upon us.

Kobort saw fit to introduce himself and challenged the druid's claim to the forest; I had nothing useful to add and held my tongue.

Inichar was less than forgiving, although our only real offense had been to wander all unknowing into his particular corner of the Menowood. Well, that and casting spells at him and arguing his claim. Still, he was not unhelpful once he received our apologies. As much to be rid of us as to assist, he turned us toward Aniel and set us upon the right path. None of us had any wish to fight a man who can at will grow claws and fangs, and I am sure he did not relish a taste of our blades for all that a panther ten times the size of a man certainly had the advantage. As a panther once again, he settled back on his rock and watched us depart.

Inichar was a strange man, as I would expect of one who spends much of his time as a beast. Ramne could be similarly unfriendly if not quite as menacing.

We traveled steadily north for the rest of the day and camped at nightfall. Wrye and Westwind took the first watch, but I was barely asleep when their shouts woke me.

There was no time to prepare for battle. Red eyes glinted from the rustling shadows all around our camp and low growling carried from the encircling wargs.

"Wolves," spat Westwind. He loosed a warning shot into the darkness and a black shape dodged it. I reached for my sword and shield, and Tel Khun lit the night. Wrye kicked Kespin and Kobort awake just in time to receive the charge.

Two closed on me from out of the darkness. Teeth ripped into my shield arm and I braced myself against its overbearing weight. Its blood flowed as freely as mine and it howled in pain as it smoldered.

Wrye and Kobort together sliced into the charging wolves. Kespin kept one at bay while Westwind took up a position on a large rock and shot at the incoming attackers.

"They're talking to each other!" I heard Wrye shout. The wolves around me tried to work me into a corner. At a price, I was able to keep them from gaining too much advantage. Not so for Wrye: a warg leaped at him and bore him to the ground with sharp, grinning teeth. Kobort cut another cleanly in two, but more surrounded him.

I had wounded the two wolves that harried me, but always they ducked away from the killing blow. A moment after I saw Kobort fall they attacked together, a perfectly coordinated strike. Blood obscured my vision, either mine or theirs.

For a long time, it seemed perfectly natural to be lying on the ground between slavering wolves. I only dimly heard the battle through the fog of semi-consciousness, and while part of me struggled to rise, the darkness claimed me.

I have heard since that the wolves sensed victory then and closed in on Kespin and Wrye and Westwind. In a desperate gamble, Kespin dodged through the thick of the advancing wargs while Wrye alone kept four at bay; Westwind, surrounded too, engaged them at sword point.

I awoke to find Kespin at my side discarding an empty vial. Quickly came the realization that it had held the healing draught I carried. I was grateful he had recalled it, for the magic had healed the worst of the injury I had taken. I reached for my sword and got to my feet. Kespin vaulted over the back of a wolf to land again at Wrye's defense, but with renewed determination Westwind and I set about cutting a path through the snarling wargs.

It was not enough for our halfling companions to simply kill the wolves; I heard a greater variety of insults in all the languages they speak than I have heard in most swearing contests back home. It was as much the name-calling as the swordplay that finally sent the last one running, I am certain, although the sight of all its fellows dead in their own blood could not have hurt our cause. We gave chase for a short distance, but the night was dark and we did not want to wander from camp.

Kobort was barely breathing, although Wrye and Kespin had managed to staunch the flow of blood from his many wounds. Our magic expended, we had no choice but to wait and watch and pray that he would not worsen overnight.

As morning dawned, a wet midsummer day, Kobort's wounds had begun to heal of their own accord, far more than we could have expected. The magic of Kespin's music brought him back to consciousness, and Heironeous took it from there. With the power of Kobort's prayer his wounds closed and he stood before us as Heironeous' paladin.

To have Kobort receive Heironeous' calling this morning is a good sign for us on an otherwise bleak day: rain on midsummer is a sign of Pelor's displeasure with the area and we look forward to a night of lycanthropes. More wargs trailed us as we continued north, though they were pacing us to the rear and the sides rather than attacking.

Now I suspect that they were trying to send us straight into the owlbears' lair.

Wrye began to see signs of owlbears and knew we were in one's claimed territory. The sounds of wolves faded, and we had no wish to encounter them again in any case. Unfortunately, none of us spotted the lair itself until it was too late. One huge furred and feathered beast climbed over a fallen tree and rushed at us with crazed red eyes.

"I will kill it in one blow." Kobort stood firm, drawing the sword Heironeous gave to him. We arrayed ourselves in a line of battle and Kespin shot over the halflings' heads to sink a bolt into its unfeeling flesh. Then another appeared behind the log and it, too, charged forward.

"It's got a mate!"

Kobort could wait no longer and charged forward, and I charged with him. The owlbear met us in its own headlong attack and bowled Kobort over with claws bared. I ran it through with my sword, but it had Kobort pinned and with a primal screech it tore through his armor, flesh and bone. It stood and Kobort crumpled to the ground.

Westwind and I kept it between us, wearing it down from both sides. I was not fast enough with my shield and its beak clamped down onto my shoulder, but that was the last bite it ever took. Tel Khun cut and burned through feathers, fur and flesh and the owlbear fell.

Wrye had kept its mate occupied, ducking and dodging its swiping claws and snapping beak all the while shooting into it. Kespin crouched by Kobort, but the half-orc's blood flowed too freely and he could not stop it. The best help I could give was to engage the second owlbear, so I stepped in and took its attention to give Wrye a chance to use his first aid skills.

Westwind flanked it and we worked it away from Kobort, but before Wrye could get to him, Kespin let out a jubilant cheer.

"I got it!" With luck or divine providence, Kespin had managed to keep Kobort among us for a little longer. He wiped his bloodied hands and took up his weapon again.

Between the four of us, the last owlbear could not hope to survive, but it fought, frenzied, to the last.

We knew we had some safety until the wolves and other woodland denizens realized that the owlbears were no longer guarding their territory, but we did not know how long that would be. We made Kobort as comfortable as we could and we set about mounting the owlbear corpses on pikes to serve as a warning to any who happened by.

The ranger, Alan Claiborne, was dead and half-eaten in the owlbears' lair. We were all dismayed to find him there, but more disturbing was the fact that he hadn't been killed by the owlbears. Two huge punctures in his midriff gave testament to an encounter with spiders of a size we have never seen and never hoped to see; the poisoned flesh around the area had not been touched by the owlbears. We recovered his backpack and possessions, including some maps of Sunndi annotated in a strange, runic script. A letter was written in the same language and signed in elvish; Kespin read it as a name, Tarien. Westwind concentrated on clearing the lair of coin and other forgotten loot from forgotten victims while the rest of us prepared to rest here for the day and night. Even if we can reach Aniel by nightfall, we do not know what horrors might greet us there. Instead we take our chances here in the lair of a dead owlbear.

Richfest 5th, 574 CY: In the Menowood

At sundown, Wrye convinced Kespin to lend him his elvish cloak to help him conceal himself on watch. It took some convincing, but Wrye settled himself atop the log and blended into the brush while the rest of us tried to get some sleep.

We did not sleep long. Wrye was alerted when he began to hear crickets among us; imagining the worst, he leapt down from the log to find not some fearsome insect but instead a very strange sight: Kobort's hair was busily braiding itself as he fitfully slept.

It was the music that woke me. I have never heard such music before -- even tired and sore as I was, I wanted nothing more than to dance to it. It was as if the music itself demanded it, setting my feet tapping and although I have never cared to learn how to dance, the music told me what to do. Kespin and Wrye felt the same, and we soon had a rollicking jig shaking the very branches of the lair.

Westwind spotted our pixie orchestra first, but I think they did not appreciate it, for his nose began to spark and smoke. That was only the first of many odd things that night. Before morning I had heard my sword speak to me, Wrye's belt buckle grunt and chant in rhythm, and I myself had swelled to three times my size, turned green and shrunk again. I believe I am back to normal now, although I find myself looking over my shoulder as I write.

Endien Pirdicar the Pixie Prince graced us with his company last night. They styled Kobort's hair and drew colorful flowers on his pallid face, ate most of our rations, and kept us dancing all night. They magicked women to dance with us and seemed to very much enjoy our halfling friends. They were not so fond of the dwarvish song I tried to contribute late on toward morning, which led to some misunderstanding. I found that pixies are very forgiving, but only on their own terms.

The party only paused at the arrival of a werewolf. With both the moons full, all the were-creatures are out on Midsummer night. Usually the wereboars keep the more evil creatures in check, as the prince told us, but this one wolf slipped through. We were in little shape to fight, having not yet recovered from our previous encounters with the wargs and the owlbears, and only enchanted or silvered weapons have any effect against lycanthropes. Between my sword and Kobort's we had two, and Kobort's was in the lair with him while we tried to engage the werewolf from atop the huge tree that sheltered the lair.

It was Kespin's idea to try to provoke the pixies into helping us, and it worked. After a couple of veiled slights, the dance music started up again. The werewolf began to dance; Wrye and I could not resist it either. Before our eyes, Endien Pirdicar himself winked into view and slashed into the werewolf to leave a wicked gash with his pixie blade. Westwind slipped behind the creature and tripped it, sending it tumbling to the ground twenty or more feet below. Unfortunately, it picked itself up and shook off the fall easily. Still, it continued to dance, and the pixie music only grew more energetic.

Westwind and Kespin seemed to think that something more needed to be done. Kespin climbed down to find Kobort's magical sword and I unsheathed mine; Westwind was welcome to it if he wanted to use it. I was too busy dancing at the moment, and the pixie song would not seem to allow me to both fight and dance at once. The halfling cannot pronounce dwarvish to save his life, so I whirled him around and set the sword alight. On the ground below, the werewolf pranced and cavorted and as his steps brought him next to the log, Westwind took Tel Khun in both hands and raised it up.

"Die!" Westwind screamed as he leaped from the log, sword flaming before him until he landed atop the werewolf. The blade cleaved the wolf's skull in two and the fire seared fur and diseased blood.

The rest of the pixies popped back in and the music swelled to a fevered pitch in joyful celebration around the werewolf's corpse. At some point Wrye slipped away, probably for a rest; I was not so lucky. Westwind was enjoying himself and the pixie wine thoroughly and was only encouraging their antics.

When morning finally came, the party drew to a close. The prince was kind enough to use his magic to bring Kobort back to consciousness, though Kobort was not pleased to find himself so decorated and nearly started another ruckus. After last night's experience, I am loathe to incur pixie displeasure.

Kespin took the chance to ask the prince about Aniel. He was very reluctant to talk about it at first, but in the end he gave us some valuable information. The elves had some wizard trouble, as he put it: two had died, and all the elves had disappeared. An old elf, their best wizard, had fought with his apprentice, and the apprentice had died. The old one was then killed by huge spiders that vanish, much like the pixies can.

There was some confusion when we tried to find out how long ago this had all happened- the pixies seem to measure time in how many parties they have rather than in hours and days and weeks. We were finally able to determine that these events happened two to three weeks past. Endien Pirdicar and the pixies had only looked from outside the town, so we do not know for certain if there are any survivors. We showed Alan's body to the prince and he confirmed that the bite was about right for the size of the spiders he had seen, so we have little hope of finding anything but evil in Aniel.

Endien Pirdicar also spoke of some old, evil ruins, perhaps a haven for undead. We will see what we can learn of these ruins when we reach Aniel.

The pixies painted Wrye's forehead, then winked out.

We have buried Alan and tended to our wounds. We have decided to stay one more night here at the owlbears' lair and chance that the rest of the forest is not yet wise to the owlbears' deaths. Wrye has hunted for our meals since the pixies finished off our rations, and while he is not much of a cook when compared to Odlits, it is a refreshing change from cold iron rations.

Richfest 6th, 574 CY: In the Menowood

The halflings were on watch before dawn when a web net came out of the darkness to slide off of Westwind. The single spider creature above was surprised and skittered off when they shot at it, and did not return. I imagine Westwind is very glad for his magic ring.

They did not bother to wake us up for the brief skirmish, and the rest of the night passed peacefully. Not so for the morning.

We were not far from Aniel when we set out from the owlbears' lair, much recovered and refreshed with rest and magic. We were alert to any dangers, none more so than Kobort. Abruptly, he halted and looked up.

"There is evil above." He told us quietly. That is another change in Kobort since his first visions: previously he never tried to be quiet. It is a good change, I think, especially when we are trying to take our enemies by surprise.

Envisioning more spider creatures, we set Westwind out as bait. We knew that their webs could not capture him and he was more than willing to play the part. We were surprised, then, to hear a woman's voice singing in the trees above.

I cannot truly describe the heartbreaking beauty of her song. It echoed around us through leaf and branch and so thoroughly captivated me that I could not heed Kobort's warnings. I shook off the restraining hands of my comrades and began to climb to her. I am told that Kespin too fell under her spell and followed up the monstrous tree trunk.

Arrows whistled up from below and I heard her scream in pain. Her song took on a note of urgency, and I wanted nothing so much as to save the singer of that haunting melody. In my haste to reach out to her I lost my grip -- my hand passed mere inches from a solid branch. I plunged to the ground far below and knocked myself nearly senseless. From what I am told about these things, I am lucky to have fallen before I reached her side, but at that moment I did not feel fortunate. More arrows sailed up into the leaves to strike home and with a flurry of movement, the singer fled.

Slowly, Kespin climbed back down and Kobort helped me to my feet. Bereft of the song, we traveled on to Aniel.

No evil greeted us at the edge of the elven village. In fact, nothing at all greeted us. The village was deserted, although we all had the disturbing sensation of being watched.

The construction of Aniel was remarkable. Ten of the huge trees had been grown and built into homes and buildings. Ladders led up into the leafed heights and walkways spanned the gaps between some of the individual trees. If Wrye had not happened to look up just as we approached the village, we might have passed right under it and never known it was there.

We ascended into the nearest building and ventured inside. We found no signs of a fight or rushed flight: instead, it appeared that things had been left in the midst of normal activity. A meal was half-eaten on the table, silverware dropped with food still on it. The chairs had not even been pushed aside; it was as if the people here had simply disappeared in mid-bite.

We moved on to one of the larger, central houses. In the library there was a desk, pen and ink left and dried and a parchment stopped mid-word: "curse".

Kespin translated the unfinished letter from the elvish. It mentioned the dying wish of an elf called Navae and the power of the Galadiir. Although none of us knew what that was, Kespin had heard something in his travels about a shield against the dark elves.

Upon further searching we found a journal written by Tarien. One of the last entries was from the first of Wealsun and spoke of Reven, a wizard and leader of the village. Navae was his apprentice, and was fascinated by the Galadiir and the potential of its power. That night Tarien had been scouting and spotted the apprentice entering Reven's house. He followed in time to see Navae with the Galadiir and he called out the alarm. Phase spiders appeared, no doubt the spiders of which the pixies spoke. They are more than just spiders, as evil as they are: they are the servants of the spider goddess. Reven slew one but was poisoned, and Tarien killed the other spider and slew Navae. With his dying breath, Navae cursed all of Aniel: "I may be dragged into death but where I go you will soon join me."

Reven was buried and Navae's ashes were scattered. Tarien gave a letter to Alan, hoping to win the druids to the cause, but by the 4th of Wealsun the village was gone.

We looked around the library in hopes of finding out more about either Tarien or the Galadiir. In one corner was suit of magical armor made somehow out of leaves. Kespin and Wrye were both especially fascinated by it and it did look as if it were very light and easy to move in. By it was a sword, rapier-like but different enough that Kespin guessed it to be an elvish Thinblade. It was of superior quality and it was only with reluctance that Kespin agreed that we should leave everything as it was.

We went to the largest building, a two-level structure across a walkway from Tarien's house. This house, unlike the others, had been put all in order and did not look to have been left suddenly. By that and by the residual magic that Kobort detected everywhere, we guessed it to have been Reven's household. The feeling we all had of being watched intensified.

"Show yourself!" Kobort challenged our mysterious onlooker, but nothing happened until several minutes later.

A translucent form appeared, that of an elf. He introduced himself as Tarien; he told us that the village had been trapped by the curse of an evil wizard. There was a gem that could save them, he said. "If you get the gem, ask..." he faded out.

The Galadiir could save them, and he had told us where it was, but the cabinet was magically locked. We had nothing that could dispel it, so Kobort prayed for strength and Kespin and I leant him our help. Together, we slammed into the cabinet door three times before it finally cracked. Within was a chest.

Kobort reached for it and behind him, the elf form again appeared. It entered him for just a heartbeat, then recoiled from him. We realized in that instant that we had been deceived. This was Navae's vengeful ghost.

I swung at it, but my sword passed through its insubstantial form. It disappeared, and in its place came the largest spider I have ever seen. Westwind dashed from the room while Wrye immediately shot it, and Kobort missed being bitten by a hair's breadth. The paladin stood his ground and blessed us against the evil we fought; Kespin's song heartened us and we focused on our assailants. The spider phased out and Navae's ghost appeared again just in time for Westwind to return and rush it with Tarien's thinblade.

The ghost disappeared again, but left his spider to keep us busy. I cannot express how desperate it is to fight an opponent who can blink in, attack and be gone again before you can strike back. Westwind, Wrye and Kespin finally caught it as it went for Kobort and struck it down in a pool of ichor.

We shoved the corpse out of the room and Wrye and I went to explore some of the other houses. I started down the ladder when something pushed, hard, and I lost my grip. The fall knocked the wind out of me, but above I heard shouts -- the ghost had returned. By the time I got back up the ladder, it was gone again. Kobort had again resisted it as it entered him and it was unable to affect him.

We tried exploring again. This time we held tight to the walkway ropes as we crossed the open space between the trees. Wrye yelped and braced himself on the bridge as the ghost tried to push him off, but then it came at me again, invisible and determined. My grip on the rope was not enough to save me another fall. I am growing tired of falling out of trees.

Nothing cushioned my fall, but no bones were too badly cracked that I could not get up and draw my sword. Kobort was already on his way down the ladder with the chest in his backpack. I yelled a warning, but the ghost appeared at that instant. Yet again it tried to sink into the paladin's body and for the third and final time it failed.

Kobort was nearly to the bottom of the ladder and now the ghost was within reach. My sword flamed and I swung in a great arc to slice through the apparition. Kobort had his sword in hand and thrust, and the poltergeist wailed, shriveled and dispersed.

We have set up camp in Reven's house for the night. Wrye tried to borrow Tarien's leaf armor but found it to be too large, so Kespin uses it instead as he looks through Reven's library in search of any knowledge of the Galadiir. So far we have seen no more spiders or ghosts, but we remain on guard.

Richfest 7, 574 CY: Aniel

When morning came, Kobort performed a ritual augury in the hope that we might learn the best course of action in Aniel. We were convinced by this point that the people of Aniel were simply invisible, perhaps unwilling shadows like the ghost. "Where I go, you will soon join me", cursed Navae at his death. We thought perhaps, like him, they became unwilling ghosts.

Kobort did not reveal any answer he received from Heironeous, but instead went to the chest and opened it. He placed his hand on the Galadiir, the magical emerald-green gem that houses the unknown power. Even the dwarves would be astonished to see the workmanship of the Galadiir gem -- not a flaw to be detected anywhere within, the facets shaped to draw the light inward into an otherworldly glow which was only enhanced by the magic with which it was imbued.

He took a breath, and spoke. The Galadiir glowed brightly at his words; then it faded, its magic gone. Around us, gathered expectantly, the elves of Aniel phased, translucent at first and then quite solid and real, into view. Suddenly, the room erupted in joyful elvish conversation all talking excitedly at once. Some wept. The curse of Aniel was broken.

The real Tarien stepped forward then. First he expressed his gratitude, and then as we had the chance to speak more at length, he filled in the rest of the story for us.

The Galadiir was kept by Reven's family for the generations since it was made for use against the Dark Elves. He himself had descended from the great wizards of elven past: they had been the ones to create the gem, and he above any had an understanding of its power. His apprentice was Navae. Unbeknownst to any in the village he had fallen to the worship of Lolth, the goddess of the dark elves and of spiders. In his greed, he sought the Galadiir with only the first glimmer of understanding. Had Kobort not fought him off as he held the gem, we cannot guess what evils he might have wrought.

Navae had trapped all the elves of Aniel in the ethereal plane, the realm of ghosts. Separated from the real world, all they could do was watch and hope as we came into the town: it was they who we had felt watching us. Several times they had tried to kill Navae since he had trapped them, but they could not defeat him. Many elves died on the ethereal plane and did not return with the breaking of the curse.

Tarien was able to tell us only a fragment of old lore about the ruins deeper into the Menowood, and only that it is an ancient evil. None in Aniel go there.

He offered us each a reward on behalf of Aniel. Kobort, acting as a cleric and paladin of Heironeous, refused any reward. Kespin took the opportunity to return Alan's belongings to Tarien and did not request anything either; however, he was not unhappy with the gift of a finely-made set of elven panpipes. I have only a few healing draughts, seeing how useful the one was on our way in, and with luck they will keep us alive long enough to see others freed from evil's influence.

Westwind will be satisfied for some time with the amount of waybread he received, and Wrye was granted a suit of leaf armor like that he admired. Each of us with a bow now has several superior arrows, and Wrye has found the magic arrow that belonged to Alan Claiborne. We were allowed to keep the scrolls from Reven's study, a boon we had not expected or asked for, but they will be very useful.

Best of all, Tarien has offered to guide us back out of the Menowood.

Reaping 3, 574 CY: Seblingham

We stayed in Aniel overnight and enjoyed a celebratory meal. Because the town had been deserted for several weeks, there was not much food that was still fresh, but it made little difference to those folk or to us. In the morning we set out on the elves' own trail and in only a few hours we had reached the edge of the wood and were back on the road to Seblingham. A few hours! It took us days to find our way to a place only a few hours away. Wrye has taken the ribbing well.

We will check in at the temple to see how they are faring, and then we must move on. We must soon track the snake cult in Pawford and perhaps beyond to rid the area of their evil, and they are certainly not the only opportunity for us. On the road, we discussed taking a more formal name for our band of adventurers, as motley a bunch as we may be. We have decided to call ourselves the Swords of Sunndi.

Here endeth the session, as excerpted and translated from the journal of Mike.