11/30/2017 0 Comments Sunken Ruinby raalthor (Matt S.) 28 HSTL;DR: Ralthor joins a party to continue exploring a submerged ruin. Krolan's Recap | Vandil's Recap | Heliki's Recap | Fagan's Recap Sitting down at the tavern, Raalthor began working away with a whetstone on his greatsword. His clanmates had taught him well about the necessity of caring for his equipment. With a small smile (for a dragonborn), he hoped that the day’s exertions would make them proud. He’d joined a small crew of adventurers to investigate some sunken ruins, lead by the halfing ranger Vandil. Raalthor’s ancestral armor had been damaged during his time in the ice, so he looked for any opportunity to fund the repairs. But more important than that was to live. To exalt in the glory of life, in combat, in the struggle; to prove himself worthy of the Odinsori. The events in the ruins would certainly qualify. Vandil had previously burned away some moss covering one of the sliding doors found throughout the ruins. It’d taken quite a bit of struggling with a crowbar, but that door had slammed open. Unfortunately, the mystically-glowing moss covering the floor of the room beyond also contained some strange moving growths that made the most maddeningly unearthly shrieking he’d ever heard. Shriller than any Stormhorn eagle, he’d waded in with the rest of the crew to try and cut them down. Than the corpses came. Driven to a battle-rage by the shrieking, he’d unleashed his lightning on the shuffling undead. Vandil, the dwarf Krolan, Fagan the half-elf rogue, and the tortle warlock Hekili had attacked as well, joined too by the bard Namfoodle. Soon his foes lay dead—well, dead again—on the floor.
Searching throughout the rest of the ruins, as water began lapping at their feet, they had stumbled across some lizard-folk that stank like the ass-hole of Hell itself. With their clubs and spiked shields, they tried to stop his party, but after one lay dead on the floor, the other retreated, sounding the alarm. Going deeper and deeper, the ruins sunk deeper, and the water rose still higher. Krolan, Vandil, and Namfoodle soon had to tread water, but only after Raalthor had had to face a barrage of javelins. Wading onward with Hekili and Krolan—a marvelous battle companion, a dwarf with the heart of a dragon—they began laying into the lizard-folk gathered there. More came. A shaman, with guards. Spiky kelp grew at their feet, but the sleep magic of Namfoodle’s staff, combined with the amazing arrow work of Krolan and Vandil, soon put an end to the shaman’s mystic arts. The other foes quickly followed their leader, with the enraged slashes of Raalthor’s blade and some choice stealth work from Fagan. Yet more foes came, seeking to fight for their lives and whatever secrets the ruins contained. Raalthor, having fought in the farther room, could only attempt to hurl javelins at the foes, but Namfoodle’s amazing magic helped him survive until the rest of the party could finish the lizard-folk off. After bind their wounds, the party had returned to the room the lizard-folk had come from, and discovered some truly amazing treasures. Rods of many metals, gold coins, strange potions, and writing on the wall. Raalthor knew some Elvish, but couldn’t translate it. He’d later hear from Hekili and Vandil that it’d read, “The warrior of four seasons steps between worlds on the fullest night.” Searching the rest of the ruins had revealed only a few sylvan corpses, long dried and dead. The whetstone finished its scraping. The blade was sharp. Raalthor nodded to himself, as he turned to ask for some ale. This land was new to him. The very air was heavy with humidity, so unlike the mountains of his home. What those ruins spoke of, he had no clue. But he was alive. And through him, his clan lived. Tomorrow would be another glorious day to live as an Odinsori. That was enough for him.
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AuthorThe journal entries here are provided by the active player characters participating in the Detroit Marches. Archives
July 2018
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