Episode 5
Here’s Arnstein, updated to lvl 2.
Let’s find out some more about the Silver City (aka Khargor)
What we know so far:- It’s a huge city on a bay that overlooks several wharfs. For centuries it has stood here, a bulwark against pirates and raiders.
- It has strong defenses, because it can hold catapults and ballistae on its walls.
- It also has a substantial navy, though that is somewhat reduced..
- The wall extends out into the bay, supported on massive arches allowing ships through underneath.
Here's a random map I tweaked I tweaked for the city:
Silver City (Khargor)
It’s defended by Lord Tazok.
From some details I rolled up about him that didn’t get saved, I came up with this:
Fearfully / Warlike
Roughly / Dull
Ferociously / Abandoned- He’s a ferocious warrior.
- He has a fierce wrath.
- He is a man of action and prefers to be in the thick of action, and cannot stand sitting behind a table or desk in some council room when his men are dying.
- He used to be an orphan but was raised to the nobility when he served in the king’s army and helped protect the king when he fell from his horse in battle two decades ago.
- He’s in his mid forties now and starting to get some gray.
What else is going on in this city? I’ll use the MAG:
DNA strands, flying wolf heads, stylized sun with planets spiraling out, shattered glass, bacteria/virus, head with hearts for eyes (seduction?) (clown?) (disguise), serpent, man with two shadows, a cracked egg with a sunburst coming out.
Sounds like there’s an outbreak of some sickness or disease...? The man with two shadows and the one in disguise makes me think there are agents of the Darkmaster doing his nefarious work. Sun with planets, makes me think that Loremasters are present.
Doom Clock is now turned on. After every scene ending or failed skill roll, I’ll increase the Doom Clock. When the doom finally goes off, something bad happens.
... The tale now continues ...
They walked up cobbled streets. Above them on a hill, stood the inner citadel, strong and proud, and as yet, undaunted by the fighting going on outside. Behind them, the
Gray Gull floated next to a dock behind the Needle gate.
Darkness had descended. Every now and then they heard trumpets blowing and men shouting and a burst of orange light illuminating the street as something exploded.
“I tell you, we must see the Loremasters right away!” Parth growled at a soldier, a man of some rank it seemed, a lieutenant perhaps, Arnstein thought.
About the Guard:
This NPC tends to react to situations with Recognition.
This NPC has an Obligation to A personal Oath/Code in the form of Religion.
(I used this NPC Generator, just for the About: section on the results: https://chartopia.d12dev.com/en/chart/3564/)
“They’re all busy helping advise Lord Tozak in the defense of the city, sir. I have orders that they are not to be disturbed,” the soldier said.
“Look, we have something that’s important that they see, critical information...”
“About what?”
Parth’s roll + Lor:
27 = 7[d100]+20
Failure on the Charisma assist. So, No bonus for Arnstein.
Does Parth show him the rod?
(Unlikely | 1[d10]) No, and...
Parth didn’t answer, but just looked at the man and tried not to look like he’d spit nails at any minute.
The guard ignored Parth, “Be about your business I--”
“Please, my good man,” Arnstein stepped in. “We could’ve been killed out there. We’d appreciate you helping us in this small matter.”
Parth - Sea Captain
Lvl: 3,
MR: 16L,
AT: NA,
TSR: 10,
WSR: 10,
HPs: 45,
Attacks: +65 Melee / +35 Ranged,
CT: NH
Rog: 20,
Adv: 20,
Lor: 70
Arnstein’s roll:
99 = 74[d100]+25
Partial success.
Lieutenant Idair sighed and was about to shake his head when an idea sparked behind his eyes. “Would it work?” he asked himself and scratched his chin. “Look, I’ll do it on one condition. I’ve been passed over for promotion three times. Lord Tozak is there with the Loremasters and other advisors. If you could just speak to one of them about me, perhaps High Captain Rimkson?”
“There’s a war going on. This is hardly the time to--” Parth growled.
Arnstein held up his hand to forestall the tall sea captain and he turned to the soldier. “Look, I can’t promise results,” Arnstein said and clapped him on the shoulder. “But it doesn’t hurt to try. I'll speak to someone about you. Come along, show us the way! By the way, what’s your name?”
“Idair,” the man said. “Lieutenant Idair.”
(Scene end Doom Clock is now at 1. If the D10 I roll is under or equal then something bad happens.)
---
Rolling 1d10
3 = 3[d10]
The citadel lay north and east of the dock. It sat on a massive hill, manicured with beautiful rows of trees and bushes. Idair took them at a brisk walk east, past the massive public square east of the Wheatrow Harbour, then turned north. They climbed up the winding road of the hill. The beauty of the breathtaking park was juxtaposed against the destruction in the bay. Manicured trees shone in the lantern lights that hung between them. No blossoms yet graced their limbs; for the chill of early spring still clung to them. But still, to Arnstein, he could see the promise of potential beauty in their graceful branches.
Behind him, some distance away now, he could just hear the screams of the wounded and the dying. Much louder came the sound of shattering stone pounding the battered stone blocks of the walls. And with dismay, he saw that the smoke began to blot out the stars that desired to add their light to the beauty of Leafrow Park.
Regiments of soldiers formed up from the citadel and marched past them in the precise cadence of the well trained. They headed down towards the city walls and the docs, armor and arms clinking, banners on spears snapping in the wind.
Finally Arnstein and the others reached the top, and Idair led them through the citadel itself, a massive structure of huge stone blocks that seemed to promise to stand until the end of days.
Narrow passageways and stairs eventually brought them to the keep within the castle.
Lieutenant Idair stopped in front of the guard, “I’m here to see High Captain Rimkson regarding some important intelligence.”
Does he know the guard
(50/50 | 2[d10]) No
Does he outrank the guard.
(50/50 | 5[d10]) No, but...
“They gave orders that no one is to disturb them other than their personal runners.”
“They will want to be disturbed for this. These men have critical intelligence about the enemy that could help in the city’s defense. Now, let me pass!”
“You do not outrank me, Lieutenant,” and the other soldier smiled and straightened his uniform revealing his own lieutenant epaulets that glinted silver in the lantern light of the keep’s gate.
Idair leaned forward and slammed a finger into the other man’s chest. “I served in the Ring Islands Battle five years ago under Lord Tozak himself! I was there in the final charge that broke the rebels, and I have these scars to prove it!” He pulled down his collar to show a nasty scar that ran along the side of his neck. “Are
you really going to deny me? Or do I need to get my writ of service and my medals and shove them in your face?”
The guardsman’s face went white and he backed away. “By all means sir, I didn’t mean to imply that--”
“Good! Now stand aside. I know the way,” Idair said and pushed past the other man. The guard stood aside, and Idair led them into the keep and up the stairs to the central portion of the keep, a building that comprised several levels in a utilitarian and defensible rectangular structure.
End Scene. Doom Clock is now 2:
3 = 3[d10]
---
Once inside, no one impeded their progress until they went up a few flights of stairs and reached the council room itself. There two men-at-arms stood outside the door in sturdy studded leather armor.
Halberds crossed in a clang before the party, and the two guards’ eyes grew tense.
“Hold!” one said. “Lord Tozak is in conference, and he asked not to be disturbed! You will have to--”
The doors to the council room suddenly slammed open.
“--dithering fools!” A large man shouted over his shoulder to a circle of perhaps two dozen men and women seated in council. The man was hulking, obviously strong, but even so, not as muscular as Arnstein.
“Lord Tozak, wait!” a woman’s voice called out.
The man ignored her. “I’ll not waste another minute sitting in ease and comfort here, when men of my city,” he pounded his chest, “are dying upon our walls! I’d rather fight and die beside them then sit in council and with fools! Out of my way!” he scowled down at the men-at-arms and the trio of newcomers before the room’s doors.
Idair nearly fainted in front of him. Arnstein stepped to the side and pulled Idair back with him.
Arnstein caught a glimpse of the nobles and advisors that sat around a huge circular marble table. Some looked about in dismay, some with pleased smiles, some with calculating glances.
Does Arnstein intrigue him enough to make Arnstein stop? Arnstein is quite heroic looking with a Brawn of 100 and then some.
(Somewhat Likely | 4[d10]) No, but...
He did look over his shoulder and his gaze lingered on Arnstein a moment. He gave Arnstein a nod, warrior to warrior, and then Lord Tozak continued to march down the passageway.
Is the conference breaking up?
(Likely | 9[d10]) Yes
“Lady Shuannér,” an old man with a gray beard shook his head with a sigh and stood, gathering map and scrolls. “Let him go.”
The woman he spoke to stood tall, proud, and fair, with a beauty and bearing that outclassed any displayed by any other woman Arnstein and Parth had ever seen.
She seemed oblivious to the jealous glances given by many of the women who brushed passed her as they left the council chamber, nor of the eyes of men that lingered on her who also moved past.
Graceful and elegant, she stared down the hallway in the direction Lord Tozak went, and her eyes flashed in anger. They reminded Arnstein of the color of the sea when a storm slashes the green water with bolts of fire and heat. Her shoulder-length auburn hair hung over one shoulder in a simple braid. Small pointed ears could be seen.
Has he met an elf before?
(50/50 | 3[d10]) No
An elf!
He had never seen one, but he had heard stories.
Yet this figure who stood before him seemed to have walked right out of a story. She wore lamellar armor, its overlaid plates shone with polish, and the silver filigree spoke of masterful artistry and matched the falchion belted to her waste.
But on her back, an even more graceful work of art hung, its own beauty clothed in a white leather scabbard embossed with sun patterns.
Only an inch of the blade was exposed and from that, it seemed to glow with a white hue. The pommel was of a dark hard-wood unfamiliar to Arnstein but seemed a matching color for the woman’s hair.
Inlaid in the pommel, a series of shining blue sapphires, refracted the light in shimmering shades of blue. The artistry of this blade was as unmistakable as the beauty of its bearer.
Idair, Parth, and Arnstein both stood with mouths agape at the beauty and artistry that stood before them.
“Will he do nothing then?” Shuannér said in a melodic voice and whirled back to face the man. “A foul creature moves through his own lands, yet even knowing this, Lord Tozak does nothing! He’ll not even send one patrol!”
“The battle is here, at our own gates” the old man sighed and shook his head. “Not in the mountains to the north. I’m sure you can understand why he needs his soldiers here.”
Cultures roll to see if Arnstein recognizes anything about her?
44 = 34[d100]+10
Failure.
Songs and Tales
26 = 11[d100]+15
Failure
Doom Clock is now 4.
7 = 7[d10]
“Milady,” Arnstein said with deep respect. The scent of rosewater from her skin made him scratch at his unshaven skin and he couldn’t help but detect the scent of fish on himself.
He pressed on. “I would know, who is this creature you speak of, and would it, by chance, have ought to do with the Thunderpeaks to the north?”
“How do you know about that?” she said, her sea-green eyes watching him, weighing him with a sudden intensity.
“And who are you?” the old man asked, keen eyes squinting up at Arnstein, juggling the bundle of scrolls.
“A friend of all free people,” Arnstein answered the old man with some vagueness. “Let me help you with those,” he offered and took some of the scrolls from the man.
“Ah... my thanks,” the old man said, and some of the gruffness left his voice.
“I assume you are one of the Loremasters?”
(Likely | 9[d10]) Yes
“I am Loremaster Coamr,” he said slowly.
“That is well. Might we sit down somewhere in private? My friend here has something important to show you.” He nodded to Parth.
“Yes,” Parth caught on, now that he had his voice. “Something I found in the mountains milady. To the north--well, not I exactly, but my crew--well, not my crew, but miners who work for me, well not for me, but with me and...” his voice trailed off.
“Well,” Loremaster Coamr began, “my meeting has ended early, so yes, I do have some time, I suppose. I certainly won’t be much help fighting off an invading army, so I can’t very well advise Lord Tozak the castle wall, can I? Very well, very well. Come with me.”
Coamr led them to another room on the same floor as the council room. Arnstein held back and grabbed Idair’s arm for a moment. “Thank you for your help, Lieutenant. I haven’t forgotten my promise. I’ll put in a good word for you with Lord Tozak when I have the opportunity.”
Idair’s eyes stared after Shuanneer. “That’s fine...,” he said, as if in a daze, his eyes still distracted at the beauty and grace that flowed down the hall. Arnstein patted him on the shoulder, nodded, and then jogged to catch up with the others.
(End of scene. Doom Clock is now 5.)
10 = 10[d10]
---
Stacks of papers in haphazard heaps and scrolls in small piles filled Coamr’s room. A table creaked under the weight of piles of books. Maps hung on the walls and in map cases.
“Sit, please,” he motioned to chairs with more stacks of books and scrolls on them. “Oh... sorry,” he smiled ruefully. “I don’t usually meet with visitors here... in my ‘inner sanctum’,” he smiled and after huffing about, moved the small piles so that Arnstein and Parth could sit down.
Parth and Arnstein’s sat across from Coamr. Shuannér stood next to Coamr and studied the newcomers.
Parth dug into his bag and gently placed the strange metal rod upon the table between two stacks of books.
As before, the light pulled towards it, the shadows deepened, and even the metal lanterns that hung from metal hooks swayed slightly towards the strange device. The silvery runes stood out against the shadows.
Coamr hissed and leaped up, knocking over his chair with a clatter. “What is this foul device?”
Has he read about or seen anything like it before?
“Look at those runes,” Shuannér said and gently touched the cool metal. She stroked a graceful finger along the rod’s length and studied the runes.
Are they written in some lost archaic tongue?
(Likely | 6[d10]) Yes
(They’re taking their time on their skill rolls to study the device, so they’ll get +20 to their rolls.)
“An archaic form of elvish perhaps?” Coamr shook his head.
They spoke long into the night. Parth told them the story of how the device came to him. He spoke also of what befell Michi and the strange man in the bronze mask with the blood and the dead.
Coamr, consulted his books and tomes. Parth and Arnstein added any insights that they could.
Coamr looked at Shuannér, “Milady. You’ve traveled far and wide in your journeys. Have you ever heard of its like?”
Are the tales of this artifact and its making obscure?
(Likely | 9[d10]) Yes
Relative scale of obscurity. Higher is more obscure.
14 = 14[d100]
So it’s obscure but not terribly so.
I’ll say this imposes a -10 penalty on any Songs and Tales helper rolls.
Shuannérs Songs and Tales -- This will aid in deciphering what this item is.
92 = 32[d100]+60
And with the +20 for taking time, that’s a +110 - 10 = 100 Success
This will add +10 to Coamr’s roll.
Parth will do the same. He, like Shuannér, has done a fair bit of traveling.
102 = 72[d100]+30
And +20 for taking time, so 123 - 10 = 113 Success
This will add +10 to Coamr’s roll.
Arnstein thought on the legends he had heard amongst the Dwarves.
66 = 51[d100]+15
And +20 for taking time, so 86-10 = 76. This is a partial success but it still adds +10 to Coamr’s roll.
Coamr - Loremaster
Lvl: 5,
MR: 14L,
AT: NA,
TSR: 35,
WSR: 50,
HPs: 25,
Attacks: +20,
CT: NH
Rog: 20,
Adv: 20,
Lor: 70
At Coamr’s request, a young maid brought in cheeses and wine as they talked. Later, when the fire had burned down low, a pageboy added more fuel; later still, the boy cleared away their dishes and added more fuel to the lanterns; finally, when the gray of early morning gave way to a smoky dawn, another pageboy brought in a breakfast of piping hot sausages, steaming mulled wine, orange wedges, grapes, cheese and boiled eggs.
Some fires had started in the city, but were dealt with and the defenders still held the walls, though pressure continued to mount as the city was slowly becoming cut off.
They had all talked through the night... And Coamr had rearranged a half-dozen piles of books and scrolls and made new piles on the floor around him. Scribbled notes in fresh ink lay scattered across the table now as he consulted his texts for a translation of the text.
The runes are in an archaic language and deal in a subject of magic he’s unfamiliar with. This seems like -40 to decipher.
The books and scrolls that Coamr has access to will add another +10. He’s taking his time to study and research +20.
Bonuses from the companions +30, bonus from books +10, bonus from taking time +20 = +60 - 40 = Lore of 70 + 20 = +90 to his roll.
182 = 92[d100]+90
Success.
Does this artifact have anything to do with the Darkmaster as the “Coveted Artifact” per p. 227 of the rules?
(50/50 | 1[d10]) No,
and...
Yet the redcaps were seeking it. Why? What properties does it have, besides sucking in light and making shadows?
Bestow / Ambush
Vengeance / Victory
Is the script in archaic elvish?
(50/50 | 7[d10]) Yes
Was it created by the Darkmaster?
(50/50 | 3[d10]) No
Is it evil?
(Somewhat Likely | 9[d10]) Yes
Did the DM corrupt it?
(Likely | 8[d10]) Yes
Is it a threat to the DM?
(Unlikely | 1[d10]) No, and...
Pipe smoke hazed the air and mingled with the scent of the spiced wine and the acidic tinge of the oranges.
“It’s an item of power, certainly,” Coamr mused. “The markings are written in ancient elvish.” He stroked his beard and studied the translation that lay before him, comparing the characters with those of the ancient elvish. “It’s imbued with arcane powers. This inscription here around the base of one end, is a signature of sorts: Iaanar.”
“
The Iannar of the elves?” Arnstein asked, eating a bit of hot sausage and looking at Shuannér. “Even I, who has been raised in the deep places amongst the dwarves, have heard of him.”
“The very same,” Shuannérsaid in her melodic voice. “And you’ve heard of Iannar’s Last Stand?”
“Iannar’s Sacrifice? Who hasn’t?” Parth said, puffing out a plume of pipe smoke. “It’s a common enough legend. Even among humans, there isn’t a boy who hasn’t wielded a wooden sword in defense of the Elvenhome, dying in heroic sacrifice atop Dead Man’s peak fighting back the Dark Horde.”
Arnstein nodded. He too had heard tales of the Dark Horde, a massive army of foul creatures that boiled out of the north millennia ago, but were checked by Iannar’s stalwart forces in Jorpesla and finally atop the aptly named Dead Man’s peak.
“What does this device have to do with Iannar? Did he create it?” Arnstein asked. “I assume that’s what the signature means?”
“Yes,” Coamr said. “And these other characters under it form a subscription, mentioning his love and devotion to Frenwynn and to the lands of the elves.”
“Frenwynn was an elf maid who was devoted to Iannar,” Shuannér added. “Many poems and songs among my people celebrate their love. What isn’t widely known is that they sang songs of power together to thwart the Dark Horde and its leader, Ravkeen, Lord of Ravens.”
“Yes, and according to the markings on this device, together they imbued the rod with the spirits of three dead elven captains whose cunning had defeated Ravkeen’s first army half a century prior to Iannar’s Sacrifice: Lithon, Iallon, and Ribon.”
Arnstein frowned and stroked one end of his a trimmed mustache. “Spirits? More necromancy and from the elves?”
“Those three are heroes among my people! As is Iannar,” Shuannér replied archly.
“And yet,” Parth said. “To forcibly bind spirits to an object seems...wrong.”
“We cannot know their full reasons,” Coamr replied. “And it may be that they were willing. But one thing is certain, without this device, Iannar would not have turned back the Dark Horde.”
“Why does it pull in the light?” Arnstein asked. “I like it not.”
Shuannér gingerly traced a slender finger along the characters and then withdrew her hand, wiping it on her clothes as if to cleanse it. “It is full of Ravkeen’s Darkness now,” she said, a deep sadness in her voice.
“Then we cannot use it to fend off the invaders?” Parth asked.
Shuannér shook her head “Unlikely,” she said. “I fear the spirits trapped within have been corrupted by Ravkeen’s touch.” She stood and moved to the window, letting in more light. She turned and her hair glistened in a beam of early-morning sunlight.
Coamr nodded slowly, leaning back in his chair.
“This may explain why this device was lost from history for so many years. All this time, it was under that mountain, slowly being transformed into a thing of evil.”
“The wielder would have to have an incredible will to bend the spirits to one’s own desires,” she shook her head. “No, I fear that any attempt to use it would merely draw his gaze and his servants,” Shuannér said.
“Then let us destroy it!” Arnstein said.
“That may prove...difficult,” Coamr frowned. “I have detected several dark runes that have been etched in its surface that prevent destruction by typical means.”
“Can you not undo the runes?” Parth asked Coamr.
“Me?” Coamr laughed. “Not I. I am a Loremaster, not a Wizard of Dawn.”
“Then let us find one of those,” Arnstein said.
“You are been too long under the mountain friend,” Coamr said. “The last known Wizard of Dawn perished to Ravkeen’s assassins three hundred years ago. “If there are any, they are in hiding. Ravkeen has been hunting magic users for centuries now,” she frowned and Arnstein saw her hand clench around the window sill.
“There must be something we can do,” Parth said.
“What of the Orb of Silverdawn?” Arnstein stood and moved into the light looking at Shuannér. “Surely, that can help?”
Shuannér smiled at him and then looked out the window and blinked at the sun, “Legend says it was made by the First Dawnmage, Ingólemomë. She it is said was the first to be a device of great power, yes, and that it brings dark things to light, hidden things to the knowledge of truth seekers.”
Arnstein nodded, “In fact, the legends say it was birthed upon the Silver Bay itself do they not? Does anyone know where it is? Could we not then ask the orb how to unmake the enchantments upon the rod?”
Coamr chuckled ruefully and popped a grape into his mouth. “If one can find it. If it is indeed more than just legend and song. The most common interpretation is that the myths are just that...myths, and that they are nothing more than colorful references to the moon.”
Is there anything on the rod that references the Orb of Silverdawn that would give new information about it? Unlikely...
(Unlikely | 3[d10]) No
Arnstein thought of the lullaby his mother sang and of Maerwen. He would not leave her to fall into darkness, a dark bride to Ravkeen’s will. There must be a way! But hopelessness pressed in around him. She had been taken so long ago. Surely she was already captive, already tainted and lost and--
He slammed his hand into the window sill. “I will find it! I must find it. And not only for the rod’s destruction. There is more afoot than just this device. For some reason Ravkeen seeks a human bride.”
He told them of his quest to find Maerwen.
“But why?” Parth asked. “What does the Lord of Ravens need with a queen?”
“I don’t know,” Arnstein said. “Loremaster Coamr, what do the
less common interpretations tell us about the Orb of Silverdawn?”
Coamr’s roll:
Songs and Tales (-20 difficulty)
51 = 1[d100]+70-20
Failure
“A scholar such as I does not have time to chase after fables and children’s stories. I’m sorry, Arnstein,” Coamr said with a shrug, and began to gather his things. “I know little else. Perhaps the elven Loremasters would know more.”
Let’s see if she does.
68 = 28[d100]+60-20
Failure
“Very well,” Arnstein said. “If that’s what I must do, I shall.” He stood and picked up the rod. “You have my thanks, Loremaster.”
“Perhaps you should leave that here in the city for safe keeping,” Coamr said.
“A city that’s becoming surrounded by an invading force? I think not.” Arnstein said. “Milady.” Arnstein bowed, and he and Parth left.
(End of scene. Doom Clock after the scene and the two failures is now 8.)
10 = 10[d10]
I think this earns them 1 XP for unveiling info about the rod: 22/30