Dogs Song to Ehlonna

 Fairest of ladys- soft as the breeze

Watch o'r your faithful who watch o'r the trees

The evil and the wicked- oh come to me!

The Hands of Ehlonna will strike with great speed

The whole of the Gnarley our band has just freed

But the war is not won til the righteous stampedes

For now the dark clouds- fade and recede

But the land and her people are still in great need

So come all her children- gather around

We watch from the tree tops- down to the ground

Chapter 3 / Episode 5 - Down the Well

 XP 500

To the Abbey Bandits - Thanks for the Treasure!

****Contents of Letter hastily written and left affixed to the Abbey Double Doors**** 

From Dixon Lumlir of Lumlir Bridge Saprisam Earldom, Duchy of Ulek.

Thank you so much for your donation of treasure to our journey.  Next time please stay and be a good host to us.  No need to run away and hide.  We will stop by again sometime.  

PS please repair the Statue of the Elf Goddess inside.  Dog is very upset, and it is in bad taste.  

One final note:  I understand not wanting to live down south with the orcs and trolls.  You are Elves & Humans after all.  If sincere peace can be attained?  I would speak to the Earls of Ulek and Elven Lords of Celene to grant you a small homeland.  There is so much wildland still available.  We must be able to fit you in somewhere?

Enjoy this rose till next time!  

Chapter 3 / Episode 4 – Beneath the Broken Altar

 Chapter 3 / Episode 4 – Beneath the Broken Altar

Players:

Dog, Ranger of the Gnarley Forest

Irving, the Reluctant, Paladin of St. Cuthbert

Dixon, Dwarven Fighter

Muspell Heavyhand, Gnome Illusionist

Slash the Bard

Oleg the half elven Cleric/Magic-User/Thief of St. Cuthbert

Tiger Wong, Kung-Fu Monk of the Eastern lands

Coldeven 21, 576 CY - Dusk

Weather:
Cold, clear skies. Temperature: 18.7°F to 47.6°F. Light breeze from the north.

The cold morning broke over frost-laced ruins, but the sun could not reach into the shadow-choked halls of the ancient abbey. Beneath its long-rotted timbers and weed-cracked stone, something vile still lingered.

Cartography by Greyhawk Grognard This map comes from his T0 module available his site.

Dog, the Ranger of the Gnarley, moved like a whisper through the shattered cloisters. Beside him walked Irving the Reluctant, plate armor gleaming faintly under his winter cloak, ever watching. The rest followed close: Dixon’s dwarven breath fogged the air before him like smoke from a forge; Tiger Wong’s feet never made a sound; Muspell Heavyhand grumbled quietly under his fur-lined disguise; Slash, bard of uncertain loyalties, scribbled in a leather book; and Oleg, half-elf of two paths, whispered minor protections into his hands.

Inside the bathhouse, a silence lingered too long to be natural. The first strike came not from man or beast, but from stone itself—a gray ooze sliding silently from a cracked pipe, its surface shimmering like thick mercury. Dixon’s hammer struck with a loud crack; stone sizzled and smoked as the ooze hissed in agony. Irving ended the thing with a righteous blow, and the slick puddle collapsed into lifeless paste.

Beyond that ruined chamber, in a mold-choked building, they found another scene—tables hastily abandoned, meat half-eaten, mugs still frosted with ale. "They left in a hurry," Dog muttered, kneeling to study the bootprints. A second story tower loomed above, its roof caved in like a broken jaw. They climbed, despite warnings. In the dust they found little—until Dixon’s torch poked a dark wet patch. It sizzled.

A shadow lunged from the beams.

The giant spider struck fast. Fangs found flesh. Muspell screamed as venom coursed through his arm. TerryOr stepped forward to help—only to be bitten. He fell to his knees, eyes wide with fear, clutching at his throat as poison seized him. “He’s choking—gods—he’s choking!” Slash shouted.

Irving, silent, raised his blade. One swing. The spider split in two with a wet crack. Dixon fumbled for the antidote—Terry’s breath returned in ragged bursts. Alive. Barely.

They pressed on, shaken.

In the darkness of a shattered chapel, beneath a defaced statue of Ehlonna—goddess of woodland peace—they found it: a low hum thrummed beneath the altar. Dog approached, the fractured rod in his hand pulling toward the stone like iron to lodestone.

“No,” Dog whispered. “It’s here.”

They moved the altar, muscles straining. Beneath, wrapped in torn velvet, lay the second piece of the Rod of Chaos—cold to the touch, but pulsing with ancient purpose.

“The Water Temple was here,” Dixon said grimly, eyeing the signs. “This was their place.”

The rooms beyond confirmed it: secret stores, hastily abandoned treasures, and a scroll with forgotten magic. The group divided the coin, shoulders sagging under its weight. They would ride soon—north, perhaps—but tonight they camped in the ruins, watched by old shadows and quiet gods.

Outside, the cold deepened. The rod hummed quietly, as though aware of its nearing unity.

1800 XP each

A Man Named Dog

 

Mikhail Leafoot grew up in the northern most Woodsman village of the Gnarley. Living alone with his father after his mothers early death Mikhail learned the way of the wood and picked up leather working quite young. When he was 12 Mikhails father died during a Pomarj raid on the village. With this Mikhail went to live with his uncle, Harold, in the southern part of the wood. on his first solo hunt Mikhail was captured by a small Pomarj scout team. Without Mikhail knowing, he was shadowed by a senior ranger to ensure his safety. Due to this Mikhail was not held long but before his rescue they beat, cut, and permanently scarred his left ear. He focused on his hatred for them stemming from his fathers murder. Mikhail felt no pain and said nothing. This display of loyalty and his natural talent for tracking earned him the name Dog. Dog grew up and was trained with his fellow pupils Craddock and Vindryl and they grew close through the years. Rangers always operated in groups no more than three and the companions were to be bound by this grouping for life. Dogs training trio received their Oak Leaves at the same time naturally but only after they passed a test of courage and skill. A group of orcs was seen increasing thier patrols near Black Thorn Cavern and they were to track their movements and gather intel. Craddock, the leader of the three, lost his trail at one point and Dog had to fill the role of scout. This show of skill and perseverance shifted the groups dynamic as Dog emerged the most proficient of them. With the test passed they underwent more training and Craddock received the first solo mission.... investigating the happenings around the Temple of Elemental Evil.

After a time Craddock fell in battle with a group of like minded adventurers he met and traveled with. The news reached Ranger Knight Otis and he eventually sent Vindryl to finish the mission. Now the Rangers know without doubt that the Temple most be stopped from spewing its vile darkness through the Gnarly and eventually all of the land. In time the endeavor proved to be an undertaking not to be taken lightly and Vindryl also fell to the evil of the cults.

With a heavy heart Otis asked Dog if he would pick up the torch and continue the mission. In a show of the loyalty that earned him his name Dog accepted the task without thought. To him this was not only a welcome challenge but also how he could honor his fallen companions. Three became one and the one became hardened by the pain of his loss.

Breaking and Entering the Abbey!

 Breaking and Entering the Abbey!  

This is not what it looks like.  We all of us were just on our way down the road.  We all of us that is clearly heard Drow females calling for help.  That nice little goblin chap we ummm saved the other day told us about them.  That is clearly what we are doing here Clerics.  Umm yes!

Preparing for the Clerics return and inquisition into events that have transpired in their absence.  Nothing unholy about all of this.  Come on fellows get the story straight! 

Thieves!  Yes, thieves stole the 4 kegs of beer!  Those woods are full of evil!  We have stayed true to the moral compass and been exemplarily kind folk in your absence oh Great Cannon.  

Look your Paladin is still a good and true Paladin.  We did not corrupt him and change his class.  

Purely coincidence both Clerics absent the same day both Bards returned.  

Dixon Lumlir from the Duchy of Ulek

Chapter 3 / Episode 3 - Road to the Abbey

Chapter 3 / Episode 3 – Road to the Abbey

Players:

Dog, Ranger of the Gnarley Forest

Irving, the Reluctant, Paladin of St. Cuthbert

Dixon, Dwarven Fighter

Muspell Heavyhand, Gnome Illusionist

Slash the Bard

Coldeven 21, 576 CY

Weather:
Cold, clear skies. Temperature: 18.7°F to 47.6°F. Light breeze from the north.

---

The wind bit as the party rode north from the Watchtower, cloaks drawn tight. Just past midday, they spotted a familiar figure waiting at the crossroads—Slash, returned from his own errand. With a brief nod and a grin, he fell in beside them. “You lot look colder than a lich’s promise,” he muttered, rubbing his hands.

As the sun dipped low, Dog raised a hand. “Rider,” he said quietly. Dog moved forward to examine the noise finding a abandoned camp with the evidence of a single rider. They followed his trail northeast, boots crunching the frosted ground. At a fork in the path, Dog paused by a tree. “Here,” he said, brushing snow from a faint symbol etched into the bark. “Warning sign. My kin’s work—rangers of the Gnarley.”

The Abbey loomed ahead, black against the pale sky. Muspell pulled his hood low, covered in spare furs. “Let’s hope ‘humans only’ means what they think it means,” he grumbled. Irving’s white hare darted forward into the bush.

The Abbey

The gates were left open revealing an overgrown courtyard, the well at its center cracked but wet—recent use. Inside the crumbling bathhouse, the party scanned the damp, tiled floor. A dark wet spot caught Dixon’s eye. “This doesn’t sit right,” he said, lowering his torch. The moment flame met moisture, a shimmer cracked the air like static.

They stepped back, weapons ready.

“Something watches from beneath,” Irving muttered, hand tightening around his mace.

The Abbey had not been abandoned willingly.