Temperature: 22.2°F to 47.3°F
Wind: Light air (E)(1-3 MPH | 1-3 KN)
Precipitation: None
Clouds: Clear
From the stories of Slash the Bard
Also called: The Rod of Law, The Unmaking Rod, The False Binding
Each recovered segment pulses with dark energy and ancient runes, whispering to its bearer. When assembled, the Rod does not simply bind chaos—it draws it forth, tempting mortals to break the barrier between planes and summon what should remain buried in the void.
Its reputation as an object of Law is now tainted. In the right—or wrong—hands, the completed rod could be used to shatter the seals of the Abyss, unleashing the Elder Elemental Eye from its prison.
I'm Sorry Did We Interrupt The Human Sacrifice? Alternate Title: Rods And Tentacles
What games are these Abbey Cultist up too? First we fight the Sons of Kyuss and then we run into more tentacles and another new type of undead. Rods and Tentacles just the way we like it. Spicy indeed!
However, starting to worry about the Ranger carrying this bizarre contraption! The more parts of the Rod we find the stronger it gets. At some point it will take over his mind.
Dixon Lumlir Dwarf of the Toy Makers Guild
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
Coldeven 21, 576 CY - Dusk
Weather:
Cold, clear skies. Temperature: 18.7°F to 47.6°F. Light breeze from the north.
Cold air hung still over the Abbey like a breath withheld. The well in the courtyard, ringed in frost, beckoned with ancient hunger.
A chill wind stirred the trees as Dog paused at the stone rim of the well. Something was wrong. The rope was wet—recently used. A bucket dangled in the dark like bait. But it was not sight or sound that summoned the group—it was a voice. Not heard, but felt: a low, gurgling whisper in each of their minds. Place the rod into the well...
Slash frowned. “That’s not ominous at all.” He conjured a drifting orb of dancing light and sent it spiraling downward, illuminating only more shadow.
Dog volunteered first. Tying the rope around his waist, he descended, torch in hand, vanishing into the throat of the world. Forty feet down, he found a chamber: slick, damp, thirty by forty feet wide. The light flickered on glistening walls. The others followed, some by rope, others by plunge—Dixon with a grunt, Oleg with a splash.
The narrow passage that greeted them reeked of age and moisture. No breeze. No footprints. Only stillness, and the drip of unseen water. "Like something's been waiting," Dog murmured. Terry chuckled darkly, "Reminds me of a long, wet nine-month stay... I don’t recommend it."
The tight space made the fight brutal. Terry’s mace was too large to swing. He stabbed with a spear—missed. Dog’s torch flared as claws raked him, drawing blood. Oleg muttered arcane syllables and sent a magic missile arcing into the shadows. Slash shifted back to allow Tiger to vault forward, his fists like iron.
The creatures clawed and bit, but the party held their ground. Dixon moved in with a crushing blow from his war hammer, finishing the second beast. They stood panting in the torchlight, blood dripping, tunnel steaming.
Wounds were mended with spells and potions. Then onward—Dog’s torch revealing a hidden wooden door beneath the Abbey, half-rotted and swollen with damp. Terry pressed it open slowly. Beyond: a 50-by-50 foot chamber. Quiet. Undisturbed. A second door at the far end.
Steel met bone. Dog slashed with precision. Terry called down holy wrath. Dixon crushed ribs and skulls with a fury born of grief and justice. One creature bit Dog—its filthy teeth carrying disease—but he fought off the sickness by will alone.
The final blow came from Dixon and Terry together, holy mace and hammer smashing through the last of the cursed. Silence fell.
XP 500
****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!
Description: Cold Temperature: 22.2°F to 47.3°F Wind: Light air (E)(1-3 MPH | 1-3 KN) Precipitation: None Clouds: Clear