Tuesday, January 28, 2025

Chapter 2 / Episode 48: Resupplying and the Hydra

Players:
Dog the Ranger of the Gnarley (Forest)
Irving the Reluctant (Paladin of St. Cuthbert)
TerryOr the Cleric of St. Cuthbert
Dixon the Dwarven Fighter
Oleg the Half-Elf Magic-User/Thief
Slash the Bard

NPCs:
Zert the Hero
Spugnior the Theurgist
Lita of the Fjord (Slash's Groupie)

Coldeven 13, 576 CY - Late Afternoon
Description: Freezing
Temperature: 13.3°F to 37.4°F
Wind: Gentle breeze (S)(8-12 MPH | 7-10 KN)
Precipitation: None
Clouds: Mostly cloudy

Coldeven 13-14, 576 CY

A Bitter Retreat

Wounded, weary, and barely standing, the adventurers made their way out of the Temple of Elemental Evil. The cold air of Coldeven bit through their armor as they stepped beyond the defiled stones and into the overcast sky of the ruined courtyard. Every breath came in ragged gasps, vapor curling from their lips as they braced against the evening wind. Blood, both their own and that of their fallen foes, stained their garments, seeping into the fabric and hardening like dark crust.

Dog walked ahead, his keen senses guiding them through the treacherous landscape. Irving leaned on TerryOr for support, still weakened from his near-death experience against the temple guards. Oleg carried himself with a tired but satisfied air, his well-placed sleep spell having turned the tide of battle. Zert scowled at their withdrawal, muttering under his breath about unfinished business.

Nulb’s distant lights flickered like phantoms against the horizon. It was a den of treachery, but for now, it was the closest thing to sanctuary.


Resupply in Nulb

Before heading to the Waterside Hostel, the party took time to replenish their supplies.

At the general store, the shelves were half-stocked with goods of questionable origin—rations, torches, rope, and weapons that looked as if they'd been stripped from fallen warriors. Dixon grumbled about the outrageous prices, but in the end, coin changed hands, and the group restocked on essentials.

Their next stop was Mother Screng’s Herb Shop—a squat, crooked building that smelled of dried flowers and bitter roots. The old crone watched them with beady eyes, her gnarled hands moving deftly as she measured out vials of healing potions and medicinal salves.

"These will help, aye," she muttered as she handed them over, her voice like dry leaves rustling. "But beware—no potion can mend a broken soul."

Her words lingered as they stepped back into the chill of the evening.


Description: Freezing
Temperature: 13.3°F to 37.4°F
Wind: Gentle breeze (S)(8-12 MPH | 7-10 KN)
Precipitation: None
Clouds: Mostly cloudy

Return to the Temple

With dawn’s first light, they set off once more. The temple loomed in the distance, its wicked spires stabbing into the gray sky. Snow crunched beneath their boots as they retraced their steps, the air thick with the scent of death and ancient corruption.

This time, they chose a different path, veering into the left wing of the dungeon’s first level. The air grew colder, heavier with a presence unseen. The deeper they ventured, the more the walls seemed to pulse with an eerie malignance.

Then they found it.

A great bronze gate blocked the northern passage, its surface writhing with faces of leering demons. The metal felt warm to the touch despite the dungeon’s chill, as if something on the other side pulsed with vile life. The gate was immovable—too heavy even for Dixon’s mighty arms. Corridors stretched east and west, their depths lost in gloom.

A decision was made. Eastward.


The Domed Chamber & The Hydra’s Keeper

The air grew foul, thick with the stench of decay and waste. A great domed chamber sprawled before them, its polished stones marred by years of neglect. A mound of bones and dung lay at the chamber’s edge, the remnants of past victims. At the room’s heart, a thick iron chain extended from a metal ring cemented into the floor.

Then the beast stirred.

A hydra.


The massive, scaled horror reared its many heads, each one twisting and writhing, hissing with hunger. Thick ropes of drool pooled at its feet, sizzling where they touched stone. Its serpentine necks flexed, straining against the chain that kept it bound.

And then—the keeper emerged.

A troll, its flesh thick with scars, its guttural growl filled with malice. It clutched a rusted glaive, its wicked eyes gleaming in the dim light.

"You not s’posed to be here," it snarled. "You meat for hydra. Hydra eat. Me watch."

With a roar, the battle began.


The Battle Against the Hydra and Troll


Dog was the first to strike. With a practiced motion, he loosed an enchanted arrow, its tip glowing faintly with arcane power. The missile sank deep into one of the hydra’s thick necks, forcing the beast to recoil with a furious hiss.

Beside him, Lita plucked the strings of her instrument, her melody weaving through the chamber, bolstering her allies with an almost supernatural rhythm. Her tune was neither triumphant nor joyous—it was a dirge, a song fit for battle against a monster of nightmares.

The hydra lunged, its multiple heads snapping at the nearest target—Irving. The paladin raised his shield, bracing for impact as one set of fangs scraped against his armor, leaving deep gouges but failing to pierce through. Another head came from the side, striking low, but TerryOr swung his mace, slamming it into the beast’s jaw, knocking it aside with a sickening crunch.

From the rear, Oleg extended his hand, muttering words of power. Two crackling missiles of pure force erupted from his fingertips, each streaking through the air like spectral darts. They struck the hydra’s body with pinpoint accuracy, sending tremors through the beast’s massive form.

Dixon and Zert rushed the troll before it could flank their allies. Dixon swung his warhammer low, aiming for the kneecaps, and was rewarded with a wet crunch as bone shattered beneath the blow. Zert followed up, slashing with his longsword, cutting deep into the troll’s side. The creature howled, its guttural voice filled with fury.

Then Slash joined the fray. With a quick, precise strike, he drove his longsword into the troll’s ribs, forcing the beast back toward the wall. The troll retaliated, lashing out with its claws, but Slash twisted away, barely avoiding the strike.

The hydra, now enraged, lunged forward again, aiming for Spugnior, but the theurgist dodged nimbly, moving just in time to avoid its fangs.

Dog fired again, another enchanted arrow piercing the beast’s hide. Irving, recovering from the earlier attack, saw his chance. With a bellowed prayer to St. Cuthbert, he charged forward, sword gleaming in the dim light, and drove it deep into the hydra’s exposed side.

The creature let out one final, shuddering cry before it collapsed in a heap, its massive body twitching as death overtook it.

Across the chamber, the troll, bleeding and battered, swung wildly, but Dixon and Zert gave it no quarter. Dixon’s warhammer came down once more, this time against its skull, caving it in with a sickening crack. The creature slumped to the ground, twitching as its life force drained away.

The battle was over.

The adventurers stood amidst the carnage, catching their breath, their bodies aching from the brutal fight. The chamber fell silent, save for the faint, lingering echoes of Lita’s final notes.

They had won—but the temple’s horrors were far from over.

Monsters:

Hydra: AC 5, MV 9", HD 5, hp 40 (8 per head), #AT 5, D 1-6 each; XP 365

Troll: AC 4, MV 12", HD 6 + 6, hp 42, #AT 3, D 5-8/5-8/2-12, SA military fork (range 10', damage 3-10), SD regenerates (3 hp per round starting 3 rounds after being damaged); XP 861

Experience:

175XP each

Monday, January 20, 2025

Chapter 2 / Episode 47: The South Dungeon and Temple Recruits

Chapter 2 / Episode 47: The South Dungeon and Temple Recruits

Coldeven 13, 576 CY - Late Afternoon

Players:
Dog the Ranger of the Gnarley (Forest)
Irving the Reluctant (Paladin of St. Cuthbert)
TerryOr the Cleric of St. Cuthbert
Dixon the Dwarven Fighter
Oleg the Half-Elf Magic-User/Thief
Slash the Bard (absent)

NPCs:
Zert the Hero
Spugnior the Theurgist
Lita of the Fjord (Slash's Groupie) (absent)

Description: Freezing
Temperature: 13.9°F to 33.8°F
Wind: Moderate breeze (SW)(13-18 MPH | 11-16 KN)
Precipitation: None
Clouds: Mostly cloudy

The oppressive chill of the dungeon seeped through their boots as the group pressed deeper into the twisted halls. Each step stirred faint echoes, as though the ancient stones themselves lamented the horrors they had borne witness to. The air hung heavily, stench of damp rot and faint sulfur clawing at their senses of party. Determination mingled with a quiet dread as the adventurers moved southward, leaving the ominous earth temple behind them.


The Library

The party entered the remnants of a once-grand library, its potential treasures lost to fire and chaos. The acrid smell of charred wood mixed with the omnipresent dampness, and broken shelves jutted from the walls like skeletal fingers. Scraps of scrolls and books littered the floor, scattered among smashed furniture. Spugnior knelt, sifting through the wreckage with a practiced eye.

“These writings... they’re steeped in the ethos of Chaotic Evil,” he murmured, translating fragments aloud. “Deceit, treachery... and here, a mention of the sacred earth triangle and the ‘trial of earthy terrors.’” He paused, frowning. “It says the trial awaits ‘below or elsewhere.’ Cryptic, but undoubtedly dangerous.”

Dog leaned on his bow, scanning the shadows. “Dangerous is why we’re here, right? If we don’t stop whatever festers in this place, no one will.”

Dixon grunted, hefting his axe. “Let’s hope it’s something we can cleave through when the time comes.”

With nothing else to be gleaned, they moved on, their resolve hardening.


Corridor of Bones

The next corridor stretched before them like a grotesque battlefield frozen in time. Bones—thousands of them—carpeted the floor. Some were loose, gnawed by unknown predators, while others lay locked in their death poses, armor sundered and weapons broken.

Irving, his brow furrowed, whispered a prayer to St. Cuthbert. “A slaughter. So many souls lost to this evil.”

TerryOr crossed himself. “Their spirits cry for vengeance, Paladin. We must not falter.”

Dixon scanned the piles warily. “I don’t like it. Feels like something’s watching, waiting for us to set foot in there.”

The group hesitated, weighing their options. The corridor loomed, a silent reminder of the carnage this place was capable of. For now, they chose another route, leaving the corridor undisturbed.


Room with the Trapezoidal Annex


Dog opened the door, and a javelin of lightning crackled through the air, slamming into the group with a deafening crack. The room exploded into chaos as eleven guards and fighters rushed forward, weapons drawn.

“Hold the line!” Irving bellowed, his sword flashing as he stepped into the fray.


Oleg, sleep spell, muttered an incantation and unleashed its magic. Several of the attackers slumped to the ground, unconscious, as the spell took hold.

Dixon roared, his axe cleaving through a guard’s shield and armor with brutal efficiency. Blood sprayed as the dwarf pushed forward, carving a path toward the leader.

TerryOr stood beside Irving, his mace glowing faintly as he swung with divine purpose. “By St. Cuthbert, you’ll find no sanctuary here!”

Despite their efforts, Irving fell to his knees, the battle taking its toll. Dog dragged him back, pouring a healing potion down the paladin’s throat just in time.

The fight ended with the guards either dead or incapacitated. The group, battered and bloodied, regrouped.

“Are we even halfway through this place?” Dog asked, wiping blood from his cheek.

“No,” Spugnior said grimly. “And it’s only going to get worse.”


Guardroom

The guardroom offered little respite. The remnants of daily life were strewn about—dominoes, cloaks, watered wine—but nothing of value. The party moved on quickly, wary of wasting time.


Reception Room

The group pushed into the next room, where a bugbear and seven gnolls awaited them. The creatures snarled, weapons at the ready.

“Not another word,” Dixon muttered. “Let’s do this.”

The ensuing fight was brutal. Dog picked off gnolls from a distance, arrows finding weak points in their patchwork armor.

Irving, still weak but undeterred, stepped up to face the bugbear. Their clash was fierce, the room echoing with the sound of steel on steel. The bugbear roared, swinging a massive battle ax, but Irving dodged and drove his blade into the beast’s side.

When the dust settled, the room was silent save for the labored breathing of the party.


The Dilemma

The adventurers gathered in the aftermath, exhaustion written on their faces. Supplies were running low, and the weight of the dungeon pressed heavily on their spirits.

“We can’t keep pushing like this,” TerryOr said. “We’re spent.”

“We go back to town, we lose valuable time,” Dog countered. “Who knows what they could accomplish while we’re gone?”

Irving leaned on his sword, his voice steady despite his weariness. “We press on. Rest when we must, but we don’t abandon this fight.”

The group nodded, their determination outweighing their fear. The dungeon still held its secrets, and they would uncover them—or die trying.


Monsters:

Treasure:

XP: 330 Each


To be continued...

Monday, January 6, 2025

Chapter 2 / Episode 46: The Earth Temple

Coldeven 13, 576 CY - Afternoon

Players:
Dog the Ranger of the Gnarley (Forest)
Irving the Reluctant (Paladin of St. Cuthbert)
TerryOr the Cleric of St. Cuthbert
Dixon the Dwarven Fighter
Oleg the Half-Elf Magic-User/Thief
Slash the Bard

NPCs:
Zert the Hero
Spugnior the Theurgist
Lita of the Fjord (Slash's Groupie)

Description: Freezing
Temperature: 13.9°F to 33.8°F
Wind: Moderate breeze (SW)(13-18 MPH | 11-16 KN)
Precipitation: None
Clouds: Mostly cloudy

Chapter 2 / Episode 46: The Earth Temple

Coldeven 13, 576 CY – Afternoon

The cold wind howled outside as the adventurers worked swiftly to conceal their hard-earned treasure. Dixon and Dog took a moment to check on the horses, ensuring their survival in the bitter chill, while the rest of the group secreted the chests away in the ruined bandit tower. With their loot hidden, they descended once more into the darkness, where the horrors of the Temple of Elemental Evil awaited.


The Sealed Crypt

The torches flickered as the group moved cautiously down the dimly lit corridor. The oppressive silence was broken only by the soft echoes of their own footfalls against the cold stone. Dog led the way, his ranger’s instincts alert to every shadow and whisper of air.


They reached a bronze door, its surface etched with strange runes. Oleg’s keen eyes studied the inscriptions, tracing the ancient script with a practiced hand. "Looks like some sort of identification... maybe a warning," he muttered.

A sudden flare of magical energy burst forth, engulfing the corridor in searing fire. The explosion rocked the hall, sending Oleg and Dog sprawling. Smoke and the acrid scent of burnt cloth filled the air. When the dust settled, their gear lay in smoldering ruin.

TerryOr rushed forward, murmuring prayers as he knelt beside Oleg. "Blessed be the Cudgel, you’re lucky to be alive," he said, helping him to his feet.

Dog, coughing through the smoke, glared at the door. "If there’s a way in, there’s a way past," he growled.

Spugnior stepped forward, brushing soot from his robes. With a word of power, he cast Knock. A deafening snap rang through the dungeon as every door in the depths shuddered open in unison.

Beyond the ruined threshold lay a crypt of jagged stone. Dust swirled in the air, disturbed by their arrival. The burial alcoves were lined with eleven bodies—long-dead clerics of the Earth Temple, their skeletal remains still adorned with bronze rings set with jet. TerryOr murmured a solemn blessing, sprinkling holy water over the remains.

As they explored, Slash’s keen eyes found something more—a cloak, still intact, shimmering faintly with protective magic. He swung it over his shoulders with a grin. "I always did have a taste for fine garments," he quipped, striking a dramatic pose.

But their time in the crypt came at a cost. As they left, a persistent cough took hold of Dog, Slash, and Irving—a sickness clinging to their lungs like dust from the grave.


Ruined Storeroom and the Profane Retreat

The next chamber was a wasteland of shattered glass and broken pottery, its shelves long since plundered. The remnants of strange powders and herbs coated the floor in a thin, multicolored layer of dust.

Oleg sifted through the wreckage, pulling free a stoppered vial of sparkling red powder. He held it up to the dim torchlight. "Ground ruby. Worth a king’s ransom."

Dixon snorted. "If we get out of here alive."

Among the debris, they gathered amber rods and a small bottle of sulfur. The once-potent alchemical supplies had been left to decay, but their value remained.

The next chamber unsettled them all. The walls were adorned with grotesque murals, depicting the depravity of those who had once knelt before the Earth Temple’s unholy altars. A massive, glaring eye was painted on the ceiling, its gaze unrelenting. The furniture, though worn, suggested that this room had not been abandoned entirely.

"This place is still used," TerryOr muttered, gripping his holy symbol.

But there was nothing left to find—only the lingering weight of centuries of foul worship. They moved on.


The Earth Temple


The corridor led to a vast chamber, the air thick with an unsettling stillness. The walls, rough-hewn sandstone, seemed to pulse with an eerie phosphorescence from the lichen growing along their surface.

The floor was not stone but soil—dark, rich earth packed unnaturally hard. At its center stood a pyramid of dirt, with stone steps leading to the summit where a carved pillar loomed. Bronze manacles hung from its surface, not rusted with age but still foreboding. A bronze box rested at its base, silent and waiting.

Three doors lined the southern wall, but the central one was sealed with silver runes, their glow defying the darkness. Someone—something—had gone to great lengths to keep that portal shut.

Their moment of contemplation was shattered by movement in the shadows. The earth trembled.


From the very floor itself, massive forms emerged. Towering, faceless hulks of stone and dirt—four massive earth elementals—rose with a grinding roar, blocking their advance.

Oleg wasted no time. Raising his wand, he unleashed two scorching fireballs. The blasts detonated with a thunderous boom, heat washing over the party. But when the flames dissipated, the elementals still stood, unfazed, their forms absorbing the fire like dry soil drinking water.

Slash, undeterred, called upon his newfound power, raising his ring of shooting stars. Sparks flared into dazzling streaks of blue light, streaking toward the monstrous guardians—only for them to vanish upon impact, swallowed by the elementals’ bodies as if they had never existed.

"They don’t leave the chamber," Irving observed, shield raised. "They are bound to it, guarding something."

Dog wiped his brow, still sweating from the lingering heat of the fireball. "Then the question is—what are they guarding?"

Silence filled the chamber as the adventurers stood before the slumbering power of Elemental Earth, uncertainty clawing at their resolve.

To be continued…


Treasure:

A stoppered vial of sparkling red powder (ground ruby, worth 1, 000 gp)
A bag containing 4 amber rods (worth 25 gp each)
A small bottle of yellow powder (pure sulfur, worth 40 gp)
Cloak of Protection +3

XP: 591 each




Thursday, January 2, 2025

Hommlet Darker Session E - The Cave

 Players:
Tat Shen the Eastern Monk
Allister Greenleaf the fighter (veteran)
TOrReg the Half Ogre fighter

Fireseek 6:

Description: Cold
Temperature: 25.2°F to 40.1°F
Wind: Fresh breeze (E)(19-24 MPH | 17-21 KN)
Precipitation: None
Clouds: Gray, highly overcast

Allister enters the cave and is instantly attacked by a Yeti hiding in the snow drift. The group charges and are victorious.
Some time is used debating on going back to town to heal up as the battle was brutal. They finally decide to venture in. It was a good thing they did because, inside the cave is the Yeti's treasure in a broken chest: 
4000 gp
8000 ep

Coins lay across the room floor and a carcass of a sheep that had a brand on it of a local farmer.

The adventurers spend the rest of the day hauling out the loot and finding a place to store it with the assistance of a small cart and mule.

Chapter 2 / Episode 55: The Eldritch Horror

Coldeven 15, 576 CY – Afternoon Weather Conditions (above ground): Description: Freezing Temperature: 13.3°F to 38.4°F Wind: Moderate breeze...