Friday, May 30, 2025

Muspell Heavyhand, Deep Gnome Illusionist


aka Muspell the Immolated, Muspell the Unlucky, Last Son of Clan Heavyhand



Muspell Heavyhand is a deep gnome illusionist. He is hunchbacked and burn-scarred, and the left side of his face is paralyzed in a grimace. Lacking eyebrows and his head a web of scar tissue, Muspell prefers to shave off what little black hair still grows there. His slate-grey eyes are rarely visible because of the dark-lensed goggles he keeps on unless he is underground. To avoid stares in very populated areas, Muspell usually hides behind his illusion magic. He is gruff in all senses of the word but also sagacious. He is paranoid, neurotic, and has a short, violent temper, but is ultimately good-hearted and fiercely loyal to those who have won his trust. He speaks little of the Underdark, so full of shame are his memories there.

Muspell was born during the Festival of the Star Ruby in the remote deep gnome outpost of Eudialyte, far below the Kron Hills. Though birth at such a time is usually considered an auspicious omen, Muspell's life has been anything but lucky. Nearly strangled by his own umbilical cord, it was only through the intervention of a skilled midwife that he survived his first day. He was the only child of his family, and unusually happy and curious. He was always poking around the forbidden corners of his family's property, a sly grin on his angular face.

Muspell idolized his father Surtr, a mighty breachgnome who answered directly to the king. Shortly after his family was moved to the outskirts of the territory for a long term assignment, they were attacked by a band of drow. Muspell's father was on patrol when the drow came; Muspell hid successfully and watched from the shadows as the drow viciously butchered his mother. When Surtr returned, he vowed vengeance upon the dark elves and departed with his son in tow.

Muspell spent his adolescent years deep in the drow tunnels following his father in his quest for revenge. Father spoke to son but minimally, numb to all feelings but rage. A gnome possessed, Surtr provided but the barest essentials for his son's survival as he cut his way through the drow ranks. Eventually making their way to the temple of the drow priestess that ordered the raid, Muspell and his father stumbled into a chamber with a surprise - a chained red dragon. The dragon attacked instinctively with its flame breath. When Muspell came to, his body seethed with the pain of a full body burn.

As a slave of the drow priestess he'd come to kill, he often wished he'd succumbed to his injuries that day. Muspell was beaten daily and nearly driven mad by starvation, surviving only on carrion rats and mold scraped from the corners of his cell. The priestess loved to tease him about his dead father as she forced him to do humiliating acts for her entertainment, ranging from the sadistic to the disgusting. He managed to escape his cell one night while the priestess did battle with a rival in the nave of her temple. While sneaking out, Muspell stole a book from under an altar, hoping its pages might provide some nourishment for his aching belly. After somehow finding his way outside of the city, he opened the book. The eldritch tome contained profane secrets unfit for a sane mind, and would have killed him outright with its energies if he were not already half insane. The experience left the poor young gnome in a coma.

Muspell would not awaken until nearly a year later, back in the outpost of his birth. Though the book was nowhere to be found, its evil had infected his psyche, the images within burned into his brain. He was physically rehabilitated and adopted by a family friend, the illusionist Segojan Seamseeker. Unfortunately, Muspell's mind had been warped by his traumatic childhood in such a way that he exhibited antisocial behavior, eventually driving away even his would-be guardian. Forswearing all kinship, he threw himself into physical training, hoping to join the king's forces to avenge his parents. He was rejected, however; years of abuse and malnourishment during his younger years had left him stunted and weak. Broken, Muspell attempted to succeed where his own umbilical cord had failed by hanging himself.

He awoke with Segojan standing over him. 'Your sword arm may not be strong, but you possess a strength far rarer.' Segojan pointed to his head. 'That of the mind. Study under me and channel your pain into a power which will aid you in your future.'

Muspell saw no other path. He was simply not strong enough to be a miner or gemcutter, he thought. He accepted. He started his studies late, but by adulthood he'd overtaken his apprentice peers in magical proficiency. He simply had the knack. The confidence that accompanied this proficiency produced an emotion quite alien in him: confidence.

Muspell began, cautiously, to try his hand at courtship. The object of his affections was Frigga Seamseeker. Though Segojan carried many reservations about a relationship between Muspell and his daughter, he withheld them with the hope that Muspell and his daughter, who was herself troubled by mental illness, might find mutual comfort.

Frigga was apprehensive at first. Muspell was kyphotic and scarred from head to toe, marked by dragonfire and drow's whip. His demeanor was vulgar and uncultured. Yet, within him she saw the boy that once explored caves fearless and with a permanent smile, the boy whose only joy was to be nuzzled in the crook of his mother's neck. They married in the Temple of the Earthcaller, and for the first time in his life, Muspell wept with joy.

All seemed to be well, but for one thing. Months went by and Muspell failed to consummate the union. He was simply... impotent. Muspell came to realize to his great shame that he was only aroused by drow, the image of his former captor. Frigga tried to be understanding but grew impatient. She wished for children. Indignance turned into arguments and arguments turned into yelling matches.

Eventually, Frigga struck Muspell with a particularly strong verbal volley. Surtr was not dead, she claimed. He had been imprisoned as a traitor for abandoning his post, and lay crippled in the burrow's dungeons. She painted Muspell an idiot for his ignorance. Muspell screamed with the rage of his father and threw a stone pot at Frigga, barely missing her. He flew to the dungeons, where he found Surtr, missing an arm and leg and pockmarked with burn scars. Muspell dared not interrupt his father's labored snores, and forthwith journeyed to the surface, cursing his land and its people and swearing never to return.

Once on the surface, Muspell was taken in by the Temple of St. Cuthbert in Hommlet for a time. Muspell took to St. Cuthbert's teachings of common sense, though they did not come naturally to a gnome. He became a lay follower of the church, and began carrying a book of his teachings with him, meditating on those teachings when in despair. He also found a new purpose at the temple: to hunt chaos wherever it lurks.

Muspell now hunts monsters. He sees himself as a monster who kills monsters, and is happy to have found strong, trustworthy allies to aid him in that goal. Maybe, if he destroys enough evil, he will find the peace he so desperately craves.

Wednesday, May 28, 2025

War Crimes? The Clerics didn't seem concerned.

 I for one will be sleeping fine tonight.  We buried the clan brothers and Cannon Terry Or gave them a nice send off to the next realm.  The Abbey and the Witch who got away will be dealt with in the morning.  I was surprised to see they raised an Ettin.  Some new dark power must be backing them.  

They said something about a Spider Queen.  My hand goes to the brand on the back of my shoulder.  It must be her people.  Twice we have seen her servants called the Drow now.  I hope not.  She is worse than the Temple of Elemental Evil.  

More than just chaos she is TERROR and HATE!

Dixon Lumlir Dwarf of the Toy Makers Guild




Rangers of the Gnarley

The Rangers of the Gnarley Forest (WIP)


Description:
This association of 200-plus rangers has as its primary goal the protection of the Gnarley Forest. Its concern lies with the health of the forest: its members care little for the politics that may surround it, except as the directly affect it. While the rangers would not wish to see the entire forest fall under the control of the City of Greyhawk (or any faction, for that matter), it welcomes the assistance of the Greyhawk Militia in protecting the Gnarley and its dwellers.

This group is loosely organized. No individual is responsible for certain territory, but each is likely to have favored sections where he knows the residents and the terrain especially well. The group does not have leaders who give orders, but instead recognizes a number of Ranger Knights who meet every two or three months at Corustaith to exchange information. These Ranger Knights are also responsible for training younger rangers; the younger rangers swear a personal allegiance to their knight, promising to protect the forest, help good folk in need, and revere a good deity (usually Ehlonna).
Rangers of any level may join this group. A hopeful ranger must locate one of the Ranger Knights, undergo an interview process and a number of wilderness tests and offer several references.

Role:
The Gnarley Rangers are known for their efforts in protecting this vast woodland.
They monitor lumbering, flush out bandits and humanoids and safeguard the humans who dwell in the forest. Enemies include the orcs, gnolls and ogres of the Blackthorn cavern, occasional humanoid patrols from the Pomarj, and evil cult members who have been chased from neighboring states and now skulk in the Gnarley.
Generally rangers will are assigned to protect farmland and small villages.

Secondary Skills:
Required:
Bowyer/fletcher, forester, hunter, OR trapper/furrier.
Weapon Proficiencies: Required: bow (any), dagger or knife. Recommended: axe (any), sling, spear, sword (any).


Nonweapon Proficiencies
:
Bonus: Animal lore, survival (woodland). Recommended: Bowyer/fletcher, direction sense, fire building,
hunting, modern languages (elvish, gnomish, pixie, nixie, treant), rope use, set snares, weather sense.

Equipment:
No equipment is required to become a Gnarley Ranger, hut each member knows he is responsible for his own weapons, rations, survival equipment and other goods to provide for comfort in the wild. All rangers are given an oakleaf insignia which identifies their membership and rank in the group.

Special Benefits:
The rangers are a team that will come to the aid of their brothers and sisters at the first cry for help. They use a secret code of whistles and chirps that can summon aid almost immediately (if someone is within earshot). They also have a secret language made up of verbal and nonverbal cues. So subtle is this system that two Gnarley Rangers might use the code amid a group without the non-rangers even realizing that they are doing so. The system works well for communicating basic ideas and information about weather, forest conditions, strangers and so on, hut has no applications for abstract concepts.

The Rangers have a working knowledge of the secret druidic language. It functions as a thief's Read Languages skill (spoken word only) at 5% per experience level above the first. They also make use of a complex set of symbols that involve scratches on trees or logs, woven tree branches and marks on other forest plants to advise their fellow rangers of nearby dangers or resources.
It is said by some that these rangers have gained the cooperation of the wild animals from time to time. This most often involves animals dragging a wounded ranger to safety or providing a warning that danger is imminent.

Gnarley Rangers can gain hospitality from all the folk of the woodlands merely by showing their insignia. Those who are native to the Gnarley Forest are 90% capable of identifying plants, animals and safe fiesh water within the forest.

Special Hindrances:
Gnarley Rangers must stay close to the Gnarley Forest. They may spend no more than six months at a time away from the forest. For longer journeys, rangers normally seek the approval (they do not need actual permission) of their Ranger Knight. A ranger who spends too much time away from the forest without good reason may be asked to turn in his oak leaves.
Rangers do not get along well in cities. They may be perceived as easy targets for cheats and con games. They may forget matters of etiquette or be uncomfortable in the urban environment, resulting in penalties to reaction checks, outrageously inflated prices (“Hey, look at Jungle Jim! He couldn’t possibly know that an evening meal doesn’t cost 12 gold pieces!”) or other minor but annoying troubles.

Wealth Options:
Normal for rangers.
Since the Gnarley Rangers tend to live off the land and have little opportunity for earning money, they usually get by on much less gold (and have less need for it) than other rangers. 

Races: Any human except Rhennee and half-elf.

Level Progression:
As Normal
At level 7, a Ranger may go thru an ancient ceremony that which involves the drinking of the blood of a werebear. This allows the Ranger to change into a bear (usually brown bear) as a druid of the same level.  They also speak the language of bears.


Ware and were, friend is a greeting used by and to rangers of the Gnarley Forest, who have many friends among the werebears there. When used by an outsider, it indicates the courtesy to learn something of the rangers’ ways.

Oath:

My oath is to the forest, my loyalty unwavering. Until the last oak falls, I shall remain its guardian.



Monday, May 26, 2025

Chapter 3 / Episode 2 - The Watchtower Fallen


Chapter 3 / Episode 2 – The Watchtower Fallen

Coldeven 19–20, 576 CY

Weather:
Freezing — 21°F to 42.7°F
Light breeze (NE) | A few clouds | No precipitation

Players:

  • Dog, Ranger of the Gnarley Forest

  • Irving, the Reluctant, Paladin of St. Cuthbert

  • TerryOr, Cleric of St. Cuthbert

  • Dixon, Dwarven Fighter

  • Oleg, Half-Elf Magic-User / Cleric of St. Cuthbert

  • Tiger Wong, Monk of the Eastern Lands

  • Muspell Heavyhand, Gnome Illusionist





The road from Hommlet was quiet but tense, winter’s hand still clutching the land in brittle silence. The party made good time across the rutted road and arrived in the hamlet of Humming’s End before sunset. A warm stable, a hot meal at the broken sword, and a fresh riding horse—newly purchased by Irving—marked the only peace of the day.

But dawn brought purpose.

Guided by grim intent, the adventurers turned east toward the Watchtower*—a site they had once cleared and left to the care of Dixon’s kin. Smoke greeted them before the walls did. And silence—too much silence.

The Ettin came with the wind, crashing through the tree-line. Twelve goblins followed, hurling spears and curses. Irving’s charge was swift, his lance piercing deep into the Ettin’s flank. Before it could retaliate, TerryOr invoked holy fire—Flame Strike—and the beast fell, screaming as it burned.

The goblins broke.

Dog and Dixon gave chase. Oleg whispered an incantation, dropping sixteen of the fleeing creatures where they stood. The rest were dispatched. One lived—to answer questions.

“They came from the Abbey,” a goblin would confess later—after its kin had scattered and bled. The garb of the Water Temple marked them, unmistakable now.


The dwarves lay slaughtered. The construction, razed. Blood froze in the mud. Dixon knelt beside one of the bodies, jaw clenched. 

That night, beneath the fractured stars, the adventurers buried Dixon’s kin. No songs were sung. Only silence and the scrape of frozen earth.

The road to Safeton would have to wait. Vengeance had returned to the map.



* Note - Dixon purchased 4 kegs of stout to be delivered to the watchtower (possibly to surprise the worker), but with no one to deliver, the group decided to pay a visit to the watchtower since it is along the way.

Saturday, May 24, 2025

The Ballad of Harvey, Hare of St. Cuthbert

The Ballad of Harvey, Hare of St. Cuthbert


The grey and white hare charged out of the bushes, bounding onto the snow-covered forest floor.

Moments after leaving the bush a large brown hunting dog poked its head out, gathered its bearings, and sprang the thicket with an excited bark. The dog has found prey for the master!

Yeah, that’s me not too long ago. Huh. I now have a sense of time. No, I’m not the dog. I’m the hare. No, I’m not a rabbit. For one thing, my legs are longer, my head is more streamlined, and… just take my word for it.

RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN!” was the only thing going through my mind. My instincts had taken over when the dog started digging at my home. 

Escaping through another exit, I fled but unfortunately, I was spotted by the dog. 

RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN!”

Going through the brush gave me precious seconds to widen the gap with great leaps across the ground. Would it be enough to escape the jaws of the dog not far behind?

“RUN RUN RUN RUN...”

STOP!

The word surprised me!

Understanding the word surprised me even more!

I stopped, sliding a bit in the snow.

LOOK!

Again, obeying the word inside my head, I looked and saw a collection of twine and sticks.

“My mind came up with the term for it.

Snare!”

I was surprised not only to use the word – but to understand what it meant!

That thought passed when I came up with an idea… that’s a new concept for me, too!

Leaping over the snare without triggering it, I waited for the dog.

I didn’t have to wait long.

My heart was beating harder. My instincts were telling me to run, but I knew I had to follow through with my plan.

The dog slowed down and stalked towards me. I could translate its growls as being something like “Muahahaha! I have you, now!” 

Okay, maybe that was embellishment on my part.

I acted like I was trying to back away, as if I was trapped, and still the dog came forward and tripped the snare.

The dog’s eyes widened in surprise as it was hoisted up into the tree with a confused yelp.

I allowed myself a smile of satisfaction and took off on a run again.

The hunter won’t be too far behind.

What happened to me?” I asked myself.

Myself answered, “Explanations later. Running now. Head this way!”

That’s the human burrows! That’s like leaping out the frying pan and into the fire!”

Huh. I can speak in idioms. Huh! I know what an idiom is!

Safety is waiting for you there!”

I wish I could say I had a choice in the matter. But truth be told, I had an overwhelming urge to head that way.

I pushed on, leaping through brush and over fallen logs, passing by what may have been a safe haven.

 I could hear the dog give another yelp as he was freed from the snare.

I also heard what the hunter was saying!

Language!”

Apparently, I understand metaphors as well.

Running out of the forest into the clearing I spotted safety.

I just needed to get to it!

Pushing my muscles harder for the sprint in the open.

Behind me I heard the hunter crash through the trees – and the twang of a crossbow firing.

I slid to a stop, exhausted, sore, and awaiting the plunge of a crossbow bolt ending my life and this strange awareness I gained. 

My ears picked up the bolt whistling through the air and then…

Clang!

I looked up and saw a human, wearing a simple robe and carrying a mace.

His shield was planted on the ground behind me – where it intercepted the bolt.

“That’d be me supper, friend. How ‘bout’s you turn him over to me?” The hunter stepping forward, cocking his crossbow. His dog growling beside him.

The man standing above me adjusted his grip on the mace, and planted his feet, expecting an attack.

“This hare is under my protection and that of St. Cuthbert.” He released the upright shield stuck in the ground and pulled out a coin. “This is for you, so that all may gain in this encounter.”  Tossing the coin towards the hunter, the glint of gold shone off it.

The hunter picked up the coin, examining it. “It’s a lot of money for a stringy hare. You sure it’s worth it to you?”

“It is.”

“Well, then, I’ll be going. If I catch that rabbit out and about, I’ll…”

“Don’t.” That single word put a glaze of fear over the hunter’s eyes.

“I mean to say, I’ll return him to you immediately.”

“If that is the case, you will be rewarded.”

Genuflecting awkwardly, the hunter moved away, calling for his dog to heel. The dog, confused, growled under his breath as he followed.

The man watched the hunter go then picked up the shield and hooked the mace onto his belt. Reaching down, he picked me up, still panting from the evening’s excursion. He looked down and smiled. “Hello, my friend. I am Irving. I am the one who called you to me.”

Irving?” I repeated. Then I stopped. He wasn’t speaking out loud, but in my mind. The funny thing was, it wasn’t his mind-voice that I heard earlier.

You have become my familiar, and I thank St. Cuthbert for this boon. You are to be my companion, helping me, and I will protect you with my life.”

It certainly beats foraging in the winter,” I said.

He chuckled out loud. “Indeed. Let’s go inside, I’ll put on some proper clothes, and we will go share a meal.”

Turning, he went back into his quarters in the church and changed his clothes. 

Picking me up again, we went to a building that was filled with light and music and lots of humans. The old fear of humans started to rise as did the urge to run.

Fear not, friend. And well-met.”

This wasn’t Irving’s mind-voice. Nor was it the voice I heard earlier.

I heard a chuckle, and the mind-voice from earlier responded. “That was me, friend.”

Oh great! I’m a companion to someone with split personalities. I wonder if the hunter has gotten far?”

I could hear multiple mind-voices chuckling.

Then Irving’s mind-voice spoke. “Those aren’t from me. Those are spirits attached to the mace I carry. They are instructors, mentors, and companions. They are there to serve St. Cuthbert.”

We entered what I later learned was the Tavern of the Welcome Wench. 

Taking a seat Irving placed me on the table. A woman, whose shirt seemed to be barely hanging on, came up.

“Will ye be wanting that rabbit fried or fricasseed?” she asked.

“Neither.” Irving pulled out a couple coins, these being silver and placed them on the table before him.” My friend here needs a bowl of water and vegetables, fresher the better.  I’ll take whatever is in the stew this evening and… a glass of milk?”

“Bloody wizards and their familiars. Best be cleaning up after it yer own self!” she grumbled under her breath. Scooping up the coins she went back into the throng.

Starting to relax, I saw some movement in my peripheral vision. A young human was reaching for the pouch where Irving kept his coins. 

Irving!” I warned.

Got him.” Irving turned and grabbed the arm of the youth, who couldn’t have been much younger than Irving. Pulling the child close, “if you are in need, go to the Church of St. Cuthbert for aid. You needn’t steal from others.”

The child yanked the arm out of Irving’s hand and ran into the crowd, disappearing.

I think that was actually a halfling…” mused Irving. “I suppose we should come up with a name. I doubt you were given one by your parents.

Oh! I know!” exclaimed one of mind-voices. “How about… ‘Harvey’?”

Even better! How about ‘Bu…” The mind-voice was cut off by the others shouting, “NO!”.

What do I know about names? “’Harvey’ sounds fine with me,” I replied.

“Irving and Harvey,” said Irving out loud. “I can’t wait to hear the songs sung of our exploits!

Chapter 3 / Episode 5 - Down the Well