Showing posts with label Nulb. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nulb. Show all posts

Monday, April 14, 2025

Chapter 2 / Episode 56: In Nulb, even the shadows steal from you.

 Coldeven 15, 576 CY – Afternoon

Weather Conditions (above ground):
Description: Freezing
Temperature: 13.3°F to 38.4°F
Wind: Moderate breeze (S) 13–18 MPH
Precipitation: None
Clouds: Gray, slightly overcast

Present Party:
Dog, the Ranger of the Gnarley (Forest)
Irving the Reluctant, Paladin of St. Cuthbert
TerryOr, Cleric of St. Cuthbert - absent this session
Dixon, the Dwarven Fighter
Oleg, Half-Elf Magic-User/Cleric of St. Cuthbert
Slash, the Bard
Crush, the Half-Orc Fighter - absent this session
Muspell Heavyhand, Deep Gnome Illusionist
Tiger Wong, Monk of the Eastern lands

NPCs:
Zert, the Hero
Spugnior, the Theurgist
Lita of the Fjord, Slash’s companion



The freezing winds of Coldeven 15, 576 CY, nipped at the battered party as they rode out of the desolation of the Temple. Behind them, the shattered halls of elemental evil brooded in the distance; ahead, the ramshackle sprawl of Nulb awaited.

Countess Tillahi of Celene and her consort, Sir Juffer, offered grateful words to the company.
"You have our lives," Sir Juffer said solemnly, pressing a silver-inlaid brooch into Irving’s hand. "May the Queen of Celene herself hear of your valor."
The countess urged immediate departure, unwilling to linger in the tainted lands near the Temple.

At the Waterside Hostel, the stench of sour ale and rotted wood clung to the walls.
Dog glowered at the common room. "If I wake up lighter in the purse," he muttered, "I'll burn this place to the ground."

In the smoky common room, two strangers were encountered.
Muspell Heavyhand, a deep gnome with shifty eyes and a wry smile, offered a bow. "Lost my dog. Maybe found new friends."
Beside him, Tiger Wong, a monk from the far eastern lands, said nothing—only offering a slight respectful nod, his hands folded calmly before him.

Oleg’s sharp eyes missed little, but even he noticed too late—the sword at his belt was gone. By the time the realization struck, Wat the bartender offered a greasy grin from across the room.

The party made ready for the night. Dog and Tiger Wong, unwilling to trust walls that whispered betrayal, slept among the horses. Tiger Wong boiled a small pot of rice, sharing none and speaking less.


Coldeven 16, 576 CY – Morning

Morning was a bleak affair: porridge like mortar, and beer sour enough to strip paint.

Over a whispered breakfast, Oleg quietly cast ESP upon Wat. The thoughts that came back were enough to turn even Spugnior’s stomach.
"Thieves feeding thieves," Oleg growled under his breath. "This whole town deserves to sink."

Mother Scarg provided healing scrolls with a grim smile, while Dog bartered for a stout spear from the village smithy.

Without further ceremony, the battered company mounted up once more and turned their faces back to the horror that awaited at the Temple’s gates.

Monday, March 31, 2025

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 (S) 13–18 MPH
Precipitation: None
Clouds: Gray, slightly overcast

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

NPCs:
Zert, the Hero
Spugnior, the Theurgist
Lita of the Fjord, Slash’s companion






The Temple stirred beneath their boots. Cold, damp, and pulsing with malevolence, it whispered reminders of ancient blasphemies—of sacrifices long forgotten and horrors sealed below. The adventurers—wounded, weary, and driven—moved forward from Room 225 into shadow, chasing the scent of a fleeing priest and unknowingly stepping into the gullet of something far older than fear.

Dog the Ranger scouted ahead with an instinct honed on the edges of the Gnarley. He knelt in the dusty corridor of 209a, studying scattered footprints where the air stank of rot and the walls pulsed with clammy humidity. A grotesque gargoyle fountain jutted from the masonry, flanked by a solitary chest that drew suspicious eyes. “Tracks head north,” Dog whispered—but it was Slash who knelt at the chest. The click of the lock was followed by something far worse.

The walls groaned. The fountain’s stone cracked. And from below, four glistening, unnatural tendrils erupted in silence.

The battle came fast.
Dog was the first struck—paralyzed, eyes wide as terror overtook him. Dixon the Dwarf charged to drag him free, his warhammer splintering stone—but a lash from the abomination crushed his side and sent him sprawling, lifeless. TerryOr, desperate, dashed forward with a vial of poison to hurl into the maw… but the creature struck first, and the cleric fell, unconscious and bleeding.

As the abomination's tentacles lashed out, Oleg stepped forward, clutching his holy symbol of St. Cuthbert and calling upon divine power to turn the beast — but the ancient thing from below proved unmoved by faith. In that moment, Lita began to play, her haunting melody rising above the chaos, lifting the spirits of the wounded and steadying Slash's grip on his sword as he dove back into the fray.

Only Slash and Irving remained in the chamber.
The bard moved instinctively, singing no tune, but murmuring a druidic spell taught to him by Jaroo. Vines burst from the cracks and wrapped the tentacles in a tangle of unyielding roots. Slash climbed onto the fountain, blade in hand, and carved at the still-writhing limbs. The thing let loose a shriek that echoed down the ancient halls—and retreated.

Irving stood his ground, shielding the fallen. Face battered, blood dripping from his helm, he stared down the void and whispered a prayer to St. Cuthbert.


When the horror fled, time resumed. Potions were uncorked, breath caught, wounds bound. Dixon's life teetered until TerryOr, restored with a sip of healing, lifted his holy symbol and drove the poison from the dwarf’s veins. Dog, too, stirred with a rasping breath.

No words were spoken—none were needed. Their victory had been narrow, and all knew that had the thing lingered, the Temple might have claimed them all.

They limped their way out of the cursed dungeon, up into the biting wind of Coldeven. The rescued captives, once too frightened to speak, now clung close behind, eyes wide at the fading silhouette of the Temple of Elemental Evil.

As Nulb’s crooked rooftops appeared in the distance, the group—wounded and worn—knew they had survived only by will, steel, and a flicker of divine light in a place abandoned by gods. But the Temple still stirred. And deeper evils yet waited.

The horror had retreated… not died.
The war was far from over.

XP: 1000 each

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

Thursday, December 26, 2024

Chapter 2 / Episode 44: "Nulb's Secrets and the Temple's Curse"

5 1/2 Hour Marathon Session

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

Weather Conditions:

  • Description: Freezing
  • Temperature: 17.2°F to 36.3°F
  • Wind: Moderate breeze (SW, 13-18 MPH)
  • Precipitation: None
  • Clouds: Mostly cloudy

Coldeven 11, 576 CY – Evening (Arrival in Nulb)

The party arrived in Nulb as the cold winds howled through its decrepit streets. Passing the infamous Waterside Hostel, they made their way to Mother Screng's Herb Shop. The shop, dimly lit and filled with the earthy scents of dried plants and roots, seemed an unlikely place for their mission.


TerryOr approached the elderly shopkeeper, who greeted him warmly but with a subtle glance that suggested caution. After closing the door, she spoke in hushed tones, revealing her true identity as Canoness Y'Dey from the temple of St. Cuthbert in Hommlet. On a covert mission to gather intelligence about the happenings at the Temple of Elemental Evil, she shared dire news: the enemy was amassing power within the temple. They had recovered a portion of the blasphemous Rod of Six Parts and were using it in a ritual to free the Elemental Evil trapped within its dungeons.

Y’Dey provided vital supplies, including herbs, healing poultices, and a few enhancements to their armor. She urged them to infiltrate the temple, recover the fragment of the rod, and thwart the cult's plans at any cost.


After thanking the Canoness, the group ventured to the Waterside Hostel for lodging. Paying 13 gold for a night’s stay, food, and stabling, they quickly found the establishment lived up to its rough reputation. Irving was pickpocketed during dinner, losing a small sum of gold, while Dog opted to sleep in the stables, unwilling to risk the dormitory’s safety. Those who stayed inside shared a cramped dorm room, setting watches throughout the night. Surprisingly, the evening passed without incident.


Coldeven 12, 576 CY – Morning (Heading to the Temple)

Description: Freezing
Temperature: 13.1°F to 34.6°F
Wind: Gentle breeze (W)(8-12 MPH | 7-10 KN)
Precipitation: None
Clouds: Mostly cloudy

The group departed Nulb, their breath forming clouds in the frigid morning air. The road leading to the Temple of Elemental Evil was bleak and foreboding.


[Box Text]


The road leading from Nulb to the Temple is rutted and spotted with rank weeds—thistles, burrs, thorns, nettles, etc. Some foot and animal traffic has been using the track, but it is not a busy thoroughfare. (Most traffic between these points avoids using the road, so as not to leave a discernable path.)

As you approach the Temple area, the vegetation is disconcerting—dead trees with a skeletal appearance, scrub growth twisted and unnaturally colored, all unhealthy and sickly looking or exceptionally robust and disgusting. The ruins of the Temple's outer works appear as dark and overgrown mounds of gray rubble and blackish weeds. Skulls and bones of humans and humanoids gleam white here and there amidst the weeds. A grove of some oddly stunted and unhealthy looking usk trees still grows along the northern end of the former Temple compound, and a stump of a tower juts up from the northeast corner of the shattered wall. The leprous gray Temple, however, stands intact, its arched buttresses somehow obscene with their growth of climbing vegetation.

Everything surrounding the place is disgusting. The myriad leering faces and twisting, contorted forms writhing and posturing on every face of the Temple seem to jape at the obscenities they depict. The growth in the compound is rank and noisome. Thorns clutch, burrs stick, and crushed stems either emit foul stench or raise angry weals on exposed flesh. Worst of all, however, is the pervading fear which seems to hang over the whole area — a smothering, clinging, almost tangible cloud of vileness and horror. Sounds seem distorted, either muffled and shrill or unnaturally loud and grating.

Your eyes play tricks. You see darting movements out of the corner of your eye, just at the edge of vision; but when you shift your gaze towards such, of course, there is nothing there at all. You cannot help but wonder who or what made the maze of narrow paths through the weedy courtyard. What sort of thing would wander here and there around the ghastly edifice of Evil without shrieking and gibbering and going completely mad? Yet the usual mundane sounds of your travel are accompanied only by the chorus of the winds, moaning through hundreds of Temple apertures built to sing like doomed souls given over to the tender mercies of demonkind, echoed by macabre croaks from the scattered flapping, hopping, leering ravens.

There is no doubt; you have come to a place of ineffable Evil. Still, it is most certainly a place for high adventure and untold treasures. It is time to ready spells, draw weapons, check equipment, and set forth into the maze of peril that awaits you.
[End Box Text]


As they neared the perimeter, Dog discovered tracks leading in two directions: one set of human footprints heading north toward the grove of usk trees and a second, more irregular set leading toward the temple itself. Dog scouted north, only to stumble upon a bandit patrol. Crossbow bolts whizzed past as a skirmish broke out.

The battle was chaotic. Dog fell back to the group, and Oleg cast a well-timed Sleep spell that incapacitated several attackers. Despite their efforts, Oleg was wounded, and Irving's horse was killed in a failed charge. The bandits were eventually subdued, with 19 dead and one survivor taken for questioning. The captive revealed that their base of operations was a tower in the northeast corner of the grounds, where they were tasked with keeping intruders away.


The adventurers pressed on, determined to clear the tower and secure a foothold. Inside, they found stores of treasure, traps, and signs of past occupants. Among the loot were enchanted weapons, potions, and valuables. They decided to fortify the tower as a temporary refuge.


During the night, TerryOr was ambushed by a drelb, its spectral touch nearly overwhelming him. The group rallied to destroy the creature but was left shaken by its malevolent power. On the final watch, Irving spotted a rock reptile scaling the tower’s exterior. He fired a shot, sending the creature fleeing into the darkness.

With dawn breaking, the group readied themselves for the dangers that awaited within the temple.


Treasure:

Short sword with a topaz pommel (total value 500 gp),
Hooded cloak of brown velvet trimmed with fur (200 gp)
The iron chest is trapped with poison needles, Inside are:
384 cp, 556 sp, 106 ep, 277 gp, 91 pp and Jeweled necklace (2, 400 gp)
Cloak of protection +1
Large pouch with a leather strap for shoulder slinging, containing 50 tiny pearls (base 10 gp each)
Short bow +1 and quiver with nine arrows + 1
Locked bronze coffer containing three potions: speed, extra healing, and water breathing)
Locked iron box, containing 800 gp

Monsters:
Bandit: AC 7 (leather & shield); MV 12"; Level 0 (HD 1-1, leaders HD 1 + ), #AT 1 or 2; D by weapon (longsword, spear, light crossbow); AL CE; XP 10 + 1/hp (missile firers 14 + 1/hp, leaders extra)

Leader (1): AC 0; Level 6 Fighter; hp 43; #AT 1; D 3-10 (longsword +1) or 2-7 (hand axe) or 2-5 (dagger), chain mail armor, shield + 2; XP 558
S 15 I 13 W 12 D 16 Co 15 Ch 17

Crossbowmen (4): AC 6; Level 0; hp 4 each; #AT 1; D 2-5 (bow) or 1-8 (battle axe); scale mail; XP 18 each


Drelb: AC 2; MV 6"; HD 5 + 3; #AT 1; D 3-12; SA chill, size change, SD magic weapon to hit, reflect psionics, AL NE; SZ M; XP 800 + 6/hp (see MM2 page 60)

XP:
1495 each

Monday, December 23, 2024

Chapter 2 / Episode 43: "Blood Moon Passage: The Journey to Nulb"

 Players:

  • Dog the Ranger of the Gnarley (Forest)
  • Irving the Reluctant (Paladin of St. Cuthbert)
  • TerryOr the Cleric of St. Cuthbert - absent
  • Dixon the Dwarven fighter
  • Oleg the half elf magic-user / thief
  • Slash the Bard - absent

NPCs:

  • Zert the Hero
  • Spugnior the Theurgist
Description: Freezing
Temperature: 17.2°F to 36.3°F
Wind: Moderate breeze (SW)(13-18 MPH | 11-16 KN)
Precipitation: None
Clouds: Mostly cloudy

Coldeven 11, 576 CY – Morning

The Blood Moon Festival is celebrated on Coldeven 11, the night when Luna is full just before the Spring Equinox. On this night, curses are said to be twice as powerful and the forces of evil are at their strongest. Fiends roam the lands, and human sacrifice is common. This night is held especially sacred by cultists of Nerull, but worshipers of Kurell also mark this night as especially auspicious for acts of vengeance. Goodly folk superstitiously guard their homes with horseshoes, holy water, bottles of milk, and iron filings.

The morning was crisp, the ground frozen solid as the group mounted their horses and rode out. The journey was swift over the icy terrain of the Kron Hills. The gentle breeze carried an eerie stillness, as though the land itself held its breath on this fateful day.

Late in the afternoon, the party encountered danger—a pack of six Ice Trolls lunged from the shadows of a frosty copse. The battle was fierce. Dog the Ranger took a vicious blow but fought on valiantly. Fire proved their salvation, and with determination and skill, they vanquished the trolls. Afterward, Dog studied the tracks left by the trolls, following them back to their origin. The trail led to a crude lair hidden among the frozen hills. Inside, the party found only filth and scattered bones—a grim reminder of the trolls’ predations.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the adventurers pressed on, weary but determined. The darkened sky was tinged with crimson hues, a fitting herald for their destination. They arrived in Nulb under the pale light of the Blood Moon. The village matched its reputation—rundown, filthy, and sinister. Ramshackle buildings leaned precariously, and the air was thick with the stench of decay and lawlessness.

Nulb awaited, its secrets lurking in the shadows, and the adventurers prepared themselves for the challenges that lay ahead.

Treasure: None

Monsters:

Ice Trolls (6): AC 8; HD 2; hp 8 (x6); #AT 2; D 1-8/1-8; SA: Regeneration 2hp/round; XP 60 each

XP: 72 each



Chapter 3 / Episode 72 - The Evil Cleric of Gruumsh

Chapter 3 / Episode 72 – The Evil Cleric of Gruumsh Date: Planting 4, 576 CY Weather: Steady winds from the west; salt spray on the air. ...