Time Drag(s)on

Vogir glances at his digital watch.

Are those approaching Dark riders ever going to arrive?

Thundering hooves

Vogir grinds his back heel into the dirt and adjusts his grip on his magical longbow.

The battle raging below, though fraught, seems under control. Orestes, Indigo and the new dwarf are handling the remaining ‘Dark riders’, leaving he and Zavia to watch for whoever’s approaching.

He’d assumed it was just the two unencountered ‘Dark riders’ but the crescendoing volume of the hoof beats was making him less and less sure.

Vogir’s earlier confidence has become a distant memory.

Who’s rushing toward them?

Can his martialistic friends finish their opponents before more enemies arrive?

A feeling of dread washes over him.

The clever ambush they’d set to kill a couple of the ‘Dark riders’ now seems more of a trap for themselves.

Vogir’s sweaty palms force him to readjust his grip yet again.

Help from above

Vogir nocks another arrow and releases it into the melee below. These ‘Dark-riders’ don’t seem so tough. (Especially when he can pick them off from range, atop a cliff-face.)

They were chasing two, but have attracted five of the lizardy bastards. Not really a surprise, as they’d not only pursued them but alerted them of their presence.

Still, five vs. five weren’t too scary odds.

Orestes, Indigo and the newly joined dwarf; Mjoorvitnir were handling the hand-to-hand fighting, while the gnomess; Zavia and he played interference.

True, his arrows weren’t bothering the Dark-riders too much and Zavia’s illusions were being breached…

Still, the battle was definitely going their way.

Two or three of these ‘relentless’ dragon-borns were already down and even the terminally reckless Orestes was still on his trotters.

Vogir’s smile falters though as he hears the thundering sound of horses hooves approach from the distance…

Dead cat bounce

As he looks down from the rooftop at the others slaughtering the two hags, Vogir smiles at the little gnomess Zavia.

Despite being in the ‘forbidden lands’, despite being pursued by the seven ‘Black riders’, he’s never laughed more or felt more happy.

The teleportation trick that she’d performed and he’d copied was hilarious.

Making the monstrous cat suddenly appear twenty feet in the air and letting it drop to the ground…

Twice!

The ‘poor’ creature never stood a chance.

Now, after a night’s rest in the relative safety of the farmhouse, they can press on towards the dwarven Mjoovitnir’s homeland.

When’s a secret not a secret?

For the first time in the fortnight, since his companions left Fewham, Vogir relaxes. Lord Rician has reduced his guard numbers to that of before the threat he’d made.

He’d kept out of sight, watching from outside the town perimeter.

What was weird though was the whole situation…

It smelled.

It smelled a lot.

It positively stunk!

A dragon in the form of a lady, mincing about pretending to be human while being served upon hand and foot.

A Lord feigning consideration for his people while living in luxury.

The flawed defence of the Lady Sybille being Theranthor’s daughter and therefore apparently keeping the Empress’ forces from attacking.

And finally, a secret that everyone seems to be aware of: The local nobility, the dragon empress, the guards and even the locals themselves.

Everyone knows!

So why wasn’t Lord Rician honest in the beginning?

Why the pretence?

Still, Vogir wasn’t fooled and he wasn’t to be put off. After weeks of waiting, of questioning visitors and travelers from and to the town, he was ready to act.

The mansion carefully cased, Vogir approaches stealthily and under the cover of darkness. Easily bypassing the locked doors, he drifts as mist through the corridors and under the cracks in doors.

Still, despite the hour, Vogir is too early. Lady Sybille is awake and still in conversation with her ‘Father’. Confident in his hidden state though, Vogir edges forward to listen…

The conversation is sweet. Loving even and worse, it seems sincere.

Lord Rician kisses her gently on her forehead before retiring for the night.

It would be easy now. Lady Sybille is completely alone but something stays Vogir’s hand.

Following her to her own bedchamber, she is met by an older women dressed in a robe of dark grey. She passably resembles a Black-cloak but her graying hair and lined face are unhidden by the hood.

The woman smiles when Sybille enters and the affection again seems genuine.

Despite not currently having a stomach, Vogir feels a sinking within it.

This woman is almost certainly the trusted Black-cloak who’d stolen the little wyrmling in the first place. That she was still here spoke of care beyond mere duty.

After combing and braiding Sybille’s long blond hair, the lady-in-waiting puts her to bed and retires to an adjoining room.

Vogir watches until Sybille’s breathing becomes deeper and he’s sure she’s asleep.

He could kill her now.

It’d be easy.

He could kill the nanny and Lord Rician too…

If he wanted to…

If it were the right thing to do.

…

An eerie sigh escapes Vogir’s insubstantial form and, like a shadow, he slips from the silent mansion.

Surfeit of Treasures

I've just taken a look back at the incredible amount of high-level treasure Kirk has given out in just the last couple of sessions.
It is truly staggering in scale. Although the most staggering is in fact the Layered Plate :P

Dokan sees that and claims it as his own, immediately.
He'd like the rest of Durden's stuff too, but realises he is not at all proficient in the use of a Bastard Sword, and that he rather likes the helm he already has.  If he could carry the shield as a spare, he'd happily take it, but he is burdened as it is and likes his Deflection Shield.

From Mags, he picks up the Orc's Eye Amulet and happily puts it around his neck. (Not claimed yet!!)

So a lot of stuff to claim yet (just look at all the posts marked "Treasure"!).

If no one wants Clayton's stuff, Dokan would happily taken the bow, and bracers and improve his ranged attacks. :)  Although, he feels it ought to belong to an true Archer - and he can only think of one ...

The Blue Prince: Mid-series catch-up (Episode: 1)

Finding themselves hustled out of the Inn they were staying at in Fewham by the landlord: Proper John (Vogir and Rudha-an had apparently already left.), Orestes, Dokan and Indigo made their way to Lord Rician’s manor house and demanded entry.

The visibly present town guards shadowed them but didn’t approach.

A small Gnomess: Zavia also joined the party as she was being hustled out of town as well. In fact all the adventures and mercenaries recently invited into Fewham to help save the Lady Sybille from the Black cloaks, were being ‘asked’ to move on.

After the aged servant’s initial refusal, Dokan and Indigo were begrudgingly allowed in to ‘discuss’ their complaints.

Lord Rician was rude and dismissive and, after asking the two adventurers to leave, called his guards. Despite Indigo’s pleas for calm, Dokan drew his sword and attacked Lord Rician. Although no match for Dokan, Lord Rician was able to defend himself for the few moments it took for two of his guards to arrive.

Indigo then decided to nip matters in the bud and, in a blinding whirl of action, killed both the guards and the aged clerk.

Indigo’s brutal flurry had the desired effect though, and Lord Rician immediately surrendered. He paid Dokan double what he’d originally offered the party to save his ‘daughter’.

Leaving the next day, in their own sweet time, the gnomess Zavia decided to join them, although they hadn’t the faintest idea what to do or where to go.

During the journey to the next major crossroads, Dokan spied a raven apparently following them.

He shot it with his crossbow and, confirming his suspicions, it disappeared in a puff of black smoke.

Making camp at nightfall, Zavia noticed smoke in the distance. Climbing up a tree, she realized that it was another camp nearby.

The stealthy monk: Indigo went to investigate while the other three of them prepared to defend their camp. Zavia proved herself adept with useful illusions.

Indigo noticed a group of orcs creep past him but carried on to their camp. Once there he discovered two young orcs on guard. He stepped out, unarmed and offering peace but, unprovoked, the two orcs still attacked. It was only due to his generosity that they lived beyond that moment.

The other group of orcs moved through the trees to the Party’s camp. There, after a short, shouted conversation, they discovered Orestes was one of them. An orc.

After a brief negotiation, the orcs offered to share some of their food in exchange for the mutual defence of a shared camp.

In the morning, the leader of the young orcs took out a piece of parchment, tore it and passed half of it to Orestes. Magically both halves repaired themselves and Orestes was able to read the entire message. It was in Orcish but the phrasing was odd, wrong. It was far too slick. Too savvy.

Despite being asked not to, Orestes showed it to his teammates…

CALLING ALL ORCS!

Are you sick of living in fear?

Fear of the Dragon?

Fear of the armies of Man?

The time is upon us brother.

The time to reunite the sundered tribes.

The time to reforge the great hordes of our forefathers.

Come find us in the heart of Fasel wood.

Help us reclaim what is ours.

In the name of Gruumsh, help reclaim what should be yours!

Do not share this information with men, elves or dwarves.

Do not confide with any that would see us oppressed.

The band of youthful orcs left in the direction of a nearby wood and the party continued on to the crossroads.

On the way Dokan noticed the raven again. ‘Was it the same one’ he wondered and he shot it with a crossbow bolt, just to be sure.

Again it disappeared in a puff of black smoke.

Arriving at the crossroads about a day later, they found a large wooden signpost. Its arms pointing in five different directions.

1) Fewham: Back the way they came.

2) Winterhaven: Back towards where a lot of them had originally started.

3) Stonefang: The land of the dwarves.

4) Gon Dulat: The largest city within weeks of traveling and….

5) Khajag: Apparently a recent but wealthy settlement.

It's here the raven reappeared in the treetops and it swooped down to perch atop the crossroads sign.

Although raising his crossbow again, Dokan didn’t fire and the nervous looking raven finally spoke…

‘Ad-veenturoors! Youu Arr all CAW-dialy enviited to tha proviince of Khajag to aiid tha Blue prince with a triiviial but preesing mat-ter. Thaare’s gold to be made. Aaaaand plenttee of it!’

With two possibilities and unsure what to do, the Party made camp.

Rician quakes

Lord Rician paces the floor of his spacious office. He seems to have spent the majority of his life within these four walls.

The brash ranger had managed to unnerve him. Was he a typical idiotic adventurer or did he really suspect who and what his daughter really is?

Still, he could take no chances. His two guards should be back soon with news of his death.

A timid knock on his door draws his attention back from his thoughts.

On being given permission to enter, a young clerk shuffles in.

Lord Rician can guess the news; his men have failed.

His two best men.

Turning to the clerk, Lord Rician gives the order to double the guard outside his daughter’s room.

Two in the (Am)bush

It’s the very next night when Vogir hears the lock of his door in the Inn being picked. Rolling out of bed, Vogir slinks over to it and hides in the darkness.

Instantly after the ‘click’ of success, two warriors rush in and stab at the bed.

By the time they realise their mistake, the lock-pick is staring goggle-eyed at the two swords sticking through his stomach.

The two warriors aren’t novices though and work together in their attempts to kill their unarmoured target. Vogir’s too quick through and weirdly hard to focus on in the darkened room.

The second warrior doesn’t have time to register his partner falling before he too collapses from his wounds.

After wiping the blood from his blade, Vogir checks the men’s faces. He recognizes both of the warriors as guards from his earlier visit to Lord Rician’s manor house.

Straightening up, Vogir smiles.

Initially he’d been suspicious of the Dragon’s true identity.

After his meeting with Lord Rician, he had been almost certain.

After this attack though, he was positive.

...

Now he can move on with his plan without any lingering doubts.

Lord of the Lies

Immediately after breakfast, Vogir strolls over to Lord Rician’s manor house. After a brief discussion with the guards, he’s allowed entry.

He’s kept waiting in the outer hall for a good fifteen minutes before an elderly clerk comes down to see him.

‘What do you want?’ the old man inquires rudely.

Vogir bites his tongue before responding.

‘I was hired by your master to rescue his daughter. I failed but was able to track a young, blue dragon back here. Your town is in danger.’

The old clerk opens his mouth to speak but Vogir hushes him with a raised hand.

‘Just tell Lord Rician. He’ll want to know’.

The grey-haired clerk hurries off and Vogir finds himself waiting again.

After another fifteen-minute wait, the clerk returns and gestures Vogir to follow him.

They travel past several rooms, several locked doors and several armed guards. Finally they come to a grand set of double doors.

The clerk knocks and after a moment, a serious voice answers ‘Enter!’

Walking a few steps behind the clerk, Vogir stops in front of Lord Rician’s huge, ornamental desk.

He doesn’t look up.

The clerk leans down and they share a quick, whispered conversation. The clerk leaves in silence but it’s still minutes before Lord Rician speaks.

‘My daughter is safe; no thanks to you. You and your mercenary friends failed and as such I owe you nothing. What do you want?’

His face set in an even expression, Vogir responds. ‘I’m glad your daughter is safe. We managed to break into the black tower and kill every Black-cloak present but your daughter wasn’t there…’

Lord Rician remains stone-faced.

‘And?’ he sighs.

‘But we did find a dragon.’

Vogir stifles a smile as he senses Lord Rician stiffen in his chair.

‘It escaped but I managed to track it to the outskirts of Fewham’.

Lord Rician finally raises his face to Vogirs.

‘I’ve heard nothing of any dragon’.

Vogir knows that Lord Rician is lying and more importantly he now knows that he was right about everything: Sybille and the dragon are one in the same.

‘Don’t worry though. I’ll find it and, when I do, I plan to kill it’.

Vogir hears Lord Rician’s chair scrape back behind him as he strides from the room. With his face hidden from Lord Rician’s view; Vogir releases his smile.

Hatching a plan

While laying in his bunk at the Dunn Inn, Vogir mulls over his recent discoveries.

The girl Sibylle had turned out to be a young blue dragon.

It could only be a hatchling of the blue tyrant herself.

The duplicitous Lord Rican had obviously found it as a wyrmling and used it as a bargaining chip against the Empress herself.

But how could that work?

Lord Rician must have given the Empress reason to belive that he’d kill the infant dragon if she sent any of her agents to retrieve it.

By its size and what little he’d discovered, the smallish dragon could be no older than thirty. Still, old enough to defend herself or just leave, should it wish to.

So perhaps Lord Rician was at least being partially truthful.

Perhaps, somehow, he truly believed he loved the creature?

Perhaps, somehow, the dragon truly loved him in return?

Then again, perhaps not.

The young dragon had been given a pampered life, full of luxury and privilege. Idiotically adored by the people of Fewham.

Exactly the kind of lifestyle that would appeal to a blue dragon.

Wondering how those self-same people would feel if they knew their ‘Lady’ was in fact a dragon, Vogir feels an idea forming…

Tat: 2

Back in town, Vogir sells his lesser magical items to the local vendor of magic and then seeks out the sorcerous tattooist to have his Demonskin tattoo embellished. The process is painful but will no doubt be worthwhile. The blue dragon’s lightning breath is not something Vogir’s prepared to suffer through again

Vogir upgrades his Demonskin tattoo: (10 resistance)

Chicken vs Pork

Silently seething at Orestes intercession, Vogir skulks from Black-cloak corpse to Black-cloak corpse, looting as he goes.

Although killing these servants of the dragon was pleasurable, the actual dragon got away.

Orestes swears it was the ‘girl’ they were sent to rescue and therefore, somehow NOT a monster…

Vogir suspects he’s correct.

Vogir suspected he was correct before the orc even suspected it himself.

Vogir just didn’t care.

…

Actually that’s not true.

Vogir was actually hoping the dragon was the spoilt little ‘princess’.

Avoiding the orc’s glare, Vogir finds a small chest of gold and an interesting looking helmet.

Vogir gets a Helm of Opportunity +2

All for Naught (gp)

Sighing with disappointment, Vogir rolls the dead opportunist adventurer over with his foot.

A tiny amount of gold, a magical backpack and a magic bow?

Is that it?

How could such powerful opponents have so little treasure?

Still, the backpack is useful and the bow is marginally better than the one he currently has.

Vogir gets a Longbow of distance +3 and a Handy haversack.

Hatred in the time of Dragons

Orestes looked around him in disbelief. Had it really come to this? Were the others nothing but brutal killers? This creature was cowering before them, helpless, and their first impulse was murder?

Orestes drew himself up to his full height, his swords gleaming as they were pulled out of their scabbards. He clenched his jaw tightly shut, remembering what it was like to be judged for who one of your parents were. He remembered how the teachers had repeatedly singled him out for punishment despite the fact that we was the one who kept being beaten up. He remembered looking around him for support and only seeing hatred in the eyes staring back. He was not going to let that happen to Sibylle. Vogir was no different from the bullies in school, and like them, he must be stopped. Orestes was no longer a scared child, but an armed warrior, ready to kill ...and ready to die.

The world slowed down. There was no moral doubt, no shade of grey. There was right...and then there was evil to be extinguished.

Sins of the mother

Lowering his bow, Vogir scowls at Orestes. How dare the meat-shield orc prevent him from firing!

This supposedly helpless damsel they’d been tricked into rescuing had turned out to be a young dragon.

Not just a dragon but the offspring of the tyrant Theranthor herself!

It may be cowering now but if it gets out into the open, they’ll be no stopping it escaping…

This has to end now.

That’s the way to do it

Taking in the group of adventurers in front of him, Vogir sighs deeply.
It was a good plan. A plan that he himself would have considered, had the opportunity presented itself.
These five brigands have been waiting here, just outside the scope of the Black cloak tower, in the hopes of wresting the rescued Sibylle from the undoubtedly wounded arms of whichever group was successful.
It wasn’t just a good plan.
It was a VERY good plan.
Thankfully Rudha-an’s insightfulness, coupled with his own cynicism had lifted the veil of deception from his teammates eyes.
Rudha-an’s spirit panther was about to spring.
It wouldn’t be alone.

Blackcloaks killed so far...

Dead friends with benefits

Riding back from the pine forest, Vogir feels his heart lighten.
Ghanash has gone on to the afterlife he so craved and has no need for any of his old weapons and equipment.
The deal he’d made with the traveling trader was poor, but it was better than nothing and his spare horse was still under a greater strain than she’d been on the way out.
Magical armour and axes weigh much less than even a fifth their value in gold.
Once back in town, Vogir seeks out Dokan, Rudha-an and Indigo to give them their share.
He could cheat them now, but frankly he’s not really interested in gold so why bother?
Unsurprisingly, he finds them all in the local tavern run by Linnea, a blond-haired, overly friendly, middle-aged widow.
The others find her fussing a little annoying, but Rudha-an seems to be loving it.
“Well boys, set up the drinks while I divvy this all out.”
The others smile and drink to the Dragon-born's memory as Vogir hands out his gold.

Dokan gets 10pp, 3,868gp, 2sp and 5cp.
Indigo gets 10pp, 3,868gp, 2sp and 5cp.
Rudha-an gets 10pp, 3,868gp, 2sp and 5cp.
Vogir gets 10pp, 3,868gp, 2sp and 5cp.

Torn between worlds

With Ghanash’s limp and dead body draped over his horses back, Vogir leads the trudging animal back toward town.
Death. He feels its touch even now. He’d not gone gently into that night. He’d raged against it and fought to return.
Yet…
He feels the darkness and loss still cold within his breast.
Suddenly the grey light around him grows darker and a chill closes in.
‘You can use this connection you know.’
Spinning around, Vogir sees the ethereal shade of Daelagor walking behind him. As usual, his other companions seem frozen in time.
‘What do you mean, my dead Fey friend?’
‘What I mean, you unappreciative human, is that you’ve breached the Fey veil and have taken an infinitesimal fragment of it back with you. What I mean, when I say you can use that connection, is simple: If you concentrate, you can let yourself sink back into it.’
Vogir stares at the dead Eladrin.
‘I allowed that to happen once, but death must have addled your brain if you imagine I’d let that happen again?’
The ghost of Daelagor smiles and raises his translucent hands in mock defence.
‘I said allow yourself to sink back into the veil, not through it. Trust me and just relax your grip of this reality. Just a little.’
Vogir steadies his breathing, lets his eyelids droop and tries. A feeling of stillness creeps over him. He imagines himself in both places at once and he feels his physical form slipping away.
Opening his eyes and looking down, he’s surprised to see his body still there, if perhaps a little wispy.
‘Just walk forward’ urges Daelagor.
Obeying the Eladrin’s request, Vogir gasps as his body seems to melt into shadows and mist.

Vogir’s 14th level feat: Walker in the gloom.
:)