This blog documents our Dungeons & Dragons campaigns.
Our newest campaign generally follows the “Phandelver and Below: The Shattered Obelisk” book.
I use this blog to record the sessions in narrative form. The entries are written after play, based on what I can remember happened at the table. Disclaimer: our sessions are played with beers on the table to loosen up roleplay. This tends to impact record-keeping and memory.
My character is Roux Illomen, a Chthonic tiefling spirit medium who began as a fraud and ended up genuinely haunted. He survives on charm, bad judgment, and the ability to run when necessary. He is not a hero. He lies, avoids responsibility, and has a talent for making powerful enemies. The story is told from his perspective, with all the bias, excuses, and gallows humor that implies.
The story below describes our first DnD session of the new campaign.
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Gundren and I spent an evening drinking, reminiscing about the past. It was strange—despite everything going on, this was the first time in months that I felt like myself. The ale seemed to quiet the spirits, or maybe I had just stopped listening.
The next day, Gundren was up with the first rays of the sun. The morning light stabbed daggers into my eyes and brain; I had forgotten that dwarves drink amounts of alcohol that would kill most humanoids. Gundren still started the day with a hearty breakfast consisting mostly of bacon. The smell coming from the stove made me queasy, I had to run to the chamber pot and retched.
The dwarf’s associate, Sildar Hallwinter, joined us at the house shortly before noon. Sildar was a middle-aged human. I would have dared to wager that he was a veteran of some war fought decades ago. His banter with Gundren betrayed a friendship going back years. We sat down and over a cup of ale, that did wonders for my headache, talked through the plans. The two of them would join Tharden and Nundro Rockseeker at the new prospect site. I was to go to the Beached Leviathan and meet up with the crew Sildar had hired to do a supply run to Phandalin. Our group was to follow the High Road and take the Triboar Trail up to Phandalin to get to Barthen’s Provisions. We’d be paid ten gold pieces each upon delivery of the goods. That worked just fine for me; I got a way out of Neverwinter and got paid a handsome sum of gold to boot. We said our goodbyes. I borrowed some nondescript clothing to hide my appearance and make my way through the Blacklake District without drawing attention.
My luck held up for once; I got to the Beached Leviathan in one piece. The Beached Leviathan was the grounded hull of a ship, repurposed into a tavern and inn. The whole place had a pirate-ship theme; even the proprietor wore a peg leg, a hook, and a tricorne, with a skull and a parrot on his shoulder. Thank the gods working here was not my lot in life. The pirate pointed me toward a table at the back, which offered the most privacy. The rest of the party had already arrived.
A fiery-haired woman in gleaming armor captured my full attention. I had met beautiful women before. I’d met dangerous ones too. None of that prepared me for her. She took one look at me and decided I did not measure up to her standards. I felt weighed, found wanting, and dismissed in the same heartbeat. The dead fell quiet at my back, as if they were hiding from her gaze.
She had the beauty of elves; but her body had the lush proportions of a human woman. She’d be half-elf. I had to stop looking at her, before it became awkward. I focused my attention on two male elves sitting at the table with her. I realized my attention hadn’t only gone out to the woman because of her. It was the contrast. One of the men managed to sit at the table stealthily. In a full inn no less. His skin had a shadowy quality that was typical of the subterranean elves, called Drow. He looked like he could slit your throat the moment you blinked. But he was not the most enigmatic of this group.
The other elf sat out in the open, nothing to obscure him. Yet shadows seemed to cling to him, as if they bent towards him. Or maybe it was the light that fled.
Now that I had broken eye contact with the woman, the spirits seemed to stir and welcome him like a lost brother. Interesting.
He looked like a fighter. Bare, muscular arms, bruised knuckles, no marks on his face – only old scars.
I gave the group a sweeping bow and introduced myself with a flourish.
“My name is Roux Illomen. Some call me the Voice of the Elder Dead.”
I paused just long enough to let imagination do the work.
“I was hired to see this caravan reach Phandalin intact. If you want warning instead of surprises, that’s what I’m here for.” I tapped a finger against my temple. “I’m your shield against the dark forces that haunt the roads.”
The woman snorted. The two elves looked unimpressed. Two of my spirits sniggered. I was sure one was Asta, the little girl who never said anything.
“What might I call my traveling companions?” I deflected.
The assassin called himself Nox Gogghyns, which surprised me. I had expected a Drow to have a more exotic name—if that was his true name at all. The fighter’s name was Ash’tar. He seemed reluctant to give it, as if he were trying to stay anonymous. The woman called herself Valandra, and that was all the introduction she gave.
This group needed a drink to loosen up, so I bought a round of rum. Maybe this came from my dwarven upbringing, but you can tell a lot about a person by how he handles his drink. Nox sipped his as if it might contain poison. Ash’tar downed his in a single gulp. Good man. Valandra left hers untouched on the table. I downed mine and said, “If you’re not keen, I’ll take it.” I met her eyes and raised the glass. “To your health.”
I could see her adding drunkard to my growing list of faults.
Gundren had arranged for us to pick up the oxcart with supplies from the Leviathan’s stables. One person could fit on the bench of the cart; the other three would have to walk. Great.
Of the four of us, I would not be the one driving. For some reason, oxen do not like tieflings. Maybe they consider the horns a challenge. Once, I had nearly been run down by a merchant’s cart while crossing a street a good thirty feet ahead of it. The oxen had gone berserk at the sight of me.
Valandra apparently had means of her own, as she decided walking was beneath her and bought a draft horse to ride to Phandalin. The horse did not look pleased about carrying an armored rider instead of pulling a cart.
As we left, the queasiness returned to my gut. I did not like being out in the open like this. I made sure most of my skin was covered by clothing. Valandra gave me a disapproving look but said nothing. We moved with the crowd; at that time of day, many merchants were leaving Neverwinter with carts. Walking among them, I stayed out of sight as best I could. Our little group made good time, and we came within sight of the city walls without anyone rushing at me. Drawing close to that barrier made acid rise in the back of my throat. The game had to be up. Someone would start shouting—there I was. They must have anticipated I would make a run for it.
But I walked beneath the arch of the city gate. I left Neverwinter. And the blade in my back did not come. I could not believe it. How was this possible?
The rest of the day was as uneventful as our walk through the city. Only my feet grew heavier with every mile. When they began to throb, my ass and lower back tightened up. Even my arms felt heavy. The cittern on my back weighed a ton. Valandra and Ash’tar rode comfortably on horse and cart and kept going. Nox constantly jogged away from the road to scout for danger. He did not seem to tire at all. Bastard.
I asked for a break, but the rest of the group wanted to reach a rest spot that offered better protection than the open road. Someplace near the Triboar Trail, wherever that was. So, I slogged on. By the time we reached it, I could not feel my feet anymore. My legs shuffled through the dirt, unable to lift properly. Exhausted, I collapsed into a ditch and awoke the next morning with a face full of grass.
The two elves looked fresh and ready to leave. Valandra sat atop her unhappy horse and scowled in my direction. I was sure she would someday make some unfortunate mate’s life completely miserable.
The sun was already up, peeking above the horizon. Why did everyone insist on traveling so early? In Neverwinter, I never rose before noon. The group found it strange that they had been unable to rouse me from my comatose sleep. Go figure.
And so we set off again—mile after boring mile, one foot in front of the other, repeat. When the sun was at its zenith, we rounded a bend. The road narrowed as it led into the trees. That alone would have been ominous; the spot was perfect for an ambush. But signs of one lay right in front of us. Two riderless horses stood there grazing. They seemed used to people, at least they weren’t bothered about our approaching group. Bags and goods were scattered across the ground. No bodies in sight.
The group fanned out. Nox slipped toward the tree line. Ash’tar followed halfway. Valandra chose a position from which she could charge anything that emerged. And me? I walked up to inspect one of the bags. My heart sank into my stomach. I had seen this bag just the day before. Gundren had packed one exactly like it.
I looked up at the others and shouted, “This bag belongs to Gundren. I think he was attacked here. We must find him.”
Three heads swiveled toward me and stared as if I had lost my mind.
“What?!”, I asked.
Four small creatures emerged from the tree line. They were foul little things, big ears, big noses, wicked pointed teeth. Goblins.
Neverwinter has some goblins in the shadier parts of town. But these seemed even more feral.
Seeing me they rushed forwards. They missed Nox who’d circled around them. He took a shot but misjudged how short the goblins were. The goblin closest to Nox decided that Nox was easy pickings with an empty short bow in hand. But Nox struck faster than a viper with a short sword, which moments before had been at his hip. In one fluid movement Nox drew his sword, ran the onrushing goblin through, danced around the falling corpse as he pulled his sword free. The other goblins seemed oblivious to the fate of their comrade.
I had heard that you needed to show your dominance with goblins, make them fear you. I stood up, made myself as big as I could and raised my hands to the sky letting out a fierce roar.
There was one bigger goblin that was clearly the leader. Best to go for the big one, so I pointed at him and started chanting in infernal. A truly guttural chorus. I sometimes used it during my seances if I really wanted to put my audience on edge.
Stamping my feet and thumping my chest I was making a challenge to him and could feel magic start to build. When they came to within ten feet, I released that magic pressure at the big goblin. He stumbled and seemed distracted for a moment, but then he just shook it off.
Valandra brained the goblin closest to her with a shining mace. I was distracted by the brain matter splattering against my cheek and felt a sharp blow to my side. The leader jumped me and pushed me off. Breath would not come, and I stumbled back falling flat on my backside.
With the fight looming over me, it became carnage. Ash’tar stepped behind the leader, grabbed his head and simply snapped the neck like a twig. The remaining goblin stepping in, shanking Ash’tar with a rusty blade. Dropping to one knee, he lost his grip on the dead goblin leader, who fell across me. Between the tumble of limbs, I got a flash of Valandra striking a sweeping blow with her bloodied mace ending the last goblin.
Pushing the corpse off me, pain lanced through my side and breath wouldn’t come. Looking down there was a handle sticking out of my side. I thought, “That’s strange.” And pulled it out. Blood gushed from the wound, and I felt I would have fainted if it wasn’t for the crippling pain. Valandra knelt over me and inspected the wound. She said, “Hold on.” Most she had said to me all day and gripped my side. I tensed up, but instead of pain I felt a warmth seep into my torso. Breath came back to me and had never tasted as sweet. That may have been due to Valandra’s perfume, or just the rush of life flooding back.
“Thank you, you saved my life. I owe you.”, elicited a snort in response. As if no good could come from my help. She turned around and walked to the grazing horses.
Ashtar was squatting down, holding his side.
“Let me help.”, I offered. A blade had left a deep puncture. I put my hand on his shoulder and said: “YlghoSoq, Dahbe! “
For a moment there was wind passing over my hand, and the puncture filled with a grey mucus and closed. It was a trick I had learned in my years with Thorga Silvermane. Create a patch where the wound is and let the soul fill it up. I’d gotten a lot of practice back then; Thorga was a mean drunk and a bad fighter.
Nox was studying the ground. After a while he nodded to himself and called us over. He pointed out a few dark spots on the road. “Blood. There, there and there. Not enough for a kill. Drag marks there.” Pointing at lines in the sand that made no sense to me. “Two men, both alive as far as I can tell. One was kicking as he was dragged.”
Valandra looked astride one of the horses. This is Cragmaw country, we can’t leave the cart with provisions out here. Goblins and their ilk would empty it the moment we’d turn our backs. Phandalin is just a few miles away. We should drop it off first.
“We need to help Gundren!”, I interjected.
“We will.” she stated, “After.”
“We get our gold first; we don’t owe this Gundren anything.”, Nox whispered. That elf was one cold …. I rounded on him: “You speak for yourself. I owe that man and his brothers my life!”
Ash’tar put his hands on my chest and pushed me back. “Easy there, partner. We go to that town first. Arm up. Come back and get your friend out. If we run after him now, we will likely lose the provisions and our lives. We must be smart.”
I’m sure I was missing something obvious. But I felt drained. Whether it was the wound, the magic I’d cast or continuous walking, the fight leaked out of me.
Valandra had two horses, the draft horse and the taller one of the two that had belonged to Gundren and Sildar. I walked up to the shorter horse that was still grazing by the road and offered an apple from my pack. It gratefully accepted it and nuzzled my chest. It let me get on his back and responded to me urging it to walk.
Nox took Valandra’s draft horse and so we were all mounted. With that Valandra led us on towards Phandalin.