So What Happened to Drum?

Russell has been catching up with what Drum's been up to since quitting the adventuring game:

Drum went to work sourcing rare ingredients for the restaurant at Barry’s Place. After a few years hunting dire crocodile and gathering hippogriff eggs to satisfy the jaded gourmets in Winder he quit after a nasty incident with a cockatrice and he went into business for himself.

He opened an ostrich farm attempting to market them as a new super food. In an attempt to boost productivity he fed them cut price potions of fertility from an unlicensed travelling alchemist. These turned out to be spoilt potions of heroism that were tainted with toxic production byproducts. In the resulting chaos fourteen townsfolk died from mercury poisoning after eating ostrich steak, another two (including the town beadle) were killed and twenty five injured after the alpha male gained a dozen levels and kicked down the fences and ran amok through the streets.

Drum was forced to flee pursued by an angry lynch mob. He now scrapes a living with a group of travelling entertainers, giving archery demonstrations while wearing stick-on latex ears and calling himself Silverleaf. He shares a caravan with his assistant and common law wife, Bridget the midget. He has a drink problem and after a few unfortunate accidents no longer shoots apples off the heads of volunteers from the audience. He had to pawn the purple jewels from Rappan Athuk to pay off the last volunteers next of kin. Drum blames the cheap arrows.

Conned By Emos

The best place to sell the loot from the last episode was clearly the city of Klef - the shining city full of hundreds of mages, sages and dealers. Unfortunately, Klef is a magocracy where status is only given to arcane spellcasters, all others treated as serfs, or worse. For the purposes of pawning the booty, the party travelled to Klef and nominated Harold as their major domo. Giddy with his new status within the city limits, Harold took days at a time to carry out even the most minor tasks, so the others were left to spend some relaxation time in the outskirts of Klef, amongst the trading bazaars and markets.

Chops took the opportunity to broaden his mind and learned a new language. Crow started writing her travel guides. Jenny "Squid" Bryce ran into trouble with some paramours and Thelonius developed further his paranoid neurosis.

In what was to be their last day in Klef, the party toured Glassteel Row, one of the notorious tourist drags. Chops and Crow bargained with a merchant, whilst Squid hid from Fabio, an ex-, in an alley. Fabio tracked her and followed her in, and the ever-suspicious Thelonius darted after. The sky suddenly blackened with assassins leaping from the rooftops.

Making short work of the assailants, with Chops not even bothering to put down his kebab, the usual brutal interrogation followed, and the prisoner, a Raven Queen follower named Glimpse, spilled his guts (not literally) to the effect that there had been a case of mistaken identity, with the party wrongly assumed to be the custodians of the now-defunct Fey Engine. Demanding to be taken to his leader, Glimpse led the way to the Klef RQ temple, where the group engaged in a great deal of cruel mockery of the local cult lay people. What followed was not their finest hour, as the party was tricked into "meeting the superiors" via a teleportation circle, which turned out to be a one-way portal to one of the least hospitable parts of the Shadowfell.



Materialising a dozen or so feet in the air, the group succumbed to gravity and landed in a cold, dark, slick stone tower in the forbidden city of Moil - a cursed land thrown into the Shadowfell by Orcus, and its inhabitants long since a population of undead.

Immediately attacked by a group of Moilian Zombies and Winter Wights, a vicious fight ensued, with the tide being decisively turned by the late arrival of Fat Harold, who apparently followed the party and was similarly conned by the RQ Cult.

The city was mostly towers and aerial walkways. Travelling from ruined tower to tower, looking for a way out with some traps avoided resulted in entering collapsing tower inhabited by an animated undead "barrow" which proved to be an extremely stern test. Having defeated it, but low on health and resources, the final chamber appeared to be anothe stepping disk, but surrounded by wards. Disarming the many wards appeared easy at first, but a sense of urgency developed when an alarm triggered the arrival of a Moilian resident known as the Dark Legacy. Certainly not one to be trifled with, with a series of huge hits, the characters quickly disarmed the remaining wards and dived through the portal. The faster ones benefitted, but Crow and Harold were left lagging. Harold was hit and went down. Crow took some hits too, but procrastinated long enough to grab Harold's corpse before making the jump to lightspeed.

Insultingly, the matching portal was situated on the ceiling of a chamber, so yet again the party suffered a fall. The bad news was that they landed in a chamber decorated only by the visage of a green horned devil. The word "Devourer" inscribed on the floor by some previous visitor. Could they have wound up somewhere far worse than they could have predicted?

The Ballad of Fat Harold

Harold was born to a family of wealthy donkey breeders in the market town of Red River. The first twelve or so years of Harold’s life were opulent and comfortable. Harold’s lack of intelligence and ability of any kind were compensated for by his family’s riches. Lacking any drive or life plans, Harold had assumed that he would simply become a useless fop in a city somewhere, representing the family interest whilst surrounded with wine, women and song. Unfortunately for Harold, Trader County (his state of origin) was to become the battleground for one of the most vicious commercial conflicts the Wretched Earth had ever seen. The Arcane Donkey Wars were about to begin…

Trader County was a logistic hub for merchants travelling all over the Western part of the Wretched Earth, and especially to the ports that linked to the island nations. To this end, a constant supply of beasts of burden was continually in demand. Harold’s family had been in business supplying donkeys for over two hundred years and had a reputation for always being able to deliver the hardiest animals that could be worked for years of back-breaking toil. This all changed when Ro-Alum, a hotshot young wizard was contracted by the rival Packart family of breeders to magically crossbreed a newer, stronger animal. After a few unspeakable blasphemies against nature, Ro-Alum came up with what was christened the “Packart Mk VII”. The new donkey, although rather stupid looking could carry 50% more cargo, required less food and could be made into a delicious meal when they finally collapsed from exhaustion. In response, DonCo, another group of breeders contracted Delecti the Necromancer to come up with a competing solution. Whole herds of donkeys were slain and raised to make the “DonCo Frontiersman Undead Pack Animal” which whilst more expensive, required no food or water, and was immune to fatigue, disease and followed orders unquestioningly.

A bitter war for the marketplace ensued, with Harold’s family – convinced that they could prevail using traditional (non-magical) donkey breeding methods – being squeezed from both sides until their business collapsed. The Arcane Donkey Wars ended a few years later, but it was too late for Harold.

Thrust rudely into poverty, and with no marketable skills, Harold had some bad times, but clung to his dream of being a rich waster. The traditional method of achieving this and climbing out of poverty has always been adventuring – but Harold was palpably unsuited for Fighter or Ranger school, too dumb (and poor) for Magic University, and too coarse for the seminary. He tried his hand at joining the Thieves’ Guild, but his large size made him a poor rogue, and his aversion to physical exertion was the nail in the coffin.

Harold’s lucky break finally came whilst selling souvenirs at a small tourist town on the coast. The village had a dragon problem with raiding marine dragons swooping past to gobble up holiday makers at the seaside. A hippogriff-riding party of high level NPCs took up the task of ridding the town of the beasts, and engaged the dragons in an aerial battle. One of the dragons, stuck with a fatal blow, and burning with several arcane wounds, spiralled out of the sky and landed on Harold’s souvenir stand, crushing Harold. Both badly wounded, the dragon’s blood intermingled with Harold’s, and imbued him with the sorcererous abilities he now enjoys.

In his early days as a sorcerer, Harold used his powers almost exclusively for petty personal gain. Over the years, he has grown as an individual and learned much about his powers. As such, Harold now utilises his gifts for grotesque and enormous personal gain. Early on as a young low-level 3rd edition sorcerer, Harold was part of a classic D&D party providing fire support. As always, health was at a premium and following the loss of several party colleagues, Harold switched to a less bold and more cautious party. Over the years, Harold has seen editions and parties come and go and with the advent of 4e has found a niche as a mercenary make-weight in higher level parties. Up until 8th level he wasn't able to command particularly good fees - only taking on petty delves for a few encounters at a time; but as he has neared paragon level, he tagged on to the powerful and pragmatic Dog Leg Posse. Although the quests have been more dangerous than he would have liked, the rewards have been great, and Harold is only marginally short of his paragon goal. Following that, he may look to retirement as a minor dictator in a small tropical island.



Note: Despite his ultimate fate possibly being sealed, I'm now intending to use low-level versions of Harold as my main PC.

Thelonius Monk Special

Courtesy Phil Vigus

Excerpt from the journal of Thelonius Caine…
I write after the strangest of days, with my time alternating between episodes of pure frustration, and challenging combat with the most hideous, unearthly creatures. Although we may have disturbed the spirits of the long dead, I have no guilt in our actions and feel that they are finally at peace. I still find myself saddened by people’s willingness to believe in the need for such ornate yet pointless structures to house their empty husks, and hope that when their souls moved on to inhabit their next bodies they were able to learn the error of their ways.

The adventuring group that have hired me are a little…..unorthodox, but they appear to be able to get the job done. However, they have yet to fully convince me they are worthy of the reputation that precedes them, and I will continue to watch in case any are scheming against me. I have however been paid handsomely for my efforts and this should go some way to helping improve my equipment, some of which is desperately in need of replacement. If I am to fulfil my destiny then I must strive to be as strong as I can be, and I have heard rumour of the most fantastical magical armour and weaponry, which I am sure one day will be within my reach.

With each day I become more convinced that I have chosen the path I was born to walk. Everywhere I look I see the scheming of vultures, preying on those who cannot or will not defend themselves, and I know that I was sent to help them. Unfortunately, I am sure that my actions are attracting much unwanted attention, and I must be ever vigilant in watching my back.

I hope one day that I will be strong enough to return to the monastery and prove that the accusations made against me were fabrications, dreamt up by those who saw that I was willing to fight back, but I feel I must bide my time and make sure that when I make my move I can drive them away once and for all.

Spotlight on the Morgan Sisters

Courtesy of Bjorn



Mort Morgan had a dream: set up a thriving potion workshop in a big city, become rich, pass on the business to his sons. Unfortunately, he was a terrible artificer, so he had to set up shop in Dog Leg (killing the first two goals in one sweep), and his wife died giving birth to a daughter, Bayve, so over his misogynistic impulses he started training her early to take over the family business. When Bayve was about ten, Mort vanished for a couple of weeks while out gathering potion ingredients. When he came back, he had a child. He never explained where the child came from, or even gave her a name, so she was only known as the Foundling Morgan.

Some kids might resent the sudden appearance of a younger sibling, but Bayve could see the big picture: it was somebody else to take over her dad's damn shop. When it became clear that all the supernatural death and corruption that seemed to follow Foundling around also meant she was actually pretty good at magic, Bayve saw her way clear to follow her dream: get the hell out of Dog Leg and never look back.

The obvious path to glory/escape for someone with no real plans was to enlist in a battle against the Pirate Kingdoms. The recruiting sergeant, faced with a puny example of a filthy half-breed race, chose the obvious option and assigned her to a front-line unit with expected 80% casualties. It was during that battle that Bayve figured out how to smash someone's face in telekinetically, and so to everyone's surprise she was a) the most effective soldier in the battle and b) not dead at the end of it. In the eyes of high command, she'd gone from being a freak to being a DOUBLE freak with potential use, so they put her in yet another spearhead unit. This started off a cycle in which Bayve would get attached to a unit, that unit would be wiped out, but Bayve would survive. The only difference between Morgan and a crow, the rank and file muttered, was that Morgan showed up early for the slaughter.

When the war finally ended, Crow needed a new career that involved never having to move back to Dog Leg, so she decided to become a travel writer, and not stop until she'd seen the whole world. Unfortunately, a certain direct mindset, violent tendencies, and a bit of bad luck means her carefully kept notes tend to consist of "Nice trees, weather unpleasant, smashed some bastard's face in for summoning ghouls," which hasn't received great critical appeal. Still, she did a good job of the travelling and becoming a hard bastard.

In contrast to Crow's more free-wheeling approach, Foundling's goal in life has been pretty simple: get overwhelming magical power. She would nod through the days as her father explained how to make a potion of healing using grapefruit juice, and then spend the nights summoning fey spirits and making bargains for power. This was a starting point, but Foundling had quickly realized that the key to power wasn't making bargains to borrow part of someone's magic; you had to steal everything from them instead. To carry out this, she needed money, and hiring herself out as mad wizard to Chops et al was the easiest way to go about it.

Since getting back from the East, Foundling has been locked away in her father's old lab (she kicked him out), doing something to get power not dependent on magic items or infernal favours -- whatever it is, it's led to every house within five hundred yards being abandoned. The first person to see her in person since Foundling got back to Dog Leg was Crow, who having finally used up all her money on her travels, had come to ask her sister for some help. The sisters get on fairly well, being cut out of the same kill-you-if-you're-in-my-way cloth, so Foundling wrote a letter of introduction to Chops, reconsidered, then enchanted it with Magic Mouth.

Focus on Chops

Courtesy of Russell

Chops initially struggled to expand his horizons beyond his Heroic tier goal of owning a gastro pub. However with his new found extra point of INT has been reading books (well magazines) and has come up with a set of Paragon tier life goals. These are:

To sleep with a Drow princess (off camera of course). A proper one with silver hair, not an eladrin in make-up and a wig.
To raise a mercenary army and carve out his own kingdom in the wilderness and be king with a throne, a crown and one of those big fur white fur cloak things. This kingdom will be humans only with a few select demi-humans by invitation only*.
To have his own prestigious brand of designer plate mail for the discerning martial character.


Artwork by Emma Yam (mlynnz)





This is obviously all going to be pretty expensive so as a first step he has decided that he wants to go one better than Cousin Barry and kill a dragon. This is a proper dragon that breathes fire and sleeps on a pile of gold. Not a big monitor lizard or salt water crocodile. He is willing to go into the wilderness or Underdark to find this dragon, just as long as there is adequate provision for cart access to its lair to transport all the cash away afterwards.

He also wants a fifty foot high statue to himself put up in the town square in Dogleg (along with slightly smaller ones of the other surviving party members, and perhaps a tasteful plaque for the ones that died). He’d prefer marble as long as it isn’t too expensive, but he will accept granite or anything that holds a shine and isn’t going to dissolve in the rain. He is not going to let some dodgy stone merchant rip him off with limestone.

As to Fat Harold Chops votes to keep him on. He is an asset to the group dynamic, i.e. Chops enjoys bullying him.


*Presumably the hypothetical Drow princess, some Dwarven artisans (brewers) and an assortment of mixed demi-human slaves.

Character Folio

(Left to Right) Sandals, Drum, Chops, Spanner and Squid
The original Wretched Earth line-up at 1st level
Artwork - Emma Yam (mlynnz)



Talmir “Chops” Deathblow 11th Level Warlord
Chops is the de facto leader of the group for reasons that no one can clearly remember. His heroic exploits can turn the tide of a battle, but he is better known for his bigotry against halflings and gnomes. And elves. And the other lot of elves. And the lizard people.
Known as "Chops" due to his bright white teeth.
"Halflings are disgusting. They live in holes in the ground."



Jenny “Squid” Bryce 11th Level Rogue
Lethal chav with a short temper, poor social skills and an unhealthy appetite for celebrity. Squid is wanted in several states for crimes ranging from mass murder, sedition and desecrating holy artefacts to camel rustling, littering and vagrancy.
Squid gets her name from an incident as a teenager when she was arrested for stealing a calamari salad from M&S in Dog County.


Bayve "Crow" Morgan 11th Level Battlemind
Unusual woman (like her sister) who seems to use a variety of parlour tricks and stage hypnosis to her advantage in battles. Claims it's all to do with the power of the mind.
It is not known why Crow is so-called.


Ancillary Characters/NPCs

Fat Harold
Current NPC Mercenary Sorcerer. Unfit, unhygienic, uncouth and unpopular. But strangely seems to do well in the party.
"It's my glands,"


Foundling Morgan
Ex PC Warlock. Weird dusty woman that could teleport. Scary and enigmatic, but she couldn’t do a lot of damage. Crow’s half-sister.


Drum the Ranger
Ex PC Ranger. Despite being a ranger, couldn’t hit a cow’s arse with a cricket bat. Blamed the arrows, the bow, the weather conditions, solar conditions – everything except his own ineptitude. Currently propping up the bar in Barry’s Place.
"It's these arrows I got conned into buying. They're cheap rubbish."


Jack Triceratops
Former NPC Mercenary Fighter. Tough as nails, and useful to have around. MIA somewhere in the Middle East.


Barry "The Fist" Deathblow
Chops's first cousin, famous adventurer and now restauranteur. Sole survivor of high-level dungeoneering party, although the M-U exists in Barry's Place as a petrified statue.
"Dungeoneering is yesterday's news. Today, it's all about goose liver parfait and a half decent Chilean Rioja, with a good location in Muswell Hill."


Errol Flynn
Former NPC Mercenary Rogue. Swashbuckling type. Good while he lasted, but low level meant that he was always on a hiding to nothing. KIA in the Far East.
"Mon dieu, and me without my sword!"


Lucky
Former NPC Mercenary Seeker. What the hell is a seeker? Wasted a lot of party healing trying to keep him alive. And he had a mullet. KIA in the Far East.
"Oh shit! There's arrows and lightning and claws and junk. People are dying! I thought I was signing up for a LARP group!"


Ned
The original low-level hanger on. First to die. Eaten by a Purple Worm in Rappan Athuk.
"So what level do all the groupies come into it?"


Sandals
Former PC Cleric. Eaten by a Purple Worm in Rappan Athuk.


Spanner
Former PC Wizard. Eaten by a Purple Worm in Rappan Athuk.


Toot
NPC Warlord. Antagonist early in the campaign. Chops’s rival.
"The best way to co-ordinate a combat is by using musical instruments"


Assorted NPC parties encountered:

The Rich Kids
The Drunken Vikings
The Lethal Line-Up
The Smelly Orcs
The Gnome Acrobats